# Daikessoshen



## Davies (Sep 20, 2021)

*Introduction*

It's really sort of ingenious, in its own way. That way, unfortunately, is a cruel and merciless way, and has other problems besides that. But I can't say that it's not clever.

We start with the individual who's sponsoring this tournament, whose best-known alias can be translated into English as 'Thunder Dragon'. He's ruled the nation of Bhutan for twenty-three years, now. A whole generation of the Bhutanese have known no other life than his rule. There has never been any serious opposition to that rule, no rebellions or coup attempts. But there is well-hidden dissatisfaction with the fact that the nation is ruled by someone who makes no pretense of respect for those over whom he reigns. But the dissatisfaction is not so well-hidden as to completely escape Thunder Dragon's notice and is something he must deal with in some way.

The way he chooses to deal with it is to sponsor a tournament of martial arts, whose victor is given the chance to fight Thunder Dragon himself. The champion doesn't even have to defeat the ruler of Bhutan, merely strike him a meaningful blow. If they accomplish this, Thunder Dragon will grant them any one wish that lies within his power. And he has quietly and subtly made it known that one such wish that might be granted would be for him to abandon the throne and leave Earth again.

The dissatisfaction I mentioned? It turns into hope, specifically hope that someone can manage this deed and that the current circumstances of Bhutan can change. Whether that change is a reversion to the monarchy that existed before Thunder Dragon usurped the throne, to a Western-style democracy, or to some other form of dictatorship, that all depends on the character of the person who hopes. Hope, unfortunately, is not the absolute positive that some people think.

But there's even more to the situation than what I've said. First, not just anyone is allowed to walk in off the street and take part in this Tournament, named after a similar exhibition in a Japanese comic book that Thunder Dragon apparently enjoyed reading. There is the question of an entrance fee. I'm honestly not sure how much he demands from those who want to take part, but it's enough that most of them needed to obtain corporate sponsorship in order to pay it. All that money – or nearly all – will be funneled into Bhutan's development, rather than being used for Thunder Dragon's vanity. He does have some admirable qualities, I'll admit.

The same is true, to a degree, of all the money that's coming in from those who've come to spectate, or who are purchasing the streaming rights to this event. This alone is probably enough to cover the expenses of the construction of the arena where this is all taking place, even though it covers six hectares and has some decidedly super-technological improvements that no other venue in the world possesses, like the force field dome that I'm looking through right now, about five miles below my present altitude. I think even those who admire Thunder Dragon will have to admit that this constitutes a vanity project.

Right now, the ruler is standing in his (also force field protected) box and addressing the crowds who have gathered to watch the start of these 'festivities', and he looks very pleased with himself. (I can't hear what he's saying, of course, but then most of his audience can't do so either. What they're hearing are translations piped in through their earbuds.) He's stripped to the waist, as he usually is, wearing only his pants and forearm bracers, with a pair of sandals for footwear.

As it happens, he is not alone in the box. Seated in a chair only slightly less ostentatious than his own throne-like seat, to his left, is one Shaitan Topaz, whom he placed under his protection earlier this year. She doesn't look anywhere nearly as happy as he does, dressed as she is in a blue blouse and red skirt, completely unlike the black garments that she's usually been seen wearing. I'd probably feel sorrier for her if I didn't know that she's the agent of a regime that makes Thunder Dragon's rule over Bhutan seem enlightened and merciful.

Well, if I'm reading his lips right, he's coming to the end of his oration, and it's time for me to make my move. I move downward, towards the force dome, keeping up that speed even when it looks like I'm about to smash into its surface. Fortunately, the technical specifications we were able to obtain aren't misleading, and the instant before I would strike the dome, a hole wide enough to admit me opens within it, and I'm able to slow down enough so that I only land with a moderately loud noise on the ground floor of the arena, lifting my face and looking up at Thunder Dragon as I do. Now that I'm in hearing range, I can hear all the many ways that my name is said by the people gathered in the seats surrounding the arena. I won't deny that there's something thrilling about that sort of recognition. But I'm only concerned with the reaction of one individual, who's stopped orating and is glaring down at me.

"Paragon," he says, in perfect English.

"Thunder Dragon," I reply.

"The deadline for admissions was some time ago," he says, with a calm that he clearly doesn't feel. "Should you wish to hold a brief exhibition match before the Tournament begins, I would be more than happy to –"

"No," I interrupt. "That's not why I'm here. I haven't come to participate in this … sport of yours, nor have I come to put a stop to it. Whatever my personal opinions of them, I accept that these things are going to happen." I pause, to let that sink in and let the translators express it for the rest of the audience. "But if that is so, then they're going to happen with some slight oversight to prevent them from becoming a complete bloodbath."

"And what exactly –" he starts to ask.

Before he can finish the sentence, I fish the tiny star-shaped device out of my belt pouch and toss it on the floor in front of me. It's one of Donna's devices, so I can't claim to understand the theory behind it. What I do understand is the effect it has. A moment after it leaves my hand, a teleportal lasting about a second or so opens, and someone steps out of it, moving from the Argo's current position to here in a flash of light. She stands in front of me, in a suit almost as red as my own, and looks around with an expression on her face that shows an even greater level of disgust than I'm feeling right now.

"I am the Lancet," she says after a moment. "And no one is going to die here. I realize that may interfere with your enjoyment of these proceedings. I would express my regrets for that if I felt any. *No one is going to die here,*" she repeats. "You may take whatever sick pleasure you wish in the fact that my treatment might make them wish for death. I would express my regrets, for that, as well."

With that, she falls silent, and we both look up at Thunder Dragon. I'm honestly not sure what he's going to do, now. Well, if he decides that he doesn't want this, we're going to have that exhibition match regardless of what I said earlier, and I think he knows that. We've fought seven times, and only twice did results reach an actual conclusion. In neither of those instances did he come out the winner, and I wonder whether he wants to see what will happen if we fight somewhere that some of my advantages don't apply. I look up at him, and he looks down at me. In as much as the roar of the crowd permits, silence descends.

"Very well," he says, after a moment. "I judge this to be an admirable addition to these events. Thank you."

He doesn't look very thankful, but he's agreed, and we are on our way. The Lancet looks back towards me and offers a polite nod before she starts walking towards one of the arena floor's exits. I prepare to depart as well.

"But on reflection," Thunder Dragon continues after a moment, stopping me before I lift off, "I think that there is another admirable addition to be made. Yes … yes, now that I have had the opportunity to consider, it seems to me that it is hardly just that I will be the only one made to pay a penalty for my defeat, should it happen that I lose the ultimate match of this tournament. Therefore, I now declare that at the end of each of these conflicts, the victor of each match may demand a boon from the vanquished, which must be granted if it is within their power to do so. " His voice goes lower, colder. "And should the loser refuse this demand, they will face my immediate displeasure."

This is both unexpected and greatly unpleasant. It's bad enough that four people I know and like, as well as others I haven't had the pleasure of meeting but have heard good things about, are putting their bodies at risk in this monstrous fiasco, but now they could have demands made of them that are potentially even more contemptible. What I want is to put a stop to this, immediately. And of course, what will come of that is exactly what Thunder Dragon wants, right now.

He's gotten a lot more cunning than he was the first time we clashed.

I take a deep breath. "My best wishes to all who participate in this event," I say, lying through my teeth. And with that remark, I fly up and away from this game of deceit -- if not of death, as the Lancet has promised.

And with that, the Strongest Under Heaven Martial Arts Tournament is officially under way.

*The Contenders*
Amari
The Avatar
Bravo
Fuego
Ibuki Kruger
Li Zuwen
Logan Stormstrider
Prydwen
Luis Almeida
Rocco Christopher
Sheng Long
Sun Wukong
Talante
Tarmund the Hunter
Trijata
Trouble


Side ASide BRound 1Round 2Round 3Round 4Round 3Round 2Round 1Match 1: 
Prydwen vs.Match 1:
Ibuki vs.TalanteMatch I:
TalanteMatch I:
"Ibuki"TrijataMatch 2:
Almeida vs.vs.A Side Semifinal:
Winner, Match IB Side Semifinal
Winner, Match Ivs.Match 2:
Tarmund vs.BravoBravovs.Finals:
Side A vs. Side B.vs.AmariAmariMatch 3:
Logan vs.Winner, Match IIWinner Fights
Thunder DragonWinner, Match IIMatch 3:
Fuego vs.Sun WukongMatch II:
WukongMatch II:
Winner, Match 3TroubleMatch 4:
Zuwen vs.vs.vs.Match 4:
Sheng Long vs.RoccoWinner, Match 4Winner, Match 4The Avatar


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## Voltron64 (Sep 20, 2021)

Well then...let the games begin.


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## Davies (Sep 20, 2021)

House Rules in Effect.

* Any Feint or Demoralize maneuver can be performed as a move action instead of a standard one if the character accepts a -5 penalty to their check.

* Only one attack bonus adjusting maneuver (Accurate Attack, All-Out Attack, Defensive Attack, or Power Attack) can be used on any given attack. 

* Initiative is rerolled every round, and a natural 20 on an Initiative roll allows the character to make a Surprise Attack on the subsequent round of combat. (In the unlikely event of two natural 20s on Initiative, the character with the higher total gets a Surprise Attack; if it's tied, nobody does.) 

* If a Hero Point reroll on an attack roll produces a 20, even if it is not a natural 20, it still counts as a threat.

* If using the Defend maneuver, and a natural 20 is rolled on the Defend check, a character can make an additional standard action, usually used for an immediate counterattack on whoever just attacked you (sometimes called a Riposte). Note that a roll of 10 (adding 10 as usual for a Defend action) does _not_ count as a natural 20 for these purposes, unless a Hero Point is spent before the roll, also allowing a reroll.

* The DC for any resistance check is 15+effect rank, rather than 10+effect value. The DC to overcome a condition is still 10+effect rank, _but_ overcoming a condition requires the afflicted character to take a Recover action, unless the condition has an Instant Recovery flaw.  (Exception: Conditions that have a built-in automatic recovery, such as those resulting from Feints, Demoralizes or Damage, work the same as they did before.)

* A character does _not_ get an automatic check to overcome conditions at the end of their turn, _but_ you can spend a Hero Point to get an additional Recovery action in a conflict, in addition to a Hero Point _automatically_ removing dazed, fatigued and stunned or converting exhausted into fatigued.

* A Damage effect with the Alternate Resistance extra inflicts a -1 cumulative penalty to all subsequent resistance checks of that type on a failure, not to Toughness resistance checks, and it is therefore always a +1 per rank extra for those effects.

* (Specific to the tournament.) All competitors start out with 1 Hero Point, plus 1 additional Hero Point per PL their opponent has over them. Additional Hero Points may be triggered by Complications as usual. Unspent Hero Points do not transfer to subsequent fights.


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## Davies (Sep 21, 2021)

A few minutes after Paragon has quit the scene, the first match of the tournament is ready to begin. Television displays across the stadium inform the audience about the contenders for this match. In one corner of the octagonal shaped arena stands Prydwen, British vigilante and recent addition to the ranks of the Powerhouse, a shield-wielding superheroine -- sponsored by a donor who preferred to remain anonymous. In the other, the mystery woman Talante, supposedly a renegade from the hidden city of Hespera, who had apparently paid her own entry fee.

"You and your girlfriends reaaaalllly owe me one for this, playboy," says Isekai no Miko, the Warpwitch, as she fans herself while watching all this from the box she received as a complimentary offer following her underwriting of a certain entry fee. (The fanning is unnecessary, as the box is air conditioned, but she has a fan, and doesn't feel moved to smack anyone with it just yet.)

Ordinarily, Nick Grey would offer a polite demurral to that identification, but at the moment, he's too concerned about the potential injury and humiliation that one of his closest friends might potentially suffer to really pay much heed to what he's hearing. He closes his eyes, reminds himself to believe in someone who has, so many times already, believed in him against all odd, and forces himself to calm. With that battle against himself completed, he feels able to turn and regard her, preparatory to answering her comment, but what he sees there makes him hesitate. "Um ... do you not like the chairs that are being provided?" he asks her.

"I like this chair," she answers firmly, as she sits, one leg crossed over the other, atop the back of a young man about the same age as Nick, and with a similar taste in wardrobe, who is on his hands and knees on the box's floor. This does not seem to be his choice of entertainment, exactly.

"Okay, then," says Nick, who has seen much weirder things in his time on Earth.

Below, the two combatants have slowly walked towards each other, one dressed in casual clothes and holding a spear of a bronze-colored metal in two thick hands, the other carrying a shield larger than she herself strapped to one arm.

"I have heard of you," says Talante after a moment, while the timer clicks down to the official start of the match.

"And I of you," replies Prydwen.

"Neither of us belongs in this world and time," says the former queen. "I suppose there's much else we have in common."

"No," says the Lioness of Britain. "I don't think we could possibly _be_ any more different."

In the closing seconds of the count, Talante actually manages a smile. "Thank you for that honesty," she says through clenched teeth.

