Two years ago, almost to the day, the first of these mass murderers was captured. Since then, seven more have been apprehended, and now the Tournament of Monsters begins. The opening battle pits the Crimson Maniac against the Cyan Hunter. The Crimson Maniac is infamous for his savage and straightforward murders, while the Cyan Hunter is a cold, methodical hitman, known for hunting powerful targets with precision. Their clash will unfold in a simple arena: an open field. However, the battle will take place at night, introducing an added layer of challenge to this deadly encounter.
For this battle, the Crimson Maniac dons his signature killing attire. His crimson trench coat, notorious for concealing a variety of deadly weapons, hangs ominously over him. A bowler hat rests atop his head, while his face is obscured by his trademark demonic mask. Completing the look are his demon-eye shoes, adding to his fearsome presence.
On the other side, the Cyan Hunter stands ready. His dark cyan cloak flows over his tall, slender seven-foot frame. Lightweight dark blue leather boots adorn his feet, designed for swift and silent movement. Strapped to his back is his signature pale blue longbow, accompanied by a small quiver filled with his distinctive barbed arrows, colored half-red and half-blue.
Contrary to analysts' predictions of a long, drawn-out battle, the fight began with surprising speed. The Crimson Maniac broke from his typically cautious approach, charging directly at the Cyan Hunter with reckless aggression. In response, the Cyan Hunter immediately retreated, seeking to create more distance between himself and his relentless opponent.
To slow his opponent down, the Cyan Hunter loosed his first arrow, aiming for the Crimson Maniac’s chest. Anticipating the attack, the Crimson Maniac abruptly halted his charge, sidestepping while simultaneously hurling a needle concealed in his hand. However, despite his attempt to dodge, the Crimson Maniac seemingly miscalculated, and the arrow lodged into his side.
At the same moment, the Cyan Hunter deftly sidestepped the needle, then dropped to the ground in a swift, fluid motion. Observing this, the Crimson Maniac let out a disappointed sigh as he resumed his charge. His frustration stemmed from the fact that the Cyan Hunter had spotted and evaded the second needle—thrown in quick succession—meant to strike after the first one had been dodged.
The Cyan Hunter swiftly rose from the ground, nocking another arrow and firing it at the advancing Crimson Maniac. Despite his injury, the Crimson Maniac continued his approach, crouching low while deliberately exposing his face. A moment later, the arrow struck, causing him to momentarily halt.
To the Cyan Hunter’s frustration, the Crimson Maniac resumed his charge, seemingly unfazed. The arrow had merely glanced off his mask, leaving only a small dent as evidence of the hit.
Now just 50 feet away, the Crimson Maniac came to another stop. Though the arrow remained embedded in his side, bleeding steadily, he appeared completely unaffected by the wound. With calm precision, he produced a small glass bottle and a bundle of needles from his coat, smashing the bottle over them to coat the needles in a mysterious liquid.
Warily, the Cyan Hunter retreated, nocking another arrow and firing as the Crimson Maniac coated his needles. The Crimson Maniac reacted instantly, hurling a needle mid-action before rolling to the side and launching a second.
The Cyan Hunter moved with precision, dodging the first needle, leaping over the second, and taking a step on the air to narrowly avoid a third aimed at where he would have landed.
As he evaded the final needle, a frown crossed the Cyan Hunter’s face. Despite appearing to have the upper hand, he realized he was slowly losing one of his greatest advantages—the element of surprise. Before his capture, the Cyan Hunter had been a ghost, his methods and tactics a mystery to all except for his use of a bow. In contrast, the Crimson Maniac and his brutal techniques were well-known. This knowledge gap initially gave the Cyan Hunter a distinct edge, but with each move, his opponent was learning, eroding that advantage.
The Crimson Maniac was cunning, and his methods were designed to draw out the Cyan Hunter’s own tactics. Everyone knew that once the Crimson Maniac landed a hit, his advantage grew significantly. As a result, the Cyan Hunter would go to any length to avoid being struck.
This became evident as the Cyan Hunter dove to the side, dodging a needle that would have barely grazed him. The Crimson Maniac was exploiting his opponent's extreme caution, turning the Cyan Hunter’s precision and care into a weakness.
Needle after needle flew from the Crimson Maniac's hands, forcing the Cyan Hunter to stay on the defensive, dodging relentlessly. This exchange continued for nearly thirty seconds until, at last, the barrage ceased.
Throughout the onslaught, the Cyan Hunter had not been touched—not even grazed. Seizing the brief pause, he swiftly fired an arrow at the Crimson Maniac.
As the arrow streaked toward him, the Crimson Maniac drew a dagger, swiftly bringing it up to deflect the projectile. The arrowhead glanced off the blade, its trajectory shifting, yet it still found its mark, embedding itself just above the Maniac’s previous wound.
The Crimson Maniac took a small step back, exhaling sharply, but showing little reaction to the new injury. With deliberate calm, he retrieved another bottle from his coat, shattering it over his dagger, coating the blade in a fresh, unknown liquid.
