AC: Round 1 - Group 8

[Whispers of Abyssion]

His attention returned just in time to witness Ciato’s savage rampage, and he grimly noted the ease with which the shards of magic – innate, perhaps? – sliced through human flesh. Though he could not utilise his sense of smell whilst incorporeal, he could well imagine the heady musk of fear that doubtless now accompanied the pervasive metallic odour of blood. Natives recoiled in disgust in all directions, and from one of the houses a young girl screamed.

A hurried but thorough search had revealed no trace of Dan Lagh’ratham, almost as if the Slayer had never been called to the island in the first place. Only the well-defined indentation upon the sand where his body had lain remained of his presence; not a single footprint led away, not a single sign of departure imprinted upon ground left pristine in all directions. Perhaps the faceless organiser of the tournament had tired of his fearless slumber through adverse circumstances, and simply sent him home.

Touma didn’t care. No matter what the reason why, the departure of the infamous warrior meant one less wildcard to worry about. Not that either of the Orlouge brothers seemed to entertain thoughts of making it any easier for him, although...

His disembodied head watched with renewed interest as they began tearing into one another with flying fists and vicious insults, now completely ignoring the patrolmen fleeing into the alleyways to regroup. Apparently the two of them were not on the best of terms. Another tasty morsel of information to file away, another small smile playing about Touma’s lips.

Then Sei chose that particular moment to look to the skies, and Touma froze, certain that their eyes had met as the mute’s gaze slid over the street mirror. He might have dismissed it as a fleeting scare, except that in a way that he could not quite explain, he felt that he had seen deeply into Sei’s current state of mind, and had – however involuntarily – gained some small measure of the man.

Sei wore the look of one with little to lose, one who would give everything he had left to achieve but a single goal. Touma had seen it once before.

The look Xuan wore on the fields of Nenaebreth, when he realised Kayu was on the other side.

That day the psy-mage had stood witness in quiet awe as a twenty-something scholar more renowned for naïve innocence than battle prowess had single-handedly turned the tide against one of the greatest undead hordes gathered during the Corpse Wars. If Ciato and Sei could pull off anything resembling that magnitude here, then he had to admit to himself that he might have misjudged the depths of their resolve in entering the tourney. They might not be here to save the world, but they had certainly come prepared to risk their lives for something.

Touma’s lips pursed as again he filed away the precious nugget of information. For the first time that day his pinched features wore something that might just be interpreted as concern. The smile disappeared, replaced by a cautious frown that neatly furrowed his aquiline forehead.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on it, though. A nagging prompt in the back of his mind reminded him that he had to return his consciousness to the skyship before it docked with the central tower. A heartbeat later, he returned to the safety of his body above the clouds, flicking his fingers one by one as always to get rid of the tingling pins and needles. From his porthole he could see the tethers in place as the craft gently floated into its mooring, more than forty floors above ground level.

He had at least two hours head start on the Orlouges, and had been flying towards his goal all the while they fought through the guards on foot. Despite the not-inconsiderable advantage, however, he knew that he did not have much time.

Twenty minutes… thirty, at best, he told himself as he unlocked the cabin door and took a deep breath. Use them well.

“Help! I think he’s had a heart attack!” he called out a moment later, repeating the cry when a stunned steward in crisp navy uniform and golden epaulettes responded to his entreaties. “Get a doctor, I think he’s unconscious!”

To their credit, they responded promptly and efficiently, calling for first aid and rushing to administer the appropriate treatment to the unsuspecting patrolman. Touma found the resulting organised chaos the perfect cover to disembark undetected, disappearing without a trace into the looming tower.

[Whispers of Abyssion]

Ten minutes later, having worked out how to use an ingenious steam-powered contraption of cable and counter-weight, he found himself standing on a steel platform at the very top of the tower. A fluid arcane shield kept the choking smog at bay from a bare hemisphere perhaps fifty paces in diameter, the drop to the ground otherwise unprotected. The vastness of the blinking lights so far below, and the faint wail of sirens, emphasised the distance between them. The entire area was lit by a circle of twelve dim lanterns placed evenly around the hatch from which he had emerged.

Not perfect, he thought to himself, but a reflective surface was a reflective surface. The location would suffice...

Something wet and sticky dribbled onto his shoulder, accompanied by a blast of stale rotten breath.

Touma instinctively kicked away as razor-sharp teeth snapped at where his head had been just moments ago. The avian - all slender sinewy neck and leathery wing - growled in protest and bared dirty claws, ready to pounce.

