LCC - R1: League of Nightmares VS Bittersweet

[Enigmatic Immortal]

This round begins at 12:00 PM PACIFIC TIME on Friday! Good Luck!!!

[Letho]

((All bunnying between the members of Bittersweet is pre-approved))

Of all the despicable pits filled with the dregs of society, Terrinore perhaps was the worst.

Working as a lawman most of his life, Letho Ravenheart had seen his share of prisons and stockades, most of the time lucky enough to be looking from the outside in. Alerar prisons were dreadful, with their overeager faceless torturers. Salvar's ice cells were devastating, freezing a person so thoroughly that he could think of nothing but his life being squeezed out of him by frigid hands. And once upon a time he even took a gander into the subterranean dungeons of Haidia, these tiny cubicle things where a man could neither sit nor stand and where light was a rapidly fading memory. And after witnessing all those atrocious jails, he still thought that Terrinore was somehow more terrible than any of those. It was the people. Most of the other places were designed with a single purpose: to break the inmate. In Terrinore they didn't look terribly concerned with that, for the prison was already filled with broken people.

They stood all around Letho and his partner, these broken folk, staring with bestial lunacy. The only thing separating the forest of filthy bodies from the participants of the Lornius Corporate Challenge were cell doors made of interweaved metal bars, each as thick as Letho's wrist. It was in between these bars that the inmates shoved their arms in vain attempts to reach one of the combatants which stood in a spacious hallway of the prison. Others pressed their faces against the cold metal of their cell, eyes bulging as they tried to get as close to the action as possible. Those on second and third stories, robbed of view by the walkways, satisfied themselves with tossing litter out of their cells, causing it to descend like dirty snow. Those closest to the pair were the most irksome, though, taunting and cursing and displaying parts of the anatomy that should've stayed covered by the rags that they wore.

It was towards Errisa that these lascivious screams were directed. To a place where beauty was banished from both sight and mind, the elf was an antithesis. Smooth where everything was ragged, fragrant where everything reeked of sweat and dung and unwashed feet, clean when everything was covered in grime and filth, calm where rage and hunger seeped from every pore. And, most important of all, she was a woman, thus embodying something that most in Terrinore haven't seen for decades. Letho couldn't even imagine what they would've done to her if they made their way to this side of the bars, didn't let his mind wander to the gory possibilities. She probably thought about it enough for both of them anyways.

"You alright?" he asked Errisa, his rumbling voice loud enough to defeat the clamor of the inmates. With both of his hands leisurely thrown over the Lawmaker gunblade resting on his shoulders, he turned towards the silver-haired elf. She looked up at him and nodded, as dauntless and as composed as she had been the day she marched into his office, trying to hire him for a perilous venture. Yet Letho had spent enough time around the elf now to know that there was more to her than this firm visage. Down below she was still boiling with uncertainty, not callous enough to the atrocities a man's mind could conjure. And that was the reason why they were here in the first place.

Letho Ravenheart had nothing to prove anymore, and if someone claimed otherwise, he didn't particularly care for that opinion. He had fought in enough melees, ended enough lives and won enough glory to satisfy his own hubris, ultimately reaching the point where unsheathing his blade seemed pointless. He was confident enough to know that his prowess and sheer power were enough to conquer most, but he was likewise experienced enough not to be deluded that he was indestructible. And while he had been content living in this limbo where there was nothing more to gain, the introduction of Errisa awoke in him another challenge. Yes, he had proven his martial skills. Now he had to prove that he could teach. And the only way Letho knew how to do that was by doing.

Lornius Corporate Challenge was the perfect venue. It was paired combat and it was unpredictable and it was usually to the death, temporary though such torpor might be. It was a theatre of pain and blood and treachery, and as such a perfect parallel to the world of Althanas. The tournament offered the benefit of experience without the risk of losing a head or a limb in the process. It was the perfect training ground. Some mental scarring was always possible, of course - nothing quite placated the memory of getting one's entrails spilt or face melted - but just like the physical wounds, these immaterial scars healed with time.

And so they had registered and the tournament brought them here, at the Terrinore Isle, where the inmates wanted them dead, the prison guards probably wanted them dead for they were scarcely better than the inmates, and their opponents definitely wanted them dead. Letho couldn't have wished for a better opportunity.

