=> [MINI META BATTLE] Phoenix Wrong

[leon_a_darkangel]

SkinkDad's HP: 33

Back on the offense, and memory of the grenade forgotten, but still fresh on his reptilian thinkpan SkinkDad went after his target. His whip like tail connecting with his target.

Stryke's lusus deals 1 damage.

 

[melona-pan]

9/20
4 + military weapon (+1)


The stinging in her shoulder hadn't subsided in the slightest, but the blinding pain only added to Akko's fury. After double checking that her mutated blood wasn't profusely soaking through her robes- thankfully, it wasn't glaringly obvious- she darted back out to join the heat of the battle.

Akko dealt 5 damage.

 

[grayseasons]

Athene was not happy. But she managed to make the most of the situation

HP: 11/20

Athene dealt 10 damage!  

[grayseasons]

Slow down, grab the wall, post in the middle of class bc nothings going on

HP: 11/20

Athene dealt 0 damage!  

[Melancholies]

Hidden or not, it turned out flying bombs and projectiles had a way of rooting out even the most covert of creatures. That, or, by unfortunate happenstance, Muerte had miraculously managed to get lobbed in the shoulder the second he dared to peek from his makeshift sanctuary. Eyes widening for a moment as he recognized the item, he felt something cold and empty in his stomach, pupils as large and black and dull as the muted grenade.

Thankfully, it was just that, muted. The explosion never came, the bomb never detonated. Muerte was alive and not dead and that was all that mattered. A hysterical laugh bubbled in his throat and died before it could even think of leaving his mouth. The greenblood instead settled for scooping the same god-damned projectile into his hand, hurling it back into carnage in a fit of desperate wrath.

Soon after was the doctor himself, composure regained, stamina refueled, even if slight. It didn't matter; his blade swung fast and hit heavier.

All the merrier.

HP: 16 - 1 = 15
5 Damage Dealt
 

[Hivestuck]

ROUND 6


43/360
how 2 bossfite | wiggler version
Any questions regarding battle mechanics should be asked in the main guild thread.
**RULE CHANGE: For this boss battle only, a child's lusus will be allowed to participate in the half hour rolls using a 1d4.**

It had been some time since a fresh smoke bomb had been deployed, but the wisps of smoke still twisted around the trolls locked in battle. A plethora of blood was splattered over every surface, ranging in every hue except the Queen's own tyrian purple. Bodies of the dead and gravely injured lay scatted to the wayside, and as the casualties continued to pile up, so did they.

"You think you're winning?!" Errade roared to the far side of the cavern with all her rage as she momentarily retreated behind the living dissenters, projecting her voice as best she could over the clash of battle. She had visibly begun to lose her boastful composure, blood pouring down her face from some unseen head injury. "I'll ******** kill every single one of you, just like the others!" They were insects in comparison to the forces the Initiative used to boast. Her eyes were wide with hysterical fury as she retrieved a small gray box from within her cloak, waving it above her hood. A lone orange switch was embedded on one side. A detonator.

"Feel my wrath!" The traitor let out a ferocious roar, flicking the trigger before anyone, including her own troops, could react.

Everything in the room went a pure, brilliant white as nothingness enveloped you. There was no sound, no pain. A few trolls likely thought for a brief minute that they were dead.

The bombs planted around the meeting cavern simultaneously detonated, momentarily paralyzing anyone left breathing. While a few lucky souls remained unscathed, many of the hooded adults had been tossed aside in the explosion like lifeless ragdolls, limbs twisted in abhorrent angles. Very few remained standing. Errade was among them, looking as murderous as ever. "Are you ready to die now?!"


If you rolled a 1, the planted bombs completely and utterly incapacitates you. Falling to the ground, taken completely off guard by the strike, and find yourself unable to move. One of the few defectors takes this chance to land an underhanded strike on your frozen body. Take 6 damage, and deal no damage this roll.
If you rolled a 2, you're thrown against the cavern wall by the force of the bombs, but somehow manage to sheild yourself from the brunt of the explosion. How were you still breathing? Take 4 damage.
If you rolled a 3, you duck under one of the tables instinctively, but they serve as a poor defense. The table above you cracked, raining a shower of debris and splintered wood down upon you. Take 3 damage.
If you rolled a 4, luckily you had found some safe place to curl up before Errade had triggered the explosion, but find yourself paralyzed regardless. Take 2 damage, and deal no damage this roll.
If you rolled a 5, you were mesmerized in horror as the flames of the explosion lept towards you. One of the remaining rebels loyal to Byakko lept in between you and the force of the bomb, shielding your body with their own. As you shake yourself back into consciousness, the first thing you see is the disfigured corpse of your protector.
If you rolled a 6, while you were knocked flat onto your back by Errade's bombs, you bounced back equally as fast. You couldn't die tonight. It seems as if time itself had slowed as you lunge at Errade, thirsty for vengeance. Take 2 damage, but deal an extra 3.  

