The Final Cage

[Dissinger]

Pain blossomed in his back as he arched it. Gritting his teeth he barely got to see the fruits of his labor before the Drow was back to his position beside his mistress. As he closed his eyes he let his body go limp before he shrugged his shoulders feeling the twin slashes that had cut deeply. Opening the grey orbs he looked onto Izvilvin he could feel a growl issue from his throat as he twirled a dagger idly, ready to tear the Drow apart with the skill he had been given.

However, it turned out that the Drow had other problems on his hands as he watched a man drop from above knife in hand. The glint of metal causing Seth to step back as he looked at Witchblade letting his anger go as he grinned wide enough to almost look like the roguish grin, "About time you bastards got your comeuppance. Lets finish this."

With those words he ignored the pain as he rushed at Witchblade his daggers coming about in a whirlwind as he fought to push through the witch's defences. Slow would be releasing its grips soon, and he had to keep her off guard if he was to stand a chance. His shirt was torn, the fabric following suit of the vest as it too dangled off his back begging to be tugged and pulled on. However Seth was beyond caring as he continued his eyes going dead as he fought with ferocity unmatched by any man.

The demon had awoken form its slumber as he pushed forward. He would have slaughtered the witch were it not for one small problem. He could hear a voice, and from the sounds of it, the voice had something important to say. Slowly he heard his name called out over and over before a name drifted through the air, "...Sarah!"

He had no time to react before he saw the twin boots flying right at his face...

(Witch, you're getting a bit of help, if you need to coordinate something PM me, the next post will be Sarah entering the fray.)

[Lavinian Pride]

Liliana was busy with other things as the crowd had rioted, trampling others beneath their tread in the rush to attack the contestants in the cage. Having to use her staff to knock away anyone who sought to attack the woman she found herself tiring. It was tough fighting off a crowd that had become disturbed and with a shout she flung her hand out, “Ort!”

Knocking a few men back with the word of banishing she realized with a sinking feeling the Cell had become a bloodbath in more ways than one. Everyone wanted to fight now, and the problem was, she was ill equipped. Only her staff of darkness to fight with, until it was knocked from her hands, and her wits to keep her alive as she fought. She refused to kill the men, and yet they came at her yelling and screaming about various things.

Sarah meanwhile was watching the going-ons; a few of the cretins were trying to climb the cage to get inside as others pulled at the locked door. She herself drew a thorn from its place on the belt before she saw the priestess. She was in trouble, as one of the men was rushing to blindside the woman, and Sarah shuddered to think what would happen to her in the riot. With all her skill she threw the dagger with utmost efficiency, hitting the man squarely in the temple and dropping him before he could complete his devious task.

Liliana only looked at the downed man before she recognized the dagger. Trying to push her way through the crowd she shouted out, “Seth! Seth! SETH! Sarah is in the cage somewhere! It’s SARAH!” She could only hope he heard the warning as she continued her own personal battle, this time deciding to knock some sense into the zombies as she went.

Her task finished Sarah snorted as she pulled the girls out and shook her head trying to get her hair to get off the back of her neck. Task completed she moved dropping down five feet before she moved with trained agility stabbing her daggers into the tree and carving around into it. The effect was her momentum became centrifical force as she began to descend the tree until she came boots first right at Seth, knowing that the save on Liliana had blown her cover.

Seth was sent flying back into the dirt as Sarah landed heavily before the former Thief Extraordinaire. Sarah stumbled a bit as she clutched her nose before she giggled in delight at the pain she felt in her face; knowing Seth was hurting far more. Bringing her daggers to bear she spoke her voice terse and without room for argument, “My feud isn’t with you, don’t attack me and I’ll guarantee Seth here doesn’t go after you anymore.”

Seth groaned as he pulled himself to his feet, scrapes now opened by the jarring impact and as he felt his nose he knew it was broken. Not bothering with it as he began to pant from his mouth he looked at Sarah before his eyes widened. Sarah only rushed forward and swung as Seth blocked the dagger blows expertly and locked up with her, his voice strained as he said, “What in the hells are you doing here?”

“Someone has to kick your ass and personally, I don’t think anyone else here is up to the task,” She retorted as she brought a knee up into Seth’s stomach catching the thief off guard. As he grunted and hunched she brought the knee up again into his face sending him sprawling as she again lightly touched her face feeling sympathy pain from the thief. “Oops, did that hurt?” She asked rhetorically as the dark and twisted humor of the situation dripped into her voice.

[Witchblade]

(I’m playing this like your Slow spell has worn off since it’s been two posts, however if that’s wrong, just let me know and I’ll change it.)

