Presented here are the fights from the second round of UMBA Season XXXVI in the order they happened. For quick links to each fight, you may wish to use the links in 3.
Both Monsters amble towards each other, Longbow a little more graceful in her movements than the colossal stone mound on the other side of the Arena. As they get closer, Basilica rises up on her five enormous pillar-like legs and her Fans hold their breaths in anticipation for the body slam.
Longbow slides underneath Basilica and dodges around her leg just as she launches her attack. The impact of Basilica against the Arena floor stirs up a thick cloud of dust around the competitors, which Longbow emerges from a little unsteadily. It seems like even though she managed to dodge the attack, the shockwave might have surprised her. Once the dust clears, it looks like Basilica is also recovering from the body slam, and Longbow takes the opportunity to get in a few quick strikes before she gets back up.
High Noon at this point leaps onto the Trainer bench and begins very quickly shouting the countdown. The audience is confused but some of them chant along with him.
“Huh? Why is everyone calling the ten seconds so quickly?” asks the Commentator. “Come on, Basilica is about to do something AWESOME, I bet! We're only on, like, four seconds!”
Angler shouts something to Basilica, who rotates to look at him and then somewhat bashfully backs off and sinks to the ground with what sounds like a huff.
The Commentator finishes his slow count to ten.
“Well, maybe she's not as bloodthirsty as some, but Basilica wins! Give it up for the gracious victor… BASILICA!”
The crowd roar. “It's been a good season for gladiators!” Unfiltered continues. “But will TODAY'S MONSTER BAIT SURVIVE…”
A pause.
“…THE WRATH OF DIAMON??”
There is a violet shimmer, glancing off the white powder that covers the Arena floor, as the feline form of Diamon slinks into the ring. Coruscating light dances off her diamond form as she winds her way around the skeletal trees that scatter the arena floor, looks up at the audience, and yowls.
The crowd oohs and aahs.
“3…2…1…FIGHT!”
Strike leaps into the Arena, clad in fur-trimmed armour, hair and eyes wild, his grey-streaked face barely looking human. He twirls a glowing staff in his hands, spinning it in rapid circles, transfixing Diamon, who leaps, not for the gladiator, but for the light on the end of his weapon.
Strike smashes the staff down towards the cat as it leaps, catching it a glancing blow. He throws his head back and hows, and as he does, Diamon leaps for him. Strike twists out of the way, but a glancing blow from Diamon's paw catches him, the edge of a diamond facet slashing a deep cut into his arm.
“Well, folks, this sure got exciting quickly!” Unfiltered calls, as the crowd gasp. “BLOOD IN THE SNOW HERE ALREADY! This shouldn't take much longer! DIAMON'S ON FIRE TODAY!”
Strike leaps for a tree, scrambling up into its branches. Diamon follows, sinking gleaming claws into the wood and scrambling up after him.
Strike sweeps his pole downwards, cracking Diamon on the shoulder. Electricity crackles, sparking over the cat's armour plating, and a crack spreads across it. The violet flames inside her diamond body flicker, she yowls, and falls from the tree.
Howling, Strike leaps down after her, sweeping the staff in to finish her off.
Diamon staggers to her feet, limping where Strike has injured her leg. She turns to face him, roars, and leaps - unsteadily, but swiftly. Strike tries to dive out of the way, but Diamon lands full on him. Blood spatters, bright crimson across the Arena floor.
The Umpire calls the victory for Diamon, Unfiltered echoing it from the commentator's box, before someone else grabs the commentator's mic, and Yarn's - increasingly familiar to the Arena - voice rings out, arguing the match should be void because Diamon is a dog.
A few seconds later, there is another shriek of feedback as the mic is snatched again. “Nonsense,” snaps the brisk voice of another Rules Lawyer - less well known than Yarn; though a few die-hard fans might be able to identify Asterisk. “If anything's a dog, it's that Strike! Gladiator, indeed? He's barely even human.”
The two Rules Lawyers grapple over the mic, while in the Arena below staff restrain Diamon and carry Strike - bleeding, but alive and conscious enough to wave to the crowd and manage a brief, pained howl - to a medic.
Snatches of argument ring out over the stands - Diamon's a dog, Strike's a dog, no-one's a dog, they're both monsters - before Unfiltered finally manages to snatch the mic back from the squabbling Rules Lawyers.
“AND THAT'S IT FOR TODAY FOLKS.” Even louder than usual, to drown out the other voices in the booth. “IMPRESSIVE VICTORY THERE FOR DIAMON, BUT I'M SURE WE'LL BE SEEING MORE OF STRIKE, WHETHER IT'S AS A GLADIATOR OR…IN THE MONSTER LEAGUES?”
A minute passes, and surprisingly the silence is unbroken.
“Well… what better way to honour their memory by putting on one heck of a show! Introducing the surviving half of Doomstorm, Doomigator!”
The crowd explodes with applause as the gates open and the hulking form of Doomigator lumbers out. The mighty alligator roars, a deafening sound. A significant number of new scars crisscross it after it’s encounter with Omega. A haggered tackle
“Against them this week we have one of the rising (or should I say floating) stars of this season, give it up for Mechagraviton!”
There is the sound of scraping metal as a portcullis opens to reveal the metal dragon. It floats several feet above the ground, a great glowing wheel slowly revolving between its wings. As it levitates into the Arena the sand of the floor begins to rise around it. Crash sweeps onto their trainer’s grinning… evilly?
“No gimmicks for this fight, folks, just monster against monster. Fight!”
Doomigator lumbers towards the centre of the Arena. Glowing green waste trails behind the mighty alligator monster from the barrels in it’s back. It snarls and snaps and paces, but there is something off about the beast. It doesn’t move with it’s usual confidence, a condition mirrored in it’s trainer: no bravado from Tackle this match. Mechagraviton continues to float slowly towards the centre of the Arena, as it’s opponent begins to slowly prowl around it.
With a burst of speed Doomigator leaps towards Mechagraviton. The mechadragon drifts backwards and it’s knifelike wings whistle out in front of it, with a speed and violence unexpected from the beast. Blood splatters from criss-cross wounds across Doomigators face as it rears back screaming in rage.
Doomigator whips its tail sending a wave of spitting green waste towards Mechagraviton. With a sudden flash of purple light from the wheel floating between the mechadragon’s wings the radioactive sludge suddenly alters it’s trajectory, slamming into the ground with a weight so intense it shakes the Arena.
“Finish it,” Crash yells from the stand.
Doomigator ducks and rolls as a column of sand suddenly explodes into the air besides it, hovering suspended as if weightless. The Beast ducks in pask Mechagraviton’s guard and it’s claws leave glowing green wounds in the dragon’s metal hide.
Screaming, a harsh synthetic sound, Mechagraviiton grabs Doomigators with its claws. The wheel between its wings spins faster and faster until it’s spokes are lost in a blur. Fat sparks of violet plasma arc from the wheel to the dragon to the ground. Doomigator begins to lose it’s purchase as the sand around it begins to float up.
Mechagraviton drops to the floor as its weight suddenly changes dramatically. The air around it shimmers as it digs its claws into the ground and begins spinning the alligator. Glowing mid-claws score more green wounds in Mechagraviton’s forearms as Doomigator begins to revolve about the dragon. The crowd screams.
Mechagraviton’s wheel spins yet faster, and sand floats up in tall plumes only to fall with cosmic force moments later. Doomigator finally loses any purchase on the ground as it’s hind legs float into the air. It tries to snap at its captor with it’s mighty jaws but the scything wings of Mechagraviton keep the maw away.
And then Mechagraviton let's go.
The floating sand slams into the ground, with such colossal force the entire Arena shakes. Crowd members fall from seats suddenly slammed with intense gravitic force. And Doomigator flies. Seemingly weightless, doomigator sails towards the edge of the Arena.
“Going… going… gone! Mechagraviton wins by ringout! What a show! Why do I suddenly feel so heavy?”
As Doomigator continues to fly out of the Arena intense gravitic shifts rock the Arena around Mechagraviton. Sand dances in geometric figures around it as the wheel between its wings continues to spin ever faster. The violet plasma arcs around the beast as it roars. Crash shouts to it but the creature seems unwilling or unable to respond to it’s trainer’s wishes.
“It’s out of control! Everyone get out!”
A gunshot rings out. The sand begins to settle to reveal Mechagraviton dozing peacefully in a cloud of Xenon.
“Shh, nap time…” Beam whispers into the microphone.
“On one side, please give it up for GREY! Now this Monster is a REAL… competitor, with a very close loss to Diamon last round! Is she a machine, or is she a composite of many tiny machines? Is she both? Trained by Paradigm, Grey is one to watch - and closely, because we don't know how many parts we'll see this fight!
“On the other side, a new competitor. Let the fight COMMENCE!”
Omega stands a couple of strides away from the wall. She is still, focused on her opponent, not reacting to the wild crowd. Her appearance is striking. The patterns in her armour catch the eye - the lines and shapes are not quite natural; they almost distort her figure into an angular humanoid. She's carrying a weapon that hasn't been seen before, a seven foot long black weapon that's a plasma blade from halfway, with a slight curve running to the tip. And her cape is nothing short of billowing.
Grey enters the Arena smoothly, almost politely. At the commentator's word, her metallic surface ripples and sways. She strides forwards confidently. Omega moves back, carefully and precisely. The two match movements. Grey occasionally swirls with flares of tiny gleaming shapes, as though testing. Omega reacts coolly each time. She uses her harness sparingly, at just the perfect moments.
The opponents are doing a good job of testing each other. This goes on for over ten minutes. The shouts of a wandering salesperson exhorting people to buy their sausages can be heard.
“There's skill here,” comments Ferrocious Ferra disdainfully, “But are we finding this exciting, folks? What do you think?”
There's various roars, moans, and boos from the audience.
“Mmm. I've seen more thrilling fights. Where's the spirit, the energy, of two Monsters facing each other in a classic Championship match? Perhaps there's something missing?”