[melona-pan]

6/20
6 + military weapon (+1)
+ 3 from roll

There was a steady ringing that vibrated through Byakko's skull as she struggled to pull herself back into consciousness, wrenching her heavy eyelids open. Vision doubled, she struggled to collect her equilibrium as she propped her weight against her bloodied kanabō, dizzily glancing around the cavern.

It felt all to familiar to the chaos of the bunker. Akko swallowed down the hot acid that rose in her throat, barely managing to contain her vomit as the same looming hopelessness tugged at her gut. No, not this time. She reassured herself, steadying her short desperate gasps for air. She had to recollect herself, refocus, and attack with precision.

Then Errade roared a verbal confession about killing 'the others'. Byakko's breath caught in her throat as Trolldad flashed across her mind's eye. The mutant let out a scratchy sob, but somewhere mid choke it heightened into a screech of pure fury. Errade had set Trolldad up. She was responsible for Zhuque's death. All this time, Akko had naively believed the Head of Intelligence. It made perfect sense to her, the orangeblood's theories about Qinlon, and she had foolishly played into the traitor's hands. She thought her father had been betrayed by his most trusted friend. But no, she was a puppet. Hot fire rose through her body. Was Byakko ever really in control of anything? More than ever, she doubted it.

The traitor would now atone. Errade had to pay for everything she had done, but Byakko knew what the pained tug at her blood pusher truly was. She wanted revenge for Trolldad. She wanted Errade to suffer as she had. She wanted blood.

She was already rushing at Errade in a berserker-like frenzy, weapon in clutches. "You killed him," the mutant thundered as she swung at her elder in wide arcs, furiously advancing as she screamed and spat at Errade. "You killed him!!!" Errade surely knew who the adopted mutant was screeching about, and Byakko's wild expression for once held nothing back. Her eyes were livid with rage, snarl cracking into a cruel grin as her kanabō made contact with Errade's skull with a sickening thwack.

Akko dealt 10 damage.

 

[zeflamigo]

Odette dealt 0 Damage.

Odette ducked down, but it hardly protected her from the damage as much as she wanted it to. Her auricular spongeclots rung so hard that they hurt. She couldn't hear— why couldn't she hear anything? It was nothing but ringing and she screeched, trying desperately to hear even the sound of her own voice.

HP: 7/20
Aerokinesis: 1
Offense Trinket B: 2  

[saedusk]

The give of flesh and cartilage, the spray of blood, none of it felt unnatural now as Aprife slammed the handle of his scourge against some barely functioning Errade-supporter's nose, shattering it instantly. Green mixed with orange and red and teal, every color, truly. Who knew whose blood was whose anymore. The loyal members of the Initiative had done a number on this encounter, and the air felt alive with a spark of desperation. The yellowblood had no way of knowing that sizzling vibrance around them meant much more than it should have.

In the next moment, light, silence, the wrath of a woman on the brink of destruction. The explosions ripped through the cavern with thunderous force and Aprife knew there wasn't even a second's worth of hesitation allotted to him. A few remaining tables, chairs, other debris... not much to choose from, but he was too far away from the walls to seek solace in a crag. Table it was.

By some miracle, Zeffer had found his way nearby, or perhaps Aprife had stumbled upon him in the heat of the moment. It didn't matter, not really. All the yellowblood knew was he had to find some semblance of safety and he had to take his matesprit with him, he had to protect him, there was newfound drive in that goal. Grabbing roughly at his arm was unceremonious at best, but successful enough. The table wasn't much protection, either, not when it cracked and splintered and s**t if it weren't for his goggles he was sure he'd have more than one shard buried deep in his eyes, as well. He may have ended up hurt either way, bit he was sure the makeshift shield had offered them some cushion from the blasts, at least.

"Zeffer..." he hissed, fingers still clutched at the blueblood's coat. "Are you alright?"

