Chapter 14: Deathmatch, Part II
The skies above Tokyo lit up with lightning, jagging bolts of eldritch light flickering back and forth through the clouds. It was a freak storm the likes of which the world had never seen: Snow rained down with almost vicious sentience, cold winds lashing all those stupid enough to be outdoors. Most people were smart enough to take the hint, staying safe and warm in their nice, insulated flats.
Lightning flared, shaking the entire fabric of the patchwork city. Energy sleeted across buildings, racing along telephone wires, rendering all line-bound communication impossible. The cables acted like huge antenna, gathering up a howling cancophy that ground on the nerves, eroding morale and reason.
It was as if all the dead had gathered in an unholy chorus, screeching voices cursing the world for their eternal suffering…
It was a pity, really.
They were all missing a damn good show.
*************
Inside The Stadium …
Things were going completely to hell.
Chan realized exactly how screwed he was, the moment he started shooting. The Mage Cannon made its distinctive noise, disgorging blast after blast of black annihilation. He didn't even bother to aim: It was impossible to miss at this range.
Or so he thought.
***KA-BLAM***
One bullet. Kula skipped aside, twirled away from the whistling projectile.
***BLAM***
Two bullets. A crappy shot this time, poorly aimed. It went wide, detonating on the concrete and consuming a large portion of ruined floor.
***BLAMBLAMBLAM***
Three more rounds, fired in frantic succession. Chan felt the cold chill of fear grip his heart with an iron fist, watching in absolute horror as Kula simply tipped her head, paying completely no attention to the burst whistling right past her skull.
"Oh, shit."
Only one bullet left. Kula charged in a sudden rush, legs snapping like the blades pf shears. Ghost images trailed in her wake, a blurry line of speed-created phantoms. Swearing, Chan aimed for her head, trying desperately to ignore the thoughts of his sudden and imminent death …
*** click***
Empty? But he'd put six bullets in the gun!
Chan dove aside, trenchcoat billowing right behind him. Shrieking, Kula raked out snatching at his shoulder. She caught cloth instead, the material thankfully ripping and tearing under her claws.
The mage whirled, a hooking kick. The solid blow whacked Kula's spine, air rushing from lungs and blood from burst vessels. She crashed down in the dust, face and hands caked with powdered concrete. Kula scrambled up, spinning to face Chan again.
"Now you've done it. You've made me angry."
"Feet don't fail me now!!"
And Chan was off. He was already several meters away, and still retreating, feet pumping for every bit of speed he could get. Something was terribly, terribly wrong: Chan's magic literally drained through his fingers, siphoned off by some unseen source. No way was he fighting till he got it fixed.
It occurred to Chan that he wasn't under the effect of any of his usual spells; The same parasite had sucked away almost every defensive enchantment. Unfortunately, the realization coincided with Kula's fist meeting his head. A miniature constellation exploded in his head, multi-colored fireworks flaring behind his eyes.
Dazed and reeling, Chan fell back. By sheer dumb luck, Kula's first swipe whistled right past him, nasty ice blades bisecting even more cloth. He got the Mage Cannon up in time, spinning the barrel up to-
***shiinnngg-iiinnngg***
-Parry.
Ice bit into metal. There was a shrill grinding noise, followed by an angry hissing of sparks from the handgun. The enchanted weapon held firm, steel solid and unyielding beneath the two-handed blow.
Chan blocked the decapitating blow with one hand, his handgun intercepting the strike right on the barrel. For a long, frozen second, he stood there like an idiot, wondering how the hell he'd managed that. Kula promptly kicked him in the side, slicing away with another blade in an attempt to reap his head from his shoulders.
***clang***
Impossibly, he parried again. And the next. And the next. It was as if someone else was manipulating Chan, turning his usually clumsy strikes and dodges into the smooth, gliding motions of a master. He even managed to counterattack, sweeping his trenchcoat forward as a visual shield. Completely weirded out, Kula hopped back, wondering where he'd learned his new tricks from.
Unnoticed by everyone, the Emperor card in Chan's pouch began to glow, the image writhing and warping in some silent, hideous agony.
*************
Outside …
The park was still dark, a sphere of swirling darkness enveloping the entire area from the outside. It was completely impossible to see anyone inside: Likewise, it was impossible for those inside to look out.
Perfect for a quiet murder.
Keeping a careful eye on Allison, Diana took a step back, loosening the rapier at her side. She wasn't carrying much firepower: She hadn't even expected to get in a fight. Silently, Diana cursed herself, thinking longingly of the various nasty devices she'd left at the headquarters.
Allison stood up, keeping up that irritating clicking noise. Her hands remained in contact with the gold lighter at all times, the only thing that caught the light on her person. The field of illumination followed her, the hungry Oblivion re-enveloping her seat.
"I suppose you'll want to tell me what's going on before you kill me … Right?"
"It's simple, if you think about it. You killed one of us … And you know what that demands, don't you. Simple. Biblical, even."
Diana's rapier hissed through the air. Allison caught the blade neatly, between index and middle fingers. Diana tugged, hard, trying to saw off her fingers. There was utterly no response: She might as well have tried to hack through solid stone.
"Don't do that," Allison snapped. "I hate it when people do that."
With a shrug, Diana retrieved her weapon. "Can't blame me for trying, can you? Besides, no real harm done. So…At the risk of sounded clichéd, who- Nah, scratch that. What are you?"
A thin wisp of smoke hissed from between burnt fingers, seared from the brief contact with the consecrated metal. Allison let her hand drop, thrusting the burnt appendage in a fold of her cloak.
"Think I'm about to tell you? Don't insult my intelligence."
"Ah. Thought not."
Diana tried again, faster this time. The point tore through Allison's sleeve, right before she twisted away, almost taking Diana's head off with a spinning backfist.
