SSJRuss

QUEST FOR THE DARK GRIMOIRE PART SIX End of ACT I Blackrose fell. As did much of Tamriel. But it did not fall quietly. The first wave of bats descended like a living plague, and life for the Argonians became a living hell. The sounds of nature and the swamp were replaced by sounds of horror. Bats screeched as they crashed against spears, walls, rooftops, and scaled flesh. They came in endless black spirals, claws tearing, teeth ripping, a storm of wings and rabid hunger unleashed from a world that should never have touched Tamriel. Horn calls bellowed from the towers. Archers scaled platforms high above the flooded streets while spear-fighters formed defensive rings below. Mages called magic from the marshwater, summoning writhing vines and walls of mud that dragged entire swarms from the air. Oil pots burst, consuming everything with sheets of fire. In a matter of hours, the marsh became a grave. Victor Frankenstein stood in the center of it all, clutching the Dark Grimoire as though it were the beating heart of some newborn god. He watched with fascination, his eyes flickering from moment to moment, learning all he could from the chaos. “Why do you resist?!” he shouted at the waning Argonians, his voice almost drowned by battle. “I am offering evolution!” As if on queue, Argonian arrows fell upon him. The effort failed, striking uselessly against the magical barrier conjured by the Grimoire. Every few minutes, more would come, but none would pierce the barrier. The Argonians then fought magic with magic, and imbued their arrows. The next wave missed Frankenstein’s throat by inches. The third buried itself deep into his side. Victor gasped, his breath visible in the cold. He staggered backward, one hand flying to the shaft protruding from his ribs as hot blood spilled between his fingers. For the first time since touching the Grimoire, he panicked. “No… how? No, not now…!” The barrier fell apart, the Grimoire tasted his blood as it dripped on to the binding. The pages began flipping wildly, violently, faster than Victor could comprehend. Ink bled from the parchment like liquid shadow. Symbols screamed across the air. The portal above Blackrose destabilized, twisting into something vast and uncontrollable. “STOP!” Victor shouted, clutching the book tighter. But the Grimoire was no longer listening. It had its taste of Tamriel, and now it wanted more. Victor could feel the hunger rip at him, like another arrow in the body. Then reality ruptured. A second portal opened. Then five. Then twenty. Victor’s body was ripped backward into a spiraling tear before the Argonians could loose another arrow. His scream vanished into the void as the Grimoire dragged him away. The Argonians of Blackrose had drawn blood, but most of them would not live to have the chance to celebrate any kind of victory. The next hours saw the whole of Tamriel change. Across Black Marsh, Oblivion-like tears split the skies. It spread to Skyrim, Cyrodiil, even Morrowind. In Blackrose, the bats were eventually destroyed—but not before they butchered thousands. Hatchlings vanished in the dark. Entire districts were left blood-soaked and silent. Fires burned atop swampwater while survivors found refuge elsewhere. But finding refuge was not an easy task for anyone. Each tear in reality lets loose unfamiliar enemies. The Principality of Zeon was one such enemy. They saw themselves as conquerors. They looked upon this world and only saw what could be theirs. Massive metal giants fell from portals over Tamriel’s skies like meteors. Zakus splashed down in swamps, Dom units thundered across plains, and Goufs carved through ancient stone with heat blades that made even Daedric weapons seem primitive. The people of Tamriel had no words for “mobile suit.” They would only recognize them by the destruction they left behind. Whiterun’s western watchtower vanished under artillery fire. Imperial battalions in Cyrodiil were vaporized by beam weaponry they could neither understand nor counter. A Dwemer ruin in Morrowind awoke when a crashed Zeon vessel pierced its depths, unleashing horrors old and new in equal measure. Dragons fought machines in burning skies. Giants were gunned down from miles away. Necromancers, kings, bandits, Daedra, and soldiers alike all faced the same horrifying truth... Tamriel was no longer a world, but a battlefield. WHITERUN - Eight Hours Since the Fall of Blackrose By dusk, the tundra outside Whiterun had