Omega tests Grey's reaction to a thrust from her spear.
The microphone crackles, and a new voice comes through. “Yarn speaking, creator of your ten thousandth amendment, favouring you, the audience! And I want to say that there is nothing missing here. Omega has not yet shown us the smallest, smallest thing she is capable of! Ferra, this is merely a WARMUP! Who knows what Omega can do? Have you heard what they're saying? Who here HASN'T heard what they're saying about Omega?!”
The crowd mumbles positively.
“Thank you for your contribution. Folks, how do we feel about interruptions from a non-Trainer? The Umpire is shaking her head. Well, sorry Yarn, but I'm Ferrocious Ferra, and I think you will find that I am the commentator here.”
Another skilful spear thrust, another graceful dodge. Until, suddenly, Omega lands a solid blow. The spear slides deep into Grey, deeper, and then leaves Omega's hands - it appears to have been sucked in.
“Ooo. What happened there?” asks Ferrocious Ferra happily. “Has our Monster had its offensive ability improved by its challenger?”
Omega pauses, backs away from Grey, and throws a glance up at the commentators' booth. There's an immediate crackle from the microphone. “You see two monsters here!” Omega screams into the air. Starting only half a second after Omega, the commentator shouts, “And look how masterfully the spear is being wielded …by Grey!”
There's a surprised cry, and then Yarn's voice echoes out. “There are two Monsters in the Arena, fighting a true Monster v Monster League match, and that's what we're here to watch today - that's why Ferrocious Ferra is here - a prime commentator must be assigned a prime battle!”
Grey starts to move more offensively. She seems to intuitively understand the weight, balance, and precision of the spear. It flicks out at Omega skilfully. Omega parries with the long, heavy curved blade; she sweeps it like a scythe, forcing Grey to jump and rearrange her particles. Grey moves very fast, and has the advantage of being able to manipulate her body structure; Omega is being out-matched.
On Omega's next offensive, the scythe with the plasma blade slices deeply down through Grey's shoulder. Grey's surface ripples, and the scythe flashes and disappears into the body, only to reemerge a second later. Her machine parts artfully rearrange themselves to whirl both a spear and a scythe around her body.
“This is better!” Ferra roars. “At least this MONSTER can GIVE US A SHOW! Look at Grey dual-wielding.”
Omega dives back as Grey attacks again. The two circle around the Arena floor, but without weapons, Omega can only dodge and dance.
Grey keeps pushing Omega back, herding her to one side of the Arena. Omega uses skill, speed, and feints, but Grey seems to sense her movements. The humanoid machine wields both the scythe and spear in a complex pattern, blocking Omega at multiple points. The dangerous pattern is simply too well calculated to escape, and Omega finds herself fully backed into the Arena wall.
“Oo, if you can't see up there, Grey's not allowing her any room to escape.” Ferra sounds triumphant. “Has she been put in her place?”
“REMEMBER!” shouts Yarn through the speakers, “Omega is a DANGEROUS MONSTER - at the end of her last battle she had to be PUT DOWN! And the battle hasn't ended yet!”
“Ah! Thank you, Yarn. I'd like to comment to the audience that Omega has ended her grasp on her weaponry, however,” returns Ferra.
Omega rolls forward; Grey strikes at empty air. She spins round, forcing Omega to backtrack. Omega dodges the scythe, but she has to again flatten her back against the wall. Grey keeps her trapped, though giving no hint of anger or malevolence.
The next round of blows are exhausting even to watch. Omega is forced to duck, losing her footing but remaining unscathed.
Grey gives both weapons a spin so fast that they blur, and stands back. She carefully lines the scythe up for a devastating stroke.
Writhing against the wall, Omega throws up both her hands towards Grey, and shouts, at the top of her lungs, “DIE!”
There's a tense heartbeat, and Grey drops to the floor.
The audience is stunned.
The commentator is silent; it is the Umpire's voice that counts down, and the Umpire that declares the victor, and announces that the fight is over.
Omega raises her fist. Quickly, the commentator starts: “You heard it, everyone, the Umpire has declared the match over! Hope you enjoyed it! Remember to stay in your seats for the next match, starting in half an hour, we're going to have two Monsters going head to head in the heavyweight division, with some true-ly awesome Monster abilities!”
The lights on the Arena dim. Omega is in shadow; her distinct armoured shape is obscured. She moves forward, faces the audience, and lifts her visor. The narrator doesn't stop.
“My commiserations to Grey, a Monster who I'm sure will bounce back! Well, surprises do happen. That's all, folks.”
As handlers start to move onto the dark floor, the Arena floor lights switch off entirely, and very loud, very jaunty music starts to play over the speakers.
Faster than it's moved in any fight so far this season, Hard As Nails dodges the claw swiping at it, and throws itself on top of Howling Terror.
Terror struggles, flailing under the suffocating folds of sock. Hard As Nails tightens its grip, until Howling Terror manages to get a claw free, slicing through a section of sock and dragging itself through the hole it's made.
Hard As Nails' knitted body begins to unravel as the Terror ploughs through it, but even as its lower regions come apart, it keeps moving.
“Is it…yes it is! Hard As Nails might be down, but it's certainly not out! Now, that's some guts, it's using its own body as a weapon here!”
Sure enough, Hard as Nails is moving around the Terror as it struggles to free itself. The unravelled threads of yarn trailing from its body wrap around Howling Terror's legs, binding them tight, until the monster trips and falls on its face. It howls angrily from the ground, but, mercilessly, Hard As Nails descends upon it, muffling the deafening shrieks in its folds and suffocating Howling Terror until it stops struggling and goes limp.
“And the winner is…HARD AS NAILS!”
The crowd cheer and the lights spin around before angling down to illuminate an Arena which has a wooden castle at either end. The drawbridge lowers on one side and out walks Wreckatar, the three-tailed green pangolin, lapping up the approval.
“PENNYTHRIFT STEEPLE Presents WRECKATAR! Defending the south keep of Lightweightia, and bringing ruin to those who defy it! But what's this: the Guardian of Heavyweightor, hero of the light and stalwart defender, we have DYNAMITE's knight in shining armour: KNIIIIIIGHT-MAAAAARE!!!!”
The other drawbridge opens and out canters a centaur-like half-giant-horse, half-giant-person clad in enormous knightly silver armour. It carries in one hand an enormous and gleaming lance, and a shield in the other, and levels its helmetted head at Wreckatar.
“These are two well-armoured competitors, so let's see what they're made of! THREE, TWO, ONE, LET BATTLE COMMENCE!!!”
The fight begins and immediately Knight-Mare rears onto its hind legs and lets out a ferocious whinny before charging toward Wreckatar. Wreckatar dodges nimbly out of the way, and swipes at the giant horse legs with one of its three tails. Knight-Mare seems unperturbed by this, and trots round to make another charge. Wreckatar jumps out of the way again, and slashes at the horse's body with its claws as it does so, again to seemingly little avail.
The crowd cheer with every charge, and soon the fight evolves into a game of dodging with Wreckatar baiting Knight-Mare's charge, until eventually it gets clipped with an almighty hoof as it goes past, letting out a squeak of pain. The crowd cheer, but cheer even harder when Wreckatar responds by curling into a ball and unleashing its devastating WRECKING BALL ATTACK!!! Knight-Mare attempts to dodge but gets hit squarely in the armour by the cannonball of Wreckatar, staggering back with the force. The WRECKING BALL and the Knight circle each other in the Arena now, trading lance blows with battering from a wrecking ball to the face, until eventually there's a resounding CLANG as Wreckatar connects with Knight-Mare's helmet and it's down for the count.
“8… 9… 10! Knight-Mare is down: WRECKATAR WINS!!!”
“The gates have opened… and here's MAXIMUS! He's… oh my, he's ready to fight already and… what's that on his head? Okay, okay, fight starting I guess, release Omnisquid before he goes for the audience, 3-2-1-GO-GO-GO!”
Maximus charges across the Arena, and those sitting in the front row see that his eyes are wide and bloodshot. As he runs, an odd Archaeotech contraption strapped to his head bounces in its harness but remains secure. A light on the device glows steadily with green light.
A gate on the other side of the Arena is opened hastily by some scared-looking technicians, and Omnisquid emerges. A low tone emanates from the creature–a tone not only heard, but felt, a deep vibration that pulses in time to the writhing of Omnisquid's tentacles.
Or are the tentacles tuned to the sound? And can you even call this sound when it's more of a… a thought, an attempt at understanding, some desperate placeholder for comprehension of what this creature is?
Because Omnisquid cannot be comprehended. It defies understanding–the laws of reality slip over it and through it like water sliding from oil. It is, though it has no reason to be. There is no logic to the way that its tentacles stretch from it and revert and twist and reform and split, endlessly splitting into more, more, more tentacles than could feasibly fit into the Arena–no, into the world. There is matter, and then there is Omnisquid, growing and shrinking and consuming across all dimensions.
There is screaming and red light and the sound of gunfire. Bullets streak towards the point of origin, or perhaps it's the point to which the tentacles extend from every other point in the universe? The bullets pass along impossible trajectories before passing through Omnisquid. More screaming.
Maximus is the only solid entity in the hellscape that Omnisquid has cast the Arena into. He continues his charge as the turret attached to his head continues to fire, locked onto an enemy that it can never hit, because how can you hit a target that cannot exist? But Maximus, blinded by rage and unbound by the intelligence of a human or a machine, is unaffected by Omnisquid's impossibility. He raises his knife.
The low humming wave rises to a shriek that echoes across the Arena and beyond. In moments of lucidity, the audience registers the need to curl into a safe, protective position. A tentacle falls. A single, solid tentacle, constrained to reality in the way that the rest of Omnisquid is not. Maximus continues swinging wildly, and Omnisquid continues to be and not-be as the mass of tentacles continues to recursively expand. Tentacles. So many tentacles, until everything is Omnisquid.
