Click me for the BoG R2 Main Thread for additional info!

Welcome to a Round Two Battle Thread for the BoG Tournament! Be mindful now, as your votes are the determining factor to who takes the win!

For a few reminders though:



Now without further ado here are the works of our would-be Masters of Genre!

KamirooWolf - Clark

rackle around his midnight orange fingertips, pockets of air fleeing the stasis as bubbles pop off in the heat of combat. The sword gently nestled into its scabbard clink's incessantly against the metal as he shifts his stance backwards before the earth gives to his godly decree. It obeys swiftly and the earth before the man roars, rising from its slumber to form a bastion between he and his adversary. At his side kneels a female, her jade colored skin and ruby hair a drastic contrast from the dull rock they suddenly hide behind. In her rugged hands rest a single double-edged blade, dull and basic as blind faith in its own right. Her eyes match her skin, and are crystalline in appearance, but to those who know her know all too well that nothing precious lies beyond the deceitful veil.

“I see things differently..." The man mutters underneath his breath, the boiling water springing wildly in his palms. Through a slot in the stone he launches the heated stream of liquid. It travels, maintaining its scalding temperature, before dropping to below zero degrees fahrenheit as it approaches the eye socket of the third party. Another man, his body maroon and especially lanky, takes the icicle through his pupil, not so much as faltering in the slightest as the spurting blood stiffens mid-flow to form a sturdy mask of crimson nearly blending with his complexion. Next come the hounds; one for every scar, our first man recalls, his black gaze shifting slightly to the crown of the maroon man's skull. Imp-like creatures, grotesque and perverse, claw through the bone just as they had before, screeching in an unintelligible dialect whilst their host tiredly regenerates the damage as he watches their pathetic charge. A new one is among them, his skin ripe and red, with a trio of horns protruding from his own, misshapen cranium. The imps charge with zeal and blades of bone, only to be thrown aside by vines tearing through the earthen mantle just below their webbed feet. The vines split apart and waste no time as their individual tendrils seek out the incapacitated enemies, piercing through their bodies with no remorse as imp blood stains the verdant plant life.

“Clark! You can't keep this up forever! Just give me the OK and I'll make this bastard a Hellspawn himself!" The jade woman beside our midnight orange man rings out, her voice as if it had just gone through a rusted cheese grater. Her accomplice cringes, thrown off by the sudden sound of her shrill voice in his delicate ears.

“First off," Clark begins, taking advantage of the grace period provided by his plants. “Inside voice is best voice. Second, I'm not your damn handler nor are you my subordinate. You're free to engage as you wish."

The man on the other side of the barrier roars, and both Clark and his compatriot embrace one another as a burst of light shaves a couple inches off the stone shield.

“You're right, Clark, you aren't my handler, but you're the only voice of reason I have in this existence. I don't make a move without your consent, remember?" She recites his seemingly ancient rule in an attempt to tug at his heart strings, only to have her nose slapped delicately by a dandelion extending out of her partner's hand.

“Niza...sometimes I swear your only purpose in life is to keep me in check. Fine, just try to keep it chill, will you?"

“Ditto to that, friend. Let's move."

In a flash of jade and amber the two emerge from cover, their bodies suffering minimal damage as the light from their assailant fades into a dull flicker coming from his heart. It doesn't take long for blood to erupt from his throat and onto the rock beneath him, and both Niza and Clark wince as more and more of the devil's children climb from his cranium. Lung damage and several organs, most likely. The midnight orange character provides cover fire for the female equipped with the boring blade, keeping imps at bay with air, fire, stone, plants, ice, and water alike. His vision blurs and his heart slows, for mother nature does not tolerate such abuse without proper atonement. The jagged stones in his body sink ever deeper, gently pricking into vital organs and veins as our protagonist crashes into the the dirt beneath him, the brown staining his orange hue.

Meanwhile, Niza rushes into the maroon man with bloodlust in her emerald eyes. The boring blade wedged into her vice like grip pleading for mercy as the and woman's legs spike, signalling to the rest of her body that the vessel is going airborne. Her heartbeat sky rockets as she leaps over any imps not delayed by Clark's efforts, their bone blades just beneath her as she soars overhead, releasing her trademark howl.

