Match of the Millennium

Description: In the assassin and counter assassin business, it can be hard to tell who is the predator, and who the prey. Bolivar, a skilled operative tasked with hunting down possible terrorist elements in the Mortal Kombat tournament, has taken it upon himself to hunt down Erron Black, the X Earthrealmer cowboy. They fight.

[ERRON BLACK]
If one were to attempt to seek out the Mercenary Erron Black, they would have only to ask one of the many robed monks who call this palace their home. Such a monk could give directions to an otherwise unremarkable room located deep in the bowels of Shang Tsungs fortress.
The room in question is dimly lit and circular, with four hallways leading in. Each small square entrance is located precisely at one of the four points of the compass, and flanked by thick square columns that disappear into the gloom above. The majority of the hazy chamber's light is cast by smoky pitch torches set in fine silver brackets, each bracket mounted to one of the twelve square pillars that ring the outside of the chamber. As the room is not overly large, this causes the air to remain fairly thick with smoke.
In the center of the room, stretched across a tiled mosaic of a curling dragon, a long plank table has been set with a veritable feast of delights. Roast chickens, mashed potato's, pies, sparkling crystal goblets and stone jugs to fill them. The food steams, but the man seated backward on a simple wooden bench pays it no mind. Lounging with his back against the edge of the table, Erron Black reaches behind his left elbow and digs a hand full of walnuts from a small silver dish. With his gaze focused down toward his fist, he squeezes, knuckles popping alongside the sound of crunching shells.
There is a trick to it. There is always a trick. Strong man games are full of little bits of hidden wisdom. It's hard not to collect them when you've lived as long as the mercenary has. Every little trick helps. Every bit of folk lore.
Shifting his fingers with slow deliberation, the cowboy sprinkles shattered flakes of shell onto the tile floor, separating the debris from the meats. Then, without looking over, he begins to flick the small morsels off to his right, shooting them over the table to bounce off of the rim of a crystal goblet and clatter into a second silver dish left empty for the purpose.
The down side to living so long? You tend to have seen it all before.

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar does not collect signs of tribute for his deeds, nor does he play strong man games to demonstrate his mind's power over his surroundings. He is a man that lives in the moment and only acts upon the power of his soul, his heart, and his intuition. His game is a different game. It is drawing on a force that is purely biochemical: adrenaline. And adrenaline changes the world's metaphysics in strange ways, at times, stranger on this island. Bolivar had recovered from his fight with Daniel, and had put a conflict in Daniel's mind, between the demonic entity's vessel, Agent Little, and the monster itself. Now, Bolivar would put his sights on a confirmed assassin of Outworld, on reconnaissance.

As Bolivar's familiar friend, adrenaline, hiked up his neck and tightened his muscles with each forward step, only loosening the tension at each exhale for a step down and forward with his forward knee bending and fingers out, he stepped into Erron's chamber. He knew the assassin's reputation. Best gunfighter in Outworld. Perhaps once, Earth. He knew the man's mind immediately. Approaching from either side would draw a crippling blow. Approaching from the back would be fatal. His best chance at success was a straight challenge from the front. He watches Erron Black as he approached from the shadows and torches, making no attempt at hiding, other than moving along a wall to his left, to spring off of in case of an attempt at a drawdown.

Bolivar reached into the white gi he wore, his khaki suits consumed by battle, slipping his yellow ring onto his hand. It glowed to life.

COMBATSYS: Bolivar has started a fight here.

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Bolivar          0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Bolivar equips a luminous Flaming Yellow Soul Shard.

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Bolivar [E]      0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Erron Black has joined the fight here.

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Bolivar [E]      0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0      Erron Black

COMBATSYS: Erron Black equips a lustrous Canary Yellow Soul Shard.

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Bolivar [E]      0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

[ERRON BLACK]
"You're making a mistake."
The cowboy's head does not lift as he speaks, his gaze remaining fixed on his now empty left hand. A slight flicker of his fingers sends the last of the food dust drifting down toward the floor. He does not seem interested in a fight. He doesn't even seem interested in a visit. His posture is slouched, boots kicked out before him in the very picture of relaxation. None of it means anything, however. If he wanted to draw he could have his guns out faster than most men could flinch. There is never a time when this particular man is not dangerous.
"Turn around." Black murmurs, his voice a deep smoke and whisky drawl. "Go pick a fight with someone who won't kill ya. Plenty of them on the island still. Don't be a fool."" As he speaks, a faint golden glow can be seen from beneath the brim of his hat. He is not a man to be trifled with, but he's also not in the mood to fight. Bolivar has a chance. A single, glorious chance to walk away from this.

COMBATSYS: Erron Black narrows his eyes and chambers another round.

