Participants:
| Scene Title | Obliterated |
|---|---|
| Synopsis | Ethan vs. Konga |
| Date | March 8, 2009 |
| Soundtrack | People in Planes - Last Man Standing |
Cover charge. Security guards. Big damn cage with packed-dirt floor, signs of use marring the bars - burn marks, ice marks, dents. Hooks curve wickedly, a few from each cage wall, sometimes bare, sometimes holding rudimentary weapons.
First front row shows sign of similar ruin, often empty of people, crowd pushed back and around the cage. They cheer, they pass money back and forth, they call out requests like CRUSH or KILL or DECAPITATE. A surrounding balcony is filled with those who don't wish to rub elbows with the lower class of gamblers down below, safely away from the danger.
Welcome to the Pancratium.
"And now, for our main event-"
Her feet planted up on the barricades, people hissing and booing at her mere presence,
"The African nightmare, the brutal, the fierce, the merciless-"
an ape of a man trying to secure her, trying to pull her back. Her face was a mask of fear and concern,
"The fearles, Konga!!!" The cheers raise up throughout the building, almost making personal thought impossible. Almost.
she saw him. And he saw her. And for a moment… For a moment that was all that mattered.
"And her opponent, the only human to survive, the only man to beat Midtown man, Sylar! Our own superman's kryptonite-"
But the moment was over.
"Ethan Holden, the Wolf!" The announcer's voice fades into the cheers as the crowd's ruckus raises to a nigh deafening level. Ethan is marched out into the ring, his eyes downcast, and his mind in another place. His eyes look distant, glazed over. The man is the only non-evolved fighter the Pancratium uses, and he is also one of the only they have to walk out with a noose around his neck. His hands bound behind his back, his ankles shackled together, the shirtless man is slowly released from his restraints. The rope tightened around his neck is loosened and the pole is withdrawn. The man known as the wolf walks, wearing only a pair of pants into the ring. But his usual swagger, his smirk, his cocksure attitude is all but gone. He doesn't even notice the woman across the ring from him.
Bets are made, cheers are yelled out. The patrons are ready for blood, and even though the Wolf is their favorite son now, they will ultimately support the one who gives them their blood. Chantings of names are called out, bets are stacked on. The Pancratium is ready for more blood…
She stomps her feet, and snarls like she's an animal. It's all about the show. She doesn't get to know too much about her opponents, though she was told that this one was tough, yet had no powers that she should be concerned about. Her flesh has already thickened, providing her a natural shield.. an armor that builds around her like a fort. It slows her down, but she's already quick enough without it. She won't take him lightly.
She looks over at him and pounds her chest with her fist, first the left, then the right. He won't look at her, either he's scared or he's very confident. Neither of those concern her as she plans to win and to win hard. She snarls towards him as she waits for the match to begin. "FIGHT" she yells at him. "FIGHT!" One of the very few words she knows. The crowd, full of puppets who love to chat begin theirs..
"Konga's gonna kill you.."
"Konga's gonna kill you.."
.. in a sing songy phrasing, similar to that of a childhood nursery rhyme. Like children playing jump rope. Her confidence is high after her defeat of Magnes, and she's ready for another.
A steely gaze raises from the ground to rest on the woman who's screaming at him. His gaze is calm, almost bored. It's clear he does not want to be here, either because he is afraid, or because.. he just doesn't want to be here. Taking a few steps into a backpedal, his back rest gently against the hooks protruding from the wall. He does not look fearful or afraid, though it could be a mask. But afterall, this is the only man who could beat Sylar…
Ethan's lips do not curl into a smirk as their usual MO is on these fights. He looks out into the crowd at the sing song rhythym. She's alive. It was all that mattered, she was out there. Alive. Waiting for him. He had got himself captured on purpose. It was time to finish up, kill who needs to be killed, and blow the fuck out of this place.
His brows set as he looks across the ring at Konga. Right now, she was the only thing in the way. One hand raises up, a finger beckoning her forward provocatively. Come on.
ORDER: It is now your pose.
She's not here out of want or desire or the thrill of the fight. She is here to win, to get money, to survive. She raises her trunk-sized legs up and lets them crash down dramatically as she steps forward. Whether he fears her or not isn't the question, it's whether or not she can make him fear her, then she will have this battle won and it will only be a matter of time.
The Ugandan warrior, dressed for battle begins a charge forward. It takes her a moment to pick up speed, but she bears down on him as she pulls back her first, and will take a hefty swing right at him as she gets closer, her fist breaking loose and channeling right towards his face, the leathery skin that would creak as she clenches down tighly waiting for the impact.
Crack
His neck turns violently as the fist makes contact with his chin. His head submitting to the momentum that overcomes with the strike. Blood immediately splatters out of the bottom lip, as the man reels from the punch. Though he doesn't fall back, he doesn't rock into the sharp objects right behind him. His face goes to the side, then comes right back, staring at the woman. And now..
A tiny smirk forms as the blood drips down his chin. "It's about time love." His cockney accent sounds out. "Let's get it sorted." He doesn't move.
