Cage Number Four

[Storm Veritas]

(((Pat – small bunny of Sarah in here. Let me know if you want me to remove))

The girl was fast and strong. He hadn’t underestimated her fighting ability, but perhaps her strategic planning was a bit more refined. Storm was, after all, more of a chameleon in combat, changing his ways to stem the tides as necessary. Sarah was a planner, obviously, a careful schemer that came into the Cell with a plan in hand. And a damned good one at that. Ever the optimist, Veritas considered the alliance.

But why should I trust you, you snivelly bitch? Don’t you think I can see right through it? Ride me past the rest, and then stick a knife in the back of your own horse…

…Whatever. Maybe those tits will get the job done for distraction while I get busy killing.

He leaned into her, his body contorted in a posture of overpowering the girl while his menacing snarl whispered forth his own plans. Beneath curled lips, the voice of a diplomat.

“Fair enough. Makes sense to me. Circle the wagons.”

He sheathed his dagger and cocked his right hand in a flash. Suppressing the smile was tough. Biting his lip, he spoke once more.

“…now punch me.

“…Whore!”

With a massive swinging paw, he struck her across the face, feeling the loud clap of flesh as she punched him in the jaw. He staggered back – she had a hell of a right – but still smirked at the moment. Not everyone got to pimp slap Sarah Dahlios, but dying without doing it makes for a life less fulfilled.

He lifted his head again, sweat beginning to bead and dagger redrawn. The stumble away from the girl was natural, and now he had to find the next enemy, someone waiting to strike at him, who appeared to be wounded. He had to draw pigeons to the cat.

As he focused, there were two others closing in on the wonderboy. Damon was very vulnerable now, but Storm stood and breathed deep, hesitating. Where Kaosi went, Ashiakin wouldn’t be far behind. If Damon could dispatch the twosome already attacking him, then the lightning mage would strike. And if the cavalry arrived to help the noble young elf, there would be hell here waiting for him.

So if Damon is the object of all this affection, I’d be a fool to step in the way of those legend killers. They wouldn’t see me break away from Sarah anyway, so if I keep moving they won’t notice a goddamned thing. Lambs to the slaughter…

While it seemed perfect, plans which seemed too good to be true usually were just that. The soreness in his jaw gave him reason to doubt Dahlios, as her acting ability was obviously not enough to successfully pull a punch. While he would love to roll in the hay with her, he wouldn’t trust her farther than she would be thrown from the bed.

[hushpuppy]

As the lad rolled deftly away, a surge of anger, like a fierce fever, ripped through the farmer. It poured out of his mouth in a torrent of wails, high pitched and piercing. The farmer's blow was far too wide of the mark, clumsily striking where the lad's face had just been. With a crashing clang, the prongs of his weapon collided with the sword slashing in from the lad's other opponent. Two of the pitchfork's prongs snapped off with the force, and the weapon was nearly jolted from the farmer's quivering hands. The attack jolted the man, who fell to one knee. His speed kept him in motion, and he crashed to the ground, the pitchfork bouncing away from his reach. Groaning angrily, the farmer scrambled on his elbows toward the woman standing beside him who had deflected his blow.

He could hear her vein pulsing, and it made his tongue flick across his lips. Reaching out with boney hooks of hands, his ropey muscles tense under his rags of clothes, he tried to latch onto the woman's legs, and gnashed down at her flesh with his yellowed, splintered teeth.

Crouching on the man's back, the lump shivered with anticipation.

[AsukaStrikes]

"Mother Effin-!"

Asuka had underestimated the lad yet again as he parried the pitchfork away and directed at the swordmaiden's blade instead. She saw the farmer's lifeless eyes as he stumbled forward, his pronged snapped away like dried twigs. The lass herself was thrown off-balanced and nearly lost grip of Kazeryu in the impact but steadied her feet just in time to see where the little menace had disappeared to.

"You twerp! I'll show you to- OW!" Asuka yelled angrily at Damon and tooka step forward, only to halt from the unrelenting bony hands locking her left leg in a deathgrip and the vile, ragged teeth that followed soon after. The jagged yellow bones punched through the thick brown boot into her shin, drawing a stream of red from the shallow wound.

