The Felicity Chamber

[Mage Hunter]

The human charged through the room, and it didn’t take a telepath to realize murder was on his mind. Dropping to the floor she slid between the stools under the table, even as chunks of another piece of table smashed into the top of the table she had ducked under. She was on raw instinct, even as she carefully sheathed her blade and remained low, moving through the arena now and getting room from the voice that was calling for one of the combatants to join him or suffer the aggrandizing manner in which he had assaulted the entire room at once.

Move runt, move! The words of her drill instructor echoed in her head as she realized she had been given a boon. With the human indisposed by his own attack, and everyone forced within the very same, she had possibly been given near invisibility. Moving slowly through the tables she moved to where she could react to the events. Carefully moving her sheath and placing the titanium blade in her hand back within it. She couldn’t rely on blade work against someone who swung faster than she could keep up. She needed to see the blade, because like her drill instructor had said, watching their eyes was only going to make you look like you’re trying to seduce rather than fight them. You had to be looking everywhere, their weapon, your weapon, the surroundings, everywhere for any advantage.

The Kyorl didn’t put up with weakness, not even from their recruits. Perfection in all and loyalty to the Queen were her bedtime prayers. She moved through the tables, being careful to avoid other falling pieces of table. Finally she got what she wanted, sight of the arrogant man. She snorted with derision, she hadn’t gotten a good look at the human when it entered, now she could see him in all his bastardized glory. Of course it was a man making demands and desiring to win this quickly. Of course he was so full of hubris because he was a man, not even once considering the repercussion of his actions.

She remained low, and smirked as she did so, seeing him trying to be the grandstanding hero. How she loved to make such idols fall from their pedestal. Carefully she pulled her bow and strung it drawing the arrow back. She was close, so close to her target if this attack went awry he could close the gap, so she carefully notched an arrow and waited, as a patient hunter. Looking about she hissed softly, “Someone else get the brutes attention, and I guarantee he won’t see what hit him…”

She vaguely remembered Godhand once talking about a man similar to this and suppressed a snicker keeping her eyes on the monstrosity. If ever she had seen an abomination of magic, this was certainly one. She felt almost overwhelmed by the mana he saturated himself in. Godhand had called the man nothing more than a sissy who went out and tried hard to prove himself. Who he was proving himself to was a different matter entirely, no one knew. Still the Mage Hunter remained crouched so as to be out of sight out of mind and prepared to ambush the arrogant man the second he let his guard down.

[Reine]

Everything happened way too fast for her.

One moment she entered her arena, staring at the tables so long she didn't even think Josh could lift them. They would make good cover, the wood was thick and the blue and orange stools that surrounded them looked just light enough for someone of her stature to pick up and whip around. Though, a much stronger opponent could possibly grab a couple at once and toss them at her head. Then a blur of motion rushed passed her, a tickle of air that touched her face, neck and arms and a white lance of cloth that snapped in the air and briefly touched her arm.

She gasped.

Had that been someone attacking her she'd be dead now.

In all honesty, her mind had been elsewhere. Focused on her brother and Connaire and Jared. Focused on anything but the battle she should be participating in. Never in all her wildest dreams did Faelynn think that Ferynn would actually show up here. The man detested blood sports of any kind. He'd never allowed her entry into any other tournament and hated the fact that she went to The Citadel. She'd been able to justify that one to him, just enough to make sure he wouldn't beat her into a bloody pulp whenever she regaled Connaire with her stories of this fight lost and this fight won. Justified because if she made a mistake in those walls, she would live. If she made a mistake outside, in the real world, she would lose her life. Permanently. No snappy little monks to revive her out there.

Green-gold eyes wide, she watched that blur of white rush through the arena, metal flashing in the light of the sun as it streamed in through those tall windows. That flashed slashed down at each one of the contestants, attempting to end all of them. Each one except her. Why not her?

She thought back to the participants in her own cell and knew only one made had worn pure white clothes like that, clothes now stained red with blood. Some of which was most likely her own.

