Task v. Lorenor

[Taskmienster]

On a throne of smooth oak I waited, a cigarette between my fingers and a glass of hundred year old brandy in the other. The room that the Ai’Bron exiles gave me was cozy, not overly elaborate or poorly thrown together. My walls were lined with books on one side, those with I would never read, and expertly created tapestries on the other. To my back, on the other side of my chair, was a large window that let in the warm sunshine and cast a beautiful golden glow throughout the room. Objects of little interest rested on a desk never used. Small orbs of what looked like crystal lined the top of the cherry oak, the light that struck them streaking through and creating rainbow patterns on the opposite wall. A single small stack of paper rested on main tabletop portion, neatly organized mostly due to the fact that I had never touched them. I closed my eyes and took another sip of the brandy, letting the warm liquid flow through my body. It was the antithesis of an adrenaline rush, a calming touch that spread through my veins. When I opened my eyes I saw the golden room for what it was; fool’s gold.

The entire process of the Dajas Pagoda was just like the room, cast in the false light of perfection. It was a none-so-gentle reminder that there were things in this world, Althanas, which were given a pretty face but had an ugly undertone to them. The Pagoda was a place run by the outcast of the Citadel, monks well versed in the arts of illusion and healing spells. They were a very interesting lot, and their tasks I had come to know well. In order to find oneself not only in the position I was in, but in the luxury of the Ai’Bron’s hospitality one would first have to fight. A bloody path of victory, carved through multiple people, would always offer the utmost opulence.

I, however, knew that it was all a farce. I normally sat in the common room of the Pagoda, watching the waves of challengers pick the lowest tier hierarchy, a warrior, to face off against. They came in eager and cocksure, but it was not so easy to gain the first tier, even more difficult to advance beyond that. Those happy faces and strong bodied were often sent away without a scratch on their persons, but a bruised ego that could not be fixed by magic. Some people just took things, especially this world, far too seriously sometimes.

Bruised egos were to be expected, casting doubt on yourself and your abilities was just childish. I find this truth to be, beyond anything else, the most important to remember. Those that take Althanas to heart are those that are easily broken in real life, those that cannot stand to be put down in a game because they cannot stand up for themselves outside of it. Althanas is a virtual reality game, a world of magic and swords; I am just one character in a sea of thousands to roam it. To me it is little more than a pastime, a place to relax and get away from Earth, so to speak. Others, they seem to take it beyond that and make it like Earth, make it a reality far more than they make their own pathetic lives outside of the server.

“Ethan?” The voice came before the knock. The door slid open without a sound, the joints carefully oiled and regularly maintained. Through the door a tall man appeared, dressed in the casual robes of the Ai’Bron brotherhood he bowed his head thoughtfully. I could not for the life of me remember his name; though he had attended to me after the past three fights I had joined in. A pleasant man, he was always jovial and upbeat despite his job as a healer in a world of combat. “There is a challenge waiting for you. Your arena is prepared already, and your opponent is being informed as well. I know you have not had luck, in a way, as of late regarding who you are fighting. This one should prove interesting though and offer you quite a challenge.”

~*~

My arena of choice was an intricate one not only for myself but for any opponent that found their way there as well. I let my empty hands tug at the leather jacket I had come to be known for, putting it into a place of comfort so the secreted blades could be easily accessed. Its smooth surface was always unscathed, always a dull black color and left unzipped. Around the collar of the jacket was a lining of white fur, neither it nor the leather from any animal. I straightened my tight denim pants and let adjusted the large belt buckle that was always kept to the side. Many knew me for my strange style, but it was only strange in the low fantasy setting of Althanas. On Earth it was a style that many had come to accept and embrace, one that I had been dressing like for years.

