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Strongest Under the Land, Under the Heavens; Burter | Jeice | Stinkmeaner | Medium Quest
Topic Started: Feb 11 2018, 07:56 PM (80 Views)
Burter
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Strongest Under the Land Under the Heavens

Difficulty: Medium

Description:

A secret underground fighting operation, known as the Crimson Fists have taken an interest in your skills. You have been invited to join in on their... 'activities'. In the arena, some of the most dangerous of Earth's fighters gather for blood spattered brawls, people often getting killed as a result. The league is run by a man calling himself Fayzr; a drug baron who supplies the fighters with expensive chems. Depending on what kind of character you want to be, you can take this opportunity to get close to the head of the league and put an end to this bloodsport for good. Alternatively you can succumb to the lust for battle in your veins and become the champion of the underground.

Reward: +500 zeni, +5 DP, +40 all stats, +5 Rp Credits

Bonus: +2 alignment if you destroy the league

OR

Bonus: -2 to alignment if you become the new champion.

--


Blood curdling screams and frantic chanting bounced off the brick walls. The small arena floor was filled shoulder to shoulder with thuggish looking fighters. A balcony crowned the upper area of the floor where high bidders relaxed and watched their earnings or losings. The blue Brute known as Burter stood near the far side of the arena. The blue Batabeurra towered over the rest of the crowd, witnessing the carnage in the ring with ease despite leaning against the far wall.

Across the sea of heads, Burter saw a rather nimble, pony tailed many leaping through the air with a series of heel kicks. His opponent, a scruffy looking man with large forearms blocked each of the kicks with a loud ‘crack!’. He returned his opponent’s barrage with one of his own, but instead relied on swift swipes of his palms. One blow swerved under his opponent’s defense and knocked him to his back. Pouncing like a wolf, the man sent a rain of blows straight down on the pony tailed man’s face. The crowd lurched forward with cheer. Burter felt an excited smirk curve across his face.

Suddenly the downed fighter slipped his chin past a strike, wrapping his leg around his opponent’s arm, he threw the man to the ground. He constricted his arms around the man’s forearms and crossed his legs against his chest. With a holler he screamed out, and a loud ‘pop!’ echoed throughout the small arena. The crowd went nuts, and the pony tailed fighter slowly rose to his feet. Burter followed his eye line to witness a man decorated in glorious fur coats sitting atop a cushion throne. The fur coated man’s hand extended out slowly, a thumb placed sideways. His lips then curved open, revealing a golden tooth smile as he flipped his hand downwards.

The fighter turned around, blood whipping off his ponytail as he glared down at his trembling opponent. Pointing his hand into a knife hand, he curved his arm backwards to resemble a crane’s beak and then struck down. His fingertips pierced straight into the man’s throat with a sickening chop. The crowd roared in approval.

Glancing to his side, Burter saw his red Brute partner seeming to enjoy the combat just as much as he was. He tapped him on his side, “I’ll go talk to the big man upstairs, make him an offer he can’t refuse.” Burter said with a wink. “Why don’t you enjoy yourself down here?” the blue alien gestured towards the arena ring.

The Batabeurra slid through the back of the crowd, making his way to the stairs. His dark red eyes scanned the crowd once more, looking for a new face he had recently met. A potential recruit for the Planet Trade, an old, seemingly blind fighter known as Stinkmeaner that he had encountered earlier.

-----

Burter WC: 473/473
TWC: 473
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Sitting atop an upended cargo trunk of some kind, Jeice kicked his feet idly in the air as he watched the proceedings with earnest. Though only a handful of matches had taken place so far, each and everyone one of them had been bloodier than the last. "This shindig really lives up to the name 'Bloodsport', doesn't it?" he said aloud, though he wasn't sure if Burter could hear him over the racous cheering as another combatant's grand prize hopes came to a brutal and grinding halt.

Feeling a light tap on his side, the Zoteran turned his head and looked down on his partner for probably the first time in their friendship. When the Batabeurra pointed at the top dog, sitting high up on the balcony away from the filth and stink of the sardined fighters, he nodded in understanding and returned his attention to the area. Burter moved along the wall, though he did little to blend in. It would have been pointless anyways - save a handful among the dozens of hopefuls, the blue Brute towered over anyone else. Without Teka to join them, Jeice figured his partner to be the biggest guy in the room, meaning the biggest target.