Josh.

Her stomach clenched tight, heart feeling as if a fist wrapped around it and squeezed to the point of breaking.

Josh had destroyed her in the first round. Absolutely destroyed her. How could she possibly fight him again? She had no more real tricks p her sleeve to deal with him. The flashbang had not worked, the doppelgangers had been ignored and her own ice had been turned back against her. Not that she'd known that one until she asked Jared exactly how she had died. She'd closed her eyes against the water, and in doing so had not seen the end when Josh had sent it at her.

The young thief watched, marvelling at his skill, as the warrior skidded to a halt upon the redwood tables, blade still clutched in his hand, the grand warrior as his kimono flapped around him. Then he did the last thing Fae would ever expect. He called her name.

Startled, Fae kicked herself into gear. She jumped up onto one of the tables, a flash of black as she went running towards the man. No way in hell would she let this opportunity pass her by. As she ran across the table, movement to her left caught Faelynn's eye. She looked down to see a woman, a Drow, notching an arrow, the point of which was aimed right at Cronen.

Oh no you don't! That's my man!

She ran passed the woman as if she didn't see her. Hand reaching back, she grabbed onto the shaft of Amalia and pulled it from it's sheathe. Instead of folding the weapon out she kept it short, in it's tow foot state. Then, tensing her legs, she pushed off the wood, jumped backwards. She flew high through the air, somersaulting and landing behind the woman in a crouch.

No words passed her lips, nothing needed to be spoken. With a firm grip, she thrust the sharpened point of Delyn straight at the woman's back. No hesitation this time. She'd learned from round one.

[Mage Hunter]

Aim was leveled and before she had a chance to fire she was spotted. Cursing her luck she kept the aim going, hoping that the girl would keep going and was rushing to distract the warrior, not to protect him. It was then she pushed off and Drusilia did the only thing she could, she loosed the arrow. Sending the arrow at her target she could only hope that she would provide the opening someone else could capitalize on. Hearing the form slam against the table behind her she began to pull herself forward using a stool.

The spear tip came rushing for her back and she winced slightly as she managed to get some distance, enough that it wouldn’t punch completely through the artic hide, but first blood was certainly the girls. She moved forward in a crouch and reached up unsheathing the blade upon her back before she turned to face the girl and shook her head, “Either you’re using magic or I’m already slowing down with old age. Either way I’m going to take you apart bit by bit for that one. I don’t like bleeding; it’s right up there with vomiting in my book.”

Bow was dropped with a clatter to the floor as she stood up to her full height and took a ready stance, holding the blade out to her side and watched the spear tip. Her eyes briefly darted over to the human male that had tried to eviscerate her. Trying to gauge the situation, she couldn’t tell what was going on with the human, not with a cursory glance, instead her attention snapped back to the girl as she moved her boot forward slowly and switched stance to bring the sword hilt up by her ear. He boot managed to catch the bow string and with a subtle shift of her foot, Drusilia managed to get her foot under the bowstring.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Can't compete with my magic? If you're a little worried I could tone it down for you." Fae said mockingly. She shifted her stance, brought her left foot behind her slightly and lunged at the woman's torso.

The girl was closing the distance with her spear before it was batted away contemptuously. Using the opportunity that had presented itself Drusilia kicked forward with her leading foot, sending the bow she had discarded towards the girl’s chest. She then slashed forward, using the momentum to hiss, “Oh no, use your parlor tricks. It’ll make this last long enough to be a good warm up to the others.”

[Abomination]

It happened so fast, Draug almost missed it. If he had not already started a sudden motion to attempt to find one of the other competitors, his neck would have been chopped off completely. Fortunately, the blade cut through his neck only partway, spraying blood onto the tables in front of him. He pressed his hands on the wound, taking a few steps back and choking.

That speed... Jensen? No, it was...

It took more than speed to make that attack, it took strength and a weapon Draug had never seen before. Blood poured out of his neck, but it soon stopped when his regeneration kicked in, a thin layer of flesh plugging up the leak. The wound was still bruised and tender to the touch, and for a while even a paper cut would open it back up again, but at least he was not losing all his blood anymore.

