And what a slobberknocker this fight is going to be, folks! To celebrate 50 years of GaiaCorp bringing questionable science to the globe, we're staging the battle of the ages on our home turf of sand, sea and sun - an ironic framing device for the carnage and political raspberry-blowing about to take place! Tell us, dear fans - did you ever lie in bed at night, wondering who would win in a battle between a shark with octopus tentacles and a piranha with a snake's body? If not, then please turn off the T.V. and thing very long and hard about what you've been doing with your life, you sad sap. To everyone else, you're more than welcome to witness the tussle between Clades of the Greco-Roman Alliance and Carrasco of the Amazonian Territories!
Come one, come all, because our Marketing divison has proudly dubbed this 50th Anniversary event...
We now go live to Hawaii, where the final battle of Round 1 is about to take place...-------
Carl Fischer, CEO of toy and game manufacturer MagicHat Inc., was not in a good mood.
He was the sort of spoilt, bratty person who liked to get his own way, and right now things were not going his own way at all. First of all, his car had been clamped - he was late for work and brushing toast crumbs from his lapels, how was he supposed to know he was on a double yellow? Then a lawsuit had come in from their main rival Cliffside Ltd. over apparent copyright infringement on their children's card game, Battle Beasts, which is exactly the sort of thing the company needed on the brink of releasing their children's dice game, Dungeon Dice. Then upon returning home, a message on his voicemail revealed his wife Deborah had found his private stash of money and was using it to run away with that greasy-haired, jobless biker from down the road. And finally, his steak had been served cold.
So no, he reflected as he did his best to finish his meal and ignore the obnoxious steel drum band in the centre of the restaurant. He was not in a good mood at all. There were loads of people in this straw-roofed, sun-kissed beachside diner that were in far better moods than he was right now, and why shouldn't they be? After all, they were either happy holidaymakers making a pit-stop on their way to the next big attraction, couples looking for a romantic dinner or bored surf jocks seeking a quick snack before they hit the waves once more. They didn't have to put up with lawsuits or unfaithful wives, and thus were on sugar highs compared to Carl’s current simmering rage and depression.
In fact, the businessman was so busy reflecting on what a bad mood he was in, he failed to notice something that was very soon about to put him in an even worse mood. Which is a shame, because it would have also probably been the most interesting thing he'd seen all day, if also the last thing he'd ever see.
MONSTER MASH BRINGS THE ACTION TO YOU
Carrasco has arrived to the battlefield a little early, deployed surreptitiously in the jungles by his corporate masters, and is naturally starving. So the first thing he does upon finding the restaurant is throw himself at it like a starving badger lunging for a nest of baby rabbits, smashing through the flimsy wood before any of the clientele can shriek for help. His coils overturn furniture in an avalanche of tables and half-eaten food, and with every clack of his massive mouth his razor teeth cut through yet another helpless bystander, sending showers of blood and intestines everywhere. Eyes rolling in his head, his nose full of the stench of food, the Brazillian barbarian goes a little bit mental with glee, and for a few glorious minutes his world is full of tasty snacks and screaming.
Sadly, this pleasant little reverie is short-lived.
No more than a few metres away, on the now deserted beaches, an iron-gray bulk rises from the foaming breakers, accompanied by a swirling mass of orangey cables as Clades hauls himself ashore. Rome's greatest war hero emits a gurgling breath as he slops up the sand, the sun hot on his back and the ivory sand soothing his war-weary tentacles as they drag their owner forwards. Piggy black eyes lock onto the faraway scene of destruction, nostrils dilate to suck in the scent of broken wood, blood and swamp water, and neurones fire up inside the ancient brain in preparation for battle. With some effort, the chimeric carcharodon begins to move at a faster pace, dripping water as he lugs his considerable weight towards the panicked restaurant.
Unaware of the arrival of his foe, Piranhaconda has managed to corner a scrawny teen with a dumb backwards cap who had been giving him the slip quite a bit. The human had done his best to outwit the persistent predator, ducking and diving away from every lunge Brazil's monstrous security guard has made, but in his panic he has allowed the beast to lure him against a wooden partition where he can't dodge either left or right and to jump would mean broken legs. With a terrified scream, the teenager presses himself against the fence as Carrasco rears up to striking height, ropes of saliva and blood dribbling from his mouth in anticipation of his next snack.
