Alien Vs Predator Ambrose Vs Sabin

By Thornshield

 

 

“Welcome ladies and gentlemen to the most exciting event of the century! We are live here at the Arena Andromeda, where the first ever Chrono-World Championship is now in the quarter-final stages!”

 

The massive crowd gathered roared their approval from their seats in response and the announcer who stood in the middle of a dimly-lit, large circular ring continued his speech.

 

“For those viewing at home, this competition has been made successful by the latest time-warping teleportation devices by ZYGAR-Corp, enabling us to bring you famous historical warriors from around the globe to duke it out!

 

And now, on to the main event of the day, I present to you two mighty opponents, both from France but separated by over two hundred years, I give you…Sir Ambrose Maurlias and Sabin Duvert!”

 

Booming applause echoed throughout the stadium as the spotlights focused on the two competitors facing each other at opposite ends of the ring.

 

“Garbed in the traditional outfit of a Musketeer and equipped with the marvellous rapier known as Imperion, Sir Ambrose has easily risen to this round with his excellent swordplay and the feral strength of his werewolf powers. Causing major upsets including the defeat of Alexander the Great and other famous personas, I’m sure the bookies have placed large bets on him!”

 

The tall, blonde musketeer raised an eyebrow as his achievements was announced and bowed his head reluctantly to the cheering crowd. He was tending to court matters when out of nowhere a blinding flash knocked him unconscious, only to find himself brought to this strange place with other people from different eras. Upon being told that they had to fight each other, those who resisted were subdued with a strange device he had never seen before.

 

“On the other side of the ring, we have yet another underdog who viciously defeated opponents such as Genghis Khan with strange shadowy magic, attributed to his true form which according to our sources is known as the Anju.  From the Victorian era, I give you, Sabin Duvert!”

 

With a grin on his face, the man clad in black lifted a hand and waved to the crowd. Like Ambrose, he had no idea how he was brought here, but due to his curiosity, he willingly took part in this event, ecstatic to meet historical figures and other strange people. He wasn’t the only different one here and Sabin’s mind danced with glee at the chance of fighting a werewolf.

 

At this point the announcer had stepped out of the ring to sit at a ringside table along with two other people who were the judges of this event.

 

“This looks like it’ll be an exciting match worth your money folks, so hang in your seats and let’s get ready to rumble!”

 

~

 

Stepping forward cautiously, Ambrose kept his clear blue eyes locked upon Sabin’s movements; a frown creasing his face upon realising that Sabin was showing too many openings. Could it be that someone who got to this stage was a complete amateur in combat? Reminding himself of what the announcer had said about shadow magic, Ambrose inched forward cautiously with his rapier at the ready in his right hand.

 

With a smile still on his face, Sabin was waiting anxiously for his opponent to revert to werewolf form all the while planning which spells he would use against him. He found it oddly fascinating that in this special arena, those affected by lycanthropy could shift by mere whim regardless of the presence or lack of a full moon. Thanking the wonders of technology, he sought out Ambrose’s eyes, his own flashing red hoping to incite the bestial responses from the werewolf.

 

A pulse of fear ran through Ambrose’s spine but he remained steady, perhaps due to his rational thinking or perhaps his reluctance to lose control of himself. A look of clear dissatisfaction appeared on Sabin’s face when all Ambrose did was shudder momentarily. Mentally applauding his foe for his mental strength, he was planning his next move when he realised Ambrose was barely a few metres away.

 

Moving in with a quick two-step, Ambrose had assumed his usual offensive stance and thrust out with his rapier in repetitive strikes. Sabin let out a gasp of shock and jumped back to avoid the attacks. With calculated calm, the musketeer feinted with a slash to the left, forcing Sabin to manoeuvre to an awkward position.

 

In a single continuous movement, Ambrose brought the blade down towards Sabin’s exposed neck. Thinking he had won easily, he was thrown off-guard when the blade sliced through air and hit the ground, throwing up sparks against the metallic floor.

