Closed [Blood Pits] United by Rage

[Noven]

Winter, Day 45, 513AV

When the Bull announced a new twist in today's spectacle, the crowd went wild with excitement, roaring their approval.

Nov scowled and spat to the side. Seriously? This is what Winter had reduced the pits to. A circus of freaks, thugs, and criminals bumbling and prancing about to please the audience.

His mood suddenly soured tenfold. It hadn't been on the top of Noven's favorite-things-to-do-on-his-day-off list, coming to the arena just to find out that he was going to be part of some desperate attempt to weasel every last copper from the citizens' pockets. It was rough going, he had to admit, what with the price of food doubling in the span of a day. Hell, he wouldn't mind stealing a fresh apple or two himself if he weren't so godsdamned hard to ignore as soon as he walked up to a stall.

But this? This was stupid. Downright embarrassing, in fact.

The Bull turned to leer at his contestants, who had all been gathered at the center of the arena as the new rules were explained. They had been drilled, of course, ahead of time with the details of said rules, with the threat of death made clear should anyone deviate; the Bull's announcement was just a little show to get the audience started. This is horse shyke, Nov muttered in his own head, we're here to fight, not to make like monkeys and perform tricks for treats.

Taking a cursory look around, he could see the others felt more or less the same. Most were glowering, stretching their shoulders or cracking their joints in preparation, unhappy with the change of plans but bent on winning all the same. Only a few leered back at the Bull. Nov committed those folk to memory, marking them as the most dangerous and making a mental note to steer clear of them at the start of the fight.

Well, it seemed his opinion of the new rules was a popular one. Which meant that, on top of this being rather degrading to begin with, it was also going to end in an absolute, terrifying bloodbath. Angry fiends pitted against angry fiends pitted against a handful of psychopaths. The results were not going to be pretty.

"Well, lads," the Bull drawled in his gravelly, more beast than human voice. "Don't let me keep ya. Have at it, then!" Then he strolled out of the arena, every living thing in the pits watching him in perfect silence.

When the gates finally slammed shut behind him, chaos exploded.

Nov watched as people lunged forward, hopping like madmen toward the nearest blade. Some of the weapons had been provided by the jeering audience, others from the participants themselves, but it was impossible to tell which was which anymore. All that mattered was to get freed before you get dead.

His chafed a little at the ropes around his wrists and ankles, which similarly bound the rest of the contestants. But, unlike the others, he simply stood there, slightly crouched and scanning the turmoil with patience.

When the Bull had safely exited the arena, thereby signaling the game to begin, those at the outermost rings who weren't fast enough died first. Most were trampled by the stampede of people behind them. Others, strangled, knocked out, and even ganged up on--whatever it took to get to the weapons first. Noven's single advantage was that he'd been at the dead center, which meant no one gave a shyke about him, already leaving him for dead. They were much too concerned with getting to a sharp object before someone else did.

He wasn't, however, overly concerned with who ended up free first. Those few who stayed put, smirking in anticipation and eyes clouded with madness, were the ones he was truly afraid of.

Nov had not stayed because he was eager to taste blood. He'd stayed because he knew he had no chance of reaching a blade before the others, as he was neither the strongest nor fastest, and realized early on this ridiculous set up was just a gimmick, a double-edged ploy to weed out the foolhardy and weak whilst giving the audience their first dose of entertainment. His only hope was to wait for someone to try and attack him, and it didn't take more than a chime for his chance to come.

People were hopping and falling and hacking and dying all over the place, their screams lost in the roaring din. Between the crowd egging them on and the combatants themselves howling with rage, Nov almost missed the first blade that came for his head. He saw it before he heard it; the shadow of an axe sailing towards him, its wielder a monstrous blob on the blood-caked ground. Wisps of dark hair floated down in the wake of the axe's swing as Nov ducked just in time, and then the sharp edge was turning back for a second try.

Nov waited, steeling his nerves, as the blade made its way for his head once more. At the very last tick, he ducked again. Except this time, he had also lifted his arms and caught the edge with the rope around his wrists. The axe lodged itself in the thickness of his bindings and Nov yanked sideways, twisting the weapon from its wielder's hands. He didn't stop to see the shocked expression on the man's face as he knelt over the axe and began sawing at his ropes frantically.

