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Day Two

“The moon sure does look beautiful tonight!” Karl Jak’s voice rang out over an island that had grown silent after the terrible throws of the night hours. “People are really starting to eat this up… the intrigue and the violence is just wonderfully engaging for our viewers across the verses. It’s been twenty four hours and nearly twenty percent of you are dead. Congratulations! Let’s start with the fallen…

#40 Tartaros
#45 Blackfire
#32 Galel

“And how about some new danger zones, okay? The rate at which you’re all huddling together for comfort is making the island a little too big for our tastes. The following are some new danger zones that will active in six hours.


“We’ll also be dropping a parcel onto the lighthouse, so I hope you all have fun with that one… And please do buckle down when the storm comes… it won’t be a pretty one.

“Also… we’re dropping off packages at G2, J8, and C8. Have fun with those."

Quote:Weather – Hurricane Karl has caused high winds, torrential downpour, and lightning/thunder throughout the island. All squares bordering the ocean have been partially flooded, and the river and lakes have overflown their banks. Be aware of the increased danger of lightning at higher elevations. (This is all RP fodder)

Movement is limited to 2 spaces until the storm passes due to decreased visibility and the general lack of safety with being outside. You may send your movements with the PM title 'Day 2 Early Morning' ... Please also include whatever you want to queue up for a F2F and any ally information.

If you weren’t in safety, you will be notified of what happened to you.

Drop-off – The first person to get to squares G2, J8, and C8 will acquire the package dropped there. This is not an Easter Egg Event… it’s first-come, first-serve.
[Image: KarlSig.jpg]

Face to Face
#09 Samus Aran, #34 Erza Scarlet, #14 Mickey Mouse, #20 Harry Dresden vs #24 Crona vs #24 Pepsiman

Easter Egg - Diet Mountain Dew, Medkit

For some reason, Crona had decided to separate from his group and headed out toward the lighthouse. It may have been the burns or the inability for him to think clearly, but something told him he needed whatever medical aid had dropped near the lighthouse.

Furthermore, the downpour of rain actually felt pretty good on his charred skin.

The half-witch boy kept walking until he saw the flashing crate up ahead. An initial glance around revealed that no one was there to try and murder him, so he limped over to the box. As he fumbled with the latch, his damaged ears failed to hear the sound of eight pairs of feet walking up on him. It wasn’t until the barrel of the flak cannon touched the back of his head that his eyes went wide.

With a gulp, Crona turned and look at the collection of heavily equipped primes. They meant business, and he didn't plan to back down. He couldn't let them take the supplies and leave him to die in this storm. No...

Crona's body began to change as Ragnarok was unleashed. The small, timid figure of a boy gave way for the monster within. A screamed issued forth from the beast as it stepped forward to attack the cannon-wielding woman in front of him.

As a bolt of lightning danced across the thick clouds overhead, the flak cannon let off a flash of its own. Crona’s head exploded amid the blast of shranpenl. Samus lowered the smoking weapon and watched the body fall to the wayside. She glanced inside to see that it contained a small bottle of some delicious-looking green liquid and small red box with a white cross across its lid. Tucked around the two central items was an assortment of MREs that ran the range from white trash delights to fancy-looking cuisines from some planet’s Far East.

“Well that was easy,” Harry muttered as Mickey tugged at his coat.

“Someone’s coming this way,” the mouse whispered as the quartet turned to see a bleeding man in a spandex suit limp toward them.

“H-hello,” his voice remained strong even though he was struggling the entire way. “I heard there were bandages and Pepsi products here. I wanted to support this event by offering additional refreshments from PepsiCo to ensure we are all hydrated throughout the current storm.”

#08 Crona Dead

35 Primes Remain

The Diet Mountain Dew, Medical Kit, and Crona's Mana Potion are there for Merza Hamus
[Image: KarlSig.jpg]

Face to Face
#27 Deadpool, #30 Sasuke Uchiha, #43 Vincent Valentine, #28 Mami Tomoe vs #Strazio Rockwell vs #35 Wartortle

The rain outside was torrential.

Sasuke frowned as he looked out the window of the diner. At this rate, it wouldn’t be fit for them to travel until sunrise, but by then, what new horror would Karl Jak be waiting to roll out onto the island?

“Where did Crona go?” The ninja asked as he realized that the soft-spoken adolescent had disappeared.

”Communication error?” Deadpool said, leaving Sasuke to wonder what the hell that was supposed to mean.

“He’ll catch his death out there in this storm,” Vincent muttered from his position atop one of the large stoves. That remark elicited a chuckle from the mercenary, who turned his attention to something in his bag.

With a scowl, Sasuke turned toward the window and continued to watch the rain pitter-patter on the glass. As he listened to the sounds of the storm, he heard footsteps out in the area of the diner reserved for customers. Glancing over at Deadpool and Vincent, the ninja motioned with his head toward the swinging door that opened into the dining room area. “You heard that too?”

“Not hard.” The smart-mouthed mercenary replied as he zipped up his bag and followed Sasuke out into the actual diner part of the building. As he stepped out, the ninja threw on the nearby light switch, flooding the room with light and causing the white-haired man in the middle of it to grunt as he clutched his hands over his eyes.

“I just need to rest,” Strazio groaned as he shook away the spots in front of his eyes and looked at the trio. “I’m hurt pretty bad.”

“What do you have on you?” Sasuke asked, his eyes scanning the other man for any sign of weapons other than the garish spear clutched in his other hand.

“Just this.” Strazio’s tone seemed genuine enough, but the trio didn’t seem sold on the man’s innocence.

“Take your pants off… You might be packing heat. As soon as the words left Deadpool’s mouth, he glared up at the ceiling and started to swear at someone or something.

“I’m a good guy,” Strazio Rockwell said as he fished for the emblem that marked him as a member of the Darkshire garrison. He held up the sign of his rank with the vain hope that someone would recognize it, and lo and behold, the unlikeliest of the tree spoke up.

“I know that dirt hole,” Deadpool declared as he clapped his gloved hands. “Has to be the worst beer in the entire Omniverse, but hey, the bartenders are nice to look at.

“Can we trust him?” Sasuke asked as he clutched his hands around the barrel of his weapon.

Deadpool shrugged his shoulders. “I said I know where it’s from… that isn’t to say he didn’t just take it off a corpse or someone else he murdered.”

“That’s not me.” Strazio snapped, causing the three primes to turn their focus back to him. The looks they wore on their faces showed they weren’t too pleased with his tone, but before any rash decisions could be made, they heard someone smacking at the door.

“Let me in!”

This time it was Sasuke who recognized who was screaming through the diner door at them. “Mami!” The ninja shouted as he rushed passed Strazio to the blonde woman rapping at the glass door. He threw it open and ushered the woman into the diner. “What the hell happened to you?” He declared as he looked at the sorry excuse for clothes she wore. Parts of her outfit were burnt, others were soaked in her blood, and all of it was drenched in rainwater. Hair that had once been pleasant and bouncy was now stained brown and clinging to her skull.

“I ran into some people from the preshow events,” she muttered as she fell to her knees and tried to catch her breath.

“They did this to you?” Sasuke demanded as he glared out into the storm. “Are they still around?”

“They didn’t do this to me,” Mami muttered as she looked up at the angered prime. “Some psychopath in the woods did. He was wearing a hockey mask and had a machete. I don’t know how I escaped him.”

From a previously unoccupied corner of the diner, someone let out a laugh. Everyone in the diner turned to see a bipedal turtle sitting on one of the tables. “Boo.” Wartortle shouted as he brandished a nail gun and opened fire on the collected primes. Vincent ducked under the count and cursed the fact that he’d left his Molotovs in his bag in the kitchen. A few feet away, Deadpool remained seated on the counter near the cash register as nails whizzed through the air. One of them smacked into the machine and caused it to spit out its tray with a pleasant ding!

In the middle of the bar, Sasuke pulled up his flamethrower and released a blast of flames just as a nail ricocheted off his shoulder. While the nail didn’t bite flesh, the force was enough to throw off his aim, and he missed the turtle by more than a few feet.

Another nail plugged Strazio Rockwell in the small of the back, and the Defender of Darkshire realized that he was better off out in the storm. Before anyone could stop him, he rushed for one of the windows and dove through.

From his seated position, Wartortle stopped shooting and turned to look at the second broken window in the diner. “Do they teach that move in some sort of prime-ary school?” The turtle asked, prompting a chortle from Deadpool. “Did you find that funny, you spandex-wearing faggot?” He shouted as he turned to look at the mercenary.

“…Wait, you weren’t making a joke?”

“A joke? You think I’d lower myself to making puns for your amusement, hu—” Wartortle stopped and marched across the diner until he was a few feet away. Vincent and Sasuke watched intently as the red merc and the blue turtle had a glare-off. “Do I know you?” The turtle demanded as he poke a clawed finger into Deadpool’s chest.

“Deadpool. We raced up a mountain together when we were inside that virtual reality inside that other virtual reality...” Deadpool stopped talking for a brief moment, and then he snapped his fingers. “Like a dream within a dream…”

“I remember that.” The turtle replied. “We were shoved into parkas and tethered to some little shit heads who weren’t… who weren’t…” Wartortle trailed off as the word he sought remained trapped on the tip of his tounge.

“Posting. They weren’t posting.” Deadpool answered, prompting Wartortle to nod his head, even though the turtle wasn’t quite sure what the term meant in the context they were discussing.

“So what the hell is going on… Do you know that creature?” Sasuke demanded.

“Yea, I guess,” Deadpool replied. When Sasuke gave him a glare, he shrugged his shoulders. “Hey! I know a lot of guys… no homo.”

Before Sasuke could get more information out of Deadpool or Wartortle, he heard a strange sound.

