11th Nintendoland Battlefield Tournament: 1st Round Battles

[Inferno Dragon]

OOC: well, actually you didn't leave me a way out of that kargath, and let me explain why. Inferno is half dragon and half saiyan. being this, Inferno's entire biological make-up is a fusion of the two races. but your mistake was assuming that dragons are "lizzards" when actually Dragons are more closely related to mammals, kind of like dinosaurs were, only far more intellegent to the point that they are sentiant. so when you impaled me through the brain that really would have killed me because a dragon's brain is structured closer to the human brain, just longer and with more wrinkles. While I'm at it I might as well explain why dragon's can't fly if their wings get punctured and/or torn. when a dragon's wings are damaged by getting a tear or hole in the wing membrain the hole or tear will get bigger if the dragon tries to fly before it is healed and will eventually make it where the wing membrane of the damaged section is completely useless and then the dragon becomes perminently grounded because it can't take off.
I've ranted enough for one day, back to the battle.

Inferno fell to his knees and began to cry knowing now that this had been a dead end all along and that this doll would not allow him to resurrect his beloved.

Inferno: I just want to see her alive again, even if for only a little while. but not in some perverse way like vampiric or zombified or some other form of un-dead. I just want to see her as she was before she was murdered. you have no idea how painful it's been since her death. I have to carry that pain and sorrow every day with me. I was going to propose to her that day she was killed. death and fate are more cruel than any mortal could ever be and you are just as cruel immortal! there is no one in this world that could ever take Flair's place. she is the only woman I could ever love, I know, I've tried to find another but none of them cared about me the way Flair did. they only liked me because I was royalty or because my father was wealthy or because they wanted to leach off of me. But not Flair flair truely loved me for who I am and not for my titles or my lineage or my father's wealth, but you could never understand that immortal.

Inferno paused for a moment and Flair's ghost appeared next to him, kneeling and placing a cold hand on his shoulder. Inferno looked to see the ghost of his beloved Flair.

Flair: Inferno, I'm sorry I leaft this life so soon.

Inferno: Flair? but why did you choose death over recieving treatment of your wound?

Flair: so that you could become stronger, that is the reason fate decided to take me before my time.

Inferno: just so I could gain the ability to become a super saiyan? that's hardley a good enough reason to take you from me.

Flair: I didn't think it was a good enough reason either, but fate made up her mind about is and told me that I had to die. I do want to be in your arms again Inferno, just not right now, I'm undergoing training in the afterlife right now from a man called Goku, he was a Saiyan who was killed while defending his world from an evil called Cell. I'll come to you again once I complete my training with Goku, okay?

Inferno: o...okay Flair, I'll put my quest on hold for now. oh and tell Goku that I want to fight him if he ever returns to the world of the living, okay?

Flair: don't worry, I will. and just so you know, he's a Saiyan like your mom.

Inferno: great, that should be an interesting fight.

Flair: well, I need to go, I'll see you again someday.

and with that flair's ghost vanished. Inferno stood up and wiped away his tears.

Inferno: immortal, I'm giving up my quest to resurrect Flair for now. I won't return here due to the fact that you refuse to resurrect her. don't expect to see me again, and I'm sorry for any trouble I've caused here. but just for the record, I'm not a wicked person.

[LOOT]

OoC: Dragons have lizard-like characteristics, actually. Since Aves are just about the same as Reptiles, for one thing, they can be blended together. Another is the fact that Dragons lay amniotic eggs: Eggs that provide a satisfactory environment for the young to grow before setting out. Some mammals may lay eggs, but still.

And about any way to get my fight back: If you guys haven't played Baten Kaitos, then hear this: Cards used in battles are actually more like ammo than actual weapons. However, in the case of the Soldier Gun (A la Lyude), the cards are more like bullets. Sure, a couple of the finishers are actually Melee attacks, but... that's finishers.

And for God's sake, putting it back together? You know how difficult putting guns together in the heat of battle is? That's not exactly a skill many people know.

... Fine, but if I "fix" my weapon, it will sound very cheesy and cheap, and I tend to get rather brutal in these tight spots (IE, Asnabel will have no fingers on his right hand at this rate.)

[Acradius]

[QUOTE=Luigi Double oh Seven]IE, Asnabel will have no fingers on his right hand at this rate.[/QUOTE]

Beat you to the punch.






























Get it? No fingers? Punch?

