First Annual Unofficial DWMA Royal Rumble~~(Open)

"AHHH!!!" Drake yelled. His first break in composure since he started the rumble. His voiced echoed out throughout the brawl as his body instinctively moved in the direction of the shot. His body twisting and turning, his hold on Cyrus tightening and strengthening. His kidneys and the rib that surfaced the area were badly injured. The rib broke from the bullet being fired from such close proximity, the kidney itself was saved only because of the physical tolerance that his wavelength had projected that was still in effect from his last fight with Iris. It absorbed ten percent of the concussive force and damage though at this point, to Drake, ten percent just wasn't enough.

As Drake twisted and moved, he practically dragged Cyrus along the ground. Drake's height advantage combined with Cyrus's kicked out leg would cause Cyrus to literally be dragged by the arms. Drake quickly raised his arms. The hold changing slightly to position his opponents arms high into the air. As he flung his opponent's arms up he threw his head forward, "Forest Strike Head-butt!" He screamed as he threw a brain rattling headbutt to his opponent. He took advantage of the last few seconds his physical tolerance would protect him and threw a crushing strike to his opponent's face. Afterward, Drake would jump back, keeping his opponents arms in the air. A cough of blood spewed from the blue haired demon weapon as he winced in pain from the broken rib. However, he would fight through the pain and as they would fall to the ground together, Drake would transform into his shield form with the chains wrapped around the opponent's arms and the shield directly below Cyrus's face. If successful, Cyrus would suffer a devastating blow. "Black Forest Strike Headbutt!!!" He yelled through the black exterior of the shield.

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[Drive - 100%][/u]

Pain

That sensation that erupts from your body as it screams for you to stop whatever caused it, cursing you for your stupidity as it commands your body to cradle whatever part of your frail little body screamed this time.

For Cyrus it was his knee, more specifically his left knee, that was screaming as Drake's foot harshly connected. He felt it resist slightly, then cave in, The bone popping out of place with a sickening *pop* that spelled more pain. He fired again and again into the Demon Sheild's back, a grim smile on his face as he heard his cries of pain. Not that he usually enjoyed pain, but in this case, He'd make an exception. All is fair, as they say.

Drake shifted the hold, lifting Cyrus's arms up, forcing the gun away from Drake's own injuries.It was a smart move, forcing Cyrus to quit firing, lest he waste rounds and force him to reload in an bad spot. The hold tightened as Drake shifted his weight dragging him along by his now pinned arms to meet a devastating headbutt. though it seemed lady luck was on his side. Through the flipping about drake had done to Cyrus, Drake had missed his headbutt's prime spot, not the crippling bridge of his nose, but On his forehead, rattling Cyrus's head, But not incapacitating him, thankfully.

His knee gave. Cyrus let out a small sigh of relief as the weight left it, his full weight not being on his arms as drake dragged him. His mouth tasted of blood, and Cyrus realized that he had bitten off part of his tongue when Drake had Smashed his head...maybe...just maybe. He had an idea. He looked up at Drake, already sorry he had to do this. But it was war, and all was fair, he thought to himself as he spit the mouthful of blood directly into The Demon Sheild's face, while at the same time using the hold, hoping it would hold him as he re-braced His bad leg against the ground, ignoring the screams of protest as he put as much weight as he could on it, Using the other leg to kick at drake, straight between the fork of his legs. In theory, even if it didn't connect, he would instinctual protect it, as all men do, releasing Cyrus's arms, and the pistol they held. And at such close range he could hopefully make something happen here

Cyrus was right in his assumption. Drake's hold was firm and supported him as Cyrus found an uneasy footing under his bad leg. However, Drake's vision was upward into the sky. After the headbutt, Drake threw his head back and jumped back as he intended. The good leg that Cyrus had would rise and just before Drake would transform into his Demon Shield form, the foot would impact over Drake's special place.

One last yell echoed from the Demon Shield as he transformed into his weapon form. The change already in progress as the leg impacted. The chains tightly fastened around Cyrus's arms no longer needed to be held by Drake's muscles or conscious but by physics. And with physics Drake let gravity take over and bring Cyrus down to the ground with the Shield directly under his face. His usual pronunciation of his signature move was muted by the fact that Drake while in his weapon form might not even be home.

Cyrus spat, the globules of blood flying...Into Drakes chin.Damn. He had looked up at the last second, At what though he didn't know. But it didn't really matter, His hold was still strong on Cyrus' arms and, as they say in American football, The kick is good! A scream emitted from the Demon Shield as his foot connected with as much might as he could muster, trying to at least disable his opponent. It was over for him, he knew it. With his bad knee and rattled brain he could barely walk, much less fight. So if he was going to lose, he'll be damned if he wasn't taking his opponent with him. Hence the nut shot.