"Damn," Diana hissed. Great…Just great.
"You're incredibly annoying, you know."
Allison shifted, adjusting her simultaneously form-hugging/billowing black cloak. The darkness began to dissolve, an oddly pleasant-smelling purple fog filling the air. There was a brief, abrupt of disorientation-
-And all too suddenly, they were somewhere else. It was an empty, blasted landscape; Tombstones littered the black sand like jagged teeth, the same haze enveloping everything. The air felt thick and humid, like the burden of a murderer's guilt.
"Illusions, now? I've seen better."
"Just wait." The ghost of a smile flitted across Allison's face, as if at some amusing private joke. "It gets better. Or worse. For you, that is/"
Misshapen forms wandered across the barren ground, dragging the twisted shapes along. Hands thrust from graves: Rotted zombies, revenants and wraiths, all clad in full medieval regalia, clawed their way back to the surface.
"H-uh…I've seen…I've seen zombies too." There was a tremor in Diana's voice, which hadn't been there before. Vainly, she fought for calm, feeling like the universe was spinning out of control. This couldn't be real…Right? No one could do something like this, not on such a scale!!
And yet…
"But not so many at once. And definitely not all of them, just waiting for you."
Not far away, a headless suit of armor glided closer, feet not quite touching the ground. Antique sword remained absurdly sharp, despite the wriggling worms crawling up and down the formerly bright blade.
Diana swallowed hard, trying not to look at the maggots that adorned the breastplate. She definitely tried not to notice the cackling, sword-brandishing pair of hands somewhere to the side, two bloodshot eyes rolling insane.
"All right, you've convinced me. Now what?"
"For you? Death. I thought I made that clear from the very beginning, didn't I?"
A small orb of gold fire hurtled towards Allison, spattering harmlessly off an invisible wall inches from her nose. Completely unflustered, Allison snapped her lighter shut with a decisive clink, extinguishing the small, guttering flame.
"Nice," she remarked, completely unperturbed. Her black robes whispered around her, as Allison began to fade. "You might want to save it for them, of course."
Slowly, unwillingly, Diana turned to look at the army of assorted undead just a half-kilometer. Some crawled. Others lurched. The rest flew.
All carried 'not-strictly-speaking-weapons'. That was what began to disturb Diana: You always knew where you were with normal weapons. It was the cleavers tied to femurs AND the embalming hooks that scared the hell out of her.
The makeshift horde covered the distance at an appallingly fast rate…God, where'd they get so many?! Behind her, Allison began to fade, material form sucked back into the shadows.
"Wait! You-"
Then suddenly, unaccountably, the swarm was upon her.
*************
Back In The Arena…
It occurred to Chan that he wasn't under the effect of any of his usual spells; he hadn't had the time to cast them. Unfortunately, that realization coincided with Kula's fist taking him in the solar plexus. The blurringly fast series of fifteen punches that followed didn't help either, pounding his head and chest like a drum.
Some of the audience cheered as Chan went down. They were bored of his constant, conventional defense … Where was the magic they'd heard so much about?
Bruised and winded, Chan crashed and slid to a bone-jarring stop. The entire barrage had felt like a single, solid sledgehammer blow, shattering several ribs. He rolled to his side and winced, feeling the acute pain jabbing into his torso. His entire chest felt as if it was on fire, red-hot pokers digging into his flesh
"Requiem," Chan gasped in reflex, trying to summon the nonexistent Stand. Obviously, nothing happened. The fiery pain in Chan's side spread, an inferno eating him from inside up. With a superhuman effort, he hauled himself up on one elbow, trying to find the strength to stand.
"This is friggin' pathetic… "
Kula smiled, a hideous, twisted smirk that filled her whole face.
"Aww…Poor Chan-kun. No Requiem? You've treated him so badly … "
Chan reached out and touched her. Specifically, his knuckles touched her nose, at 180 miles an hour. Watching that smirk dissolve was extremely satisfying, as was the feel of his knuckles shattering her nose. He hesitated just before the follow-up, though: twisted as it was at the moment, it was still Kula's face...
So he changed his attack.
"That's an 'it', not a 'him'," Chan snarled. He jabbed a finger in Kula's direction, snapped out the words of a spell. A brilliant blue spark hurtled forward, buzzing with an infernal cobalt light. It struck a phalanx shield and detonated, blasting Kula back in a torrent of ravening electric discharge.
Retching, the mage coughed weakly, nearly dead on his feet. Snapping the Mage Cannon loose, he started reloading, dropping loose bullets in his haste. Not much time before-
-A rounded weight of ice smashed his jaw. Fireworks of agony exploded in Chan's head, his teeth shattering like glass. Somehow, he remained upright, tottering back in a haze of pain.
"Guess you'll have to learn to fight without teeth too, won't you?"
Kula's voice was shrill and high-pitched. Her hair stood up in odd clumps, shocked upright by the jolt. Chan sneered and spat blood, shoving the Mage Cannon her way.
***RAAARKpopSWOOSHthudCRUMP***
***RAAARKpopSWOOSHthudCRUMP***
***RAAARKpopSWOOSHthudCRUMP***
Explosive bolts roared. Like the rowdy growl of some monster, or the noise of hellhounds erupting from the earth, the weapon thundered out a long, vicious burst, furious recoil punishing Chan's hands. Wild blasts erupted, tearing up even more of the cement floor. The limestone foundations were now clearly visible, in what used to be the proud centre of the ring.
The Mage Cannon fell silent, empty. More debris clouds billowed up, now completely obscuring everything from sight. No matter: There was still plenty more where that came from. Chan dropped the gun, snatching the matte-black autopistol from under his coat.
