Round Three - Battles One and Two Lineup

Round Three.

Well met, sports fans, and settle down for the apocalyptic third round of ZOOFIGHTS II. For those who’ve just joined us, we have seen 16 teams of cybernetically enhanced beasts kick the snot out of each other, and round two saw four of those teams consigned to the corpse vaults forever. This round will see more teams bite the dust, leading up to the climactic fourth round.

Now, four teams are preparing to slug it out in the winner’s bracket, and eight are getting themselves surgically prepared to do battle for the loser’s bracket. 

A recap of important events to date:

- Owl patrol still appears to be missing in action. We are losing staff members at a rate we would not like to admit.
- Necrogoat has not been seen in days – only his whirling nebula of meat, surrounding an unknown core..
- The entire round two audience has volunteered itself to be a contestant in the loser’s bracket.
- The institution and the dream made flesh have formed an alliance.
- There is absolutely no unexplained movement or sound in the corpse pits.
- Swanmass was killed a year ago. No trace remains.

What horrors await us? Let’s find out together!

Fight One: King of Kings.

Bastardsaurus Rex (formerly Grapplesaurus Rex)
 – 2 headed demon reptile with grappling gun arms.

after the brain-wrecking carnage of his showdown with necrogoat, we grew this guy a whole new nervous system using a retrovirus configured to rebuild damaged tissue and add genetic information. New genetic information, I might add, acquired from a genuine demon from hell. Assuming a little about the ecology of hell (our field base there has gotten off to a shaky start after all), it is safe to say that this tyrant king reptile now shares genes with the great deceiver, Satan himself. Imagine a full grown bull rex, clad in smoking, rusted ochre hide with molten iron eyes glaring out from beneath a jagged bony brow and snorting out thin streamers of volcanic fumes. Imagine that with two heads. And grappling hooks for arms. Now stop imagining. It’s on your telly.


Mr. Atlantic
 – an impossibly strong killer whale with troll limbs, power fists and a juggernaut hat.

This guy has been sparring with his old gym buddy King Kong again, and has been practicing his jaw-splitting moves with the hairy old mentor in preparation for tonight’s fight. In addition, he’s picked up a big metal dome helmet, which possibly makes him tougher or possibly just makes him look more awesome. He’s so fucking tough and strong that even artefacts that would vastly increase the strength of another beast seem of little consequence to his monumental brawn.

Fight Two: The Captain’s Table.

Captain Jack Sasquatch
 – a nine foot tall ape with a gun and a sword being driven round in a tank by an ork.

In a desperate attempt to soup up this guy’s performance, we paid popular miniatures company Games Workshop vast sums of money to create a working Leman Russ tank. Now cap’n Jack is being driven round in its metal bulk, with an ork at the wheel and the captain manning the turret. Should jack get bored and leap out of the vehicle, the ever loyal ork may either man the driving seat, the main turret or the onboard machine gun. Bless him. The ork is fucking hard in his own right, with seven feet and 280 pounds of muscle behind a massive axe and a slug gun.


The Hive Lions
 – six lion skeletons with laser claws, limited phasing ability and their intelligence distributed through a flock of bats.

These guys have been stripped down to the bone after their recent dismemberment, and given mechanical senses, muscles, nerves and high powered laser emitters in their claw tips.. Their intelligence now resides in a cloud of 200 bats. Also, at the cost of losing a few (1 to 20) bats in order to do the necessary calculations, one lion at a time can teleport a short distance. The less bats, the more beserk and stupid the lions.



Round Three - Battles One and Two Outcome

phew - things are getting pretty hairy here at ZOOFIGHTS HQ... we have a little situation involving some owls going on and it's delaying the big fight. Nothing to worry about - the update will be here as soon as I can get out from under this table and turn the lights on again.

Oh shit leroy they're coming back, shoot the fuckers! defend your president!

<muffled noise of gunshots and hooting>

fuck this, I'm relocating to the emergency broadcast bunker. Stay tuned - results from the battle and the next matchups will be up soon.


Round three got off to a literally explosive start with the two most hotly contested fights in this years tournament so far, while the next two battles pose some pretty grisly scenarios...

Fight One: King of Kings

Winner,  Mr. Atlantic 

A genuine monster battle of the best sort, this fight pitted two truly elemental forces of the earth against each other: the sulphurous blast of fire and the solid, flexible strength of water. In a dramatic show of pyrotechnics, bastardsaurus entered the arena through a vast ring of fire, while Mr.Atlantic burst from a pool of neon-lit brine and onto a ramp leading up into the field of battle. 

With a pneumatic roar one harpoon slammed into Mr.Atlantic’s right shoulder, while the other shattered his trollish left ankle. With a roar the whaleman tore the ankle-smashing harpoon free, screaming “GET OVER HERE!” and yanking the harpoon’s rope as hard as possible. The sheer ferocity of the action tore the entire right hand side of B-rex’s demonic chest off, exposing shattered ribs and a leathery, toughened pulmonary sac.

