Golden Gate Empire [IC / No Longer Accepting / PG - 16]

Dad · December 5, 2015

Razerhill

As Howler's strike was parried, a grin crossed Tyson's face. Howler's expression remained the same. Practically scowling, he looked into the burning eyes of the hell-torn man before him. There was one outcome for this fight, but Howler was going to try and change that as best as he possibly could. However, this wasn't the time to be worrying about the future. The fight was now. In a surprise move, Tyson used a burst of power to shove Howler off of him, and propel the man backwards. Just as Dirk appeared with two of Howler's own missiles chasing him.

He tried not to laugh, but he was again impressed by his enemy's wit and ingenuity. As he fell backwards, he stretched out a hand, palming the end of the first missile as it reached him. The second met the end of Howler's boot, as he outstretched a single leg and kicked backwards, landing a top of the second missile. It exploded beneath him, shredding his fireproof jacket, and scratching one of his arms just slightly as shrapnel barreled past him. In a cloud of smoke, the immediate assumption would be that Howler killed himself by crushing the missile beneath his boot. That too, would be deemed impossible, as no man could react fast enough to do such a thing. Both of these things, however, were half truths. As the smoke cleared, Howler stood in the clearing palming one of the missiles still, its flames having puttered into nothing.

With his jacket torn to shreds, it would prove useless. Howler tore it from his body, and dropped the jacket at his feet with a resounding thud. Rolling his shoulders, he could feel the weight difference without Bashiok's Armor. His arms now completely undressed and revealing a nasty, writhing scar beneath his right forearm, Howler held the missile tightly. "You boys are good, I give ya that," he said with a nod. Without warning, a violent dust storm kicked up for a brief moment at Howler's feet, as he spun around so quickly, that the earth beneath him cracked. "Think fast," he said to Tyson. The missile now propelled from Howler's hand, much faster than before. The missile was travelling so fast now, that it was reignited mid flight, even with its tracking system destroyed. It would likely not track Tyson. But was he fast enough to dodge the projectile as it traveled at double speeds?

Howler's arms pulsed fiercely, purple veins flooding into his body. He flexed his fingers, the muscles in his old bones enjoying the workout that Tyson and Dirk were giving him. The Pale Blade squirmed in his hand, as he left Tyson to deal with the missile.

Perhaps Dirk would be a better test subject. Though he had only used the Pale Blade once before, it was something he was eager to have fun with. Howler pointed the blade at Dirk, his expression unchanging. The blade began to grow slightly in width, two bladed prongs suddenly outstretching from either flat side of the sword, like metallic arms. And in his empty palm, Howler wielded a glowing purple fist, not yet clear of what he intended to do with it. This free left hand was heavily bandaged in black, torn cloth, and exhumed a very odd color blood.

But before Dirk would have a chance to further examine his opponent, Howler vanished once more, his now sudden and blinding speed whipping up a violent plume of dust. And as he blew past Dirk, the man would find himself sapped of energy, as six different Howler's now surrounded him. If he was fortunate enough dispel this trick, he could recover. However, remaining in this illusion would drain Dirk, until death.

Maeriberii Haan · December 8, 2015

"You know..." It had been quite a long silence. Perhaps the boy was still uncomfortable of the situation he's in now. Nero had been patiently waiting for him to make a move to see the kind of person the boy was, but right now, he decided to try talking to him instead. Perhaps it's just because he's somewhat bored, or perhaps it's because he just wanted to. Either way, he's going to start talking.

"Not really sure about how much does it apply, but you reminded me of the boy I faced in the previous round, feminine look for a boy aside. Well...how should I say it...but well, similar to that boy, the initial impression I got from you is less than impressive. Not to belittle you, as after all you already in this round.

Ah, screw the fancy talks.

Honestly I'm not seeing much from you. I'm not seeing much of your drive. Without that one thing pushing you forward...you're weak. Not physically, skill-wise, or anything like that, no no no. If you don't have something like that, you're weak as a being. The world wouldn't need someone like that if it wants to develop."

Nero laughed a bit before flexing himself a bit. The boy would probably see him in a funny light right now. But it didn't matter. Right now, they're going to fight. Nero summoned his sword, and with a flick of his hand, it started to be lit ablaze, its fire dancing around the molten, hot background of the two's surrounding.

"Let us begin." it was the last warning Nero gave before he threw his flaming sword towards the boy. It's a pity Camille died, but at least he died fighting. Let's see if this boy would do the same, or better than him.

VCR_CAT · December 15, 2015

Dirk: Razerhill City

The missiles impacted against Howler with a loud bang; a big plume of smoke and dust left in the wake. Dirk smirked as he tossed his hair back to see what remained of his opponent; but the smile melted slowly from his face as he saw the torn jacket dropped to the ground; leaving an in-tact Howler. Dirk looked over his own jacket and frowned.

"Now I feel like I need an upgrade," he muttered to himself. "HEY, WHERE CAN YOU FIND ONE OF THOSE?"

Of course, Howler simply ignored Dirk as he threw one of the rockets at Tyson and then turned to him. By now he seemed to be playing with a blade summoned from nowhere, changing in shape. "Oh, I can do that too," Dirk exclaimed as he began to form an intentionally identical sword made from the sunlight beaming into the space underneath the bridge. Of course, before Dirk even got a chance to use it, Howler vanished in a burst of wind and dust. "What, where'd he-- oh."

Dirk was now standing in the middle of a circle of six Howlers, but something was wrong. His head felt light, and his muscles began to ache considerably more. His legs shook, his arms shook, and the sword gripped in his hand glowed significantly dimmer.

"Why's all the weird sheet gotta happen to me," Dirk growled as he looked at the six different Howlers, and down at his fading sword. This stupid thing was useless at this point; probably couldn't cut a loaf of bread, but it was useful for something.

"Think fast!" Dirk exclaimed as he threw the light sword at the nearest Howler. The sword, leaving Dirk's vacinity, immediately began to destabilize and revert to its original state: Normal light. As this happened, the sword exploded into a bright flash in front of the Howlers. In the meantime, Dirk drew his gun as fast as he could, and squeezed off three rounds at three other Howlers; each round passing harmlessly through.

"WHAT, AGAIN?!" Dirk complained loudly. "AGAIN WITH THE STUPID ILLUSION STUFF?!"

Dirk growled under his breath. It was too soon to use his overclock ability, but if this kept up he would need to. In the meantime, Dirk gripped his gun tightly as he glanced between each Howler, trying to think of a solution that didn't involve making himself vulnerable.

LordCowCowCowCowCowCowCowCow · December 17, 2015

Morgan twitched at Saul's niceness, as well as calling Dirk her "boyfriend". This was all together unpleasant, and she was not having as much fun as she thought she would. Shaking her head so that the stray hairs that had fallen in front of her eyes during the rant moved out of the way.

"Looks like most of the other fighters are having a liiittle trouble getting started. Hey Gerard do you got an intercom set up there or something? Let me tear these slowpokes a new one, come on pleeeease?"

She noticed the one fight that WAS on-going was going badly for Dirk. She groaned as she realized Dirk was having trouble. "Come on you idiot, you've dealt with supernatural powers once already you know how to get out of this...." she muttered under her breath. With how sappy Elspire turned out to be it'd be difficult to turn him to her side, so Dirk very well could be her only hope for coming out of this thing on top.

Hälō · December 22, 2015

"Think fast,"

Oh boy. It didn't take a rocket scientist to know that one was about to be sent Tyson's way, and when it did he was damned sure ready for it. Watching Howler cock back and send the warhead speed towards him, the Slayer hastily drew his fire arm, and let loose four flaming shots.

The bullets found they're mark at the nose of the missile, causing it explode before it's target, but nothing could a have prepared Tyson for the net that came soaring through the initial explosion and wrapped itself around him, pinning the man to the ground. Though it seemed like his troubles wouldn't be stoping there... "Dammit! Sneaky bastard..." Tyson spat in annoyance as he observed the glowing yellow symbols that were present on the net's wire; knowing all to well what they were for.

"Divine magic..." Mephisto's voiced echoed from with the depth of his mind, though Tyson couldn't help but notice a faint static distortion present in their spiritual line of communication. "Ripp- we need to es- now!"

"I'm already on it!" Tyson didn't need to be told twice. Aside from the disruption in his communication with Mephisto, the man could already feel his energy been hungry drained by the net's magic. It would only take a few minutes for him to rendered powerless, and go- who knew how long it'd take for him to reduced to a corps again. "I'll be damned (again) if I get put down by a f***ing holy butterfly net..." He growled as he used his unholy strength to try and free himself form Howler's artifact, knowing all too well that his fire would be useless. Unfortunately, with his powers being drained, The Ripper simply wasn't capable of breaking an item imbued with such holy power...

"Th- kn- --oool!" Mephisto howled through a another wave of static distortion. "Come again???" Tyson shouted back as he tried to chew through the wire, his gaze shifting towards Dirk, who also seemed to be in tight spot.

"TH- KNIFE YO- BLASTED IDOIT!" The man suddenly jumped as he felt his hand move towards his combat knife against his will, and Mephisto's presence suddenly push itself closer to his own soul. A chill ran up his spine as the demon inside of him did something he'd never have expect. In that moment the pair's minds were truly linked, and Tyson felt a sudden surge of energy; dark, ancient, but pure power. "Must I do ever thing my self?!" An amalgamation of the pair's voice erupted from Tyson's mouth, as he drew his knife and slashed through Holwer's net with a animalistic growl.

