The Aislinn Chamber

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Some minor bunnies. If anyone has any problems, feel free to PM me and I'll be happy to edit as required.

And they're off!

Aurelianus smirked to himself, dancing back a few steps and watching the opening act of the bloodbath. A shiver ran up his spine and he growled deep in his throat, the sound thick and wet as he tasted the magic caressing his skin.

But from where. Or who? he wondered.

He rattled through a quick mental list of the other competitors, making sure to mark their movements, trying to make sure and watch all of them at once. A lifetime of paranoia, in this instance, proved extremely useful. Earrings and charms rattled all over his bladed frame as he swung his head between the other occupants of the chamber, leathers creaking as every muscle tensed and relaxed. He wanted to start gutting them, but he couldn't decide for the life of him where to begin. They were all such juicy little morsels, just waiting for his blades to put them in the dead-book.

Deaders, deaders everywhere, and not a sod to nick, he thought, a grim chuckle on his lips.

Aurelianus recognised the chit from Emma chamber who had spectacularly made herself explode - hard to forget someone like that - as she took a sneaky swing in at Flint's back, even as he moved to block the attack and Resolve dived into the cluster-fuck. It was only then he noticed the competitor, little more than a boy, by all appearances, standing off to one side with his crossbow trained on the tiefling. Though actually making out his appearance was exceptionally difficult, with the way the shadows clung to his frame like.. like a cloak.. Talen's scent touched his nostrils, and Aurelianus licked his fangs with a vicious smirk. Here was another cutter he recognised.

"Tails," he hissed, wondering if this was yet another sod likely to turn on him. Already, the list of people in this room who likely despised him was rising with every passing moment.

Behind the mystic, he marked the tell-tale gleam of faint sunlight on armour and only his demonic eyes allowed him to make out the swordsman at the rear of Kyla and the creature he knew as Tails. A small smirk played out on the plane-touched's face as he recognised what he was watching; no-one could see a betrayal in the making like the half-breed con-artist, and he was glad to see that, for the moment, the shadow-creature and his apparent ally would be preoccupied.

The tiefling found his eyes drawn back to Flint above the others; he had marked the expression on the basher's face when Resolve had let slip Luned was in attendance. For a man feared, or downright just dismissed as an urban legend by the nobles of Salvar, Flint Skovik had looked worried.

Like the predator he was, heart and soul, Aurelius had locked on to that. Now, not only did he have something to use against the grotesquely over-muscled little brute, but he had a plan. A cruel smile split his features, all yellow eyes and white fangs in the darkness of the dungeon. He slid one of his twin knives from the sheath at the small of his back, and wrapped his fingers lovingly around the demon-hide grip. Every vicious serration along the green-steel blade caught what little light the holes in the ceiling allowed, glinting much like his own smile.

Flint blocked the mystic chit's blow and dodged back, making way for his dusky firecracker ally's attack. That was all the opening Aurelius needed.

Darting forward in a blur of black leather and sadistic steel, the tiefling sprang into the air - just as Astarelle sprinted past on her way to aid Talen - and caught the bars of the cell before him. Keeping his Baatorian knife held loosely in his right hand, the half-demon scurried up the wall of bars and landed lightly on the roof of the cage. Right above Flint.

"A quick word, mate," Aurelianus hissed from above, grinning down as the human turned to face him. There was a hint of hate on that chiselled, hard face, but for the most part the Salvaran kept a rein on his temper.

"I've got two in mind right now," Flint shot back with a deadpan voice.

"Cute," the tiefling smirked, leaping gracefully down to land in front of his.. companion? Enemy? If he had tried to actually label the relationship he had with the man before him, Aurelius might have realised he actually had no clue how he would class it. But, he had other things on his mind.

Keeping his weight kept on the balls of his feet, even inside the heavy, buckled boots he wore, Aurelius gave his opponent the once over, noting the new gauntlets. And the speed at which Skovik had turned to defend himself against the sword-bitch's blow had not escaped his notice either. Still, with an air of arrogant calm, the tiefling stopped a few steps outside the brawler's reach, his knife held casually low at his side. The glyphs etched along the blade pulsed in the gloom, from deep black to arterial red and back again, the bleeding enchantment on the already savage weapons making itself known.

"There's no doubt in my mind that right now you'd love nothin' more than to break me in 'alf," Aurelius stated merrily, cocking his head and setting the many earrings jingling. "Am I right?"