The Cell really was a mad house, where opponents could drop from the sky, well technically a tree that mysteriously sprouted out of the ground, and attempt to stab one in the back, or kick them in the face. Of course, what mad it even weirder was the fact that the human dropping from the sky was none other than the one who had killed himself earlier in the fight.

Witch didn’t know how he was alive or why, but she’d seen stranger and right now she wasn’t too concerned with the fact that some lady drop kicked Seth in the face, saved her from having to defend herself against him and basically told her to back off and that she couldn’t handle him. Oh she wanted to show her what she could handle, but not yet, right now she had a more important thing to worry about, the fact that her ally was about to be shanked in the back by the same guy…again.

Jeez, every time she turned around her little Drow was getting himself into all kinds of trouble.

On top of all of this the human crowd had gone insane and was attempting to reach the cage and attack the fighters within it. Fights were going on in the stands and humans were leaping to their death all to get near the fighters. As weird as human’s had always been to her this just didn’t make any sense at all. Human’s liked watching people fight, bleed and die, they didn’t like participating in it. It was somehow beneath them, or they were just too big of cowards to fight for anything.

As the human fell behind Izvilvin, Witch made her move and with the effects of Seth’s spell gone it felt like she was traveling twice the speed she normally could. No rushing water battering against her body and molasses to trap her limbs.

Coming from the human’s side, Witch dropped Seth’s other dagger she was holding and used her telekinesis to bring up the sai sheathed to her boot. As she moved in to block the human’s…whittle knife, the blade slid easily between the prongs and Witch gave it a quick twist, trapping part of the knife and the human’s hand as well. Then she brought around her dagger, attempting to slide the blade across his stomach and gut him.

[Molotov]

Pandemonium had erupted in the stands, but Mara Jade wasn’t concerned. She had already moved down to a position of higher strategy, from where she would be able to attack Molotov and take him out of the Cell. It was a foolish action on her part, to give away her position and intentions just for the sake of a tournament, but the shapeshifter valued hurting Molotov on merely principle alone.

With a coy smile, Mara Jade looked on at Molotov. “Yes, you want attention now… just like you wanted it before…” she thought, rubbing her hands together greedily. “You could have had it in Gisela, but you threw it away, along with an army that wanted nothing more than to fight for you.” She couldn’t believe how foolish Molotov was in attracting this kind of attention. He should have known by now that the people who controlled Corone would never let him win. Be it a group of pirates or some drama league, they were all ultimately responsive to the nobles whose patronage everyone needed to survive.

The entire stands were now toppling, so Mara quickly transformed herself into a rat and snuck into the cage. While the steel cage wasn’t particularly strong, it would protect her from being crushed. However, now the shapeshifter knew she would have to be careful. One wrong move and she would end up crushed underneath the heel of an all too mobile warrior.

Thus, Mara wasted no time before she took her normal form right behind Molotov. It was only then, when she spoke, that Molotov noticed her. He had seemed so rattled by the previous attack that his entire brain had almost shut down, and it had provided just the opening that Mara needed to capitalize on. “If you refuse to win Gisela, you can’t win this either,” she hissed into his ear. With that, Molotov spun. Their eyes met. Vindictively, Mara held up a syringe, one that contained a blackish yellow liquid that she knew Molotov would recognize. She squeezed it just slightly, so as to betray her intentions.

“Surprise,” she said crookedly.

Before Molotov could react, the syringe was shoved into his neck. Molotov flailed a bit in the air, but then fell to the ground. Mara knew that the mohawked mutant could still hear her, and so she offered one last parting shot. “After this, the Corone police are coming for you… turnabout’s a bitch, aint it?”
With that, she turned to the boy Molotov had been fighting before her interruption. “He’s still alive. Do with him what you wish,” she said.

And with that, Mara Jade departed the Cage. Confidently, she knew that while she had ruined Molotov’s chances of winning the Cell, she had emerged from this ordeal as the winner. Whoever the drama league announced as their champion was only incidental.

[INDK]

It was nearly impossible to surprise Damon, no matter what kind of trees were sprouting or spectators were falling. Since the boy got an advanced warning of particularly dangerous events, he knew about Rheawien’s attack perhaps even before she did. However, Damon needed to act quickly if he were to avoid it successfully. The cage had degenerated into chaos now and the sudden sprouting of trees had made space particularly dear. Damon could no longer be elusive. His athleticism and speed would now be only half as useful.