The Zoteran glanced up at the wall where two ribbons were revealed to show the contestants for each fight. A deep, booming drumroll quieted the room, turning everyone's attention to the match maker. After what had seemed like forever, Jeice smirked at the sight of his name on one of the ribbons. With a wave of his luscious hair, he hopped down from his perch and pushed his way through the crowd. Though he was short, his red skin stood out like a sore thumb. He had little trouble getting to the arena. When he stepped into the small ring, he saw that his opponent was already waiting on him.

"I'm going to eat you," the lardy, barrel chested man said, smacking the floor and spreading his feet out wide. The Zoteran shrugged and raised his fists nonchalantly. When the bell rang out, he struck with such speed that the last vibrations were still echoing through the building when the big dope landed amongst the crowd. Jeice stood where his opponent had been a moment ago, his foot still raised but his eyes staring up at the balcony. With practiced grace, he lowered his leg and walked away from the arena, leaving his opponent lying just outside the ring with a concaved chest and blood pouring from his limp jaw.

At first the crowd was too stunned by the rapid defeat, but one man somewhere started to clap and sure enough the crowd was roaring seconds later, devoid of their bloodsport but impressed none-the-less. Several men tried to yell at Jeice, a mixture of taunts and congratulations, but he ignored it all and returned to his seat on the upended trunk in the back.

Words: 488 / 488 / 961
Edited by Trumpet, Feb 12 2018, 10:04 AM.
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While the old man couldn't see the bloodbath going on, he could hear the delicious screams of pain and the sharp cracks as bones were snapped. It was his first time taking part in such an event as his love of hatred made it especially difficult to make connections, much less good ones. Still, fate had dealt him quite the hand this time around as he found himself sitting beside none other than Ed Wunsler the 1st who had taken great care to make travel arrangements which he himself had paid in full.

The pair sat in the front row as they eagerly awaited Stinkmeaner's first match. The current bouts were entertaining of course, but the blind man was eager to crack some heads and the crooked businessman was eager to make some money. It appeared the match line-up had been appropriately manipulated, as it was quite apparent that the winners of the last 2 matches greatly exceeded the blind human's capabilities. In fact, Stinkmeaner immediately recognized one of their voices from a scrap he'd gotten into quite recently.

The sound of another neck snapping rang through the air followed by an uproar of applause from the crowd. The thud of feedback from a mic could be heard as the announcer prepared to announce the next bout. "Right, next couple of pieces o meat for the grinder. Big Chili will face Colonel Stinkmeaner."

The grin on the blind man's face would've been enough to make a baby cry if anyone were irresponsible enough to bring one to a series of death matches. Stinkmeaner rose from his chair and made his way to center stage. His opponent was an overly large meathead, towering at around 6 ft in height. Still, without even throwing or taking a punch the old human could tell he was but a paper tiger.

"Ohhh, I can smell the bitch on you. Watchu got, nyugga? Watchu got?" The bell rang and the bigger fighter immediately went on the offensive. Massive fists were met with open air as the blind man danced around the big mans jabs. "Cmon I've encountered circus clowns that can throw punches better than that, biyatch!" Big Chili's face began to match the color of chili as he was quite apparently becoming enraged.

One after another Stinkmeaner sidestepped the big man's attacks which seemed to have increased in ferocity, but had slowed considerably. The blind man was toying with his opponent and the crowd was loving it. After all, it was the perfect way to buildup tension and give everyone a good show.

After a couple minutes, the blind human closed suddenly and landed a devastating uppercut to the bigger man's jaw. As Big Chili reeled from the sudden attack, Stinkmeaner followed with a barrage of jabs to the chest and then a leg sweep which left the larger human on his back.

Yells rang out from the crowd to finish him off and the old man simply stuck his finger in his ear and rotated it as if attempting to clean it out. "Sorry, hearing must be going. What do ya'll want?" The yells increased in volume considerably practically begging for a kill. "Hmmmm, don't feel like it. Sorry." The shouts increased in volume once more and could probably be heard 10 miles away. Some of the crowd taunted the old man, but most continued to shout out for a fatality. Stinkmeaner gave a shrug as he's head turned downward at his opponent who was lying on the ground in pain.

