Gold Match-[Paladin-vs-Lancer]-Judges-All

[SikstaSlathalin]

GOLD MATCH: The Stone Circle

Paladin -VS- Lancer

Judges: All

The battles have been long and bloody, but now standing in the middle of an ancient arena seemingly removed from time if the glass like stillness of the ocean below and ominous looming of storm clouds above is any indication.

Even the air seems to be stiflingly still not even your own loudly exhaled breath seems to shift it. This place is unlike the arenas from before. It looks neither dangerous nor deceptive, it exits to serve a single purpose...to showcase a bloodsport for the howling masses populating the stands around you. Many of them look to be shades or reanimated corpses of passed warriors even the ones that were lost from this very tournament. Others looks to be from ages ago and untold battles forgotten by even the greatest scholars.

All look as bright as the day they died though so they could very well just be the living breathing fighters from the past. It matters not to you, the end is so near and you are so close to winning your second chance at life. Escape the inevitable death that brought you here, become something more than what you were or simply go back to the charms of your former life. The choose will entirely be up to you. But first you must beat one...last...foe.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~

This is the final match of the Purgament 2020! All judges will be watching and each Judge will be making a single Judge's post before we all chime in for the final post. Each fighter will be allowed 6 posts apiece and a judge will post after each round. I.E. Fighter 1 posts, Fighter 2 posts, a judge posts, Fighter 1 posts, Fighter 2 posts, a judge posts. And as before each fighter will get 72 hours to post. With only one extension allowed for fighter so use them wisely.

This is where you leave it all at the door and fight your hardest to save your fighter from a gruesome death from which there is no escape!

With the flip of a coin the Paladin will go first.

[RedKayne]

Saveth His Soul

---

My life is truly a curse.

Finally, it all makes sense now. The gray veil was lifted and the cursed knight finally recovered his lost memories. A devil infiltrated the inner sanctums of the Steel Order and corrupted the templars from within their cathedral. The Paladin suffered tunnel vision from his overzealous crusade and was completely oblivious to the true threat.

Brother against brother. Visions of blood splattered against the stone walls. The young initiate's cranium crushed beneath the weight of the mace. Every death further defiled the sacred grounds of the temple. Yet, Brutus marched forward to his unholy confrontation.

lt makes sense. My soul is cursed.

After slaying the wicked demon, the Steel's soul was bound by obsidian chains from the darkest depths of Hell. These chains threatened to drag the Paladin to his eternal damnation in the inferno. In the end, after dedicating his entire life to be an inspiring hero, Brutus MacTavish was abandoned by his God.

This is why I am the sole survivor. I am the Dark Avenger.

These forgotten memories perfectly explained Brutus's reckless tendencies and cynical outlook. He readily sacrificed his life in the battle against the Conquistador because he innately knew the nature of his inevitable demise. The Paladin accepted this fate from the demon's death curse... but he also vowed to personally bring every insidious abomination to the deep flames below.

My job isn't done yet.

The ominous storm clouds loomed overhead as the Paladin blinked his golden eyes after reawakening. The ambient air seemed stifling yet it wasn't overly exerting to breathe in. The Steel stood at the end of an ancient arena surrounded by spectating shades. There were several reanimated corpses from the stands which many appeared unfamiliar and were perhaps lost in the history of war.

Brutus turned his attention to his final adversary on the other side of the field. A beautiful and elegant woman stood tall with a proud stature and wielded a large sword-staff. She appeared to be similar in age and had flowing blonde locks to the small of her back. Most importantly, she had the hardened eyes of a warrior.

There were no indications that she was an unholy abomination like the previous three combatants. The woman's appearance matched the descriptions of the famed guard force, the High Ladies of the Court. The mysterious heroine must certainly be an experienced soldier. Regardless, she was placed in the arena as an adversary and thus an obstacle for Brutus's final promise.

The climax of this bloodthirsty tournament finally came between the beauty and the beast. The beauty of unknown purpose and the beast with unsympathetic golden eyes. Let's end this.

"C'mon, bitch, I don't have all day," Brutus stated flatly. Having this lassie hate me will make this battle easier. The supervising deities of this tournament will only end the match once there was a clear victor. "I got more demons to kill out there so let's finish this up quickly."

The Steel charged forward with a kite shield strapped to his left arm and a flanged mace held in his right hand. The dark avenger intended to be on the offensive throughout this battle. He sprinted with his right arm held out horizontally with the mace, which appeared to be an upcoming side-swipe attack.

