Cracked Earth: In the Lair of the Beast

[Slayer of the Rot]

Through the shattered stone and spinning brass, he came, beaten and bloody. Dan simply grinned at the chef, waiting for him. The challenger's lips moved quickly, and then he was a rapid blur before the cast cog, dodging it deftly before sprinting straight for the Heirarch. The ground shook as the gear bounced across the room, lost momentum, and ground to a stop, slamming to its side. "Come and bleed, you fucking idiot!" He yelled over the chaos of the room, over the hum and rattle of gearwork, the clatter of broken rock. Clutched in the hand partially hidden by his thigh, he gripped the glossy black blade of a combat knife.

'Think you've got me cornered. Keep thinking it, you piece of garbage. I'll gut you like a fucking pig. Just like that jungle bunny the first time I came to this Pagoda.' The challenger was there at his feet the moment the thought flashed through his head, and he reacted like a flash of light off a blade. Dan lunged, the knife hissing in the air as it slashed out, but Christopher's neck wasn't there the next second. Instead, he saw a glint of silver and then two of his fingers were sailing through the air with a spray of blood.

The Saraelian looked at the bloody hand, sans pinky and ring, with an expression of contempt and disgust. "You fucking twat, that was my choking hand!" Growling in anger, less that he had been wounded, and more so that an insect had managed to wound him as such, Dan lunged forward again, intent on making the chef pay. His bleeding hand reached out and the knife came in low to cut into stomach flesh, but again, he was gone - leaving a roaring stream of azure fire. Bellowing with anger now, the fire swirled around him. Summoning the strange tower shield, the Saraelian leapt into the fire, tucking his body in behind the metal. Blue tongues of flame licked around the shield, taking the brunt of it, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid it all. The whirling fire came from the sides and grabbed onto his right side. He could feel it blackening the flesh, searing away muscle, sizzling fat...his roar of anger was deafening as he hit the ground and rolled, burning blue, the shield vanishing. Dan beat against the flames furiously and finally pulled a blanket of dirt over himself to smother the fire.

It was quiet for a few moments, save for the crackle of a few remaining cerulean cinders.

Then, gasping for air, Dan burst up from the mound of smoking dirt. Soil and stone crumbled off his sooty body, and he hunched over, breathing hard. "Fuuuuuuucccck," he hissed through a raw, throbbing throat, and batted away the smoke as best he could.

The skin on his right side was blackened, blistered, and had burned away in some places to reveal, raw, sticky red meat. His arm hung listlessly at his side, the fingers twitching sporadically. Charred bone was nearly all that remained of the appendage, though some shriveled pieces of muscle still clung. He drew another shuddering breath in, exhaled, and the horror continued as smoke fluttered away.

The flesh and hair had been melted away from the right side of his face. Gingerly, he raised a hand to his bare, black skull, and hissed as he touched the bone. The left side of his mouth was curled into a furious scowl, the right, an apocalyptic jester. The eye had burst under the intense heat, and milky, viscous fluid wept down the angles of his bony cheek. The fingers of his destroyed right arm twitched uselessly.

Grimacing, Dan tore it away at the shoulder.

He held it before his one remaining eye for a moment, panting and staring at it incredulously. The sticky black bones made dismal clicking noises against each other as he turned it over, and finally, he dropped it, turning his furious one eyed gaze to Christopher. "I am going to kill the fuck out of you," he hissed through scabrous lips. A black gunblade appeared in his hand, and he sprinted across the short gap towards the challenger. The sword arched out in a slash that would cut open the chef's stomach; a fake. Two thin spikes of stone burst from the ground, aimed for the back of the chef's legs, intent on crippling him. Debris scattered at his feet as he rapidly assumed a stance, and brought the gunblade over head. The gunblade sliced down in a quick, final arc, and Dan pulled the trigger twice, firing two rounds just to be sure.

If all went well, Christopher would be pierced, bisected, and shot to death. The thought of it sent a dark chill down his spine.

[Christoph]

Son of a bitch… that’s just not fair.

For an instant, Chris had allowed himself to hope. For a fleeting moment it looked as though his coveted victory was within his grasp. Everything had gone as he’d planned from the moment he set foot inside the arena all the way until he bathed his monstrous foe in a pillar of fiery wrath. He’d outthought a man who clearly outclassed him in power. It had appeared that not only had the chef beaten the odds, he’d scammed the odds out of their all of money and ran off with their women.

