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King of the hill

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ArtDrake:
I move onwards to Paris [keeping my water-breathing ability] in pursuit of the Hill. I handcuff myself to the Hill, presenting myself, the Hill, and you as my crowning achievement of Surrealist artwork -- and everyone eats it up. Two men on a hill, one of steel, one with gills? The art critics quickly realize that I am the real artist here.

Steelfist:
Oh damn it.

Oh! I hit you with the mace, and say it was to show the triumph of material things over art in our society! I am hailed as an artistic genius, and your brain seems to be swelling due to the injury, or possibly due to the way they lap up those obvious lies and don't even bother to make sure you are okay.

That's alright. I make a hole in your skull.

For your own good, of course.

MY HILL.

bugfartboy:
Still blended with the consciousnesses of my amphibious tortoise, I drift my way towards Paris. From there, I trudge my way towards the hill, and smash into it and Steelfist. I manage to knock Steelfist's mace from his grip, and grind him and the hilll to a fine powder, which is spread by the wind all over Europe.

I claim the Hill in the name of Europe!

Steelfist:
Woo! I'm finally travelling the world!

Anyway, you accidentally inhaled a small amount of the powder (well, relatively small; you are an enormous tortoise, after all), and through great effort of will I reassemble my consciousness, which is tied to the powder though strained by being spread so far, and reform into a liquid inside your lungs. I find this highly unpleasant but not, I think, as unpleasant as you find it; you promptly die, and I can make my escape, much diminished. Fortunately, we are in Paris, so I raid several stores for stainless steel, and reform anew. I collect my Mace, and make the claim that as I have more of the Hill particles inside my body than anyone else possesses, I have claim over the Hill.

Thus, my Hill (particles). I declare the dead giant tortoise corpse a work of art designed to indict rampant consumerism. Naturally, I am hailed as an artistic genius.

bugfartboy:
My death as an enormous tortoise is enough to unbind my consciousness from the tortoise. Much weakened, my consciousness is free to roam the universe. Over time, I discover that I can manipulate the world on a molecular level to some degree. Thus, I end my turn.

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