The Second Tournament of the Red Lions Vol. 4: The Final Hell

[Bomby]

Burn baby burn.

Originally Posted by repster

Let's start with one simple thing that should be mentioned. Wyborn. He came up with it, not me or Galefore. Understood? Yes? Good. No? To bad.

Second. This ain't no sissy playing ground. That silk glove over your hand? Take it off. Now. That or soak it in gasoline and set it on fire. This tournament is not about who write better. It's about raw vicious combat prowess.

Repster stabs Galefore in the face. Nets you as much as Repster smoothly ran over to Galefore, more of a glide then a run. He feinted to the left, and while Galefore's guard was down Repster's dagger when straight for the face. Repster grinned threw his new mask of blood.

Now, that may or may not have been a slight exaggeration, but you get the point. I repeat. This is not about pretty witting, this is about making the other guy hurt. Of course, there are some limits where you just end up godmodding, but common sense should prevent that. On to more specific rules.

1. Transformations are allowed. If your character can go Super Saiya-jin, or turn into a giant thing that's like a weird hybrid between a man and a bear and a wolverine, or just whatever, you can do it. You just have to carry over damage between forms.If you found yourself with a scar above your eye, that scar remains even if you become a werewolf.

2. No major healing. If someone slices open your throat and you seal it to stop bleeding, that’s legal. If you lose your arm and have the ability to reattach it (for instance, if John Smith lost his arm he’s screwed.) The only thing is that you can’t heal the damage done to your body. If you lose your arm and reattach it, you probably won’t have that much mobility with that arm, and it will hurt like Hell. Be realistic and fair when healing above all else.

Note: I'm well know for having been doing that since my early days. It's a delicate balance between part of a character, and being cheap.

3.All battles will occur in the same topic. Standard procedure for these things since the first tournaments. R-18's original format has worked fine for that past years, they're no reason to change it.

4. Whoever posts first for the fight gets to choose the battlefield. That means that if someone wants wants to fight in the land of funk, then that's where you're fighting. Deal with it.

5. If you win, you will have the opportunity to finish off your enemy Mortal Kombat style. After the judges announce the winner, the host/one of the judges/me/whomsoever job it's gonna end up being will say when the executions will be carried out. At that point, you can kill your opponent - you don't have to, but it is encouraged, very encouraged. Don't worry if your character is killed; as with everything like this, character deaths are not permanent and don't carry over between topics unless you want them to.

I do believe I've covered everything.

Erdawn vs. Wyborn

The rematch, like Tyson and Holyfield. Only this time it's okay to bite off the other dude's ear.

Anyways, this fight will end... Tuesday, April 17... you know the drill and such.

Let the limbs splatter.

[Wyborn]

OoC: Erdawn, you post first. My entrance post kind of relies on it.

Bring your A-game, man. This is for all da marbles. -OoC

[Erdawn Il Deus]

OoC: This battle actually ends on the 24th. Two weeks for finales as the tradition goes.//

The high-pressure hiss was like the unleashing of hydraulics as geologic gases were discharged into the sky from pangean vents cut across the gorge floor, a scalding baptisms against the cold air, filling the canyon with steam and sulphur. The ember glow of the vents cast strange, flickering shadows across the softly falling snow - big, fat, feathery lumps worth - and casting them a-glitter with oranges and reds.

The rock ground was cracked apart in shelves and networks of criss-crossed fracture-lines, an uneven courtyard made even moreso by the open, mawed breaks to the bloody regions of the earth. The mist and gases roved in an ankle-high mist cast back and forth with the moving air, so as to give it a violent, predatory countenance in the sinuosity of its windblown shifts in movement.

On both sides teetered the canyon walls, stark, gloomy cliffs upthrust from the earth with rude, young arrogance, broken into cavernous bluffs and shrieking against the wind and blotting out the sun save for the blinding white-greyness of the winter sky.

Crouched in the shadow of the cliffs, Steppenwolf, come for the purpose of killing. He was as he always had been, his tassled hair falling about his ears messily and his ears, triangular furred points the likeness of a great tiger's, giving him the lycanthropic (or felidaethropic) appearance of a great cat. His eyes smouldered from deep, bottomless sockets, jeweled violet-within violet circles gleaming like dark pennies in the cold air. His skin was tanned to a forge-blown bronze bulging with muscle, and he wore over his shoulder and to his waist an enormous robe of animal furs that crested his thick neck with fleece. But for the savagery of his appearance, he seemed a king, like Yuri his mentor, and he carried with him an enormous hunting pilum, along with an assorted arsenal of close-combat melee weaponry beneath the folds of his hide robe.

