The Viet Cong Ain't got Nothin' on Me.

[Jobe]

(Jobe v. Behemoth)

The air was stagnant with choking humidity as I approached the steel meshed fence that stood around my new property. The building was massive, at least three stories high, and looked to be some sort of urban redoubt from the projects in Chicago. So close in fact, it always disturbed me that it was out in the middle of nowhere. Tucked within the rolling hills that rivaled it in height, the warehouse would probably be overlooked and forgotten at a passing glance. From the red bricked walls to the many windows that lined the third floor, it looked perfectly normal from somebody who was from my world. Nobody would ever had expected it to be some sort of killing grounds, and that was just the way I liked it.

No where to run, plenty of places to hide.

Ringing my collar, I felt how uncomfortably warm it was getting as the day wore on, and it only served to sour my mood. "I must be getting soft," I muttered as I pulled open the steel gate and felt my mind wander back to the landscape of my childhood. I grew up in Virginia where days like this are common place, I shouldn't be succumbing to the heat so easily.

"Days like this.." I repeated as I rolled the words on my tongue, turning back to survey the barbed wire that sat atop the fence in bundles. If I bothered to lock the gate before I went into the 'house, I'd probably wear my opponent out a little more. No need, I thought, there are bigger things for him to worry about once he gets here. I just hoped he'd trip a couple of the surprises I laid out for him when he got here.

Turning back towards the building, I walked a couple of paces forward before sidestepping the entrance to one of the pit falls, knowing full well how hard it'd be to get back up again. It wasn't impossible to get out, but when or if my opponent did slip and fall I wasn't going to bother making small game out of him. It was about three or four feet deep with no footholds of any kind within. It was a simple trap that was carefully concealed, but I had hoped that the results of a twisted ankle would go a long way without me actually having to hamstring him.

I shook my head and chuckled softly as I zig-zagged, side-stepped, and bobbed my way around some of my more notorious aces I had up my sleeve. It took a couple minutes to reach the door, but when I reached it I grabbed the brass handle and jerked it upward and was rewarded with the blaring belch of a horn that I had installed further up the wall. I had tripped the trick lock, but as I shook my head to get the ringing out of my ears I knew that would arm itself again once I closed the door. Standing in the shadow of the door, my visage visible to any who would arrive at the warehouse, I turned back to take one last look at my work.

Quagmires and quicksand sat in large, unsurmountable pools on both the extreme left and right, both easily spotted if you weren't blind. I began to recall how hard it had been to place certain traps and how close I came several times with having some of them explode in my face. It was probably the only reason I sparsely used land mines in this kind of an environment. If you used too many, you'd never remember where they were, and if you used too few they weren't of very much use anyway.

Checking my work carefully, I shook my head as I tried to push the meticulous details and intricacies my warehouse had in its construction. I still managed to remember how many square feet the blocks of concrete on the second floor had to be on installation and the weight some of the warehouse's bricks had to be for the foundation to keep some of the bigger traps from bringing the entire 'house down.

Nobody should remember that.

A long, awkward pause followed as I stood out in the open like fresh bait for my opponent. "Warehouse." I muttered, "I should call it something different.. like 'The Killing Grounds' or something."

I mulled the sound of the newfound name over and over like puddy in my hands. "It does have a ring to it," I heard myself say.


TRAPS:
Outside:
1x Quagmire.
200 ft. of coiled Barbed wire.
2x Spiked spring-loaded sandwich plates.
2x Quicksand.
5x Pitfall.
1x Punji Pit.
4x Bear trap.
2x Tripwire.
1x Noxious gas hooked up to tripwire.
1x vat of boiling oil.
1x Anti-personal land mine (located in a third story window).
First Floor:
6x Tripwire.
3x Pitfall.
2x Falling Crates hooked with tripwire.
2x Tear Gas hooked with tripwire.
1x Old Grenade hooked with tripwire.
1x pressure plate which expels noxious gas.
6x pressure plates which trigger spring-loaded barbed darts.
Second Floor:
Falling Ceiling.
Third Floor:
Weak floorboards (triggered by second floor trap).
Roof: None.
Basement: None.