Shouting in outrage, Nov's attacker dove towards his victim, only to find himself thrown on his back a split tick later, his world exploding in endless waves of excruciating pain. Nov had his left hand was wrapped greedily around the man's neck, pinning him down, as his other held the axe, its edge laced with blood.

He had sliced open a gash on the man's leg and activated his mark at the same time. What would've felt like a sharp sting was now amplified to...well, Nov preferred not to dwell long on such things. He left the man writhing in agony, crimson veins burning beneath the confines of his glove as he shook off the remnants of rope and freed his ankles as well. Nov shifted in slow circles, axe held up before him and eyes peeled for more assailants. The havok around him was still going strong, so it was just a matter of waiting and staying alive now. When there were only six left out of the original thirty, the second round would begin.

A burst of mad laughter caught his attention. Someone was cackling gleefully as he hacked some unrecognizable pulp of a human being to pieces, face and teeth covered in blood as though he'd taken a bath in it. "Psychopath," Nov muttered under his breath, edging away from the grisly scene.

There were, now that he had some extra attention to spare, quite a few similar displays of brutality. Several of those responsible were the ones he had marked earlier, and several more weren't. Suffice to say, within ten or so chimes it was clear who was here out of need and who was here for pleasure.

Nov could only hope against hope that his future partner wasn't going to be an aforementioned nutcase.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

In truth Senghor always wondered how he always ended up in these types of situations, it was as if though fate enjoyed watching the last Vilhjalmr succumb to senseless violence and pain. But here in Sunberth things were always so fallacious in a many, and in especially winter nobody would be put to death for their atrocious crimes and acts against the city, well nobody ever was anyway unless the people sought out something they wanted. And what Senghor always wanted was just to live another day, be it in pain or not, the warrior within wouldn't watch as its vessel died or fell to the seasons of their city and so it fought and the pits were any place as good as any. As Seng's eyes shifted amongst the men he observed with great caution whilst Bull explained, he saw that most had nothing but a thirst for blood, these were the ruthless and most unpredictable and by Lhex more than half of those bastards filled the area, the others were either warriors or 'unfortunate civilians' who'd fallen into debt and because it was winter, their debtors 'suggested' entering the pits as payment. Senghor was amongst the tallest, if he wasn't already so had a feeling that they'd pick at him first, especially with so many weapons laying around. It was Senghor's eyes scanned the area for what belonged to his and by fate so joyous it was nowhere near him, in fact it was behind one deranged looking bruiser who'd kept licking his ashen lips since they'd walked in here. "Great, just bloody great" he growled lowly beneath. When a great silence befell on Senghor and the arena he returned to the matter at hand and found himself anticipating what would happen, in his mind scenarios played out a hundred times over but Seng knew that it wouldn't help. When the gates fell and a roar of frantic behavior engulfed the entire pit, it was only than that Senghor decided to act he knelt down and let his fingers feel his bindings, in all that chaos he found a way to remain calm while everybody around him found some quick means to die, knots within knots it felt like as his presence dwindled at the rope upon his ankles. An minute or came to pass and circulation finally returned to his legs he found himself overwhelmingly proud, he tugged and pulled and miraculously it worked. The ankle binds fell off and his legs couldn't only breath, but move properly. It was when his eyes caught naught but a shadow hurried grow in his direction, and when Seng raised his head, that lip licking sod was wielding a large and heavy looking double bladed war axe, it sworn with the glittering artistry of blood as he looked down at Senghor. "You've gotta be ki..." his words fell short when the deranged killer raised the axe over his head to swing it down upon Senghor's skull, the Vilhjalmr in him reacted quickly to the raise and stood up, a stinging pain from the past shot right through his side as it throbbed slightly. When the blade descent, Senghor stepped back and dodged, the clang of the blade only sound between himself and his wannabe killer, Senghor looked down and saw the with the man had put into that one swing, the axe lodged itself into the ground, so he raised his gaze and quickly reared his head back and ran into the deranged bastard with one nose shattering headbutt before the assailant could heave his blade back up. As the man staggered back, Senghor made short work onto his binds upon his wrist and severed them upon the blade of the axe. He turned to look at the psycho, the man snarled at Senghor before his eyes alit in shock, as if something out of a legend Seng's grasped the shaft of the large war axe and pulled it from the earth. As the Vilhjalmr grasped the foreign weapon in hand and looked at the man, he held it with the needed strength yet his killer didn't. Senghor had even lost himself at that moment when he saw his former would be killer move back, he moved slowly whilst concentrating only on the Vilhjalmr and that was his mistake, before he could even utter a word of hatred in Seng's direction his head burst open as a spear pierced the back of his skull and erupted out his forehead carrying his chunks of his brain. "Shyke!" the dark skinned warrior said below his breath as he saw the killer of the would be killer, a large man riddled with scars like a map. As the body before him fell Senghor watched as he stepped down onto the neck of the smaller, now dead man and rip the spear from his skull. Ruthless, was what it was as Seng's palms clenched around the body of the blade, his eyes turned and amongst the original a handful was truly left, it was still heated in and fiery and he was there to witness it all. He could only but watch as he remained amongst killers and psychological cases, the large man was seemingly too interested in Seng and he showed his admiration by licking the blood from his hands and pointing at Seng. Only a few more chimes, and by Lhex he hoped that they wouldn't meet side by side...