"Well, if you insist!" With that, the blind man's foot shot up and back down into the bigger man's chest. His attack had been aimed quite well, as the bottom of the blind human's shoe tore through the muscle-head's heart. The crowd's uproar of applause matched the volume of their earlier shouts as Stinkmeaner strolled back to his seat to await his next bout.

WC: 652
Total: 652 + 961 = 1,613
Ticho's second soul
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Blood dripped from the tips of Burter’s fingers as he peered out from the shadows of the hallway towards the back of the man known as Fayzr. Two women were giving him a massage on each shoulder, somewhat ridiculous through his thick fur coat. Burter crept on up, seeing a familiar face in the ring down below. He smiled as Fayzr jolted in his seat from Jeice’s swift execution of his opponent. Pushing one woman away as he placed a bloodied hand on Fayzrs white fur shoulder, the Batabeurra hissed, “Mind if I have a seat?”

As the Batabeurra strolled to a cushion couch near the edge of the balcony, the kingpin lowered his shades with widened eyes as he spat out, “You got a death wish motherfucka?! Guards, throw this blue bastard off the edge!”

Silence.

The drug lord turned around his seat in a jolt, “GUARDS! DID YOU HE-“ he stopped, his eyes peered down at the red stain on his furry shoulder.

“They won’t be joining us tonight,” he heard the Batabeurra speak out across the oval lounge. The women surrounding Fayzr let out blood curdling screams before darting away. Despite the noise, their screams were muddled with the screams from below, drawing no attention to the drug lord’s position. Fayzr slowly turned his shaking head towards the mysterious blue stranger.

Burter chuckled, “Now that we’re alone, I would like to make a proposal.” Still in shock, the drug lord forced himself to raise his eyes from his men towards the snake like fighter before him. “I’m a representative for an organization that is in need of special recruits. The same kind of recruits you seem to gather here at this lovely tournament you got going on here. What is it called, the Crimson Fist Tournament? Perfect name.” Reaching a blue arm across the way, Burter lifted a drink from the foot table before reclining back. “So, here’s the deal. We’ll keep your little tournament going, but, for every new champion you get here, you bring them directly to us.”

“Who’s us…?!” the shook man seemed to stir back up.

Burter gestured with a backwards nod, “That red comet back there? He’s my partner.” Burter took another sip from the toxic drink. “One more time, you run this tournament, but you do so to recruit more members for my organization. We get the champions of each tournament, as well as any notable fighters you may fine. Also, I know you’ve been generating some sort of ‘combat enhancement drug’ here? That belongs to us now as well. We’ll keep half for our forces, and then you can sell the rest for profit like you’ve been doing. However, we get half of that.”

His business side flaring up, Fazyr shot back, “Bullshit! I ain’t giving you more than ten percent of my stash!”

“You don’t have much of a choice,” Burter stated. His red eyes narrowed as he noticed a glimmer in the eyes of the man. The drug lord seemed to gain back some of his composure as he folded his fingers underneath his chin. A gold tooth smile curved across his face, “You a gambling man?”

Burter’s blue lips sipped the drink, “Sure…”

“We’re about to enter into the final round of the tournament. I got some new champions that came in recently, they’re truly out of this world. And they’ve been injected with my enhancing drugs. If your red friend of yours can survive fighting all of them at once, then I’ll let you have eighty percent of the spoils! But if he doesn’t, then I get to keep eighty!”

The Batabeurra chuckled, the drug lord’s stupidity honestly surprised him. His blue head curved across the balcony’s edge to see a familiar face finishing off an opponent. It was Colonel H. Motherfucking Stinkmeaner. The old man who Burter had yet to convince to join the PTO was now finally here. Perhaps with a cold hard stack cash would help entice the offer.

“Tell you what, my partner Jeice, and that old man down there, will take on all of your champions at once. If one of your champs land a single scratch on one of them, you keep sixty percent. But if they remain unscratched, we keep sixty,” Fayzr lit up, “Deal motherfucka!”

The drug lord stood from his seat and began to shout out the final instructions of the tournament’s round. Burter simply shifted in his seat to watch the carnage unfold. Jeice was fast enough to get his shopping list done at the same time as pummeling any of these fools. The one he was really interested in was that old Stinkmeaner.

-----

Burter WC: 779/1,252
TWC: 2,410
Edited by Burter, Feb 12 2018, 01:17 PM.
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After returning to his lofty seat, Jeice watched the fight immediately following his with interest. One of the contestants was a blind old man that Burter had briefly mentioned to him before.