Her muscles tense and the grin on her face cracks a couple inches wider as she brings her wide blade down into rugged terrain torn asunder through sheer force. In an instant the twilight of sunset overhead becomes energized, traces of light blue emitting from the earth below in defiance of the night's oppressive presence. The imps are blinded and the maroon man covers his face lazily as Niza erupts a mad chuckle at the sight of her Grid expanding throughout the battlefield; her very figure in the center of the ethereal, but visible neon-blue space.

“A-4!" She commands the heavens, and after a short delay her wish is granted. A slender beam of piercing light runs the dull night through, its brilliance shattering the approaching shadow as it dusts the desired grid square absolutely. The clump of imps who once stood not too far from their creator had been deleted; stricken down by a devastating smite far from holy in the blink of an eye. No blood. No bone. No ash.

“B-2! C-1! D-4! A-3!" The four-by-four grid is a festival of deadly strobe lights, and Niza does her best to contain her excitement, but how can anyone just keep a boring, straight face in light of such a spectacle?! Her laugh strains, and the jade girl's humanity teeters precariously on the edge of sanity as the entire field surrounding her is reduced to, well, nothing. All that remains is her, a couple unsightly stains, and the slightly less maroon man not totally far away; all color drained from his figure out of rattling terror.

“Emotion is something I had long forsaken to better control the demons inside of me...but holy fucking shit, lady...what in the actual fuck..." His grey pupils are as wide as the various craters peppering the mountain's surface and his body shakes uncontrollably. A-2.5 is where he stands, and he could turn and flee the range of the beams if he wanted, but the dread of his failure climbing over his body melds him to the ground in unshakable forlorn depression.

Clark rises to one knee, a proud smile etched into his pain-stricken face as Niza's mad laughter slows to a calm and collected sigh. She is improving, slowly but surely. The jagged stones stabbing his insides recede, and Clark huffs a reluctant sigh towards the maroon man as his feet drag along the rocks beneath him. He narrowly sidesteps a crater, brushing past a quietly panting Niza as her neon grid fades into nothing. Impatient, the dark night rushes in behind its absence, claiming its dominion over the region before anything else can oppose its omnipotence. As he walks, Clark draws the blade at his side. The metal clinking one last time as it is freed from its scabbard.

“Do you understand WHY it is that we are not yet truly accepted as citizens of this world, Tzen?" Clark questions, approaching the defeated maroon man with blade lazily swaying with his motion. Niza winces at his tone; sophisticated and educated with a dash of undeserved politeness... she knows what is coming better than any body on the planet. “It is a simple answer, brother, and all of us know it well. It's an answer that they know too, and an answer they have for so long strived to achieve. The answer, my equal, is power and power alone. Simple, was it not? Where did we get these powers? Who can say, friend...who can say? One thing that keeps us at peace with the native men and women of this world, however..." Clark stops just in front of his adversary with ebony eyes locked into the maroon man's soul, his blade making a small incision is Tzen's throat as the midnight orange man brings the tip just under his captive's chin.

“Is our ability to use our power for the greater good. We, as a people, are good and kind. We have a strong sense of community and love one another as best to our ability. That is- and you are going to love this- until the humans decide they want a pet to please their bloodthirsty little children." The blade drops, and a hollow sigh escapes Tzen's throat, only to have incoming air choked as Clark's blade runs him through the center of his stomach. Clean splitting the face of his belly-button and tearing through any organs that dare resist it as vines sprout from the ground and take hold of his wrists. Stone pillars accompany them, and Tzen can only cry out in vain as the merciless elements hold him in place.