[Noven]

No sooner had he a few moments to recover from the first attack when the second came. His new opponent was, unsurprisingly, more competent than the last. Nov tightened his grip on the axe as the man before him sneered, his pale face and bald plate speckled with blood that was clearly not his own.

Well, at least it wasn't the nutjob from before.

His enemy moved in slow, semi circles, leaving Nov no choice but to shift in counter directions. It was rather agonizing, each waiting for the other to make the first move. After a chime or two of this, his opponent finally seemed to lose his patience and charged, a curved dagger in each hand.

He was smaller, though, and weaker, which meant that all Nov had to do was catch the blades against his axe and twist upwards, his right elbow smashing against the man's nose. There was a crack and the bald man howled in pain, blood streaming down his lips.

Nov spared a single moment to regret that he'd forgotten to activate his mark. And that's when the second one showed up, jumping at Nov from behind and hooking a pair of bound wrists around his exposed throat. Nov gagged against the pressure but he managed to lunge forward, grabbing at his assailant's arm and throwing the sneak clean off his back.

The slim contestant uttered a scream of surprise as he landed jarringly on the blood soaked floor. Nov was just about to give him a good slice of white, hot pain, calling upon Krysus's mark as he raised his axe, when the attacker turned to look up at him with wide eyes.

Petching shyke. It was a woman. Nov hesitated against his better judgment, giving the little lady her chance to punch him in the groin and roll away. He groaned and sank to one knee, his face red and mind clouded with unexpected pain. When he looked up, she was staring down at him in triumph, her wrists freed and his axe gripped in her slender hands.

Thud. Her eyes went wide. The axe slipped from her fingers, tumbling harmlessly to the ground. She wavered for a moment, blood trickling down her chin, and then she was falling.

Right on top of Nov.

He caught her by the shoulders, her blood drip-dropping against his cheeks, and shoved her aside. One look told him all he needed to know; there was a curved dagger protruding from her back, right below the ragged collar of her threadbare tunic. With a snarl, Nov got to his feet, his calloused fingers wrapping around the wooden handle of the axe.

The bald man walked right up to him, leering through the bloody mess that used to be a perfectly straight nose, and punched him clean in the jaw. Nov stumbled backwards, barely able to keep his grip on the axe. The man went for another strike, but he made the fatal mistake of aiming for the same spot twice. Nov caught his fist before it made contact. Then he shot his arm towards the bald man's broken nose and reversed the momentum, effectively forcing the man to punch himself in the face.

And this time, Nov didn't forget to use his curse.

He left the man there on the ground, convulsing and sobbing in immeasurable agony. "You deserve it, rat," Nov spat. Any man who sank low enough to stab a woman in the back was scum in his book.

Noven was backing up slowly towards the walls, eyes still flickering across the dwindling chaos, when the shrill, piercing sound of a whistle cut through the roar of battle. "Alright, lads!" the Bull roared, holding up his fist. "That's six of ye left. Weapons down!" Nov threw down his axe, knowing that if he didn't the first and last thing he'd feel would be an arrow in his head.

In his distraction, he completely lost awareness of where he was going, until he bumped right into another contestant. Nov whirled around, ready to face yet another attacker. When he got a proper look at the towering giant before him, however, his jaw dropped.

"What..." he stuttered. "Seng? What the petch are you doing here?"