Weapon Caches:
Outside: None
First Floor:
1x Blackjack
1x Steel longsword
1x Collapsable spear
1x Spring-loaded wrist-blade
Second Floor: None
Third Floor (accessible only if the second floor hasn't been tripped):
1x steel dagger
2x vials of cyanide
1x sealed can of grease
Roof: None.
Basement:
1x Nightvision goggles.

[Behemoth]

A sea of death stretched out before him. His dark skin rippled as a shiver of delight ran down his spine. Bhakti’mat Zu’ura, the fugitive from Fallien, looked across a wide yard to where the defending Pagoda Warrior waited in his hideout. Flexing each of the muscles in his arms and holding them tight for several seconds, the seven foot titan focused his physical energy on the impending battle. He had been made for a place such as the Dajas Pagoda. Releasing his taut muscles as he exhaled sharply, the half-gigas challenger could think of nothing other than seeking out his prey from whatever dark recesses he hid in. He lived for the hunt.

It had only been a matter of weeks since the Zalkhein’s flight from Fallien, but in that short time he had changed dramatically. Outwardly he appeared the same, an open vest was his only armor, his callused hands his only weapon. He still wore loose leather pants and heavy boots; it was his attitude that had gone through a metamorphosis. As a guard to the gigas homeland of Dosidica, Bhakti’mat had killed an important dignitary sent from the Fallien capital of Irrakam to act as an emissary to the gigases. The consequences of his actions had been severe and the simple man had fled his country to seek refuge elsewhere.

The first boat he had found had dropped him in Scara Brae and somehow the titan had stumbled across the Dajas Pagoda. Upon learning what the place was, Bhakti’mat had wanted nothing more than to earn his place among its ranks. Fighting was what he did best; it practically defined him. He was a simple man, with no skills or extraordinary features, fighting was all he had. So he had entered the Pagoda, intent on proving himself.

The familiar heat washed over him like a soothing wave, easing any anxiety he may have felt toward the coming battle. Jobe would fall before his fists like so many others; it was the way his world worked. He had prepared, now all he had to do was find the elusive man. His booted foot stepped forward confidently and his piercingly blue eyes scanned the land between him and the large door several hundred yards away.

He picked out several traps; mainly pitfalls, quicksand, and quagmires, because he was used to scanning his surroundings in Fallien for such dangers. However, his eyes skimmed past many of the other surprises as he began to close the distance between him and the towering building in the center of the valley.

The desert warrior took a wide, sweeping approach to the building, attempting to avoid many of the obstacles that he had seen. As his foot hit the dirt, a bear trap clamped shut around his ankle, causing him to stumble and crash to the ground. With a grunt, the behemoth rolled over and pulled his leg closer to his body. Prying the teeth of the trap apart, the dark-skinned man was easily able to pull his ankle from its grasp. A few of the teeth had punctured the skin, but the rest had simply bit into the thick leather of his boots, leaving sizeable bruises, but little lasting damage.

As the warrior hauled himself to his feet, he had a newfound respect for the defending Pagoda Warrior. It seemed that he had been approaching this battle the wrong way; Jobe seemed to favor trickery over hand-to-hand combat. Who could blame him? Bhakti’mat thought objectively. It was unlikely that the man was a match for the desert fighter’s raw strength and muscle; it made sense that he would use other tactics.

With a new resolve to hunt down his enemy, Bhakti’mat Zu’ura closed the final yards between himself and the building to haul open the large door. “The hunt begins,” he stated, feeling his strength build in anticipation. Just like stalking a drake through the sands of Fallien, Jobe would fall before his might. He was sure of it.