A cool chill ran through the clock tower that was my chosen arena, a slight wind that hardly moved through the gut of the tower. If I turned any direction I could not see far through the darkness of the inside and the scattered titanium rods that let the clock work. Walls lined the colossal belly of the mechanical best; the only one that was obviously present was the face. Two hands, the smallest being twice my height moved slowly across the frosted glass. I moved to the white surface and touched it with an open palm, the cold night and the frost bitten lands on the other side of the glass ‘wall’ cooling me as I waited.

What was it that the monk meant by ‘quite a challenge’? What was I going to be fighting? Hopefully not another female warrior like those I had encountered so frequently in the Citadel of Radasanth. I also hoped that it was not another opponent that could not last till the end of the bout; another disappointment would be the final proverbial straw on the camel’s back. I had dealt with enough strange opponents, weak opponents, and those that could not finish the bout. Hopefully the person or thing that challenged me would prove to be one that could finally offer me a true, complete fight and give me the full right to be in the seat of the Warrior tier.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Out of a hat, Lorenors' name was pulled. He was just one of the many jailed prisoners that were recently caught by the Corone Empire. Deported all over the world to various prison establishments, Lorenor was unlucky enough to end up in the Dajas Pagoda. His sentence was clear. Execution. Like so many other revolutionaries in Corone, the short warrior was caught during a recent skirmish. Attempting to raze a village during a raid against the Empire was apparently serious business. So he was taken, arrested, interrogated and tortured. They used a technique known as waterboarding. It was most unpleasant but in the end, he'd revealed nothing. They'd asked about the secret plans of the Red Hand. They asked about trade routes, and the location of a secret township. Lorenor said nothing. He never once snitched, he never once squealed. No matter what torture they put him through, the mutant hung tough throughout the whole process. They had nothing on him. With wanted posters stapled to walls all over Corone's bars, pubs, and taverns, the mutant could not step foot in a civilized city without repercussion.

Which is why he began to hide his appearance. Dressing like a dignitary from Salvar had its advantages apparently. Corone wanted nothing to do with an international incident that could trigger a war with Salvar and its allies. However, the disguise served to protect him very little as he was caught on a recent mission to raze the village of Selkia Surak. That campaign ended in disaster after a third party revealed themselves in the middle of what was certain to be a one sided victory. He was caught, arrested, and turned over to the Empire. Now, he stared at the clock-tower as they lead him and several other revolutionaries to their fate. The mutant held his head low to his chest. He was still recovering from the many injuries that he'd undergone once they found out the full strength of his regeneration capabilities. Normal injuries and weak injuries healed quickly on their own with more serious injuries taking quite a bit of time.

As Lorenor walked with the rest of the group, he had a heavy heart. The heavy binds on his wrists and his ankles where holding him in place. "Stop." A nearby guard commanded, and the group, Lorenor included, stopped all movement. Resistance was pointless by now, there was no escape. These guards were amongst the elite in the Knights of Dawn and had specialty training. They were sent to capture Lorenor dead or alive. And so, Lorenor, along with twenty other prisoners were being sent to the maximum security prison located somewhere near the Dajas Pagoda. The Knights of Dawn were in full operation these days as they attempted to crush the rebels of the Civil War, and capture those who still followed the old gods. Lorenor wore a loose prisoner's outfit and had a number etched on his arm like a tattooed symbol. This number was a unique code given to each prisoner that was part of the prisoner census lists. They were forced to walk from place to place. Lorenor's feet were burning and heavily calloused from the long journey.

Sweat freely poured down his back. The suit of that the prisoners wore was all earth-tone brown. They didn't wear any shoes, and they didnt wear any gloves. On their wrist was a heavy metal binding made of masterwork plynt. The chains were green, weighed a ton, and were dragged by the entire group. Each prisoner was linked to the chain. "The Dajas Pagoda." The man said to the group. Lorenor winced as if he had been smacked hard across the face. He'd been to the Pagoda a few times in his life, and was once a member of the warrior's tier under a different set of circumstances. The revolutionary was tired of walking and just wanted to face his destiny, whatever it might be. "Under penal code 77562-4410 of Coronian Empire's Civil Liberties Commission. You prisoners have been found guilty of high treason against the Empire. As of the recent laws of the Empire you may attempt to fight for your freedom in the Pagoda. You are sentenced to immediate combat in the Pagoda for your life and will continue to fight there until you are killed. That is your sentence." The guards kept cold eyes on the prisoners to make sure that none of them attempted anything.