 

Bewildered, Ambrose spun around just in time to receive three claw marks etched upon his face. Jumping back as he wiped away the blood already trickling out of the wounds, his mind raced furiously trying to determine how Sabin had appeared behind him in an instant.

 

“Why don’t you show me your wolf form?” asked Sabin, with apparent inquisitiveness rather than a taunt.

 

Replying with a tone bordering that of arrogance, Ambrose said that he had no need to and dropped back to his stance, the claw marks closing up with incredible speed. Again Sabin looked disappointed and was beginning to manipulate the shadows about his feet when the musketeer rushed in again with incredible speed, forcing himself to be on the defensive.

 

With unrelenting ferocity, Ambrose slashed at his opponent with precise strikes, drawing blood or so it should have been, with each hit. Wondering what the strange shadowy substance oozing out in the place of blood was, he noticed that they too were healing at an above average rate.

 

He was about to lunge forward when Sabin disappeared right in front of his eyes and instinctively turned around, Imperion’s blade slashing up high. His intuition served him well as the blade blocked a clawed hand coming his way and laughed despite himself at Sabin’s foolish usage of the same manoeuvre twice.

 

Knocking the hand away with force, Ambrose continued his advance and fended off shadows that seemed to spring up from the floor to block his attack. With a cunning four-part assault involving a lot of fancy footwork and well-placed thrusts, he managed get Sabin to trip over himself, falling to the floor with a thump.

 

Sabin’s eyes widened as he realised the situation he was in and looked up at the incoming blade. He had no way to shadowstep out of harm’s way since his vision was obscured by Ambrose’s large form. Gritting his teeth, he was about to resort to morphing into shadowform when the clang of a bell rang out.

 

“And the winner for Round One is Sir Ambrose!”

 

~

 

After being tended to by the bio-tech medics, the two fighters resumed their places in the ring. A murmur of dissatisfaction was running through the crowd, for the first round was rather lopsided and they were expecting a bloodier match. Ambrose too felt uneasy at how it went and voiced out his opinion at Sabin.

 

“That can’t be all that you’ve got, my previous opponents had better combat skills than what you just displayed,” he said matter-of-factly.

 

“That’s because there’s no fun in fighting a human. Now if you were a werewolf, that would be a different matter,” replied Sabin somewhat eagerly.

 

“And would you reveal your true prowess if I graced you with my hybrid form?” questioned the musketeer, for he was one who enjoyed a fair duel.

 

“Why of course my dear sir, it would be a pleasure,” said Sabin with a slight bow.

 

Thinking about it for a moment, Ambrose nodded as he heard the audience grow impatient from their little banter. Without a moment’s hesitation, he triggered the transformation process, lupine features ripping out of his skin gradually. Gritting his teeth in pain as his skeletal structure morphed, greyish fur began sprouting all over his muscular form. Ambrose then tensed up his clawed hands and let out a bloodcurdling howl to the crowd’s delight. Finally as he assumed full hybrid form, his brilliant amber eyes shined bright in the stadium lights, studying his opponent with heightened senses.

 

Sabin watched the transformation in awe and smiled as his curiosity was finally sated. All this while, he had been gathering up shadows around his feet, preparing for his own change.

 

“Finally, I get a chance to study a mythical creature, no offence intended, in person,” he said with a smile, “Now if you would stave off your attacks for a moment; please allow me to demonstrate my true form.”

 

As he completed his sentence, the hidden two pairs of red eyes revealed themselves and he smiled a toothy, or should we say, fanged grin. His form began to dissipate as dark shadows began to swirl around him, leaving in its place a shadowy creature with six glowing red eyes and a gaping maw lined with vicious teeth. This too brought a cheer to the spectators and by now the stadium was brimming with excitement.

 

“Now then,” Sabin began, “Shall we dance?”