Before he could even figure out what happened, flying chunks of the tables flew at him. He shielded his body with his arms, having them grow to twice the thickness to absorb the hits. The first wood chunk crashed into him and shattered into smaller wood pieces and splinters, Draug's immense mass keeping him on his feet. It was not just the fact that the tables were flying, but the force used to throw them was astounding. He stretched out his arms and smashed them into a table, letting a few meters of the middle part be separated from the rest, and kicked it over on its side. He pressed it against the rest of the long table, using it as a shield against further debris from whoever was throwing them.

His arms reverted back to normal length and width, and the blood that stained his cloak started to dry. His attacker called out one of the others by name, and looking around Draug could only assume he was talking about the one competitor that was not attacked, although he may have been too far away to see most of them. The Abomination knew that he needed to improvise when dealing with speed demons, but there was also the concern that just like in the last chamber, at any moment they could coordinate an attack on him.

He sprinted from his wooden shield, getting closer to the action and seeing three of the competitors: An ice-encased man, a drow, and a human-looking woman. The table chunks were easier to avoid once he was on the move. Is he the one who attacked me? It was more likely than not, but Draug did not truly know about anyone he did not meet personally. His knowledge of the world boiled down to his personal experiences and anything his mother told him. He could not attack him directly, there was just too much he did not know. Although, if one of these women was the one he was talking about...

While running, he pulled two iron daggers out of his throat and threw one at each of the women. A sword then ripped through his right arm, covering it in blood, the handle stopping at his palm. He brought the sword out horizontal his body and then when he got close, he slashed at at the drow.

Iron dagger thrown at Mage Hunter. Iron dagger thrown at Reine. Steel sword slashing at Mage Hunter.

[Reine]

Her spear tip dipped towards the ground. The dull gleam of the Delyn absorbing the light of the sun rather than reflecting it. The metal never bit into the redwood of the tables though, instead Fae redirected the point and shifted the shaft of Amalia across her body. In the brief span of seconds though, her new opponent did not remain stationary. She shifted, her foot suddenly jerking up.

Fae expected a blow to her stomach.

Instead, a bow came flying at her.

The hardened wood slammed against the metal shaft of her spear, spun and clocked her right in the side of her face. Gasping, she stumbled back. Instead of catching her momentum, she allowed her feet to take her down.

Sorry, but I've been trained better than that.

Her back hit the table with a thud. Even expecting it, some of the air still rushed from her lungs in a whoosh that passed her slightly parted lips. Her arms took most of the weight from her fall and her one elbow smashed against the wood painfully, sending that damn tingling sensation of pain right up and across her whole left arm. Staring up, she saw the woman's blade slash through the air where she'd been standing only a second before. No one threw an object at another just for shits and giggles. They do it to distract them for the follow up.

As the reflecting arc of her blade cut through, so did something else. A dagger, an arrow, she didn't know. She only saw the brief flash and heard the thunk as it stuck into something off to her left. If she hadn't fallen back, she may have had two blade stuck in here.

Jared was not kidding when he called this place a glorified death trap.

On the ground, Faelynn knew she could be at a seriously disadvantage.

Could be.

Shifting, she placed one foot flat on the smooth surface of the long table, then pushed off and lashed out with her other foot directly towards the woman's knee. An iron spike sprouted from the iron tipped toe of her boot just before it would connect with the soft flesh that surrounded her knee cap. At that moment, she noticed another combatant enter her field of vision, but the man seemed far more focused on the Drow than on her. A sword, dripping crimson, went straight for the woman's chest.

Not losing her momentum, she rolled over the side of the table. Her body smashed into a couple of the stools, the padding not so comfortable when it gets shoved up ahainst squishy bits like her stomachand breasts. Grimacing, she dropped down onto the black and white linoleum floor.

*~*

“Wow, Fae certainly has improved.”