become a battlefield. Four figures rode hard on steeds, going from fight to fight, doing what they could to save their world from invasion. A Nord clad in dragonbone armor, Hael Dreamer, led her group over the ridge overlooking the tundra. She was followed by her Battlemage Dunmer known as Raloone Satrun, the legendary Khajiit archer Dargo Za’zaka, and the Orc Knight Urza Cold-Fist. They had spent the better part of the day riding through fire and madness. From broken roads littered with Imperial dead to villages burning beneath things that should not exist, the four had seen more horror in mere hours than some would in lifetimes. Hael Dreamer pulled her mount to a stop at the ridge’s edge, dragonbone armor glinting orange beneath the dying light. Her scarred face tightened beneath her helm as she surveyed the plains below. Smoke rose from farms in black ribbons. In the distance, the great mead hall of Jorrvaskr remained untouched, though even from here, the Companions could be seen preparing for battle below. “What in Oblivion…” Raloone whispered. Across the tundra like a fallen mountain lay a dragon’s corpse. Its scales had been torn open, ribs split wide, one of its wings ripped nearly clean from the spine. Steam rose from exposed flesh as blood soaked into the ground. Dargo slowly dismounted, his tail twitching low. The old Khajiit narrowed his eyes, studying the devastation with the instinct of a hunter who had survived far too long. Urza Cold-Fist tightened his grip on her warhammer, the giant-bone weapon heavy enough to shatter trolls with one swing. “Whatever did this is still close.” As if the world itself wished to answer her, a wet crunch echoed across the plain. The group looked beyond the dragon carcass and saw the monster they’d been chasing. Camazotz. The kaiju crouched over the dragon’s remains, massive claws pinned what was left of the dragon in place while its jaws tore through bone and sinew with horrifying ease. Each bite sounded like tree trunks snapping in a storm. Its leathery wings twitched, then its ears turned in their direction. It looked up, the beast’s glowing eyes fixed on the four riders. Raloone’s hands ignited with spellfire. “I officially hate today.” Hael dismounted without a word, drawing her blade. Dargo reached for an arrow, his voice low. “This one believes stealth is no longer an option.” Urza stepped forward, planting his feet. “Good.” Camazotz rose, its full height blotted out the sun. The beast unfurled wings large enough to cast half the ridge in shadow, its screech shaking the stones beneath their feet. The four stood, despite the terror. “By the Voice… by steel… by Skyrim…” she muttered. Then a thunderous mechanical roar tore overhead. Dargo looked up first just in time to shout, “MOVE!” Three Zeon mobile suits, Zakus, burst through low cloud cover, mono-eyes glowing crimson as they soared over the battlefield. Their massive metal frames fired bombs the moment they hovered overhead. Missiles rained from above. The first explosion tore through the ridge, sending stone and horseflesh skyward. The second consumed Raloone’s spell in fire before it could leave his hands. The third hit the dragon carcass directly and Camazotz vanished beneath flame and smoke. For a second, all was fire. Then, Camazotz roared. The monster exploded upward through smoke and into the sky. It collided with one of the Zakus in midair. The machine barely had time to react before the kaiju ripped its arm clean off and sent the burning mobile suit spiraling into the plains below. The remaining Zeon forces opened fire instantly. Machine gun rounds, missiles, and explosive shells tore through the sky. One of the mobile suits drifted down to the ground to strike the monster from below. Hael, having survived the missile impacts along with her group, took advantage of this opportunity. “NOW!” she roared. Her Thu’um erupted like a storm unleashed. “FUS RO DAH!” The shout blasted across the battlefield, striking the Zaku from below and knocking the giant machine off balance just long enough for Dargo’s arrow to pierce its mono-eye. The machine crashed into the ground, as Urza and Raloone followed up like an unending avalanche, Urza crushing the steel with her warhammer and Raloone unleashing lightning into exposed circuitry. Above them, the kaiju tore through the remaining mobile suit, only for four more Zakus to drop from their cloud coverage. Whiterun became the site of a warzone.

