SNF 2005.11 - Vyle vs Kanji

Description: A ninja meets a wrestler in the lobby of Geese Tower. Moral of the story: Never trust ninja carrying suspicious objects. Especially ones that go 'slosh' and 'clink'. (Winner: Kanji)

It's a premiere sporting event, a festival of gratuitous violence, many things. But it's also a business. One of Geese Howard's more profitable ones. A hallmark of worldwide entertainment, packaged, broadcast, telecast.
Major money event.
But that doesn't mean the SNF producers don't have a -budget-.
And there's always corners to cut -somewhere-.
Like in venue booking.
That's usually quite expensive, what with insurance and cleanup costs, venue setup - accomodating TV cameras, crowds, and the like...yes, a real headache. Very expensive.
There's an easy solution to that, though: hold fights on Howard Enterprises property.
Like so.

Lights. Cameras. The roar of the crowd. All these and more packed into the lobby of the Howard Enterprises building. Geese Tower the key landmark of the Southtown skyline. The ground floor, the entire lobby, has been taken over by the SNF crew. Cameras, lights, and rolling barriers to keep the crowd in check. Banners, as well, on those barriers - hey, gotta push the logo for TV, right?
The fighting floor is cordoned off, running from the reception desk to the elevators, encompassing the escalators to the higher lobby. Marble floor and tasteful potted plants. Spectators. Imminent violence.
All that's needed? The players. Enter fighters, stage right.

Ah, yes. Someplace nice and enclosed. Good places to rebound off of, but even more, better to contain sound and reflect it all about. It makes it easier to hear the big entrance....

o/` EVERYBODY (COME ON)! IF YOU WITH IT (COME ON)! IF YOU READY (COME ON)! IF YOU WANT IT (COME ON)! EVERYBODY (COME ONE)!.... o/` That's right. Time to absorb the subculture and get down with the sickness. Busting through one of the doors in the upper lobby as his theme song goes out, Vyle charges through, bouncing and playing up to the crowd. While most would wither under the kinds of boos he gets, he revels in it...he's a heel, after all. Smirking as he gets into a short shout-off with a spectator, he jumps onto the handrails of the up-escalator, running down it before leaping off and into the center of the cordoned off fighting area. Thrusting his hands up, he splits his fingers at the ring and middle fingers, showing the crowd his trademark V-sign.

Finally, as his theme hits the second verse, he settles down, looking around and stretching out in wait of his opponent. "Come on, bring on the chump. He's gonna get a taste of some real sickness when I'm done."

Music. Frenzied activity. Pre-fight posturing. A bravo performance by the man called Vyle. A sterling example of the wrestler's art. But as his intro music fades, only silence replaces it. A moment passes, two - the only sound is the murmur of the crowd. Where's his opponent?
Good question.
Blink and you'll miss it.
There's movement, up above. A subtle shifting in the light, a shadow cast on the floor. A single paper talisman, a Shinto ofuda, flutters gently to the ground. And as it lands, it explodes, bursting into a writhing pillar of sweet-smelling incense.
When the smoke clears, it leaves behind a strange figure standing across from Vyle. A tall figure garbed in shades of black and crimson.
He wears ceremonial robes in the Japanese style - a men's kimono belted at the waist by a thick obi sash, a long michiyuki overcoat hanging from his shoulders. But that, in itself, is not unusual. His choice of costume isn't entirely out of place. This is Japan, after all.
What -is- unusual...the stout earthware jugs hanging round his torso and waist. A good half-dozen sake jars, sealed with corks and tied together with rough hemp rope.
Pale skin, almost parchment-bleached, crinkles as he smiles. His features are nearly hidden, face shrouded by long hair and eyes covered by a metal plate. But what -can- be seen...speaks of dry bemusement.
Sketching a bow, Kanji whispers, "My...a colourful one, aren't you, mmn?"

COMBATSYS: Kanji has started a fight here.

COMBATSYS: Vyle has joined the fight here.