Winning this won't earn him a place with us, but losing will certainly will disqualify him from the running.

To his mild surprise, Stinkmeaner managed to easily dodge his much larger opponent's attacks, taunting him into an angry rush at the same time. With apparent ease, he grew tired of playing defense and struck back, sending his foe stumbling with a single strike and then peppering him with a barrage of quicker jabs until he dropped the gorilla. With a brutal heel to the chest, the blind man dispatched his opponent.

It all took only a few seconds, and Stinkmeaner didn't look like he'd broken a sweat or even had to take a deep breath. It was apparent that his physical abilities were not related to his elderly appearance in the least. While defeating one of the chumps in the tournament wasn't particularly impression, he had earned Jeice's attention.

That's good enough to keep me watching, old man, but I hope that wasn't the best you had.

With the corpse hardly removed from the arena floor, the head honcho was already up and giving orders. The Zoteran cocked his head to the side and eyed Burter curiously, but his friend only gave him a mischievious grin in reply. Fayzr issued directions pointed at Jeice. At once the crowd packed in tighter towards the outer walls, tripling the size of the fighting arena. A half dozen men came out from behind a door under the balcony, each dressed intimidatingly and brandishing an assortment of chains and brass knuckles. The stood side-by-side in the center of the stage.

"Would Jeice and Stinkmeaner, please make their ways to the arena. The final match is about to begin - wagers will be accepted up until the bitter end, as always," Fayzer called out before returning to his seat. A grimace coated his face, and though he wore a smirk, Jeice could see that he was more than a little nervous.

Flipping the bird at Burter, the Zoteran dropped to the ground and forced his way once again through the crowd until he was standing alone in the arena with the six champions.

Come on old man, I haven't got all day.

Words: 402 / 890 / 2812
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The blind man had only just sat down when the announcement was made. "Oh? My turn again already, is it? Must have a pretty sparse lineup this year." The businessman gave a slightly nervous chuckle at the remark and the obviously unexpected turn of events. "Well, they do switch things up from time to time depending on the circumstances. As you've probably already deduced, this won't be a simple 2 on 2 battle. Looks like they've lined up 6 bodies for you and this Jeice character to drop. Surely you can handle it, right?"

Stinkmeaner responded simply by rising from his seat and shuffling his way towards the arena where the other fighters were already gathered. Having moved a significant distance away, the blind human could swear he could hear Mr. Wunsler pull out his phone and request a change in his wager. It was a bitch move and one he would soon regret at the conclusion of this match. Granted it wasn't as though Stinkmeaner particularly cared who bet on him or against him, but he could tell the combatants in the arena ahead were only slightly more of a threat than his previous combatant. The crooked fat cat would soon be parted from his money.

As he entered the ring, he turned his head towards his assigned teammate. "Hope you won't mind sharing. I came to whup niggas' asses and wasn't exactly planning to stop at just one."

The opposing fighters gave a hearty laugh. "Hey, look fellas. This old geezer thinks he can whup our asses." "Why don't you go back to the retirement home? I hear they're serving meatloaf today!" "Maybe we can rustle up a couple of straw dummies for you to fight!" The smack talk continued and one of the roided out fighters walked right up to the blind man. "Tell you what, old timer. I'll let you take the first shot anywhere you like."

"Well," the old man replied as the bell rang to announce the start of the match. "If you insist, nyugga!" With that, Stinkmeaner socked the man clean in the neck. Bile and blood emerged from the big fighter's mouth as he fell backwards and faded out. "Who's next, bitch ass niggas?"

WC: 372 + 652 = 1,024
Total: 372 + 2,812 = 3,184
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With Stinkmeaner making his way into the ring, Jeice got his first up close and personal look at the old man, and wasn't exactly impressed. The almost geriatric 'fighter' was probably pretty normal by human standards - but as far as potential Planet Trade Organization recruits, he was about as unusual as they went. After seeing how easily the retired colonel had handled his last hulking opponent, he figured it would at least be fair to give the human a chance to prove himself further. With a tap on his scouter, he saw that all six of the fighters were sitting around the fifteen hundred mark in terms of Powerlevel, no doubt amplified by whatever juice they had taken just before the match.

