LCC Final: Super Awesome Fun Time, Best Pals Go! v Unreasonable Gentlemen

Out of Character:

Prior iterations of the LCC have seen those who reach the Finals left to their own devices, but this year we wanted to shake things up a little bit. What follows is the beginning of the prompt which will see the combatants brought to the island of Lornius via the port city of Lyridia. The Final Round begins June 5th at midnight (12:01AM) Eastern Time, and will end June 19th at 12:00AM) Eastern Time.

The two figures stood across an oaken table checkered with ebony and ivory squares covering its surface. Atop the squares rested four marble figurines in equally matching black and white, while other figurines were set aside.

The first of the two figures, a man of average height clothed in all white and a pair of patented weapons at his side, reached out to grab one of the pieces. Before he moved it, however, he paused, and then released his grip. He scanned the available moves before him, and then at the man opposite himself.

"You do realize if they ever find out about any of this, they will have us put to the stake or worse,” he asked of his counterpart.

The second of the figures smirked an all too familiar smirk. His hands lowered to the hilts of the two small swords at his sides as he nodded.

“Of course. But I’d like to see them try and succeed,” he replied as his smirk was replaced by an arrogant grin.

“Very well, then. I shall make my final move, but just remember our little bet when this is all said and done, and my chosen have bested your chosen,” replied the man in white.

The man with the swords laughed heartily, a bellowing chuckle that reverberated among the stone walls of the room. He pointed toward the shimmering window, which was nothing more than a scrying spell placed upon a wall allowing the two to watch over the festivities.

“Can’t you see? You lost long ago. I picked these two,” the swordsman said as he motioned to the two ebony pawns remaining on the board, “from the beginning. I even told you they would best any obstacle you could throw in their path, and they have, and they did. And what of your chosen ones?”

“My chosen ones? I picked them because I believe in them," the man wearing white rested his hands upon the two pieces matching his attire before continuing, "I trust them, and I know them. I have fought alongside them and against them in wars. I have seen their iron will firsthand. They are survivalists, and while they may not best all thrown their way, they always seem to walk away victorious. Your chosen ones might be stronger, but mine will survive this war of attrition.”

Out of Character:

The two teams will arrive at Lornius via the port city of Lyridia, but how the two teams opt to write that is up to them. This Final will take place in Lornius, but as to what part of Lornius that is up to the writers. The two "familiar figures" from the intro are available for commentary and interactions, but are not meant to aide or hinder combat in any way, shape, or form. The writers may opt to use them or not, at their discretion, and bunnying is approved. Good luck!

A sharply unsettled feeling rattled Storm Veritas from what felt like the edge of eternity, as he awoke in what he envisioned must be the epitome of oblivion. He was in some small, square quarters, looking through bleary eyes at a room of grey, flat and nothing.

The “nothing” here could not have been more literal. There were no windows, and no doors. Some alien light shined from behind all four walls, but was distributed so evenly that only the tiniest of shadows afforded him realization that the room had corners, a floor, or a ceiling at all. There was no furniture whatsoever; the quarters appeared to be a great synthetic thing, an illusion that offered no connection to reality. He tapped on the floor with a roll of his fingertips, hearing the softest of muted sound record back to him.

What in the actual hell is this? Where am I?

Rayse!?

A false wall had receded soundlessly, creating a new, seamless room of twice the size. His old partner, Rayse Valentino was now visible, laying motionless on the ground, hands at his side like a felled statue. He appeared prepared somehow, like a worthless castaway carelessly cropped for an unceremonious funeral. Gone were his dress clothes, replaced with some horribly pedestrian grey tunic, pants, and shoes. Only his weapons stood apart from the fashion apocalypse the electromancer witnessed.

Shit…

Storm tapped his chest, heart sinking to find the texture of broad-thread and wool. It was the same monochrome lead color that was thrown upon Valentino, although it had taken him moments to acknowledge it. The fit was shockingly perfect, and the clothes hung over him without weight or burden. He instinctively tapped at his waist and underarm, the rhythmic acknowledgement that his blades and satchel were intact and in place. A small wave of relief filled him in that at least he had some of his things; the small tether to reality was reassuring.