Chh chh chh… ahh ahh ahh…

The ninja turned around to see a hulking, rain-drenched man in a hockey mask standing behind Mami. Seeing Sasuke’s mortified expression, the blonde turned around just in time to have her head lobbed off by a violent swing of Jason’s machete. The woman’s decapitated head spun up into the air and splashed blood all over Sasuke and the diner floor. Her neck likewise spurted blood like a hose on full blast, and by the time that Mami’s severed head landed in Sasuke’s hands, the ninja was drenched in her blood and the killer was nowhere to be seen.

#28 Mami Tomoe DEAD

34 Primes Remain

Sasuke has a cut on his shoulder – Minor Injury (+1 Damage)
Sasuke has Mami’s severed head and is coated in her blood – Story Injury (+3 Years of Therapy)
Strazio Rockwell got shot with a nail… OUCH – Minor Injury (+2 Damage)

The Diner guys should expect a PM from me.
[Image: KarlSig.jpg]

So much for Ganondorf's healing skills. His arm was fully broken now, he was sure. It didn't answer to any of his commands, and the pain blitzed through his shoulder worse than ever. He hobbled along on an impaled leg, the arrow still poking through the flesh. With a disabled arm and Ganondorf's plethora of injuries, there hadn't been a good time to stop and try to remove it. At least they were still alive, he supposed.

The Gerudo king grimaced as they stumbled forward. One of his arms was out of commission too, and his face bubbled from some festering malaise. It was incredible, in a bitter and painful sort of hindsight, that they had managed to stay alive during all of their encounters. Broken and bleeding they may be, but their combined strength had decimated much of their competition so far.

Link took another weak step. He put his weight on the arrowed leg, too much weight, and a stinging heat awoke brighter. With a sharp cry he dropped to his good knee, panting heavily, sweat running down his face. How could he continue on like this? He could barely even walk. What would he do in their next encounter? It would have to be stand and fight or die; there was no retreating from a battle in this state. And if he died, the Triforce of Courage would be lost. The Master Sword, in the hands of that mechanical woman, would be stolen.

It would all be for naught.

He looked at Ganondorf, who had stopped to survey his companion. This was karma, wasn't it? Allying with his nemesis, the man who single handedly plunged Hyrule into a seven year abyss, had brought about his failures, his ... destruction. What had he been thinking? If his destiny was to die on this insipid island, he could have at least done it with his morals and ethics intact. Instead, he turned to the only source of support, discarding any responsibility for what it actually meant. All that mattered was survival, but now he saw that there was more to life than just living. Life held more significance than simply extending the opportunity to breathe.

And yet, Link saw a flicker of sympathy in the dark lord's eyes. Indeed, despite their tenuous alliance, Ganondorf had not rescinded his word. Every fight Ganondorf was there, clashing with their foes, offering insightful advice, even battering down a bear to save him. And Link never expected him to know about one of his most cherished pastimes; fishing. If anything, Link could've already been dead without his help.

Oh goddesses, why does this have to be so hard? Link thought to himself. A lifetime of experience told him one thing, and insistently, while his time in Dante's Abyss introduced new factors he'd never even considered could be real.

Had fate punished him for his selfish decision, or was it just luck of the draw?

"You can't walk," Ganondorf noted, voice low.

Oh no. Time to put the adversary out of his misery. Link locked eyes with him but didn't speak. He swallowed hard. Nothing he could do would stop what was about to happen.

The Gerudo crouched down. "This might hurt your pride, boy, but it is necessary."

Link furrowed his brow as Ganondorf scooped him up in his good arm and flung the Hylian over his broad shoulder, carrying him like a sack of grain.

"Hey!" Link shouted indignantly. "Put me down!"

"Stop it," Ganondorf said, his tone thin and worn. "Conserve your energy."

Link sighed out. He didn't have the strength to keep up this struggle. Now at rest, he fought his closing eyelids, his expended body craving sleep.

As his lashes meshed together, he wondered if he would ever wake up again. The true part of his mind, however, knew instinctively that Ganondorf would make sure that he would.
[Image: illidansig2.jpg]

Out in the abandoned building, wind whistling past outside, the three play pool in the dark. Guu was doing significantly better as Desco and Luffy were playing with snapped in half cues while the pink one could just shapeshift her arm. The missing balls were a pain though.

Just as the pink princess was about the do the winning play, Luffy suddenly thought he spotted an animal running passed the door. Little did he know that it was actually a piece of roof, but he didn’t realize that at the time.

“Meat!” Strawhat yelled at the top of his lungs, his eyes bulged as that giant grin donned his face. He ran towards the door, arms forward, and ready to snatch whatever animal ws in front of him.

But as soon as the pulled the furniture away from the passageway and transverse through the portal, he was quickly swept up by the wind. Guu and Desco watched helplessly as their stretchy friend flies off by the force of the hurricane.

“That idiot!” Yelled Guu frustrated as she runs for the portal, intent to catch him with a stretch grasp, but she felt herself getting swept way. She was forced to retreat to the safety of the building.

She turned to Desco.

”Do you have any ideas?” Guu asked.

The demon child thought for a little bit. Then, a light bulb turned on in her head.

”Desco’s got an idea!”


Yogsothoth was holding Guu like a dart from a dartboard, steadily aiming her towards the door. Just as she was reeling back to toss her out the door, another light bulb went off in her head.

”Wait! Desco’s got a better idea!”


The demon child had Guu and herself cradled inside yogsothoth. The two float outside the door, sticking close to the ground, adjusting for balance every now and then, slowly making their way through the storm. They continued onward, travelling with the wind in search of their friend.
[Image: MUsY55C.jpg]
[Image: sN7AejK.jpg]

Samus raised both of her eyebrows at the sight of the wounded newcomer. She didn’t think they could get much more unusual than an anthropomorphic mouse, but here was what appeared to be an anthropomorphised canned drink. Still, he was a person, and he was in pain. Samus’s eyes looked down to its admittedly chiselled torso; from beneath those reflective fingers, a steady stream of blood could be seen, washing away with the rain. If he didn’t receive medical treatment soon, he was going to die.

“Ksh …” The bounty hunter grit her teeth, even as she kept her eyes on him. She shot a glance at the others from the corner of her eye; even as the rest of them hesitated like her, Mickey ran forward. She whipped a hand towards the mouse. “Wait!”

He didn’t stop. But even Samus raised her flak cannon in panic, the wounded silicone man crumpled across the frame of Mickey Mouse with a pained groan. Samus bit her lip and lowered her weapon.

“We need to get out of here.” Erza’s eyes flickered around, scanning the open plains. “We’re sitting ducks out here.”

* * * * *
The four unlikely companions dashed into the shelter of the cave, helping Harry to carry the now-unconscious PepsiCo representative. Only once he was laid flat across the rocky floor did they stop to get a proper look at the spoils of their venture.

The MREs weren’t appetising to Samus now, but she knew she’d be thinking differently by the next day or two. She’d been rationing her portions thus far, but this meant they could all survive a little longer without having to put themselves at risk chasing deer or scrambling around in rivers to catch fish. She could almost begin to feel the tight muscles of her shoulders begin to release, if only a little.

The medkit was a technological-looking thing, a metal box with something like a fold out needle. The hunter guessed that it wasn’t a traditional medkit, but something capable of healing even the grievous injuries she’d sustained. She found herself moving to open it up before catching herself and looking at the others. They were all staring at the man on the ground.

“Do you think he’s going to make it?” asked Mickey.

Harry bit his thumb. “Not unless we use that medkit on him right now.” His expression was pained. “Samus …”

Samus said nothing. She took off her helmet, removed the hair tie from her bunched up knot and shook free her sweat-slicked hair. There were heavy bags under her eyes and her face was red, blotched from the cold and whatever the hell else was going on in her body right now. “He might be dead anyway …” She slid the medkit across the floor, “… But we won’t know until we try.”

In unspoken agreement, Harry unlatched the top of the medkit. There were instructions inside. “Spray … across … wounded area …” He took out the inner contraption and did as it instructed. Within moments the Pepsi man’s wound began to coagulate and fizz over. He stirred.

“Th-thank … y-you …”

“Stay down,” Erza instructed. “You’re still pretty hurt.”

And we still don’t know whether we can trust you, thought Samus, noting the knight’s careful body language.

The Pepsi representative nodded, but he looked happy. No wonder; his life had just been saved. Samus wondered how many others might have done the same, put in their position.

“There’s still one more charge.” Harry looked between them all. It was obvious they were trying to decide; who needs it most? The mouse and the knight were both sporting what looked like some nasty burn wounds. Harry had been strong and silent about his earlier stab wound from the red-costumed vigilante, but Samus had noticed the subtle changes in his movements that indicated it hurt it a lot more than he let on.

Still … Samus didn’t look at her own injuries. She didn’t need to. Her left shoulder still burned with the fire of a thousand suns, and her stomach; well, her stomach periodically made her feel like she was going to vomit up her own intestines and die. Eating hurt; moving hurt; lying down hurt. She looked at the others and they were looking back at her. “Okay,” she said.

As Harry stepped over and prepared to administer the remaining charge of the medkit, their silver-skinned guest croaked in an almost stereotypically heroic tone: “Wait.”

They all looked towards him.

“If you’re looking for physical refreshment, there’s no product more refreshing than PepsiCo Incorporated’s Mountain Dew.” He groaned, taking a few seconds to catch his breath before continuing. “Just one sip, and you’ll find yourself reinvigorated and ready to take on even the most physically demanding sports and activities.” He coughed blood. “Now in diet flavour.” He passed out.

