Post by knightmask on May 27, 2017 5:54:02 GMT
KnightMask jerked his head aside at the last instant and the shuriken flew past him harmlessly, but then he saw the dark-clad ninja drawing his katana. With the unsheathing of that blade, there went his chances of survival and with it, any hope for Nightshade and Big Dusty. He couldn’t let them down! With speed born of desperation, KnightMask flung himself at the assassin, crashing into him with all the force his 185-pound frame could muster into a single impact. The katana flew from the thief’s hands as they began to grapple on the concrete surface of the rooftop.
Scarcely had they landed than KnightMask had unleashed his arsenal of submission holds upon the man. Moving from leg-lock, to arm-lock to choke-hold and back with the acrobatic grace of a monkey navigating the branches of a tree, KnightMask sought to ensnare his adversary. Yet it seemed as if he were grasping at smoke: each time he felt certain he’d secured control of a limb, he found his hopes dashed and his opponent slipped free. But though he could not finish his holds, he relentlessly transitioned from one to another with speed enough that his opponent could afford to little else but defend. He knew with grim certainty that he couldn’t allow the ninja to regain his feet and reach his sword. But with each attempted submission, a little more of his strength and endurance was spent. His movement became ever more labored, his encyclopedic arsenal of moves nearly exhausted.
Finally, in a gamble, he feinted a strike to his opponent’s face. As the ninja brought up his hands to defend, KnightMask spun 180 degrees. In a single motion, he clamped his legs around the ninja’s thigh and knee, while with his hands he went to work on a toe-hold. The fiery pains of fatigue seared his muscles, his breath ran short. Still, his legs clung tightly as he feverishly sought to wrench the man’s ankle and bring him into submission.
He’d been so caught up in his training, so determined to win the upcoming tournament, that he hadn’t paid Big Dusty Haystacks or Nightshade a single visit. Sure, he’d meant to, but there was always more to work on. Always a move to perfect a little more, always more pull-ups, always more that he could push himself. If only he’d been there!
Rogar’s bite did more than physically wound Nightshade and Big Dusty, the doctor had told KnightMask. "Rogar's bite injects what appears to be the rarest of viruses into the victim's body...first, they waste away physically...then...they do not die...oh, but much better for them if they did!"
At the doctor's words, guilt and regret had stabbed at KnightMask in a swift succession of blows.
“We didn’t have a choice, we had to give to him,” the elderly physician stammered, tears in her eyes. “He had a sword…and he threatened to kill everyone in the ward if we didn’t give him the Montessi serum….!”
These memories flashed through KnightMask’s mind as beneath his mask, sweat gathered in beads on his forehead. After chasing him across the city rooftops, he'd found the thief...but now, he had to stop him or else forever live with the knowledge that his own selfishness had condemned two of his friends to a fate worse than death. Focusing all of his swiftly ebbing strength, he torqued the hostage foot in a convulsive wrench. The ninja's howl of pain was nearly drowned by the sickening sound of an ankle being ripped asunder. Locating the serum in a thin vial tucked behind the ninja's belt, KnightMask closed his fist around it.
A scan of the city horizon revealed streets clogged by some sort of protest. No matter. He didn't need to go by car. Invigorated by his triumph, KnightMask made his way back to the hospital, leaping from one rooftop to the next. The cool night air soothed his aching muscles. His short time in the Warrior Wrestling League had been fraught with one problem after another...but tonight, tonight he could claim a victory at last. Big Dusty and Nightshade were going to be alright.
On the roof of the hospital, he took a breath. He looked out at the city's skyline. And there they were, gathered like villagers looking to burn down Dr. Frankenstein's castle at the entrance of the hospital...all they were lacking were the pitchforks and torches. 'Death to Big Dusty Haystacks','Kill Him for the Kids' were some of the more civil signs they carried. With one voice, they chanted, "Die Big Dusty, Die! Die Big Dusty, Die!"
So...in spite of all the evil he'd done, everyone he'd hurt...people had believed Madman's cowardly lies about Big Dusty Haystacks, KnightMask seethed inwardly. It wasn't enough that his partner, Rogar, had nearly killed Big Dusty and worse...no...he had to destroy the man's reputation, even as he was fighting for his life in a hospital bed. And all under the cover of the sanctimonious hero. It was inexplicable, almost impossible that people would believe a slavering, murdering lunatic like Madman.
