The Aequitas Chamber

[Silence Sei]

Sei Orlouge was not one for skimping out on minor details. His ability to notice facial cues and mannerisms is what lead the mystic to two bronze trophies sitting in his tomb. It was only natural with this ability to notice the small molotov coming at his being, right?

Wrong.

The mute had been so caught up darting his eyes between both Lillian on one side of the arena, and the paladin on the other, that he had not the time to focus on attacks coming towards him. His whole being was dedicated to not only keeping these...these children alive, but by keeping up his alliance with Godhand and Lillian. So many things were on his mind that the man had to rely on his daughter in order to save himself.

Papa, projectile at twelve 'o' clock!

Sei darted his eyes directly in front of him. Instinctively the mute had reached to his the back of his left hip. His hands quickly threw out one of his steel throwing fans directly towards him. The mute's projectile met with that of his attackers. As a result of this, flames spread out in a small dome with just a few embers short of reaching Sei Orlouge himself. The strategist had gotten careless in his want to take care of others and it almost cost him his life already.

Focus Papa, Anita's thoughts translated into Sei's head. The one who attacked was the one between the two big fights. He's against the wall. He's got more of those bombs so be careful. Sei nodded to show that he was heeding Anita's warning.

The smell of burnt ground began to rise up into the hero's nostrils. This simply would not do. What kind of fool would just outright attack The Hero of Radasanth, the Dragon of Drantrak? This man must have had a death wish of some sort to commit such a foolhardy act. Reaching back to the front of his left hip, Sei untied the string holding a chakram from his side.

Walking over to the ground in which his fan had fallen, the hero examined the flames that were quickly dispersing. It appeared as though the flaming projectiles were meant to completely swallow their target in intense heat, presumably killing them instantly. If one survived such a horrific attack, they would more likely be too scarred to continue through the pain. Sei had to be careful with this one, at least until he ran out of his molotovs.

Deciding it would be better to try and end this brawl as quickly as possible, Sei removed the chakram at his other hip. Crossing his arms together in an X formation, Sei slung the blades outwards while releasing his grip. This caused the chakrams to sing out a whistle as they each hit opposite sides of the walls. Due to the power behind the throw, the weapons bounced off of the walls and proceeded to fly towards the walls to their direct left. The blades (which flew about three feet from the ground) would continue to bounce off of the walls until they found their trajectory was altered downward, upward, or with somebody's flesh.

The mute looked back to his assailant as he removed another steel fan from his right hip. The mute then proceeded to throw the fan towards Neville without another hint. This strategy was meant to cause Neville to panic, and cause him to fall into one of the spinning death traps now activated on the field.

Sei, protecting himself, decided to take flight. Two magnificent butterfly wings burst from the back of the mystic. The vibrant orange and white splashed against one another, complimented by the blue outline trim around the appendages. Sei kneeled down and jumped upwards, forcing the two wings on his back to force him afloat. Keeping above the two mobile chakrams allowed Sei to provide Lillian with a third set of eyes, as well as keep the mute safe.

Things were getting interesting indeed.

[Duffy]

Duffy threw caution to the wind and skipped to a halt as he approached the paladin. Luck it seemed would not deal the thief an opening hand, and Talen's blade rang out across the arena as it struck the paladin's own weapon. "Damnation," he muttered, looking at his acquaintance nervously. All around their heads wanton destruction reigned, mimicking the precipitation above with flecks of blood and magical energies arcing through the air. Very quickly, Duffy realised, the arena was becoming a crimson bath the likes of which he could not possibly survive...

He pieced together a formula to work with, that would, perhaps, allow them some luxury and time to make an impact. He traced the path of an arrow that whistled past him to the familiar sight of the vampire Alis, and smiled brightly at his sudden fortune. His face beamed with malefic intentions as a plot sprung to life. "You!" He pointed, smiled, and looked between Talen and the elf, "Oh, this is just perfect for us! Just like old times!" The roar of the crowd momentarily abated as a song drifted down from the stands and tinkered it's way through the workings of the forcefield.

