You won against the above OC in a battle!

Posted 6 years, 2 months ago (Edited 5 years, 4 months ago) by raihan

Hello! I decided to break my old Battle the OC above you thread and put it to shreds, so I'll pretty much spam the Forum Games with this.

How to play this game? It's simple; imagine a scenario where the your OC wins against the one above.

I only have a few rules though!

Post every 3 people!
DO NOT GIVE GENERIC REPLIES! By generic, I mean "hah I won u loser u suck" If making a response it should at least correspond to the bits of the character! You can either go "You prideful twat, this is why your mother abandoned you. Even the bees will hesitate to sting you because you're that pathetic."
No one-liners! Three sentences are the minimum to enter this thread!
DO NOT POST CHARACTERS THAT CANNOT BE SEEN BY ALL LOGGED IN USERS IN TH.

That's all! Thank you!

Inferno/Aiden -Alex-

((Just assume that Inferno is not the size of an actual pikmin and maybe instead think of the original size idea for them; the size of a house cat or something. (if I'm right) For both this comment and your response lol. (and sorry this was so short. Inferno isn't one to talk and there isn't much about Scrague that I could see but I tried to give Inferno something to say lol. I'll try to think of something better for the next response lol)

Inferno looks over at Scrague. He decided not to let him burn to death and makes the flames die. "I warned you to not play with fire," Inferno comments. He chuckles quietly about his bad one-liner and begins walking away. He stops before he could enter the flames and looks back at Scrague. "But I guess you just couldn't listen." He walks into the flames, abandoning him in the ring of flames Inferno had created with his powers during the fight.

This user's post has been blocked from this thread.

Psychic GLITCH-DXCTOR

Psychic stared at the man with the paper bag on his head. They were curious about the drawing on it alongside his clothes. How was he not hot in this desert? What in the world was even keeping him from going thirsty? He had certainly traveled a long way to reach their domain.

Did he perhaps bring some food?

No, something didn’t feel right. He was going on about smiling, and they couldn’t be bothered to listen. What was his soul? Was it sour, sweet?

They looked into the futures never to come and saw him stabbing them in every one.

Sour. If there even was one.

But soon, he leapt at them with a knife. They turned in time—sheer luck—so he passed right through their smokey tail. As he regained his balance, they pinned him down to the sand with one paw, grimacing at the feeling of a knife in their paw pad.

“I see you’re an optimistic man, who enjoys seeing the grins of others. Tell me... What is it about the smile you love most? The upward curve? That is aesthetically pleasing.” They drew their face closer to the paper bag. “Or is it the way the eyes curve with it? It gives an astoundingly adorable visage.” They drew even closer, nose practically against his, and grinned widely. “Or is it the teeth?”

Mieel Jutta

(OOC: tired me missed the desert part of their bio, which isn't a good place to dump a fish, but lets do this)

Deep in the desert the splash of green couldn't have been more than an illusion, but lo and behold, the ship sank into the cool pool hidden deep in the desert. This was new. The alien pulled himself from the hatch and explored the oasis, finding his ship to have taken up most of the room. He shook his head, he picked one of the worst places to land to date. Miel broke the surface of the water, squinting at the bright sun as the dry air made his aquatic skin burn. He was out of the water for only a second when the heavy weight of a large canid creature pinned him to the shore. Miel floundered like the fish he was, unable to "breathe" as he disturbed the quiet paradise in the desert with frantic splashes. He finally managed to wriggle free from Psychic and back into the water.

As water flooded his gills, the alien felt a new surge of confidence and suddenly leaped from the water, wrapping both arms around the purple creature and dragging them down into the water. He held them in an iron grip, gritting his teeth as their kicks and teeth wounded him but refusing to let go. In the water, in an alien language he growled "How do you like it, huh? I could have suffocated !" . It was lost in translation. He waited for the canine to weaken before he finally dragged them back onto shore, satisfied that Psychic had learned their lesson but too lazy to see it through. Miel returned to his ship under the water and left that planet fast, he had enough of it through one local alone.

This post has been removed.

Jutta

_{little bump}

This user's post has been blocked from this thread.