 

 On cue, the two of them leapt towards each other; Ambrose gripping Imperion tightly and Sabin baring his claws. With incredible force the werewolf swung his rapier in an arc towards Sabin’s head. The audience gasped collectively as the blade sliced through cleanly, only for the shadows to fluidly shift around, reforming the neck that would have been severed in normal cases.

 

“Impossible!” roared Ambrose as he swung again, only to meet similar results. Sabin merely laughed as attack after attack penetrated him harmlessly. Mentally, he beckoned the shadows about his feet to materialise in midair, commanding them to hurtle towards his opponent.

 

In desperation, Ambrose parried the physical shadows, a twinge of fear beginning to seep into his body. As he furiously tried to detect a weakness, a shadow crept up from behind him and coiled around his furry foot. Struggling to kick it off, another shadow sped towards his sword arm and knocked Imperion away from him.

 

Howling in desperation, Ambrose managed to kick off the shadow and leapt towards his fallen weapon. With another laugh, Sabin manipulated the shadows formed by the rapier to move the weapon mere inches away from Ambrose grasp. Repeating it each time Ambrose pounced towards his weapon, Sabin smiled with glee at the scene.

 

Suddenly, the werewolf turned on his heel and sprung towards the half-Anju, clawing out at the unsuspecting Sabin. Unfortunately, his attacks failed to inflict any harm and a moment later, Ambrose found himself bounded tightly by several dark shadows around his body. Releasing yet another howl of anger, Ambrose struggled against the dark restraints, his powerful muscles bunching up tightly. Just as the shadows seemed to give way, Sabin summoned up more to tighten the hold.

 

Circling around the helpless werewolf, Sabin began studying Ambrose with great intent. In truth he didn’t want to hurt Ambrose, but merely wanted to find out his strengths and abilities. Finally satisfied that the only boon from hybrid form was inhuman might and keener senses, he raised a clawed hand skywards and smiled.

 

He had no real need to perform such movements, but caught up in the thrill of the competition, he decided to imitate other warriors in the competition who screamed out the names of their moves before executing them.

 

Bringing down his hand towards Ambrose’s head, he yelled at the top of his lungs, “SLICING WI-”

 

The sound of the bell rang out before he could finish the move and the stadium erupted in cheer.

 

“And Round Two goes to Sabin Duvert!”

 

~

 

Back in his corner, Sabin was fervently jotting down in his journal the information he had gleaned regarding werewolves. While other participants found this event a misfortune, he was enjoying it thoroughly. In fact, he was very excited for what would be in store for him if he won this last round. Someone had told him that Vlad the Impaler had qualified for the semi-finals!

 

On the other end, Ambrose was deep in thought, troubled by the fact that his opponent seemingly had no weaknesses. He was contemplating throwing in the towel when he felt someone tap upon his back. Turning around, he stared at the smiling face of Sir Gawain of the Round Table.

 

“Thou hast done well to reach this stage, good sir,” began the knight, his armour shining in the light, “But in my humble opinion, thou shall not emerge victorious if you enter the arena unprepared.”

 

Despite having slight difficulties with the speaker’s strange style of speech, Ambrose understood and nodded his head in agreement. “And is there anything you can do to help me out?” he asked.

 

Smiling, Gawain took Ambrose’s hand and deposited an iron tipped spear before explaining that throughout the tournament, the only challenger Sabin had actually shown fear towards was an unnamed Hittite warrior. Though he was defeated soundly, the warrior succeeded in injuring Sabin slightly.

 

Fingering the iron tip of the spear which was originally used by the Hittite, Ambrose pondered out loud, “Could it be that he is susceptible to weapons made of unrefined iron?”

 

As Sir Gawain nodded, another question came into Ambrose’s head. “Wait, why are you helping me?”

 

“I do not wish to fight the monstrosity myself, but would rather challenge thou in an honourable match,” the knight replied, indicating that he was through to the semi finals as well. With that, he bowed deeply and took his leave as the speakers blared out.