Duffy looked up and realised Ruby and Lilith were singing, but they were not singing any ordinary song. It was a paean about the hero of Radasanth, one which had been written in recent times but already it was part of the folklore of Althanas. It spoke of a warrior blind to the world, but omniscient to the workings between the realms. It took Duffy a moment to piece together the subtle suggestion with his limited knowledge, and instinctively it brought his gaze to the one he knew to be named Sei...

Fate was at hand, surely? How could so many familiar faces, friends, enemies, charlatans and whores be in one place if not by coincidence or divine intervention? He wiped the snot from his nose and peeled off his bandana, already plastered to his scalp from the exertion deployed in avoidance of the door. He dropped it to the muddy floor and clicked his neck back into a comfortable position. "Cross-roads... intertwining legacies, broken skies and wandering prophets..." He mumbled something that would only make sense to him, as he often found himself to be doing, before glancing up at Ruby once more.

Her song combined with Lilith's aria beautifully and it drifted down into both the Aequitas Chamber and the Treslizn, bringing the air above both to life with swirling patterns of dancing lights. The sonata of one sister embroiled itself in the deep notes of the melody of the other and lifted Duffy's heart from the gutter long enough for everything to make sense in his childish mind.

"Cast away thy trappings of royalty, and I shall swaddle thou in a gown of pure love! Never again will I part from thee! Pray, my love, make me thy canary to keep forever in the cage of thy bosom! Let us embark on the first ship tomorrow, before dawn can tell of our elopement!"

The quote ruptured the air around Duffy, who threw all concern for the outcome of the Cell away. With a deft motion, he clasped the hilt of the Katarhna and unsheathed it with a single definite swing. The echoing emotion brought forth by the line from I Want To Be Your Canary was all he needed. The lights overhead would be all he required to slip in behind Talen and the paladin's clash and deal the first of many surprises in the narrative of The Cell's Opening Act.

He spoke a simple word of power, squirted a line of liquid along the blade and ignited it. It burst into flames and held it's power with Lysander's pedagogue long enough to survive the sudden rush of blood to the head, and wind that swirled around the thief as he ran forwards.

With a spin he cut upwards at the paladin's back, hoping to catch him unawares and claim the first tally in the name of a true hero.

A hero born not of greed like Sei, or arrogance like Striker...

Duffy was a talentless hero born of passion, born with the same drive he had seen in the likes of Ulysses, Metaldrago, Ruby or Lilith or the everyday people who lived and breathed the Radasanth air.

They were the true heroes, and Duffy was proud to bring their tales to life.

[Ataraxis]

Lillian felt the onset of a headache as static chatter overflowed her mind, like a psychic signal attempting to establish contact. At once, she recognized a signature to the telepathic waves, and it was with a sigh that she greeted her acquaintance. ‘Mister Orlouge,’ she began with narrowed eyes, squinting due to the dual strain of incoming telepathy and outgoing shadow manipulation. Though her focus was doubly solicited now, she did not let the distraction affect her control over the twining vine of darkness that was creeping across the field. ‘I would have said hello earlier, but considering the circumstances… it didn’t exactly seem appropriate.’

She had listened to his plea, and understood all too well what the mute warrior had come here looking for: to find specific allies against a coming catastrophe that would befall Radasanth and all of Corone. Upon first meeting him and his daughter, they had told her she was among these nine prophetic figures – much to her dismay. She was not one to ignore cataclysmic events if she could stop them, but her mind was otherwise occupied with worries of her own, right now. As insignificant as it sounded, it was crucial for her to fill these vials with the blood of powerful beings. After all, she had her own apocalypse to prevent, and as strong as she had become, her strength alone was not enough to stop it.

‘Believe me, I never had any intention of fighting you, mister Orlouge… nonetheless, I will agree to your terms. Truce.’ Lillian also told him to thank Anita for her support, although she was fairly certain she would not make use of it. His offer of helping her out of a potential pinch, however, had drawn a mischievous smile across her dollish lips. ‘My thanks. I doubt I’ll need it… but you already know that, don’t you?’ With that, the transmission was cut short, and she flinched from the residual spark left by the breaking of the psychic link.