They looked from the unconscious Pepsi-man to the bottle of Diet Mountain Dew protruding from the picnic basket of MREs. Samus picked it up with her bad hand. “What the hey,” she growled. She was thirsty, and what better to quench one’s thirst than the delicious flavour of PepsiCo’s own Diet Mountain Dew? As she unscrewed the cap, there was a reassuring pop and fizz and the bounty hunter found herself begin to salivate. She raised the still-cold bottle to her parched lips and drank deeply of its both re-energising and great tasting qualities. As if by magic, the pain of her wounds began to lessen. “Wow …” she breathed, flexing her shoulder. “I feel great!”

They all eyed the hunter enviously before turning to the last remaining charge of the medkit. “I’m fine, really,” insisted Mickey, nodding towards the other two.

Erza looked at Harry. The wizard glanced at the massive bruise and the cut on Erza’s face. He held his palms up. “I’ll be fine. I’ve had much worse than this.”

The knight looked down at the medkit. “You sure?”

“Yeah. Mickey?”

“Got it.”

The mouse smiled as he took the med spray and began applying it Erza’s wounds. When it was over, she sighed a relieved sigh.

“Well, that went better than expected.”

She wasn’t wrong. Even Samus felt a lot better. She’d been hesitant about saving their glossy-skinned patron, but somehow even despite her many layers of cynicism and experiences of betrayal, she couldn’t see the Pepsi man turning on them even if it did offer him any advantage. The man was clearly here to sell Pepsi and advertise his brand. She wondered if he even had any idea what the competition entailed. She shook her head. What a scumbag, Karl.

“Who’s on next watch?” asked Mickey.

“It’s my turn,” said Erza. She turned to Samus. “How about it?”

The bounty hunter nodded and stood up. She had to glance down at the Pepsi man, but decided that tying him up wasn’t worth the effort. The others probably wouldn’t like it either. She didn’t know what the others had seen but she was beginning to realise that they were all painfully naïve. The more Samus thought on it, the more she realised how incredibly lucky they’d all been to find others that weren’t out to win this game at any cost. When she’d arrived, she’d been ready to go it alone the entire way; but grievous injuries had a way of changing that, and so far she hadn’t been killed in her sleep. Perhaps there were more good primes out there then she’d been led to believe.

She crossed to the entrance of the cave and sat down across from Erza, training her eyes on the pitch black landscape. Harry, Erza, Mickey. Thanks to them, she’d come back from the darkness of despair to something else. Not cheer, not by a long shot, but … hope. Yes. Hope. And she intended to repay that.

Erza’s soft but sure tones reached her ears. “Whatcha thinking ‘bout?”

Samus grinned, placing her helmet back on. “How we’re all going to survive this.”
[Image: 0bwAI3j.jpg]

Gilgamesh watched as his friend crumpled to the ground as he diverted the man’s attention. The bullet that shot through Jon’s stomach seemed to shatter time itself. He could almost see the bullet pass right by his face and lodge right into the Knight’s stomach. Blood splattered onto the wall as his archer had just collapsed to the floor clutching his stomach in pain. His arrow severing the Marine’s arm and letting it land with a thud onto the floor. It’s lifeless qualities staring Gilgamesh in the face as he realized how much he’s grown attached to Jon. The loyal man had done everything he has said and he had developed and attachment to him. Gilgamesh ran over to Jon’s side, elevating his head and holding him up. Jon’s skin turned into deathly pale and his eyes seemed to glazed over as if he was barely holding on. The memory of Enkidu resurfaced, parallelling to this experience he was living now. Tears welled up in Gilgamesh’s eyes as he held Jon in his hands, his subject trembling as if the world’s shivering temperatures were beginning to creep into his very soul. He heard footsteps run down the hall, running from the broken duo.

“No, you cannot leave. In just this one day you have shown me your bravery, your loyalty, and the true value of your character. I thought I would never say this, but I value you as one of my largest treasures known as my friend. And as my treasure I command you not to leave me!” His eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to get rid of the tears in his eyes. “Why does the one mongrel that I can stand have to die so quickly?” He whispered to himself and his comrade smiled.

Jon coughed and blood splattered onto his clothing, his white teeth now bloodstained and horrifying. “I’m sorry my King.” He paused just enough to cough up more blood. “However, I think I’m done for.” Gilgamesh’s frown grew wider and Deadpony popped out and the little shit even looked upset, it spoke in between sobs, choking on each and every word.

“ Y-huh you know nothing J-Jon Sneeeew.” It almost looked as if the Stuffed animal was distressed and the glint in it’s eye looked similar to a tear. It’s permanent, twisted smile had deformed into a frown and where it’s once vulgar personality had begun, only a hollow shell of disappointment and remorse remained. Jon’s eyes fluttered shut and the King pushed him, feeling his hollow breathes get closer and closer to ceasing.

The King lifted the Knight onto his feet before lifting him entirely onto his back. Damn what did this guy eat? The guy must have weighed a ton...He walked over to grab the dead man’s item before the Deadpony rose out of his bag and commented.

“ Uh the answer to your question is a giant ass burrito...it wasn’t pretty.” Jon and Gilgamesh groaned simultaneously he hoisted him over his shoulder. They needed to get out of this damn hellhole and fast. He exited the large building before running to the Storm that would make his life so much worse. He was either going to die in there or endure hell to survive.

The dark midnight sky was downpouring on them, his hair matting down to his forehead and the cold biting at his fingertips. His crimson eyes gleaming through the darkness, the clouds covering the dim moonlight and causing Gilgamesh to be in absolute darkness. Deadpony was sleeping and Jon...Jon was just barely hanging in there. The dense raindrops hit his face like bullets and caused him to wince as he continued to bear on forward, his one shoulder burdened by Jon and the other out of it’s socket. His body was fatigued but he had to go somewhere, someplace where no one would find him. The gravel beneath his feet was wet and unstable and Gilgamesh found a small quiet condensed area .

Gilgamesh paused and looked around, the forest was dense, the carapace thick, the path uphill was difficult to climb, other than the way he came. He laid Jon on the floor trying to protect him from danger. Jon was shivering, if he didn’t immediately die from the shot he would surely die from hypothermia. However, if Gilgamesh made a fire...people would find him. A risk of life or death, one similar to the decision Jon had made. He would take care of Jon...in this pouring rain. He set his back down with a thud and searched through his bag,--- ah there it was. The Survival Shovel, perfect.

The King walked over to the nearest tree, it’s looming branches peered over Gilgamesh almost taunting him. He took the shovel and tried to chop the tree down. He brought the shovel back, almost as if he were batting for a baseball team and swung with all of his might. It hit hard, however it also rebounded hard. His dislocated shoulder grew more profound in pain.

“Me Damnite!” The King cursed as he fell to his knees in pain. His shoulder was aching and he stood back up shaking his other arm in frustration. “Jon Snow Gather me some firewood.” Gilgamesh expectantly stood there before turning around to see the dying man. “Oh...right…” He looked up at the branches and looked at the shovel that lay on the ground. He kneeled to pick it up, his arm dragging onto the ground as he tried not to move it. He raised his shovel and began to hit the twigs that lay above him, letting them fall to the ground, where one would inevitably make it’s way to the King’s head. Gilgamesh carried the numerous amounts of sticks right next to Jon and sat down with a thump. He found two random rocks and began clicking it together to no avail.

“ Hey Numbnuts. You need FLINT to do that instead of rock ya dumbass. You’re like the moron Sid from Ice Age but more pathetic.” The King shot a cold glare as he hovered over the sticks to keep them dry as possible. Hours passed and the weather had blessed the King by temporarily subsiding, the wind however was not as kind. Gilgamesh was still clicking two rocks with a bored look on his face and magic, a single spark flew to the sticks and ignited a small fire. Gilgamesh blew on it, feeding the flames of his rage and their survival. They would survive together, they would do anything. The darkness of the night gave through to the kindling flames. His eyes darted to the sleeping man, his breaths getting shallower and shallower.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take the first shift.” Gilgamesh remained awake and alert comforted only by the fire. And he did it all, for the sake of his friend.
[Image: GilgameshDAsig_zpsecqjfngm.png][Image: NB_BadgeRight.png][Image: RhzfCY6.gif] - Credit to Ezzy

Gildarts carried a hefty bundle on his back and proceeded to leave his hideout, even if it was raining Omni's fury.

The Prime had found his previous building choice both too dull and too cold, not to mention he needed to find food for the night. With a dubious glance outside, he inhaled a breath of strength from the air and his eyes braced against the rain as balls of water that hung on his eyebrows and streamed down his cheeks. Karl hadn't been kidding when he said the weather could kill. The Game Master had even read off a list of the day's casualties, and Gildarts confirmed his own suspicions. People were playing the game, and the names he had heard of the victims, all competing against the same fate. .

The warrior Prime, possibly the most prepared for battle, had yet to encounter a single condemned soul and only just now did he realize why. Karl must have known the Ace's righteous personality inside and out. Gildarts could only now see his fault, he had previously lacked conviction. Conviction to kill. As far as he knew, everyone who had signed up for this tournament had agreed when they signed the dotted line and had not been tricked as he had. When they had chosen to participate, this meant their goal was to kill anyone who got in their way. Kill him.

This epiphany suddenly made things so much simpler. This meant they all were his enemy, even before they had met on their war ground.

Thinking back to Jon Snow, his first acquaintance in this treacherous limbo, and later to his run-in with Cindy, those competitors had both seemed to know what war would come and of the battle that would rattle every man who dared to draw their blade.

Gildarts was convinced that this stormy solitude was Karl's way to provoke the mighty Gildarts, who ever-hungered for a reason to do battle, but always fought to keep it tame. Now he saw his precious justice was flawed and even considered Karl's motivational prompts, "Karl, if you can hear me, I'm coming for you. This is the last time you wrong me, but oh, I'll make it a good show, don't you worry. I'll show you who the real master is, even in this pretty necklace you gave me. A man who pulls the strings is never worth more than the puppet he makes his profit on."