And is punched in the jaw by a battering ram of pure muscle.
As the reptile goes twisting and crashing into the splintery wreckage of tables and chairs, Clades pulls himself over the balcony and into the restaurant, snarling throatily at his foe. The Greco-Roman gladiator's nose is overwhelmed with the stink of his enemy, of unfamiliar waters and death, and his teeth snap at the air in an attempt to intimidate his monstrous rival. Never before has he encountered an opponent like this, in all his long years of fighting for his country, but he's not prepared to let down his guard like some rookie just because he's fighting an unfamiliar enemy. He ignores the tiny human fainting dead away in the corner, and instead concentrates on anchoring himself to whatever supports he can find, tentacles winding around beams and railings as the enraged Piranhaconda shakes off the debris with a maniacal hissing.
The two beasts face off.
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| Art by The Deleter |
A second blow to his face, however, is enough to dissuade him - the cunning Clades has lashed out with a splintered plank from the remains of the furniture, smashing it over the piscene head and sending him sliding back, jaws agape in threat. But mere act of flinching has shown vulnerablility to the chimeric carcharodon, and with a gutteral bellow Sharktopus drops his impromptu bludgeon and whips two free tentacles out towards his enemy, coiling one of them around Piranhaconda's throat whilst the other drives it's spiked point into his side. The piscene predator screeches as his blood is spilled, his garling breaths cut off by the crushing vice around his windpipe, and Clades growls as he drags his foe closer, sensing victory is already at hand.
CHOMP
Sometimes, being horrendously short-sighted isn't the handicap you think it is. Through the blurry haze of his vision, Carrasco was able to make out what the horrid cold blobs were, and with a sharp twist was able to get his jaws fastened around the fleshy cable around his neck. Sharktopus bellows with pain and surprise as his tentacle is severed, inky blood pouring as he pulls away from his opponent and scrambles backwards over the rubble, trying to put some distance from his opponent. Sensing the window of advantage fading quickly, Piranhaconda darts forward with speed born of bloodlust and anger, and before the Greco-Roman gladiator can collect his wits his sinuos foe has thrown two loops of his scaled body around his midsection, out of reach of the grasping limbs.
The cruel chimera gasps in surprise as the coils tighten, crushing his skeleton and restricting the air flow to his primitive lung. But then, something odd happens - the Brazillian entrant suddenly emits an ear-piercing shriek and lets go, sliding away from his once-vulnerable opponent. As the dazed Sharktopus rights himself, the spines jutting awkwardly from his gill slits are glistening with fresh blood - what the bio-engineers considered an impediment to the beast's breathing now reveals itself to be a viable defensive tactic after all, preventing their owner from being crushed to death.
Thank you, Italy.
Thitaly.
Bleeding from the multiple perforations in his flesh, Piranhaconda tries to collect his wits, now unsure exactly of how to approach a foe that has eluded the constriction that claimed the lives of so many river pirates on the Amazon. But he isn't given the chance - another tentacle winds itself about the piscene head, and before he knows it Clades has slammed his face once, twice, three times into the bar counter, sending splinters of wood into the air and in his skin. Shrieking and spitting blood from his nostrils, the fish-headed freak rears back, and Sharktopus presses his advantage, ripping out one of the overhead neon signs from the roof and cracking it right across his jaw, sending Carrasco flying against the wall with a bang and an explosion of shrapnel.
Clades isn't finished yet, however. Roaring with bloodlust and triumph, the tentacled terror turns away from his stricken foe and reaches out towards the shattered remains of the bartop. Grasping it as hard as he can, suckers fastening onto the wooden surface like industrial strength glue, the war hero heaves sideways with every bit of muscle he has to bear, tentacles taut with exertion. With a noise akin to someone's best pair of trousers ripping asunder, the entire counter is uprooted from the rest of the floor, and with a second bellow the savage shark twists on the spot, ready to slam it's whole mass into the dazed Piranhaconda and put him out of the building for good.
