Mirror Match Massacre

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Closed to Witchblade.

If it was one thing that I was grateful for, it was that I am not allergic to pollen.

I found myself standing on top of a small hill. Stretching before me for as far as I could see was a sea of knee-high grass, waving to and fro in the warm summer breeze. The ocean of greenery was peppered with patches of ragweed and wildflowers, serving nothing more than to break up the monotony of grass. Spinning around in the field, I saw nothing but grass and flowers, until I had nearly come full circle and spotted a tall but rather sad-looking oak tree, devoid of any leaves whatsoever, sticking out like a huge, gnarled, sore thumb.

Trudging down the hill through the field, I had to bring a hand up to guard my eyes from the light. The bright midday sun hung overhead in the cloudless sky like an overbearing parent, and irritated me just as much. As I grew closer to the tree, I could make out a lone swing hanging from one of the twisted branches. What a very peculiar place to put a dead tree, I mused to myself. It was then that I remembered a conversation with a monk of the Ai'Brone not two minutes prior:

"You spiteful son of a bitch, what kind of shit did you think you were pulling, sticking me in a room that would 'reflect my heart'? You stuck me in an arena that was nothing more than a freezing stone cavern!"

"I see that subtle humor is lost on you, Ms. Freebird."

"Subtle? Your humorless crack was as subtle as a warhammer caving your skull in, asshole. I demand another match this very instant."

"Well then, how about in a place as dead as your soul and empty as your brain?"

"What the f--!"

And that's when I was pushed through another one of the Citadel's countless doors, and popped into existence in this flowery field, with its lone dead tree (which presumably represented my soul, hardy har har).

A quick check when I had arrived told me that all of my toys had been lost in transit, kept back in the Citadel by whatever magic powered the place. My daggers, my throwing knives, my knuckledusters, even the wire that I kept wrapped around my arms for tricks and shit were all missing. Looks like that dickweed monk's little stipulation this time around was that it would be a simple fistfight; a decision that I was actually pretty cool with. I've had dozens of years of practice with melee combat, and could probably best maybe ninety percent of anyone that came at me with their fists clenched and cocked back.

All there was for me to do now was to plant my butt on the wooden plank that made up the swing and wait for someone to either give me a push or wish to fight me.

[Witchblade]

The fight with Duffy Bracken had not satisfied her.

Residual adrenaline still pumped through her system. The muscles in her arms felt like a vibrating bow string, longing for more release. More blood. The taste she’d gotten from that human wasn’t enough. Hunger gnawed at her mind and body, a hunger that could never and would never be satiated. All she could do was stave it off with fight after fight.

Still early in the day, Witch found herself wandering through the relatively empty halls of The Citadel. Sure, there were monks, more than enough of the spineless bastards in her mind. But as far as warriors went, there didn’t seem to be all that many. Slim pickings when she really just wanted to grab something with her bare hands, squeeze it as hard as she could and begin slowly twisting it until she rndered it from whatever section of the body it attached to.

Ah well, a girl could dream.

Rounding a corner in the seemingly never ending maze of hallways and doors, Witchblade nearly bumped into one of the tall members of the order of Ai’Brone. When she waited for him to move aside, he did not.

Raising an eyebrow, she stared up at the tall human, with his mismatched face of discordant symmetry. His right eye slouched slightly, the skin folding to cover over half his eye, which must create havoc with his depth perception. His nose looked broken one too many times and bent slightly to the side. Multiple scars covered the pale skin, from his eyebrows down to his chin.

“Looking for an arena?” His voice sounded smoother and softer than she expected.

”Yes.”

He stepped aside and pointed towards the third down door from her. The worn wood like all the other doors.

“I just placed a combatant in that room. It is a weapons free arena though.”

No weapons? Sounded interesting. It had been a long time since she’d faced someone using nothing more than her hands a feet. A good grappling match could be just what she needed.

Inclining her head slightly to the man, Witch brushed passed him and headed towards the door. Opening it, she stepped into the darkness and experienced that grating sense of nausea, stretching and contorting right before the world exploded into light.

It took her light sensitive eyes a moment to adjust to the bright sun beaming down from a clear, cloudless, blue sky. When they did she almost turned right back around and asked to leave.

There’s no way this is fucking happening to me again.

