NEPH
So.
. . .
That's what it felt like.
She'd almost forgotten.
Defeat.
Her teeth ground against each other as her eyes opened to find herself . . . back in the lobby. Nobody had come back from their matches yet, meaning theirs had been the first to conclude. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Some annoying creature was bouncing around sputtering nonsense in a seemingly perpetual state of insanity. Obviously it had been very early to be killed, as were two others off to the sides, a large and hideous creature, as well as a Lucario she'd seen earlier. Hadn't it been paired with a Mudkip? Talk about embarrassing, losing first. It eased the sting of bitter bile she was tasting from her own loss.
Her eyes flitted toward the bracket screen, where names were being crossed out with a thin red line, and two other brackets had appeared. "Winner's Bracket" and "Loser's Bracket." She hated seeing her name in the latter, set to battle against the priestess. Speaking of; Kirin, Rex, and Weevil were back as well. She didn't so much as cast a glance in the direction of the humans - she was far too annoyed and embarrassed at her loss to address them.
What would her trainer have done differently? What tactic would he have employed? They used to stay up for hours thinking of ways to overcome the next hurdle. Well into the night, even to the peaking sun over the horizon, they'd plan with one another on strategies and ideas. They sort of stopped after becoming champions. They'd . . . had no reason to. At the top, there's no challenge. They stagnated.
She missed those days of simplicity.
However, the gardevoir was quick to remind herself as to why she was in this tournament in the first place, and her resolve became steeled over. Her loss here was simply a fluke. A bad match-up, with an abysmal teammate. That's all that it was. Kirin would be far easier to dispatch, especially having seen her in action. Though . . . Neph made a mental note to devise an actual strategy this time. It wouldn't be nearly as fun without her trainer, but she'd manage.
M.O.D.O.K.
The babel club hit its mark, leaving a dent over the impressively-shelled skull of the Man-Mind, who wasn't deterred as he smashed into the ground - and through it, barrelling out of the bottom, leaving a crumbling hole in his wake.
"I!" He roared.
"AM!"
The ground shuddered, before the A.I.M. Leader bursted from the ground, forging another hole as he propelled himself again toward Pit.
"M.O.D.O.K.!!!"
He aimed to batter the angel out of the air. While these attacks seemed simplistic, it was in fact to give the Man-Mind more time to let his systems cooldown, all so that he could bring them back with a vengeance.
"MY GENIUS IS UNPARALLELED! YOUR POWER IS NO MATCH FOR SCIENCE! BUT IN THIS MOMENT, ALLOW THE BLUNT SIMPLICITY OF MY SUPERIOR SKULL TO BE AN EFFECTIVE STAND-IN!"
However, there was one single move M.O.D.O.K. had yet to use in the entire fight, one he now used. If Pit would come within five feet of the Mechanized Organism, a powerful and magenta shockwave would burst from him. This was the Psychic Shockwave, not as powerful as Dual Hyper Beams, and less kinetic and forceful than the Doomsday Chair's Shockwave, the Psychic Shockwave would aim to flay Pit on the deepest, most neurological level possible, an attack to sear his brain from within. A side effect in favor of M.O.D.O.K. may even be temporarily severing Palutena's connection to Pit for a short time, giving the Man-Mind a big advantage. This attack would also feel like the worst imaginable headache to Pit, as though his mind were being shoved through a rather aggressive blender. An attack on the mind would always be far deadlier than an attack on the body.
Combining the Psychic Shockwave would be M.O.D.O.K. using his skull to slam into a hopefully stunned Pit, before turning, and like a missile, finally slamming him into the ground before he could recover, aiming to flatten him into the ground, and form a third hole in the ground as M.O.D.O.K. would barrel through it once again.
KASSANDRA
Jevil's strategy was quick and simple, and typically it would have been effective - if not for the fact that Kassandra had arguably the same degree of tricks to pull, so long as she was using the Staff of Hermes. He had teleported to completely avoid an attack? Kassandra did the same, appearing in the air behind Jevil by about a dozen meters, hovering due to the properties of the staff.