Brutus's disturbing gaze remained on the blonde woman's eyes and attempted to discern her intentions. The sword-staff had a longer reach but perhaps slower to maneuver due to its immense size. Regardless, once he came within a weapon's length distance from his opponent, Brutus suddenly feinted with his mace and lowered his knees.

He swung the mace against the dirt ground and arced the trajection towards the woman. The weapon's head heavily plowed against the terrain and caused debris to shoot upward towards the Lancer's upper torso and face. The Paladin simply intended to distract the woman with the dust and ideally blur her vision before he enacted the second phase of his two-pronged assault.

Still lowered to the ground, Brutus swung his left arm and aimed the side of his strap shield towards the woman's right kneecap. The Scotsman had no intention to kill the innocent knight but he needed to immobilize her to be victorious.

Then, finally, he can finish the crusade and find peace. Well... perhaps find peace from this realm.

[Holeypaladin]

"He was a veray parfit gentil knight."
Canterbury Tales. Prologue. Line 72.

---

An unbreakable Oath... to which she held true for twenty long years. No longer the naive little teenager who had sworn the oath of chastity, she had sought a way to free herself of it... and found it. A single year, served as a nun in the order of Saint Ursula... not long at all, considering the extended period of service that had preceded it. She was supposed to be free... and yet, those bandits had given her no such peace.

As her gaze settled on the man before him, she knew at once what he was. Gytha was very familiar with the various holy orders of crusading knights, to include the Hospitallers of Saint John, the Teutonic Order of Saint Mary, the Templars of Saint George, and the Order of Steel of Saint... for some reason, the name of the paladin's patron saint escaped her.

And she also knew of how the Order of Steel had fallen. Demonic corruption had destroyed the order from within, in much the same way as the demon lord Baphomet had corrupted the Templars. One glance at the knight before her told the lancer that his soul had been corrupted by the very same demon who had corrupted his order... and it also told her that she most likely had not survived that final attack on the Maiden's Temple, for her to be in the same afterlife as this paladin.

She felt no malice towards this knight, only pity. With no such desire to slay him, instead she felt an intense desire to redeem him... should he be redeemable. For this reason, she permitted the man to see her face... so that he would know who he was fighting. She knew that exposing her face made it vulnerable, but this was a risk she would endure so that he would know that she was no monster... not like the other abominations that had taken part in this tournament.

At his crude words, the lancer frowned. "Verily, thou speaketh naught as a knight aught,"¹ she responded. "Wouldst thou raise thine arms against a Sister of the Faythe?"²

As the fallen paladin charged him, the Lancer took a brief moment to calculate her response. She had no desire to kill him, but it seemed as if he would give her no other choice but to fight. Being well versed in combat tactics, she would seek to use the terrain to her advantage... but alas, there wasn't much in the way of terrain to use. An ancient arena, likely Roman in origin, surrounded her... along with open, empty terrain and walls too high to climb.

However... in the open, the advantage defaulted to superior reach. So long as she did not allow him to come too close, her well-balanced polearm would hopefully make up for her lack of physical strength in comparison to the man. Unlike the mace wielded by the paladin, which was incredibly top-heavy, making it hard to stop or chance the trajectory of a swing once it began, her sword-staff was well-balanced... the center of balance being near the center of the weapon, making it easy to twirl and spin with her hands. Unfortunately, it was neither designed nor suitable to be used against heavy armor... indeed, she would have preferred a pollaxe or a bec de corbin for such a purpose. Since the bandits she was used to fighting lacked such armor, her weapon choice was perfect for her duties as a Lancer. As she had no intention of killing the cursed holy knight, she would not need a pollaxe, and could rely on the superior balance of her current weapon without fear of accidentally killing him.

As the knight charged, she opted to remain in the central area of the arena, where she could utilize the reach of her weapon without having to worry about being pressed against the walls. Though a faint may have worked against an inexperienced opponent, the unbalanced, top-heavy nature of maces made it easy for her to spot the maneuver... though she had no intention of letting the paladin get close enough to strike her. As the mace wasn't built like a shovel, it wasn't able to throw enough dirt into the air to cloud her vision any more than the typical dust of countless other fights she had fought in... so she paid no mind to the attempt, more concerned with the shield bash attempt.