He couldn't see what he was shooting at. Kula had vanished somewhere into the shrapnel cloud, clipped dead-on by a well-aimed bolt. Viciously, Chan wished her dead, dead and rotting in hell. In the off chance that she wasn't …
Fifty more rounds tore blindly into any possible target, sweeping the arena in a short-lived hail of gunfire. The stuttering cough of the autogun drowned out all other noise, muzzle flash lighting up Chan's face in staccato bursts of light.
***DAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKADAKKAthunkthunkclangthunk***
***THOOOOOMMMM***
Okay, so he aimed the wrong way. Perfectly understandable. Spectators fled as bullets punched into the stands, a sizzling series of buzzing shots. Tile chips exploded in a haze of dust, gobbets of wood spraying up from the front row seats.
The alarms were ringing, now. The spinning barrels of the autogun clattered to a stop, finally empty. Smoke hissed from the weapon, tell-tale red lights flashing on and off. Tensely, Chan waited.
Had it been enough? Blue light shone from his fingers, as Chan healed himself to the best of his ability. There were several sickening crunches as bone and flesh reknitted, followed by no small amount of pain … Not being a Stand-wielder sucked.
Then Kula ploughed back out through the smoke. Blood dribbled down her face from her nose, and that insane grin was back …
"You always were such fun to play with, Chan," she cooed. A solid cannonball of ice promptly flew at him. No time to retreat, no chance to shield … Chan dodged, just barely. He yanked his trenchcoat close, flung up his shield and-
-Flew. Shockwave tugging at his coat, he tumbled head-over-heels, ice fragments whistling all around. A deafening roar shook the building, blasting out almost every window. Ice poured all around him, carrying him right along, a miniature avalanche tumbling from the ceiling. Chan heard things thump into the walls, nasty noises like splattered jelly.
Something flashed through the air. Thankfully, it glanced off his shield and bounced away, shattering on some other surface. Ice javelins? Things just got better and better, didn't they?
"Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap-"
Chan reached down, grabbed for the Mage Cannon. His hand came up empty, right before he remembered he'd dropped it to grab the autopistol. Time to think fast, his terrified mind gibbered, barely coherent. Any minute now, Kula's gonna come a-knockin'.
"Just gotta come up with a plan of action and everything'll be cool. That's right, just keep a level head and ... Holy shit."
Kula stood just ahead, looking none the worse for wear.
In her hand, she held the Mage Cannon.
"Guess what I found?" The weapon literally gleamed with lethal light, filled with the bullets Chan had dropped whilst reloading. How'd this happen to him? The girl tapped the barrel of the gun against her chin, spinning it around her hand to aim.
"Wait!"
Sometimes he disgusted even himself.
***RAAARKKK-
The pentagram of protection flickered to life, a scintillating circle of force. Of course, what Kula didn't-couldn't know was that shooting at Chan with his own weapon was the worse idea since New Coke. In her hands, it simply fired shards of cheap crystal filling that couldn't have shredded paper.
With mild interest, Chan watched as each uncharged round spanged off the complicated tracery of runes. He grinned, watching as the last fragments clattered to the ground.
"Not quite, Kula."
"This time," she promised, tossing the useless gun aside.
"CLAW BYTES!"
"FLINTLOCK DRAGON!"
They met in midair, in a classic super-uppercut clash. An ice-spike slashed a long gash along Chan's side, cutting more cloth than flesh. In turn, Chan's own blow flew completely wide, scorching only Kula's hair as she drifted past.
Ever more agile, Kula landed first, another impossibly smooth glide. By contrast, Chan got the landing part right, left hand braced for balance…
…His arm promptly buckled, and he went facefirst into the slush that now covered the ground.
Spitting snow, Chan stood for what seemed like the thousandth time.
"This is gonna take all night," he mumbled, tapping the pouch at his side. Right, Samuel, please don't be bluffing, just once…
Sudden power. Arcs of electricity sparked, discharge flickering. Haloes crackled and auras sparkled, as a massive shape took form, conjured from a graven image into life. The Emperor's armor was damascened with arcane hexes, enameled with badges of jeering bestial faces. Grim icons of death leered from each shoulder pauldron, the harsh angularity of the entire suit inspiring an incredible amount of fear.
A convulsion of coughing racked Chan. Hawking up gritty froth, he coughed again and again, spitting out blood and phlegm. Forcing himself to breathe normally, he kept a wary eye on Kula, wondering what other tricks she'd left. Briefly, the mage prayed for unity with the unnatural Stand, hoping against hope that it would actually do something-
Kula swung; she leapt. The heel of her foot connected solidly with Chan's wrist, just as he tried to bring the autogun to bear. His second gun went spinning from his hand, just in time for Kula to get a firm grip on his elbow.
Fuck. Now this was bad.
"Kula! Don't-"
With implacable force, applied smoothly, she hoisted and heaved. Chan crashed to the floor of the arena, feeling as if his arm had just been broken. He'd fallen heavily: A pang in his own hip told him he'd crushed the damn card. But that wasn't the worse part-
-He'd fallen on his keys.
Pain. Momentarily, Chan shrieked, an expression of pure agony. Even worse, the psycho bitch from hell was closing in for the coup de grace.
…Well, that sucked.
His only hope now was the Emperor. With all his remaining strength, Chan commanded it to move, to fight. Just an arm motion or something.
Samuel's creation remained stubbornly immobile.
This definitely got a high score on the Oh-shit-o-meter.
*************
Somewhere Else…
The ambulance careened down the empty road, sirens wailing. Blue-and-red light beamed in all directions, a strobing curtain of illumination. Now, in this rough area of town, there wasn't really anything unique about that. Why, ambulances roared by every hour, sometimes right into a still-raging gang war.