Jevil's attack went completely ignored, just as he'd done to theirs.
"Please, you're still in diapers compared to me," the misthios replied, her tone humored. "Get good."
Once more, several balls of unknown and volatile energy materialized around Jevil, closing in on him from every angle, making his only route of escape: teleportation. At Kassandra's direction, the balls would also change direction to rapidly rescind and close back in on Jevil should he manage to evade, or actually teleport away again. Should he use his own projectiles to counter, the orbs would erupt in its mysterious fervor, releasing a gaseous aura that would still engulf the jester. It would do significantly less damage - but it would still definitely sting.
Unbeknownst to Jevil, the staff had another feature. Regeneration. While it was nowhere near as effective as Second Wind (and in this domain, it seemed even weaker than she was used to), it was still a functional feature of the artifact. Slowly, the cracks in Kassandra's bones were sealing up, the cuts and gashes on her body beginning to gradually seal, her various bruises fading, the dead and burnt flesh flaking away to be replaced with new, healthy skin.
As one arm utilized the Staff of Hermes, her other hand reached inside her satchel, and from it, supernaturally emerged a helmet. Proud golden armor. With her hood down, the Keeper of Humanity slid the Helmet of Ares over her head, and her eyes behind the holes seemed to flash red with power. Jevil's slim window of opportunity was dwindling rapidly, if not having already closed. This misthios was just getting started.
SPECIAL GUEST #3
Master Hand could be found not inside the lobby, but rather, in a seemingly dark void. The exact location wasn't entirely known, not by the three individuals standing around the disembodied glove. A large screen was erected before them, displaying segments of all the ongoing fights. The special guests assembled around Master Hand were watching these fights unfold.
"They're a little more brutal than expected," Master Hand told the trio. "A few are taking this a little too seriously - it's not life or death!"
The hand chuckled.
One of the gathered individuals, the largest of the three (by nearly two feet) shifted where he stood, golden visor reflecting the screen's illumination. His heavy titanium-based carbon-crystal power armor was scuffed lightly in some places, telling stories of battles long-passed now, covered in a fine layer of army green paint. The number 117 labeled his left breast.
Master Chief Petty Officer John-117's head turned lightly toward Master Hand at his words, but the spartan offered no commentary yet, turning his gaze back toward the screen. However, there was a small flicker of light in front of him when he raised his hand (privately prompted by a fourth presence in the room), and a foot-tall figure appeared in Master Chief's palm, blue in her glowing light as she placed her arms behind her back, cocking her head slightly to look at the screen.
"I don't know about the rest of you, but I seem to recall mine and Chief's tournament actually being life or death," Kalmiya commented, to which another chuckle emitted from the floating hand.
"Well, I didn't host that tournament. Besides, only Frank Horrigan got permanently affected by it. He's still a head. I have him in my office, if you care to see."
Kalmiya's brow furrowed as she cocked her head to the side. "You have an office?"
"Wow, you really are FULL of questions!" the hand replied.
"I . . . asked one . . . ?"
Chief maintained his silence as he watched the fights unfolding. Not a lot of faces he recognized, with only a few rare exceptions. Some of these fighters seemed a lot better than the ones he'd seen back in the third official tournament (this being the fourth). Tough fighters, for sure. If you'd told the spartan he'd be participating in events like these, he would have probably sent you to a medical ward for a full psychiatric work-up. It was still a little bizarre to him, admittedly. Interacting with all these worlds. His universe was vast, more vast than many others he'd spent time in, yet still, it made home feel a lot smaller by comparison.
Regardless, the Chief had his own question for the cagey hand, once more turning his head to look toward the glove. "Your program. Dimension Games," he said, bringing up something he'd only recently learned about. Needless to say, the spartan wasn't a fan of it. "Why have it?"