As the paladin attempted to get close enough to strike with his shield, Gytha stepped to her left in order to create distance and circle around the paladin while staying more or less in the middle of the open area and evading the attempt at a shield bash in the process. This was a calculated move in order to circle around the paladin's right side, which was more difficult to protect with the shield on his left arm. Twirling her polearm, she struck not at the paladin, but at his weapon, in an attempt to knock the mace out of his hands so that he could not strike her with it.

"Verily, this fyte hath no meaning,"³ she spoke sadly. "I art naught thine enemie, Sire Knight."⁴

---

Gytha's speech is a dialect of English with similarity to both Middle English and Shakespearean English. Every letter is pronounced, and grammar and spelling in her dialog may differ from contemporary English. Translations into contemporary English are as follows:

1. "Your speech is inappropriate for a knight."
2. "Would you raise your weapon against a sister of the faith?"
3. "This fight is pointless."
4. "I'm not your enemy, Sir Knight."

[bluemoon]

With the Lancer's left step and twirl of her polearm, another circling began, this one made of the dust kicked up by the Paladin's mace. Beneath the foot of the woman a pattern was revealed, a series of lines etched into the ancient wood, each one curled around the other...and each one spinning faster...and faster...triggered by her weight. The cloud of particles engulfed the woman, obscuring her until her form disappeared completely. A moment passed and a cloying scent hung heavy in the air. Choking. Sickening.

The crowds in the stands began to beat their feet against the stands, a deafening roar of voices filling the space between each stomp. As one they stood. The living, the dead, and the undead releasing a cry of outrage, cheering for the violence to continue...for a chance for a winner to emerge victorious.

...and then the cloud of dust materialized several yards from where it had originated, the Lancer posed as before, her weapon still spinning. Neither strike from either opponent met their marks, no damage was given or received. It was as before...the fight just beginning.

The audience took their seats...all but a select few. Left standing was the Gladiator, the Samurai, the Conquistador, and the Assassin...all defeated by the warriors in the arena. Their images blurred, each replaced by a ghostly Spector, which then collapsed, becoming little more than a pile of ebony dust. The din quieted to a steady hum, and the fight commenced once again.

[RedKayne]

For He Knows No Peace

---

This place is a curse.

The woman circled towards the Paladin's right side and avoided the shield bash assault. The Lancer swiftly swung her weapon towards the mace in an attempt to disarm her opponent. A faint light shined beneath the woman's foot and an etched pattern revealed itself.

Brutus barely paid any heed to the swirling lines and prepared to thrust his right shoulder against the woman's legs. He intended to topple his adversary over and bring their fight to the ground in a grapple struggle. However, before he responded with any motion, an unnatural dust storm enclosed around the blonde soldier.

A putrid sweet scent clung to the air and then the raucous crowd erupted into a deafening cacophony. The Lancer's silhouette disappeared within the dust gales and magically transported several yards away. The storm finally settled and the heroine appeared from the debris and still poised for battle.

Brutus scowled at the sudden intervention and the ghostly spectators that brazenly cheered for blood. His golden eyes scanned across the arena and noticed three certain audience members; the Assassin, the Conquistador, and the Samurai. All three abominations returned to oblivion as obsidian dust but implicitly promised to haunt the Paladin further in this tournament.

The last Steel continued to scan the flat terrain and figured there was more than meets the eye. The supervising entities of this tournament may have directly intervened and teleported the Lancer away to lengthen this fight. However, Brutus figured there was more than one hidden pattern on this battlefield. If he discovered their locations and purpose, he can use those markings to his advantage.

Finally, the Paladin refocused his attention to the rival knight. "You are wrong, lassie, there is a purpose to this fight," he flatly responded and his left hand reached over and unbuttoned the leather pouch strapped to his belt. His hand reached down on to the ground and softly grabbed onto a small lump of dirt and dropped the contents into the pouch. "You are not my enemy, sister, but you will prove your strength to me."

The pouch clicked back closed and then the dark avenger stood up and straightened his posture. The grizzled man raised his shield and centered it before his torso while his golden eyes bore down upon the Lancer. He felt empowered by the four different Blessings coursing his veins and pointed his mace towards the opponent, "Prepare yourself."

He roared and charged straight to the woman again and ensured to avoid the area with the last sigil. He continued his maneuver and threatened to ram down the adversary with the metallic kite shield. His battle stance protected him from most frontal assaults but regardlessly kept a tight grip on his mace-handle for any retaliation.