"You're welcome," says Prydwen under the sound of the buzzer that starts the match, and in the next second, she slams her massive shield forward as though it weighed as little as a boxing glove, smashing into Talante's unguarded side and knocking her back several steps.

"So much for chivalry!" snaps Talante as she recovers enough to drive her spear point forward towards Prydwen in a series of jabs, meant less to hurt than to judge how swiftly her opponent can shift the shield to intercept each of them. 

"That concept belongs to a later era than mine," her opponent replies, blocking each thrust easily. The answer seems to be, swiftly enough.

Talante shifts stances, now swinging her spear like a knife attached to a lengthy hilt. "I have heard of your choice of companions, as well," she growls. "Can you shield them as well as you do yourself? At all hours?"

Prydwen flinches at that threat, touching as it does on the one thing she truly fears. The flinch proves nearly deadly, for one swing of the spear slips past her shield's edge to pierce through her armor, and spoiling her aim as she tries to answer the blow with another strike of her shield. Seizing the moment, Talante drives a second thrust home along the same angle, with Pyrdwen barely managing to avoid being impaled on the point of the spear.

She turtles, then, stepping completely behind the shield's barrier, making it as impossible for Talante to strike past it as it would be to strike through it. But her words can still strike blows. "That's what always comes of the strong trying to shelter the weak," Talante sneers. "They drag you down with them when they inevitably fall."

Behind the shield, Prydwen feels her body work to heal the cuts she's just taken, and takes a deep breath -- much like she's seen someone else do, so many times -- before a smile settles on her face. "I was right. We couldn't be any more different."

And with that remark, she slams the shield's lower edge to the ground and uses it as a pole to vault upwards, making Talante think that she'll come down atop her head so that the fallen queen tries to stab upwards, then landing on the arena floor before her. With a twist of the shield, she strikes upwards at the forearms holding the spear aloft, knocking it out of Talante's hands. _Then_ she drives a punch upwards towards her opponent's chin.

Talante reels with the blow, but her eyes are still focused and alert, even after Prydwen follows up with another shield strike to Talante's no-longer guarded side. She rolls with the blow, letting it carry her to where the spear has fallen, so that she can snatch it up once more and make it ready for another attack. Shifting her stance so that Prydwen's next attempt at a shield bash misses widely, she finds another opening in her guard to strike at her still-wounded foe.

Prydwen grimly considers her options. Taking the spear away _again_ might work, but it's a move that she'll be expecting. Therefore, strike at a different target. And with that, she launches a kick at Talante's legs, hoping to put her off her feet long enough to settle this. She suppresses a curse when Talante practically bounces back to a standing position, with that stifled protest turning into a sharp gasp of pain as her opponent manages to strike a telling blow.

It comes to her that she's not going to win this fight, and she focuses on defense, tries to let herself heal again -- but Talante follows up that successful strike with another one that slams past the shield and into her chest. She's falling and is out before she hits the ground.

Talante stares at her fallen adversary, hands still clenching the spear in a way that suggests that she intends to finish this.

"Enough," says a voice from behind her.

She doesn't look back, but does lower her spear.

"Congratulations on your victory," says the voice of Thunder Dragon, echoing through the arena. "What boon would you claim?"

"Nothing," says Talante of the Serpent Soul. "I want _nothing_ she has to give me." And with that, she walks away from the scene of this fight, with queenly stride.





> Side A, Match 1: Prydwen vs Talante
> 
> Prydwen: Initiative +11, Unarmed +11 (Damage DC 21), Sword +11 (Damage DC 24, Crit 19-20), Shield +12 (Damage DC 23), Dodge 11 (21), Parry 11 (21), Fortitude 10, Toughness 9, Will 10, Acrobatics +13, Insight +12, Intimidation +10.
> Hero Points: 3
> ...


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## Davies (Sep 21, 2021)

*Interlude*

She awakens to agony greater than that which sent her spiraling down into the darkness; for a few moments, the notion of returning there is a most seductive option. Then the steely will that has carried Siwan ferch Art -- Johanna to her friends, Prydwen to everyone else -- through battles unnumbered reasserts itself, and her eyes blink open. "Blech," is her first choice of words.

"Welcome back," says the Lancet, inspecting her injuries carefully.

"That really is a very painful method you have there," Prydwen says after a moment. "Have you considered dosing your patients with analgesics before employing it?"

"No. I have not," says the medic. Very precisely.

"Ah."

Silence reigns for a moment, allowing Prydwen to examine her surroundings -- a table -- more of a bench, really -- within a grey room, with unadorned walls through which she can hear the sounds of running water. Close to the arena's physical plant, she expects. Useful if they have to take this place down. Then the Lancet completes her examination and steps away, allowing Nick to approach.

"I lost," she says, before he can say anything. "Do not try to mitigate that."

"I won't," he answers calmly.

"I should have kept the spear when I took it away from her," she continues. "I had a free hand, and keeping it away from her would have been the better course. Next time."

"Next time," he answers calmly.

Silence reigns again, as Prydwen gently drums a clenched fist against the top of the table where she's still resting. Not hard enough to make much noise, much less to inflict injury on herself. Her anger at herself is not self-destructive. Not yet. "I would not refuse a hug," she says at last.

She is given one.

_Elsewhere._

"Is this seat taken?"

The woman called Scathach looks up and to the side. "Oh," she says. "It's you."

Baron Khan blinks at her tone, or more accurately the lack of one. "Have we a quarrel, madam?"

She returns her gaze to the arena, currently being cleaned and prepared for the next conflict. "No," she says at last. "I suppose not. Those who tried to assault my castle during that ugly little war were sent by others, though I expect you told their masters where to look. The seat is not taken."

He neither confirms nor denies her expectation as he takes the seat.

"Your presence here is surprising," Scathach adds a moment later. "I had heard you were in America."

"Until an hour or so ago, I was," he replies cordially. "But one might say that I have a rather substantial wager riding on the outcome of these games."

She eyes the so-called Baron when he says that, but does not press further. That would be rude, and though she expects she's going to have to kill him eventually, rudeness would never do.

_Elsewhere yet._

Jigme Lhaden is an air traffic controller; therefore, he speaks English. It is for that reason that he has been called down from his post in the tower at Taro International Airport to assist security, since the person with whom they are dealing speaks no language that they do, but is clearly European, so they're assuming she speaks English.

There's just one problem. "That's not English," he informs the bruised looking men who are holding the young woman down. "I think it's German. Let me try. Hello?" he says in English, speaking very slowly. "Do ... you ... speak ... English?"

"Yes!" she snaps. "What is going on here? I was just off my plane when someone jumped me and knocked me out and then I wake up and these goons are trying --"

"Who are you?"

"My name is Ibuki, and I'm supposed to be fighting someone in like five minutes!"


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## Davies (Sep 22, 2021)

_This,_ thinks Trijata, _is unfair._ It is, unusually for such considerations, not thought in anger, but in regret and sorrow.

She knows of the young woman in a tanktop and blue jeans who stands across the octagon from where she herself presently stands. After learning of all those who are meant to compete in this affair, she took the time to learn as much about each of them as possible, so that she would be somewhat prepared for whoever she was told to fight. And what she has learned of her opponent saddens her.

They are demanding that she fight a child who plays at being a superhero -- a tag-along, really -- and one whose superpower status has never truly been established. She seemed competent in the handful of videos Trijata was able to watch, but not truly extraordinary. And now she is here, caught up in this nonsense, sponsored by a Russian billionaire, of all things. This is someone's idea of a very cruel joke. It must be.

Well, what must be, must be. With that thought in mind, she walks out to the center of the octagon as the countdown enters its final seconds, matching the pace of the young woman she's about to hurt badly. At last, they stand a few feet apart. Trijata feels no urge for the pre-fight banter she witnessed in the first match, but something must be said. "I will make this as painless as possible," she promises.

The girl blinks. "Oh, are you surrendering, then?"

Ah, youth. She shakes her head as the count reaches one.

"O-K," Ibuki says as it reaches zero.

Because of Trijata's speed and grace, she is in the unique position of being able to _perceive_ what happens next, despite being unable to _react_ to it. In the instant that the buzzer sounds, the young woman before her makes a standing high jump of perhaps two meters in height, twisting as her descent begins so that her right leg slams into Trijata's left shoulder, knocking her opponent to her knees, before summersaulting backwards and landing as lightly as a feather, then dropping into a defensive stance, all in the space of an eyeblink. Trijata, thrown far off balance, retaliates with a crouching leg sweep that barely manages to graze her opponent's shin.

_Nothing_ in what she's seen would lead Trijata to think that this person was capable of any of that, much less of the perfectly executed fake right that covers a left-handed uppercut to Trijata's jaw that follws it up. One thought echoes in Trijata's mind as she considers this.

_This is not a human being._

In which case, mercy is misplaced. Therefore, she shifts the illusion surrounding herself so that her claws and teeth cut through it, and swipes downward like the tigress in her soul. To no avail, for the enemy dances out of reach like an apsara, though doing so means that she's overextended when next her high kick strikes against Trijata's breast -- there is no force behind it.

And Trijata knows this dance as well, and gambols past the enemy to strike in passing, and feel the satisfaction of a well-placed strike against an enemy that she hasn't allowed herself to enjoy in far too long. The smirk on the girl's face is gone, now, replaced by -- _Where is the fear?_ Trijata abruptly asks herself, seeing annoyance in its place.

She lashes out with both hands, leaving herself wide open, and Ibuki's new wound leaves her unable to expoit that opening well. Yet a suspicion begins to emerge in Trijata's mind, and with that, she commits to an attack she would never normally voluntarily attempt against any opponent, human or not, lashing out at the young woman's _face._

The act betrays her, for her opponent can see it coming, and knows -- _must_ know -- what it means. With all the strength in her body, she answers with an elbow to the side of Trijata's face, and a knee blow to her chest in the next moment.

Again, in the fading moments of Trijata's consciousness, her thought is, _This is unfair._ There is still no anger. There is no energy for that.

Breathing heavily, Ibuki Kruger stands over her fallen opponent, listening to the declaration of her victory. When Thunder Dragon asks, she answers, "I will ask my boon privately, so as not to embarrass a worthy opponent." And hoping -- there is no room for prayer in what she hopes is her soul -- that the touch of Trijata's claw on her face has not damaged the latex too much.



> Side B, Match 1: Ibuki Kruger vs. Trijata
> 
> "Ibuki": Initiative +14, Unarmed +15/+10 (Damage DC 22, Crit 18-20), Dodge 14 (24), Parry 14 (24), Fortitude 9, Toughness 8/6, Will 9, Acrobatics +12, Deception +13, Insight +10, Intimidation +8.
> Hero Points: 1
> ...


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## Voltron64 (Sep 22, 2021)

_"...come at night, little children sleepy tight."_

(As if the +14 Initiative didn't tip me off.)


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## Davies (Sep 22, 2021)

*Interlude*

When her eyes clear once more, Trijata needs to use all the mindfulness she's ever studied to contain her urge to start shouting at the person whom she can clearly see standing just behind the Lancet. There are many things she wants to say to this person, and, honestly, things she wants to say _about_ them to anyone within earshot.

Before she can do so, though, the person wearing Ibuki's face speaks up. "Can I speak to her alone, please?" Expressed so diffidently, with such a winsome expression on her face. All the same, the Lancet regards her skeptically for a moment, before nodding sharply and heading out through the room's door.

Trijata opens her mouth.

"I am presently known as Baba Yaga," says the false Ibuki, speaking without a trace of diffidence or winsomeness. "I infiltrated this tournament to support efforts to have Thunder Dragon removed from power. If you believe your motives are more worthy, by all means, expose me."

Trijata closes her mouth, and lets out a long exhalation. "Where is the person you're imitating?" she asks after some consideration.

Is she imagining a slight softening in the expression of the mask this woman wears? "At the airport, trying to convince security that she's neither a lunatic nor an impostor. Uncomfortable, but not as painful as she would have found a fight with you." An unspoken question hangs in the air after she finishes speaking.

"I have heard of you," Trijata says. "Do you think you can win this?"

"The future's not ours to see," Baba Yaga answers. "But I can try."

Trijata lets her human semblance slip completely, and sees the complete absence of surprise on her former opponent's face. "And that's the boon you want to ask? My silence?"

The other woman nods.

"Agreed," Trijata says at last, looking away.

With a nod, the spy turns to go.

"Are you a rakshasi?" Trijata asks on an impulse no amount of mindfulness can withstand.

Baba Yaga pauses at the doorway. "I doubt it," she replies after a moment of her own, without looking back. "It wouldn't be the strangest notion. But I think I'm more of a noppera-bō." And with that confusing statement, she departs.


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## Davies (Sep 23, 2021)

_The armor slows him down,_ Luis Almeida thinks as he spends the moments before the buzzer rings studying his opponent. _But it protects him, and it doesn't slow him as much as I'd expect. And even with it, he's better on the attack than I can hope to be. And I think he knows it._

He only knows the mercenary known as Bravo by reputation. Their paths have never crossed before this. And yet that reputation seems richly deserved at the moment, even if it led him to expect someone taller. Luis _has_ met Bravo's most notorious opponent, recently and in the not so recent past, and this person is no more than a few centimeters taller than Trouble, even with the armor.

