Today we've got a wonderful fight for you all to witness between Winston Kitt(Kamiroo Wolf) and Zackeroar(XDHunterNest)! It's sure to be a doozy so just kick back, relax, and be sure to vote fairly.
XDHunterNest's Part
Spoiler (Click to Show)
Finally, the demi-god reached his wooden cabin. It was in the middle of the woods. No paths leading to it, no signs telling where to go, perfect for Zackeroar. The wooden door creaked as the Spartan shoved it open. The burden on his shoulder was becoming heavier by the minute. A red light shone outside as the sun slowly rose in the east, and Zackeroar hadn't gotten any sleep the night before.
Usually, his hunts would not go on for as long as it had gone the day before, but he had a little trouble. The wooden floor made a loud thump as Zackeroar unslung his kill and let it fall to the ground. It was a large brown bear, twice as tall as the Spartan. He hung up his sheathed sword, removed his armor, and leaned his shield on a wall beside his spear before he lay on his bed and let sleep take him.
A day before...
Zackeroar ate the last of the food he had stored. He had only taken a few supplies with him as he left the Wind Chasers - his armor, weapons, and a knapsack of foodstuffs. That was a few weeks ago. It was finally time for a hunt. He set out of his wooden cabin, spear and shield in hand, sword sheathed behind his back, and armor covering his body.
The Spartan walked through the forest, turning his head from left to right as he searched for his prey. He was keen to look for rustling leaves, shadows, shaking of trees. Zackeroar cut away vines as he walked forward, still searching for food. Berries and fruits would've sufficed, but the Spartan disliked those. He needed sweet, succulent meat. No, he wanted it. But more than his want for meat, he wanted to feel the adrenaline pumping from his veins as his spear pierced right through something. He thirsted for blood.
"Only one place would surely have animals in this godforsaken place." thought Zackeroar. The demi-god marched forward to the watering hole where all kinds of plants and flowers grew and where animals came to drink. He passed by it when he was searching for a place where his lodging could be built. It would've been perfect, but where herbivores come to eat and drink, carnivores feast.
Finally, the spring was up ahead. Zackeroar peered through bushes, crouching as he held his spear and shield in hand. It sparkled as the sunlight hit its crystal clear, blue waters. There was one problem, though. The Spartan looked left to right, searching to no avail. There were no animals! "What in the gods' names?" Two figures sat near the water - a boy and something that seemed like a stick figure. The boy had dark skin with black hair that curled. His eyes were dark grey, like Zackeroar's hair when in Wrath. Eyeglasses covered these like a helmet that protected a warrior's head. He wore a plain orange shirt and had jeans on.
The Spartan walked out of the shrubbery and into plain sight, his armor clanking as he stepped. Upon closer inspection, the dark-skinned teenager was holding a sketchpad with a ringed spine. Attached to the ringed spine was a blue pen. The stick figure immediately stood up, soon followed by what Zackeroar thought was its master. "Who goes there?" asked the boy. The demi-god took a step then stopped. He raised his shield and spear and eyed the boy and his "pet". "Wait. You're Zackeroar, aren't you?" The Spartan showed a sign of surprise on his face and lowered his weapons.
"Yes, I know you! You're the Spartan from the wRHG!"
"You know me, mortal, but I don't know you."
"Ah, yes yes. My name is Winston Kitt."
"Nice to meet you Winston. Well, I must get going. Gods bless you and your 'friend'."
"Hold on, hold on. I can't let you do that."
"Huh?"
"I'm supposed to kill you!"
Winston quickly opened his sketched pad and ripped a few pages from it. Pieces of paper slowly reached the grass they were standing on as he tore these in half. "Hahahahaha! You're supposed to kill me with those?" Zackeroar said as he looked at the pieces of paper that lay on the ground. "No," a smirk appeared on the creator's face. "With these. Attack!" Two stickmen holding swords and shields charged at Zackeroar. The "bodyguard" and a stickman with bow and arrows stayed back with the boy.
Arrows whizzed by the Spartan as the two swordsticks edged closer and closer. The demi-god smacked one across the face with the butt of his spear. It recoiled back as Zackeroar sidestepped from a downwards slash from the other one. "Bad move." The Spartan thrust his spear at the exposed side of the swordstick. Green grass turned to blue as the spear penetrated straight through to the other side. Zackeroar pulled his spear out of the torso, blue ink splattering across his chestplate.
