trans_9 | Choose your destiny! Flawless victory! [Inevitable Tournament Arc]

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Choose your destiny! Flawless victory! [Inevitable Tournament Arc]

No sooner did the Obs Deck descend to Arena Planet LXIII, and the crew allowed to disembark, than they were met by a veritable cloud swarm of cameras. Sleek, elegant things that might have been living, might have been machines, maybe were even magical... but were definitely nuisances as the swooped around to capture video of the crew at all conceivable angles, close up and far away. Their every move from this point on would be on camera.

In front of a small crowd of retainers stood what appeared to be a great circular orb whose only distinguishing features were a nose, and what appeared to be the most overblown mustache ever, which actually appeared to be supporting that two-foot-diameter orb at shoulder height to a tall man. Then the orb took a couple of steps forward,revealing that no, those were actually just really, really hairy legs. A seam cracked open on the creature, and in a voice loud enough to echo across the broad open plains without any need for amplification, it bellowed, "AND NOW! STRAIGHT FROM THE TRANSMIGRATION NINE VESSEL! OUR NEWEST COMPETITORS! FRESH TO THE STAGE OF BATTLE, BUT NO STRANGERS TO WAR--"

It went on like this for some time.

Under cover of this introduction, a small man that to all appearances seemed to be the love child of Richard Nixon and a particularly aggressive Furby stepped forward, and in a bored businesslike tone recited, "Welcome to the tournament. There will be one battle per day. The arena in which you battle will be determined by random draw. Our medical crew will perform all healing necessary and ensure no deaths so feel free to not hold back. Please refrain from accepting any bribes or favors from on-planet spectators--"

"--ARE YOU READY?!" the orb bellowed even louder than before, completely swamping the smaller man's recitation. "THEN STEP THIS WAY!"

And so saying, the orb and its procession began a clearly well-choreographed procession towards a large, medieval-looking fortress that hung dramatically just on the edge of clear vision. (Conveniently, this procession passed several large advertisements.)

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The armor-clad, frost-rimed orc hefted his weapon as he stepped up. "Blood will spill this day!" he roared, a dark reverberation in his voice, as he charged the Jaeger without a hint of delay.

Evidently he agreed with your sentiment, Maxim!

Good. Maxim's roar in response was entirely wordless, clawed hand spreading as he rushed to meet the orc's charge. His empty fist slammed into the orc's armor, sheeting off swaths of the ice it was coated in, fingers trying to worm their way beneath the plate in an attempt to pull part of it off.

As for the hand with the rapier in it? He tried to punch the Deathbringer in the face with the hilt. For all that he's a wiry looking fellow, he's stronger than he looks. Time to make that count.

Saurfang took the punch in the face without flinching, though the strike had taken its toll. In response he thrust the haft of his axe into Maxim's own face, eager to cause pain. Inside the Death Knight, unholy energies stirred, and in the same motion he lit Maxim's blood on fire almost literally, letting it boil within the Jaegar's body.

A growl tore its way from Maxim's throat, even as his blood boiled. Yet he hung on, digging his claws into the orc's armor and tearing at it, even as he took the hilt to the face. In return, he pounded at Saurfang's face a few more times with his own sword, clinging like a burr.

"Hyu a fonny guy, und hyu got a few goot tricks, but Hy hefn't hed a goot fight in a long time. Hy'm not even varmed up, sveethot!"

With that, he tried to kick the orc's legs out from beneath him.

So solid was the orc and so massive his armor that the blow barely made him stumble, but that was enough turn a savage blow that surely would have split Maxim in twain into a near miss. The death knight showed no emotion as he regained his balance -- but from where Maxim had ripped aside his armor, and from the blood that spilled from a pressure cut on his jaw, two blood beasts erupted. "FEAST, MY MINIONS!" the Deathbringer bellowed, as the monstrosities ripped themselves free to do just that.

The monster made a face. "Aww, hyu need leedle frandz to help hyu out?" Nevermind the fact that usually he and Oggie and Dimo fought all together, but they weren't here, and the orc had summoned aid.

Maxim gave a feral grin at that. His opponent, already showing signs of weakness? All to the good, then.

He gave the orc's knees another savage kick, before turning to the blood beasts, rending them with sword, claw, and fang. The burning in his blood didn't seem to be much more than a distraction--or maybe it was more like a goad, driving him to give in to the more...monstrous side of his personality.

Spattered in blood and gore that wasn't his own, he turned to close on the orc once again.

He was turning to meet an orc that had grown noticeably larger and stronger than before, the energy from the beasts' damage to Maxim having infused him. The axe in the orc's hands slashed out in a devastating blow.

Maxim threw himself backwards--well, there went his cape. He should've left that back at the ship. Alas. Maybe he could take something like that as a victory trophy from another opponent, or find spoils elsewhere.

He sheathed his rapier and charged the orc, using his greater speed to hopefully impact him before Saurfang could recover. Even if the shoulder slam didn't quite work, Maxim's object wasn't the orc himself, but that axe he held.

He could see why Oggie liked axes. Or more so, now.

Saurfang let Maxim get a grip on the axe, though he himself held onto it with one meaty hand to keep the Jaeger from wrenching it away too cleanly. His other hand balled into one powerful, mailed fist, which he drove straight towards Maxim's face.

Maxim jerked his head slightly--barely enough for that fist to miss his face, and then turned, sinking all those fangs into the gauntlet. It wasn't easy. But his fangs had a good chance of growing back--and there was no way to win if he got his face mashed in with a fist like a freight train.

He shoved the axe handle back at the orc's face. One more attempt to distract his opponent, before he lifted his knee to smash it into the Deathbringer's side, before shaking his head back and forth, ripping his maw away from Saurfang's fist.