Luis has a reputation, too. He considers some repartee before the action starts, but decides that it would be wasted on this opponent. Instead, he offers Bravo a polite nod -- which goes unreturned -- and waits down to the last seccond. However much the armor slows Bravo down, it clearly doesn't stop the other fighter from striking first in the opening salvo. Bravo drops and rolls into a handstand that permits a sharp kick upwards at Luis' jaw, an unorthodox move that sends Luis reeling back and keeps his own corkscrew punch from striking. 

But the tempo of the battle swings back towards Luis, and he launches his recently developed Hit Secreto -- the punch that defies the laws of physics, lashing out and retracting faster than the eye can see. Whatever enhancements Bravo's vision might possess, they aren't enough to see or block that blow. Unfortunately, Luis can't quite place it as he'd like, so the armor soaks up almost all of the impact, and --

_Something about the way the other fighter is standing shifts._

The kick that comes around at Luis' side is _almost_ as fast as the Hit Secreto, and perhaps better placed. As is the deceptive low blow that follows it up a moment later, making stars dance in Luis' perception. He can't take many more of those. He lashes out with what he prays is a Hit Secreto that will strike a vulnerable spot --

-- and sees Bravo block it with an arm, but cannot bring himself to believe the sight. The arm seems to move more slowly afterwards, but that was a technique that could not be blocked. And no matter how slowly it moves, the armored arm is able to strike down at Luis' leading hip, slowing him enough that his own attempt to feint and deliver a telling blow is foiled.

And in the instant after Luis senses another shift in his opponent's stance, he sees, but again cannot believe that he is seeing, Bravo's uninjured arm fold up in the way that he recognizes from all the times he practiced the move before a mirror, the way that his own arm moves as the Hit Secreto is about to be delivered.

It is delivered, striking Luis in the sternum, and followed up by a roundhouse that sends him to the arena floor. 

Somewhat to his own amazement, Luis is not completely out. He is in too much pain to move, of course, but he still holds on to shreds of self-awareness. And so he can hear Thunder Dragon's voice asking what boon Bravo would ask, and even dimly see the other fighter leaning over him.

And he hears, lightly muted, a synthesized voice declaring, "Your next movie will be filmed on location in the glorious Empire of Korea."

That is what he carries with him, down into the darkness.



> Side A, Match 2: Luis Almeida vs. Bravo
> 
> Luis Almeida: Initiative +11, Unarmed +15 (Close Damage DC18), Hit Secreto -- (Close Damage 20), Dodge 15 (25), Parry 14 (24), Fortitude 6, Toughness 5/3, Will 8, Acrobatics +14, Athletics +13, Insight +11, Intimidation +10.
> Hero Points: 2
> ...


----------



## Davies (Sep 23, 2021)

*Interlude*

By the finale of the third match, Shaitan Topaz has reached the limits of her patience -- which has never really numbered among her qualities, in any event. "I need to use the lavatory," she says, rising from her chair.

"There's one at the back of the box," Thunder Dragon says in return, not taking his eyes off the screen he's observing, which presents a replay of that last bout in slow motion.

She holds back from expressing her frustration verbally. "And having used that, I need to get some fresh air."

_Now_ the monster who has declared her to be under his protection looks up. "I am truly curious -- do hostages _normally_ get to ask for fresh air, in the Imperium?" he asks, something like a grin animating his features.

Shaitan simply glares at him in silence.

"Please yourself," he says with a shrug, returning to his studies. "I take no responsibility if your wanderings through my arena inspire one or another of our guests to attempt to make you _their_ hostage."

"I am not without resources," she says, hand going to the hilt attached to her skirt's waistline. He'd returned it to her when they arrived, said it would be expected that she have it. She hasn't tested it for functionality yet. If it has been sabotaged, she doesn't really want to know.

Regardless, he doesn't answer her last words, and she turns to walk out of the box's rear entry. Despite what he said, the passages beyond are largely empty, with only a few people passing through on the sort of errand in which she is supposedly engaged, often in small groups who babble animatedly about the wonders that they've seen. None of them approach her.

"Hello," says a voice from behind her. It is distinctive in that it addresses her in a proper language.

_None who are sane,_ she amends her earlier thought, and turns to regard her nemesis. Logan Stormstrider, ironically, has changed his usual white toga and trousers for a black blouse and pants. She doesn't answer his greeting, just glares at him.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

"Dispense with such pleasantries, caitiff," she says at last. "Why are you here?"

"Everyone has to be somewhere."

"I am not making philosophical inquiries, dolt," says Shaitan, finally raising her voice a bit. "Why are you taking part in this absurdity? No, on second thought, let me save you the trouble of answering. You plan to ask _him_ to make me your prisoner, instead of his, or instead of that deserter Marine's."

"No," he says, patiently. "If I manage to win this, I'm going to ask him to give you your freedom."

She stares at him, then lets out what she fears might sound a bit like hysterical laughter. "You ... you utter varlet," she says when she calms down slightly. "Lest you forget, 'Stormstrider', I have seen your notions of 'freedom'. I have walked through the ruins of Gelesh." She sees him flinch, and takes pleasure in the sight. "None of your supposed friends know about that, do they? None know that their dear compatriot helped to author the death of _thirty thousand_ civilians --" She plans to give the full litany.

Logan interrupts. "Six thousand," he says. "Six thousand, one hundred and forty-seven civilians on Gelesh."

She stares at him in silence. "What nonsense and tomfoolery are you spouting?" she finally asks.

"That's the number we weren't able to save," he says. "The rest we got out of the city before the reactor exploded. We even broadcast, on all frequencies, that it was going to explode, so any military assets who stayed there chose to do so."

"You're lying," she says. "You would say anything --"

"You are a mind reader," he says, raising his own voice. "Read my mind and tell me if I speak the truth."

Shaitan starts to back away, not really realizing that's what she does. "I won't be tricked like this. I won't. Even if you are revealing some sort of truth, it doesn't matter, saving them from a disaster you helped to cause, you killed my master --"

"The Grand Inquisitor set the reactor to go critical."

Words fail her. In an instant, she seizes his mind and rips through it, preparing to tear it to shreds when she's done. And in that instant, she knows all that is Logan Williams.

"You are not lying," she says, when she can speak.

"No," he says. "I am not." He takes a step towards her.

"_Stay away from me!_" Shaitan shrieks, and flees.

"What the *frack* are you doing?" demands someone from behind Logan. He turns to regard Khezar Lansam, who has also adopted Bhutanese dress as disguise, and is staring at him in stupefaction.

"I'm glad you like that TV show, but could you maybe think twice about adopting its idioms?" he asks, mildly. It doesn't help matters that she looks quite a bit like its heroine.

She ignores that. "You just told the Insurgency's biggest secret to one of its worst enemies! What are you thinking -- no, with _what_ are you thinking?"

"I think this is what the Source wants me to do," he says, still mildly.

"The Source doesn't _want_ things! That's not how the Source works! If you really think that the Source is talking to you, boyo, you've got bigger problems than a crazy woman you want to help for whatever stupid --"

"Probably," says Logan, nodding sadly. "Probably."

Both of them are focused enough on their own conversation that they do not notice that they are being observed by another party.


----------



## Voltron64 (Sep 23, 2021)

Davies said:


> She ignores that. "You just told the Insurgency's biggest secret to one of its worst enemies! What are you thinking -- no, with _what_ are you thinking?"



And in the process, setting the stage for the defection of a very high ranking Imperium operative to the Resistance. Geez Khezar, look at the long game...


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## Davies (Sep 23, 2021)

Unfortunately, she's not convinced that's his goal, here, hence her choice of question.


----------



## Davies (Sep 24, 2021)

"So I hear you're a bounty hunter," says Amari, gazing up at the giant she's expected to fight.

She's not really sure why Hodan Yasin approached her about participating in this event, which required her to take a months-long boat trip and a weeks-long bus trip just to get here. (Not for the first time, Amari regrets the way that she messes up airplane instrumentation.) But now that she _is_ here, and has learned the nature of what she's meant to fight, she accepts it with the same light heart she accepts most everything else.

"That's right," says Tarmund the Hunter, smirking down at what he thinks of as easy prey.

"Hm. Not a fan. So, maybe you could make this a little more fair, and not use that big axe of yours?" she asks.

The smirk goes away, turning into a scowl. "I'm doing all of you enough of a favor by not wearing my body armor, Earthling." 

"That's not really doing _me_ any favors. Some of the boys and girls in the audience, sure, but not me, sorry. But okay," she says as the timer counts down the final seconds. "You had a chance, though."

And when the buzzer sounds, as Tarmund brings up the axe he refused to surrender, Amari drops down and punches the floor of the arena with all of her might. The ground rumbles, throwing Tarmund off his stance. "Tremor?" he asks. "You think I'm scared of tremors, little girl? _I marched with those who shatter worlds!_"

"Then I guess I better take you _real_ serious," Amari answers. She leaves herself wide open as she bounds up to grab hold of that section of the axe's hilt that her opponent's hands don't cover and yanks it out of his hands, making gravity her ally as the weapon slides out of his hands, then grabbing it so that it's held firmly in her own.

Tarmund's eyes go wide. "Give that back this instant, girl, and I might not k--"

She doesn't bother to listen to the threat, lashing out with a swing of the axe that would have cut him wide open had he not ducked back at the last moment. "I told you," she says aloud. "You had a chance."

The hunter furiously tries to knock it out of her hands, as she did to him, but her grip is just that much stronger or his angle of attack is just that much worse. Regardless, she maintains her hold of the axe, and almost laughs at his attempt to set up another such try while cutting at his arms for the affront. She's shaken him, mentally and physically, and though she thinks this still won't be easy, the battlefield tilts in her favor. 

He lashes out with a punch; she cuts him. He tries to wrestle her; she cuts him. At last, she cuts him one time too often, and the pain makes him collapse. That's good, for her own arms are starting to ache from the stress of wielding this unfamiliar weapon, and she lets it fall.

"What boon do you ask?" calls Thunder Dragon's voice, as the Lancet and her newly-recruited orderlies come out to stop the bleeding.

She's smiling as she says it, staring up at him. "Get off my planet," she says.

And in the stands above, Baron Khan smiles coldly. "It seems I've won that bet."




> Side B, Match 2: Amari vs. Tarmund
> 
> Tarmund the Hunter: Initiative +10, Unarmed +8 (Damage DC 22), Starforged Axe +14 (Damage DC 25, Crit 16-20), Dodge 10 (DC 20), Parry 12 (DC 22), Fortitude 13, Toughness 10/8, Will 8, Acrobatics +12, Athletics +13, Insight +8, Intimidation +11.
> Hero Points: 1
> ...


----------



## Voltron64 (Sep 24, 2021)

I expected Amari to snap Tarmund’s axe in two and beat him with just her bare fists, but this works too.


----------



## Davies (Sep 24, 2021)

*Interlude*

In a room set aside for sparring, Lonnie Lawson takes a deep breath and steps back out of stance. "Okay," he says. "I think we've gotten in all the practice that'll be useful before your match. Are you _sure_ you want to do things this way?"

The entity known as the Avatar nods calmly. "I am. This is the best way for me to learn, I think. I am not sure of my chances, but that is itself an experience that presents a number of points of interest. Thank you, Lonnie."

Lonnie marvels for a moment at how much this strange being from another reality has already changed and grown in the few years that he's been walking up and down on the Earth. At the start of their time together, he never would have said things like 'thank you'.

"What do you think of my chances, Lonnie?" The question is asked not with any apprehension, but with simple curiosity. "You have seen more encounters than I, and are, I think, a better judge."

Lonnie lets out a sigh. "I dunno, Av," he says, not really noting the way that his companion has stopped looking in his direction and is watching something enter the room from the far door, and approach them silently. "I mean, like I said, I've given you the best that I got, but you're going to be up against some really serious opposition, here. I mean, Trouble alone is probably the best fighter in the world --"

"Not so, there are many better," says a voice he recognizes from behind him.

Lonnie makes a choking noise before he slowly turns.

"Hello, Lonnie," says Trouble. "You look well."

For a dizzying moment, he wonders whether she always wears that particular plaid skirt, or whether this is a new one that looks just like the one she wore when he knew her. "Uh, hi," he manages to say.

"And you must be the Avatar," she says, looking past him.

"Hello," says the Avatar. "We've met before."

"... I don't really think of that as a meeting."

He considers. "I think I see your point."

"Hm. Well, I'd say that I'm looking forward to having a match with you, but the prospect of fighting someone with the power to alter molecular structure with a thought is honestly a bit daunting," says Trouble.

"I will not be using those powers in this series of events," says the Avatar.

Trouble blinks, and Lonnie knows her well enough to recognize the sheer shock that subtle gesture reveals. "Excuse me?" she says.

"I will not be using those powers in this series of events," he says again. "This is, I think, a test of the strength of the _body_, and it would make no sense to employ talents that derive from my _consciousness_. That would be, I think, a form of cheating." This is added in a somewhat lower tone, as a confidence.