Free'd at last, the pair set their sights on their two opponents, a scowl creeping across Tyson's for the first time in many years. Allowing his chain to extend to the ground, Tyson gathered flames in his palm for a moment before thrusting it downards and launching himself high into the air towards Howler and Dirk with jet of flame. "How unfortunate..." Tyson's body let loose a cold whisper as he began violently twirling Mephisto's chain above is head like a propeller. "These... insects have forgotten what means to fear..." Flames raced up the length of the chain, meeting at it's tip in a large sphere of searing rage.

The Ripper's eyes widened with murderous glee whipped the chain downwards towards Dirk and Howler, intent on freeing Dirk from whatever illusion he'd been trapped in with the fires that haunted humanity and scorched the souls of sinners. "My gift to you," Tyson called down towards the pair with voice that wasn't his own as the blazing sphere of soul-searing hellfire fell towards earth with the Mephisto's chain in it's center. "glorious agony!"

Dad · December 22, 2015

Razerhill City

Howler gritted his teeth, as Dirk successfully managed to be rid of four of his clones, leaving himself and one other. Behind him, he heard the missile explode, assuming Tyson was foolish enough to blow it up. But as he turned his head, the boy was freeing himself. He had to be quick now. He drew back his blade, prepared to finish off Dirk as quickly as possible, when he heard Tyson growl. "Damn. Too slow."

Howler stood up straight, as Tyson and Mephisto leaped above him. Howler was forced to cut his trick short, banishing his clone as he ended Dirk's trance. And now, Tyson was above him, bringing down a hell-fire weapon upon them. Howler was getting excited now, as he drew back the Pale Blade, which now attached itself to Howler's arm, becoming one with him. Embedding itself under Howler's skin, the blade glowed a vibrant hue of purple, as Howler met Tyson head on.

The chain met Howler's blade, resulting in a blinding explosion as two weapons of hell collided. Howler used this explosion to his advantage, knowing that neither he nor Tyson would be swayed by it. He dove into the dust, head first, headbutting Tyson into the dirt. He kicked the boy sideways, slamming his body into Dirk's. But Howler did not emerge unscathed. Such was the price of the Pale Blade. As it struggled in his hand, he snapped back at the blade to behave, as he shook off the pain.

Howler removed his helmet now, as he panted, spitting up blood. He couldn't show weakness now. Crushing it beneath his boot, he knew time was almost up. Howler's free hand began to distort, before shaping itself into a pale grey-blue claw, that appeared to be something of demon origin. The Yubel Claw. With it, he reached into pure darkness, that formed itself at his fingertips. And out of the void, he drew a tiny metal box, that squirmed as if it were alive. The darkness dispelled, as Howler watched the tiny metallic box float ominously above his claw.

Once more, he felt striking pain, as his face now began to fade of color. His right cheek was slowly being over come with dead flesh, as his left eye changed color to a sharp red. His hair began to molt, and his southern drawl began to deepen as he spoke. "Not much left in this for me boys," he said with a tinge of sin on his voice.

"Let's give these folks a show."

Astolfo · December 23, 2015

Lotte

"Yo.

Perhaps we can start our match here with haste? There's something that I need to confirm from you, and I need to confirm it fast.

Pardon me for suddenly appearing, but the environment necessitated me to do so."

"So tell me. Do you have the determination, or the resolve to defeat me and win this tournament...?

No...I mean, Would you have the sheer determination necessary to create your own path from here on?

Let's find out, shall we?"

Lotte glanced over his opponent. The man across from him seemed physically around his twenties, no later than thirties. However, the man's appearance didn't seem quite so natural, almost as if it had been refined or enhanced. The long white hair and red eyes didn't exactly help with it either. The man continued on.

"You know..."

"Not really sure about how much does it apply, but you reminded me of the boy I faced in the previous round, feminine look for a boy aside. Well...how should I say it...but well, similar to that boy, the initial impression I got from you is less than impressive. Not to belittle you, as after all you already in this round.

Ah, screw the fancy talks.

Honestly I'm not seeing much from you. I'm not seeing much of your drive. Without that one thing pushing you forward...you're weak. Not physically, skill-wise, or anything like that, no no no. If you don't have something like that, you're weak as a being. The world wouldn't need someone like that if it wants to develop."

The man summoned forth a sword, coating it in flames, before calling out as he threw it, "Let us begin." Lotte in turn slammed it out of the way with his gauntlet, grimacing at the force behind what seemed to be just a simple toss. Despite his appearances, the opponent probably wasn't human, or at least entirely so. Recovering shortly, Lotte raised his arms in question.

"Hey, hey, isn't it sorta rude to just chuck your flamin' toothpick at me without even telling me your name? And sorry for not impressing some random old guy with how I look." Lotte smirked, his fire burning as he began to settle into the fast-paced fighting mood of the tournament again. "You better have another sword gramps, or it's gonna hurt a lot!" Swapping out his massive metal fist for a giant pincer claw just as large, Lotte burst off his feet straight at Nero, leaping forward at high speeds, an unmistakable fire burning in his eyes. "If you think I'm just gonna roll over and die for you, you can go bite it!" As Lotte drew near, he slammed the pincer down in a vertical arc, before blasting at the ground near Nero's feet. Using the momentum to throw himself clear over Nero's head, Lotte transformed his pincer-gun into a razor-sharp blade and lashing out with his arm in a horizontal swing towards Nero's back. Lotte was sure that his opponent wouldn't go down that easy, but the man's comment about him lacking will pissed him off, and this was sure to at least change his opponent's take on him.

Nori Amakusa

Soon after calling out a taunt, she could hear a feminine voice ringing back faintly. Judging from the direction it had come from and the volume, Nori could estimate the general area from where her opponent must've shouted. Looking around, the building tops were close enough to easily leap across, given her enhanced physical abilities and Magi status. Running across the building tops as silently as she could, landing each step lightly and using magic to pad and muffle potential sounds, Nori scanned the ground and alleyways as well as the buildings and their roofs for her opponent. Remembering how the tournaments seemed to go, it was likely that her opponent was more or less on the other side of the arena. Instead of taking a direct path though, Nori chose to go in a longer loop around all the way to the back.

Keeping a check on how fast she went so she wouldn't tire herself out as well as taking breaks as necessary, Nori still made it around in just under three minutes. Catching herself as she peered down and around for wherever her opponent might be, Nori saw motion a little ways off. Skirting around to an adjacent building, she saw a girl with long ribbons surrounding her. Given how impractical the outfit looked, Nori predicted there was some sort of special ability. Considering how to take it from here, Nori thought about her two options. One would be to just do a sneak attack and end it with a powerful strike that would be enough to knock the opponent out, or the other would be to risk a normal battle.

While it would be much safer to do the first option, given how potentially delicate this arena was, the concept of what she considered to be a dishonorable attack left a bad taste in her mouth. However, if she did alert her enemy and they got into a battle, it was likely both of them could die or run into further troubles. In addition, the arena keeping out literally an entire ocean with nothing except reinforced glass didn't do much to ease nerves. After fighting with her own conscience, Nori chose her former option, despite the irritating feeling of being unfair.

It's for both of our sakes. Sorry, miss, but I can't lose just yet. Checking with the direction of the lighting to make sure her shadow wouldn't give it away, Nori leapt off a building silently, dropping rapidly to the ground. Brandishing her sword and pointing it downwards, Nori slammed her sword into the ground, invoking Zan as she landed, about fifteen feet away from Odette. Her ability would take the marble and rocks and whatever else made up the grounds of this arena and send a giant pillar of the same rocketing up from directly beneath Odette. If this didn't immediately knock her out, Nori was willing to follow through with a second, finishing strike to incapacitate Odette by combining Rin and Zan to send another pillar flying out of a building wall to knock out her enemy. Nori didn't want to have to kill if she could afford not to, and for both of their sakes, she prayed this would be enough to end it. Pulling out her short sword by her side, Nori prepared to leap into action. The strike would be fast enough to send Odette flying if she didn't react and leap out of the way within two seconds, the power from Nori's downwards fall and the short distance making it near instant.

"Please forgive me."

VCR_CAT · December 24, 2015

Dirk: Razerhill City

Regardless if the clones that Dirk managed to destroy were the real thing or not, the spell had ended pretty quick. Dirk felt his strength rush back to his body; stumbling a little from the wave of relief and breathing a quick sigh. Of course, letting his guard down was a mistake as Tyson's heavy body collided with Dirk and the two rolled and skidded on the dust like a tumbleweed of limbs. Pushing Tyson off, Dirk coughed as he jumped to his feet, eyeing up Howler's new complexion. Whipping a comb out with one hand to fix his hair, and gripping his gun with the other, Dirk smirked as he pointed the weapon directly at Howler's head with a strong and steady arm without even looking while he combed his pompadour.

"Howler, baby, you don't look so good," Dirk laughed as he pocketed his comb, satisfied with how his hair would look. "Someone oughta put you outta your misery."

With the gun held steady, Dirk fired off another three shots. One aimed at Howler's head, then two for the chest (Dirk was secretly hoping he would hit the nipples dead-on). After each shot, Dirk lowered his weapon as he materialized another Light Sword with his free hand; readying himself for whatever may be coming his way.

Hälō · December 25, 2015

A Fight To The Death

Rolling to the side after being pushed off by Dirk, Tyson used the momentary confusion as an opportunity to regain control of his body, forcible thrusting Mephisto back into his cage. Though the fact that the demon has been able to slip out and take his body for a joy-ride in the first placed was extremely troubling, he didn't have time to dwell on it now. Not with threat of Howler still looming over them...

