Sis knows her reps. Twelth try against Emperor this month. Sis uncoiled a kunai-shaped tongue as she planted two gold-plated palms down against the floor. Embers spattered along the arena’s floor as Sis sweeped against his braced leg plating. Weight the body back and get yourself up junkyard waste! Taste those sparks off his forged body, this your battle bloods. That wolven struggler’s got the read. Emperor brandishes a gat of precious design and bestial caliber and Sis let the returning sensations of muscle shredded prior remind her--BARK, BITCH!
The claws on her left gauntlet began shivering and belting out iridescent sunbursts at the crowd and Emperor. She drove herself against the lead king’s shoulder, his gun’s single round boring a wide hole through the arena as his wrist trailed off with bubbling artorial bloods. Her remaining eye shone ruby hell and her teeth began disintegrating down to killing fangs. Lycanfire bounded up the spine and through the limbs. Sis adjusted the weight for drawing the legs back. Kick this motherfucker’s fortified head into smears. I got you. Rush you the fuck down! NO TIME BUT… KILL! A howl graced with that final dance—FULL BLOODIED MOON—And only a blast answered. The announcer’s ecstasy throbbed metal grating on Sis’ back. Detonating grandiosity dance the air with bone shrapnels. Gutted out. The Emperor looked down upon her from the godthrone defiled with her guts, wrist armor pockmarked in closing vents bleeding sulfur. Reactive concussive armor. Gunsmoke laid a doom shroud upon Sis’ face, dumbfucked and blanked furious. Black leather boot bouncing detached and splurting red in the corner. His flourish reached out in a splattering echoes.
MARTIAL SHUTDOWN ENGINE, HE HAD BELLOWED… COUNTER!
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{SIS DESCENDS INTO THE LAST CITY OF HER STRUGGLE, 70 BILLION FURTHER INTO THE DESERT’S WOUND, WHERE ONLY THE FLAK-TAILED COYOTE STILL RESIDES. A DIFFERENT NOBLE ONCE RULED HERE, FAR FLUNG FROM EITHER OF THE DEMON BEETLES. AND NOW, ‘THE CASTLE’ HAS BEGUN TO DIG INTO SIS, AND SHE’S BURSTING WITH ONLY ONE QUESTION FOR THE DARKLY HEARTED CANID: KARE, WHAT LIES AT THE END OF THIS LIFE, FUELED BY OUR SHARED SPITE?}
It’s all pouring out of your severed leg splitting underneath the fractured screen. Sis get to see yourself like you’ve always been, a pathetic welp turn to grease below the beetle’s boot. Sis’ cigarette speak bitter over the routine of watching yourself die like a fucking idiot again. Curse flows freely through you. This be your garden of madness, Wolfire Sis, you fucking demon. Betraying the Pack, and then rejecting the Cuckoo Wolf in favor of a private and somber killing power.
Her heel plates slapped whips of dust through the empty garage, throwing her nauseating and humiliating deaths behind the kicks. This is the only way out, these reps. Don’t they get it? Cowardly settling for her head getting crushed weekly is how it has to be. All that matters is striking this wall with all the force her body is capable of and next day getting stomped into the ground again. Round again. If she doesn’t, she will quake through the Pack by simple hatred, and the Cuckoo Wolf will forget his peace in favor of her vengeance. Her, simmering beauty of cobalt wolf-flame, has to prepare for indefinite combats to spare the rest.
I can spew evil from these strikes, you understand? You think this is fear? It’s saving you. I’m saving you, Cuckoo Wolf, she whispered as she crouched and turned herself back from the wall, all mercury in the air begin frustrating and heat building, her crimsoned heart ready for bursts, throw herself back Sis, let it all out,and she does. Killer’s breath pool past her arms, sparkling azures begin powering the air around her fangs, ghost reflection cast deep across the garage floor. Tossed herself cannon-like rifled, muscled cartridge behind 70,000K demonpower of maximum violence. Strike, strike, strike, and overpressure force the crows resting outside the wall down to residualisations of hot meat and souped bone.
Another fucking hole in the wall, Sis. You can’t do this everyday. Ash meld dust begin to settle onto her, painfully singing under her bare breasts. Sis need to kill him next time. Sis return to the footage, of her dying like a fuckin idiot. Let’s those bloods speak, HaHa!
Keep the monitor clear on her glare. Read past the crystalline tobacco trails, Sis wipe caked dust off the monitor’s corners, Sis gotta see the moment she connected perfect. Scanning lines thrum down and back across the display, cutting past her leg as it compounded into lost red ribbons. It was obvious what she did. Sis in a life of stupid mistakes, obvious blunders, walking into the fucking wall every day. The only answer was, as always before and after, to kill and kill harder, faced directly at the opponent in front of her. Sis’ pack betrayed her and left a wound that valleyed the southwestern deserts with uranium and mistglass, and the Cuckoo Wolf leashed her desires towards undignified assassination. All to be submerged in the tar soon. The only combatants left be challengers. The exclusion zone is going up, minefields are getting placed. Sis will to Princess and soon deserved Empress, esteemed by fierced determination. Sis slowly realize that all her life had been coasting along as if in a dream, and suddenly, confronted with the reality of herself, Sis come alive.