Then, however, the odds did the equivalent of forming a lynch mob and hunting him down with torches and pitchforks. Instead of the charred corpse of his opponent sizzling in the dirt, the clearing smoke revealed Dan still standing, his mangled form largely concealed behind a huge shield. The Warrior had barely enough flesh left to even pass as a corpse, but he was still alive. Chris blanched as the Hierarch ripped his own destroyed arm off.

“No fucking way,” he uttered, suddenly forgetting that his mortality didn’t apply in the Pagoda. Fear welled up within him like boiling water pushing against the lid of a cooking pot. Clouded by these emotions, the challenge was barely able to react when Dan Kross darted toward him like a healthy man, an unusual blade suddenly appearing in his hand out of thin air.

Cursing again, Christopher sprung backwards. His magically heightened agility gave him the grace he needed to evade the first slash. The blade whizzed by just in front of him, cutting a gash in his chef coat. It was only after he dodged the first attack that he realized he had inadvertently evaded a second – mostly evaded, anyway. Two stone barbs shot was the ravaged ground like spears, gouging flesh from the sides of his calves.

Blood dripped down to his ankles as the pyromancer snarled with pain. He stumbled for balance, gaining his bearings just in time to see Dan pointing his black weapon at him like a pistol. The sword was a gun! Yet, even in the face of certain demise, a grin formed on Chris’s lips.

“Oh, you cheap little bastard… overcompensating for something?” There was no reply.

The chef recoiled as he heard the gun cock, his panic instantly returning. He called up the last reserves of his mental energies to form a magical barrier between him and the Warrior’s gun-blade. The glittering translucent disk appeared instantly, covering his thighs to his head. The shot rang out. Echoing in the enclosed chamber and amplified by Christopher’s pain, the cracks of the gun seemed more akin to a mighty explosions of thunder or the blasts of a massive artillery cannon.

Time slowed. The two bullets whizzed through the polluted air. Chris knew that his shield wouldn’t be enough, but he struggled for conjure it anyway. His desperate efforts saved his life. The flying metal rounds impacted the barrier; it rippled like still water struck by a stone, and then shattered. The bullets continued through, flying through the challenger’s outstretched hand in a shower of red and striking him squarely in the chest. The air fled his lungs and he flew backwards, landing motionless on his back.

[Slayer of the Rot]

As though they could sense the impending climax of the match, the gears on the walls had picked up their speed. The stink of hot metal was thick in the air; the cogs were turning so fast their teeth were nearly a blur. If Dan noticed the strange phenomenon, he gave no note. The gunshot was still echoing through the industrial chamber. Bleeding profusely, the chef lay quiet on his back.

But the red pool was still growing on the mangled floor. His heart was still beating.

The hierarch scowled. Black sooty flakes broke off from the charred, sticky border between the remnants of his face and the blackened skull. The gunblade flickered in his hand, and became a knife of the same composition. The wear, the nicks, and the scratches of the blade could tell an experienced eye a bloody history. And that vulgar history was about to gain another chapter, because Christopher wasn't going to die of a simple gunshot. The second any man or woman picked up a sword, their death was marked. There would be no peaceful end, no gray hair, loving spouse and children to see them off.

The swordsman's demise was horrible painful, brutal.

Dan said nothing as he approached. He simply made each footstep as heavy as possible so the challenger could hear them. Crouching beside the chef's head, he slapped the flat of his knife against his palm, expressionless.

"I must get a dozen of you kids a month. All balls, all mouth, all swagger. The other hierarchs get you too, but they don't see you as much of a pain in the ass as I do. Got a new sword, maybe a pair of daggers, sometimes a gun, and wants to make a name for himself. Do you know how much pleasure I get from crushing those dreams?"

Dan sighed, and immediately began to smile. "Sometimes I screw up, let my name slip like I did earlier. If I hadn't registered under an alias, I'd get all sorts of assholes wanting my head. It's kind of a shame your blood is going on the hands of some prick named Demirci..." With a grunt, the Saraelian shifted himself into position, raised the knife - and didn't see the chef's hand rise up. The man's palm slammed into his face, grinding dirt and stones into his wounds and remaining eye.

Dan bellowed angrily, dropping his knife as he leapt to his feet. In his distress and fury, the weapon flickered through a number of appearances before becoming the gunblade from before, thumping to the mutilated chamber floor. The hierarch sent his foot crashing to the ground, hoping to crush Christopher's ribcage, but the chef had moved. The Saraelian stumbled backwards, slapping at his face, until he'd backed up against the western part of the arena. Metal shrieked as he tore one of the torches out of the ground with his flailing hand. Rationality struggled to return, and finally, he used his terramancy to pull the invading dirt away.