[Jobe]

Closing the heavy steel door behind me, I heard the trick lock click as it moved back into place when the clang of metal rang loudly from outside followed by a small grunt. "Damn," I said under my breath. I had expected a few more minutes to myself before my opponent decided to bumble in, thinking it would probably give me time for a bigger head start.

"No matter," I said as a grin spread across my face, "He's got a lot more coming to him before he gets a couple swings at me."

Much more.

The time for speculation was over, I thought with a sort of finality. Moving down the large dark corridor, I zig-zagged to avoid the pressure-plates, their locations engrained in my memory. There was a lot about this place I'd remember for years to come, and it was that reason alone that I let myself walk through these deadly traps. Walking briskly towards the light at the end of the hallway, I began to get side-tracked when my foot accidently tapped the end of a pressure plate and I heard a sharp click from my right.

I managed to yelp as I bent nimbly backwards just in time for one of my homemade darts to whizz by, inches from my face. It landed with a thud against the exterior wall, but I could barely hear it over the blood pumping in my ears. Standing up straight I moved over to the offending trap and plucked the dart out of the wall as I felt myself inhale sharply. Back in my world, there had been a war where traps like these were so common that my government had spent more time educating the soldiers on disarming the traps than actually winning the war itself.

Not that it hadn't helped. My old man had done two tours in this Fool's War, and neither of them was by choice. Luckily, he brought home enough souvenirs with him that I and my brothers could be drilled in the same ways he had been through to gain faster reflexes, sharp eyes and a higher tolerance for pain.

Looking up from the dart as the train of nostalgia whooshed past me, I returned to my more pressing concern. I had reached the other end of the hall without incident and walked into the soft, fluorescent light of the main interior of the warehouse. Boxes and crates that came in all different shapes, sizes, and materials laid cleverly stacked one on top of the other to the point that it was difficult to see where the walls ended and rolled into a sort of labyrinth. Moving into the shadows towards the left side of the massive wooden and steel wall, I took one last look at the only narrow opening into the maze when I turned and began to grope my way into the darkness.

Cold steel that had been covered in ash to prevent it from being seen met my fingertips as I stubbornly walked forward. I had put in an express lane for this maze, knowing full well that I had no desire of checking over my work or having any more close calls with my carefully placed traps. I propelled myself quickly upward as I felt my gut urge me to go a little faster. I rolled over the top and onto the flat, wooden surface of my new 'walkway'.

Turning towards the ladder which I could now see plainly in this kind of light, I leaned forward and gripped the top bar, pulling the entire thing upwards in an arc. Setting it a safe distance from either ledge, I stood up and looked into the darkness below for a couple moments before I turned and sauntered quietly towards my next destination.

[Behemoth]

The blast of a horn startled him and instantly he snapped into lethal mode. One massive fist shot into the doorway, guided by the sound alone. When it met with no resistance, Bhakti’mat ducked into a low crouch and rolled throw the entryway, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light as he did. He had no idea why the horn had sounded, but his blood pumping throw his veins served to prepare him for another encounter. Straining his eyes through the lighting, he searched the long hallway for any sign of his opponent. Nothing. Starting forward cautiously, he once again scanned the floor and walls for hidden traps.

Confident that there was nothing to surprise him, the dark-skinned titan walked toward the illuminated doorway at the far end of the hall. He had gone no more than four steps when he heard a soft click and felt a sharp shooting pain in his left forearm. Reaching across his body with his right arm, the desert warrior plucked a small barbed dart from his flesh. The barbs tugged at his skin, threatening to tear it before leaving, but finally came free. His skin, aged from years under the Fallien sun and worn from sandblasting winds pummeling it, was as thick as an animal’s hide. It would take more than a dart to stop him.

With a renewed sense of urgency, the half-gigas made his way toward the light at the end of the passage. Five more darts stuck themselves in his abdomen and lower arms before he made it, but they were little more than minor inconveniences. Realizing the battlefield may have been created for shorter opponents, the massive fighter understood that the projectiles were meant to slice jugular veins or poke out eyes. His seven foot frame gave him an advantage in that the darts had been far less lethal. My height is an advantage, he realized. Pausing in the doorway, he surveyed the next room carefully. Jobe enjoyed traps far too much for a Pagoda Warrior. Where was the fighting?