"Let's give these folks a show." Howler's voice was laced with demonic intent.

Rising to his feet, Tyson stood shoulder to shoulder with Dirk as he observed Howler. For a moment the two were on the same team, facing a mutual threat that had the power to wipe either of them out individual; they'd have they're chance to take their shots at each other when this was all over- if they both made it out of this battle alive that is. "Partial demonic transformation..." He whispered to himself as he confirmed that Howler was showing all the symptoms of loosing his humanity to a the Devil's Arm he was using.

"Howler, baby, you don't look so good," Dirk called out, as Tyson slowly wrapped Mephisto's chain around his arm to form a gauntlet of sorts. When the blonde pocketed his comb, Tyson calmly feed his pistol a new clip ammunition as he watched Dirk's weapon intently.

"Someone oughta put you outta your misery."

That was his cue. With a grunt, Tyson drew his knife and rushed forward with inhuman speed moments before Dirk fired off three shots towards their opposition. "Look at you..." Tyson roared at his idol as he closed the gap between them in seconds, intent on using Dirk's attack as cover fire. "DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?! DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?!" The sounds of Dirk's gun fire filled the air just as Tyson was face to face with Howler. "You actually think you can beat me??? By turning yourself into a monster!?!" Suddenly Tyson vanished, using an abrupt burst of hellfire reposition himself in the air at Howler's side just as Dirk's attack would hit it's mark.

"Com'on," The Ripper's voice held no small amount of sorrow as he cocked his leg back and cloaked it in a vail of roaring hellfire. Intent on giving the other man no reprieve after Dirk's assault, Tyson swung entire body forward with all of his strength in the form of a blazing round house kick. "I guess we'll just have to knock some sense it to you, before I can happily put a bullet in your head!"

Dad · December 25, 2015

Razerhill City

Howler groaned with pain as he was forced into stage one of Compromise. Dirk and Tyson had finally gotten to their feet, when Howler could feel the evil surging in his body. How ironic. Everything he had fought against, is everything he was starting to become. He was disgusted with himself. And yet, what choice did he have? If it wasn't for--oh right. Dirk and Tyson.

Dirk mumbled something, before drawing a large gun and a light crafted sword. His dead eyed wriggled, matching the movement of Dirk's muscles as his finger compressed the trigger on his weapon. And that's when he could feel the difference in strength. And it was fantastic. He could hear every rotation of the bullet, every mechanism in the barrel, and the piercing sound of death that taunted him. Was he so far gone? But before he could respond to the bullets heading his way, Tyson had vanished, using his Hellborn powers to create a powerful gap in speed between himself and Howler.

Ever since Tyson returned to Earth, Howler had been impressed. Until now. Now Tyson showed him something else. Something he hated. Something he struggled so hard to over come.

"DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?! DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?!"

Stupid boy. He was exactly like Howler. And Howler hated that. The arrogance, the lust for power, the fire in his blood. He'd been through that. It was the reason he was here. But there was one difference. Howler rejected it all. Maybe if he had accepted it like Tyson. . . no. Then he could never have been the man he is today.

And Howler had rejected it for a reason. He had seen what it does to people. All of that power. And the more quickly it becomes natural, the more quickly it consumes you. Not that Tyson could help it of course. He was here on a contract as well.

Howler made a quick decision in the time he had been thinking about all of this. There was no easy way to keep going, and determining which of these two attacks would do more damage was nearly impossible. It was time for him to gamble again.

Ignoring Tyson completely, Howler took Dirk's bullets head on, diving into them, and sidestepping the bullets in an instant. During that single movement, two things happened. Howler had managed to avoid Dirk's shots, using his liquid metal shield to absorb the bullets. However, Howler still ended up impaled on Dirk's blade, with the sword running clear through his left shoulder. Dirk's look of confusion wasn't surprising, however. What was surprising, was the fact that Howler did not pull the sword out. Rather, he grabbed Dirk by the wrist, and pulled himself in. Now, he would be able to fulfill a requirement of the Pale Blade. He quickly and precisely weaved two thin cuts into Dirk's chest, leaving the man with an 'X' patterned scar on his torso. Howler let go of Dirk's wrist, then proceeded to knee him in the stomach and send Dirk toppling over, freeing himself from the man's blade in the process.

With three successful strikes with the Pale Blade, Howler could feel his humanity slowly returning. Now if he could keep it up, maybe he could have a decent death. But first.

"You're both bigger idjits than I figured," Howler said cracking his neck. "You. I'm disappointed in you," Howler said pointing at Tyson. "You think anybody gives a damn who you are? Who I am? If you honestly believe, the weight of your name, or my name, is so great, then you really are friggin' clueless. Or has nobody explained a damn thing to you kids? Fightin' for a bunch of money. If I had the choice, I wouldn't give you either the time a' day!" Howler barked.

"But I guess that's what happens when you accidentally sign up for a life time of punishment," he said turning the Pale Blade over and over in his hands. "King!" he called, into the now settling evening sun. In a blur, the War Horse appeared from thin air, a trail of flames lying in his wake. "Forgive me old friend," he said climbing aboard the giant red warhorse. As he saddled in, he could feel King resisting him. "I know boy. I know. But I promise, this is the last time," he whispered. Now Howler ran the Pale Blade twice across King's side, the horse rearing backwards as Howler cut it.

"Easy! Easy!" he pleaded with King as the horse cried out in agony. But King kicked, bucking Howler off of his back. "Damned beast! Scat!" King roared away in panic, fleeing the scene as quickly as he had came. With King's blood, Howler now completed the requirements of the Pale Blade. It shattered in his hands, with its pieces floating in the air. This was his last trick. This is what he was required to do. A soul bond.

Now the pieces of the Pale Blade turned into liquid, as Howler's liquid shield drew away from him, into the liquefied Pale Blade. The liquefied weapon turned to blood, now taking on a humanoid shape. The blood began to gain flesh, and the flesh gained color, as a second, pale Howler stood in Razerhill City now.

"This thing," he said looking it in the eyes, as it stared back at him blankly. "This is the most important part of me. What you just witnessed was me completing my contract with two sides. Heaven and Hell. And now, this thing," he said introducing it to Tyson and Dirk. "This is my soul. In living flesh. He knows everything I do. He's twice as strong. He's twice as fast," Howler said with a sigh. "But he's also twice as vulnerable. And with my soul exposed, I have nothing left to lose."

BGM: Wrong Side of Heaven

Howler's claw reached into the depths of hell again, as he drew a copy of Mephisto's chain from the nothingness. And as his soul mimicked his movements, it drew forth a copy of Dirk's guns from hell as well. "Don't get confused boys," they said in unison, swapping back and forth in bursts of speed. "Anything you can do, I can do better."

Howler lashed out at Tyson, from the middle of the battle field with Mephisto's chain. The chain grew, extending as necessary to reach Tyson. As it stretched, it was engulfed in hell fire, and proceeded to split in to three links, like a giant fork.

Behind him, Soul pulled the trigger of the handcannon. But instead of releasing one large bullet, it produced a shotgun spread of .50 caliber hell-fire engulfed rounds at Dirk with each squeeze.

Howler didn't let up on Tyson. Keeping up the pressure, Howler raised Yubel's Claw, one finger at a time. And in a horrifying display of power, he let loose a stream of destruction, as a powerful energy ray ruptured from his finger tip. "Dance, Tyson! Dance!" The wave evaporated whatever it touched, turning the landscape into desolate waste instantaneously.

And while Dirk was dodging bullets, he would have stay on his toes. In Soul's free Yubel Claw, it directly mimicked Howler, releasing an equally powerful energy wave, in a two pronged attack towards Dirk.

Hälō · December 29, 2015

MIA

"Ripper,"

"I'll handle it, just give me enough juice for a counter attack. He wants a pissing contest, he's got one..." Tyson growled as he met Holwer's copy of Mephisto's chain with the genuine article by swinging it forward in a wide arc enveloped in his own hellfire. Watching as the twin Devil's Arms parried each other in a flaming clash, Tyson shifted his attention to the wave of demonic energy that Howler sent screaming forward.

"Dance, Tyson! Dance!"

Hm, did he really think that the man who held the tittle of Ripper would be pushed into a corner by such a simple party trick? Focusing the energy Mephisto had gathered in his right hand, Tyson thrusted his palm forward and let loose a blast of hellfire more then double the size of the other man's attack. Watching as the two hellborn waves of energy connected, Tyson was surprised to see that despite the difference in size Holwer's technique somehow had the power to not only push against his own, but was slowly beginning to advance through the wave of hellfire; stubbornly inching closer to it's target.

"You gotta be kidding me..." He muttered in exasperation before gritting his teeth and doing his best to push his attack forward to no avail. It didn't take long to see this was a losing battle, and when Howler's beam finally reached him, Tyson had no other choice but to swing his arm upward in a last minute attempt at deflecting it with what was left of his beam of hellfire. Watching has Howler's unholy display of power was sent flaying overhead, blasting a large whole through the storm drain above to reveal the last rays of the sunset, the man had only moments to dive backwards before being crushed by a hail of debris.

Using the gathered dust cloud as cover, a battered Tyson slouched down against one of the drain's busted pips in a state of mild exhaustion. Realizing that if anyone had been hit with an attack of that caliber they'ed be atomized on the spot, the man called out Dirk through the dust. "RIDER, YOU ALIVE???" Though he din't have time to wait for a response, not after he'd just given away his location to Howler. Glancing down at his gun, Tyson sighed before returning it to it's holster. "Look's like I won't be needing this..." With another sigh, the man brought himself back to his feet before placing his knife between his teeth.