What was special about this ambulance was its cargo. It carried the comatose body of a certain celebrity fighter, fresh from the battle at the Stadium. Ryan had been smart enough to take out a platinum contract with the local hospital, not particularly trusting the 'free' first-aid promised by the sponsors of KOF.
As it turned out, he was right.
A heavy black van, packed to bursting with white-armored hired muscle, waited just around the corner. Their mission: Ram the ambulance. Retrieve the patient.
It was meant to be a milk run. Most drivers flopped on the pavement like fallen angels at the first sight of a gun. Besides, almost every man in the van was large and burly, steroid addicts waiting for their next fix. All carried large-bore sidearms, powerful enough to punch through solid steel. Some were literally salivating at the chance to cause great physical harm: Others were simply trying to appear cool.
Too bad they didn't check under their van. They might have noticed the slight bulge attached to the fuel tank, spotted the flashing lights…
…Recognized the bomb planted by the friendly gas station attendant at the petrol kiosk.
Just across the street, Samuel shook his head, the movement hidden by the lack of illumination in the darkened alley. He drew the compact detonator from his pocket, tossing it lightly in his hand. The gas station attendant had been all too glad to plant the packet of explosives, particularly in light of the three large gold bars dumped on his table.
The wail of sirens drew closer. The thugs tensed, ready for action. Some actually remembered to flick the safety off their weapons. Muscleheads piled from their vehicle, sensing that incredible violence was close at hand. Even the driver climbed out, completely forgetting his duty.
The ambulance neared the corner-
-Samuel thumbed the red button.
Surprise.
There was a soft yellow light, then the rumbling detonation of an explosion. The van leapt ten feet straight up, propelled by a sudden column of white flame. It broke apart in midair, flaming wreckage clattering down on the faces of those below. Every wall within thirty meters was flattened, hammered down a battering ram of concussive force.
Perfect.
Now, Samuel was an Awakened. He liked hurting people as much as the next guy. Unfortunately, an odd series of events had left him completely unable to 'Cause direct, deliberate harm to any sentient being, except in self defense.'
As any lawyer could see, there were a lot of loopholes in that sentence.
With that thought in mind, Samuel blithely stepped from his alley, and walked right into the midst of the still-recovering group. Black duster whispering along the floor, he slipped on a nasty-looking spiked gauntlet with practiced ease.
"Oh, no," someone whimpered.
"But yes," Samuel replied cheerfully. "Make your move."
Someone yelled "Get that bastard!" and let loose with a full clip from his Uzi. Hot lea whizzed through the air, tracers lighting up the night. Casually, Samuel repelled it with a gesture, ricochets pinging off his shield.
The squad dropped their useless weapons, fired up their chainswords. Eight men attacked at once, diabolically whirring blades hacking at the air. One hand in his pocket, Samuel watched their thunderous charge, crooking one eyebrow in sardonic response.
The fight that followed was both incredibly brief and incredibly messy.
The first white-armored attacker feinted low, swung his chattering blade in a beheading arc. Samuel ducked, hand plunging right through his opponent's chest. Blood spattered him, a brief geyser. The helmeted head crumpled as Samuel's second strike shattered it, a brutal sledgehammer blow.
The next solider seized the opportunity, slicing in at the Awakened from the side. This time, Samuel interposed his victim's broken body, hand going for the holster at his hip.
The chainblade bit into dead flesh, another crimson shower. Roaring, the goon muscled the bloodstained blade around, readying the backstroke-
-And found himself looking down the barrel of Samuel's handgun.
Once again, it was a pity he didn't have a chance to observe the weapon more closely. Even a layman would've marveled at the beauty and deadly efficiency present in the gun's smooth curves and lines. The six-shot design was completely outdated, but the targeting mechanism glinted with razor light, sharp enough to slash with in its own right.
But more than anything else, they would've noticed the words embossed on the darksteel barrel. 'MAGE . CANNON . 0-0-0.' It was almost impossible to miss, considering that Samuel had just shoved it right into the hapless thug's face.
***BLAMBLAMBLAM***
***splat***
The armor-piercing rounds punctured both stormtrooper helmet and skull, a tremendous blast that hurled brain matter from every orifice.
Shell-shocked silence. It's counterintuitive, but when you shoot someone in the head, the jet spray of gray matter pushes them *toward* the direction of the shot. Incredible, isn't it?
Samuel delicately flicked the corpse with one finger, sending what seemed like an entire ensemble of ironwear clattering to the ground. He spun round, slicing out in a blurringly fast motion. Blood spurted, as the Mage Cannon neatly severed someone else's grasping hand.
Samuel kicked out with all his might, a solid blow that tripped up the attacker. Spinning the handgun around, he thrust down-
***ker-blam***
-And executed the bastard with extreme predjudice.
Unperturbed by the bloody demise of their comrades, the five survivors closed ranks and kept advancing. Samuel let fly with three 'Immolation' cards at once, paper turning to flame halfway through their trajectory. There was a searing blast of hearing, then a liquid scream-
-Half the group hit the floor, screaming and rolling as they tried to put out the flames.
"Who else wants some?"
No answer, except for the sudden sound of scurrying feet. Everyone still standing took the chance to run, discarded weapons clanking to the pavement. Chuckling to himself, Samuel watched them run, dusting off his hands. Ah, well…All in a day's work.
He took a look around wandering briefly about for initial cleanup. It was pretty easy, especially since everyone he hadn't killed in the initial rush or two seemed to have fled.
With one exception.
The driver hadn't dared to move, hadn't dared to fire. He'd sat there like a statue, watching in stark terror as his comrades died all around him.
"OhnoI'msorryohgodnopleaseI'msorrypleasedon'tKILLME!"
"Now, now. I hate to watch a grown man beg."
Samuel looked around, retrieved a matt-black autogun from the ground. He kicked it across the floor, sent it spinning right to the man's booted feet.
