Rykosar - Metal skeleton. Robotic leg and hand.
Torvin - Military solider. Close combat weapons, sidearms , explosives and stimulants.
Torvin - Military solider. Close combat weapons, sidearms , explosives and stimulants.
Spoiler (Click to Show)
Hours had melted into the deep night, time unknown to the old man walking the streets. This city was large enough to have the occasional passing car even in these unknown but late hours, yet it was quiet enough to have little hustle and minimal bustle in all other aspects. Stores were shut, some with iron gates and others with the standard lock and key. The only life-like sensation brought to the specific street however was the loud knocks of an old metal leg against the concrete walkways. The more human leg remained almost precariously perched near the curb’s edge as he strolled. A cane was gripped tightly in his hand of metal, which aided in holding some of his weight. He had spent most of mid-day finishing the installation of the woodland cabin’s door, the rest was spent simply walking the streets. Strange looks and long stares were things he was used to when he had navigated the populous of the city in the daylight to obtain some extra supplies to start on the next step in repairing the house, the foundation.
But now it was late. He didn’t care how late, but it was late. He slowed his stroll and eventually came to a stop at the sight of a young familiar man however, that head of bright red hair was the first indicator. Rykosar couldn’t help but grin, some of the large scars that crossed his left cheek twitched, almost threatening to tear open at the size, but he managed to fake a sad and rather disappointed face. “Torvin!” He barked with a hint of ecstaticness, forcing his tone somber as he spotted the young man’s head snap up. “I thought you said you were going to surprise me.”
He could almost hear the snicker in the young man’s voice, eventually becoming visible as the two finally crossed paths, Torvin having to cant his chin up slightly to look Rykosar in the eyes. He shrugged before his reason was simply put, “I never said that, besides, you’re a tricky guy to sneak up on.” He’d prod with a voice, then physically as his finger poked the old man’s chest. An old rumbling chuckle rolled out of the old man’s throat as he returned the gesture with his metal finger. As the claw snapped out and tapped lightly at Torvin’s torso, he almost had to step back, it was like he was just hit by a small hammer.
“Well, since you’re already here, shall we?”
It almost seemed to take forever for that single finger to curl and join its other four look-alikes, the hand let out a soft clicking sound as he extended his arm and hand out towards their apparent arena; the asphalt of a Toronto city road. Torvin swallowed, but not anxiously, as he hopped off the curb and took a few steps back along the road to give Rykosar some room. He observed the left and right ends of the street out of a supposed habit, looking out for cars before his eyes shifted back to the older man, watching him follow in tow. The metal leg made a more distinct ‘THUMP’ as he lowered himself from the sidewalk curb and limped into the road to join Torvin, leaning his new cane up against the bumper of a gray tinted car. Rykosar’s eyes were briefly averted towards this action before his neck popped slightly to turn towards the young man. Both of his arms were spread out and a big grin fell over the old man’s face, Torvin could have sworn he spotted perhaps a glint of utter satisfaction in those deep azure eyes.
“Go on then.” He would motion playfully, to which Torvin responded with a palm clasping the smooth metal of his sidearm.
Rykosar had already reeled back in pain before he could make out Torvin’s move to aim and fire, the boy was quick, he would give him that. His crusty trench coat began to grow wet from the wound, the bullet had struck his shoulder but had been unable to break any of his metal bones. Looking down to visually address the wound noting how some of the blood was beginning to seep through his right sleeve, his grin widened towards the young man. Mechanical whirring and clacking cut through the air like a train rumbling down metal tracks, he began to limp towards Torvin quickly. In anticipation for whatever the old man had, knowing full well his pistol wasn’t going to stop his journey, Torvin dropped it to pull out his combat knife and prepared for a close quarters fight. One which Rykosar was more than happy to provide.
Rykosar hurled his left arm towards Torvin, fingers bent to send a jab for the young man’s right temple. Though as previously observed, Torvin was quick, he arched his back forward and dodged the attack successfully. While low to the ground, the younger opponent spotted an area of vulnerability, Rykosar’s stomach. His fist contacted the skin with all his might, noting that there wasn’t any bone in this area to protect him. Torvin felt a smirk pass his lips upon hearing signs of his success, Rykosar bent forward and let out several straggled coughs, the air in his lungs abandoning him. With a slowly drawn wheeze, the old man’s leg began to snap and make its other rather terrifying chorus of working noises. Torvin couldn’t stand up quick enough with the old man almost practically bent over him, he felt something powerful strike his general body in reply. He reeled back, stumbling until his legs finally shook and his knees buckled under him. Torvin’s eyes widened and his skin paled as the force of the blow had practically sent him to the ground unable to breathe, it was similar to the sensation of being hit by a metal beam.
