The Edge of Fate

Dart had once thought he had been a creature of darkness, a soul who’s light could only be seen in the shadows of the moon. He inflicted pain and suffering, and enjoyed the rushing of blood. He was without a doubt a twisted soul, and his soul mate was once thought the perfect match to meet him head on.

He was now realizing she was not his soul mate, but his savior.

Blood caked the ground in a wet sticky quagmire; the stench of flesh and blood, with the wafting scent of voided bowels permeated through the air and hit him in waves of revulsion and ecstasy. He was not afraid of this revelation that the harm he caused was merely a troubled boy playing in the shade. He embraced it as he watched her work, making the one on the table scream and holler. She forced a soul that would never have given into Dart’s desires regret the mere fact they were born. In their hate they cursed her, in their agony they begged her, and in their delirium they worshipped her: The queen of release; sweet, sweet release. When she was done she merely looked towards the moon, a look of lust in her eyes that made him want to be devoured by her as he stood aloft in the darkness, letting her enjoy herself.

“Dart,” she whispered in a seductive voice. “The Great Game has officially begun. I can feel the Lines of Fate ensnare the land, the shroud of magic that protects us from those who would interfere with the contest. How much do you know of this battle?” Her head never turned to him, still looking to the moon as she bathed herself in the illuminations of the darkness. Dart scratched his head again, jumping into a puddle of blood and letting it stain his black boots. He walked towards the doorway, looking outside of the small shack they used for her playtime, and spoke softly.

“I really don’t know much,” he admitted. “Just that I gotta uh…kill pretty much anyone else who gets in the way of our prize?” Now her head turned, the weight of her hazel red eyes bearing upon him. He felt his heart beat rapidly to see her gaze upon him, and he felt his flesh try to actively crawl away as he smiled at the feeling of being terrified.

“You are not the best of Masters to summon me, and clearly not the worthiest, but at least your understanding of my deeds makes up for it. For now it would be easier if you just trusted me,” she turned to the dead body, and looked at the carcass like one who was bored with their toys. She walked towards the exit, her feet never once dipping in the blood of the departed. Dart feared her approach, unable to move as his muscles tensed. She merely lifted a hand to his face, feeling the stubble as he looked to her with total adoration.

“Your Voice of Reasons…use them to summon me to your side if you are in danger, or I am in danger, but remember you only have three of them. If you use all three, I vanish immediately from the Great Game.” Dart dumbly swore to her he would obey and he watched her smile to him. Her warmth…it felt like a mother’s love for a son, and in the glow of her smile he felt like a small child who was lost, but now was found.

Dart was about to say something when he felt a cold chill run down his spine. Sweat began to form into beads upon his scalp and drip down as he felt a tingle of excitement run through his veins. Cassandra narrowed her eyes as she looked to the wall on her left. Past the rusted tools of a garden shed, past the rotting wood workbench on the opposite side and through the hedges towards the working streetlights her gaze penetrated. Dart had no doubt in his mind that she was capable of feeling something far more grander than he did.

“What is it?” he asked, a whisper of fear in his trembling tone.

“You should know,” Cassandra muttered. “It’s magic. Very well hidden magic for that matter. We’re in danger, Dart. Take my hand and follow me, my child. We stick to the darkness…” He followed her orders without hesitation and to touch her skin sent a wave of pleasure he never knew even existed rush along his blood. It was the softest of silk, and gentle. With a wave of her free hand the darkness swarmed around them, and in moments Dart could feel the coldness of the darkness wrap around him like a blanket. She opened the door to the shed, and Dart could feel a primal feeling within his chest urge him towards the bushes and shrubs on the eastern wall, and with cat like grace they moved until Cassandra released him. In the shadows he felt the comforting wave of emotions and knew without a doubt he had magic cast upon him.

Cassandra had vanished, but he could tell she still clung to the shadows, the Mistress of the Night no doubt was far more capable than he of hiding herself. Dart didn’t have to be a genius to know that his life very well could be on the line at the moment, and his silence was key to his life. He could feel his heart begin to race, but the darkness he was clinging too began to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, like a gentle lover. Slowly, he gave into those carnal thoughts and let it control him, and within moments he felt a sliver of courage that kept him calm and ready.

“He says he can smell the magic in the air. It’s coming from over here.” The silence of the night was interrupted by the sound of leaves being crushed underfoot, and a party of four people stepped forwards. There was a brush of wind upon his back, and tingle in his mind as he heard the sweet words of his Avatar speak to him.

“Who are they, Dart?” He gazed deeper into the group, and the front two men who wore expensive looking black suits fanned out checking the area. Dart felt his blood begin to quicken, before the Darkness reassured him that he was safe in the shadows. He focused on his Savior’s question, and peered to the last two people. One was a man, Salvarian in his accent as he spoke, and wearing a very nice, but a bit large overcoat. His mannerisms were obviously of a man who was uncomfortable.

The woman next to him however he knew. Not personally, but he had seen her in a book in the house of a victim he murdered only a week prior. She was known as the Crone, and was a potent user of Magic. Considering it took Dart all his skill just to summon his Avatar, he knew that chances were she was a powerful person. Far more powerful than he.

“The three men, I have no clue, but the woman. She’s a mage. A very good one. I think her name was…Mary…Maddie…Maggie…Magdalene!” He remained quiet as he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, hushing him as they watched.

“He says he can smell the magic in the air,” the Salvarian said loudly. “As well as some other unpleasant things…” he added as an aside. The Crone looked to him with disgust as she slapped the man’s chest.

“A novice could tell magic is in the air, this was a reaping of Mana. Using the distilled product of the human soul to replenish an Avatar’s personal store of magic! And they weren’t subtle about it either, which makes me think it’s a trap. Keep your eyes peeled, Baxter, and have Symbiote ready to go on my command.”

The man nodded in submission as he sniffed the air loudly, like a hunting dog. Dart watched as he moved his way slowly across the backyard, his feet crushing the dead grass as he stalked ever closer. The hand on his shoulder tightened, and he knew he was in danger until there was a shout of alarm. The Salvarian quickly turned to see one of the suited men run out of the shed, dropping to all fours and purging his stomach as the other one stumbled backwards in terror.

With a dark chuckle Dart felt himself be tugged backwards deeper into the darkness, and away from the danger of the Crone.

“What do you see Hunter?”

The words hung heavily in the air even as he noticed the shift. Drusilia had already shifted into a new form. Gone was the simple outfit of the drow woman, instead her hair was pulled back into a taut pony tail. She wore leather the deepest of blacks over her chest, hiding the curves that Justin had been so interested as they had walked down the boulevard. She had caught the faintest of whiffs, but with a single step towards the source, she had become the hunter on the move. The narrow patch of sidewalk was darkened, already the light broken from what many would suppose would be a burnt out bulb. Never was the entire street held in darkness, but enough to suitably dim the area giving the immediate area a look of menace. Justin merely nodded as they stopped before a house.