"How do you plead?" The guard asked.

Some prisoners began to cry at the horrible fate that awaited them. But one of the did not. One of them simply stared at the clock-tower where a hierarch awaited. He clenched his jaw tightly and just wanted this nightmare over with. He had his artifacts with him, and they'd allowed him to keep his books. After all, to those that could not read the Necronomicon, the books would appear as nothing but gibberish. Currently though, the books were useless to the mutant except to provide a source of comfort. He thought about how he carried the N'Jal Protocol within his body. With the sunlight beating down on his person, the mutant was greatly weakened despite the suit that he wore underneath his jump suit. The guards were clever and discovered the mutant's inherent weaknesses relatively quickly. They flashed a lamp of pure light right in his face to keep him in line, until the mutant became not more than a submissive creature. All sense of resistance was gone for the time being.

The Salvarn Lord named Lorenor looked up at the clocktower for a long moment. He didn't even notice the approach of one of the warrior monks. They were a part of the Order of Ai'Bron and served to maintain the facilities of the Dajas Pagoda with their great power. Lorenor thought back to one of the earlier times he ventured into the Pagoda and fought the man named Joshua Cronen. That had been an intense battle for the mutant and he knew that this one would be too. He prayed in silence to the dark lady known as the N'Jal Protocol. Walking towards his position, the guards unlocked him and several other prisoners from the main chain. It seemed that there was someone already waiting for a battle. Lorenor's name had been pulled from a hat literally and handed over to the Monks as a potential challenger. The guards saw fit to punish Lorenor in accordance to his power level. The mutant was pulled along by the Monk's magics. The monks' general appearance was a blur to Lorenor. As were the Coronian Empire's guards.

Lorenor was being pulled by the magic alongside a contingency of monks.

"Your equipment will be confiscated. You will fight with this. It's a standard issue."

Lorenor was handed a weapon, even as they unlocked his chains. He was lead towards the inner depths of the clock tower. There, a single man awaited the mutant. His chains were unlocked, and he was roughly pushed onto the ground. The mutant grimaced and made a face, glad that he was finally free. Despite that temporary respite, he found himself in the dire situation of having to fight for his life now. They threw a single sword at his person that was kept within a simple scabbard. The sword was a steel spatha sword in the design of the Dajas Pagoda arsenal. Lorenor was too tired to give the weapon a proper appraisal. The effects of the sun greatly weakened him and the intense suffocating heat strangely reminded the mutant of the fires of Haidia. As he stared at his opponent, he reached for his weapon and grabbed it. Standing up, pain coursed through his entire body making his knees feel like they were going to explode. Blood stains were visible on his jump suit. The mutant looked very strange indeed.

He held the spatha weapon in his hand and felt the discomforting weight of the purposefully heavy weapon. It was made of a heavy steel alloy that was meant to drag the wielder's arms down. Great. Thanks a lot ye bastards. Lorenor looked at his opponent. "So ye art the lad I am to fight? Very well then let's get this over with. The name's Lorenor. Though that doesn't matter much at this point since I am to face certain death." The mutant said matter-of-factly. He pulled the spatha from its scabbard and tossed the scabbard aside with what strength he could muster. Something about the Dajas Pagoda prevented the mutant from depending on his connection to the Endless. This was not a good development. He had to fight on uneven grounds. Lorenor was standing roughly a few paces away from his opponent facing his front side. Gears churned in the large chamber making a lot of noise. Chains rattled as they lifted machines up the various levels of the tower. Lorenor's hand shook violently as he held the weapon tightly. He held it pointed to the ground, the heavy weight was uncomfortable for him. He was a trained swordsman, but this was a very unfair advantage. He would have to make due and fight hand to hand if the need arose. "Let's make mine last moments interesting shalt we?"