"I see," says Trouble, sounding a bit dazed. "Normally, I would be inclined to argue against such a division of body and mind, but -- no, that's not important. You understand that others may not be as scrupulous about employing such talents?"

The Avatar shrugs. "I cannot control what others do, only what I myself do. Is this not one of the fundamental tenets of the philosophy that informs your heroism?" He doesn't wait for an answer. "Please excuse me, I need to perform a private biological function."

"So that's him," says Lonnie as he watches Trouble watching the Avatar stroll off towards the rest room. "I dunno what to tell you."

"You've taught him how to fight?" she asks.

"A few things, yeah."

Trouble looks at him with obvious amazement. "You taught a being with Paragon's physique the skills you learned from Darkwing, and you think he's going to have difficulties in this fight?"

Now Lonnie blinks. "Well, I mean, when you put it like _that_ --"


----------



## Davies (Sep 25, 2021)

Near to the start of their time together, old Eflas had told him that, despite what most in the Imperium believed, there were such things as gods. But he'd added that they were only people whose journey had brought them nearer to the Source than others, and should be respected but not revered, for however closer they might have already come, there was still always further to go. Despite that, Logan had never truly imagined that his own journey might bring him face to face with such a being.

And yet here he was, standing across an octagon from the Monkey King, complete with Compliant Gold-hooped Rod. _This,_ he said to himself, as he often did, _was not a good idea._

Yet when the time came, he walked steadily towards his opponent, who matched his course. The Monkey was smiling at him in what Logan _thought_ was a friendly manner, though he couldn't read the other well enough to judge if that was genuine or not. "I am prepared," he said.

"As am I," said Sun Wukong, in American-sounding English. His smile grew wider when Logan blinked in surprise at that, but he offered nothing further. No banter, no attempt at intimidation. Logan could tell that none of that was needed.

As the last seconds counted down, Logan lifted the hilt of his blade to a guard position, and ignited her with a flick of her switch. Greenish-blue light streaked forth, shining brighter than the lights of the arena. He drew in a breath as the count reached zero -- then struck forward with a fleche maneuver. To his amazement, he managed to sneak past the Monkey King's own guard, with the coruscating blade streaking across his opponent's unarmored left shoulder.

"Hah!" cried Wukong, jerking away from the blow. The reflexive retreat, if that was what it was, turned into a spin, slow enough to add no real force to the strike from the rod, yet making its course that much harder to avoid. Yet Logan's stance allowed him to back-step out of its path, though he could almost feel the air being driven before its blow.

Thus, when his opponent further shifted his spinning motion into a series of what looked like cartwheels, Logan found himself enough off balance to step into the path of that air, pushing him further onto his backfoot and wincing at the pain. He retained enough awareness to assume the ultimate defensive form that he'd been taught at the start of his journey, while still launching a half-hearted cut at the Monkey's leading leg.

It hit, and yet, just as with the shoulder, there was no sign of any damage at all. A vague memory that the Monkey King was made of stone came to him. _But I can cut through stone,_ he thought. _So then --_

Again, Wukong swung his staff like a flag-waver in a parade might swing their banner. Again, Logan avoided it, and drove his blade full force towards his opponents' side. 

"Ah!" cried Wukong, dancing away again.

He'd struck. He knew that he'd struck. And he knew more than that.

As he watched the Monkey begin to wind up for yet another blow, Logan sighed ... then flipped her switch to its closed position. With what he hoped was a face of serene acceptance and not a pout, he dropped to a seated position on the arena floor. "I surrender," he said clearly.

Wukong was moving into what would have been a wondrous acrobatic display, and so the declaration caught him quite off-guard. "You what?" he said, golden eyes wide, his voice almost but not quite drowned out by the cat-calls and similar complaints from the audience.

"Who can fight the storm? Who can fight the mountain?" Logan asked, quoting his master. "To continue to battle when there is no reasonable chance of success is not the act of the sage, but of the madman. I've done all I can, and nothing I've done has affected you in any way.  So this fight was over before it began."

"But surely you will not give up your wish so readily!" said Wukong. "Surely --"

"It cannot be helped," he said quietly. "I cannot beat you -- _even though you were going easy on me._" That was almost added in a whisper.

The Monkey seemed to slump. "It may be as you say."

"What will you ask as your --" Thunder Dragon began to say, high above them both.

"Become my student," said Wukong.

Logan jolted. "What?"

"That is what I ask of you. Become my student, and grow stronger. So that when you _next_ face an opponent who seems unbeatable, you find the strength to carry on and conquer. Can you do this?" The Monkey raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Yes," Logan said after a moment. "But --"

Now Wukong spoke quietly. "Your enemy, up there, is not the only one who has seen all that is Logan Stormstrider," he said. "You are much better than you fear yourself to be, young man."

A long silence ensued, before Logan nodded once. He rose, and bowed to his new master. "Thank you, xiānshēng."

"Thank me _after_ I've made you work off this humiliation," said Wukong, now frowning. "But of that, more later."

They walked out of the arena together. Logan could not bring himself to look up where Shaitan Topaz was doubtless watching all this. And yet as the doors closed behind them, he wished that he had ...



> Round 1, Match 3: Logan Stormstrider vs. Sun Wukong
> 
> Logan Stormstrider: Initiative +9, Unarmed +8 (Close Damage DC 18), Laser Sword +12 (Close Damage DC 21), Dodge 12 (22), Parry 12 (22), Fortitude 5, Toughness 5/3, Will 11 (Impervious 6), Acrobatics +13, Athletics +11, Insight +12
> Hero Points: 3
> ...


----------



## Davies (Sep 27, 2021)

*Interlude*

Normally -- in as much as there could ever be anything normal about her circumstances -- she would have chosen to remain in the arena, even after being done for the day, so that she could observe those she was supposed to fight later and learn from them. By the time that the first day of this business was heading into the evening, however, her internal odds calculator suggested that it was very unlikely that she'd be fighting any of these people, and so she felt free to excuse herself. Besides, she had to place a phone call on the secure line she'd arranged.

So she left, wearing a disguise over her disguise, and walked away from the arena, initially heading for the youth hostel where her stay had been arranged, but steering away from that destination as she realized that someone was following her. She headed towards a somewhat rougher part of town, deliberately looking for places that would be bad locations in which to be ambushed. Having at last found the requisite blind alley, she paused, then turned to look back the way she'd come. "Show yourselves, please," she said, calmly.

When they did, she felt a touch of surprise -- there were five of them, and she'd only identified four. Five young women, Japanese, and the one with blue hair was the first one to speak. "We had an agreement," said Kosugi Mizuki in Japanese.

She didn't really have the capacity for panic, so she didn't experience any right then. She _did_ experience confusion -- as far as her research had indicated, Ibuki Kruger had never had any contact with active members of the Shadow School. "I'm sorry, have we met?" she asked, in a way that could be taken as sincere confusion or sarcasm.

"Allow me to clarify," the ninja continued. "We had an agreement with your father. He was allowed to teach you the discipline if you both stayed out of Asia."

As the real Ibuki had been excited to come here, it did not seem likely -- "Dad never said anything about that to me," she said, bluffing calmly.

"That's as may be," said Mizuki, unfazed by the bluff. "However, in exchange for overlooking this trespass, we will require a favor of sorts." She looked to her side, at the rather pale young woman who was standing there.

"If you should fight Bravo," said Yamaji Manami, in a voice so soft that she would have had to strain to hear it, without her enhancements. "If you manage to win. Ask of him the following boon: 'remove your helmet.'"

She blinked. That was a relatively minor favor to be asked of someone by a group of spies and assass-- and then a thought came to her which would probably not have come to the real Ibuki. "All right, then," she said. "Simple enough." She'd just have to save the mercenary's life when these so-called _Tenshi_ took their shot.

It wouldn't come to that though. Extreme long-shot.

_Elsewhere_

"Thank you so much for this," said Ibuki as she sat in the cab's back seat. "I've just been having such a terrible day, but a complimentary cab ride to the arena makes up for all of it!"

"No problem," said the driver. That was the only English phrase that he spoke, though he could understand much more. The driver, who was from Hong Kong originally, spoke much better Cantonese, and it had been in that language that he'd negotiated a deal to pick up a certain individual from the airport and keep her as far away from Thimpu and the arena as possible.

While Ibuki _was_ happy, something was nagging at her, and after a moment, she realized what it was. Para was west of Thimpu, according to the map she'd seen. If they were driving east, shouldn't the setting sun that was coming through the cab's windscreen be behind them?

Meh, it was probably just one of those twisty roads.


----------



## Davies (Sep 28, 2021)

> Music for this scene: _Ultra_, by KMFDM.




Truth be told, Esteban had been waiting a long time for this. From the first time he'd seen that cyber-schoolgirl staring at him with an unimpressed look on her face -- man, had it really been almost twenty years since then? -- when her gang of jerks had shown up to graciously offer to let him in the clubhouse, he'd known that this chick and he were never going to get along. They'd crossed paths a few times after that, both when he was a sucker and after he'd wised up, but never had they gotten to go at it like this. So this was going to be fun, and the bonus that Kingfisher had promised him if he managed to grill a member of the Powerhouse would be more than welcome.

So Fuego strolled over to the center of the Octagon, where Trouble was already standing patiently, with the biggest possible grin on his face. "Hello, bea-uti-ful!" he said, drawing the word out. "How's it going?"

She didn't answer, didn't even raise an eyebrow. 

"Y'know, I'm in really great mood, here, so whatever we've been through in the past, I just wanna have a nice clean match." He extended a hand towards her, as the count entered its final seconds. "So let's shake on --"

"I'm not falling for that again," she said.

He let the hand hang in the air, then drew it back and shrugged. "Okay, have it your way." And as the buzzer sounded, he unleashed his fiery wings and soared up, far out of Trouble's reach. With a roar, Fuego flung all his fury down at her, letting the flames surge forth from both hands and turning the arena floor into an incendiary ocean. Listening to the screams from the audience, he exulted in their panic and the faint scent of burning flesh. Maybe that screwy super-nurse would be able to fix her up, but she would know that she'd been burned. "Oh, yeah! How do you like that, huh? How do you like that!"

"I don't," said a voice from below.

Before he could react, a greenish beam shot up from the flames below, striking against his force field. He jerked back as cracks seemed to spread across the surface of his defensive barrier, and felt the weird sensation of it going down against his will. _Wait, how --_ he wanted to cry out.

"I've almost forgotten what these sorts of things are like," said the voice. "It's been so long since I was in one of them. Thank you for reminding me, Fuego. Thank you for bringing back the Concrete Angel." And then the flames below him parted, and he saw a very different figure standing there, for just a moment.

She looked something like this --







-- but he didn't really get a good look at her, for when that moment passed, she was flying up at him, as fast as he himself had flown, with two mighty arms streaking towards his now unprotected chest. When she hit, both forearms at once, it nearly sent him flying backwards into the force field dome, and she followed up with a knee strike to his chin. His last thought before darkness claimed him was that he was going to be in serious trouble with the Combination if he wound up surviving the fall.

As it happened, there was no fall, for the Concrete Angel caught him the collar of his shirt and brought him slowly to the ground with her, while sembling back into her usual form. As Thunder Dragon's voice asked his usual question, she answered silently -- four fingers of the hand that wasn't holding Fuego's unconscious form, and then one lowered. With no word spoken, Trouble proceeded to carry her enemy to where the Lancet was waiting to receive him.

One down, three to go.



> Side B, Match 3: Trouble vs. Fuego
> 
> Trouble: Initiative +13, Unarmed +14 (Close Damage DC 21, Crit 18-20), Dodge 12 (22), Parry 12 (22), Fortitude 8, Toughness 10/5, Will 9, Acrobatics +11, Athletics +12, Insight +12, Intimidation +9.
> Hero Points: 1
> ...


----------



## Davies (Sep 28, 2021)

*Interlude*

"And what is the phrase that should be constantly on your mind in the following business?" asks Dame Beatrice Barrowman, for perhaps the sixth time. Possibly even the seventh.

"'Do not act incautiously when confronting little bald wrinkly smiling men,'" says Rocco Christopher, rolling his eyes (since he's facing away from her) while getting in some last minute shadowboxing in one of the arena's training areas.

"Except for the tone, that was adequate," his boss says after a moment. "The tone, as usual, could use some work."

"Just one thing, though," says Rocco, pausing in the middle of one particularly difficult lunging kick, and looking back at her. "He's not bald. So should I only act a _bit_ incautiously?"

She stares at him.

"So that's a no, then?"

"Do not make this into a joke, Rocco," she says, quietly, clearly. "This is the most difficult and dangerous assignment that I have ever given you."

"More than the --"

"Yes."

"You didn't let me --"

"I don't need to."

He shakes his head and completes the kick, then drops out of the stance. "I won't act incautiously, little mother," he says, and not until he does so does he realize that (a) he has said something out loud that he never has before, and (b) he has acted rather incautiously.

Silence falls in the gymnasium. Slowly, hesitantly, Rocco turns to regard his patron, and then really wishes that he had not done so.

"'Little mother'?" she says.

