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    1. MelonHead 12 yrs ago
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Mostly given up on this post by post business

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The comedown from Black Mana was a thing nightmares are made of, soul scorching agony the likes of which few could describe as the Corruption leaches itself from the Mage’s body, leaving permanent scars of a physical and mental nature. Fortunately for Metz he was spared all that, as he suddenly came to in another realm with little recollection of that past few minutes. Somehow he had come from the last battle to here, which didn’t necessarily add up in the Mage’s mind.

“How is it possible I finished my previous battle and came here with one dose?” Metz asked himself rhetorically, looking around at his new surroundings. He stood there fully healed, his vials returned to the belt on his waist, sand and dust gathering on his stab-proof vest as it was kicked up by a light gust of wind. His eyes widened in alarm, as he realised much like before he had been transported to another world, but this one had the makings of something far less beautiful than the last. It was barren, dead, like the deserts of his world but lacking even the small signs of life that allowed one to rationalise such a vast nothingness. Before him stood a strange gate, made of some stone he recognised as similar to that from his first conflict, basalt at a guess. He took a breath, his body had become somewhat accustomed to the greater force of gravity after his last bout but even so the mark of higher gravity was not lost on Metz as he winced. Not only that, but he was having trouble getting his breath, his lungs straining to acquire the necessary oxygen.

It seemed like the Dreamers did not want to see him succeed for some reason, what other explanation was there for the numerous inhospitable environments he was being placed within. With a start, he checked his right hip and looked down, finally understanding the weight there. Even his pistol had been returned to him! Despite being lost in the previous conflict, forcing him to rely on the knife strapped across his chest, it had been returned with a full clip. He barked a laugh, rocking back his head and letting his reddish brown hair fall low in its pony tail as he looked up into an unfamiliar sky. He rifled in his pocket and looked down, finding some kind of shard in the palm of his hand, the knowledge of how to use it clear in his mind.

“It seems they giveth and taketh away.” He muttered, taking a step forward, his boots sinking into the desert sands just enough to leave a noticeable imprint. He flexed his upper torso, the underpadding tight to his body in comparison to the loose coarse nature of his green jumper. He had one left to face, but to who would go the spoils?
I'm assuming the four posts have to go by before the other person can change the terrain? Otherwise it's sort of pointless.
<Snipped quote by Rilla>

So not open to making some kind of connection then? :P

Oh well, seems I won't get a chance of having that tea party with Mehz as we discuss our motivations and ideals etc.


We can always have a tea-party as the intro to the next fight, though why Skallagrim would even bother with the finale while being thrown around his own lobby I don't really know.
“Well now.” Metz grinned, the dark veins around his eyes pulsing as the chaos in the lobby raged around him. It seemed he had been favoured with another victory, though this time he was disappointed, it would have been entertaining to rip out the man’s entrails. His sharp teeth showed as he was targeted by some creature of darkness with wings and a dreadful visage. Whatever it was seemed awfully perturbed by the bolt of lightning he rocked through it, even more so by his knife entering up and into its skull. It was one of many, but he still took his time ramming his blade into its fleshy body where it was unprotected, his ferocity such that it was perforated a dozen times before it could hit the ground, weapon falling from its lifeless grip, dark blood staining the crazed Mage.

The battle raged on in the lobby, and Metz was happy to take part in it, standing off to one side as many of the previous defeated competitors fled towards the foyer and through the portals. He sighted the Wolf who had been his first foe, caught up in the greater battle between the skeletal being known as Skallagrim and some winged warrior wielding a polearm of some form, and with their aid it seemed they were getting the best of the tournament host. Metz eyes narrowed as he tried to remember why he should care if Skallagrim fell, but he was lost to the moment, the violence of it all alluring him to release his magic with reckless abandon. Whatever strange magic replaced the vials at his belt had taken a turn for him on entering the Arena, apparently able to replicate or somehow acquire mana, it steadily fed the Mage with Black Mana as he consumed it, keeping him fully charged. In the throes of madness, Metz was unable to rationalise his incredibly long period under its effect, nor question the permanent damage it could be doing.

Sheathing his knife, he raised both hands and began to weave, twin circles appearing beneath two winged figures as they fought with the staff. They erupted with flame that consumed the invaders, their screams piercing the cacophony of noise and confusion as Metz smile broadened. As he fought he saw Skallagrim being launched from the room through the wall, leading into the portal room, and stopped for a moment. Not entirely rational, Metz still doubted he could engage the figure that had thrown the host through the wall, but he might be able to do something about its closest and presumably most powerful allies. Relatively ignored as the melee raged around him, Metz sped towards one of the winged mace wielding warriors as it stood, his hands weaving a dark curse that called to him as Black Mana raged through his body. The Forgotten was powerful, but whatever had previously struck it made it sluggish, and with the Corruption pulsing through his body Metz was faster than any man had a right to be. The creature raised its free arm to bat him away and he slipped low to thrust his right hand into its chest, even as he was slammed backwards forcibly the spell left him, the mark of the Death Hand shining on the Forgotten. He laughed as he flew through the air and crashed into the ground, sliding across the slick stone floor. The Forgotten was strong, but its own power would turn against it as the mark raged, and it would know defeat at the hands of a mortal. How delightful.
@MelonHead good luck.


I'll need it with this match-up, nothing quite like a hard counter for the finale.
A) I agree with there being no complaining long after characters are accepted and matches start, specially later into the tournament. To this effect, I think we should just ban argumentative British people. :P


Never question authority.

So what sort of crazy situation are the combatants coming back to?
GG LeeRoy, another close match.
GG no RE 1v1 me on Rust
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