A Visitor to the Future - 120 - Seize the Advantage
In an instant, the Brute closed the gap, toughened fingers digging into the Duelist's neck. I'd been on the receiving end of that iron grip, and knew that there was only a brief moment to react before permanent damage was done. To my surprise the Duelist did nothing to stop the Brute, instead choosing to hold onto the Brute's arms for support, kick off the ground, and use its momentum to deliver a vicious swinging kick to the Brute's right knee joint. The impact was immediate - the joint buckled and bent the wrong way, rear casing now pulverized by the impact, and mechanical lubricants leaked from its innards. As the Duelist pulled away and the two disentangled, the Brute's hands came away with vital neck components. It had been a strange choice to make - though the Brute had now been significantly crippled, the Duelist looked to be far worse shape - the Duelist's head was now hanging on by a thread. It began to teeter over the Duelist's back before collapsing entirely, limp without sufficient support from the remaining wires of the neck.
That didn't seem to slow the Duelist down at all, though. With both leg joints intact, it now had a significant speed advantage over its opponent. It sprinted forward to earn itself a few seconds. Then, with one hand holding its head into a more regular position, the second hand delivered a hammer-blow to the dome of the head, effectively impaling it onto the remains of the neck, and wedging it into place, if deforming the shape of the head slightly. I could swear that I saw Regolith tense up at the sight of the self-destructive repair, as sort of CI-cringe expression if I'd ever seen one. The neck joint was out of commission, but at least it could see properly, for the moment.
The Brute could not make similar percussive repairs, the knee joint a delicate piece of machinery. As it stumbled forward, pushing itself back upright after almost falling, I wondered just how much of the Duelist's head was actually needed for it to work. Anode's theory about the wireless transmitters meant that there wasn't strictly a need to have anything vital in the head - were there only optics in there? That would explain why the Duelist could survive such crude mid-battle tinkering.
The hollow of sand at the centre of the arena was now growing at a steady pace, sand around the edges of it now falling inwards, and the recessed area was now getting closer to where the Brute and Duelist were fighting. I glanced around at the other fighting Proxies - one of the pairs were already in very rough shape, the flurry and force of their initial strikes so savage to have left them both severly damaged. The others were in a more reasonable shape, still probing each other for weaknesses.
The Duelist had the advantage now, and knew it. It circled the Brute with ease, who had no choice but to keep rotating to face it. One, twice, the Brute tried to dash forward, but the motion was too slow and predictable now - the Duelist scurried back out of reach. The aggression seemed entirely one-sided. What was the Duelist waiting for?
"Oh!" said Antonia from next to me excitedly, "Look! I figured it out! It's like an hourglass!"
Now that Antonia had pointed it out, it was obvious. The circular arena was emptying like the top half of an hourglass - as the drain in the center increased, the sand from the edges poured in to fill the gap. Which meant that the Duelist's position was intentional - they were now sticking to the elevated side of their opponent, forcing them to fight into the growing landslide of the sand. It was a very difficult position to be in. I voiced my concern for the Brute to the group.
"Ah, but the pilot has a trick up their sleeve," said Tungsten, "Did anyone else notice it?"
As if on cue, the Brute threw its arm out at its opponent, closed fist opening to reveal an unexpected projectile. When the Brute had stumbled earlier, it had been intentional - it had picked up a handful of sand. But it wasn't mere sand that it flung - it was coagulated - where its own leaking lubricant had mixed with the sand, it had formed a viscous, tar-like slop. The small handful was flung fast enough that the Duelist's attempt to block it fell just short, and it covered its optic with a satisfying slap. The Duelist wisely attempted to backpedal - to put as much distance between itself and its opponent as possible before it could close the gap - but the Brute, now without fear of counterattack, scrambled on all fours to make up the speed difference, and one hand sized the Duelist's leg, pulling it down the sandy incline towards it.
The two struck at each other desperately, but blinded as the Duelist was, the advantage was the Brute's. It knocked the damaged head off, and grabbed the Duelist over its good knee, bringing it down again and again until it went slack. Credit to the Duelist, though - even blinded they had managed to pry at one of the Brute's shoulder joints.