A shot. Silence. Reality shifts back into place. Omnisquid floats again in Xenon, merely a sphere of curled grey tentacles. Maximus has fallen, his turret out of charge and his own energy depleted. A severed tentacle is clutched in his knife-free hand.
Decibel shakily gets to their feet.
“Om- Omnisquid wins. I… I need a break.”
MonoChrome prances around the Arena, tossing his horns to show off the swimsuit. Slime Kitty approaches, going in for an attack; and MonoChrome bucks, catching the cat's body with his horns and tossing it in the air.
There's a long-drawn-out gasp from the crowd as Slime Kitty flips high in the air, and MonoChrome lines himself up carefully underneath its falling trajectory.
Instead of crashing into the Arena floor, Slime Kitty lands gently in the thick fleece on MonoChrome's back. It extends tendrils, grabbing on, squeezing. MonoChrome, unconcerned, prances delicately around the Arena.
On the sheep's back, Slime Kitty, no longer threatened, begins to relax, nestling into the soft fleece.
MonoChrome keeps moving, swaying softly, until the cat falls gently asleep.
“Well, isn't that adorable!?!” The commentator's voice is warm, and she gives the crowd a good long moment to appreciate the cuteness before going on. “BUT both competitors are still in motion, so we could be in for the long haul here! This could get old pretty quick…”
“If I may, Stream?” Noggin, still in the commentator's booth, asks politely, and she hands over the mic. “I think it's pretty obvious who's responsible for all the movement here. Slime Kitty's not moving under its own power, it just happens to be on a moving platform.”
“I'm not sure that's the standard interpretation of the rules, but it's true that Slime Kitty hasn't done anything in the last few minutes other than…oh, is that a bubble it's blowing?”
“Precisely! That might be enough movement if MonoChrome were still too, but he's very clearly awake and energetic.”
“A solid point; we'll turn it over to the Umpire for ajudication…”
The Umpire nods, and the countdown begins. Loudly at first, and then the whole crowd lets out a unified “SHHHHH”
“Yes, absolutely! Don't wake the kitty!” Stream puts in, in her bubblegum-pop accent. “If we can't have blood, we can at least have sweet sleepy kittens!”
The two monsters stomp into the Arena. “Let's just hope Murk has his head in the game this time!”
Mycosaurus charges at Murk, who drops his horned head and meets it head on. It's as if Mycosaurus has slammed into a brick wall, as Murk tosses it off its feet with a toss of his shaggy head. One of Mycosaurus's mushrooms snaps off, impaled on Murk's horns.
“OH YES, HE'S ON FORM TODAY, EVERYONE! That's Murk, tossing Mycosaurus aside like it's nothing - that's one monster that's been working out lately!”
Murk ambles over to where Mycosaurus is stumbling to its feet, and butts the fallen monster again, then bends its head down as if grazing.
“Well, monster fans, there's nothing in the rules against eating the competition; and Murk does have a bit of a reputation as a glutton…”
There's snickering from the stands. Murk bites off one of the mushrooms that blossom from Mycosaurus's flesh, and chews on it, thoughtfully. Mycosaurus tries to rise again, just as Murk kicks his heels in the air, lies down, and begins…rolling on Mycosaurus?
Well, at least someone looks like he's having a good time. And he has Mycosaurus pinned firmly enough that the other monster can't move, so the Umpire counts down and Murk is declared the winner.
The glorious victor continues rolling around on top of his vanquished foe for some time, before snapping up another mushroom, and carrying it like a prize across the Arena. He…seems to think he's making a beeline for his trainer, though from the audience point of view, he's meandering across the ground like a drunkard.
Still, he seems perfectly contented, and doesn't try to attack anyone, just wanders over to his trainer, who seems…less than pleased with his monster, especially when it proceeds to throw up on him.
The crowd roars - larger than last time. The know what they're here for, and they're ready to watch.
“We have a hell of a show lined up for you tonight, but first, a word from our sponsors.”
“Hello everyone! You're having a wonderful day, and wouldn't it be nicer if you knew your monster was having a wonderful day too? Whether your death dinosaur is down in the dumps, or your super snake is somewhat sad, bring them along to Nectar's monster therapy and get them perked right back up again! As a special treat, I'll be giving you a live demonstration on Money Pit's own house monster, Wreckatar. I'll make sure that Wereckatar is angry at whoever gets the most “anti-merch” through their tubes, and then set them loose in the arena!”
The network salesfolk in the stands hold up the “anti-merch” - little red wreckatar models with angry eyebrows.
Cart takes back the stage “And as always, you can keep your contestants in the running by popping normal merch down their tubes. But OH WAIT! First you need to know who they are!”
“At the red entrance, fresh from their fight against Diamon and ready for new challenges, it's STRIKE!”
The crowd cheers, and the salesfolk drop a Strike action figure down one tube, and a piece of anti-merch down the other - as they cross paths in the air on their way down, the Strike figure lashes out at Wreckatar, to the cheering of the crowd.
“At the green entrance, the trainer of the incredible Thorn, it's THISTLE!”
Another cheer, and a Thorn model is dropped into a pipe, letting out a decent replica of it's trademark piercing shriek as the spikes scrape along the side of the tube.
“And finally, at the blue entrance, you know him as the proprietor of the Sleepy Jaguar, always ready with a drink for the friendly and a club for the unfriendly, it's GOBLET!”
The cheering is a little more muted - but definitely has a tipsy edge to it. The network salesfolk drop a bottle into the pipes, and some mechanism strikes off the cork as it travels through, sending it flying on a jet of beer and showering the front row in booze.
“It's that time folks… Time to GET IN THE PIT!”
Thorn, Strike, and Goblet dive into the maze, Thorn and Strike aggressively pushing their way in towards the centre, as Goblet takes a moment to survey the lay of the land. A steady stream of merch and anti-merch pours down the pipes - model Strikes duking it out with wooden Thorns and Wreckatars, all being rained on by the occasional bottle of beer. The anti-merch counter grows for all of them, but somewhat faster for Goblet than the others - it seems the Sleepy Jaguar is not the most popular of bars.
As the contestants tear through the arena, Nectar is off to the side practising their therapy techniques on Wreckatar, getting the monster riled up and ready to fight, particularly against Goblet. While most of the crowd are focussed on the action in the pit, a few are watching this side show with interest.
As Strike and Thistle tear through the maze, and Goblet plods along methodically checking each corner, a klaxon sounds - time to release Wreckatar!
Wreckatar thunders into the maze, sniffing out its prey, and starts to smash through the walls in a straight line path to Goblet. By the time any of the contestants realise its target, it's too late for Thistle or Strike to help even if they wanted to - Goblet is scrambling to get out of the way of the rolling ball of doom, but he needs to deal with the obstacles in the maze, and Wreckatar can just smash right through them. The confrontation is short and bloody, and it's pretty clear that Goblet is not coming out.
Which leaves the other two frantically hunting for the last pieces of archeotech as Wereckatar cannonballs around the maze, leaving destruction in its wake. As the final seconds tick down on Thistle's timer, she clambers out of the maze, clutching her prizes. Strike gets a little longer - his fans cheering him on and sending more tiny models down to duel the other pieces of merch, but it's not long until the stream fails to keep the timer going longer, and he too exits the arena.
“And now, it's time for our two remaining contestants to test their winnings!” Cart announces, glossing over the third contestant who isn't going to be testing anything ever again.
Thistle steps forward. The tech on offer this time is a little more cobbled together than previously - some of it has clearly had attempts made to mod it, and most of that hasn't really worked. Several peices just spark, smoke, or blaze their way to uselessness, but one survives - a wolf-like onesie who's ears wiggle while Thistle is wearing it.
Strike is next. Again, most of the tech is junk, but when he activates one snow-globe like object, the arena is filled with light. A large hologram is projected up to the sky, displaying a giant robot in detail, with exploded drawings, and notes in some ancient undecipherable script. The engineers in the audience frantically start scribbling, but the picture flickers and fades before they manage to glean anything useful. However, it's clear that whatever is in that diagram is massive, and could probably go toe-to-toe against any monster - given the number of weapons it seems to be carrying.
The crowd goes wild - a big turnout for a morning fight, with the stands near-full and the merchandise stalls doing a steady trade.
Pepper frolics in its corner, dashing in small circles while it waits for the starting bell. Toxtor just sits there impassively, watching the smaller creature. As soon as the bell dings, Toxtor lumbers forwards, and Pepper frills its spikes and sends a shower of them towards Toxtor. They skim off the shell, leaving grooves which glow cherry-red in the heat, but not slowing down the toxic turtle. This pattern repeats itself for a while - Pepper darting to keep distance for Toxtor's jaws, and raining down spikes, but they can't pierce the shell.
Eventually, Pepper strikes softer flesh, a spike driving into the tine patch of exposed flesh on Toxtor's neck, between the shell and the beak. Toxtor roars in pain, but stays standing, despite the caustic blood smoking on the arena floor. By this point, however, Pepper is visibly tired - having trouble keeping out of range of even Toxtor's slow gait, so it's only a matter of time before Toxtor manages to nip Pepper with its beak, paralysing the flaming ferret.
“TOXTOR WINS! But I think that's the first time we've seen it bleed in a couple seasons, so let's give massive congratulations to them both!”
The Arena audience cheers in a distinctly un-heartbroken, rather bloodthirsty manner. Commentator-Umpire Pulse cheers along with them, all pretense of sorrow dropped.
“LET'S SEE WHICH OF THEM CRUSHES THEIR BEST FRIEND FIRST, SHALL WE? 3… 2… 1… FIGHT!”
The Rollerpedes zig-zag across the Arena, which has been filled with circus-themed decor, to the delight of the audience. THE TENT holds still, conserving energy as the Rollerpedes dart around them. The Monsters clearly know each other too well to surprise each other; with every minuscule twitch from THE TENT, the Rollerpedes divert their path to curve away from it.