Ferynn glanced at Connaire, who was watching his little sister fight with abject interest. The kind of interest he just couldn't muster. His sister was down there fighting for her life. Sure, if she died the monks would revive her, but that didn't necessarily make this any less serious. Any one of those opponents would kill her in a most unpleasant manner while he was forced to watch and endure it, unable to do a thing to help her.

If someone held the point of a sword to him and forced him to answer honestly, he would say the same thing, though more articulately than Connaire put it. Fae had gotten better since last he'd seen her practising in the yard. The time spent in Lavinya must have done something for her skills then. Perhaps all the worrying he'd had over his sister being trained by the infamous Lavinian Demon had been for naught. He still didn't like knowing the man had a hand in anything she did though. He frequented pubs often enough to consider the man nothing more than a heartless killer. Why Faelynn idolized him was beyond his understanding. Most of what she did was beyond his understanding.

As Fae rolled under the table and out of his sight, Ferynn glanced at the man sitting next to him once more. The stranger had said nothing since they'd sat down, but his grey eyes followed Faelynn with an focus and intent beyond the other spectators. When someone made a catcall at her, the man's body tensed slightly, his mouth pulled down at the corners and he searched the crowd as if trying to discover who said it. If Ferynn had to take a random guess at it, he'd say this man knew his sister and quite well at that.

“So, which one are you cheering for?” Ferynn asked nonchalantly.

The man glanced at him, grey eyes searching his face for something that he clearly didn't find.

“Faelynn Thiadore.” He said, his eyes dancing between him and the fight, obviously not wishing to let his eyes leave Fae for too long while trying not to be overly rude.

“What a coinci—“

Ferynn jabbed Connaire in the gut to shut him up, then growled at the man. “Keep your mouth shut and watch the tournament.”

“Did you watch her in the first round? We missed it.”

The red head nodded and looked back down, still unable to see Faelynn. “She fought rather well, but not many people can survive Joshua Cronen...” He let the sentence trail off and Ferynn didn't need him to finish to get his meaning.

Cronen had killed his sister during the first round.

Interesting.

He couldn't wait until the man came in to his shop for his next purchase. He'd make it an extra special one, just for him.

[Breaker]

Terech Bodorson guffawed around a turkey leg as Cronen rushed past the other competitors, nearly beheading the Abomination. Watching the fleet-footed Breaker run circles 'round folk in training whilst lopping at them gently with a wooden sword was not quite the same. The dwarf sipped ale from a brass tankard to wash down his mouthful of roasted poultry. Grease spread from his lips and dripped down his beard. He'd chosen a seat in the last row of spectator's tables, which stood atop wooden risers and gave him the height he needed for a full view. He spotted Jake and Stacia threading between tables and stools toward him and waved a broad hand, feeling the sting of air rushing past his wounded thumb. Bodorson grinned and sucked at the cut as Jake took the stool next to his, but Stacia hesitated, hands pressed to her stomach.

"I am for a walk around the castle grounds, not more bloodshed." She said faintly. Jake rose to join her but she stopped him half-way up and leaned on his shoulders 'till he sat again. "You cheer for Josh in my place," she told him, and then strode smartly away, face turned from the gory chamber.

The dwarf and the half elf said farewell and then craned their necks, looking toward the end of the long arena. Chaos reigned.



Breaker had sundered the two middlemost tables at the ends of the six redwood rows, carving out a space with no cover. Come at me, he urged the strange construct that limped toward him, losing energy where Rythadine had opened its leg. There's nowhere to hide out here. He noted Faelynn's scuffle with the drowess long before the arrow was loosed - his keen ears had caught the Aleraran's intended whisper through the melee. But with the two female combatants in close quarters, he could do little to assist Fae.

The arrow arced his way, and Josh pretended not to see it, deflecting the shaft with a casual movement of his greatsword. The arrowhead panged off the broad blade and he started as if shocked, and then flung his arms wide. Rays of sunlight reflected off Rythadine's lengthy double edges as his armor peeled away like the first layer of a frosted onion. A collective gasp issued from the closest section of the crowd. They had realized what composed his armor.