[Inferno Dragon]

OOC: but in the case of Inferno and his siblings he was bourn through live birth given that his mother is a saiyan. now had his mother been of some other non-mammel derived race like the yuan-ti (snake people), then yes his brain would be more reptilian, but since that's not the case his brain is more mammalian like a dragon's or a human's. Dragonic physiology is more closely associated to mammals than reptiles even if they have scales and lay eggs. and for the record dragons are warm blooded. all of that is here in the D&D Draconomicon, the one book that gives the greatest ammount of information about dragon biological make up, social interactions, races, species and anything else dragon related. THE authority on dragons period. I can type up the entire first chapter if you want just to proove my point but I really don't feel like it right now.

[Wyborn]

OoC: No D&D, please.

I'm posting tonight. -OoC

[The Willful Wanderer]

For ****'s sake, Inferno....

((The Draconomicon is the authority on dragons *IN THE MOST COMMON-USE D&D WORLD*. It doesn't even neccessarily apply to all of the Dungeons and Dragons games out there, nevermind all the dragons appearing in completely different rulesets (Exalted, Warhammer, BESM) of RPGs and especially nevermind all the other bits of literature with dragons in them (The Pern books, the Earthsea books, hundreds of different manga and anime series, Dragonheart, the Dragon Knight series by Gordon R. Dickson...). Since you never have specified what kind of dragon Inferno is descended from (Bahamut appearing in a great many different mythologies with dragons in, in a number of forms), your opponent can *only* go on two things- what you give them in battle, and what they consider reasonable assumptions of what a dragon is in that instance. Even now that you've specified that Inferno is part Draconimicon dragon, that's not going to mean a thing to anyone who hasn't got the ability or inclination to read that book. Which means that people are going to make what they consider to be reasonable assumptions based on what knowledge they have, and you're going to have to learn to flex your writing style enough to roll with it. Gods know the rest of us do that- I did nothing to refute Dhampir's references to gears grinding, despite that MAK, like most of the androids/gynoids I use, works with a myomer system and plain old doesn't even have gears- I even figured out where I would put gears as happening just so I could have them show with battle-damage and make sense.

This is a *communal* reality between you and your opponent, not a reality of your making that your opponent has to live with no matter what.

Also, I can't see what on earth you would be so upset about your character having to keep from flying for. In case you hadn't noticed, loss of limbs and capabilities during battles is very commonplace, especially during the NLBFT, and everyone else simply deals with it- hell, most of my characters are flat-out flight incapable, and I don't seem to have too much trouble with fliers, even in arenas that practically cater my head to them.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't comment, but you are demonstrating a consistent refusal to write up to the level you are, I *know* you have to be, capable of. You got a good start on being imaginative with the bits you came up with for Inferno's history and nature, but you've failed to actually continue using your imagination to overcome obstacles, instead simply retroacting them or nullifying them outright- particularly in the case of physical injury, which is where your 'healing' issues come from.

Judges, I'm sorry for stepping all over your toes in this, but as anyone who knows me can attest, I have this irrepressible urge to stick my nose in where I have even the vaguest chance of helping. Fortunately, it hasn't gotten me into serious trouble yet, and I hope that hasn't been the case this time.

At any rate, I'm sorry to see that Dhampir has been disqualified.

Dhamp, if you see this, I hope whatever happened to you, whatever situation you're in, improves. I wish we could have continued our kaijuu battle, even if you turned my infinitely large parking lot into a cityscape- it's been a very entertaining change of pace for me.

Judges, if you could judge my performance this round regardless of my opponent's disqualification, I would greatly appreciate it- thank you.))

[Wyborn]

OoC: Fun fact is that the original Bahamut is really a giant fish.

Sorry, sorry, back to posting. -OoC

[Erdawn Il Deus]

OoC: Alright geniuses. Let's not cry when we find out dragons don't exist eh? And Luigi, you rely too much on your damn weapon. If Asnabel broke it, shove the pieces up his nose into his brain. Seriously. You mention vengeance by cutting of his fingers? Try cutting off his balls, man. Really, step it up.

Also, Inferno, what the hell man, love energy?

[Galefore]

^Heh heh... Pink orbs of love...

But yeah. This argument about dragons? Screw it. Because they do not exist, they can be whatever the bloody **** you want them to be. Just... Effing deal with it already.

[Inferno Dragon]

warning! Rant ahead!