HP: 33/40

Aprife deals 3 damage

 

[kamileunaire]

Zeffer dealt 6 dmg

Zeffer was halfway across the room when Errade's roar tore through the air, sending him into a bristled alert mode. He'd just finished tackling two more of her dissenters, who had generously decided to gang up on him, when she made her outburst. Initially he thought she was just blowing more steam, taunting the few remaining survivors into continuing to attack - but then he caught sight of the object she was waving around. Zeffer's pump biscuit sunk, nearly stopping as his fight-addled brain made the connection; he'd done enough work in demolition to know what that thing was. As she roared, so did he, and he knew that he only had seconds to act. Where was Aprife? Muerte? A lump formed in his throat, and he cursed inwardly, guilty of getting separated yet again...

Then came the flash, and the nothingness that accompanied it. Zeffer had let out his own enraged roar before the immense sound of the explosives enveloped the small room, and for a moment, he thought it was over. After that moment passed, however, he had to fight against the confusion that gripped him. Someone had yanked him down roughly, without warning, behind a table that was now in shards. A couple of good chunks had found places to embed themselves into his flesh, but with his ears ringing and his eyes full of blood, it didn't seem to matter much. It was only when the rasping voice of his matesprit sounded through the haze that he tried to clear his vision enough to see.

"Aprife!? Oh, ********> He embraced the yellowblood tightly, breath wheezing out in a relieved, shuddered exhale. As far as he was concerned, Aprife had managed to save both their lives, an action he felt responsible for, more often than not...but when had he ever been the responsible type? This time Aprife had been the one to cover his a**, and he was immensely grateful for it. "I'm okay. Kind of...lost track of things..." He coughed, feeling blood welling up from his throat. "Are you alright? That ******** b***h...." He exhaled again, turning his head to look at their opponent, still bantering in the front of the room. With a rattling snarl, Zeffer tore himself away, and to his feet. They were both alive, still breathing...and they had to make sure that the orangeblood didn't remain in a similar situation.




30/40-3=27/40 hp  

[quite uneventful]

Vremea dealt 9 damage.

Vremea had been knocked quite fiercely by Errade's push back, but she wasn't about to go down-- hell no. She'd worked far too long and hard for this, it didn't matter what others felt-- she wasn't willing to go down against this sick excuse for a troll. With a harsh slash to her leg, Vremea managed to see her get hit-- Which almost made her feel bad, if only for the blood spurting.

HP: 31 - 2 = 29 HP
Support Power Style A (1)
Support Artifact Style A (1)
Novice Agility Style B (2)

 

[Melancholies]

The high doesn't last long. Pitifully, it never does; suddenly the b***h is ranting and raving and screaming, and the sight catches Muerte slightly off guard in his outrage. His perception nets him a glance at all the bombs, so many <******** bombs, but it takes him a second to realize what the orangeblood's implying.

She might be a crazier son of a b***h than Muerte himself. Had his immediate disdain not already been cemented, he might actually have some sort of new found solidarity with her.

He never would of course, nor would he have any time to do anything about this predicament. Ducking behind that same old venerable table, the bombs ignited around him nearly a second later. He thought himself prepared, but Muerte had vastly underestimated Errade, a mistake on his end. The world was blinding white, searing heat on his exposed arms, ears ringing and muffled as if he was floated in stasis underwater.

Had anyone been unfortunate enough to get caught in the fire? Certainly they had. How many bodies did this one action account for in the massacre? Probably the most out of the entire night. His mind idly wandered to those other two—Zeffer and Aprife—how ironic would it be if they found themselves victims to the cold embrace, especially the latter given how hard he tried to drag Muerte here in the first place. It was a morbid humor, finding amusement in the fickleness of fate.

Zeffer, now, he wasn't sure anything could kill that b*****d. He'd be fine.

By the time the light dies for him, it's eerily silent. The battle...?

HP: 15 - 2 = 13
0 Damage Dealt

 

[zeflamigo]

Odette dealt 2 Damage.

Tears fell down her face, but the sounds of her surroundings slowly returned to her. They didn't make her feel much better, but she was relieved to have not lost her hearing. She tightened her grip on her glaive, holding it close. She swung at anyone who came nearby, but for the most part stayed put, shrunk in her corner.

HP: 7/20
Aerokinesis: 1
Offense Trinket B: 2  

[quite uneventful]

Vremea dealt 5 damage.

Everything was too much of a blur for Vremea to focus on one thing, but all she could do right now was attack. So she did so.

HP: 31 - 2 = 29 HP
Support Power Style A (1)
Support Artifact Style A (1)
Novice Agility Style B (2)