The elders were often buried with their most prized possessions; is this a tomb?

“The F*CK is this place!?”

His exclamation went unanswered, as a small memory quickly entered his mind. He recalled his last memory; of Shinsou Von Osiris and his horrible dark magic. Storm pulled at his tunic, rifling his hand to where the spear of purple-black darkness had torn clear through his left arm and entered his chest. The spot was pristine; the only pink and new skin on his body. No roughness, no hair, no injury; his flesh was baby-smooth and suspiciously devoid of pain.

His nostrils flared as his pupils dilated, a great and mighty fear filling the hollow of his stomach. Was he dead? Extending his hand before him, he focused briefly and watched five twisting arcs of white and blue form a swirling ball of electric energy a few inches above his palm. A small relief, as perhaps his abilities didn’t make sense for the afterlife.

A small groan came from Valentino, sending Storm sprawling to his side. A sneer came across the handsome fire-wizard’s face, although the source was unclear.

“Rayse, relax, it’s Storm. Well, don’t relax, or do… I don’t think it makes much of a difference, given that I’m fairly certain we’re f*cking dead.”

The sneer transformed into a smirk, as the older wizard’s rush to judgment clearly amused the pyromancer.

”We’re not dead, you god-damned idiot. Haven’t you heard of Lornius before?

The wide, confused eyes of Storm relayed his ignorance of the situation. A few moments passed as Rayse stood up, ignoring the inquisition of his dumbfounded accomplice. As the two powerful men at last stood again, a single mid-range tone sounded from behind what they would later learn was the eastern wall.

A bright white light cut a dark black seam across the wall as it moved, forming the outline of a door which dropped away. Squinting against the brilliant light, Storm made out a flat, stone-laid floor before him, and details of green and blue began to come into focus. Their time in the chamber of tranquility was over, and Lornius awaited beyond the door.

“Artur Eld 1124.”

William stumbled through the streets of Lyridia like an automaton, one bare foot after the other slapping the stone streets. He mumbled to himself repeatedly, the words tumbling from numb lips. He didn’t know what they meant, but clung to them with a desperate intensity. After all, they were the reason that he was here.

Everything that he’d been through since the golden wood ships of Amra had returned him to Althanas has been leading him to Lornius. Scara Brae’s carnival, partnering with Talen, fighting Seth Dahlios, and the sinking of Cudlitz Pride, all of it was linked to him in the form of some twisted game. That phrase, “Artur Eld 1124,” was the only link that he had to the people behind the whole affair. The shadowy puppet masters who’d made the mistake of involving him.

Truth be told, though William would never admit it, this challenge had taken a toll on him. Physically, he could hold up to the stresses easily enough, regeneration was quite handy for that sort of thing. Mentally however, William was exhausted. He’s made a stone of those words and wrapped his mind around it, using it as motivation to keep putting one foot in front of the other. The endgame was in sight.

“Artur Eld 1124,” William muttered, his eyes occasionally jerking up from the wet stone to scan the street signs and business placards. He continued this way for an hour, mindlessly wandering the streets of Lyridia pursued only by the hostile stares of the natives.

Hunting for the Ixian Knights had taken William all over Althanas, but he’d never had the fortune to travel to Lornius. It seemed that the isolated nation either had few monstrous incursions to deal with or else they handled them internally. And William didn’t care much for travelling to new places purely for pleasure. Still, he was well read and knew enough about Lornius to know that he would find little welcome here. Few would.

Despite this, none of the xenophobic Lornians were brave enough to do anything other than spit curses in his direction as he passed. Not for the first time, William was thankful that for the air of formidable hostility that he exuded.

The standoffish nature of the Lornian people proved to be a mixed blessing. They were leaving him alone, which was nice, but they were also refusing to respond to his inquiries regarding “Artur Eld 1124.” He thought about using violence to get them to open up a little, but discarded the idea. And so he was left to his own devices, which were getting him nowhere.