[QUOTE=Selene Starblade]((The Draconomicon is the authority on dragons *IN THE MOST COMMON-USE D&D WORLD*. It doesn't even neccessarily apply to all of the Dungeons and Dragons games out there, nevermind all the dragons appearing in completely different rulesets (Exalted, Warhammer, BESM) of RPGs and especially nevermind all the other bits of literature with dragons in them (The Pern books, the Earthsea books, hundreds of different manga and anime series, Dragonheart, the Dragon Knight series by Gordon R. Dickson...). Since you never have specified what kind of dragon Inferno is descended from (Bahamut appearing in a great many different mythologies with dragons in, in a number of forms), your opponent can *only* go on two things- what you give them in battle, and what they consider reasonable assumptions of what a dragon is in that instance. Even now that you've specified that Inferno is part Draconimicon dragon, that's not going to mean a thing to anyone who hasn't got the ability or inclination to read that book. Which means that people are going to make what they consider to be reasonable assumptions based on what knowledge they have, and you're going to have to learn to flex your writing style enough to roll with it. Gods know the rest of us do that- I did nothing to refute Dhampir's references to gears grinding, despite that MAK, like most of the androids/gynoids I use, works with a myomer system and plain old doesn't even have gears- I even figured out where I would put gears as happening just so I could have them show with battle-damage and make sense.

This is a *communal* reality between you and your opponent, not a reality of your making that your opponent has to live with no matter what.

Also, I can't see what on earth you would be so upset about your character having to keep from flying for. In case you hadn't noticed, loss of limbs and capabilities during battles is very commonplace, especially during the NLBFT, and everyone else simply deals with it- hell, most of my characters are flat-out flight incapable, and I don't seem to have too much trouble with fliers, even in arenas that practically cater my head to them.

Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't comment, but you are demonstrating a consistent refusal to write up to the level you are, I *know* you have to be, capable of. You got a good start on being imaginative with the bits you came up with for Inferno's history and nature, but you've failed to actually continue using your imagination to overcome obstacles, instead simply retroacting them or nullifying them outright- particularly in the case of physical injury, which is where your 'healing' issues come from.[/QUOTE]

look, selene, it's not that I'm upset about not being able to fly I'm just trying to explain why if I get a tear in my wing that I would be incapable of flight. also I hate it when people call dragons "lizards"! they're not lizards if anything they're like dinosaurs with a human brain and wings, they're warm blooded creatures in a catagory of their own just as dinosaurs are in a catagory of their own because they were warm blooded. neither dinosaurs or dragons are reptiles! now if you are talking about the komodo dragon then yes, that is a lizard but the winged firebreathing hot blooded creatures from fantasy ar NOT LIZARDS! also the thing about the wings is true. have you ever seen a bat with a hole in it's wings fly? probably not because if they were to fly the hole would get bigger and bigger with each flap until the wing were rendered useless. it's the same thing if you were to pluck the feathers from a bird's wing, the bird would no longer be able to fly.

as for what Inferno is exactly, Inferno is a dragon/saiyan hybrid with his father being Bahamut (FF VIII incarnation) and his mother being a low class saiyan warrior like Bardock or Goku. as a baby Inferno was constantly exposed to fire energy so that he could gain complete controll of, and essentally become a part of, the element of fire.

also I must insist that if a large enough ammount of ANYTHING's brain is taken out it WILL DIE! which is exactly what happened earlier when those adamant fingers went into my head through my gaping nasal cavity and tore through a sizeable area of my brain and through the top of the skull no matter how you look at it that is a KILLING MOVE! that is a FATAL MOVE! even for a reptile if you stab it in the front part of the brain it won't last but about 20 seconds after you so there's NO WAY to survive that without a cop-out reason like "it was a clone" or "it was an illusion" or something to that extent and I hate using a copout but I really wasn't leaft with any other choice other than heal it but that would have gotten me booted.

and again I'm getting real annoyed by getting slammed against a wall for my writing style, maybe it isn't as pretty or polished or long and drawn out like alot of you seem to like but it's what I'm comfortable with. I like making posts that are shorter and more to the point than having to spend what probably took uncountable hours to type to only show up as shorter than what you intended it to be, and I'm allowed that right on this board it's even in the rules that you DO NOT need to type out a long post if you don't want to.

[Wyborn]

On the seventeenth blow, Mario's feet actually connected with what amounted to wet ground, but it must have counted as Wyborn because he sailed right back up again.

It did not take much thinking to realize how bad a shape he was in - most of his organs were literally components of the paste that he was lying in, and the fact that his spine hadn't been severed was literally miraculous. The sheer weight and small area of Mario's feet meant that Wyborn's upper torso was largely untouched - he had braced his skull with his thoughts against the first stomp, and had pulled himself with his hand and his bloody stump so that every subsequent blow had landed in his guts. A poor trade-off, and he was getting too tired to pull himself along anymore.

Mario landed for the eighteenth blow, and Wyborn turned his eyes up into the plumber's face: he could not see, but he could feel the mushroom king above him, and knew that those chrome eyes made contact with his. Neither flinched, and Mario rose into the air again. The exchange had lasted only an instant.

"Enough," Wyborn said. "This ends now."