The words revealed that Gildarts was growing wise to his damned fate. Death was inevitable and Gildarts had now criminalized the participants for killing their fellow Primes as an excuse to get even. The battle had warped him, and he had yet to draw blood. "Whoever I stumble across, let it be their defeat! If they have chosen to play this game of death, let them at least meet the best you have do offer."

He clutched his metal fist as the spiteful words echoed in the pouring rain, heard by no one.

Suddenly, the unexpected happened. An animal dashed out in front of him -or wait, had it been a roof panel?- he heard a low shriek but debunked it as merely the wind. He was unconvinced, that was, until he noticed something follow the panel.

Someone's there! His heart lurched with excitement, enlivened by the idea of escape, but then remembered the words he had spoken, those touched by the vengeance of a selfish man. Though, it was perhaps the philosophy of the abyss to resort to self preservation in the twisted way that convinced a man that loosing one's true nature was the same as saving it.

THWAK! A ripple of wind gusted too close to him and effected his dark cloak so he flapped like a super man before catching a current upwards and falling ungracefully over his face.

His upside down cape caused his new audience to burst with laughter despite the cold sorrows that cascaded with the pouring rain. They had been in pursuit of the roof panel, but stopped when they heard his splash in the mud.

After flipping back his cape, slowly his eyes scaled the group, jogging from the young man who sprinted away from him to the short Guu, and later falling on the mini monster. The Ambrosia goddess extended a widened smile at this unexpected predicament.

"Gildarts is that you? It's so good to see you!" Guu seem sincere, and prompted the purple one likewise.

There was a suspenseful silence, of course he was unmistakable, the question had been a formality, instilled by the island itself.

In response, he dropped his chin and his respect for his leader made his body appear rigid and small, "Sorry I'm not sure I'd be much use to you, this island has taken my magic. However, if you'll have me, I'll fight with my life on the line." His genuine eyes moved to Guu with a profound seriousness that sliced through the torrents of wind, "For Ambrosia."

"What are you talking about Gildarts?" Guu, now soaked from the rain and meeting the man on equal terms. Her tone implied she had been expecting him, perhaps. "You remember Desco?"

Yogsothath eyed the enemy and seemed protective over the purple Desco, while Guu attempted to break the ice but suddenly seemed to remember something, or rather, someone. With a gesture he followed the two girls, the purple one kept looking back at the threatening persona the caped hero carried in his gait, it seemed she couldn't decide whether he was a friend or to be considered foe. Soon they came upon a strange young man wearing an eye-popping color.

With the flicker and turn of his straw hat, the greeting Gildarts received was not the one he was expecting.

[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus

Rain sucked ass. A lot. Despite the weather, the speakers that pockmarked the island still worked like a charm. Apparently, they had the good fortune of being in the dead center of a hurricane. Oh, joy!

Violet and her pink-complected companion traversed the valley in pouring rain, fully soaked from head to toe. Luckily for her, her boots were waterproof, so she had that going for her, at least. She couldn’t say the same for her partner, but Blink trudged on, her pride not allowing her to complain about squishy footwear or clingy clothing.

“I think we’re headed up a hill,” Violet pointed out, noticing a slight incline through a light break in the rain.

“I am aware,” Blink shot back. The poor creature looked absolutely miserable. No doubt her shoes were giving her hell at the slight incline, causing her to slide back just enough to be a pain in the ass with each step she took.

“If we get up high enough, we might be able to clear the worst of it. Rainclouds tend to hang a bit low.” Violet marched on, her front being pelted by stinging drops of rain. The winds were really beginning to pick up, and she could hear thunder rumbling in the distance.

“People are probably going to try to find buildings to hide in to ride out the storm,” Blink said. “I am going to bet there’s going to be a lot of fights happening while this thing’s going on.”

“Yeah, probably.” She could barely make out the gravel path that they travelled upon. The storm was definitely getting worse. Would a fight really be that much of a nuisance? Her eyes scanned ahead of her, noticing a few square-ish objects in the distance. Could be a mirage, could be shelter. “I think I see something up ahead.”

Blink looked upward, noticing the objects, as well. “What if we run into someone? I’m not going to be much help with this toy.”

“We’ll figure something out,” Violet said. “Weapons are only about as effective as the person who’s using it.”

“That’s reassuring,” Blink grumbled. “It’s been a while since I’ve trained my Barbie-to-face combat skills.”

Violet shot a look over her shoulder at her companion. Blink was unmoved. “There are still a lot of other shelters that people can find. If we’re lucky, the big groups will be heading towards the town or one of the other buildings around it. If we can keep avoiding them for a few more phases, we should be okay when we finally do come up against them. They’ll be weak.”

“Makes sense,” Blink said. “We’re just two people, and only one of us has a decent weapon. Do you think we’ll find others we can trust enough to tag along? Should we even chance it?”

“Honey, I don’t trust anything out here.” Blink tried not to look hurt by the comment. Violet frowned. “Nothing against you, but this is a game where it’s kill or be killed. Ultimately, one of us is going to have to kill the other, if someone else doesn’t do it first. Despite what weapon you got from the draw, you still have to do your best to make the most of it if you hope to last.”

“We need better weapons.” Blink slipped on a muddy patch, but caught herself before she fell. The momentary slippage gave her a chance to peer around her, and she noticed they were quite far up. The clouds were getting lower, the rain fatter and more intense. They hadn’t seen a soul so far. “How far up do you think we are?”

Violet looked around. “A few hundred meters, I’d say. Hard to tell with the rain.”

“The path curves up ahead, so I’m guessing that it’s going to get a little higher.” Blink pushed her wet hair away from her face. “I bet the view is spectacular when it’s not raining like hell.”

Chuckling, Violet cast her companion a smile. “I’m sure it is, but it’s all fake.”

“The death sure isn’t,” Blink said glumly.

“Yeah, it’s not.”

“What do you think’ll happen if we do die?”

“I guess since we’re supposedly immortal, we won’t die-die. We’ll just respawn somewhere.” Violet said. “Back when I was in previous competitions, I was mortal, so death sometimes meant you were really dead.”

“If you were really dead, then how the hell are you here now?”

“Where I come from, if you were really lucky, you could get resurrected by a very special witch,” Violet began. “Baba didn’t do it on the cheap, either, but I had some good friends and they worked some magic.”

“Lucky you,” Blink said. “I guess it does make me feel a little better that we’re not like, dead.”

“You and me both, sister.”

A thick blanket of fog began to roll over them. The rain was lighter here, but it wasn’t as heavy. The threat of lightning was still just as real as ever. “I almost regret not going into town and finding a nice house to hunker down in.” Violet moaned.

“Maybe we’ll find something,” Blink offered hopefully. “If I remember the map correctly, there should be something up ahead.”

“I hope. I’m ready to get out of these wet clothes and hopefully get a little nap in until the storm’s over.”

“I doubt we’ll be able to do all that. Probably better if we keep moving.”

Violet sighed. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. If we stay in one spot too long, the chances of getting reamed by one of the stronger groups increases.”

“Exactly,” Blink agreed. “Let’s keep going.”

Try as he might, Mickey could not sleep.

Harry seemed to slip into slumber rather easily, but all the mouse could only lay there, wrapped in his worries. The medical supplies—and, he guessed, the Diet Mountain Dew—had put them squarely back on their feet, but something still tugged at the back of his mind. It’s been twenty-four hours and now twenty percent of you are dead. Mickey had trouble with that; they had survived for a whole day, but at the expense of so many other people. And now, he knew, one of their fellow competitors’ blood had stained their hands.

That poor, poor pink-haired boy; they had come upon him, and he had been so terrified of them and their big guns that he had lashed out at them. Samus had been left with no choice, he supposed; at that point, she could either kill him or risk one of her friends getting hurt. She had chosen them, and the mouse supposed that he should be happy about that, but he could not reconcile himself with the idea that they had gained from the boy’s death. Something about that just made him feel all un-fuzzy inside, and it kept him awake; even in the dead of night, after being up and going for almost twenty-four hours.

The image danced around his brain—Samus’ flak cannon destroying the transforming boy—and so he kept his eyes open, staring at the stalactites on the ceiling. Cold water dripped occasionally from them, mostly missing the mouse, but occasionally plopping down on him. At one point, a little droplet fell directly on his perfectly round, black nose, and his face scrunched up upon impact. He heard Erza’s familiar laugh from a few yards away.

He sat up abruptly, seeing the red-haired girl leaning against one of the cave walls not too far away from him. Glancing around her, he saw Samus still sitting at the entrance to the cave, eyes focused on the darkness outside. Her orange suit glistened just a bit in the moonlight, though otherwise it had grown nearly impossible to see anything outside the cave. Mickey wondered, briefly, why Erza had left the watch, but she answered before he could ask. “Just checking on you guys,” she said, smiling at her little mouse buddy. Mickey smiled back—of everyone here in this damp cavern, he knew he could count Erza as a friend. The pair had been through almost everything in this gosh-awful game together, so even after a day, he trusted her with his life.

“You feeling okay?” the red-haired girl asked, her armor clinking as she walked over to the mouse. As she passed each of them, she spared a glance for Harry and the Pepsiman. They seemed nicely at rest. “I saw your face when that boy died,” Erza noted, squatting down next to her little friend. Mickey averted his glance, slightly ashamed.

“It’s…” he started, but he couldn’t figure out how to say it without sounding extremely stupid. He knew there should be no time for remorse or conscience in a game like this, but he just couldn’t help it. Back where he came from, death was not something one had to deal with regularly. Time in the Disney Realms was… relative, to say the least. “…it’s just sad, that’s all,” he finished his thought, and immediately regretted it. How stupid that had to sound—him being sad about the pink-haired boy’s death. Heck, it had been necessary.

