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]

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.

[moves_like_jaeger]

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...

[meat_mooks]

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.

[moves_like_jaeger]

"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.

[meat_mooks]

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.

[moves_like_jaeger]

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."

[meat_mooks]

"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."

[moves_like_jaeger]

"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.

[meat_mooks]

"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?"

[nize_hat]

"Not on purpose. Hy hef to be careful. Hyu schould underschtand." The words came out of Maxim's mouth in a rush, but his eyes were pretty much locked on the machine, marked as it was with the Heterodyne sigil.

Maybe he wouldn't be punching any faces right now. Well. There was always later.

"De healink rune sounds goot. Useful. Hy'll take dat."

[meat_mooks]

"Very well," the old man said, and, walking over to the supine figure of Maxim's opponents, plunged his hands into the death knight's flesh the way another man might plunge his hand into a bucket of water. He seemed to rummage a bit before withdrawing a closed fist, and having done so, he stepped over to the machine.