As if on cue, she heard the overlapping of two gunshots echo through the arena. Godhand had entered moments ago, also the recipient of Sei’s message, but he wasted no time in firing his trademark revolver straight at Joshua’s face at almost point-blank range, who himself had been no slouch in his instant retaliation. In the blink of an eye, her emotions had gone from glee at seeing her mercenary of a friend walk in, to fear for his life as the Pagoda warrior fired his own firearm through his cloak. It wasn’t long, however, before she told herself there was no need to fear for Godhand Striker, and her thoughts switched at once to cold-blooded calculation. It was time for step two.

‘Now.’

With that singular thought, the shadow serpent broke from its path, picking up speed as it made a beeline toward Joshua like an arrow in the night. She had felt him notice her, notice the lance of darkness, but it was too late. His dark silhouette upon the ground was now one with her sorcerous shades, joining his life to hers in a necromantic link. The surge of energy feeding back into the tendril was immense, and she knew the process had begun. His strength coursed through her, and though she felt no more empowered by his stolen vitality, Lillian simply grinned, looking back at the other participants in the fighting pit. It was them, all along: they were the real recipients.

She was merely the conduit.

There was a four-way scuffle consisting of a dagger-wielding rogue with a voice of silver, a sickly-looking blond bowman, a bulky warrior with a bastard sword and the archetype of a tall, dark, handsome man… shadow snake-tongue slithering out of his mouth notwithstanding. Halfway between both groups stood Sei and a cloaked man, who’d just now engaged the mute with explosive cocktails. The blast had almost caught Anita’s father in its fiery roar, and a harried Sei threw his chakrams in reprisal.

Looking at the arsonist, Lillian frowned. ‘Don’t really have the privilege of choice.’

The librarian threw her arm back, wisps of solid night forming at her fingertips. Countless tendrils of dark strands discharged from the spheres of magic, aiming to wind about the forms of all the fighters she had seen. Some might miss, she knew, but Lillian had already felt a number of her threads wrap around the cloaked pyromaniac and even Sei Orlouge who'd just taken flight with iridescent wings. Smirking in satisfaction, Lillian whispered to herself. “And we’re linked.”

The alien life-force that had been drained into her body was now coursing through the webs linking her to the other warriors, spears of scintillating light that struck as lightning. Instead of pain, however, those connected to the girl were being overwhelmed with sheer power. Lillian had no idea how this boost of vitality would affect each individual, but she knew one way or another, they would find a way to make use of it.

“Do you think they’ve forgotten about you?” she cried out, surprising the audience with the sheer volume a body so petite had apparently mustered. “Crush each other, and the survivor gets crushed in turn! Does that sound like a fine strategy to you?”

With that, she threw up her arm, beckoning them to come. She was smiling at them, but there was no condescension in that simple expression, and in her wide blue eyes was a gleam of genuine thrill. It was an invitation to join a battle of evened odds, now that she had slightly turned the tables in their favor. She had predicted they might simply make use of her boon against each other, however, so she had thought of one final incentive.

“Unless you’re not interested in bringing down a weakened titan,” Lillian said with a grin, looking over her shoulder as she pointed a thumb back at Joshua.

The power to transfer life-force in combination with the tendrils was gained here. The shadow tendril connecting with and draining Josh has been approved by Numbers, though the extent of the drain is up to him. Webs connecting with Rayse and Sei have been approved. Amen, Alis, Hysteria and Duffy are free to choose whether or not to get linked. Those connected get a boost to their power: the nature and range of this boost are at their discretion.

[Neville Longinus]

Rayse could not hear the song of heroes. It was a sonata not meant for his dark heart. He could only hear the song of his own greed, ambition, and arrogance. The same arrogance that assumed he could take out the orange-haired man in one attack.

As the molotov collided mid-air with Sei's own thrown weapon, The Contractor cursed his accuracy and realized that this wouldn't be so easy. The explosion clouded his view of Sei, but as the smoke cleared he noticed that the warrior who had before thought nothing of Rayse's presence was now staring right at him with a chakram in each hand. What the hell did I do? Can I even fight in this condition?