The Cyan Hunter loosed another arrow, but this time his aim was lower—targeting not the Crimson Maniac’s chest, but his legs.
The Crimson Maniac, still focused on coating his dagger, realized this too late. Though he tried to dodge, the arrow grazed his leg. Aware that this would impair his movement, he reconsidered his aggressive strategy. Instead of rushing in, he sheathed his dagger and reached for another bundle of needles.
A flicker of satisfaction crossed the Cyan Hunter’s mind as he observed the shift in strategy, but he quickly buried the emotion, knowing it was dangerous to allow any feelings during combat. Yet, even with this small success, the Cyan Hunter faced a pressing problem: he was running low on arrows.
Typically, the Cyan Hunter packed light, trusting his few well-placed arrows to cripple his target before finishing the job with his dagger. This kept him agile and swift. However, in this battle, his opponent was adept at evading and, even when struck, showed little sign of weakening. The few hits he had landed weren’t enough to give the Cyan Hunter confidence in a close-quarters fight. He knew that the Crimson Maniac likely had the upper hand in close combat, which meant his only option was to continue wearing his opponent down from a distance.
The Cyan Hunter needed to weaken him further, dodging the relentless attacks while conserving his arrows, before closing in to deliver the final blow against a vulnerable target.
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The Crimson Maniac resumed his relentless barrage, launching needle after needle with precision, forcing the Cyan Hunter into constant evasive maneuvers. As his right hand flung the needles, his left rummaged through the depths of his crimson coat, eventually pulling out a larger, rounder bottle than the ones he had used before.
With only a few needles left in his bundle, the Crimson Maniac hurled the bottle—not directly at the Cyan Hunter, but toward a patch of grass near a barely visible rock.
The Cyan Hunter, anticipating the bottle would be thrown at him, was momentarily caught off guard. Dismissing the bottle as a mere distraction, he continued dodging the flurry of needles. He narrowly avoided the last few, leaping into the air and even stepping briefly on the air to dodge the final one. But when he landed, his footing betrayed him. He had touched down on a loose stone, causing him to stumble forward into a patch of damp grass, a stark contrast to the otherwise dry terrain.
The slip sent him off balance, and in that moment, the Crimson Maniac saw his chance. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he produced a needle hidden up his sleeve and launched it with deadly accuracy.
The Cyan Hunter tried to roll to the side, but his stumble had cost him precious time. Half a second later, the needle struck its mark. Blood dripped from the wound—the Crimson Maniac had finally drawn blood.
The Cyan Hunter felt a brief jolt of shock as the Crimson Maniac’s effects began to take hold. He could already feel himself slowing, but he knew that was only part of the danger now that the Crimson Maniac had drawn blood. Clearing his mind, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
Wasting no time, the Cyan Hunter nocked another arrow and fired at the Crimson Maniac. The Maniac responded with a quick roll to the left, narrowly dodging the first arrow. But the Cyan Hunter had anticipated the move, and a second arrow followed almost immediately, striking true.
The Crimson Maniac rose slowly, now with a third arrow embedded in his stomach. His body trembled, and all three wounds bled profusely, forcing a rare gasp of pain from the otherwise unflinching killer. Yet, despite the agony, he stood tall, his gaze never leaving the Cyan Hunter. Moving forward with a steady, grim determination, the Maniac’s hand delved into his coat, retrieving a dagger.
Without breaking his pace, the Crimson Maniac pressed the blade beneath his newest wound, letting his blood fully coat the dagger. Just as he finished, he ducked low, narrowly dodging an arrow that whistled past his head.
Noticing the Crimson Maniac’s quick evasion, the Cyan Hunter hesitated. His quiver was nearly empty—only two arrows left. But with the distance between them shrinking fast, he couldn’t afford to hold back. Steeling his resolve, he fired his second-to-last arrow.
The Crimson Maniac reacted instantly, attempting to sidestep, but the gap between them was now too small. The arrow found its mark, embedding deep into his side. Four arrows now pierced his body, but even as blood ran from his wounds, the Crimson Maniac pressed forward, closing the remaining distance.
With no time to reload, the Cyan Hunter was forced to abandon his bow, pulling out his compact dagger as his opponent lunged within striking range.
The close-quarters fight began with swift, precise movements. The Cyan Hunter weaved around the Crimson Maniac’s initial strike, countering with a flurry of slashes. Each attack forced the Crimson Maniac to dodge, his movements deliberate as he evaded the rapid strikes. But the Cyan Hunter’s aggression left him vulnerable. Seeing an opening, the Crimson Maniac narrowly dodged a heavy swing, then stabbed forward with his dagger. In the confined space, the Cyan Hunter couldn’t fully evade, managing only to shift slightly, causing the blade meant for his heart to plunge into his chest instead.