…hadn’t it?

“I know it’s sad, Mickey,” Erza agreed, and the King could tell by her face that she agreed very much with him. Nobody in this group liked death, he supposed, though perhaps Samus and Harry were more comfortable with the idea of killing in times of necessity than he or even Erza was. “No use dwelling on it, though,” she continued, although Mickey didn’t know if she was talking to him or to herself, “after all, if we keep thinking about it, we’ll never stop.” Mickey supposed that she was right—if he kept the pink-haired boy or the red spandex-clad man in his mind, then he knew he would probably go crazy before this game ended. And with so much on the line, he had no time for insanity.

Erza smiled a simple smile, and nodded to Mickey, reaching out and touching his shoulder gently. Mickey reached up and touched her hand with his own gloved one, and smiled back at her. Their smiles were sad ones, but they knew that they had to keep on pushing. They had come so far, there was no way they could back down now. This game would not beat them, not for one second.

The armor-clad girl headed back for her post. Mickey was about to lay back down once again, to try and fall asleep, when suddenly he heard a rustling over where Pepsiman lay.

“Unnnnnnghhhh,” the man groaned, and the mouse slowly got up from where he sat and headed over to where their new ally writhed in pain. His wounds had been patched up by the medkit, but the pain still coursed throughout his spandex-clad boy. He groaned a few more times, and Mickey Mouse placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down.

“Shh, pal,” the mouse soothed the Pepsiman, trying his best to quiet the man’s groaning. A quick glance at the door showed Erza and Samus had noticed the noise. “I’ve got him, you keep watching,” the mouse loudly whispered, waving them off. After holding the glance for just a second, the two women turned back to their post, and Mickey turned back to their new buddy. “Hey, guy, how ya feeling?”

“Unnnnngh… refreshed,” he started, rubbing the spot on his abdomen where he had been slashed, “…but also not refreshed. Can’t… sleep…”

Mickey nodded. “Me neither, pal,” he giggled. “Me neither.”

The Pepsiman looked up at him. “Would you like some… cool, refreshing Pepsi to help you get to sleep?” Mickey couldn’t help but laugh a little bit—he didn’t know much about this “Pepsi,” but if it was anything like that green elixir Samus had consumed earlier, he doubted it would help him sleep; he figured, if anything, it would just make him more awake. The Pepsiman, however, did not see the humor in the situation, and continued to stare at his ally (and, Mickey supposed, potential customer in his mind).

The mouse sighed. “Nah, we’ve got enough water dropping from the ceiling, I think I’ll stay nice and not thirsty.” He grinned at the Pepsiman, who almost seemed disappointed. The mouse leaned his head back, opening his mouth as another little droplet of cave water fell off the stalactites above. Below him, the Pepsiman struggled to lift up a hand, and wave his fingers around for a second. When the droplet of water hit his tongue, it fizzed a bit—and tasted nothing like water. Mickey’s eyes fell down to the man in blue spandex.

“…did you just turn that water into Pepsi?” he asked incredulously.

“Absolutely,” the Pepsiman nodded weakly, “how else would Pepsiman’s new friend get replenished?”
[Image: 2agonyw.png]

Jon Snow was no stranger to injury and pain. He'd been beat, stabbed, sliced at, beat again and feathered full of arrows several times throughout his life. But none of those could have prepared him for the scrutinising agony he was in right now.

Everything had gone so fast - his group had decided to set upon the clinic, for barred and good shelter was needed for the coming storm. When they'd arrived, though, they were met with quite the surprise - an engagement. A young looking boy in a green tunic and cap and a grey-skinned, fiery haired beast of a man were warring against two hulking suits of metal and steel. A third suit of armour laid sprawled out at the centre of the field, limp and lifeless. Their comrade had been slain, and they clearly thirsted for vengeance.

Deciding to take their chances, Jon and his royal companions charged in, though not without Snow taking an explosive shot to break the brawl apart slightly. His group moved in on, and that's when the chaos began to erupt all around them.

In seconds, the boy in green had transformed into some kind of fish monster, and charged right for Jon before he could knock another arrow between the strings. It soon became a heated game of cat and mouse, with Jon continuously avoiding direct blows from the amphibian beast. With combined efforts and strength, though, Gilgamesh and Snow were able to launch away their foes, though not without losing Blackfire in the process.

And things had only just begun, from there.

Soon enough, the hunking scraps for metal-men had re-emerged, and just as soon as Jon was able to put an arrow in one of them, the other pulled out something vaguely resembling a handgun and pulled the trigger with him down his visor. The bullet had busted right through Snow's chest, and in a moment, the Lord Commander of the Nights Watch was on the floor, writhing and screaming with pain.

And now... here they were. Their enemies, escaped and in triumph, and Jon desperately clinging on for his own life.

He was only fortunate and ever-grateful that King Gilgamesh had opted to stay by his aside, and carry him away. The King showed deep care and worry for his servant's life, not just through his words and actions, but it was quite present in his face and features. His expression had gone quite saddened and stale, as though seeing this triggered some sort of bad memory or experience. Jon frowned a bit at that. Gilgamesh had proved himself a man to clearly care deeply for the lives of those who followed him into war and battle, and Jon couldn't help but admire and respect that. Perhaps it didn't prove his worth as a person, but it certainly proved his value as a leader. With just that one trait, in mind he was much better than any of the five kings throughout the Seven Kingdoms combined.

Jon continued to grasp at his wound as he laid back against the tree. Will this ever stop bleeding? Jon wondered to himself with a wince. Gilgamesh had told him to rest, and try and regain his strengths, but Jon didn't want to close his eyes. He was not a man to fear death, but right now, he felt afraid. He didn't want to die like this. If he had to die, let him perish as Blackfire did. In the head of battle, staring down the face of the enemy for one last time. He'd always dreamed of dying a warriors death, one that the songs would sing about for ages, yet he didn't expect he'd pass away a crippled vagabond.

Jon couldn't help but stifle a weak chuckle, at that, accompanied by a necessary cough soon after. Life could be so ironic.

Snow felt his vision blur slightly as his eyelids became heavier. He fought to keep them up, but soon enough he could fight no longer. As his head tilted downwards and his eyes began to close over, Jon held one last thought in his mind. Flowing red hair... that cutting smile... Ygritte, I'm so sorry.

Snow's pace of breathing began to dip and slow as he felt himself fade from consciousness...


When Jon suddenly awoke, he found himself in one of the most unexpected places - right in the middle of a snowstorm. The blizzard aired and flowed all around him, a cold, harsh beating against his skin. Jon no longer felt pain, now... was this it? Was this death?

Jon stared straight ahead. A white rift, a bright light beckoning for him to come closer. Jon moved for it, and the nearer he got, the more the blizzard began to clear. As he walked right before it, only droppings of snowflakes fell upon his shoulder and stuck around in his curly-locks, harsh and unrelenting winds replaced by gentle breezes and soothing gusts of air. He stepped closer and closer toward the lumbering, pale-white doorway until at last, he had passed through it, oblivious and unknowing to what awaited him on the other end.

When he paused to stop and look around, he only saw some kind of... grey rift? If it was difficult to tell what all this was. Everything felt so surreal... he must have been dead, for certain.

"Crow.." a voice called out after him. 'Crow' was meant to be a mocking nickname for the Black Brothers spoken by the Wildlings, but whoever said it did so with little spite in their tones. Jon spun around to face the source of the sound, his jaw dropping slightly and pupils dilating as he caught glimpse of who said it.

"Y-Ygritte..? Jon stammered the womans name out. The woman he'd loved so much, and had to kill with his own bloody hands.

"You shot me.." she wheezed. Jon's expression turned to one of grief and regret, at that. "It wasn't my arrow" he cracked the lightest of reassuring smiles, though he knew in his heart he was lying. "You've shot me full of arrows before, anyway" his smile broadened into a small smirk.

It was at that moment they held each other again for the first in a long while, and shared a kiss of passion.

Though the red-headed woman in his arms flinched back slightly as a red substance began to pour from the wound at Jon's chest. Blood. "You're bleedin'..." she said with a slight surprise. Jon's grin widened slightly in re-assurance. "It's just a scratch" he lied through his teeth. Whatever this was, whether he was dead or no, he did not want it to end.

Ygritte shook her head with distaste. Gripping at his shirt with her palms, she reached up to kiss him deeply, as they shared a few more moments of deep compassion before he felt her push him forward. Weakly falling onto his back, the floor beneath Jon began to shift and part during his descent. Jon was sent plunging deep into the void, and he felt himself fall deeper, deeper... and deeper...

"You know nothing, Jon Snow."


With a gasp, Jon's eyes flickered weakly open, bloodshot and reddened from the welled-up tears he refused to shed. Snow slumped his back further against the tree behind him. He took raspy, short breaths before he slowly regained composture over himself, the whirring drill of his heartbeat slamming and smashing against his chest.

I am... alive...

Jon took note of the fact, and he remembered just who he was. He was Jon Snow, son of Eddard Stark, last of the Stark bloodline and the 998th Lord Commander of the Nights Watch, and his resolve was one of life.
[Image: tumblr_nzzfidB5IX1tcnpluo4_1280.png]

Dr. McNinja was standing in the Oval Office. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, or how he got there. In front of him stood a man in a graphite suit. His slender arms were crossed behind his back. Instead of a head, this man had a giant head of a bald eagle. Its beady eyes streamed a gaze that drilled into the back of his skull.

“Welcome to Dante’s Abyss! It’s a tournament where Primes from all over the Omniverse compete with each other in an exciting, new Verse! Are you ready for unsurmountable glory and innumerable riches? Are you strong enough to survive?”