Did the monks here have some kind of vendetta against her or did she just have the worse luck in the world? Only an hour ago she finished a battle with Duffy Bracken, a battle that had taken place in a never-ending field of tulips. Yep, freaking tulips. Now she found herself in another huge field. The tall grass came up to her thighs, brushing against her black leather pants every time the wind brushed through the area. Pockets of hawthorn, tumbleweed, wild flowers and shrubs cropped up here and there, but all in all, the place seemed nearly identical to that of her last arena.

I’d rather fight over a pit of man eating centaurs.

Still, she was already here and there wasn’t much she could do about it.

Turning in a circle, she found one major difference in the terrain. Off in the distance, about fifty feet behind her, stood a very large and very dead oak tree. The branches reached towards the sky, barren and twisted, like skeletal fingers desperately trying to find some kind of relief. Underneath that canopy of decay, a swing moved back and forth, the shadow of a person sitting upon it. From here even her superior sight could not make much out.

Moving towards her opponent, Witch realized the monk had been rather serious about the no weapons thing. It hadn’t been just a suggestion. Every sharp and pointy object she owned had been removed from her person. The Rot Slayer no longer rested on her back, her twin daggers were gone, heck even her staff was missing. Curious, she stepped down hard on the earth, a soft click resounded, but nothing popped out. Guess they even found the hidden knives in her boots.

As she walked, she felt a stirring in the rucksack on her back. The top flapped popped open and the small head of a baby dragon peered out into the world beyond. Making one of his strange purring sounds, Daegun yawned then climbed out of his favourite sleeping spot then clambered up onto her shoulder. He lovingly rubbed his head against her cheek.

”Good morning to you too.”

White scales flashing in the light, the baby dragon made a sound she could only interpret as happiness. Or maybe he just had indigestion. She honestly had no idea.

”Why don’t you go inform my opponent of our arrival?”

The small dragon chirped and then jumped off her shoulder, white wings spread wide to catch the wind. He glided along that breeze most of the way, pristine scales flashing in the sun before he disappeared into the tall grass. She kept walking, realizing her opponents back was to her and that the woman had no idea she’d even entered the arena. Twenty feet away she saw Daegun scurry up the trunk of the tree, his long claws easily allowing him to scale the dead wood. Fifteen feet and he’d clambered onto the branch holding the swing. Ten feet and she could see him bite down on the rope. Sharp dragon teeth met soft rope. Dragon teeth won.

The rope snapped and she watched her opponent tumble off to the side and into the grass.

”If you want to play on your swing set all day I could turn back around and leave. But if you’re interested in a fight, then get the fuck off the ground, stand up and face me.”

She tossed her rucksack into the grass by the base of the tree. Undid the clasp holding her cloak in place and felt the worn black material pool in the grass by her boots.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

As much as the sight of endless, rolling hills choked with innumerable species of flowers in every direction annoyed me, I did have to admit that it was strikingly beautiful. Had my upbringing been any different, I would've come to a place like this to paint a canvas with oils rather than paint the ground with blood. ...Just add that one to the pile of reasons to want my family dead, I guess.

A faint whoosh made its way into my ears over the light summer breeze. I didn't have to wonder what it signaled; I had been to the Citadel's magically-constructed arenas enough to know that my mystery opponent had arrived.

I made no effort to turn around and scan the area. The dead, leafless, towering oak tree would instantly attract anyone with half a brain, and the rustling of footsteps in the grass would alert me to their presence. Instead, I took a moment to close my eyes, fill my lungs with the pollen-ridden outdoors air, and reflect on a few things.

My mind wandered, dragging up memories of dozens of previous matches in the Citadel... Cat people, lizard men, a chef from Salvar, demons, and even a legendary Dajas Pagoda grandmaster--all against which I've had varying degrees of success or failure against. Memories of certain family members that shall go unnamed that loved nothing more than to burn down everything I held dear, and memories of rebuilding the bookstore in a different location in Radasanth. Memories of all my notebooks filled with grand designs, both mechanical and alchemical--and memories of sifting through the ashes to find that none had survived.

Memories of losing hope ... and memories of picking myself up and vowing to stop being such a whiny bitch.

Memories of--

Snap!