Chance White Thanaturgist

At first glance, this seemed like it would be an even enough fight. Sure, Ethan was pretty much as ordinary as ordinary went at first glance, but if one didn't know them, Chance didn't look like much, either. Still, with Ethan's bad luck, this had left many chances(heh) for things to backfire for either of them, especially the knife-wielding human. In some ways, in fact, it had. Their was a deep gash on their right arm, the sleeve ripped open when they had tripped. Still bad luck hadn't been enough to stop Chance from knocking Ethan to the ground and pinning him after a small scuffle, their knife glinting in their hand. It wasn't that much of a fight in the end, but perhaps that was for the best.

As Chance looked down at Ethan, they tucked their knife back into their sleeve and crouched. "Lighten up, buddy, I'm not going to kill you." They grinned, offering Ethan a hand to help him up. "This was all in good fun, wasn't it? But maybe you should stick to groceries, haha."

Noel Alkaev Vapor

Noel towered over Chance's crumpled form, easing his sword back into the scabbard at his side. He wasn't sure if he could do it-- if he could defeat someone who was... supposedly already dead, but he also wasn't willing to chance killing them a second time, simply because... how was that supposed to work? He turned up his nose at them and took a step backwards, taking in a deep breath, puffing out his chest, and speaking hushedly. "Who knew that the deceased could be so frail? I suppose you are a corpse, though, whether or not you have been brought back by... whatever absurdly shit force did so. And to some kid's carcass, no less. It's so sad." He barked out a harsh laugh with the last sentence. He stepped over them and watched them lay there.

They were young, too, weren't they? So small, so weak. His breath rattled as he thought over this fact. He felt powerful. Not that this was a good thing, not for him. He didn't like what arrogance brought with it. Implying he wasn't already a pompous piece of shit.

"Can't say you weren't annoying, though." he taunted, his voice remaining a low drone, "Bouncing off the walls... Chaos and panache don't make for a very good fighting style, you know. It takes discipline to become a soldier, and not some... fucking knife-swinging lunatic." He scoffed, continuing on with walking from the other party's side. Knives weren't even good for combat, were they? He had his daggers, but they had more specific purposes than to just fight with. Knives would only work if one were a little street urchin, in his opinion. "I'd just be careful if I were you. But, as I already said..."

He shook his head as he trailed off. It was best to get this over with, to send Chance on their way, and head his own.

"I don't want to see you in this area again." he warned, "Do you understand me? I don't know what'd even happen if I actually tried to kill you, but this... this is mine. This is my neck of the fucking woods."

The older man steered himself away from Chance. Thank God, because I doubt they would want to hear him go on and on much longer, talking out of his own ass.

okay now i'm awake. it's time for murder [a follow-up]

Noel laid on the ground like a wet, floppy piece of bacon. This wasn't a normal physical pain, he found, for it burned unlike any injury, unlike any illness, and whenever he attempted to lift himself back to his feet, he found himself incapable of doing so, as if weighed down by his own body. He looked up at Morgan through dark, narrowed eyes as he grasped for his longsword, not to raise it again but to keep it close to him, to provide some kind of support when he felt the energy necessary to move again. He seemed to be hardly listening to the teenager's words, too preoccupied with the agony still coursing through his veins.

"Are you done fucking bragging?" As if he didn't spend that entire last post patting himself on the back. Morgan deserved to be as proud as he was, magic-user or not, because Noel was not a small potato. "Your fucking book is cursed. A witch like yourself should be dead, six feet under, not prancing about and attacking innocents the way you've done." As if he didn't attack Morgan first... Morgan, who was very likely minding his own damn business...

Noel stuck the blade of his sword into the soil and propped himself up onto his knees, but he didn't try for Morgan again, instead sitting there, his teeth gritted. He had expected for himself to die, but clearly that wasn't what was happening here. Thank goodness, too, because he still needed to get home and make dinner.

Home. He wanted to go home. He wanted to go to sleep.

He watched as Morgan began to take his leave, a feeling of defeat overtaking him, though he didn't want to admit it, not ever. The older man scoffed under his breath as he continued to cling to his blade's pommel, and spat out one last insult to the teenager, "Show-off."

