ROUND TWO: FIGHT THREE: A FUCKIN' NAVAL BATTLE
You are listening to the heartbeat of the Bisoncopter.
Bisoncopter posses the newest and most revolutionary advance in split second presentation, as well as split second calculation.
To protect the future of America, the defense techniques of tomorrow had to be discovered now.
But Bisoncopter needed more than this.
New concepts, new tools, new weapons.
By analyzing the past, Sage can project into the future.
Having witnessed the devastation visited upon their champion by the Martian menace, Bisontrain's American sponsors made passage to the arena and took his severed torso back to their vessel in docklands for upgrades. Now coupled with an experimental gyroscopic flying engine and equipped with devastating new technologies (all proudly terran... none of this unamerican mars machinery!), he is ready to fight anew. With him ride a squad of men from the elite Pinkerton Agency, sworn to guard their squire against any abominations to come.
1) He is as angry as ever, and we have sculpted his beard to suit the fact.
2) Four grizzled Pinkertons armed with truncheons and their wits ride shotgun on his mighty back.
3) An armoured power plant burns ultralight coke fuel to power two thudding rotor turbines, keeping bisoncopter aloft and maneuvrable.
4) Should bisontrain's nervous system become damaged and his spine mangled, his crew can still steer him from atop his superstructure, allowing him to concentrate on maiming things. They can also manage the flow of various combat stimulants into his systems, and perform basic field surgery.
5) Bisoncopter's arms have been augmented with two colossal tungsten Tesla Whisks, charged by the vast electric currents generated by fancy copper collection systems in his rotor blades. Basically, the harder he flies, the bigger the zap he can shoot from his whirling arms. He's not Zeus though - this is still experimental technology. They can whisk stuff up fairly brutally too.
After the death of all participating combatants in the sixth battle of round one, our technicians netted the corpse parts and scurried down to the surgery caverns with them, clutching handfuls of silly plans drawn in crayon and sick. Now they have been sewn together into an ironclad behemoth with eight legs and a turret made from mammal bits; a waterbourne fighting platform of near unstoppable aggression and resilience.
1) The hippo's head sits below the waterline, crammed with sharpened tusks and mounted with impellers to draw in water for the beast's internal acid generators.
2) The Panda's face, although still bearing a merry grin, is now little more than a barrel for the high-pressure acid cannon installed in the monster's throat.
3) The giant salamander's tail now propels the multiton monster through the water, and is reinforced with riveted steel plates and hydrostatic muscle implants. It hits like a million baseball bats at once.
4) The half of Pandamanderpotapanzee that sits above the water has been armoured in thick iron boilerplate, articulated and riveted into the tough flesh of the hippo and the salamander.
5) Atop the brute sits a turret made from the Panda's corpse and governed by the patched-up head of the chimp. It sports two arm-mounted gatling guns drawing from ammo hoppers inside the hippo's body cavity.
6) In a concession to fairness against tesla weaponry, the salamander skin has been faintly rubberised to afford as much resistance to electrics as the hippo's blubbery hide.
In Roman fashion, we have flooded the arena in twelve feet of water for this battle, an Bisoncopter will enter through the ceiling.
As a thousand baying cretins wave their betting slips and neck gin, the American contender thuds in from the ceiling hatch and zeroes in on the ironclad disaster...
Before anyone has even finished their gentlemanly opening remarks to their neighbours, Bisoncopter has closed the distance on his opponent and is wading through a storm of Gatling ammunition. Mere seconds into the fight, and brutal catastrophe looms: the Pandamanderpotapanzee feebly scarfs up chunder against the questing tesla fields of the oncoming whisks, but to no avail.... Brace for impact!
FUCKIN' BANG. Haemorrhaging gouts of white hot electrons and with tungsten appendages whirling, Bisoncopter smashes sidelong into the aquatic abomination. Pinkerton agents scatter in all directions, and so do giant chunks of blood and hippo. Helicopter blades whack into blubber, and spilt stomach acid slops over metal and flesh alike. This could be over quickly...
The Brute has no mercy. As the serpentine amalgam thrashes and leaks in the blood-clouded water, it is dismembered, whisked and fried in short order. Grizzled men stare coldly from behind vast facial hair, and clobber the gun-chimp into silence . Broken bottles cut great gashes in salamander flesh. Rotor blades hack through tail muscles. Whisks still crackling from the accumulated charge of the descent are jammed between the flapping lips of wounds. Horrible, violent things happen. Sentences are brief and unconnected. Blood. Whisks. Electricity.
The most hideously conclusive battle of the tournament so far rumbles on towards a bloody close. The panda's head is roasted as Bisoncopter drains the last of his batteries, and then soaked in foul acid as its throat pipe is slit by a straight razor. Even as their mechanisms are waterlogged, sheer momentum keeps the lethal copter blades spinning: limbs are slashed off, flanks are slotted and armour plates smashed asunder. When things stop moving, all that remains is a pissed-off looking bison floating in a soup of corpse parts, steaming gently from diluted acid.
Things are only going to get tougher now though, as the weaker monsters have been all but weeded out by fan favourites and unstoppable monsters...
MAJOR EVENTS IMMINENT. WE ARE NOW APPROACHING THE FINALS. TOMORROW AFTERNOON I POST THE CONTENDERS IN THE FINAL MATCH OF THE SECOND ROUND, AND THEN WHEN THAT IS FOUGHT WE ARE IN TO THE ENDGAME. GOD HELP US ALL.
Lift strips of skin, then place within
The ichor of the damned.
This liquid sin and all its kin
Are led by Laughing’s hand.
They sizzle, hiss, but only this.
They cannot burn away
The flesh of this one little miss,
The strips back on at break of dawn
But no scars to be seen.
The blood is drawn and helpless faun
Becomes mephitic queen.
Throne throne throne thrown thrown thrown.
A queen of beasts. An unloved feast
Who's seasoned with her past
Can at the least, bring more deceased
In throngs of graves, amassed.
By Laughing bound, she falls around
And murders as she goes
A wretched mound, by innards drowned
The remnants of her foes.
There’s more of course, a brutish force
To split the world in twain
This graveyard horse shows no remorse
Roars, godless, and insane.
I’m ready now. We’re ready. Laughing made sure we were alright to go with a few quick cuts and then he gave me a pat on the head, and even though it’s hard for me to feel anything anymore but the diseases, I felt that. After all that's happened, I’m actually being given another chance to have a real life. It’s a different life than I expected, but it’s still there, and that’s something. I have friends, I have some new big, fuzzy pets, and I have a sense of purpose. I can live with my infirmities, even though they hurt. Laughing was surprised when he found out. He kept mumbling something about “why she’s not already dead” and he just seemed to get angrier and angrier whenever he tried injecting me with some liquids and they made me feel worse but didn’t kill me. Even the knife didn’t kill me. Even the fire.
But then he smiled, and then he gave me a new home.
One that won’t burn down.
Now, at the end, and after,