One Of Us Is Going Down - Charles Crafter

[Reanna]

Gauntlet with Charles Crafter - try to keep it 300-400 words maximum for speed!

Are you certain you wish to do this, Iskra?
You will only fail.
You always fail.

Running her tongue along the edge of her fang, the slender Russian pressed her fingers through her hair, nails biting into the skin of her scalp. The pain helped to center her, to remind her that she was real – and he was rotting in an unmarked gravesite. “Are you coming?” Her words, though soft-spoken, held a gravel edge as she tucked her phone against her shoulder, her chin propping it in place. Whatever response she received from the other end was cut short as she suddenly allowed the device to slide down her arm, fingers catching it a split second before it touched the ground. Ending the call with a quick swipe of her thumb, she tipped her head to eye the arena, her fingers drumming against the glass screen.

The Arena wasn’t anything different than what she had expected, and while she still had yet to wrap her mind around why she had chosen to join the event, she was there. She knew nothing of her opponent. In truth, she barely knew anyone that traveled in this city. They were a blur of faces and names, voices and emotions that she cared nothing for. Pushing the thought from her mind, she lifted her hand to gather her wild curls, the thick strands of brown tugged into a tight braid that she quickly brought over her shoulder. Her attire was simple – leather pants, combat boots, and a black tank that was had seen better days. Curling her hands along the railing of one of the terraces, she hoisted herself up and over it, body landing in a graceful crouch within the arena, the sudden impact sending dust dancing through the air.

It was time.

[Charles Crafter]

Charles looked at his weapons as he walked towards the arena. A slight smirk on his face, not one of pride however. He had no realistic expectations for this, in truth, he knew he wasn't a skilled combatant. Much of his ability to fight came merely from his powers as a sorcerer. So he wasn't expecting the gauntlet to go well. But he was doing it anyway. Because in a world that was getting ever more violent, knowing how to fight, and knowing how weak you were, were some of the greatest things one would need.

His blue eyes landed on his opponent as he elegantly tossed himself into the ring. She wore simple but adequate attire for the situation, however he had worn a less typical combative outfit. A smart white shirt, jeans, and black shoes were his choice of style for this fight. He tapped his hands against his sides before waving a greeting towards her, an interested smile on his face.

"I do hope you'll excuse me if I do badly. But then again that would be good for you wouldn't it. Suppose we should get started. Care to go first?" He said not drawing any weapons just yet, but rather steadying his stance in preparation. "I really look forward to seeing what actual fighters bring to the table, rather then a businessman like me does."


As he spoke he was doing his best to think out how this could do. Intelligence and charisma were easily his greatest abilities, but the latter would not be nearly as useful in a situation such as this. So it was a matter of seeing if he could find her weaknesses or at least learn from an experience like this. He wasn't looking forward to the beating he expected, even if not by this woman, then by whoever came next, but he knew it'd teach him.

[Storyteller]

==========AUTOMATED POST==========

Charles Crafter has initiated a battle against Reanna. Awaiting outcome.

[Reanna]

As her opponent stepped into the ring, she merely raised a brow. There was no strength about him, no physical prowess – at least, none that she could easily spot. Nor, where there any sort of immortality. After a quick tilt of her head, she tried to block out the roar of the crowd, and instead focused on the man that walked towards her – and realized within a second why he had confused her. He was no vampire. His heart beat louder than the rest, and she could practically taste the blood that rushed through his veins. He is either stupid – or he has the power of a thousand men at his back.

Shaking her head, she didn’t speak when he offered conversation. Her expression remained blank, her fingers reaching first for her gun as she tapped the muzzle against her lower lip in silent contemplation. She wasn’t one for talk – but that wasn’t the only reason she remained quiet. Her English wasn’t strong, and as he spoke, attempting to weave a tale of business and offering her the win, she could barely keep up. Instead, she pulled her gun from her jaw and aimed it for him, her lips curving into a cold smirk. She gave only a nod of her head for warning before she pulled the trigger, but the sudden jerk of her gun surprised her – just as much as the sudden scream from the terrace. Clearly, someone wasn’t that pleased that a human had decided to join the fray. Instead of piercing him between the eyes, she embedded a bullet in his leg before taking a step back, stance ready.