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

That bastard leered at Senghor with such enthusiasm it made the desert skinned son's stomach churn, the axe in his hand wasn't what he was used to and he knew that a few good swings from it was all he could really do. 'No, a weapon is nothing short of an extension to a warriors body' he remembered at that back of his head whilst looking down and than up no faster than a heartbeat, the man was losing patience and when he blew Senghor his one variation of the kiss of death, he charged forward. Senghor bent his knees slightly and watched as he charged, his movements weren't practised, it was only than that Seng realised that the man had no warrior qualities at all. As the fellow giant lumbered its way towards Seng and upon reaching him, did nothing but thrust his weapon, Senghor evaded to the side as he fell forward having put all momentum in that thrust. Seng raised the war axe over his side and slid his palms to the bottom of the axe's of the shaft, like a woodsman readily preparing to remove a tree from its trunk, Senghor swung, the arch of the blade would have roared with the wind it had a mouth. Over into the man's chest the axe dug was lodged within, and Senghor watched as he knelt forward, blood flowing from his nose and lips as he tried to comprehend what had happened. As the man fell forward, Senghor inclined gaze to the side to another assailant slightly afar the deranged bastard was picking up new weapons, in his hands, a morningstar and mace. He seemed no farther from being possessed as he ran towards Seng swinging his arms and hitting the bulbous knobs of the spiked balls together, he came running frantically and Seng's brow raised slightly. When Senghor looked down at the large man, who's eyes were still flattering as death claimed him. Senghor looked down at the spear in the corpses hand. "Don't mind if I borrow this, right?" he asked as he bent down to remove the shaft from the dead man's grip, when he inclined his again he saw that his assailant was closer than he thought. When his palm fell on the shaft of the spear, and the shadow of the man crept up closer to Seng, he counted the amount of clashes the killers weapons made upon each other. With a thought out attack, when the very essence the deranged lunatic was on him Senghor tightly grasped his new weapon and pounced, in one swift motion he moved the spear up and thrust it forward with ample might. It pierced into the eye of the and only when Senghor stood up and drove the spear into the man's brain did than his screams die and his body weighted down upon the from tip of the spears blade. When the thud of his body hit the ground Senghor let go of the spear and looked to the side, his longsword hadn't been touched yet luckily. "Alright, lads" Bull roared over, that was all Senghor heard and after that he turned to the bodies laying around them and it a utter bloodfest, dismemberments, decapitations, and all manner of horrid acts man cou... 'Petch!' Senghor thought as he felt another body hit into him, he turned with his fist ready to lay in at least one good one before he died but when the voice registered it stopped short it is movement. "Seng? What the petch are you doing here?" it asked, Senghor couldn't believe his ears, Noven... "Nov?..." he asked unsure at first before clearly seeing the man before him, and all he could think at that moment? 'No petching way...'

[Noven]

The crowd went quiet as the Bull began explaining what Round Two was going to entail. As the beast went on about the new rules, Noven stared up at his towering friend, a stupid grin plastered on his sweaty, dirty face.

Seng could not have been a more welcome sight at that moment. Granted, Nov knew he was still a bit weakened from the previous season, but it far from handicapped the imposing warrior. If there was anyone in all of Sunberth Nov thought he had a chance of coming out of this ridiculous mess alive with, it was Senghor Vilhjalmr. And, as luck would have it, the man was standing before him, in the flesh, ready to face the second round.

Which, happy day, involved their best specialties: brawling and fist fighting.

"I'd start with ladies and gents," the Bull chuckled, his voice like pebbles churning beneath the weight of a food cart, "but I know we ain't got any! So, fine folk of Sunberth--ye dogs, scoundrels, and saucy whores--we've arrived at Round Two. The rules are simple. No weapons. Only Furniture."

The audience burst out laughing and hooting, but the Bull quieted them down with a raised hand. "And, they will be paired in two's. Each will be working to take down the other teams. The round ends when only one team is left standing. Also, winners get to pick their rewards. So, form up now lads, don't be shy now."

Seeing as how they were already standing beside one another, Nov simply scooted a tiny bit closer to his friend. The others, in silent, pre-arranged agreements, went to stand beside their respective partners.

"Alright, now one at a time, boys. What are yer rewards gonna be?"

The Bull pointed at the leftmost pair. They shouted in unison, "All the weapons left in the arena." He nodded in approval, a murmur of excitement rustling through the crowd, and then he moved his stumpy finger to the second team.