The game of cat and mouse continues until under instructions from their respective Trainers, Rollerpedes and THE TENT begin to turn the chase into more of a dance. The Rollerpedes begin folding into spirals and loops, drawing an awed gasp from the audience. On THE TENT's part, it launches a strategy of leaping at the passing swarm then swiftly returning to the centre of the circle–most of its attacks miss thanks to the Rollerpedes' evasive maneuvers, but it manages to catch a large group of them behind its teeth with one particularly well-timed strike.
THE TENT's lights flash wildly as the trapped Rollerpedes struggle inside it, while the remaining insects spread out and launch themselves bullet-like at all sides of THE TENT's canvas. THE TENT's maw opens very slightly in response to the barrage of attacks and a group of Rollerpedes manages to slip out from between its teeth, eliciting cheers from the Fans rooting for them.
The fight continues in this way for quite some time, with the Rollerpedes now remaining spread out to limit damage… though they continue to form up into complicated patterns to entertain the audience every so often, jumping through the flaming hoops spaced out around the Arena and roaming over see-saws. THE TENT makes a valiant effort to take out as many beetles as it can, but the individual Rollerpedes are too small to remain contained for long, and THE TENT soon grows tired from its jumping attacks.
The audience, which had been fairly equally split between Rollerpedes and THE TENT supporters, begin chanting “BEETLE CIRCUS!” as THE TENT's movements slow and the Rollerpedes begin triumphantly circling it. Trainers Progress and Steeple, standing at either side of the Arena, begin enthusiastically waving their arms in the air to stir up the crowd even more. It seems that the narrative of two partners being made to turn against each other has fallen apart–the crowd cheers for the pair as a single entity in appreciation for the show they put on.
THE TENT finally falls still and crumples, and Pulse stops her own BEETLE CIRCUS chant to make the victory call.
“Rollerpedes win!”
The monsters pace on their respective sides of the arena, both large, battle-scarred, and fierce.
“Was won by Overminer on the original day of the final!”
There is a murmur in the crowd, before the cheering starts - the excitement of having a new Grand Champion overriding the disappointment of not having a fight.
The umpire steps up to the commentary box, and the crowd is hushed.
“Following representation by Noggin, and no convincing argument from the other side, It was clear that, while underground, Overminer was chasing Groundshaker. Since they were found outside the arena, and therefore must have crossed the horizontal boundary, it follows that Groundshaker left the horizontal boundary first, and so forfeited the match. I now present Drillbit, trainer of Overminer and YOUR NEW FORMER GRAND CHAMPION!”
Longbow barrels into the Arena, Shrapnel - resplendent in its white swimsuit and adorable bow - riding on top of her. There is even more cooing over them than over Slime Kitty and Jaws, who usually have the advantage based on pure feline cuteness.
Shrapnel leaps off Longbow's head, and starts harassing Jaws of Defeat. Slime Kitty stretches itself into a net, draped across Jaws of Defeats' heads, and they attempt to envelop Shrapnel.
Longbow attempts to separate them, but Jaws and Slime Kitty leap out of the way - directly into the pool.
There is a great deal of unhappy yowling and screeching from all three suddenly soaked monsters.
“It's a good thing Shrapnel's wearing a swimsuit, really!” Decibel puts in.
Shrapnel takes the opportunity to free itself from Slime Kitty's web as the other monster recoils, and struggles out of the water, to sit sullenly on the bank.
“Longbow! Use your ElectroStomp!” High Noon shouts from the trainers' box, and Longbow raises a foot and brings it down in a mighty stamp, just as Jaws of Defeat leaps out of the pool, going for Shrapnel.
Electricity crackles across the water, and Slime Kitty goes limp, its body losing coherence and floating like scum on top of the water.
“One down! Shame about that, Slime Kitty was looking lovely today!”
Shrapnel, shaking water from its bow-bedecked head, dashes in and starts attempting to harass Jaws of Defeat, zapping it with little stings. Jaws jumps at the first, but then is unruffled, refusing to be baited into chasing Shrapnel.
Shrapnel retreats, climbing back up to perch on top of Longbow and pose for the crowd, as Longbow chases down Jaws. It takes a while, but eventually the outnumbered and bedraggled cat is trapped. It tries tangling its heads around Longbow, tripping her up - but while that's successful, Longbow manages to direct the fall so that she lands full on top of Jaws, trapping it. There are some unpleasant snapping sounds from Longbow's ankles, but Jaws stays down.
“And that's it for today, folks! That was a dramatic fight, wasn't it! A clear victory to Team Legit, but I think we've got some Style Points coming in too - yes, here we go, one for Slime Kitty, cute little thing that it is, but not enough to close the points gap there, and…TWO FOR SHRAPNEL! A truly decisive victory!”
A voice pipes up from the trainers' box “Red Genie”
“Not until you pay the admin fee! Anyway, READYFIGHTGO!”
There is barely time for to crowd to cheer as the excitable commentator starts the match. As soon as the signal is given, Red Green Genie erupts in flames, and microseconds later so does the entire rest of the arena - all of Creative Branch's careful staging vaporising in the heat, the front row of the stands left checking their eyebrows, and ice-creams melting as far back as the 20th row. As the smoke clears, Blue Lagoon is cowering in the corner, scorched and clearly out of the fight. The Rollerpedes have spilled out across the floor, disoriented, and the TENT is sat right where it was, steaming gently as the water it was soaked in evaporates, and clearly angry.
The TENT leaps first, bearing down on Green Red Genie, which engages head on. They duel, the spurts of flame sent out by Red Genie driving more steam from the waterlogged TENT, and the TENT darting in and out to harry the leathery beast.
Unnoticed by the duelling giants, the rollerpedes closest to the stands form up into a small fan, wafting away the smoke which swirls around their fellows. As the smoke clears, more rollerpedes join the fan, which blows away more smoke, which picks up more rollerpedes, until the swarm is reformed. They snake into a single file line, and burrow into the ash of the arena floor, vanishing from sight.
The TENT jumps back and forth, always a touch too slow to ensnare the Genie of Indeterminate Colour in its jaws. Suddenly, in one decisive strike, the TENT leaps forward with amazing and unexpected speed - propelled into its charge by a pillar of Rollerpedes under each pole, rushing up out of the ash-covered ground. This shock burst of speed is enough to finally engulf Green Genie - the TENT steams repeatedly as Red Genie struggles to escape, small sections starting to char, but the Genie is subdued before it manages to ignite the TENT, and the fight is over.
“BEETLE CIRCUS WINS with a spectacular demonstration of their latest acrobatic move, THE TOOTHSOME ROCKET! One style point awarded”
In fact, the audience has visibly thinned.
Perhaps relatedly, salespeople wandering through the seats are making good sales of headphones and earplugs.
“Hi, everyone! I'm the up-and-coming commentator, Jitter! Some of you will have seen my interview in Super Special Mega Awesome Stuff last week! I'm here to comment on a battle without a stab-happy human-like Monster! I'm super excited!”
The audience mutters darkly. The top stands are now full.
“Now, I've been advised that today is your chance to bag some of the best seats in the Arena - apparently there are still seats available in the lower stands! Available last-minute at a discounted price, head to the Arena booth in the central entrance to bag them!”
The audience laughs. The tone is less anxious and more gleeful the further from ground level.
“Without further ado… Your competitors! THE HEDGEHOG and DOZER!”
The Hedgehog waddles out of the south gate. It squats on the floor without acknowledging the audience or the (now widely recognised) figure of Tatters, who rapidly backs out of the Arena holding her pole.
Dozer walks innocuously out of the north gate. It turns its head up and sniffs the audience, and carefully takes a position opposite its dark spiny opponent.
“I've been informed that this is the last chance to bag yourself an, er, an incredible view!”
A few minutes later:
“Um, ok. Well, ticket sales have, um, shall we say, tailed off, so shall we start the battle? Yes? YES! ARE WE READY? I'M JITTER, YOUR UMPIRE IS THE HOWL, YOUR TRAINERS ARE TATTERS AND SUTURE, YOUR MONSTERS ARE THE HEDGEHOG AND DOZER! COMMENCE!”
The Hedgehog shuffles on the spot. Dozer approaches languidly, and sniffs it.
“We know that many of you have taken up the Network odds of 12 to 3 that Dozer will fall asleep!”
The Hedgehog charges, but Dozer is ready. The Hedgehog grunts and lunges, but Dozer pushes it aside. The two bash and scrabble against each other, and Dozer's thick hide deflects and even crushes the Hedgehog's spines. The Hedgehog scratches furiously and headbutts to no avail.
After a couple of minutes, Dozer takes a break to yawn. The audience laugh in anticipation.
“Aaaand is Dozer going to do its signature move, and fall asleep?!”
The Hedgehog takes another swipe, and jumps on Dozer's head.
Dozer blinks, and becomes alert. It recovers its attention and bucks its strong armoured head upwards. The Hedgehog is flung up through the air, backwards, and flails. It tumbles head-over-heels, and hits the top of the Arena. Two forelegs solidly thump the top of the Arena wall, and the momentum and a burst of movement land it directly on the top of the wall.
The Umpire shouts that the battle is concluded: the Hedgehog has lost due to the amendment that Monsters must not leave the Arena boundaries.
“Victory to Dozer! STOP THE HEDGEHOG EVACUATE THE STALLS HANDLERS XENON NETS!”
The Hedgehog bulldozes its way through the stands. Those people who have 'bagged themselves an incredible view' find they can see very close-up indeed. Spines impale flesh, chairs go flying, metal sags under the Hedgehog's weight. Popcorn and screams fill the air.
Tatters sprints up the stairs, waving her arms and shouting. The first shots of Xenon are fired.
“Stay calm in the upper seats! And don't worry, we have medics and we know that the Hedgehog needs a lot of Xenon!” The commentator Jitter sounds extremely worried.
The Hedgehog stomps, kicks, and bites. It happily chases its stampeding prey. More Xenon is fired. Armoured Arena staff sprint up the stairs, bearing spears and nets.