I was rudely brought out of my reverie with a short drop and a sudden stop. My elbow broke my fall, sending a jolt of sharp pain up my left arm that made me wince. I found myself lying on my side, dozens of flowers crushed underneath. Cursing the stars, I gave myself a quick brush-off. It was then that a harsh, feminine voice filled my mind.

”If you want to play on your swing set all day I could turn back around to leave. But if you’re interested in a fight, then get the fuck off the ground.”

Well now, that was rude.

I slowly picked myself up off the grass, peeling a wrinkled red tulip petal off the side of my jeans as I did so. I undid the neat little knot that kept my black cloak draped over my shoulders, crushed it into a bundle, and rather forcefully tossed it at the base of the lone oak tree.

"You should mind your manners, bitch. A simple 'I have arrived, I am--'" I finished turning around to face my opponent, and what I was greeted with was... well, quite the surprise. The best way I could describe this woman would be... Hmm. I guess you could say she was an alternate-universe me. We had a similar height and build, except she was a few pounds heavier and a bit curvier in all of the places that counted (not to mention she was at risk of popping out of her black leather vest). Her hair, similarly black, was several inches longer than mine. She and I shared the same pale shade of skin and sharp facial features. The two biggest differences between us were her deep crimson eyes and her mouth, which was inexplicably sewn shut. That would explain the telepathy she spoke to me with.

"Well, this is pretty strange," I spoke softly to my opponent. "I wasn't aware that the monks were manifesting fantasy horror tropes to do battle with their clientele nowadays. Because nobody I know would even think of walking around dressed like that." I waved a dismissive hand at her tight, black-hued leather street corner ensemble. So not only manners this girl needed, but a bit of modesty as well.

I shook my head. I arched my back, raising my arms up to stretch out a bit before the impending battle. I twisted my head around, a faint pop sounding from my neck.

"Let's get this over with."

[Witchblade]

Witchblade arched a brow as the woman before her started prattling off unnecessarily about her choice in wardrobe. Perhaps she should have come dressed in something frilly and covered in flowers so she’d look cute and diminutive.

As if.

Giving her opponent the once over, Witch found herself unimpressed. There were similarities between them. In fact, they stood nearly eye to eye with one another, Witch only having a couple inches on the human, something that barely happened with the male populace of Althanas. Despite the difference in their clothes, their outward appearance did seem oddly similar right down to their skin colouring.

As she examined her opponent, the woman stretched herself out, popping bones and loosening up her muscles in preparation for the fight ahead. Hopefully, she would achieve something far more satisfying than the battle with Duffy Bracken. That had only left a sour taste in her mouth and the lingering feeling of being unfulfilled; something most men left her feeling. She’d even been deprived the pleasure of killing him. Sure, she could have. He’d practically been a helpless babe by the end of it, but beating who had no fight left in him went against her code. If it ran and screamed and kicked back, then it could die. But if it whimpered and gave up, then it deserved nothing from her. Not even a quick end.

Hopefully the monks had left him to linger in the pool of his own liquids before puling him out and healing his ass.

”If the clothing is that distracting to you, perhaps you would prefer we fight without it?”

She’d actually fought half naked in a tournament once; The Cell. Zerith Dracosius had sliced open the strings that held her vest together with his halberd, shortly before he embedded it in her chest and ended that tournament for her. One of these days she’d get another crack at the man, then she’d love nothing more than you shove her hand inside his chest and pull out his still beating heart so he could see it before he died.

Cliché, but still satisfying.

Lacing her fingers together and cracking them, Witch glanced up for a moment at Daegun, the baby dragon lying on the branch and more than content to watch the battle. Then she refocused her crimson eyes on Madison Freebird.

Not knowing the abilities of her opponent, she kept her speed and strength to a minimum. She wanted this to last as long as possible so she could ring as much enjoyment from her scrawny neck before snapping it in two.

As Madison lowered her arms back down to her side, Witch shifted her stance. Her feet spread farther apart, the soles of her boots dug into the soft soil beneath the plants and her muscles tensed. Adrenaline already began it’s sweet circuit throughout her blood, invigorating her and making her feel alive.

She sprang off the ground.

Covered the distance between them in a matter of seconds.

Her fingers wrapped into tight fists.