By the time Torvin was able to get to his feet, he noticed the old man had finally stopped wheezing. Rykosar’s robotic leg was in front, signaling that was the knee that struck his unfortunate opponent. It was a bit more noticeable given some of his skin patches along his thigh, even through his pant legs, twitched from the inner gears turning in his prosthetic limb. Rykosar had waited for Torvin to stand before motioning him with a similar gesture he did before the beginning of the fight. The young man coughed once, checking his breathing before he replied with his next move. Torvin took three long strides towards the old man, standing on one leg upon entering the third step with the other in the air with his dark military boot aimed for Rykosar’s cheek. The strike hit its target, the scars along the old man’s face began to split, staples popping out and clinking to the ground and stitches snapping apart. By the time Rykosar had a hold of Torvin’s ankle with his robotic hand, blood had already began to dribble from the bits of skin still dangling off of his chin, exposing some of the muscles inside his face as well as the faint glimmers of metal where his jaw bone should be.
Even in that mess of blood, the old man’s skin curled upwards, a set of sharp metal and dull yellowed teeth emerged. He grinned lightly at the young man, watching Torvin’s face fall pale as this light gesture became something much more playful, perhaps devilish, in appearance. The metal claws of his hand began to dig through Torvin’s pant leg and into the skin of his ankle. That smile was the last thing Torvin saw before his ankle was yanked on violently, his head snapped back from the force of gravity. His world was now, literally, turned upside-down, sagging inches from the asphalt by his one ankle. His bright red hair scuffed against the pebbles and dirt of the road before he was abruptly dropped, a wave of relief followed from his ankle, given the stress it was put under in those iron claws.
“That’s one out of three, sir.” The sentence was half sputtered, given half of Rykosar’s face had almost effectively been torn off.
Torvin tried to pick himself up, feet staggered a bit along the road which nearly caused him to topple a second time. However, this did not happen. Rykosar felt a silly smirk contort his horrifically damaged face when spotting that pair of green eyes trying to deduce him, a younger trying to understand the elder and seeming uncomfortable when being unable to. An additional splurge of blood gushed as Rykosar chuckled, sending a bit of it to sprinkle the space of road between the two fighters. “You still get two more chances, come on then!”
The younger man charged another time, dodging a rather lethargic punch from Rykosar’s human hand. He’d side-stepped around the towering metal man and aimed a jab towards the old man’s skull, eyes shut in anticipation of pain. However, it appeared that his skull was normal bone. Rykosar took the hit with the same amount of grace as a drunk. Stumbling back, he grew disoriented from the blow as a brief snarl cut from his lips. The older opponent struggled as he stepped toward Torvin, leaning his body back and using the added momentum of movement to strike Torvin in the chest with his metal hand. The young solider went to dodge and was mostly successful, however a portion of the hand managed to graze his shoulder. A sensation of dread and fear stung Torvin as he heard a menacingly loud pop from where he was hit, the pain was dulled but very present as Rykosar followed through with an open handed ‘whap’ at Torvin’s face, finally sending the young man to the ground for a second time.
“Two!” He chirped in an unusually happy tone given he was bleeding from half of his face and his shoulder from the bullet wound. The skin around his face, Torvin noted, was growing paler in appearance. It didn’t help comfort the young opponent that Rykosar’s blood was a mixture of red and oil-black in color.
Torvin sat up, using his good arm to try and push on his shoulder to shift it back into place. He was partially successful. He could move it, but it would cause a bit of discomfort in the process. As he stood a second time, he made note to more effectively repair the dislocation after the fight. During this time, Rykosar simply stood in place, bleeding and sweating now from his rather obvious fatigue. He was probably too heavy to be moving around like this in keeping up with a springy young man. He started limping towards Torvin again, slower in his newly developed weariness. As he closed their distance, Torvin set his right leg back, knees bent in a combat stance. He waited until Rykosar was just out of reach before whirling back. His back leg rose from the ground, smacking Rykosar’s side with a round-house kick. The old man was growing too tired to hold his own and he stumbled. His metal leg finally stomped into the asphalt once he regained focus, stabilizing him and aiding in straightening his back up to his full size.