Despite the deep wound, the battle raged on. Both fighters exchanged blows, but their injuries were minor—except for one critical difference. While the Crimson Maniac’s earlier wounds had stopped bleeding, the Cyan Hunter’s injuries were still gushing blood, draining his strength. His movements slowed, creating an opening the Crimson Maniac wouldn’t ignore.
For the first time in the battle, the Crimson Maniac spoke a single word: "Rasp."
The command seemed to freeze the Cyan Hunter in place, just long enough for the Crimson Maniac to thrust his dagger towards his heart. But as the blade neared its target, the Cyan Hunter suddenly dissolved into a cloud of cyan powder. The dagger passed harmlessly through the mist, leaving the Crimson Maniac wide-eyed in surprise.
Before he could fully comprehend what had happened, the cyan cloud drifted to the side and reformed into the Cyan Hunter, standing poised and ready to continue the fight.
The Cyan Hunter seized the moment, slashing toward the Crimson Maniac with precision. His blade found its mark, cutting a shallow wound across the Maniac’s dagger-wielding arm. Quickly, the Crimson Maniac pulled back, readying himself for the next exchange.
Undeterred, the Cyan Hunter pressed forward, utilizing his long reach and rapid strikes to keep the pressure on his opponent. Each blow was swift and calculated, forcing the Crimson Maniac to dodge and weave. Yet, as the battle wore on, the Cyan Hunter's strikes began to slow, his fatigue becoming more evident.
Sensing an opening, the Crimson Maniac ducked under one of the slower strikes and thrust his dagger toward the Cyan Hunter’s knee. But the Cyan Hunter had anticipated the move. With a swift counter, he kicked out, his foot slamming into the Crimson Maniac’s chest, sending him stumbling backward. The force of the blow nearly knocked the Crimson Maniac off balance, but he managed to stay on his feet, eyes narrowed in renewed focus.
Blow after blow landed between the two combatants, each strike more savage than the last. Though exhaustion weighed on them, their attacks only grew more vicious, no longer limited to just weapons. Punches and kicks flew as they fought with everything they had, desperate for any advantage. During a brief lull in the battle, the Cyan Hunter grabbed a stone from the ground and swung it toward the Crimson Maniac’s head. The Maniac barely avoided the deadly blow, stumbling backward and quickly rummaging through his coat.
In a swift motion, the Crimson Maniac retrieved a small vial of powder and hurled it at the Cyan Hunter. The vial shattered on impact, coating the Cyan Hunter in a fine dust. Instinctively, he backed away, but the damage was already done—he had inhaled some of the powder.
The battle resumed, but the tide had turned. With each passing second, the Cyan Hunter felt himself weakening. His movements became sluggish, not just from blood loss but from the effects of the poison now coursing through his body. Meanwhile, the Crimson Maniac, sensing his growing advantage, pressed the attack, relentless in his pursuit.
The Cyan Hunter had endured a relentless barrage of blows, his body nearing its breaking point. Blood flowed freely from his wounds, and he knew his time was running short. His once-pristine cloak now lay discarded, soaked in dirt and blood.
With a brutal punch, the Crimson Maniac sent the Cyan Hunter crashing to the ground. The Hunter landed near his discarded bow and the last arrow in his quiver. Desperate, he grabbed them just as the Crimson Maniac’s dagger descended toward his head. In a flash, the Cyan Hunter vanished.
The Crimson Maniac blinked, momentarily stunned by the sudden disappearance. He spun around, searching for his foe, only to find the Cyan Hunter reappeared twenty feet away, kneeling, utterly spent. The Hunter, with a final burst of strength, nocked his last arrow and drew the bowstring, aiming directly at the Crimson Maniac.
As the arrow flew, the Crimson Maniac instinctively raised his dagger to deflect it. But this arrow was different—it carried power greater than the previous arrows. The force of the impact knocked the dagger from the Maniac’s hand, and the arrow continued its deadly path, burying itself deep into his shoulder. The force of the strike drove the Crimson Maniac to the ground, his expression one of shock as he clutched at the wound.
For a moment, both opponents lay still, the silence of the battlefield deafening. Then, slowly, the Crimson Maniac stirred. Despite the arrows embedded in his flesh and the blood that soaked his tattered trench coat, he began to rise. His hat was long gone, and only his mask remained intact, hiding the pain that surely consumed him. Unsteady, he forced himself upright, dragging his wounded body toward the fallen Cyan Hunter.
The Cyan Hunter, barely conscious, saw the Crimson Maniac approach. His vision blurred, his body trembling from blood loss. He made a feeble attempt to stand, struggling to his feet for only a second before collapsing once again, his strength completely spent.
The Crimson Maniac finally stood over him, his battered body barely holding together. With his weaker hand, he gripped the bloodied dagger, its blade glinting in the dim light. He knelt beside the Cyan Hunter, who could do nothing but watch as the Maniac drew the dagger across his throat.
The battle, long and grueling, was finally over.