Her fist makes contact and he takes the punch. The blood is encouraging, but the fact that he didn't fall causes her to narrow her eyes as she lifts her left fist and aims once again for his face. His words mean nothing to her, because she doesn't undestand them. The smirk is mocking in her eyes and that just pisses her off even more. If he's going to take her beating, then a beating is what she's going to give him as her fist sails towards him again, ready to put a matching mark on the other side of his face.
She has no idea if he's going to fight back or just sit there and take her punishment, but regardless, she's going to ensure that he goes down hard and goes down fast.
His chin moves swiftly again, but not in the same manner it did mere seconds before. Konga's might fisty barely misses the stubble growing on his cheek. His face moving nimbly out of the way, his neck craned back, practically throwing himself backwards. His back foot pushes off, sending him into a dramatic spin which barely takes him out of the course of the strike.
At the end of his spin, his momentum carries him to the side and slightly behind Konga. Through the momentum of his dynamic twist, his elbow moves up swiftly towards the back of Konga's head, powerfully as if to knock her towards the barbs on the wall. The chants of 'Wolf' start to raise up again.
Her hand misses and she feels the elbow to the back of her head as she stumbles forward, her hands moving flat against the barbs of the cage. She grunts as she feels them pierce through, then buckle as her thick skin prevents them from going much deeper. She jerks one of her hands back, pulling it free from the barbs, then the other as she turns around. He has speed on her side, she's going to have to squash him and squash him good.
She doesn't want to give him a chance to come up with a plan, so she charges him right away, pushing her weight towards him and just planning to run him over. Get him down and then crushing him with her weight.
Years and years of training, years and years of execution, his body moves on instinct. Not in a calculated set of plans, but in a plan that is set into motion by the decades of discipline he has put himself through. His brows move up in the slightest acknowledgment when she simply pulls her hands off the barbs. A miniscule nod of approval is gifted to her before she starts the bull charge.
Knees bend his front foot pressing powerfully against the turf, launching himself to the side, Ethan rolls from one shoulder to his knee. The leap taking him out of harms way of the tackle and towards the wall, where the weapons hang. Sidestepping once, a dull and chipped machete is taken from the hooks.
Kong stumbles forward as he moves and she turns towards him, planting her feet in a wide base as she watches him grab the blade. She narrows her eyes more as she watches him, considering what he might do from here. She grunts and holds her arms our as spikes begin to form out of her skin, sharp as a tack and varying lengths. She doesn't have the experience to use weapons, but she can make herself one.
She has enough armor to take a direct blow from the machete, but it can certainly chop her down if used persistently. The newly spiked Konga takes a more cautious step forward, her fist raised, itself adorned with a single spike sticking out the back of her hand.
The blade swings menacingly at his side as he moves forward back to meet the woman. His features remain neutral when the spikes grow from the woman. Interesting. His lips set into a thin line. He's never seen a power like this, but she isn't the first Evolved he's face, and she most certainly will not be the last. Though that is something to be wary of, of course. Taking a step back, Ethan crouches down to retrive one more weapon while facing Konga. A lead pipe is picked up in his free hand.
Taking a lunge forward, the machete flies out in a lunge at the recently raised fist, testing what kind of damage he can do to the spike woman. His pipe hand remains out in front of him. Ready to defend himself should he need it.
ORDER: It is now your pose.
The lead pipe is picked up and she doesn't seem to concerned about that. She's more concerned about the blade. She keeps her eyes there as she charges forward.
The blade comes down and the machette comes down and buries itself into the thick skin of the warrior. She roars out as the blade cuts her, though the thick skin prevents serious damage, she does start to trickle some blood down the length of her arm. The beast has a weakness after all, it seems. However, she lets her skin form around the blade, as her fingers clamp around it and she tugs it towads her as hard as she can, trying to pull the man towards her as she raises her other fist, ready to pummel if he gets close enough, right in the face.
His brow twitches as the machete is practically cemented to the woman's arm. And he is soon pulled into her reach. Exactly where he did not want to be. His body tenses and braces as that fist of spikes comes hurtling towards his face. And the blades penetrate. A spike passes right through the flesh of Ethan's cheek and into the hollow of the Wolf's mouth.
The sheer force and pain is enough to drive him to one knee. Though, he doesn't make a sound. He allows the blood and the sound of the spike sliding through his flesh to do the talking for him. The pipe is driving up in the same moment. A powerful thrusting motion of the pipe into the woman's throat sends her stumbling back, giving the man on one knee a little space for at least a moment. One hand comes up to tenderly examine the new hole in his cheek.
His brows narrow.
The sound of her spiky fist going through Ethan's throat would not be pleasant, however, the sound of the pipe hitting her throat, even more so. It staggers her back as her hand pulls back from his face and she clutches her throat. There might even bit a glimmer of panic in her eyes as she hears the cracking of her throat bone. The blow doesn't actually cave her esophagus, but she definitely feels the pain. She would roar if she could, but at least she can still breath and she is not happy.
She rushes in and her foot comes off the ground as she aims a shot right to his already injured face, kicking him hard and sending him backwards, sprawling. He holds on to the pipe as she moves in to pick him up into her arms and carry him around the cage. She looks like she's about ready to just slam him ass down onto the floor.