"Um, I, uh, not sure where that came from --"

"Hm." She nods. "I see. Well, then. You may go, now." She points towards the door with one steady finger.

Grateful for the reprieve while knowing that it is at best momentary and that they will have words about this later, Rocco exits, stage left.

He does not see Beatrice watching the door he has exited for several moments after he has passed out of sight. He definitely does not see the look on her face as she does so.

It is sort of a pity that he does not.


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## Davies (Sep 29, 2021)

Owing to all of that, Rocco elects to keep his big mouth shut while he's waiting for his match to begin. By not saying anything, he makes it impossible for the old man to make any response that will get under his skin and reduce his effectiveness further. Of course, if the old man says anything like that unprompted, the whole plan would fall apart, but that's the biz. Fortunately, his opponent isn't doing that, just studying him patiently, with a critical eye, looking for weaknesses.

Rocco is sure that he won't find any. Yes, Zuwen has been doing martial arts since before he was a gleam in his sperm donor's eye. Yes, he's good at this -- Rocco has seen at least two of his students in action, and they were impressive. But for the past quarter of a century, Rocco has been out there, in the world, testing his skills against threats that the old man, secure in his kwoon, could never even imagine. And while Rocco might have to use more than one punch to _win_ a fight, he has always been able to end a fight with a single blow.

The buzzer sounds, and Rocco strikes first with a sharp kick to Zuwen's thigh. The old man's face twists in a scowl of pain and disapproval, and he steps back, one hand held behind his hip and the other held forth to defend, moving steadily in the air before him. Rocco recognizes the move, though, and knows that guard is going to be all but impossible to get past.

It can't be incautious to take the step needed to overcome such a defense, so Rocco launches a series of jabs with both hands. Most of them are caught by the old man's steady blocking, but enough get through to make him slow down enough that he should be able to completely turn this thing around when he --

-- why can't he move? And why is he lying face down on the arena floor?

The blow came without any hint, striking at the nerve cluster just under his arm. It was only a tap, and yet it's left him completely helpless.

"I believe my foe cannot continue," says the old man's reedy voice.

"... let us call this a TKO, then," says the voice of Thunder Dragon. "I declare you the victor. What boon would you --"

"I would discuss that in private," says Zuwen.

_... the boss is never going to let me live this down, is she?_ thinks Rocco as he starts to recover from the paralysis.



> Side A, Match 4: Rocco Christopher vs. Li Zuwen
> 
> Rocco Christopher: Initiative +10, Unarmed +15 (Close Damage DC 18, Crit 19-20), The One Punch +6 (Close Damage DC 30), Dodge 12 (22), Parry 12 (22), Fortitude 7, Toughness 6/4, Will 11, Acrobatics +14, Athletics +13, Insight +12.
> Hero Points: 1
> ...


----------



## Davies (Sep 29, 2021)

*Interlude*

Beatrice Barrowman is standing just past the doorway that the two of them -- Zuwen assisting Rocco, who still hasn't regained full mobility --- use to exit the arena, and she is not best pleased. "Congratulations, you have interfered with a major operation --" she starts to say.

Zuwen interrupts. "Just as you are interfering with a major operation by a different branch of your organization, so as to prevent _them_ from achieving victory." He lets Rocco stand on his own, and offers his defeated opponent a polite nod. "You fought well. I learned a great deal."

"I guess I did too," says Rocco, rather sourly.

The old man ignores that. "Not as much as I would have liked, though," he says, looking distant. "The One Punch would have made a marvelous addition to my techniques." With that observation, he ambles off away from the two of them.

Eventually, Rocco looks at his boss, who is staring in the direction that Zuwen took to leave. "Okay, let me have it," he says wearily. "I was incau--"

"I have decided," says Beatrice, still not looking at him, "that you are permitted to call me 'little mother'. Occasionally." That last is de-liv-er-ed with much ar-tic-u-la-tion.

Rocco stares. "Hah?"

Now she whips around to glare at him. "I said, how could you possibly screw up this badly! Dunce! Cretin! Duncecretin! How am I supposed to send you on missions that demand you be intimidating after this?! One simple rule I asked you to follow, and you couldn't manage that! They will all laugh at you after this, which is fine, but they effectively will be laughing at me, which is *not*!" She continues in this line for quite some time, and Rocco says nothing.

Nor does he grin.

_Elsewhere._

It's taken a while for Lonnie to notice this, but there aren't actually a lot of Bhutanese people here. The thought comes to him as he sees some working the counter at the concession, and realizes that there aren't any in line to make purchases from them. It makes him a bit uncomfortable, but there really isn't anything he can do about it, so he stuffs that away.

Making his purchase, Lonnie turns to head back to his comped seat -- courtesy of the Richmond Foundation -- so that he can watch the Avatar's first fight. As he turns, he is abruptly reminded of the saying that you can go halfway round the world and wind up meeting someone you know from back home. It doesn't really apply, since 'home' is Los Angeles these days, and the person he's seeing across a crowded hall is from Portland, but the sight is still a shocking one. "Patty!"

Patricia Mason turns at the sound of a version of her name that practically no one in the world has ever used. "Lonnie?" she says, startled.

The two of them make their way through the crowd, and yet when they find themselves face to face, neither of them is quite sure what to say next.

"You, you look good," Lonnie says at last. "How are you?"

Patricia's opens her mouth to say one thing, and ends up saying quite another. "Not good, really."

"What's wrong?" he asks, face falling.

"Ah, well, I found out that my sister is a criminal mastermind. Annnd so my brother and I, and some friends of ours, are here hunting her down. In Thimpu, not necessarily at this ... thing," she says, awkwardly. "So, yeah, that's where I'm at. Uh, listen, I'd love to stay and talk, but, you know, pursuit of vengeance, and all that. It was really ... _really_ nice to see you again, Lonnie." She nods, smiling an empty smile, and then turns to go.

He says, "Let me help." He's not sure why. Well, yes, he is.

She pauses, doesn't quite look back. "It's not your fight," she says.

"I'll make it my fight," he says.

She turns to look at him. "Okay," she says at last.

And a bit away, the young woman who calls herself Nikki Purvis watches the moment her parents came together again with a sad, sweet smile on her face. It's one more step towards the beginning of the end, but she can afford some sentiment, surely. There's more to do, though, and so she goes off in a different direction than those two do.


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## Davies (Sep 30, 2021)

While he has traveled extensively in this strange world, encountering many of its wonders and horrors, the Avatar has never yet visited Japan, and has many questions he would like to ask the individual who now confronts him on the other side of the octagon. However, as that individual is loudly proclaiming the Avatar's imminent doom, a productive conversation seems unlikely. Still, he has been subjected to enough actual threats in his time here to recognize that this so-called Sheng Long -- a Chinese name, which is one of the more confusing aspects of the other individual's identity -- is playing to the crowd. As such, it seems safe to tune him out.

And, sure enough, as the countdown ends, his opponent abandons such bravado and adopts an appropriate defensive position. The Avatar responds by testing it with a light punch, meant solely to gauge Sheng Long's defenses, rather than do harm. Sure enough, the other is easily able to intercept and redirect that blow. "Pathetic!" says Sheng Long, a sneer on his lips. "I had heard I would be fighting one whom Paragon views as a peer! Am I to believe that they meant such as you?"

Interesting. The Avatar wonders why Sheng Long is attempting to provoke him to greater levels of violence. Well, that is the language being spoken at the moment, so it would behoove him to respond in the appropriate manner. The next blow, directed at Sheng Long's upper chest, cannot be so easily deflected, and strikes the other man hard enough that it knocks him back into the fencing that makes up the arena's outer wall.

And yet, he seems happy. "Fool!" says Sheng Long. (He clearly has a preference for declarative insults.) "Now you shall face the Dragon in truth!" His eyes begin to glow, his bright red hair is stirred despite the absence of any wind, and there is a faint ripple in the air before him. _Something_ strikes against the Avatar's flesh, though it does not suffice to injure him. But it does give him cause for thought.

"That is a very interesting form of telekinesis you are employing," says the Avatar. "I now understand a warning I was recently given."

Sheng Long glares. "Wretch!" (He continues to demonstrate his penchant.) "What I possess is no trick of science, but a manifestation of the Dragon with whom I am entwined!"

"... are you confessing to having brought an ally into what is supposed to be an individual conflict?"

"What? No!"

"Then, you would agree that this is your own power, rather than that of an imagined dragon?"

"No!"

The Avatar sighs. "I don't know why I bother trying to talk, sometimes." With that, he launches a potent assault on Sheng Long that the martial artist is able to evade, and which leaves him open to a counterattack with his actual fist, more successful than before. The Avatar winces, touching the area covered by his tanktop that the martial artist was able to strike.

"Ha! You felt that one!" Sheng Long laughs at the sight.

"Yes," says the Avatar, in a tone unlike that which he has used until this point. "It was quite painful." And with that, he launches himself towards his opponent, seizing him in a bear hug. Before Sheng Long can wiggle free, the Avatar then soars up to the height of the arena.

"Tell me," he says conversationally. "Does the dragon grant you its power of _flight_?"

"I -- you --"

"Or will it catch you if you fall?" He starts to ease his grip on the other man.

"I surrender!"

"... very well, then." With that, the Avatar descends once more, releasing Sheng Long only once he has reached a safe distance above the ground.

"You will pay for this humiliation, alien," says his former opponent when he recovers his footing, speaking under the sound of Thunder Dragon's voice asking about boons. "My master will answer for this!"

"Would I be correct in concluding that your master is the one who granted you power?" This requires no particular deductive brilliance. An entity like this, who worships power, would only serve one who provided it.

"Yes!"

"Then this is my boon -- tell them that I look forward to our conversation."

And on that note, the first day of the Tournament reached its conclusion.



> Side B, Match 4: Sheng Long vs. The Avatar
> 
> Sheng Long: Initiative +17/+9, Unarmed +12 (Close Damage DC 18), With Dragon Essence +15/+12 (Close Damage DC 22), Striking Claw +15/+12 (Close Damage DC 24), Reaching Claw +11 (Ranged Damage DC 24), Dodge 12/9 (22/19), Parry 15/12 (25/22), Fortitude 9/5, Toughness 9/7/5/3, Will 11, Acrobatics +11, Athletics +13/+9, Insight +12, Intimidation +13/+9)
> Hero Points: 2
> ...


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## Davies (Sep 30, 2021)

My computer just died, taking with it the next two matches. Apologies for the delays.


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## Voltron64 (Sep 30, 2021)

Davies said:


> My computer just died, taking with it the next two matches. Apologies for the delays.



It's okay, at least we got all pre-quarterfinal matches completed.


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## Davies (Oct 1, 2021)

Okay, Matches A.I. (Talante vs. Bravo) and B.I. (Amari vs. "Ibuki") will be posted tomorrow.


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## Voltron64 (Oct 1, 2021)

Davies said:


> Okay, Matches A.I. (Talante vs. Bravo) and B.I. (Amari vs. "Ibuki") will be posted tomorrow.



As well as interludes?


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## Davies (Oct 1, 2021)

Voltron64 said:


> As well as interludes?



No, interludes resume on Monday.


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## Davies (Oct 1, 2021)

The second day of the tournament gets off to a very strange start.

The beginning of the beginning is much like the previous day. Once again, Thunder Dragon delivers an oration about the competition, making brief reference to what had gone before while mostly focusing on what was yet to come, and the possibility that one of those who fought today will have the chance to face off with his own exalted self. He seems, while speaking, to be expecting to be interrupted again as he was the other day, but nothing of that sort occurs this time.

And then Talante and Bravo enter the octagon from opposite sides, just as in all the battles that it saw yesterday. And just as every time before, the two contenders walk towards the center to face off as the counter slowly clicks towards the start of the battle. The only major difference is the expression on Talante's face this morning. Where her face was locked in a perpetual scowl, even during and after her triumph, it is now animated by a look that could only be described as a sinister smile.

The count reaches zero.

And Talante, quite clearly, announces, "I surrender."

After a moment, the voice of the crowd indicates their highly negative view of this development. The boos and catcalls affect Talante not a whit; she keeps right on smiling. 

High above, Thunder Dragon is frowning just as deeply. "This is truly what you choose?" he asks.

"Yes," the Hesperan says, turning to look up at him. "I've had a ... revelation, I suppose. This fight won't get me what I _really_ want." Still smiling.  Maybe just a bit maniacally.

The ruler lets out a disgusted snort. "On your own head be it, then. What boon will you extract as a forfeit?" This is shouted down towards where Bravo stands, apparently unmoved by any of this.

"You will travel to Seoul," says Bravo's synthesized voice. "My master always enjoys conversing with his fellow monarchs."

Having said her piece to Thunder Dragon, Talante has begun looking through the stands. As Bravo delivers that demand, she finds what she's looking for, and the fixed smile on her face grows positively malevolent. "Certainly," she almost coos, staring directly at where Trouble is sitting. "I will do so _happily._"

Trouble doesn't react.