He didn't dare give it the chance. One moment he floated in the opposite direction, evading the wyvern's attack. The next, he crouched below its arrow-like head, hand poised over his sword as his breath exhaled frostily in the chill air.

A flash of quicksilver, a crescent arc slicing through the shadows.

A scream of pain as the beast staggered backwards, bleeding profusely from the remnants of one eye.

The soft phlop of shifting magic as it slipped through the protective arcane shield, blinded and panicking.

A shriek as it lost its footing and fell from the platform, wings spread wide as it sought to arrest itself.

A sickening crunch as it died abruptly mid-wail, in a glint of jagged teeth and a gush of splattering gore.

A gust of rancid wind, and Touma caught a hint of monstrous darkness soaring through the black cloud just beyond the tower. He could have sworn a cluster of beady red pupils eyed him hungrily as they passed by. The banshee – for what else could it be – thankfully decided to leave him alone as not worth the trouble, disappearing into the distance as swiftly and silently as it had fed on its luckless prey.

There is always a bigger bird in the sky.

Marking the words down as another lesson well learned, Touma allowed himself a few moments to reflect on the short-lived encounter, committing the details to memory. Then he cleansed his blade, returned it to its sheath, and stalked back to the centre of the platform. Steadying his breath and releasing the adrenaline from his body, he forced himself to focus upon the task at hand; folding his arms in his long sleeves, he swung his hawkish head from side to side before settling to his knees in a meditative stance. One by one the lanterns dimmed to his will.

He had no doubt that pursuit would soon emerge, either from the hatch before him or via more esoteric means. Until then, he wanted to accomplish as much as possible.

Once again he cast his mind into the mirrored mists.

[Ciato Orlouge]

The cool wind felt great against Ciato’s beaten and bruised skin, cooling off the heat from the wounds that Sei had caused. As they flew through the air, towards the airship, the duo began to hear strange noises coming from all around. Ciato could decidedly pick up the cawing of birds, as well as a viper-like hiss coming from almost all around them. There was also the odd noise that Ciato could only describe as throwing something soft against a hard wall.

The whirling of the engines began to drown out these noises as they approached their destination. While he could not see well due to his swollen eyes, the nobleman could distinctly see the large shape of the ship, even larger now that the brothers had gotten closer to their goal. It was at least six blocks long, and two wide; probably the marvel of the city. The girth of the transport had Ciato wondering whether or not this vehicle was made for war or tourism.

His internal question was answered as the same sirens that had penetrated their ears before suddenly did so once again. Ciato raised an eyebrow (which was painful considering how sensitive his face currently was) at the alarm. They had not even gotten on board yet and the warnings were still sounding? It struck Ciato and Sei at the same exact time, and both brothers felt the need to announce it.

“The alarms aren’t for us….” They said in unison as a veil of black and white feathers appeared over the horizon, charging towards the in flight siblings and enveloping them fully.

[Silence Sei]

As they were covered in the odd colored feathers, everything was starting to be pieced together. The original scouting party wasn’t hunting Sei and Ciato; they were hunting any bodies that may have been claimed by this feathery flock. The alarms didn’t sound because the town had intruders, but because it was almost time for the aerial destruction to awaken. With the exception of the guards in town, Ciato had been killing needlessly, a fact Sei knew his brother would revel in.

He started to hear tearing sounds coming from below. Looking down, Sei could see his brother hacking away at the various winged beasts that were flying past the. The mute could see features for each beast that he could easily recognize. A scaly –looking tail whizzed past the mutes face, formerly a wyvern, the shriek of a woman and the sudden strands of hair within the mute’s mouth indicated a banshee, and the large wing Ciato was now penetrating with his sword hinted at harpies. Each of these creatures, colored black or white, typical colors of evil and good, chaos and law, Ciato and Sei.

With little effort, Sei threw his brother into the winged epidemic. Ciato would be able to keep himself aloft long enough for Sei to thin down the numbers of these creatures. The mute quickly closed his eyes, removing his chakrams from his sides once more and throwing them with little hesitation. The ringed blades met with the bones of several of the beasts, bouncing around as if one threw a ball in a room full of rubber. He smiled as he heard the shattering of his own Mystic Protection; apparently a harpy within the flock got wise and tried to attack.