Madison Freebird tensed her body, her muscles preparing for the inevitable attack. She swung her right fist straight at the woman’s face. Madison stepped back, safely out of reach, her own hands coming up in a boxer’s defensive pose. Her arm completely extended, the woman lashed out at her exposed elbow with a quick jab.

It connected the hard joint. Pain exploded up her arm, followed by that strange sense of tingling and needles jabbing into the skin all along her arm and into her hand.

Dropping her right arm back to her chest in a defensive posture, she spun around on her right foot and attempted to land a solid kick into Madison Freebird’s exposed right side. The Titanium plating on the toe of her boot should make a nice dent in her ribs.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I always enjoyed the chaotic choreography of a good fistfight. My evil, poorly-dressed doppelganger rushed towards me a little quicker that I may have been comfortable seeing a person move, and attempted to deliver a blow that was easily sidestepped. My reply was swift; as her right arm hung in the air, I balled up my right fist tightly, extending the middle knuckle slightly, and quickly jabbed at her exposed elbow. My fist connected with her ulnar nerve, right above the elbow. The woman's face contorted in pain and she reeled backward, pulling her arm down close to her body to defend it.

Already following up on my opening strike, I had dropped down slightly to my left, preparing to swing my left leg around and sweep her off her feet. However, the other black-haired bitch was one step ahead of me. In a flash of inhuman speed, she had spun around on her right foot, her left leg airborne and the tip of her boot intending to deliver a kick right to my exposed rib cage.

I tried to contort myself mid-movement to protect my side, but to no avail. The whore's boot--which to my dismay was coated with a very, very strong kind of metal--planted itself firmly into my side. An intense spike of terrible, terrible pain arced through my body. A harsh cry escaped my lips. I clenched my eyes shut as I was sent sprawling several feet away, coming to a stop on my knees, surrounded by crushed flowers and banged up all over.

My left hand clutched at my right side, as if I were trying to will myself to suddenly gain regenerative powers or something. The kick had definitely broken something inside me--probably a cracked rib. I would have to be careful... Make sure that she didn't do any more damage to the area. I could still fight with an injury like this--it would be difficult, but not impossible.

I could barely hear the woman's footsteps through the grass and flora as I tried to force myself up onto both feet. With the intense pain coming from my injured side, I was able to get myself up off one knee before I felt a cold, bony hand weave itself through my hair and help me up the rest of the way. My body ached as I was forced to stretch out my side and find my feet on the earthy soil underneath. I twisted and squirmed in the whore's grasp, reaching up with both hands and trying desperately to claw her hand loose, to no avail.

Her dead crimson eyes gazed furiously into my own. For a brief second, I could see who she really was: This woman was someone who had died inside long ago; someone who had committed horrible acts across the face of Althanas, without two shits to give about who she had cut down along the way. This... This was someone that my instinct told me I should be very, very afraid of.

My evil twin's voice echoed in my head as she held my gaze. "Time to teach you a lesson, bitch."

As she held me up by my hair with her left hand, I could see her right shoulder drop ever so slightly. I sensed that a sledgehammer of a fist was about to be aimed squarely at my jaw, and my instincts told me that I better do something about it, fast.

I had several options; stomp on her foot, twist around and knee her in the groin, and so on. But with how quickly I had seen her move towards me when the fight began, I didn't think I had enough time to react. I tried something anyway. I let go of her hand, which was still tangled in my hair, and with my right hand I immediately went for the side of her face. Clutching the exposed side of her head, I dug my thumb right into her left eye.

Even through her sewn-shut mouth, I could hear the bitch howl in pain. She immediately let go of my hair, and in turn I let go of her face. She stumbled away a few steps, clutching desperately at her face as I had done to my ribs not moments before. I had a moment's rest, and decided to capitalize on it. She was strong, and she was fast; and I had to end this fight as swiftly as possible. I couldn't give her a moment to regroup. I had to go on the attack, and no matter what, not give up.

I found my footing in the meadow, and lunged at the woman. The side of her head was exposed to me as she hunched over slightly, covering her eye with her hands but leaving just enough room to expose her temple. Bursting forward with a desperate determination, I balled up my left fist--middle knuckle out once more--and launched it at the side of her skull.