"We stay close," he added, turning to one of the walls covered with cell doors. Yanking on the handle of his gunblade, he swung it in a wide arc and struck against the bars, the dehlar sparking at the metallic impact that echoed through the hallway. The man behind uttered an almost animalistic scream before his brain recalled some chosen foul words to fling at his assailant. "And stay out of reach of these bastards."

[Abomination]

"AHH!!!" came another scream from down the hall. Behind the bars, the thin woman in rags was starting to wonder. Her dirty black hair draped over her dead eyes, falling on the old fabric of her filthy rags. While it was not unusual to hear wretched screams in the prison, the nature and bone-gnashing familiarity of them were known to her like the darkness of her cell: People were dying, and not in a particularly clean way. Someone was walking down the stony halls and killing the inmates. It was possible that one of the guards had finally snapped, but she knew better. Guards in Terrinore were devoid of most emotion; they resembled the characteristics of stone golems more than people.

She heard a closer sound, "Hahaha- URK!!" Between the painful yells, the usual sound of dripping walls, giggling of madness, and sadistic moaning filled her senses. Others around her had begun to question what was occurring, although most of their minds were so gone that their inquiries sounded more like grunts or gasps. The hallway was filled with cells that could not be opened again after they were closed. The inmates had no hope, they were women who Lornius had determined should have no chance of redemption under any circumstances. She cracked her head, expecting the worst, and finally saw the face of the one who was committing these acts.

Half his face was obscured by his blonde hair, and blood was dripping from his hands. His blank expression was not unlike the others doomed to serve out an indefinite sentence. Aside from the spray of blood, his coat contrasted with her own destitute rags. Was he perhaps someone who escaped? If so, she did not understand why he was going around killing the inmates. There was also the issue that this was the section where the women were imprisoned, not the men. Did he escape, steal some clothes, and cross all the way over here, through all the guards and security, just to walk around killing?

"Do you speak?" he asked.

"Y-yes..." she spoke, the words coming out with a throaty, gurgled tone of one unused to talking. It had been a long time since anyone had talked to her face to face.

"Do you want to live?"

She was silent for a moment. Ten years ago, she was known as Haradina, the murderer. Her body count numbered in the hundreds, and for years she evaded capture. When she was finally caught, she was shipped here to live out the rest of her bleak life. She never thought she would get out and worse, she started to believe that she deserved to be here. Did she want to live? Did she want to die? Those questions were meaningless to her. She wanted only one thing, and it took all this long to remember what it was.

"I want to kill," she answered.

"Very well," he said, his deep voice with a calmness she had never heard before. He rested his hands on the bars, and for a moment Haradina thought that he was going to break them apart, but something different was happening. The bars started vibrating, and to her shock steam started to seep out of them. Then, they did the unthinkable: They melted. She had no idea how any of this had happened, but after the affair she stepped over the molten metal and looked into Draug's face. He didn't look like he was about to attack her, but one could never tell with these psychopaths. She expected the worst, but he continued to stand there. It was then that she realized that he didn't attack the other inmates, they attacked him.

After determining that she wasn't going to wildly assault him, he said, "At the end of this hall there's a staircase. Take it all the way down, follow the trail of blood, and get on the boat. The Cult of Blessed Torture will fulfill your desire."

Haradina's jaw lowered. She took a step backwards, and her weary body turned to face down the dark hall. She saw the bodies of the others, their lies, deception, and cruelty bringing them to an end by the hand of the blonde-haired man. She walked down the hall silently, still unsure whether this was real or merely a dream.

Draug looked at his hands, which were shaking. Before he left for Lornius, his mother Cassandra Remi had given him an assimilation of someone who could destroy the cell bars of Terrinore. He kept his abilities hidden as long as possible, but now that he was finally using them, his assimilation would end soon, making him unable to free more inmates. While this ability would be useful against his opponents, which were also in the prison somewhere, it will be used up before he gets to them, giving him only one more assimilation left for the day. In any case, none of these women matched the description given to him by Ciato. Perhaps he was having more luck in the upper chambers.

[Sagequeen]

Erissa gave a sharp nod at her companion and fell into line after him, having no other thought than to stay close. But it wasn’t the prison that set her at unease; it was the eyes.