The eagle’s beak warped upwards, giving the illusion of a smile. Suddenly, the beak seemed to crumble into millions of pieces of dust, revealing a miniature woman inside the eagle’s head. The woman was also in danger of turning into dust, but was unable to move. Her arms and legs were already powderized, and her masked face was on the verge of fading. With a closer look, Dr. McNinja realized that the woman was his mother.

“Son!” her voice echoed, as if it came from a long distance away, though she was inches in front of him, “Help me!”

“Mom! What’s going-“

“Help me!” she repeated.

”I don’t know how to-“


In an instant, Dr. McNinja’s mother had burst into a pile of powder. Dr. McNinja felt it coating his tongue every time he breathed in, no matter how hard he tried to keep it out.

”No, mom, wait-!”

Then, as if a vacuum cleaner had been turned on, the dust was sucked into a vortex inside the eagle’s head. The previously dematerialized beak reassembled into a distorted version of the head before. Now it was no longer just an eagle head - it had bulging eyes, pupils bursting at the very edges of the eyeballs - the two halves of the beak were torn open, as if someone had wrenched the eagle’s jaw too far open. The blood of the eagle’s head was now covering Dr. McNinja’s face. However, the blood was not red, as it should’ve been - it was black, grimy, smelly, and almost acidic.

”When I escape,” the eagle bellowed, “I will destroy all that which you cared for. I will destroy- Des-When I escap-When I-destroy-Which you cared fro-detrsyo-casep-“

”Who are you?!?” Dr. McNinja cried.

Suddenly, the eagle’s head completely split in half, revealing another head, irrecognizable at first. Then Dr. McNinja recognized the crown, which read “Most Rad.” around the rim, and the glowing crimson-purple eyes of Darkseid which burned like a thousand suns, screaming power and destruction. He recognized the permanent, furious laugh of the Nasaghasts stripping the face of its flesh, and the millions of everliving demons that he had sealed, along with Franz Rayner’s horrible neckbeard, and an all-too-familiar rainbow mane.

“You will see us soon enough,” a hundred voices roared, ”We are forever, and many in number. You can do nothing but fail to save them.”

”Save who?”

The figure reached out, arms extending agonizingly slow. Dr. McNinja found that he had lost control of his body - he could only watch as space itself seemed to stretch so that the figure’s arms would have more distance to travel.

Then, only pain. Pain that McNinja had never felt before. He looked down at his chest, and realized it was simply not his chest, but his back. His head had been completely rotated around the neck. He looked forward.

”Them,” the voice thundered.

”Us,” said another voice, which sounded like children speaking in chorus. The voice materialized as Gordito, the 11-year-old boy that he had taken under him. The ridiculous and almighty moustache he wore was now dangling by a small strip of skin from his lips, and a torrent of blood was streaming and trickling onto his shirt. It made a pitter-patter noise, like rain.

”You failed to save us!” the child roared. Dr. McNinja realized that it was not just children - it was all of his friends. He heard Judy, his gorilla secretary; he heard his father, mother, and even his brother, Dark Smoke Puncher; he heard every single Chuck Goodrich, from every alternate timeline; he heard Charles Gears, slowly disintegrating, still; he heard Benjamin Franklin, Old McNinja, Hortense; and finally, as if the torture was not enough, he heard the pained and struggling screams of his grandfather.

Gordito exploded, revealing his grandfather’s body. It was internally hemorrhaging, and the blood, as if it didn’t know where to go, started streaming from his eyes. His beard had turned bloodied and grimy. He opened his now toothless mouth, dangling his decaying tongue from the wrenched-out throat, and croaked, ”Sometimes people need to get killed.”


McNinja’s grandfather’s jaw was also split open, but this time, Doc felt himself being sucked in. He managed to grab onto the rotting thyroid cartilage of his own grandfather. He looked down.

The throat was teeming and swarming with hundreds of thousands of ninjas, decaying, rotting, dying - the zombie ninjas. They were all wriggling and crawling up McNinja Sr.’s throat to get to Doc. ”Why did you kill us?” they were chanting.

“I had no choice-“

”WHY DID YOU KILL US!” they chanted. The zombie ninjas were now disappearing, giving way to other undead ninjas, all wearing labcoats. They were the McNinja clones - the McNinja clones that he had killed.

”YOU DIDN’T NEED TO KILL US,” they groaned, climbing farther and farther up the tunnel. Their nails seemed to grow, and they were clawing up the throat, rupturing it and causing blood to pour from the walls. All of their jaws were also dangling from their head, and soon enough, they had caught up to Doc.

”No, please-“


”I didn’t want to-“

Suddenly, an undead version of his father lunged out from the bottom and clasped onto Doc’s skull. He dragged his son into the pit of undead ninjas, who were all clawing and biting at him.

”THIS IS YOUR FAULT,” his father roared in pain.

”I’m sorry!” Doc tried to say, when Hortense reached in his mouth and tore out his tongue.

”YOUR FAULT,” Hortense howled in a tortured voice.

He suddenly couldn't see anything, as the undead had now completely ripped him apart. Doc couldn’t tell if he was screaming.


When he woke up, it was in a rush. He slammed his head against a tree branch. He cried out in pain, and rubbed his forehead.

”Just a nightmare,” he comforted himself, ”Just a nightmare.”

Jak approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. ”Doc… you okay?”

Dr. McNinja looked at him. He wanted to cry, but found that he could not. His throat was hoarse. He sat up and reached for his duffel bag.

”Thirsty,” he muttered. ”Good morning.”

McNinja scowled. Jak thought for a moment, then though it best not to bring it up.
[Image: 665000_mcninja_by_cavenglok-dch0qt5.jpg]
Odd hours. Call for appointment.

"This blasted storm just had to come along and ruin the mood, why could we not have a few more days of sun, blue skies and dead old guys?" Victor thought to himself. He had been keeping a slow but steady pace across the island but the storm had put an end to that, forcing the young assassin to take shelter. "Just think yourself lucky that no one else decided to take shelter with you, fighting during a storm puts you at a disadvantage" The voice in his head noted.

The most annoying thing about the entire situation was that arguing was pointless, the voice was another extension of Wolfe's own mind and thus shared every memory, feeling and experience he had ever had, arguing with himself would be pointless, thus he let the every little backhanded compliment or comment slide, hoping that if he remained mentally stable it would fade like a bad hangover.

Victor felt like he should be doing something, this was supposed to be a survival island, he had wanted to lay low for the first day whilst people are exploring their surroundings but it had been far too long since he had interacted with another human being, this was turning into an island holiday,and Victor knew he could not keep this up, otherwise he would get careless.

He had to shake this feeling of lethargy, otherwise he would be in trouble should he come across a strong opponent."You know there is a way you can shake off the tiredness that your boredom has created." The voice spoke. "All you have to do is do one of the things you do best". Victor knew exactly what the voice was talking about , and he agreed, it had been far too long.

Victor left the cover he had taken shelter in and took in a few deep breaths, the area around him had suffered flooding due to the storm, he could feel the water seeping into the ground and his boots, squelching around. Victor leaned forward, putting one hand onto the ground. Feeling energy seep back into his muscles ,tensing up almost like a snake coiling to strike.

And he was off, running straight forward at full speed, feeling his heart pounding in his chest and his lungs working at full power to keep his blood supplied with the oxygen he was using, He used his great level of vision to spot rocks to step on, preventing him from losing speed to the mud.

This was exactly what Wolfe needed, the wind rushing through his hair, the scenery racing past, the slight ache as his muscles were put back into good use. And most of all the pounding of his heart in his chest, it made him feel like he was back on top, a hunter and not the pray.

Examining the island as high speed was so much fun, he swore he saw the same rabbit he had failed to kill look on in horror at how fast he was able to move, everything looked like it was moving slower to him, leaves fell slowly, and the grass moved like a slow wave in the high winds.

The rain no longer posed much of a problem, the heat he was generating would keep him warm, in fact he welcomed the rain at this moment, as the tropical sun would probably overheat his muscles if he were to keep this up for this long. By the time he stopped to take a swig from one of the bottles of water he noticed something strange in the distance, making sure he suppressed his movement he began to sneak closer and closer, readying the power pole just incase it was dangerous.

Victor realised what he was looking at straight away and with a smirk said "Well isn't this interesting, not what I expected to see, but good news none the less."
[Image: LMLzBQ4.gif][Image: psgGbSy.png]                                                                                                                                [Image: 2lvxt0w.gif]

”Well, that was unexpected!” The mercenary said while chuckling. ”I mean, Jason was presumed to be dead, right? I guess not! The reaper of inactivity and awayness—Karl’s just-hand!”

Mami’s corpse trembled (like a vibrator) in position, standing with her own liquids shooting from her removed top like a shaken and opened Pepsi can. Then, with one jolting convulsion, she dropped to the red and white checkered floor with a echoing thud!

Sasuke’s hands held the head of Mami as his eyes gazed at it with terror and festering anger. Her eyes were lifeless, half rolled above their lids, with an open mouth; its screams were now muted. The ninja gritted his teeth and grumbled a conjunction of curses that only he himself could decipher.

“W-what just happened?” Vincent stammered as he poked his head from under the counter, next to Deadpool’s swaying legs. His eyes twitched like a newborn’s, but he could finally see again (hear again too, if what he said was truly a question).

”What happened was, someone just got a load of EXP for work they didn’t start,” Deadpool replied.

All the gunslinger could do was raise a brow at the mercenary. He got up from under the counter and dusted off his injured body.

I guess Vincent can’t break 4th wall like me. That joke woulda been a lot better if he could.

Wartortle’s eyes fixated on the Mami’s headless corpse; a pool of blood began to envelope Mami’s corpse as the one final squirt shot from her exposed neck. “Whatever that masked fuck had, I want,” the terrorist muttered. “Shit went through that girl’s head like a hot knife through butter.”

