The recordings are being sold near the public entrance to my Kamigawan cult, as well as a few stores and stands where we could get them on shelves. The cost is low. The security is nonexistent. I want this to be seen. Have you bought your copy?
The fighting pits have been cleared, each fight allowed to end and no new fights permitted to begin. Blood still paints the floors and walls, but all solid remains have been removed from the arena. Everyone in the crowd now is crushed against the fences wrapping the largest fighting pit, the one directly below Biilziebub’s personal booth. There is no clear fan favorite, but everyone wants to see this fight.
Satoru was ready going in. He had opted for no weapons, as bladed weapons were not an option, and he kept his magic pushed back. Hand-to-hand for as long as he could would be his preferred approach, especially knowing some of Gesserith's existing training.
Gesserith had delicately prepared, knowing Satoru was strong but able to slink into spaces as needed. He had stretched, massaged, meditated, and was ready, donning a tight shirt and workout pants rather than his normal Brokers attire or custom Reckoner coat.
Satoru takes a deep breath. He has some experience in the club, and was somewhat used to the effects of the incense flooding the ring. It seems he’s relying on that experience to work in his favor. He steps into the ring to the cheering of the crowd, who always love a face they know from winning previous fights.
Gesserith takes a deep breath. The incense is clearly taking hold, building his confidence far beyond what little he deserves. He can see every twitch (or lack thereof) in Satoru's face. He steps into the ring, performing some final stretches while glancing around at a crowd that doesn’t know him, but appreciates the show anyways.
Between their views of the two contestants, the crowd is very excited, shouting and cheering and jeering and… maybe throwing a drink or two. They want a fight. They want blood.
Satoru starts with his hands in the pockets of his armor, his guard apparently down. He wants to see Gesserith move first, and he is more than willing to wait as long as it takes.
Gesserith may be fueled by rage, but that doesn’t mean he’s piloted by it. He approaches slowly, observing all possible angles before, without warning, striking fast from a lower-right angle, aiming to get in some quick pot shots before Satoru can respond. Even through the barrage, Satoru either catches Gesserith's blows or deflects them with ease, making sure to maintain enough distance to protect from a follow-up or counterstrike.
After the failed attack, Gesserith steps back with a grunt, planning. In a blink, he dashes forward, moving in with a flurry of blows from different angles, moving around Satoru to keep him off guard. Once again though, Satoru dodges easily, backing up the whole time. Once he finds an opening, he strikes Gesserith hard in the stomach. And considering the metal prosthetic making up the striking fist, it hurts.
"Bastard," is all Gesserith can force out in a whisper as he retreats and Satoru just smirks, finally raising his guard fully, watching Gesserith's moves to determine what he would do next.
Bolstered by the effects of the incense, Gesserith approaches. Once within melee range, though, he does... nothing. Just holding there, not moving a muscle. As if to match, Satoru waits, knowing that Gesserith is preparing for something. Allowing Gesserith to get real up close and personal. Close enough to feel each other's breaths. Then, in an instant, he yanks Satoru's arm hard enough to rip a grunt of pain out of Satoru and the arm out of its socket, breath and prosthetic leaving him at the same time. Satoru recovers with quickness characteristic of his position as a Reckoner boss, slamming his other fist into Gesserith's nose until everyone can hear something break. Barely recoiling even as the blood pours from his shattered nose, Gesserith brings the torn prosthetic back around into Satoru's knee, dragging a pained curse from his lips even as he brings the injured leg up to strike Gesserith in the ribs.
A crack echoes through the arena. Gesserith steps back. And he jumps on top of Satoru, bringing down his elbow repeatedly into whatever spot he can find, leaving Satoru to guard himself with his working prosthetic until he finds a spot, grabbing Gesserith by the throat to get leverage, rolling Gesserith off of himself, and getting away to get back to his feet. He can feel a few bruises forming already, but at this point, he doesn't care.
Gesserith wobbles back up, soaked in blood. "Just... give... up..."
