The Emma Chamber

[Silence Sei]

The participants in this chamber include:

Mage Hunter
Amber Eyes
Gold
Resolve
Herald of the Tempest
Aurelianus Drak'shal
Cicilix

The bloodbath starts Monday, September 30th at 12:01AM Central Standard Time.

Heaven or Hell? Let's Rock!

[Silence Sei]

He stood in his tower, an orange and blue throne made especially for him on this day. His blue orbs pierced the soon to be blood soaked battlefield with the precision of a hawk. This was ‘Silence’ Sei Orlouge’s first time hosting The Cell, a tournament he did not care for in, yet participated in several times. He knew somewhere out in one of these three chambers, there would be a single warrior who would rise above it all. Eight people would enter the arena, yet only the three best amongst them would advance. The Cell was bloody, inhumane, and morbid to no end. Yet, The Cell was a staple in Corone, and since the Ixian Knights had seized the country, Sei had been advised to let the people continue as if there had been no Ixian War. It was ironic; a bloody battle simply laid the groundwork for a bloody tournament.

The Emma Chamber, named for the most physically gifted of Sei’s daughters, was a medium sized arena. Roughly three hundred feet in diameter, and literally at the Ixian Castle front door, or more precisely, the courtyard. As opposed to the Anita Chamber, the Emma Chamber was rife with blades of grass, dew drops from the previous night slowly evaporating in the mid-day sun. To the south was a large wooden gate, fully repaired since the attack on the Castle months ago, and reinforced with prevalida steel locks. The locks were furiously shifting from a white light to a black light, prevalida’s way of determining magic, and the type of element used for it. In this case, it was reading the invisible dome that would encase the combatants, created by the Mystics of Chateau and Orlouge Drantrak.

To the naked eye, the dome was just an invisible barrier, but to those with a strong gift of magic, the energies formed from the mixture of light and dark were all too apparent. It was as if tiny storms surrounded the warriors on this otherwise bright and sunny day. A crowd had formed around the barrier, blankets laid about upon the grass and children running around playing before the festivities began. To these people, such a dark tournament was the norm in Corone, and it was up to the Ixian Knights to maintain that peace.

Aside from the front gate, the combatants were surrounded by four walls, the west and south walls covered with moss and grime, while the east and north walls were completely rebuilt, brand new. The fighters would never reach these walls, not unless one of them had such an amazing power that they could break through the barrier with their abilities. Considering almost every Mystic from the villages were here, however, such a thing seemed nigh impossible.

Sei looked at his chart, his eyes going over the names of the combatants involved within this chamber. And though he only recognized two of the names on the list, he had heard tales of the others exploits. Aurelianus Drak’Shal was a demon who worked for whoever paid him the best coin. His loyalty was to himself, and he had been a forerunner for the winner of the Lornius Corporate Championship. He was vicious, unforgiving, and overall one of the greatest dangers within the Emma Chamber.

Sei had encountered the woman known as Resolve, also a participant in the Lornius Corporate Championship. If he recalled correctly, the dark skinned girl had to rely much more on her companion than she did her own abilities. Sei had technically ‘killed’ the girl a couple of times during their fight, though most of the time it was the work of illusions. His trickery would prove to be her most valuable asset in this close quarter’s combat arena.

Timothy Gold was said to not be from this world. Sei’s experience with otherworldly travels made the mute weary of his barrier. If Timothy possessed half of the technology many of the foreigners the Mystic had encountered did, he would easily be able to dispel the magic with some form of technology or another. However, the stories about Timothy described more of a man out of place than a super genius. Perhaps it was a ruse to lull people into a false sense of security. The Mystic crossed his arms and pursed his lips to the side. The Cell would determine which kind of person Timothy was.

Drusilia Liadon was a name Sei had heard long ago. She was one of the Dawn Bringers, an elite task force that had taken down the powerful wizard Xem’Zund. It was said that even Sei’s power would have been miniscule in comparison to the evil necromancers. This was a woman that many of the Mystic’s old friends trusted with their lives, and for good reason. She would definitely be someone to keep an eye out for.

There was definitely something off about the thing known as Vyrabron. First off, Sei could not get a read on the constructs mind, almost as if he did not act of his own will. Secondly, the gender of Vyrabron was very hard to specify. Sei’s mind had danced with the possibility of some sort of golem sent to take out the Ixian Knights, but not even the strongest military force in the world would send out a solitary person to what the entire Corone Imperial Force could not. Something about Vyrabron spelled trouble for the other members, and it left the mute a bit queasy to think about.