"Mephisto, can you get a lock on them?"

"Soul of that caliber free of it's host? Every entity above an angel can sense him regardless of what realm they dwell in..."

Suddenly aware of Howler and his soul's location through the aid Mephisto's senses, Tyson cracked his knuckles before bursting into a flurry of movement. Dashing to the right, the man inhaled deeply before exhaling four large fireballs forward towards Howler's soul. But he wasn't done there. Halting his dash, the man cloaked himself in flames in preparation for the next step...

Moments after the initial fireballs neared their target, a fifth much larger sphere of flame bursted through the dust, though this one now resembled the head of a demon as it rose into the air before rocketing downwards towards the two Holwers. Upon reaching the pair the flaming demon opened it's jaws to reveal non other then Tyson with his blade in hand. "You smell like sulfur, old man!" He called out to the real Howler before leaping from the demon shaped fireball and allowing it attempt to swallow up Soul. Lashing out in an attempt to slice the other man's face, Tyson landed on all fours at Howler's side, before springing upwards in a second attempt at a flaming round house kick.

Well aware that he wouldn't dare to fire off another energy beam at this range, it was finally time for Tyson to engage his idol man to man- knife to claw.

Maeriberii Haan · December 29, 2015

"Hey, hey, isn't it sorta rude to just chuck your flamin' toothpick at me without even telling me your name? And sorry for not impressing some random old guy with how I look."

"Ah, so you actually got spunk within you. I thought you're just a statue." Seems like his effort to make his opponent move had succeeded. The boy had started to move out of the way of his blade, and would definitely soon launch his counterattack. He seemed to be pissed up too. Never a bad thing in a fight, especially if it didn't happen to him.

"You better have another sword, gramps, or it's gonna hurt a lot! If you think I'm just gonna roll over and die for you, you can go bite it!"

"Your style of fighting...I like it. Let's see how well you can dance." Nero's attention went towards the kid's weapon, who had just changed into a metal pincer he used to slam the ground as hard as he could...to use the momentum from the hit to somersault above Nero and try hitting him from behind. The ex-demon sighed before he flash-stepped forwards. He soon launched his (thankfully fireproof) flower chains around the boy's limbs and body in an attempt to bind the kid down as soon as the boy landed. Without wasting any time after that, Nero also followed it with his lily chakrams, firing the, as projectiles towards the boy. He's still interested in how determined the boy could be, so he decided to try toning down his assaults, at least for now.

"Gee, you're making me sound like an old geezer. How do you know about my true age is kind of a mystery that I'm curious about, but that's probably just out of my style of speech.

Either way, late bloomers won't get anything in life, so let's see whether you'll blossom or wilt in this pit of hell!"

VCR_CAT · December 30, 2015

Dirk: Razerhill City

Dirk groaned as he got back to his feet; his chest bleeding noticeably, but not enough to be anything severely life-threatening. Still stung like a jabroni, though. Sliding the magazine out of his pistol, Dirk chose to break out the extra explosive rounds early. He wanted to save these; Tyson was definitely not going to be any kind of pushover, but Howler was posing too much of a threat and Dirk didn't want to lose against someone that wasn't even really a part of the tournament. Poking his head over the debris, Dirk got a good look at what was going on and found that he was seeing double.

"Don't get confused boys, anything you can do, I can do better."

Dirk shook his head as both seemed to sport the same gun as him.

"You damn JABRONI," Dirk shouted out. "You think some cheap knock-off is gonna be better than my Dust Rider?"

[bGM]:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c9wvDetMEC8

Of course, the soul (was the soul?) responded with an instant volley of fire; .50 caliber spread rounds that sent out a hail of shrapnel Dirk's way. Dirk didn't have much time to dive behind another rock, and doing so allowed some of the shrapnel to dig into his leg. Gritting his teeth from the burns and wounds, Dirk did his best to ignore them as he poked out from behind cover; squeezing off several rounds. The massive bullets from Dirk's Dust Rider launched out, then a split second after leaving the barrel their jets kicked in with a loud bang, firing the 15mm bomb at the Soul while managing recoil handily. The slugs sped off; the Soul dodging each barely, but as the bullets impacted against the rubble and ground, they exploded into a cloud of shrapnel, each metal bit digging into the Soul's body and slowing him down more and more until the last bullet pounded into the Soul's arm, ripping out a decent hole.

Leaping over the cover, Dirk materialized another light-sword as he stowed his gun away, rushing towards the Soul. The copy of Tyson's chain flew towards Dirk, however Dirk was already on the advantage as he sidestepped the chain's strike. As Dirk got close, the chain whipped around for a second time. Throwing his whole body into it, Dirk hit against the swinging Chain with both swords; ducking down as it swung around the two swords. As the chain whizzed over Dirk's head, it found a new target: The Soul's body. The chain struck hard against the Soul and fell to the ground, giving Dirk the chance to plant his hands on the ground and kick his legs up into the Soul's chest; knocking it to the ground.

Leaping off the ground, Dirk jumped on the Soul with both blades of light overhead. It all happened in a quick moment; at first Dirk was on top of the Soul, but was immediately tossed off; skidding on the sand and landing against a large slab of concrete. Of course, there was no mistaking the two blades of light protruding from the Soul's head and neck; even before the vanished in a bright flash.

"And that's all she wrote," Dirk said with a wide grin as he pushed himself to his feet once more.

Dad · December 30, 2015

Razerhill

Soul shattered into nothingness, in a hail of bright light. The recoil from having his manifested soul destroyed while still being bonded to it hit Howler like a heart attack. The damage was so harsh, and so sudden, that he hadn't expected it. His chest pounded with heavy thuds, that felt like his heart was literally beating out of his chest. It was so intense, that Howler temporarily went deaf, his ears ringing loudly as he and Tyson became locked in close quarters combat. He shook his head, trying to focus. Time was running out. Tyson had closed the distance between them, and so there was no chance in hell he was letting off another one of those Juniper Blasts. It was about time he gave his opponents the respect they had so rightfully earned.

Struggling to raise his head, Howler headbutted Tyson, and temporarily shoved the boy away. "Tyson!" he said grabbing at his wounded arm. "You've earned this!"

Howler dropped the replicated whip, and watched it burn into the earth. With his now free hand, Howler grabbed at the Yubel Claw that was apart of him, and began to pull.

Tyson and Dirk watched with wide eyes as Howler continued to tug at the Yubel claw, roaring in pain as his arm visibly began to fall apart. He screamed, in an unholy, deafening wail that woke parts of Razerhill in the distance, under the night sky.

"What are you--!?"

"Ripper! Let him finish," Mephisto interjected.

Howler pulled, separating each individual muscle, and every inch of flesh with the raw power of just his right arm. And with one last cry of agony and blood, the Yubel Claw was torn from Howler, and thrown into the dirt.

Not wasting any time, Howler quickly bound his destroyed arm with cloth he ripped from his pants legs, trying to stop the blood flow.

"Dude, that's gross," Dirk muttered.

Tyson was furious. He roared at Howler, not believing what he was seeing. "And what was the point of that!? You trying to give me some kind of a handicap!? Huh old man!!?"

Howler shook his head. "Handicap!?" he said yelling back. He wiped his forehead, and stomped the Yubel Claw under his foot. "I was only tryin' ta make it fair!" he taunted.

"Cocky till the end," Tyson thought to himself, his smile returning. "Let's do this!" he said vanishing in a blaze. Howler was all too happy to oblige.

Tyson quickly closed the gap, once more. He cocked a fist, encompassing it with a dark, swirling fire. But Howler met him up close, mid air as Tyson prepared his strike. He gripped Tyson's fist with his bare hand, causing the boy and Mephisto to wonder aloud. "What the f--"

Howler slung Tyson down, hurling him into the ground, giving chase. He attempted to land atop Tyson, but his target rolled out of the way. As Howler landed, Dirk kicked back, conjuring several of his signature light swords in the air above his head. He lazily hurled them at Howler, who barely managed to dodge them.

"You're slowin' down old dude," Dirk commented.

"What is it with you kids and callin' me old!?" he laughed, picking up speed again. Howler danced around Dirk's projectiles, as he added in his large .50 caliber rounds. Howler drove his heel into the ground, lifting an enormous chunk of dirt to absorb the projectiles. Unfortunately he had forgotten about the bombs Dirk had hidden in his gun, which proceeded to shatter the earth block and send Howler skidding into the dirt. Howler rolled, right under neath Tyson's chin this time. Tyson glared down at him, as Howler looked up. Howler winked at Tyson, but Tyson only replied by trying to drive his foot through Howler's chest. Howler rolled backwards quickly and drove his feet into Tyson's chin, knocking him away. Turning around, he pulled back his only good arm, and lunged at Tyson.

Tyson flopped out of the way, as Howler's punch struck earth, a shockwave erupting at his fingertips. The earth gave way, leaving a large crater at the point of impact from Howler's fist. Howler stood up straight, shaking his fist. "That one stung a bit," he said calmly. But now, Howler was truly slowing down. He could no longer blink, and thus, Tyson and Dirk had the advantage once more. But Jackson "Howler" Gurney wasn't going out without a fight.

Turning to face Tyson and Dirk, he rolled his shoulder. "Oblige me, Tyson. Dirk. And gimme what you're holdin' back." Balling his fist, Howler made his last charge.

