Welcome to Gaia! ::

"My, oh my, what an arrogant fiend," Private Parts muttered to himself in a womanly sing-song twist on his voice. He looked over at Omi and said, "***** needs to pull his head out of his a** 'fo I bust him with my AK."

Parts had entered the arena quite inconspicuously and without flash; he had no need to wave his d**k around as a show of strength. As opposed to Parts' walking through the gate, Omi had simply shown himself to be the loudest person in the room by his entrance and the loudest person in the room was usually the first to die, or at least that's how Parts had found things went in life. He had once been the loudest person in the room, but then he lost his arm in the American Civil War fighting "those damned jungle loving gook bastards" and had quieted down considerably.

The imagined memories of warfare in the tropical jungles of the great state of Virginia made Parts made parts reach over and touch the stub of his lost left arm with his cybernetic right. He bowed his head in a moment of silence.

He finally said, "The day where I requireth my AK has come. It is not a good day."

Hissing and crackling, the metal monstrosity moved with a lithe grace that only three days of intense cleaning and lubrication could give. The tiny lights in its head-dome becoming blank black pits in the metal as it winced into the sunlight. It was still groggy from its heavy sedation, confused, but subdued as its dead-ish tissues were swimming in a potent cocktail of depressants and mood stabilizers. It was a necessary precaution - no point in spending millions on a tournament if one of your warriors disqualifies itself in a bout of ill-timed berserk rage.
Hex was not good around crowds, and though the beast couldn't show it, the ticking hiss slithering out from between its clenched teeth was getting faster. Hungry.

A tiny head nestled between shoulder-globes five times the size - disproportion seemed to be the motif in its construction. Its body dangled between outlandishly huge arms; each looking like they could put an elephant into a headlock. It had hands big enough to crush the imagined pachyderm's skull between them without effort; it was walking on these.
The body itself was clothed in a form-fitting black body glove while yet more out-sized metal was draped down its back, completely covering its spine in an interlocking section of plates that ended just above its buttocks which were, fortunately, covered by the glove. Legs swayed gently with every movement, the outsides of its hips, thighs, and calfs sporting silvery metal support rods. Its bobbing feet were encased in heavy metal bricks.
All of the metal was etched with crazy symbols that hurt the eyes to look at and, unless looked at directly, seemed to crawl and glow on their own.
It was a nightmare, it was a piece of art; it was an accident, it was a son.
It is Hexinea.

"Slightly? I think them several leagues ahead, give them a little more credit than that. After all, they're battling over food to continue surviving; where as our opponents are willingly sending themselves to their deaths. I needn't say which is the wiser."

Grinning even more toothily, the reactions of the enemy team were expected - no, encouraged by Barsait. Too often do people favor themselves sagely in comparison to their 'barbarian' opposition, whom then wind up buried ten feet under; if his displays meant the enemy team thought him arrogant and foolhardy, all the better. It would be meaningless conjecture where it all truly mattered: the ring.

Unfortunately, one thing that was sincere of Barsait's demeanor: he was not going to be patient. Every inch of his body was screaming to engage in combat, and as luck would have it, G.U.I.L.T.'s leader Kenji Hiroshima was going to be running late. And with no alternate for the time being..

"Oi' Wilian? Mind me two favors real fast." Spitting onto the dew-laden texture of the ground below in response to the fellow flipping G.U.I.L.T. the bird, he added over his shoulder: "Watch those freaks from the east gate extra careful, and-" Grasping the right ear of his glasses, Barsait thrusted them several feet backwards in an arc, concluding: "Take care of those. I like 'em."

Hands thrusting into his pants-pockets, Omi used only his feet to propel himself up and onto the 4' high edge of the platform, much to the chorus of the crowd abound. He then started walking towards the center of the ring lazily, the fighter's entire body hunched over an inch or so as though about to lay down in bed; the only outer-detail showing him taking this seriously at all, were those unblinking eyes and that broad, nearly unhinged grin.

10 feet. 42 feet. Coming to a rough distance of 150', to the apex of that stone circle's radius - Barsait was standing perhaps an inch from being toe to toe with the enemy captain. Only giving the slightest, almost unnoticeable nod of his head - he spoke with a surprisingly polite tone: "It is my dearest regret to inform you, our captain will be late. Ergo, I, Omi Barsait-" (Ah-me Bar-sight) "-am the current captain of Team G.U.I.L.T. - a pleasure to meet you face to face. I propose a rather .. classic form of combat, if you'll agree to it. One versus one the whole way through; winner fights the next opponent, loser gets their corpse kicked to the side."

Despite the tone of voice he was taking, the expression on the dark-clad fighter's face was nothing if not disrespectful; his eyelids furthermore, never shut once. Those amber-hued pupils weren't even shaking, they just remained etched on Ed's own two eyes whether they returned the gaze or no. Leaning forward the entire time, hands tucked away - it was almost like Barsait was taunting the enemy opponent to lay a hand on him, as though knowing of an unforeseen consequence that would follow.

"Furthermore, if you would please, I will be the first combatant from G.U.I.L.T.; would you be interested in being your team's first representative?" As another distant thunderbolt cracked the air in two, a final sentence picked up by the tourney's sound systems caused a small uproar in the crowds:

"Of course.. if you're the sort who likes to send men in your place to take your beatings, I enthusiastically understand and will fight one of your more capable comrades. Your decision?"

Arrogance, foolhardiness, courage, deception. They were all wasted on the steel-like pit of dead rage that was slowly being coaxed out of its torpor under the colander-dome covering Hex's skull. These higher impulses were fleeting things to it, so fairy and fleeting that it could take no strength from them, and so instead discarded them. All that mattered was the warm, liquid flush slowly draining its spinal column of depressants, it knew what this meant and it savored what was going to come next. It yearned for the white hot rush of synthetic adrenalin, longed to feel the familiar need for violence.

It did not heed any order given to it, it simply began to advance towards the raised ring, easily stepping with its hands onto the lightly sanded stone. And there it waited for the rush, grinning amidst the roaring of a crowd that it didn't care about, its panoramic attention focused on the loud little bag of wet grease before it.

"Sk-st-tk-tk-tk-tk-turn to goo."

"Ice who?" Private Parts responded to Edward's initial question, but didn't get a response as the team's leader went up to talk to the obnoxiously arrogant man from the other team. Parts focused his pink eyes on the guy for a second before shrugging and deciding that he was dead anyway; Parts could smell the aggression in the air from Hexinea, and once Hexinea was unleashed, nothing survived. It would be an interesting fight, but Parts was already distracted by a few interesting looking demons in the crowd...

Hm- oh, yeah. That was Edward addressing him. Parts smiled with his black metal teeth and said, "Yessuh it is a verr-eeeee nice day, with the pink skies and the talking clouds and the woman with the kaleidoscope eyes..."