That he shared the tag-team titles with him filled him with fury.
Madman. Rogar.
They had to pay.
Scarcely had they landed than KnightMask had unleashed his arsenal of submission holds upon the man. Moving from leg-lock, to arm-lock to choke-hold and back with the acrobatic grace of a monkey navigating the branches of a tree, KnightMask sought to ensnare his adversary. Yet it seemed as if he were grasping at smoke: each time he felt certain he’d secured control of a limb, he found his hopes dashed and his opponent slipped free. But though he could not finish his holds, he relentlessly transitioned from one to another with speed enough that his opponent could afford to little else but defend. He knew with grim certainty that he couldn’t allow the ninja to regain his feet and reach his sword. But with each attempted submission, a little more of his strength and endurance was spent. His movement became ever more labored, his encyclopedic arsenal of moves nearly exhausted.
Finally, in a gamble, he feinted a strike to his opponent’s face. As the ninja brought up his hands to defend, KnightMask spun 180 degrees. In a single motion, he clamped his legs around the ninja’s thigh and knee, while with his hands he went to work on a toe-hold. The fiery pains of fatigue seared his muscles, his breath ran short. Still, his legs clung tightly as he feverishly sought to wrench the man’s ankle and bring him into submission.
He’d been so caught up in his training, so determined to win the upcoming tournament, that he hadn’t paid Big Dusty Haystacks or Nightshade a single visit. Sure, he’d meant to, but there was always more to work on. Always a move to perfect a little more, always more pull-ups, always more that he could push himself. If only he’d been there!
Rogar’s bite did more than physically wound Nightshade and Big Dusty, the doctor had told KnightMask. "Rogar's bite injects what appears to be the rarest of viruses into the victim's body...first, they waste away physically...then...they do not die...oh, but much better for them if they did!"
At the doctor's words, guilt and regret had stabbed at KnightMask in a swift succession of blows.
“We didn’t have a choice, we had to give to him,” the elderly physician stammered, tears in her eyes. “He had a sword…and he threatened to kill everyone in the ward if we didn’t give him the Montessi serum….!”
These memories flashed through KnightMask’s mind as beneath his mask, sweat gathered in beads on his forehead. After chasing him across the city rooftops, he'd found the thief...but now, he had to stop him or else forever live with the knowledge that his own selfishness had condemned two of his friends to a fate worse than death. Focusing all of his swiftly ebbing strength, he torqued the hostage foot in a convulsive wrench. The ninja's howl of pain was nearly drowned by the sickening sound of an ankle being ripped asunder. Locating the serum in a thin vial tucked behind the ninja's belt, KnightMask closed his fist around it.
A scan of the city horizon revealed streets clogged by some sort of protest. No matter. He didn't need to go by car. Invigorated by his triumph, KnightMask made his way back to the hospital, leaping from one rooftop to the next. The cool night air soothed his aching muscles. His short time in the Warrior Wrestling League had been fraught with one problem after another...but tonight, tonight he could claim a victory at last. Big Dusty and Nightshade were going to be alright.
On the roof of the hospital, he took a breath. He looked out at the city's skyline. And there they were, gathered like villagers looking to burn down Dr. Frankenstein's castle at the entrance of the hospital...all they were lacking were the pitchforks and torches. 'Death to Big Dusty Haystacks','Kill Him for the Kids' were some of the more civil signs they carried. With one voice, they chanted, "Die Big Dusty, Die! Die Big Dusty, Die!"
So...in spite of all the evil he'd done, everyone he'd hurt...people had believed Madman's cowardly lies about Big Dusty Haystacks, KnightMask seethed inwardly. It wasn't enough that his partner, Rogar, had nearly killed Big Dusty and worse...no...he had to destroy the man's reputation, even as he was fighting for his life in a hospital bed. And all under the cover of the sanctimonious hero. It was inexplicable, almost impossible that people would believe a slavering, murdering lunatic like Madman.
That he shared the tag-team titles with him filled him with fury.
Madman. Rogar.
They had to pay.