Mr. Hyde · December 30, 2015

The last thing he remembered was Arisu laying across him as the two were whisked away from their battle location. He soon slipped into a dream...but had this all been a dream? In his unconscious mind, he had met his mother, soul to soul. The two talked about the events that occured, and his mother couldn't have been happier. The words were muffled, but he knew what he was saying. Dreams like these were the best.

Elspire woke up in a familiar place, the medical bay. As he slowly rose, his face twitched with the pain that came with moving his muscles. He ached all over, and he was bruised from head to toe.

"Now I know that all of that wasn't a dream!" He said with a smile on his face. He looked all over the room, was Arisu here as well? And where was Stratos? Thinking back to the beginning of the day, Elspire remembered that the baby dragon was probably still in his room. But Arisu was hurt too, so she must've been here.

Elspire's face turned a crimson red, remembering that he had just confessed to a girl he had just met, and then beaten senseless! He hid his face and started rolling all around his bed.

"I'm such an idiot, I'm such an idiot, I'm such an idiot!" He stuffed his face into his pillow and screamed, finally letting himself settle. He could somehow tell that his mother was chuckling somewhere.

"Alright buddy, I think you need to slow down on those swamp waters..." The bartender was still in disbelief that a Raptor had gotten drunk at his bar. Zyg yelped at him.

"You're the one *hic* who forgot to mention that there was alcohol content in them!" Zyg got up from his bar stool and walked over to a pool table, where other customers had gathered. They stiffened when Zyg took a pool cue from the rack.

"Hey Lizard-face! Y-you can't just interrupt our game we got goin' on here!" Zyg eyed the courageous man.

"Listen here *hic* pal, I've never played the game of pool before, so let me have this one shot, eh!?" Zyg stumbled back a bit, but caught himself with his tail. Awkwardly, he grasped the cue and leaned against the table. He calculated the trajectory the trajectory of the cue balls and took his shot. He must've used a little too much force, because the cue decided to shove straight through the table. If a raptor could blush, he'd be doing so. "I'm terribly sorry gentle*hic*men...I guess they have more pool tables for a reason!" When the bartender noticed a cue sticking out from the table, he sighed. He'd just forward the repair bill to Gerald. In the meantime, Zyg took the opportunity to sneak away from the situation, although he was hardly being stealthy bumbling around like a triceratops on a tricycle.

Hälō · December 31, 2015

"Rider, take a five and let me handle it, ya?" Tyson met Dirk's gaze as he took a step towards Howler as he charged the two boys. "If you couldn't already tell, this one's personal..." The Ripper's voice lacked any of the amusement that it had carried throughout the majority of the fight, and had now shifted to a stoic whisper as he shot forward to meet Howler half way. He knew Dirk would understand that this was something that just had to be settled here and now- a score to be settled between men who walked the same path.

"Hey, Demon..."

"What is it?"

"I swore I'd never ask you for any favors, but I need you to do something for me... just this once."

".... What?"

"..."

"Very well, though I'll need time."

Locking eyes, Tyson and Howler both cocked their arms back and swung forward with all of their might at the center of the storm drain. The silence of the battlefield was instantly broken as the both men's fists crashed into the side of the other's face, sending a rippling shockwave of force outwards from both points of impact as the men stood locked in this position as if daring the other to flinch. "Why..." Tyson felt the all too familiar sting of doubt resonating from Howler's fist as it pressed against his face. Though the other man's eyes were cold a resolute, when the two exchanged blow there was now hiding the inner conflict that was raging inside Howler, not from Tyson at least...

"What are you hiding?!" Tyson spat, only to receive a inhumanly powerful roundhouse-kick as his idol's response. Blocking the attack by hastily throwing up his left arm, Tyson noted the fact that Howler's strength was dropping by the minute, and that if he continued at this rate the fight would be over before he gave Tyson his all! "TELL ME!" The Ripper's roar echoed across the storm drain as he jumped forward with his own kick, to which Howler skillfully weaved under leaving the two with their backs pressed against each other.

"Tell me what's distracting you so I can incinerated it..." Tyson's voice was now a mixture of spite and melancholy as he stared off into the distance. "DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE?!" Suddenly the pair were in motion again, both pivoting at the same time as they drove their forearms into each other in a brutal clash that sent another shockwave across the battlefield. Though Howler was blown back this time, only able to do so much on sheer will power alone.

"I wanna fight the Howler that my Pops told me about every night as bedtime story..." Watching the man who he had once aspired to be bring himself to a sliding halt Tyson entered a relaxed stance. "The Boogeyman for guys like me who killed seven boogymen in their life time..." He called out as Howler regained his composure shot forward with a sudden burst of speed; vanishing from sight only to reappear directly in front of him with his fist balled. With a grunt, Tyson allowed Howler to jam a sharp left hook into his adamant, only to instantly grab the other man's hand with a grip that he knew would be impossible to escape in his current condition. There was no shockwave this time, only the subtle crunching of bone as Tyson tightened his grip even further...

Locking eyes with Howler one last time, Tyson brought his fist backwards before punching Jackson with enough force to send him flying back with his legs in the air. Though he had no intention of stoping there. Extending his left hand once more, he grabbed his idol by his leg and yanked him back towards himself with whilst rearing his arm back again. "The one who wouldn't in million f***ing years lose his soul and his right arm to a f***ing Devil's Arm!" Tyson's voice was followed by the thunderous crack that rung throughout the entire lower half of the city as he brought his fist down on Howler with all the strength his unholy flesh could muster.

"Mephisto, now..." The Ripper beckoned to his other half as he stood over the crumpled body the man who he once revered as a god. Kneeling down over a barely breathing Howler, Tyson placed his palm on the ground at his side and watched as a series of symbols began to form themselves from Hellfire. In only moments the pair were caught in a circle of glyphs with a large double pentagram in the center.

Without a word Tyson stepped out of the Devil's Trap he had Mephisto prepare, and and lowered his gaze as he watched the last of of the symbols form around the edges of the circle, trapping the soulless Howler in the seal until he drew his last breath.

"I don't wanna kill whoever you are."

Dad · December 31, 2015

Razerhill City

Struggling to sit up straight, Howler managed to smile. Tyson, for whatever reason, was pleading with him. "Stupid kid," he said coughing, spitting up blood. Internal bleeding. Was death going to be so simple? He propped his back against a heavy boulder, as he forced himself to stay awake. He couldn't afford to lose consciousness right now. He nodded, using his crippled hand to take a cigar from his breast pocket. "You mind? I could uh, use a hand," he joked, wheezing.

Tyson willfully crossed the Devil Seal and lit Jackson's cigar. With a grunt, he nodded to Tyson. "Take a seat, kid. Let me tell ya ma' story," he said taking a long drag of his cigar.

The year was 2017. Jackson was seventeen years old. He had a very pitiful upbringing, being forced to fend for himself after never knowing his own parents. He was a street rat, hustling, stealing, doing whatever he had to do to survive. Many people had known that life, so of course he wasn't alone. And one cool afternoon in the mountain city of Razerhill, Jackson had reluctantly made a friend.

He had been up to his old tricks, sneaking into the back of a mom and pop store under the cloak of dark, looking for a quick buck or a hot meal to steal. In the back stone alleyways, he brandished a dagger carefully with his right hand. He braced himself against the cold white stone walls as he checked the backdoor. "Locked," he thought quickly, jiggling the handle. He would have to find another way in. Inching around the next corner, he could see a dim light in the rear of the store. Probably a candle.

Ironically, the front door was left unlocked, and it was easy to slip inside unseen. Closing the door silently behind him, Jackson rummaged through the front of the store. Unfortunately, the register was already empty. This was a small store, so there was a chance there was only one safe. Probably in the rear. "sheet," he thought to himself. He was probably going to have to confront whoever was there. No need to get bloody. He just had to be persuasive.

Passing the threshold to the rear of the store, Jackson could see the dim light beneath a door crack. He could hear someone tapping a pen lightly on a wooden desk. He gently opened the door, and peeked inside. There was a young man sitting in a rickety wooden chair, lost deep in thought. Did he notice Jackson at all? His short blue hair and silver eyes suggested that he was ignorant to a young Howler's presence.

The room was small, and the desk was braced against a wall, with this young man's back not far from the opposite wall. There wasn't much room to work with, and so Jackson would have to go in brazenly.

"Need something?" the boy called, scribbling onto a notepad.

Jackson quickly ducked back behind the dividing wall between the back stock room, and the hallway. He had been seen! "sheet! I don't wanna have to kill this g--"

"You can come in. It's fine, really," called a soothing voice. He was welcoming Jackson in his store? Jackson turned the corner, blade at the ready.

"Look pal--"

"You alright? Are you lost? Perhaps hungry?" the boy asked. Jackson raised an eyebrow, carefully, skillfully flipping his dagger.

"Do ya understand what's happenin' right now?" he asked the innocent teen before him.

The boy nodded, from his seat, not bothering to look up from the notebook he was writing in. "Yeah. I get it. You're desperate. You've probably been through this a few times. Oh, and you missed the safe." The boy was totally calm, and composed, even realizing he was being robbed. But he was so bold, that even admitted that Jackson overlooked the safe. Was there a camera or something that he missed?

"Missed it huh? Well tell ya what. You gimme a few bucks, I'll disappear, and you can keep your throat nice 'n even. Or--"

"Or, I could wait for you to drop that dagger, and spare your life," he suddenly said, coldly.