"I'll do you one better - you can have five of them," the Zoteran responded just before the fight began. Though he could have finished all six of the so-called champions quicker than the crowd could have seen their limp bodies hitting the ground, Jeice was more interested in seeing how Stinkmeaner handled himself when he was out numbered if not quiet over-powered. His own Powerlevel was significantly higher than their foes', but if they utilized their numbers and attacked together they might just be able to give him some trouble.

As Stinkmeaner moved to take down his first opponent, Jeice did the same. He noticed one of the champions sitting furthest to the back, his expression a little less determined and confident as the others. Jeice didn't do fear - he fought smart when the situation called for it, but he had no qualms about throwing himself into a dangerous fray. He couldn't muster up any sort of respect for the less than enthusiastic fighter. Like a greased lightning bolt, the red Brute tore straight between his other opponent's, ignoring them completely. With the aid of his momentum, he threw a relatively light kick across his target's face.

Whoops...

The man's head ripped clean off of his shoulders, flying into the crowd and spraying blood all over the crazed onlookers as it spun through the air. The body dropped to its knees before falling flat to the ground, a pool of dark blood rapidly forming around it. Jeice didn't often fight such weak competition so the ease of the decapitation didn't surprise him, but it was mildly annoying that he'd failed to better control his strength and speed. He knew he'd have to reign in his own athleticism at some point in favor of more finesse in certain situations, but that was training for another day.

As promised, Jeice stood behind the remaining four fighters, leaving them to Stinkmeaner to handle as he saw fit.

Words: 448 / 1338 / 3632
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The blind human could hear the pop of the fighter's head as his teammate jettisoned it away from it's owner. From the sound of it's impact or lack thereof in this case, one of the fans caught it and would likely keep it as a souvenir. The crowd continued to cheer and yell for more bloodshed as the remaining fighters began to close in on Stinkmeaner's position. It seemed apparent they were less than eager to fight against a foe that could remove heads with a single attack and said foe appeared happy to oblige.

"Mighty generous of you," the old man stated in acknowledgement of his loosely defined ally's remark. He licked his lips in anticipation of the beatdown he was about to deliver.

"Let's teach this old man a lesson. We'll deal with the red guy afterwards." one of the remaining roided out fighters remarked as all 4 began to attempt to assault the blind human. Punches and kicks were thrown, but met with open air as Stinkmeaner bobbed and weaved around the small space he'd been allowed by the surrounding attackers.

As the attackers threw a final punch in unison, they were shocked to find that the old man was no longer within the circle they'd enclosed. Instead, he was roughly 50 feet in the air and quickly dropping fast. His fist pointing downward and glowing with energy, it plowed through the skull of one of his remaining opponents. Blood, bone, and brains spewed in all directions as the headless victim stumbled briefly before falling over backwards. "Oh yea! Ya'll bitch ass niggas ain't shit!"

Two of the remaining fighter's charged the blind human and continued their assault, while the other stepped out of the ring and grabbed a chair from the vip section. As Stinkmeaner danced around the barrage of swings, the brute held the chair above his head and awaited his opportunity. Noticing an apparent opening, he launched the chair at the old human.

Stinkmeaner felt the wind of each failed attack as fists and chains whizzed past. The displacement of air however signaled the approach of a wooden piece of furniture sailing toward his head. Just for kicks, the blind man shot his hand forward and caught the chair at the absolute last possible split second.

He wouldn't let the precious kinetic energy go to waste however as he used the momentum he'd been so generously provided to spin around and clock one of the roided brutes in the face with the weapon that had been meant for himself. A sickening snap could be heard as the fighter's neck snapped and several teeth escaped the soon to be cadaver. With that he evaded another fruitless attack and shanked the remaining immediate fighter in the throat with the broken remains of the chair. The attacker gasped in pain as blood flew from his neck before succumbing and dropping dead on the floor of the ring.

The remaining fighter looked in horror briefly at the remains of his teammates before attempting to flee. Within seconds, the blind man had cut him off. "Bitch ass nigga! Where were you off to in such a hurry?" Before the brute could answer, Stinkmeaner's hand was planted firmly inside his chest. With a quick jerk, the blind human literally held the man's heart in his hands. The roided out fighter gave a quick gasp before falling to the ground, dead. Tossing the heart into the crowd, the blind man wordlessly made his way back into the ring to unceremoniously kill the fighter he'd knocked out earlier.