[Witchblade]

Witchblade clutched at her eye. Pain throbbed and blood welled and streamed down the side of her face, blood the colour of the deepest oceans on Althanas. Already, she could feel the wound healing, the laceration from the bitch’s nail closing up and her eyesight returning. But as she straightened and pulled her hand away, the world looked blurred and tinted blue. She had to squeeze that eye closed just to see normally, which threw off her depth perception.

That bitch would pay for clawing her in the face. She’d break each of her fingers right off her hand and stuff them down her throat one by one if she had to. But she’d pay.

Witchblade blinked the last of the blurriness from her eye, clearing the blood as the wound mended, the skin pulling itself together and looking like nothing bu unmarred skin.

Pain exploded across her left temple.

Her head jerked to the side, a grunt of shock escaping her mouth as her brain rocked around inside her skull.

The field disappeared into darkness.

The sound of the wind and her own heavy breathing replaced by the roar of blood rushing through her ears and skull. Witch stumbled. Blindly trying to remember what the field looked like, she stepped back, attempting to give herself a moment to regroup and recover. Her boot slipped on what felt like a root, or rock, she knew not, but it threw her back even farther away from Madison Freebird, or perhaps closer to her. Her brain a jarring mess as her temple throbbed and pulsed, the mother of all headaches threatening somewhere in the depths.

Giving her head a sharp shake to clear her vision, Witch turned back to her opponent, her pale skin smeared with the dark blue of her blood, turning it into a macabre display. Even as her vision cleared her saw Madison Freebird press her advantage, pushing her already abused body towards Witch. Her arm pulled back and ready to lash out, her fingers a tight fist heading straight for her face.

Scowling, Witchblade twisted her body back and to the side. The woman’s fist sailed right passed the place her face used to be. With lightning reflexes, the murderess reached out and wrapped her long fingers around the slim wrist of Madison. Her cool skin met the heated flesh of her opponent.

”I think a little payback is in order.

She tightened her fingers on the woman’s wrist and watched her face balk as the pressure slowly built and built. Grinning, the motion pulling at the strings holding her mouth closed, Witch exerted only half the strength she could and heard the bones inside Madison Freebird’s wrist crunch and snap. The sound as sweet as a baby’s laughter to her. The scream that escaped Madison’s mouth even more so. It echoed in her ears, piercing their sensitive perception, but she still enjoyed it.

Twisting the limp appendage around in her hand, Witch wondered just how far the human wrist could turn itself. Fingers digging into her flesh, she turned and twisted and Madison screamed. Her knees buckling and dropping her to the ground. But the murderess refused to let go. With one final jerk, she heard the bones in her forearm snap and smelt the tang of blood fill the air. The rich iron smell an intoxication to Witch.

Along the side of Madison Freebird’s arm, her ulna protruded from the skin. The white bone flecked with blood as the rest dripped down her flesh and splattered into the greenery.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I've had bones broken before; the concept of a part of your body literally shattering inside you was not new to me. But to actually get to see the damage first-hand? That was different.

A familiar rush of incredible pain tore through my body in a flash. My wrist felt like it had been struck by lightning and forced into contact with the burning coals of a blacksmith's forge. The whore's unfeeling, blood-red eyes were fixated on me as I was knelt on the ground. My face was twisted in agony, my teeth clenched tightly. I tried not to scream--too late--an unearthly howl escaped my lips and was swallowed up by the infinitely rolling hills of the meadow.

I could feel a trickle of blood run down from where my wrist had been snapped and cut through my skin, the warm, thick crimson liquid instantly being soaked up by the fabric of my blouse top.

I... I'm done, I thought. The sheer amount of pain from an injury like this would've put any lesser man or woman into shock; but my physical conditioning and lifetime of training allowed me to keep conscious and functional. I just had to fight through it, try to shut it out... But it would be difficult to fight someone who clearly has me outmatched. Her speed, her strength... I had no hope to continue this fight for much longer...

...But I sure could make her pay for every fucking punch.

As I knelt there, I balled up my free hand tightly. I had one chance to buy myself a few moments to gain the upper hand; and, dammit, I was going to take it. My right hand still in the iron grip of the bitch, I managed to twist my torso around just enough to add some force to my strike. In a flash, my left fist screamed like a missile towards her exposed crotch. With a sickening crunch, it connected.