"Not happening," Satoru retorts, his breath short and sharp. He moves in, aiming to strike Gesserith directly in the throat with his remaining fist. In an attempt at defense, Gesserith throws the prosthetic he still holds, aiming right for the head, just as he had done with a lead pipe to a certain friend-killing devil shortly prior.
Satoru catches his own hand with ease and tosses it aside, barely looking. Then he moves forward to continue his strike, putting Gesserith back on the defense. And Gesserith makes a mistake. Acting on pure instinct, Gesserith conjures up a shield, blocking the throat strike. Recognizing his monumental fuck-up just a moment too late, the shield dissipates and he steps back. Having processed the stupidity a moment earlier, Satoru steps back as well. They’re both looking up now, at the veiled private booth of the master of the cult.
"Safe to say that magic's now on the table?" Satoru asked, surprisingly calm.
"NO! It was a mistake! Don't. Keep this hand-to-hand."
Prince Biilziebub leans gently out of his private booth, back slightly arched, elbow resting on the railing, hand dismissively, limp-wristedly holding the mouthpiece of his hookah. He consider the options for a moment, gently exhaling a stream of purple smoke to drift down and tangle between the fighters.
The crowd, now, is standing. By overwhelming majority, they are cheering for Satoru.
“… all the magic you want,” comes the response of the Prince, alongside a slightly dismissive gesture as he slides back behind the curtain. “Enjoy!”
The expression on Gesserith's face is raw, simple, and universal. It can only be read as: “FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.”
The crowd erupts with cheering.
Gesserith puts up a large shield, a common Brokers defense. Well, he tries.
Satoru, more menacing than ever, watches the spell and strikes it at the weakest point of its casting with a devastatingly simple arcane denial, letting the mana vanish into pixels, soundly dispersed.
Gesserith, deservedly, starts panicking. Looking around wildly, trying to figure out any sort of opening. His tattoos glowing, he casts a darkness, centered on himself.
Satoru chuckles, crouching down. Flames licking around his remaining hand, before they catch in the ring. His heart pounds in his chest as the flames burn, but he knows that this is his magic. The flames chew at the conjured darkness as Satoru stands up and begins walking calmly towards Gesserith again.
"SHIT!" Gesserith jumps out, getting away from the ring of fire now closing in. Desperate, he does the only thing he can think to do: He runs towards Satoru, and simply vanishes.
There is a moment in which the ring is quiet. A moment where a bit less than a third of the heads in the audience are remembering a barely used rule of the ring. Planeswalking is an automatic forfeiture.
Despite the general concern and disappointment, Satoru has seen this trick before. Just as Gesserith pops up out of his shadow, Satoru whips around and catches him in the cheek with his remaining fist.
An incisor comes clear out of his mouth. Blood pours from his lightly mangled face.
Following through the motion, Satoru neatly kicks Gesserith's legs out from under him.
Exhausted, Gesserith collapses to the ground, coughing up blood and curling up defensively. Conjuring a weak, gossamer shield around himself.
Satoru crouches down next to Gesserith. He whispers, barely loud enough to be heard. "Reckoners are stronger together, Gesserith. Remember that." He straightens up, grimacing as he does so, then gestures to the referee. The fight is over, and both of the fighters needed medical attention. Gesserith’s shield dissolves. The crowd roars, cheering wildly. The Prince grins as he slides back out of the curtain, gazing down at the pair, watching Gesserith bleed and listening to the cacophony of their audience. Eventually, he offers a somewhat dismissive gesture. Gesserith shall live.
One of the medics on hand guides Satoru out of the pit while four others tend to the retching, bleeding Gesserith, moving him backstage to make room for the other fights. Though, really, no one will be able to follow up.
In the final shot before the screen goes black, Satoru is slumped down in a chair elsewhere in the building, trying not to pass out. He says, simply: "Fucking hell, they weren't kidding. Lawyers can throw punches better than they can throw cases."