Sei released the weapons and Rayse watched them start bouncing around the arena very strangely. Before he knew it, they were both closing in on him from each side, and The Hero of Radasanth even threw another one right at him! The speed at which these attacks came, the way they perfectly closed in on him, it made him think he was out of his league. With the wall to his back, he was surrounded. As there were only moments left before impact, he could do nothing but brace himself.

That is, until he felt something very strange. A rush of adrenaline passed over his body, and for the first time in months he felt like himself again. His senses were accelerated, and the speedy chakrams now felt very slow to him. He relaxed his body and smiled. This was who he was; Not some no-name hooded clown with magic tricks, but Rayse Valentino. His name was one to be respected, to be feared.

Under his hood he peeked out and glared up at the now-airborne Sei, "What kind of sissy man has fairy wings?" He had never seen fairy wings before and couldn't make the distinction between them and the butterfly-looking wings of the man he was insulting, but it was still fitting.

The chakrams closed in on him and passed through him as though he was not there, the points of contact turning into pure fire. The thrown weapons appeared to chop his body in half, but heat radiated from the area Rayse stood in. As the weapons passed through, they created the image of a man chopped in half with his upper and lower body separated by a sheet of fire. The weapons continued bouncing around uninterrupted, and the flames slowly connected his body halves, changing back into his flesh and clothes. He heard the clang of the chakrams hitting the walls nearby before moving on to the other side of the chamber. A coarse wind blew his cloak around, and another drag was taken off his cigarette.

The ground around him was steaming, his very essence a raging furnace. His influence was being exerted on the rocky ground, and the very air around him. The rune on his shoulder was glowing brightly, almost seeping through his clothing. The tattoo lines spread halfway across his arm and over his shoulder. Whatever was boiling within him could no longer be controlled. He had heard Lillian's plea, and for a moment he forgot about Sei. An immediate sense of direction overcame him, compelling him to do something about Cronen. Although Rayse had broken his concentration for a bit, it seemed that he was not The Hero of Radasanth's primary concern, even after the attempted murder. His thoughts were twisted by this newfound power. Something in him that was held back by the medicine was now unhinged. This titan... he dares draw attention from me?!

In rage, Rayse slammed his foot down into the ground, sending a fissure through the ground that made its way towards Cronen. When it reached its target, it would burst forth into a geyser of flames.

[Max Dirks]

Dirks twirled his gun around on his finger and walked to the other side of his podium. Below him was the B league. Except for his friend, Sei Orlouge and the walking tank, Godhand Striker, the participants in Aequitas Chamber were subpar. In fact, two of the combatants hadn’t moved more than a foot away from their doors. “Cowards,” Dirks said. They would be easy targets, that is, if Dirks could hit them.

This time the criminal properly aimed at the Daredevil, who was crouched by his door. Dirks took a few moments to line up his shot and pulled the trigger. Phagan once again opened the shields briefly and the bullet travelled into the Cell. However, just before the bullet struck its target, the unthinkable happened. Zooga Agooz leapt out of nowhere to try and strike the cowering Daredevil with his rubber toy dagger. The bullet struck the top of Zooga’s head, instantly killing him. Somehow his brain must have altered the trajectory of the bullet because it exited his nasal cavity and continued directly into its intended target, Daredevil’s, eye socket. Of course, Dirks didn’t see any of the details, but he did see both of them fall to the ground.

“I think I got both of them,” Dirks pumped his fist. “Double kill!” This more than made up for his poor accuracy when he interfered with the Treslizn Chamber.

When his excitement faded, Dirks turned his attention to Einar Fenrisson, the other participant who had barely moved. “No, I can’t do this right now,” Dirks said. He didn’t want to miss and ruin his double kill. He turned to Phagan, “You take care of him.”

“I’m not involved in this.” Phagan responded.