"Let go, you scrawny old man!" The girl yelped and tried to pull free, giving the ghastly farmer a swift kick to the chin in an attempt to shake the man loose. Asuka could've just put her sword through his head and get it over with. But, no, she would not bring herself down to quarrel with a nobody. She would not waste her time and effort with something as trivial as he. She didn't need to kill this man to make him stop. All she needed to do was put him to sleep.

She didn't feel the need to waste another living creature's life in order to achieve her goals - killing was only reserved for those who had earned her eternal hatred like that sleazeball in Serenti, Ashiakin Razzack and Letho Ravenheart.

Damon and that old farmer was just a ditch in the road to her goal. All she needed was put them out of her way and go after the big gun.

[hushpuppy]

A poisonous smile curled the old man's lips as blood seeped around his teeth, staining them red, his mouth like a child's around a sucker. It was a tangy, sweet taste across his tongue, a sudden and fleeting satisfaction, a macabre happiness drawn from a well of pain. Frustration flared in his chest as the woman kicked him away, but with the snap of his jaw, darkness flooded him, and all emotion peeled away. He slumped to the ground, his shoulder slack, his blood mixing with hers in a small puddle spreading from his shattered mouth. As she charged away, the farmer's body was left alone, his breath shallow, his eyes half-shut, unmoving even as kicked-up dust settled in them. It was as if his years of hard labor had finally crashed down atop his weakened frame, shattering his body and soul. He was alive, but for what reason? If his mind was not sunk into unconsciousness, doubtless he would not have a good reason.

As his body lay, useless and still, one of the lump on his back rustled, moving from side to side. It jerked, and the jolt seemed to make the farmer's body shrink and slacken even more. The lump rolled down his back, pushing aside ragged clothing, until it reached his shirttails. Pausing, it seemed to contemplate its options - as if a lump could think. Wavering for a moment, the lump rapidly moved out from the confines of the clothing, and bounced out and away from the body.

It was a strange object that appeared, rolling from the farmer onto the open ground. No more than a tuft of hair, the longest of its strands waving in a light breeze, the lump was no more than six or seven inches across. No one would have taken it for any more than the remains of a stuffed bleeziar, or a wad of mufftar down, but there it was, rocking back and forth of its own accord, quivering every one and a while like a sleeping child. Once, long ago - or perhaps not so long ago - it had been known as Meerplex. But it didn't give itself a name: something else had done that. A flash of memory, really no more than strobes of color, garbled noises and creeping shapes, rushed around it, blocking out the battling men and women in the cage for a seemingly interminable moment.

It is something left over from the mind of the man it has just fled. Flat fields, flooded with brown water, hemmed in by tall levees, topped with plodding beasts and hunched men, stretch out to either side. Men are working all around. A cloud blots out a burning sun, the shadow rushing along the ground until it eats up a mountain standing in the distance, covering everything. The man in the memory isn't working. He is standing very still, too still to be anything but amazed or frightened. Ten feet away, on the other side of a furrow of willowy stems, stands a rail-thin, quiet-as-a-statue egret. A pale feather is stuck to its yellow bill, tugging away with a gust of wind. Its tiny black eyes are looking back into the farmers'. The shock of its wings unfurling and flapping in big booms as it takes off fills the farmer's chest with a burning glee.

What does it mean?

The Cell returns. Meerplex quivers again, and then begins rolling across the ground, bouncing in foot-long leaps every few seconds, following the woman who just vanquished the host body of the farmer. Approaching her lower legs, the smell of blood stings the air, and the ball of fur leaps for the wound, trilling like a warbler as it bounces toward the small sliver of flesh and skin peeking around her clothes. By latching onto her body and fighting back her mind, it can take control of her body. And then, she will spill the boy's blood. It will flow all over her.

[INDK]

Damon tried to suppress a giggle as the farmer bit Asuka. The boy had been a bit surprised that his plan had gone so well. It had been something made in a moment of desperation, and while Damon’s instincts were particularly good, what he had managed to accomplish there seemed to have solved all his immediate problems.

