RP tournament: Sour and Bob vs Surge and Kismet

[Rorschach]

Sour stepped into the arena. It was quite huge, an old, abandoned arena, something of the roman times. Sour chuckled to himself knowing that he hadn't been in a fight in a while.

"This doesn't look like a very fun place to fight," Sour though to himself. "I guess its all up to you."

Sour put his backpack on the floor and jumped in.

[surgepox]

The small, RED machine sitting on the edge of the stage whirred to life, and in an instant, The Overweight materialized on top of it in a flash of red light. "Constructor is credit to team!" He shouted, expressing his gratitude for his one remaining friend. The Administrator had sent him here on an assassination mission. He saw a man (?) with a backpack in front of him. This was one of the men he was sent to kill, but there was suppossed to be one more.

"Who sent such itty-bitty men to face me!?"

The Overweight clutched his gun, Tasha, which he was deeply attached to. Soon, she would once again taste the blood of tiny cowards.

[Tony Redgrave]

From the special entrance for combatants only , Nouri Aal Sephur had stepped onto the scene and just in time to hear the words of the overly obese russian looking fellow. As he strolled into the nerve center of the amphitheater, he called out to him in a jesting manner. "Yoo hoo! Tubby, have you seen my partner? He was suppose to be waiting here but.. all I see is that." his index finger quickly directed itself towards a fantastically familiar backpack lying upon the ground for all to see. But.. no matter for within no time flat, Nouri had walked over right next to it, gently nudging it with his right foot. "Ah well.. guess we wait huh? he asked

[Kismet]

Entering the arena, Richter saw that the others had already arrived and were waiting for him. Which suited him just fine. If anyone was going to arrive late, it might as well be him. The tardy were often in a much better mood than those they delayed, after all. What constituted as a good mood for Richter is up for debate, however.

As he emerged into the bright sunlit ring of the arena, he adjusted the hefty straps keeping his attaché case clasped firmly to his back. He smirked, reflecting on his good fortune. He had traded a mountain of no doubt lethal-but useless-steel for a mountain of flesh. Something he could work with. Nature was in the habit of producing machines breathtakingly more complex than anything Man had tried his amateurish hand at.

“Change of plan, gentlemen!” He called amiably, raising his hand and waving. “I’ll be serving as this dashing specimen of refined sophistication’s partner.” He nodded, indicating the Overweight. He smiled pleasantly, siding next to his new partner.

Out of the corner of his mouth, he whispered “Shoot him.”

[Rorschach]

POOOOFFFF!

An older man appeared out of the backpack, with dark red hair, a taller more muscular form and a frown on his face.

"Always ruining my naps at the wrong time."

He grabbed his tonfa out of the sides, each with titanium blades at the end of each tonfa, and flew at blazing speed towards the enemy with the giant gun. Instead of attacking, he figured that it would be hard for the enemy to turn and such and flew behind him. He stuck out one Tonfa, and flung his arm, hoping his attack would hit his target.

[surgepox]

As the tall man with dark red hair flew at him, The Overweight's heart jostled. Combat was what he lived for, and this was the moment in which he would do what he loved mos: kill little men. "NOW IS COWARD KILLING TIME!" He roared, revving up his megagun, which he kept trained on the man in the center (nouri). The Overweight didn't see the man flying at him as a threat, he could easily handle whatever he dished out and punish him from close up if need be.

[Tony Redgrave]

It figures this would happen to him of all people. Of all the things he could do off the bat, the crazy russian guy was setting sights exclusively on him and with a minigun at that! The fact that he could carry around something like that with ease was actually a bit shocking to the young thief. (not to mention that fact that he was serious about using it.) That said, he kept in mind just what type of power he was holding in his hands. Miniguns were serious business and being hit by its line of fire pretty much said you were a goner.

But that didn't bother Nouri in the slightest.

Either way, there were weaknesses for that kind of power. Mostly, the recoil and the weight of the weapon. It didn't matter how strong you were, a gun that fired at that high rate would hinder your movements and your reaction times. Hell, even turning would be a chore for him! That and Sour was already on the job. Best to just shrug it off and jump into the fray.

At the sound of the giant fellows gun revving up, Nouri picked up Sour's backpack and ran towards the familiar but.. forgettable guy with the glasses, daftly putting his arms through each strap and securing it upon his back. That cool and confident smile would soon be put to the test it appeared, seeing as he was about to go in and beat the snot out of the guy with the glasses.