Above him, however many hundreds of stories he had risen, Mario heard, and those words made him flinch. He plummeted, a sense of urgency sending an electric rush into the heels of his feet. Gravity was not pulling as hard as it could have, surely.

Wyborn reached out with his mind and prodded at the connection of his spine, reaching invisible fingers between the verbtebrae and into every fiber of flesh that bound his upper torso to the lower. He flexed his mind, and all of it groaned, and he grit his teeth.

"I give my feet, my manhood, my stomach, my liver. I give my legs." The last word trailed into a hiss as he flexed his mind and pulled with his arms and there was a great ripping. Wyborn's upper torso slid away, his spine severed and his intestines cut and his flesh torn, leaving his lower torso on the ground. Fire raged over him, searing shut the wound and further burning the rest of him, and then it winked out as if it had never been there. The pain was too much, for a second, and then he tore himself away from it and knew Mario was falling from the sky. With all the strength in his arms he heaved.

The nineteenth blow never struck, and Mario saw Wyborn (or what was left of him) slide out of the way a second before he struck the ground. The sheer force of the uncushioned blow warped his body, nearly flattening him, and he let out a bark of pain before regaining his former height and shape. He staggered once as he stepped forward, and the he raised his head - he shouldn't have had to, but Wyborn had kept moving and...

"Holy Mary mother of God," the former plumber said, tracing the shape of a cross over his silver chest, reciting a rite that had been drilled into him in English. It was all he could do to keep from stepping back. It was all he could do not to scream.

Wyborn was in the air before him, floating three and a half feet off the ground. He was a nightmare bound in flesh, all burns and smashed flesh and a face that no god could have shaped. He was breathing, and that in itself was hideous, charred flaps of skin on cheeks shivering with every inhalation. His eyes were still untouched, unharmed and blind, and that somehow made all of it worse: Mario knew he was blind, but Wyborn was looking at him. This was not a man anymore, or even a torso. In his heart of hearts, Mario knew that he looked upon a corpse, kept alive only through the assassin's drive to snuff out the flame of his life.

The living dead man's whole body literally pulsed with the energies of his mind, heart kept pumping and synapses firing almost entirely from sheer force of will. Cracks opened in his skin, and across these new crevices, dry of blood, danced small arcs of plasmatic energy that flared hot and winked out. He lifted his ruined stump of a hand, and it was the movement of a puppet on a string, the consciousness driving it now removed bodily. He opened his mouth to speak, and one could actually hear the hinge of his jaw swinging open.

"I give my hand."

When Wyborn's stump broke off at the wrist and burst into flames before disappearing into vapors, all to quick for it to even hit the ground, Mario broke into a run towards him. He heard the discarded torso behind him burst into flames and disappear too, and he knew that some dread magic was at work here. His metallic frame slid forward, mirroring the burnt landscape and hellish carnage all around it, but somehow retained its own sense of wholeness and purity. The ground broke beneath his tread, splinters flying out from under his soles, and every step was the sound of thunder. He would crush the mage - no more jumping, no more gimmicks, no more tricks.

Wyborn's left hand came up, palm splayed, and Mario ran into an invisible wall of force, slamming into it so forcefully that his body warped, but he could not move past that spot. He rebounded and began to move forward again he felt something grasp his limbs, and he was lifted into the air, unable to gain traction with anything while his feet pedaled uselessly in the air.

"In return for these sacrifices," Wyborn said, "I demand power." Something in the air shifted. Mario felt some current that was not there before, some syphoning of energies from directions he wasn't aware of, and felt that if he could have opened his eyes wider he would have seen power flowing like a liquid, spiraling straight down that lipless gullet and pooling in the heart of the monster before him. The gift was determined by the sacrifice, and it was not hard to tell that Wyborn had just given up a lot. The air shifted back, and a chuckle rasped from behind the mage's teeth. "Good."

It is worth noting that Wyborn was aware of Metal Mario's nature: he was resistant to being pierced, was made of liquid metal inside and out, was virtually fireproof, and permanently injuring him was borderline impossible. Pure blunt trauma was nearly the entirety of what could harm him, short of removing the hat.

It is impossible to say how a mouth with no lips can grin, but Wyborn was doing it. His mind, grasping Mario the entire time, heaved. Mario howled as his arms were shoved back into their sockets, enough force to have smashed his normal body into a fine powder.

The metal hero moved as if he had been fired out of a cannon, launched straight up and jerked to a stop as instant as if he had hit another wall. Just as instantly he was hurtling back down at the ground, had no time to re-orient himself before he crashed. The ground buckled and was crushed, and Mario was momentarily lying in a crater, but that was not the whole of it. He had time to figure out which way was up before he was sent plowing through the ground, sending bricks and mortar and dirt and ash flying in all directions. The trench he left behind him was narrow and shallow but consistent in its depth, and the amount of force driving him would boggle the mind of any man bored enough to calculate. He went flying into the air again, gravity rendered meaningless, and he came down, and the process started all over again.