Even through her sewn-shut mouth, I could hear her scream in pain, just like I had when she snapped my wrist. She immediately let go, doubled over, and stumbled backwards through the wildflowers, towards the lone dead tree in the field. I took the moment to slowly but steadily rise to my feet. Blood was slowly oozing out from my wound. I wrapped my twitchy, sticky, soaked hand up in the ends of my shirt, wincing with pain at the sensation of fabric touching exposed tissue.

I was in no condition to continue this battle. But I refused to admit defeat.

My evil double slowly spun around to face me. I grinned maliciously, and after a brief second of the two of us trying to recover from our most recent blows, I spat at her. Sadly, my aim was off; instead of hitting her in the face dramatically, it landed harmlessly several inches from her feet.

I chuckled, and awaited my fate in the depths of the Citadel.

[Witchblade]

That bitch.

That fucking human piece of garbage!

Witchblade couldn’t believe that the trash in front of her had punched her in the fucking crotch! Never in all her years of fighting and killing had someone ever touched her there. Never! Rage and disbelief warred inside of her head, each trying to one up the other and be the dominant emotion. Personally, she didn’t care which one fucking won as long as by the end of this, Madison Freebird lay as a crumbled and discarded piece of flesh in the pristine grass. And that she suffered for every God damn second she had left inside of this Citadel arena with her.

Crimson eyes narrowed on her opponent as the glob of spit fell short and landed somewhere near her feet. A grin on her face, a chuckle issuing forth from her throat, a throat Witch would like nothing more than to rip open with her teeth if she could.

As the malice inside of her grew like an ember, burning into her mind and eating away at any kind of rational thought, Witch felt her nails grow and harden. The sharpened tips turning into claws stronger than most metal and digging in to the flesh on her palm. She could feel the blood, thick and rich, squeeze between her clenched fingers, but she didn’t care.

The Citadel monks couldn’t take away all of her weapons. After all, she was a weapon.

Snarling, Witchblade dug her boots into the soft earth and tore after her opponent. With her added speed she reached Madison in the time it merely took the human to blink. She came up in front of her, pausing just long enough to see the shock and surprise cross the woman’s face before she drew back with her right hand and let it sail through the air.

It cracked against the side of Madion’s face and Witch heard the sound of bone breaking. Jaw or skull she cared not which. The human reeled back and nearly fell, but somehow managed to keep her feet under her. Lip split, a thick line of blood dripping down to her chin. Just as she recovered, Witchblade advanced again, giving her no time to counteract, barely any time to react. Only enough to let the pain sink in. That sweet feeling of pain and agony as it washed over her body over and over again.

With the same balled up fist, she punched her in the gut. Air whooshed out of Madison’s wide open mouth as she doubled over, eyes wide and nearly bulging from her skull.

Over and over again, Witch slammed each of her fists into her, driving the woman back towards that one dead tree. Bloody spittle flew from her mouth, the sound of wheezing, and gasping filled he air as she whaled upon the woman's body, giving her no quarter and barely even a second to draw in air. Madison Freebird could barely stand by the time her back pressed against the rough bark and Witch knew it. Blood pooled out of one of her eyes, and somewhere along the line she thought she’d broken a rib or two, though since it wasn’t her body, Witchblade couldn’t exactly be sure.

Smirking something twisted and cruel, Witch used her telekinesis. She shoved the woman back against the tree and pinned her arms and legs to the trunk, crushing down on them just enough to cause her even more pain. Especially on that already shattered wrist. Closing the distance between them, she stretched out the fingers of her right hand, claw catching the fabric of Madison’s shirt and slowly slicing through it all the way down to her navel.

”Let’s see how loud you can scream…”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

The seconds that followed the bitch's blitz went by in a flash; for the sake of time, let's run under the assumption that I am in an ungodly amount of pain throughout, and my pitiful, hoarse screams carry off into the distance of the verdant field. Because, by golly, I am, and they do.

Each of her blows landed with a sickening crunch. I could feel my bones shatter under sheer force and anger she put into every fist. The side of my face split open, my skull cracked. Ribs shattered, organs battered and bruised. My vision turned half red as blood pooled up and began pouring out of my left eye. It was nearly enough to make me forget about my broken wrist for a brief moment.