[Kismet]

“Come on kid, let’s dance.” Richter said, grinning.

As the red head dashed behind his partner, Richter spun to the right, placing himself between his opponent and the Overweight. Crossing his arms into an X shape across his chest, he compressed his diaphragm, emptying his lungs of oxygen. Then, as Sour lunged forward he drew his arms downward, and inhaled.

Green light shimmered all around them, forming a fifteen foot radius of sparkling light. Then, in an instant, it spiraled into Richter’s mouth. A visible trail of emerald light glowed through his skin and clothing as it traveled into his body, settling into his stomach. The organ glowed green for a moment, then faded.

Richter had just cast Mana Eater, one of his more specialized support skills. Anyone-he and his partner included-who entered within fifteen feet of him would instantly be sapped of all their MAG stats. Granted, he couldn’t do any healing with his own magic sealed in his stomach, but neither could the clown before him. Unfortunately, casting the Seal had taken more time than Richter thought he had.

Grimacing, Richter twisted his torso to the side, catching Sour’s bladed tonfa on his right breast. Or more precisely, into his heavily armored Trauma Jacket. He hadn’t had time to clasp it shut completely, so a sliver of exposed chest remained down his center, but no matter. It would do for now. The blade pressed deeply into the jacket, bruising Richter’s chest, but did not cut through to the skin underneath. Not really surprising, as it was meant to stop glancing blows from bullets. Richter smirked. His turn.

His torso already twisted away to the right, he whipped both hands up, placing his right hand onto the tonfa jammed into his jacket, and twisted. He snapped his left hand up to deliver a palm strike to the elbow of his opponent’s outstretched arm. As he did so, he stepped back with his right leg, moving to place his opponent in an arm bar. The natural positioning of both their bodies meant that Sour’s outstretched arm blocked his other, free hand, meaning that even if he could contort his body enough to lash out with it, it would be such a weak blow that Richter wouldn’t even need the Trauma Jacket. But he did have the Trauma Jacket, and what was more, he already had a hold of his opponent’s tonfa.

That was a deliberate move. Richter had grabbed the tonfa, not the wrist, meaning his opponent could escape without breaking his own arm. If he let go of his weapon.

[Rorschach]

Sour took a deep breath. He was in a bit of a situation here. Lose the bladed tonfa and escape or break my own arm. Either way, he wont be able to use the tonfa.

Sour began spinning his tonfa with the hand that was open. He manipulated the wind to allow his tonfa to spin faster. The wind began surging around the tonfa, flowing in unision with the spinning tonfa. The intensity was rising as the speed of the spinning tonfa was increasing. Then, as Sour reached the limit of his spinning ability, he was ready to strike. The fact that Sour's tonfa was bladed increased the power and Sour had grown a lot stronger in the past 10 years. With Sour's open hand, he switched the tonfas position to grip it by the handle. The grip was a little painful to Sour's hand but the power of the attack was totally worth it. Sour struck his open arm towards Mr. Ritcher as the wind surged through Surge's tonfa. This blow at such point blank range should be able to pierce through any kind of armor and still be able to deal major damage to the opponents body. This was the hidden blade of the warrior.

[surgepox]

Completely ovlivious to the action going on behind him, the Overweight kept his now spinning gun trained on the man in the middle. He let out a fearsome bellow, and shot a mighty burst of bullets in the man's direction. No tiny coward could stand up to the fearsome spray of Tasha.

[Tony Redgrave]

[This is what happens when you up all night and bored lol sorry for the longness]

As he dashed forward, it was easy to see Sour had gotten caught up by his opponent. It was in the face of that, that Nouri's leg and arm muscles had began to noticeably twitch and contort as he ran for some reason and.. quite noticeably and without a loss of speed as, he was readying himself to make evasive maneuvers. The revving of that minigun was getting louder and bullets could discharge at any moment. In the middle of his sprint, he was even in the radius of that Mana Eater ability and his "magical essence" was sucked up into its void.

Little Nouri, Big Crisis!

Or.. rather not.