For dodging this most recent attack, they were essentially useless. Damon was going to have to beat her with a parry, in genuine one on one combat. This frightened the boy. Far too long, he had got by exploiting his natural gifts and intelligence. He hadn’t needed to be a better swordsman, a stronger warrior, or even possess the same singe minded greed that seemed to propel many of the heroes of Althanas lore. Damon had managed to combine the grace of Ashiakin with his natural skills and cleverness to ignore his dearth of those virtues.

Now, all three had betrayed him. Ashiakin had never shown up in the cage at the beginning of the tournament, the arena cut down on Damon’s abilities and his cleverness had seemed to betray him. It meant Damon was going to have to find a new way to win, and find it fast. It was too late in the game to try and forge some kind of alliance, even the logics of anarchy were fast disintigrating.

Thus, as Damon pulled out his steel pole, he knew exactly what he would need to do. Return with a quick counter. In the blow that Damon had forseen, Rheawien would be using all her strength and two hands. This left Damon with an unlikely, but small opening. One for which he was going to have to pay a heavy price.

“I could kill her, take her out of the cell and make good on my promise,” Damon knew. “But it means sacrificing every other chance I have.” The boy doubted that he really could win the Cell, but he at least wanted to be given that chance. Somehow, perhaps more by luck than any real virtue of his, he had come close to emerging as the winner in the previous cage. Now, luck might just bounce his way again, even though all his other assets had betrayed him. To defeat Rheawien meant an end to himself, and end of that little hope inside of him that he had been afraid to nurture for fear of rejection. The truth was, it was a part of Damon that he couldn’t erase. Just like his past self, Damon Kaosi wanted to be a hero.
“You can still be a hero if you do this,” he tried to coax himself. “Perhaps not today, but you’ll get another chance.” He frowned. This was his second chance, the LCC had been his first. Damon couldn’t help but to think that two chances were all that he really could afford.

However, Damon knew he really didn’t have a choice. If he was to be a hero, he was going to have to act like one. No matter what the cost. Rheawien was dangerous and he had given his word. Thus the boy prepared to block Rheawien’s katana with one hand, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to repel her attack and that it would still dig deep into his thigh. In exchange, Damon hoped for just one shining moment, where he could use his free hand to drive a dagger straight into the throat of the wicked half elf.

Damon blinked, and tried to fight away tears. Then, as the katana headed towards him, the boy took a deep exhale and put his titanium pole in the position that would buy him the most time. In addition, Damon sliced again with his dagger, this time aiming for Rheawien's throat.

As he felt the katana slice into him, Damon found no truth in the assertion that a heroic death was somehow better than a wicked one.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin was beyond prepared to take care of Seth, and with Witchblade at his side, the Drow wasn't worried. His ribs were in pain, his wrist was still sore and he had other wounds, but the anger from that illusion lent him determination. Anybody who put him through that kind of misery didn't deserve to go unpunished, and in the Cell, punishment meant death.

Before anything else could happen between the three, a woman that Izvilvin had not noticed before appeared. She was upon Seth almost immediately, pausing only to say some words he could not understand. Brutally she went at him, bringing a knee to his face and sending the human to the floor.

A split-second later, Witchblade moved. At first, Izvilvin had the thought that he needed to defend himself, for she was coming at him while her own sai drifted up to her hand. Her weapon made contact with something behind him, and turning, the Drow saw that it was Jon. Again, the bastard human had come at him after he was dead. Witchblade was always protecting her Drow ally, it seemed. Maybe there was a difference between her and Rheawien that he had yet to see.

Izvilvin thought to pursue the two and sway the fight in Witchblade's favor, but as he considered it, the Drow knew she didn't really need his help. And besides, every time they teamed up, someone managed to attack him from behind. Something about two people allying themselves in the Cell just didn't sit well with the others.

Not to mention that Seth's power frightened him. Izvilvin didn't want to be at the mercy of another spell of that nature. He could recall the illusion so well, so vividly...

Sai in hand, the warrior came to Sarah's side. Though he didn't know her, Izvilvin thought she had some grudge against Seth, or at least had a reason to focus her attack on him. She was likely just as dangerous as the strange mage, but Izvilvin hoped she recognized him as an ally. He didn't count on it. A watchful eye was on her as the Drow waited for Seth to rise.

[Dissinger]

Seth was caught off guard. Sarah wasn't supposed to exist, at least, not anymore. She was a period of a month that he would rather never happen, and yet here she was handing him his ass on a platter. As he pulled himself from his downed position pain raged through his broken nose, as the blood dripped to the dusty stadium floor. She had purposefully done it now that he thought about it. She knew exactly what to do to piss him off.