Sei’s glass shot out in every direction, essentially clearing a wide area around the mute, and causing many more of these creatures to rain down onto the city below. If the sharp glass from Sei’s spell had not killed the beasts, then certainly the drop to the ground would. He could still hear Ciato hacking away at the monsters, which was a relief of sorts. The mute went into his pants, withdrawing a broken apart three-sectioned staff.

The weapon worked incredible for slamming into the carnivorous would-be attackers but still having enough slack for the mute to pull it back when he needed to. He could only imagine what the villagers were watching; the monsters of their nightmares falling to the ground, the very skies filled with the screams of banshees both attacking and dying. After a few good minutes of flailing his staff around, the mute could see an opening within the flock, above his head. Without hesitation, Sei shot himself upwards, and out of the flying horde.

Sei gave a moment of pause, however. He had not heard his brother slashing at his foes for a while. Had Sei inadvertently killed Ciato? Had one Orlouge stained his hands with the blood of another? Sei’s eyes widened for a moment, before shifting his gaze over to the nearby tower, the lights at the top of it flickering out. Only one person had such a flair for such a dramatic display.

“That bastard left me!” Sei exclaimed, and quickly jettisoned towards the tow

[Whispers of Abyssion]

The shadows beyond the veil danced in agitation, a sure sign that his surroundings grew restless. In the real world, he could sense the faint flutter of feathery wings, punctuated by the occasional distant shriek. The lack of suitable media made it impossible for him to accurately follow the riotous melee, but from time to time he caught flashes of orange and white, nearly lost amidst a veritable horde of avians flocking to defend their home. With the sunlight gradually intensifying, only a matter of minutes remained before the entire lower atmosphere became deadly to anything drawing breath; said urgency seemed to manifest itself in the struggle as both sides grew steadily more desperate.

Then he became aware of a disturbance much closer to his corporeal shell. Swiftly he gathered back to him the fragments of soul he’d sent scouting the land.

Barely had he re-established himself when the first lantern shattered.

“Well, well…”

The voice resounded cruelly, somewhat distorted from beyond the shielding veil.

Another soft phlop, and this time the translucent field parted inwards, neatly separating choking smog from clean air whilst admitting the physical incursion. From overhead and in front of him the intruder descended – a richly dressed nobleman straddling a haggard harpy, keeping the keening beast in line with vicious whip-like slashes from a long, elegant sabre. In his off hand he held one of the harpy’s pinfeathers, an exact replica of the projectile that had pierced the broken lantern mere moments ago and now quivered like a taut blade of grass in the steel deck.

His next words were no longer distorted, and if anything resounded with even more malice.

“What do we have here?”

A blurred motion, barely seen, and the pinfeather took flight. A second lantern shattered with the muted tinkle of flying glass, followed by a pained squawk as the nobleman ripped another pair of projectiles from his mount. The harpy tried to bolt, rebelling against the treatment, but one or two fierce lashes bent it again to its rider’s will. It keened pitifully, rust-brown plumage stained with blood, but neither man paid it any notice.

Touma did not dignify the rhetorical question with a reply, instead choosing to calmly match gazes with the gloating Ciato. Instinctively he realised that his original plan – to continue the ruse of a confused and bewildered castaway – would not suffice. Under the circumstances, with his dander up and missing Sei’s calming influence, Ciato was just as likely to run him through as to dismiss him as harmless.

“You’re dressed differently from the indigenous,” Ciato mused, running a hand through his flowing white hair while keeping an eye on Touma from above an upturned nose. The Nipponese felt the nobleman’s disdain for his poor attire as a force almost physical upon his skin. Ciato turned his scornful stare to Touma’s unruly mop of dirty hair, and sneered even wider. Sniffing loftily, he gave his verdict, “I find you… distasteful. Unkempt. Unworthy.”

The flash of steel. Carelessly the nobleman lashed out, left and right, destroying two more of the lanterns with callous precision. Nearly half of the tower-top platform now lay in smoggy shadow, chill air vibrating to the laboured wingbeats of the enslaved harpy.

Touma held his silence, continuing to bait the other man into action. Rich and poor, belligerent against submissive; at first glance it might have seemed that there was little in common between the two. And yet, at a closer look, it became clear that they shared the same haughty arrogance… the same calculating cunning… the same manipulative mindset… the same undercurrent of violence.

“Cat got your tongue? Or are you simply mute like that brother of mine?”

A fifth lantern flame died a flickering death, followed closely by a sixth. With every stroke, Ciato’s blade grew thirstier, less restrained.