Nov took one look at this second set of opponents and grimaced. Eugh, gods. One of them was that limb-hacking, blood-soaked maniac from before. He hadn't even bothered to clean off some of the insane amounts of crimson that stained his face. When he gave their answer Nov was repulsed, but utterly unsurprised.

"Ears," the nutcase replied, "all of their ears."

The murmur amongst the audience grew louder. The Bull squinted at the second team for a tick longer, his face as blank as stone, and moved on to the last team. "Well then, how about you lads? What's it gonna be if you win? If you say privates, you'd best remember you'd be doin' the cuttin' yerselves."

At this this spectators laughed a little, but Nov was confident in his answer. He wanted to beat his friend to the punch so he could surprise Seng with his new idea. He'd only just thought of it as attendants were setting up various wooden chairs, tables, stools, and such around the arena, but the more he entertained it the more he realized how useful it would be.

Nov cleared his throat, then shouted, "Chairs!"

The arena went dead quiet for a moment as the Bull stared at him, stupefied. "Ye said ye want...chairs, lad? Did I hear ye right?"

"Yes," Nov responded with a smirk. "Chairs, tables, planks--whatever is left after this round. We'll take the broken pieces too, whatever is salvageable. "

The Bull must have silently deemed the kid crazy, but his request was a reasonable one. "Well, there you have it. So begins Round Two. May the best team win!"

Then he was stomping off again, and the gates slammed shut a second time.

Nov cracked his knuckles. It was time to get this party started.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

As the silence of the crowd played mimicked the beating of his heart, slow and steady with each passing breath from his lips, Senghor still couldn't believe that Nov was also here, in this pure utter insanity with him. Senghor kept a stoic face throughout Bull's speech as he could didn't want to look like a blundering idiot who'd fallen to chance with his friend, no he kept the face he'd always kept whenever he was around other. The face of a Vilhjalmr. "Don't get us killed, we've had enough brushes with death together Nov" Seng said as his deep honey glazed thick voice was carried over lowly in his friends ears. His grinning was making look like a child in Sunberth having found a pouch of gold rimmed beauties. It was obviously a jest and Noven would know it, he amongst a few brought on this dark sense of humour even though they rarely found it funny. As Bull stood before them and elaborated on what was going to happen, a smirk nearly slipped the desert skinned warriors stoic features, Bull was bringing back old school brawling just the way it was met to be. Senghor cringed in pain for a moment before composing himself, he couldn't slip up yet and when Bull told them they'd also pair up, Seng couldn't help but smile and when he felt his friend shuffle into him, his smile turned into sigh whilst he moved a bit to the side. He watched as the others paired themselves up and some that didn't even match their personalities and styles, and that made them even far more deadly in Seng's view of things. It was than that Bull began pointing at the unified combatants and asked them what they wanted. When the first two replied, Senghor could only think that it was typical of them when Bull shifted his position and asked the other two, Senghor felt his spine attain a chill as he looked at the blood soaked killer, when he spoke of what he wanted it only made the Vilhjalmr's stomach shift and churn as a unerring rage began to to spark alive. Seng responded the only way he knew how when men tried intimidation on him, he inclined his head and a wad of spit flew from his lips to show that he wasn't taking any of their shyke. The audience were actually liking this guys, it only proved to Seng that in Sunberth the psyche of the human being was often shown for what it was in true blood sports. When Bull turned to face Nov and Seng only to joke about the nether regions, Seng merely brought up his palm to his thin strands of hair and ran it through as they laughed. Right before Senghor could open his mouth to answer Nov beat him to it and he wanted- Chairs!?!... By Lhex did something happen whilst Seng was away, had this idiot fallen to cooking a bad meal that sent him off his axis? When Seng turned to reassure himself of what Nov had said, his brow raised as he told Bull what 'they' wanted, and basically he wanted furniture. 'He probably sold his...' Seng thought whilst as he and Bull truly did silently deem him insane. And after a chime slowly he elaborated his ploy. When Bull left and the second round officially brought up his his arms and quickly rubbed the tip of his nose with his thumb, he was as the first two went at one another, they turned to begin their own scuffle whilst one nimble looking fellow came running towards Senghor, it was when he jumped up and came at Seng knee first that reassured Seng that this would end far too quickly. When Senghor bumped Nov out the way and crossed his arms over his chest and fell the knob of his attackers knee connect with his forearms that he reacted as his foe landed. When he landed on his feet, he felt as Senghor's entire palm shot out and grasped his face to push him back, he staggered back only to be met by Seng's left hook and grasp to pull him back. Senghor repeated the attacked, when his attacker staggered back Seng moved with him and repeated the onslaught. It was when his opponent staggered back finally only to fall to a tackle from Seng, when Seng's shoulder connected with the man's mid-section his arms wrapped around the man's legs he was raised up. Senghor raised his over his shoulder and brought him down on the back of his skull. It cracked under the pressure of the throw as Seng let go and moved down to slaughter his face with an onslaught of right handed punches to the face. It was than that Senghor's anger stirred and began to pour out slightly from the man's pores, his rage was played out by his punches down onto the man's face. Blood rose and fell with Seng's fist upon his limp foe's already tattered face, he'd lost track of how many he'd connected yet he wasn't even counting. Only when his foe uttered a plea to stop did Seng snap out his dazed state of bubbling rage. "Lay down and stay down..." Senghor said as he looked down the man with seering eyes of fueled with rage and nothing but it, he watched as the man's eyes flattered and unconsciousness quickly claimed him...