His hair and fur were curious in that they seemed to be pigmeneted with no base colour, taking in the spectrum of the colours around them and blending into them with an oily, murkful ease.

He clenched and un-clenched his knuckled hands, tapering into vicious claws there for the purpose of rending meat, by God, and with every breath a growl crested through the hallways of his throat, rumbling faintly on the air. Steppenwolf had a habit of growling, even when he was at peace.

And right now, he could smell blood.

[Wyborn]

The sky was cloudy, though Steppenwolf paid no mind to it - for him it served little more purpose than being the genesis of the snow, the origin of something that could not even serve as a distraction in this abyssal canyon, this valley of Hell on Earth. But the gray cloud cover, which looked as if it housed the potential of thunder and lightning, masked whatever wa beyond it. Again, Steppenwolf paid no mind to this, smelling copper and sulfur and mistaking some strange mix of these for being blood, but even if he could have seen past the cover he may not have paid mind as the harbinger of his doom bore down upon him.

Above the clouds, above the sky, in the far-off depths of space, the destroyer screamed through the vacuum, hands digging into the miniature star that bore him along at speeds unimaginable by men and women. He knew where he was going, in some deep instinctual part of his mind: when he was puled along lik this, there was invariably something that needed to be corrected, some interloper in the natural order that needed to be destroyed, and he was the most capable proprietor of destruction that creation had ever given birth to. His feet waved behind him and his eyes, so black they bordered on being blue, stared ahead unblinking, and the star beneath him roared towards the blue marble of the world that awaited him.

He entered the atmosphere with a force that would have torn mortals to pieces and the air around him ignited with a heat that could have reduced tempered steel to ash, and the booming roar of his passage was history's mightiest thunderclap as he flew ever faster ahead of it, his eyes unwavering, unblinking. Whoever awaited him could not have had any idea of what they were facing - but he paid no mind to this. He rarely paid any mind to anything, save what was in front of him, and for now there was only clouds and fire.

Steppenwolf felt the approach long before he heard it, a fluctuation in the order of things that felt like the universe itself was moving to snuff him out. He looked skyward as the planet rumbled, and he saw the clouds part as if they had been shoved aside by the hand of God. There was a brief moment where he saw the flash of the thing flying for him, some kind of wayward comet that had found its way into the atmosphere and was heading right for him. It took another moment to realize that it was coming right for him. The last heartbeat was spent hurling himself from his position, out onto the canyon floor, as he realized that he had to get out of the way or die. The roaring comet hit the spot where he had been crouching with a sound like a small nuclear device going off, and the force of the collision put a warm hand of air at his back, pushing him much harder than he had expected to fly and sending him careening further than he thought he would go. He landed without breaking his neck only because of his great physical strength and skill, and when he turned to face his attacker (and it was an attacker, not merely some jest of a malevolent higher power, he was sure) he waited until he could see through the smoke, smell through the fire. Steam rose int othe air all around him, and the great rushes of wind were clearing out the dust and ash....and after a moment his nemesis came out of the debris of his own accord, all pink flesh and black eyes and red feet and a mouth ready to swallow the world.



"Hiiiiii!"

OoC: And yes, I am serious. So serious. Heaven help you, Erdawn! HEAVEN HELP YOU ALL! -OoC

There was a moment where Steppenwolf stared, dumbfounded, at the sheer stature and ridiculousness of his opponent, a sphere with eyes and a mouth and what might as well have been flaps of skin for arms and red shoe-like appendages for legs or feet, all pink in its entirety, and then he remembered what ha just happened and his instinct took over and he launched himself at Kirby, muscles in his legs exploding into action and sending him hurtling through the air, one hand brought back to slash away the creature's face, which was to say the entirety of his body.

Kirby had barely finished his jovial greeting when Steppenwolf's hand, preceded by Steppenwolf's claws, collided with his face, specifically the area jsut to the left of his mouth. Kirby was sent flying through the air, an expression of abject, humorous pain on his face as his eyes turned into equally black X's, but Steppenwolf was stopped short - the flesh gave, but it would not tear, and he could tell from that slash that simply tearing his enemy to peices was going to be impossible. What was it made of? (The answer, which was "dreams", most likely would have made Steppenwolf kill himself.)