Wyborn's brow was furrowed as he focused on whipping Mario about the landscape like a doll on the end of a string, and sweat would have been running down his face if the glands had not been seared shut. Even while the active part of his mind did its best to smash Mario into a mercurial paste, there was another part that reached out into different angles of space, drawing at the threads of reality.

The words coming out of Wyborn's mouth, the incantation for the spell, were not the kind of thing that could be written phoenetically, being more like the steady howl of a trumpet than the consonant-filled articulations of a human throat. As he spoke, though, the air swirled, and fire danced from his skin and flecked away and whirled all about him. The air glowed, came alive until it was a shining sphere of golden light that pooled and flowed like fluid, and Wyborn's voice rise higher and higher until it filled the world. Mario could hear him, all that distance away, as he crashed into a still-standing pipe and shattered it like porcelain.

The sphere around Wyborn shattered too, rent into splinters of incredible radiance, which shifted and moved and...sharpened. Sharpened with a grinding hiss that finished in the shards becoming spears which floated around Wyborn, pointing in random directions. He clenched his fist, and they bunched together behind his head; his spread his fingers, and they fanned out behind him, a halo of spears like a golden crown about his head. He bent his fingers forward into claw-shapes, and they rocketed outwards and away, driven by the same invisible force slinging around the mushroom king.

Mario felt himself released in mid-swing and began to fall in a long arc that would land him roughly in front of Wyborn. A moment later, he was glad he was composed largely on liquid metal - the spears of light plummeted into him from all directions, shivering for a heartbeat against his metallic skin before plunging through it and bursting from his opposite side. Two dozen of them impaled him all at once, doing no actual damage - but Mario felt something, knew that something bad was going to happen, and he grabbed onto the spears and pulled himself. They slid through him, he pushed them down as best he could - he couldn't make them break his skin, but he could shift them, move them so that if it came down to it, they were not piercing anything vital.

An invisible hand flipped the tip of Mario's cap, and as he fell it came off and he was made of flesh. Blood burst from his mouth as the spears of light remained where they had been, four dozen holes in his flesh, and they burned and tore and all of a sudden he wished he had left them where they were, so he might have died.

He hit the ground. The spears touched first, the force of the impact twisting them and forcing them to point in new directions, tearing them out of Mario's flesh and turning sections of his guts into flapping tatters. When his actual body hit the ground the spears erupted in a flash and the smallest imaginable waves of force, tearing even further as they disappeared.

Mario's body hit the ground as if they had not been there, with the sound of a hammer hitting packed dirt. For a long time he did not move.

Wyborn floated in the air, still alive, still seething. His hand came up again, and Mario was jerked into the air by the head, literal invisible fingers digging furrows into the flesh of his face. His eyes were pulled open, the lids tearing at the corners, and he could feel claws digging into the flesh of his eyes, turning them until he looked into the mage's dead face.

"Look at me," he said. "Foolish man, look at me!"

Mario looke, and the claws let go of his eyes, and his lids were released, but he found himself unable to look away. This thing before him was a demon.

"Now die."

Two hands of stone rose up out of the ground on either side of Mario, palms the size of brick walls and fingers as thick as telephone poles. Every flex of its joints was announced with grinding stone and a shower of dust, and the hands furled into fists and then unfurled again. Mario closed his eyes; he knew what was coming.

The hands clapped together, and fell, and shattered, and Mario was left lying in the dust, battered and broken. If he looked, Wyborn would have seemed very far away.

OoC: And I'm spent. -OoC

[Galefore]

This round, because of the massive crash, is extended until tomorrow. 3 PM central. Keep that in mind, folks.

And, NintendoGod is taking Tazy's seat as judge. just a heads up.

[Erdawn Il Deus]

OoC: Post to come tonight GOd help me.

[LOOT]

OoC: Nice to hear from Nintendogod again. Thankfully he isn't beating my ass this time around.

[Acradius]

((OOC: Click here for commentary.))



“Heh. This guy’s pretty damn good, isn’t he Dastren?” The mage was a little too preoccupied in figuring how to move now that he had an extra set of involuntary, very painful joints in every limb that was still attached. “Well, if you won’t let me have my fun in your body, I’ll just have to enjoy myself elsewhere. Don’t worry, my power is still yours. I’m just stepping out for a bit. Ta!”