He blinked a few times. A spray of embers and soot had scattered far enough to reach his carpet, which was smoking. Fury returned; many of his possessions had been destroyed. His property. Dan whipped to the left, spit frothing in the corner of his unmarred lip, searching for the challenger.

Something rammed into his back, and he felt something else clamp down around his waist. Warm, sweaty steel drove itself deep into his throat. Dan violently shook his body, throwing Christopher to the ground, and grabbed at the hilt of the knife, tearing it free. An obscene amount of blood came gushing out of the ragged wound. It spattered on the ground and splashed over his chest, making him look even more gruesome than before. The Saraelian gnashed its teeth, gurgling in its throat, eye unfocused and bloodshot.

The gears gained momentum, the ground shook, and the dying beast struggled to release its fury unadulterated through its torn throat.

[Christoph]

Exhale. Christopher staggered toward his opponent, his pulse a pounding bass in his skull. Blood oozed steadily from the shallow wound in his chest and the arena spun awkwardly in his swimming vision. It was by strength of will alone that the challenger remained standing.

Inhale. His ragged breath came in gurgling gasps of blood and pain as his feet scuffed clumsily over the violated earth and metal floor. It was the endgame – the hidden machines in the arena knew this, accelerating even more rapidly in response. By a combination of brutal cunning, tenacity, and just plain luck, the chef had one more piece to play on the bloodied chessboard.

The torturous agony that racked his body served as a grim reminder of the fragility his advantage. Chris’s life steadily drained from his body. He lacked the strength to muster a killing blow with his sword or knife and his magical energy was fully spent. Doing nothing, however, would only seal his defeat; Dan Kross would certainly outlast the chef, even in his injured state.

Through the haze of pain and fatigue, a solution presented itself. The challenger’s foot brushed against Dan’s damned thrice-damned gunblade, the weapon responsible for the agonizing wounds in the chef’s chest. His lips formed a bestial grin as he leaned down and scooped the firearm from the arena floor. Inhale.

“I would lecture you about how you shouldn’t underestimate your opponents,” said Chris between pained coughs. “But hell, a famous prick like you should know better. Especially against me.” He raised the gun. “After all, don’t you know who I am?” He laughed, the tone of it unhealthy. “I’m Christopher Knighton, bitch!”

He pulled the trigger and fell back in the wake of the explosive crack, his last reserves of vitality exhausted. A veil of blackness clouded his vision. The pounding between his ears slowed and then ceased completely. Exhale. There would be no inhale.

[Slayer of the Rot]

It was like waking from a pleasant dream...there had been the short second of pressure on the back of his skull, then darkness. But not the sort of nothingness associated with death. It was the quiet, restful sort one would compare to sleep. Dan Lagh'ratham was rising out of it now, as the dull, featureless red glow on his eyes began to brighten to amber. Closely, he heard the shuffle of feet as his mouth stretched open into a wide yawn.

He opened his eyes and instantly narrowed them to a squint, throwing his arms over his head to stretch the lax muscles. That bright golden glow had been brilliant sunlight cast on walls painted pure white. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, he glanced at the two monks beside his bed and produced a cigarette despite their silent, admonishing frowns. With each breath he was slowly waking back up in on of the Pagoda's medical rooms.

"You're taking this awfully well, mister Uta." The Saraelian nodded slowly. His neck felt stiff, and a little cold, but the life was returning to it. From the brightness of the light he guessed it around noon. The room was of course one of the private Hierarch recovery chambers. The window in the eastern most wall was thrown open wide, the curtains pulled back. The furnishings were sparse; there was a bed, upon which he sat and smoked upon now, a dresser, and a small table. Everything was white - a bright, stark white that assaulted his eyes. The only break in the color was the brown of the monk's robes, and the bloodstain on the left side of the mattress.

"Or is it perhaps because you will have the last laugh, mister Lagh'ratham?" An easy grin spread Dan's lips and he nodded, jabbing a finger at the monk. The one that had been doping all the speaking was tall, with a hawkish nose, shrewd dark eyes, and a receding black hairline. The other beside him was taller still, broad in the shoulders, and a little dull in the eyes. He was holding a sheaf of papers and scribbling furiously, dipping his pen into an ink bottle cradled dangerously in the crook of his left arm.

"Exsh....exact-taly." His voice rasped and snagged in his dry throat, but returned quickly. "I rather figured you were listening in on the fight."

"We were always rather suspicious of you, Mister Lagh'ratham," the hawkish monk responded. "And you're not the mindless beast you are always portrayed as. You prepared for a situation like this. You understood our regulations. Therefore, mister Knighton's victory will have to be marked under Demirci Osma Uta. A man who never truly existed."