Elsewhere, however, Dancer is watching all this from her own seat with a frown. _That's not what what happened,_ she thinks. _Talante was supposed to fight Bravo, be defeated, and then go to the Emperor as the boon that he asked ... I *guess* that's still what's happening, but why is it happening this way, instead?_

Of course, she learned about all this only second hand, and it isn't the first time that she's encountered events that contradict her education about the past which has become her present. But not so blatantly as this.


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## Davies (Oct 2, 2021)

"Are you planning on surrendering right out of the gate?" Amari asks her opponent as she gazes frankly across the center of the octagon at her.

The other woman shakes her head in calm silence, further confirming something that Amari has suspected since she watched her opponent's first match. 

Abidemi Sowande has never met Ibuki Kruger, and rumors of her activities in East Germany have not, unsurprisingly, spread as far as Ghana. But Abidemi _has_ met members of the Ultra Girls, including Magnolia, who said a few things about her friend, notably saying that Amari's free-spirit reminded her of Ibuki. And that comparison suggests that she would not answer banter with silence, but banter right back. So this is most probably an imposter. Exposing whoever it was would win the match out of hand. But having seen this person fight, Amari finds her competitive side somewhat provoked. 

So instead, she readies herself, hoping that she will prove a greater challenge than the Noble Demon did and --

The buzzer sounds. It seems like they move in the same moment, with her adversary just the tiniest bit more swift, so that, to Amari's senses, it is as though the flying jump kick coming toward her moves like a bullet speeding through molasses in comparison to herself. It strikes her sternum and she reels backward, barely retaining enough presence of mind to turn her near-fall into a slam into the ground. And even doing so proves useless, for "Ibuki" summersaults backwards to avoid the tremor that was so effective last time.

_She was watching me, too,_ Amari thinks through the pain. _All right. Use what I didn't, before._

And with that, she surges up to first slam one fist into the opponent's stomach and push out the wind, then twine around her so as to wrap up her throat so no more air can come in. The panic begins almost at once, and despite her generally kind-hearted nature, Amari feels a surge at relief as she feels "Ibuki" start to struggle. If she had been someone who didn't need to breathe, this could easily have gone the other way.

As it happens, it nearly starts to go the other way as soon as it began, for the other woman manages to almost wiggle out of the hold, enough to draw in a few more seconds of precious air. Grimly, Amari tightens her grip, and feels her opponents struggle lessen, and then cease -- then promptly releases her hold, something possible only due to her inhuman level of control. Anyone else doing this might have done permanent damage, or worse.

She's won.

_Hurrah for brutality,_ Amari thinks, unhappily, looking down at the woman she's holding, as Thunder Dragon asks meaningless questions about boons.



> Side B, Match I: Ibuki vs. Amari
> 
> "Ibuki": Initiative +14, Unarmed +15/+10 (Damage DC 22, Crit 18-20), Dodge 14 (24), Parry 14 (24), Fortitude 9, Toughness 8/6, Will 9, Acrobatics +12, Deception +13, Insight +10, Intimidation +8.
> Hero Points: 1
> ...


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## Davies (Oct 2, 2021)

Updated schedule:


Side ASide BRound 1Round 2Round 3Round 4Round 3Round 2Round 1Match 1:
Prydwen vs.Match 1:
Ibuki vs.TalanteMatch I:
TalanteMatch I:
"Ibuki"TrijataMatch 2:
Almeida vs.vs.A Side Semifinal:
BravoB Side Semifinal:
Amarivs.Match 2:
Tarmund vs.BravoBravovs.Finals:
Side A vs. Side B.vs.AmariAmariMatch 3:
Logan vs.Winner, Match IIWinner Fights
Thunder DragonWinner, Match IIMatch 3:
Fuego vs.Sun WukongMatch II:
WukongMatch II:
TroubleTroubleMatch 4:
Zuwen vs.vs.vs.Match 4:
Sheng Long vs.RoccoZuwenThe AvatarThe Avatar


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## Voltron64 (Oct 2, 2021)

Semi-finals and forward are gonna be the highlights of the tournament I bet. And the fight choreography is gonna be god-tier.


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## Davies (Oct 4, 2021)

*Interlude*

"You shouldn't fight."

Sitting on the bench, looking up at the grim-featured woman who just told him this, Zuwen spends a moment preparing his response. When at last he speaks, he is quite calm. "Is this medical or moral advice?"

"It's both," says the Lancet. "But more the former." She pauses, continuing to evaluate him. "But I suspect that you've already been told this."

"I have," he says, with a short nod. "And I have enough medical training to recognize some of the symptoms without being told, as well."

"There's a saying about a doctor who treats himself --" she starts to say.

"I have not." His interruption is firm. "Are you going to refuse me permission to continue?" he asks after a moment.

The brightly-clad medic lets out a long, disgusted sigh. "I don't have any authority to do that. I'm not the _official_ physician of this fiasco, just a self-appointed medical vigilante. And it would be both grossly immoral and counterproductive on my part to try and force you to retire, so all I can do is ask you to reconsider."

"I have one more fight," the old man says. "I do not imagine that I can defeat this opponent, but I would disgrace myself if I did not try. So one more fight."

"You're bargaining," the Lancet says. "That's a sign of grief."

"I suppose that it is, at that."

She shakes her head. "I said that no one was going to die here. I would really appreciate it if you did not make a liar of me, shū shu." With that, she turns and goes, leaving him with his thoughts.

And the hand that comes up to rest over his heart.


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## Davies (Oct 5, 2021)

The old man has rarely encountered something like this before. Generally, regardless of how well-practiced or experienced the opponent, he has always been able to discern some flaw in their defense, some weakness upon which he could capitalize. On some occasions, the foe has been cunning enough to realize what he was about, and able to conceal those flaws. He hopes that is what is happening this time as well. He _fears_ that he might be facing a genuinely invincible foe -- perhaps even the actual Stone Monkey.

"Let us begin, then," says the ape as the buzzer sounds. And with that, Zuwen watches in stunned horror as he swells into immensity, his head almost  at the top of the arena's roof, the staff he holds in one hand now the length of a train car as he lifts it up and prepares --

_No!_ Some small part of Zuwen's mind holds on to its rationality. _He *might* be able to grow in this manner, but how would the rod grow to match him? How would he stand in the exact same stance if his mass shifted like that? This must be an illusion!_ Not fully believing his own desperate hope, he shouts out. "Enough of this trickery!"

"Trickery?" asks Wukong, having rather abruptly become his normal size once more. "I prefer to think of it as a deeper truth. Had I perhaps used it before the match began, _that_ might be considered trickery." He lets the words hang in the air a moment, gazing steadily at Zuwen.

Despite himself, Zuwen flinches at the implied rebuke. "I contend with gods and living legends, and I am but a man," he answers, relying on anger to cover his sense of shame. "I will use what tricks I must."

"And to what end? What is even your goal --" Wukong begins to say.

No opening had he seen when he used his odd talent, but now there is one. Pushing himself to his utmost, Zuwen takes advantage of the minute distraction that his opponent now experiences to wrench the gold-hooped rod from Wukong's grasp. He is surprised by how light it is, how much like the staves he'd trained with half a century before instead of the wonder weapon that he might have expected. 

The ease with which he can swing it throws him a bit off when he actually makes his first darting blow towards Wukong's side, such that his opponent is easily able to dance out of the way. And dance he does, turning that evasion into a weaving, almost cartwheeling charge towards Zuwen, that he is able to evade in turn, yet the movement keeps the ape out of the way of another attempted strike. He finally has a handle on the weapon's weight, though, and is able to strike its butt into Wukong's chest a moment later -- though it is obvious that no harm has been done.

But perhaps the blow, dealt with his own weapon, outrages the pretender to the Monkey King's title, for he almost growls as he charges, this time employing both hands and both feet in a flurry of attacks. None of them strike home, but his method of shifting from one foot to the other so rapidly stops Zuwen from success in his attempts to lay him out upon the arena's floor. And these acrobatics prove to be a prelude to a ferocious punch from Wukong that leaves him coughing and sputtering.

Yet for all that, the thought that goes through Li Zuwen's mind as he incorporates the rod into his ultimate defensive stance, beneath the roaring that he can hear there, is that he has never felt so al--

And then the pain comes.

"Oh," he says, the rod slipping out of his suddenly nerveless hands as his legs give out beneath him and he drops first to a seated pose, and then the rest of the way to the floor.

Wukong sees this, immediately recognizes that this is no feint, and darts forward to lift his fallen foe up and carry him as rapidly as he can to where the Lancet has emerged from the entryway with a horrified expression on her face. They pass from view.

"... I suppose we should call _that_ a technical knockout, too," muses the Thunder Dragon, giving a faint smirk at all this.



> Side A, Match II: Wukong vs. Zuwen
> 
> Sun Wukong: Initiative +10, Unarmed +10 (Close Damage DC 23), Staff +12 (Close Damage DC 25, Crit 19-20), Dodge 8 (18), Parry 9 (19), Fortitude 11, Toughness 13 (Impervious 13), Will 11, Acrobatics +9, Athletics +11, Insight +10, Intimidation +8.
> Hero Points: 1
> ...


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## Davies (Oct 5, 2021)

*Interlude*

"This isn't your fault," says Zhang Xingxing.

"Isn't it," says Sun Wukong, not looking up at her. It's not really a question when he speaks.

They are seated on a bench outside the room that the Lancet has commandeered for her own purposes. Zhang's people have gently, and not so gently, pushed back the reporters who would normally be gathering around the area so these two can have their space.

"No, it's not," she says, just a bit heatedly. "Everyone who takes part in this thing did so with the understanding that they might face serious injury, regardless of what the Lancer or whatever her name is might claim. The match-ups were randomly determined. You did not choose to face this guy, so you're not responsible for what happens --"

"Except that I could have surrendered, once he succeeded in taking away the rod." Wukong looks at his hand, where the compliant gold-hooped rod would normally be. As far as he knows, it is still lying, abandoned, on the arena floor.

"What good would that have done?" She answers her own question. "None, that's what! He'd still have been sick, and then he would have been facing that hitman, Bravo, who wouldn't have bothered to try and help him!"

"Perhaps you're right," he says, still not looking up.

Zhang has yearned for that admission since she met this crazy hairy man. Now that she has it, she wonders why she did so. It is a miserable gift, really. "Then ... please don't be sad like this," she says. "I, I don't like it when you're sad like this. It makes me feel things I don't like feeling."

At last, he turns to look at his friend and patron, and finally gives her a small smile unlike his usual grin. "That is friendship, brilliant lady," he tells her.

She wants to say something more, but then the door opens, and the Lancet emerges. She looks at Wukong, and shakes her head sadly.


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## Voltron64 (Oct 5, 2021)

RIP then...


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## Davies (Oct 6, 2021)

> Music for this scene: _M12+M13_ from _The Garden of Sinners: Overlooking View_, composed by Yuki Kajiura.




She has been hesitant about this strategy, developed when she learned who she would be facing in this round, but the results of the previous match have finally decided it for her. _The best swords stay in their sheathes, and the best fights are those which are over before they begin,_ Trouble reminds herself, as she walks out to where the Avatar is waiting for her.

He greets her with a polite nod. "I now have a better appreciation for what you were trying to warn me about, yesterday," he says.

"Good," she says.

"However, I still choose not to employ my own psychic faculties in this conflict. My physical abilities should suffice."

"I believe so, too," Trouble says with a calm nod. "And I'm so I'm going to have to fight you like I would fight Paragon. With the techniques he himself gave me, against the possibility that someone might turn him into a threat to humanity."

The Avatar blinks. "Well!" He sounds both surprised and pleased as the count enters its final sequence. "This should be very educational."

"I believe so, too," she says as the count reaches zero and the buzzer sounds -- and in that instant, she whips up her right hand and a palm-sized chunk of reddish crystal emerges from her palm.

The Avatar stares, then gasps. "Theonite!" He backs away, yet stumbles, collapsing backwards on to the ground. "My deadly weakness!"

_'Deadly?'_ Trouble thinks, confusion she now feels not showing on her face. _This is only supposed to neutralize his powers, so that I can defeat him normally. Roger said that it isn't a nice sensation, but never that it's *painful*._ Staring at the way that her opponent is curling up in agony, she begins to suspect that she has made a terrible mistake.

And then, from behind the hand that is covering his face, one of the Avatar's visible eyes winks at her.

_Oh._ He is not the only one learning something here today. "Surrender," she says, in steely tones.

"Yes, yes, anything, just take that away!"

"Say the word."

"I -- I -- I surrender," the Avatar says at last, sounding thoroughly broken.

"... well, this was just pathetic," says Thunder Dragon from up above, as Trouble withdraws the theonite from her hand back into its shielded compartment in her shoulder. "Claim your --"

"I claim no boon," she says, holding up four fingers and then lowering two. "It was not I who beat him, but science."

"Pathetic," the host says again.

She doesn't pay him any attention, but 'helps' the Avatar to return to his feet. "You're not actually vulnerable to theonite, are you?" she asks, very quietly.

"No, I removed that weakness soon after I created this body," he says as they start towards the exit.