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Bolivar [E]      0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar continues moving forward as Erron postures, most definitely the proper distinguishment of the gunfighter's personal threat level towards Bolivar. Bolivar, however intimidated, does not back down, his narrow nostrils flaring as he approaches and smells the gunpowder's saltpeter sourness beneath the morsels arrayed before Erron. And then, as Erron offers retreat, Bolivar pauses, frozen. But it is not in fear, his eyes hidden by a pair of sunglasses so his intent is hidden. It is merely a ruse.

Bolivar sprints forward suddenly and jumps into the air with a dancer's stride practiced with Zipota lessons in his native Gran Colombia, the Venezuelan landing on the table before Erron amidst the food. A subtle insult towards Erron, to throw off his subconscious, before Bolivar's foot spins around with a instep foot kick to Erron's face, hoping to throw him from firing a round, for however as long as he can help it.

COMBATSYS: Erron Black channels the veins of the burning blood.

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Bolivar [E]      0/-------/-------|==-----\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

COMBATSYS: Erron Black channels the glare of the vicious eye.

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Bolivar [E]      0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

COMBATSYS: Erron Black interrupts Light Kick from Bolivar with Above Snakes EX.

[       \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////// ]
Bolivar [E]      0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

[ERRON BLACK]
Sometimes, the other man isn't posturing. Sometimes the feeling behind the tired, world-weary words is genuine. If only these kids would listen. if only they'd put down there guns and go do something else with their lives. If only. Then he wouldn't have to kill so god damn many of them.
He was warned.
While Bolivar is still mid air, Erron's right hand flickers down to his thigh, a heavy single-action revolver with a long barrel appearing in his hand as if by magic. He does not lift it to fire, but instead twists on the spot, ignoring the sudden clatter as Bolivar crashes down upon the table and silver platters are sent spinning in all directions. Looking up at the younger man from beneath the brim of his hat, the cowboy's eyes practically blaze with the golden flames of enraged souls.
Having turned so that his left boot is up on the bench and his right is braced on the floor, Black weaves to his left just far enough that Bolivar's foot skims past the front of his mask without making contact. Then, quick as a snake, he lunges up to stand atop the bench. At the same moment he swings his right hand up and around in a vicious hook, driving the butt of his pistol hard into the younger man's face. Then, just as smoothly, his left hand swipes down, having already drawn his other pistol, to hammer an equally pointed blow into the side of Bolivar's braced leg.
Sweeping the agent off his feet, Erron vaults from the bench to the table. yet more dishes crash to the ground as the cowboy tilts his right gun down and takes aim at his opponent's gut...
'BANG!'
Bolivar will have to think fast if he wants to get himself out of this one.

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar produces a 'Hurk' sound as he's slammed in the cheekbone, before being surreptiously swept off his leg and down onto the bench, his knee temporarily bent out of the proper joint, putting pressure on the cartilidge. He grits his teeth, staring up at Erron for the split second they make veiled eye contact that they both can sense yet neither can confirm, before the flash of the gun snaps throughout the chamber.

The bullet slams into Bolivar's gut, lodging in the wood beneath him after cutting through his large intestine. Immediately going into the mode of a surgeon without fear or medical training, in a seperate profession entirely in fact, he pulls his kapap knife out of the leather wrist sheath beneath his left sleeve and turns to slash at Erron black's leg, a pair of back cuts forward and back along the side of the knee, before Bolivar grunts and attempts to jam the blade into the Achilles heel of the opposite leg on Erron's stance.

COMBATSYS: Bolivar channels the strength of the killing fist.

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Bolivar [E]      0/-------/----===|==-----\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

COMBATSYS: Erron Black blocks Bolivar's Delta Slash.

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Bolivar [E]      0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

[ERRON BLACK]
The sound of the gunshot is still echoing through the circular stone chamber as Erron slams his thumbs against the hammers of his revolvers, pulls both triggers, and flips them backward over his hands. As the guns twirl around his extended fingers, the hammers clack down into the safe position. That done, the gunslinger flings both revolvers down into their holsters as easy as breathing. The entire maneuver is done and over before Bolivar has even had time to draw his knife.
Speaking of.
'CLINK, CLANK, CLACK.'
The Venezuelan's initial swipes of the blade rebound off of Black's metal shin guard, sparks flying as the cowboy sweeps his leg around to bat the knife away. Stomping his foot back to the table, he shifts his weight just in time to slide his ankle back and catch the knife on the edge of his other greave. it is not a clean catch, however, the point bouncing off to bury itself shallowly in the back of his calf.
Jerking his wounded leg back, he suddenly kicks out for Bolivar's wrist, attempting to pop the knife out of his hand and send it spinning end over end across the chamber. Hit or miss, he then drops down atop the man, aiming to ram his right knee hard into the agent's gut wound as his fists rain down in heavy, hooking blows.
A descending left hook is followed by a right. Next a straight hammering left aimed toward the center of Bolivar's chest. Then three quick hooks to alternating sides of the face, right left right.
Above the young man, the rugged cowboy's face is cast into deep shadow. All that can be seen are his eyes, glowing golden and hateful. All that can be heard is the sharp, controlled ex hail that comes with every angry blow.