Morgan hydrangeas

When the man did not rise again, Morgan allowed himself to exhale deeply. Although he was more than used to combat with magic, physical exertion still took its toll on his... unusual body. He slammed his grimoire shut, and tucked it under his arm safely while he brushed some loose strands of his hair out of his face. It could have gone better, he thought to himself. As always. He could tell some of the runes he had crafted were still rough around the edges- he knew he could do this far better somehow.

"I'm better than some mindless sword-heaving knight..." Morgan muttered to himself as he glanced back at the man who had started to stir again; he was no killer either. But that idea never failed to haunt him, through every victory he thought he could have. It was never as clean as it could be, and he knew it. He should have been able to down this man in seconds, without even having to draw the bronze knife in his robes to protect himself. And what if that blade were to break? He gripped at his clothes to make sure it was still there- something to tell him he was worthy of what his father had left for him.

He shook his head with a grimace. This man was just as big as those on the streets. The fact that he towered over Morgan only made him more determined to win. He practically shouted, "You fight like a knight who got lost on the streets. It was natural that I would win. Understand?"

$10 damascus

"I..." Ushi stared at the crumpled boy before her, unsure. When he failed to hop back up and resume fighting, she threw all four arms in the air with a cheer. "I won! I win I win I win!" Her tail curled into a gleeful little helix as she stepped closer, looking for signs of life. The boy began to move again. He was for sure breathing. That was good! Humans liked to do that.

"Are you okay?" she asked, crouching beside the loser and prodding at him. "You okaaaay? Anything broken? Any internal bleeding? I'm not a doctor, but my brother has a fake medical degree!"

"Stabbing... is against the rules..!" Ushi whimpers, curling in on herself. It burns. She's never been stabbed before, and it burns.

She's been in lots of fights before; that's just oni culture. They like to fight. But no one had ever pulled a knife on her like that, or set the forest ablaze! This guy didn't know how to play, and that was upsetting to her.

Don't touch me, she hisses in her native tongue, tail lashing against the ground. She just needs to... to get away from here. To find her way home. And then she'll be fine, she assures herself. Once you get home, you can go to sleep and be fine. You're not going to die.

Even if it burns.

15$ Carnage

"Sh-Shit, I'm sorry-" Malcom stammers, quickly stumbling back and dropping the bloody knife. A fire raged around them, that was odd, the last thing he could remember was that he was taking a night stroll in the woods to clear his head and let his anger fade. He inhales shakily before coughing, this was his fault. He looked at the demon on the ground, she watches him cautiously, a hand on her side, probably where Malcom had hit her.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, I-" Malcom's voice cracks and he slowly raises an arm, controlling the fire to go up and disappear leaving the forest to smell like ash and smoke. "I'm really sorry, let me help you..."

Smithson (Human) kafkaesque

Imagine being so pitiful that you need to fight a literal young adult to maintain your reputation.

This fellow was Smithson, who stood there like a statue - rubbing his hands together like he could do no wrong as he looked down at the defeated party. He attempted to maintain a stoic expression, though it was fairly obvious that this wasn't the outcome he was looking for. In fact, his entire frame was trembling as the chandelier that floated besides him just... Stared... Ominously. It was a terrible contrast, to see the man known for being just a little bit sketchy with his allegiances suddenly wish he could just take it all back.

"That band of yours... It put up a good fight," he started before glancing off, "It's... A shame that it wasn't as strong as a sentient chandelier, huh?" He wanted to scoff, he really did, but when he tried to do so, it just came out as a fucking cough. Disgusting. Also, really, really pitiful. Smithson rubbed the back of his neck before taking a step backward, "I would've admired that type of power if it was seen in a different context... If it was wielded by someone respectable and not just... Just some vandal..."

Real funny, then, that a so-called "vandal" posed that much of a threat to the aristocrat's dignity. The man gulped before sighing and rubbing the wrinkles underneath his eyes with a sigh. It was definitely because the other party was being too aggressive, too standoffish in the face of someone who was clearly higher in ranking than them. Yes, that was it. It wasn't because he thought the other party knew where his son was, nor was it due to Smithson's lingering desire to uphold the laws of his aristocratic circle - even if it meant breaking different laws in the process.