"To THE GREAT NETHER WITH THEE!" And Lorenor began the battle by running towards Ethan unexpectedly.

[Taskmienster]

The… thing that was so roughly brought before me as my opponent was a reminder of the darkness that held a golden façade. It was covered in caked over blood, already beaten before it arrived. Standing only five feet tall, it was by far one of the shortest humanoid adversaries I had been forced to fight. Stocky and muscular, it probably at one time would have been a great challenge. Circumstance was always in flux though, and the means by which he was brought before me was not a self-appointed challenge, but one forced on him. I could not help but feel remorse for the ugly creature. He had not chosen to fight me, was not offered the same benefits as other’s that sought the warrior tier that I had. Tossed into conflict, with a weapon that was not his own, I assumed as much by the way it held the sword, this thing was fighting for its life and freedom.

I had heard tell by others that had been in the Pagoda longer than I that it was sometimes used for the punishment of criminals. A barbaric practice as far as I was concerned. Many had said that the best fights that they had encountered had come at the hands of one who was not allowed to choose to fight or not. Perhaps it was the philosophy of the caged animal that made the captured being so fierce? I could only assume that being put with their back to the wall and their lives at stake made the imprisoned that much more dangerous. I, however, was not one that so willingly took the life of someone, especially if they did not have a choice in fighting me. No matter what their crimes were before they entered the Pagoda by force, I did not believe that the place of fighting was to be used as a place of execution as well.

Instead of drawing weapons and preparing for the fight I stepped away from the creature. At my back the click and grind of precise mechanisms kept a methodical rhythm, a technologically created harmonious tune. It was not a comforting melody. Precision guided timework continued indefinitely, always moving and never changing. The bolted bars and levers stretched like a metallic spiders-web, a trap for any who decided to attempt to escape further into the depths of machinery. There were a few tricks I had learned from the first time I had come to fight in this place, which rods were not bolted and which chains moved and when. It was still no place I enjoyed fighting in. The hands that moved were counting down, no longer waiting for my demise but instead for that of this man, Lorenor.

Click

The big hand moved one sudden jolt, and the words of the creature before me were barely audible above the scream of moving chains. The metallic clattering was a cacophony that struck every minute, tearing through the serenity of the peaceful precision. I had not been able to respond before my opponent charged with his sword, the blade weighted to give me a distinct advantage. Instead of removing my daggers I bounded backwards. No aerial expertise or fluid acrobatics to show off; simply escape and move. The sword clashed with the metal beams that I had been leaning on, a strong blow that would have easily rendered me incapable of further fighting.

“Lorenor,” I said as I tucked myself further into the web of rods and beams. “I don’t know what you’ve come here for, or why you were sentences to the Pagoda. I do not agree that they should use this place as a means of execution of prisoners. I would simply like to extend a greeting before we continue as opponents. My name is Ethan, and I am the first tier in the Pagoda, a Warrior rank opponent.”

The things dreadlocked hair hung around his thick shoulders, the greasy mess disgusting. I touched my own hair, felt the unnatural spike of black and white streaked locks standing tall despite the bars that attempted to push them down. Through the crisscrossed arms of titanium and dehlar my blue-gray eyes met his, for a second I was left without a thought. The purple haze where his eyes should have been was set deep in his sockets, back behind where an orb should have been. They were a soft amethyst color, but weak and wavering. Perhaps it was the abuse he had suffered before coming to the Pagoda that made them seem weaker, or perhaps the spirit of the man was broken already. The later would be a pity, for the breaking the spirit of a warrior was a hard task to accomplish in a fight, but a necessity in order to win. To have a broken soul come to a place of war was like giving an amputee a sword to fight with.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Lorenor's weapon rebounded off a titanium rod. Normally, the steel would have completely shattered given the momentum behind the mutant's sprint. Instead, only a few small pieces of the blade were torn off the main piece. Lorenor growled audibly as he realized that on top of everything else, they gave him a poor quality weapon to boot. Seeing that his opponent had moved completely out of the way of his attack the mutant took a few steps backwards himself. He breathed heavily, feeling acid pumping through his heart. He clutched at his chest and felt the sword drop. A loud clang resonated from the weapon hitting the floor underneath him. Lorenor fell down to one knee and clutched at his burning chest.