[Holeypaladin]

He was a veray parfit gentil knight.
Canterbury Tales. Prologue. Line 72.

---

Reality seemed to unwind before the Lancer as the crowd of damned onlookers cried out for blood, violence, and death. For those who reveled in battle, the shouts and jeers from the crowd may have been inspiring... but Gytha reviled bloodshed instead, having seen far too much of it in her time, and wishing only for a time of peace. She noted four figured which remained standing as the others sat... one of them being the feline gladiator that she had fought not long before, and the other three she didn't recognize. Two of them were clearly demons, however, and the third... seemed somehow evil and inhuman, despite her human appearance. She could only assume they were the foes that had been vanquished by the paladin in front of her, which was further verified by the way the paladin looked at them.

"Thine foes afore mine self... demons and monsters, the lot of them?"¹ She asked the paladin for confirmation of her theory. It seemed her words had gotten through to him, at least somewhat, as his attitude towards her was visibly less hostile and rude than it had been at first... though it was clear he had every intention of testing her skill, leaving her little choice but to defend herself. "Shouldst thine wish be to fyte... let the duel be clean, and bereft of foul play. To firste blud, or to the payne?"²

As she seemed to have made her point come across in that she was no monster, but instead a fellow knight of honor, the Lancer secured her helmet in order to protect her face. It was unclear to her why the paladin was putting dirt in a pouch, though she hoped he wasn't planning on using it for some sort of dirty trick. Her disadvantage in this fight was clear as day... though her armor may have been on par with the paladin's, he was significantly stronger than her in addition to divine blessings granted to him by a number of different saints. He clearly realized that he would be able to dominate her at close range, hence the fact that he once again attempted to close the distance... this time in a bull rush with his shield.

Any attempts to back away from the shield bash would have been fruitless, as the paladin could charge forward much faster than the lancer could possibly backpedal. However, in the open terrain of the arena, there was plenty of room for her to maneuver... and like an Iberian toreador, her best option was to step to the side, as like a bull, the paladin's lateral movement would be sacrificed in favor of forward momentum.

It was a two step maneuver. First, her right foot, which was the front foot in her combat stance, took a step to her left, off center from the paladin's charge. Then, her back foot swept around, further to the left, to place her firmly out of the path of the paladin's charge. As she completed this evasion, she used the heavy steel butt of her staff to strike at the Brutus' knee... the one that wasn't protected by the shield, of course. Though the blade of her weapon wasn't suited for penetrating plate armor, the heavy impact from the steel butt should hopefully have enough blunt force to hobble the holy knight, which was exactly what she needed in order to outmaneuver him in this open arena so that she could use her reach weapon to full effect... as her long reach was her only advantage over the paladin in a sea of disadvantages.

After completing the motion of her hobbling strike, Gytha remained firm in her stance and light on her feet. Though she wasn't as fast as the assassin, the conquistador, or the gladiator... at the very least, she didn't seem to be any slower than Brutus, which meant she stood a chance of evading his close range attacks... so long as she didn't make any mistakes.

---

1. "Were your opponents before me all demons and monsters?"
2. "If you want to fight, let's fight a clean duel without any foul tricks. To first blood, or to the pain?" (In this line, she is asking Brutus how he would prefer to duel. Since duels of honor between knights are not fought to the death, she's asking if he prefers to fight to first blood or until one of them yields or is no longer able to fight.)

[Kris]

A mischievous smile decorated the silhouette of a man, dressed in playful and bright colors as he danced right into the ring, the voice of melody bursting from his rather odd looking musical tool.

It had the shape of a fiddle, yet at the same time it was not looking like such. The thing was oozing of black mist and the music seemed to be growing more and more bizarre and grim by the minute.

If someone looked closely they would see that his clothes were actually all made of feathers which were sowed together, rather poorly to create a strange attire. Even his robes seemed to be stretching down from his body, giving him a somewhat avian look.

"What a lovely day, what a lovely day", he tap his hat which had a weird looking bird face attached to it.

He opened his arms to his sides, one holding the strange fiddle and the other the string stick and he gave a deep bow.

"Let us dance, let us dance".

He started to hop from one leg to another, the melody and his dance increasing in strange frantic manner as the tempo becoming louder. It was clear that something else was taking an effect inside the ring... some kind of a spell, perhaps?