At that moment, the boy took stock of the Cell. The farmer seemed to be beaten by Asuka, to the point where it was likely that he would have to fight the girl again. Damon grinned. He liked the challenge of fighting Asuka, not only was he helping Ashiakin, but the boy knew he was fighting the good fight, good against evil. Thus, he kept his sword ready, watching to see what Asuka was about to do. The girl seemed habitually incensed, so her anger towards him was nothing new. However, Damon wondered whether or not he had become her target. Her final revenge was most likely targeted for Ashiakin, so it would be likely that she would choose the path of least resistance. Damon figured he was going to have to make it clear that had to go through him first.

However, the boy knew better than to charge forward a second time. The two other people active in the cell seemed mostly concerned with each other, but Damon didn’t want to be caught by surprise again. The farmer was defeated, but the boy noticed that a strange furry creature had left off the back of the fallen farmer and was now headed towards Asuka.

“Some kind of possession thing?” Damon wondered. He had never seen a creature like the one that was leaping onto Asuka’s leg, but that didn’t say much. Damon really hadn’t seen all that much. Immediately, he began to rack his brain for any knowledge on creatures like that, wishing for the moment that he hadn’t split up with Ashiakin so he could ask the more knowledgable ice demon about the creature.

For a moment, Damon contemplated warning Asuka about the little furball. Even though she was a sour person with a bad attitude, Damon thought that having her body possessed would be a punishment too excessive. However, the boy doubted that she would believe him. Even though Damon was never insincere, he knew that people who told many lies often didn’t believe the truth of others. Asuka was likely one of those people.

Still, Damon couldn’t help but to want her to be saved. He pulled out a small throwing knife from his shoe and threw it straight towards Asuka’s leg. Damon’s aim wasn’t particularly good, but he figured that if the furball was stationary, it would be an easy enough target to hit. At the very least, he would have reminded Asuka that he was still there.

[AsukaStrikes]

That was some dirty trick the farmer played on her. His bite was not entirely fatal, or a hindrance to her movements even. Only the shallow holes remained on her shin, trickling streams of red staining the leathery boot and its ropey shoestring. Fairly impressive for someone who looked good enough to be already dead, or maybe that was just it. The sheer force of her kick tore a sizable gap in the boot, revealing the pale skin underneath.

No way! That guy's jaws shouldn't be that strong! She thought and took a few steps forward in the direction of her next target, still wondering how in the world was he able to sink his teeth through her boot and not feel a thing. Maybe there was more to him than meets the eye. Either way, he would not be a threat to her anymore. Hopefully, not a threat to himself as well.

Next to go... Damon. A saisfied smirk crept across her determined face. There was no way she would lose to this rookie swrodsman. Rheawien nearly killed him back at the Padoga in the LCC, what could be so hard for Asuka to do the same?

What the lass had not anticipated, however, was the bouncing little ball of fluff behind her, shrilling like a bird as it invaded her body with sickening tendrils against her open wound.

What the-! What in the name of Lady Akashima IS this thing?! Asuka stopped dead in her tracks, a good ten feet away from her quarry with weapons drawn, and stared down at the furball in near-hysterical terror. Whatever it was, the thing wasn't merely using her as its safe harbor.

It, weaving through her thoughts and senses, was trying to take over her body. An intruder.

No! No, get out! Go away!

She screamed like a crazed lunatic, clawing her head and doubled over. Kazeryu fell unceremoniously to the dusty arena near her right foot as his master fought hard against the intrusion.

What- What's wrong with me?! What's going on?!?

[Chelsi]

Everything was going pretty much according to plan. Chelsi had never made it passed round two of any of Althanas’ esteemed tournaments and, god will-it, it wasn’t going to happen again this year.

Only months after her sulking return into the Althanas limelight, Chelsi had registered for the Cell; an enormous free-for-all which drew all of the world's most famous players, and even more not-so-famous ones.

Perhaps main reason Chelsi had entered her name into the Cell’s rosters, was that she had fallen into that second category. Memories of fame and grandeur flooded back to her when she first stepped onto the site of the monumental tourney, and now, sitting in a shady corner of her respective cell, she was positively drunk on them.