One hundred icy flechette darts, each a pound in weight and as strong as steel. Their bodkin heads and razor flanges weaved into an intricate pattern like a bulky version of elven mail. But as the dagger-sized missiles unfurled around him, their true form could not be mistaken. Forty of the hundred darts occupied the air around him, splitting between two V formations like migratory birds.

Within the chilled confines of his remaining icy armor, Breaker stood absolutely still. The armor moved around him as he commanded it, but with so many sharp edges it would be difficult to avoid spilling his own blood. He brought Rythadine in front of him laterally and used the blade's reflection to check for unseen threats at his back. The woman whose name the sword bore had watched his back as well. Josh and Kristina had fought shoulder to shoulder in the Salvic Civil War, bringing their bare hands to battles against rioters armed with sword and spear. He saw his own wry smirk in Rythadine's reflection, the smile that brought Y shaped scars to his cheeks where dimples once existed. They had been young and reckless, proud enough of their unarmed prowess to rush in headlong against magic and metal. Breaker had taken a stern lesson from his time in Salvar. Bring the tool that will finish your enemy fastest. If he'd learned that sooner, Kristina might have been watching him compete that day.

Although his initial sprinting assault had barely served to slow his enemies down, Josh's swift strikes had broken the initial tension of the melee. He saw flickers of movement as Fae crawled beneath the tables, utilizing her stealth as she had in the first round. Just stay down a bit longer Fae... He thought as he fired forty flechettes at two targets, choosing the combatants who had moved to attack him.

The first V formation shot straight toward the limping construct like twenty arrows from twenty bows. They stayed in their aerodynamic cluster until the moment before impact and then spread suddenly, aiming to stab or shred the strange creature from hips to head.

The second score of darts demanded more of Cronen's attention. He arced them just beneath the Mystic ceiling, sending twenty points down at the drowess from above like a hail of miniature javelins. Josh concerned himself mostly with driving the bodkin points into the drowess' body and head, but also paid some mind to not hitting the Abomination. The thing's throat had already re-grown a layer of skin over its fearsome wound, and based on the alchemy Josh could see built into it like arcane clockwork, it would heal with equal ease from ordinary flechette damage. Best not to anger that beast until I'm close enough to cut it in half, he noted, preferably far away from Fae.

The former Sheriff of Underwood - the Ixian Knights' new chief investigator - turned and flicked his sword at the crowd. Blood from two creatures spattered the mystic barrier, and the onlookers roared their approval.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen’s feet were about to pass out of the stonework flooring onto the dirt road leading out of the castle. His weapons were loaded, locked, and primed ready to be thrown, shoved, and slashed into flesh. All he needed was his target and as leader of the Wetworks team he had his prime choice in mind. With Draug fighting in the Cell there was no better opportunity to go after her than right this moment. She would be helpless without that freak show to protect her. However, all his plans were placed on hold when he felt a sharp tingle in his mind, a polite cough within his own mind. Jensen paused, foot held in mid-step, and waited.

You cannot go, Sei thought to his Captain. Jensen snorted in mirth, lowering his foot back to the stone floor. Draug cannot be allowed to advance after what he did.

“Don’t you have your new boy toy Joshua Cronen on the case?” Jensen muttered to the air, knowing fully well Sei would hear him. There was silence for a moment and Jensen continued. “Oh come on, we all read his profile. The guy has titanium butt cheeks and the strength of a mountain and the speed of a cheetah that smoked the good stuff from Aislinn’s private stash. If he can’t handle the Cult’s Champion then perhaps the hype was all for not.”

Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Jensen.

“Nobody said the word jealousy!” Jensen shouted, making a guard near him flinch awake from his perch. “Nobody was thinking that, you fairy bastard!”

I’m starting to think it is, Sei ’chuckled’ in Jensen’s mind. The reality is a little more clear than that. Joshua may be able to take care of himself, but I’m afraid of what damage he can wreck among the combatants.