The elf had spent time in a prison before, not for any wrong doing she had committed, of course. The walls could not break her then, and they would not now. She had even spent that time among the dead, soulless creatures that were the stuff of her youthful nightmares. They did not break her, either. Erissa quickly discovered they were a lot less frightening than they seemed, because they were no longer sentient beings. The dead did not look at anyone, not really. Their stares, if they were possessed of eyes, went through a person.

But these eyes were different, and wholly wrong. Erissa kept to the center of the aisle, trying to make herself as narrow as possible, as if she could will such a thing. Prisoners groped with filthy arms, trying to grab even a handful of her maroon leathers, and if they did, they would pull her against the bars, and she would know insanity intimately.

These eyes... there were souls behind them. The elf shuddered and stepped more quickly, keeping pace with Letho. Shrieks and wails assaulted them from every angle, echoing and reverberating against the cold, lifeless stone of the prison. There was life here, but it had been stripped of all humanity. In a world where even a shred of goodness existed, the place Erissa traversed should not. It was more than just wrong to rip the humanity from a being and leave its soul intact. It was the greatest cruelty, a horror written in bloodshot ivory all around her.

There were those eyes that pleaded. Others were gripped in pure maddness. Still more seemed offended by her very presence, as if the remaining shred of what they once were was horrified and ashamed to be reminded of it.

However, those in which pure malice dwelled seemed ready to steal the very heart from her. They consumed and thrived on their own anguish and misery, and they were burning to share it. Those eyes told a much different story, one in which she, too, would be stripped of her humanity. The gentle elf would be stipped naked, in every sense of the word, and laid bare to every demented atrocity a devoid mind could conjure. If she were to continue living, she could only embrace the madness and become one with it. There was no understanding, no rationalizing. Only becoming. Only staring into the abyss.

Erissa kept her head down and focused on the back of Letho’s boots. Incredible as it seemed to her, there were more pressing issues than the inmates that surrounded them. Battle awaited her, and one she had sought out. The elf had taken lives before, but only in self defense. This, she thought grimly, was very different.

[Ciato Orlouge]

“One more time, Asterodeia,” his voice had been as calm and soothing as the hand the caressed her hair. It had been several hours, and the cat-like, demon woman had given birth to a multitude of demon/mystic hybrids. Ciato Orlouge, her loyal husband, held her hand through the whole ordeal, watching as her stomach shrank ever so much with each passing hour. Asterodeia screamed and her symphony of pain was followed by the wails of their twelfth child as he came into this world.

“Jae Hoon…” she managed to whisper between labored breaths, “Jae Hoon Orlouge.”

One of the several nursemaids came and took the child, wiping him down with a towel and taking him away. Ciato looked over his weakened wife. She had been given plenty to eat and drink between this litter of children she had been birthing, but now, it seemed like it was finally over. He released his hand from the demon, examining the cuts in his hand that her demonic claws had burrowed into. Azure blood seeped out of the holes, dripping onto the ivory colored carpet. He took in a deep breath, relieved that the worst of it was over.

Then, Asterodeia began to scream once more. Ciato’s attention turned fully back to his beloved, watching as she made the now all-too-familiar sounds of labor once more. Ciato held his breath, trying to ignore the rancid smell of fecal matter and urine as his wife let out the most blood curling roar he had ever heard. When she had finished, both parents and nursemaids alike thought the child had been stillborn. No fresh cries had arrived with the baby, no confirmation that the half breed was even there.

Ciato walked down, towards the front of his wife’s most private of areas, and saw his thirteenth and final child upon the long white operating table. The baby was covered in blood, smelled absolutely horrible (Ciato had to breathe again after a minute or so, after all), and had yet to cry. But it was breathing, it was moving, and it was the single most beautiful little girl that Ciato Orlouge had ever seen.

A nursemaid ran to them, a blanket and a towel in each hand, but she was stopped by the father, who took the cloths himself. He reached for his daughter, raising her up for her mother to see. The child refused to cry that day, refused to allow even God the pleasure of hearing her wails. She was a fighter, the strongest of his loins. Asterodeia opened her mouth, deciding on a name of the Orlouge spawn, but before she was able to talk, Ciato cut her off.

“Charlotte,” his tone was so stern and strong that nobody in the room questioned the name, “Charlotte Orlouge.”