U’ondire was not alone now. Well, he wasn’t alone on the battlefield this whole time, but now there was a visitor a little close to home. Someone, something was inside his head. “Well hello there! Room enough for two in here? I hope so. I’ve got to say, I didn’t think I’d bump into someone who would give my associate Dastren over there so much trouble.” The voice came first. It was even and measured. Chipper. It was the voice of what might have been a used car salesman.

“Now, I believe the phrase is ‘We control the horizontal. We control the vertical.’” And he did. Uondire’s vision shifted both left and down. It didn’t faze him much more than leaning to the right and back a bit. Then someone shut the sun off, and the only thing the master of the spirit could see, was the floating form of... “Yukio’s the name. And right now, I’m kind of like a back seat driver in your brain. Play nice or I’ll steer you off this little arena the mage has so kindly made for you two.” The floating mirage was of a man dressed in ornate red robes inscribed with a mind-numbing plethora of arcane symbols. His hair was long, flowing white, and his eyes were diamond-shaped and a royal shade of purple.

Uondire was not impressed. He was immortal, after all. He’d seen this sort of stunt before, and was more than able to eject Yukio. But the Mazoku was not just a force to be trifled with like that. Before he was shown the proverbial door, he grasped at the master’s long, looooong memories. He only got a little bit of information, but that may have been all he needed.

By this time, Dastren was upright. Trouble staying that way, yes, but upright nonetheless. “So, I’ve got a little bit of something for you. Enjoy.” Dastren saw. He saw the exchange between master and pupil. He was upset by this, but he knew what he had to do now. Even something as grim as that could be used to his advantage.

The mage approached the spirit warrior. Not in a rush. Not even guarded. There was little point in that now. This was a fight between immortals. To complete, it could take days, months, years, generations, centuries, millennia. They could be fighting until the end of time. This was not a battle that could be won by muscles, or magic. This was a battle of the spirit. And Dastren? Dastren had the ultimate weapon on the tip of his tongue. Something to wholly crush Uondire’s spirit. He got right next to the spirit warrior, who could tell he was in no shape to attack him in any way. He placed his good hand upon his opponent’s shoulder.

“You came into this fight, Uondire, with little information, didn’t you? Your student didn’t tell you everything.” This gave the teacher pause. He gave no acknowledgement of even hearing what the mage had to say, but his silence was more than enough. “You see... I had only entered this combat as a friendly game. A curiosity. A question that begged answer. Nothing more. Mortality was not involved.” It took Uondire a few moments to process this. This mage, with whom he, his student, had fought bitterly, was saying this fight was not to the death. And that meant, by Uondire possessing Kiunju... “That’s right, oh ‘great teacher’. It was you who forced my hand. It was you who killed your own son!”

Arriving at that conclusion was terrible enough for the old man. Having it spelled out for him, having him accused of it. It broke him. He slowly, agonizingly slowly, fell to the ground. And he cried. Silently, dignifiedly, he cried. He mourned the loss of his brightest pupil, his adopted son. He mourned more that if it was not for him, Kiunju, that human-shaped lump of clay, ready to be molded into whatever Uondire commanded, would still be here. He would still be walking.

It was a solemn moment as Dastren finished his work. He had collected his robes, and used them to fly up, above the floating disk. There, as the almost-prostrate man wept, he used his also-retrieved staff to form a giant stote spike. It was larger than the stone disk in circumference. With a final sigh, his somber work was done. He simply tapped the spike. It fell. It plummeted through the air and struck the disk dead center. The marble shattered. Uondire fell with it. He could have done something about it. He could have ran straight up its concave side and stood neatly on top of it. But the problem was this: he simply didn’t care anymore. He had ended the life of one of the few people he had ever cared about. To him, it didn’t matter if it was a stone spike, acid rain, a UFO, or the devil himself that crashed through the disk. Uondire barely felt the impact. Barely noticed the tumbling, freefall sensation. He only knew the pain of his heart and soul. And then he burned.

Dastren watched his opponent fall beneath the spike, and watched the spike fit perfectly into the caldera of the volcano as a cap. He took a deep, calming breath, and prepared. He had a feeling this wasn’t over yet.

[Metal Man]

OOC: Just a post to note I managed to get my account working again, password or no password. Also, Deathscythe hasn't even posted despite the... 9 days he's been gone, but you already know that. I await the next round with anticipation!