When Kirby landed on his feet, it was clear to him that this was his enemy, the object of his being sent to this world, and on the other side of this obstacle lay some greater victory. He knew what he had to do.

Reaching within himself, Kirby's mind perused some half-dozen powers at his disposal, and upon finding one, seized upon it. There was a flash of light as Kirby leaped into the air, and Steppenwolf shielded his eyes, and when Kirby landed again he had not changed at all - save for a bright red headband tied around the top of his body.



OoC: Now I ain't never actually watched Fist of the North Star, but I've played enough Killer Instinct and Street Fighter to make up for this fact. ONWARD! -OoC

When the counter-attack came, it was with all the fury of the feral warrior's nightmares, but it was precipitated when he leaped into another attack, this time meaning to smash the puff ball into oblivion.

The "flap of skin" that served as Kirby's arm lashed out, and form it came a concentrated wave of force that stopped Steppenwolf in midair, placing him on his feet as the wind was taken from him. It had been like hitting a brick wall. Then Kirby hit him again - and again. The two blows staggered him, he couldn't leap out of the way....but the assault that came after that was something else entirely.

Kirby's arms became fists and those fists became blurs as an endless hailstorm of blows rained upon Steppenwolf's midsection, each one leaving behind a slow-closing crater of flesh from sheer force. His ribs and sternum began to shatter and then become powdery and then liquefy from the assault, which seemed to go on without ceasing as blood exploded from the warrior's mouth and Kirby's dark eyes stared on with a sort of resolute determination. The sound was like a tommy gun firing in a meat locker.

BA-dadadadadadadadadadadada-

Then there was a slower strike, a fist wreathed in flames sinking into Steppenwolf's guts and ruining his liver. A second fist struck his leg, cracking his shin but not breaking it - but then Kiryb rose with a fist that was living white fire, and it struck Steppenwolf in the jaw, and he was lifted as much as the pink one was by the rising uppercut. He lost his sense of up or down as his teeth clicked, and Kirby flipped forward, his right foot bursting with light as it slammed into Steppenwolf's shoulder, popping the arm out of place and sending the warrior crashing to the ground as if he had been shot out of a cannon aimed at the valley floor.

Kirby fell more slowly, cupping his arms behind his back and focusing, meriting a crackle and then a thrum of energy as light shone from between his arms, so bright and so hot that it stood out in this hellish place.

Steppenwolf pushed himself up to his hands and knees in time to look up as Kirby unleashed the ball of destructive force, and his eyes widened when it collided with his face. There was a roar as Steppenwolf was ripped from the ground and sent hurtling backwards, the orb pushing at him and driving him into the wall of the cliff, shattering the stone and shrouding him in an eruption of smoke and dust.

Kirby stood and waited, sunk into an offensive position as the wind blew the trailing band behind him. He said nothing. But his stance?

His stance said, "Come get some."

OoC: There, I think that does for now. IT HAS BEGUN!

Let's make the last finale look like a schoolyard brawl. -OoC

[Bomby]

Judging by the pictures, I can't wait to read this.

[Wyborn]

OoC: Consider reading this as we go along. Like Erdawn said, this round traditionally lasts two weeks, and even when limited to one week any fight between him and me is going to be very, very hard to sit down and digest once it's finished and all huge and intimidating. -OoC

[Scripture]

You shouldn't wait. This is awesome.

[Bomby]

Completely ignore the fact that I had class from 2:45 to 3:30, (central time) which was the reason why I couldn't wait to read it.

[Erdawn Il Deus]

OoC: My God.

From the shattered face of the cliff, there came another puff of smoke - this one ridiculously white and... well, to be perfectly blunt, unreal against the environmental effects around it. Like magician's smoke, it was as puffy as a cumulo-nimbus and seemed to hold as much volume. From this smoke, staggered a figure much shorter than Steppenwolf, and tenfold less imposing. In a cynical modern age of Mothers Against and Holiday Trees, he might of been an offense to any civilsed society - clothed in a pair of rustic red bib-overalls and a simple wool-shirt of a darker tint and capped with a simple, floppy plumber's cap, and with a prominent mustache, he might of ressembled Joseph STaln a little too much for the McCarthy years. There was n emblazoned red "m" on that cap, and when he spoke (with a thunderously squaky "Mama-mia!") he brought upon his head the negative stereotyping of every Italian to ever grace the shores of North America.