Great match and love the storytelling here. You really know your star wars and it shows. I gotta give it to Maul, as he has much more experience and skill. May the 4th be with you

Love me a tournament and I think this is a great idea. Also really great AI images you've been using. Quality stuff. This would be a good fight and I think I'd expect Tifa to win here, but I think I'm pulling for Jade for an early upset.

I vaguely know rinstar, and from my little research I did, I think I favor them in this case. Nice match. Wish it had been longer.

That's honestly probably how I could see a lot of these matches going. None of the others are as clever to outsmart they're opponents but are still pretty dangerous if they catch you. I think your argument has swayed me

This was a great read. I don't know much about either, but this would be an excellent fight to watch. I think I'm pulling for the Horned King. He seems like he'd get the upperhand.

Walk Free The fluorescent lights buzzed in the cold, sterile corridors of Belle Reve Penitentiary as Martian Manhunter led the way, his calm demeanor radiating a quiet authority. Behind him, Hank McCoy—also known as Beast—walked with measured curiosity, his sharp, analytical mind already dissecting everything J’onn J’onzz was telling him. Flanking them was the Warden. Trent Mauser. He was a grizzled ex-mercenary who had seen more violence in his lifetime than he cared to recount. His career wasn't as decorated or unique as the previous individual who held this position before him, but it was a comfort to know that at least he hadn't been tried for war crimes. Now Trent oversaw this program for the government, wrangling killers and monsters into something resembling a special unit team. “I still can’t believe a place like this still is operational,” Beast muttered, his voice tinged with curiosity. “Considering all of the controversy surrounding previous operations.” Mauser chuckled, “Days of the Past, Mr. McCoy. Welcome to the new Belle Reve. We're still working on the official program title, but some of the boys have come to call it the Homicide Squad. Fitting, huh?” “That’s a charming introduction,” Beast quipped, raising an eyebrow. Martian Manhunter didn’t look back but spoke as they continued down the hallway. “The program was initiated out of necessity. These individuals… were beyond rehabilitation. They are killers, monsters, and remnants of a darker powers we still do not fully understand." Beast adjusted his glasses, glancing at J’onn. “And you believe we can control them?” “Not through force,” J’onn replied. “Through understanding. Each of them has a reason they are here. A purpose they’ve long abandoned or forgotten. My goal is not merely to wield their abilities but to guide them toward something greater. To solve problems too dangerous for others to handle alone.” Mauser snorted. “I’ve seen these freaks. They’re not here for group therapy. They’re here because no one else wants ‘em. But hey, if they get the job done, who am I to argue?” The trio reached a heavy steel door, which Mauser keyed open. They entered the room which overlooked a large empty chamber. Below, reinforced glass windows on either side revealed the prisoners beyond: the recruits for Dark Squad Alpha. One by one, Martian Manhunter began introducing them to Beast. The first cell contained Roy Burns, standing in the corner, his expression unreadable though his hockey mask. “Roy Burns,” J’onn began. “A man driven by grief to mimic a legend. His mind is calculating, like any serial killer. He has no ties to the supernatural, but we think he may be an asset in a team setting.” “Great,” Mauser muttered. “Another wannabe Jason. That’ll go well.” The next cell held a figure as still as a statue. “Michael Myers,” J’onn continued. “A force of nature. He doesn’t speak, has no allegiance, and does not die so easily. He follows patterns, however, and patterns can be guided.” Beast’s fur bristled slightly as he regarded the silent killer. “And you’re confident those patterns won’t turn on us?” J’onn didn’t reply, moving to the next