Flint nodded, allowing himself a tight smile.

"An' I 'ave no doubt you could at that," the cocky Cager allowed. He saw the tension humming along every tendon and muscle on the muscle-bound man's arms. Forestalling him with a raised hand, the snake-eyed deviant stepped back. Back in Ettermire, Flint had seen firsthand the hideous magicks Aurelius could call forth from those hands, so the gesture may not have been quite as reassuring as he might have hoped.

"Wait! I 'ave a proposition you might be interested in," he said. He could see the doubt in Flint's eyes, almost as bright as the small spot of light shining on his bald pate. Aurelius was also keenly aware of the limited time he had to work in as well, casting a quick and peery glance at the other occupants, mostly occupied squaring off against their chosen opponents. For the moment.

"You turn those wreckin' balls," he gestured to the human's metal-clad fists, "on every other sod in 'ere 'cept me - and that includes 'er," he added with a nod at Resolve's back coupled with a sly grin.

"More than that, you watch my back 'til we're the only two cutters left standin', and I'll wipe the debt clear.."

Flint started to move, to bring his fists up; no doubt to make good on his offer of breaking the smug bastard of a half-breed like a toothpick. He knew better than most not to listen to the honeyed words of the murderous hellspawn.

".. for Luned."

The Salvaran stopped cold, registering the words that were penetrating his ice-cold killer psyche. Aurelianus flipped his knife to his left hand with a little flourish, running his fingertips across the hydras inked on either side of his bloody-red crest of quills.

"Do we 'ave a deal?" the warlock asked, the loathsome joy in his voice telling Flint he already knew what the answer was going to be.

[Warpath]

“Yes,” Flint said at once. His harsh, unblinking stare narrowed for the briefest instant, and then he turned his gaze elsewhere. He did not like to see glee on the devil’s face, as it was becoming increasingly common for aforesaid pleasure to be at Flint’s expense.

This was not the first bargain he’d struck with the tiefling, but it had been a great deal easier to stomach. The first had been the result of his own weakness: a necessary evil to preserve his life in the direst circumstances. He had secured his deliverance in return for a favor, to be decided by the half-breed on some future whim. He only later learned that Aurelianus had inked a similar deal with Luned. While the collection of his own debt was a heavy burden on his mind, it was nothing beside the fear of what depraved service the fiend might ask of her.

He had long entertained the notion of hunting down and murdering the plane-touched reprobate. Of course the notion of reneging on the deal in simpler and less violent ways had occurred to him too, but the concept seemed somehow perverse and impossible. It was like deals with Aurelianus were blasphemously sacrosanct and absolute, beyond even him to betray. This was a two-sided blade: it meant there was no chance that Aurelianus would forget or forgive or let the deal lapse, he couldn’t, but it also meant that he was bound by his word in equal measure.

Flint felt the weight of his decision like a black mark on his soul, but didn’t care. He feared some loophole, some clever trick – expected it even – but he did not care. As with the first deal, there was no real choice.

And there was one ray of off-black sunshine to the situation.

Flint turned his back on Aurelianus. Despite the tiefling’s proximity, Flint Skovik was relieved of a nagging fear that had been haunting him for months on end. For the first time since Ettermire, he didn’t have to worry about a cold blade being sunk into his spine or a snake-tongued whisper in his ear. As long as he was the devil’s pawn, there was no benefit to betrayal but mad and self-destructive gratification. Aurelianus was many things, including self-destructive at times, but self-defeating? No.

They were, for all intents and purposes, allies.

“So,” Flint said to the tiefling, fingers twitching at his sides. “Who dies first?”

[Amber Eyes]

Her feet refused to move. She willed herself to run but her body defied her. Like a statue she was rooted to the spot as he approached, his blood-red eyes seemingly looking into her soul. He reached out a hand a touched her cheek, his freezing flesh burning against her warmth as he caressed her skin.

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Just as she brought her sword down the mammoth turned, catching her weapon with his armguards. As he moved Kyla caught a glimpse of the girl known as Resolve, moving much too quickly in her direction. She tried to scream, but no sound left her lips. Somehow her voice was gone, and Arden once again saved the mystic's hide. Had he not silenced her, her screams would have blocked out the echoing of boots behind her. The sounds of footsteps seemed to surround her on all sides, and she waited until she could feel the wind of the weapons on either side before stepping quickly into the shadows. The cold enveloped her and her heart raced at her near loss. She dropped to a squat and held her head in her hands, allowing her breath to return before re-entering the chamber in her former cell. Perhaps she should have stayed there in the first place.