It was not a ploy. The severe torture and abuse was taking its toll on the mutant. Blood poured freely down his arm staining the metallic sheen of the floor beneath him. He looked up at Ethan's general position. The man had honor. Lorenor respected that. "Thou wouldst not obey Empirical law and kill me? Thou art an unusual fellow. Like I said earlier, mine name is Lorenor. Forgive mine current state of appearance...I have been in prison now for quite sometime."

Try as Lorenor might, the Endless simply would not and could not respond to his call. Without the Endless at his disposal, the mutant felt alone and terrified. He doubted sincerely he could survive. Lorenor was prepared to face his death as he would any other match. He remembered suddenly fighting that bastard chef, Cristoph. Shivering visibly, the mutant managed to find the strength to stand on wobbling knees. His pectoral muscles rose and fell with each breath from his tired lungs. Every ounce of him hurt.

Lorenor ripped off the top portion of his jump suit to reveal the musculature beneath. Hidden injuries were now visible as various scars from the lashes of the whip were torn through his chest and abdomens. His back was equally scarred with various implements of torture. After the waterboarding incidents, he was still having trouble breathing. The water torture was particularly unpleasant and made the mutant recall various dangerous days in his life.

The violence was all he knew. He followed the will of N'Jal and was only training to become a skilled Spider Magi. Lorenor's ambitions had lead him to this position in his life, first a wanted enemy of the Corone Empire, and then secondly, a prisoner of the Corone Empire. Why he was offered a chance at freedom? Lorenor would never know. The mutant took several deep breaths and looked at the sword he was given. It was now completely useless to him. The dull sheen had become even duller, and the sword's blade was broken in several places. It would shatter from another missed blow at any moment. Lorenor kicked the blade causing it to fall into the deeper section of the monstrous machine.

Turning his attention back to Ethan, the mutant sighed anew. "I've been here before under various circumstances. Ye must be a new warrior then. Ye art very honorable. I shalt enjoy our meeting then." Lorenor pointed at Ethan with the metallic bracer attached to his right arm. He clenched his fist and moved into a much more controlled fighting stance. Lorenor had a hard time concentrating with all of the noise in the tower.

[Taskmienster]

I strained to listen to the haggard creatures voice, the volume barely audible as the chains and cog movement resonated through the confined space. The lackluster tone was one of weakness, as much physical as mental. The speech pattern he spoke in though, it was a unique blend of Earth’s Olde-English and the Althanas common tongue. It was a difficult dialect to sift through and pick apart, especially when the words spoken were those not used by anyone from my world for centuries. I understood what he said though, despite the noise and the unique language. “Do not worry about the Emperor’s laws; I’m not one to care too much for them. You’re in Scara Brae anyway, this place is outside of the Corone borders, and though allied should not be doing whatever the usurping powers of the other island command.”

If the Ai’Bron of the Pagoda were listening, let them. I did not care for their views on the world, nor their lack of appreciation for the establishment they tended. Nearly forgotten outcasts, the monks that thrived on illusions and healing were far too caring in regards to what their brothers of the Citadel thought. It was sickening to think that they could be controlled so easily. They had no honor, what little that meant in the world of Althanas, I saw them only as sniveling lapdogs trying for so long to regain the favor of their masters.