__________

The smell of chamber pots reminded him of that day. The entire women’s ward reeked of excrement. He and Draug had managed to get into this part of the prison by explaining that they were part of the Lornius Corporate Championship. Once they had gotten where they needed to be, the two of them had killed their escorts and casually walked through the cells at their leisure. Some cells were harder to open, but Draug’s unique skill set helped with taking care of the odd chamber that seemed to be locked indefinitely.

As his demon partner freed the inmates, Ciato himself strolled through the women’s block. He dragged the tip of his blade across the concrete to cause an annoying scraping sound against the stone. He walked close to the cells, allowing the reaching hands to grope him, to tear at the flesh on his arms. The feeling of his blood flowing down his body sent him into a sort of daze. He enjoyed the pain, enjoyed the varying cat calls of this filth.

He was in his element. These women could understand the true nature of the kill. These women would help build an army for the Cult of Blessed Torture, as well as further the goals of Ciato himself. He whistled as he twirled a key ring, the jingle of the metal pausing every so often to let another female inmate out of their cage. He was cautious; the truly vicious ones stayed locked in until Draug was within attacking distance, while the more stable prisoners were released almost instantly.

The whole while, Ciato could not help but shake the feeling that something was very wrong about Terrinore prison. This was supposed to be a place where he worst of the worst went to pay for their crimes. That meant that there were bound to be some wizards or other magic users lurking about in a few of these cells. “Draug,” Ciato lifted his sword, placing the blade within its sheath at his side; “let’s celebrate meeting our new friends, shall we? Send whatever other women you release into the men’s ward. We’ll make sure Cassandra Remi has a good mix of male and female worshippers alike.”

He could hear Draug’s response through the opening of cells, murmurs between people, and feet against concrete as they rushed in the opposite direction of the two. Ciato grinned at the thought of what would happen to the poor souls assigned to guard the men’s ward. “Thaynes have mercy on their souls,” he mockingly said, his whistling tune starting up once again.

[Letho]

"Well, this is odd. They are not here," Letho muttered, his voice nearly lost in the clamor that reverberated through the prison like the noise of the worlds craziest auction house. The two of them walked the length of the hallway, endured the curses and the screams, evaded the urine and dung aimed at them from the rank interior of the cells, and there was still no sight of their opponents. Now they stood in front of another set of locked bars with nothing but another dim hallway beyond them. It made no sense to the retired Marshal as he gave the doors a try, producing an unyielding rattle. Errisa and him signed up for the tournament to wage battle, and for that purpose they had been directed to this section of the prison. And yet of their foe there was no trace.

"Maybe they are preparing an ambush," Errisa said, making it clear that despite the sounds of madness filling the prison, her elven ears still worked like a charm.

"It is possible," Letho admitted, but it somehow didn't seem right to him. Terrinore prison was colossal, easily the largest prison in the known realms of Althanas. Setting up a trap in such a place would be rather ineffective; it could take days for the prey to walk into one. "But I do not think..."

His words were cut short by the sound of a window crashing somewhere overhead. Flailing his arms like a featherless bird never meant to fly, one of the prison guards plummeted over the pair in a rapidly descending arc. He landed headfirst with a meaty thump, the sound of the world's loudest punch, his face shoved halfway into his chest by the joint effort of the concrete floor and inescapable gravity. Shattered glass came raining next, showering the two like the torrent of jagged diamonds. What looked like a female face peered from the control room that hanged from the roof like an oversized square chandelier. Then two more bodies came flying down, one bouncing off the second story walkway and then sort of slinking down the fence and towards the ground floor, the second one getting tangled in a mess of cables that spread in all direction around the control room.

"Could be we found our quarry," Letho said with a mischievous smirk. He liked this part, the moment just before the conflict, when all the unknowns united to create a massive adrenaline rush. It was at that moment that the retired Ranger felt most alive nowadays. But the spark from his eyes was not reflected in Errisa's.

"I do not think so. That woman was dressed in prisoner garments," the elf said, casting a suspicious eye to the room above. She was sharp, there was no doubt about it. Letho never noticed her garbs.

"So a riot then?" he wondered, frowning. "Unrelated?"