Still Touma did not speak, eyes tracking his opponent’s every movement and imprinting every last detail upon his keenly focused mind. Only when a tell-tale tick gave away the nobleman’s intent to launch one of his pinfeather projectiles at the psy-mage himself did he finally give voice.

“Stand down, Ciato Orlouge,” he ordered, in the most irritatingly calm voice he could muster. “I’m not the one you should be fighting.”

[Ciato Orlouge]

Ciato paused for a minute before launching his makeshift projectiles at this man. “Ah,” he spoke, a smile creeping across his features, “so you know my name, without me even giving it. Interesting.” Ciato slapped the harpy’s back with his rapier once more, just for good measure and to keep the beast in line. Touma could not see the dark red lines that had formed due to Asterodeia’s bite upon the spine of his new mount, but if he had, Ciato was certain he would have not been ordered to stand down. Not by a commoner.

“Funny though, you knowing my name,” Ciato shifted the feather in his hand, casually tossing it up and down in the air, as one would a handful of coins. His playful (albeit morbid) grin suddenly once more changed to a stern look of seriousness and determination. With only that warning, Ciato threw the feather at his opponent, hoping to catch Touma off guard and finish this with a single blow. “Especially since I never gave it!”

The feather flew at Touma with great speed, but paused just inches before slamming into his body. Ciato closed his eyes and sighed, tucking his entire body behind his aerial steed as the breaking glass of Mystic Protection filled the sky, shooting glass shards in every direction. The nobleman could feel the pieces of the shattered shield as they whizzed over his body, nearly tearing his clothes. The harpy screamed in pain, broken glass covering not only her body, but the length of her wings as well. Ciato responded with another crack of his rapier, as if it were a whip, and the body of the beast collapsed onto the ground.

Ciato jumped before the harpy fell down dead, kicking the bird upon landing. “Useless,” he said, before delivering another kick, then another, and another. The white haired Mystic, after finally kicking his ‘loyal’ harpy’s body a third time, turned to Touma. “You of course know, I’m not talking about the stupid demon.”

“I know,” Sei’s voice filled both the minds of the magician and his brother as he glided down behind Ciato, “I also know that he’s probably the reason behind this. Still, I can’t let you kill him until we have some answers. Judging by the way he’s dressed, I figure he’s a stranger here like you, I, and Dan. That means he was probably supposed to be our team mate. I want to know why he betrayed us.”

“Because that’s what users do, Sei,” Ciato spoke plainly, his blank features turning into a sneer, “Observe.”

Ciato spun around and slammed Asterodeia deep into Sei’s heart.

[Silence Sei]

He felt as the sword pierced through his flesh, tore through his skin and stopped half way in his body. He could feel the sick twist that Ciato gave his hilt, causing his rapier to rip his insides just a little more. He even felt it when Ciato, his own brother, withdrew the blade and slung his azure blood off of the sword. Sei fell to his knees, his eyes filled with tears and fighting just to stay open. He looked over at his older brother, his body bobbing to and fro wider and wider with each passing second.

“Why….? Sei asked his brother, though his ‘voice’ had gotten weak at this point, “Why betray me…for him….?”

“Is that what you think this is?” Ciato said, a laugh proceding the question, “That it’s one or the other? You’re both going to die here tonight Sei. The simple fact of the matter is that you were closer to my vicinity than he was. Rest assured, he will join you in the afterlife soon enough.” Ciato used his free hand to wipe his fingers through his hair, his body turning back around to face Touma.

“Ciato…,” Sei swallowed heavily, his body now falling completely on the ground, his hand reaching out towards his brother, “give me one reason to stay here….and I’ll turn right back around.” His arm was shaking violently as it stood dangling in the air for a few moments, hoping Ciato would turn back around and take it. He never would, and Sei would fall to the floor, dead.

“The only reason I’d want you still alive is to use you even further,” Ciato said smugly, walking slowly towards his next target. “But now that he’s gone, it’s time for the true crescendo to this wonderful melody!” The Mystic ignored Sei and the pool of blood forming under his kin like he had ignored the telepath all of his life. Why wouldn’t he? As far as Ciato was concerned, Sei was useless to him now.

Little did he know that he had now triggered a magic that was already in the process of working.

[Whispers of Abyssion]

Sei’s death came as a surprise, but not as a shock. Touma’s expressionless gaze tracked the body as it slumped to the floor, and then flicked unerringly back to the killer.