WC: 596 + 1,024 = 1,620
Total: 596 + 3,632 = 4,228
Ticho's second soul
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Fayzr practically fell from the balcony due to his sudden laughter, “That old man!? He’s your other partner?!” He continued to laugh, but just as quickly as it broke out it died down as soon as the ‘old man’ cleanly knocked out of the champions. The crowd’s cheering seemed to slow as well, and it died out completely as soon as Jeice punted the head clean off of one competitor.

White as a ghost, the fur coated drug lord stumbled backwards into his seat, speechless. Sipping on his drink, Burter continued to quietly observe the match from over his shoulder. He was glad Jeice let Stinkmeaner handle the majority of the champions. Burter was already confident in Jeice’s ability, and to have a chance to see how well the old man fought when greatly outnumbered was of great interest. However, despite Stinkmeaner’s stellar performance, Burter couldn’t help but frown.

Are these the recruits this tournament will get the PTO? Burter thought as he watched Stinkmeaner flawlessly execute one after the other. Even the power enhancing drugs didn’t seem to do shit. If Jeice and Burter brought these back to the PTO’s army, they would become a laughing stock. It didn’t come anywhere close to the effects of the Beast Serum. But perhaps they could still turn a profit here on earth…

Click.

His blue head turned to face an arm Fayzr. A pistol of some sort was held in the man’s hand, its barrel pointed right for the Batabeurra’s chest. His golden smile returned, Fayzr chuckled, “This bullet is laced with a powerful toxin that can kill an elephant. So you need to take those two fellow freaks of yours and get the hell outta-“

Burter sped forward, a blue energy blade curving along the edge of his hand as he lopped the hand off of Fayzr’s wrist. The Batabeurra would return to his seat and drink so quickly that all Fayzr would see was a blue blur, followed by an intense pain. The drug lord fell to the ground, squirming and screaming along the shag carpet. Burter took his time to finish his drink, knowing that the wound was closed due to the sword’s burning aura.

Peering over the balcony, he witnessed Stinkmeaner walking to finish his last opponent. The crowd was dead silent, almost peeled against the walls in sheer horror. The Batabeurra tossed the empty glass away as he leaned up off his seat. There was an open briefcase stuff with zeni that had caught his attention earlier. Clipping the case close, Burter strolled back over to the pain stricken Fayzr.

“Eighty percent of all profits belong to us now. And if you don’t start providing us with acceptable recruits, we’re gonna raise it by another five percent each time we visit.”

The Batabeurra lifted his boot into the stomach of the drug lord, the kick carrying him across the room and smashing him across his private bar. A rainbow cascade of alcohol poured over the man. Burter then saw his way back down, knowing Jeice and Stinkmeaner were most likely finished by now.

-----

WC: 517/1,769
TWC: 4,745
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Jeice nodded in satisfaction as Stinkmeaner handled the remaining four champions with relative ease. It was clear he had a little natural talent, but also that he'd honed his skills considerably. From a technical standpoint, he was as polished as they came, but at the moment his raw strength was lacking if he wanted to roll with the big boys. A little time spent in their handy-dandy gravity chamber, and he'd be right as rain. The Zoteran wrinkled his nose as the older man sank the heel of his shoe into the last living fighter's face.

With the fight over, the crowd had died down considerably, enough that Jeice heard the commotion coming from the upper level where Burter had been sitting by the Crime Lord Fazyr's side. Now the mob boss was aiming a gold plated pistol right into the Batabeurra's chest. Jeice shook his head with a chuckled. He already knew what was coming. In a burst of speed that even impressed the Zoteran, Burter went from lounging to standing in front of Fazyr. His arm whipped through the air, cleaving the flustered criminal's own right off in the process.

With a grin, Jeice watched Burter retrieve a briefcase that he could only assume was loaded with cash. "I knew I put up with that guy for some reason," he said to himself, chuckling. With the festivities over, the crowd had already began to diminish. After seeing what Jeice and Stinkmeaner were capable of, most seemed in a hurry to get away from the building. A few of Fazyr's men still standing within sight rushed to the balcony and made a move to draw their guns on Burter, but their boss motioned for them to stop, leaving them in an awkward position.

With the briefcase in hand, Burter came downstairs and headed towards the door with Jeice doing the same. He glanced back at Stinkmeaner. "Well, come on then," he called.

Words: 325 / 1663 / 5070
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