”Yeah, Jason definitely cut her hedges for her,” the mercenary jested. He dropped down from the counter and looked at Wartortle. The turtle returned the gaze and began to reach a webbed claw for the nail gun sheathed in his shell. ”Don’t worry dude, (for once) I don’t come in violence,” he cooed. ”I know you, and you—somehow—still know me."

Wartortle’s claw hesitated, halting right before reaching the butt of his weapon. “I’m listening,” he replied, but soon unveiled a sinister smirk. “You’re gonna have to try harder though, because last time I remember, I fucked your face in our last encounter. Why not just do it again, and plunder your corpse?”

Because Deadpool needed help, that was why. He would not tell his group, but the fatigue from his persisting cancer still maintained its grip on around his energy; with each passing day, he his breaths drew longer, and his posture weakened.
The process proceeded slowly, but his fatigue grew like the stench of spoiled milk; or piss around the rim of a toilet. The turtle, though a terrorist, was worth teaming with, especially after Crona’s blind bravery.

Deadpool replied first with a grin, soon followed by an on-the-fly response: ”You can try to kill me, but . . .” He turned to look at Vincent, and then Sasuke (who was still manifesting vengeful feelings over Mami’s death). ”My compadrès look hungry, and you look like you’d make enough turtle stew to last at least a DA Day.”

Wartortle snarled, exposing a collection of sharp teeth, and grabbed the butt of his nailgun. “Go ahead and try, bitch, and I will make sure your mouth is stitched before I murder you.”

Deadpool sighed. Matching the turtle’s aggression stalemated, but maybe a softer approach would work . . . ”Look man, you’re a much more interesting character when you have people to badger,” he tried. “Plus, I saw your post in the Lobby, so based on that I wager you wanna face fuck Karl. Joining us gives you that chance.”

Wartorle juggled the proposition in his head, but with an eye-bat and smile easing on his face he said, “Let’s fucking destroy that bastard.” He slumped his claw back to his shelled side and gave the mercenary a nod of respect.

Hm . . . so I wonder if I get the pokèball, can I capture Wartortle . . . .?


“So, what now?” Vincent inquired. He looked over his shoulder and towards a window. A poster shielded most of it(‘Best Burgers in town’ it read in bold colors, accompanied by a juicy burger image), but the torrent of rain remained visible around its edges. “Are we staying here until the storm dies down?”

Deadpool looked over at his video game comrade. He wanted to agree, but knew the diner was dangerous now. ”Nah,” he replied, ”There’re cameras all in this place—for the sake of viewership Not to mentioned the viewing writers . . .

Dante's Abyss Placings
2015 - 4th
2016 - 2nd
2017 - 4th

PVP Combat Record
3W - 0L - 0D
4W - 1L - 0D
[Image: Deadpool_Funny.png]

Desco and Guu wandered through the storm winds protected by Yogsothoth and Desco's levitation holding them against the wind. The floated along through the hurricane force winds, fortunate for them that Desco was so tough. But they couldn't find the straw hat. He was blown away, but where were they going to look? So they wandered towards other nearby buildings and going into town, looking for things that he might have caught on or crashed through. Unfortunately there was a lot of things crashed through being thrown about by the wind. For a moment, Desco lost her balance in the and they went tumbling through the air until they broke through into a building. The pair regained their senses and found Gildarts. Then Luffy showed up.

Guu immediately stretched out and grabbed Luffy, pulling him in before he wanders off again. "We were worried about you." Desco wasn't sure what to do to stop Luffy from wandering off again. Then she got an idea and pulled out one of her MREs and gave it to Luffy. "Luffy, if you want to eat Desco still has these.." "Aw, thanks Wriggles!" Guu gave Luffy a smack on the head as he accepted Desco's charity but didn't take the food away because it probably was the only way to stop him from going off again in the hurricane.

Guu sealed the hole that they made with what she could find in the building while Desco faced Gildarts and his odd admittance of being useless. "But everyone's magic was taken away!"

The rain pelted Okor's battered frame, the droplets impacting against his shattered ceramite. His one remaining arm was hooked underneath the azure and golden pauldron of the Thousand Son, the bright tones a stark contrast against the decaying surface of his own armour. Gurgling, his boots sunk into the wet earth, the mud coming up to his ankles. Still he pressed on, wholly devoted to his mission. He stumbled under the wide array of forces making their presence known: Damage, despair, weather, weight. It was all making this quite difficult. As he dragged the corpse of his brother up the incline, he began to reflect on what had happened.

The mutants and psykers had come first. Baiting them out with a simple distraction, and laying down heavy fire. It was far too simple a trap. He cursed himself for falling for it, his decimated jaw unable to form the words he oh-so-desperately wanted to scream. Tartaros has fallen first. Slain by the massive mutant's fist, still spitting venom and death until his demise. Admirable. He had died a Warrior's death, and he would be remembered. He would ensure it.

He was removed from his reminiscing by the entrance to the clinic. The battle has decimated it, leaving it shattered. He dragged the corpse over the rubble and shrapnel, the once-beautiful armour suffering under the rough treatment, beautiful colours scratched away to reveal a layer of crimson, and then solid ceramite. He let the corpse drop, as his hand picked up his makeshift tools. As he began to bring the chipped stone down on the breastplate, he began to think of what the warrior was before he was a corpse.

Galel. Thousand Sons. Wholly devoted to Tzeentch, the lord of change, yet oddly a point of stability. He was loyal, surprisingly sane, and an able combatant. But to be claimed so ingloriously? Slain by the Golden Grot's archer. If only he could have ended the Golden One, rather than his lackey. A warrior of ten millenia, taken down by an arrow through his back. This Omni was a cruel and capricious being, if he would allow such damage to be wrought upon an Astartes by a simple Feral world weapon. He would have his vengeance on the Golden One, the being who would think himself so powerful to exact tribute from Astartes. He gurgled again, enjoying the memory of seeing the bastard's face crumple under his face.

He closed to door to the refrigerator unit, blood coating the handle. The Progenoids were safe. Picking up his makeshift blade from the counter, he steeled his resolve. He was in no condition to find the Golden Grot. But he could wait. He could wait for the end of the world. The end of the universe. The end of this simple competition.

He was patient. They would make a mistake, eventually. And he would be there, waiting.
[Image: DarkshireDefenseBadge.png][Image: HerosGraveyardBadge.png][Image: DA15Badge.png]

"Come on, Jon! We must find shelter if we are to survive this storm!" Gilgamesh beckoned back to the cloaked-man staggering far behind him.

The pair had made the decision to keep moving shortly after Jon had re-awoken from his apparent state of unconsciousness. Tough winds were beginning to pick up, and that only meant could thing - the storm was coming. Usually, Jon would have the grit and natural advantage of being a Northerner on his side to survive such things, but in such a fragile state Jon knew that he didn't stand a chance if the tornado hit them directly. And Gilgamesh smelt as green as any Southerner Jon had ever come across. It was a slim chance he'd survive, either, and the King didn't seem completely blind to such a fact. He was the one who'd got them off their feet to search for suitable shelter, after all. If they could find a roof to duck under, anything to bar them against the storm, then they were saved.

The King was saved, at least. Jon was a dead man walking, now, and he damn bloody acknowledged it

Gilgamesh had offered to support him, but Jon was confident in his stride, and refused him. It was only his chest that bled, after all, and though his arm had been cut during the fight and was bleeding for a while, it quickly settled and stopped. His legs, on the contrary, were still in perfect, working condition. Though his bullet wound still bled profusely, and Jon had to keep a hand clasped around it at all times to try and halt the red stuff pouring out. He must have lost enough blood already, for his vision was becoming blurry and his, his knees suddenly becoming weaker and more shaky. It felt as though his body would just give at any moment, and he'd be rolling about in defeat on the ground, able to move no more.

And he guessed correctly. Suddenly, Snow felt himself keel over, knees smacking against the damp, wet ground beneath him as he began to rasp and claw for breath. Gilgamesh spun around as he heard his comrade fall, eyes widening a tad as he hurried over to him in a quick stroll.

"Jon, I order you to live!" the King balked as he continued to walk. "We must get to shelter for you to survive, so STAND!" Gilgamesh was almost shouting it at this point, as if pleading, begging for his ally to hold on for the last strands of his life. Jon glanced up to his King weakly, staring at him with jarring and almost apologetic eyes.

"It... won't stop bleeding, your grace" Jon told the King with a grunt, removing his hand slightly from the wound to show him. Blood still oozed from where the bullet had penetrated his skin, as though the injury was completely fresh. "Please, your grace... go. Find shelter for yourself, there's still chance for you to survive the night yet" Jon pleaded with his King with bared teeth, as his head lowered slightly, but Gilgamesh wouldn't hear it. "No! If you won't stand, I'll just have to drag you!". The King was about to step toward Jon, but in that moment, the bastard lurched forward with a fit of coughs and weak splutters. His body crumpled down further onto the floor, blood beginning to ooze grow his mouth as his breathing slowed and the rate of his heart almost became flat.

The last he saw before his eyes shut for good was Gilgamesh loom over his body with folded arms and a deeply worried expression.

"Jon? Jon?! Get up! Your king commands you! JOOOOOOOOOOOON!"


The faint sounds of muffled voices began to fill Jon's hearing as senses began to return to him one by one, his eyes flickering open slowly and weakly. It took his gaze some moments to re-adjust to what was in front of him, but when it did, he only saw a dark-haired man kneeling in front of him, fishing through his sack for... something. Gilgamesh loomed close behind, a triumphant-looking, almost cocky grin spread upon his lips.

Wait... how am I not dead?

