Aloha Mother****ers! Der Arzt vs. PremiumRook, KOV VIII

@der_arzt:

A moment ago, Rook was standing in an amusement park with his eyes tightly shut. Ears ringing from the deafening explosion, waiting for his opponent to make a move so that he could strike like the snake coiled around his shoulders.

Now, he was standing before his sponsor again, as the younger Ziev announced the location of his next battle.

"Next battle?" the assassin looked around, finding that he was once again in the recovery room, though this time he could not recall the battle that led him here. In fact, his last battle had barely started, let alone finished. "What happened to my last opponent?"

"You beat him of course! As I knew you would!" Philip winked, his patronising grin almost too much. It was like he was a parent trying to convince his children that he believed in them. Of course, that was only his reaction to the winners, Rook had a feeling he wasn't quite as kind to the losers. "And what a glorious battle it was... I think... Or was a tie? Hm. Actually, now that you mention it, I haven't the slightest idea how your last battle went. Probably a fluctuation in the timestream or some sort of quantum information delay, nothing to worry your tiny mortal mind about. Now go win me a tournament!"

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Once again, the assassin found himself in an unfamiliar location. It wasn't that beaches didn't exist in his time, more that they were not used for recreation. The ocean was a dangerous place, full of dangerous creatures, not to mention uncontrollable forces like whirlpools and tsunamis. Early in their reign, the United Coalition of Humankind decided that the sea had to be subjugated and set about converting all beaches on the planet into barriers designed to hold back the figurative wrath of Poseidon.

Simulated beaches were, of course, rather popular. However, it was not the traditional hunting ground for a runtkiller, nor did Rook spend any time there as a member of the rebellion. As he walked along the beach, he smiled as he saw turtles drifting through the water, glad to see the animals in their natural environment, as opposed to where he was used to seeing them (that is, either in a zoo or on a plate). He watched in awe as a gigantic flipper skated just below the surface, feeling the almost unnoticeable swaying of the island as it moved in tandem with the mighty beast upon whom it sat.

Eventually, having almost forgotten that he was here to fight, the cybernetic solider came across a patch of glass, rather striking in opposition to the surrounding sand. Just as striking was the sudden appearance of projectile fruit. The first couple of pieces splattered against the back of Rook's head, but as he spun around to face the source of the attack he withdrew his shashka and used it to slice through the remaining fruit with remarkable accuracy. With the remains of the initial assault sliding down his stone-face, the fruit ninja sheathed his sword and glared at the boy in the tree, who was apparently blowing raspberries in his direction.

Taking two slow, menacing steps towards his foe, Rook watched as the little gremlin leapt from his perch, and the suspended tree was suddenly catapulted towards him. The tree crashing down from above forced the killer to react, as his metallic arms shot upwards to protect his skull. Seizing the trunk in an attempt to slow its descent, the assassin quickly found that sand did not provide particularly solid footing, as his feet sped away from him. His body fell backwards with the tree's trajectory as he was now almost parallel with the trunk, and he was driven directly into the patch of glass.

With the bark crunching into his nose and the back of his head smashing into the glass, shards of both broke loose and embedded themselves into the assassin's head. Chunks of wood and glass now decorating his face, Rook wrenched his legs out of the sand with a roar as he jumped back to his feet and seized the KalashDrakov from his back. Named for both the creator of the famed AK-47 and his adopted father Andrik Drakov, the weapon was a futuristic assault rifle. It could fire a continuous stream of bullets, all of which were heated to searing temperatures before being fired, resulting in what was essentially a laser. Though the added bonus over such a weapon was that while a high powered laser would merely separate limb from torso, anyone caught in the crossfire of the KalashDrakov would find that the ammunition instead settles into one's flesh and provides continuous pain until finally burning through.

Using this mighty weapon, Rook opened fire as he imagined how foolish his enemy would feel about having taken shelter behind some leaves. First targeting the area in which his opponent had fled to, the killer shredded through the leafy canopy, before turning his attention to the tree itself as he moved the line of sight across the trunk, tearing through it with ease. He did the same to the surrounding trees, ensuring that the boy would no longer be able to hide in the treetops. Hiding from a man like Rook was no easy task, as he had been trained for years to find those who did not wish to be found. Once the cover had been demolished he would focus his fire on his enemy, attempting to plug him with as many bullets as possible.