Down below, Dozer curls up and watches the Hedgehog's rampage sedately. Suture comes out to pat it.
“Ok, well, we suggest that the audience avert their eyes for a few moments and do not panic. We have medics on the way, and at least it's not screeching,” stutters the commentator. “And I've just had confirmation that there's an additional t-t-t-treat on the way - ”
There's commotion on the stairs as staff escort a slim purple leonine beast up, against the running crowd. It is hard to see the slinking Monster in the fracas, but finally it leaps a row of chairs and lands before The Hedgehog. Its poise and elegance in the midst of such chaos is remarkable.
Another commentator has taken over, in a firm voice. “That's right, Jitter. Since the Xenon doesn't appear to be quite as effective as on other Monsters, one of the House Monsters is joining us to help. The battle continues, folks! This is Dozer's SECOND battle which has needed the special Network services! Dozer and Gnosis will soon be friends!”
The newcomer reaches the Hedgehog and the two face off. The Hedgehog screeches at it. The screech builds and builds… and abruptly cuts off.
In the silence, the collapse of structures and the groaning of the injured carries through the Arena.
The Hedgehog stares blankly at Gnosis. It subsides onto the floor. It continues staring ahead. A sticky trickle of drool dribbles out. It gazes passively into the distance as it is netted.
“And there we have it!” says the second commentator cheerfully. “Now we are lucky enough to witness the expertise and skill of the medics the Network employs! And don't forget to clap the stretcher-bearers! Thank you, all. Wasn't that a show? Nothing to worry about in the end. Make sure to buy your DOZER merchandise on your way out!”
“GOOD EVENING FIGHT FANS! Tonight we have one of your favourites, one of your DOUBLE TEAM REIGNING CHAMPIONS, it's Tackle and THUNNNNNN… DERRRRRRRRRR… ZILLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! With this monster in the Arena, this is a fight that's guaranteed to be absolutely ELECTRIC!”
Thunderzilla steps through one of the Arena doors, sparks flying. The crowd erupts in cheers and screaming, and Tackle waves from one side of the Trainers' stands.
“AND THEIR OPPONENT on this DARK AND STORMY FIGHT, so strong they needed to add extra reinforcement to the walls, is… excuse me fight fans, yes, what is it? Yes, I'm just doing your announcement now. Yes. Yes I will. Look…”
There is a pause, as Blade is clearly yelling inaudibly at the announcer from his seat in the stands. Meanwhile, Dark Steel is revealed from the other Arena entrance, wearing what appears to be a swimsuit artfully reworked into a flashy cape, adding a sense of flourish to the imposing bladed monster.
”…fine, yes, it's an excellent pose, just let me carry on…“
Another pause as the shouting continues, with Tackle now getting visibly irritated.
”…of course. Now, where was I? Ah, yes. THIS FIGHT is going to be DARK AND STOR… excuse me Fight Fans. THEIR OPPONENT on this DARK AND STORMY NIGHT. I mean FIGHT. It's supposed to be a PUN, damn it. Is DARK STEEL. Trained by BLADE.“
The crowd cheers and boos in equal measure as the announcer, clearly flustered and stumbling over lines, continues.
“Now if both Monsters are ready, LET THE FIGHT COMMENCE!”
Within a second Blade switches from gesticulating at the announcer and calls out to Dark Steel. “GIGASLASH!”
Before either monster has any time to move, Dark Steel draws its blade with a single forceful motion and a wave of slicing energy arcs across the Arena. Hemmed in by the walls and clearly not expecting a powerful attack that early, Thunderzilla is barely able to defend itself and is impacted heavily by the slash. Dark Steel starts an impassive walk out into the centre of the Arena as the crowd erupts in more booing.
“Is that Thunderzilla out, folks? Less than a few seconds in and we could have a knockout blow on our hands. This could be the fastest fight in the Arena that didn't involve Pork Scratchings. Yes, that's the umpire counting now.”
The Umpire reaches the count of SIX… SEVEN… EIGHT… with the crowd practically screaming every number along with them, but then Thunderzilla stirs, clearly shaken hard by the attack but still moving. Arcing sparks earth themselves into the Arena floor and walls as it staggers out towards Dark Steel.
Tackle leans forward and shouts down to Thunderzilla, inaudible over the noise of the crowd but clearly loud enough for the monster to hear, and the sparking increases tenfold.
“Looks like Thunderzilla is aiming for a knockout blow of its own, fight fans. Is that its RAGE VOLTAGE rising, that I see there?”
With a single burst Thunderzilla leaps forward and a huge bolt of lightning with it, striking Dark Steel directly in the centre of the chest. A huge thunderclap bowls spectators over in their seats, leaving only the smell of ozone in the air and a ringing sound in everyone's ears. For a brief moment, the flickering lightning arcs from blade to blade in Dark Steel's angular form before finally earthing itself with a huge scorchmark in the floor. Dark Steel takes another step forward.
“INCREDIBLE! Just INCREDIBLE stuff here, fight fans! I've never seen a monster take a blow like that and keep moving before. Dark Steel must have some serious protection against Thunderzilla's lightning attacks. And look out, he's readying his blade again! Are we about to see a slugfest here? Each of these monsters would easily be capable of knocking out smaller opponents in a single strike, yet they're both still standing!”
Dark Steel appears to concentrate for a moment, as Thunderzilla starts to circle, looking for an opening to make another lightning strike, or perhaps move in for a more direct blow. But then Blade shouts down again from the stands. “DARK GLARE!”
Dark Steel, still hand on sword blade, stares impassively at the towering, sparking monstrosity in front of it. The Arena stands go quiet, their collective breath bated, as Thunderzilla seems to hesitate for just a few seconds more. “GIGASLASH!”
The few extra moments and faltering in its step prove to be a huge mistake for Thunderzilla as Dark Steel once more unleashes a powerful wave of force, this time up close and personal. The impact strikes the monster directly and immediately a huge haze of sparks and mist billows out as it lies motionless. This time when the spectators shout along with the Umpire they reach ten, but it's a few more seconds before the haze clears fully.
“And there you have it, Fight Fans! A spectacular win for DARK STEEL! But wait, as the smoke clears from the devastation… is that two monsters? Surely not! NO! IT'S NOT TWO MONSTERS, IT'S TWO HALVES OF ONE MONSTER! Fight fans, it looks like Dark Steel has BISECTED Thunderzilla! And really, ISN'T THAT WHAT WE ALL CAME TO SEE?! Let's hear it once more for DARK STEEL!”
Dark Steel walks forward, and picks up the two halves of Thunderzilla, one in each hand with impossible strength. It looks around for a moment as if confused, before wandering back to the Arena entrance. Tackle flees from the stands, half crying and half screaming invective, while Blade climbs to the edge of the wall above Dark Steel. The monster raises the two halves to its trainer, as if in offering. The crowd goes wild.
Victory Viper is a shining beacon on the arena floor, showboating to the crowd, and wearing the regulation swimsuit as a stylish cape.
As the claxon sounds, Victory Viper is still doing a writhing dance as Tick charges, bladed jaws whirring. At the last second, Victory Viper's dance takes it darting out of the way, with Tick skidding to a halt behind it. The viper hisses, fangs bared, at the annoying pest that interrupted its dancing, and the monsters watch each other, considering their next move.
Victory Viper lashes out, but Tick darts out of the way. Tick circles quickly, trying to find a blind spot, but Victory Viper keeps pace, moving with flowing grace and the swimsuit accentuating each movement to beautiful effect. Tick charges, changing direction at the last second to try and fake out the snake's attempt to dodge - but the Viper is just quick enough to react to avoid the attack - though the swimsuit is not so lucky.
The fabric tangles in Tick's jaws, taking her just long enough to shred that Victor Viper can whirl around and sink its fangs down into the clockwork at the heart of Tick. The constant ticking is replaced by a crunching of gears, and Tick falls to the floor, immobile. As the umpires count climbs, the ticking resumes - but not quick enough to prevent the result.
“VICTORY VIPER WINS!”
A cavalcade of cheers and screams. The hype for this match is very real.
“SETTLE DOWN FOR THE MOST EXCITING MATCH OF THE SEASON, WHERE SPEED MEETS STASIS AND CELEBRITY MEETS CELEBRITY… THE NYOOMINATOR VERSUS THE INERTIANATOR!”
The floodlights settle over the Arena. Here, a series of ramps, jumps and half-pipes have been arranged in an intricate maze, darting over and under one another. The crowd look on in surprise: how can a giant (much less tiny?) square make the most of this setup?
The answer follows swiftly.
“FANS OF THE ARENA!” continues Yarn. “IF YOU THOUGHT LAST MATCH'S RADICAL MAKEOVER WAS A TURNING POINT FOR GIANT BLOCK OF WOOD, THEN WAIT TILL YOU SEE THIS ONE! INTRODUCING, THE INERTIANATOR… BUT NOT AS YOU KNOW HER!”
Lights fix on Canon, and on the space where their Monster ought to be. For a moment, there is silence, as the audience squint to see if they can catch a glimpse of what is presumably now a tiny cube. Then, in comes rolling - wait, rolling? - what can only be…
“I SUPPOSE, FOR THIS MATCH, WE CAN ONLY CALL HER GIANT SPHERE OF WOOD!”
The Inertionator is either much smaller, or, depending on your point of comparison, much larger. It is no longer the towering slab that was once wont to loom over the majority of Monsters in all its imposing grandeur. Nor, however, is it a tiny, figurine-sized cube. Rather, it is a moderately large, perfectly spherical ball of… well, actually the wood looks a little less solid than it once did. Balsa?
Regardless, Canon looks exceptionally pleased with themselves.
“AAAAND, LOOKING TO ENGAGE HER IN GORY BATTLE, WITH A GLAMOROUS NEW PAINT-JOB AND THE WEIGHT OF A CHAMPION'S LEGACY ON ITS TRAINER'S SHOULDERS… IS THE NYOOMINATOR!”