"Pick up the gun."
Slowly, the petrified solider shook his head. He couldn't have been more than sixteen, and was obviously very close to a panic attack.
"Pick up the gun."
"I…I don't wanna, mister. You'll kill me."
"Pick up the gun."
There was nothing human left in Samuel's eyes. Slowly, hesitantly, the white-faced thug reached down. His hand crept closer to the matte-black cop killer, trigger drawing temptingly close…
He leapt.
The firebolt lit him up like a human torch, immolating him from head to toe. Shrugging, Samuel toed the weapon into the heart of the flames, ignoring the popping of ammo cooking off.
"Hey, you all saw him…He had a gun."
*************
Back Again…
Jiazheng lay gasping in pain. He was dying, coming to pieces at the throat, chest and belly. Death called him, like a poisoned dink, just waiting for him to pass out.
If he fell asleep, he would die.
The swordsman clawed away. He was a warrior, and all decent fighters clawed away from death. Throat in ribbons, air sucking in and out of an open windpipe, he crawled. If he knew anything in those moments, he knew he needed his sword. The blade sparkled with green lightning, energy pouring out into the floor. If only Jiazheng reached it, power would flow back into him, knit him back together.
Everything else fell away. Jiazheng forgot who he had been, how he'd become so wounded, what he was fighting for. Caught between death and salvation, he became a blank slate, an unmarked soul.
Two figures flitted by, one purple, the other grey and dust-stained. They shrieked, two raptors swooping, slashing, tangling, breaking away. Jiazheng ignored their battle, forcing himself to crawl forward.
The man scuttled forward, a lizard on his scaly belly. One more surge, throat rasping rotten breaths. Another grab, hands before him-
-And Jiazheng gripped the sword.
Life leapt in green bolts into his fingers. It hissed and cackled, reweaving his flesh. Torn skin and muscled dribbled away. Power burst in bright loops from the wounds at his throat, and lines of force formed into new flesh. The surge of power plunged through ravaged chest and stomach.
The wounds.
Jiazheng clung to the sword and rolled over, as his memories came rushing back. There, they still fought. Chan struggled to rise, an immobile silent knight standing silent vigil over him. Kula pursued, a stooping hawk. Ice still shone in her hands, the same fiendish weapons that had torn into Jiazheng.
It was time to act.
*************
Kula formed her hands into claws again, flushed with triumph. Light glinted along razor-sharp points, overlaying delicate hands. Chan tried to move, fell back as stabbing agony followed. God, it hurt, it hurt…
"Any last words? Feel like saying anything cute right before I kill you?"
Chan managed to smile, propping himself up.
"How 'bout…'Look behind you?'"
As he'd expected, Kula simply chuckled derisively, shaking her head. She reached down to throttle him, those claws going for his throat.
Jiazheng's strike got her right in the back.
The impact was horrific. White-hot pain burst through her spine, and Kula hurtled through the air. Curling into a ball, she struck the sand and rolled. Back clenched, dying tissue by tissue, Kula bit back the agony, glaring at her attacker.
Jiazheng gave Chan a thumbs-up, turning to glance at the slowly-rising mage. He seemed shaky on his feet --But in an instant, his attention was dragged right back to Kula.
Too late.
"Well, damn me for a fool," she muttered, still grinning from the floor. "I should have done the most devastating thing first. I can correct that easily enough--" And with that she raised her arm, pantomiming holding a gun-- and then energy flared.
"DIAMOND EDGE!!!"
Horror froze Chan's throat, as the long, cutting line of ice hurtled along the ground. Jiazheng jerked as the huge spears plunged right into him. Blood was suddenly everywhere, and he staggered and toppled to the ground, hard. Chan heard him draw in one ragged wheeze of a breath, and then another--
And then his eyes glazed over, and he was still.
Chan didn't even have to check. He'd seen enough dead bodies in his time to know the difference. He just couldn't move for a moment.
Then he did, with extreme violence.
Adrenaline pumping, Chan shoved both hands forward, the air swirling in a reverse funnel. The sudden vortex spat a long, spiraling beam of energy, a pillar-thick ray of crimson and sapphire force. He smashed at Kula with it, a hammer of rage and hate.
Maybe he meant to yell something like 'Eat this' or 'Die' or something witty. Instead, it simply came out as an exhalation of rage and hate, fury at losing a friend to something abruptly so meaningless.
"Counter Shell!!"
Kula stopped it, cold. Her own hand stabbed out in a trail of diamond dust, sending the arcane blast screaming back towards the caster. Cursing, Chan conjured the Emperor's massive sword to hand, forcing it into the reflected barrage. Swearing, he set his feet, bracing the blade with his left hand.
The torrent hit all at once, like a battering ram.
Light struck the blade-And parted, forking to stream past on either side. Chan smelled cloth burning as his trenchcoat ignited for the first time, singed from the near passage.
Teeth gritted in a non-smile, he erased the useless weapon (Couldn't use the damn thing, anyway.), dropping back into his casting stance. Well, at least Samuel's magical construct obeyed standard rules. If only he could get it to move.
He avoided passing out, mostly by sheer luck, and turned around. Chan didn't have his gun, it was over there on the floor, and the freak had a predatory look on her face. Chan waited for the obligatory admonition against evil, but she just started toward him, cutely cracking her knuckles.
"Too bad, Chan…Looks like you've just lost a friend today."
A frigid chill slid down Chan's throat, and into his gut.
"No," he said, instantly feeling like an idiot for saying it. It was incredible how willing people were to see life in a corpse…Though in this case, considering the heavily-enchanted katana, Jiazheng might yet live. Not much hope for that, though.
"…And very soon, you'll be next."
Great.
