One Of Us Is Going Down - Charles Crafter

[Charles Crafter]

Charles felt the hit...way more then he wanted to. He clenched his teeth and shut his eyes for a moment trying to control the urge to just drop to the ground and wait until he could get some medical attention to help him out of this. He dropped to a knee for a moment beating his side trying to regain his focus by spreading the pain around without actually injuring himself. He had to fight on. The woman had thus far been almost entirely unharmed. While he was getting wounds left and right.

He rushed forwards in spite of the pain he was in firing repeatedly trying to nail her with one shot or another as he continued to speak, "Come on. Really? Wouldn't you rather just shoot me in the shoulder or something? Trying to initiate conversation and that's your choice of response?" His eyes were narrowed out of pain but he did his best to keep that smile on his face. Nothing was in his favor, but there was that amusing idea of never backing down even with defeat staring you in the eyes. He may not have been a fan of it. But it was sometimes necessary.

Charles refused to let his injuries impede him too much, although at this point there was no such thing as ignoring them. He was in far too much pain, his body simply couldn't function at the rate at which it could have earlier. Ah well. It was now a matter of time before he was simply too injured to make it any longer.

You really couldn't just respond or something? We're just playing out the fight at this point, the end was decided long ago so at least you could play along with me until you win? He thought.

You charge at Reanna, spraying rounds at them, but they are too quick. They slip into cover, causing you to miss every single shot.

[Reanna]

The scent of blood was slowly beginning to overwhelm her, and she found her concentration slipping. As it began to call to her, she felt herself losing control, the sharp ache in her guns distracting. Slowly, the green of her gaze began to disappear, and the bright gold of her wolf’s gaze began to shine at him. The switch in the appearance gave her an animalistic edge, but it did nothing for the hunger that beat at her. This time, when she aimed her gun, the bullets sprayed around him, and she watched as – somehow – he dodged every single one. There was no damage, the bullets merely grazing his wounded form.

Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath, filling her useless lungs with the scent sweat, blood and dust. At first, she had thought it was a mistake. The blood overpowered everything else, and she felt her mind begin to slip. Would it be cruel of her – would it be cheating – if she were to lunge at him, to sink her fangs into his throat and taste the richness that was calling to her? Niet. She was stronger than this. Rolling her tongue along her sharpened fang, she narrowed her eyes and watched as the man moved, his lips parting to allow another string of words to roll free, words that meant nothing to her. In the midst of war, it was foolish to take time to talk, to form a conversation. Yet, she was growing bored.

Perhaps if she taunted him, if she allowed him to hear her voice, which he seemed to be pleading for, he would give her a challenge. Working her jaw, she tried to piece together the words within her mind before she spoke them, the small handful of English that she knew still difficult for her to form properly. “You do not get to choose how you pay. You simply die.” she spoke, her voice a rough, yet sensual, growl as the Russian accent thickened, causing the sentence to be almost incoherent.

You stalk your prey carefully, tracking them from the shadows. As your chance arises, you fire off a few rounds, but only graze your opponent before they duck for cover.

[Kirill]

"Strelyay yemu v litso, Iskra. Litso!"

Kirill banged a fist against the railing as he watched with bated breath, seeing that his wife's skills were as honed as he ever remembered them being. Perhaps moreso, after their time in the Motherland. There had, after all, been plenty of occasion for them both to sharpen their teeth against the Moscovian underworld. It was an experience he wouldn't have traded for the world.

He watched as the young man struggled to stand his own, his blood washing over the arena floor like a crimson wave. To the telepath, it was a miracle that the human could still stand on his own two feet. And, just as he had all but counted the man out, he managed to avoid a hail of Reanna's bullets, the rounds slamming into the floor, into the barricades, anywhere but into the man that had been her intended target.

"Ne takim obrazom! Vy dolzhny pritselit'sya!"

[Charles Crafter]

Finally, a reprieve from the onslaught of her repeated hits as he ducked out of the way merely grazed this time. Possibly the only time that would happen at this point. Truly it was a miracle he'd made it this long, at least in his own opinion. He was merely human, sorcerer perhaps, but that was all. And not exactly that powerful of a sorcerer either.