Despite everything, Trouble nearly stumbles at how casually he speaks of it. "Then why --"

"Because I have studied this place, this Thimpu, over the last night, and I think I do not really need to learn anything from its master, after all. Because I think I might learn more in the future if others believe I have that weakness." He pauses, just as they reach the exit. "But most of all, because I think I need your help. I have not seen Lonnie since before my match, yesterday, and I find myself worried."


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## Davies (Oct 6, 2021)

*Interlude*

"You know, the most absurd thing about all of this is that you actually thought _numbers_ were going to make things go your way this time," says Abigail Mason, staring across the dimly-lit public park (complete with statue of Thunder Dragon) at her assembled enemies, all collapsed on the grass and pavement. "Every time I've crossed any of your paths individually, I've made you do exactly what I wanted, and you thought there being a bunch of you would change that, somehow? Sheerest vanity, verging on hubris. And we all know how hubris gets punished, right, darlings?"

"Abby, please --" says her older brother, managing to push himself up from the all-consuming sorrow she's made him feel.

"Oh, you are the worst of them, Earl. I mean, I know you've shot people from ambush with that stupid bow of yours, and that would really have ruined my day if you'd done that to me. But oh no, it's vital that you confront 'the bad guy', face to face. And here we are, and here you'll stay. All of you have gotten ideas that are _way_ above your stations in life." She concentrates, momentarily, and the man who's called Robin Hood collapses beneath the weight of his grief once more.

But as he does so, something like sanity momentarily emerges from the fury that has consumed Patricia Mason, aka the Red Archer. Not enough to let her stand up and challenge her tormentor, but enough for her to speak a few words. "Why --"

"See, this is what I'm talking about. Art does not get to interrogate the artist, and that's what all of you are, in the end -- just raw materials for me to create something interesting. But putting you all back down like this has put me in a good mood, for once, so I'll tell you why I did so many awful things to you, personally, baby sis." Abigail takes a deep breath. "_You breathed *my* air._"

Stunned by the petty cruelty, as much as by the anger that's far beyond her control, Patricia just stares.

"Well, now that we've got that all cleared up, I think I'll be leaving," Abigail says. "I finished my business here earlier today, and now I'm heading to Europe, where I'm going to contact some people who'll help me to finish destroying you, and all your friends, and, oh, I guess the entire superheroic community. This whole 'justice society' that the Institute started has gone on far too long, so we're going to tear it apart and --" For just a second, as she speaks, Abigail wonders if maybe their hubris has infected her, and considers that explaining her plans like this is a symptom. But then she reminds herself to remember her own place, high above them, and opens her mouth to continue.

That's when someone slams a rabbit punch into the back of her head that drops her to the ground, momentarily senseless and unable to continue projecting the emotions she has been. And Patricia surges up out of her fury to send a single arrow streaking in the direction of her right breast, hitting with a hiss.

"Ibuki?" gasps Maid Marian as she also starts to come around from the frenzied lust that she'd been made to feel.

"Hi," says the German-Japanese girl, looking rather irate. "I'd say that I hope you're having a better day that I have, but it hasn't been much better, even if I got kidnapped _twice_."

"It's about to get worse," says Abigail, yanking the arrow out of her breast and speaking in a sing-song voice. And then she screams.

"Uh ... was that supposed to hurt?" asks Ibuki, stepping back and into a fighting stance.

"What -- what --" Abigail looks down at the arrow in her hand, and notes the syringe attached to its point for the first time. "What did you _do_?" she demands of her sister.

"Neurotoxin," Patricia says, coming to her feet. "It doesn't actually stop you from using psychics on people, but it will make doing so _hurt._" She smiles, grimly yet triumphantly. "And you don't handle pain all that well, do you? The guy who makes my arrows put a lot of thought into this one. I'd tell you who that is, but I'm still not sure."

"I might have an inkling," says Lonnie, emerging from the lassitude that had engulfed him.

"And now I think it's my turn," says Leah Blade, likewise emerging from artificial amusement to authentic anger.

"No, please, don't kill me," Abigail says, all bravado gone.

"Oh, don't be silly," says the second Songbird, smiling brilliantly. "I don't kill people. I just beat the hell out of them and dump them in front of a police station. I'm not sure where we'll find a police station in this burg, but phase one seems doable." And with that she starts punching down.


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## Voltron64 (Oct 6, 2021)

Davies said:


> "You know, the most absurd thing about all of this is that you actually thought _numbers_ were going to make things go your way this time," says Abigail Mason, staring across the dimly-lit public park (complete with statue of Thunder Dragon) at her assembled enemies, all collapsed on the grass and pavement. "Every time I've crossed any of your paths individually, I've made you do exactly what I wanted, and you thought there being a bunch of you would change that, somehow? Sheerest vanity, verging on hubris. And we all know how hubris gets punished, right, darlings?"
> 
> "Abby, please --" says her older brother, managing to push himself up from the all-consuming sorrow she's made him feel.
> 
> ...



At best for the Mutant Families, such a scheme would lead only to Mutually Assured Destruction between both sides. At worst, total annihilation from the heroes towards them for trying such a thing and pushing them to such a point.


Davies said:


> "It's about to get worse," says Abigail, yanking the arrow out of her breast and speaking in a sing-song voice. And then she screams.
> 
> "Uh ... was that supposed to hurt?" asks Ibuki, stepping back and into a fighting stance.
> 
> ...



You really wanna twist the knife on Spectra, you give custody or just general influence of her children over to their Uncle Earl and Aunt Pattie, having them follow in their general footsteps and growing up to rebuke _everything_ about their mother.


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## Davies (Oct 6, 2021)

Voltron64 said:


> You really wanna twist the knife on Spectra, you give custody or just general influence of her children over to their Uncle Earl and Aunt Pattie, having them follow in their general footsteps and growing up to rebuke _everything_ about their mother.



Unfortunately, right now it looks like their custody and general influence is going to remain with their father, of whom the best that can be said is that he's not a sadistic pervert.


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## Davies (Oct 7, 2021)

Wukong finds that he has lost his taste for banter, and so the eerie silence with which he is confronted while facing off with Bravo comes as something of a relief. Still, his inability to see the face of his current opponent, could not evaluate this individual's health -- or anything else about them, really -- is a bit disconcerting. Wukong considers using his power to seek within the other's heart and mind, to find out what was there, but rejects this as the sort of cheating which had annoyed him in the previous match. To distract himself from such thoughts while the countdown comes to an end, he examines the arena.

And is somewhat surprised to notice a young woman perched on a space just beneath the roof, gazing down at them. _Now what have we here?_ he wonders.

(What we have here is one Kanroji Shizuka, who has taken up a sniper position to observe this match. If it should happen that Bravo's helmet comes off in the battle to follow, or in its aftermath, she will take the shot to eliminate the enemy of the Shadow School, as soon as her team's commander, watching this affair from the cheap seats, gives the word that _she_ gets from those who can identify him.)

Somewhat distracted by this, Wukong manages to whiff the first attack he makes once the buzzer strikes home, missing with embarrassing awkwardness and leaving himself wide open for Bravo to strike him in the stomach with a palm blow. The force of Bravo's palm, if you'll pardon the expression, is quite a novel pain for Wukong. 

Despite that, he manages to smile a bit. "Well struck," he says.

Bravo does not reply. Instead, the armored figure shifts slightly, clearly preparing to receive a blow in return. Feeling the injury heal itself, Wukong answers this preparation with a wild swing of his rod -- that is intercepted and stilled. Once again, someone attempts to wrench the compliant gold-hooped rod from his grip. But this time, Wukong expects the move, and this time it is not made with nearly enough force.

"I think not," Wukong says.

Bravo does not reply. Instead, the stance shifts again, but so quickly that Wukong cannot follow it as his opponent lashes out with a powerful kick towards his abdomen. Again, the pain is unexpected, and Wukong's breath is knocked out of him as well. Yet he knows the pain will soon ease ...

... and then it does not do so, and Wukong recognizes that something has gone horribly wrong. As he retaliates with another wild swing of his rod, this time connecting and dealing some small damage to the surface of Bravo's cuirass, he attempts to understand his own condition. Some sort of technique has been employed, disrupting his ability to recover quickly. A secret move that he was not expecting, could not have expected.

_This is a true challenge,_ he thinks, and smiles.

His last swing has left him open enough that Bravo's attempt to distract him with cunning moves is frankly superfluous, but the one-two punch that strikes him lacked enough force to worsen his condition. Wukong answers this blow with one of his own, directing a thrust of the staff's butt towards Bravo's armored jaw, something he would not do to an unprotected opponent. It strikes home, but not enough to truly disconcert his foe, nor does a follow-up blow come close to striking.

Bravo moves rapidly, then, striking three times in less than a few seconds, yet only once with enough power to affect the supernatural durability of the Monkey King. Wukong adopts a more guarded approach, and strikes only carefully measured blows -- until at last one of the forceful strikes from Bravo misses, and he unleashes yet another wild, overextended lunge that strikes into the opponent's chestplate, knocking him back and to the ground.

He's won. He takes no pride in it, but now he has a chance to do something worthwhile, here. And with that thought, he bends down to pull off Bravo's masked helmet.

"Do we take the shot?" Mizuki asks Kagome, seated beside her and watching the affair through a pair of binoculars.

Kagome just stares.

"Well?" the ninja leader demands.

"It's not him," Kagome says. "_I don't know who that is._"

"Who are you?" asks Wukong of the individual with long black hair who is lying on the ground, and who has just regained consciouness.

The answer comes in Chinese. "My name is Fa Xing-la," the individual lying there answers. "And that is all you get. I have given him the boon he asked for," says Bravo, much more loudly. "We're done, here." Then replaces the helmet, then rises, unsteadily, and walks away, ignoring all attempts to assist.




> Side A Final: Bravo vs. Wukong.
> 
> Bravo: Initiative +10, Unarmed +16 (Close Damage DC 20, Crit 19-20), Dodge 12 (22), Parry 13 (23), Fortitude 9, Toughness 9/7, Will 9, Acrobatics +14, Athletics +12, Deception +12, Insight +12, Intimidation +14.
> Hero Points: 1
> ...


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## Voltron64 (Oct 7, 2021)

Davies said:


> "Who are you?" asks Wukong of the individual with long black hair who is lying on the ground, and who has just regained consciouness.
> 
> The answer comes in Chinese. "My name is *Fa Xing-la*," the individual lying there answers. "And that is all you get. I have given him the boon he asked for," says Bravo, much more loudly. "We're done, here." Then replaces the helmet, then rises, unsteadily, and walks away, ignoring all attempts to assist.



That name...

A clone? No, probably not that, ...a replacement?


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## Davies (Oct 7, 2021)

Voltron64 said:


> A clone? No not that, ...a replacement?




Extra-special ultimate no comment.


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## Davies (Oct 7, 2021)

*Interlude*

She sits in the unlit workout room, bent over, hands clasped before her forehead. One of her friends used to sit like this while trying to come to terms with what he'd seen and done on his missions. Trouble understands him better than she did then.

She was in the audience when the helmet of her nemesis came off and she saw ... not her own face, but one so close to it as to take her breath away, and she has not quite recaptured it yet. And she heard Bravo's claim of identity. _It's been years since she thought of her parents, who named her Fa Xing-la and lived happily, she thought, in Hong Kong._ That is how she has always thought of the start of her story.

But is it her story? 

If you replace every plank of the Ship of Theseus with new planks, is it still the ship of Theseus? If you replace every part of a human being with circuits and nanotechnology, are they still that human being? Were they ever? If you wanted to make a living weapon who could exist among humans, for whatever reason, would you give them memories of a human life, whether true or false? And how would they ever know the difference?

She pulls out her smartphone and dials the only number saved on it.

"Trouble?" asks the voice on the other end. "Are you okay?"

"Sam," she says. "How often do you think about your parents?"

"I -- uh -- almost every day, I guess. Why?" There's a bit more urgency in the tone on the other end, now.

Trouble takes a deep breath. "Just wondering," she says, in as calm a tone as she can manage. "I'll be home in a couple of days, I hope. I just wanted to hear your voice." A beat. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Are you sure you're okay?"

She decides to speak the truth for once. "No." And then she hangs up and turns off the phone.


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## Davies (Oct 8, 2021)

The disgusted expression on the face of Amari as they approach each other for this penultimate match comes as something of a surprise to Trouble, but she doesn't get the chance to ask what prompted it. 

"You know, I was actually looking forward to this," Amari says. "I don't actually like fighting. Really, I don't. Nobody ever believes me when I tell them this. But a nice, friendly sparring match with one of the best in the world, an actual genuine world-saving superhero? That sounded like fun, and I haven't had any fun here since I got to beat up that slave-chaser with his own stupid axe.

"But then I see you using _theonite_ to win a fist-fight! You risk giving someone radiation poisoning for _this_?" Amari waves a hand around to indicate the arena as a whole. "For the entertainment of all these perverts?"

Trouble opens her mouth to say something in response. Whatever it was going to be, she stifles it, and closes her mouth again with an unhappy expression on her face.