"Bullshit," Chan spat, rummaging through a shrinking mental library of spells. There had to something here, something deadly…
The air began to swirl, temperature dropping even more sharply. Chan's ragged breath puffed out in clouds of fog, as snow funneled into the dome. Sensing another Wrath-Of-God attack, the few remaining audience members started streaming out of the arena, though several suicidal cameramen actually remained at their posts, still recording away.
Kula's hands sliced through the air in familiar patterns, tracing grooves in the freezing fog. Wind picked up, hammering Chan with snowflakes and small hailstones. The mage started on his own incantation, a rapid defensive magic. No use attacking if he didn't survive the retaliation, right? Especially if your opponent was building up enough magical energy to collapse a house.
"SDM-"
Oh, god. Not that. Not now.
"FREEZING-"
Great, Chan. You're really fucked now.
"EXCECUTION!!!!"
The world went white. Chan saw the assault as a single, clear plane of sweeping ice, tearing right along the floor. It was eerily beautiful, freezing shockwaves erasing everything in their wake.
Time slowed.
Then the stone orb in his pocket started to glow. Red light, jabbing out like a miniature sun. A sudden rumble…
…And stone took flight. Most of it was from the scattered fragments along the floor. Others poured from the chipped remnants of the pillars, a cloud of stone dust reversing direction. Pebbles, scattered chunks of concrete and powdered granite rolled towards Chan, as if he'd just become a magnet for all that was rocky in the world.
That was all he saw, in the brief moment before the ice wave hit.
The Freezing Execution scooped Chan up like a rag doll, hurling him back like a shot from a catapult. Still trailing streamers of swirling stone, the mage smashed into the wall with bone-shattering force, frozen over with a combination of stone clumps and ice.
There was a roar louder than anything else he'd ever heard in his life; A monstrous fist smashed Chan right in the chest, knocking the breath from him. The mass of rock struck with a shattering impact, more fragments hurtling in completely random directions.
Chan didn't really feel each impact, didn't exactly suffer through the entire agony of being pummeled by fist-sized chunks of hurtling debris. Mercifully, his mind chose that time to take a little nap, simply registering it as a single thunderous blow that tossed him through the air like a discarded toy.
Want to see that again in slow motion?
Okay, first the shockwave itself hit, the magical equivalent of a wrecking ball swinging at full speed. If our hero hadn't had his few arcane defenses on, it would've killed him outright from the sheer force. He learnt a brief lesson there, at least: The human form ain't made to fly. In fact, Chan flew about ten feet before hitting the floor and sliding another ten, at which point he had the briefest moment to consider whether he was still alive.
Then the shrapnel struck. It was like being pelted with a volley of tennis balls being hurled at bullet-velocity, promptly followed by the razor fusillade of splintered ice fragments, hurting him right through his sudden rock coating. Two actually shattered his glasses, slicing long, bloody strips right along Chan's face.
The wall was the last to hit, a solid concrete cushion delivering a teeth-rattling jolt. Thank god for the Armor Of Stone: It actually hurt the least, all things considered. Of course, half his protective barrier shattered on first contact, leaving what seemed like a fused mass of badly-carved statue.
One of the few import fighting games Chan had played was the Darkstalkers one, mainly because some of the less-mentally balanced girls in his class also liked the extreme violence. In particular, there's one special move where the over-endowed green-haired demoness moves forward, splits into two, and beats the ever-loving crap out of the poor guy whose player just forgot to block.
This felt exactly like that, except much more painful.
Chan found himself lying on his back, in questionably more pain than he'd ever been in his life. That was actually a good thing, considering that the agony meant that he was still alive. There's a point where you simply can't feel any more pain, as if your body has turned into a single large bruise.
The mage had just reached that point. More to the point, his Super Bar was full, and he was looking forward to hurting his opponent.
There was a brief lull in the combat, a cooldown after a spectacular, world-destroying attack. Chan summoned up the last of his spiritual strength, shoving upwards. The now-ruined Armor Of Stone flaked and cracked around him, as brittle as glass. Like some newborn baby animal emerging from its shell (Minus the cuteness), Chan rolled back out into the cruel, cruel, world.
The audience gasped. They hadn't expected him to get up, nothing after something like that. Kula's eyes seemed to bulge from their sockets, completely disbelieving. She didn't look so evil now, just terrified.
"But…But…I blasted you…And you blew up-"
Chan felt a perfect, twisted clarity he hadn't felt in a long time. The world moved in a soft cushion of dreamlike distortion, like some counterpart of enlightenment. Gray mists were beginning to form over his eyes…That's what starts to happen right before you die.
He couldn't reach any of his weapons and couldn't lift them anyway. All Chan could do was fumble around in his pockets, hoping for something sharp-
-His hands closed on a thin, placard rectangle. The Emperor card, still miraculously intact.
Call it an accident of fate. Call it karma. Chan let everything he had fill the talisman. He sent in his hate and rage, followed by the sharp, searing bloodlust that rose like a red tide.
Most of all, Chan sent in his fear of death, his terror of the abyss that waited for him in his dreams every night. Pain flavored the wash of terror, like cyanide spiking a bitter brew.
*************
Somewhere else, in the midst of the alleyway, Samuel felt the sharp knife of emotion, felt the wordless mixture of rage and greed. He grinned. Chan had just made his choice, correctly this time.
"It's a deal. Now, you'll probably spend the rest of your life wondering whether you did the right thing. Of course, it won't matter…"
*************
For the briefest of moments, Chan heard a dark, insatiable presence somewhere in his skull. Done, it breathed, followed by an incredible feeling of smugness.
Then the card sent something back. Chan felt an energy flow around him, a surge of sudden might. Power energized him, sending blue shocks whirling up and down his body. Effortlessly, Chan stood, a poetic breeze blowing about him.