”Not surprising,” William thought. He and Talen had been planning to let Talen undertake the scouting portion of the trip once they made landfall in Lyridia. The shadowmancer’s creepy familiars were much more effective than his own two feet when it came to quickly combing information from the surrounding area. He idly wondered what had become of his partner. He had no doubt that Talen had survived the sinking of Cudlitz Pride just as he had, he’d seen the boy-thing do stranger and far more esoteric things than flee a sinking ship. But from there, he had no idea. He had to trust that Talen would have made his own way to the city and would be using his freakish creations not only as the two of them had planned, but also to locate William in this mess.

He repeated the mantra as he stumbled down one street after another. Warmth began to radiate from the wet stones as the lessening cloud cover gave way to a new day, and soon the whole city hung heavy and humid. At least that was something that William didn’t have to worry about. If there was one thing he could stand, it was a little heat.

As the light flooded into their chamber, Rayse could see clearly beyond it. He stepped through with a concerned look on his face, panning around the new… room… they were in. He could only describe it as a rotunda, with the dome-shaped ceiling sporting familiar tapestries of blue and green. The stone floor was smooth to the touch, almost pristine in appearance. There were many chambers like their own, although at a glance all that could be seen of them was a rectangular indentation in their walls.

Yet the various palace-like extravagance meant nothing to the pyromancer. Embers wafted in the air, and his gaze was drawn to the massive source of it in the center of the room: An enormous pit with a seemingly endless fire burning in it. His eyes were fixated on the flames, for they were white as alabaster, the color of annihilation. If it wasn’t for his apparent precognition, he would’ve thought he was back in the goddess-damned Plane of Unlife.

Speaking of which, the one fact that Rayse spouted caught Storm’s attention, after the lightning mage was done being agog at his surroundings, “Wait a second, how do you know we’re in Lornius? Is it known for its featureless rooms? Did you already wake up earlier? What the f*ck?”

“You don’t remember?” Rayse asked, genuinely surprised. “Shit, I guess it’s just me then. When that fucker stabbed me, he sort of probed my mind, and I guess I… Probed it back a bit? I don’t know how I did it, maybe it was a side-effect of what he did, but I didn’t get much out of it. All I know is that he wanted to bring us to Lornius… or maybe in my case, back to Lornius. I’m sort of a wanted man here, in more preposterous ways than any other land.”

“We were stabbed? All I remember is uh, bleeding, and then I saw you and you were bleeding. I only remember like… a second of it. Who did this to us?”

“I don’t know. The only thing I can tell was he was an Akashiman. Either way, uh... " Rayse was transfixed by the fire. It couldn’t have been real. This whole place was some sort of illusion. And yet, even with all this, he should have been far more agitated.

I should be freaking out. I should be looking for the nearest exit as fast as I can. Dio they really reconstruct this from my memories? Why?!

He was oddly calm about all this, but he didn’t know why. It was almost as if he was seeking death in his recklessness, and when he finally subconsciously got his wish, he was brought back. He fell right into their trap, but their goal wasn’t his death, at least not permanently. It was some sort of sick game. One that he wasn’t… completely unwilling to play. Even a month ago, he never would have imagined feeling this way.

“Nice to know that you’ll go out of your way to make sure a friend survives a shipwreck,” said Talen with more than a hint of sarcasm dripping from his words.

William turned his eyes from the stones at his feet and met Talen’s. The hostile presence of the Revenent had seemed to grow steadily more unhinged as their journey continued. Talen had to admit that he felt the effect of the chase as well. He was tired, and not just from lack of sleep that punctuated their journey into Lyridia. There was a constant shadow that hung over both the dark child and fiery man. Talen wasn’t used to being caught in someone else's’ web and the unusual experience irked him to no end.

“Friends?” asked William with a smirk, “You took your time finding me.”

“Well, funny thing about that,” said Talen as he turned towards the innocuous door just a few feet from the pair, “I didn’t find you at all, I found this. I guess it’s true what they say; all roads do lead to Radasanth.”

Talen reached up a hand and placed it against the wooden frame. It was cold, despite the sun’s gaze upon it’s wood and rising heat of day. The youth turned back and looked up at William. Talen’s eyes flashed with excitement that managed to cut through the dark rings.