Cicilix Tailor was a complete mystery to the telepath. It seemed she had just come up out of nowhere (a racist stereotype, as she was part dwarf). Sei figured that the girl had entered the tournament by mistake, or was looking for some answers that only combat could provide. Had the Mystic been a competitor rather than the Grand Master this year, he could easily guess that his entire fight would be spent pushing people back from Cicilix. Perhaps that was why it worried the Mystic so that Kyla Orlouge’s name was also on the list for this arena.
Finally, Kyla Orlouge, the Mystic Mother, the Lethal Lioness, the Captain of the Ixian Knights Reformation Project. She was Sei’s daughter, the only one of the four the Mystic would even let participate. Of course, the girl would have been even more motivated to enter the tournament if Sei had told her that she could not, so his blessing was inevitable. She was powerful, strong enough to make it to the quarter-finals of the Serenti Invitational, and clever enough to outfox the more physically fit members of the Ixian Knights. Kyla was the one Sei had pegged for the winner of her chamber, though this was probably due to his parental biased rather than his strategic mind.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Sei spoke into the minds of the competitors as the sun began to shine directly overhead, symbolizing that it had turned noon, “Let the games begin! Have fun, and most importantly, may all of your attacks be super effective!”

[Herald of the Tempest]

A wet noise echoed in the dark lit chamber. It sounded like organs falling out of a sack, the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal in a grating fashion. The ground reverberated the steady dripping of liquid, dropping in a staccato beat upon a stone floor. Long ago the screams had stopped. There wasn’t many to begin with, and all that was left was the macabre silence rife with the oozing noise of flesh being manipulated.

Vyrabron watched the blood on the floor pool, his illuminated green eyes glowing with curiosity. The flesh of the lesser races was a weak substance, easily cut into and destroyed. It was harder to repair than his Kron’tyr armor, gifted by the almighty Storm Lord, Herald of the Tempest, long may his reign live. His synthetic alloy would not be so easily cut, so easily exposed for the weakness it truly was. Perhaps his distaste of the flesh was why he enjoyed cutting it. The scythed fingertips he could call upon like hawk talons were the perfect tool to slit throats in neat lines.

The construct of the Kron’tyr loaded the protocols of his mission parameters. To study the military might of the world, the Storm Lord needed to see them in action. The Corone war showed the only threat to the Legion of the Undying King were the Ixian Knights. They were disciplined, organized, and with a powerful ruler. However, after research and skin walking infiltration missions, he had learned they were susceptible to underhanded tactics employed by the crude group known as the Cult of Blessed Torture. The rest of the world though had aces in the hole, or warriors who owed no allegiance to one faction. To study them was at first thought a highly improbable task.

That was until the lesser races made it easy.

The Cell was an event to test the might of many warriors all across the world. A place to showcase their talents in a bloody handed melee. This presented the perfect opportunity for the Kron’tyr to learn of their enemies. Thus, his primary mission engagement was simple: Survive within the Cell for as long as possible, and study the warriors within.

When the time came, he moved out into the light, his body only wearing half the flesh of a drunken fool who thought Vyrabond was easy prey for a mugging. His scythed fingers clawed reflexively near his torso,
and the construct looked to the sun, pointing to the storm clouds in the far off distance.

Vyrabond could not smile, for he had no mouth that was movable. He could make no noise, for he was a mute, some strange damage to his vocal subroutine disabling him. He had no real emotions, for he was a construct; his soul a shallow remainder of what once was a proud Kron’tyr warrior.

Yet deep down, within the chasm of his black heart, the soulless construct smiled, laughing menacingly at the prospect to do harm in glorious battle.

[Resolve]

I have exchanged bunnying privileges with Aure and Amber.

The exorcist entered the Emma Chamber with as much purpose as she could muster under the after-fog of too grand an evening. By some sort of miracle, the hangover gods had deigned mercy that fateful morning, and Resolve suffered only minimally. Mild disgruntlement made itself apparent as she squinted in the harsh noon sun, but even if she couldn't be the bright-eyed, bushy-tailed competitor she'd hoped, she could fake it well enough. In her cropped sari, she bared enough skin that she may have even looked foolish to some. But she felt fierce, and it showed in her prowl.

Resolve did her best to ignore the throng of spectators and the overbearing presence of the castle, instead focusing her attention to the barrier and the battlefield beyond that. The hair prickled on her neck as she stepped through the strange storm of mystic magic and, after many long days of anxious anticipation, she entered the Cell.

Deja vu hit hard. The dewy grass under her boots, plush and welcoming, reminded her of the first field at the Lornius Corporate Challenge. But this time, she sighed with relief, her opponents didn't contain any surprises. Her friends remained safe at home, arch nemesis blessedly placed in another chamber, and she could concentrate properly on the task at hand: to kick some asses.

The girl did her best to ignore the heat of the sun as she looked over the others, strange creature and armored huntress alike. The trickle of intimidating figures might have cowed her, but through the hazy memories of the prior evening, Resolve recognized one: a wiry fellow in blade-ridden leather, with a blood red mohawk and a peculiar cockiness which begged for a kick in the teeth. He seemed to recall her in turn, his brow rising wryly upon her blatant stare.

She lifted her own in insinuation, drew her gaze along the other opponents who'd gathered, and flicked it back to him. They exchanged a wink and a grin.

It was set.

The girl wasn't sure what inspired her to trust someone she barely remembered meeting, but the bits and bobs her memory betrayed seemed positive. They'd both had their eye on the same woman during the pub crawl. Instead of clashing, it had led to a shared round of drinks. Then another. And maybe something about arm wrestling…?