The mystic raised her arm and ran her fingers through her hair, her ribbon was lost somewhere in the shadows. She looked to the stairs where Anita sat staring straight at her, her eyes focused on the cell before her. Kyla could see her lips moving, and with much effort she made out the words. “If you can’t beat them, make sure they will never forget your name when you’re gone.” It was something she had heard before, almost a slogan of the great Ciato Orlouge.

The girl smiled from behind her iron cage, gripping the bars and looking into the chamber. She closed her eyes and let the warmth from the light inside her take control. In seconds bolts of lightning filled the room, aimed at those she considered foes. Resolve would be the first one hit, followed quickly by a strike on the behemoth. The next bolt would find its way to the demon, and finally Arden’s mutt would have his turn. As the bolts swirled in the air Kyla formed her bomb, shadow-stepping even as the ball of light formed. She missed the view of the shadow tendrils suffocating the light, squashing it to near non-existence before the entire thing exploded, sending shots throughout the chamber.

Kyla exited her dark sanctuary, quickly grasping Talen with one hand and gripping the arm of the strange female mage with the other, Sophia’s Mane purred as she made contact with skin, but Kyla focused instead on the words she spoke. As the blow from the bomb shot towards the trio the sound of breaking glass hit her ears. She looked at the two she touched, safe inside the glass that began to shoot outwards, burning bright blue as it filled the chamber.

[Resolve]

The mystic's response didn't surprise Resolve, but it did leave her seething. "Coward!" she hollered, her voice resounding against the dense walls of the Ixian dungeon. Somehow, her arms already seemed to tire as they lowered her sword. What had happened?

Further down the floor, the soldier, child, and vaguely familiar woman engaged in their own skirmish. She couldn't see them in the darkness, but she could feel them. And then she felt Kyla, huddled back inside her locked cell like the criminal she was after robbing the exorcist of a real fight.

The distance allowed Resolve's concentration to loop back around to Flint and Aurelius behind her, engaged in some sort of conversation. Her eyes narrowed as she listened, twisting at the waist. "What––"

And then it hit. The world exploded in a flash of white and she convulsed, falling to her knees. She might have hit the floor, girl trembling red amongst the scattered sea of rats, but she forgot everything but the sick realization of helplessness in her gut.

No. No, no, no…

Milliseconds passed like eons, but the stun proved blessedly brief. Resolve knew she'd been weakened and she knew what Kyla was capable of. As she came to her senses, she knew she needed out. Now.

And so she, too, vanished into the shadows.

As she rematerialized, she blinked away the aftershock of lightning until the spots became one with the patch of sun which shone through a meager hole in the roof. The exorcist allowed herself a luxurious moment to recuperate, body limp against the cold, hard floor of the last cell on the right, furthest from Kyla and well past the barrier of Flint's impossibly muscled girth.

And then the bomb blew, shaking the floor of the prison with its potency, mystic shield hot –– quite literally –– on its heels. Resolve watched as the blue fire burst from the dark in a sizzling flash, shards of glass popping like fireworks. As the force of the magical blast traveled, it strummed the prevalida bars, playing the entire prison like a harp as its power reverberated through the chamber.

From her hiding place, she barely felt a breeze, and she couldn't help herself from laughing. Twice now she'd narrowly avoided the mystic bomb's brunt. She choked back her mirth, unwilling to give up her position quite yet as she crawled to her knees, then her feet. Her limbs functioned, to her relief, though shaky. Time to assess the damage.

Resolve crept to the wall of the cell's privy, using it as cover as she peered cautiously around the edge of the open door. In what state were Flint, Aurelius, the others?

... and what on Althanas had they discussed while her back was turned?

[Arden]

Cursing loudly, Arden stopped dead in his tracks. Kyla, in much the same manner as he was accustomed to doing, simply vanished. Suddenly denied his quarry, the ferocity in an otherwise civil form appeared full force.

“A coward like the rest…,” he intoned, referring to the mystics, and their kin.

He dropped low, raised his sword arm fully extended to the right, and twisted the blade forty-five degrees. Like a hunter stalking his prey, he turned on the spot, and turned back the other way, searching, sensing, and seeking another to attack. He did not need to look far. Even at distance, he could smell Aurelianus Drak’Shal. The resonating sickness of his particular charisma permeated every cell in the arena.