“The dude is a narcissistic ass-twat with a god complex the size of the chip on his shoulder. No thanks, Sei.” Jensen felt his mind tingle a little, as if the mute was debating on causing harm, but he spoke instead.

Sound like anyone we know? Jensen was about to reply, but one look at the guard whom's slack jawed face spoke of his great confusion and the immortal nodded. He turned with a grin as wide as his face would allow, his giggles coming through. Of course it reminded the knight of someone; he was just too modest to admit it about himself.

“Alrighty, Sei, I’ll jump back into the fray. But you owe me one.”

I arranged Draug in the same cell room with you so you could have a second go. Jensen nodded.

“And I thank you, but you got one thing you have to do” Jensen said, his words carefully being articulated. The mute remained quiet and Jensen spoke with the deadliest of intent. “I want one twice baked potato ready for me, you got that?”

There was a pause as Jensen held himself back from entering into the chamber again, watching as Joshua grabbed tables and moved like the wind, chucking them with ease and then turning into an icy porcupine. The drow was pinned down and assaulted by Draug and some chick, and the immortal noticed a hobbling construct limping after the personification of perfection. He remained stationary for a long time, before Jensen watched a guard lift a bake potato from the audience chamber, placing it within a silver tray and closing a dome lid. With wet lips he ran his tongue down his lips, wiping the drool free and he let out a riotous clamor laughter and noise.

He moved swiftly, all his speed born into his run as he pushed the wind around him to increase his run. His switchblade sword lifted into his hand, and with ease he hurtled over tables, rolling along the oaken wood letting food stain his jacket, the whips of his weighted coat snapping on dishes and cracking them. He kept his momentum all the way up and located a fallen piece of cake. He purposely stepped his boots into the cake, running on the very tip of his toes. When the timing was right he used the icing as a lubricant, sliding on the linoleum flooring all the way to stop before the mage hunter, blocking Draug’s weapon with his own, slamming his face into his so only the two could match eyes.

“Hey cupcake,” Jensen spoke, his laughter slow and demented. “Got your fancy shoes and dress on right? Cause I’m taking you through a ball room blitz!”

((Jensen blocked Abomination’s attack, back exposed to the two ladies and the icy porcupine. Control of Jensen is allowed))

[Herald of the Tempest]

Vyrabond was at the mercy of the heathen gods now. With his limp from the attack prior, the follow up ice dart was all the more elementary in its follow up. He had fought valiantly before, but in this room full of those who defied the natural laws he was but a paper tiger in front of a tornado. When the darts changed trajectory at the last moment, he felt his chest erupt with fires the size of needles all over. He couldn’t scream, for he was a mute, but oh did he pray he could. He staggered backwards, arms uselessly hung to his side as he dropped to the floor knees first, then to his face.

The crowd cheered to see the construct get dissected like a tin can by this behemoth of strength and skill. Every attempt to make momentum had landed the Kron’tyr in a world of agony and disoriented. His talons scraped the floor, dragging them through the food and scrapping the wooden chunks of table, ignoring the soaring warrior who flew over his head sliding on cake frosting towards the Cult Champion. He willed himself to stand, shaking, wobbly digits gripping the bench and pulling him to his feet again. His chest heaved and the warrior’s rasping breath came from locked up processors. His sympathetic nodes worked to make the Kron’tyr mimic pain, and this was the best it could offer.

Limping, chest torn, and barely able to stand he rose again. Many audience members cheered, gawking at the construct and pointing pudgy fingers, their lips covered in grease from fatty food. It was hard to look menacing when you were being dismantled with ease by a chosen champion. He had no leg to stand on, literally, and the intimidation he had - if any- was gone. But he cared not for petty insults of the portly crowd nobles. None of the jeers and cheers to see him ended phased him. Vyrabond knew he wasn’t an elite warrior, nor a crafty one. He was merely an observer; a scout. To waste their talents on him was a waste of their time. In some small way he had gained victory with that.