Then with an ear bursting POP the man and the fiddle were gone, only to be replaced with a strange looking bird that just hunk and flew away.

Even when things seemed to be going back to normal, they could still feel a strange weird sting in their muscles.

---

OOC : every attack done on this turn going to have an unexpected results instead of hitting your enemy (If you are going for an attack that is). I leave it to you to try to make fun out of it

Each of you are going to post once before another judge will post again.

[RedKayne]

Freeth His Soul

---

The woman was certainly an experienced fighter. She maneuvered towards Brutus's right side and away from his shield arm. The Lancer quickly swept the blunt end of her weapon to strike the Paladin's knee. All of her movements were graceful and swift, completely opposing the corrupted knight's reckless and spontaneous tendencies.

Regardlessly, MacTavish was prepared to retaliate. He swung down his mace in a forward arc and struck the blunt of the staff. Brutus successfully deflected the attack as he knocked the weapon away as it scraped against his greave. The High Lady of the Court quickly regained her battle stance and stayed light on her feet, prepared for the next step in their waltz.

"Were your opponents before me all demons and monsters?"

"Yes, they were all abominations. They were all banes to humanity and needed to be exterminated," Brutus firmly retorted.

"Let's fight a clean duel without any foul tricks," she announced.

Brutus studied the woman's eyes, they were firm yet sincere. She nobly fought all of her battles cleanly and with honor. The Paladin was the same way beforehand. He aspired to become a legendary hero that inspired others to take the mantle in the battle against evil. However, despite all of his best efforts, he was betrayed by his holy brotherhood and forsaken by his God. In the end, his efforts as an honorable knight were futile.

"Unfortunately, there are no rules in battle," Brutus stoically repeated the same words he spoke to the Conquistador. "There is only victory. Or, in your case, defeat." He understood the intricacies of war against the unholy abominations of hell. A savage demon fights without honor and would use any dirty tricks to gain an advantage. Brutus chose to fight his battles on their terms.

If the Lancer cannot defeat him, then he cannot trust her to protect the rest of humanity.

Brutus retightened the grip on his mace and prepared for the next assault. However, their arena match was suddenly interrupted by a dark jester dressed in an avian appearance. Black mist seeped from the bizarre fiddle and played a melancholy song. The strange entity oddly danced across the area while the morbid music became more intense and frantic in tempo before he suddenly popped out of existence. A strange bird replaced his silhouette and quickly flew away.

The Steel quickly scowled at the interruption and turned to face the stands of ghostly spectators. "Must we deal with these interruptions at every turn?" The Scotsman angrily questioned, apparently tired of the constant interruptions with the sanctity of his battles. He raised his mace and pointed towards the stands, his angry golden eyes seeking the true supervisors of this tournament. "You best pray I don't become a demon lord, otherwise I intend to eternally torture your souls."

The dark avenger returned his attention to his adversary. There was an odd sense in the ambient atmosphere. There were several stinging sensations across the Paladin's grizzled body. Brutus could assume that the jester placed a spell on the two fighters through the use of his melody.

There were too many random factors that affected this match. Brutus assumed there were several hidden sigils among the terrain and can be randomly activated. On top of that, the jester's music either hindered or benefited their combat prowess. Regardless, the Paladin wasn't too fond of the unknown elements in this field.

"Let's get this over with, lassie," Brutus's stated in an annoyed tone. He sprinted forward and swung his mace in a left-to-right arc. He aimed towards the woman's right elbow and intended to smash against her weapon arm to cripple it.

[Holeypaladin]

“And for he was a knyght auntrous
He nolde slepen in noon hous,
But liggen in his hoode;
His brighte helm was his wonger,
And by hym baiteth his dextrer
Of herbes fyne and goode."
Canterbury Tales, The Tale of Sir Thopas, lines 909-914

---

Though she had hoped to hobble the knight with her strike, the fact that he had deflected the blow enough for the effect to be harmless didn't surprise the English woman. She was, after all, facing against a member of an elite order of demon slayers... one who was likely every bit as skilled in combat as she was, though in his corrupted state, it seemed as if much of his skill had been replaced by reckless aggression. However, the longer she observed the man, the more skilled he became in both offense and defense... as if her words were getting through to his tormented soul and his sanity was returning. She could only hope this was true, and that he would regain his senses, along with his faith in God Almighty so that his soul wouldn't be forever damned to the fires of Hell.