His first opponents had made the mistake of engaging the cut-throat crow in close quarters, though in truth, he was deadly at any distance.

Murder was his greatest talent, and while he took no please in it anymore, he would not hesitate to kill the boy. Rook would do anything to finally achieve his goal, and he refused to allow this punk to stand in his way.

@der_arzt:

His opponent sped off into the ocean on what appeared to be a rocket powered skateboard, but not without picking up a few bullets along the way. Groaning inwardly as he realised that the people of this time period still used such primitive technology, Rook folded up the Kalash. He had no desire to commit turtle genocide and his stray bullets could easily hit them, not to mention the risk of hitting the one holding up the island in the first place. A more precise weapon would be needed.

Klaus glided over the waves with a seamless combination of style and skill. As the assassin removed a Gavett from his holster, the punk seized his bass. With a few deep, reverberating strums of his guitar, the boy had whipped up the ocean into a frenzy, finally summoning the sort of tsunami that the Coalition had feared. The water wasn't much of a concern, a soldier who rusted easily wouldn't be much use to anyone, but the force and speed of the wave was alarming, and there was nowhere to run on such a small island. Climbing a tree would have been an option if not for the fact that all the nearby ones had been decimated.

Targeting his gaze on the surfer, Rook decided that his best bet was to grab the boy and pull him down into the wave too. However, right before the wave hit, Klaus spun his impromptu surfboard and attempted to smash it into the killer's face. Raising his left hand, as his right was clutching the handgun, the Premium Professional used his palm to lessen the force of the attack. Though the back of his metallic hand still crashed into his already scarred face, driving the glass shards further into his flesh, he had at least softened the blow.

Of course, as the rocket engine began to fire up, the cybernetic soldier found himself in an unfortunate situation. Flames blasted out of the aperture and consumed his hand and face. With his hand taking the brunt of the heat, he began to feel it radiating through his entire skeletal structure. His fingers began to soften as they melted, the remainder of the fire continuing through and scorching his face and hair. In fact, as his hair caught fire, Rook welcomed the relief of the wave. Water crashed over the assassin, extinguishing the flame, though also pulling him down in the depths, as he was dragged back into the sea with it.

Now entirely submerged as he was thrown about deep below the surface, Rook attempted to get his bearing and assess the damage. Running his hand against his face, he clearly had some serious burns all around the edges, though his hand had at least protected the eyes. Although, turning his attention to the hand itself, the assassin realised that it was essentially paralysed. With his fingers having been heated and then immediately cooled, they were now fused together in a claw-like shape and useless as anything other than a blunt object. Looking up, he noted that he could see his foe quite clearly through the water, though given how tumultuous the waves were up there it was unlikely Klaus could see him. Floating around for a moment as he contemplated his next course of action, the crow found himself suddenly surging towards the surface.

Breaking out of the water a few feet away from his enemy, he looked down to find that his feet were sat atop two angry sea turtles. It seemed that the punk's powerful music had disturbed the creatures, and they were out for revenge. Apparently they thought Rook would make a fine battering ram. Together they rocketed towards Klaus, dancing on the very waves he had conjured up, while the Premium fired at the boy with his Gavett. This weapon just used base metal, but they were bullets nonetheless and primarily intended to knock the kid off balance. Carried by his improvised steeds, Rook extended an arm blade, turning his formerly useless left arm into a jousting pole. Charging relentless towards his target, the assassin attempted to use his sword to sweep out Klaus' legs and plunge him into the waters, leaving him at the mercy of the turtles he had so angered... Or simply hack off the boy's legs, whichever came first.

@der_arzt:

There was one thing that Klaus seemed to be undeniably better at than his foe.

Talking.

Unfortunately cutting out the boy's tongue was an unrealistic goal whilst still on water, so instead Rook showed his opponent mercy by removing an ear. At least that way the punk was partially spared the irritation of the sound of his own voice.

Standing triumphantly atop his floating allies, he watched as the rest of the turtles closed in on the kid as he struggled to stay afloat. It was a fairly pathetic sight that drew sympathy from the reformed runtkiller, though he did wonder why this child had taken their battle out to sea given his poor swimming ability. Klaus descended through the waves as his reptilian enemies followed, seeking his blood. Rook averted his gaze, resisting the temptation to help his opponent and reminding himself that victory was absolutely necessary, no matter the cost.