[Noven]

Nov had barely managed to utter a bewildered "wuh" before Seng knocked him to the side. He wind-milled for a while before he finally put a stop to the sudden momentum, gaining balance back in his feet. When he looked up to see what had given the man cause to butt him out of the way, he understood. Someone had charged his friend.

Fool. The idiot didn't stand a chance. Why would he separate so soon from his partner?

One way or the other, it didn't matter. He was a gone. Turning to survey the rest of the arena, Nov backed up slowly towards the pieces of furniture and other various objects. Some didn't exactly count as interior goods, but they were close enough. Buckets, washboards, barrels--pretty much anything you'd find in a typical tavern was now scattered around the arena in place of the weapons from before.

Apparently, the second team must have had some miscommunication of sorts, because the bloodthirsty killer was all on his own. His former partner was getting his ass handed to him now after having thrown himself at Senghor.

Poor fellow. He was probably just trying to save himself from a worse fate.

The first team seemed to have the right idea. With the second team split and the third team distracted, their best option was to take out the most dangerous threat right then and there.

"Come on, ladies," the mad killer jeered, licking his bloody lips. "I haven't gotten my fill of fun today. Give little ol' Mutt here a taste of your blood. I'm all by my lonesome self, with no partner and no weapons..."

Nov smashed a stool right over Mutt the Nut's head. One of the legs snapped clean off and spun into he air, landing a few feet away. He dropped the broken stool, but he wasn't done. With a grunt, Nov spun the dazed killer around to face him and socked him right in the eyes. Mutt, stunned and bleeding, stumbled backwards, clutching at his face and howling with rage.

Team one remained where they stood, watching in surprised silence. No complaints there about one loon taking out the other. It just meant they'd have one less, crazed murderer to deal with.

As a final touch, Nov began to draw upon his mark once more, fully intending to make this lunatic suffer every last tick of his repulsive life. He'd already wracked up enough pain to set the symptoms back by a full day, but this one was just icing on the cake. Nov approached an angry, blinded Mutt, ready to break the psycho's nose and be done with it.

Instead, Mutt dropped his charade at the last possible tick, picked up the broken stool, and swung it at his assailant. Nov jumped back on instinct, but he had been caught off guard. His reaction was just a little too slow and the broken edge of the stool caught him across the chest, ripping the front of his tunic and drawing a thin, red line across his flesh.

Noven's world exploded in pain. He cried out and sank to the ground, the wound on his chest feeling as though twenty daggers were tearing, slashing, gouging at his skin. This...this is all wrong! he screamed in his own head as his vocal chords were busy snarling in agony. Did my powers backfire? Is that even possible, that's never happened before...

When he opened his eyes again, he was lying sideways in a limp heap, his nose so close to the ground he could smell the blood caked over it. A chime or two later, he pushed himself up with enormous effort, trying to comprehend what the petch had just happened. He looked up, searching for the other contestants.

And that's when he saw it. A set of crimson veins spanning out like spider webs across a pair of twitching hands that belonged to none other than Mutt, who was now fighting the last half of Team One. The other lay somewhere to the side, his arms no longer attached to his body. Gods, how did that crazy bastard do that with his bare hands? And the pain that must have went with it...

Nov shuddered. Petching Maniac.