As she prepared to counter his next move, another unexpected... and in this case, quite absurd interloper appeared in the middle of the arena. It seemed to be... some sort of bird man, quite out of place in a dimension of Purgatory devoted to bloodshed and violence. Obviously it frustrated the paladin quite a bit, causing an unexpected laugh from the Lancer due to the sheer ridiculousness.

"Verily," she responded to his words, "This place, 'tis naught a field of battle. Thou fytest to the pleasure of the demons thou slayeth."¹ She indicated the cheering audience as she said this, who continued to laugh and applaud at the spectacle before them. "A battle, 'tis a fyte 'tween foes, yea thou we should be allies."²

She observed the paladin to see how he would attack next. Clearly he realized the reach advantage that her weapon provided, as his attacks all included attempts to close the distance. Indeed, sprinting forward as he did allowed him to move faster than she could retreat... which is why, instead of retreating, she opted to instead step to the side once more, this time to his shield side as he had opted to swing his weapon.

However, the lingering affects of whatever parlor trickery the bird demon had played to the entertainment of a crowd seemed to affect the paladin's blow. For a moment, the mace appeared to be a very girlish, sparkling wand with a golden star for a head rather than a flanged striker. The swings from the fairy wand, as this was the closest she could come to defining the odd transformation, caused glittery sparks to fly forth harmlessly as if it were some sort of spell most silly.

As she gripped her own sword-staff to strike back, it seemed as if her the paladin's mace hadn't been the only weapon affected by this parlor trickery... her own shaft became limp, so to speak, wobbling like a wilted rope, the steel blade some sort of rubbery substance. In frustration, she shook the weapon for a while in order to try and return it to its original form, but in doing so she missed out on an opportunity to strike.

It seemed as if neither of them would be able to attack the other without some sort of parlor trickery resulting instead of the intended violence, so Gytha attempted to reach the paladin with words once more. "I would know thine name, Sire Knight," she said to the paladin. "I be a frail woman of no reknown, beknown as Gytha by mine battle kin."³ Judging by the man's accent, he was a Scotsman, though educated well enough to understand and speak in coherent English... no doubt thanks to his knightly order. Likely he had traveled quite far and wide in his crusade, killing heathens, heretics, and Saracens along with demons and other monsters. Indeed, the life of a crusader seemed much more adventurous than her own duties as a glorified town guard... though she had lost her desire for adventure long ago.

---

1. "However, this place isn't a battlefield. You're only entertaining to the demons you kill."
2. "A battle is a fight between enemies, but we should be allies instead."
3. "I want to know your name, Sir Knight. I'm just a weak woman who you've probably never heard of, who my battle sisters call Gytha."

[Omac]

Decay.

It is a balance within the universe. For there to be creation and birth there must also be decay and death. Kozzar knew this more than anyone. He was a servant of the Decay. He reveled in it. He moved like an illusion, dancing like a shadow that had no mortal body to pull its strings. He moved from side to side of the arena, swaying and humming along to a tune nobody else could hear… or so he thought.

He came to a sudden halt. Trickery? Musical drama? Reviving the dead for hijinks? Who did they think they were? The other judges were stealing his flair! How dare they. He was the demon of Decay itself. This was his show! Not those silly fighters with their pointy weapons and awkward dancing. He didn’t open a rift to this hell dimension, giving in to the decay, to have the spotlight taken from him now.

A bright light came from above, shining down on the demon as he burst into flames. His blood started to boil, his skin cracking at the seams as it leaked the dark ooze that lived inside of him. His animal carved clothes started to melt away from him as they turned into a bloody ooze at his feet, the warms around him sizzling and dying too. All that remained was his flesh and soon that melted away too, leaving just the skeleton of Kozzar as he laughed with his childish tone.

It became too much. His skull started to crack and then his chest started to bend inwards. His fingers fell beside him. Instead of backing down, the spotlight increased in power causing the very ooze at his feet to catch fire. He looked around, to the crowd and the other challengers, as his jaw became loose, and his body crumbled altogether. The sticky ooze caught fire as the spotlight flickered out. It still chuckled faintly, breathing with the remaining undead life of Kozzar, as he made his way towards the others. He couldn’t move very fast, not fast at all, so he remained on the battlefield.

There is now a sticky, flaming puddle of Kozzar on the battlefield.