Nouri still seemed to have his game face on and as he approached, he was reaching into the left hand side of his coat. He had something up his sheave or so it appeared. However, in a sense, He had not one, not two, but three trump cards to fall back on. The first was simply his own abilities. Though, one of his opponents abilities had rendered Sour with a tremendous disadvantage, Nouri was for the most part, unaffected. The Mana Eater would render one of his weapons useless, it wouldn't rob him of his physical prowess in general.

His body in general was naturally and psionically enhanced to the point that abilities that would rob him of them would simply not be able to do the job. He would retain strength, prowess, metabolism, and mental process at the peak levels any human could possibly achieve without being superhuman. Along with that, he also would keep perfect control of his body, along with his superhuman level of balance.

Also, he had his uncanny unpredictably. Sure, anyone could say that but Nouri in general was in every way, unpredictable. Nothing about his movement could be read by special divining abilities nor did skills involving luck either. More importantly in this case, his movements or gestures were difficult in general to keep track of, keep up with, or let alone predict with unless of course, you knew everything that would happen in existence.


But, it seemed the Russian guy didn't have that handy ability now did he?.

Furthermore, he knew about the mechanics and such of miniguns in general along with a few interesting facts to boot. He had watched the movie "Predator" and remembered the iconic scene where the U.S Commandos decided to fight back against the alien hunter. One of them had taken up a six barreled minigun and fired like there was no tomorrow and did so with only a bit of effort on his part. That scene gave rise to the misconception that a Minigun could be used on foot to provide support and suppressive fire.

It looked epic and the scene was indeed "epic win" but that wasn't a real minigun at all. It was in fact a specially made version that fired blanks instead of real ammunition. To power the minigun (since it was not placed on a helicopter and hence did not have a sufficient power source,) an electric motor had to be used from a distance with a power cable hidden within that actors pants to connect from the gun, to the motor.

How he was powering that thing, he had no idea but.. the bulk down the bottom which could carry a battery but then.. where the hell was the ammo going in? No time to ask that though. But, if the power issue wasn't enough, how was this guy going to protect his face and chest from the empty cases which would instantly and with great force, come blasting out from the gun as it fired? Even the person in Predator had to wear a bulletproof vest and protective mask to protect himself from the deadly results.

But the real problem came with recoil which from the weight of the gun and force of actual bullets being fired, would force even the worlds strongest man off his legs and flat on his back. The weight factor in general would come into play more with the actual ammunition as well.

Taking a rough guess of someone having about 2,000 rounds of 5.56mm ammo (which would last about 20 seconds) would weigh about 55 pounds. 2 000 rounds of 7.62mm will weight about 2 times more. That load would be pretty much impossible to carry around by yourself . Add a battery that would provide 4 or more horsepower to power the gun, the general size of the gun, no one should be able to lift that and even if they had the strength to do it, they wouldn't be able to constantly keep it stable and hit the broad side of a barn, let alone a moving target with the recoil and the weight being "upped" thanks to it.

His opponent didn't seem to be having any of those problems and he looked confident to the point where he knew that he wouldn't have any trouble mowing him down. No one would lug around an impractical weapon.. so one had to assume that the effects that a normal person would experience using it wouldn't apply but so much to this guy. Bothersome..

Nouri was close to his foes and with not even so much as a second left before bullet spray would occur. In a case with no cover or concealment, it was best to dodge too early then too late so, in the middle of his swift burst forward, he continued those strange, inhuman twitches of his

The point of those movements were to give the impression he would move one way, but then, he would twitch something such as his legs and arms another way to make it seem he was going to go off in that direction, all without losing a bit of speed. He didn't know it but this was simply an instinct on his part and one that took advantage of the unpredictably he didn't know he possessed and just enough of it to make anyone unsure of their target and very prone to misjudgment.

Just nanoseconds before the moment of truth, those sharpened reflexes of his caused a swift reaction, using his leg strength to send him bolting off to his north right, enough to move him far enough out of the line of fire. As he did, the hand that reached into his coat had drawn a revolver and one at the spur of the moment, he simply tossed towards his opponents head, dead aimed at his opponents nose. But, upon hitting the ground, Nouri took off with speed rivaling the fastest sprinters the human world could produce.

In any case, recoil for the bigger man would have to be somewhat difficult to deal with. Assuming that he was firing that gun, his movements would have to slow down quite a bit, enough to the point where The King of Thieves would undoubtedly be able to outpace him and move to the rear before he could react. It was where that Nouri could have a little get together with Sour and his new buddy.