Moments later, his keen eyes and ears picked up the sight and sound of a piece of heavy breathing kelp not far away. Apparently Der Arzt had survived the onslaught of the aquatic army and he was seeking blood. The Premium prepared to fire at the seaweed, only holding his fire as Klaus' head disappeared beneath the surf, leaving a growing circle of darkness in his wake. A foul stench permeated the area as the mysterious black liquid appeared out of nowhere, accompanied by buoyant bags of garbage, bouncing on the waves. Such supernatural phenomena was a surprise, as up until this point the punk had demonstrated no such abilities.

What Klaus had demonstrated was skill with his skateboard, something he gladly showed off once more as he blasted back towards the shore, igniting the layer of oil atop the water. As the flames raced towards him, the assassin looked down at the turtles currently keeping him afloat and realised they would be instantly fried if he didn't do something. Using their shells as a springboard he bounced into the air, pushing both of them down into the safety of the water below. However, doing so left him at the mercy of the rising flames, which licked at him as he fell through the air. While he was only in the fire for a short amount of time, at nowhere near the strength or intensity to affect his metallic bones, the heat was enough to cause some pretty serious damage to the exposed flesh of his face.

One of the larger shards of glass jammed into his cheek exploded, shredding the surrounding skin and muscle. Rook held in the shout of pain he wanted so badly to unleash, knowing that he would need to save his breath for what came next. Finally passing through the wall of fire and into the ocean below, he felt instant relief on his face as the burns were momentarily cooled. Water filled his mouth as it burst in through the hole in his cheek, but the killer refused to swallow or choke, concentrating on conserving his supply of air. Holding his breath as he kicked off in the direction of the shore, he looked up to see that the fire was raging above for a considerable radius. It took some time for him to finally pass out of its range and, once he did, the cut-throat crow burst out of the water with a sharp intake of precious air.

Having spotted Der Arzt approaching the beach, Rook swam a little longer until he reached the shallow sand and stood, wading through the water with uncanny speed. Soon his target was almost within touching distance, but the punk was up to his usual tricks and the assassin found himself facing down the rocket skateboard once again. By the time he had noticed the approaching projectile, not to mention the dagger attached to it, avoiding the attack was out of the question. Using his enhanced sense of chronoception the Wanderer watched as the blade approached in slow motion, considering his options. It was less than an inch away from his torso, about to ram directly into an area just below the sternum. The resulting wound would certainly be serious, but it was survivable.

Gradually the knife drove into the skin, at first simply pushing the elasticity to the limit, with Rook's shirt ballooning inwards. Finally it passed the threshold, tearing clothing and skin alike at the seams. Being stabbed was a painful experience, but being stabbed in slow motion was even worse. It was necessary, however, for the plan he had decided upon required his reflexes to be heightened to their absolute maximum. Driving one foot into the wet sand below as the blade tore slowly through his flesh and punctured the stomach, the killer finally released a yell of pain. Slowly bubbling up in his throat as the burns on his face prickled and itched agonisingly; the hole in his cheek throbbed with pain; and his abdomen was ruptured, the scream crawled out of his lips.

At last, when the switchblade had reached the right depth, the Cybernetic Soldier sprung into action. Using his planted left foot he rotated on the spot, stopping just short of a full 180 degrees. The skateboard was dragged around and, when Rook stopped spinning, it continued with that momentum. The knife slipped out of the wound it had created as Skidmund Jähn spiralled out into the sea. Continuing on its horizon-bound trajectory the board sped off into the fiery oil spill, far away from the battle. Then, before blood could begin flooding out of his gut, the assassin used his ability to control his own bodily functions to reduce blood flow to that area, causing much of his lower body to feel rather numb and unresponsive.

For Rook, this had all taken place over a long period of agony, while for Klaus it would have been almost instant. Turning his attention back to the kid, the former Resurgent used his good hand to unsheath his sword and, in a display of blinding speed, threw it towards his enemy's own abdomen with blinding speed. While his blade was not powered by a rocket, it did have the bonus of being thrown by an army that had the force of one. Leaping out of the water and bounding off in pursuit of his blade with blistering pace, the assassin eventually reached Klaus' location, finally able to engage his foe in close quarters. In case the shashka had not finished the job, the killer raised his left arm blade (still extended in the place of his useless hand) and attempted to swipe down across the boy's body, cleaving him from left shoulder to right hip.