Each of her blows sent me stumbling back several feet. My body was tripping over itself, trying desperately to stay upright long enough to see where the next lightning-quick sledgehammer blow was going to come from. I would be coherent long enough to feel the pain from the previous strike before the dirty whore landed the next one. Before long, I felt myself backed up against the lone tree that sat in the middle of the field of infinite flora. I slumped forward slightly, gasping for breath, trying to raise my one good arm to mount a pitiful defense while my body stood there, broken and bloodied.

I felt an overwhelming energy overcome me just then, commanding my body to pin itself against my will against the thick trunk. Gods on a graham cracker, she's a telekinetic too?! Tried as I might, I couldn't force my body to move. The bitch forced my shattered wrist up and down the trunk, sending a white-hot pain up my arm. I gritted my teeth, trying not to give her the satisfaction of hearing me scream, but eventually gave in to the pain that she was causing me.

She pushed me harder against the tree, and said something to me that I couldn't quite make out. My vision red with blood and white with pain, I could barely make out her right hand, which appeared to be... growing... growing five really, really sharp-looking things. I felt the touch of her fingernails on my neck, and a chill went down my spine that wracked my body with pain.

I closed my eyes tightly, and for the first time in a long time, felt terribly, terribly afraid.

Ever so slowly, she dragged her forefinger down the exposed skin of my neck, slicing through a few layers of skin and drawing blood. Her nail tore through the fabric of my blouse top like it was paper, and scraped against the scales of my protective corset (which put forth a piss-poor effort this afternoon).

And then suddenly, as if something inside the woman snapped, she quickly moved to press a hand against my face, pinning my skull to the trunk of the tree as she tore off my corset with her free hand. The strings that held it tied around my waist snapped as if they were mere twigs. She tossed the garment aside as if it were a child's plaything. I could hear snapping and tearing as the nails on her other hand grew into dangerous spikes. Before I could cry "I quit", I felt the white-hot pain of her nails tearing into--through--my exposed chest.

Each scrape against bone, each tear of muscle and flesh sent a spray of blood into the air that began coating the woman's own pale flesh. It all happened so fast--slash after slash after slash! With her bare hands, she was able to flay the skin off my front side down to my exposed ribs. I couldn't see anything through eye clenched shut, but she reached back, balled up a fist, and sent it flying towards my breastbone. It cracked and splintered under the force of her blow; and within seconds, she had dug in and removed the pieces.

The cracking and snapping of bone mixed with my harsh screaming as this bitch--no, utter monster continued working on me. Her hands were snapping my ribs one by one like twigs, tossing one bloody bone aside as she broke another.

I felt myself slipping... slipping into darkness.

It was then that I felt the woman reach inside my body and latch onto something very painful, very vital. With a yank and a twist, she was able to free the item. The pain that followed was unlike any that I had felt before in my entire life, and impossible to accurately describe, as I remained alive long enough to pick one or two adjectives that would fit the description perfectly.

[Witchblade]

Witchblade looked at the heart in her hand.

Dead.

Lifeless.

No more blood pumped out of the organ; the strong grip of her fist had already squeezed out every drop it could. She had enjoyed the feeling of it, as it flowed out of the ripped and torn arteries in streams across her fingers and hand; thick and glorious, a bright red that matched the colour of her eyes.

She looked at it. Actually looked at the strangely shaped organ that gave life to the entire body, the pink colour of the muscles and the ribbing and veins that ran all along it. The smooth feel, slick and almost slimy against her skin, then she let it drop from her fingers and splat against the ground at her feet.

The human in front of her, Madison Freebird, screamed no more. Breathed no more. Lived no more. Witchblade had made quite certain of it. And she had also made certain that she stayed alive throughout all of her exquisite torture. The woman had shamed her fighting abilities with the blows she’d landed upon her person and Witch did not handle that very well. Well, to be honest, she didn’t handle much of anything rather well. That’s why she normally carried a six foot sword with her.

Looking up at that body, bloody and torn and still hanging from the tree by the murderess’s own will, she couldn’t help but smile something sick and twisted. The string that held her mouth shut pulled at her lips, contorted them and turned that smile into something grotesque and wholly disturbing. Shame there was no one around to see and enjoy such pleasure in the destruction of another being besides her.