Errisa shrugged, wordlessly confirming the same thing Letho had been thinking: it could be and it also might not be. These kinds of places were not immune to an occasional uprising or two, despite their security. Yet the fact that one seemed to be breaking out at the same time they were supposed to be facing their opponents did seem oddly auspicious.

The sound of a horn cut their thought processes short, the honk so loud it made Letho squint his eyes as his ear drums were strained to their utmost. But then, as it died down as suddenly as it blared to life, another sound replaced it. Even without seeing it, the retired Marshal recognized it, that specific whine of dry gears and the grind of rusty metal on the concrete. The cell doors were opening, and one by one they slowly began to trickle the madness into the hallways of the men's ward.

"Well, this is less than perfect," Letho allowed an intentional understatement as the first of the prisoners ran out of the cell like a rabid dog, looking for something to chew on. He brought the massive Lawmaker up and lined it up with the oncoming man using just his right hand, the six feet of dehlar extended as if it defied gravity. A pull of a trigger released the thunder, splattering the inmate's lungs over the floor. At his side, his elf companion drew her sword, eyes scanning the row of doors.

"No, you must stop them from opening all of them, else we will get overwhelmed," Letho said, snapping the reloading mechanism back and forth, reloading the chamber. Another door opened, far at the end of the hallway. Whoever was operating the lock mechanism had no idea what they were doing, otherwise they would be opening the cells closest to the two.

"All the stairwells are locked," Errisa pointed out. And she was right. Each layer of the walkways was a story of its own, and the stairs from one floor to the next were all barricaded by metal doors. For almost a full second Letho's eyes swept the surroundings, his sight collecting information, his brain processing it in the tactical manner that had been honed by hundreds of unexpected scenarios. Finally he swung the gunblade on the holster on his back and intertwined his fingers, turning towards Errisa.

"I will give you a push." The greenish eyes observed him suspiciously, giving the full three stories of cells one last look before the elf ultimately nodded. She planted one lithe foot on Letho's meaty hands, both at that moment hoping that he wouldn't overshoot and send her crashing through the ceiling. But control over his own strength was something Letho learned long ago, after far too many torn door handles and a plethora of broken kitchenware. So when he launched Errisa upwards with an almost effortless lift, the silver-haired elf rocketed to the third-story walkway, landing high above with after a perfectly smooth somersault.

"I am right behind you!" Letho shouted after his partner, seemingly oblivious to the rampaging lunatic coming at him with what looked like a lead pipe from behind. For the briefest of moments the prisoner's face shined with gory bliss as he brought the metal down on the retired Ranger. But then Letho spun, heaved forward and under the blow, tackling the man with his shoulder. All the momentum his attacker had was overruled by Letho's powerful shove, sending the man staggering backwards with no breath in his lungs, the pipe slipping through his fingers. In a single unbroken motion, Letho brought the Lawmaker from its holster in an overhead slash that cleaved the man down to his hip. The dehlar scraped against the pelvic bone as the brawny man spun away from the geyser of blood and yanked the massive weapon free of the dead man.

The game of death had began, and once again he was alone on the killing floor.

[Abomination]

Bunnying approved between members of League of Nightmares, in case it needed to be stated.

Draug stared at his vibrating hands, feeling the power drain from him.

"I can only open one more," he stated. On one side of the hallway was an old, chipped stony wall, and on the other were the locked-in cells of the male section of Terrinore. It was surprisingly quiet here, especially compared to the chaos that was unfolding in the prison.

"Then pick the best one. I could not find my daughter in the other ward, so my search is over."

They walked up to a cell which had bars with a length of two stories. Inside, they heard the breathing of a massive individual.

Draug walked up to the bars and put his hands on them, "Do you speak?" He received no answer, only the deep breathing continued. "Do you want to live?" The creature inside stood up, and even though it was dark Draug could see the creature nodding its gigantic head. The Homunculus had an odd feeling about this. He looked at Ciato before dissolving the bars. "All that's left is our opponents. Either find them or escape with the prisoners who joined mother."