“When I, the first Stick Figure, spawned on this planet, my mind was so muddled. Where had I come from? What was my purpose? Was I alone? All of these questions plagued my mind for years as I wandered, avoiding any sight of modern civilization until I simply could not bear hiding any more. I met humans. They tried to cut me open, you know, and I killed so many of them that day that I almost felt as if I were their God. But then another Stick spawned before my very eyes, and I knew then that I wasn't any more special than the people you kill every day, Tzen. The newborn Stick, the same height as I stand right now, stood before me and defended the monsters with heart. I couldn't help but back down. From then on we fled from man, seeking out subsequent Spawns and marking Spawnpoints, and before we knew it we were a roaming nation in our own right. We swore AS A PEOPLE, to maintain peace and uphold tranquility with humans, and ever since then we have been able to live together in harmony for the few centuries we have breathed their air. Then we get bad apples like you who ruin the bunch."

Clark twists the blade to lock it in place and steps back before his entire body shifts. Before he knows it, Tzen has a wide variety of teeth decimated by a flaming roundhouse kick to the jaw. Niza covers her eyes for this; never before has punishment from Clark been as severe as this. Most Sticks, such as herself, get off with a slap on the wrist or are forced into a duel they are bound to lose, but this is something different altogether. The area around her is enveloped in pitch-black shadow, and it takes Niza a moment to realize that she has been sealed in a thick cone of pure stone. She makes no struggle to escape, and silently thanks Clark for the soundproof blindness.

On the outside Clark cracks his knuckles, his expression grim and serious as his gritty voice picks up for the last time.

“We Sticks are not born with a purpose, brother. The life of a Stick Figure is complicated indeed. We are drawn into existence by some unknown force, and often times we have to fight just to survive. But slaughtering countless of our kind and theirs alike just because the humans give us treats to do so... is something I CANNOT forgive. Those of us who fight do it for a cause, those of us who kill, do it for the greater good, and those of us who refuse to uphold peace and threaten coexistence with these people will be terminated. No exceptions. No second chances."

Clark pulls an open palm back and allows boiling water to hug his fingertips, the scalding liquid tickling his senses and he wraps his wide hand around Tzen's blood dribbling lips. The water's temperature drops just as it had before, and the maroon man's bloodcurdling shrieks are silenced as Clark removes his blade and digs into the open wound in Tzen's abdomen prior to allowing mother nature to cleanse the wannabe demon.

“Death by fire is your punishment."

His bare hands stained, Clark turns and drops the stone barrier surrounding Niza. She may be his age and slightly insane, but nobody should have to witness such a violent end. Her jade eyes widen at the blazing inferno just as she strokes her matching hair, and her head feels uncharacteristically light as she rises to her feet and follows Clark back to the city, not a word spoken between the two.
[/Spoiler]

Boomerang - Blood on the Dollar
earable heat, the cloudless sky granting no reprieve. Rain hadn't fallen in the region in nearly two months now, nearly evaporating the riverbed as shallow waters crashed against small, jagged rocks. The river was surrounded by an area with virtually no shade to be had and grass that was turning to a rotten brown. The Rocky Mountains rested on the horizon, looming menacingly next to the sun.

Even in the merciless heat, there was a man at the shore of the shallow riverbed, crouching among the rocks. His brown skin had darkened from his time in the light, his straw hat only serving little comfort as sweat ran down his face. In his shaky hands rested a pan filled with water and smaller rocks. He exhaled--He'd been crouching down in this position for hours on end, and still found nothing to show for it. The rumors of copious gold in this area seemed to be nothing more than a myth.

He turned over his shoulder, glancing at the angle of the sun and cursing himself quietly. He didn't have much time before the sun went down, and by then he'd have to retreat back to his cave and wait for his tribe to return with food for the night. He had told his tribe of this spot, and told them that it would give them the riches to mount an offensive against the Americans and take back what was theirs. However, without the profits to buy sufficient weapons, they were sitting ducks.

He went through the pan one more time with little hope, and suddenly found the jackpot--A nugget of yellow, entrapped between two much larger chunks of eroded rock. His lips curved into a grin, and in his head he jumped for joy.

"Yes," He spoke quietly to himself, "Yes!"

The celebration hit a sour note, however, as he heard a familiar click. A heated barrel was pushed into the back of the native's head, "I'm gonna need you to put that pan down."

