------------------------------- UVR2- THE DESTRUCTION CONCLUDES ------------------------------- SECTION SIXTEEN-RESULTS ------------------------------- FINAL ROUND ------------------------------- _The Ring_ The RumbleDome was silent as the feed from the helicopter's camera kicked in. The Maxatron video board split its screen between fighter statistics and the video signal. A shocked murmur ran through the audience. The auras of power that both Demitri Maximov and Ryo Sakazaki radiated were plainly visible, the rain enhancing their glow like torchlight in fog. Demitri vanished from the searchlight's glare, reappearing next to Ryo with a fierce kick to Ryo's stomach. Ryo stepped back slightly from the force, shook his head, and railed Demitri with a Zanretsuken, fists flying faster than the camera could track, his punches having no effect save a slight motion of Demitri's head. "Were we going to let them keep this up?" Wanderer asked the other inhabitants of the control booth. In the corner of the office, the fax machine had begun to rattle. "You've sort of been telling people all night that the fighters couldn't do this stuff outside of the ring..." Demitri Demon Cradled Ryo away from him, and slowly glided forward as Ryo got up. Ryo, not knowing any better, blocked as the vampire drew near. That was a mistake. "Go ahead and stop them," Birdman offered. "I'm sure they're in the mood to listen." He winced. "Has anyone else noticed," he asked the crowd, "just how grossly misnamed the Midnight Pleasure is? I mean, Ryo doesn't seem to be enjoying it up there..." Demitri, his fangs dripping red, knocked Ryo to the ground as he finished his "meal". Ryo literally bounced right back up, the wounds on his neck closing by themselves, throwing himself headlong at Demitri before the vampire had a chance to fully recover. The vampire, surprised, backed away from him thinking to avoid the attack, but misjudged Ryo's speed; when Ryo touched him, the KyoKugenRyu fighter opened up a can of whoopass. No one could quite tell exactly what he did, but there was a lot of it, it looked like it hurt, and it concluded--about two minutes later--with a vicious uppercut that sent Demitri flying. "I'm sure that whatever that was--I'm guessing it was the Ryuuko Ranbu on crystal meth--wasn't exactly fun for Demitri, Birdman." Wanderer covered his microphone with his hand. "I'm not talking about stopping them, man. I don't think we could pay any of the security troops enough--" Scott Johnson looked up from a piece of paper and cleared his throat. "Good guess, that. According to this message that Nunzio just faxed me, the standing price for the security guards to go up there and stop them--my mistake; to *try* to stop them--is currently standing firm at six billion dollars." Birdman looked sick. "Isn't that a bit high?" Scott crooked an eyebrow at him. "I'm not done. Six billion dollars. Each. On the average, after factoring in the cash value of some of the more esoteric requests." Birdman's voice got very distant. "We have two hundred security guards." Scott nodded. "Two hundred sixty-three, if you count the additional personnel I added when I become chief." Birdman winced. "I take it the fight's going to be permitted to continue?" Wanderer asked. He was, once again, trying not to smile. "We have a choice?" Brant winced, pointing at the boards. "I doubt we could stop them if we wanted to. They're both stuck at maximum power." "How'd they do that?" Birdman asked. Misty John answered him. "I'd need to get a look at them close up to know for sure. Judging just from what I know of either of them and the colors of their auras, I'd say that Ryo's the beneficiary of a major enchantment using techniques from a lot of different traditions and styles, probably a group effort. I can tell that from the way his aura keeps shifting through the ultraviolet spectrum." "It isn't shifting at all. It's always white." "It's all in how you look at it." John wiggled his fingers at him dramatically, then moved on, ignoring Birdman's dirty look. "Demitri's, though, is a lot darker and never changes color; he's powered by a single source, and no mortal entity has anywhere near what it would take to supply him. I'm going to take another guess. Brant, stop me if you know this one..." Brant Rogers looked sick. "The Dark Guy?" "Yup. Amazing how he just keeps popping up today, isn't it?" John went back to Birdman's liquor cabinet and grumbled irritably. "Don't you have anything older than last week, Birdman?" "So we can't stop them." Wanderer's voice was flat. "Even if we could afford it." "You got it, newbie." John popped the cork off of a bottle. "So what do we do?" Birdman asked. John took an experimental swig of a bottle, nodded, and drank again, a bitter expression on his face. "We hope Ryo wins. If he doesn't, I don't like our odds." _Rooftop, RumbleDome Hotel_ As he fell away from Ryo, Demitri seemed to collapse in on himself in a burst of sulfur and brimstone. In mid-air, he dodged a Kohken, the wings of his bat-form beating hummingbird-quick, and hooked down into the small of Ryo's back. Ryo felt the bat's fangs dig into his skin, and he reached back to get it off of him. Unfortunately, his hand didn't touch bat fur, but vampiric flesh, and Demitri grabbed him back and drove him headfirst