COMBATSYS: Kanji takes no action.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Kanji            0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0             Vyle

As the talisman explodes, Vyle's forced to shield his face from the blast, hissing as the incense smell spreads. Finally, he pulls his arm away and spots the mysterious black and red figure before him. Frowning, he drops his arms, one hand held against his side in a non-plussed way. "...great, so I have to fight a damn ninja? Perfect," he mutters, shaking his head. Rather than prepare or get into a fighting stance, he simply starts walking up to Kanji, shaking his head. "So what if I am? Purple and green is better than black and blue."

Then the bell rings.

As soon as the signal's given, Vyle quickly tries to make good on his promise. Rather than go straight for the quick lucha-style throw, the wrestler simply tries to ram his head into Kanji's pale, long-haired face. Maybe even spike him a little with his mohawk for good measure. "DON'T MESS, PUNK!"

COMBATSYS: Kanji dodges Vyle's Quick Punch.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Kanji            0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0             Vyle

Kanji laughs. Dryly. Not dry, as in possessed of wry humour. But -dry-. Parched, the cracked and gasping laugh of a man dying in the desert.

He stands his ground, remaining still as Vyle charges. All he does is raise one finger, pointing at the wrestler's hairdo. Indicating the mohawk.

"I'm not the punk..."

Then he -ducks-, sliding fluidly -beneath- the headbutt, his lean frame folding in time with flexing knees. Dropping to the ground, Kanji smirks. A faint touch of red light glints off the steel plate shielding his eyes, highlighting the expression on his face.

"-You are-."
The sake jugs hanging from his body sway as he moves, their contents sloshing round. That's not the only sound, though. There's also the whisper of paper as Kanji's arm twists. Still crouched beneath Vyle's body, he flicks a hand upwards - a -spray- of paper ofuda blasting forth from his sleeve. Dozens of rectangular paper charms filling the air at point-blank range, slamming skyward at a 45 degree angle.

COMBATSYS: Kanji successfully hits Vyle with Thousand Cranes.
- Power hit! -

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////////////     ]
Kanji            0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0             Vyle

...ok, that really did suck. Not only did his headbutt miss, but it wasn't even a hard dodge for his opponent. Even worse, Kanji's attack seems to catch him completely off guard. Then again, how do you react to a blast of magic paper spewing at your face? Thrown back from the attack, Vyle groans and sneers, landing beside one of the trash cans in the lobby. "NGhh....bastard," he snaps. Turning around, he quickly and hastily yanks the top of the can off, tossing the lid toward Kanji in hopes of ringing the Ninja's bell this time around.

COMBATSYS: Kanji dodges Vyle's Thrown Object.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////////////     ]
Kanji            0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0             Vyle

"True..." Kanji muses.

Not all the paper charms cast by the ninja's attack hit Vyle. There were so -many-, such a number, that a good deal simply went by. He fired them upward, almost vertically. And in the wake of the assault, some of those talismans adhere to the lobby ceiling, while others begin to rain down. The ofuda flutter over the battlefield, lending a surreal cast to the scene.

And as some of that paper falls before him, partially obscuring him from view...Kanji -vanishes-. The thrown trash can cleaves through empty air, hitting only a few drifting rectangles of paper. It clatters, noisily, rolling to a halt on the ground.

" parents weren't married."

When he speaks again, his voice comes from the other end of the lobby. Near the elevators. Kanji leans against the closed doors. He uncorks one of the jugs tied to his robes, bringing it to his lips. Then he lowers it, wiping away flecks of dark fluid from his mouth with a sleeve.

Laughter, from the crowd.

COMBATSYS: Kanji focuses on his next action.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////////////     ]
Kanji            0/-------/------=|==-----\-------\0             Vyle

...oh hell no. He did not just do that. It's bad enough that he sipmly seemed to warp or teleport out of the way of the trash can lid, but now he's being taunted at by the Ninja. No one takes a drink like that at Vyle's expense and lives to tell about it. " little..." Running toward the escalators again, Vyle quickly leaps into the side of the hand guards on one. Holding on to the railing with his hands, he pushes off with his feet and legs to in a slow twisting flip back. Sailing toward Kanji, he twists enough that he's facing Kanji, with legs scissored out as he flies toward the ninja. As he closes in, he tries to clasp them around each side of his opponent's head and drop back, hopefully sending him off to the other end of the lobby with the swift hurricanrana.