Ciato had referred to the pair of them as ‘users’, and whilst Touma didn’t welcome the coarseness of the term he could certainly appreciate the intent. Just as Touma had used the Orlouges to gain information about the world they had wandered into and the rules by which they fought by, Ciato had used Sei as his shield and Touma to try and break it. From that point of view, Touma could understand Ciato’s disgust in labelling him as ‘useless’.

Ciato, you fool, he whispered in his mind, pitying the man for his impatience. There’s still far too much unknown, far too many loose ends.

And that, he supposed, was what defined and separated them despite their likeness. Ciato the noble had a hedonistic streak and a taste for the finer sensations in life – he lived for the now, delighting in his schemes as they ripened to fruition, exulting in the moment of his success. Touma on the other hand always kept a chessmaster's eye on the future, and valued above all else knowledge and the means to make effective use of said knowledge. The trait made him naturally more cautious... and naturally more of a survivor as well.

The Nipponese psy-mage had only made a single movement since the intrusion of the Orlouges upon the platform – to deal with the pinfeather projectile – but now he unfolded his legs from beneath his body and rose to his full, not inconsiderable height. His eyes remained calm and steady as he watched his opponent approach, ignoring the stray drops of blood streaming down the length of gleaming steel poised to strike. One hand went to the neck of the scabbard at his waist, loosening the sword there with a deft flick of his thumb. Tongue flickered between dry lips, tasting the stale tension that hung in the air.

Ciato chose to advance one deliberate step at a time, boots clipping loud and dramatic against the steel deck. The harpy’s carcass to his side gave off a distinctively heady death stench, exacerbated by its diet of human waste and fish from the bay, but Touma could not allow such distractions to corrupt his mind. He concentrated on eliminating them one by one: the puckering whistle of the wind as it assaulted the force-shield, the roiling disturbance of the smoggy cloud, the furry taste of ozone upon his tongue, the chill static of arcane power upon the hairs of his lower arm, the deathly quiet of Sei’s body lying upon the floor. What remained in the end was the stillness of zen, the concentration of a mind focused on a single stroke.

From what Touma had observed, Ciato had mastered a fencing approach typical of the western continent: artistic parries and swift ripostes, fancy feet and exquisite bladework. On paper the Nipponese had the longer blade, but the Orlouge could more than make up for that with one of the typically decisive lunges common to his style. Physical confrontations were not Touma’s forte, and he could tell that Ciato had worked that out by now.

And yet Touma settled into an unfavourably immobile crouch, right hand wrapping firmly about a leather-bound hilt.

In his mind’s eye he could see the reach of his blade, a misty red arc normally signifying the death of any who entered.

Apparently Ciato could as well, and a triumphant smirk marred his aristocratic features as he reached the same conclusion as the psy-mage.

Touma inhaled slowly.

Noted the last speck of azure – what a strange colour for blood – trailing down the nobleman’s blade.

Noted Ciato’s poise and balance, the perfection of his stance.

Noted the dance of his own shadow as it fell across the hatch leading below, the only safe exit for him from the platform, long since within the boundaries of Ciato’s control.

He had only the barest hint of warning when the blade flew tip-first towards his face.

[Ciato Orlouge]

Ciato Orlouge had spent his life familiar with two things; underhanded tactics and shadow magic. When he was younger, Ciato attempted to undergo the Light Trials that his Mystic race used as a sign of manhood, but failed the accomplish the tasks set before him by the trial. As a result, the nobleman went for the Shadow Trials, and had become familiar in the ways of the so-called ‘dark arts’. He had found a certain beauty in their unique move set, and the shadow-step, while not original, was a technique any basic Shadow Mystic learned rather quickly.

So when Touma’s sword came flying at the alabaster devil, Ciato should have acted purely out of instinct. He should have been able to thrust his sword up and deflect the blade. He should have been able to duck, and allowed Touma’s own weapon to finish him off. He should have been able to spin around and plant Asterodeia in his opponent’s heart like he had done to his brother less than two minutes before.

And yet, Ciato Orlouge did none of these things.

He let the blade fly at him, turning his body around to face the shadow-stepping Touma and widening his eyes. He could see the grin on his opponent’s face as he looked on. The weapon should have been buried in the back of Ciato’s neck, and the Mystics expression was reflecting that such actions had occurred. But then Ciato’s look of shock became his trademark sinister smile, and the sound of glass shattering filled the night sky.