But he wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. Like a zombie he began to shuffle towards the one who the crowd called ‘Joshua’ with their mantra like chanting of his name. His talons lifted to the ready, and he aimed to attempt to cut this bazaar man one way or another.

((Doing the truffle shuffle towards Breaker))

[Breaker]

The cries and chants of the crowd echoed down the sprawling mess hall. Blood painted the floor and magical walls of the Felicity Chamber. The smells of foods rich, savory and sweet mingled with the rank odor of approaching death.

Jake Narmolna picked at his bowl of spinach-and-apple salad topped by roasted turkey. Ordinarily the tasty harvest meal would have vanished down his gullet faster than Breaker could quarter a table, but Jake was unused to dining amidst carnage. He could handle the two individually, but could not fathom how Master Bodorson managed to sit there supping on roasted flesh while lacerated flesh showered the linoleum below.

"Hahar," Bodorson laughed, seeing the half elf's pale pallor, "durin' the first round ye' were complainin' about a lack of bloodshed lad. Is this too much now?" The dwarf chortled while shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth, somehow not inhaling any of the buttered delicacy.

"I thought there might be a break for dinner at least," Jake retorted, forcibly loading up his fork and depositing the food in his mouth. Chewing made him remember the way Josh's flechettes had shredded the obsidian-skinned construction, and he swallowed the mouthful half-masticated.

"Nay, 'tis like the good ol' days again," Bodorson laughed, spraying the frothy ale he wore like a second moustache, "they don't stop the battlin' for nothin'." He took a bite of turkey with great gusto and watched intently as the combatants below fought and jockeyed for position.



Breaker almost lost himself to the beauty of battle. He trained as often as he could with warriors and wizards of every discipline and order. He faced their might and called for more, and pressed them all to exhaustion. The hallowed halls of the Citadel and Dajas Pagoda knew his name well. The challenge drove him and he enjoyed the pain of each lesson and the pride of each triumph. The death-defying magic of the Ai'Brone monks made the fighting even more visceral. Competitors laid their lives on the line and rolled the dice, hoping a friendly figure showed in the pips. Every step was their great struggle, every attack potentially their last.

It seemed so with the construct that limped toward him. The creature's slow, determined pace reminded Josh of the zombie he'd beheaded in the Ella Chamber with a flying clothesline. But this was no wight; its strange stony skin crackled with power to Cronen's eyes, not unlike the alchemy laced into the Abomination. Someone crafted this beast for a terrible purpose, he thought, best to send it back to its maker.

Some undercooked rice lodged in the tread of his black boots crunched as Breaker stepped to his left. The segmented icecraft armor that surrounded him billowed open like a cape and rose toward the ceiling. It hovered shy of the magical barrier, a writhing mass of flechettes waiting to unleash. Breaker stepped left again, bringing Rythadine up defensively between his red belted waist and the advancing Herald. He planted both feet next to an intact table and activated the enchantment that adhered his boots to the ground. His feet warmed comfortingly as he stabilized despite the slippery mixture of blood and fruit juice on the floor.

The Herald lifted its talons into a sudden manic attack.

Breaker was ready for it. Even the construct's soulless eyes seemed to show desperation, and he'd seen that same burst of energy in a hundred battles before. That final flow of life force that told them you can take down a legend. He'd felt the same thrill when he snapped Teric Bloodrose's sword arm in the Cell tourny two years past. The old mercenary had been a longtime Grandmaster of the Dajas Pagoda, and overcoming the renowned swordsman with only his physical skills had earned Joshua a place of honor in the hearts of many spectators. But shortly after that moment of glory the wrath of the Cell consumed him, and he had learned from his mistakes following months of denial.

Those who fought for glory often lost. Breaker fought to win, and the fighting was his glory.

Rythadine's prevaldia edge swept up and blocked both of the Herald's talons. Cronen removed one hand from the dehlar hilt, reached between the construct's arms and grasped its throat.