COMBATSYS: Kanji endures Vyle's Viper's Coil.

[     \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////////      ]
Kanji            0/-------/-----==|===----\-------\0             Vyle

"Little?" Kanji arches an eyebrow. "I'm taller than you..."

Replacing the cork on his sake jar, he lets it drop, dangling from the rope criss-crossing his torso. Shrugging his shoulders, Kanji puts on a thoughtful look, as if mulling over Vyle's statement. "...though, certainly, you likely weigh more than I..."

Given that he's just standing there talking, it's no surprise that Vyle's attack latches hold. His legs clamp around Kanji's head, wrenching the ninja's neck. -Hard-. The move slinging him bodily into the air, with little resistance.

But as he flies? Kanji's still grinning. His air of amusement unwavering. It's like he somehow finds this funny. In mid-air, as he arcs across the lobby, Kanji slips his makeshift bandolier, his hands suddenly full of rope and earthware jars. He swings, rope and heavy jugs lashing out toward Vyle's body.

COMBATSYS: Kanji successfully hits Vyle with Random Weapon.

[     \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////////             ]
Kanji            0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0             Vyle

Ok, what the hell. Seriously, what the hell? So Vyle managed to fling Kanji over. That's a good thing, but hardly enough to outweigh the bad that comes from it. As the wrestler manages to get upright, he ends up smashed right in his back with a giant solid jug, almost like an wrecking ball hitting a wall. "AGHHHHHHHHHH!!" Dropping face forward, the luchadore, struggles and heaves, trying to recover from the massive hit he took. "" Again, Vyle ends up having to take solace in the makeshift weaponry he finds nearby. Grabbing a steel roping base from around the lobby, the wrestler stands and swings for the fences, hoping to take Kanji's head off with his weapon.

COMBATSYS: Kanji dodges Vyle's Random Weapon.

[     \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////            ]
Kanji            0/-------/---====|=======\-------\0             Vyle

With form like that, all the big teams are probably just lining up for Vyle's signature.

Pity this is SNF, not baseball.

And Kanji isn't there to get hit.

"Temper, temper, Mister Cross," Kanji whispers, using Vyle's real name. He waggles an admonishing finger, sounding an awful like a schoolteacher.

He's crouched -atop- Vyle's makeshift bludgeon, feet balancing on the end of the steel pole. It's an almost impossible pose - with him there, the weapon -ought- to be drastically imbalanced in Vyle's hands. And yet, it's not. It's as if Kanji's body is feather-light.

With a final wave of the finger, Kanji kicks off. Quite literally, one linen-wrapped foot flashing to meet Vyle's head as he leaps.

COMBATSYS: Kanji successfully hits Vyle with Light Kick.

[    \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////                ]
Kanji            0/-------/---====|=======\=------\1             Vyle

This honestly isn't a match anymore. With Vyle's best attempts, he's starting to become little more than a punching bag for Kanji. Whiffing with his swing, his eyes widen in confusion. Then even more in surprise as Kanji perches on the top of the steel pole he was swinging. "What the f...." Of course, he can't finish that expletive, as his mouth ends up stuffed with a mouthful of the ninja's foot. Reeling back and dropping the pole, the wrestler growls and sneers. "*(@#*(@*# dead..." he promises. Who is this guy, to show up Vyle like this, anyways?!

ANger getting the best of him, Vyle leaps forward, arms outstretched as he tries to get a grip on Kanji's head. If he manages it, he'll tuck the Ninja's head under his armpit in a headlock, spin, and drop onto his back with a vicious DDT. If not...well, you'll get a good idea from watching what else has happened in the match.

COMBATSYS: Kanji blocks Vyle's Dead Spiral.

[       \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////                 ]
Kanji            0/-------/--=====|=======\==-----\1             Vyle

Kanji arches an eyebrow - just in time to get grabbed by the wrestler. Slung round in Vyle's grasp like a rag doll, the punishing blow lands, accompanied by a roar from the crowd.

But there's something wrong.

Vyle probably feels it, quite clearly. He hit Kanji, but it didn't seem to hit as hard as it -should-. The ninja did -something-, twisting partially away from the final strike as it landed, instead catching the brunt of it with those sake jugs festooning his body. Perverse armour, of a sort. And that flexibility shows again, when he slips from Vyle's grip and twists away.