“I think our goal is finally close…” Talen paused and the fire in his eyes died for a moment, “but this could be another thread leading to nothing.”

Before Talen could think further William wrapped a hand around the handle, jerked it open, pulling it nearly off it’s hinges and shattering the rusted lock as he did. The action burnt away any doubts in Talen’s mind. It was as if a voice called him from the stairs below and without a word he dove through the door in front of William.

The youth stepped out into a large room, partially buried underground to achieve the sizable height of the ceiling without towing over the other buildings. The youth’s eyes were instantly drawn towards the center of the room and the unnatural fire burning therein. The fire seemed an affront to everything the youth was. Pure white, shedding embers into the air like tiny fireflies, the fire's warmth filled the youth even from the doorway. Behind him and up the stairs of the modest doorway Talen had entered a curse carried down from William. The Revenant started down after Talen while the youth slowly edged around the outside of the room with his eyes on the fire. So much so was the youth’s focus he failed to take in any other details of the room.

The words that Rayse spoke offered only cursory reassurance that Storm wasn’t dead or in some dream. In a dream, the electromancer wagered, Valentino would be more articulate than this; the natural disposition and genuine lack of finesse that the brutish fire mage offered was simply too preposterous to fake. For his lack in linguistics, Rayse was still far from stupid, and seemed to have some passable knowledge of their situation. Their location seemed logical enough.

Lornius… let’s see what all the goddamned fuss is about.

For all of his travels, Storm Veritas had never been to Lornius. Here, it appeared that they had been transferred, like captured animals set to be supplanted into synthetic habitats. They were definitely being screwed with, but the experienced wizard surmised that they were not in a position for negotiations. He was grateful to be on the sunny side of terra firma, and would do what needed to be done to stay there.

“Whatever you say. Whoever he was took my good shit from me; no more cash, whiskey, or tobacco. WHAT A DICK. I still have my knives, which can’t be a coincidence.”

Were you brought here to fight Rayse? Why? Premium gladiators, perhaps?

Either way, don’t even think about it, it’s f*cking suicide. You’ve seen his speed, and you can smell the fire from here. Would be like shoveling sand against the sea.

Storm’s voice lowered to a whisper, although he wasn’t certain that his words would go unheard to whoever dropped him into this charade. “Stay together, stay alive. Try not to show your whole bag of tricks right away…”

The intimation wasn’t direct, but Valentino would no doubt understand Storm’s intention of unleashing the full wrath only upon the Puppeteer. For now, he was on strings, and would dance in accordance. The stage was certainly dramatic, as he was greeted by a dull buzzing sound that had begun to grow.

Seriously, do they contract this shit out? How does this get made?

“No fucking way. They’re fucking with us. With me.” Rayse’s words were a mix of disbelief and anger.

With Valentino by his side, Storm carefully scanned his surroundings as he stepped into the massive arena. Their chamber behind them appeared as one perfect stone in a gargantuan ring of stacked stones, perhaps two hundred meters in diameter. Black paint framed the doorway, as striking religious marks were hand drawn upon the walls. A massive crowd was assembled above and behind the walls, the roar growing ever louder as the two magicians emerged into view.

The ceiling reminded him of a great gothic church in Radasanth, only far larger, and some thirty meters in height. A steady, thin white plume of smoke rose high towards the center of the smooth domed ceiling, escaping through a tiny porthole that seemed altogether impossible. Beneath them, the familiar rebound of hard, smooth stone greeted his shod feet, leading downwards from the perimeter towards a blazing, obscene white fire within this bizarre hallucinatory edifice.

Reminds me of that story Rayse told me about Lornius, two bottles deep in rum on the top of the bar in Lounton. Hadn’t he spoken of a place -just- like this, with some other folks?

What felt like sunlight on his face disappeared to blackness, and a deafening, primal crowd’s roar briefly drowned out any rational thought. It ceased after a few seconds, as three spotlights erupted, blinding from the black. One spotlighted blasted its white fury upon Rayse and Storm, a second upon strangers at the opposite end of the arena, and the third above them.

A voice boomed from above them from the third location of concentrated light. Two large men stood upon a floating pedestal, high above the wizards and clearly protected by some finely crafted magic shield, which shone as a soft yellow bubble about the entire platform which held them.