This, at least, perplexes the audience less. Everyone loves the Nyoominator. And at this point, they are willing to take the changes to Giant Block of Wood's aesthetic in their stride; it is clear that Canon has some kind of scheme, and invariably their schemes are highly entertaining.
“WHO WILL EMERGE AS VICTOR? WHO WILL COWER IN THE WAKE OF THEIR COMPETITOR? LET'S FIND OUT! BATTLE COMMENCE!”
As Giant Block of Wood goes rolling down the ramps, it becomes clear that this fight, at least, will be lasting for more than ten seconds. There is something glorious and oddly beautiful about watching the normally completely static Monster soar into the air, only to plunge down through a pipe tunnel and emerge the other side, then be launched into the air once more.
Meanwhile, the Nyoominator is in its element. It leaps, flips, shunts sideways to do a wheelie, and turns in the air only to land on another ramp, leaping and dodging with aplomb. The crowd seem amazed by the spectacle - to the point where they have virtually forgotten that no-one is fighting at all.
“LOOK AT THEM!” says Yarn. “DUCKING, DIVING - PARTICIPATING IN AN INTRICATE DANCE OF BATTLE!”
It can't stay like this, of course. Not only will the audience eventually tire, but Giant Block of Wood appears to be slowing. As it rolls up a steep ramp, it seems to lack to momentum to surmount it - liable to instead roll backwards and come to a halt at the Arena wall.
But then, just as it is about to plunge, something marvellous occurs.
One of the same portals from the last Giant Block of Wood fight opens up just above it. It swallows up the sphere, only to spit it out on the other side of the ramp, causing it to plummet with renewed momentum. The audience gasp and laugh, watching as Giant Block of Wood continues to roll in the 'dance', unimpeded. Every time it seems to be slowing, another portal will open before it and deposit it elsewhere.
“MASTERFUL USE OF THE, AHM, ARENA SCENERY,” declares Yarn. “SIMPLY MASTERFUL!”
The Nyoominator seems supremely unflustered by this. On the contrary, it seems to relish in the attention, veering tantalising close to Giant Block of Wood, and at one point diving straight past it midair. The whole thing truly does resemble an acrobatic dance.
“STARS ABOVE - A NEAR COLLISION!” declares Yarn, breathlessly. “THE NYOOMINATOR IS GAINING ON THE SPHERE!”
It's true - the two Monsters are soaring midair: Giant Block of Wood about the plummet again; the Nyoominator in swift, airborne pursuit.
Before they can meet, though, there is a vast crack of sound, and the Arena is suddenly flooded with smoke and light. The audience blink through dense mist, but can make out nothing but sparks of multicoloured fire that blossom out beautifully with every earsplitting pop and bang.
This spectacle of pyrotechnics lasts for a minute or so, washing the Arena with colour. Once the last drop of fire plunges into obscurity, nothing is left but slowly clearing smoke.
“I'M SEEING… A DARK SHAPE,” says Yarn, as the audience peer along with them. “DID NYOOMINATOR TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE SMOKESCREEN AND ATTACK? HAS THE INERTIANATOR FINALLY BEEN SLAUGHTERED?”
Mystified silence from the crowd.
“BUT NO - NO, THERE ARE TWO MONSTERS! THEY'RE… FACING ONE ANOTHER. THEY'RE VERY CLOSE, ACTUALLY. DO YOU SUPPOSE THIS IS SOME KIND OF STANDOFF?”
The Nyoominator and its opponent are indeed close to one another. Very close, in fact.
“THEY DON'T SEEM TO BE MOVING, THOUGH,” says Yarn, thoughtfully. “IN FACT, THE NYOOMINATOR LOOKS… DOCILE. GIANT BLOCK OF WOOD SEEMS CONTENT!”
Intrigued murmurs from the crowd.
“What are you doing?” yells Canon, theatrically, from the crowd. “Giant Block of Wood! Attack, like I told you! Attack, for the love of everything! Why won't you fight it?”
“NO… THIS ISN'T A STANDOFF,” continues Yarn. “I THINK - I THINK THEY MIGHT BE CUDDLING! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? FOR SOME REASON, THESE TWO ARE SNUGGLED TOGETHER!”
Gasps from the audience. Can it be? But it's true - the Nyoominator is nestled right up next to Giant Block of Wood in what looks like a remarkably friendly, almost loving manner.
“BUT WHY WOULD THEY BE CUDDLING?” asks Yarn. “WHAT COULD POSSIBLY LEAD THEM TO -”
They break off. And as the thought appears to dawn on them, it seems to alight upon the rest of the audience as well.
“FANS OF THE ARENA,” says Yarn. “THE NYOOMINATOR AND THE INERTIANATOR MUST BE BEST FRIENDS. NO, MORE THAN THAT. WE'VE SEEN FRIENDLY MONSTERS FIGHT. THE ONLY POSSIBLE EXPLANATION - THE ONLY WAY WE CAN SQUARE THESE BIZARRE HAPPENINGS - IS THAT THESE TWO… MUST BE IN LOVE!”
There is silence, as the audience seem to consider the implications of this. And then… consider the implications in a little more detail. And then, having considered in detail, decide that it is much better not to dwell on the actual mechanics, and perhaps consider it only insofar as -
“I ship it,” says a lady with a feathered hat, quietly awed. Then, louder: “… I ship it!”
“We ship it too!” declares a man in a customised Disjunct T-shirt.
“Us too!”
“I ship it! Me!”
“We ship it!”
And so on, until virtually the entire Arena is of one mind, chanting with passion, and pride, and sheer love: “We ship it! We ship it!”
And, at the apogee of the chanting, a booming voice layers over the sound - it is Yarn, Yarn confirming: “FANS OF THE ARENA… I THINK I SHIP IT TOO!”
The chanting continues, and Yarn presses on.
“FOLKS, I THINK THE VERDICT OF THIS MATCH IS UNDENIABLE, AND I'M SURE OUR GOOD FRIEND THE UMPIRE WOULD AGREE. IT IS CLEAR THAT THIS FIGHT CAN ONLY BE RULED -”
There is a sudden blast of chilling wind.
Fans hold their sleeves against their eyes as a thick, textured cloud of smoke descends once more upon them. This is different to what came before - heavier, coarser - nothing like the decorative, breathable stuff from before -
Canon realises just before Yarn does. “It's -” they say, in disbelief.
“- SAWDUST?”
The Arena is indeed taken up by a swirling, writhing tornado of sawdust: messy, and impossibly large, and somehow wrathful, as if a vengeful spirit has suddenly decided to visit itself upon the fight. The partnered Monsters once more disappear, this time beneath the murk of something far more malevolent, something utterly unknown.
Fires still burn around the walls of the Arena. As the sawdust flies, it catches: at first, gently, but then with the terrifying crack of explosions that send the audience flying for cover beneath their seats. Once again the Arena blossoms with fire, but this time far uglier, and far less controlled - this time, a sudden, horrifying visitation -
And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, it leaves.
The last dregs of sawdust vanish on the wind.
The Nyoominator and the Inertionator appear, still in the same place as before. The Nyoominator is revealed to be more or less unharmed, its new paintwork intact. However, the Inertionator is badly burned on one side. Clearly, its embrace protected the Nyoominator from harm.
The umpire clears her throat, and speaks up. That, she says, was clearly The Inertianator.
“FANS OF THE ARENA,” says Yarn, “HOW CAN THAT CLOUD OF SAWDUST POSSIBLY BE THE INERTIANATOR?”
Because, says the umpire, you argued that this is precisely what it was. Last match.
“AH, WELL,” says Yarn, “THAT WAS AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT MATTER. FANS OF THE ARENA - DID NOT THE MATCH BEGIN WHEN TWO MONSTERS ENTERED THE ARENA? AND WERE THOSE TWO MONSTERS NOT THE NYOOMINATOR AND THE INERTIANATOR?” They gesture out towards the wheeled Monster. “AND IS NOT THIS MONSTER THE NYOOMINATOR?”
Resignedly, the umpire nods.
“WELL THEN. I THINK IT IS CLEAR THAT THE SECOND MONSTER IN THIS ARENA - THIS LARGE-ISH SPHERE OF, ERM, BALSA - IS NONE OTHER THAN GIANT BLOCK OF WOOD, OTHERWISE KNOWN AS THE INERTIANATOR! THAT SAWDUST CLOUD WAS AN INTERLOPER, AND ULTIMATELY IRRELEVANT TO ANY RULING THAT MIGHT BE MADE ON THIS MATCH. I PROPOSE WE CONTINUE, AND SEE IF EITHER MONSTER RECOVERS. IF NOT… WELL, IT'S RATHER UNPRECEDENTED, BUT CAN THIS MATCH BE ANYTHING OTHER THAN A DRAW? AND REALLY, CONSIDERING THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN THESE TWO MONSTERS, SHOULD THIS MATCH BE ANYTHING OTHER THAN A DRAW?”
The crowd cheers. The umpire puts her head in her hands.
The ruling stands.
As the two Monsters in the Arena lie motionless, the audience triumphantly count down from ten - and, as per Yarn's ruling, the results are given. The match is declared a draw.
Afterwards, Canon comes up to shake hands with Sprocket.
“I made a valiant effort,” Canon grins, “but I couldn't stand in the way of love.”
“Our Monsters are happy together!” laughs Sprocket. “I guess there are more important things than winning, huh?”
Wild whoops and cheers. Fans of the Arena are apt to sing the praises of anything, up to and including large immobile chunks of wood, but it truly does feel as if there is a special sort of anticipation for this fight. The unconventional layout of the Arena might be part of it; for some reason, the entire area is littered with sparkling detritus: window panes, glass carvings, large mirrors and stacks of used bottles.
Most likely, however, it is the fact that this is the second match to feature the rivalry between Khaos and Blade. The Trainers meet one another's eyes from across the Arena, full of grim-faced determination.