Her boots had shifted from rubber to leather soled. The Hunter had picked up the scent of her prey and even the hooded cloak could not hide the excitement coursing through her. Her moves were fluid and sure, swift and lethal. Even as she unslung the bow from its spot beside her quiver and strung it she peaked over the fence of the house into its backyard and smirked, “Four people in the backyard. The Crone and three thugs from the looks of things, I’m going to drop the ones on the outside while you get into a safer spot. Once I can confirm your safety I’ll move on the last two. No sign of the source of the mana pulse, there should be more mana than that here.”

Her eyes shone a bright blue before she closed her eyes hissing, “The Crone registers as normal, too bright to watch for long, her lackeys don’t have an ounce of magic. Do you think she went to ritual sacrifice this time around?”

“Magdalene is a lot of things, stupid enough to preform dark magic is not one of them. She’d rather die than shame her family in that manner. It reeks of desperation,” Justin looked to Drusilia before he said, “Do you think me casting on you will work this time? I mean last time it was-“

“That’s just the nature of being a Mage Hunter, unless you pool that mana into the connection between us for this game it’s useless for me. Don’t try and give me a leg up, or do you want to repeat the vomiting session we had on Black Isle?” The words were soft and harsh, and Justin visibly flinched away at the cold tone in her. This was a Drusilia that he knew was not going to relent on the matter. He would have to use a Voice of Reason to make her accept any magical gifts, though if that was the case, he might as well slit her throat now. She wouldn’t be able to fight if any mana touched her through any means other than the connection.

She smirked as she heard the retching of the two suited men leaving the shed in the backyard. She then pressed a slender purple digit to her lips even as she notched two arrows on the bowstring. She nodded her head in silent count, feeling the rhythm rest in time with her beating heart before she carefully reached up, grasping the release on the fence gate. Pressing softly she felt the resistance and mentally kicked herself. Her entry would be loud, and that would be unacceptable. Pushing the gate in slowly she could feel the spring getting ready to squeal and paused, resuming the count in her head. She would have to be swift with this if she was to finish the deed and drop the Crone before she could act.

Justin meanwhile was moving already around the house to the other side. Most would think it was him running away, but Drusilia would have never let Justin touch her had that been the case. No, he was moving in support, his magic more cunning than that. He was moving somewhere safer for him, in that he couldn’t be easily reached. Drusilia was creating the crossfire that they would need to confront the Crone, and the first step was in removing the lackeys so she had no support of her own. With no one to fight on the front lines they could force the Crone out of her comfort zone. Magdalene Vivian was solely the reason they had come together, and the thought of defeating their old foe excited the couple to no end.

It happened in a few heartbeats.

In the first second the groaning of the gate opening resounded through the backyard. The men who had been recovering from the stench of blood and offal snapped their heads up. One even managed to reach for his gun before Drusilia fired the arrows, both hitting deep into the man’s chest. He clutched at the shafts of wood, tipped with metal even as another arrow was plucked from the quiver. This one held a white tipped arrow and she narrowed her eyes as the other man struggled to his feet. She sighed at the sluggish movement and wondered just what made these men think they could protect Magdalene from any servant that wished her dead.

Servants were more than their mortal counterpart. Where in life Drusilia had indeed been a ruthless killing machine, in Myth she had become the epitome of a hunter. Her greatest strengths were exaggerated by the very mythos that included her in the band of heroes that had saved the world from Xem’zund the Necromancer. This was the aspect that was called by the great rituals, not the actual hero of time, but the echo they left behind. It was because of this that the name of that Echo was to be kept hidden; for always when you talk of a hero you talk of their greatest weakness. That flaw too, would be exaggerated by the rules of the game, giving them a point to strike almost instantly upon recognition.

By the nature of being that Echo, Drusilia had left the possibility of what a mortal could do way behind, roughly where she had transformed into the Servant that stood before the men now. She carefully pushed the tip into the dying grass and grabbed another arrow even as the gun was pulled from its holster. Another arrow was shot, hitting the man in his hand and causing him to cry out, before an arrow took his throat and ended the loud quarrel. Not a single shot was fired, and now that the scene was finished Drusilia carefully grasped the white tipped arrow. Carefully notching the arrow in her bow she moved forward silently and was relieved to see Justin had jumped the fence and was moving across the grass with her. As she took a knee she aimed carefully at the entrance to the shed.

The silhouette of a figure emerged from the shed even as the coat of the man draped over the grass his hands up in a sign of surrender. She snarled softly before she hissed in the common language that had overtaken trade speak, “If you wish to live, put your hands on the back of your head, and lay face down in the grass. Do not make any more noise…”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, see my Master demands I fight to protect her, since you so brutally dispatched her two guards, and might I add you could easily do the same to me, perhaps we can all just...walk away?” The words were forthright and she could detect a hint of Salvarian in his accent. She immediately fell into tradespeak, in an attempt to ferret him out;

“<Is that so? Tell the Crone we’ll let her live if she surrender’s now…>”

“<Again, no can do Lady…She's rather stubborn,>” the reply was sure and stiff before he shrugged his shoulders as if trying to persuade her of his uselessness in the argument.

“Is it that damn hunter again?” The voice from the shed held no tone that brokered anything but the utmost obedience. Drusilia felt her skin crawl at the authoritative tone of it, remembering her training to become a Mage Hunter. She carefully moved to the side as she tried to angle a shot behind the man, who moved to stand in her way even as Justin took up the conversation.

“Lady Magdalene, you can just give it up, we both know your track record for these games …”

“Listen here you brat! I will not tolerate such disrespect to the Vivian Family name! I lasted long enough to put you in your place, do not think I will not do so again…” The Crone’s voice held an iron determination and Drusilia mentally shrugged in Justin’s direction.

Her eyes never wavered from her quarry before she spoke, “Servant Class Hunter, at your service. To whom am I speaking?”

“Baxter,” The man replied as he sighed and put his hands down, “No chance at doing this the easy way? Both go our own ways, leave each other be until the dawn...or better yet, never again?”

“We have a quarrel with your master dating back to the last game, it cannot wait…”

“Oh, so you must be the huntress that fell for her master…” The man said before the coat was tossed off. Plain clothes were revealed underneath even as he continued, “Look, I’m sure you can walk away, take a night to enjoy what time you two get together. Love is something that should be cherished and taken advantage of, not-“

The arrow sang through the air even as an inky darkness coated the man’s skin. The arrow was harmlessly deflected even as the amount of mana in the area spiked. Drusilia tasted a presence she had not felt before in the mana immersing the area. The spike that had called her had been a sickening sweet taste, not unlike a poison that was saccharine on the tongue. This one tasted of filth immediately, decidedly different and immediately she spat, “Get back Justin, it’s the Avatar!”

Justin barely evaded the bolt of magic that swarmed towards him even as the bow dropped into the dead grass. The sound of metal upon metal could be heard resounding through the back yard as a cut immediately caused the shadow creature to jerk back the extended forearm, tipped in razor sharp claws. Baxter uncomfortably swayed softly in the moonlight in front of the Crone as Drusilia stood before her master and spoke, “Justin, start running, I’ll buy you time then follow…”

“What? You can’t be serious Dru-“

“What did I tell you about using my true name!? Now run, I won’t be long behind you…this isn’t what drew us here and I don’t want to think about the possibilities if you don’t get somewhere public fast!”