The sand was now quickly draining, and the Brute looked around for the remaining Proxies. It found the surviving enemy Proxy at the opposite side of the sinkhole, who had just finished dispatching the Brute's teammate. It looked like it had seen better days - its head was cracked from side to side, it was missing an arm, the armor on one leg plate was bludgeoned almost flat, and there was a fist-sized hole in its chest cavity. The Survivor gave a jaunty wave to the Brute - an oddly funny gesture in the heat of the battle. The other two Proxies were face-down in the sand, close to one edge of the arena - evidently they'd knocked each other out.
With both in bad shape, the idea of them both actually getting to their opponent seemed difficult. Neither could approach the other directly - they would have to circle to one side of the arena or be dragged under by the flow of sand. It was the Duelist who made the suggestion, pointing to the furthest edge of the arena on the left side, where there was still a large, flat area of sand to fight on. The Brute gave a thumbs-up in response, and both began to circle around the edge towards each other, the Brute limping in shambles, the flow of lubricant slowed to a dribble. The Survivor seemed to try and stay as upright as possible - and occasionally stopped briefly to find footing in the sand - had some internal components worked their way loose?
"They're both a wreck!" I said aloud.
"Hmm," said Tungsten, "I suspect they're both holding back. The remaining Heavy Metal proxy didn't take that much damage in the last fight. There's no reason for it to be limping quite so heavily."
It was the Survivor who showed their hand first. As the Proxy passed its half-buried, defeated teammate, it stopped and leaned down to pull it out of the sand. It was no mark of respect, though - instead, it reached under its own damaged armpit and seemed to tinker with some mechanism located there. The damaged wreck of its shoulder joint suddenly fell away, leaving a clean socket. It did the same to its damaged teammate, pulling away a damaged, but functioning arm and slotting it neatly into its now-vacant slot.
"Wireless!" said Anode happily, "Called it! Modular parts. Smart stuff!"
"Now it is obvious why that pilot suggested meeting on that side of the arena," said Regolith, "They were allowed to dictate favorable terms to their opponent."
Both Proxies drew closer as the hourglass continued to mark the time left until the entire arena was devoid of sand. The draining area at the center became visible - and it became clear that being sucked down into the lower area would be a very bad idea - for it was filled with a series of meshing gears.
There was no sudden sprint forward from either Proxy. They simply walked up to each other, gave a short bow, and began to knuckle down.
The Survivor's fighting style was different to that of its teammate, the Duelist, less evasive and more aggressive. It parried punches, made good use of its elbows to protect its valuable optics, and seemed always be mindful of its opponents hands. The Brute continued to fight like a controlled force of nature, swinging and reaching for joints, always pushing forward, never yielding space, and allowing less dangerous blows to simply deflect off its own armor plating. The two seemed equally matched, neither allowing the other to hit vitals, or gain purchase. It was only when the Brute tried to grapple the Survivor that things began to change - using its momentum to its advantage, the Survivor somehow turned the move into a throw of its own, pushing the Brute off and causing it to cut a groove into the sand with its shoulder.
That left the Brute on the defensive on the ground. Swift kicks were delivered as the Brute shielded its head, an only partially effective move and reverberating clangs marked the impact. It rolled, changing the target to its back, which absorbed more punishment. The Brute's arm desperately grasped out, and grabbed the opponents leg, and then they were both on the ground in a savage array of strikes. There was no finesse to the moves any more - it was now simply a case of who could find the opponent's vitals, first.
The initial advantage was the Brute's. It had been down on the ground first - and having dragged the opponent's leg, it would be able to position itself better - but it had rolled to protect itself, and so was facing the wrong way to capitalize on the advantage.
It was this that allowed the Survivor to grasp at the Brute's head. The join between head and body was armored, protected, squat - a strong point that Heavy Metal had relied on throughout the competition. The Survivor pulled itself up the opponent's body even as its own leg tore in the Brute's grip. It wouldn't need it any more. Fingers wormed deep into the joins and looked for points of stress - weakness. At the very back and base of the neck, it found one, and fingertips caused metal to distort and bend.
The Brute tried to roll again, to begin to push itself back up. If its gimmick had still been working, it may well have managed it. But in the end, it was the wrong move. The Survivor was gripped on too tightly, its fingers too deep and close to a vital weak point. There was a sudden screech of metal and electrical sparking as the Survivor's fingers made their way through the protective casing and seized the Brutes's neural link receiver. Between thumb and forefinger it was held for but a moment, before a sudden squeeze shattered the vital circuity, knocked out the Brute, and the arena filled with cheers as Cells Are Fun were victorious.