[Kismet]

Fortunately for Richter, he was forewarned of Sour’s attack by his need to charge up his strike with centrifugal force for a few moments. That didn’t stop him from letting a very loud “OH SHIT” escape his lips.

Richter had already been stabbed once, if unsuccessfully, and he wasn’t in the mood for it to happen again. Getting stabbed tended to suck. He would know, as he had cleaned up the messes it caused, and he was less than thrilled about the proposition of having it happen to his own flesh.

Suddenly, Richter felt Sour shifting his weight, moving to strike. As his left arm stabbed at Richter's face with shocking speed, he moved to the right, twisting Sour’s right arm upward and shoving it in the way, trying desperately to deflect the blow. He had briefly considered trying to get Sour to stab his own arm, but the timing of such a proposition seemed so dangerously narrow that he decided against it. That, and he had no idea how much force was really behind this blow. It might go straight through Sour’s arm and into his own sternum. And that would really suck. So instead, he deflected it away while dodging to the side, giving himself as much time and room as he possibly could.

Unfortunately, it wasn't quite enough. Sour's right arm slammed into the side of the incoming tonfa, but the horrific power behind the blow was too much. Richter managed a brief glimpse of Sour's right arm being torn from his grasp, and then felt a flash of pain lance down his arm. Tearing away from his attacker, Richter hurled himself to the ground.

Sour's tonfa had sliced into Richter's shoulder, damaging the cavicular regions of the deltoid and pectoralis major. Put simply, it would be very difficult and very painful for Richter to use his left arm. Richter didn't feel any pain, but he knew that would come in time. The massive adrenaline rush that came with someone trying to stab you in the face had blanketed it away, but he knew it would come, and soon. He could heal himself, of course, but that would require him to release the magical energy sealed inside his stomach. And that was something he was not quite ready to do. No, it would take more than some childish buffoon waving pointy chopsticks around to get him to relinquish his hold so easily. Besides, his blood had clotted the instant it had come in contact with the outside air, so he had nothing to fear from blood loss.

Clambering to his feet as quickly as he could in a hasty roll, Richter surveyed the battlefield, noting with shock that the second opponent was closing on them unnaturally quickly. Joy. Fortunately, Richter was not the only one who had been injured in that exchange. Sour's right arm had been twisted right into the blow, right at the crux of the arm. He almost certainly would have suffered torn muscular damage along the inside of his arm, and would be lucky if his forearm hadn't been dislocated. Moving closer to the Overweight, Richter pressed his glasses farther up his nose, turning his gaze on Sour. Using his glasses, he'd be able to tell exactly what sort of damage had been inflicted.

[Tony Redgrave]

[Rorschach]

Sour had succeeded in his goal, he managed to release himself from the armbar but at the cost of his own arm. He looked at his arm. It hurt to move it, it hurt not to move it. The skin had been torn by the blades and was bleeding, not heavily but bleeding.

"damn, I'd have about 10 minutes to bandage this before dying of blood loss (50 posts)," Sour thought to himself.

He took off his jacket, placed it on the floor and tore off the left sleeve of it. He used that to wrap it around the wound. Sour stood forth ready to fight with one arm(the other arm is still holding the tonfa though). He rushed towards Mr. Ritcher and pushed his arm back. He then manipulated the wind to push his elbow forward, allowing his arm to fling faster at Mr. Ritcher and add more power. The blow was too strong to be caught but able to be deflected or dodged. Since Mr. Ritcher caught the last attack, he should be in for a surprise this time. Sour aimed for the body, hoping that If the blow connnected, it would Push Mr. Ritcher into the overweight and have them both topple over.

[surgepox]

The Overweight took the gun to the face, and still opened fire upon bawb, who was now dashing out of the way "RUN, TINY COWARD!" He bellowed, as a stream of hot lead poured from the rotating barrel of his gun. Unfortunately, the gun to his face had momentarily obstructed his vision, and his aim was a bit off. This really wasn't much of a problem, though, he could retrain his aim long before even the fastest of scouts men could get completely away from him. The overweight also became concious of the growing scuffle behind him, but payed no mind to it. His buddy would watch his back, and he would mow down all the little men.