The inside of the building was much brighter, the luminous lighting gave an odd glow to the room that made Bhakti’mat’s stomach turn strangely. “Unnatural,” he uttered, used to the brutal Fallien sun instead of fluorescent lighting. Remaining perfectly still, the desert warrior listened for any sign of his opponent; for all he knew, the man could be waiting around the next corner.

Besides an irritating buzz and a low hum, the dark-skinned behemoth could detect nothing out of the ordinary. Moving forward toward a stack of crates, the titan felt himself growing more and more agitated. This Jobe is a coward, his mind ranted. Why does he not face me? His frustration mounted, finally coming to a peak as he reached the closest stack of crates. Pounding his mighty fist against the metal crate, he roared into the cavernous interior, “Fight me Jobe!” His words echoed around the building, reverberating and growing louder before slowly dying down.

Several seconds ticked by without an answer and Bhakti’mat pounded the steel crate once again. The hollow thud echoed as well and he shouted over top of it, “Jobe!” A pause, letting the echo build. “Come face me!” Sweat gleamed on his brow as he repeatedly pounded the side of the crate, each blow more forceful than the last. A dent was beginning to form; mirroring the half-gigas’s inner rage as the steel slowly began folding under the building pressure.

“Jobe!”

Feel free to bunny Bhakti'mat if you need to.

[Jobe]

By the time the horn had sounded and my opponent began bashing and crunching at the shipping containers like play things, I was halfway across the first floor atop the stalwart pillars I had arranged to direct my enemy to his doom. My eyes probed the poor light like a lion upon the prowl, the further I journeyed across the large, cavernous room the fewer the fluorescent lights became until there were too few to drive away the shadows that seemed to pool in the passages below. So far above my opponent, I began to feel as if I was immune to his presence and he'd be hard pressed to cover the distance between us before I reached my destination.

Whatever he is.

I heard my footfalls softly upon the wooden pathway as I turned and crept along my route, unable to imagine how strong my opponent must've been to have caused such a din. Those containers have to be at least six inches thick, I realized as my mind recalled the deep blue sheen of the strange containers. Very few upon this floor contained anything of any real value, sure I might have slipped a device here or there just in case the need ever arose, but these containers acted more as a barrier than an untapped opportunity. My mind raced as I planned my next several moves in this game of cat and mouse, the details wisp past as my old habitual vice of preparation came back to bud once more.

The traps had aided in drawing him into the warehouse, my idea being that these traps shouldn't be lethal except in extreme cases, but rather act as a constant danger to keep my opponent off balance and if one managed to hamstring him along the way, all the better. This wasn't the type of place where a conventional fight for survival was waged, but a meeting of the minds. I needed a bit of practice in the art of killing, even if I'm somewhat reluctant to admit it, and the Pagoda is the perfect place to carry it out. No need for targets, innocent bystanders, or the sole depths of my imagination-- those who walked through my doors volunteered to tread forth like a lamb to the slaughter.

I managed to reach the western edge of the maze when I saw what I was looking for. Staring down into the darkness below, I saw the soft red glow of the arrowed buttons that sat fixed upon steel. Moving over towards another ladder that sat upon the pathway, I reached down to grab it and slid it over the edge and down gently into the cool shadows below.

I never managed to reach the pile of crates that hid the entrance to the elevator before I heard my competitor's challenge. "We fight on my terms," I whispered before adding, "You can wait just a little longer, bub."

[Behemoth]

Panting with the exertion, Bhakti’mat Zu’ura continued to pummel the thick metal side of the great crate before him. Several moments passed and the giant man heard no reply from the defending Warrior. Figures, he thought sullenly. Mouse wants me to come in after him. This bothered the dark-skinned titan for the maze of crates before him made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle in apprehension. Entering their shadowy embrace would be akin to walking unarmed into a sand-drake’s den. Simply not a good idea.