Justin squared his shoulders as he eyed Magdalene and spoke, “No, you won’t get out, not with old Maggie watching this. I’ll have to help you if you want to retreat. So it’s do or die time…”

“Vith, dos ph' biu mal'ai...” The hunter muttered, even as she let the predatory grin cross her lips, “Suppose you wouldn’t have it any other way either…”

“Upstart little runts! Beast, focus on the Avatar, I’ll deal with the master!” Baxter let out a whimper of regret, looking to his master like a dog being ordered to go to a vet. His eyes begged with pleading, but the Crone ignored his discomfort. She wasn’t talking to Baxter anyways…

The air snapped with the sound of bones breaking and Baxter howled into the air, screaming as his muscles ripped and grew in mass. His jaw distended like the mouth of a hungry snake and the talons on his hands grew larger, more hawk like in their demeanor. The wail of agony was replaced with a inhuman shriek of rage, and Baxter’s eyes rolled into themselves, leaving two soulless milky white eyes to peer at the tiny Druchi. His maw opened, strands of saliva running from fang to fang as his tongue slithered out like a serpent tasting the air.

“That’s your freaking Avatar?” Justin’s voice broke into an alarming pitch, his eyes looking in concern from his Huntress to the Beast. Magdalene felt a particular pride in seeing the effect her Avatar was having on the two, as even the Huntress nocked an arrow and let it fly, the arrow tip piercing flesh. In return the Beast roared, grabbing the offending missile and pulled it out, black ichor leaving the wound as it snapped the hardwood oak in half like a twig. Symbiote bound forwards in the flash of an eye, his clawed hands swiping the air in furious strokes as he curved to follow the retreating elf.

Magdalene listened to the Beast’s roars of impatience, and felt content he could be more than a handful for the bitch of the last Great Game. Drusilla was the embodiment of a hunter who had defeated a great necromancer named Xem’Xund was paired with her boy toy Justin. To see him in the game again concluded why he entered. “Such a waste for Albion’s Legacy to grant you her,” Maggie mused as her hand lifted upwards, a white circle of pure energy forming in front of her.

As expected, Justin wasn’t clueless that she was in the area and had attempted, at best, a weak conjuration of abusive magic to swarm her. It bounced off her shield harmlessly as she strode forward, lowering it as she lifted her hand upwards and a push of magical wind knocked the man to his feet. “What would you know,” Justin murmured loudly, rolling to a knee as he reached, no doubt, for a weapon of the modern times. She tisked her tongue shaking her head in annoyance; everyone was so excited to use guns nowadays. So noisy…

Justin saw her condescending motions and narrowed his eyes, assuming she was mocking his reasons for why he fought. “What would one who they call Crone know…” his words were laced with venom as the mages stood off against one another, eyes filled with a burning passion for different reasons. Yet it was when Magdalene had summoned a great Legionnaire in a previous encounter, many, many games ago, that she had learned a valuable lesson about warrior’s and their pride. “To fight for an ideal, and give it your entire being, to fight with all your strength each time you engage in combat, is the mark of a warrior’s pride. It is never about being right or wrong.”

“I merely stated I thought it foolish,” Magdalene said with an impish grunt, turning her nose upwards and to look at the real display of power going on as Drusilla and Symbiote fought. “And to fight you in a contest of mages would be no contest at all. I feel particularly good this evening, getting great detail on who I am up against. A novice mage who botched a ritual with a stupid Master who didn’t know any better. And now I know you and Dru are back at it again; for me I learned about two of my enemies. Now sit back and watch, Justin, and see why Lazarus created these games.” Justin warily looked to Magdalene, and she merely smiled a devilish smile as she watched the fight go on.

This was not mercy she showed the Mage. No, Justin was no match magically for her, but if she broke his precious elven doll in front of him…then maybe he would learn to stay out of events bigger than himself.

Symbiote let out another screech of rage as lifted both arms up to block a hail of arrows, his arms leaking with black ichor as he swiped both claws forwards in a wave of spite. The wooden arrows rained down to the earth where his feet stomped on them, bounding forwards in leaps and bounding after the far quicker elf. In return she danced around the makeshift arena, her feet running along the side of the fence, jumping onto the roof of the shed and firing three arrows as she rolled to the edge, grabbed the ceiling, and slid off to her feet and darted under a blow. She ran right at the wall of the building, jumping at it.

The Beast was kicked hard in the chest as Drusilla leapt from the side of the shed into him, a dropkick that staggered the beast as she kicked her legs around in a wide circle to get back to her feet. She rolled to her left, avoiding another strike as she ducked to dodge the following backhand. However when his knee lifted she felt her wind leave her as her body went up. The beast grabbed her by the back of her leather tunic, holding her and bringing his other hand forwards to claim her life. Her hand fumbled for a dagger at her belt and she slid it into the torso of her adversary, but the demon still held her without any real notice to the weapon. The claw, however, never came to end her.

“Beast,” Magdalene said darkly as she peered at her Avatar over the bridge of her nose. “Why do you hesitate? Get rid of this filth, now! Do not make me use a Voice of Reason!” Symbiote’s breath was hot against the dark elf’s face, her eyes narrowing at the putrid scent as his tongue licked the air, and his nostrils flared. He sniffed the air twice, and with a low, predatory wet leopard like growl the demon threw the Dark Elf into the building; it seemed he was done playing with her. Magdalene lifted her hand up, prepared to use her Voice of Reason and force her Beast to submit and obey her command and kill Drusilla off, when her eyes noticed the Mage Hunter’s body shift. The Elf looked around the area as well, before she reached for her bow and spat in her native language. Magdalene listened to the winds of magic and at last she detected it.

“Show yourself, Avatar!” Magdalene ordered with annoyance. “You may as well join this gathering too! With mana that weak that I have to strain to detect it I’ll have my Beast conquer both you and the Hunter in one night!”

(I do believe this makes our resident Suit clad friend show up next.)

He stood quietly, with a soft smile on his face. A smile both of curosity and cruelty. He wore a grey suit, and black shoes. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and the top of his white collared shirt was unbuttoned. His medium-length black hair was wild and uncombed. Still smiling, he stepped out from the shadows, one hand in his pocket, the other lazing about his side.

"You're going to have your Beast? Conquer me?" the man let out a malicious laugh, his eyes wild with anticipation, "I would honestly like to see that."

A slight wind blew through the night, gently ruffling the man's hair. Ever so slowly, he extended his hand from his pocket, and held it out to see. At first there was nothing, and then the man snapped his fingers.

Shadows coalesced around him. At first, the onlookers saw nothing but a growing darkness, but then it became more distinct. Soon enough, they were not shadows, but soldiers. Inky tendrils of nothingness conformed to arms and legs, clouds of darkness became heads and feet. The figures retained no essence of personality; they were shadows without identity, but they had a purpose.