The indignity. The humiliation. Not many people have seen the Wolf in this state. And the few that have, are now dead. His eyes go wide as the woman carries him about as if he were a child. A fucking child. The pipe drops from his hand. It's not a good weapon anymore. His hands are a better weapon now, his feet are a better weapon. She has made him look weak in front of everyone. She has humiliated him. He plans on tearing her apart. A fire is set alight in his eyes as his whole body tenses and moves. Protesting her hold, a powerful elbow embeds itself into Konga's nose and mouth, driving her backwards.
Turning quickly, the man stare over at the woman. His lip is bleeding as well as his nose. But that's nothing compared to the gaping hole in his mouth. A feral roar is unleashed from the man that temporarily quiets the crowd. The cry is full of rage and fury. Fire practically emits from his mouth as his holy war cry is rendered up into the heavens. He slowly lowers his gaze to the woman, his legs set firmly below him, his hands out at his sides, fingers twitching. There is a fire in his eyes…
The crowd goes insanely loud.
The shot is a good one. Her nose cracks and the bone is pushed up close to her brain. Just a little harder and she would be done for. The blow staggers her backwards, as she teeters on her two massive legs before dropping to her knees. Blood begins to pour from her mouth and nose as she spits out two or three teeth.
She glances up at him and her eyes are boring through him. The fight still alive in her as she forces one of her legs up and places her foot on the ground and struggles to get up onto her feet. The spikes on her arm retract back into her skin and she lengthens the one on her hands as she holds her hands up and moves towards him, unsteadily. Time to finish this. Blood continues to seep down her jaws and splatter against her chest and on the ground, her feet leaving prints as she steps in one puddle, then the next. Breathing comes difficult for her as she pulls her hand back ready to take the massive swing. She will not be denied.
The crowd pops loudly as she still shows life. The fight is not over yet.
A snarl is given as she nears. The man doesn't move. He doesn't try to block the attack, dodge, or counter. He just waits. Konga's huge fist flies through the air, and connects soundly, ripping into Ethan's left shoulder. The spide penetrates the skin and slides in until Konga's fingers press against Ethan's bare chest.
He doesn't even flinch.
His fore foot flies out, delivering a debilitating strike at the side of the woman's massive knees, sending the already lumbering beast to her knees. His hands come up to catch her hand, secure it. She won't be pulling it out. It was a trap, and she walked into it. And now, she is at his mercy, or lack there of. Levering her arm up, his opposite elbow flies down at an angle to break the woman's arm. And that is just the beginning.
His gaze is feral, as the blood drips unnoticed onto his chest. The spike hand is withdrawn from his skin, with a slight gasp. The sound people make after they drink a big glass of milk. The limp arm is dropped as the man looks down at the woman. His fist flies to make contact with her right cheek, then his other hand with her left. A flurry of punches is let out on her, if she starts to slump he pauses to straighten her. She will not fall down on him.
"WOLF! WOLF! WOLF!" The chant rings out.
The woman is defeated. It's obvious to everyone. The Wolf looks down at her, watching her coldly, just rest there on her knees. "Ladies and gentlemen, our champion! The wolf! Still undefeated!" The gate opens. It's time for Ethan to return to his cage. Get healed up, let the woman fight another day. He takes a step away from her, going to walk around her as the crowd cheers for his victory. Walking past the woman on her knees, his gaze searches the crowd. Maybe Eileen came again to see him…
She didn't.
He pauses.
In the next instant Ethan is standing right behind the woman once again, one hand on the back of her head, the other on the bottom of her chin. Without a yell, without ceremony, and without emotion, the motion is made. A dramatic movement, rotating the head violently in a way, a neck should not be rotated….The man steps back.
There's a moment in time when they say your life flashes before your eyes. Konga has this moment, though profoundly different from what most would consider. She flashes back to her simple life back in Uganda, on the farm. She worked in the garden with her father and brothers, and they would sing Ugandan chants as they worked, all smiles and laughter. Growing up, playing games with her siblings. Simple ones, nothing as complex as they have today. Simple games like hide and seek and tag. Songs around the campfire, and dinner around the table. She didn't need money, she didn't have to perform. She understood what was going on around her. Then she received the curse from the gods. The one that killed her brother. The one that caused her to flee the only place she will ever consider home. How did she end up here in the city? This barbaric city that was worse than any jungle in Uganda. Was this all her life was going to amount to? The question barely has any time to register in her mind when her neck is snapped and she no longer has any thought. None. Her eyes glaze over and her arms drop to her side. She falls forward onto her front with a thud as her lifeless body causes the crowd to quiet down.
THUD
The crowd roars to life as Kong loses hers. Her body lies down on the ground, unmoving while the activity spills all around her in this place. The place of her death. There will be no parade. There will be no mourning. There will be no flowers placed on her grave. She will probably not even have a grave. She will most likely be taken down and pushed into the river, or buried somewhere on the island. Forgotten.
Konga has been obliterated.
 March 8th: Say The Word |
 March 8th: Time To Leave |