As the man removed his clothing, I took a step forward. I could see the lines of blood already grooved into his skin. The cuts were shallow at best, but seemed to drip the dark blood of the shorter man like venom. I could tell he had been beaten quite thoroughly. Lashes had torn through his dark skin, opening gashed across his body. For a split second he put both his hands aside, dropping his shirt. To me, he looked like a blasphemous picture of the ultimate martyr. The symbol of the outstretched arms and tattered flesh was the only similarity though. Lorenor was a wicked, horrendous smelling mutated human, not a living deity.

No more talking was necessary, I had not come to do battle with words but with the steel edges of my multiple daggers. They waited anxiously up either sleeve, and I quickly formed a strategy. The first part would be all too similar to the way I began most fights, a simple strategy in order to force the opponent to be careful from that point on. A dagger fell to either hand, the smooth steel ends of the plain blades comfortably fitting in my cupped palms. It was a feeling that I relished, beyond any other in the synthetic world of Althanas.

My arms whirled and the daggers were sent. The first was thrown by my left hand, at Lorenor’s right side. I wanted to make him move; force him to chose a path. The second dagger was thrown towards his left side. If he dodged the first to the opposite side, the second dagger would dig deep. If he did not move to avoid either, they were close enough to catch him should he turn sideways. A simple strategy, one I did not expect to catch an experienced warrior with.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

A simple strategy indeed. Lorenor felt the daggers rapidly approaching more than he actually saw the man physically throw them. They streaked towards his position. The mutant was too tired, too burnt out to mount a proper counter offensive. He tried calling the Endless but they would not respond due to the physical pain the host body was in. Lorenor was at a loss. He found himself coming up with a half-assed plan to evade the incoming attack. He shimmied to the left. Normally, such a movement would take the mutant clearly out of the path of the thrown daggers.

But these were not normal circumstances. Lorenor twisted to his side in order to take the weapons where it would cause the least amount of damage.

One of the daggers struck him in dead in the brachialis region of his arm. The other, narrowly avoided, slashed across his already injured back. It drew more blood and visibly stung the mutant. That dagger continued on its flight path, blood dripping from its serrated edges. Flying towards some moving gears, the dagger bounced uselessly off the center of the brass object and fell off into an abyss of machines.

With his back freshly bleeding, as well as his left arm, the mutant sighed audibly. He took his working hand and proceeded to pull the dagger out of his arm. There was a terrible sound as the object was pulled. The mutant tossed the blade off to the side. He didn't want to disrespect Ethan by stealing one of his precious weapons. Lorenor clutched at his left arm with the right, the cold metallic feel of the bracer making him hurt even more.

He was in a really bad situation now.

Lorenor realized that he was going to get cut to pieces if he didn't act as soon as he possibly could. He stared at Ethan for a moment. The time had come for the mutant to prove himself! Blood freely flowed down his arm now rendering it all but useless. He had to depend on his right arm. The torn flesh at his back stung like crazy adding to the collection of scars and injuries he already had. Due to the nature of the injuries, his regenerative powers were out of commission until Lorenor could rest. Which didn't seem likely to happen for a while.

The mutant began to limp towards Ethan...a plan was brewing.

[Taskmienster]

The blades found their mark with success that I was neither prepared for nor expected. The steel edge, perfectly honed, bit through the thin flesh of the weakened man. A dagger found a point on the left arm, digging deep. The second dagger slashed across him as he turned, adding another line to the multitude of wounds that already traced his back. The blade was deep in his arm, the second passing with barely a scratch, but the man was already crisscrossed. I watched the gush of thick liquid without an expression crossing my face. It was war, however unrealistic, and there was nothing honorable about the state in which my opponent was thrown into combat.

“Need to finish this fight. I can’t lose or I’ll get kicked out of the Pagoda. If I win he’ll be thrown to fuck knows what fate.”

The cogs clicked at a quick pace, but nowhere near as quickly or as firmly as the thoughts that flitted through my mind. They were a constant reminder of my budding prestige, and my possible downfall should I let this battle come to an unfavorable end. I took another step back and let a blade fall to the waiting right hand palm. There was no plan behind my searching eyes, it would take second before another possible escape became possible… until then I would just have to survive.