Swords and shields, spears and lances. Each shadow drew forth some sort of weapon. Though they had no faces that could be seen, each shade seemed to move a bit differently. Some were faster than the others, some carried their weapons with more professionalism than the others. They were shadows, yes, but soldiers nonetheless.

Conqueror chuckled, and pointed at the fools who gathered before him.

"Take them out. Show the old hag that magic means nothing; true strength comes from within," Conqueror ordered. At once the shadow soldiers began their advanced, moving in a formation that proved that the faceless beings somehow at one point or another had military training.

There were twelve soldiers in all, three for each of his foes. Men with spears advanced towards Beast, prodding at the animal from a distance. Three quick moving soldiers armed with short swords ran towards the already near-beaten enemy in order to finish her off. The remaining six scattered in all directions, aiming to use their bows catch both of the masters within a crossfire.

And Conqueror just stood there, watching it all with a face of mild amusement. It was as if he didn't even seem to care about the great game, or maybe he thought it was already decided, as if the winner was a forgone conclusion. Perhaps it was overconfidence, or simply an uncaring nature, but the Avatar known as Conqueror had not even bothered to draw any weapon of any sort. In fact, he remained in his suit, something completely modern and in no way from Althanas past.

"Now then, let us test the limits of the so-called heroes of this game. Men," Conqueror ordered, "kill them all."

All at once there was a fury of movement. The three spearmen attacked as one, two of them flaking Beast while one went straight for the chest. The short sword men ignored all form of finesse, and simply went to stab Hunter to death. Six shadowy bolts flew through the night.

A beast roared, and a hunter began the hunt. Magic spells flew throughout the air, and shouts of battle filled the air. Conqueror smiled. Now the games had truly begun.

Ashes…

Drusilia tasted ashes immediately. As she fought to control her fear she could taste the burnt ashes of a city, something she had quite a bit of experience with. During the War for Raiarea against Xem’Zund she had traveled with a mercenary taking out the more magical back up of the necromancer called the Necrosition. These undead monstrosities each had their strengths, but with Drusilia’s guile and the mercenary’s strength, she had persevered against odds that far outnumbered her. Though they fought at the time for honor glory and money, she had passed through many destroyed towns, and learned the true fate of failure. The world would become this nightmarish landscape if she allowed Xem’Zund to remain unchecked.

The taste of a dead city, burned to the ground, hovered about the man as he summoned his minions. The short swords were dispatched to kill her swiftly and Drusilia knew she would have one chance at their escape. This was the taste of a conqueror, and if the shadows he summoned were any indication, Drusilia was out of her depth. Had she the element of surprise she could dispatch him, but in a straight up engagement, she had only one trick, and she was loathe to use it infront of the other servant. Hand gently brushed against the hilt of the long sword at her back, and closing her eyes she braced herself for what was going to be the worst feeling she would ever have and sent a mental note to her master.

Did you ever get that teleportation cantrip to work? We’re only going to get one shot at this and if you fail, we’ll die together.

Justin looked at the men forming the crossfire before he hissed at the other master, “Just had to get him riled up didn’t you Maggie? What a fine mess you got us in…” Mentally he had let his mouth do the talking, and sent back across their bond, Yes, but it’s going to be a one trick pony, it takes a lot of mana and more than once means I have nothing to give you later.

Drusilia looked at the shadows even as the Conquerer raised his hand pointing at each of them in turn and began ordering their deaths. Drusilia bared her teeth before she shouted, “Now!”

She could feel the tug of magic against her body as Justin dropped to a knee to force the archers to take more time to aim. The moment’s distraction gained he pressed his hands against the ground and hissed words in the language of magic before Drusilia made her last play. Forcing her will towards the hilt of her blade a small stone set in it flashed into life, white energy building up before she was gone, the sword left behind in her wake.

The energy of magic’s antithesis, the very opposite force flooded the small area about her as he sagged to the ground on the sidewalk in front of the house. The sounds of combat could be heard and Drusilia felt Justin’s hands pulling her up as she retched into the gutter, magic purging from her body. He dragged her along as fasta s they could go even as he looked at her. Drusilia at least had the presence of mind to revert back to the jeans and t-shirt she had been wearing most of the game, causing her gear to dissipate from the backyard, waiting for their owner to reclaim them in the bond between servant and master.

Even having just thrown up she had the where withal to stay in the light, in public view. She needed to use the public eye as a shield as much as she loathed the act. They hurried down the street and around the corner, hoping Beast was putting up a fight to keep Conqueror from pursuing them. As they reached the beginning of the downtown area she slumped against the side of a building where Justin held her aloft as she grunted in pain, “I haven’t had to do pain blocking classes in a while…must not be doing it right, because this still hurts…”

Justin carefully pressed his hand to her ribs where she groaned and he spoke softly, “Dru, your ribs are either bruised or broken. You are lucky to even be standing. I’d say your training is working properly.”

“Need mana then…” Dru said softly.

“Let’s duck into a diner or something, give you a chance to recover a bit, I’ll eat and give you mana so you can at least make it stop hurting…”

Their eyes met, only briefly and he could see the fear in her eyes. They had literally almost died to Maggie’s little monster, and had Conqueror not taken Maggie’s bait, they would have been out of the game once and for all. He hugged her close, giving her the support she needed as she carefully pushed the fear from her eyes and whispered, “Thank you Justin, for not arguing with me back there…”

“I told you Dru, I want to get to know you, can’t do that if our first night out on the town you get killed,” Justin replied softly. He felt her tighten the grip before he whispered, “Let’s go, there’s a small bar has good food if you know what to order. I can give you the mana you need while we’re there…”

Footsteps pounded on the pavement and Drusilia’s fear was hidden behind that hunting mask of hers again. Justin only waited for orders as she pulled him into the bar, and dragged him to a nearby table. Sitting down they didn’t even stop to think of who might be sitting there, only that they were. As the figures rushed by the building Drusilia sagged the process of getting into the bar draining her of what little adrenaline she had left.

The sounds of people mingling and conversation rang through the air. There was the clink of glass on glass, the sound of jovial laughter and conspiratory storytelling. It was a place of happiness, and suddenly Drusilia felt out of place, never being one for public places. She looked at Justin worriedly, before she realized someone had been sitting there, a young man in fact. His brown short cropped hair was resting peacefully upon his head, even as he looked at the two with a bemused expression. His chocolate brown eyes looked over the two with a look that spoke volumes of his mentality. He held a glass of some alcoholic beverage and raised it in toast to them before he said very lowly, “I know inter racial relationships are supported nowadays, but you guys take the cake…”

Justin tensed upon hearing the words before he said softly, “Look, don’t make a scene and I’ll pay your tab, anything you want you get, just let us rest here for a moment…”

Magdalene wasn’t expecting a Conquerer to arrive, much less ruin her chances of destroying the Hunter class in one go. The situation that she so firmly had in her grasp was slipping away and the arrogance of the newcomer matched even her ego. Here was yet another warrior who stood before her, another Hero of Time who dared to comment that Magic was useless. Eyes narrowing, she vowed to prove this upstart wrong.

