While the match began, and the Gamemaster’s attention was drawn, Ghar silently returned to the barracks.
Sneaking through the doors once more and back into the Gamemaster’s chamber, Ghar turned into his air form and flew up the elevator shaft where the Gamemaster had taken Eric.
Where the elevator shaft was, the ground above it was sealed completely tight by a metal door.
“can I help you?”
Scrapper formed his arm into a plasma cannon and began rapidly shooting at Mark.
Caught off guard, Mark rolled out of the way to dodge the blasts. He unsheathed his sword, charging at Scrapper.
Nexus went up to check on the match, watching for a bit, before losing interest. He looks around for any other places that he could enter. Being restricted to the barracks and the arena is a bit tiring.
Scrapper pulled out his own sword and blocked the attack. He then attempted to whack Mark with his cannon.
A crack was heard as the cannon connected with Mark’s jaw. He fell to the sand, and rolled to the side before slashing at Scrapper’s chest with his sword.
Leadhead quickly stood up and headed to the nearest clean toilet with a functioning lock
Scrapper shoved his cannon onto the sword and then disconnected it, putting a huge weight on the blade.
Mark collapsed onto the ground with his sword, pushed down by the cannon’s weight. He pulled the sword free, and stabbed it at Scrapper’s leg.
The sword punctured one of Scrapper’s tyres, and crumpled on the string metal wheel beneath it.
Gyraze remains on the edge of the arena where it had been left last night. It stands, still as a statue, quietly whirring…
The sword’s brittle blade shattered beneath the wheel. Mark grabbed the jagged, broken sword, and attempted to shank Scrapper’s neck with it.
Scrapper grabbed his sword and sliced at Mark’s hand.
Mark stumbled back, holding his bloody arm in his other arm as it bled through the slash wound. Grabbed his shield, Mark bashed it into Scrapper’s face.
Inspecting the door and seeing it is sealed shut, Ghar whisked back down the elevator, rematerializing.
Surprised, he turned around.
But leadhead had already run of to the nearest clean bathroom with a functioning lock
Scrapper charged up his magma claw ang punched the shield, denting and heating up the centre.
Mark flew back and his body struck a rock. The heated shield scorched his chest, and Mark threw it aside in frustration. He practically had no weapon to fight with, and was barely able to stand up. It seemed to him like this whole contest would be for nothing. He would go back to his parents’ house, with no prize and only injuries to show for hios effort.
He couldn’t allow that.
Slowly, Mark rose to his feet, and then suddenly charged at Scrapper, shouting a battlecry.