Jackson's expression changed quickly. His eyes narrowed as he watched the blue haired boy carefully. He couldn't have been older than Jackson, so what was he on about?

"Ya sure ya wanna do that, stranger?" Jackson asked, blinking.

"Yes," he called from behind Jackson, pinning him in a choke-hold. Jackson dropped the knife, struggling to breathe. He wrestled with the blue blur for a brief moment, as he was encouraged to stop resisting. "Easy! Easy! You calm down, and I'll let you go. Okay? On three."

With three soft counts, the boy let Jackson go, watching him fall to his knees, coughing, gasping for air. Jackson rubbed his throat, questioning him aloud. "How'd ya manage that? So fast," he said still coughing.

"Well that's rude of you, considering you just tried to rob me. Shouldn't I be asking questions?"

Jackson shot the boy a dirty look, carefully standing to his feet.

"It's not something I'm prepared to tell you. Not unless you're willing to tell me who you are. Then I'll let you in on my secret."

Jackson nodded, agreeing silently. By that simple display, he was now fully aware that--whoever this boy was--he was fully capable of killing Jackson in a moment's notice. He wasn't about to try anything stupid. Giving away his identity, Jackson confirmed the blue haired boy's story about him being hungry, and desperate. The boy quietly moved back over to his seat, and picked up his pen again.

"That's all you had to say, Jackson. Sorry, just a moment," he said scribbling again. "There. I was finishing up this evening's expense report. I'm Wes, by the way. Wes Alan Gregory. But please, just call me Wes."

Jackson carefully observed Wes, bracing himself against the now fully open door at the stockroom's entrance. "Okay Wes. How'd ya disappear like that n' near kill me? Never seen a man move like that."

"That's 'cause you've never seen a man move before. Am I right, killer?"

Jackson had to laugh. He had slain many a man before, in their sleep. They never had a chance to move.

"I've been where you are, Jackson. I've been desperate, hungry, looking for trouble. But I found something in my time running the streets. And I was given a home, and an opportunity."

Wes flipped a large silver symbol at Jackson, who caught it, fully surprised. Looking at it carefully, it was a heavy coin, emblazoned with a serpent. "What's this?" he asked aloud.

"A Silver Serpent. Judging by the fact that you don't know what that is, I'll tell you the rest."

"That's when Wes tells me, there's this society of assassins that were looking for fresh blood. 'Course, I didn't believe him. I mean, I was seventeen. I knew funk all about assassins and secret organizations and all that sheet. I wasn't ready for the whole shady scene."

In the mountains of Razerhill, a well kept secret blossomed under the moonlight. Just that evening, Jackson had gone from attempting to rob Wes, to following him into the deepest parts of the mountains in Razerhill, over a three hour hike in the middle of the night. Was he naive? Or still desperate? Either way, Jackson was taken aback at what he was seeing.

There, in the mountain side, was a small clearing. In the mountainside was a carved cave of enormous proportions, a soft glow of light resonating from inside of it.

"Inside that cave, there is a man who trained me. Who gave me power. He's raised a number of us, but there's rumor going around that he rivals the strength of even the gods. Some are saying he walks among them. Talks with them. But there's usually no one there this time of evening, unless they're studying or training. Maybe the master is in."

Sneaking down through the clearing, Jackson and Wes made their way to the entrance of the cave, where they could hear multiple voices inside.

They sat quietly for a moment, just out of earshot, as Wes listened in. The voices carried throughout the cavern, echoing outside. But the faces of their owners were hidden deeper in the mountain.

"Ya know any of those guys?" Jackson whispered.

Wes shook his head. "I only recognize the master's voice. Perhaps some new initiates?"

Jackson and Wes crept inside, trying to get a closer look at the scene going on ahead of them.

What they found was astounding. Something no man would believe if he saw it with his own eyes. Five figures stood around a fire. Four of them were staggeringly tall, and they were clearly not human. They brandished wings, gilded armor, and their voices resonated with power.

"What on earth. . . " Wes whispered to himself.

"What you discovered was not meant for mortal eyes. It is a poison to your world. Even we know not of what it is capable," said a female voice.

"Perhaps, were it not for your mistakes, sister, this would not have happened," barked one male voice.

"Silence! And you. You are crossing into territory you cannot possibly comprehend. You must relinquish this power, before it consumes you. Before it consumes your world," said another male voice.

"I beg to differ," said the human. "You see, I've come to grow comfortably with this. . . power. I mean, look at the things it's given me," he said with a red flare in his eyes. "You may be gods, but if it is this power you fear, then I have no reason to be rid of it. In fact, you should be aiding me," he commanded.

Wes looked silently to Jackson, who stared, horrified at what he was seeing. They looked to each other, silently mouthing, "Gods?"

"Someone's here," a voice said, turning his head their way.

Wes and Jackson immediately leaped to their feet, and prepared to turn and run. They were, however, greeted with four adorned gods, blocking their way.

"I thought I smelled sin," Ilgad muttered aloud. "Wesssssssssssss," he hissed, snatching the boy up by the throat.

"Let him go!" Jackson yelled, charging at the god before him. But he was met by the palm of another god, holding him back.

Suddenly, Jackson's world froze, at the sickening snap of bones. He watched Wes go limp, and his head tilt over silently.

"What are you doing!? I was training him!" called the human.

"He was a threat! No human under these circumstances is to lay eyes on us. And so this one needs to die as well," Ilgad said, dropping Wes' limp body.

"Wes!" Jackson cried out, struggling to reach him. Jackson suddenly felt cold, as his chin was raised to look the other god in the face.

Alastor held Jackson's head up high, examining him. "Not this one," the eldest said. "He has such. . . potential."

"Potential for what, brother?" asked a female. Alastor placed a single finger into Jackson's temple, causing his eyes to roll into the back of his head. "His future," Alastor began. "It is written in blood. It was but his destiny to approach us."

"Do you lie for your own gain, Alastor?" Ilgad growled.

Adelfa waved a hand, dismissing her brother's ill intent. "No," Alastor said softly. He took his finger away from Jackson's head, letting him fall to the floor unconscious. "This one is deadly. Untapped power and potential. But shrouded in uncertainty."

"You believe he will betray us?" asked Lamia.

Alastor did not reply. Instead, he turned his back on Jackson, and turned to the human master. "You will use this one in exchange for the deceased one. He will accomplish what you seek. And in return, you will remain vigilant in use of this evil. And if you break our trust, we will seek your death."

"I don't recall much after that. One minute I'm robbin' this guy. The next thing I know I'm watchin' 'im die, and I'm knocked out cold," Howler said coughing up blood again. He wiped his mouth, taking another drag of his cigar. "But I woke up eventually. Only, when I did, it was three years later. I'd been in a damn coma. For three years, kid. I didn't even dream. I just lay there. Half-dead. I wake up, n' I'm on the other side of the damn world. San Francisco. Then I see his face again."

Jackson woke up in the infirmary of the newly completed Golden Gate Hotel. He was strapped down 'for his own safety'. And the moment he opened his eyes, he flew into a rage. The first person who he saw after waking up was the same man from the cave that night. "You!" he said struggling to rip away his restraints.

"Ya got Wes killed! Messin' with stuff ya shouldn't 've messed with! Damn fool!" Jackson barked. The older man shook his head. "You misunderstand, Jackson. Wes got himself killed. He was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. And you're very fortunate to not have suffered the same fate. If you had not been given to me, you'd be six feet under right about now."

Jackson finally gave in, falling backwards into his bed. "Who are you?" he asked, sighing.

The old man grinned. "Who am I? I am Gerald Oedipus Dillinger. I'm your new employer. And you. You are about to become the world's greatest bounty hunter."

It was at that moment that the lights went out in Jackson's room, and Gerald vanished. Jackson was knocked out cold, with blunt force, as he was moved off site.

"The next part, now, ya need to understand somethin'. I dunno how he did it, but he kept me working, trainin'. For years. I walked out of this middle of nowhere hell hole ten years later. I was thirty. And he hadn't gotten a damn day older."

Ten years, Jackson trained in the Black Tar Pit, his handlers relentlessly beating him into submission. But over the course of those ten years, he had become exceedingly dangerous. His weapons skills, hand to hand combat, speed, mental fortitude and intelligence had skyrocketed. He had become a menace. But it wasn't good enough. Not for Jackson at least.

He could feel the change in his strength. From then on, every time he put a bullet in a target, he grew thirsty. But a stiff drink wouldn't cut it. So he began taking on bigger and bigger contracts. Killing off whole organizations and gangs in single evenings. But it still wasn't good enough. He wanted more. More strength. More power. He got greedy. And that's when he met the other side of the gods. When he got careless.

"I slipped up. I wound up gettin' myself caught in the middle of a damn war. 2035. The Massacre of Hilton Park, Kansas City. Nine hundred bodies. And I ended up bein' one of 'em. But they weren't just gonna let me go quietly to hell. No sir. They had other plans."

"Give him to us. We know of his sins. But he is a necessary evil. He is required--"

"To keep you and your little brothers and sisters safe? I don't think so Alastor. There's only one way this one's gettin' outta here. And it's by my gate. My gate. My rules."

Alastor frowned beneath his helmet. He huffed, balling his fist. "Then what do you propose, Belial?"

The Gatekeeper grinned. "We will use him now. If he wants power, we'll give it to him. We'll adorn him with the greatest weapons hell has to offer. And he'll move by our design. He will send us those tarnished souls that you have forgotten. And at the end of his life, we will take him once more."

