Post by Capper the Patroller on Dec 4, 2017 14:51:44 GMT
Capper glances back at the already started Middle League matches. Already, they're more lively than the Minors. Wiping his hands together, Capper leans forward to see what match is next.
"In the Middle League, we've got Mamon again and yet ANOTHER scribbled name."
Recommended NPC: U13 Riku. A heroic Galactic Patroller that somehow did not die when Xylo attempted to take over Namek in their universe. A saiyan Warrior Caste Leader still, somehow.
ROUND ONE of the Minor League's Multiversal Tournament has begun! Feel free to make your own NPC for this non-player combatant, use the one staff brainstormed, or simply skip the fight if you do not wish to write a solo. The max word count is 2000 words. If you skip, victory will be presumed against the recommended NPC for the sake of the visual bracket.
| Round One - Mammon VS NPC | Who's gonna win I wonder?
People always assumed it was gonna be them, that they were gonna make it or break it, that they couldn't possibly in for a life of mediocrity, to stumble at the first hurdle. He picked himself up and out of the metaphorical mud, licked his wounds clean, it wasn't about the challenge it never is, it's about picking yourself up again and again until you get that running start. He leaped-
He entered the ring to the screams of the crowd, they didn't shout his name, not anything so mundane. It was a primal thing dredged up from times before when this kind of blood sport was common. Two men enter one man leaves, and why did people watch this, why did they give in and watch two men fellow brothers kill each other over nothing much. The truth of the matter is we like to be reminded that we're alive, that no matter how bad it gets, at least we're not that guy dead on the ground.
He stepped into the light bathed in the coliseum's wan glow, the first thing one would notice is he has horns the second is a dimly glowing halo, which is ironic the further you look, after all, who has ever heard of a demon with heaven's crown. He wore a breastplate fastened leather straps, with an apron-like arrangement of leather strips, set with metal discs that hang down to his knees. With a gladius strapped to his side. That's right, when in Rome.
His opponent, far less resplendent of course, but no less determined. He wears the uniform of his order, all brass buttons and bells polished to mirror bright, he could hear it now 'let's have a good fight', 'may the best man win', 'good luck'. He offered out his hand, it stood there forlornly for the longest time, the two exchanging looks sizing each other up. He was a large. "Good luck, may the best saiyen win". Two out of three wasn’t bad he thought to himself as the he bell went off chiming that the match had started, they didn't move, there were proprieties to be upheld. So he took his hand and doing the honorable thing he brought his head back and launched into a headbutt positioning himself so his forehead would meet his nose, after all, two foreheads meeting is a headache for all involved, forehead to nose, now you're cooking with fire, and the tinder your opponent.
Mammon one, Riku zero. "Its seldom the best who win anything," he watched as he held his nose and stared power beams at him. "they don't have what it takes," he came on hot and heavy hands balled into fists. "may the worst win." Gone was the conversation, all hope of a good fight was gone, this was going to be bloody and dirty. They traded blows, the saiyen scoring a hit on his cheek forcing his head back and spittle leaking from his face and leaving his mark, that was gonna hurt tomorrow, it was starting to hurt now. The next was a sucker punch that caught the breath in his chest forcing Riku, back and to clutch his chest. This carried on for a solid minute trading blows that would kill an ordinary man, no it would kill an ordinary man, his extended family, friends, and coworkers. No one to mourn.
"You know you're a piece of work Mammon, what rock did they have to turn over to find something so foul."
"Next to the one where your father found your mother." a bit cliche, but like a fine wine to be bought out on special occasions.
But the thing is about being on a level playing field is, it's not about who can last the longest, who has that extra second. It's about leverage, it's about who can push the other over and start pummeling them into the dirt, and what better way to get them into the dirt than playing dirty. He took the next blow on Mammon's shoulder with a wince of pain that made his head swim with agony, but it left that chink in his armor, all he had to do was reach out. And with both hands, he caught the honorable warrior around the neck and squeezed, squeezed like a snake around a rat, the coils slipping around his windpipe like the noose to the convicted man. He was forced off him when he put a leg between his chest and pushed breaking the iron lock. All for nothing...
He weazed and croaked, the saiyen's voice wouldn't come back during this fight, he'd be lucky to get it back this week let alone this day. The fight devolved into the usual affair, he'd hit him, he'd get hit back, it was like there some kind of animation loop to save money or something.
He jumped back creating distance and catching his breath, he almost choked on his own salvia his lungs burning with exertion. If it was bad for him his opponent wasn't faring much better, but it was time to change the tempo of the fight, he withdrew his steel and leveled it at Riku, there was a reason people have fought with weapons for centuries, for one thing, they extended ones reach, not to mentioning being sharp. The fight became a game of cat and mouse, the saiyen would dodge and try to duck a quick blow under his guard when he was overextended before repeating the process, a good tactic to be sure, smart, reliable. But the problem is with reliable if you're fighting someone worth their weight in salt they probably have thought of it too, and Mammon was worth a salt mine.
He overextended with a thrust, the saiyen caught him on the chest, he turned the blade and caught him on the back of the leg with the backswing with one clean surgical cut, leaving only a red dripping line as he severed the Achilles tendon, now to apply pressure, dropping the sword blade first embedding it into the stone slabs below, creating thin zigzagging lines in its surface. He bore him to the ground using his weight to force him onto the arena floor and that wounded leg, of course, it buckled and with that he was in the one on top. It was still a fight, they could fly after all, a leg wouldn't slow the fight down much unless he made sure to keep it on the ground, so of course he didn't let things get airborne, taking a handful of hair as the saiyen tried to find balance on his wounded leg, he bought his face again and again into the knee, turning the cartilage of the nose to so much pinkish jelly, lighting his face with purple blotches the size of fists. Pummeling him to the ground and finally into a ball with contemptible kicks that left the world red and swimming before his eyes.
It had been settled, now it was time for him to surrender- wheeze. "Oh that's right, lost your voice, you gotta speak up if you want anyone to hear you." the fight kept on, well I say fight, it was a slaughter and it didn't end fast, the crowd went quiet as they were forced to watch, he couldn't surrender he didn't have the voice for it, and Riku wasn't allowed to fall unconscious, he'd be awakened with a backhand or slap striking him awake.
He dragged him along the ground the grooves in the stone making his body shudder, as the demon picked up the sword in one hand and raised his other for the crowd, extended one finger, the thumb and he turned it to the side. "What do we think folks?" he made sure the crowd got a good look at it, the first voice screamed for him to be spared and then it was a light with voices, but there was only one vote that mattered.When in Rome, he brought the sword up in one fluid movement before skewering him on it like a fat pig, twist and turn and then walk out of the arena blowing kisses as he was booed and heckled. "To be loved."
Post by Capper the Patroller on Dec 11, 2017 3:53:00 GMT
Honestly, Capper wasn't paying much attention to the Middle Leagues. He was too enthralled with his other self's fight in the Majors. A Varga tapped the grown boy on the shoulder, clearing his throat. Right, announcements.
"And... Mammon wins the match and will move to the next round! Yaaaaay..."