 

“And welcome back to the Arena folks, we are here at the last round of this exciting quarter-final match between Sir Ambrose Maurlias and Sabin Duvert! Contestants, please take your places in the ring.”

 

Inhaling deeply, Ambrose set aside Imperion and stepped into the ring with the spear held tightly in his hand. From afar, Sabin noticed the spear and muttered a curse under his breath. Summoning up his true form, he took his place, his glowing red eyes surveying the best method of attack.

 

Since Sabin’s manipulation of shadows gave him an even further reach than the spear offered, Ambrose knew that he would require the speed of his hybrid form and followed suit with his own transformation, much to the crowd’s delight. The spear felt oddly out of place in his furry hands but he had no choice but to test his luck.

 

“And let the blood flow!” shouted the announcer, the stadium erupting in excitement.

 

The two man-beasts began circling each other, Sabin afraid of the spear and Ambrose looking for an opening. Hoping to catch him off-guard, Ambrose leapt forward quickly and jabbed out with the spear. Shadows quickly were summoned up to knock the spear sideward but using his immense strength; the werewolf fought against the movement and carried on the assault.

 

Sidestepping with a quickened pace, Sabin barely avoided the spear thrusts. In retaliation, he whipped up a gust of violent wind, snapping it in his opponent’s direction. Ambrose’s sensitive nose picked up the change in pressure and he instinctively leapt to the side, as the floor where he was standing a moment on began to rip from the squall’s potent force.

 

After a minute of exchanging attacks, the two contestants were still miraculously unscathed but in their minds they knew it would end up a war of attrition at the rate this was going. As though their thoughts were linked, they decided that the next strike would be the last.

 

This time round, Sabin took the offensive. Casting shadows in a circle around Ambrose, he sent them hurtling towards him from all directions, following up with a concentrated Slicing Wind burst head on.

 

What Ambrose did next completely surprised everyone. Straining his leg muscles to the limit, he performed a mighty jump upwards and the deadly gust of wind shredded the incoming shadows as it missed him completely. As soon as he touched down, Ambrose propelled himself forward with a mighty howl, spear aimed at Sabin’s chest.

 

At this range, there was no way to avoid the attack and Sabin knew that all he could do was to go down together with Ambrose. Releasing an earth shaking roar of his own, he swung his clawed hand towards the incoming werewolf’s head.

 

“STOP!” yelled out an unknown voice, rising over the din of the cheering crowd.

 

The words never registered through the two fighter’s brains and their attack continued, only to stop mere inches from contact. A yell of dissent burst throughout the stadium, all eyes upon Ambrose and Sabin who were strangely locked in stasis, a pulsating blue field rendering them immobile.

 

“What’s going on?” screamed the announcer into the microphone, bewildered at this strange turn of events.

 

A moment later a tall, well-built man stepped into the ring. Dressed in a navy blue suit with matching slacks and shoes, he addressed the crowd with his eyes hidden behind blue tinted shades.

 

“In violation of Section XII Act VI of the Inter-Dimensional Time-Space Continuum Pact established circa 3700 AD, all those involved in the Chrono World Championship shall be severely dealt with,” he announced, inciting a ripple of fear throughout the crowd.

 

Snapping his fingers, the exits throughout the stadium were suddenly sealed off with the emergence of countless agents in blue who promptly began their arrests.

 

Smiling to himself as his men carried out their duty, Agent K adjusted his shades and called for all the contestants to gather in the ring around Ambrose and Sabin, who were still caught in the stasis field . Addressing them calmly, he began his speech as he took out a spherical object from his object.

 

“I apologise for this whole incident, we are doing what we can to avoid such misuse of time-warping technologies in the future. We will now return each of you to your respective time zones,” he said as he lifted the sphere and flicked a switch located at the top, causing the object to begin glowing.

 

 “And to avoid disrupting the time-space continuum, we shall be wiping your memories of this whole incident,” he continued as the glow intensified by the second.

 

“Now then, say artificially coagulated dairy product!”

 

The End?