“I’m afraid you are, old friend.” Dirks said, “We have an agreement. If you ever want to see him again, you’ll do what you’re told.” Suddenly the humor was gone from his voice.

Phagan frowned, but obeyed. He closed his eyes and raised his hands into the air. A hole opened in the shield above Einar. When the rain started falling onto him he slowly looked up at his impending doom. Suddenly a bolt of lightning struck at the very spot where Einar stood, completely vaporizing him. It sent shocks throughout the chamber, but all the participants were unaffected. Phagan closed the gap and took a deep breath. The crowd cheered as they knew the source of the destruction. They began to chant, “Dirks…Dirks…Dirks…”

“Should we give them what they want?” Dirks asked rhetorically.

“I…I can’t,” Phagan wheezed. “I haven’t completely regained my strength since you revived me. If you want these shields to hold you’re going to have to wait to play your games for a moment.”

“Fine,” Dirks retorted, “It’ll probably make them want it more anyway…”

(The Daredevil, Taskmienster and Squidi are disqualified)

[Godhand]

He thought he'd lined the shot up just right, but looking back it might have been a little sloppy. He'd traded function for form to delight the crowd and tried to make the shot look as casual as possible, with the gun askew in his hand and doing his best Christ-on-the-Cross pose. He'd managed to clip the hooded man's ear but not much else. He was lining up another shot when suddenly his concentration was broken.

The information didn't stream in like it would have if it were him simply hearing a man speak. Rather, it poured in all at once as though once upon a time you'd read a book and had forgotten what was in it until that moment. A completed thought. Faster-than-light communication? Such was the nature of telepathy, he supposed.

Nevertheless, the distraction afforded his opponent just enough time to draw his own pistol and fire off a round towards Godhand. It was coming in good and center, too; poised to go right into his gut and stay there like a broken bottle. He might have been able to dodge it if his attention had been focused on the mystery man at the time but Orlouge's telepathic communique had made him lose his footing. He only just managed to throw himself to the side, the bullet leaving a deep score in his abdomen.

"Sei you dumb cracker, you're gonna get me shot!"

It wasn't all the mystic's fault, though. He shouldn't have just assumed anybody under a hood was a nobody. That was a possibility...Nay, it was likely, but as long as it wasn't a hundred percent sure thing it was never smart to let your guard down. As it turned out the man in black was armed and dangerous. Probably not quite as much as Godhand was, but still enough to make the day go very, very badly for him. The mercenary ran a hand against his newly acquired wound, looked at his bloodied fingers, wiped the blood off on his coat and then drew a second revolver, opening fire on the mystery man with both weapons at once.

He only had time to squeeze off about three rounds, however. Suddenly CHAOS had erupted all over the goddamn arena. Dazzling lights in the sky, a song riding under the current of the cheers, fire, explosions, tendrils of shadow and light shooting seeking out the contestants, metal razor fans bouncing randomly off the walls, a man vomited a snake and Sei Orlouge grew fairy wings.

He didn't even know where to begin. He'd been in more hectic battlefields but not ones quite so varied in their many traps and pitfalls. He ducked a flying fan that threatened to cut into him from behind, but kept his eyes on the gunman all the while.

He hadn't replied to Orlouge yet, unsure as to whether a thought was enough or if he'd have to speak it aloud. The truth was he held no ill will towards his employer and had perhaps a bit of partiality to him, having given him work back when he was so green. Nevertheless, something about the proposal didn't sit well with him. Apart from the fact that he could likely take on everyone in the cell except for one single-handed, and thus didn't NEED help, or so he felt, it just didn't seem sporting to gang up on the weaker gladiators. He surprised himself, thinking with such a mindset, in a real warzone where his life was in danger he'd have taken every advantage he could get. But now, here...It didn't seem fair to them. Or to the crowd! They were there to watch a pitched contest, not a grizzly massacre!

Well, that was what he'd like to believe. The truth was they would have likely cheered just as loud for a sudden, bloody decapitation as for a intricate back-and-forth swordfight.

Probably louder.