Her wrinkled, feeble hands lifted upwards, her robes falling to reveal talismanic tattoo’s along her flesh to show her skeins of magic that ran deep. Most mages never improved themselves in such ways, and as far as Magdalene was concerned they were useless trash. In the glow of the moon her arms illuminated a bright blue, and in front of her outstretched fingers a white ethereal energy pooled in a circle. The shadowy darts of Conqueror’s archers were absorbed as they tried to push down upon her, and with a yelp of frustration she cast her hands aside, lifting up her right and conjuring a ball of fire in her digits. The heat felt nice against her withered flesh, the magic coursing as the winds of magic swirled around her.

Her concentration, however, was disrupted by a screech of primal fury so obnoxiously loud she faltered back a step. She looked to see the Hunter Drusilla vanish in a flash of Magic. Beast was moving with measured, predatory steps as he let out a wet leopard like growl, his maw oozing with saliva as three warriors tried to futilely use their pole arms to keep him at pay. One grew courage, advancing and striking deep within Beast’s gut, his blood a black like ichor that stained the dead grass. Without even a peep the demon grabbed the weapon, snapped the shadowy shaft, and used the broken handle to snap the neck of the offending warrior with a vicious back swing blow. His other hand reached for the weapon impaled in his flesh, ripping it out with a sickly sound spraying more blood onto the ground and using it to swipe another’s face back to the shadows where it vanished.

The warrior’s meant to attack Drusilla turned to Magdalene, lifting their weapons on high and charging at her in an attempt to rush her. She saw their blank faces, seeing no defining features or souls, but mere echoes of a man. Her fireball in her hand burned brightly and with a snort of annoyance she tossed it, hitting one in the face as she lifted up her other hand. “Stop playing around, Beast, and return to your master!”

She waited impatiently for her servant to come, casting a protecting charm upon the air in front of her. A shield of magic formed and blocked her from the strikes of the first warrior to approach her, but the second strike saw it shattered without effort. Her eyes widened as she faltered a step backwards, her heart beating rapidly as a sword swung and took a chunk of her robes out. She felt her limbs, old and fragile, protesting as she hurriedly ran backwards to avoid being killed. Her eyes looked to see Conqueror smirking at her, a look of amusement and that child like ‘I told you so’ stare. Her rage intensified as she lifted her hand to conjure more magic…

Only to have it sliced open from wrist to finger. Her teeth jammed shut as she seethed in pain, retreating a few more steps as she bellowed out in frustration. Her other hand wiped the air; a wind torrent strong enough to blow them back a several paces giving her precious breathing room. “Beast, now!” Magdalene shrieked. There was a roar of defiance, followed by the sound of arrows being let loose, and Magdalene instantly knew what was happening. Conqueror tried to use these shadow warriors to box in her Beast. It was in this moment Magdalene knew her chances of defeating Conqueror in an impromptu fight was gone. To attack him head on would require her to have a strategy. At this rate, she was going to be eliminated from the game, and more importantly, about to become a corpse a few years earlier than she wanted to be.

Yet she still had a plan.

“Beast! Now!” She ordered, but still it violently thrashed around, the demonic essence screeching and howling challenges and calls of battle and strife. She watched as the short sword wielding warriors were approaching. With a sigh of irritation she grimaced raising her wounded hand and speaking in a controlled manner. “Beast, listen to my Voice of Reason, and return to me now!” The air before Magdalene sparked with energy, a barrier pushing the warriors back as the ritual summoning circle formed next to the crone. Beast formed out from it, the demon leering at the warriors with a grin of sadistic glee before swiping his claws out to push a weapon away. His hands reached out, grabbing two skulls and squeezing tightly, popping the shadowy forms like a balloon as they vanished from sight. The third warrior lifted his weapon to kill the Beast a warped garble cry upon his lips. Fire pulsed outwards from the circle as Magdalene’s arms and eyes glowed with eldritch energy, ensnaring the warrior and consuming him like the jaws of a dragon.

“Hail to you, champion,” Magdalene said arrogantly as she hid behind her beast, turning her back to Conqueror. “You win this round, but you will regret toying with me. You shouldn’t trifle with magic stronger than yourself.” Beast roared outwards a defiant cry, his arms covering his face as arrows landed in his flesh. The demon pulled them out as if they were no consequence to his body. He snarled, snorting like a caged beast before with a dark chuckle it bowed to the Conqueror.

“Be…seeing you…” he taunted, snarling again and wiping his huge fist along his jaw catching his drool. “It’s been….a pleasure,” Symbiote chuckled again, spitting at Conqueror before turning to Magdalene, grabbing her waist, and pumping demonic energy into his limbs. Before the next bow shots were loosed he leapt into the air in a large epic bound, hitting the roof of the building and springing off of it to the streets below and away from the Conqueror and his shadow minions.

In the shadows of the alleyway Dart held his head weakly feeling a pounding sensation behind his left eye. He felt nausea that gripped his stomach and squeezed making him wheeze wet spit all over the cobbled stone as his other hand held onto the brick wall of the building before him. Moving through the shadows and sprinting were activities he wasn’t exactly used to, and felt a dark chuckle in his ear from his partner as he took in another long breath of air.

Lifting himself up and spitting another mucus wad to the growing pool below the teenager shook his head hesitantly laughing with a thrill. His heart raced and blood sang as the feeling of being hunted gripped his psyche and he nervously checked his body for injury. Yet as he suspected, no harm befell him; not that the Dark Mother would bring him harm.

“So the Crone is involved in this,” He said to break the pregnant silence, eyes searching up and down the alley for intruders as he let out another spit ball. “That’s pretty fucking serious business going on there! I’ve heard her magic is considered so powerful that they keep a trained army on standby in case she loses her control!” Dart let out another round of nervous chuckles, eyes hazing over as he giggled. “Jeeze, makes me wonder what other high rollers are out there.”

“Keep your wits you imbecile,” Cassandra’s harsh words flowed from the shadows like a whip and he felt the verbal sting of her threat. “High rollers or beggars matters not. What’s more important is keeping you alive and by default me as well.” Dart turned his body to the shadows, looking for the source of his mother, but her silhouette was nowhere to be found. He began to walk down the street towards the road, lifting his arms and stretching like a feline as he yawned.

He walked in silence for a few blocks, passing by other people on the street, his mind wandering to each face as he read them. It became a revelation that anyone, anybody, could be a master in the Great Game, and after the display from the Crone, Dart realized there wasn’t really any true hiding places. He was no mage, and he began to realize that actually hindered his mother’s chances. Yet she never made it known to him that it was bothersome. In the short time he knew the woman, he began to realize that if it was a matter that was ignored, it was a trivial matter. So for her to know, which she had too know by now, that Dart was fighting against master’s who’s experience was superior to his own yet said nothing to him about it gave him confidence in his cause.