Arrows bounced off of the demi-god's metal shield as he charged closer and closer to the creator. "Surround him!" Four sticks wielding swords on both hands counter-charged Zackeroar, who stopped and laughed. "I am the son of Zeus!" he said as he kicked one stickman in the groin. It took a few steps back as the kick connected. "I am wrath incarnate!" He said as he blocked a vertical slash from another stickman. "And I will not lo-" The ground disappeared beneath him as a stickman smashed into his back. "May the son of Zeus live long and prosper!" Winston said as he snickered.
Slash after slash connected as the son of Zeus lay helpless on the ground. His shield was tossed away, his spear broken in half. He could feel nothing but anger as his armor creaked, sparked, and screamed from the punishment it was taking from the sword hits. Laughing could be heard from the back as Winston watched his target being ravaged. Skin gave way as cold steel connected. Demi-god blood oozed out from the points where sword sliced skin open like scissors would to a piece of paper.
Pain. Blood. Suffering. Anger. Zackeroar would not writhe or scream. Nor would he cry in pain. No, he would not give his enemies the pleasure of seeing the son of Zeus, wrath incarnate, cry out in suffering. Anger built up inside of him as the grass turned red with blood. "Keep it up! Don't stop until he's dead! Demi-gods are hard to kill. And this one's resilient as all heck." said Winston, observing the bloodshed with the archer and bodyguard beside him.
"Is this how I will die? The son of Zeus, killed by a boy. A boy, for Zeus's sake! A boy who draws, out of all the assassin's out there! 'Here is Zackeroar, the demi-god who killed thousands, but couldn't kill paper-thin hellspawns!' they will tell me in the Underworld. No, I will not die! Not like this! Not today!"
The clouds began to form as Zackeroar felt his life slowly slipping out of him. "No! Get out of the way! Brick cover him! Don't let the lightning touch him!" The bodyguard named Brick ran towards the body of the Spartan. Gray rain began to pour as the son of Zeus took a deep breath. "Hades, if I die now, I swear I will kill you in the underworld and feed you to your hellhounds." Zackeroar thought as Brick edged closer and closer. Thunder crackled, the loud booming sound filling the whole forest. Birds flew into the sky in terror as Winston dropped his sketchpad and covered his ears.
Red lightning struck down from the heavens above. Brick was launched back a few feet away as smoke covered the area where Zackeroar lay. A smoke so thick and black, you would think you've gone blind. Four lightning bolts, red like blood, struck the four swordsticks. No ink was splattered, but the stickmen disappeared. Electricity coursed through Zackeroar's veins. He felt himself slowly getting stronger, his wounds slowly closing. Finally, he regained control of himself and felt no pain. "I saved the remaining three for you, my son. Show them what happens when they try to kill the son of Zeus." said a voice in Zackeroar's head.
"Attack him, quickly! Brick, faster! Archer, fire!" The smoke cleared and there stood the son of Zeus, mithril greatsword in hand. Rain as gray as the Spartan's long hair still fell from the ash-colored clouds above. "I am sorry, mortal. Truly. But man or god, no one angers Zackeroar!" shouted the demi-god as he dodged arrows left and right.
Zackeroar sidestepped right, avoiding Brick's punch. His sword vibrated as it hit the bodyguard's shoulder. The stickman punched the chestplate with a right hook, denting it as fist connected with the metal. "He's called Brick for a reason, you know." Winston said, picking his sketchpad back up. "No, I musn't let him draw those sorceries of his again!" The Spartan stepped back as Brick's head shot forward. The stickman fell on his face as Zackeroar ran towards the archer, greatsword held above his head. He slashed downward with all his might as Winston frantically drew more stick figures. The stick fell in half and a puddle of blue replaced the spot he was in. Then, he tackled the creator, sending the sketchpad from his hand flying. "Don't worry," the son of Zeus said with a smirk, "I'm saving you for last." He got up and grabbed his sword and the sketchpad and flung it like he would throw his spear.
"Now for this boy's protector." Brick and Zackeroar continued to trade blows, the Spartan slicing and thrusting with his greatsword and the bodyguard taking no damage from the hits, but dishing punches, kicks, and headbutts back. The clouds were beginning to disappear, though. "Curse this 'Brick' creature! His invincibility must wear out soon!" The son of Zeus said as a punch from the stickman connected. "That was weaker..." thought Zackeroar. Another headbutt connected, but it wasn't as strong as before. A ray of sunlight began to shine as the clouds slowly dissipated.