Ciato took the hint that this could go badly, and left Draug alone. After he was out of sight, Draug's hands vibrated and once again, the bars melted all the way down. He had to melt several of them just so the gigantic man would fit through. After the last set, he felt the power he had assimilated finally leave him, and stepped back to allow the large man through. The next moment, his back had slammed against the stone wall and two huge fingers were pressing on his throat. The man appeared to be nearly eleven feet in height, and likely taller if he wasn't slouching grotesquely. The strangest part about him was that he was literally indescribable. His entire body had a shade of darkness, as if light stopped at a certain point in front of his body. He was like a dark tear in space, and the only thing visible of him was his shadowy figure and his shining white eyes. Draug put his hands on the man's and tried to pry the fingers off his throat, and although he was as strong as four men, his own strength was not even close to a comparison.

"Your neck is strong," said the man. "Usually I snap them by accident." He let go of Draug, and usually a human would grasp their neck, cough, or gasp for air, but Draug was more than human. He remained as he was, as if nothing had even happened. "You are a strange one. What do you want from me?"

Draug cleared his throat, the vocal chords inside regenerating from being crushed, "Mother is waiting. The path is clear to the boat."

"Mother? I haven't seen her in so long... but first there is a man I must kill. You see, I am a telepath. I know why you are here, and who you are meant to fight. Letho Ravenheart... is a man I must kill."

Draug snarled, "No." His second mission here was to learn, to fight in the tournament. For a creature such as him, finding strong opponents is the only way to progress through his evolution, and this tournament was the best way to find them. He was not going to let this prisoner rob him of such an opportunity, even if he offered a better chance at winning. "Mother gave this task to me." Due to his emotions being heavily diluted, only the most extreme outburst of rage would register so much as a grimace on him, but right now he was outright gnashing his teeth.

"If mother says so..." The giant man began walking down the hall. Even if he was a telepath, Draug's concept of his mother was too strong to overcome. In any case, there was nothing left now but the fight. The blaring horn put the prison in chaos, and all the possible recruits were gathered. The Homunculus walked to the end of the hall where a guard was standing sentry. For a moment there was an alarmed look on the guard's face, but then he realized that he was staring at a tournament participant.

"W-what are you doing here?" he asked.

"Take me to them," said Draug.

The guard was perplexed, "Can't you see what's going on? This is no time for fighting! We have to get control of the prison or else-"

Draug cut him off by shoving his hand into the guard's throat. After pulling his hand out, he collected the keys from the guard and opened the metal doors at the end of the hall. Having free reign in the ward, he eventually found one of his opponents. While it would be obvious to anyone that someone like Letho was dressed completely differently from the other inmates, that level of nuance was foreign to the Homunculus.

"Are you my opponent?" Draug asked. His hand was on the sheath of his short sword, the only metallic weapon that wasn't inside of his body. "I've been looking for you."

[Letho]

By the time one of his foes finally made his appearance, two more inmates had met a bloody end at Letho’s hands. One had been slammed against the cell door face first, the sheer power of impact forcing the prisoner’s shaven head through the space between the bars. The metal had scraped off the ears and cracked his skull in the process, leaving the man limp and unaware of the foot that the inhabitant of the cell started burying into his face. The other was lying on the ground with guts hanging from his belly like deformed snakes, still muttering curses as life poured out of him and formed a pool of crimson on the grimy floor. The talon on Letho’s left gauntlet glistened with the same color. The retired Marshal gave no quarter to the inmates, and planned to give none to his opponents. Lenience and hesitation were the things got people killed in situations such as this one. He only hoped that Errisa shared his thoughts on the matter.

The man that emerged before him was an odd one, if for no other reason than his eyes, or rather his right eye, for the left one was hidden behind a layer of hair that covered half his face. But even one was enough. The disquieting combination of predatory yellow pupils and tar black sclera gave Draug’s face a maddening appearance. It was somehow even more disturbing the bloodshot eyes of inmates all around them, because while their lunacy was out in the open, this man’s was contained and internal, like the liquid fires that allegedly burned the heart of Althanas, ebbing and flowing unbeknownst to the world above. Letho didn’t like Draug’s eyes – he could see naught but an abyss inside them – but dislike was as far as it got. Disturbing as they were, they failed to disquiet an aged wardog such as Letho.