Of course, the witch had never really placed a whole lot of stock in valor, preferring to take the subtle, and easier route to fame. So she sat in the shadows, perfectly concealed, and content to let the stronger of her opponents finish each other off, and then she would swoop in for an easy win. The plan seemed flawless and so she watched in silence, the intense battle raging in front of her.

From her vantage point, Chelsi heard clearly the ploy between Storm and Miss Dalios. She saw the mock battle for what it was, and didn’t pay it much heed after the two exchanged blows. She did however keep the two in mind. The young witch never much cared for uneven fights…

Unless of course she was the one on the side of the advantage.

More interesting still, was the battle waging on the other side of the cage. She watched intently as the crippled old farmer spun off into the sand. His female opponent seemed to have won the conflict, and had only one foe left. The witch turned her attention to the warrior and felt a stirring of memory.

Damon?

Was it Damon Kaosi? She couldn’t recall. Names jumbled in her mind. Gild. The Bandit Brotherhood.

Was it him? Too much time had passed for her to be certain, so her thoughts returned to the situation at hand. One combatant had already been defeated and she hadn’t lifted a finger. Her plan was going perfectly.

Perfection, however, always seemed to share a bed with disaster. As if the arena itself was growing bored with her idleness, the sun and lighting of the stadium shifted, and the shadows which she had concealed herself drew back, leaving her open and exposed in the light, mere feet away from where Storm and Sarah’s mock battle had waged.

Cursing, Chelsi drew her bokken. It seemed that she was going to have to pull her weight in the battle after all. Creeping towards Sarah, who was now alone, as Storm had turned away to find a fight elsewhere, she hoped that the element of suprise was still with her.

[Storm Veritas]

I don’t think Ashiakin’s gonna show up at all… the boy is left to fend for himself.

…Screw it! If he can survive on his own, he deserves the victory. It’s easy in the shade.

He had seen another woman approach Sarah, some conveniently sexy young vamp moseying over with a raw intent in her eyes. The Dahlios girl was known to dabble in the sapphic arts, so Veritas wasn’t sure if the intent was to kiss or kill. He wouldn’t stand in the way of either regard. If his new accomplice was worth half a turn, she’d be able to handle herself.

He was strolling smoothly, his lone wound superficial, his body still rested and energized. The adrenaline which raged through him earlier was actually dissipating, and he felt an unnatural tiredness in the midst of the match. These things never went smoothly.

Way too easy.

Damon’s tied up. Farmer down. Sarah’s busy. Asuka’s… What the f*ck is that thing!?

His mind didn’t process what his mind saw. Some fluffy, furry, ungodly thing was scampering about the dirt floor, awkwardly meandering away from the fallen body of the faceless farmer. Without eyes, ears, or limbs, its very locomotion was inexplicable. Easily dodging an incoming projectile from Damon’s keen hand and hopping up unto the frame of Asuka, the beast settled into what appeared to be a somewhat comfortable position. Veritas watched as the rodent-driven warrior writhed in pain.

OK, that’s enough. Show’s over, exit stage left. I’ve seen it all, and got the tunic.

His pulse sped up a step, his breaths coming short. Being caught off guard was one thing, but there was no way to prepare for the little furry abomination. Instinctive retreat ensued. He was backpedaling now, a slow and careful retreat from the center stage. Whatever that… that thing was, he wanted no part of it. At least the powerful warriors bled and breathed and died.

When his shoulder blades touched hard into cold steel, his head knocked back against the perimeter. With wide eyes he glared about the Cell, almost a spectator in the midst of all this. He felt fortunate, but also tempted to rattle the cage a bit. One jolt to the metal, and they may all fall down, wrapped in the midst of a massive surrounding electric cloud.

But not now. Not yet.

His head was on a swivel, scanning left, right, and above him. Paranoia was gripping at him quickly. They hadn’t rushed Damon. They hadn’t heard from Ashiakin. His thoughts to the old gambling days rushed him.