So, that would explain everything. Mutt the Maniac was vexed as well, except he was exactly the type of monster Nov struggled not to become. There were others of their kind, he knew, who were similarly curse and embraced their abilities with unflinching glee. Just like Mutt. And their favorite lines of professions? Interrogators, thugs, and murderers.

Nov shook his head and got wobbly up to his feet, trying to focus on the situation at hand. He limped over to Seng, who had just finished knocking his opponent unconscious.

"That guy over there," he muttered through the thick of his lingering pain. It didn't last long, fortunately; he was used to it after all. "The one with the crazy eyes. Don't let him touch you. He's cursed, like me."

A gurgling scream erupted. Nov snapped his gaze to the center of the arena to find Mutt standing over a writhing body. The madman had finally gotten to the last half of Team One and was now crushing his fingers one by one with the heel of his boots.

Krysus, this was not an approaching fight Noven found himself relishing.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

As Senghor began to stand up from lashing down a beating of only fists upon his now unconscious foe, he turned to look down at the arena only to seen Nov limping his way towards him. Seng reached out and supported his little friend by holding him up. "That guy over there" he muttered and Seng clearly picked upon traces that his friend was hurt yet Seng knew that after a few chimes, his friend would be up and running. "The one with the crazy eyes. Don't let him touch you. He's cursed, like me." As the roaring cry of pain caused both combatants to turn their heads towards their surprisingly handicapped opponent, Senghor got a clear view of what was happening. One fighter was lying there lacking arms, how that's happened Senghor was still trying to comprehend, the last was still at the mercy of their deranged lunatic of an opponent that this was truly disturbing in all manner of the word. Senghor inclined his head and surveyed the area for what he was looking for, and it laying right there just waiting to be taken and wielded to beat every out of insane outta that crazy prick enjoying himself. Senghor let got of Nov, he knew the warrior could suck it up and stand on his own there was no time to be the bruised brawlers together. Senghor walked up the chair, a finely crafted piece of work just made for brawlers like himself to break of backs. As he knelt down and wrapped his palms around the piece of furniture, the audience roar loudly, these psychopaths were enjoying this deranged madness... Yet, it was Sunberth, it was home. When Seng walked back to Nov he had the courtesy of kicking another stool his way, it slid on the ground and stopped at his feet when Seng reached his friend. Turning his head, Senghor looked at his friend and could reply the best way he could at that moment, with a good ol' one liner he knew would boost his friend's moral. "Than let's beat the crazy out of him" Seng said with a smirk whilst walking towards their deranged foe. "Hey!" Senghor roared over the crowds loudness as he ran towards the lunatic and brought down the fortified chair over the man's skull, it cracked under the force of the blow whilst the man recoiled and staggered forward. Senghor couldn't allow for him to even breath, to have a chance to counter and attack because if what Nov said was true than by Lhex, he'd regret it just like how he regretted what happened for the whole week with the expedition in Ravok, he brought down the chair again, and again, and again and again. Until it was on the brink of shattering, Mutt was soon on his knees when the heavy blows from his opponent weighted him down, he couldn't feel his face and with each blow closer and closer to his skull he was slipping in and out of consciousness. It was than that the war cry that came from Seng's throat rattled the pits with the audience cheering ever so loudly. From his core, a bellow of rage came forth into the earth as Senghor let go of hitting his opponent and brought his hands out, the berserker within had came without and only when its opponent was dead would it return and linger in Senghor's deadly dance. Nov would know that look in Senghor's face when he turned to look at the crowd and bellow in rage, he and others knew this well enough to know that it was truly only time until the Vilhjalmr within took over and changed Seng. As he turned back to Mutt, he'd didn't merely throw a kick to the side of his face, there was a great momentum to it as Seng's boot impacted with his side viciously, Senghor hurled his growing rage into that one simple kick and watched as Mutt fell back and laid down with a look that didn't suit him. "Like I said... Beat the crazy outta him" Senghor said as he walked back to his friend...

[Noven]

Nov watched with a mixture of horror and amusement as Seng's rage took over once more and he ruthlessly employed his favored tactic for any and all difficult situations: pure, unadulterated violence.

Sure, Nov had smashed a chair over the Mutt's unsuspecting back too. But he had done so with only about half the force; unlike Seng, he had less expertise when it came to brawling and preferred to out move or outsmart his opponents instead. That, and he had made the mistake of giving the killer time to recuperate.

Well, Seng did not.