”WELCOME TO PARADISE, TRAVELERS.
YOUR PATH HAS BROUGHT YOU TO REST IN LORNIUS. “

Another roar of applause, and the beam shone more brightly on the tandem opposite Storm. A second voice crackled above them.

”On my right, a man of fire and fury, the mighty William Arcus, known to many as ‘The Revenant’. With him, the Great Changer, the man of Many Names… ‘Talen Shadowalker!!!’”

Arcus. That was the name of the man Rayse mentioned. That rum was shit, must not have hit me as hard as I thought.

So they both have been here? And I’m what… side dish for the entrees?

A great explosion of applause and cheer surrounded the arena, as many had apparently bet heavily on what was apparently the opponent picked for Storm and Rayse. Veritas squinted to oppose the spike in light that came with a spotlight’s focus, shielding the incoming light with a hand in a gesture that may have resembled a wave.

”On my left, we have wizards of multiple forms. A master of electricity, known for both bolts AND blades, ‘Storm Veritas’! Not to be outdone, he is joined by the notorious master of all things fire-borne, ‘Rayse Valentino’!”

F*cking weak! He didn’t mention Serenti, the Adventurer’s Cup, the Dragons… what a hack.

Another round of applause ignored Storm’s internal complaints; the spotlights faded as the artificial sunlight reclaimed its warm hold over the arena. The buzz in the room was tangible, although the electromancer still had no tangible idea as to how or why he had been chosen for this gladiatorial display.

Before any escape plan could be hatched, the first, booming voice once again dominated the arena.

TWO OF YOU SHALL BE CROWNED CHAMPIONS.
TWO OF YOU SHALL BE BURIED.

WALK AMONGST THE GODS.

The final eruption of applause almost completely hid the otherwise deafening gong sound which screamed across the arena, marking the beginning of the end.

Hearing his name broke Talen’s fascination with the white flame. “Well,” he murmured, “Looks like this was the right place after all.”

Now that he wasn’t enthralled with the alabaster flame, Talen took a moment to look around. The room itself, while fairly massive, was a simple affair. “Definitely not up to the standards of the Ai’Brone,” he thought, images of the Radasanth’s famous Citadel running through his mind.

“I guess they don’t want anything to be too distracting from the little dance they’ve set up for us,” Talen muttered under his breath. Dismissing the chamber, the shadowmancer instead settled his attention on the shielded platform overhead. More specifically, he locked his eyes on the duo atop it.

The platform floated four dozen handspan above them, low enough to be clearly visible to the crowd but high enough that it was out of the combatant’s easy reach. The men atop it were utterly unassuming, and if it hadn’t been for the opposing black and white suits the men wore, Talen would have had a hard time distinguishing between them. These must be the men that they’d gone to so much trouble to find, the Lornian corporate puppet-masters. Only instead of finding them, he and William had played right into their hands and stumbled into their endgame.

As he watched, the man in white finished his announcement and the artificial sunlight once again flooded the chambers, bringing with it tumultuous applause. The man casually walked back to his companion and both began to shuffle carved figures around on a table that they had setup between them.

Realization flooded Talen’s mind and he looked from the floating platform to the other pair of combatants on the opposite side of the arena. Storm Veritas and Rayse Valentino appeared to be experiencing just as much confusion and hesitation as he himself was feeling. Clearly, these men were as much pawns of the colored men as he and William were.

“Are you serious?” Talen laughed incredulously. He looked up again just in time to see the man in black firmly place one of his pieces in a way that pushed one of the man in white’s pieces to the edge of the board. “Are they literally playing a game with us?”

Talen turned to William. He was preparing to let the Revenant make the first move. Knowing that William’s method of fighting was far more straightforward than Talen’s, the two of them had decided that they would best be served in a fight with Talen’s abilities being used to play around the demonic warrior’s aggressive style.

But instead of the look of imminent violence that he expected to see, Talen was surprised to see a look of terror on William’s face. Something was wrong.