The armor-clad warrior kicked the stickman in the chest. Brick took a few steps back in recoil. The Spartan, relentless, split his sword into two and unleashed a fury of strikes and slashes at the fallen stickman. He was careful not to hit the stickman's head and other valuable parts. Blue ink filled his swords, but he kept slashing and slicing as Winston wept in the back. Zackeroar kept losing his grip and Brick responded with punches to his face, but the Spartan kept going and going despite this. Finally, with a single slash to the head, the bodyguard was turned into a puddle of blue ink.
"Mercy!" cried Winston as Zackeroar trudged closer and closer, ink still dripping from his swords. "Like you showed me?" questioned wrath incarnate. He merged his swords into one mithril bladed, ruby encrusted, gold hilted greatsword. He raised it high above his head and it came down with a mighty scream from Winston in response. His right hand fell off like cheese when cut by a knife. Another scream came from the creator as his left hand was disconnected from his left arm.
"There's your mercy." Zackeroar's stomach rumbled as he looked at Winston, eyes weeping and focused on the Spartan. A mixture of anger and sadness was showing on his face. "Food, food, food." A look of terror appeared on Winston's face. "No no no no no, mortal." Zackeroar laughed. "I'm not a cannibal. Oh, look. A bear."
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My(Kamiroo's) Part
Spoiler (Click to Show)
“The people below me… they do not know of me. They… do not know my thoughts…my sins. They do not care as to the monster I am. They don’t know that every mistake I make costs me the life of a friend.”
But we learn from our mistakes. Their lives surely were not meaningless?
“Even if I did take notes in their spilt blood… what good are they? Regardless of whether or not I learned anything, a person still died. An ally with emotions, dreams, and ambitions. Who am I to bring about life and smother it before it has a chance to grow- experience the many things I've had the opportunity to?”
Better them closer in age to infants than old enough to become your parents. There is a price to be paid with every ability out there. None are exempt from guilt, you are not special. We have a meeting to attend. Summon one of your winged ones, and bid them farewell.
The command skitters across the man’s ears, his eyes closing once more behind his glasses as he crawls away from the edge of the building. He rises with a grunt, face blank with forced numbness as he slinks over to and receives his backpack from beside the rooftop entrance. Hesitant to open the bag, the creator instead shakily reaches for the rooftop door’s handle, his clammy fingers closing tight around the metal knob before he pulls and thrusts himself into the building.
“I’ll walk. No need to summon anybody.”
You are appalled by your cowardice. You will be forced to summon them eventually, and when you do… they will lay down their lives for you without so much as a second thought or an apology from the god who brought them to fruition. You are heartless.
The two continue to argue in Winston’s brain, exchanging blow for blow as they carry on a dull and repetitive conversation. His feet trudge down the seemingly countless flights of stairs, his eyes with a blank stare when the device nestled within his right pocket begins to buzz. He digs it out with his left hand awkwardly, only to sigh as the name “Giselle G.” appears next to the default profile picture for her number.
“I assume you’ve got information?” Winston initiates, trying his hardest not to breath heavily in the girl’s ear as he descends the metallic staircases.
“Your target is the Hercules 2.0 known as Zackeroar. His powers you can probably figure out for yourself, though it is worth mentioning that he wields a large sword with a spear and a shield. Should it come to a fight, keep in mind that his equipment coupled with his heavy armor render him relatively immobile compared to most other gladiators. You should have no trouble defeating him with sheer numbers, though I personally advise you to keep in mind that this is a mission for recruitment, not assassination. Should it come to it, however, I want you to remember that it is always your life over his, as is it with all of our members. Any questions?” Giselle dumps the information like an tense, under-appreciated mentor, her voice without sympathy as she awaits response from her subordinate.
Several moments pass.
“Well aren’t you just a bundle of joy this evening? Wanna talk about it, champ?” She loosens up, voice a tad bit more sisterly than Winston is able to enjoy.
“Huh? No- Sorry, just a lot on my mind. I’m good. You go ahead and go back to- you know, whatever it is that Giselle does whenever she’s tasked with ‘holding down the fort’.” The creator forces a pathetic chuckle, his eyes squinting despite the already setting sun as he himself pushes his way out onto the busy streets. Giselle responds with some