[Kargath]

<OOC>
Inferno, if you want your character's body to behave a certain way, please specify that in your posts. You didn't provide any description whatsoever of Inferno's body shape/consistency/biology in your posts in this tourney, and your Book of Warriors doesn't list any description of his body either. I had to actually go find another battle topic in which you described Inferno's body in a sentence or so.
Selene's right, it is a communal reality we create. I mean, the Doll's not even supposed to be wood or another flammable material, but I went and rolled with it because going in a fight against a flame based opponent whilst being fire-retardant kills the battle that one little bit.
Gale, would you mind pointing out where I broke the rules? Since this is my first tourney, I'd like some refereeing just to point out exactly which bits of my posts were 'illegal' so I can avoid doing it next time (be it next round or next year, depending on judging).
Also, I'm confused about the end time. Is the tourney over now or what? Using the The Fixed Time World Clock - setup would be nice.
[Will check again in a few hours or so for responses when I get home ... but then again, isn't it midnightish for the US now? ]
</OOC>

[The Willful Wanderer]

As Galefore said-

((It's ending at 3 PM CST tomorrow- that's 1PM PST or 4 PM EST, for those of you elsewhere- 9 PM GMT if you would rather calculate it from Greenwich.

In deference to the amount of space it's taking up, I took my commentary to Inferno to PM's before objections started happening, I encourage any others on whatever side to do likewise.))

[Galefore]

^^Remember when you tore his brain open? I don't care what definition it's given by either of you, that is being cheap. That is insurvivable by anyone, much less a being with sentient thought. That was where you broke the rules. Avoid doing stuff as cheap as that. You can be brutal without being cheap, to quote the rules topic.

[Galefore]

A special request was added in as the last word...

OoC: Note: I didn't kill him. He can survive this and get out of it. and since our characters are immortal, there can be no winner. And thus, I give you... What me and Acradius agree is the last post if this soecific battle. Oh, and Judges, I DO forgive him for lateness. Wewt.

“…Was that what you wanted to see?”

Dastren quickly jerked his head back. A disembodied voice, obviously from a well-known source… Master U’ondire was alive. Of course; a man with immortality never so easily gives up life. He could easily have avoided death, and he apparently did.

“Did you wish to see me cry? My tears, flowing eternally, would surely lead me to a grave. They would surely give you victory…”

Dastren so desperately tried to find the attacker, the one who could easily slice him to pieces at any moment. Where was this immaculate force, this invisible creature?

“Remember, victory and my death mean nothing. I know well what killed Kiunju; I feel the bite of your comments. I knew it before you told me, I knew it when he summoned me. I know of my foolishness. And yet you believed a mistake, even one so terrible as this, would kill me. I wonder, do you play off of emotions in everyone? In your peers?”

Glancing in every conceivable direction, Dastren finally noticed something: the absence of a volcano. There was a hole now, filled with white. No color, nothing distinguishable, just molten rock meeting…

White.

“This is your end… I apologize, Dastren, for trying to kill you so hastily…”

And finally, after searching for what seemed like eternity held in a brief minute, Dastren saw. And he wished he had never searched.

“And that Yukio… He believes highly of himself. He believes my very mind belongs to him. He tore from my head memories from the eternal stream of emptiness I called life.”

In front of Dastren was U’ondire. Yet, he had no flesh; his meat was melting from his bones. He was a skeleton, half wrapped in disfigured muscle and tendon. His eyes, still staring angrily, leaked from his eye-sockets, and all around him lingered the stench of Death. The stench of Sulfur. The stench of…

Eternity.

“I apologize for my appearance. But, you see, this is something of my true form. I am not among the living; nor am I among the dead. Immortality, by definition, is not being human. Not being mortal; able to die. But, immortality is death. I have died; this is as I would be in these days, or perhaps 9 millennia ago… I never keep track…”

White ooze, followed by drying tears, followed. Looking away in disgust, Dastren noted their location: the whiteness. The flowing, never-ending whiteness. Hell, maybe. The symbolic endless land of suffering. No land, no sky, no anything.

Just that stench…

That feeling of being lost…

The feeling of being trapped…

Impossible pain from what felt like a hand reaching into your chest…

At this, Dastren paused. With a tilt of the head, he merely stated, “Huh?”

Inside of his chest was a skeletal hand. The bones creating a rigid sensation along his body, he realized what was happening.

And it was as he feared; U’ondire, or whatever he was, pulled his hand out, or Kiunju’s skeletal hand, or whatever this demon could be after being in a volcano, pulled a beating, red organ out. And he examined it, with an eye that wasn’t hanging any longer; he ran his fingers across it.

And Dastren, knowing this to not be fatal, stared. What in the hell was this… THING doing with what made him human?

“This heart… Unused. Rusted… Old, grey, so very full of bad memories… Evil. You were, are, evil. Disappointing.”

And I in his hand, he crushed it, sending ribbons everywhere, crimson illuminating the white and then dying into the same dull color.
“Allow me to make a few more adjustments…”

Dastren stepped back, but it was too late. U’ondire was holding a flap of skin that… That… Was once Dastren’s face. Dastren was shocked. Blood fell into his eyes, but he no longer needed them. He listened, and heard, and readied himself for an attack of words.