If you don’t pick out the rube ten minutes after sitting at the table, the joke’s on you.

It couldn’t be coincidence that he hadn’t been attacked yet. The hairs on the back of his neck were on end. Was there a trap set to be sprung? How deep in had he stepped?

[hushpuppy]

((Bunnying allowed by Asuka))

Meerplex latched onto the woman's leg, pressing up against the wound he had caused, feeling the warmth glowing out from it. It hunkered down against her skin, purring like a cat and latching on tightly with some unseen force. She was strong, vibrant, burning up through the cuts like a brush fire. The leg Meerplex attached itself to crumpled as Meerplex stretched out into her consciousness, knocking aside emotions and thoughts, tearing straight to her soul. A throwing knife narrowly missed them as she stumbled, doubling up, snatching at her head. Possession had already begun.

This was not like the old man. He had been weak, sleeping, his dreams like cobwebs, desires and hopes wilted by the realism of old age, emotions dulled, mind warped, dementia aiding Meerplex's hunt. This woman, this Asuka Murakama, as her mind betrayed her, was younger, fiercer. Anger scourged her memories and hopes, channeling them into an iron will. Unlike his faded thoughts, hers were bright and gawdy, almost searing. She had coals in her heart, firing a desperate fight against this intruder. Vulnerability screamed against her anger, a fearfulness stained her willfulness. An opening, then. Meerplex pushed against it, cracking into the heat at her center, pushing his way into the coursing knot that was the mind. Prodding into the knot, fastening to the woven cords of body, mind and memory, Meerplex jerked at her arm, waving the sword clumsily in the boy's direction. Blank. The boy was Blank. Or one of Blank. Memories coursed back and forth, melding together, incomprehensible. Anger and pride buffeted against the furball, and it sloshed emotions across them, indecision and self-pity, and yanked memories from the ropey mind, crossing them up in a protective web. They were the easiest to pull forward, as they were closest to the surface. A cut rope, falling in space. A white figure, another Blank. Jeering people. Moving wearily up a stairwell. She was a Baneblade, and she had lost. Asuka Baneblade. Meerplex smashed the memories up against her jolting soul, and they seared together, molten and broken, held back.

Her arm jerked again, and she unsteadily moved toward the Damon Blank boy, her feet dragging across the ground, her boots skidding noisily.

[Ter-Thok]

A look of bemusement crossed Ter-Thok's face as he watched the goings-on in the cage rather dispassionately. He carefully maneuvered another helping of popcorn into his mouth, rather more than half of the kernels dropping, likely unnoticed, to the distant ground. The demon shrugged and tucked his shirt back in; it appeared that hanging upside-down by one's tail from the ceiling of a cage was not the most comfortable way to eat popcorn. He kept getting the urge to vomit whenever it would travel ponderously up his inverted esophagus. Ter-Thok reached for another handful nonetheless, disappointed when his red-skinned fingers only scratched the oily interior of the paper bag.

The diminutive demon sighed and crumpled the colorful sack into a paper ball. He waited a moment to take aim, and tossed the buttery mess rather accurately towards the head of the young boy below. The events had been rather interesting; he hadn't expected there to be a parasite inside the old farmer, much less one that appeared to have levered itself out of a lint trap. However, seeing as how the events were beginning to lose his interest, Ter-Thok figured he might as well get involved. Extricating his tail from the bars of the cage, the demon began to fall gently, like a feather. At about six feet above the floor of the arena, he stopped, now standing the right way around.

Calmly, the demon adjusted the settings on his ElectroProd, clicking the bladed end into place and tweaking it to produce maximum voltage. A grin soon crossed Ter-Thok's face, and he dropped in the air until his hooves were about even with the unfortunately infested woman's shoulder-blades. "Well, well, well," he chuckled, "What have we here? A parasite? Can't be having with any of that, my fuzzy little friend. What say we let the lady go; I've got a couple of amigos that would just love to meet you. Love, of course, meaning 'pay through the nose'. Heh."

The demon laughed, not menacingly, but rather cheerfully, as he swung his crackling bladed weapon towards the tiny monster.