Godhand yells at Sei, takes a grazing hit from 007's bullet, dodges a metal fan (PANTERA RULES, YEAH!) and fires three more .50 caliber rounds towards 007.

[Amen]

Make no mistake, Anya had said, mere hours ago, this is The Cell. The least of those you will meet inside will be your peer.

Marcus was…disappointed. His blade chewed through Talen’s scabbard, but met its match at the metal kept within and there stopped. The paladin growled – really growled – but did not engage in a test of strength, as tempting as it was to focus on removing the boy from the battle. He needed to be mobile, he knew: an unmoving target was sure to get bowled over by bullets or airborne doors.

It didn’t make it any easier to turn away from Talen when the teenager began to summon up serpentine shadows from somewhere inside his mouth. In fact, it inspired the overwhelming urge to kill in the squire, an urge it took some effort to resist. It was, after all, his job to hunt down and kill men of the dark. It was due to Marcus’ peculiar occupation that he was able to discern the exact nature of the shadow-walker’s illusion: Source-Light burned in his dark eyes and pierced the incorporeal shadow. He did not as much as flinch as the smoke-snake struck toward his face.

Book’s advantage would not be Talen’s downfall, however, at least not yet. Marcus had, at first, ignored the shout that had come from behind him, directly as a result of his hope to slaughter the boy before he could become a threat. Now that his original plan had failed there was little choice but to acknowledge the second danger.

The squire’s reaction to the thought of a second attack coming from behind him was unskilled, but fortuitous. He recoiled from Talen Shadowalker and withdrew his blade just as the pale boy unsheathed his sword and slashed, and thus Marcus avoided having his chest opened up. Satisfied with the short distance between himself and Talen, Book allowed himself the shortest moment to turn and swing wide in the hope of catching the second attacker who had, an instant previous, attempted to draw the paladin’s attention.

Auspiciously for both Duffy and Marcus, and for the crowd cheering them on, the bard had skipped to a halt before getting close enough to be caught in the deadly swing. This was happy for Marcus because, in the meantime, someone had loosed an arrow in his direction. Now, his furious swing had been swift and more than a little foolish, and being so frenzied he did not make a good target. The arrow passed as a blur, close enough that the air it displaced stung the squire’s cheek and shocked him.

Marcus dropped into a slight crouch, inadvertently dodging a second loosed arrow, and saw his opponents in a measure of time too short to actually consider them beyond their basic existence. His mind acknowledged them on an instinctive, subliminal level, and no more.

Too often had the paladin heard seasoned warriors speak of the battle-focus: the experience of time slowing to a crawl in the midst of a bloody struggle so that the affected had all the time he needed to think, react, and strike. Marcus experienced something like that now, but found that it was not what he might have hoped for. Time seemed to slow, yes, even stretch, but he felt no calm or comfort in it – he was aware of so many threats to his person, so many potential deaths in front of him and behind him.

Behind him, yes. He stood up straight and twisted at the torso, swinging wide and strong in the air to discourage Talen from approaching. Satisfied that he was not being flanked, at least for the moment, Marcus twisted at the torso again, this time bringing his sword down from on high: he heard Duffy’s padded footfalls on the stone floor behind him, and feared the bite of cold steel in his back.

So much was happening as Marcus’ blade fell, too much to see or hear or even understand. He was not aware that he’d even garnered the notice of Lillian Sesthal; much less that she had been weaving a spell with him as an intended target, and if she’d been a wicked sorceress with murderous intentions – at least more immediately so – Marcus would have fallen long before his blade met Duffy’s.

Thankfully, Lillian’s goal was more nebulous and, perhaps, more sinister.

Foreign power flowed into Marcus Book, power that was not his own and that he had not yet earned. It filled him, toughened him, and as such it made him a better vessel for the energy he channeled…and the being to whom that energy belonged.

Marcus’ sword met Duffy’s clamorously, and the paladin pushed himself forward so that he came face to face with his would-be murderer. His eyes radiated golden light – burned, as if a holy fire was consuming him from the inside, and there was all the turmoil of an uncontrolled blaze therein. The paladin’s body was powerful enough to hold the Light, it was true, but his mind and his will were comparatively small.