The skin on the backs of his fingers tore open from the repetitious motion and bright red blood ran in rivulets across his knuckles. The sight made the behemoth stop his angered tantrum, one final punch smearing crimson across the iron container’s side. The pain in his hand was nothing compared to the turmoil boiling inside him though. He had entered his name in the Dajas Pagoda to fight and earn glory. Battling was how he defined himself; when his breath came in short pants and the adrenaline surged through his senses, that was how he knew he was alive.

What the Fallien fugitive had signed up for was the exact opposite from what he was getting. Jobe had chosen an arena where strategy and speed were needed much more than brawn. Unfortunately for Bhakti’mat, he was no thinker. His simple mind slowly arrived at two choices; leave and be shamed or press on through the traps and grind Jobe into dust. His lips spread wide in a pleased grin as he thought on the second option. Mouse thinks his traps will protect him, slamming his bloodied fist into the side of the crate once again, the half-gigas’s grin widened. Nothing can protect him.

And so the fighter from Fallien followed his foe into the dark labyrinth of metal and wood, his resolve firm.

[Jobe]

(bunnying approved)

I had stepped into the elevator when I heard a cantankerous crash from the other side of the cavernous room, causing me to stop dead. The next couple of seconds that followed melted into the baritone echo that followed, my instinct saying falling crates, but it could easily be mistaken for a grenade or a pitfall.

"Whatever." I muttered as I shrugged and pushed the button for the top floor. Slowly the doors began to close again and the fluorescent lights flickered when I groaned and passed through the narrow gap. As I moved swiftly towards the ladder, I slowly understood what it was I needed to do. This man, whoever he was, was getting a free ride by choosing his own way through my domain. I needed to be close and become a constant danger in order for my warehouse to truly become as effective as I imagined it. Not knowing where an enemy was was a lingering feeling, but once the enemy began to hunt you then the real fun began.

People get rash and they begin to make more mistakes. Keeping him off balance would have to be more on my part than with the tools I had designed. I got to the top in a matter of seconds, digging myself out of the pit of shadows and into the world above.

Now all I needed to do was find the bastard.

[Behemoth]

The light faded as Bhakti’mat traveled farther into the center of the room, the huge crates stacked nearly to the ceiling created makeshift walls. As strong as the desert warrior was, he’d easier move a mountain than budge the piled crates. So he was forced to navigate his way through the many twists and turns of the maze, losing himself within a matter of seconds. “Bhiita,” he muttered under his breath, still angry at his opponent’s lack of confrontation thus far. He certainly had been disappointed by the Pagoda.

Turning a corner, the dark-skinned titan felt a sharp tug at his feet. He looked down to see what had brushed against him and saw a thin wire crossing the walkway, its silvery surface glinting in the nearly-undetectable light of the labyrinth. Strange, he thought. What’s the point? A metallic groan made him look up sharply and he saw a huge dark shadow descending through the air toward him. What…? he wondered.

The crate clanged on the ground before him, reverberating through his bones as its deep echo bounced around the confined space. Bhakti’mat jumped at the sudden noise and whirled around to face the expected ambush behind him. But as the echo faded, nothing emerged from the shadowy corners around him. His heart hammered in his ears, making it difficult to hear for another’s breathing, but he was lucky to be alive. He suspected that a normal human would have either tripped on the wire or continued walking, oblivious to the trap. Once again, being different had saved him.

He focused on his breathing, slowly his panicked exhales to a normal rate before rolling his shoulders back and continuing on. Every fiber of his being was on high alert now; Jobe likely would have heard the commotion. Making his way around the fallen crate, Bhakti’mat Zu’ura groped forward in the darkness. He couldn’t wait to make his foe pay for every stupid trick he’d used so far.