The man crouched before him looked up at Jon as he noticed his eyes open, brow raising slightly. "Ahh, so you are alive? Good" the man nodded. After a few more moments of searching through his bag, he seemed to have finally found what he was looking for, and slipped it out, holding it for Jon to see. The bastard's eyes widened a bit. It looked uncannily similar to whatever Sergeant Josef had tried to stab him with him back in the Nexus, That toxin.

Jon's heart skipped a beat for a split second, though the expression Gilgamesh held as he looked over to him told Jon that this was for something different entirely.

"This'll help you heal. It'll only sting a little..." the man twisted the injector between his fingers as he stabbed it into Jon's skin. The bastard held back a yelp of surprise, but as the needle made contact with his flesh, Jon felt a newfound surge of energy and life surge through his being, as though a heavy wait of injury and despair had been lifted from his shoulders.

Jon's body slumped back against the tree as the man pulled the stim free from his shoulder, tossing it aside with no further use for it. Jon glanced slightly up with a deep breath. A dense foliage of forest and trees covered the (now) from the storm and the heavy rain somewhat, though strong winds still battered into them. Jon reached back, pulling his fur cloak further around him, icey wisps of air and vapour escaping his low, paced breaths.

"Now we leave him to rest. The bleeding should recede soon enough" the man assured Gilgamesh with a nod, and Gilgamesh nodded back. The King shot a glance over to his wounded knight, who had just about passed out from pure exhaustion once again.
[Image: tumblr_nzzfidB5IX1tcnpluo4_1280.png]

The trek to the mountainside had been nothing that I hadn't done before, a klik was short work for someone who has done forced marched across the deserts of the moon and Mars. There was generally a lot less rain and foliage in your way when you were a space marine, but the terrain was otherwise similar enough that I could make good time with my eyes closed. I kept on the move most of the time, I only stopped when there was a large clearing that I had to scan before I bolted for the other side, and once when I used some of the left over bags to snag the gift of water that feel on my head the whole time. It replenished a great deal of my dwindling drink supplies, which were almost gone already. The human body takes up a lot of water, especially when you're on the move.

By the time I had made my way from the grassy foothills up onto the more rocky and perilous cliff, the wind picked up and rain drove down in buckets. It seemed that after a point the rain just stopped, but that didn't make the hurricane any less of a threat. along the shore line. If I found a nook in the side of the mountain, I could weather it out and then break onto the scene with force while everyone was picking the parts back together.

I watched the rain clouds grow darker and more fierce for a moment, happy that things had gone well so far, when I felt something small hit my back and stick there. I wheeled around quickly and saw my attacker. A familiar face, the one that Karl had advertised since almost the very begining, now bared a crossbow at me. Eighteen, and this close one could tell she was not entirely human from the small details that stood out from the rest of her. She might have been frightening to someone who had never known of mechanical augmentations, but I was more bored than anything and the crossbow was, well...

Cute, I thought, as I brought my Plasma gun up in challenge.

The fight was short. Overwhelming firepower won the day, and she was left with plasma burns while all I had were a few bolts in my armor and a bit of a bruised pride when she tripped me. She escaped off of one of the cliffs around her, and I wasn't about to chase her when she could have possibly ticked me into a trap. If we fought again, I knew she would be on far more dire ropes and I would be left with a new crossbow.

Until then, survival was the important thing. I swept the area around the mountain, And waited for what else had sheltered here.

Trust was a precious thing. Out here, placing it in the wrong hands would get you killed, guaranteed. However, it is only through taking a chance and placing it in an unknown’s possession would it help you succeed. It’s not a surefire way to a solid victory, but it could get you far. Lifelong enemies could produce a truce and force an alliance whose bonds are strong – at least until one or both are dead. Sometimes, it would last for even longer, severing the cords of a long history of aggression towards one another, possibly even creating a new path for both people.

On this battlefield, it was so full of unknowns. As she climbed higher, the rain becoming lighter, transforming into a thick fog that clung to her face and obscured her vision, Violet knew her trust in Blink was right. She knew so little about her companion, but that didn’t matter right now. The fact that Blink had every opportunity to turn on her and didn’t told Violet she’d found someone worthy of placing her trust in. Whether it was because of Blink’s lack of a viable weapon, or just because she genuinely didn’t want to kill her, Vi felt that they could make it. Hell, they might even win.

The phase’s announcement of ten dead gave her some hope. Ten down, thirty five left, maybe less if more died since then. With the storm in full force, Vi felt that most of the other players have sought shelter, perhaps have even battled already. She felt fortunate that her and her partner were untouched so far, but that might not last for long. Up ahead, the square shapes she saw earlier began to materialize, but she still couldn’t tell whether they were trees, rocks or buildings. Either offered a promise of some sort of shelter.

Suddenly, Violet froze. Voices. “Blink, stop.” She held out her arm, blocking her partner from going further. Her voice dropped low. “There are people nearby.”

Blink gave her a look of concern. “Should we…?”

Violet shook her head. “Let’s check it out first.”

Dropping to a crouch, Violet advanced forward. Up ahead, she definitely saw something, but couldn’t make it out. Her crouch turned into a crawl, and she dragged herself through the muck on her elbows towards the voices. It didn’t take long to realize her companion had followed suit, but she was smart enough to stay low enough not to be detected easily.

“Over there, you see ‘em?” Violet gave a nod towards some figures in the distance.

Blink nodded. “I can’t tell if they’re injured or not, but they are walking funny.”

“Probably not a good idea to assume they’re injured. They could be playing us.”

“Do you think they already know we’re here?”

“I don’t know.” Violet said, giving the pink-tinged woman a look of both fear, curiosity and somewhere underneath all of that…hope. She could only lay there, watching them plow forward, whether they were friend…or foe.

Thunderous sounds of the storm roared overhead as the night’s sky, beset with flashes of white lightning in abundance, cast its fearsome illumination down upon a 1950’s themed eatery. A diner by the looks of it, due to the bright neon glow that opposed the natural serenade of moonlit hues cast upon it. In hopes to escape the rain, the Last Avenger and his companions had declared the restaurant to be the safe haven they were looking for. Oh how wrong they were.

So much blood.

It was everywhere! The Diner was just covered in it. What had presumably been a ‘happening’ or ‘jive’ burger joint to the adolescent inhabitants of the Danteverse, had now transfigured itself into a gruesome, crime scene of horror. Blood invaded every crevice of the lost-in-time diner, from the floors of the dine in area, to the walls of the grill stations, nothing evaded the crimson splatter. The juke box, now covered in Mami’s excrement’s, had begun to produce the feel good tunes of ‘Five O’clock Rock’. The old fashion music player had started the moment the ninja flicked the lights on, but was now concluding the ballad.

Sasuke observed the horror that had struck his previous comrade, his ebony eyes peering into the lifeless ones of Mami, as he clutched her remains within the palm of his hands. It had been just yesterday that he’d met the gun totting, magick girl, from another realm, but it felt like ages longer. Everything here in the World of Omni seemed to last forever, the days just drug by at a snail’s crawl and night’s weren’t any better. Still, he’d witnessed Mami’s prowess with his own two Uchiha eyes: she and not he, had slain the rogue ninja, Orochimaru, earning the shinobi’s respect for good.

”My compadrès look hungry, and you look like you’d make enough turtle stew to last at least a DA Day.” The threats of a masked man broke Sasuke’s train of thought.

Wartortle, who posed quite a menacing threat to the group, snarled, exposing a collection of sharp teeth, and grabbed the butt of his nailgun. “Go ahead and try, bitch, and I will make sure your mouth is stitched before I murder you.”

As the creature finished, his eyes darted towards a direction he had spotted movement; Sasuke’s direction. Sure enough, the youth was headed right for the turtle, approaching him directly with a fire alive in his eyes. Wartortle eyed him suspiciously, his snarl, ever-present, as he engaged the youth with a growl, “And, what do you want, pretty boy?!”

Within reach of the Pokemon, Sasuke turned, and placed Mami’s head on a diner table top, now in clear view for all to see, “Whoever that freak with the mask was; don’t touch him. His death belongs to me. --And that goes for all of you...” the youth shot the water Pokemon a look and paused before continuing, “Consider it a debt I owe and the Uchiha always pay their debts. His death is mine and mine alone! Don’t get in my way!” Sasuke paused for a moment, brandished his weapon, and spoke while tapping the barrel, “-And like he said….Turtle stew!” a sly grin appeared on the young ninja’s visage as he taunted the aquatic creature.

“Why you little f******-” the turtle started to lung at the shinobi, however, Deadpool(Who had been scowling upwards and muttering crazy nonsense about Sasuke’s impromptu remarks.) intervened, stepping in between the two.

Defusing the situation, Deadpool propositioned Wartortle with, ”Look man, you’re a much more interesting character when you have people to badger, like ninja boy over here. His superiority complex alone, should give you plenty of material!” the merc with a mouth grinned, under cover of his mask, before continuing , “Plus, I saw your post in the Lobby, so based on that, I wager you wanna face fuck Karl. Joining us gives you that chance.”

That was the ticket, maybe not to the motherf*cking chocolate factory, but definitely to a higher position of power, because the evolved Pokemon took the bait, like the fish like creature he was, and accepted an alliance with their, would-be group of fighters.

“Let’s fucking destroy that bastard!” Wartortle exclaimed as a smile replaced his snarl, giving Sasuke an odd impression of a cute, but evil, monster-child-baby-thing… Truth be told, Sasuke didn’t know what to think of Wartortle, but he was glad the thing was on their side. He placed a hand to the laceration on his shoulder as he contemplated their newest ally. Was this a smart move? Only time would tell.
Dante's Abyss 2015
[Image: Sasuke_DA_zpsb4vizgxd.png]       
Mark Twain Wrote:"The difference between the right word and the almost right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug."

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