Meanwhile, Jackson lay on his knees, surrounded by fire and brimstone, naked and beaten. "Don't I get a say in my own fate?"

Alastor chuckled, as Belial turned around. "You are but a stain on the world. You will get nothing but what you are given!" it screeched, tossing hot ash onto the man's body.

"I'll take that as a no," he said aloud.

Belial turned back to Alastor, his palm open. Alastor begrudgingly stretched out his hand, accepting Belial's deal. "One condition," Alastor said, gripping the demon's claw. "You will let me see and tell him of his coming fall."

Belial turned his head to Jackson, and then back to Alastor. "As you wish," he said letting go of Alastor. The god approached the bounded Jackson, and put another finger to his temple. Jackson quickly fell unconscious, as Alastor peered into his future. A Silver Serpent. Two clouded figures. A long battle. A lost limb. A cool evening. A departing beast. A final handshake. Alastor was satisfied, implanting Jackson's future into his own brain.

"Depart from us!" Belial ordered. Alastor turned his back to Jackson, vanishing in an instant, in a beam of bright light. And at that moment, Jackson had become Howler. His soul returned to earth, and he awoke, six feet under ground.

Plowing his way out of the dirt, gasping for air, he rose out of the cemetery. His destination? San Francisco.

"So ya see kid, I'm not just a bounty hunter. I'm a slave. But there's somethin' I still don't get. I figured to myself, if Gerald didn't get no older, was he immortal? But I learned that wasn't the case. 'Cause see, he could still bleed. Immortal's don't bleed, Tyson," he said straightening his back. "So it don't make sense to me. How do I work for Gerald for thirty years--'cause I'm fifty right now--and he hasn't aged? And why do I feel like I've asked him this before? He's sent me to kill hundreds of targets, not includin' the ones the boys downstairs have given me. I swear, I've killed some of these guys more than once. I've seen faces of dead men, Tyson. Men I've killed, buried, and cut off their fuckin' heads. I've seen 'em more than once. And I don't know why."

BGM: Purgatory

Jackson looked around carefully, laying his head back on the rock. He tucked his cigar into his mouth, as he pulled Tyson towards him. Jackson began to whisper, his voice as serious as it was bloody. "Listen to me kid. And listen good. Gerald is dangerous. He's got gods at the tip of his finger, he doesn't age, and I still have no idea what he's capable of. This tournament--it ain't a game. Somethin' real fuckin' evil is at the heart of it. And I can guarantee ya it has somethin' to do--everything to do--with Gerald. Ya'll kids need to stop killin' each other. Ya need to stop Gerald."

Letting the boy go, Jackson took one last drag of his cigar, as he made a request to Tyson. "Do me a favor. And don't get greedy. Forget the money. Forget the tournament. Do what ya have to do. Warn your friends. Have 'em look carefully at Gerald's name, Tyson.

Look carefully. Spell his name out. Write it down. And tell me what ya see. Tell me just how fuckin' disturbing it is, just to see his name.

That damn--" Howler coughed, choking on his own blood.

"That damn Gerald.

Gerald.

Oedipus.

Dillinger.

See you in hell."

In his last breath, Howler cursed Gerald, wishing him nothing but punishment. And it was with the last time he spoke Gerald's name, that he had almost revealed everything there was to know about the sinister man behind the Secret Cup Tournament.

Hälō · January 5, 2016

Tyson's expression softened as he watched the life drain from Howler's body, and the man he worshiped as his idol fall limply against the bolder. "Yea, see you in the pit," Tyson spoke in a low tone whilst slipping his hand into Howler's breast pocket, seemingly searching for something. "Old man." Ofter a few moments he produced a silver coin identical to the one he had flipped at the beginning of this god forsaken duel, the Serpentine. Placing the coin in his pocket , the Ripper slowly rose to his feet before exiting the Devil's trap.

"yaeza bastards! sael gona yabbia conduct zukh o gaoh xasith zes xoyt?!" Mephisto's voice suddenly boomed throughout Tyson mind, followed by a wave of searing rage. Arching his eyebrow, the man remained silent as he allowed the demon to continue it's mad ranting in what he could only assume was it's native tongue. "i'll- I'll. . . . rae, I yor't loeda yiz aeddaenquriqes. . . . . " Without warning Mephisto grew calm, his tone shifting to that of an entity with a plan. "I'll wait. Belial will not go unpunished... not without a price." It would be a lie to say that Tyson wasn't curious about what the Demon was planning, but he'd have to find time to inquire about the affairs of hell later... As of now, he had more than enough to think about here on earth.

"What will you do now, Ripper?" Mephisto chimed in once again with no traces of his previous outrage. Tyson sighed, before pinching the bridge of his nose and thinking long and hard. It was a lot to digest. Everything Howler had told him had changed so munch for the hellspawn, and though he had knew from the beginning that something was fishy about this tournament, with the knowledge that all these major players were throwing their chips into ring at the same time; he couldn't just turn a blind eye to it anymore. No. He had to put a stop to it... it was his duty has a Slayer after all, right?-Putting bastards like Gerald who don't know when they've overstayed their welcome in a nice cozy grave... But where would he even start? It wasn't like he could just leave the Hotel and assemble a group to crash this party and kill what ever bad mojo Gerald was cooking up. He'd have a lightning bolt dropped on his head before even got his other foot out of the door.

Following his host's thought, Mephisto spoke up. "We'll have to gain allies amongst our fellow combatants... the Titan. We'll start with him." Tyson was taking aback by the demon's sudden act of willing aiding him in something other then combat, though he'd be damned (again) if he showed it. Nodding in agreement, Tyson turned his back to Howler's corps to face Dirk. "Rider is good guy, and he managed to keep pace with us and the Old man," Locking eyes with Dirk, Tyson began slowly walking forward before raising his hand and snapping his fingers. "Hope he knows what we're about to drag him into..." In a instant the flaming Devil's trap behind him erupted into a massive spire of flame that reached up towards the heavens. Satisfied with Howler's funeral pyre, the man halted his advance a mere three yards away from Dirk. "Looks, like the Ripper is taking his first free contract..." He whispered to himself with mild amusement before reaching for his gun. "The client, Jackson Howler." His words were punctuated by the light metallic click of his fingers resting on his holster. "Target: Gerald Oedipus Dillinger." Mephisto finished.

"Yo, Rider!" He called out towards his next opponent before suddenly shifting his hand towards his belt and detaching the holster that rested at his side. Raising it high into the air, he allowed his Desert Eagle to shine in the moonlight for a moment before releasing his grip and letting it fall to the ground with a loud thud. "Killing you would be pointless... but I can't let you win either." Tyson's tone was oddly relaxed but his eyes held a seriousness to them that had been absent for quite a long time. "Don't look at me like that. We're still gonna throw down!" As he spoke he drew his knife and twirled it skillfully between his fingers before allowing Mephisto's chain to extend from his sleeve. "I just wanna grab a drink with you after 'is all."

With that, Tyson entered a ready stance and waited for Dirk to make the first move. He didn't want to deny mister "G.O.D" his show after all, right? Not yet anyway...

LordCowCowCowCowCowCowCowCow · January 5, 2016

“Ugh come on you idiot you’re using too much energy! Just let baldy take care of this Howler guy himself, dammit!” Morgan groaned and threw her head back at the display, having turned her mic off for the outburst. She had gotten a bit more energized and focused on the match once she realized how intense it was getting. She didn’t care she had a clear favorite to win this, it’s not like she had been hiding that. Even if she had been hiding the intention.

But she had a terrible feeling the dumbass was going to waste this opportunity. Howler and Tyson were similar beings, both with great power and determination. Dirk meanwhile was...well, Dirk. He’d have to get crafty were he to win, and Morgan was doubting that would happen at this point.

She found herself standing as Tyson made his declaration, for more reasons than one. Vena had toppled off her seat on Morgan’s lap, but the girl seemed content with cuddling against her big sister’s leg, much like a cat.
The obvious reason, and the one she showed, was concern and excitement. “This is gonna be a good one folks, think Dirk can pull off taking down someone like that, without my help? He sure better, he’s got a lot to prove if he wants to continue to keep up with me right?” Her tone was chipper and playful, perfect to get the crowd on her side, and in her head Morgan was celebrating pulling it off as well as she was certain she had.

However something else was tugging at her. Something weird had gone on down there. Something involving crazy magic. She wasn’t sure what it was but there had been a moment where the magic flared and Morgan just barely caught it. She glanced over at the others and, if they had noticed anything, there was no sign of it on their faces. She hoped that it was her training, and her connection to darker magic, that had allowed her to pick up on it. She just wished she had any way of identifying what it was.

Though right now she had to keep her mind on the present. Her future path would be decided by this fight, after all. “Come on Dirk show him what you’re made of!”

VCR_CAT · January 5, 2016

Dirk: Razerhill City

"Right back atchya, dude," Dirk replied with a smirk. "But first... Oh jeeze, look out!" Dirk feigned surprise as he looked upwards towards a piece of rubble that, while dangling a bit from a bit of rebar on a large piece of concrete, was in no danger of falling any time soon. Of course, Tyson just laughed.

"Ha, you really don't think I'm that stupid, do you?"

Dirk laughed as well, before whipping his gun out and shooting the concrete that the large piece was dangling from; showering rubble everywhere. "Oh jeeze, Tyson, look out!" Dirk repeated again with the same tone as the large chunk of concrete plummeted towards Tyson. Dirk took this opportunity to fire off two more shots at Tyson while the debris would hopefully distract him.