Drake began to transform, his arms becoming chains that wrapped around Cyrus's Arms, pinning them together, the rest of his body becoming the Shield that was his infamous weapon form directly underneath Cyrus's face. His eyes widened as he saw drakes plan, a Headbutt in shield form...crap. he trashed a little, trying to force his arms down, his wrist pointing the Pistol at the shield. Not it would do anything. Weapons were basically invulnerable in their weapon form. But It made Cyrus feel a little better, like he wasn't going down like a chump. He emptied the remaining seven rounds into the general area of the Shield, even after the slide locked back onto an empty mag. At least he tried, he thought to himself as his head collided with the shield, his nose breaking with a *crack* as blood poured from it, onto the shield and onto him. But he didn't realize this, as the world became fuzzy, and even though he fought it with all his might, his body sank into unconsciousness, still on top of the demon shield

Pierce was seeing more and more chances to do terrible, horrible things as the bloody battle began to wind down. Too many groaning, moaning messes that once were students. They rolled and thrashed pitifully. Their cries and muffled sobs. Ah, the sounds of shattered dreams all around. Well, it couldn't hurt to have a little more fun at their expenses. They'd brought it all upon themselves. He stopped a moment, and looked about. Was he really cruel enough to do such things to them? They looked like piteous little messes already bloody beyond recognition. Surely rearranging them would be harmful to their health.

Finally he came to his answer. No, he was not cruel enough to do such things to the weak. They were easy prey now but when they woke up they'd be less than amused and while he was certain he could take a few on if they decided to come after him he thought better of having the entire rumble after him. Instead he honed in on one of the final battles to come to an end before only two were left upon the field.

Cerulean eyes watched with rapt attention as Drake delivered a headbutt to Cyrus in human form, got a nut shot before transforming and got Cyrus with one last faceplant right into his shield form. Yet wonderfully enough, neither seemed to move after that fiasco. He'd missed a few blow in the taking but nothing too much. He grinned and decided to tip toe around Damien's fight with the Native American weapon. Well, hopefully they wouldn't sneak up on him, or at least he hoped Damien would return the favor of a warning if Flash came after him while he was having his fun.

Pierce chuckled darkly as he began picking his way over the injured and groaning toward Cyrus and Drake's limp forms. The one woman he found amongst the combatants he was actually respectful enough to carry out of harm's way and escort to the infirmary set up before continuing on his mad path. Everyone else was too busy getting the wounded taken care of to bother his little display of drinks and snacks it seemed.

As he returned to the battle site he cracked the soda open that he'd set aside and gulped it down as he gleefully continued hopping and stepping over the unfortunate souls. HE finally picked his way to Cyrus and scooped the bloody man up. Yeah, this guy he had something special in mind for but he'd have to get this one checked out particularly well before he did anything to humiliate him.

He carefully extricated the Irishman from the chains of the demon shield and decided better leaving Drake on the battle field was probably one of his less honorable ideas but the weapon could take care of himself, even against Pierce. He'd be fine on his own. He did sort of owe Drake the courtesy of removal from the battle field but he wasn't sure eh even wanted to try with a weapon he probably couldn't wield anyways. Nah, Drake was tough enough to handle it. He was a shield anyways.

Pierce hoisted Cyrus over his shoulders lengthwise like a sack of potatoes and headed back to his display. "DAMIEN! Can ya clean up the display when you're done? Help yourself to anything you like before you pack it all up!" Pierce smirked and swaggered away with his 'prizes'. It was going to be a fun day after Cyrus woke up and found the new and improved contents of his wallet. He'd helped Damien out a bit in the fight so he owed the guy at least something for his efforts. Pierce would just have to take the sad, sack of barely conscious Irish fury to a doctor that wasn't quite so busy. Too many injured here for him to get properly seen to. That wouldn't do. Not at all.

Damien stuttered in his step for a movement as he felt his grip shift, destroying the remainder of his momentum. Looking back, wondering just what happened, Damien couldn't help but sign. "Well. Shit." Zeek had apparently decided to ruin his beautiful plan by transforming out of his weapon form, leaving him holding Zeek's leg like a friggin' idiot. Sure, it didn't burn like hell anymore- and Damien should have figured out what was happening just by that- but now he had other problems to deal with. Like a fully functional axe hand coming towards his head.

Reacting without thinking, allowing his body to take over, Damien ducked, bunching up all his muscles to prepare for this attack. If it worked, Zeek was probably out cold. If not... Well, he was pretty lucky. Maybe he would get out of it with a spare limb or two. Not like I planned on living to 80, anyways.[/i] Damien gritted his teeth and prepared for this possibly probably painful plan.

Exploding forward with all the power his muscles could bear, Damien let go of Zeek's leg and drove his head upwards, the crown of his head aiming for Zeek's groin. It was down, it was dirty- especially for Damien, and in more ways than one- but this had become a brawl, and Damien would take no chances. Still, even as his head made contact, Damien hissed as one of the axe blades bit into his right side, on his back. It was nothing lethal, but so much as poking that side was going to sting like hell for the next couple days. "Graaaahh!" He screamed through clenched teeth, trying to submerge the pain.