The Emperor transformed. Briefly, its colors were fluctuating: brightly green, luridly yellow, achingly blue. Then, as if blessed by some kind of glory, the armor was red, embellished in gold. The axe-like vanes rising behind the helmet expanded into a blood-red bat-wing of metal, beaming with infernal radiance.
Gilded fylfot crosses suddenly adorned the shoulder pauldrons, embossed with screaming skulls. The Emperor had become a clockwork raptor, a mechanical machine of death. A terrible parody of a righteous knight, the Stand uncoiled to its full height, newly-polished visor gleaming.
Chan knelt at the centre of a star, but why kneel?
Somewhere in the labyrinth room of his mind, runes curved in, inverting upon themselves in perfect mockery of what the mage had once been. They now channeled the infinite dark inward, right into his soul, an endless stream of pure corruption.
Chan's finger extended without conscious thought.
"I am Chan Yong Sheng, Awakened mage. You have hurt me, betrayed me, and been a real bitch in general. By the power of the Emperor, I will defeat you."
Then he went Super-Postal.
Kula didn't even have the time to register surprise. Chan smiled at her and promptly blew her away, bringing to bear the full force of his new magical might. HUGE guns materialized from nothing, a brief extension of his will. Chan swung the unholy arsenal upward, brought the many laser sights to bear…
Yep, you guessed it.
"DIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEDIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!"
***KA-WHOOOMMMMFFFFF***
***THOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM***
A tank-busting salvo tore through the air. Guns akimbo, Chan let fly with enough lead to outfit a small fleet of Russian nuclear submarines, roaring a wordless scream of rage through the sound-destroying barrage. The back wall crumbled, extremely suppressed by heavy plasma. A cloud of mini-missile explosions bathed the rest of the ring in liquid fire, hurling aside whatever had the misfortune of not being vaporized on impact.
There was a single cataclysmic blast of force, as the bulk of the volley hammered into something solid. Glass shattered for five blocks around, and the arena suddenly became the House Of Really Good Air Conditioning.
More gunfire. A rumbling crash somewhere in the distance, as pillars were powdered, sending huge slabs of stone crashing to the ground. The building was taking serious structural damage, countless tiny holes punched through the very framework.
Three thousand rounds of chaingun ammo, eighty laser blasts, fifty shots worth of heavy plasma, thirty-five grenades and innumerable mini-missiles later, Chan let go of the triggers. Between there and then, that was a lot of pain and suffering flying through the air. His ears rang; He wasn't going to be hearing properly again for a while.
There wasn't enough of Kula's human face visible to show any surprise. The lower half of her legs had just vanished, severed cleanly. Her flesh was regenerating, knitting back together from absolutely nothing. Maybe, if Chan hadn't blown her legs off, she would've been able to flee.
But as it was, the outcome was never really in doubt.
Chan had recovered the Mage Cannon from somewhere: Red-hot from the barrage he'd unloaded, the gun sizzled in his bloody, heat-blistered knuckles. His fingers looked like swollen sausages, close to popping on the griddle. The sickly-sweet smell of burning meat filled the air, as Chan's flesh started to adhere to the metal.
Weaving unsteadily on weary feet, he staggered forward, weak as a newborn kitten. One broken arm dangled loosely at an odd angle, shattered by recoil from the chaingun. Powder burns stained the alternately singed/burnt trenchcoat, fine fabric little more than shredded tatters now.
Step. Cloth dragged through the melted slush, a treacherous, slippery mix of dirty water and debris. It soaked his trailing duster, weighing him down further. Strength rapidly failing, Chan forced himself forward, biting back the scream that threatened to erupt from his hoarse throat. The effort cost him more pain, sending blood trickling down a bitten lip.
Another step. The grey mists returned, turning his vision into a surreal, nightmarish landscape. His ears rang, rendering Chan completely deaf and almost blind. The volume of noise had damaged his eardrums, sending them ringing like church bells. If he survived, Chan wasn't going to be hearing properly for a while.
All-in-all, Chan was a wreck. But as they said, you had to look at the other guy/girl.
What happened to Kula was honestly indescribable: Suffice it to say that no-one deserved to be that damaged, and yet remained breathing. Her bullet-ridden legs had been blown clean off, and all that remained of her human face was a single, undamaged eye, and several strands of white hair.
More out of pity than anything else, Chan drew the Mage Cannon's hammer, barely noticing the additional agony as the heat started on his thumb. One bullet, he decided. One bullet through that accusing eye, and it would all be over. There were several inaudible ratcheting noises as Chan worked the arming slide, ejecting several spent shells. They literally glowed as they hit the wet ground, raising small streamers of coiling steam.
"In the name of the Awakened," Chan spoke softly, hating each word. "I name you Abomination, and Nephandus. With this hallowed weapon-"
Just one bullet.
"-I deliver your sentence."
A finger tightened on the trigger. The Mage Cannon racked, spun, clicked-
***cha-CLICK***
-And jammed.
Frozen disbelief. Chan pulled the trigger again and again, as if to confirm what his eyes and ears told him. There was another series of scraping metal noises, as the little gears inside the gun started going the wrong way. Thoughts fragmented, the world seemingly crumbling about him in a jumble of sudden emotions and feelings, all mixed up with horror of what'd he –almost- done.
A cool wind blew up, a gentle breeze that carried with it the smell of rain. Several snowflakes fell, a light sprinkling of fairy dust from above. Still frozen, convulsively working the trigger, Chan could merely watch as Kula faded away. A detached spectator, he stared as form dissolved, transparent gashes that broke into white, powdery snow and blew away-
"NO!!!"
He lunged forward, grabbed nothing. He'd dropped the Mage Cannon again: A veritable fogbank of steam billowed around him, the heavy weapon clattering from scorched fingers. Dumbly, he stared, watching as his foe made good her escape. For a long moment, there was silence, as his jangled mind struggled to digest what had transpired.