Kanji comes to a halt, several feet away. As he lands from his leap, several ofuda flutter into the air. The paper charms from his -initial- attack on Vyle still litter the floor, and it's those white rectangles of paper now stirred by his passage.

He makes almost no sound as he lands from his leap, save for the clinking of ceremic jars against each other. Kanji adjusts the ropes lashed round his upper body, the lines binding his sake jars in place. Then he makes a quiet 'tsk'. It looks like two of the jugs cracked slightly when they absorbed the impact. Something dark begins to ooze down the sides.

He shakes his head, and looks up, peering at Vyle. "Strange, Mister said I'd die...but I'm still breathing."

Laughter, from the spectators.

COMBATSYS: Kanji focuses on his next action.

[       \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////                 ]
Kanji            0/-------/--=====|=======\==-----\1             Vyle

Indeed, while Vyle managed to grab his ninja opponent, he feels something wrong. It's not long after that he figures out why....damn jugs. Rolling back from the slam, he crouches down, one hand planted on the floor while he watches the annoyingly confident ninja. He'd call it arrogance, if not for the fact that he's more than backing it up. STill....that infuriating taunting, and the crowd's laughter. They're not supposed to laugh. He's not a comedy wrestler! He's not supposed to be mocked!

Teeth bare at Kanji, Vyle's threshold slowly reaching it's breaking point. "Do you really want me to kill you?" he snaps. He's getting to a point that he might just be willing to do that, this fight becoming so infuriating for him. Incensed, Vyle charges at his ninja opponent, trying to wrap his arms around one of Kanji's own, hoping to use his momentum to pull Kanji along in what amounts to a reverse arm drag and wrench the cocky little freak's shoulder out of it's socket.

COMBATSYS: Kanji dodges Vyle's Medium Throw.

[       \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////                 ]
Kanji            0/-------/--=====|=======\==-----\1             Vyle

Another of those infurating smiles graces Kanji's lips, the edges of his mouth pulling back into a death-grin rictus. Vyle -grabs- Kanji's arm. But he doesn't grab Kanji. Instead, when the moment of contact passes, Vyle finds himself clutching an empty sleeve...and the entire outer coat of Kanji's robes. Kanji dances back, sliding fully out of the garment. Leaving fabric, hanging limp in Vyle's hands.

Not just fabric, though. Not just the robe. Remember, all those sake jugs Kanji was carrying - they were tied to his outer robes, secured by rope. So Vyle's left holding -those-, too. Kiln-fired pottery clinking against each other with the heavy sound of filled containers.

Clad in just his basic kimono, Kanji stops, some distance from Vyle. Smiling. He joins his hands before his chest. Palms flat against each other, fingertips pointing towards the sky. Almost prayerfully, in form. Until his hands begin to move, fingers shaping themselves into distinctive forms. Seals.

And with the first motion, the jugs...


Kiln-fired shards pinwheel into the air, as the contents spill. Fluid flies in all directions - over the floor, over -Vyle-, if he doesn't drop and dodge quickly enough. Wetness the colour of blood. And it isn't just liquid, but also ragged chunks of tissue, slick organs. Dark arterial redness flows across the marble, staining the lobby floor like a canvas. Painting with gore.

Kanji smirks. The blood oozes, splattering all the way to -his- feet. And he drops to a crouch, slamming a palm down. Into the blood.

Which -blazes- red, the power carrying all the way, conducting -through- the slick wetness. Reaching hungrily to engulf Vyle.

"Perhaps, Mister Cross," Kanji murmurs, "but I daresay I deal in death...better than you."

COMBATSYS: Vyle blocks Kanji's Curse Seal.

[         \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////                   ]
Kanji            0/-------/--=====|=======\===----\1             Vyle

This time...FOR ONCE IN THE MATCH...Vyle is ready for the attack. While the strange channeling throught he blood threatens to overcome him, his experience in fighting on beer-soaked canvases and in rain-slicked parking lots has given him SOMETHING to brag about. As it is, he manages to roll through the wave, even if it stains his purple and green outfit red. "Really? Well, lets see you handle the slow, painful kind that rots you from within." He then charges at Kanji, attempting to tackle him to the red-slickened ground and grab his legs. If he can manage it...there's going to be pain. A lot of pain...