Damien heard the hiss of the air, shrieking as the second tomahawk blade cut through it, and knew that he had come that close to possibly losing his head. He had made the right choice by throwing Zeek off balance, and not just trying to dodge. No pain, no gain, right? Damien thought wryly, a rather morbid observation. considering the current situation.

But even as he heard the ax whistle above, Damien's arms snapped around, preparing to envelop Zeek. While he was busy cradling the family jewels, Damien wanted to use his massive momentum to continue through Zeek and bowl the both of them over, with Damien on top. From there he could unleash a nuclear silo of left straights and combos, and possibly win this bloodfest.

His blade struck true.

His fang had torn in Damien's back, but while it was not the intended target it did allow Zeek to press his blade in far deeper than he could have done if he merely struck the guy's arm. However the price for a first succession came at a cost. He had been struck, for the first time since the brawl began. Finally someone who had much more of a fight. Though Zeek still couldn't bring himself to consider the brute as much of a combatant. To him his opponent seem to have far less discipline than a true combatant should have in terms of a warrior of Shibusen.

The expression the teen now held upon his face was so much out of anger that he had been struck in the groin and a knot of pain was building in his lower abdomen and pelvic region. No, he'd be able to disregard that since his adrenaline would stifle some of the pain. But the reason behind Zeek's now construed face was the fact a large well built gentleman and seemingly the crowd favorite, had only gained this blow through the aid of a side arm and an additional student. Had this been a one on one the man would have lost his head by now.

But....

This wasn't a one on one, and out on the field of battle a kishin egg or witch wouldn't sit back and relax and let him fight them at his leisure. So, while he did appreciate the real world experience, he would continue to teach his own lessons; treating all his fights as if they were life and death situations. He had already shed blood without mercy, so not a fuck would be given as he pushed through and continued with his vertical slash as he was beginning to haunch over in reaction to the groin shot.

Once more his fang tore flesh, this one sinking into the lower part of Damien's left shoulder blade and along the backside of his ribcage. His blades were like fishhooks and Zeek forced them deeper as he pressed down and brought his right knee upwards mimicking the motion of a Muay Thai clench. Except instead of having a firm grip on the back of Damien's neck the Demon weapon's grip came only from each blade that was deep within the Meister's flesh.

While the knee wasn't being aimed anywhere in particular its path would direct it towards Damien's chin and throat. In the midst of this however both teens would be falling over as Zeek had removed any resistance towards his opponent's lunge in bring up his leg. But fortunately for him the impact of him colliding with the ground and Damien's mass being forced down upon him by momentum and gravity, both acting forces would push Zeek's knee deeper into its target causing more damage than originally intended, along with dragging the blades stuck in Damien's side and shoulder slightly through more muscle tissue before being dislodging them both.

More blood had gathered in the air and some of its warm was felt on Zeek's chest. But looking up through his own pain he would notice it had been his opponent's.

"Things are getting far more interesting..." he thought to himself with a mixed expression of pleasure and disgust.

Ugh..

The weight of the brute was troublesome, and in fact was becoming unbearable thanks to the pain Zeek felt in his pelvis. With his arms now free he brought them down and pressed his bladed forearms into Damien's chest and pushed outwards, rotating his body enough to allow his foe's frame to move to the ground beside him while simultaneously leaving two more gashes upon Damien's flesh where the blades had sunk in. More blood had been spilled, but it was unlikely to be the last of it.

Though he hadn't been damaged much, exhaustion was taking its toll. Zeek slowly dragged his body from its position on the ground. There was a slight sway as pain continued to course through his pelvis. Even his arms and legs were starting to ache. But he wasn't quite ready to assume the contest was over. First and foremost he had to finish things with the opponent on the ground, and then if any other participants remained he'd have to engage them quickly if he wanted to become the victor.

sigh.

Zeek heaved, inhaling deeply and and exhaling as he moved towards Damien's body. Moving into a step he pulled back the other leg before sending a heavy kick into the wound along Damien's side, gritting his teeth as more pain emitted from his groin.

"You're an annoying one. Next time you won't be so fortunate."

His frustration was starting to get the best of him and Zeek wanted to engage in more conflict. He removed himself from the subject of Damien, breathing deeply in order to calm himself and assess his surroundings. His grey eyes scanned over the field but no targets presented themselves. Everyone had already been brought to the ground or dragged out of the arena.

His eyes continued to search, this time looking for his friendly rival Drake. At first he couldn't find his body along those who had fallen, but gave up on doing so figuring he might have been taken away already. As Zeek dragged himself towards the way he had entered the brawl, a light caught his attention. Apparently the tide of Drake's last encounter resulted in him remaining in his weapon form, probably unconscious. But just to be sure Zeek walked over and kicked the reflective surface of the demon shield.

"Oi, dumbass you better not have lost. Next time you're mine though." Zeek turned and resumed his exit, and with his head held high and a smirk upon his face, he left concluding the event of the day.

THE END