"Who's Knighton? I never fought anyone by that name," Dan mocked, his grin nearly ear to ear by now. "He sounds like small fry. A weak little insect that fought a lazy, unmotivated man." The large, burly monk fumbled about in the pockets of his robe and produced a stamp. He smacked it against the paper three times and exhaled loudly, wiping sweat off his forehead - spilling the little ink bottle across his wide chest and stomach in the process. He moaned grievously as the stain spread rapidly down the garment.

Black spots dribbled onto the white floor of the recovery room as the hawkish man extended a hand that Dan took immediately. "Welcome to the Dajas Pagoda, Mister Lagh'ratham. We've made arrangements to register you as a Master. My peers call you a troublesome monster and a beast. A blight on our honor. But I happen to recognize power when I see it."

Dan Lagh'ratham crushed his stub of a cigarette between his fingers. Dark shadows joined the brilliant white light across his face as his shark like smile split apart. "Oh, I'm going to have such fun."

[Christoph]

“Excuse me?” asked an incredulous chef, his head still spinning slightly in the wake of his body’s restoration. He cracked his back, sitting on the edge of a small bed. “Who the hell is Demirci?”

“He was your opponent, sir, don’t you remember?” replied a stout, young Monk with blonde hair and tan skin. He was a lackey, a lowly orderly working for a more important Pagoda Monk.

“My memory is just fine, you fool,” Chris growled back, uncharacteristically angry. He rubbed his throbbing forehead with the heel of his hand. “I know who I fought. How could I forget the name of Dan Lagh’ratham?”

“I’m afraid you must be mistaken,” the short Monk replied, holding out a stamped parchment for Chris to see. “Our records don’t say anything about a Dan Lagh’ratham. They all clearly state that your challenge was accepted by Demirci Osma Uta.” Something about the messenger’s overly formal voice and the way he held his nose in the air infuriated Christopher even more.

“Listen, you pompous lackey,” snarled the chef, sliding off the small cot he’d been lying on and grabbing the Monk’s brown robes. “I know what I heard! He called himself Dan Lagh’ratham.”

“You must have misheard,” said the Monk, taking a step back and giving Chris a leveled look.

“Fine.” He clenched his fists for a moment before taking a deep breath and sliding his newly cleaned chef coat back on. “If that’s the story you’re going to give me, fine. Why don’t you let me talk to Demirci, then? I’m sure that the two of us could”

The Monk blanched slightly. “I… he’s…”

“He’s not available at the moment,” said a cold voice with a slimy diplomatic tone. “For obvious reasons.” A slim Monk with an angular face and pointed, hook-shaped nose had come up behind him.

“Bull shit,” the challenger scoffed. “If I’m standing, he’s going to be at least awake.”

“I’m afraid not,” replied the newcomer with a smile that sent chills down the chef’s spine. “However, I would like to extent congratulations for your victory over Demirci.”

“You mean against Dan.”

“I am afraid that you are mistaken, sir.”

“Yes, yes, so your lackey said,” Chris shot back as he started heading for the door. “I’m leaving.”

“So I assume you do not wish to claim the coveted Warrior rank?”

Christopher laughed on his way out. “Not a chance; not if I’d have to pretend to be someone else, as seems to be the customs in this mad house.”

“Well, the position will be waiting for when you return.”

“I appreciate the gesture,” replied the chef sardonically. “But I won’t be coming back.” It was the thin monk’s turn to laugh at that point.

“Oh yes you will, Christopher Knighton.”

“I am afraid that you are mistaken, sir.” The chef scowled back at the pair of robed men before storming out. Ripples of heat radiated from his body. He left the ancient temple even angrier than before because that damn hawk-faced bastard was right. He would be back.

[Raelyse]

Slayer of the Rot

Story

Continuity – 6 – I really liked how you tied the story up at the end by having Dan properly join the Pagoda, which really made this thread feel like it was an important part of his story, instead of just a battle that served as an interlude. This only came about at the end though, which was very disappointing and I would have liked to know more about Dan at the start. You gave me a bit, but I didn't feel as if it was enough.

Setting – 7 – It was your arena, so obviously you had the advantage but I found that you really made the area come alive with great metaphors. I also liked how Dan valued his arena like a home. However, I didn't get as clear a picture of the arena as I wanted, which is why you didn't score higher.

Pacing – 6 – You did well here because Dan is a great character and each post transitions well into the next one. You are no doubt helped by your lengthy list of abilities and weapons. It's almost as if Dan is a magician and I can't wait to see what trick he pulls out next. However, I didn't really like your first few posts which weren't as well written, so this dragged your score down.