This, however, was more of a distraction, an obvious and heavy attack that could be blocked or dodged. While distracting Klaus with his raised arm, Rook activated his right hidden blade and attempted to drive the electromagnetic dagger directly into the kid's heart. The weapon would leave no entry wound, as it was not physical, instead being composed of pure electrical energy. Once it penetrated the flesh it was designed to release a biological EMP and shut down whatever organs were in the vicinity. Direct blows to the heart would mean immediate cardiac arrest, whereas the brain would lead to instant death. Anywhere else could result in, at best, partial paralysis or organ failure.

Regardless of whether the attempted stab succeeded, Rook would halt his initial strike partway through the shoulder, given that his own right hand would now be standing in its path to the waist. After the punishment he had received, he was done playing games. With a shredded face full of shrapnel and covered in blistering burns, not to mention his grievous stomach wound, the assassin has decided that an ear was not nearly enough compensation. This time he would take everything.

@der_arzt:

With turtles swarming over him and his opponent limping away, Rook was left with few options. While the creatures were certainly not the most threatening of opponents, particularly on land, their sheer numbers were a problem. Dragging themselves over the assassin with their flippers and clamping onto his flesh with their tiny jaws, there was much that the expert killer could to stop them, but little that he was willing to do. These animals were innocent of any wrong-doing, their weak minds having been warped by the apparently silver tongue of their new master (despite his inability to correctly categorise them as reptiles). Der Arzt didn't seem to care about the lives of a few turtles, but his opponent certainly did.

Having lived such a monstrous life, the Premium Professional had taken several steps in order to distance himself from the runtkiller he once was. One such step was becoming a vegetarian. While many found the idea of a killer-for-hire refusing to dine on the meat of lower beings rather ludicrous, the logic in Rook's mind was entirely sound. Animals, for the most part, were innocent, doing only what they must in order to survive. Human beings go above and beyond that requirement with exceptional cruelty, doing not only what it necessary for survival, but partaking in unspeakable horrors in order to assure a comfortable life.

The turtles did not deserve death.

Klaus, on the other hand, was just as guilty as everyone else.

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"I will not do it."

Rook's eyes reopened in the past, as he once again delved into his memory archives. He was standing in a darkened room opposite his adopted father Andrik Drakov, leader of the Resurgency. Between them was a third person, a woman held in a chair by a collection of massive, whirring restraints. Her features were similar to the Premium's own, as they were both bred for the same purpose. Runtkillers, assassins raised to murder children deemed to be a risk to the rest of the population. While Rook had reformed and broken free of his original programming, he was the only one to have done so and found himself hunted by the thousands of his brethren that remained.

"She is unarmed."

"Like hell she is!" Andrik spat, throwing his arms skyward in frustration, before jabbing a finger in his son's direction. "She's one of you, nothin' but a big damned weapon. You ain't like them no more, don't wanna be a monster, I get that. But we don't deal with this one now, she could wipe out this whole damn movement in her sleep."

Looking to the woman herself, he found that her expression was fairly nonchalant given the situation. Much of her face was disguised by the elaborate helmet that helped to hold her in place, though the piercing eyes told everything. As per her training she kept her composure, but her captor knew that look. She was thinking, calculating the best way to gain the upper hand. It wouldn't take more than a few minutes for her to escape.

"I am aware of her capabilities and the necessity of her elimination. But I have spent my life wading through cold blood, and I have no desire to continue doing so."

*BANG*

Andrik stood with a smoking gun in his hand and a grim expression on his face, as blood cascaded out of the victim's forehead.

"This is war, son. Some day you're gonna have to learn to do whatever's necessary."

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Shedding a pre-emptive tear, Rook took his father's decade old advice and twirled around on the spot. Brandishing both arm blades he manoeuvred them around his body, severing the turtles from his body, and many of them from their heads. In one swift movements he had sliced clean through the majority of the animals, easily tearing through their protective shells as their blood splattered all of him, their deaths far more painful than any of the injuries he had sustained thus far. Breathing heavily through his teeth as he dispatched the remaining onslaught of reptiles, the assassin shot a death glare at his fleeing enemy, who was heading for the water once more.