A Piranhaconda who was already gone the moment he turned away.
It's Sharktopus' turn to go flying as he is struck in the midsection by several tonnes of muscle, the countertop flying from his tentacles as he sails backwards and smashes through the balcony railings. Only by a miracle does he act quick enough - the tentacles grab onto support pillars and fasten themselves to the floor of the balcony, stopping him from going completely over the side. Muscle strain with the effort of keeping his bulk in the air, the grey body precariously hanging above the ocean waters like a pendulumn in a grandfather clock. Wood creaks ominously in the stifling air.
Rolling his mad black eyes up, Clades spots the narrow head of Carrasco appearing over the side of the balcony, scales sliding on the floor as he looms over the stricken shark. Saliva drips copiously from the wide jaws, splattering onto the wood, and the heavy, growling breath of the beast echoes in the ruins of the restaurant like someone revving a chainsaw in a warehouse. Piggy eyes glare down at their vulnerable target, and Sharktopus knows that there's no way he can defend himself here. Not only does the Brazillain behemoth have a height advantage, but his copius length means reaching down to finish the job won't be a problem. A single razor bite to the jugular will be all it takes.
Sharktopus shuts his eyes and waits.
And waits.
And waits.
...and opens his eyes again, confused.
Piranhaconda is still there. Still breathing, still looming. He hasn't attacked, hasn't made any move to descend downwards and kill the conflict-weary carcharodon. Yet he's stilll there, looking down in his direction, panting and drooling everywhere as the stench of blood and meat drives his hunger. Clades, needless to say, is somewhat unnerved by this, and wonders what on earth the capitalist creation is up to. Is he gloating, in some perverse manner, before he finishes off the fight? Or does he simply intend to wait for him to dry out or drop, making his job easier? Skin beginning to crisp in the hot sun, the Grecian general flips through his mental book of war tactics to try and figure out the strategy being employed here.
Then he notices the way Carrasco's head shifts left and right, and the way the eyes dart back and forth.
He can't see him.
The Amazonian abomination's poor eyesight has him confused - he knows he saw the other monster go over the balcony, but can't see any trace of him, despite being able to smell him. It's a glaringly-wide opportunity, and Clades takes it - with a roar, he hauls himself upward like a fat kid on a rope swing and sinks his teeth into the back of Piranhaconda's neck before the serpent can react. An ear-splitting scream cuts the air as the bewildered snake-fish writes in his grasp, and the Conquerer of the Swiss Coast bites again, slicing a chunk of flesh from his opponent and gulping it down in one motion. Another bite like that, and he'll snap the thing's spine in two.
But now he can smell his attacker, Carrasco is quick to respond. Sharktopus has made a grievous injury indeed, but he's bitten too far down the neck, and this gives the pugnacious piscene the room he needs to lash out with the return-stroke, biting above his aggressor's right fin and tearing it almost completely off. Clades' eyes widen in shock and pain, not anticipating a counterattack of any kind, and in his surprise he lets go of his hold on the balcony, dragging the spitting serpent with him as he falls. The two hit the ocean with an almighty splash and a plume of foam, vanishing from sight underneath the waves snd leaving only the ruined restaurant in their wake.
But the battle is far from over - the field has merely changed.
-------
The peace of the coral reef is disturbed by the sounds of battle.
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| Art by SpontanousFork |
This is going to be a battle of attrition - if either competitor wants to win this, they'll have to endure the torment being inflicted on them for as long as they can. But one of the monsters has other ideas.
Clades may be in white-hot agony from the crushing force on his ribs and the lack of breath, but he's not about to give up easily. As the amphibious abominations twist and tumble through the water, he espies the bright, gaudy colours of the coral reef from the corner of his eye, and the jagged formations give him an idea of how to escape his predicament. Releasing his grip on the serpent's side, the Maurader of the Mediterranian lives up to his reputation for on-the-fly cunning as he lurches sideways towards the shore, slamming bodily into the corals. Pieces of polyps fly in all directions, clouding the monsters in an explosion of underwater dust.