“I do not want him.” He said flatly. The tiefling would make a terrible member of his team.

He set eyes on Talen, and sighed. Once, perhaps, he might have sought the youth’s affectations, but he had gone too far into darkness. There, his mind clouded, and great beasts would crush him, long before they felt his ‘might’.

“I do not need him,” he said.

He turned a few inches, feet tensing to keep his weight balanced, and set eyes on Resolve. This was a newcomer to his radar, a woman of power, he could tell, but one with complicated relations. He shook his head, peered out from beneath the crimson veil of his fringe, and decided.

“I do not see it in her,” he said. Perhaps he did, but it was desperate idiocy, rather than fearless loyalty.

At last, he set eyes on someone he did wish to test. If Kyla Orlouge denied him the chance, then he was certain this figure would prove a worthy member of the Ixian Knights. That was his sole purpose here today. He was to test others. Even as his hound, cruelly beaten black and blue by an unsurmountable tally of foes faded into nothingness, he felt life anew in his heart. He took a deep breath, broke into a sprint, and vanished.

A bolt of lightning cleaved across the arena, crackling with the ferocity of titans and the zeal of kings. He smelt the air burn long before it got the chance to strike, and re-appeared a few foot forwards, two seconds lighter, and screaming at the top of his lungs.

“Stand and fight!” His words resounded through the gloom, carried by anger, and lifted by simmering, emotional rage.

With his blade swinging in deft, deadly cleaves, the Hound advanced towards Astarelle. As he crossed the distance between them, his cloak all but vanished. His armour, clunky mithril that slowed but sealed limbs away from blades and bombs, glistened in the lacklustre torchlight. In all his foes, the swordsman saw conflict. In all save this particular adversary, he saw weakness. In her divine step, and blind charge of the Mastiff, he saw exactly what he was looking for.

Bravery.

No amount of lightning, middle-aged balding and sexual deviance would get in his way now.

[Hysteria]

Before I continue I feel the need to point out that at some point during the next series of events some little twerp, or twerpette stole my wallet. I distinctly remember placing my hand in my pocket as Kyla disappeared. It was probably one of the ratty looking kids that I noticed working their way through the crowd. Little ferals, should be locked up. Who steals a wallet while watching people fight in a prison? Honestly...

I digress. Talen was standing next to the female mage, then Kyla appeared near them. I knew that the mystic was powerful, but as she unleashed the blasts of lightning the air crackled with mystic energies. The sound was unique, a thousand roaring birds. The lightning shot over Talen and the youth was visibly shocked. His pale skin shone brightly, even his pale blue eyes visible in the din. It was only a moment later Kyla grabbed the kid and Astarelle. I couldn't believe my eyes as a glass shield formed around the mystic. It was the pinnacle of Mystic tradition, the signature spell. I pumped my fist into the air as the thrill of what I was seeing coursed through my veins.

I caught sight of Talen through the glass for a moment, a slight smile on his face. It looked like he was finally enjoying the battle. Whatever metaphorical stick was stuck up his bum seemed to have dislodged, at least partially. Before I realised what was happening I had lifted my hands up in futile protection as the glass smashed into the barrier. I wasn't the only one, everyone crowded around me either did the same or ducked. I have this oddly distinct memory of a tiny old lady with a big hat standing firm as the only one not to flinch as the flaming glass smashed into thousands of pieces against the barrier barely a metre from her face.

I quickly regained myself and my view, Talen was walking towards Arden. The small smile still sitting on his face, perhaps even a little bigger. Through the cheers and roars around me I could barely make out his words.

“Sorry dude, turns out this is a team sport.” he said.

The ground between the pair erupted in a wall of shadow. The dark mess lifted up back down towards Arden. I knew the tactic the moment I saw it, you don't survive long as a shop keep without knowing a diversion when you see one. Talen had already kicked himself along the ground towards his right, his crossbow losing two bolts into the black mess where Arden had been. I guessed that the shadows were an attempt to conceal his movements, then the two shots, wide enough that only one would strike would hopefully catch Arden as he tried to react, however he did. It was quick, it was simple, and it could prove deadly. I approved.

The tentacle that Talen had called moments before to help dispatch the hound was little more than an afterthought at this point. The tattered mess of shadowy flesh that was left after the flaming glass had given a few weak movements before disintegrating to nothing.