“No way anybody can defeat a goddess like you,” Dart muttered lowly, his arms crossing his chest. “With your ability to hide in the shadows, we can sneak up on people and…” he jumped forwards, hand extended in a stiff punch. As he laughed to pull it back, he felt a gloved hand grab his wrist and twist. Dart turned in a painful pirouette, his arm wrenched above his head as he whimpered out a feeble cry of shock. With a push to his back the boy stumbled forwards into another alley in the dark, looking up at the nice shoes and trimmed silk pants of another man. His face looked mean, meaner than anything he ever recalled in his life. But the man’s eyes held a fire of passion, like he hunted for something always out of reach and took a thrill of chasing that elusive dream.

Dart hadn’t time to think as the one before him grabbed him and kicked his knee out from under him, dropping him to his knees and wrenching his head. His whimpers grew silent as he heard something heavy whoosh by his ear, cutting the strands of hair that normally cover his right eye flutter away as a bastard sword struck into the stone floor with a definitive slam. The blade’s edge was right near his neckline, and the aggressor sighed grabbing Dart’s hair and shoving him close to the blade.

There was a silent standoff as Dart looked to the man before him. He was dressed in a suit, a damn fine suit made of materials he couldn’t even think to afford. The man had a long scarf, one of those fancy ones that he never understood the purpose, but always did bring a bit of class to a man. With a tug the scarf was opened revealing the opening to the man’s coat that he propped with one hand, putting his gloves into the pocket. He closed his jacket, fixed himself a bit, and then nodded to Dart.

“Hello,” he started with a grin. “You are Dart, Senior of Charter High, grade point average one point seven eight, dead beat with no job. Your hobbies include crappy poetry, emotional crying in the rain, and the occasional small time murder of tiny animals. You’ve been to four psychiatrists and all described you as ‘Mentally unstable,’ and ‘Fit for an asylum.’ You claim that your parents were murdered in front of you, but they really died in a car crash when you were fourteen. The last four years of your life have been filled with so much angst and depression and other…well I don’t frankly know what the kids call it these days but let’s just say you’re a mad house full of perky thoughts about homicide.”

“Who are you?” Dart asked weakly. “Why do you know so much about me?”

“None of your business,” The man replied. “However, to answer your second question is easy; You never go into business with someone you don’t know. Simple as that.”

“What could I possibly-“

“Dart, you’re a smart kid, despite what crude things I said about you earlier. How many people walk around towns with a sword bigger than your spine?” Dart’s reply was to feebly look up at his aggressor. “And I know you just met the Crone personally and ran off. What you pulled, well, was impressive, and conducive to my ends. As you so elegantly put it, anyone who can strike from the shadows should win.”

“You’re a part of this game!” Dart’s eyes went wide as he trembled, recalling the Dark Mother’s desires to live, but only if Dart did as well. The situation he was in suddenly made him panic. “Oh god…oh god oh god oh god oh god…” The man chuckled as he lifted his hand up to his throat.

“Well, yes. And the business of this game is simple. Eliminate the competition…by any means necessary,” the man smiled a charming smile. “This is simply business kid, and nothing personal. Conqueror…if you would do the honors.”

Dart felt his head jerk back, prepared to be slammed against the blade’s edge when something darted out of the shadows and lowered to just under the Master of Conqueror’s chin. It was a blade, an ugly, large blade more suited to being a Butcher’s knife than a sword, and the Conqueror held his stance as Cassandra casually strolled out of the darkness into the light.

“Business is booming tonight,” Cassandra said with a hint of amusement. “Here two masters and warriors are weapons at the throat of the one they serve. In this case the power is in the hands of the Warrior’s, isn't it Conqueror?”

Conqueror smiled at that last remark made by Assassin. He let out a soft chuckle as he spoke.

"Something I learned a long time ago. Power resides where people believe it resides; the belief that one has power is simply that. A belief. Nothing more."

"Belief counts for quite a bit," Cassandra replied in a soft voice, filled with a sultry, enticing demeanor, "something I learned when I became a goddess."

The two avatars locked eyes with one another as each dangled the life of the other's master, and as such their link to this world, before them. Assassin gently pressed her cleaver-like blade against the throat of the man in her arms, drawing a thin red line of blood. Conqueror responded by pressing Dart's head against his bastard sword, causing the boy to whimper.

"If I may?" the master of conqueror asked politely. His avatar gave the man a curt nod, almost as if the master had asked the permission of the avatar. Such a thing was, of course, completely absurd.

"Assassin, Conqueror, we have reached a stalemate. You two may kill both me and the boy, but you will in turn both fade away in a matter of moments. Assassin, you may last a while longer, due to your reaping of mana, but I seriously doubt it will be for very long, yes?" the master of Conqueror spoke in a smooth tone, one that had negotiated many deals under many stressful circumstances.

"How'd you know about that?" Dart barked. He was, for the most part, utterly ignored.

"Then, I propose each side release their hostage. You may then hear my proposal. If you like it, excellent. If not, we each go our separate ways, none worse for the wear."

"I assent with one condition," Cassandra whispered softly, just loud enough to be heard, "Conqueror releases the boy first. Age before beauty."

There was a moment's pause, and then Conqueror let out a hearty laugh. With a wild grin, he yanked Dart to his feet.

"By all means! Take the boy! If it helps you feel safe, I'll even disarm myself!" Conqueror bellowed as he shoved the poor teenager towards Assassin's feet, while the large sword that had been close to cleaving Dart's face in two vanished into a fine mist.

"Now Assassin! Slit his throat!" the teenage boy whooped in triumph, sure of his victory. The master of Conqueror simply remained as he was, a stern and emotionless bastion.

"That is of course, an option. You can kill me, and might even be able to flee from Conqueror before he disappears. This option offers you the most short-term benefits. However, if you will hear me out, I believe my proposal will benefit you more in the long run," the man said calmly, despite death was mere inches away from him. Assassin let out a soft, sexy chuckle; one that would make any man's blood boil.

"You have courage, master of Conqueror, I'll grant you that. Your name?" she asked in a tone that was polite enough for someone who may be about to kill you.

"Berith. Berith Cain."

"Well Berith, I think I like you. Perhaps sometime we might even take to the theater together? I happen to love music, and I think I have a piece in mind that would delight you. In the mean time," Assassin released her grip as she spoke, allowing Berith to take a few steps away from her, "I would be happy to hear your proposal. After all, men like you tend to be...interesting, if nothing else."

"Excellent. After going through so much trouble to meet you, Assassin, I would hate to miss out on an opportunity to converse with you," Berith adjusted his suit as he began. He did not get too far before Dart interrupted him.

"To meet her? But, that means that you saw her-"

"I did not see so much as hear. Your...music, milday, tends to attract an audience," Berith responded coolly, showing no emotion about Assassin's previous work in the shed, "Assassin is nigh impossible to track and see if she does not wish to be. You Dart, however, have absolutely zero talent in many things, including stealth. She can shield you with her magic, but I saw you before it took effect. From then, well, a bit of research backed with my resources can find a stupid boy who did not even think it would be a wise idea to hid his identity rather quickly. Now then, child, may I finish my conversation with your master?"

