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

[meat_mooks]

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.)

Comments

[meat_mooks]

Gashakura turned to catch that blow on one of the long armor plates that covered him from shoulder to waist, stepping back as he lifted his hand to bid Billy to stop.

"Your heart isn't in this. I can feel it in every move you make and every blow you land." He stepped closer, looking down at the Ranger from his superior height. "Why are you in this tournament?"

[morphitudinous]

What?

It really was that pathetic, wasn't it. He did so (or appeared to), though he remained tense and ready to move, expecting it to be a trap.

"Why would you care? Just finish already!"

[meat_mooks]

"You bear the armor of a warrior. You chose to don it. Yet you have no love for fighting," Gashakura persisted. "So why?"

[morphitudinous]

That was a surprisingly difficult question to answer. Billy didn't deny the truth of what was being said: it was obvious. But he'd come here for a few reasons, not all of them pure.

"I don't fight for the love of fighting, no," he agreed, "but some people close to me need protecting. And I wanted to prove that I can."

[meat_mooks]

Gashakura didn't advance, not yet. "If I advance, I will fight against your comrades! Do you want them to face me? To be smashed beneath my morning star?"

[morphitudinous]

"No," Billy whispered. He repeated it more strongly. "No. But don't be so sure that you could smash them."

[meat_mooks]

"Maybe I couldn't. But it will be much easier if you just surrender your power to me now." He raised one armored fist. "At least make me work for it!"

[morphitudinous]

Billy felt as if he'd been slapped by a familiar voice from the past. The far past, before this whole intergalactic war.

What kind of awful Ranger would he be if he surrendered his powers? How could he bear to see his friends and allies mowed down that way? He couldn't, that was how.

The spark was back. Despite the long odds and the world of pain that were waiting for him...he'd fight. That's what he was here for. His mind's focus slipped back into place, pulling away from despair and toward efficiency. Even David beat Goliath, though the power at Billy's side was not of the gods.

"I think that can be arranged."

[meat_mooks]

"That's better."

The three long armor plates on each side Gashakura's torso whipped up from their moorings. On long black tendrils attacked to the armor, they struck for Billy, six lances arcing around to stab him from all sides.

[morphitudinous]

This was familiar. Billy thought he remembered what to do---he shot straight up, bouncing off one tentacle and moving in from an angle. As far as a weapon, he wielded his lance once more: the first time had been a weak try. No solid conclusions could be drawn from it.

[meat_mooks]

Don't underestimate the spider armor; the tentacles withdrew and lashed out again at speed, forcing Billy to greater extremes of dexterity if he wished to avoid them. Gashakura wielded the 'legs' with skill and precision, calm in the center of the storm as it were.

[morphitudinous]

Well, it was great that Billy had been trained by a champion gymnast. He yelped and pushed himself off, falling heavily toward his opponent this time. The lance was out---and he wondered what would happen if the tendrils were attacked.

Let's try one.

[meat_mooks]

The lance plunged into the tendril, ripping clean through it as another one flipped around, driving straight for Billy's torso. Two more pulled in tight to block further attacks, while the last two hovered outwards, waiting for an opening.

[morphitudinous]

Okay---so he could defend himself that way. But he needed to hurry! Billy yelped and was driven back, the tendril registering as a sharp pressure on his chest. Thank you, suit.

He hurriedly broke his lance in two and spun both halves, slicing at the tendrils to give himself an opening. When he was up, he dove back in with another stab, arms ready to guard if need be.

A shorter, two-handed style was in.

[meat_mooks]

The spider-leg tentacles quickly retracted, but not fast enough-- Billy scored a hit on the more vulnerable armor underneath where the sharpened ends rested when not in use. Gashakura took a hasty step backwards, whopping the tentacles sideways in front of him to force Billy backwards.

[morphitudinous]

Billy noted that with some satisfaction, though it was quickly turned into a yelp when he was swatted aside. Damnit.

He forced himself to bounce off the wall and slam down, closing in from above. When he was closer, he brought out the two lance-pieces and swiped across.

[meat_mooks]

The spider-legs withdrew, but not THAT quickly. Gashakura took both blows to the helmet of his armor, his head snapping to the side as he staggered a step.