The Mazrith Chamber

[Godhand]

The shot had got him in the gut, and that was his limit. Tough guy; probably one of the toughest fucking guys he'd ever met. Personally, he would have given up after the lava bath or the arm thing.

Pretty soon his critical, gaping wounds stopped squirting blood and that's how Godhand knew his heart had stopped. He looked around, expecting to find another warrior, some monstrous ringer to run in and finish him off, but nobody came. He surveyed the entire arena but it seemed that he was, for all intents and purposes, the last man standing.

He was, for all intents and purposes, the last man.

The pain was unspeakable. If someone put a gun to his head and forced him to expound on it, Godhand probably would have described it as being boiled alive in a bucket of gypsy shit. His arms were basically one big open wound, he had bruised ribs, a collapsed lung, suffered several mild concussions, been shot, burned and the left side of his face had been scalded nearly to the bone, but he still felt fantastic.

His left ear had been completely sealed over with burnt flesh, but he only needed one to hear the roar of the crowd. Godhand hissed as the last bit of rain poured down, trying vainly to cool his burning face as he held out his arms, shut his eyes and greeted the sun. The crowd went wild.

Your winner, and NEW heavyweight champion-...

Just then, his foot bumped into something. He looked down to find his sheath.

"What the...fuck?"

Just then, the horrible realization set in. The swordsman dove and picked up his sheath, his head whipping wildly from side to side as he tried to find his comrade in arms. His own personal Jesus Christ. He hobbled about the arena as best he could with all his wounds, but it was to no avail. She was nowhere to be found.

"Lillian! Lillian, where are you!?"

He knew it wasn't a real cool scene right now. It wasn't the coolest scene in town. Godhand was exposing the soft underbelly of his maniac tough-guy persona with a pitiful, nearly maudlin display of emotion. It was stupid, yes, she could be revived, but he still felt like he failed. All along he'd been intending to carry Lillian to victory only to lay down for her right at the end of the battle, legitimizing her as the new unstoppable force in Corone and heir princess to the NWO. And screw the crowd if they didn't like it; sometimes a jeer was just as good as a cheer.

Finally, he noticed a dainty, pale arm sticking out from the mud under Letho's hulking warform. He ran over, hurling the beast's corpse off handily even wounded, but it was no use. Her little heartbeat had ceased.

And all the king's horses and all the king's men

The crowd kept cheering.

"Shut up! Shut up, you goddamn vicious swine! Did you like it!? Was it GRAND!?"

And with no warning he drew one of his revolvers and opened fire on the stands. They quickly dispersed; it seemed they only wanted to see blood as long as it wasn't theirs. Godhand holstered his weapon and silently, gently, picked the girl up. She was light. She'd lost a lot of blood so she was...Light. And so, he walked through the entryway he'd arrived through, disappearing into the darkness with the girl who'd carried HIM all through the tournament in his arms.

...

Sometimes it was hard.

Concluding post.