into the rooftop. Concrete cracked from the impact. Ryo rolled away, his head ringing, and flung Kohkens and HaohShoKohkens at the advancing vampire, trying to keep Demitri back until his head cleared. Demitri, looking distinctly unimpressed, batted them away or dispelled them with his own Vampire Rages. One Rage got through Ryo's barrage, tearing through a HaohShoKohken, striking him in the chest and setting his gi alight despite the rain. As he batted at the flames, a swarm of flaming bats, summoned and driven by Demitri, flew into him and perched upon him, inflicting a score of small burns and cuts. Ryo rolled around on the ground, trying to put them out, while Demitri looked on and laughed. Ryo got to his feet, covered in charred cloth and slime from crushed bats, and looked across the roof. Demitri was gone. There was nothing else on the roof but pouring rain. "SAKAZAKI!" Ryo turned around in place, trying to find the source of Demitri's voice, but saw nothing. Then light burst out behind him, glowing brighter than the helicopter's searchlight, as Demitri rematerialized, drifting slowly down towards the roof like a falling angel, his body laced with iridescent blue. Sound and motion unrelated to him seemed to stop. "THIS IS WHERE YOUR LIFE ENDS!" Demitri boomed. "TRY IT AND SEE!" Ryo roared back. He raised his fists as the vampire swooped down upon him. _The Ring_ Guy and Bishamon watched the screen, side by side, their fight forgotten for a moment. But only for a moment. As Guy turned, Bishamon's flames screamed out a warning, and Bishamon got his block up in time, a Bushin Roundhouse clashing against his sword. Guy threw himself away as he finished the kick, but Bishamon slashed twice after his block, faster than Guy had thought possible. The second stroke caught him on his leg, drawing blood and forcing him to tuck and roll. As Guy regained his feet, he blocked an oncoming flame and jumped, the oncoming Bishamon rushing by a scant inch underneath him. As his feet touched the mat, Guy pushed himself upwards again and spun, catching Bishamon from behind with his feet and juggling him up into the air once, twice, three times. As Bishamon crashed to the ground, Guy retreated again, feeling every eye in the stadium on him. He heard nothing but the faint pulse of rushing blood through his ears. Bishamon got up, his equipment alternately mocking him and cheering him on, and slashed once in the air. Guy crossed his arms in front of his face, but nothing happened. Bishamon slashed again. Guy, once again, blocked, once again against no attack. Bishamon slashed a third time, and this time, Guy did not block, instead dashing forward to catch him while he recovered. As Bishamon's sword left his hand, Guy's eyes widened, and he realized he'd been tricked. The thrown sword connected with his chest; Guy barely managed to twist his upper body before the blade hit, saving him from losing a lung. Even then, the sword stuck into Guy's stomach, coming very close to disemboweling him. The crowd drew in its collective breath. Bishamon gestured, and the sword drew itself--and Guy--back to his hand. He swiftly pulled the sword out of Guy and slashed along Guy's other side in the same smooth motion. Even as he did, Guy dodged to the side as best he could, turning a strike that would have bisected him into a long slash along his ribs. Guy groaned with pain, and he coughed up blood, but he remained on his feet. "How are you surviving?" Bishamon asked incredulously. This man had been fighting for close to two hours straight; in that time, he had been blasted, slashed, crushed, pounded into the mat, set on fire, beaten, and endured enough punishment to kill a dozen men. And he was still standing. Guy leapt into the air and took Bishamon for a ride, grabbing him around his midsection and flipping the samurai over. Bishamon slammed headfirst into the mat with earthshaking force. "Clean living," Guy answered, breathing shallowly, backing away from the samurai. It was all bravado. He knew it. Bishamon knew it. Guy could take a lot of punishment, but he was getting near his limits. He felt blood draining out of his body slowly with every step he took, and all the meditations and chi in the world couldn't keep the pain back for much longer. Guy could feel his knees starting to wobble. Bishamon regained his feet and swung his sword in a circle. "Let's finish this before you're too weak to stand. There is no honor in defeating a senseless opponent." "Gladly." Guy rushed at the samurai in a full-out run. Bishamon moved to slash Guy a second time across his waist, but noticed, almost too late, the bright flash as Guy concentrated, and the sudden influx of wind as physics bent to Guy's will. Bishamon barely blocked a dashing knee, blue shadows trailing behind it, as Guy unleashed the most powerful variation of the Bushin Rage. The Street Fighter fans, in the audience, stood up and cheered as they recognized the technique. "Bish!" the armor yelled. Bishamon grunted as a knee strike rammed into his block. "I am somewhat busy, you know..." "It's important! This technique hits six times!" Bishamon frowned. "You said that last year. I can't help but notice you got it wrong." A flying kick connected, once again, with Bishamon's parry. One of the flames snorted. "Don't listen to