Character

Dialogue – 8 – This is strong, because it fits so well with the Dan's personality. Your dialogue is never boring and didn't lose any of the pace or charm when Dan started to rev up. I didn't give you higher because I thought a few lines were slightly corny, like the the “I'm Dan, Bitch” thing, but it was good for the most part.

Action – 7 – Dan's lazy at first, but once he's angered, he really starts to go all out. Despite this transition, I never thought that it was awkward or forced. It fit very well with hi character. However I did feel that Dan was dragging his feet slightly when he was trying his hardest to kill Christoph and I would have thought that he would use some of his more powerful abilities to kill him quicker.

Persona – 6 – A character so driven by emotion can be hard to write at times and I felt that you did an adequate job here. You have a good feel for him and you know what makes him tick so it comes naturally for you. However, nothing wowed me and it all seemed kind of average.

Writing Style

Technique – 6 – All your literary devices slide seamlessly in, but I didn't feel as if your descriptions were up to the standard that you set for yourself now. Your descriptions of things throughout the entire battle as a whole weren't fantastic.

Mechanics – 6 – A few spelling errors and sentence construction problems here.

Clarity – 6 - In the beginning, your sentences didn't flow into each other very clearly because I felt that you were a bit too wordy. It was never so bad that I never had a clue what was happening, but there were definitely parts that required a second or third read. You did however improve as the thread went on.

Wild Card – 5 – Overall, a distinctly average performance from you. I didn't sense that you put in very much effort and this is reflected in this score. You can do a lot better and it was frustrating that you didn't.

Total Score - 63

Christoph

Story

Continuity – 5 – The first thing that I read was a strange beginning. I was hoping all the while that you would explain why Christoph needed to de-stress, but it never came in much detail. What had been caused him to get so stressed? The inhale-exhale thing was carried through the thread, but I still don't think it justified such a lengthy part at the beginning, especially since it had little to do with the rest of the thread.

Setting – 6 – You didn't do much to wow me here. I understand that it's Dan's arena and you can't really use it to your advantage. Besides the carpet thing, I don't think you really acknowledged it very much besides the occasional talk of the gears.

Pacing – 6 – It certainly didn't help that Christoph was overpowered by Dan. He was tenacious, but I felt that you used the fire ability too much that it got stale. You don't have as big an arsenal as Dan does, but you can certainly do things to grab my attention.

Character

Dialogue – 5 – I found Christoph's words to be very corny and cliché, especially the bit about the cream chicken at the beginning of the thread. Some lines were direct derivations of Dan's and they did not come off as witty as I assume you intended. Still, your dialogue was at least consistent with Christoph's character.

Action – 7 – Christoph's fighting style and general resolve in battle represent his character well. I liked the desperate way that he fought for victory but I was disappointed at the end that he would throw away all his efforts. I didn't feel as if you pulled that last bit off particularly well.

Persona – 6 - I find it slightly unrealistic that Christoph never really showed significant loss of morale as his attacks continued to prove ineffective against Dan. You mentioned it, but it never really translated into his emotions. In general, I didn't feel as if this was as great a representation of Christoph's character as you could give. You didn't bring his emotions to life enough to warrant a higher score.

Writing Style

Technique – 4 – Your literary devices sometimes stick out like a sore thumb, which doesn't bode well because it really stops any momentum your sentences are building. I didn't really like the way your whimsical style of writing came out in this thread, because you didn't keep it constant through the thread. You would write normally, then suddenly break off on a less serious tangent about him soiling his pants, which totally ruined the mood for me. This prevented any form of rhythm to be built and made it hard to read.

Mechanics – 5 – Grammar, spelling and sentence construction problems here.

Clarity – 4 – I felt you did poorly here. The beginning was especially confusing and there was never really a single post that I could read through without pausing to re-read certain parts. I felt the part where Christoph moves to chop off Dan's fingers was especially hard to understand. I don't think I can give you a higher score than this. Your diction wasn't hard to understand, it was just that I felt that you rushed certain parts and dragged others.

Wild Card – 4 – I felt that you didn't really put that much effort into this thread, particularly towards the end. As a result, I didn't want to give you anything higher. You can do much better than this and it confuses me why you didn't.

Total Score – 52

Slayer of the Rot wins 63 to 52

Slayer of the Rot gains 2750 EXP and 1100 GP
Christoph gains 500 EXP and 275 GP

[Cyrus the virus]

EXP addorz.