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

[Charles Crafter]

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

Charles winced as her shots managed to hit him in the leg. Gritting his teeth he used the crowds noise and the time after she fired to try and see if he could catch her off balance long enough to fight back. Firing at her in return with his weapon. However, it did not result in what he wanted. Due to trying to deal with the pain, and rushing to manage it, he'd somehow failed to hit where he wanted.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes, but refused to allow this wound to continue impeding him. It was an irritation, and something he decided he didn't want to have for the duration of this battle. He used his sorcery powers and held clenched his hands as he called upon them to heal a wound, and so they did, one of the bullet wounds in his legs sealed closed as he used his ability.

As he did so he noticed there was still yet another injury in his leg. But there was no point wasting all his anima on this, it would be wasteful. He'd need it. His next attack would be far more precise...if he could manage it.

[Reanna]

She barely had the time to move out of the way before he was firing, his bullet slamming into her leg. The pain was minimal to her – it was more like the sting of a honeybee. She had been shot far too many times within her life, both as a soldier when she was human, and as a soldier when she was undead. Instead of allowing it to anger her, the woman merely rolled her shoulders as her own eyes narrowed. She could taste the need for blood on her tongue, to watch as he fell, and as the roar of the crowd played like a sweet symphony to her ears, she aimed her weapon and pulled the trigger.

This time, she had aimed for his stomach, and true to her mark, the bullet slammed into his gut with a thud that caused her smirk to widen. When she watched his blood spray across the ground, she allowed a soft, husky chuckle to vibrate from deep within her chest. He was proving to be fun – if only a little poor in his aim. It almost made her respect the human – almost.

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

[Storyteller]

=========AUTOMATED POST=========

The battle is over. Reanna's team are the victors!

[Kirill]

Silent and imposing, Kirill sat close to the barrier between spectators and combatants. He was as close to the action as he could manage to get himself.

His dark glare moved from one face to the other as the pair dashed from one spot to another, each doing their best to out fight the other. It was a moment he found foreign to him, to actually watch his wife fight, to actually use the things he taught her. She had always been a fast learner, and an excellent pupil. She picked up a lot of the things faster than he had, and ever since they had been turned, she had come to terms with her new body much faster than he had with his own.

She was a force to be reckoned with, down in that pit, and it was a sight to see. He lifted a fist, and, knowing that, perhaps among a small handful in the crowd, the woman down in that pit would understand his words.

"Zakonchite yego, Iskra. Zakonchite yego bystro!"

[Charles Crafter]

Charles keeled over as the bullet hit him the stomach but spent not a moment longer bothering with it, rather rushing around to get the dust moving so he could try and hide in its shadows. Once again he shot off a few shots, but his aim would not be as true as he'd like. It really had yet to be that way. And he was running out of ammunition really fast. Realizing he hadn't restocked like he should have.

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.

Only his clenched grin and stiffened movements betrayed the pain he was in as he cheerfully called out to her as the battle moved on, "Heh. I was right about not doing too well. Maybe if you're willing we could exchange names before this is over, I'm Charles Crafter." He said chuckling, "Hah, talking mid combat, shouldn't do that should I? Come on humor me anyway. I figured I'd be riddled during this anyway so at least I can get a conversation out of it?"

[Reanna]

Over the roar of the crowd, she heard the sudden thunderous shout of her husband. She had known he was there, had felt the weight of the stare on her as she stalked her prey. She hadn’t expected him to speak, and yet, when his voice washed over her, she managed the faintest smirk. Running her tongue along her fang, she watched as the man danced about, his feet kicking up a storm of dust. He thought to hide behind it, to conceal himself from her view, but it seemed his plan had backfired.

When he finally managed to fire off a round or two, she twisted, her knee touching the ground as the bullets grazed her arm. The pain was non-existent, and the wound was healed before she had managed to make it back to her feet. Even as she moved, he talked. It didn’t seem to bother him that his stomach was pooling blood about his feet, or that his skin was turning ashen. He continued to talk, his voice a hiss between his teeth, his eyes strained as he watched her every movement. She thought to give him credit, and had she been anyone else – anyone else at all – she might have.

Instead, she pulled her braid over her shoulder, twisted her gun about her fingers – and pulled the trigger. If he was talking now, she wondered how well he would hold a conversation when her bullet pierced his groin. When the thud of the impact echoed over the cheer of the ground, she grinned, her green gaze wild with adrenaline – and hunger. Shaking off the latter, she began to circle him, her steps slow and deliberate as she remained silent.

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