[Roht Mirage]

The darkness no longer weakens Astarelle. Friends forever. <3

Astarelle was hit with varying levels of amazement as solidly as if she were bouncing up a flight of stairs. The realization that the shadows didn't just exist near the boy, but responded to him as her sand did to her, was quickly eclipsed by the fact that he had accepted the alliance. He's on my side, she assured herself as she watched the shadow tentacle writhe. All those months of masquerading in Corone and all those years acting as Faroh's many-faced agent across the expanse of Fallien felt minor. In a dark pit of a prison with bloodthirsty eyes looking down like vengeful stars, Astarelle Set'Roh had befriended the shadows.

If not for you, Akee, she prayed to dearly departed Akashere, still her source of strength.

The next tier of amazement was heralded with bolts of lighting. Astarelle flinched. The layer of sand around her eyes twitched nearly shut like a second pair of eyelids. “Bury me,” she breathed as she saw -through the narrow slits- a ball of light and dark spring into existence, then shrink under invisible, inevitable tension. She guessed that an explosion was coming and raised her bracers out of a sheer lack of options.

The last surprise, the final act that truly set her jaw to swinging, came with a soft touch on her bare arm. A mother's touch; but she did not know her own mother's touch enough to realize. Then, the world exploded, breaking apart into shards of blue fire as the sound of breaking glass filled her ears. How fragile the world was... of course it would sound like glass when it finally broke. But, she did not break. And it turned out, neither had the world.

The sand that had been her mask and her shield against the glare faltered from her lack of attention, returning to its tattoo form. It tickled against the smaller woman's hand on her arm as it crept underneath. “That- I-,” she stammered, blinking away the spotted afterimage. The woman's blue eyes said, “You're welcome,” so clearly that no words were necessary. Regardless, Astarelle cried out, “Thank you!” as she dropped her staff and hugged her -second!- new ally. The staff bounced once, just long enough for her savior’s spine to jolt in surprise. Then, the staff was back in her hands, and Astarelle was darting into the fray on the heels of her young shadowy friend.

The armored hound-summoner, who later she would learn was named Arden, had turned back on them, enraged. “You who would turn aside a kind hand,” she had a flash of her -no, Roht's- guilty memory, “Deserve nothing.” The wall of shadow erupted, startling but not scaring her. It's manipulator, soon to be known as Talen, was on her side. Following his lead, she ducked to the right as well, pausing only to throw her staff up and to the left. It clanged high against the bars, hopefully pulling Arden's attention from where Talen slid. In the split second that the reverberation of the bars masked her grunt, Astarelle jumped, going high where the boy went low. “Better squint,” she hissed as she passed over him, then landed in a crouch. Her tattoos burst off of her, creating a cloud of fine grit as far as two meters out.

As Talen's bolts fired, she raised one hand toward the darkness-wreathed Arden and put all her will into recalling her staff straight into the back of his head.

~

Bash first noticed the hat when, amid a mass recoil of bodies at some horribly loud explosion, it did not move. He crept toward it underfoot, as tentative as a ship approaching a darkened lighthouse. He did not know where his friends had gone, though they were no doubt enjoying a return to the old ways. He did not know that the woman's wizened face had shed a single tear for old memories while her body stood strong against the destructive display.

He only knew that he wanted that hat.

[Arden]

Arden had already lost one eye to a crossbow. He was not about to lose another. Even as the shadows engulfed him, and all hope became purposeless, he found meaning in his own, peculiar sanctuary. He heard the piercing whistle of a feathered shaft, and once more, into the breach he went. He vanished from the abyss, and the projectiles pierced only empty space. Blue ribbons glowed in the gloom, spiralling fecklessly through irate rotations, before, and with heart, they burst into flames.

The swordsman opened his eyes. He stood at the end of a jetty, far from Althanas, and far from the Cell. He loosened his limbs, and let out a long sigh of relief. Though he would be gone for split seconds in ‘reality’, he would have time to gather his thoughts before the calming waves. The sea was mercury, as far as the eye could see. A dark cloud formation gathered overhead, perhaps a storm of ideas, more than rain and thunder.

Maybe she is not so brave after all, he mused.

The Aria, the heart of all creativity and magic in the world, danced with tension. The salty wood beneath his heavy boots creaked. The air rushed over the swordsman. Despite the fallacy, there was nothing but silence. No matter how loud Arden shouted, or how much devastation he wrought here, nobody would hear.