He would carve one mark into the boy's skull for every death he had caused.

Springing after Klaus with slightly less speed (numbness continued to spread throughout his lower body, which was deprived of blood flow in order to prevent losing any through the stomach wound) the killer, still much faster than the average person, was knocked flat on his back by bombs that had materialised out of nowhere, adding yet more scars to his battered face. The punk was demonstrating more and more abilities as the battle proceeded, clearly not the ordinary human he had originally appeared to be. Clambering back to his feet with an uncharacteristic lack of grace, the Crow observed as his foe took to water once more, making a bee-line for the head of the great turtle itself.

"No more." Rook growled, finally breaking his silence as his clenched his fists. Whatever Klaus was planning to do, it would surely bode ill for the mighty beast upon whose back they sailed. The noble assassin could not allow any evil to befall such a majestic creature, yet he knew he could not catch the boy. There was only one option. Stretching himself upward to his fullest height, the Premium pointed his right arm-blade, currently extending out of his elbow, into the sky. Then snapping back down, he plunged his sword into the ground with earth-shattering force, driving it through the sand and cracking the shell of the great turtle with his cybernetically-enhanced strength. A mighty bellow rippled out of its mouth, audible even through the water, and Rook choked back the tears as he ignored its cries of pain, jamming his right arm down through the crack as he extended his electrical blade once again.

The hidden blade plunged into the leathery flesh and released a massive electrical pulse. Not nearly powerful enough to kill such a huge creature, the turtle was nonetheless knocked unconscious. Its limp body continued to float, though the island now started to rock to and fro rather erratically. Whatever trees remained standing were now struggling to stay rooted as the force of the rocking turtle threatened to cut them loose. Now, all that remained was the punk himself. Charging to the water's edge, Rook decided to seize his opportunity while the boy was still submerged. Channelling all electrical power into his wrists, the assassin extended his blades for the last time as he shoved them into the murky depths.

Electricity coursed from his veins, filling the surrounding water with a devastating electrical current. Rook himself was flung backwards by the feedback, as his hands made contact with the water. With electrical energy running through his entire skeleton, the assassin was momentarily paralysed as his muscles were driven into spasm. Normally he would be well insulated against such damage, but the heat of Skidmund Jähn's flames had burned off that protection almost entirely. As the power wore off the killer struggled to his feet, legs shaking in tandem with the island itself, keeping his eyes and ears open for any sign of his opponent. The hidden blades would be completely useless now, having drained most of Rook's power. Withdrawing a Gavett, he held the pistol in his trembling right hand, as his left arm-blade remained extended and at the ready. Any sign of Klaus, whether in short range or long, would provoke a response from the corresponding weapon. It was time to end this battle.

The turtles would have their vengeance.

@der_arzt:

After waiting for a considerable length of time, the Premium approached the water's edge cautiously, using his arm blade as a crutch to stabilise himself against the power of the mighty turtle-quake. If the boy had perished then the battle would have ended, but as Philip and Orpheus had yet to appear then he had clearly somehow survived. Peering down through the waves, he could see his foe vaguely through the rippling water, suddenly rocketing towards the surface. Taking a step backwards and leaning against his sword, Rook readied his pistol as something burst forth from the water. His index finger trembling against the trigger, the assassin nonetheless hesitated, not in the habit of shooting anything before identifying what exactly it was. Fortunately having such excellent reflexes meant he had ample time to assess every situation, what seemed like a hesitation to him would appear instantaneous to anyone else.

It was immediately obvious that Der Arzt was no longer attached to his oxygen tank, which was emerging from the surf alone. Yet before the killer could lower his weapon, he felt the ground rumble beneath him. With his fingers already shaking due to the blood loss and electrocution, Rook knew what was coming and turned his face away, as bullets soared unintentionally from the barrel of his weapon and burst the makeshift bomb. The tank's carcass immediately became shrapnel and exploded outwards. Most of it blasted into the sand, but one particularly lengthy metal shard ripped into the assassin's leg. Sinking through the flesh of his right quadricep, the projectile bent as it collided against metal bone and curved outwards, creating an exit wound at an unexpected angle.