“It would appear so,” he responded. With the Lawmaker resting on his shoulder and his hand poised to make it move at any time, Letho took quick stock of his foe. The animalistic look in his eyes was only further accentuated by the fang-like teeth and nails as sharp as claws. But aside from the shock value of his appearance, Draug didn’t seem particularly formidable, his physique more wiry than muscular, covered in no apparent armor and with only a single blade to distinguish it from the largely unarmed rabble. Yet there was a confidence about him, a sort of indifference that is usually borne out of prowess or madness. He reminded Letho of the bare-knuckle streetfighters that looked like you could crush them with a single blow, yet turned out to be tough as old shoe leather.

Introductions, as unnecessary as they usually were, were momentarily suspended as another cell door screeched open, this one mere paces from Letho. The bedraggled man came rushing out like a hound at a carnival race, charging after its target straight off the block. He had been a portly man once, the prisoner, but Terrinore sucked the plumpness out of him, leaving only a potbelly and sagging skin as a memento of better times. His eyes were locked on Letho. Perhaps it was the ex-Marshal’s appearance that was beckoning them and chaffing them to madness, his leather duster and clean-cut hair not so unlike that of the prison guards. Or maybe it was just the air of authority Letho exuded, a sort of intangible aura that humbled some and irked others.

Whatever the reason, the makeshift knife made of what might’ve been a large iron nail once upon a time flashed in the inmate’s hands and came lunging for Letho’s flank. But while the years spent in closely enclosed spaces such as prison cells had potential to build enough rage in a man to evolve into superhuman strength, they did no favors to speed and coordination. The gunblade came sailing down in a tawny flash, the flat of the blade smashing against the wrist of the armed hand. Before the shiv even clanged against the floor, Letho’s elbow connected with the side of the inmate’s face, forcibly turning the man around. By the time his dazed eyes faced Draug, Letho shoved the Lawmaker through the bottom of the man’s spine and halfway through his body. He held the gunblade with both hands, keeping the man upright even as his knees buckled and his arms dropped to the side. Letho's calm brown eyes peered over the dead man’s shoulder, looking straight at his foe.

“This chaos is your doing?” Letho asked, but he was rather certain of the answer. Perhaps that was why he didn’t wait for a response. A pull of the Lawmaker’s trigger exploded the inmate’s abdomen and sent its contents straight at his opponent, alongside a thumb-sized bullet aimed to end this battle early.

[Ciato Orlouge]

“You’re up with her again?” the slits in Asterodeia’s eyes narrowed as she focused on the form of her husband, “That’s the third time tonight. She’s fine, Ciato.”

“She’s more than fine, ‘Deia,” Ciato turned to his wife, his right arm cradling baby Charlotte while the other fed her a bottle, “She’s the strongest of the litter.”

“That seems a bit presumptuous, darling,” the cat demon spoke as she glided across the room, one of her claws caressing the side of his head, “You haven’t even seen their strengths yet.”

“Nor do I need to. From the first day, I could tell she was the strongest. She wouldn’t give us the satisfaction of hearing her cry. She came out on her own terms, not anybody else’s. Even now, three weeks old, she has yet to cry. She’s as powerful as her mother.” Ciato leaned into his wife, his lips pressed against her forehead. He could smell her natural scent once more, pheromones designed to make most people do her bidding. Ciato had never been foolish enough to cater to his animalistic chemical reactions. “Go to bed. I’ve got her.”

“Alright,” Asterodeia yawned out, turning around and heading back down the hallway of their enormous mansion. “And Ciato…. How about you feed her some milk soon? Half-demon or not, it couldn’t possibly be healthy for a child to survive on Mystic blood alone.”

Ciato looked down at the bottle, filled to the nipple with blue liquid. His own wrists poured down the same shade of azure, though he had the foresight to wrap the bottom of his hands up to catch it. He nodded, his body feeling the toll of his life essence leaving him.

“Don’t worry,” Ciato looked down and whispered to Charlotte, her blackened curls stuck to her reddened forehead, “Daddy will always protect you. No matter what.”

__

“Actually, that would be me,” Ciato’s voice boomed through the ward, his noble sounding voice holding a surprising echo effect over the rioting, “but Draug is an extension of me, at least for now.”

He had managed to hear Letho Ravenheart’s quandary, but had also known that he could not get down in time to save his partner from the bullet. Draug would have to fend for himself there. He leaned on the steel rails above, looking down on everyone else as if they were inferior. In his mind, they were. Even the great Letho Ravenheart, whose tales reached ears of babe and geriatric alike, was nothing compared to the majestic beauty of an Orlouge; especially for one as noble as Ciato.