He kicked at the pavement before stating more coldly, "But next time, do be careful what you ask, don't you think? It's none of your business as to what I might be doing around these quarters at this time..." Eyes diverted off to the side as if he was expecting a passerby to pick up on what had just happened. "I understand that young people like you are so curious and want to constantly rebel, but," Smithson grunted with a scoff, "Sometimes, it's just better to adhere to principle, and take people's words for granted." His lips pursed together into a thin, saccharine smile.

"You can understand that now, 'tough guy?' It'll make sense once you're allowed to reflect a bit..."

breaking news: edgy teenage girl defeats an edgy man with daddy issues.... at chess. HELL YEA.

anyways here's a follow-up because I like these two.... even if they seem like they'd just exist to fight each other to the death oops:

This was technically the second time that Smithson lost to the girl, and he didn't like it at all. And no assonance intended, he really did seem like he was in awe as he looked down at the chessboard and saw that his pieces were all... All a mess. Only the girl's seemed like they were in a neat pattern, though that really didn't matter given that the objective of chess really didn't give a single shit about how the pieces were arranged. All he knew was that her queen piece had taken his king piece, and that it counted as a checkmate.

Disgusting.

"You don't need to remind me," he retorted dryly while placing a hand inside his cloak, "You said something like that the first time you beat me." With a roll of his eyes, he opened up a bit of his cloak to provide ventilation while giving the other party a glare. "You don't think I remember that, huh? Just because I look old and all that?" Gee, that'd actually be a very good reason as to why someone would forget Smithson in the first place.

He laughed bitterly before leaning back against his seat, still silently fuming over his loss to the girl. In his eyes, the game was perfectly unfair; he had no prior experience with the game, and he remembered his father playing it once at a party before he suffered the same fate. In other words, sucking at chess seemed to run in the family, and thus Smithson pinned all the blame on Johnson as expected for someone with major daddy issues. But also, yes, from an outsider point of view, watching the girl beat this stupid man at chess would've been both satisfying and epic as all hell.

With a huff, he concurred, "I could say the same about you, idiot," before pulling out a red-and-white capsule that definitely contained his weird jellyfish thing. "It's not exactly wise to pick a fight against someone and deliberately skew the field against them," he continued coldly, "That wouldn't demonstrate skill, or even cunning. You just need something to boost your delicate ego through an easy win, miss." Okay, hypocrite. He tossed the sphere in his hand before sighing with much apprehension.

Does this girl really want to see my Jellicent that badly? he thought to himself with a frown, though said frown was more confused than truly pissed. He shrugged. Whatever. The man placed the capsule on the table, then gently nudged it to the girl.

Reluctance laced Smithson's voice as he told her, "This thing should contain the jellyfish that you keep talking about. Thank goodness it's not one of my main team members; otherwise, I would've put up a bigger gripe... But even then, just know that I'm only doing this because I'm a man of my word." Sure. Okay. Man of his word. "Though I must ask, miss, how long do you plan to call this thing yours? I'd need it for a tournament eventually, so... I can't really afford to not have it by my side by then."

Then, he had a very stupid, very risky idea that he blurted out on impulse, "You know... Miss... If you like the thing that much, I could try getting one for you... After the bet is over, of course. But, yes, know that the offer's up in that regard." He really hoped that wouldn't piss her off and cause her to shatter his knee, even if he did deserve it. Besides, Smithson had to admit that he was a bit too attached to that blue thing of his for his own good; such was the case when you had the same jellyfish by your side for several decades straight.

Maribelle Burnett Vapor

Their battle was so intense and so fucking epic that the dead rose from their maggot-infested graves to observe, that thunder and lightning clashed atop the midnight heavens as bloody rain poured from the clouds like tears. Alas, Maribelle prevailed over the aristocrat before her. The black queen beat the shit out of the white king. It's over. It all probably took forever.

"I won again." Gods, those words really stung, because who would want to lose to this shithead? Especially at a game of chess, which was to some amongst the most intellectual of competitions, and frankly, Maribelle was a dumbass. Granted, She was also fueled by anger at the last time they played a game of some sort, a scavenger hunt, which she also won but not before essentially being told that her hobbies were garbage, which meant that she, too, was garbage, and she just couldn't take that. "And you couldn't do shit, because you're an idiot." What an eloquent way for a noble girl to respond to such a victory.