“IN THE LEFT CORNER, WE HAVE THE SMASH-HAPPY, CRYSTELLINE, TENTACULAR SUPERGROUP - ONCE UNEASY RIVALS; NOW, UNSTOPPABLE ALLIES… TEAM SHARDS FALLING!”
Krystalkorpion and Thorn rear up at the sound of their team name. Krystalkorpion gleams in the afternoon sun, its deadly transparent claws looking somehow ever sharper in the light. Thorn, meanwhile, dominates the Arena, stretching its multitude of spike-encrusted limbs to the fullest extent.
“AND ON THE RIGHT, WE HAVE THE WEIGHTY METALLIC MONSTROSITIES THAT HAVE BEEN CONQUERING THE ARENA, YOUR HEARTS, AND BASICALLY EVERYTHING THAT CROSSES THEIR PATH… TEAM HEAVY METAL!”
Dark Steel and Mechagraviton, though smaller, look no less imposing. Mechagraviton rears back, giving a weight, metallic screech - much to the delight of the crowd. Dark Steel in particular is looking exceptionally stylish. About his shoulders hangs a black, jet-fringed cape cape that billows elegantly in the breeze: an original {Aster Dis} design. The crowd marvels; it becomes clear that the cape is none other than a repurposed swimsuit, seamlessly incorporated into the flow of the garment.
The Trainers themselves are looking no less striking. Thistle and Khaos stand back to back, the picture of fire-forged teamwork, eyes narrowed at their opponents.
Thistle speaks first, in a derisive voice that cuts across the noise of the crowd. “Hey, Blade! Your monster's so ugly it doesn't need to step on a mirror to shatter it!” As the audience becomes awash with calls of 'ooooooh', and 'fight!', she steps away from Khaos, arms flung out in a power stance.
Thorn, as if for good measure, lashes out one of its tentacles to smash one of the mirrors at the centre of the Arena. Whilst it does not necessarily reinforce the statement, per se, the crowd goes wild with appreciation.
Blade steps up, shaking his fist at Thistle. “Yeah? Well, your Monster's like a freshly laundered cushion! It's soft and it smells nice!”
Thistle's own hands ball into fists, and she looks affronted.
“Besides,” says Blade, “Dark Steel's so tough they had to reinforce the Arena against it!”
“You'd better hope they don't put an upper limit on the Arena!” calls Thistle. “It couldn't fit your ego!”
It is Crash's turn to step away from where she is standing posed back to back with her own partner. “Hey, Khaos. You back for more? Guess you decided you couldn't win against Blade without the help of a friend! Well, two can play at that game!”
Khaos gives a disdainful laugh, posing elegantly next to Thistle. “Tchyeah, whatever. You two are yesterday's news. You're so outdated they have to pay 15 Riel to charge you up! Now let's do this!”
“FIGHT COMMENCE!”
As Dark Steel advances, he brings up his arm, causing the cape to billow out again: a lash of black against the afternoon sky. Then, with an almighty flourish, he rips the cape from his shoulders and tosses it to the side - where it lands, elegant and undamaged.
“WHAT A SPECTACLE, FOLKS!” yells the commentator. “LOOK AT THAT TECHNIQUE! THAT FINESSE! THIS MUST HAVE TAKEN SOME SERIOUS TRAINING. GOOD THING HE DIDN'T DO THAT IN THE ACTUAL SWIMSUIT COMPETITION, MIND. IF THE MONSTER'S NOT WEARING THE SWIMSUIT, THAT'S GROUNDS FOR DISQUALIFICATION! STILL. WHAT STYLE!”
Slowly, with a low snarl, Dark Steel begins to draw his blade. Mechagraviton, from behind it, gives a disgruntled whirr.
Meanwhile, Thorn and Krystalkorpion advance. Between Krystalkorpion's lashing tail and Thorn's terrifying thicket of limbs, they make short work of the smashable features of the Arena. There are 'oohs' and 'ahs' as shards literally begin to fall around them, glinting impressively in the light.
“Enough!” yells Blade. “Dark Steel - go!”
Dark Steel's sword has been slowly pulsating, darkness drawing in around it. Now, it emerges in an overwhelming pulse of energy.
Krystalkorpion is flung from the floor in an almighty gust of wind and glass shards. It slams against the Arena wall. Thorn, meanwhile, just about manages to hold itself in place by clinging onto one of the glass fixtures jutting out from the floor, but it is momentarily dazed. Nonetheless, it lashes out wildly with its spike-encrusted tentacles, catching Mechagraviton several times in the metallic snout.
Mechagraviton rears back, as Krystalkorpion rights itself. Meanwhile, Dark Steel advances on Thorn, whose flailing limbs currently form a barrier before it.
Krystalkorpion comes barrelling into Mechagraviton, skidding sideways in order to thrash its top-heavy tail against its opponent's armoured side. Mechagraviton gives an annoyed 'wub' of sound, as Krystalkorpion is once against flung back by its own force, crashing into another full-length mirror.
Mechagraviton, however, manages to reach Dark Steel, who has turned around to lash out at the nearby Krystalkorpion. The horizontal wheel between its wings begins spinning, glowing a bright purple.
Dark Steel begins to hover above the ground, much to Krystalkorpion's evident surprise and chagrin. But Thorn sends out one of its spiked vines, and then two, in order to tug at Dark Steel's legs. As Mechagraviton's anti-grav field activates, Thorn's limbs are also partially lifted, and Dark Steel stays where he is. Mechagraviton gives an affronted 'vwoom' and steps up the power. Thorn, however, pulls all the harder, also beginning to rise, and it looks like a deadly tug of war is taking place.
Dark Steel begins to judder and sink. Mechagraviton's wheel is spinning at an alarming rate, bleeding purple into the surrounding air. Dark Steel begins to rise again - and Thorn with it, hovering a couple of meters from the Arena floor.
As Dark Steel brings out its sword to chop at Thorn's limbs, Thorn recoils, and with a thwarted SCREEEEEEE, it loses its grip.
Dark Steel, unencumbered, goes zooming up into the air, as Mechagraviton gives a triumphant 'wub'. Krystalkorpion, recovered, comes stampeding towards Mechagraviton again, claws at the ready, but it misjudges - for down comes Dark Steel again, a supercharged metal weight, and he catches Krystalkorpion full force.
There is an immense cloud of dust and shards, and Krystalkorpion goes thudding towards the side. Dark Steel begins to calmly pick itself up.
Thorn, lumbering towards Mechagraviton, begins to whack at it with its spiked limbs. Mechagraviton responds with a swift wing attack, slicing out at the offending tentacles, and sending a flurry of plantlike spikes flying. Thorn, more enraged than injured, renews the assault. It latches a few tentacles around Mechagraviton's back, wrenching it off balance. Slowly, it hoists the weight of its gigantic body over Mechagraviton, pinning it in place with its limbs.
Krystalkorpion, teetering yet still in the fight, notes what Thorn is doing and responds with immediate recognition. As Thorn holds Mechagraviton firmly in place, Krystalkorpion comes smashing towards it, claws pounding against metal, leaving visible dents. Mechagraviton is momentarily stunned, and held firm, as Krystalkorpion continues to batter and thrash.
Thorn advances towards Dark Steel, seemingly attempting to do the same. A few tentacles find purchase around his arms and the hilt of his sword. However, Dark Steel glares at Thorn: a horrible, glowering stare that momentarily immobilises Thorn, and causes its grip to slacken. Dark Steel begins to slash at Thorn's limbs again, hacking away at armoured spikes.
Mechagraviton takes this opportunity to wrench itself free. Krystalkorpion whacks it full force on the side of the head, and it goes tumbling underneath Thorn, but manages to right itself before it goes skidding away entirely. It slashes at Krystalkorpion with its wings, with a sickening snick of metal on crystal.
Then, the wheel begins to spin once more. Krystalkorpion, with an alarmed chitter, begins to rise as Mechagraviton sends it moving away from the fight.
Just as Krystalkorpion flies almost outside of the Arena, Thorn extends a handful of its vines, latching onto the giant scorpion's feet and pulling it away from the anti-gravity field. Krystalkorpion begins to sink downwards again.
Dark Steel, however, notices an opportunity. As Thorn extends its massive limbs, it reveal softer, greener flesh beneath the spiked armour. He wastes no time in hoisting back his blade and chopping mercilessly downwards.
Thorn gives an agonised SCREEEEEE and goes crashing down, juddering. Dark Steel briefly disappears amidst flailing limbs, and for a moment the audience can hear nothing more than the shink of sword against flesh. Then, Thorn, in all its behemothic weight, drained of its last vestiges of energy - slumps down with a resounding crash, and lies prone.
A second later, Dark Steel, small and triumphant, emerges from Thorn's bulk.
At that point, Krystalkorpion is left injured and alone. Any expert could tell you it's all over for Team Shards Falling, but it nonetheless fights with its all, lashing out its tail vehemently at Dark Steel, only to come barrelling around in order to thump its claws against Mechagraviton's sides. It is an impossible fight, but it holds on, scuttling here and there to dodge the blows raining down on it.
When Mechagraviton is able to stay still for long enough to start up its antigrav field once more, though, Krystalkorpion is sent spiralling helplessly upwards. It goes soaring outside the upper bounds of the Arena, coming to rest with a crash outside the walls.
“VICTORY FOR TEAM HEAVY METAL!” yells the commentator. “MY, FOLKS - I THINK THAT'S ONE OF THE MOST EXCITING MATCHES WE'VE SEEN ALL SEASON!”
There is a brief scuffle by the amplification device traditionally held by the commentator (referred to by some as the Loudinator), as Khaos grabs it momentarily.
“Surely, Team Shards Falling wins for sheer style!” he says, half-amplified as he wrestles for the device. “Our opponents might have the edge on us - just! - but we're a million times more awesome when it comes to aesthetics!”
The umpire says something in laughing response, and the commentator relates it.