Rather than use the stool his friend had slid to him earlier as a makeshift weapon, Nov flipped it upright instead and sat on it, watching Seng beat the living shyke out of Mutt the maniac butcher.

The towering fighter gave his opponent no time to react, to even breathe. When the chair was obliterated to nothing but hanging bits and pieces, Seng abandoned it in favor of his own limbs. He roared then, fierce and unstoppable, to the cheering crowd, before returning to his victim.

Nov knew there was no stopping him at this point. He'd gone berserk again, his rage an all consuming thing that overtook the usually thoughtful, congenial man, the hero who had once saved four orphans from a burning building.

Well, Nov conceded as he sat there, watching Seng give a mighty, brutal kick to Mutt's side, sometimes in this city you just have to fight fire with fire. No sooner had he thought this than he realized his friend was done. Mutt was down, likely dead, and there was no one left to fight.

"And that is precisely what you did," Nov replied with a grin as Seng returned.

The Bull stomped through the gates once more, inspected all of the fallen teams, and officially declared Team Three the winner of round two. "Well done, lads," he growled. "You'll be havin' yer reward them. We ain't deliverin' it for ya, so you'll get a cart to wheel all that shyke out of here. Assumin' that is you make it past round three..."

He laughed, then. It was a terrible sound, like rocks crumbling or dogs fighting. "Get ready for Round Three, all ye vermin watching in the crowds! Cause it's goin' ta get noisy down here in the pits."

The beastly man didn't even bother to explain the rules this time. He merely sauntered out of the arena once more, leaving both the audience and the contestants to wait in confused silence. Oddly enough, Nov didn't remember anyone explaining anything about a round three. He had little time though to dwell on this as two attendants poked out of the gates, tossed in a longsword and a pair of Tamos, then retreated back into the safety of the walls.

A moment later, Nov understood why they were given weapons. For, stumbling out of an opposite gate, its voice shrieking in high-pitched shrills, was a live, captured Yukman.

"Petch," Nov cursed, then dove after his Tamos.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

As Senghor returned to Nov and heard what he said, he couldn't help but smirk slightly beneath his stoic features, to beat the crazy out of someone was a metaphor yet with Senghor and and Noven in one place it could happen literally. It was when Bull stepped out that Senghor felt an ominous presence looming over their heads as if something they wouldn't like was going to be said, and there from his very lips it came as Seng stood next to his friend with one hand upon his friends shoulder. Round Petching Three! 'A third round!?... His gotta be kidding, there's noone left to fight!' Senghor thought before he heard those ungodly ravenous sounds of snarling and something, familiar... When Senghor saw his blade glide and hit the ground whilst still in its sheath, it vibrated slightly before coming to a stand still. It was than that the clicking of its jaws and vocals emitting the only sound it could brought Seng back, to the caverns... To the Alpha... As is old pains sprout anew Senghor stiffened momentarily as the hairs upon him stood, his lean figure somewhat unable to carry him. "Yuk yuk yuk yuk..." the word repeated from the monster as Senghor stood there for a moment before snapping back to reality, Nov had already ran towards his weapons, faster than Eleazar when he stool something. It was than Seng saw the beast running towards him, it was as if the beast could smell the essence of the dead Alpha on him, it came with a ferocity and powerful sweep of its claws down upon Seng. Seng dodged by ducking down and rolling over to the side, by instinct he nearly drew a weapon that wasn't there to jab it into the earth demons spine, yet he quickly realised his error and inclined his head to see it sweep its claws down on Seng once again. As Seng did another side roll he turned his head and shot out his leg, the bottom of his boot connected with the side of the yukman's knee causing it to bend to the side. This provided Senghor the ample time he needed to quickly stand and turn towards the direction of his blade. It was than that he heard the feet of the yukman behind him, it felt so close upon him as if it could easily grasp his neck and tear it open. He couldn't, he couldn't come up with a tactic to dodge and get his longsword. And at that moment, his frustration and rage towards the yukman behind him caused him to do something he knew would hang over his head for near eternity, He called for help... "NOVEN YOU LAZY BASTARD!... MOVE YOUR ASS AND HELP ME!" he bellowed in rage as he turned to the side, only to incline his head and see the yukman still right there... chasing after him and inching closer every single step they took forward. He could hear the crowds laughter and only scowled, thinking about how he'll get each and everyone of their names just to kill 'em all! 'That's if you live through this' his lightened subconscious told him as he kept running, running and only running...