As sheets of boiling, acidic blood sluiced onto the arena floor and fused the sand into a smoking, crusty slag, B-rex screeched in fury and closed on the crippled Mr.Atlantic. In three strides she was there, and had torn into the whale’s undamaged shoulder and arm with self-cauterising bites of her craggy, limescaled jaws.

Down to one operational arm with a harpoon through it before he’d even had a chance to land a decent blow, it was looking like Mr.Atlantic’s strength would be counting for very little in this fight.

B-rex reared back and then bodyslammed the traumatised whale, knocking it to the fuming sand. The dinosaur trumpeted its victory to the recently convicted crowd; Mr.Atlantic was reeling from the b-rex’s demonic strength and ready to be finished off. Just as the killing blow seemed inevitable, The ocean champ whipped open a keg of mangosteen juice that someone in the crowd had tossed him and guzzled the lot while trickles rolled down him and mingled with his blood in the dust.

With a mighty blast of air, the arena’s vast pipe organ began belting out a sombre, gothic rendition of the popeye theme tune, as the mangosteen goodness flooded through the orca’s arteries. An epic fist reared back and the whale’s tail flexed mightily, sending the whale flying through the air towards Bastardsaurus Rex. The colossal punch connected on the already damaged section of the dinosaur’s chest, smashing asunder ribs and obliterating every major organ in a shockwave that pulped bones and ignited devilish fuel bladders.

No life remained in the shattered carcass that crumpled to the ground – it was dragged straight to the corpse pits. Mr.Atlantic, although wounded and partially on fire, prevailed.

Fight Two: The Captain’s Table

Winner,  Captain Jack Sasquatch 

BANG! An ordance round thudded straight into the heart of the lion formation, scattering two inches and hitting four lions. The ork rolled two threes, a six and a one, wounding three lions. Out of those, two failed their 5+ cover save (from some barrels) and were blown apart. However, before the lascannon on the tank could be aimed by the hammered Captain Sasquatch, the four remaining lion skeletons got into charge range of the tank and assaulted it. With some lucky rending rolls, the lions managed to immobilise the tank and tear off its battle cannon, and began preparing to phase inside it. The ork and his charge seemed doomed at the claws of their skeletal foes. 

What a great time it was for Captain Jack to swing out of the sky and straight through the bat cloud, cutlass flailing. Sweaty little carcasses dropped from the sky, and the tank’s heavy bolter roared into action as captain jack swung to safety. With just twenty bats left alive after the assault, the idiotic bumblings of the lions were easy for the noble tag team to silence.


Round Three - Battles Three and Four Lineup

Round three, Battle Three: Chainjaws in Brooklyn

Fifty Cent,( the Giant Cyborg Bee, or Bee Unit)
 – a titanic bee creation surrounded by pollen clouds, with beasting great hooks and a burning laser sting.

Fiddy’s last body was scrapped and robbed by the chimps to make into a new ride, but parts remained. The new body we have grown him is a thirty foot tall bipedal bee-inspired nightmare made from toughened, leathery chitin and meaty bee muscle. He is surrounded by blinding, irritant clouds of pollen and his four none-walking legs are all tipped with lethal hooks. Vast and tough, fiddy is now a far cry from the ghetto but a lot more at home in the big league of ZOOFIGHTS. Oh yeah, and his sting is a weakish laser with the power to burn and blister.


Team Chainjaw
 – two armoured centipedal crocodiles, with wasp cannons and chainjaws.

These guys have been pumped up to be more of a match for the Bee Unit, with more chunky armour and turrets all along their length that pump out a stream of furious hornets with bee blood on their minds. This is gonna be a close one.

Round three, Battle Four: Rave in a Cave

Sergeant Grumbles
 – a seriously brave grizzly with riot armour, a stone mace and a shotgun.

Tired of seeing his fellow Canadians living in fear of the owl patrol, Grumbles has shown intense bravery in pre-empting his matchup with them and seeking them out in the depths of the earth. Travelling out to a forlorn limestone sinkhole in the heart of the great northern forest, Grumbles has now abseiled into the blackness and sought out the bone-cluttered spaces of the abyss where he intends to destroy the owl patrol on their home turf.


Owl Patrol
 They are creeping and hooting in the deepest reaches of the tunnels... who knows how many are down there? It seems the canadian government was in on the horrors of the owlman project as well, and had their own disposal grounds for test subjects.


Round Three - Battles Three and Four Outcome

Ok, back to business, ladies and gents. Firstly to say that I'm now locked up in the secret command bunker (powered by turbines placed in the arena blood drainage channels), ripped to the tits on Laboratory-grade cocaine and thus absolutely fucking unconcerned by any freaking swans or owls or goats or whatever farmyard crap we've managed to brew our own freaking doom from this year. I'm Major Failure, dammit, and I've got myself a c******king sports tournament to run. Oh, and in case you hadn't noticed I'm a god damned hippo in a soviet military outfit... it'll take more than a weedy goat to take me down.