“This mask… You wear it over your soul. Why? What… FOOLISHNESS… Leads a man to mask his soul with a kind face? Or an uncaring one? This face should be evil. It isn’t, and therefore, it is false, a lie."

And Dastren momentarily saw a reflection in the white as his eyesight returned. His… Face. Or something similar. A new face. The face of a demon, a toothy grin of fangs and reddish drool, accented by black skin, soulless eyes, and horns of silver protruding from his forehead in three directions.

“Much better.”

And now, he was in black, not white. U’ondire was still a horrid, bleeding corpse, but now he smiled through his inability, a twisted crack forming in the jaw to allow this evil grin.

“Now… Face your evil deeds.”

All around him, something was approaching. All about him, the darkness was surrounding him. He was reliving the satisfaction he received from evil, and the guilt… Tenfold. His mind was cracking. He was losing control; he wanted to laugh, and he wanted to cry. He wanted to explode, disappear, kill, and die.

And all about him, disfigured forms were appearing. He recognized all of them. Every one of them. They were the ones he had defeated…

And killed.

There was one next to him, shouting “SAVE MY FAMILY… SAVE MY FAMILY…” He had been killed by Dastren while protecting his family from Dastren’s clash with another enemy. He was a normal man; now he stood, his legs crumbling, his face without a mandible, his maggot-filled clothes emitting trails of dust… HE clawed at Dastren’s body, tearing pieces of his very soul out.

And another he knew, a corpse in a horrible form, tearing pieces of him away…

And another…

And another…

And another…

And then, he was free, exhausted. This wasn’t a trick; this time he had literally lost parts of himself… He was without words to describe the pain.
And out of the darkness walked the corpse of Kiunju/U’ondire. With that unholy grin, he said nothing more. Nothing else was necessary. The damage was dealt, it was all done.

“Now… Face it. Face fear, doubt, regret… All things immortality helps you ignore.”

Now, Dastren was within a blue chamber, flashing brighter, the receding, brighter yet, receding… He felt his stomach turning…

Literally, his stomach was spinning, his whole body starting to try to tear itself apart… He vomited, then his very pores began to leak blood. He fell to his knees, drenched in blood, and puss, and vomit… He was lying in himself, yet it felt so unnatural.

And now, he feared. He feared death, loss, his enemy, and everything he had feared before immortality. He doubted; he doubted himself, his mind, his sanity. He was steeped in regret, regret for all of what he never did and all he did do.

And now, a new liquid joined the soup of his body: tears. Crystalline, wet, and warm. He had met with them only a small time before during the first mental assault…

Or was it a long time ago?

It could have been years…

So many years…

Yes, Dastren remembered U’ondire. Wasn’t he an old friend? No, no… No, he was…

A demon. A corpse; an immortal wise man. At least, Dastren thought he was a demon. He could no longer produce the mental image.
And so, he sat there…

Alone.

He did not know who watched, as U’ondire could only pity as he wallowed in his own grief. He needed to seal the treat that was Dastren away… How was unknown, but it felt…

So necessary.

And so, he hefted his meatless palm into the air, bones falling to the white abyss, and launched the final mental assault.

Dastren felt it immediately. He felt the impression of being crushed. And when he looked, he knew he was in a box. A small, shrinking box.

Shrinking…

Shrinking.

Shrinking?

Shrinking?!

He snapped to. His mind came from its train of never-ending thoughts of turmoil, and he knew he was trapped. Darkness was closing in. He could no longer move, and slowly, he was breaking. He heard it.

Crick…

Craccckkk…

SNAP.

His bones breaking. His spine shaping to the box, his body conforming… Adapting.

“Do you see? This is the end.” Was all he heard, from a voice he did not even know.

He could think of nothing else… He tried to escape, but…

And U’ondire knew. He knew it would not keep him locked away forever. He knew it. But even so, he prepared to leave the destroyed Kiunju to this eternal realm, where his body could rest.

And Dastren? He was not locked away forever. He could escape, stop U’ondire from leaving, and continue the eternal battle. He could easily win.
But even as the box closed, he was still in indecision. He had no idea what to do… He would unseal himself, but how?

He could not bring himself to think, to build an idea, a plausible thought…
There was one word.

This one, final word, the one that he may well have ended his eternity in that box thinking angrily and yet so defiantly.

This word.. This fateful expression, this remark of surprise, this laughable but honorable phrase?

He voiced it. He voiced it proudly. With a strained, yet surprisingly clear voice, he called…

“Bollocks.”