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[BOUND BY DUTY] Get up. We're not done yet. We must keep going, if only for his sake.
[HOPELESS WRECK] WE SHOULD'VE USED A GOD DAMN WEAPON! FUCKING DAMNIT, WHY DIDN'T YOU USE TAR ON HIM?!
[DYING LIGHT] We were holding back. This isn't life or death, this is a silly fight between comrades.
You take in a deep breath and adjust your stance. Even if this isn't life or death, a part of you still wants to win. Your pride. You raise your fists up, ready for one last attempt to win the fight. Do or die.
You charge forward, aiming your left hand to grab AFYN out of the android's grip. If you can do this one thing, you'll probably knock him out right then and there. With your right, you prepare your Minor Iris flurry of blows...
<span class="mu-r">Turns out, you left your gut exposed. You feel the firm, strong slam of wood against your stomach.</span> You nearly fall to your knees as your attack fails to do much but scratch the metal on Presley's left arm.
Uriel moves in closer, ready to call it. You stand back up with your fist raised. Your arms are coated in still healing bruises. Black ichor pours out of your mouth. Your body only willing itself to move through the constant low but steady regeneration of the coat.
You try to move a step forward...before your legs give out. <span class="mu-s">C'mon, just one step closer, you can kil-</span> You shake your head, dispelling that weird thought out of your head. <span class="mu-r">You lost.</span>
After a few seconds have passed, Uriel steps over to Presley and holds up his arm. "Presley King has won! To those who have bet on him, collect your earnings." The android bows towards the crowd, muttering something incoherent. You can barely make out a "thank you" and "every" before you almost fall face first onto the floor.
The crowd is too busy applauding the winner (or seething over losing money) to bother checking up on you except for two Androids. Emily (who looks like she's about to have a panic attack) and...Presley?
The two help you up to your feet. Not like you're much able to resist. You mutter something under your breath as you're quickly taken outside of the Training Room, only kept conscious out of spite.
"What. The fuck. Did you do to him." Emily is glaring daggers at the rock-and-roll impersonating hunk of metal. Presley mutters something back. "look, I thought he could handle it. He-he had a weird magic coat, I thought it was even!"
"I'm shocked he's still standing!"
"it's fine." You wheeze out. "frankly, i'm not mad. kid did a good job. good on you, prez." The two look back at you. Both are relieved that you actually managed to spit out anything.
"Thanks. You damn near tore me up that first round. Felt like I was gonna be smashed apart, haha..." Emily mutters something that you can barely make out but you can <span class="mu-i">feel</span> the seething. "go back to your fans i got him, okay?" This just gets a shake of Presley's head.
"C'mon. This hunk of meat is seven feet or more, you need the help." Presley replies in turn. "Alright?"