He would have none of it.

As he pulled himself to his feet he felt the raging pain in his body. He considered pain as an option, but quickly dismissed it, the one person eh couldn't afford to hurt was Sarah. If he took the time to cast Pain, she would merely shrug it off to hit him in the recoil. So when he drew Ebony and Ivory he knew that the grin on her face only widened as he said voice dripping with malice, "You know, I tried to be fair, but when you just kept taking, you got what you deserved. Perhaps when you were ripping my soul up, you should have taken some maturity with you."

Sarah's grin immediately went away when she came at him again; however, unlike last time he was more than up for the task. As he blocked the blows he brought a gauntleted hand around in a savage backhand that sent Sarah reeling, then himself as he felt the pain on his cheek. Eyes glared at the girl before he cursed inside mentally. Apparently they were joined, and the pain she was feeling was more a relief than a burden, while he was caught with his pants down. He couldn't afford to inflict a lot of pain, and since he had left Spite and Malice back in the locker room, he was screwed.

Sarah grinned before she said, "You see, you robbed me of my chance here Seth, when you cast that stupid spell of yours to knock everyone out last time? I felt it too, before they did. I woke up three hundred gold poorer for my troubles, and was knocked out of the finals. I say turn about is fair play."

Seth growled as he said, "I'll get you out of here, on a stretcher or in a coffin doesn't make a lick of difference. I'll just pound you until you go away." Looking at Izvilvin he said coldly, "Run, and leave me the hell alone. You mess with me; I will kill you without a second thought."

[Ter-Thok]

A rush of morbid happiness had tickled Ter-Thok's brain when his blade had rended flesh. The stink of burnt human-blood filled the air, and the demon grinned. What he had not expected, however, was for the woman to overcome her obvious pain and grab the shaft of the ElectroProd. Ter-Thok was caught off guard, and sent hurtling towards the ground. As he stared at the approaching soil and tree roots, he rolled his eyes. What is this, like, fifteen feet? Sad. The demon concentrated momentarily, and bobbed in mid-air. He was able to rotate himself back into a standing position, with some rather undiginifed flailing, and started rising back up to the branch upon which his wounded quarry was reclining.

"Well, well, well," he said smarmily, hovering just a yard or so from the injured woman, "What have we here? A grudge-holding human woman. I'm afraid I had taken you, at first, for a hippopotamus that had been trained to stand on it's hind legs and dressed in clothes by one of those weird old ladies who puts sweaters on cats. But whatever, I'm starting to get sick of all this," Ter-Thok pointed the ElectroProd, still crackling with electricity, at the blonde warrior, "You fight bravely, even if I do hate having freakin' death beams shot at me. What is your name, noble bitch?"

Meanwhile, in the stands, Hans had reached the exterior edge of the cage. A damaged top-hat was perched on his head, though he had accidentally digested the bow-tie, and the ooze began waving a pair of gelatinous tentacles in the air. "PEOPLE DAT COME TO TOE ORNAMENT TODAY, LISTEN TO HANS!" the ooze shouted, loud enough to rattle the mesh of the cage and to carry across the stands, "DIS MADNESS! IS YOU NOT HOOMAN? DOES YOU NOT HAVES DIGGIN NITTY? DOES YOU NOT HAVES COMPARISON? HANS IS SHAMED TO BE NEAR YOU! AN' PEOPLE SHOULD BE SHAMEFUL DEMSELVES! DIS RIDDICALLOUS! DAT IT, TOE ORNAMENT IS OVER. HANS TELL PEOPLE ALL, GO HOME! GO TO FAMLIES AN' FRIEN'S. TRY AN' REBUILD. DERE IS NO MORE FOR YOU HERE. GO HOME."

Much of the crowd was perplexed; perhaps they would go home, once they deciphered exactly what Hans had said.

[Rheawien]

Pavel Enders wasn’t terribly happy with the whole Cell shebang and started to think that it would’ve been better if he simply tied a millstone around Rheawien’s neck and threw her in a river. She tricked him once and now the bitch was holding her own against the fabled Damon Kaosi, Mister Vampire Slayer whose might was supposed to godlike. As if that wasn’t vexation enough for the loanshark, the crowd around him seemed to fall into general disarray. Spectators that usually satisfied themselves with watching the fights now engaged each other in series of fistfights as if they were overtaken by mass dementia. Luckily for Pavel, his brainless lackey disposed of most of these lunatics quite easily, enabling his master to observe the battle unbothered.