Then the screaming started. Dully, Chan wondered who was doing it for a moment, before realizing it was himself. Molten agony shot up his shattered arm, as the ruin of his wrist finally registered. With an effort, the mage made himself stop, biting down on the next exhalation.
Euphoria hit. He'd done it! He'd won!
WON!!
He…Well, right now, he was having trouble staying on his feet. The world spun round in interesting patterns of light, colors blurring together into a single swirling mosaic. Several people were staring at Chan with the expression of car wreck witnesses, watching as he swayed unsteadily.
His hand hurt terribly. In the small corner of his head, Chan wondered why.
"Thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen," Chan managed. The words came out oddly, almost sticking in his throat. He leaned forward in the approximation of a bow, then stumbled as his legs gave way. Pain and fatigue was beginning to catch up, exacting their tolls on body and spirit with a vengeance.
"Good night, and God ble-"
Chan decided to take a little nap. Quite agreeably, he fell forward, earning another jolt of red-hot pain as he fell on his broken arm. The half-melted slush brought some relief to Chan's seared palm, like an ice-bag to the burns. Too bad it didn't do anything to stop the internal bleeding, not to mention his many assorted slash and stab wounds. Blood streaked the snow now, a veritable river of it staining the white crimson.
So there Chan was, dying on the floor again. This was becoming a habit…Then again, it was highly probable he wasn't going to live long enough for it to become a habit.
"Call 911! Call 911!!! CALL 911!!!"
Those were the last words Chan heard. The world spun one last time, turning to an ever-darkening shade of monochrome, like a television with bad reception. Dimly, he held onto the passing fancy that he'd stopped time once more, freezing the world in the exact moment of his damnation. Then even thought slid away, slipping like grains of sand through spread fingers.
Everything went black.
*************
Allison alighted on the pavement, watching as Samuel shook the last few flakes of dust from his hands. He didn't even bother to look up, back still to her.
"That was fast," She remarked. "It took about all of thirty seconds."
"These were the sacrificial lambs," Samuel replied. The man swept his coat back, billowing dramatically in the wind. Ignoring the long trail of soot and dust, he fastidiously wiped his hands on the fabric, staining it even further. "They were merely here to confirm our identities. I'm sure the real shock troops are on the way."
As if in response to his remarks, two black touring sedans roared down the street, engines revving. Heavy-duty machineguns poked from smoked glass windows, shrieking a sudden song of lead. Neither Awakened moved, seemingly completely unconcerned. Samuel's brows knitted in sudden, furious concentration-
-The glass windows behind them exploded, as a hail of bullets tore them to shreds. By some miracle, the gunfire never touched the two figures, lead bending right around them. Allison and Samuel stood untouched in a torrent of gunfire, like friends sharing an umbrella in a sudden shower.
Reality flickered. An instant later, the machinegun in the first car coughed, made a grinding noise, and stopped firing. With a roar, the rear of the vehicle burst into flame, as the machinegun exploded. Tires screeching, the flaming car lurched across the street, slamming hard into the reinforced metal fence protecting the long row of houses.
Another explosion rocked the car as the extra magazines of ammunition exploded. No one emerged from the gutted remains, leaving another flaming ruin in the alley.
Seeing the fate of the lead car, the driver of the second vehicle hit the brakes, hard. Gears screamed as the car began skidding to a halt. The auto hit a patch of oil left by the other car, all traction lost in a sudden, brief skid. Brakes locked. Tires turned.
Still speeding, the sedan whipped about, rear end fishtailing in a wide circle. Spinning helplessly out of control, the big car slammed into the burning wreckage of the first auto. With a whoosh of burning gasoline, the second car's engine ignited.
Shrieks of agony poured from the vehicle, but still no one emerged. Locking mechanisms jammed, the passengers faced a painful, drawn-out death, melting in the remnants of their own transport. This time, Allison flicked her lighter, just once, a hint of a smile crossing her face.
The car leapt into the air, as the fuel tank detonated. It was an ugly, horrifying to die, smoke still pouring from smoldering rubber.
"A nice touch," Samuel congratulated. Gently, he rested a hand on his companion's shoulder.
"I didn't mean to be so violent. It seems a bit ostenious to me, after all."
Allison shrugged the hand off, glanced about. The street was deserted; Windows had slammed shut at the first sign of conflict. All was quiet, except for the roar of the burning cars. "No sirens," she remarked. "That's not good…The police should've been here by now."
Samuel only 'hmmed' in response. They were making small talk, nothing more.
"Let's go," he stated abruptly, a definite sign the conversation was at an end. Samuel started walking, Allison falling into step right behind him. No one stopped them, only a few peepholes carefully creaking open to watch them go.
"So…Chan won. The effort cost him much, but he'll fight again. Of course."
"Of course."
"Did you handle the other one?"
"Yes. She'll escape…Eventually. By then, it'll already be too late."
"Good."
All was quiet for a long time, silence disturbed only by the soft whisper of footwear across the ground. Almost as an afterthought, Samuel let a single card slip from his fingers, a token to mark their passing. It was only civil after all, he reasoned. Time to show Ignis exactly where the battle lines were drawn.
Then the unlikely team departed the streets. The road was once again deserted, devoid of all life. All was still, all was quiet-Except for the barest hint of sound, the shriek of a ghostly wind rushing through the myriad holes.
Or perhaps, it was the insane chortling of demonic laughter.
And as always, the snow continued to fall.
(Well, that's it for this fight. That was really, really messy…We'll have to leave the main group alone for a while next time, to take a look at the answer to an intriguing question: What happened to Andro? Once again, suggestions are always welcome, and please read and review. See you next time!)