Carrasco shrieks in pain as the sharp corals puncture his scales, but in his panic he merely tightens his hold, refusing to let go. Again and again, his nemesis drives into the reef, sending up clouds of debris and scattering fish and crabs everywhere, and each time the polyps slice the persitant predator's skin in different places. Piranhaconda clings bravely on, enduring the pain of this battering, but when a particularly sharp coral bites into the flesh beneath his eye it becomes too much for him to bear, and to the immense relief of Clades he relinquishes his hold and speeds to the surface, desperate for air and relief.
His monstrous head breaks the surface, and his jaws gape open as he gulps in vital oxygen to relieve the burning in both his snake lungs and fish gills. The sun beating down upon his face helsp to relieve the panic of his battering against the coral, but it also impedes his already-poor vision, and he doesn't notice Sharktopus crusing slowly into position underneath him. Now free from the constricting coils, the cruel chimera can breathe freely and think clearly about his strategy, and he can see that once again his opponent has rashly left himself exposed to an attack he'll never see coming.
Ancient instincts kick in as Clades the Sharktopus surges up from the deep.
As it turns out, pretty badly. Piranhaconda is not only bleeding out, bitten through almost to the spinal cord, but terrified and exhausted beyond all measure. This foreign waters stings in his wounds, he can't see his enemy no matter where he twists and turns and his nose is so full of blood he can't pinpoint the foe via smell either. His strength is leaving him rapidly, his pained writhings to stay afloat becoming weaker and weaker by the second, and already smaller sharks are gathering to see what's going on. The bane of the banana pirates is wishing madly for his shoal to be around, or for a nice raw cow to munch on instead of all this pain, but he's on his own and dinner isn't being served in a harness lowered into the water. He's out of his element and scared to death.
Out of the corner of his eye, through the mist, he sees a shadow, moving about close to the sea floor in a vague, meandering pattern. He can't tell if it's Sharktopus through all the blood and churning water, but at this point he's desperate to take any opportunity to fnish this fight quickly, and a horrid determination siezes the monstrous mash-up's mind to go all-out against his opponent. Not even roaring this time, Carrasco dives down towards the misty shape, snapping his jaws furiously in one last attempt ot uphold the honour of his masters and the glory of the Amazon Territories. It's a long-shot, betting entirely on sheer luck that he does any damage whatsoever to an enemy that might not even there.
And it misses.
Having taken the window of opportunity to scanvenge on the sea floor, Sharktopus puts the unfortunate creature out of his misery by braining him with an iron pipe. The crack of breaking bone echoes around the sea floor, and blood and brain matter billow into the water as the battered Brazillian crashes into a heap on the sea floor, dead. The yellow eyes roll in their sockets, staring up at the sun filtering down through the water, but seeing nothing. A thousand dollars of genetic splicing, selective breeding and careful training, gone to waste.
Clades growls with satisfaction, dropping the pipe to the floor. Then, noticing the approach of smaller sharks drawn by the scent of blood, he grabs his fallen foe in his tentacles and drags the corpse upwards towards the shore. He intends to feast well tonight, in honour of yet another victory for the Allied Military Forces.
SHARKTOPUS WINS!
Wow! What a fight that was, huh? Only fitting for the conclusion of Round 1! Don;t forget to collect your bets and Greco-Roman War Bonds - even the smallest dollar counts towards the war effort!
Oh, but don't go away just yet! The Monster Mash 199X is far from over - we still have Round 2 coming up in a month or so! Also, your favourite freak may have lost horribly, but he may still have a chance to crawl back from the brink! Our sister company, Greentech, is hosting the Monster Mash's very own Loser's League on Channel G, giving you the chance to help a loser become a winner! Just like in the regular fights, all you have to do is head for your nearest voting booth and place your bets, and hopefully buy our overpriced merchandise as well! And if you ever miss out on our live broadcast, you can catch up by going to our website and checking out the Loser's League Fite Blog! (WARNING: Must be 18 or over to view the website.)
(So yeah, taking a bit of a break from writing Monster Mash. Also, Gooper Blooper has very kindly offered to host the Loser's League fights on his blog, which will help take the workload off. Thanks, man :3)
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