“Sear the flesh, cook the sin, burn them all,” the paladin said. He was face to face with the bard, but the words were not for Duffy and they didn’t come from the mind of Marcus Book.

The battle of wills between the paladin and the Source of his power would have surely been lost, if not for a third voice: Lillian Sesthal had made a suggestion, and both the warring entities thought it a good one.

In his altered mental state, Marcus honestly forgot about the three warriors that had been working together to end him. He saw only those men who had seemed unstoppable before: those most likely to dole out pain and slaughter the likes of which the paladin could not defy. Chief among those men was the titan Marcus had identified before: the man capable of ripping a heavy door from its moorings and turning it into a projectile.

With that newfound focus, the paladin regained the slightest tinge of control and clung to it with fierce determination, and his fiery eyes focused on Duffy over their locked swords.

“What’s it going to be?” Marcus said over the cacophony produced by screaming crowds and songs and ricocheting bullets. “Are you going to make me kill the three of you, or shall we bring down the giants first?”

[Breaker]

A bowstring snapped, weapons clashed, explosions tore at the air. The winged mystic's chakram's rattled around the arena, chanting along with the crowd. Beneath the plane of sensory understanding, Cronen felt Lillian's shadowy tendril turn towards him.

"Kill her. Fill'er with holes! Damn you, get away from that thing!"

As the strand of shadow slithered closer, Cronen could understand it's intention. Having the life force sapped from him like the victim of a vampire did not seem appealing, and he instinctively crouched to leap away. But something about the fear, the absolute terror the obsidian tentacle inspired in Breaker, made him hesitate.

Breaker screamed as Lillian completed the conduit. The beastial presence in Cronen's brain faded, and then vanished.

Suddenly the cacaphonic pandemonium in the Cell seemed to harmonize with the songs from the spectators, supported by the overall roar of the crowd. This music was written on a three-dimensional canvas colored by the swell of magic nearby. Cronen felt the inferno as the black-haired man's fiery fisurre approached, and tasted the the residue of telepathic chatter. Without Breaker polluting their brain Joshua lived in the moment, feeling ever more acutely aware.

He felt weaker, as well. Still concealed beneath the mist-colored cloak, his right hand holstered the big Colt. Normally the ugly Anaconda seemed to have no weight at all. Now, it was a lump of lead on his belt. Despite the decline of his physical power, he wanted to run over and embrace Lillian. Although probably a side effect, he had not felt such mental clarity since before Medsan's death.

A stray raindrop which had found its way through the force field struck his nose. The smell of it, the freshness, reminded him of all the pleasures of life. The shuddering impact of the lightning bolt made him address more imperative matters.

Cronen threw himself sideways in an eye-blurring barrel roll as the Cougars spat three more slugs. The first missed him completely but struck the Breaker Boots, ricocheting skyward on a collision course with the gossamer-winged warrior. The second went through the top of his right shoulder and then painted a portion of the force field red. The third glanced off his hip before hurtling towards Marcus Book, leaving a messy hole behind.

Cronen exited the roll some distance away and landed with one boot on the ground, the other braced against the adamantine wall. Panting, with sweat soaking through his scalp, he watched the fissure of fire pass his previous position and continue toward the man with two guns. Hot blood soaked through his cloak at shoulder and waist level. Slow sticky blood dripped steadily onto his other shoulder from the shredded ear. The pain from his multiple gunshot wounds ripped at him like a pack of tiny wolves. But it could not compare with the mental torment Breaker habitually brought.

He felt shaky, certainly. Out of breath, but hardly at his limit. And so as the chakram Godhand ducked under approached he took his left foot off the wall and kicked the bladed disc with his enchanted boot. It reversed direction, flying back at Godhand twice as fast as before. The impact sent a tingling sensation up his leg, a tremor he had not felt in some time.

"Being below my usual strength is worth being able to enjoy breathing again," he thought blissfully as his conditioned lungs regulated the process. The ease with which they did so made him realize that his flurried evasion had also taken him out of Lillian's range, severing the connection.