[Jobe]

It hadn't taken me long to track down the ebony giant, only stopping on my way to break open one of the aptly placed crates that contained a chain of pieces of steel that were tethered together by pieces of metal fiber that were as hard to fray as they were to braid. At the tip of the chain of steel lay an elongated tip almost twelve inches in length, and serrated at the bottom. It was so sharp in fact that once it came in contact with flesh, there'd be little in the way of stopping it once it plunged into its raw, scarlet depths. The weapon doubled as a sort of whip that was about seven feet in length, but if snapped together properly, it could be made into one of the deadliest weapons the world over.

It was a favorite of an old Indian nemesis of mine, and I made good use of remembering the schematic after I used the spear to cut out his still-beating heart.

My competitor wandered aimlessly about the maze, unable to find a way out of the labyrinth but managing to either avoid or trip every trap in his wake. To my surprise most of what I had laid out before him had little effect, and it was by sheer luck that he avoided the grenade. It'd been wise to find him, I would later realize, and it was to that effect that I followed him for several long moments, as if I was stalking my prey. At this height it'd be hard to spot me, but I was just high enough that all my spear could muster was a graze.

But that would probably be enough.

Hopping nimbly over the large gap between the passages that eventually led to a fork, I decided enough was enough. Spinning my threaded steel weapon in the air to let it sing its eldritch song, I waited until the behemoth heard my taunt. Only once I saw the whites of his eyes did I strike, my every intention to snap the chain back at the last second.

[Behemoth]

The labyrinth was filled with the soft drone of machinery that Bhakti’mat had eventually filtered out. So when a sharp, persistent whistle broke the monotony, he doubled his guard. The tone drifting through the warm, stagnant air of the maze sounded almost melodious, as if someone or something were trying to play a simple tune. The fugitive’s eyes narrowed as he scoffed at this notion. Who would be playing music in a death trap like this?

He approached a fork in the pathway, one of many that he had discovered so far and eyes each passage. Neither presented any glimmer of hope that the end was in sight and so the behemoth trudged toward the left corridor. A faint contrast to the usual darkness caught his attention and he looked up just in time to see Jobe launch an attack from high above.

The poor lighting afforded no hint to what the weapon was and Bhakti’mat instantly assumed the worse. Polearms had the longest reach and so he danced back a step as fast as he could. One massive hand swung up through the air, ready to bat aside a longer blade if necessary, as the other swung his body weight out of the way. He twisted to the side as quickly as his weight would allow, he only hoped it was fast enough.

[Jobe]

The ringing steel left my sweaty palms with the speed of a striking cobra, it's harpoon tipped head seeking passage into my competitor's thick, black flesh. I had only used the spear twice before, and both times I hadn't needed to use it to this extent, but I stifled a breath as I watched my enemy look up at it head on. In a whirl of movement, the black giant's quick footwork afforded himself another breath as the spear narrowly zipped across his skull which despite his enormous size and strength, surely would've torn through both his mind and body like a piece of rebar through a pumpkin.

Seeing the splatter of scarlet blood in slow motion as I caught onto the last length of steel was breathtaking as the behemoth spun away. I guessed we both thought he had gotten off easy, but that was until he did the unexpected. Freed from the singing death that descended upon him, the giant had swung his ham of a hand upwards to catch the spear as it zigged past him and brushed the big, meaty part of his palm across the sharp edge of the harpooned point.

The serrated teeth of the blade dug hungrily into the giant's hand and it was then that my hands snapped reflexively back upon my end of the chain, causing the serrated teeth to rake across his flesh stubbornly. I underestimated the sheer power of the giant, and only when I realized how sluggish the spear became as it caught onto his hand did I find myself in danger.

[Behemoth]

His scalp trickled blood down into his eyes as he closed his fingers around the chain of the weapon. The cold metal pressed on the wound in his palm, but he hardly noticed. His nostrils flared and his corded muscles bulged as he did the only thing he could think of; pull. Bhakti’mat Zu’ura was going to have a tug of war.