"No defense? Good. Fine. _You are no superhero._ So I'm looking forward to this for another reason now." And as if she timed it to the second, and maybe she did, the buzzer sounds just as Amari delivers that declaration, following it up with a lightning fast spin kick to Trouble's side. Her opponent winces but makes no cry, only stepping back a few paces, thickening her skin and assuming a guarded stance.

Not a sufficiently protective guard stance, unfortunately, for Amari's next uppercut cleaves right through it, slamming into Trouble's stomach, then following it up with a powerful kick. Through it all, Trouble just maintains her defenses, soaking up the blows that rain down on her, never offering any protest or counterattack.

That detail does not escape Amari's notice, and at last, she finds that she can't help herself. "What are you doing?" she asks. "Why aren't you fighting back? Are you -- are you trying to make _me_ look like the bad guy here?"

Trouble just sighs.

"You are! Cut it out! Fight back, dammit!" With that, she drives a punch towards Trouble's nose, with the force of a locomotive.

Locomotives can't usually be caught in a handclap, though. "All right," Trouble says, and becomes a blur of motion. Her knee comes up to slam into Amari's ribcage, knocking the wind out of her lungs, then swiveling around to slam one firm wrist into Amari's unguarded flank, following it up with an eerie echo of the blow to the nose that started this flurry -- but one that strikes home.

"You were right," says Trouble to Amari's supine form. "I hope you find some comfort in that when you wake up." Her gaze jerks up as Thunder Dragon starts his usual spiel, and the glare she gives him almost makes him hesitate to ask the question. She answers it, sort of, by holding up four fingers and then lowering three.

The final confrontation is here at last.




> Side B Final: Amari vs. Trouble
> 
> Amari: Initiative +16, Unarmed +10 (Damage DC 23), Bullet Throw +8 (Damage DC 19), Shockwave (Burst Area Dodge DC 23), Dodge 8 (DC 18), Parry 8 (DC 18), Fortitude 10, Toughness 12, Will 8, Acrobatics +9, Athletics +10, Insight +7.
> Hero Points: 2
> ...


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## Davies (Oct 8, 2021)

And so the penultimate match began, to determine which of the two surviving fighters would get the chance to fight Thunder Dragon and possibly be granted their wish. From one side of the arena, Trouble entered, poorly hiding her continuing upset regarding her supposed triumph and what it had cost her, as well as the identity-shattering experience that had come before that. From the other side, Wukong entered, poorly hiding his unhappiness over what he'd endured in the matches leading to this point. They walked towards each other, meeting in the middle, as the final countdown began.

"I watched your fight with the one called Amari," Wukong said when they met -- for the first time, actually, as they had never exchanged words before that.

"Do you think I'm a monster, too?" said Trouble.

The monkey king shook his head. "I think you are a person who made a difficult choice, one that will continue to weigh on you. If you were a monster, it would not do so. And much like my student, you are a better person than you believe yourself to be. Yes, you are the embodiment of science and technology, but you are more than that."

Somewhat surprisingly, Trouble smiled. "And you are a legend come to life, but _you_ are more than that." And then a thought came to her, and her smile went away. "And forces that unite ..."

Understanding quickly appeared on Wukong's face. "... are stronger than those who stand alone."

They had remembered something that those watching this, both in the arena and elsewhere, had perhaps forgotten. They weren't just martial artists. They were superheroes. And this wasn't a fighting game, however much it might have looked like one. It was something else entirely. As the clock counted down the final seconds, they nodded to each other.

The buzzer sounded, and in the same moment, they both said, "I surrender."

In his box, overlooking this, Thunder Dragon came swiftly to his feet. "What --"

"You surrendered, so I am the winner," said Wukong. "I ask of you this boon: will you fight at my side in this?"

"You surrendered, so I am the winner," said Trouble. "I ask of you this boon: will you fight at my side in this?"

"Yes," the two of them said as one.

"_What are you two trying to pull --_"

And as one, they turned to look up at Thunder Dragon. "We challenge you -- _coward._"

Heroes have an infinite capacity for stupidity. Thus are legends born.


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## Voltron64 (Oct 8, 2021)

Geniunely didn't see that coming.


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## Davies (Oct 9, 2021)

At first, he is just bewildered that the two so-called heroes have decided to play some sort of insipid game by mutually surrendering in this manner. Despite what they say next, that means that neither of them is the winner, and the show is over. And then they turn and call him a coward.

They call _him_ that.

Thunder Dragon's response is relatively moderate, all things considered. He smashes two fists into the force field barrier protecting his box, shattering it, and showing no sign of recognizing that Shaitan Topaz has risen from her seat and backed away from him. Of course he doesn't. She's never been all that important to his story, and he's almost forgotten that she exists as he flies down to where the two idiots are standing and waiting for him.

Well, not waiting. Before he can do much of anything, Trouble launches herself up at him in a pathetically obvious attempt at a flying drop kick, which he easily evades by just tilting a bit to the side. He answers her impudence with a bolt of energy cast over his shoulder at her, much more accurately targeted despite everything, which sends her flying backwards even further. Yet doing so distracts him enough that Wukong is able to charge up to him and strike a series of pressure points on his bare chest. Thunder Dragon has just enough time to wonder what that was supposed to accomplish when he feels his command of gravity being suppressed, and the world around him starting to feel much more like a viscous substance engulfing him.

"No more flying for you, I think," says the ape.

His reactions are slowed, and he cannot _quite_ avoid the flurry of blows that Trouble sends at him while bouncing back from where she was knocked earlier. They strike home, and he feels them as he hasn't felt much of anything in a while. On whatever levels of his mind aren't consumed by fury -- and that are quite a few, or he would already have called on his Golden Dragon Transformation -- he is enjoying this. So he answers her flurry of attacks with a single blow of his elbow against her chin. Against anyone else, it could easily have reduced someone's head to a red mist.

High above, Shaitan Topaz watches this insanity with a disbelieving expression. But she is distracted from the sight as the door to the box opens, and one of the guards posted there stumbles in before collapsing in a heap on the floor. He is followed by the one who fought under the name of the Avatar, about whom she's heard unbelievable stories -- likely he is just some insane Dhakamite. "Greetings," he says to her.

She doesn't return them. She just stares.

"I have been asked to deliver a message by one Logan Stormstrider, who is otherwise engaged at the moment," the Avatar says. "In his words: 'Freedom cannot be given; it must be claimed.'" With that out of the way, he regards her with a patient expression.

She looks away from him, looks down just as the ape-man performs some sort of cartwheeling charge that slams the end of his staff into Thunder Dragon's chest, clearly injuring her supposed protector. And Shaitan Topaz makes a choice. She turns back to the Avatar. "Could you pass on a message to him from me in return?" When he nods, she starts walking towards the door out of the box. "'Farewell until we meet again.' That is my message." _Farewell,_ she thinks. _Do not die before we meet again. But then ..._

Fury at his newest injury drives Thunder Dragon to recover a bit of his former speed, and he roars as he directs a double-handed beam of his vital energy into the monkey king's chest, harming him as nothing so far has. Yet this focus costs him greatly as Trouble is able to swing up under his guard to kick into his own chest and all but knock him off his feet. And then Wukong also brings down his rod on an arc that smashes its hoop into the Dragon's head.

"_You will not win!_" Thunder Dragon says, his eyes beginning to glow golden.

"_We already did!_" says Trouble, using _more_ than a little bit of all she's got to deliver one final punch into that sparkling face.

And at last, in the middle of his own arena, Thunder Dragon falls to the floor -- down and out.



> Final Bout: Trouble and Sun Wukong vs. Thunder Dragon.
> 
> Trouble: Initiative +13, Unarmed +14 (Close Damage DC 21, Crit 18-20), Dodge 12 (22), Parry 12 (22), Fortitude 8, Toughness 10/5, Will 9, Acrobatics +11, Athletics +12, Insight +12, Intimidation +9.
> Hero Points: 3
> ...




Tomorrow: Epilogue.


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## Davies (Oct 9, 2021)

*Epilogue*

As Thunder Dragon regains consciousness, only the faint touch of the tip of a spear at his throat stops him from rearing up. Instead, he glares up at the woman holding it there. "Involving yourself _now_?" he asks.

Scathach somehow shrugs without adjusting the point of her spear. "Just ensuring that the fight _that you lost_ doesn't promptly start up again. I believe the three of you have some things to say to each other."

As she says so, he can see his former opponents standing just a bit behind her, looking down at him with what looks like appropriate apprehension. "Yes," he says. "We do, at that." Before either of them can say anything, though, he presses on. "Breaking the rules as you two did means that I don't owe either of you a boon. So I hope you enjoyed that fight, for it's all --"

Trouble interrupts. "I think not. In a few minutes, we're going to ask you for something, and you're going to give it -- voluntarily."

Thunder Dragon stares at her. "Your temerity is without limit."

"Thank you," she says.

"I don't think that was a compliment," says Wukong.

Trouble shrugs. "As the Lady of Dun Scath has said, you lost. And everyone saw you lose."

Thunder Dragon laughs bitterly. "'Everyone?' You overestimate the market value of these events. I might have a few million viewers all over the world, but that is a far cry from --"

This time, Wukong interrupts. "She meant, everyone in Bhutan."

He starts. "What -- no, that's ridiculous. There aren't more than a few hundred television subscribers in the country, and they don't --"

"There were, until a very fast-moving individual took advantage of your focus on these events to deliver battery-powered TV receivers to every village in this country," says Trouble. "All of them pre-subscribed to this event. All of them showing this final battle to every person in Bhutan. 

Wukong picks up the thread when Trouble falls silent. "They all saw you lose. They all know you can be beaten." He pauses. "I imagine any number of revolutions are being plotted, as we speak. I imagine they are being supplied by a variety of interested parties."

Thunder Dragon stares at the two of them in stunned silence. He finally finds his voice, but only enough to stammer. "You -- you --"

"Did you think you were the only one who knows how to exploit the media?" says Trouble. She doesn't wait for his response. "Now for that boon, the one that you're going to want to give us, because it's in your own best interests. As someone said earlier, 'Get off _our_ planet.'"

He keeps right on staring, but now he's found the rest of his voice. "If that was what you wanted," he says in a low, angry tone, "then you had just to beat me by the rules and --"

"And you would weasel your way out of it," says Trouble, more anger in her tone than there has been before now. "Exact words -- 'any boon the king of Bhutan can grant'. Oh, if someone asked you to leave Earth, you'd have done it. But once you'd left, you'd no longer the be king of Bhutan, and no longer have to keep any promises he'd made. So you'd come back and conquer all over again. So there's no point to that request." She lets out a sigh. "And we found another way to obtain the only other worthwhile request that anyone had come up with."

That addendum confuses him, clearly, but most of his focus is on what came before that. "First you call me a coward, and then you call me a cheat. Is there any more insolence that you'd like to offer?"

Trouble opens her mouth to answer that, but Wukong speaks further. "All that needs to be said has been said. Will you grant the boon?"

Thunder Dragon looks back at Scathach, who has been listening with her usual bored expression. He beckons for her to move the spear away, and, after a moment of consideration, she does so. He stands, dusts himself off, and then looks at Trouble and Wukong. "I came to this world to find worthy opponents. I found treachery and cowardice instead. So be it. I go because it pleases me to go." He looks up at the dome, as one who is about to fly up towards it might look. 

When, after a moment, nothing has happened, he looks again in Wukong's direction, annoyed.

"Oh. Sorry."

Thunder Dragon shakes his head. Without a word, he flies up, through a portal in the dome, and is gone from sight in a moment.

And so, at last, it ends.


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## Davies (Oct 10, 2021)

*Post-Epilogue*

The wheelchair squeaked as the Lancet rolled it out of the arena -- already the subject of a fair amount of graffiti and vandalism in just a few hours after the former ruler of Bhutan had departed. Being of an orderly mind, she didn't really approve of that, but she did understand, and was not really in any position to do anything about it. "Your cab should be here shortly, I think," she informed the wheelchair's passenger. "Should I accompany you to the airport?"

"I think I should be able to manage that part of the journey on my own," said Zuwen, his voice still reedy and fatigued. "But thank you for the offer."

It had been a difficult struggle to keep him alive, and his rehabilitation would be a lengthy one. Likely, that truly had been his last fight for what remained of his life. But not a word of complaint had he made to her, and she found that she respected this old man even more. Not that she would ever say that. It would ruin her reputation.

Looking over the altered skyline of Thimpu, watching a number of Earth's extraterrestrial visitors departing this place which was no longer a sanctuary for their sort, she felt moved to ask. "What do you think will happen now?"

"The world will change. It never stops changing," Zuwen replied. "If you want more than truisms ... I suspect that the greatest concern is the possibility that we will come to regret having driven Thunder Dragon away."

She looked at him in surprise.

"The other aliens are carrying news of this with them," he said. "That news will tell those out there, among the stars, that Earth has one fewer superpower, even if that one was only a tyrant. When tyrants fall, it does not inspire fear in other, would-be tyrants. It inspires ambition." Zuwen shook his head. "But that is a worry for another day, I hope. As is the fact that he never actually said that he would _never_ come back ..."


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