If she were, she would not cling to such… his thoughts failed him, lost in the attempt at describing some of the people that the Cell had summonsed. He dare not go down that path, lest he tar himself with the same brush.

He folded his arms across his chest, his sword absent from the other world, and cocked his head to one side. He appeared in the Aria as he had the day he came to exist. He had shoulder length, auburn hair. His upper body was naked, save for beads and talismans around his neck. He wore a simple pair of brown trousers, and a red, bloodied sash around his hips. His boots were hobnailed, battered, and well worn.

If they had decided to align themselves to a trite notion of ‘team work’, then he would gain nothing from testing that bond. Desperation made the unlikeliest of enemies into the strongest friends. All he had to do, asides find someone to take his place, was survive. He had grown up in the streets of Scara Brae a thief. He had worked in the Tantalum troupe, which some might say was the harshest of environs. He had slaved away in the mines of Akashima, and fought wars with the gods themselves in the upper steppes of Berevar.

How difficult can a few upstarts and idolaters be?

He disappeared, and left the jetty alone, the sea sparkling, and the entity named the Tap to its contemplation.

“Try that again!” he bellowed as he reformed.

Though astute, calculating, and mercantile, Arden Janelle had counted on everything bar the obvious. The crossbow shots were a trick, the shadow a diversion, and the dancing woman the sword unsheathed in the night. He was heavily armoured, on all accounts, and his blade could ruin the toughest of men. His head, a crimson mop sweated to a furrowed brow, was one obvious weak point.

“Gladly,” was all he heard as something solid, but thankfully not razor sharp twitted him over the back of the head.

His one good eye blurred and he jolted forwards. Kerria dripped blood, mimicking its master’s pain. His cloak danced upwards, as though the wind rose from the cobbles beneath him. In a swirl of blue ribbons and the songs of ages, the occupants of the Cell would get their solitary opportunity to avoid toe to toe with the The Silent Swordsman.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

And with that simple little exercise in control, Aurelius turned the tides of fortune back in his favour again. He licked his fangs contemplatively for a moment, his eyes hovering on the brute's over-sized back while letting his fingers dance along the grip of his knife. He could have quite easily ended Flint then and there, but as Flint well knew, there was nothing for Aurelianus to gain from the treachery. But it was more than just that, which stayed the Cager's hand.

Despite the other's obvious hatred of the tiefling, Aurelius almost respected the sharp-minded thug. They were more alike than Flint would ever give them credit for, and the warlock longed to actually test out his skills against Skovik - face to face, fist to fire, no cheap tricks. Basher like that'd give me a fight to remember, he mused.

"Take your pick, basher," Aurelius answered, smiling wetly from the shadows.

Flint moved away from the murderous half-breed, and Aurelianus backed up himself, his head swinging slowly to regard everyone else in the chamber again. They all seemed to be engaged in their own little dramas, everyone ignoring him for the time-being. And that was exactly what the tiefling wanted; he was going to wait for someone to expose their backs, and he would be there to stab, burn and kill.

It was this brief respite more than anything else that saved him from what happened next.

He saw the retina-scarring bolt come down from the ceiling, hitting Resolve and dropping her like a sack of potatoes, followed quickly by one striking out at Flint, a few feet in front of the now-concerned warlock. It didn't take a genius to follow the pattern, and without even having to look, he knew with the myriad piercings, buckles and blades adorning his attire lightning was not his friend.

Hastily, Aurelianus willed Freki's Shield into existence, the swirling mystical flames swathing him in their infernal embrace even as he moved further back along the cell-block. He had managed three rapid steps, his steel-toed boots hammering heavily on the worn stones of the floor, before his shadow was thrown out in front of him in stark contrast. The lightning hit the Shield with a hollow boom that set his pointed ears ringing, filling his field of vision with floating after-images.

Aurelianus skidded to a halt, whipping round in a flash of sharp steel and diminishing fires - Freki's Shield had taken the hit, but it couldn't survive any more, and faded away with a thought. Aurelius' white-knuckled fist readjusted on the grip of his weapon, fingerless leather gloves creaking as he scanned the melee..

Just in time to see the glass shield surrounding Kyla, and her two companions explode in a violent burst of mystical energy.

"Oh, will you sod off with that!" he barked, unamused as for the second time in this damned tournament he was faced with a wall of flaming glass shards whistling towards him through the narrow chamber. After the first time he'd seen it, however, there was no way the canny plane-touched was going to get caught out by the same trick.