Maxim's grin was bloody, and he spat a fang to one side. "Nize try, sveethot, but my kind dun just fight to vin!"

Even if he had to hold back here.

The death knight staggered backwards, rocked by that blow to his side, but never releasing his weapon. In raw fury, he yanked backwards hard on his axe, lifting a foot to slam his plated boot into Maxim's gut as the sudden pull brought him closer.

His breath rushed out in a "HOOF!" noise as the blow connected, sending Maxim across the room to crash into the wall and knocking his hat clean off his head.

The Jaeger sat there for a few moments, stunned and catching his breath, when his gaze fell upon his hat.

His hat. That he'd won, fair and square, all subtle-like, from Ol' Man Death. His pride and joy. On the ground.

"Hyuuu," he growled, clenching his teeth and getting to his feet, eyes narrowed. "Hyu hurt my HET! NO VUN DOES THAT!"

With a roar, Maxim charged the Deathbringer again, slapping aside the axe with his prosthesis before slamming into him and carrying him the rest of the way across the room, into the other wall. He slammed the metallic fist into Saurfang's face, while gouging into the orc's already injured side with his claws.

Saurfang let out a wordless, icy bellow as he hit the wall, which cracked and crunched audibly behind him. As the hail of blows descended on him, the orc roared a massive wordless warcry, then jammed his shoulder into Maxim's chest to shove the Jaeger off.

"I have become... DEATH!" he cried, bursting free from the indentation his body had impressed into the wall. Mortar and masonry crumbled around him as he launched himself into a whirling frenzy of blows, battlelust subsuming all his thoughts and granting him strength.

Maxim was almost impressed. This guy was putting up a really good fight! Easily the best he'd had in a long time--but nothing as good as what he was expecting from future enemies. Enemies he had plans to be around to see.

"Not yet," he assured Saurfang. "But soon, sveethot!"

The Jaegermonster ducked out of Saurfang's way, letting the orc charge at the other wall--but making sure to pick up his battered hat before the death knight could hurt it any more. He clapped it on his head, leaping at the orc's back with intent to kick him face-first into the wall.

Saurfang spun, his axe describing a blue-shining arc in the air as he whirled it towards Maxim, even as the Jaeger's blow slammed him hard into the wall. Again, the death knight lit Maxim's blood on literal fire with but a thought, the coursing disease even more painful than before.

Still, Saurfang's movements were ragged -- not because he felt pain, but simply because his battered body could no longer move quite the way he wanted it to. Ragged, but no less powerful or deadly.

"Dis iz how hyu serve hyour master? Vorthless! Veak! Hy--"

That was about when the blood boil hit, literally making his blood boil and driving the angry monster even further into battle lust. Maxim didn't feel anything when Saurfang's blow connected, cleaving his left foot clean off and sending it skittering across the floor.

He'd been about to draw his rapier, but that plan was discarded. Instead, he thrust the knee of his bad leg into the death knight's chest, even as he palmed the orc's face with his prosthetic hand and beat it against the wall like it was a basketball.

Being smashed into the wall for the third time finally proved the charm. As the orc's head bounced wetly off the wall, his final blow guttered out as the axe dropped from nerveless hands. The death knight slumped against the wall, sliding down it slowly in a smear of icy blood.

A moment later, a massive eruption of fireworks filled the sky to celebrate Maxim's victory.

Not that Maxim precisely registered the fireworks or their meaning, at the moment. He'd fallen to his hands and knees, but managed to take a seated position. Now was spent trying to calm himself down, lest he be a danger to the staff.

No need to give Jaegers a bad name across the universe, right? Unless someone else had done that first.

He scooted across the floor and grabbed his foot. He didn't have much hope for it, but maybe they could find him a nice prosthesis like his hand. Even a peg would work...

Abruptly the pair of them disappeared, as the same teleport that had brought them to the arena removed them from it.

They reappeared in a room that was half hospital-bed, half Ominous Smoking Machine, being faced down by a small and badly-burned man who leaned on a staff.

"Choose your spoils," he growled at the Jaeger without preamble.

"Vat?" Maxim asked. He hadn't exactly been paying attention much to the mission briefing after "you get to fight", after all.

"Hy dun remember anything about schpoils, just dat ve fight," he said.

The old man attempted to become irritated, but couldn't. What did you expect out of the sort of meatheads this tournament attracted?

"You may lay claim to one power or item your defeated foe possesses," he said.

The old burnt-up fart had Maxim dead to rights, at least. He WAS a meathead, even if a relatively well-meaning one. He just had a certain list of priorities and followed them to the letter...

"Vat are de options, den? Hy dun vant his axe, or his armor, dey iz too much for me."

"You may also draw from his supernatural powers as well." The old man looked over the Jaeger with a frown. "Implantation will be tricky; we will have to go through the machines. Still, it is nothing beyond me."

"Dat doesn' surprise me. Beink vat I am," Maxim said. "Ennyvay, I heff little idea vat his powers do, vhich is vy I vas askink in de forst place, eh? Heffink a choice is all goot, but I like to know vat dey are, hoy?"

Maxim's eyes, however, were on the machine. It looked vaguely familiar, and yet, he knew better than to let anyone mess with him if they weren't a Heterodyne. And as much as this angry little man smelled like a smoked ham, he didn't smell like one of the family.

Well. Maxim probably could punch him in the face and get away, foot or no foot.

"Boiling blood, exploding blood, marking a person with a rune that heals on attacks, summoning blood beasts..." The old man recited this wearily as an attendant rolled over the trilobite-marked machine to position it over Maxim. "Must you make this an effort in agony?"

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nize_hat - 2012-04-22 18:55 (UTC) - Expand

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meat_mooks - 2012-04-22 18:58 (UTC) - Expand

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