"My master? But she's the avatar," Dart stuttered in response. Berith looked at him in a manner that conveyed annoyance tinged with a slight something else that was indefinable, but may have been curiosity at Dart's thinking processes.

"As Conqueror stated, power lies where we believe it relies. You may think her the servant, and believe you have power, but trust me when I say, you are the servant. After all, if I wanted to talk to you, why go through all those motions to bring out Assassin? By the way, Conqueror, speaking of where the power lies, I believe we can stand your men down?"

At this time Conqueror, who had been watching the proceedings with mild amusement, lifted his eyes upwards. All other eyes followed those eyes, up towards the shadowy archers positioned on the rooftops.

"For the record, I could have turned you two into pincushions at any moment. But, we've decided to play nice for now," Conqueror said as he waved his hands, sending the shadows back from whence they came, "so take me not killing you as a sign of my good will, and let's hurry up with these negotiations Berith."

"Of course," Berith answered with a apologetic bow; how he treated his servant was far different than most other masters. He turned towards Assassin.

"Our proposal is a simple one. If like calls to like, you are of a caliber closer to villain than hero were I to judge by your master. Then there's the business at the shed. Without revealing Conqueror's name, I am allowed to say that this does not disturb either of us. You are gathering magic for a reason. We would aide you in this."

"And why should I believe that?" asked Assassin.

"Because Conqueror's shadows are just that. Shadows of men and women of the past. They have not the power of rank to be an Avatar; mere imprints of former lives. They are useful, but a truly powerful hero can tear through a good number of them. Beast tore through at least four or five in minutes, and Conqueror himself has only above-average abilities; it is unlikely he can defeat the more powerful servants should they get pass the amount of soldiers he can summon."

"But if your soldiers were to act as a distraction to lure away an avatar from his master, why, he'd be easy pickings for an Assassin. Is that what you're going to say?" Cassandra asked, though she had already figured out the answer.

"Indeed. It is unlikely that the other masters will think you to be anyone's ally; you're methods and motivations are rather self-centered. We, however, see a common goal. That makes us partners," Berith finished with a gesture towards himself and Conqueror, the skill that he had used when he had negotiated multi-million dollar for the Knights of the Apocalypse Enterprises all coming to the fore. "We'll even help you with your collecting of souls, if you like."

"I can handle the ritual, but I wouldn't mind a sentry or five. How many of those soldiers can you summon Conqueror?" Assassin asked as she tapped her chin, plots already began forming. Her eyes darted quickly towards her Master, but it was clear the boy didn't have a say in this, and would not go against her wishes even if he did.

"I truly do not know," Conqueror answered with a shrug, "at least twelve with no issue. I imagine could double that amount in a pinch."

"More than adequate. Berith Cain, I believe I'll accept your proposal," said the goddess with the sweetest of smiles playing on her lips, "it's customary to shake in this time period, isn't it?"

"Indeed," was all Berith said as he took the offered hand. The skin was soft and smooth, silk-like in its delicacy. Yet, at the same time, Berith found the hand to be very, very cold.

You do realize how exposed you are?

The words hung in the air as the young brunette looked out at the scene before her. People moved from the area leaving the young girl alone. To most the sight of the young woman in her long dark coat would have been odd. Even more so that it was so late in summer, but with no way to hid the triangular marking on the back of her wrist, she knew that she would have to invest in more long sleeved clothing to get through the game.

“Isn’t that the point? I thought we were trying to taunt them into coming out of hiding?” She replied to no one in particular. One of the workers walked by her without saying a word, it was still rough getting used to the idea she was invisible, but Mage had taken it upon himself to help her through her forays into magic. They still moved about the area carefully as they watched the last of the workers finally leave, the chain linked fence being closed and chained shut as the workers left their job for the evening.

There is a difference between baiting and foolishness. Why are we out in a very exposed position from which one could attack from a multitude of angles? A park would have been better, far easier to reach the safety of the public and use it as a shield…

“I disagree Mage, using humanity as a shield may have been a suitable tactic for your previous masters, but I refuse to stoop to such dirty schemes,” She replied as she looked about and with a sigh released the magical field. It was training her to maintain it and now that the last of the cars had pulled out, she was sure she had the seclusion she desired.

As you wish, shall I show myself or do you wish me to remain hidden for now?

“I shall take your lead on this one, this is after all your desire to show me what you’re capable of Mage,” Her voice was firm in the matter. She looked upon her still bandaged hand and remembered how careful his touch had been.

Blade was at her throat before she even finished her sentence. Her eyes widened as the blade remained silently still. She could feel the edge of it against her skin, only a hairs breadth from cutting into her flesh. Hot wind blew into her ear as it hissed, “I don’t need to show you what I can do. You need to learn what you can do. It would only be a simple matter for any of the other Noble Heroes of history to arrive and you’d have been dead here.”

“This is a poor lesson by an even worse teacher. You use my invitation to show up in order to intimidate me,” She replied dully. Fear was laced in the words but she knew better than to show her avatar fear. He was a predator, at least how the books on the subject read. Even if she was terrified and close to voiding her bowels, she had to maintain composure. Fear would only spark his desires for hunting.

A wry smile laced through his words as the blade was removed, “Well said. I’m happy to see my progeny can think on its feet, even if it is foolish in its acts.”

“From what I recall, that seems to be a hereditary trait since the dawn of our line.”

Mage moved before Lauren before he said, “Another clever bit of wit. Very well, it is time I explained to you what being summoned as a mage entails.”

Lauren narrowed her eyes as she said, “You could be summoned in another position?”

“I am technically an Assassin, Mage, Beast, Gladiator, or a Hunter. It all depends greatly on the aspect of the story you focus on for the summoning. You highly ritualized my summoning and appealed to my more magical nature. Had you used the blood to appeal to my more brutal aspect, I would have been a bloodthirsty beast upon the battlefield. Further you could have botched the ritual entirely but been fated to appear. When this occurs they are summoned as a gladiator. The end result is weaker than any one aspect, but gains strength from not being so focused,” The response was educational for Lauren who frowned as she asked,

“And the hunter aspect?”

“That aspect was a focused man who would doggedly pursue its target. Had you wished someone dead it was only a matter of when, not if,” He replied. His garb had changed only slightly. He still wore the wide brimmed hat and duster, only what remained underneath had changed. More of a suit than the leathers he wore underneath he took on the aspect of a businessman who had a taste for westerns. She had asked him about his manner of dress only to reply that even he couldn’t hide some aspects of himself. That the outdated leather clothes that remained was a function of her choice to summon so well known a champion.

