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"Aren't you a sight for sore... eye."

Damon's face was still wrapped up in bandages. Not because his wound needed to be covered, but because it had been healed and was still very sensitive. "Sorry. I don't usually get hurt in these things." Turns out that this GTB was going to be the most violent and gruesome.

Damon motioned for Ellie to come closer and sit on the edge of the bed.

"And thanks. Marcus was tough, but he finally submitted."

Damon's face remained stoic.

"Fighters like these don't understand restraint."

How could you not understand the concept of holding back? Damon had pulled his punches against Marcus, because he hadn't intended to kill him. Even when using his telekinetic bast, Damon had held back.

At least these killers would be kicked out of the tournament. Damon didn't enter so that he could get into fights for his life, he simply wanted to test his intelligence and tactics against other skilled fighters.

As for Tres. Damon felt sorry for him.

"Perhaps he didn't think his opponent was a child. I do not blame Tres for his actions. That kid was allowed in, and brought plenty of power to his fight. And so he got hurt. It's the same thing as a female mage or martial artist entering and expecting to not be hurt just because she is female."

Insensitive as it might have sounded, that was Damon's view.

" Whoo! Winner winner, Chicken dinner, bishies. " came a shout from near the entrance. Such loudness was unneeded in the infirmary wards, so what the hell was happening?

Marx walked into the room, his blade through his sash. It's slim black profile spoke levels of danger, but the guy holding it looked almost ridiculous. White hair, tanned skin, he seemed to be one of the bishie boys he just yelled about.

As he walked in, the blood splattered clothes whipped behind him. A nurse ca,e to wipe the blood off of his face, and saw a peek of his nose. It was just about mush. She called a doctor over, and the guy set to work checking Marx out." Wait wait wait! " He said, his voice taking an exasperated tone. " I just need you to set it. I got the healing down pat, buster. " Marx intoned.

The doctor listened, and after a few minutes of preparation, he started yanking on the Djinn's honker like a piece of silly putty. Therein ensued a bout a shouting, the Djinn screaming once or twice about obviously needing something for pain, and aggravated reply about there was no such thing as morphine in a tournament. After a while the nose was set straight, and Marx shooed them off.

A look of concentration came over his face. Fresh blood dribbled from his nose and forehead, where a jagged cut ran along his brow line. The look of concentration increased drastically, before a audible pop came from his nose. It set straight on his face again, weird. Then, the cut on his forehead simply closed, leaving no puckered skin or anything of the ******** Djinn for you, with their bodies all prana and what have you magic. It was a simple healing, but something he could never hope to do it the midst of battle. With it done, Marx laid out across his cot, with a look of bliss on his face. He was pretty again, and he might as well rest up.

A group of doctors and nurses were moving down the corridors of the halls. They had on the white masks over their mouths and wore the white skull medic caps usually worn in surgery rooms.



A group of them came up to Tres, one of them pointing and saying: "Get that man back up on that stretcher."

The male and female nurse did just that, grabbing Tres by the arms and raising him back up onto the stretcher. Try as he might to push them away, he would find that they were a whole lot stronger than the average person, being capable enough to force him back on the stretcher against his will despite their not so muscled forms. Holding him down, belts were drawn over his body, material made to restrain superhuman folks like him from breaking free. With that, they began rolling him off to a room.



As the nurses tended to Reicher's wounds, a unit of a doctor and nurses stepped in, stopping the nurses procedure.

"Please halt," the doctor said to them as he stepped forward. "We'll take it from here." The two healers were moved out of the way as Reicher was grabbed and put onto a stretcher, too, much in the same way as Tres. Due to his condition at the moment, it would be hard to contest it, resulting in the ninja being lied down and strapped to the mobile bed.

"Take him away."





A unit of a doctor and four nurses entered the room. Seeing the three people inside, the doctor stepped forward, holding a clipboard underneath his right arm.

"All visitors must leave for the time being. We need to tend to all wounded fighters at this current moment."

A stretcher was pushed into the room for both Damon and Darius.

Arguments were a fundamental aspect of conversations with Darius, never wavering from his beliefs even vulnerable and wounded in a hospital bed. What froze the demented fighter was hearing her glad he was still alive, bewildered considering most yearned for his imminent death whenever that time came for him. Cynical eyes traced onto her momentarily, ignoring the glory seeking psion for now. The one redeeming memory of saving her from the World Eater was mostly omitted from his mind, losing most of his humanity by now. Sensing multiple energy signatures enclosing the room, Darius knew this little chat would be severed quickly. Transferred back to another stretcher, the brawling warrior from Makai answered her little question to the best of his ability.

" Shame my opponent has been resurrected, but to answer I do not know. Maybe visit me later or turn on the television to know."

" It's just a cut and a half healed nose, Doc!" Marx argued, with a frown on his face. That was bullshit, man. He had his body down pat, and none of these doctors knew what his deal was. He'd probably end up a kidney less for the trouble.

Marx wood, and crossed his arms, before plopping himself on the stretcher. " Don't expect to put me under, hardass. " Marx warned the man, with a raised finger. He'll if they were gonna put him to sleep for some stitches. He'd heal out of them later anyways. Whatever, bruh.

Reicher grinned as the new doctors popped in and told the oters to more or less scram. At least they finished healing his wounds to the point no one would notice them, though he couldn't really hold these doctors off in his condition. At least... Not directly, "Oh my, looks like I'm getting the V.I.P. treatment." Being fully aware of his bodies condition and all it's medical needs, he knew there was no reason for these doctors to intervene.

As the placed him on a stretcher and took him away, if he happened to pass another fighter, hidden by a curtain or otherwise, he would give them a friendly warning, "And when were done, there will be cake." Reicher said with a small chuckle. Whether or not they understood his warning or not was on them.