Prizes were in order, however, and Maribelle had only one wish she had in mind. At least, only one she could get from Smithson. It was round, and squishy, and blue, and had a Pringles mustache, and she decided that she absolutely adored it. She didn't even want to steal it from him, really, she just...

"Show me your jellyfish, because I won." she commanded, "I get to spend time with your jellyfish, or else." What are you gonna do? Kick him? You would need to pay for his hospital bills, so who's the real loser here? Smithson, apparently, for failing to triumph over her in another stupid game, and also getting his knee smashed if he didn't listen to her, the vicious seventeen-year-old girl.

But, really. The jellyfish, old man. It was just so cute, and it looked so stupid. She couldn't take not staring at it for more than ten minutes a day. That was all she wanted-- ten minutes to hang out with a true hero.

CONTINUATION. maribelle is a sore loser.

The music Maribelle listened to consisted of beautiful symphonies done by the orchestras she would at times visit with Otto at a theatre, or even a little band that would be hired to play at his parties, or sometimes, when she was particularly young, she would be lulled to sleep with sweet little songs from either her father or uncle. But... this music was horrendous. Her singing was horrendous. She could slow dance, but she couldn't sing. She opted to shriek into the microphone, the lyrics getting jumbled up and cranked out with much struggle, whereas Kat prevailed, if also in part that the woman actually knew these songs.

As soon as it was over, Maribelle broke out into a series of harsh coughs, gasping for breath. She hadn't even had a chance to breathe during their competition, aside from the intervals between songs, because she didn't realize that stops were a thing. She hunched over, a hand on her chest, her heart beating so fast that she might as well die right there. She slowly eased herself onto the floor, and just laid there on her back. Beads of sweat rolled across her brow.

As soon as she could speak, however, she sniffed loudly, and then spluttered, "Nnnnn--" Or, was trying to splutter. "No! There isn't-- There isn't going to be a next time!" she whined, utterly crushed, "I'm never singing again!" What a crybaby. What a loser. What a stupid child. Her face was tomato-red and spicy hot. One could very well assume that she was throwing a tantrum over losing, which... she sort of was, but she had a feeling she was going to lose, anyhow.

The girl remained there, sprawled out on the ground as she listened to Kat, her eyes shut tightly. Her throat hurt. She wanted water. And food. She wanted ice cream.

Just as she was about to cut Kat off mid-sentence, though, Kat just... did it herself. By blinking out of existence. Maribelle opened one eye and looked up at the ceiling, and then around for the woman. Hm. What the fuck. She propped herself off and stared blankly at the space where Kat once was.

Her immediate thought was that, somehow, she just fucking died, but where was her corpse? Morbid thought, but she couldn't help it. Maribelle honestly might have just wanted that headband, but alas...

Never would she get her grubby hands on it.

It's for the best.

Mitch &/or Kat (Kat) reinapepiada

(cont. from here)

The score added up on the screen, after one 'Livin' on a Prayer', 'Toxic', and- oh my god- 'Bring Me To Life', Kat swore she was going to die for real now. Not only did she not know most of the lyrics, not only was it a blast from the past or really good hits... Why did she come up with this? Neither of them wanted to go through with it and Kat has won mostly because Maribelle didn't know any songs and only earned some points by screaming into the mic (which was Kat's excuse to think about karaoke to begin with, honestly). Why did they end up like this? Kat doesn't care anymore, she's panting as she puts the mic back into place and is declared winner.

She's so embarrassed. She really went all out on that Evanescense bit... But she won.

"I'm actually really sorry you don't have this music where you're from. Hey, maybe you could take the CD... No one uses CDs nowadays save for the Karaoke machine. Maybe you could put a real fight next time." god, why is she suggesting a second time of this? Just how unlikely is that? Does she hate herself that much?

Well, it's probably because... In the end, it was kind of fun. Liberating, even, they didn't start off the right foot and Kat doesn't blame her if she just thinks of her as a weird ghost lady that harassed her once. It was human interaction that she really needed.

Oh, right, "Hey, just so you know, I did have a shitty diet but it had nothing to do with my height. At least I hope you put yours to good use, some of us would love to have been a few more-" and she just, suddenly disappears- An already somewhat fading presence that is her current state vanishes against her will to make way for another to spawn god knows where.

At least she'll remember her.