He continued to spin his key ring around, his eyes shifting around towards the various cells opening up. “I believed this to be a team exercise. Did they make an exception for you, Letho Ravenheart?”

There was a silence, at least as silent as it could be between blood curling screams of either prisoner or guard. He was too proud to respond, or maybe he was hiding something. “Or maybe your partner was already stupid enough to get killed already?” Letho still responded with silence, a brave if not futile effort, in the Mystic’s eyes.

“You’re boring,” Ciato stood up, waving his free hand as if he wished for the nuisance to be taken away, “Draug, listen to me. That man stands for everything opposite of your mother. If left unchecked, he could single handedly destroy the Cult of Blessed Torture. There are even rumors that a man of his caliber can destroy a God. We don’t want that, do we?”

He didn’t even care enough to look at Draug, to see if he was talking to a corpse or not. Instead, the Mystic sat down atop the metal walkway, his legs dangling off the side like a child about to enjoy a parade. “He would, however, make for a very good opponent for you. The sum of the parts, and all that. Just let me know if you need some assistance, and I will be more than happy to oblige.” He smiled as his legs swayed to and fro in the air. He felt like a king, watching gladiators fight for his amusement.

“Oh, and for the record. Anyone who slays Letho Ravenheart will get a substantial reward. Anything within my power of doing shall be granted to the one that makes the killing blow.” Ciato looked back to the self righteous soldier, growling as he remembered his brother Sei with the same stoic posture. “Let the games begin…”

[Abomination]

All he heard was the bang and the cracking of his ribs against the force of the bullet. Despite being cushioned by the inmate Letho blew apart, the lizard hide in one layer of skin and the steel chain mail in the next, the bullet still found its way to Draug's ribs. He could still see the end of the bullet sticking out of him, as well as the entrails of the dead inmate that now covered the front of his body. Smoke seeped out from the wound, the shirt around the bullet burned to a black crisp. The Homunculus pulled the bullet out, allowing a burst of blood to splash out of his chest. His bones would mend, but it was a painful reminder that Letho had a weapon that could hit him before a proper reaction.

Ciato's words served no purpose other than to annoy him. Theirs was an alliance out of convenience, out of an arrangement between mother and the vengeful Orlouge. His mother was a perfect being; there was no possible threat to her from any mere human. If he wasn't under specific instruction to protect the Mystic, he would sink his fingers so far into Ciato's throat that his head would pop like a grape. He dropped the bullet, allowing it to clink and clank its way onto the cold floor. The blaring horn continued to blast throughout the prison, and likely the LCC commission would think twice before sending anyone else here in the future. The Homunculus also had concerns about his other opponent, who he wished to eviscerate with an equal amount of disdain for life, but she was nowhere to be found.

"He's mine, Mystic," Draug sniped, intending to sound more hateful but ending up with a monotone calmness. "If any inmate gets in my way, I'll kill them myself."

The problem with Draug's current situation was that he had no way of avoiding Letho's gunblade. The path between them was far too narrow, allowing his opponent to have free shots at a moving target. Looking around, Draug spotted a nearby corpse. Its guts were splayed out on the ground, its eyes rolled back into his head, and its tongue was hanging out. Either another inmate had done this or Letho himself, but it did not matter. He pulled out his short sword with his right hand and jabbed it into the corpse, twisting and driving the blade in until he could feel the stony floor below it. With a heave, he lifted the corpse and held it aloft in front of him with one hand. Letho was not the only one with strength. He needed to turn this into a close range fight.

He ran at his opponent, relying on only the smallest amount of vision between bobs of the corpse's head. While Letho's weapon could very well cleave him in two, it was large and unwieldly. Draug relied on its swing being wide, which would give him a window of opportunity for a counter-attack. From his shoulder blades on his back, two arms started to grow, at first sausage-shaped skin clumps but then given form. Then, iron daggers sprouted in each newly-formed hand. The arms folded in on themselves, giving them a spring-loaded appearance that would activate on the first melee attack he encountered. He did not know how Letho was going to react, but mother must have known that he would face an opponent like this. Ciato seemed to have a high opinion of his abilities, so Draug was not going to take this lightly.