***

William stood locked, transfixed by the pillar of flame before him. The weary numbness that he had been feeling was leeched from his body in an instant, replaced by a bone-deep cold. “No,” he thought, “Not this. Not again.”

The icy cold in his limbs was familiar to William. It was a sensation more intimate than any lover could be, and more invasive than a knife to the guts. I was the feeling of living death that William had borne for years upon countless years in the timeless hell of the Plain of Unlife. He had escaped that prison only though what seemed a lifetime of constant strife, and by bartering his body and soul to certain powerful forces within the realm. And then he had betrayed them and sent the whole place reeling into chaos. He was not, nor would he ever be, keen on returning.

A heavy clack broke William from his reverie and he rounded to see that the door they’d entered through had sealed. Heavy locks were clamping into place behind a massive door of steel and stone. The two of them wouldn’t be escaping that way without considerable effort and time.

“Get ahold of yourself!” William barely heard Talen’s barked command. Something in his head, something worn and tired from everything that he’d been through, twisted.

“Of course we can’t go back,” William cried, ignoring Talen. His eyes, which normally burned with an insatiable rage, now burned at the edges of madness. The sight stopped Talen cold, another string of words dying on his lips.

“Portals only work one way,” William continued, his fervency growing. “So I’m not going back.” William’s eyes narrowed dangerously as he said this. Flecks of spittle flew from his lips. “I’m not going back.” And then William’s eyes slipped past Talen and he saw the men opposite them.

The other pair.

Their opponents.

The man called Storm Veritas and ….

Rayse Valentino?

William’s eyes widened in recognition. He’d been too entranced by the white flame to notice before, Rayse stood across the chamber from him. The savage guttering flame between them seemed to drown out everything in the chamber, but not Rayse. Instead, the fire’s flickering lines silhouetted the contractor, pulling him sharply into William’s focus.

“Rayse!” he bellowed, loud enough that the other man could doubtless hear him across the chamber, even over the continuing roar of the crowd. Talen staggered away from William, caught by surprise at the sudden outburst. It was just as well, because an instant later William’s flesh exploded into thick charred leather and blackened bone, fatigue washed away in a bloom of hot madness.

When William moved, he did so with full, flashing speed. He leaped a heartbeat later, launching himself into an impressive arc with all the strength that his demonically charged body could provide. He sailed out over the arena like a shot, the tremendous leap carrying him the hundred meters to the pillar of white flame and then over it. When the initial momentum of his leap expired, William subconsciously shifted to his heated flight, using that to carry him the rest of the way. When he landed, William stood a dozen meters past the white flame on the downslope of the opposing side of the chamber.

It was an impressive display and it caused the crowd to erupt anew with a frenzy of cheers. Overhead, the colored men shifted pieces again, moving to encircle and ensnare each other. William paid attention to none of it. He only had one thing on his mind.

“Rayse!” he roared up the slope. “I’m not going back. Do you hear me? I’m not going back!”

Out of Character:

All flashback bunnies of Revenant approved.

It wasn’t more than a few months ago that Rayse was in a room similar to this one, except without the audience or the assholes playing chess. He looked a little different, sporting charcoal-colored skin that was as hard as it looked, cracking at the joints. His eyes were pure white, matching his hair. All beings in the Plane of Undeath were like this, but escape offered the hope of regaining his humanity. He blended into a procession of zombies wearing hooded cloaks, marching toward the pit of everlasting fire. Except this one was a real White Fire, not the illusion in the present day.

The pyromancer wasn’t there to appreciate the destructive power of the flames, nor was he there to build rapport with the rest of the decaying denizens. He was in disguise, posing as a member of their cult. His goal was to deliver vial of the coldest substance in the plane into the hottest substance. Why? Because he was goddess-damned told to, or else he was never getting out of this nightmare. Also, it was the only thing capable of putting out the eternal flames.

He was perfectly content walking towards the pit, even though in this state he felt like he was in an extreme sauna. One little job, and he was home free. At least, that’s what he believed. He had to believe. As soon as they were done with their ritual, he would stay behind and dispose of the parcel.

Speaking of the ritual, it was getting started. They were dragging the corpse by his elbows, his knees scraping along the floor. Rayse couldn’t get a good look at the sorry rotter from the back of the formation.