A creature of darkness was before me, my nerve causing my legs to turn to rubber as I watched the thing approach. My blade feel to the ground, clattering nearly silently compared to the drum of clockwork. Scents filled the still air, my senses being assaulted on more than one front. It was the point of the arena, designed by myself, to create a place of panic for any opponents that relied on superior senses of hearing. The smell of my opponent was overwhelming. The silent reserve I had held to the point of his approach was lost and I let the façade of a seasoned Pagoda Warrior drop as I cringed.

“You smell like death, decay, and years of ignored rot.” I said while backing away from the creature and into a proverbial corner. All around me the burdening work of perfection continued, chains rattling without moving, titanium gears turning in a harmonious unison. Honor was a forlorn concept, one that did not always continue on throughout a battle. “Sorry buddy, but you need more than a little help cleaning up… your situation may suck, but you yourself have to get this smell shit checked out.”

[Mutant_Lorenor]

Too tired to really hear the words, Lorenor was focused on just the act itself. A blur, the next few moments of his life would decide the future. Lorenor knew he was at a loss. On the one hand, he really liked Ethan, on the other hand, he was a Dajas Pagoda warrior. Still making matters more complicated, the Knights of Dawn were out for blood. It didn't pay being a servant of N'Jal in Corone. Lorenor knew he would have to pack things up and head elsewhere to follow his obscure religion in peace.

At this point, he didn't care how he talked. He addressed Ethan in the modern version of the common-tongue. His particular style dialect of the common sounding thickly accented. His Haidia accent came out at that point of no return. Regardless of how he felt about Ethan, Lorenor had to take Ethan down. His very existence depended on it. Another thought crossed his mind. What if the Knights don't honor their part of the bargain and I survive? He was too tired to fight another battle with the Knights. He simply wanted to get out of this situation.

Feeling his healthy arm tense up, the mutant's claws sharpened. When he was in close proximity to Ethan, he began to talk. "I'm sorry there. I wish we could have met under better circumstances but these are ugly days for Corone. I'm sorry, but we must continue now. I hope you can forgive me someday. I have nothing against you but my card has been forced."

Lorenor looked ahead and he could see the Antifirmanent. It was a strange thing being able to see the place that you were about to end up in. He felt his hands tighten. Extending his fingers, Lorenor gathered himself for the next portion of the battle. He suddenly made a slashing attempt towards Ethan's face. It was Lorenor's intention to mar the handsome boy's beautiful face. He would cut Ethan or die trying. His hand slashed at a perfect angle, and the technique was adequate for the situation at hand. It was not a half-assed effort. Lorenor was sincerely attempting to draw blood.

[Taskmienster]

Darkness came in many forms, from the natural shadows that surrounded me to the bile that I could see within the purple glow of Lorenor’s eye sockets. A devious walking corpse, I felt like I was staring down a trapped animal. Death waited for one of us. I wanted to do the honorable thing by letting go of the title that I so adroitly fought to gain; my pride would not let me. The arena, the Pagoda, and eventually the top seat were mine to command. Within the clock tower I could face any foe; the circumstances around me were those that I created. The trap was set and the opponent was walking bluntly into it; his words were lost to my musings.

“Only seconds to go,” I thought when the man prepared his tattered body for a vicious assault. The muscles tensed, blood flowed freely from the open wounds with every pump of his heart. I smirked when he leapt forward. A quick thought was all I needed, and the speed of a thought would always surpass any opponent.

The world became tranquil. The motionless battleground was a snapshot of peace. Gears were mid-grind, the long hand of the clock was a second from its movement, and the opponent before me was frozen mid-stride. If I had more time in the unmoving status of my hacking code, one that stilled the world for a mere two seconds, I would have had more time to take note of Lorenor. His bloodied visage, his saddened and drawn face, even the way the arm was held at a slightly tilted angle would have been taken into note and used to my advantage. The claws lethal talons would be closing quickly though when the code was released from my arena.