Unfortunately for the sallow-faced shylock, the portion of the cage where Rheawien and Damon clashed was engulfed in a thick mist of dirt, concealing both combatants from his eyes.

“What the hell is going on there?”

***

“Don’t overextend yourself.”

There were many lessons that her father tried to teach Rheawien during her youth, countless intricate details that were supposed to aid her both in combat and everyday life, but that one was the most important of them all. Overextension was a rookie mistake, something too eager and too foolish did when they wanted the kill so badly. For years she trained to efface this from her technique, kept her slices strong and firm, but controlled, kept her footing both solid and soft, but measured. It was a life lived by the book, a dance that tiptoed down the edge of the blade, all just to serve that one simple rule.

But today, Damon Kaosi threw her off balance. In fact, this whole Cell tournament was one big distraction to her, a disaster from the get-go. She was either too cocky or too bitchy or too calculative, and consequently it got her killed once already. The fact that she was doing all of this against the instructions she was given was another brick that amplified the pressure on her shoulders. And suddenly, winning wasn’t optional anymore, it was obligatory. Her pride demanded it, her mind wanted it and her body tried to get her there. Unfortunately, it got too carried away by the emotions. Too much pride, too little mind.

“Don’t overextend yourself.” her father’s voice rang in her head.

She did.

The attack that was meant to dismember the legendary elven hero was parried with just enough effectivity to divert the katana from its initial goal and into Damon’s thigh. And while this would usually be cause for celebration, Rheawien never got a chance to rejoice. Because of the immense strength that she put behind the strike, her body was thrown off balance by the block, making her take an unintentional step forward. It took the white-haired woman straight onto the dagger that Damon set in her path, the blade slicing through her throat as if it wasn’t made out of flesh and tendons.

Rhea’s world went dark. The pain was like nothing she felt before, mind-shattering and forcing her consciousness to drift away from the harsh reality as soon as possible. Her hands dropped the sword, feebly tried to stop the immense gush as she fell on her knees. She tried to say something, some curse in the native tongue of her barbarian mother, but all that came out was a bloody gurgle. And then it too died. And so did Rheawien.

Her defiant stand failed. The loansharks won. Life was really a bitch sometimes.

***

Pavel Enders didn’t have a lot of time. The mass around him was moving like a stampede and his unintelligent colleague couldn’t keep bashing skulls of the crazies for too long. But just as he thought that the heat was becoming unbearable and that it was time to flee and read about the Cell results in the local papers, the dust that hid his hired swords and the owing bitch dissipated and settled. And only Damon was left standing. Below his feet, still clinging to her throat, Rheawien Lightbringer was prostrate in the rapidly growing pool of her own blood. But it wasn’t just the ultimate victory that brought a smile on Pavel’s face. It was Rhea’s face. It was the lost, disbelieving expression that remained locked on her face once life departed from her body. It meant complete and utter capitulation of the assertive bitch. And that made today a good day indeed.

With his muscle-bound gorilla plowing the way through the crowd, Pavel Enders made his way from the bleachers and the erratic audience, thinking to himself: “You win some, you lose some. And it’s good to do more of the former then the latter.

[INDK]

Damon saw his dagger slice into Rheawien’s neck. It provided little consolation at the moment, as her katana bit bitterly into his thigh. The boy clenched his teeth, inadvertently biting his tongue. He stumbled a bit, dropped his pole, and then fell down to the ground in a complete loss of balance. Damon was still alive, just mortally wounded. For a few brief seconds, the boy entertained the thought of somehow getting up onto his feet and continuing the battle, much like he had done after defeating the little furball in the first round. However, there would be little point to it now. There were too many warriors still alive in the cage, and even if Damon could somehow muster the will to stand, it would be nearly impossible for him to fight.

Perhaps most importantly, Damon knew now that he could resign himself to a fate of a hero’s death. He had gone out with one goal, to eliminate Rheawien in accordance with the note. He had no idea he had been fooled by a group of gamblers looking for revenge, and it was quite fortunate. Had he known what a pithy cause he had sacrificed so much for, Damon would have never been able to let his eyes stop fluttering, or allow his heart to take a break. His lungs had begun to breathe more shallowly, as systems shut down the body needed less and less oxygen. Damon coughed a bit. He cringed. Coughing hurt too much.

With his last breath of air, Damon wondered if his mistake in the first round had not been the way that he’d sacrificed himself for the common good, but that he’d gotten up from it. Had he stayed down, there would have been honor in it. His last action would have been victorious.

Now, he had a chance to correct his mistakes. As his lifeblood flowed out from him, Damon made no intentional movements.