He was, however, becoming more dulled to the pain that he was feeling. It was there, but he imagined the adrenaline, the rush, and simply having to deal with it for this long while fighting, was beginning to take the edge off of it. He was not really any less hindered however. Unfortunately that's not really how it works. No matter how little pain he felt it wouldn't fix his wounds.

Finally she spoke in a rough but very interesting voice that furthered his intrigue, "English isn't your born language is it? Ah well, at least you've started talking right? If for nothing else then perhaps out of my irritating you or to finally give me something out of all this ridiculousness." He said before once again setting off a few shots, he'd curse under his breath as he knew it would once again fail. But the smile wouldn't leave his face. He refused to let it. Why be unhappy about something that you couldn't change? Not so much an optimistic view, as simply an accepting one.

The foreign words from the person in the crowd which kept coming up pretty much made his theory a lot more certain. It was a rough speech, a language he would certainly not define as soothing. But an interesting one nonetheless. Whatever it was, it kept him interested and that was enough for now. Something to keep off the loss he was just waiting for.

You stalk your prey carefully, tracking them from the shadows. As your chance arises, you fire off a few rounds, but only graze your opponent before they duck for cover.

[Reanna]

He is going to leave you, little sister.
Do you see him now? He is standing high above you, shouting words of…
… hate.

The quiet whisper brushed against her ear, and from the corner of her eye, she saw him. His face was still as gruesome as it had been before, and as he smiled, bits of rotted flesh peeled from his jaw. The sudden sight of her brother had her hesitating, but it was that hesitation that saved her. When her opponent had aimed for her, his finger pulling hungrily at the trigger, she had paused – and managed to catch herself just in time to avoid the bullets aimed for her skull. Realizing her mistake – and Markus’s ploy – the Russian shook her head and narrowed her eyes, the golden glare sparking with a renewed vigor. Above the cheer of the crowd, she heard her husband’s voice – and there was no hatred in his growled commands – none, at least, for her. Instead, his command was simple – and had she been facing an enemy that she intended to kill, it would have been one that she heeded.

Shoot him in the face.

He was just a human, though. A human that had no business stepping into the pit and standing against her, but there he was, his body swaying as his own eyes lit with adrenaline and fire. There was something within him, something that spoke to her, but that spark that had flared to life in his gaze meant nothing. He was the enemy, and she was meant to take him out. She had never been able to stand down from a fight. The slightest challenge had her hackles rising, and tonight was no different. When he began to speak, his voice once more like an annoying buzz against her ear, she gave a slight pause. While she couldn’t aim for his face – she knew how to get what she needed. Lifting her gun, she waited until he stilled, until she had the perfect opportunity. With a quick amount of pressure applied to the trigger, she fired off a few shots – each meant to confuse him, to give him a sense of safety – before she smiled.

It was a smile meant to chill, and the third shot aimed true, the bullet piercing his throat.

You take a couple of shots at Charles Crafter, and one of them rips through their throat!

[Charles Crafter]

Charles smile denied his pessimism about the situation, or rather his realism. He knew exactly how this thing would go from the start...but he had done it anyway. Curiosity was such a weird thing wasn't it. It made people do things that could endanger their very lives. Ones mere willpower couldn't keep them afloat, no matter how strong it was. And his was failing fast.

His eyes narrowed as the shots missed him, he'd run out of ammunition and was drawing his sword already, she had no need to take her time. As she smiled, he simply smiled back. A chilling smile to him only meant he knew just how painful this would be, he'd received a wound identical to it not too long ago but under very different circumstances. He grunted and clenched his fists as it slipped through his throat, not enough to kill him, but it hurt far worse then the others and he could taste some blood on his tongue. He smiled once again before clenching his face and lunging forwards with what strength he had left attempting to get off one more attack before this whole thing was over. Even if he did manage to hit he knew it wouldn't allow him to win, but he didn't care, he had to try.

Charles steps and strike were perhaps faster then a completely untrained, but hardly enough to hit someone who had thus far remained entirely unharmed. Afterwards he'd simply slump to the ground, defeated just waiting for the last hit. His words came out just barely loud enough for someone nearby to hear, struggling to get them out, "Ah well. I kind of figured this would happen. Thanks I guess." He clenched his fists waiting.

Stepping out of the shadows, you lunge at Reanna with your sword, but they are too fast for you, and your sword merely scratches their cheek. The wound closes up almost instantly.