The weapon his opponent used was a strange one; the desert warrior had never seen another one like it. He was intrigued, but that curious emotion was buried under his battle fury. The sneaking mouse was about to get caught. It had been pure instinct that his hand had caught the chain links; however, the dark-skinned titan knew that act had turned the tide of the battle in his favor.

Wandering through the arena at the mercy of whatever tricks Jobe had planted, Bhakti’mat had been out of his element. Some of the traps he had been familiar with, but for the most part he was a stranger to such underhanded tactics. Gigases fought with their hands, teeth, and feet; that’s what he had been raised to do. He’d show Jobe a thing or two about fighting. He just had to bring him down to his level.

With both massive hands on the chain, blood making it slightly slippery, the Fallien fugitive grunted and began hauling in the lengths. Hand over hand, he pulled toward him, taking in the slack until it was his muscle versus Jobe’s. The chain went taut in his hands and his boots slid across the floor. Gritting his teeth, he planted his feet closer to the crate looming before him and tugged at the chain. His forward progress stopped, but he had little leverage to yank Jobe from him perch. He needed more power.

Stepping forward, he placed one booted foot against the ridges running vertically on the side of the steel crate. He let Jobe pull the chain in just a few inches and then he exploded. His legs launched him away from the crate where Jobe stood, flying backward into the darkness behind him. His arms yanked mightily at the length of chain, the serrated head dangling dangerously between them. He threw his head back and roared with the exertion; Jobe was coming down to his level… whether he liked it or not.

[Jobe]

"Damn it!" I snapped as I felt the chain get away from me and the savage strength of the giant as he tried to rip me from the crates topside, my worst fear teetering on the brink of actually coming to pass. I hadn't any idea how strong this black mongrel was, but it felt all too similar to poking a hungry bear with a stick. I had been impulsive, and worst yet I had let the bastard put me in a position where I was bound to lose something. Weighing the scales, I remembered what an old friend once told me who had been a veteran of the Koreas back home, "When faced with two bowls of shit, I was always particular to the one that stinks less."

Grabbing the chain with all my might I tugged it across the face of the massive crate step after grueling step. Barring my teeth as sweat dripped into my eyes, I no longer paid attention to what my opponent was doing. I had a few vital moments before he could turn the tide, and it was only when I reached the edge did I hold my breath. Unable to peer into the darkness I felt myself within a hairsbreadth of my doom, unable to tell what I had chosen to lurk within those shadows.

I felt the shock of the giant's force of will as he tugged upon the chain with all his might, just managing to turn around and plant a booted foot under the wooden brace at the top of the crate. Each of us tugged and strained against the powerful steel, my balance against the weight of the crate narrowly able to offset the titan's powerful muscle as he sought to bring me down. Time seemed to grow soft and plyable as I attempted to outmaneuver the giant, and if I had lost my grip I was sure that my lifespan would then be measured in seconds.

Suddenly, the crate below my feet that had kept me from the hands of that angry giant began to groan and creak, slowly succumbing to the giant's savagery. Only a stone's throw from death, I could only watch as the crate steadily began to tip, but whether the mongrel below knew that was beyond me. Feeling my grip begin to wane, I watched as the crate began to rise and tip precariously over the gap. It was too late to return it now, for at such a steep angle, the crate began to fall into the omnipresent grip of gravity.

[Behemoth]

Groaning metal foreshadowed the grim end to the battle. Bhakti’mat lay prone on the floor of the maze, the chain taut between his hands. Somewhere in the darkness above, he heard the ominous shifting of a crate, but he could not move fast enough. He had survived Jobe’s sea of death long enough; this was to be the end. The Warrior’s weapon sliced at the dark-skinned titan’s fingers as he struggled to rise to his feet in time to make good his escape. But the crate shifted past its balancing point and orange sparks leapt from the steel frame of the massive thing as it hurtled down toward him.