Breaker powered upward and his boots released their grip as he pivoted through a puddle of pink mush. He turned and chokeslammed the creature through the table he'd guided them to.

He backed into the empty space he'd carved out with a defensive swing of Rythadine's broad blade. Bodorson was right to insist I call her a lady, he mused as the greatsword hummed through sun-spotted air, this is like dancing with a partner at a harvest feast.

Herald approved the chokeslam bunny.

[Abomination]

Several Ixian knights stood guard behind the barrier, keeping the audience from causing a riot. A man walked by one of them toward the seats which made one of the knights flinch. The man's mere presence made the knight feel uneasy, but he chalked it up to the terror that was occurring inside the chamber. The man sat down at one of the seats, chicken leg in hand. After a few moments, the knight decided that maybe this newcomer was worth investigating, so he walked over to where the man sat down, but he was gone already.

"You!" Draug spat. "I didn't know they let headless corpses advance." The Abomination pushed in, and knowing the difference in their strength, Jensen jumped back and landed on top of a table.

Jensen smiled, "If you want to get rid of me for good, you'll have to do better than that!" He jumped down and slashed at Draug, who met blade with blade once more, deflecting the Immortal's switchblade and sending the Ixian hopping back into a defensive position. He was feeling the monster out, getting into his groove.

The dance continued, Draug's eyes following Jensen's movement with added sharpness, the Immortal's blade meeting neither flesh nor bone. After just one fight, Draug was this different? Jensen could tell that he still held the speed advantage, and Draug knew that as well as he attempted no counter-attack, no powerful swings that exposed him to Jensen's agile strikes. As the tinging sound of the blades resounded throughout the chamber, Jensen couldn't help but notice that every few seconds, Draug glanced at the other competitors, especially one in particular.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but your opponent is right here!" Jensen said, beating his chest with his free hand.

Draug gave him a dissatisfied look, "I don't want to spoil my appetite for the main course." The threats on Jensen's family and friends were one thing, but this was another. Jensen felt a different type of rage, the kind he hadn't felt since William Arcus tied him up and left him to die over and over again.

"Are you calling me an appetizer?!" Jensen yelled, his expression hard to verify as he alternated between maniacal glee and rage incarnate.

He jumped forward, but didn't swing at Draug, instead keeping his blade held forward in a defensive position. Draug did not know what to make of this defensive charge, but if he acted too late then Jensen could easily get in his face and skewer him, so he swung down at the Immortal, which is just what Jensen was waiting for. The Ixian dodged the attack, jumping sideways in a corkscrew fashion, and slicing into Draug's sword arm, which sprayed blood all over the Immortal. The Abomination felt the pain, his nerves disconnected as the blade reached all the way to the bone, and he lost his grip on the sword, letting it fall to the ground. Jensen landed and attempted a follow-up attack, but a couple arms from Draug's back tried to grab him and forced Jensen to back off once again.

The Cult's Champion grabbed his wounded arm with his left, squeezing hard to merge the flesh back together. The nerves connected right away, but the muscles would take a few minutes longer to twist together. He grunted, again feeling that he needed to assimilate Jensen in order to keep up with his speed. Moving to one of the tables, he lifted one of the segments with his left hand and ran at the Immortal, swinging the table in a wide arc. All of the leftover food flew off the table, with the audience being subjected to rice, beans, and peas hitting the barrier. Jensen backed up, trying to figure out what Draug's game was. With the two arms on the Abomination's back, trying to get around him was fruitless, and this new weapon made frontal attacks more difficult as well, as Draug could swing the table just as fast as his sword.

"If you want to take me out to lunch," Jensen said. "Just ask!"

Draug's grip on the table was so strong that his fingers were digging into the wood, nearly meeting his thumb on the other side. He realized something: If Catherine is here... that means they think it's safe for her to be in the heart of Ixian territory. She's somehow undetected, which means...

In another seat all the way on the other side of the chamber a mile away, Jebb Remi bit into the chicken leg and remarked, "That's better. I couldn't see anything from over there."