"On this day, the third solstice of Arkh'Girah, set in the Uli of the sixth, let it be known that Gor’Havah The Skullbreaker has become a Lost One in our realm. We are both deeply saddened to lose another one of our kind, yet deeply happy to offer him back into The Void. May The Writhing God bless our sacrifice of his body, and may his spirit return to the plane."

The fuck did they just say?

A chill ran down his spine, when the gravity of the deception was borne before him. He remembered the rumors of rotters who weren’t actually dead being tossed in as a means of silencing them, but he never imagined it would actually happen to William. Although he was in his war form, he was still William Arcus, the man who saved him and guided him out of this accursed city. Rayse’s plan was to wait for the ritual to end, safely toss in the vial, and head back up to the Upper City to collect his boon. But… that would mean…

What do I care? He made his choice, and it backfired for him. Them’s the breaks.

…

Between all the manipulation and half-truths, William was the only one here who was honest with Rayse. He was the only one who genuinely wanted to leave the plane. Was Rayse really going to get an escape route out of this deal? Why would they ever grant that to him? He’s either useful as a slave or a loose end to be stamped out, they would never just let him go. Hell, he was probably next in line to be tossed in.

…

Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe it was time to take his destiny into his own hands. The chaos that would erupt from the surrounding zombies would likely put this whole place under lockdown. It would summon the giant, skeletal Servitors who would make short work of him. And yet, all of that sounded better than letting William die. He pulled down the hood and reached inside, pulling out a glowing blue cloth that contained the vial. It was a special material that ignored the effects of cold, and was the only reason that Rayse and everything around him were not freezing over.

You better be worth it, you goddess-damned blithering idiot!

He threw the vial as hard as he could into the pit.

* * * * *

It was a big world, but apparently not big enough. He never thought he’d see William again, but then there he was, hopping up to him like a giggling schoolboy. This scene was more jarring for Arcus, since he was stuck in the undead plane for years, as opposed to the weeks for Rayse. It was his life, his curse, and now it threatened to take him back. Rayse could feel William’s rage, and all his excitement about the situation faded away. There were no puzzles to be solved, no quests to be conquered. No, they wanted him to fight William. He never wanted to do that again. Not even because of the man’s martial prowess, but well… the premise left a bad taste in his mouth.

While Arcus demonstrated that Storm wasn’t the only one who could dance in the clouds, Rayse turned to the lightning mage. His literal partner in crime perhaps needed no conniving to actually participate, he was a man who relished in the opportunity to compete. If it was a regular tournament with no trickery involved, he may have even stuck around. But there was no guarantee either of them were leaving here alive, even if by some miracle they won.

“Storm, I fucked up back there. I fucked up bad. I should’ve seen this coming, but I didn’t. I was so absorbed in my own shit that I was blind to what was right in front of me. I don’t feel like dragging you down with me. I’ll cover you, so fly up to that hole all the smoke is escaping from and get the fuck out of here.”

When William reached him, he sounded like a maniac, and Rayse couldn’t tell whether or not the warrior was blaming him for this mess.

“Relax, William,” Rayse said, trying to hide the disdain in his voice. “This is just a joke they constructed out of my memories. Or maybe, your memories?” The embers floated beside him, indicating that the heat of the fire was at least real, even if its color was merely imitating the eternal flame. The warrior’s visage was a sobering one, driving out the reckless notions in Rayse’s head. “Are you actually planning on humoring this charade? I thought we both decided not to be manipulated anymore.”

“At least the fire has returned to his eyes….” muttered Talen with a hint of desperation sitting along the edges of his voice.

William launched himself over the fire as if the fear that had pulled at the strings of his madness were suddenly cut. Talen knew that not to be true, the actions of a madman are not devoid of fear. They are driven by it. The words his partners shouted were shrill and impatient by comparison to the stoic rage that normally bubbled beneath his charred skin. Talen had some consolation at least that he would not be left alone against their two opponents.