COMBATSYS: Erron Black successfully hits Bolivar with Put 'em Up.
- Power hit! -

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Bolivar [E]      0/-------/-======|====---\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

[BOLIVAR]
Bolivar's knife is manipulated out of his hand and is sent flying across the floor, spinning across the room and coming to rest against a wall. And then, he screams through his teeth as the knee lands on the bullet wound, before the hail of blows comes. He's pummelled bloody by the torrent of fists, his head snapping about, then his chest being thumped hard and blood spewing out of his mouth from the gunshot's internal bleeding consequences, spraying across Erron's mask. Finally, the last three blows, slamming his head to either side three times. His eye swollen shut, he looks up at Erron, grinning.

Bolivar's hands grip Erron's knee and his fingers slide behind it, and he suddenly lurches with a torsion churn that shifts both of them off the table, if he can manage it. His fists glowing, he unleashes with a hail of fists of his own, his fists aimed at Erron's head with a swift set of rapid jabs downwards, Bolivar's bloody body screaming at him to calm down, but his pressing need for a reversal shoving his will forward.

COMBATSYS: Bolivar channels the glare of the vicious eye.

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Bolivar [E]      1/----===/=======|====---\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

COMBATSYS: Bolivar channels the strength of the killing fist.

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Bolivar [E]      1/----===/=======|====---\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

COMBATSYS: Erron Black channels the glare of the vicious eye.

[               \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////   ]
Bolivar [E]      0/-------/----===|=======\-------\1  [E] Erron Black

COMBATSYS: Erron Black channels the veins of the burning blood.

[               \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////   ]
Bolivar [E]      0/-------/----===|=======\==-----\1  [E] Erron Black

COMBATSYS: Erron Black channels the strength of the killing fist.

[               \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////////////////////   ]
Bolivar [E]      0/-------/----===|=======\==-----\1  [E] Erron Black

COMBATSYS: Erron Black interrupts Panther Rage from Bolivar with High Noon EX.

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Bolivar [E]      0/-------/=======|====---\-------\0  [E] Erron Black

[ERRON BLACK]
The mercenary's breaths are coming in sharp, controlled bursts as he swings his scarred fists repeatedly into Bolivar's face, muscular shoulders heaving. Some of his cool impassivity seems to have dropped away, overcome by the bloodlust of the spirits he caries. If he were doing this smart he would have stopped to put a bullet in the kid's head. But no. He needs to teach this boy a lesson. Needs to pound it into his skull.
Damn it, why won't you learn? You could have walked away you stupid fuck.
Fingers closing around his knee jolt him out of his violent trance, but by that point it's too late to do anything about it. Both he and his opponent are tumbled over the edge of the table, Black's back slamming unevenly onto the bench before their combined momentum tumble it onto its side with a loud 'CRASH!'.
The cowboy lands at the bottom of the tangle, his hat flying away as his head rebounds off of the stone floor. Briefly dazed, he struggles with his Venezuelan attacker through sheer instinct. The first of the hammering blows is caught on his bracer, Erron attempting to grapple the hand but missing. He does not notice the second punch coming in until it rocks his head to the side, forcing a grunt from beneath his mask.
Two more heavy blows rock the cowboy before he manages to trap Bolivar's right arm with his left, locking their elbows and holding him steady in a straining contest of muscle on muscle. The mercenary's bare bicep bulges, scarred skin stretched taught as he pins his opponent in place. Another punch smashes into his other temple, rocking his face to the side, but he doesn't even seem to notice. His eyes have transformed into two pits of hellish golden fire, and they blaze, feeding unnatural strength into his battle-honed body.
The point of the impromptu wrestling match becomes clear when the cold, hard barrel of a gun is suddenly jammed point-blank into Bolivar's already wounded abdomen. Having hauled the man off to the left to clear his right holster, he was able to draw his revolver. At this range, it is impossible for him to miss.
'CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!'
The five sharp cracks come so fast as to blend into a single automatic burst, driven by fingers more experienced than any gunslinger still walking the earth. The usually loud bang of the rounds is muffled quite a bit by Bolivar's own body, the impacts shuttering through him as bits of blood, bones, and organs fountain out of his back and splatter across the wall, floor, and dining table.
Smoking gun in his hand, Erron Black boots Bolivar's still twitching body off of him and clambers tiredly to his feet. Casting a sidelong look at the corpse he huffs a bit, then sweeps his still glowing gaze over the mess they made. He says nothing, choosing instead to turn away from the body and meander a couple of steps around the edge of the room, absentmindedly loading his gun.

Erron Black Wins!

Fatality!

Log created on 20:37:17 11/17/2016 by Erron Black, and last modified on 17:38:51 11/18/2016.