cell. The cell shimmered faintly, as though reality itself bent around its occupant. The Spirit’s dismembered form hovered in place, her spectral limbs tethered by pure rage. “Rin Yamaoka,” J’onn said softly, addressing her by name. “Living vengeance holds her together, but also empowers her. She can phase through walls and space. She makes a formidable tracker.” In the next cell, Elvira reclined dramatically on a makeshift throne of bundled blankets. She smirked as the trio above, tossing her hair just so. “Elvira,” J’onn said, ignoring her playful demeanor. “She holds knowledge of the occult, and has a deep understanding of the supernatural. She is here because she knows the darkness—and we hope that she can manage these men.” Elvira winked at Beast through the glass, making it just that much more uncomfortable. In the cell next to hers was The Crypt Keeper. He was a tiny and skeletal man, sat cross-legged with a book in his lap. “The Crypt Keeper,” J’onn intoned. “We know very little about him, but he came here willingly. He seems to know more than he lets on.” “Essentially annoying,” Mauser quipped. "And you just let him in? That doesn't seem suspicious to you?" Beast asked. "I've given them all a complete psychometry scan in addition to reading their reports in full. We are fully prepared if something were to be missed, but nothing so large as a secret such as that. They all wish us harm, that is in their nature," J'onn said. Beast analyzed that answer for a moment, then rebutted, "Are they aware of any safeguards that have been placed against them?" J'onn answered honestly, "I implanted their brains and nervous systems to react negatively to causing purposeful harm to their handlers. They are also aware of the bombs that are inside of them. That is the best we can hope for at this stage." He finally pointed toward the last cell. “Carly Beth,” J’onn said gently. “A victim. She is bonded with the cursed mask that she first wore when she was a child. The mask gives her power, but it is a power she has struggled to control. Here, I hope she will learn to wield it.” Mauser folded his arms as they reached the control panel. “So, what now, Manhunter? You really think this ragtag group of psychos is gonna play nice?” J’onn’s crimson eyes glowed, “Release them.” "What?" Beast questioned in surprise. The heavy doors slid open with a metallic clang. One by one, they stepped out, stretching and assessing their new surroundings. There were no exterior doors. No grates on the floor and no way out. No physical weapon in sight. The tension was palpable. J'onn communicated to them all through telepathy, "You wish to be free, so you all may walk freely. Do what is in your nature." Elvira sauntered over to the Crypt Keeper. “Looks like it’s you and me, bones. Stick with me, and I’ll keep you from getting squashed.” The Crypt Keeper cackled. “Ah, a deadly duo! Let’s make it a killer partnership.” "What are they to do?" Beasted asked. Mauser raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, what is your big plan, Manhunter?” J’onn watched impassively. “The room they are in built to mimic simulations by altering reality and reseting them all to their standard base. What that means is, they can kill each other as much as they like because the room will reboot them to their cells. It is a chance room for them to find their balance. Let them fight and find their own order.” Carly Beth and the Spirit gravitated toward each other. Carly’s monstrous voice rumbled, “You’re like me…” The Spirit tilted her head, her fragmented form flickering in awe and confusion. Michael Myers and Roy Burns remained silent but drifted closer. Roy took a swing at Michael, testing his reaction. Carly lunged at Elvira, who sidestepped with a laugh. The Crypt Keeper leapt onto The Spirit, only for him to phase through. The battle royal had begun. Though this is a free-for-all, I had to work within the options available to me. That said, I think teams will form almost naturally over time, since they’re fighting to the death in a best-of-10 series of brawls. Hope you all enjoy!