[Reanna]

The moment he staggered, she knew that she had him. The wound in his throat was far worse than the others she had dealt, and so she stalked him like a hungry wolf awaiting her meal. As he moved, she moved. When he fired off a shot, she deftly spun out of the way and fired a few of her own – again, the bullet slamming into his groin, piecing the meaty flesh that resided there. Around and around they went; he’d try to fire off a round, she’d fire one of her own. Only once did she miss, and then she was shaking her head, her throat vibrating in a fierce growl. She couldn’t miss him again. She wouldn’t.

When she heard the click of his gun, she furrowed his brows, the lack of bullets almost… confusing her. Not one to allow herself to be distracted too long, she fired off another round, the bullet slamming into his back, coating his shirt in his blood. The scent was too much for her, and she had to snap her teeth together to stop from ripping him to shreds. Again, his gun clicked, and again, she fired off a round. He needed to go down – he needed to stay down. When his leg buckled beneath the force of the bullet, she grinned, golden eyes darkening as she stepped to him, his words a garbled mess to her. It was the look in his eyes, the way he clenched his fists that told her everything she needed to know.

Without missing a beat, she lifted her gun and aimed between his eyes. No. With effort, she managed to pull her arm down and fired a final round, the bullet piecing his throat.

Defeated.

“Strong. Fearless. Good fighter, better training.” Her voice was rough as she held out a hand, willing to help him to his feet. He wasn’t an enemy. He had proven his merit, had shown how he would, in time, be on the field with the best of them – should he choose to go that route.

With permission from Charles Crafter, summed up the rest of the fight, because he said something might have gone wonky with the alert logs. I’ll go ahead and post everything on my end here!

The wounds are in order:

You sneak up on Charles Crafter and attempt to snipe them.Unfortunately, the only bullett that hits is one in the groin! Ouch!

You stalk your prey carefully, tracking them from the shadows. As your chance arises, you fire off a few rounds, but only graze your opponent before they duck for cover.

You lay in wait for Charles Crafter, and as they come close, you step out into the open and shoot them in the back

You fire wildly at Charles Crafter, but your aim is poor.You do, however, hit them once in the leg, tripping them up.

0h 0m ago: Charles Crafter has been defeated!
0h 0m ago: The battle is over. Reanna's team are the victors!
You take a couple of shots at Charles Crafter, and one of them rips through their throat!
VICTORIOUS! Charles Crafter collapses, near death.

11.25.17 The battle is over. Reanna's team are the victors!
11.25.17 Charles Crafter has been defeated!
11.25.17 You were skirmish attacked by Charles Crafter (human) , but you avoided their attack!
11.25.17 Charles Crafter tried to shoot you, but they were out of ammo .
11.25.17 Charles Crafter tried to shoot you, but they were out of ammo.
11.25.17 You were skirmish attacked by Charles Crafter (human) , but you avoided their attack!
11.25.17 You were skirmish attacked by Charles Crafter (human) , but you avoided their attack!

[Charles Crafter]

All that work, the fighting, and it all lead exactly where one could have guessed. A loss on the side of Charles Crafter. He was no warrior this day, but he'd fought as he could. But even so, he could tell that Reanna had more experience, skill, and power, then he could hope to have competed with in this fight. There was almost no chance at all that the fight was going to end in his favor.

Charles nodded painfully, and smiled thankfully, as she helped him to his feet. He hadn't fought that hard in quite awhile, and the last time he had done so he'd ended up in a hospital. The woman had proven to be far beyond him and it didn't surprise him, even if it was a bit hard to deal with. And clearly very painful in the most literal of senses.

As he stood up he gripped his throat, holding it as he added in a painfully hoarse voice, "Thank you. Sadly for me though, you're leagues ahead of me." he ended that with a winced chuckle at the obvious lacking he had and how far beyond him she was, "Oh...good luck with the rest of them." he commented.

It was a bit of a stretch to think this was much of a good idea. But hey, I tried, and now at least maybe I'll be able to remember to make sure my ammunition is full next time I go into a fight. Especially since I knew this one was coming. He thought, Would have liked to at least put some sort of lasting scratch just to know I was at least somewhat able to handle myself against anything more then what is basically mindless fodder that I usually fight. Obviously I have a lot to work on.