A quick push of tensed muscles and I was bounding backwards from the sword. My legs were powerful enough to put a yard distance between me and my opponent. Behind me the cold titanium chain I knew would be in its proper place barely moved as I felt my back push against it. One second down, one to go.

I turned quickly, letting a dagger fall into my left palm as my right wrapped around the chain. It was ice compared to my hot hands. I didn’t realize how much I had already begun heating up with the free flowing adrenaline. The last second was passing as the world returned to motion. The sound was serenity shattering, my mind a crystal vase suddenly smashed by a sonic wave. Eyes closed tight, I couldn’t see the dagger like fingers swinging through where my body should have been had I not used my hacking.

Instead, with my head in a state of panic and my mind trying to get it under control, I felt the chain move as the minute hand shifted. The world within the clock was alive once more. My grip was white knuckled around the titanium; it shot towards the upper ramparts of the inner workings and dragged me with it. My shoulder jerked, but the code that gave me more strength and constitution than the regular person held firm. Instead of waiting till I reached the top I let go and dropped on a dehlar crossbar, a full two stories above my opponent and the ground.

[Mutant_Lorenor]

As Lorenor slashed his opponent with his sharp claws something unexpected happened. Exposed to the stimuli of the code, the mutant saw reality rippling for a brief second. For a moment, he saw a mixture of the air between the Firmanent and the Antifirmanent. The Firmanent was bound reality, and the Antifirmanent was another layer of reality. A realm where the dead walked freely, not bound to the ties of judgment. Lorenor was trapped between the Firmanent and the Antifirmanent as a wayward soul, the creature was capable of sensing things that no normal being should. Seeing a temporary flux of the chains of reality, the mutant saw a code manifesting around the handsome boy before him.

Accessing the very core of reality itself, this code was somehow capable of manipulating certain elements. And Lorenor suddenly understood what he was facing. Damn the Knights of Dawn. One day I will have my revenge, making me face this...whatever he is...in this condition I am in! Lorenor would cry if he could. Lorenor wanted to laugh but it somehow seemed inappropriate. Hell, he started laughing anyway.

Once he saw the effects of the code his claws hit nothing but air. Understanding the severity of his situation, Lorenor came to one conclusion. I am not walking out of here alive. Feeling a sudden terror clenching his stomach, the mutant became desperate. A sense of supernatural desperation filled his vessel from the deepest portions of his gut. Yes. This desperation fueled the fire to survive. Glancing around for a brief moment, Lorenor saw that reality fluttered back to normal. The mysterious code that appeared for a moment, was now gone.

Lorenor wondered just what in the hell had happened. One moment, everything in between the Firmanent and AntiFirmanent was normal, and the next moment, a code manifested that changed everything for the mutant. Looking around for his opponent, Lorenor blinked several times as he wondered where Ethan was. Finally, he decided to look up and could see the youth in the Antifirmanent thanks to the mysterious code-like aura that surrounded him. Lorenor shook his head. He beat me. The son of a bitch beat ME!

His maniacal laughter suddenly turned into a mad rage. His eyes widened, and he began to snarl as he screamed. Lorenor bounded towards the chain that was adjacent to his opponent's landing and moved quickly up the chain, bounding upwards. Lorenor no longer cared for his own safety. He had accepted death, welcomed it, embraced it. Landing on the dehlar platform, the mutant approached Ethan as he snarled angrily. He wasn't angry at Ethan per se, he was just angry. It was an insane sort of fury that burned in his eyes now. Lorenor wanted to rip this boy apart. His claws were sharp and screaming for blood. Renewed with that fire in his heart, the mutant ran towards Ethan and slashes with his claws once again, this time, across the youth's pectoral muscles. He wasn't trying to kill Ethan, no, he was trying to hurt Ethan.