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Round 2, Fight 2



Although sustaining only minor damage during his first battle, Iron Manatee's British engineering team have spent the week well, upgrading his lunar battle suit with the very best of the Empire's secret technology.

1) A toughened glass visor on a tougher helmet, with an internal cigar-lighting mechanism, means our warrior no longer needs to lift his defences to smoke.

2) Power for weapons and hydraulics is now supplied by a compact generator working by classidied means and certainly not reverse engineered from martian technology.

3) Regimental badges from the ninth lunar legion. 

4) Powerful rocket thrusters on Iron Manatee's legs provide lift, speed and aerial maneuvrability.

5) Stompy iron boots with hydraulic power allow a powerful takeoff leap.

6) The chainsaw is still there, and is still diamond-bladed.

7) The harpoon gun now fires iridium spears, with steel cable towropes.



After his bleak confrontation with the mess, Project K is possibly even more unlovable than before, and mutated into an even more terrifying state of power and madness. Easily fifteen feet high and bulked out with insane cancerous muscle fibre, DropBear is now so lost in his shattered mind that no pain can slow him. Pain is his universe. Eating the brain tissue of the voodoo jaguar has filled his blood with the rage of conquered nations, and now he is more akin to a force of bitter nature than anything that could be called alive.

Worse yet, he now has control of gravity.

Years of breathing and eating things crammed with radioactive material has soaked him in wyrd chemicals and heavy metals, and under the catalytic action of the Mess' dark influence his body has extruded dense clusters of Cavorite Crystals. His new Cavorite constitution allows a subconscious manipulation of gravitational fields, allowing the beast to literally Drop in any direction he feels like. Up is no longer up, and down is but a pleasant memory. The mass of objects nearby can now be drastically altered as the monster sees fit, and we can only hope he has not yet fully mastered these dread powers....


Dear Diary,




Refusing in his madness and pain even to wait for the starting bell, DropBear slams a horrendous wall of Jovian gravity upon his noble opponent. Creaking and groaning under the fivefold weight of its passenger, OTHM's armour threatens to fall apart along its riveted seams, but despite the roaring pressure of five gees shearing against joints and welds, the sea mammal stands his ground. Still clenching a cigar through unbearable forces, Iron Manatee focuses himself on the actions of his harpoon cannon. Using every scrap of hydraulic power to keep the limb aloft, he slams an iridium pole through the heart of his opponent and slowly begins to wind in the cable. Inch by inch against the thrashing gravity field, the warrior reels in his tormentor...

Spurred into mindless aggression by the intrusion of a superdense metallic harpoon into his chest cavity, DropBear turns the world drastically sideways and hurtles at terminal velocity towards the exhausted manatee. Despite reeling from the brutal G-forces of a few moments ago, the Lunar Legend manages to pump off three harpoon shots before the once-koala lands. Skewered through neck, arm and hip, the marsupial menace is not deterred as it plnges claws-first into his enemy. Even the diamond-bladed saw that chews through his face and out the back of his cancer-riddled skull is not enough to stop his thrashing and clawing as he descends...

The savage teeth of the assault saw rip through banks of tumourous gravitational control muscles as they plough through spongy brain matter, causing the insane koala's cavorite banks to fluctuate wildly in power. The two beasts are locked in a ballistic upwards trajectory, thundering through the roof of the Arena Vault and taking a blizzard of gravitationally disrupted hats and monocles with them. The audience can do little but stare in astonishment at the new hole in their sky as billows of cigar smoke follow the warriors upwards...


Soaring high above the smokestacks and cranes of London town, the manatee and koala remain locked in Mortal combat. Diamond shards lodged in the brain cause DropBear to continue the blinding ascent, with monstrous arms still wrapped around his attacker as he carves and stabs with his saw. The long and wicked claws of the Aussie Nightmare stab time and time again between the manatee's armour plates, shedding sheets of dark blood into the thinning air. Both creatures gush gallons of arterial blood, and frost forms on their skin as they rocket into the stratosphere...

Finally, as the pair ascend to such a height that Earth's gravitational pull becomes meaningless, the Koala's powers are exhausted. Outside a planetary gravity well, where there is no up and down, he can do little to change matters. Nevertheless, he will not die. As the manatee leaks oxygen and blood through a dozen wide gashes in his suit, his attacker continues to thrash and flail. Free from any limits of will or reason, the monster gnaws without any regard for the freezing, pressureless void. 

The forgotten battlefields of the moon swing into view - deep craters marred by atomic scars and dust flats pocked with the hulks of downed battleships. The armoured mammal remembers the years of strife fighting for the Empire, and resolves that his struggle will not end here, alone in darkness in the arms of a mad brute.

With a determined cast to his face, he ignores the latest volley of stab wounds and aims his thrusters upward, pointing his helmeted face towards england, far below...

Silent and committed to his course of action, Manatee holds his agressor tight even as vacuum-chilled claws slide deep into his thick body. Rockets surge and the pair soar from low orbit into the upper atmosphere, locked into an embrace of hate and gushing blood. As the air thickens atom by atom, DropBear's hair begins to singe.

After a minute, OTHM is powering through his descent at 15,000 miles an hour, hugging the koala tightly to his breast. His faceplate glows cherry red and his external sensors and fuel feeds cook off in puffs of gas, but his martian-augmented armour keeps him cool and intact despite rapid cauterisation of exposed wounds. 

DropBear is not so lucky. Unable to break free as he is plunged through the atmosphere in the arms of his sworn nemesis, he can only scream and gnash his broken teeth as his fur flashes away in whisps of smoke. In time there is only raw, blackened muscle left, and after that only charcoaled bones in the flippers of the Space Warrior. As his parachute opens over daybreak in London, he finally passes out and drifts gently back into the arena to heroes' applause and the prospect of future violence.






Alright then folks, I've got the third and fourth fights for round two set, and we're going to roll those out starting Monday night. For now though, it's back to the grim nightmare of the loser's league, brought to you by Doctor Moreau.

This weekend will see fights between the four surviving members of the loser's league:

Edward Tigerhands
Father mcCrocodevil

and the horrendous wild card entry,


When two brutes remain, we'll get back to the last two fights of round two.

After that, hold on to your ucking guts, because this is going to get serious. That's my piece said til monday. I'll be around, and might throw a few drawings into the thread, although I'll be spending most of my sketching time devising nonsense for next week's upcoming violence.

Bourbons on the house for all, Mr. Swearengen! Mr. Cutting, to my office...

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