Torvin took action once again, however, something glinted along his fingers as he stole the distance between both challengers. The silver of a knife’s blade was tucked around his palm. The old man was quick to spot this and let the asphalt grind at the weight of his metal leg, he didn’t even lift it, just dragging it against the rock to draw it back. It began to thrum and click rapidly. Snaps, tings, and pops nearly threatened to consume the sound of Torvin’s hasty breathing. The solider finally arrived at his opponent, as his arm extended to send the blade into the man’s stomach, a metal leg shot up towards Torvin’s own at what could have been perceived as full force.
Torvin recalled his blade plunging through leather and skin before an unbearable force pressed on his body. His head was thrown back and his feet left the ground as a flash of pain nearly caused his vision to brighten the night-coated city. He could have sworn he was flying before his head impacting the curb of the sidewalk on the other end of the road brought that brief assumption to a halt. The old man watched the young man hit the ground, all four limbs sprawled out with his trunk relatively motionless other than the struggled rising and falling of his chest.
Rykosar tilted his head down, noticing the handle of a knife sticking out of his body. He chuckled lightly at its sight, shooting the boy a rather proud look despite him being unable to see it. He’d limp slowly, every lift of his leg pushed a bit on the blade in his body and forced a groan from his partially torn lips. His human knee bent until it touched the asphalt, blue eyes looked over the boy to see if he was conscious, which he was not. At this, the old man, although distasting this action shuffled through Torvin’s belongings before pulling out a standard cellphone. His more steady hand of iron claws tapped at the three numbers he knew every child had learned to recite, though perhaps in case of a less extreme emergency then severe internal and external bleeding from a rather good beating.
Though, before he could press the green phone-shaped ‘call’ button, he already noticed a medical vehicle just down the road with red and blue streams of light shining from its alarm and painting the walls of the city. It stopped about twenty feet in front of them. Rykosar canceled the call and slipped the phone back in the young man’s pocket before struggling to his feet. The two staff members in sterile white uniforms came out to greet him carrying various medical supplies along their belts and packs. After they settled Torvin along a gurney and carried him into the vehicle, they offered a place for Rykosar to sit in. To which the old man laughed, since he was much too heavy for a car or truck or any sort of mode of transportation to carry him without damage. One of the medics hopped in the vehicle as it took off while the other offered to stay with Rykosar and patch up his wounds.
“So, how long have you been in this corporation?” The medic asked curiously, he was a young one, younger than Torvin even. He had blonde hair that went to the bottom of his neck and Rykosar couldn’t make out his eyes as he began removing the knife, eyeing his stomach for signs of internal bleeding.
“Tonight was my first fight.” Rykosar mused with a smirk, hardly phased by the knife removal. He leaned his upper body back a little when he noticed the blood from his face was dripping on the man’s shoulder, seeping through the cotton uniform in various reds and blacks. “What about you?”
“First recovery job.” He responded, pulling off Rykosar’s jacket and beginning to apply gauze to the knife wound. Before he could keep speaking though, Rykosar cut in with “Wrap it tight now.” Then motioned with his hand to keep going, pulling tighter along the bandages. “First recovery job and first time I think someone’s had to stay outside with a patient instead of taking them into the vehicle.” The second comment was in a more humored fashion as the young medic looked up at Rykosar’s face. He could now see the young man had dull hazel eyes. The old man shot him a warm smile in spite of the medic’s rather disgusted face when seeing the torn skin and twitching muscles, some of which even had marks matching some of the shapes of his outer skin scars. The young medic began to carefully pick up some of the dangling flesh, reaching with his other hand to try and search for some supplies…
“Here.” Rykosar spluttered, handing the man a small ball of medical thread and a needle. “I always keep some handy, you’d be surprised how much this has happened to me.”
An uneasy chuckle shook from the young man’s throat as he took the supplies, slowly and carefully sewing the skin back according to the old gladiator’s directions, sometimes offering a guiding metal hand. Then finally removing several layers of jackets and clothing so the medic could remove the bullet in his shoulder, gauze around the ope