“ACTUALLY, THE TWO TEAMS DREW WHEN IT CAME TO STYLE: A STAGGERING THREE POINTS FOR EACH!”
Well then. Khaos, shrugging, gives it up as a lost cause. The two teams glower theatrically at one another as they leave the arena.
The crowd whistles and whoops its delight. “Hooray for smashing!” yells a young woman with asymmetrical hair in an oversized vest top from the stands.
“IN THE RIGHT CORNER, WE HAVE THE STRANGELY CHARISMATIC, TENTACULAR BALL OF SPIKED LETHALITY… THOOOOORN!”
Riotous enthusiasm from the crowd. Thorn is gaining an ever-higher profile - and now, it's about to go up against a Monster known for its utter mercilessness. Thorn itself seems blithely unbothered by this prospect, and instead lashes out playfully at the crowd with its thick, spike-encrusted vines.
“AAAAND ON THE LEFT WE HAVE THE BIG ONE! THE BARNACLE-STREWN! THE CONCRETE CRUSHING, ER, WHATEVER IT ACTUALLY IS… BULWARK!”
Whatever it actually is, it is horrifying. Crablike and armoured, Bulwark lumbers across the Arena, barnacles scraping against the wall - limpet… eyebrows? slanted into a menacing death glare. Its face, a cliff wall, glowers across at the audience, who murmur in delight. Its back is defensive wall, and its front arms are spiked all along the top with jutting wooden stakes: rot-smelling and sharp. Clustered atop this are a plethora of concrete tetrapods, each perilously heavy, with one on the end of its tail for good measure.
At the very top of its head, perched somewhat incongruously, is a lighthouse.
“STRENGTH VERSUS STRENGTH! ROCK FACE VERSUS TREELIKE, ERM… TENTACLE HORROR! WHO WILL WIN? BATTLE… COMMENCE!”
Bulwark comes storming into the Arena, gargantuan tail leaving thick, broken indents in the Arena floor. With a delighted SCREEEEE, Thorn comes thundering to meet it, inarticulate screeches still managing to convey unambiguous bloodlust.
Bulwark's lighthouse is flashing out in blinding alarm. With a scrape of barnacles and a scream of concrete, it plunges forward. There is a sickening impact, and Thorn is sent plummeting backwards after it is hit full force by Bulwark's cliff face.
Nonetheless, several seconds later, it keens under the assault of Thorn's wickedly spiked vines. Shards of rock are chipped away, as Thorn lashes out, and it skids back, leaving more deep welts in the Arena floor.
The crowd are loving the spectacle. Tentacles whip; groynes smash; chunks of Arena wall fly apart. Thorn and Bulwark are two of the largest, heaviest Monsters in the League, and this epic test of strength is everything they could have hoped for.
Thorn's vines gain purchase against one of the jutting concrete decorations atop Bulwark's mighty wall. With terrifying resilience, it latches on and pulls, wrenching more barnacles and chunks of stone away from its behemothic opponent. Bulwark gives a roar of disdain, and heaves its massive head, attempting to dislodge it.
It has met its match, though, it seems - at least for strength. More vines come out to lash themselves to Bulwark's jutting arms, breaking off pieces of rotting timber, but eventually finding similar purchase. Again, Bulwark thrashes, dizzying its opponent, but Thorn just about holds on - although a couple of tentacles are smashes against the Arena wall.
Then, amazingly, Thorn begins to heave itself up.
These two Monsters are more or less comparable in size, but a lot of Thorn's bulk comes from its waving limbs, an it is more compact when it wants to be. Spreading out, then, it begins to actually hoist itself up the cliff face of Bulwark.
A vine latches onto the lighthouse, smashing a window and causing the lights to short out. Another worms its way around a piece of concrete, wrenching it off before smashing at the exposed rock beneath. Bulwark seems to hardly notice this new assault, though; its endurance is unreal.
Thorn reaches the top of Bulwark's head - no mean feat, given that it is pulling its own massive weight. It begins to smash anew, pounding down its limbs to the rhythm of the crowd's cheers. With this particular vantage point, it is out of the reach of Bulwark's terrible arms.
However, although Bulwark appears to weaken a little, it is taking time and energy; Thorn lacks its stamina, and smashing through its armoured back is proving draining. Frustrated, it changes tactics. Lashing its tentacles against Bulwark's sides, it wrenches itself in one direction -
- pulling the gigantic Monster off balance, and onto its back!
Bulwark smashes against the ground with teeth-shattering impact. The floor around it is a mess of rubble and rocks. Meanwhile, with concerted effort, a dazed Thorn manages to drag itself upright.
As Thorn begins clouting away at Bulwark's soft underbelly, the crowd begins the countdown. It is not long before the umpire gives the signal, and -
“THORN IS THE WINNER!”
This, although a final ruling, does not put an end to the fight itself. Bulwark, roaring and enraged, grapples with Thorn, attempting to roll it over and crush. It is all Thorn can do to take cover as Bulwark hoists itself up, crashing towards Thorn in uncontrollable anger.
Elsewhere, another signal is given. A gun is fired. Bulwark and Thorn disappear in a cloud of Xenon, anaesthetic, and Bulwark topples drowsily to the ruined floor. Thorn, although not hit directly, slumps lethargically over it.
The two Monsters, both relatively docile, are ushered through the gates of the Arena.
“ON THE RIGHT, WE HAVE THE CUDDLY LITTLE SCAMP THAT GLIDES THROUGH THE AIR LIKE A NIGHTMARE WITH WINGS… TITCH!”
Titch comes scuttling into the Arena, fur bristling. It jumps from a nearby corner and glides towards the ground.
“AAAAAND ON THE LEFT: WE'VE SEEN IT ON EVERY MEAL VOUCHER FROM HERE TO THE MONSTER HOUSE; WE'VE EVEN SEEN IT ON THE ARENA WALLS - BUT HOW WILL IT FARE WHEN IT'S UP AGAINST THE PROS? I GIVE YOU… DOUGHBALL!”
Doughball comes bouncing cheerfully into the Arena. Its larger-than-life, brightly-painted facsimile on the Arena wall looms cutely over it.
“WHO WILL TRIUMPH? WHO WILL BE SQUISHED? LET'S FIND OUT! BATTLE… COMMENCE!”
Doughball bounces distractedly, still gazing up wide-eyed at the cheering crowd - who, for their part, laugh and roar all the louder. When Titch comes scuttling towards it, it hardly sees anything coming.
“OOF!” yells the commentator, as Titch goes careening into Doughball, sending it rolling haplessly across the floor. “A PALPABLE HIT, FOLKS! CAN DOUGHBALL COME BACK FROM THIS?”
Judging by the slight commotion from the stands, it's clear that one person is relatively certain of the answer to this question. Max steps in, spiritedly jostling the commentator out of the way of their voice-amplifying archeotech device, and addressing the crowd.
“Isn't Doughball just the cutest?” he asks the crowd, who yell their approval. “Look at it - biding its time! Erm… lying in wait, ready to pounce!”
Doughball, knocked upside down, comes to a miserable, circling halt.
“Clearly, Titch doesn't know what it's facing!”
Although the commentator looks somewhat annoyed, and makes a halfhearted grab for his amplification device, there is appreciative laughter from the audience. They know what Max is up to, and they are perfectly happy to lend him their approval if it leads to a more interesting show.
Meanwhile, Titch has found a small outcrop of rock in the Arena, and is using this vantage point to plan its next attack. Eyes fixed on Doughball, its fur begins to ripple in anticipation.
Doughball bounces, dejectedly.
“Oof!” go both Max and the commentator simultaneously, as Titch glides sharply towards its opponent, legs outstretched.
It latches onto Doughball, making deep indents in its delicious-smelling flesh, pinning it to the floor. Judging by Max's grimace, this might be over soon.
“Fans of the Arena,” he begins, hastily - and ends, as Titch jumps back. “Erm -”
Doughball, springing slowly back into shape, mills unhappily about - unexpectedly released, yet by no means pleased with the situation in which it finds itself. Slowly, it turns towards Titch -
- who has launched itself into another glide, this time faster, legs poised arrowlike before it.
The impact is something to behold. With a sickening tear, it punches a hole directly through Doughball's centre.
“OOH - BRUTAL!” says the commentator, who has managed to wrest back his voice amplifier. Max puts his head in his hands.
Doughball flops to the floor. There is a moment of awed silence from the crowd. Even Titch remains perfectly still, perhaps awaiting orders from its master.
The umpire begins the count. Slowly, the crowd join him: “Seven… six… five…”
Max is watching through his fingers.
Then - movement.
Doughball begins to rise.
What's this?
The crowd leans forward, eager to catch a glimpse of Maximum Taste's unexpected strategy. A warm glow of light is engulfing Doughball, obscuring it from sight. The aromatic smell of fresh baking floods the Arena.
Max's jaw drops. “Doughball is… evolving?”
In a blinding flash of baking and sprinkles, Doughball appears once more: resurrected! Before Titch drops a large, chocolate-coated, sprinkle-strewn shape… not doughball, but -
“IT'S A DOUGHNUT, FOLKS! DOUGHBALL HAS TRANSFORMED INTO A DOUGHNUT!”
Doughball - Doughnut? - initially flat on the floor, bounces up to rest on its edge. It jumps back for a moment. It looms over Titch.
Then, with a sudden puff of powdered sugar, it spits a bright red, glutinous substance at Titch.
Titch recoils, disgustedly shaking itself. It appears… entirely unharmed.
Max seizes his opportunity. “Fans of the Arena - I think you will find that the fight has already been won! The more observant of you will have noticed that whilst Doughball began moving five seconds into the count… Titch remained perfectly still for over ten seconds!”
The umpire gives a confused double take. The commentator laughs. Max grins.
“What do you say, people of the Arena?” he says, addressing the crowd. “Does this spell victory for Doughball?”
The resultant cheers suggest that yes. Yes, it does. And owing to the 10,000th amendment, what can the umpire do but concede?