A dull note of foreboding invaded the music in Cronen's mind. When his strength returned, Breaker would as well.

[Amen]

Whatever the bard’s response might have been, only he knew. The offer was off the paladin’s tongue one moment, and then the next he was bodily torn away by a force too quick to see.

The bullet struck Marcus in the fleshy part high on the right shoulder, not so far from his neck, and bored through him easily. It left a cloud of bloody mist in its wake, and the force behind it carried the man backward – away from his opponent and down to the unyielding stones of the arena floor.

Immediately the wound hissed, spitting malodorous smoke into the air, and Book cried out in agony. All wounds are anathema in their own way, blatant symbols of imperfection, harm, and unmaking, and thus the Source-Light burned at them. Because the Source so fully inhabited the paladin’s body now, the wound was cauterized in seconds, and then the damaged tissue began to knit itself.

And then the healing stopped, and the Source – once screaming – began to fade back into the whisper it had originally been.

Marcus felt control returning, and with it came fear.

No!

Over and over he mentally repeated it, but as time passed it became more obvious, truer: the connection had been severed, Marcus’ strength was deteriorating, and the Source was no longer able to possess him so completely. Thus weakened, he could not rely on the overwhelming power conferred on him for those blissful few seconds.

And the wound he now suffered would not be fully healed before the last of the stolen power faded.

The paladin curled upon himself and moaned, both for the pain and the ongoing loss of that brief taste of godhood, and then he reached for his fallen sword. Mortal or no, he was not dead yet, and so the fight continued.

[Hysteria]

Talen's sword sung through the air without the answering sound of spilt blood. It was a little disheartening for the shadow warrior to see his plan fail, he had spent at least ten minutes practising that sword-snake combo before the fight. With a sigh he let the snake fade away. His sorrow didn't last too long as an arrow shot just clear of the paladin and above Talen's head.

The crack of it against the adamantium brought his mind back into focus. The fight was a kaleidoscope of action and sound. There was so much that he could barely keep track of it all, most of it just smashed against his brain and was forgotten. Lightning, gunshots, shadow tendrils shooting towards him, explo... wait what was that about tendrils?

The young warrior could just see the darkness shooting towards him coming from a woman across the arena. He tried to focus on the darkness and take control of whatever menacing attack had been thrown towards him. Just as he managed to focus on it a blade cut the air just in front of him. For a second he lost focus and the darkness struck him. He mentally prepared himself for whatever pain was going to hit him, but instead he felt a surge of energy. Talen has never felt anything like it before. A blast of energy filled him, tore away his fears and nerves and made him feel invincible.

Although as quickly as it had come the tendril stopped transmitting energy as the human bulldozer Joshua moved out of the spells range. It didn't seem to matter though; Talen felt amazing. The paladin just in front of the boy managed to survive the myriad of attacks and suggested they tackle one of the bigger foes.

Talen, still on one knee simply wasn't sure. The man had just attacked him, was he supposed to now trust him? He had met both Duffy and Alis before, but this paladin he had not.

* * * *

“There is something you should know boy.” said Mel with a look of concern that was rare for Talen's old friend, “On the battle field there are no rules. Someone who is your friend could as quickly be an enemy and battle field alliances are tenuous at best.”

“So what should I do?” Asked Talen, more confused than before.

Mel sighed and looked into the sky.

“Just go with it.”

* * * *

“Alright Mr Shiny-Eyes, you attack one of the 'giants' and I'll back you up.” Shouted Talen over the roar of the crowd and various other explosions. His words were cut short as a bullet struck the paladin. Talen watched with an odd mixture of awe and revolstion as the blood splatter suddenly turned into some sort of inner fire. Talen stood up slowly, making sure that there were no other projectiles headding towards him.

Well... kick 'em while their down...

Talen used the slowly fading power from the tentrils of darkness to form a circle of darkness. The shadows shot towards the paladin, attempting to obscure the man's view. With his sword raised, Talen brought it down towards the crouching man's neck in a smooth downwards arc.