The Mystic Protection was not that of the older Orlouge brother, but Sei’s. The spider web fractures in the glass shattered into shards, and fired forth from the body of Ciato in a dome like formation, slamming into Touma with a force great enough to cause the astral walker to stumble back. “I hope you honestly did not think that would work,” Ciato laughed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Especially when you didn’t confirm the kill…” the eerie mental ‘voice’ came from behind Touma.

[Silence Sei]

Touma attempted to turn, to try and see that Sei’s body was still lifeless of the ground. Sei stood with a smile, looking directly at his foe as two large strands of seaweed shot up from the ground, binding Touma at the wrists. The wizard pulled at the vines, which did nothing but make the wrappings go tighter around the man’s appendages. Sei reached into his pocket, withdrawing one of his battle fans and fanning himself off as if he were hot.

“You have roughly six seconds to give us your name,” Sei spoke, his ‘voice’ sounding threatening, menacing.

“You don't need to know my name,” Touma spoke, attempting to remain calm despite his struggling against the makeshift shackles that proved otherwise, “All you need to know is that I deal in information, and I like to think I do so well.”

As Touma finished, a giant rock slammed onto the ground, right in front of the spell caster’s feet. The man looked upwards from where the small boulder came, looking in horror as a swirling cloud over his head began to grow larger. “Wrong answer.”

“I'm a mastermind, not a warrior,” Touma said, his tone starting to indicate obvious frustration, “Usually I have pawns to do my bidding, and mirrors to maintain control. It so happened that I was forced to improvise when I arrived here.”

Three boulders this time, landing all around Touma’s body, but never a direct hit on the man. Now, Ciato had joined Sei’s side, a grin upon the noble Mystic’s face as he watched his younger sibling use torture to interrogate his victim. Sei’s eyes shifted towards his bloodthirsty brother, taking note of how immersed Ciato was in the questioning, and suddenly the mute felt a pang in his stomach that told him something more important than Touma’s name.

His gut told him that this was wrong. No man deserved to be treated like this.

The mute waved his hands and the swirling cloud above Touma disappeared, the seaweed around his hands retracting back into the ground from whence it came. Ciato now turned to face his kin, an obvious anger upon his face. “Sei,” he spoke, a guttural growl working its way from his throat, “What the hell are you doing?!”

“If anything, working with you today has shown me something, Ciato,” Sei spoke, shifting his eyes to meet his brother’s own blue orbs, “The reason I was paired with you, Dan, and our mystery man here.” He looked back to Touma, an emotionless expression now painted across the mute’s face as he put his fan back up. “The goal here was never to kill this man. We were each put on this team because we all rub each other the wrong way. Even Dan, who would have probably attempted to use the broadest sense of my orders to obtain his own selfish ideals.”

“So?” Ciato questioned his brother, his grip growing decidedly tighter on his blade, “Get to the point, before I show you mine again!”

“The Adventurer’s Crown is about working as a team. What if our goal was not to fight one another to reach this tower, but to work together with one another to make it here?” Ciato’s eyes widened for a moment, only to shoot a more aggressive look back towards Touma, the nobleman’s face now a full-on scowl.

“Then we lost because he couldn’t obey the rules!” Ciato pointed his blade at Touma, only to have Sei place his hand on the steel to lower it.

“But he did,” Sei further explained, taking a couple of steps closer to the intently listening Touma.. “He provided the challenges, which we not only too care of, but took care of masterfully. You killed some of the patrols, but I believe between the two of us, we killed a lot more flying beasts. My guess is that we’re probably a hero to those people on that airship, and thus that town. By providing our foes for us, our man here prepared us for the worst[/i].”

Almost on queue, a white light began to shine beside the corpse of the harpy Ciato had killed. Now that Sei was starting to see the whole picture, it seemed as though Kenneth Stern was willing to let the adventurer’s finish the round. “After all, what’s an adventure without a little confrontation?” Sei shifted his eyes towards Touma, folding up his battle fan and placing it back in his pocket.

The mute extended a friendly hand towards the man, hoping he wasn’t wrong about this. “If we go through that door, we go through together. As a team. What do you say?”

He was uncertain if his question would be answered, but he was quite certain of two things. Thanks to this tournament, he already had a better understanding of his more sinister brother…

…And that Kenneth Stern was a sick, twisted little adventurer.

((This is Sei and Ciato’s last post. Twas fun working with you Wings. We need to do it more often.))