The man didn't dare turn his head, suddenly obedient under the gun of the American bandit. He set the pan down before him and stayed still, breathing in and out softly, "We're not making any trouble."

A low scoff, "That's kinda funny, see, cuz...I think you are," The man cringed in discomfort, "The prospectors want this land, and you've been refusin'. It's like you wanted me and my boys to come up here."

The man shut his eyes tightly, waiting with baited breath. The bandits had come to California on the railroads about six months prior, around the time the euphoria of the Gold Rush died down and the hardships of life in the West began to set in. These days, the only ones who

I've already sat down with Boomy and had a 10 minute "tutoring session" as C&C for his story, so I'm just going to C&C Kamiroo's :p

So Kamiroo, let me begin with saying you are a fantastic writer. I feel like with some refinement the potential here is crazy. Here's what I think could be improved:
-I'm loving the vocabulary, but like the previous story things are long-winded, and it's hard to keep the flow of dialogue when so many elaborated things are happening between each person speaking in conversation. I'm not even saying to get rid of the well-detailed expenditure, but never sacrifice the readability of the story for it.
One thing I brought up to Boomerang is Pacing. When things are slow, writing usually shifts to a certain "speed" or "tone" to go with that flow. When things are fast and exciting, the writing follows suit here as well. A good comparison would be the background music in a movie, actually. You'll hear much different music in a fight scene than you would in the moment of a first kiss. So these action-packed moments would benefit well to not be made slow-paced by all the extra details going on.

-Some moments of the story break the immersion. They're few though, so I can address them each specifically.
One example is any time that the characters drastically change personalities when they talk. They normally talk like well-spoken mystical beings in the sense that they make a big show of being wise and somewhat divine. But then out of nowhere they'll switch and say something like, "but holy fucking shit, lady...what in the actual fuck." I totally got thrown out of the story each time this happened
The second example is, "As our protagonist" somewhere in there. The story is written like it's from Clark's point of view, but this sounds like there's a detached narrator telling the story.

Mostly, #1 made it hard to digest and properly enjoy the story. The writing was really good like I said, but I felt like I was running underwater trying to read through it. It was really close but my vote goes to Boomerang for this one

Quote from Devour

I've already sat down with Boomy and had a 10 minute "tutoring session" as C&C for his story, so I'm just going to C&C Kamiroo's :p

So Kamiroo, let me begin with saying you are a fantastic writer. I feel like with some refinement the potential here is crazy. Here's what I think could be improved:
-I'm loving the vocabulary, but like the previous story things are long-winded, and it's hard to keep the flow of dialogue when so many elaborated things are happening between each person speaking in conversation. I'm not even saying to get rid of the well-detailed expenditure, but never sacrifice the readability of the story for it.
One thing I brought up to Boomerang is Pacing. When things are slow, writing usually shifts to a certain "speed" or "tone" to go with that flow. When things are fast and exciting, the writing follows suit here as well. A good comparison would be the background music in a movie, actually. You'll hear much different music in a fight scene than you would in the moment of a first kiss. So these action-packed moments would benefit well to not be made slow-paced by all the extra details going on.

-Some moments of the story break the immersion. They're few though, so I can address them each specifically.
One example is any time that the characters drastically change personalities when they talk. They normally talk like well-spoken mystical beings in the sense that they make a big show of being wise and somewhat divine. But then out of nowhere they'll switch and say something like, "but holy fucking shit, lady...what in the actual fuck." I totally got thrown out of the story each time this happened
The second example is, "As our protagonist" somewhere in there. The story is written like it's from Clark's point of view, but this sounds like there's a detached narrator telling the story.

Mostly, #1 made it hard to digest and properly enjoy the story. The writing was really good like I said, but I felt like I was running underwater trying to read through it. It was really close but my vote goes to Boomerang for this one

Understood and thank you for taking the time to read it ^_^. Really thought I'd toned it down a bit with the wording, but it would seem there is still much work to be done.

The Maroon Man's shift in character was intentional, though I do suppose it could have been executed better than it was. Once again, thanks for the CnC and reading my story in general, I'll be sure to put in more effort next time around.