With nerves twitching and his gut filled with a swarm of Madison Freedbirds hornets, Talen steeled himself for action. He pushed aside the thoughts of the men above, aside the fact he was a puppet on a string, and most of all, aside the memory of Storm Veritas striking down the dragon Sunwing with a single bolt of lightning. For now the youth had to think; he had to fight. When the battle was over and victory claimed, then he could end the charade with a dagger. These were the words he told himself.

The youth let William go, using his partner’s fiery display as a distraction. Talen’s form disappeared in a blink of an eyes to then slide back into reality on the opposite side of Storm and Rayse to William. The youth’s small body stiffened, his arms reaching over his head as he called forth energy. His face twisted into a snarl; a black pup emulating its red wolf partner. Both hands shot forwards towards Storm and Rayse and from the darkness that bubbled within his palms emanated glass like shadow shards coated with necrotic poison.

Talen’s attack was one of knowledge and opportunity. He had used William as a distraction to attack from his opponent's flank. More importantly, with William in the line of fire of Talen’s attack, it was the youth’s knowledge of his partner’s tough skin that allowed him to take such an action. The shards would not pierce him, indeed they could barely peirce leather. They only needed to be strong enough to pierce flesh and deposit the poison. In William’s case even if they did, his fire would most likely destroy the poison before it had a change to atrophy and weaken the affected flesh. It was only under that knowledge that Talen dared shoot the blast of shards. Talen lowered his hands and reached for the sword secured within his loose cloak.

The exchange between the two fire-borne warriors William Arcus and Rayse was a passionate one; it was clear the two shared a bond with their individually unique but collectively tethered histories. Valentino’s words to Veritas were taken with consideration, as he rarely showed the vulnerability displayed as he acknowledged his own errors. Storm tried to casually slough them off, assuring him that the two wizards were also brethren; in some ways nearly by blood.

“Saved my ass more than once… Consider this one a favor.”

The experienced wizard was also keenly focused on the other little one, a lad juxtaposed from him. Talen, as he remembered, was deceptively powerful. The form he took was amorphous, it was merely the face he showed the world. The innocent looking boy had held a great role in the fall of Sunwing, and his powers had barely been exposed in doing so. When his form popped from sight into a fleeting set of thin ebony wisps, a chill ran down the spine of the notorious electromancer.

“Shit, look out, that little bastard’s coming!”

Storm’s eyes sought frantically to find the beast, hidden under the visage of a boy. He couldn’t see the reappearance behind him. Worse, the crowd’s wild roar at his spontaneous disappearance completely muted the faint crunch of dust underfoot and hiss-hum of energy being generated behind him. It was only the eyes of Talen’s “teammate”, if that’s what he was, setting upon a spot between Storm and Rayse that betrayed his position.

The wiry Veritas leapt hard to his left, away from Rayse and Talen in a valiant effort to dodge whatever summoned hell the diminutive monster had conjured forth. Despite his dive, the blast of hot black plasma still cut sharply across the meat of his back, the glancing blow searing like sunfire. He tumbled as he fell forward, rolling over his shoulder and feeling a horrible burn like whip-strikes across his back. His shoulder had smacked hard upon clay-dusted stone as somewhere deep in the background a crowd erupted. Their bloodlust had been teased, and the white noise about the audience caused the massive granite pillars of the arena to vibrate. The familiar pang of deep pain gripped Storm as he had left a few streaks of some viscous, mud-colored burned blood in the wake of his roll.

The pain was a blessing in disguise. Whereas the gentlemen had been considering alternatives to playing into the hands of the Puppeteers up above, Talen had stripped them of options or negotiation. The devil in Storm had awakened; there was no more time for consideration around details or minutiae. There was no time for hypotheticals or planning, it was only time to kill at all costs. A great whiteness overcame his eyes as he felt the electromagnetic energy surge through his veins.

You little dickhead, so much for history. Have it your way. Ride the f*cking lightning.

Storm rose to a single knee as he pushed himself up from the unforgiving floor, raising his right hand directly at Talen Shadowalker. For a brief moment energy spiraled in from his fingertips, compiling in a twisting azure orb floating before his palm. A loud hiss-crack sound erupted, and Storm fired back at the boy with a positively vicious blast of twisting electric fury.