“So what are the strengths and weaknesses of the differing traits?” Lauren moved with her avatar as they moved slowly through the quarry his eyes ever hovering about the area. Silence reigned between them for a while. She was almost about to repeat her question before he spoke;

“Hunters are able to destroy any give champion summoned given half a chance. Their unique talent lies in the fact they can observe and notice weaknesses others may miss. It takes them awhile to hunt someone but if they get the scent they will wreak havoc on them,” Mage explained even as he looked up at the night sky, “Hunters are dangerous indeed, I would not envy the man who attempted to kill one and failed. It only serves the strengthen them, giving them valuable knowledge for later. When they see a noble phantasm, they retain knowledge of its basic functionality. They understand it on a subconscious level.”

“A desirable class then?”

“Too slow a burn, to effectively use a hunter is to require the game to go on far longer than they usually run,” Mage said shaking his head. He then looked upon her as he spoke, “Gladiators strengths and weaknesses I have already spoken of. Any hero can be a gladiator, but it is best used when dealing with a Hero that can be versatile. Gladiators need to be flexible people to function well or the class slot is effectively wasted.”

She could feel his grey eyes study her as she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Finally she spoke, “Mages, what is their part in this game?”

“Mages sense the shifts of mana in an area. I can tell you if an avatar has manipulated events nearby, or how close to bottoming out they really are. A mage need only think-“He stopped his eyes narrowing. Lauren had learned to trust the man’s instincts when he tensed so visibly. He rarely put on such shows for her benefit. It usually entailed him giving her terse directions to follow, so they could maneuver through some back alleys on their way here. Finally when he spoke his voice was calmer, but no less dangerous, “We cannot evade this fight, someone approaches. Stay back and do not under any circumstance put yourself in a position I cannot be at within seconds. I believe our first opponent has deigned fit to come to us.”

"I believe that the pair have finished setting up their barrier," Dante said softly as he stood up from the street bench he had been sitting on. There was a construction yard not forty feet from here, and it was laced with magic.

"If I may ask, my master, why did you wait for them to finish putting up the barrier? It would have been to our advantage to attack them while they were distracted, would it not?" asked Swordsman. He stood at his master's side, wearing the clothes he had been summoned in. He saw no point in changing them, for he was not that out of place save for his sword, but that was easily concealed by his long coat.

"It was a harmless barrier to conceal the area from those without magic. There was no point in stopping them from creating that. I would have ended up setting up a similar one myself," Dante answered calmly. No need to involve innocents in this game.

"Very well. What is our course of action?" was all Swordsman answered with. His master may not have been as ruthless in battle as he should be, but the man's heart was in the right place. That was enough of a reason to follow the man, if nothing else.

"That depends on you. I know not what may be ahead, I cannot accurately tell you what type of foe you may face. What of your own abilities?" Dante asked while Swordsman mused for a bit before answering.

"As far as telling what is up ahead, I have no skill at that. Scouting and reconnaissance is by definition, the Trickster class's specialty. Their ability to infiltrate an area puts other classes to shame. They are not, however," Swordsman gently touched the saber at his side as he spoke, "as skilled in combat as the other classes."

"And the Swordsman class? What of your own thoughts on that?" Dante questioned further. Swordsman shot him a soft smile.

"We are the duelists of the game. Each Swordsman has their own way of fighting, but in a one-on-one confrontation, you will find no better Avatar than a swordsman. Perhaps a Beast class Avatar of immense strength would pose a problem, but I believe that if they are in range of my blade," Swordsman's voice lacked all forms of hubris; he was simply stating his level of skill, nothing more, "victory will be mine."

"So the only issue then is getting in range?" Dante flexed his arms and moved forward.

"Yes. I have a few talents of my own, but were I to engage in a prolonged battle of range, it would be to my disadvantage."

"Then forward Swordsman," ordered Dante, "I know not what they plan, but my magical skill is by no means small. I can sense a master out in the open, and this works to your advantage. Close the distance between you and the master; force a close-quarters confrontation."

"Yes my master," Swordsman quickened his pace as he put his hand on the hilt of his blade, "and what of you? Were you to fall, I will cease to exist very quickly. You are my link to this world, after all."

"Irrelevant," answered Dante, "I will face this master as you face their Avatar. I cannot handle an Avatar, but I will not hide behind mine and let you do all the work. Besides, a two-pronged attack makes the most sense."

Dante smiled at his Avatar, who raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"I'm the better spell caster here."

In all honesty, Swordsman would have liked to have said it made far more sense to hide and let the Avatar do the work. His master putting himself at risk made little sense regardless of who was the better wizard, but there was no point in saying such things. After all, like called to like, and Swordsman would have done the very same had he been in Dante Morcef's shoes.

"Then, I move to engage," was all Swordsman said.

When he was alive, Troy Priam had been one of the fastest men with the blade he had ever known. Though his legend was not as grand as other heroes, he had left his small mark on history. Being able to go toe-to-toe with the Saint of Swords and his brother (who was famed as the man who had destroyed an island nation with over sixteen hundred dragons) left you that much at least.

His movement was more a streak of white than anything else. One instant he was standing, the next he had drawn his sword and had bounded towards the construction yard.

"Trying to keep me out of the fight eh?" Dante muttered as he muttered a quick incantation. He felt his body grown light.

Not at all. I simply assumed you could keep up. Was I wrong?" Echoed his Avatar's voice within Dante's mind.

"You assumed correctly," Dante answered to no one in particular as he called forth the wind. In the next instant he was flying over the road, watching Swordsman dash towards the destined area. Swordsman leapt over the fence as Dante began his landing.

"Hello," Dante offered as he ceased his spell, and stood up. The landing had been a little rough, but to his pride he had not fallen behind. He had arrived just a moment behind Swordsman, who stood calmly in front of his master.

Their foes were a young woman with black hair, perhaps a year or two younger than Dante himself. Next to the woman, standing over her watchfully was an older man, easily ten years Dante's senior. He wore dusty boots, his clothes slightly faded from traveling, though nice enough in their own way. Every now and the man's eyes would glace over to the woman protectively.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dante Morcef, this is my Avatar, Swordsman," Dante said politely, offering a short bow. Just because they were enemies didn't mean they couldn't respect one another. He noticed that Swordsman followed his motions, but never did the Avatar's eyes leave the man next to the woman.

"Mage," was all the man said in a slightly tense voice.

"I'm Lauren," answered the woman, "Lauren-"

"No need for that," the man quickly cut her off, "it's a foolish thing in battle to reveal more than what is precisely necessary."

"In that case, you should have remained silent," Swordsman advised as he raised his sword; it was a simple saber, but meticulously cared for, "you just revealed you cared little for courtesy or honor. Was that worth hiding a name?"

"The knightly type," the man muttered as he withdrew two daggers, one in each hand, "I would have had you pegged for a Swordsman even without the introduction."

"I have no need to hide what I am," Swordsman answered as he raised his saber in salute of his enemy, "I may hide my name, but I will act in accordance with the principles I believed in during my life."

The two avatars locked eyes with one another. An unworldly tension filled the air.

"I am not about to let this game change the man I am," Swordsman stated flatly. Mage smirked at him.

"Well then," Dante held out his hand, "may I have this dance Lauren?"