That lone eye of Sis, it speaks big. Titan rage set far in her iris’ brimstone angles. So the wolfire of Sis glitter brightly. The Cuckoo removed it for trophy. Sis, the explosion that can’t and won’t be met. Despite their best efforts, and despite her worthless and righteous fury, the Pack and Cuckoo lie beyond the Dull Sword’s boundary line. They can’t touch her and so Sis’ thread of prophecy is severed. No restoring this weave of fate, her only option to persist in the doomed world of her own creation. Your heart is a rotted beauty, full of dishonor and hate, so make them see that, yes, Sis as undead, and she rules from her immortal will.
She began working out the timing of Emperor’s counter. Before her fatality, she had mangled his left hand rended down to the bone. She can beat his quickdraw, easy. The gat always slumbers out. 1.7 seconds after, she’s placing her weight back, arms to the floor and right leg ready to swing back towards his head. 0.9 seconds and her leg is gone to the munitions smoke. He had his wrist up and the Martial Shutdown active. Sis spit at her feet, she is not fast enough. Your kicks not worth shit, Sis. You need a messier approach. Stop sparring with him and start killing him. Sis hurriedly set up a ballistic gel mannequin and began to test a new movement. Instead of pivoting for a kick against his head after the down sweep, Sis feels out for recentering her balance at the top of the motion. With both paws up and free, she follows herself through, mapping out a grapple. That’s it. You gotta command the space. Command his whole body, don’t be afraid to assert your power through his weight. Sis get ready for some puppy girl mischief.
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His coliseum, located here in blistering Next-Nevada, encircles the locals’ worshipped crater, displayed under resistant glass panels. Checkered with steel grates to allow venting of the meteorite’s fumes. Raised from the remains of that thorned outland messenger, the vapors service the combatants, heightening their miseries and their ecstasies. Their bloods rinse the crater, cover it with brief splashes of crimsoned memory. 80,000 have come to witness Wolfire Sis’ bowels get filtered through the grating again. They’ve come to understand, week after week, Sis comes here to die without limit. Emperor waits here to dominate her.
ENTER WOLFIRE SIS, THE UNFALTERING ONE-EYED LYCANTHROPE AND OUR TOWERED CRUELTY HERO, EMPEROR BEETLE… LET’S KILL!
Sis walks forth and so the crowd roars a venomed chorus, she responds with a swipe and taunting flash of her reflective paw gauntlets. Sis now got her means, she’s done her reps, she’s sick of her old tricks. Bright fangs peek past her smirking lips. Sis exist in force, fuck ‘em. She is marking her circle in these sands. Sis see the Cuckoo Wolf’s eyes flit just beneath the fumes’ surface. Memory makes a poor sentry against the warrior. Sis drain it out through the indefinite combat, till there’s no eyes left to remember. Her and Emperor trade round-starts.
The motions are rote for the both of them. It’s always meant to go the same way. She sweeps thunderclaps against his leg armors. That goddamn gat lurches up again, snarling with the hiss of a fresh cartridge in its breach. Sis knows the movement well. For months she wallowed in these old wounds. BARK BITCH! The beetle had a preying look, steeped in monstrous focus, as his wrist once more spat red in loose patterns across the glass. He’s got the read, of course, this be his arena. Sis never escape martial shutdowns, her heart weak and too sick with past loyalties.
Fool that Emperor is, Sis intent on letting the lesson stick this time. This be her garden of madness, didn’t you hear? Her iris pop with ruby beams, blinding the audience. Flaunt her daggered tongue, the blades in her gums begin filling the mouth. Sis embrace being demon, lonely and deadly, banished to an honorable hell. And return the lycanfire, fattening her muscles with explosive assassinating power. Sis refuses to meet his martial shutdown engine. FULL-BLOODIED MOON. Catch her weight, direct those gilded paws past his reactive armor and gently clasps them around his cheeks. The champion always let his horns free in bouts against her. His own eyes inhaled the light, obsidian cored by a viper’s glint. He wouldn’t meet hers, only stared through her covered eyesocket. Maybe in another life, she would have found his passion as she consumed his bones. His isn’t the one that lay sin upon Sis’ heart, that was the immensity of the Pack and the betrayal of Cuckoo. All beneath the western tars. He look at her like a doe, all that predating gone from his glare.
His only be as her reward now, to exercise her developed abilities upon. Be my practice, Emperor. I’ll be your undead princess bitch. And so Wolfire Sis follow up the only way she can with the face of a humiliated king: BITE THE FUCK BACK. The dog meets the fighting beetle again, and through necessity of honor and life once more, she makes him into dog food.