Madison Freebird’s chest cavity lay open for any and all to see it. Broken ribs, bloody and shattered, were strewn about the grass and the wild flowers like discarded twigs from the dead tree above; skin a torn mess that hung from her and swayed slightly in the light, artificial breeze of their fighting arena. Everything from the waist up lay completely exposed, and Witch had thoroughly enjoyed digging her fingers through her lung and watching Madison’s eyes bulged in pain and shock and disbelief. Watch her mouth open wide to make a scream it no longer could, the air literally torn right from her.

That hole she’d punched through it left her lung wide open, and Witch stared in fascination at all the tiny little veins that blossomed inside, almost like the branches or roots of a tree. They spread out, getting thinner and thinner until even her eyes could no discern where one ended and began, except to see them as small, multiplying threads.

With a thought, or perhaps with the end of a thought, the telekinetic powers that held Madison Freebird to the tree dissipated. Her arms fell first, body slumping on to her legs before it paused mid air for the briefest moment. Like her last bit of defiance. Then she toppled over, face first into the dirt and grass, the blood and gore.

Daegun, her companion, jumped down from his perch within the tree. Not a speck of blood covered his pristine, white scales, which amazed Witchblade considering the carnage that surrounded them. The baby dragon picked his way across that carnage, his nose sniffing at the dead form of Madison and then he stopped at the heart, lying rather peacefully on the ground. He sniffed it once or twice, and Witch wondered if he would eat it, then he sneezed, evidently not enjoying the scent of the thing.

Laughing, Witch bent down and stretched out her arm, allowing him to climb his way up, tiny claws digging in to her flesh as he found purchase.

”Time to leave, Daegun. We’ve had all the enjoyment we can from this human…”

He chirped, the sound light and piercing to her sensitive ears, but she had grown used to it over the years. Smiling as he nudged the side of her head, she turned and started walking as a dark portal opened up in front of her and swallowed her whole.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Thread Title: Mirror Match Massacre
Judgement Type: Battle Thread/ Light Commentary
Participants: Witchblade and BlackAndBlueEyes



Plot ~16/20 /30

Story ~ 6/6/10 – Both your stories were rather interesting in the fact that you both had valid reasons for being in the Citadel, which is actually rather hard for some writers to do. However, this looked more like a laid back, enjoyment thread from the way I read it, and so it lacked any of the spark of a gripping tale. Not a bad thing, mind you.

Setting ~ 5/7/10 – I noticed that BaBE used far more use of the scenery in the posts and made it a collective part of the story. Witchy, you did use the scenery in your posts, but I felt it was more sprinkled in when you remembered it.

Pacing ~ 5/7/10 – Witchy, your short, one sentence paragraphs really engaged me into your posts - the first few times - but the pacing was thrown off by over use of them. I’m sure you already know the appropriate timing for this technique, so I won’t go on.

Character ~ 22/20/30

Communication ~ 6/6/10 – You both communicated well enough. Nothing out of the blue. But two Ice Queens bitching to each other isn’t exactly new. I was hoping for a little more, not going to lie.

Action ~ 8/6/10 – I find the action Witchy performs in battle to be very animated and fun, without going too over the top. Loved it.

Persona ~ 8/8/10 – I loved how you both used sarcasm to convey personal thoughts, and was amused by all your character’s words, actions, and thoughts. You both know these characters very well.

Prose ~ 20/22/30

Mechanics ~ 8/8/10 – Both you had no glaring flaws that I could discern and nothing so horribly wrong that it ruined the story and broke the flow. Mistakes happen and you worked hard to comb them out. Good work. Keep it up. All that jazz.

Clarity~ 6/7/10 – So here is where the Correctly done First Person reading view really can help in battle. First person narratives are hard to pull off correctly to keep a reader engaged, and the snaky attitude of Madison was enough to keep me with her. This helps because now the actions being performed are easier and clearer to see.

Technique ~ 6/7/10 - Which lands us here. Madison in first person is a technique that isn’t easy to pull off. And it was done very well. This pushed you over the edge.

Wildcard: 7/6/10 – Both you guys did an excellent job in this story, and it was a fun little read. All things considered though, I loved the characters and quick jaunt through the reading lounge. Thanks for the fun.

Total: 65 / 68
Winner: BaBE
EXP: Witchblade Receives: 825 EXP BlackAndBlueEyes Receives: 3163 EXP

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.