Hope everyone enjoys the continuation of The Loser's Club. This match and the next one or two will showcase the Enforcers going to lay claim to the Loser's Universes. I haven't seen past Shrek 2 with the exception of the fantastic Puss in Boots movie from a few years ago, so he might be a big help here for his team. And for clarification, the Undertaker here has supernatural feats, not just being a wrestler.

My bad, I totally forgot to rate this! It was so good too

The Loser’s Club Part 14 Previously - Part 13 Part 11 -- Back in Ernest's FLASHBACK Now I ain’t sayin’ I’m the toughest fella in the multiverse, Vern, but when push comes to shove, I got a way of… improvisin’. You see, them criminals threw a snake at me! A purple snake—Arnold, I think they called it!! Anyway, it came slitherin’ at me with its hood flared like it was tryin’ to win a county fair ribbon. And that other guy threw a big ol’ plant thing at me that was ready to chomp on me like I was a rare steak. Dangerous situation I found myself in. “Now hold on just a doggone minute!” I hollered, backpedalin’ toward Big Bertha. “Y’all are makin’ a mighty big assumption about my cargo!” They didn’t listen. Course they didn’t listen. Folks never do when they’re dressed like stage performers. That’s when I did what any responsible delivery driver would do. I popped the back latch. Now see, Vern, MPS trucks? They got all sorts of packages. Some of ‘em labeled. Some of ‘em… hard to read. And when that door swung open, well—let’s just say I mighta loosened a crate or two on purpose. Makes them easy for movin' around. Anyway, boxes came tumblin’ out like a clearance sale gone wrong. One burst open and shot out a cloud of glitterin’ dust that choked Arnold good. The plant got squashed by a box of wind-up toys. “Ha-HA!” I shouted, pointin’ like I knew exactly what I was doin’. “You boys ever heard of defensive parcel deployment?!” Truth be told, I had made that up. They didn't know that. But it worked all the same. I scrambled back into the driver’s seat and slam the door. “Hang on, Bertha!” I said, crankin’ the engine. Just as I hit the gas, their cat leapt right onto the hood, starin’ at me through the windshield. “You ain’t gettin’ away that easy!” “Well I’d like to respectfully disagree!” I said, swervin’ the truck left and right. That cat held on longer than I expected, but one good bump sent him flyin’ off road. I thought that was the end of it, but I hadn’t gone fifty yards before I heard sirens. Bright red lights lit up the road behind me, and I thought, Well Ernest, this is it. They finally caught up with all them overdue library books. But no sir, turns out it was S.P.D. They were here for the criminals! They rolled in fast and those Rocket guys started running. They didn't get far before the Rangers slapped cuffs on 'em. “Ha! That’s what you get for messin’ with federal postage!” I hollered, leanin’ out the window. Course, that’s when things got complicated. See, I didn’t exactly stop drivin’. And wouldn’t ya know it, the road ahead just… wasn’t there anymore. Instead, there was this big ol’ pipe. Wide enough for a truck, sure—but it was glowin’. Not in a good way neither. More like a “you’re about to regret this” kinda glow. I hit the brakes but it was too late and Bertha got stuck down here with me. Then I got lost and well... the rest is history. _______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ --Mushroom Kingdom Ernest blinked, finishing his story with a slow nod as he took another bite of mushroom. “And that, my large green friend, is how I ended up here. One wrong turn, and whoosh—next stop: Mushroomville.” Shrek stared at him for a long moment, chewing thoughtfully. “Sorry I asked." Shrek and Ernest leaned back against the stone wall, staring up at the castle ceiling. Shrek huffed, “…I miss my swamp,” he muttered. “Fiona, Donkey… even that loudmouth cat.” He rubbed the back of his neck, annoyed with himself. “Should’ve just gone into that Mr. Clean office when I had the chance. Instead I go pokin’ around that gym and next thing I know, I’m