Utilising all his preternatural speed, the half-demon drew his second knife and parried the few shards that came at him after making their way through everyone else. His blades seemed to dance in his hands, small bursts of light in the darkness marking where the Hell-forged steel met the magical glass. One managed to get past the whirling defenses, slicing a neat line across Aurelius' cheek, but he ignored the tiny sting and brought his arms down to his side once he was sure there were no other threats. A few small splinters of glass had managed to pepper his right arm in a fine dusting as they broke on his knives, but the damage was negligible at best and the segmented armour on his left could turn a sword, let alone something as mundane as the glass.

"Fool me once," he smirked to himself, straightening up and shaking off his muscles. Looking over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of Luned, glaring hate at him from outside the barrier and surrounded by the rest of the crowd booing and hissing at him. Blowing her a kiss, he turned on his heel and started back towards the storm of violence that was drawing everyone in. With a practiced move, he slid his chivs back into their sheaths at the base of his back, freeing up his hands for what he planned next.

Bouncing lightly on to the cage to his left, Aurelianus scurried up the bars, kicking off when he was about halfway up, twisting in the air. He had practiced such acrobatics for the majority of his young life in his home city, so leaping from one side of the cell-block to the other took no more effort than walking. Grabbing the edge of the right hand cage, he swung his legs up and over, rolling lightly on to the roof and coming up in a feline crouch. He was highlighted for the briefest moment in the shaft of weak sunlight, haloed by dust-motes, his spike and blade coated leather shining like the sun.

And then he kicked off and was gone, dancing along the top of the cages with inhuman grace almost as fast as the eye could follow. A vicious gleam hit his sadistic armour again and again as he went, but the tiefling hoped the rest of the combatants were too distracted to notice him.

In a heartbeat he was past them, and with a cruel grin, Aurelianus dived off the cell, letting his momentum bring his boots over his head. Twisting in mid-air, the guttersnipe tucked and rolled, hitting the ground boots first with a dull thud. Bending his knees to take the brunt of his landing, Aurelius turned to face the backs of the group. He had marked the various competitors popping in and out of existence, but there were enough of them there to make him hungry at the thought of the pain he was about to reap from their flesh. Flint was on the other side of the group.. but if he got hit, that was his problem.

Throwing up both hands, smirking even as he summoned up the fury of Shahab's Lash, Aurelius unleashed three torrents of roaring black Hellfire - one from each palm, a third from his fang-lined maw - down the corridor at the enemies arrayed there.

If they wanted to play with fire, the half-demon was happy to oblige.

[Amber Eyes]

She moved. Her hand shot quickly upward, attempting to brush away the man’s palm. The demon caught her hand, quickly moving his other fingers to her throat. He pushed forward, near throwing the mystic into the brick wall behind her. Her back screamed with the pain of impact, and a tear rolled down her cheek as he leaned in a whispered with freezing breath into her ear.

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Kyla tensed as the girl wrapped her in an embrace. Physical outbursts were so practiced in the mystic’s life that it took her off guard. The mystic had done only what she felt her duty. From attempting to lock the girl away before the bloodshed started, to hiding her behind the wall of glass, Kyla would do her best to ensure the newcomer withstood the chamber. Kyla attempted to focus, lest she be caught off guard, but the tiniest of flashes pulled her eyes upward. As soon as the movement was noticed, the air was still once more and Kyla shook her head, sure that Sei’s potion had somehow pushed her past just feeling better and into whiskey territory.

Suddenly there was a sound to her rear, followed by the most intense heat Kyla had felt outside of hell-realm. She couldn’t see what was coming, but knew it was coming quickly and she did the only thing she could think of.

A solid prevaldia door flew towards the occupants of the chamber, finding its home with a huge crash. The makeshift shield quickly turned colors as the fire hit its frame. The mystic threw herself to the ground, her back exploding with pain as the fire hit home. She rolled over, suffocating the flames between her charred flesh and the cool cement. Each tiny movement sent waves of torment through her body, but she forced herself to look to the side where her allies were safely behind a metallic wall.

Emma screamed outside the barrier, “Who’s a fucking coward now?” She rushed towards the arena, intent on aiding her sister when a familiar voice filled her mind.

”Another outburst like that and you will no longer attend events. Now sit down and give Ella a coin.”

“Yes sir.” Emma’s face fell, rage seething through her veins. She should be out there at Kyla’s side instead of in the stands watching her fall…again.