Jobe was on that crate. He had no idea how he knew that, but he did. The Pagoda Warrior would likely die in the impact, but the desert fighter would leave nothing to chance. Panic threatened to drive his actions, but he tried to quell the feelings as long as he could. As the steel crate plummeted from above, Bhakti’mat Zu’ura closed his eyes and heaved the spear-like chain with all his might. The action left him no time to brace against the onslaught and the thick metal face of the giant crate pulverized the behemoth.

~~

As he woke in the Pagoda infirmary, his thoughts turned back to the end of the battle. He found it hard to remember anything that had taken place after he had thrown the weapon hurtling back to its owner. Bhakti’mat hoped that his last ditch effort had hit its mark. But there would be no way to tell; the monks were likely already done healing the Warrior. The hulking brute reflected on the last few hours; much had happened that he wished to remember.

He had been made for a place such as the Dajas Pagoda, but he had fallen short. Jobe had won, of that he was sure. The sneaky bastard had outwitted the dull Zalkhein until the last moment. All that for three seconds of fighting, the Fallien fugitive thought. I never even saw his face. Gripped with a resolve to train harder in the ways of combat unfamiliar to him, Bhakti’mat pushed the battle from his mind. He had other things to worry about.

He leapt off the bed where the monks had left him and strode out into the hall. Regardless of the results, Bhakti’mat would not be pleased. However, he would wait to hear the announcement of the victor; Jobe deserved that much.

[Skie and Avery]

Quest Judging
The Viet Cong Ain't Got Nothing On Me

Per Pagoda rules, there were several times when it took Jobe four days or more to respond. At one point, it took you eighteen days. This is basis for disqualification. No matter what outcome to the judging, Behemoth has the option to take over Jobe's place as a Pagoda warrior.

Jobe is in Dark Green
Behemoth is in Sienna

STORY

Continuity
4 I was left with much to be desired here. I know he's on earth, but I have no idea why he's here. You didn't end this well at all. There's a difference between a cliffhanger and just dropping the story and the latter happened here.
6 You gave me more than Jobe did, but I still would have liked much more.

Setting
8
6 You were strong at first, allowing yourself to fall prey to the traps. It deteriorated after there, when you entered the warehouse. He didn't react to fluorescent lighting the way I thought an Althanian would have. Steady, hot, strangely colored light that comes with an annoying buzz would have confounded some, terrified others. It was brushed off and you went about your business. He reacted to little if any wounding. That's something I would expect to read in a Slayer or a Godhand quest. Their characters are much alike to what I imagine yours becoming in the future. You have a powerhouse, but a level zero one. No level zero is incapable of feeling pain without paralysis, despite having tough skin.

Pacing
5 While I realize your plan needed time, I felt that you dragged this out a little more than necessary.
5 I realize you weren't given much to go with in the posts as your opponent kept fleeing from you. Because you can play the sheep doesn't mean you should. It made it feel like this was Jobe's story and not yours, which doesn't usually work in a battle. You have to own it, and take initiative, even when the battlefield was made by someone else.

CHARACTER

Dialogue
6
5
The dialogue here was minimal, and in the Marco Polo game that was set up, it could have been so dynamic. "The hunt begins"??? You might as well have pulled "By Grabthar's hammer, by the suns of Warvan, you shall be avenged!" out on me.

Action
7
6

Persona
5
6
Both of your characters were a bit flat in this. I couldn't connect with them at all, and it made the battle mediocre at best.

WRITING STYLE

Technique
8
7

Mechanics
8 Watch your comma usage and narrative tenses.
8 You also had a few problems with tiny little mistakes that could easily be caught by reading your work out loud.

Clarity
9
9

MISCELLANEOUS

Wild Card
6
7
The two of you are good writers, and I feel that with a little more effort and personality, you can take flat characters and turn them into remarkable protagonists who garner faithful readers.

TOTAL
66
65

Jobe is the winner.

Jobe gains 575 EXP and 200 GP
Behemoth gains 144 EXP

[Zook Murnig]

EXP/GP ADDED!