Blinking through the pain, time slowed down once more as the Cut-throat Crow spotted his opponent clambering onto the beach. Seizing his chance, he threw his body forward and, no longer needing it for support, plunged his left arm blade through the boy's shoulder with ease. Klaus rolled backwards to escape and quickly crawled atop a hulking creature that appeared intent on causing harm. The punk egged on the monster, and Rook quickly realised this was a mutated turtle now intent on avenging the one it saw as responsible for the death of its kin. With incredible speed the teenager and his mutant turtle circled the trained killer (some would call him a ninja, but that would be inaccurate).

Before Rook could fire against his enemies, he found himself quickly constricted by a summoned chain. Turtle and boy span around him as the bonds grew tighter and tighter. All the Premium Professional could do was tense every muscle in his upper body and attempt to push back against the metallic anaconda, dropping his gun in the process. This was a herculean task, as his arms were currently pinned at his side with little leverage. Unable to do much, he stood there and listened to the poisonous words of the fruit-powered rebel.

"You, you’re the problem with this world. Super Terminators sent to crush the lower classes. I bet you’re the kind of **** who’s sent against revolutionaries, am I right? You murder all the dreamers, and all that’s left is those who are too dead to even imagine a better tomorrow. Why don’t you just end it now? Kill yourself. Let it all go. Don’t go after John Connor. Just end it."

He had no idea who this John Connor person was, but after that little speech the Wanderer suddenly felt a strong desire to not harm anyone by that name. As for the rest, it just cemented how wrong the boy was about him. Rook was now determined to change that. Klaus fell from his perch as the mega-turtle prepared its final assault. Tucking into a wrecking ball the creature headed straight towards the assassin, who was currently bound with no real way to escape its path of destruction.

"You want me to end it? With pleasure."

Using the only weapon really left at his disposal, the Premium extended his right arm blade. The sword shot out of his elbow, trapped beneath the chains as it skimmed the metal of his tricep. It also snagged against the chain itself, finally giving Rook the leverage he needed. Exerting his massive strength the cyborg wrenched his arms from his sides, ripping through his bonds and pointing both arms and respective blades towards the rampaging reptile. He had little strength remaining, but would require all of it. Throwing his hands forward he rammed both palms against the shell of the beast, as his swords used its own momentum against it, tearing through the shell and plunging into the delicate flesh below.

Yet the turtle still did its damage, with one of its spikes punching clean through Rook's only functioning hand. The sheer speed and force was almost too much, as the assassin was pushed backwards through the sand, his feet cleaving trenches in the ground. Finally the ball of death came to a screeching halt, and the panting assassin staggered away from the beast as it screeched, now crumpled up and slowly succumbing to its wounds. The island continued to shake as the killer made his way towards his enemy, now with two useless hands, multiple bleeding holes in his body and a face full of shrapnel. Blood dripping out of the hole in his cheek, he stared down at his opponent with only his arm blades left to fight with, though he had barely the strength left to stand, let alone use them.

"You are wrong about me." He spoke clearly, or as clearly as one with a punctured face could. "Once, I was just as you assume. I was all that is wrong with my world, but I am not that man anymore. Now, I am the revolutionary that other ****s are sent to kill." There was a reason that the punk's newly acquired suggestive powers had little effect on Rook, and that was because his words did not refer to the man he was now. All Klaus had done was reinforce the assassin's determination to kill his former self, both figuratively and literally. "You think yourself a revolutionary too, though that is not the truth. A true revolutionary fights for something, strives toward an ideal. You are merely a rebel, so busy fighting that you never for a moment stop to consider what you are fighting for. I must admit that you have fought well, if a little dishonourably, but a skilled child is a child nonetheless."

Rook's arm blades retracted back into their internal sheaths as he fell to his knees. There was no way this fight could continue, both combatants were completely spent. Somehow, this punk had managed to match a killing machine. He had potential, that was sure. Now, the assassin was adamant that his potential should be harnessed, not wasted.

"This battle is over, let the Zievs decide which of us they deem more worthy. Regardless of what happens, it is time for this tantrum of yours to end. Find something worth fighting for, Klaus. Become the man I know you can be."