dealin’ with a fire-breathin’ turtle and his brat kid.” Ernest perked up at that. “Mr. Clean?” he said, pointing a thumb at himself. “Hey now, I know that guy. I work for him! Do a little delivery under the table when Multiversal Postal Service falls short, knowwhatImean?” Shrek gave him a sideways look. “You’re serious?” “Yes sir, capital S serious. If I know Mr. Clean—and I do, on account of employment—he’s probably already got folks lookin’ for me.” Ernest gave a confident nod. “Us, I mean. Yes sir. Which means we'll be outta here before you know it.” Shrek snorted. “Yeah? Well he better ship express. I'm getting sick of shrooms.” ______________________________________________________________________________________________ --Far, Far Away Donkey’s hooves pounded against the dirt path as he sprinted toward the castle, his breath coming in short, panicked bursts. “Fiona!!!! Puss!!!!! We got a serious problem!” he shouted, skidding around a corner and narrowly avoiding a startled goose. Donkey had been near the edge of the forest when he heard the commotion of booms and blasts and strange voices, followed by the unmistakable crack of a trees falling. Naturally, curiosity got the better of him (it always did), and he’d crept closer, hiding behind bushes to get a look. That’s when he saw him. Lord Farquaad, standing smugly in the clearing, alive and as short as than ever. “Oh, come on!” Donkey muttered to himself at the time. “Didn’t we deal with this guy already? Like, turned-him-into-ghost-jelly kinda dealt with him?” From the looks of it, he had some big scary backup. One of them was a pale, hulking figure with veins popping out of his arms. The other looked like he’d come straight out of a graveyard. Like some kind of... Undertaker! “Fiona will know what to do,” Donkey told himself as he galloped up the castle steps, his panic rising. “Or Puss. Puss always has some crazy plan. Maybe they got some kind of magical sword or something tucked away for emergencies like this.” He burst into the throne room, gasping for breath. Fiona and Puss were already there, deep in discussion. Maybe they heard the commotion too? Fiona turned sharply at the sound of Donkey’s entrance. “Donkey! Where have you been? Have you seen Shrek?,” Fiona asked, her voice laced with frustration and worry. “No time for that, princess!” Donkey panted, waving his hooves around wildly. “Farquaad’s back! And he’s got some serious muscle with him. I’m talking big, scary dudes who look like they bench-press mountains!” Fiona's expression shifted from frustration to concern. “Farquaad? Are you sure? He’s supposed to be—” “Dead? Yeah, tell me about it, girl! And yet, there he was, strutting his short self around like he’s ready to take over the kingdom." Puss in Boots stepped forward, one paw resting on the hilt of his rapier. “This is troubling news indeed. If Farquaad has returned, it cannot be a coincidence. Perhaps these invaders are the ones who took Shrek?” Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “If they know where Shrek is, they’ll answer to me.” She grabbed her bow from the table beside her, strapping the quiver to her back with practiced ease. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hold up!” Donkey interjected, his voice rising. “We can’t just go charging in there! Did you hear the part about the scary dudes? Big scary dudes?” “Donkey,” Fiona said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Shrek's been missing for days. Meaning he's probably in danger. I’m not going to sit here and do nothing while Farquaad plots to take over again. If you’re scared, you can stay here.” “Stay here?” Donkey’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What kind of donkey do you think I am? I’m coming with you! I’m just saying, maybe we should, I don’t know, come up with a plan? Roll up with a squad, know-what-I'm-saying?” Puss unsheathed his sword with a dramatic flourish, his hat tilted just so. “The plan is simple: we find them, we fight them, and we make them regret ever setting foot in this kingdom.” Donkey groaned. “Why do I even