So, what the hell happened in round three's second and third fights? Let's take a look. First of all, the small peanuts:

Fight three: winner.... Teeeaam CHAINJAW!

This one was a massacre before the lads from team chainjaw even showed up. It turns out a member of the disgraced audience managed to smuggle himself a key to b-unit's holding cell into the containment vaults, and proceeded to lead a party of intensely cross crowd members into the sleeping giant's chamber just before dawn today. Whereas their hated foe was not to be found in his cell, that didn't fool the avenging consumers for a second. As one, they rushed to the place where they knew they could rid the world of mumbling rapper fifty cent for good.

When fiddy was summoned to the ring later on for the team chainjaw fight, all that rose from the entrance lift from fiddy's cell was a crumpled, defaced corpse, with the words "WE FOUND HIM IN THE CLUB" carved into the thick chitin of his carapace.

 and now, today's big fight....

Fight four: DEAD HEAT between sgt. grumbles and owl patrol

Grumbles waded through pitch black streams and shoulder-barged through thickets of stalactites as he strode into the earth's deepest places, growling Canadian marching songs to himself. Following his devastatingly accurate sense of smell and the light of a "fuck communism" zippo lighter, grumbles passed from the realm of human knowledge into a truly wild and secret space. Leaping roaring across chasms and shinning up rock faces with his stony claws, the King of Canada made his way deeper towards the centre of the owlmen's lair until he reached the bone pit.

A circular, low ceilinged cavern around thirty metres in diameter, the bone pit had once been a dozen metres deep. Now it was filled with a foul smelling heap of glistening picked bones, and served as the heart of the owl people's tunnels - the place where they ate and slept.

It was totally deserted. Grumbles took up station in the dead centre and awaited the screeches and the rushings in the darkness behind him. There was no movement, no sound. After ten minutes, a single hoot sounded. Grumbles span round with shotgun already at shoulder height, but was faced only with an echo.

At his feet lay a note etched with an ember on a scrap of skin.

"Now is not your time. Go and prepare for the storm"

Owl patrol were nowhere to be found. Grumbles returned to the surface, and walked straight into our upgrade labs.


Round Three - Battle Five Lineup

Fight five: Ride for Ruin

The Alliance
 - three walruses with genhanced physiques, vast, sharp riot shield flippers and lightsabre tusks, as well as flame breath, ridden by three gentleman warrior orangutan in plate armour, carrying high voltage electric nets and monomolecular eggwhisks formulated for liquidising meat.

These folks make for a truly noble team, and we've kitted them up with all feasible upgrades to reinforce them against the meat storm, but in all honesty we've barely levelled the playing field. The alliance will have to be on their A-game today.


Die Zigenmancer
 - a goat of untold psychic might, and fuelled by the hate of the public, at the heart of a whirling tornado of flesh, bone, blood and skin.

A truly elemental force, the goat nucleus of the tornado has not been seen in days due to the tonnage and density of the flesh mass around it. Quite simply, we have no idea how strong this fucking thing is by now.


a little note of interest - the feelings of hatred directed towards necrogoat by opponents is inconsequential. The goat is powered by the hate of the viewing public - it works on latent psychic energy fields.

Interestingly, the only other entity in the tournament with the ability to draw power from latent psychic energy (in this case feelings of confidence, optimism and violence) is captain Jack's ork minder.

To update you on other matters:

- we still haven't got a look inside the necrogoat's flesh tornado, but it seems to be holding station in the main arena as if waiting for its foes. It's been there for hours now, blocking out the sun and casting an unearthly gloom over the whole complex.

- we've lost another twelve employees down in the sewers. One man made it back, and said he saw lobsters down there. Lobsters with beaks. What the fuck?

- The alliance has been alternating between spending time in the chapel and in the gym. Although secular men of reason, the team finds solace in the fellowship of prayer together, while the gym has been a focus for the release of negative energy.

- Grumbles left the upgrade lab under the cover of darkness, we know not where he went, or how he has been upgraded.

Also, I ought to report that our video feed from the corpse pits is now down. The last thing we saw was the festering corpse of Snakes on a Brain clearly lifting a snake tentacle and using it to drag a heavy cable to a seemingly fresh input socket on the skull of bastardsaurus rex's fresh corpse. Just as the connection was being made, some vile thing with dirty white feathers and the face of a shark loomed out of the dark and devoured our camera.

It looks like we're in trouble. Suddenly this bunker doesn't feel so secure. As I type this, there are reports of a sudden heat source being detected deep in our vaults and...

oh God. There's roaring. Roaring in the pits. Something is putting itself together down there.