him, Bish!" The armor, annoyed, retorted, "Shut up! What do you know?" "How to count, for one thing..." "HEY!" Bishamon backpedaled slightly, rolling with Guy's triple spin kick. "This is not the time or the place for this discussion..." "You can't count," the flame yelled. "I'll show you! How many of us flames are there?" The armor thought about it. "Ummm...three?" The other flame groaned. "See what he's talking about?" Bishamon grunted as Guy landed a thrusting side kick, which likewise struck his sword, which sobbed with the pain. Independently of his equipment's debate, he had a plan. As Guy's seventh kick landed against his block, and the Street Fighter settled back into his stance, Bishamon disappeared. "Oh, no..." Guy scrambled away, but it was too late. Six Bishamons reappeared in place of the one and brought their blades down on him. He couldn't dodge, couldn't block; they raked across his arms and chest, and he fell down screaming. Blood pooled on the mat underneath him as he pulled himself to his feet. Bishamon reappeared, alone, and surged forward, his sword swinging in an overhead arc. Guy rolled forward, tearing his wounds open further, but avoided the slash. Unfortunately for Bishamon, the samurai had overestimated Guy's wounds. His sword bit deeply into the mat, and caught there. Guy regained his feet, and staggered over behind Bishamon, who struggled to pull the embedded blade out of the ring floor. "Let me help you with that." "Thank you. That's very--" Bishamon's sentence was cut off by a single hard punch to his stomach, followed hard upon by three more shots to the face. The sheer impact knocked him senseless, and jarred the sword out of the mat. Bishamon stood up weakly, wavering on his feet. Guy calmly walked over, ignoring his wounds, and hit him again with the same combination. Bishamon, once again, stood dizzied. Guy repeated the combination, pushing the still-stunned Bishamon across the ring and towards the edge. Boos rang out all around him. He didn't like being this dishonorable, but he had no choice. Bishamon was too fast and dangerous to take any chances with. Bishamon's equipment, however, had something to say about that. One of the flames screamed to the armor, "Open your mouth! Get him out here!" The armor screamed back, "Are you *nuts*?! I'm not gonna do that!!" "Just *DO* it, or we're all dead meat!" "Fine," the armor grumbled. "Just remember you asked..." The carved face on the front of the armor slowly opened. Guy raised his fists to attack again, and stopped, as something vlarge and blue filled his vision. Not knowing what to expect, he backed off, as the mouth of Bishamon's armor disgorged something. It reached forth for him, and a voice issued forth from it: "HA-HAAA! I AM CRUSHING YOUR HEAD!" Up in the booth, Birdman slapped himself in the forehead. "Oh, *no*..." Guy had time to get out, "What the he--" before the Bushido Crush hand fastened onto him. "CRUSH! CRUSH!" The gigantic blue hand grasped him around the midriff, and *squeezed*. Breath was forced from his lungs. Guy's ribs creaked like ancient hardwood floor. The world decorated itself with splashes of color. "I SEE YOU! I DO NOT APPROVE OF YOU...SO I SEE YOUR HEAD...AND I *CRUSH* IT!" The hand noted that its quarry didn't seem to be struggling anymore. "HA! I HAVE...*CRUSHED* YOUR HEAD! HAHAHAHAHAH!!!" Bored with its sport, the hand flung Guy over Bishamon's shoulder... ...where he fell over the "ropes." Bishamon climbed to his feet as the hand snuck back into the armor's mouth. He was still woozy. Someone called name...loudly. Who, though? It couldn't be Haohmaru; he'd been eliminated long ago. Bishamon shook his head, coming to his senses. Sound was meaningless to him over the now overpowering roars from the crowd; he could only hear his equipment's chatter due to the sound baffles installed around the ring. He slowly turned around in a circle; Bishamon saw cheering fans, booing fans, people with irritated expressions exchanging money in the front row, popcorn flying into the air, and an otherwise empty ring. Signs bearing his name popped up everywhere. He didn't see Guy. "What happened?" he asked his flames. "That hand of ours threw Guy out of the ring, Bish. We won." The flames flickered jubilantly. "We WON! We get to show off that huge freakin' trophy the next time we're in hell!" "I thought I told you that the hand was never to get out again." "Would you get over it, Bish?!" the armor yelled. "WE WON! WE *WON*!" "I won." Bishamon said the words as if tasting them. Finally, after thinking it over for a minute, weighing it, Bishamon nodded. "*We* won." Bishamon faced the crowd, and raised his hands in victory. Their cries faded as they watched to see what he would do. Silently, Bishamon turned his back on them, and the sword disappeared, melting into a ball of light. Quietly, it floated above him and the sword reformed, falling into the sheath on his back. The audience rose to its feet and roared. --- Thomas Wilde wanderer@ecom.net, vox_ex_machina@hotmail.com http://www.geocities.com/Athens/Parthenon/3114/index.html *********** You only see what you want to believe When you light in the back with those tricks up your sleeve That don't mean I can't hang But the day that I die will be the day I shut my mouth -Sublime, "Same In The End"