bother with you two? Fine! But when I end up squished flatter than a pancake, you’re explaining it to Dragon!” The three of them set out together, following the trail of destruction in the forest where Farquaad and his new lackeys had set up their base of operations. When they reached the edge of the camp, Donkey’s heart sank. Farquaad stood in the center, flanked by the two giants. Spopovich cracked his knuckles, his grin as wide as ever, while The Undertaker adjusted his hat. They were rounding up citizens by the looks of it. Fiona didn’t hesitate. “Hey!” she shouted, stepping out from the treeline with her bow already drawn. The string creaked under the tension as she aimed straight for Farquaad’s smug little face. “Let them go.” Farquaad turned, hands clasped behind his back like he was out for an evening stroll instead of orchestrating a takeover. “Princess Fiona,” he said, like he was uninterested. “How predictable. I was wondering how long it would take for you to come running back to me.” Puss stepped forward beside her, blade catching the light. “You will release these people immediately, señor… or things will become unpleasant.” “Unpleasant?” Farquaad scoffed. “Oh no, I assure you, this is already quite unpleasant… for them.” He gestured lazily. Spopovich tightened his grip on a struggling villager and slammed him back into the dirt without even looking. The man didn’t get back up. Donkey flinched. “Okay, yeah, I don’t like that. I really don’t like that.” The Undertaker took a single step forward, and it was like the temperature dropped with him. His shadow stretched unnaturally long across the ground, swallowing up the firelight around the camp. He didn’t say a word. He just stared at them. Fiona let the arrow fly. It screamed through the air, but was then caught by Spopovich. He snapped it in half between two fingers. “…Well that’s new,” Donkey muttered. “Get behind me,” Fiona said, already pulling another arrow. Puss didn’t wait. He surged forward in a blur, darting low and fast, boots kicking up dirt as he closed the distance with impossible speed. “En garde!” His blade flashed toward Farquaad, but was intercepted by The Undertaker, who stepped in the way and in one gloved hand caught the rapier mid-strike. The steel didn’t budge. Not even a little. Puss’s eyes widened. “…Madre de Dios.” The Undertaker tilted his head. Then swung. Puss barely twisted out of it, the blow tearing through the space where he’d been and splitting a tree behind him clean down the middle. Fiona loosed another arrow—then another—forcing Spopovich to step back as they exploded against his chest in bursts of splintered wood. He laughed. Laughed. “Oh I like this one!” Spopovich bellowed, cracking his neck. “She fights!” “Yeah well she wins too!” Donkey shouted, immediately ducking as Spopovich charged. Donkey bolted sideways. “Nope! Nope nope nope—big man comin’, big man COMIN’—!” Spopovich swung. Donkey dove. The punch cratered the earth where Donkey had just been standing. Fiona dropped her bow and charged Spopovich head-on, colliding her shoulder into him. He shifted backward and she followed up with a right fist. Her fist cracked against his jaw, but it barely turned his head. His grin only widened. Fiona backed away, meeting with Donkey and Puss. “This is… not ideal,” Puss muttered, adjusting his footing. Farquaad watched it all unfold, completely unbothered. “Such spirit,” he said, smiling thinly. “It will make your deaths all the more satisfying.” Donkey scrambled up beside Fiona, panting. “Okay! We need a new plan!” “Donkey,” Fiona said, turning to Donkey. “…Yeah?” He met her gaze. “Don’t run.” Donkey blinked. “…I’m gonna need a little more than that.” Fiona cracked her knuckles. “Because if they took Shrek…” Her eyes locked on Farquaad. “…we’re not leaving here without answers.” This is a Three on Three match-up. For Fiona and her team to win, they need to set the prisoners free and escape and atleast beat 2 out of the 3 opponents. For Farquaad and his team to win, they need to either kill or capture 2 out of the 3 opponents.

