The tongue splayed forward, just barely missing Bl.An.C and striking the controls beside him. The pseudo android would have uttered another expletive, but there was not even the time for such. He swung around, hoping to catch the beast by the side. But for all his experience in battle, it could not have bested the primal fury that so infused Handyman.
A crunching sound as a blackened fist met with his face, and the scene changed. The two were now in an open field under the dim evening sun, nondescript in feature. Not that it mattered to them; one was consumed in fury with barely a modicum of sentience, and the other was too busy with the dent that the former had made on his forehead.
Bl.An.C could only groan as he struggled to recover, his mind a clouded haze. What happened? Where had the punch come from? But he could barely even orientate himself before a whistling sound behind him, growing in volume to a terrifying shriek. Like the first attack, it was impossible for him to react against it.
And with an ear splitting blast of air, the rocket detonated into a pillar of flames that sent shockwaves and shrapnel throughout the blast zone, leaving a giant plume of smoke wafting from where it had landed.
“And the crowd goes wild,” Seventeen said in a deadpan voice.
“Having fun posing as myself?” A disatisfied voice rang behind the host. He did not turn, eyes only fixated at the monitor.
“Think of it as your compensation for your failures,” he replied, “if it pleases you, you made quite a performance with our champion.”
“And a bumbling idiot with the other one.”
He waved a hand dismissively, “That one, who was it, Venox? He is boring. Nondescript, just like the others.. I let him off easy because I knew that was all he could do.”
Thirteen grunted, seating himself beside Seventeen.
“The artifact stopped accepting.”
Those words were enough to cause Seventeen to turn sharply at the other.
“Explain,” he said.
“I brought over a couple. Thugs, really. There wasn’t enough time,” Thirteen breathed in sharply, “they were rejected. Simply failed to let them in. You can examine their comatose bodies if you wish. Excluding the one you let get punched to pieces.”
“Alas, poor Mark,” Seventeen droned, “a terrible loss, truly.”
“And whatever the issue is, we can’t fix the problem.”
“Now why can’t you,” he replied sharply, “it has no mind of its own. It cannot simply reject those we send inside.”
“Twenty-One looked at it himself. Nothing was different than before. Called it compatibility issues,” Thirteen licked his lips, “I think otherwise.”
“If you somehow manage to make that...goblet talk, we can discuss about its sentience, until then-”
“Until then,” Thirteen interrupted, “we resume the tournament as if nothing happened. The audience isn’t pleased, but Twenty-One downplayed the event. Four is enough for another round or two.”
“As I fear,” Seventeen’s lips formed a slight scowl, the first hint of expression since their conversation.
From the monitor, the dust seemed to have settled, revealing a collapsed Bl.An.C, laying against a miniature crater. Despite the damage he seemed to have taken, he looked none the worse for wear, at least in appearance. The other gladiators have appeared then, equally confused by the strange turn of events. Except Handyman; gods know if the thing actually has emotions or coherrent thought, Seventeen thought dully.
“Greetings, gladiators,” he brought a metal stick to his lips, speaking to it as if it were a microphone, “no doubt all of you are wondering why you are here. Think of it as a challenge...from the system, to you. For most of you, it would be one to prove your worth...for at least one of us, to preserve it.”
“There will be none of the same wishy washy, ‘spare thy opponent’ sparrings that you have been spoilt with. Indeed, you will all fight with the knowledge that there will only be one victor, and only one alive.”
Though he knew they would only hear his voice, his lips stretched to a sadistic grin.
“Steel your resolves, gladiators. We will resume shortly.”
He flicked a switch on the microphone-esque object and rested his head against his palm, watching the tiny figures on the screen began interacting with one another.
“Your speech was fine until you decided to delay the round,” Thirteen scowled.
“Every show needs its advertisement breaks, Thirteen,” Seventeen yawned, “and money happens to keep us alive.”
General information:
Your character is in a field, along with others which they know they will have to put down sooner or later or face a worse fate. In that kill or be killed mentality, what would be a fitting response?
This is a imitation of the post by post roleplay. Interact with other characters, or not at all. There are no restrictions as to what you should or should not do, but please write in prose rather than script, and do note that if you do start punching the living daylights out of each other, godmoding is frowned upon and will cause you problems later on. Permanently.
Lastly, refrain from posting amongst two people. Post once or twice, but make sure everyone else replies at least with one post before continuing on. There are no cast in stone rules; use your common sense as to what is good posting etiquette. If you wish to speak in ‘Out of Character’ or ask questions, begin with a ‘##’ before doing so.
The roleplay will begin now, on this thread. The deadline is a week and half later, Feburary 11th.