COMBATSYS: Kanji blocks Vyle's Outbreaker.

[            \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ///////////                   ]
Kanji            0/-------/=======|-------\-------\0             Vyle

There we go. Now that he's got Kanji's legs, he's ready for the real deal. WIthout his usual call out, he leaps up into the air, dragging Kanji up with him. As they go airborne, he pulls on Kanji's legs and flips back, hooking his toes onto the Ninja's shoulders as he somersaults. Finally, with one vicious landing, he drives Kanji face first into the ground with a final flip, wrenching back on those legs on impact to make the drop even more painful.

Face hits the gore-stained ground, with the sickening -crack- of bone. Lower limbs twisted by Vyle, damn near coming from their sockets. The body lands, sprawled at an awkward angle, face shattered, neck broken.

Except... isn't Kanji.

The body on the ground...spasms, writhing, losing colour. Turning pale, the edges smouldering red like embers. It evaporates - or perhaps burns - turning into smoke and ash. Leaving behind just a single half-burnt ofuda, one of Kanji's paper talismans, lying in a puddle of blood.

"...Kuchiyose," comes a hoarse whisper, a voice from the above, "kawarimi..."

Kanji. The real Kanji. Standing inverted, high in the air, over the crowd. Upside down, feet adhering to the ceiling.

He hisses, drawing breath. He seems injured, in pain - his little trick didn't leave him -entirely- unscathed. While it wasn't Kanji that took the hit, he's still breathing heavily, still -acting- like he's injured, much in the way he would...had the blows hit his own body. The doppleganger's wounds mirrored on his own form. Such is the nature of blood magic.

But the merely physical...doesn't affect his mein. He still smiles. And that smile only -grows-, as he drops. Falling, Kanji's fingers come together, interlacing. They move, shift, blurring through successive patterns. And when he lands, he does so with one outstretched hand, palm meeting the bloody marble.

Mindful of the audience, Kanji voices his next technique. Nothing so crass as a yell - but enough of a raised voice to carry across the lobby: "OFUDA BUNSHIN NO JUTSU!"

Remember all those paper charms Kanji opened the match with? That massive spray that left ofuda littered -all over- the battlefield? Many of those are now soaking in the blood scattered by his shattered sake jugs. And now? They smoulder, curling together, forming into -more- of those paper clones. Three, each a rough approximation of Kanji's own form, ghosting towards Vyle, clawlike fingers reaching with mindless intent.

COMBATSYS: Kanji successfully hits Vyle with Paper Doll.

[             \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////                          ]
Kanji            1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0             Vyle

Well, this had to be expected. The dolls end up clawing deep into Vyle's body, scratching, clawing, and essentially ripping him to shreds. Dazed, fading, and obviously outclassed, Vyle glares at Kanji. Barely able to keep his body up, he gives up enough energy to give Kanji a nice parting gesture. Good ol' one finger salute. "*@#* you..." he says weakly, before he snaps out a sickening looking puff of green, poisonous mist toward the Ninja's direction. HOpefully, something for him to remember him by....

COMBATSYS: Vyle can no longer fight.

[             \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Kanji            1/-------/=======|

COMBATSYS: Kanji reflects Venom Breath from Vyle with Eightfold Path.

[              \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Kanji            0/-------/-------|

"I'm sorry, Mister Cross..."

The blood covering the lobby floor ripples. Moving like a living thing. Fluid peels itself off the marble, in defiance of all natural order. It streams through the air, shaping into eight distinct serpentine streams. They flow round Kanji, embracing his body in a twister of red liquid. Hardening into a barrier of coherent crimson light.

"...but you're not my type."

A spitting -hiss- fills the air, the venomous gas of Vyle's final attack dispelled against Kanji's barrier. With a wave of the hand, the ninja lets it fall - the blood steaming to mist as he does, leaving him wreathed in clouds of green and crimson.

In the background, an SNF announcer yells his name, exalting Kanji as the winner.

He smiles.

Log created by Kanji, and last modified on 18:49:47 11/20/2005.