"Looks like we got a conflict of interest, then," Dirk said with a wide, sheet-eating smirk. "I'm not quite in this to lose either."

Dad · January 8, 2016

The Skybox

Gerald remained silent through most of the ordeal between Tyson, Howler, and Dirk. He clenched his fist tightly as he watched his hired gun go down. Had it always been this way? He shook the thought from his head, trying to keep his image up, without too much being given away before preparations had been made. Gerald gave a fake cheer into his microphone, as he continued broadcasting one of the most watched matches in Golden Gate history.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Howler is down! The king of bounty hunters, slain like a worthless dog! And who does the final blow belong to? None other than the demon himself, Tyson!!" he said over the broadcast.

A roar of cheering could be heard below the Skybox, as a crowd had gathered around its outside screen to watch the spectacle in public. Naturally, polls were about to be streamed. Steph jumped into action, taking over Gerald in the next instance.

"And what a match that was. And the best part, Gerald? The fight has only just begun! I think it's safe to say these two--Dirk and Tyson--have what it takes to go all the way. Unfortunately, only one of them can walk out of Razerhill as the victor! And so, with our guest star permanently incapacitated, we'd like to hear from the crowd! Who--as of this moment--do you think has a better chance at bringing home a victory!? Will it be our fiery demon star Tyson!? Or will it be the action badass and silky smooth Dirk!? Cast your vote online now at our website below!"

Votes poured in, in the millions. It was close, but by a hair, Tyson took a fifty-one percent lead over Dirk's forty-nine percent. Meanwhile, Gerald was deep in thought, scratching his chin as things seemed to be . . . off.

"Something's not right," he thought to himself. "Something has changed," he mused. He didn't want to let it get to him, but unfortunately things seemed rushed. His plan's were not quite falling into place. However, he couldn't show weakness. He would simply have to speed things up. With a silent thought, he urged his nearly invisible companions to increase their pace. "Move forward. We'll have to skip out on a few of them," he communicated.

Hälō · January 8, 2016

The Final Showdown

"huh?!" Tyson found himself awestruck as he watched Dirk make a sudden move for his pistol. Steaming with rage, the Ripper hastily kicked his own holster up off the ground, and caught it with in his right hand just as Dirk's shots connected with the slab of concrete overhead. Upon shifting his gaze up towards the falling rock, Tyson's vision began to violently blur. Was this the consequences of his duel with Howler???

Unable to focus his sights to destroy the rubble, Tyson instead chose to leap backwards to avoid being crushed, only to met with the sound of two more shots from Dirk's hand cannon hand cannon. "Bastard..." The man growled, allowing instinct to take over; causing him to quickly drop down to his knees to avoid the oncoming bullets. Though it seems luck just wasn't in the Slayer's favor this fight, and one of the bullets found their mark at Tyson's right forearm, blasting it away from his the rest of his body in a gruesome shower of blood.

Thankfully, Mephisto was able to seize control of Tyson's other arm whilst he roared in agony and hastily caught the loose lim in the air as the man bursted into movement to avoid any other rounds Dirk would have decided to pump into him during his moment of weakness. Tyson became a blur within the shadows of the damaged storm drain, dashing towards the massive hole that Howler had blasted into it's roof at in human speeds, before boosting himself up through the hole with a jet of hellfire.

"Real good guy..." Mephisto's voice oozed sarcasm as Tyson brought the two pieces of his severed arm up and painfully slammed them together. A unearthly black substance began forming around the injury serving as a replacement for his damaged muscle and bone as Tyson's undead but began to heal itself. "I can see his sins clearly, Ripper... Dirty cop, dirty soul- regardless of how many enhancements to his physical form..."

"I-I'll..."

"End him. We'll seek the aid of the Titan. He should serve as far superior ally to this trash..."

A gust of cool air washed over Tyson, causing the trench coat of his silhouetted figure to blow wildly to the side. In the night wind of Razzerhil, Howler's final words whispered to Tyson. "Ya'll kids need to stop killin' each other. Ya need to stop Gerald."

Conflicted, Tyson let loose a heavy sigh before stepping towards the hole and meeting Dirk's gaze yet again. "I gotta hand to you Dirk, it's pretty hard to disappoint a guy like me on the moral front..." He punctuated this by waving his pistol with his newly reattached arm hand and firing four flaming potshots towards his opponent. "If that's how you want to do this, fine. Let's just end this pointless battle then..." Not bothering to confirm if his bullets had hit their mark, Tyson inhaled deeply before exhaling a large stream of soul searing hellfire down into the storm drain bellow, filling every inch of it's walls with otherworldly heat. Though he wasn't through there. Panting from the energy consumed in last attack, Tyson got down to his knees and raised his knife high above his head. "Sorry Howler... I'll buy the town a new one when this is all over." Fighting back another distortion in his vision, Tyson brought his knife down against the concrete that made up the roof of the storm drain, causing several arcs of hell fire to race forward across the cracks all along the surfaces. Within seconds the entirety of the roof ahead of Tyson began to cave in hopefully crushing all those inside the structure...

"Ripper, you can't afford to be holding back..."

VCR_CAT · January 13, 2016

Dirk: Razerhill City

"Hey man, you got your tactics I got mine," Dirk replied to Tyson, who seemed to be making of how Dirk tricked him. Of course, the battle wasn't just about to go his way once Tyson let loose multiple shots, forcing Dirk to retreat further into the storm drain. So, a gun fight it was gonna be, then? Well, looks like-- hey, why's it getting so hot? Dirk noticed that Tyson was pushing harder with his attacks, filling the storm drain almost entirely with his own hellfire; burning Dirk quite a bit, and forcing him to climb higher on the rubble and away from the fire. Of course, that wasn't going to be enough as even the ceiling above the storm drain began to collapse. It was too big; there was no immediate way out. Dirk jump down from the rubble that he stood on and tried to duck under more as the entire ceiling fell with a loud crash.

As the dust began to settle, Dirk's shape could be seen through the smoke; except different. His body was glowing with several different colours in a bright rainbow, and his eyes were glowing a bright red. His hair was also fairly messed up.

"You messed up my 'do'," Dirk said with a strangely straight tone. "Now I'm gonna look like an idiot on national television."

Dirk didn't waste any time after that; sprinting forward with speed beyond that he displayed earlier and too very large swords of light materializing in his hands. Springboarding off a large piece of rubble, Dirk pratically flew at Tyson with both swords swinging in for a scissor-strike.

LordCowCowCowCowCowCowCowCow · January 13, 2016

Morgan let out a cheer, one of legitimate joy and excitement! The idiot had done something right! She could hardly believe it. "See that right there is how you do it folks! Dirk knows how tough this is gonna be, and he's finally using that brain of his! Watch guys, Dirk's pulling out all the stops to win this for me!" She grinned widely as she added that last part. It was always good to give the people the impression Dirk was fighting for her, would make it easier to influence things later on. In any case, she knew it was far from over. Tyson, based on power and magic, was more powerful than Dirk. But Morgan, for maybe the first time, was beginning to believe in Dirk.

She decided to input another poll for the heck of it. "Messy Hair Dirk or Well Kept Dirk"

"Now now Tyson" She said in a sing-song voice. "You can't be mad at Dirk for doing the smart thing. This isn't just a battle of brute strength, right Gerald?" Hmm? What's this now. Gerald seemed...distracted. Turning off her mic for a moment she leaned towards him. "Say, something on your mind?"

Dad · January 13, 2016

Gerald was coming out of his mental message when Morgan struck him with a question.

"Say, something on your mind?"

He faked a smile, sitting up in his chair. A quick glance to his computer screen, and then he turned back to Morgan. "Not at all, my dear. In fact, I dare say this is the best viewing we've had of Tyson versus Dirk," he said noting the number of viewers on the counter below his monitor. "Seventeen million! Marvelous, wouldn't you agree?" he said quickly.

"And you," he said straightening his tie. "Are doing a fantastic job, commentating. Frankly, your co-host has been silent, and I'd love to hear his thoughts about seeing an angel and a demon fight. Isn't that interesting, Saul?" he called over to the giant, prompting Morgan to shift her gaze.

Quickly returning to his microphone, he flipped a switch, turning it back on.

"It appears that the battle is just getting started! Tyson has turned up the heat, and Dirk has stepped into the spotlight! Who will emerge victorious!? Our latest polls show a fifty percent split between Tyson and Dirk's favoritism! We enjoy hearing from you! Keep sending us those votes!"

Steph stepped in, adding to Gerald's thoughts. "That's right Gerald. We love hearing from the fans. One of our viewers--Hotstreak49-- Twitted the following.

'Tyson's a baaaaaaaaaad dude! I don't know who this Howler guy was, but he put the hurtin' on him! #TysonWin'

Another viewer--LadyKiller<369--Twitted,

'Tyson is all talk and no talent. Dirk has the moves and the technique to back it up. Bring it home lightslinger! #DirkWin'

Lightslinger huh? That's a new nickname for Dirk."

Gerald chuckled heartily into the microphone. "How creative! This gives me an idea for a new poll. Let's see what creative names can be made for currently involved contestants! The winner of the Contestant Nickname contest will receive front row tickets and an all exclusive paid trip to the Golden Gate hotel, with seats for the final event! Send 'em in folks!" he said turning off his microphone. Leaning back in his chair, Gerald kept his eyes on the match between Tyson and Dirk.

His eyes focused on the battle, but his mind wandered. "What could I have missed?"

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Golden Gate Empire [IC / No Longer Accepting / PG - 16]

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