Thanks for the comments and votes, everyone. I think I'm leaning toward the Argonians for a long term win, but with heavy casualties.

I really like the idea of this. Goku would do well, but he's not nearly as smart as Clark to overcome the evil machinations of people like Lex Luthor and Brainiac. I think Superman is going to last longer.

I'll admit I have never even seen the movie the bats are from, but I wasn't really competent pitting Dr. Frankenstein against a whole race of people with weapons and magic. Without context of the story, it looked like a stomp. All of that said, I would say if the bats are able to overrun and kill all of the argonians in the city of Black Rose, then I'd consider it a win for them. I also like the fact that this is a first official match for either combatant.

I know it has been a minute since these characters have resurfaced, so I'll post their info here. https://vsbattles.fandom.com/wiki/Gex_the_Gecko https://vsbattles.fandom.com/wiki/Sir_Daniel_Fortesque https://resistance.fandom.com/wiki/Chimera

QUEST FOR THE DARK GRIMOIRE PART FIVE There are moments, traveler, when a man stands at the edge of greatness. And there are moments when that same man steps forward— not into greatness… —but into madness. Dr. Victor Frankenstein stood alone in the ruin he had left behind. The chambers of Castle Frankenstein was quiet now. The echoes of battle had faded and the corpse of his creation lay still. Despite all the Dark Grimoire had shown him, it wasn't enough to save his monster. He held the book in his hands, watching as though it pulsed. It called to him, even now. Even after failure? What was this? Hunger? Victor’s fingers trembled as he turned its pages. Ink shifted beneath the pages, his eyes glazing over the symbols as they rearranged themselves. The book was teaching him—no, guiding him. “No… not guiding,” he whispered, his voice cracking with awe. “Revealing.” Each turn of the page whispered back to him. Not in words, but in visions. Visions of worlds that lay beyond. Endless monsters. Magic. Heroes. Truth. All of fiction could be made manifest and bend to his will. He could see A a land of fabric and whimsy, a battlefield drowned in steel and war— Endless worlds for him to explore. To learn. "This book... will be my guide." Victor’s eyes widened, pupils shrinking to pinpricks as something inside him began to fracture as he realized every moment he'd gone wrong. “I was a fool,” he muttered. “A man playing at creation… stitching flesh and calling it life.” This time, the Grimoire truly pulsed. His reflection shimmered faintly in its darkened page—not quite his own anymore. His eyes glowed like that of the ink. He could now see the ancient language. “I see it now,” he said. “Life is not made. It is shaped. Malformed and broken and hurting. Like the world we know, it yearns to be whole." The shadows around him twisted. Victor raised his hand. "What else is a doctor to do... but heal it." Reality tore. BLACK MARSH — TAMRIEL Heat. Humidity. The thick, choking breath of a living swamp. Victor inhaled deep and stumbled out of the portal, boots sinking into damp earth as the world around him came into focus. It was unlike anything he'd seen. A new world before his eyes. The air was alive with insects, the distant croak of unknown creatures echoing through the dense canopy above. Before him stood a city. It was too large to be a primitive village. Built of twisted wood and stone ages older than the ones that built his castle, the structures rose out of the marsh like something grown rather than constructed. Towers leaned like crooked teeth, walkways wound like roots, and the entire place seemed to breathe with the land itself. A murky sign read BLACKROSE. Victor stared. How could he not? “…Another world,” he whispered, reverence bleeding into obsession. Just as the Dark Grimoire had promised. The Grimoire pulsed again as the dark energy leaked from the open pages, tumbling like an overfilled wineglass into the wetland. Ripples spread through the water like it was tasting a new world for the first time. But then, movement. Figures emerged. Scaled forms rising from the marsh, their eyes fixed on the stranger. They were like privative-man, dressed with spears and hand drawn weapons in clawed hands. They moved deliberately. Predatory. One stepped forward, taller than the rest, adorned with bone and carved adornments that marked him as something more than a simple guard. “You do not belong here, dryskin.” Victor didn’t respond immediately. He was staring at them. Studying them. Eyes flicking across their forms, their posture. “…Remarkable,” he breathed. “Adaptive. Organic symmetry. A people shaped by their environment rather than confined by it…” The tall leader narrowed his eyes. “You carry something unnatural,” he said. “We can feel it and it is unwelcome.” Others hissed in agreement. “The Hist does not know you,” another added. “That thing you hold… it poisons our roots.” Victor looked down at the Grimoire. For a moment he wondered... were they right? Should any one thing be so powerful as to shape reality? Who was he to— The doubt vanished. “You fear what you do not understand,” Victor said, realizing he almost made another error. Another wrong. Not again. “That is the way of lesser minds.” He was determined to help them. Shape them. Victor to see their bows drawn tighter now. The leader stepped forward. “No,” he said. “We know what this is. A sickness." The swamp grew still. “You will leave this place,” the Argonian said firmly. “Or you will be buried in it.” Victor smiled, as the book in his hand reassured him. “Buried?” he echoed. “No… no, you just don't understand. But we can help you.” Victor turned the page and the air split open. A dark tear formed above him, swirling with violent energy—unstable, violent, hungry. “What have you done?” one of the warriors hissed. But Victor didn’t respond. He only stared upward. Watching. Waiting. “…Let us test this world,” he said softly. Something moved inside the tear. Then they came. A flood of wings burst through the portal—black shapes screeching into the humid air, a storm of leathery bodies and razor teeth. The sound alone was enough to shatter the stillness of the city. Bats. Thousands of them. They poured into the sky, circling wildly before diving toward the warriors and the city beyond. The Argonians reacted instantly. “Defend Blackrose!” the leader roared. “Shut it down! Stop them!” Spears were raised. Arrows loosed at the dangerous horde. The leader pointed his weapon at Frankenstein. “You will answer for this.” Victor finally met his gaze. “Answer?” he said. “No… I believe I’ll be asking the questions now.” Above them, two more portals opened. Thousands more bats poured through. A living storm that immediately split the Argonian group. For them, one thing was clear. Stop the swarm, close the book, and kill this man. Before it was too late.