But to a more innocent, brighter culture, he was simply Mario Mario.

Oh, and he had big honking metal gloves for some reason. From these crackled an equally squeaky voice - one of the mushroom retainers assigned to him as a spotter. "Mario! It seems to modifications to the Tanooki power-up still need some glitches worked out! The hologram is gone!"

"Oooooh noes!"

Massive blue eyes like lanterns narrowed towards the pink puff-ball of his new enemy.

Kirby's stance didn't change, even as Mario took off towards hi at a run, kickin up puffs of sand in his wake. He tore into a slide like a baseball batter going for third base, and as his legs shot out or impact, they seemed visually accentuated - becoming massive, polygonal things - slamming into the bottom half of popstar's champuion like freight-trains and opping him straight up into the air, where he let out a "Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!", spinning uncontrollably. Mario stood up and slid into a vicious stance as the inter-com on his gloves rattled off, crackling-

[i]"Mario! Keep vigilant! The target seems to be biologically alien to our computer systems so far!" But the plumber ignored it - a flashed passed down his arm off his fist, like the gleam off the gold of a raised wrist-watch or the sheen off a well-time million-dollar grin - and suddenly the super mario brother shot straight upinto the air like a bottle-rocket, leading with an upraised fist, and slammed into the puff-ball mid-air at a velocity normally reserved for six-lane highway collisions. The impact was enormous, indenting into the soft and malleable pink flesh of his enemy and leaving receding crater into his cheek, but some trick played on gravity brought him down on that fist again - and again - an again and again so that the single jump collided something like twenty times in the course of a second, every blow ringing out with the sound of loose casino change.

Kirby's eyes were comically drawn black spirals like looped streaks of magic marker on his face as he was throw up and off. MArio landed like a panther of motherlad red, and bounced up again, but this time blasting int a spin led by his fists that effectively turned him into a human tornado.

"WA-HOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Every strike was like a homerun hit with a steel bat, the sheer centrifugal energy of the mario tornado drwing Kirby into its lethal orbit and pock-markking his spherical bodyuntil it looked nothing less like one big, red, lobster testicle. And yes, I said that.

Bruises swelled up ovr more bruises and overlapped into brilliant, band-aided cactuses off the being's head. The last was a double-whammy the proportions of astrological collisions, hurling Kibry into the wall face and leaving a hole punched through the rock face like a thumbrint into the stone, blasting entrails of earth and soil and shattered stone and dust in furnace clouds.

Mario landed, rubbing his stomach and the slashes and tears in his bib overalls where kirby's punches hadranscked him, spitting a tooth to the dusty carpet of the canyon floor.

"It's-a me! Mario!"

OoC: I'm going to pick this up, and you're ging to find out how psychopathically creative I can be with mario's various abilities.

[Scripture]

It gets even better. Arch Mario, Andy?

[Loot]

I refuse to let this descend to halfway of the page.

[Wyborn]

I respectfully request an extension until the twenty-fourth, not only to hold to tradition but because my exams end tomorrow and that means that I can finally post.

[Bomby]

I assumed we were going to go to the 24th anyways. Extention approved.

[SephirothKirby]

Uhm. Sorry to interrupt, but I've read this multiple times and I'm still not certain where exactly Mario came from.

[Wyborn]

Steppenwolf was Mario in disguise.

[SephirothKirby]

Oh, I get it. That's the only thing I could think was logical.

I also want to note how hilarious I found "(The answer, which was "dreams", most likely would have made Steppenwolf kill himself.)"

Mmkay, well, I will leave this thread for your battle. I'll just read along.

~Your friendly neighborhood SephirothKirby

[Wyborn]

OoC: Gotta forfeit. Sorry, guys, it can't be helped right now. Going home.

I apologize endlessly. -OoC

[Erdawn Il Deus]

OoC: You will be dealt with later. Tonight I am getting drunk. Afterwards? Oho.

[Wyborn]

OoC: Yes. This will be continued. Just not now. I have too much planned to just let this die. -OoC

[Galefore]

Excuse me, but are you officially giving Erdawn the win, or are you planning to continue this with an official extension? As far as I know, it seems you at first gave up and then changed your mind. Confirmation is necessary.