Resolve blinked, took a deep breath, and smoothed the vibrant crimson fabric coiled securely around her lean frame. Fingers ran over the white etchings on her bared torso, then lingered at her belt where her single visible weapon –– a simple, steel short sword –– hung on display. Her attempt to gauge the rest of the competitors fell short when Sei's familiar "voice" rang loud through their minds in silent symphony. Lips pursed as she remembered the first time she met him, the frustration and defeat she experienced at his hands. She absolutely refused to let her mistakes from the LCC follow her here. She'd be better this time.

"––may all of your attacks be super effective!"

It had begun before she was ready, forcing her to think fast. She couldn't let herself fall into a reactionary trap. She had to move constantly to gain offensive momentum, to win.

Resolve sidestepped toward her unlikely partner, arm lifted as a wispy ball of raw energy materialized and crackled within her palm. Feeling a bit on the edgy side, she had difficulty containing herself from throwing it toward whoever glanced her way first.

[Mage Hunter]

“I should have known better,” The words moved through the area as Drusilia moved to the edge of the bubble. She didn’t need to open up her ability to sense magical auras to feel it. The nausea that pervaded her told her of the powerful magical spell nearby. With a sigh she carefully pulled the titanium sword from the sheath at her back and carefully stabbed it into the ground. It was then that she double checked the straps on her armor.

This was her first public appearance since the death of Xem’zund at least a few years back now. She knew she was delaying stepping through the sphere, but she needed to ready herself for what was to pass. At least she had the forethought to stick to hard tack and water before the battle, in a ritual as old as when she would go on the road with Godhand Striker. That man had taught her much about what her purpose in this world would be. She was a mercenary now; she couldn’t afford to think she would be picked up by anyone. In fact coming to Corone was in and of itself a foolish notion. She was after all wanted for the death of Duke Gallen Cormyr, back when in her rage fueled killing spree she had murdered and killed many innocent people.

Now that she was on the other side of the rage she knew to attribute it to what it truly was, a childish temper tantrum. Now she was slightly more mature, but even she knew better than to assume she was so much better a person simply because she had matured a little. It was one of the few traits her former mentor liked, and she was loathe to disregard it. Looking upon the others as they made their way in she reached up and pulled her hair into a taut ponytail, before using a simple leather cord to tie it.

She closed her eyes as she set her will, preparing for the roughest part of this entire fight. She should have known the Cell wouldn’t be a physical barrier. Each year had proven more and more destructive, it was only a matter of time before they would have used magical means of containing the combatants. When “Silence” Sei Orlouge, a renowned tactician and magic wielder, was the man to run the event this year, she should have known. Truly it was foolish to think something other than magic was going to be containing the combatants. Though the idea that they would erect the barrier after she entered could have safely been assumed, she did not expect to be walking through the barrier into the fight.

“Now I’m just stalling,” the words were for herself. They were the vocalization of what she knew in her heart. This was not going to be an easy fight, and with the first hurdle thrown before her, she knew she would need every advantage she could claw for. Finally she looked down at the blade sticking in the dirty before her. It had been awhile since she had wielded it against the living, but she could almost see the spot where Godhand had shoved her off his blade and put a deep furrow into her blade. She was fond of that blade, even as it had saved her life when she dueled Nialon Sunscar. Then again borrowing the Mercenary’s anti magical sheath had probably allowed her a chance in that fight, given the odd magic Nialon used.

“Still stalling,” She muttered.

Gripping the hilt of the weapon she finally pulled it from the dirt, heft the blade with familiarity. It was her friend nowadays, or at least the closest to one she had since Godhand died. She moved towards the barrier and took a steadying breath. She could almost see the barrier before her now, the distortion it produced. She could feel the animalistic fear and merely shook her head before she took that step…

Two things happened simultaneously. The first being that a shimmering white light flashed about the Mage Hunter and for a brief moment the barrier weakened ever so slightly. The second was that she stumbled forward a step into the cell and puked up her breakfast, the hardtack and water she had treated herself to. Carefully wiping the bile on the back of her gauntlet she sighed before she muttered, “Well that was better than expected…”

[Gold]

Timothy looked up at the wall. Specifically, to the clock that told the time and date in Althanas. It was time for The Cell to start, which he had decided to enter in order to test his skills. He looked back at where the spinning blue portal he had been making for the last hour stood. It was finally complete and would stay that way till either he walked through it or he closed it. He then grabbed his survival sack from the blood read couch, sheathed all his weapons save the Short Sword and bladed shield, then called to Maroon. "It is time to go. I will only be able to teleport us outside the barrier that is placed over the arena. There I will have to leave you to enter the arena. You will watch me won't you?"

Maroon came around the corner. She wore a maroon travel dress that Sorish had picked up for her in the Tailors Dimension. Who knew there was a dimension full of tailors who will make clothing for free. To bad they didn't make armor. Maroon's strait maroon hair reached her lower back. Her maroon eyes looked worried for him but they also told him that she supported all his decisions. "Of course I will. Why else would I go to such a blood bath. I really don't see why you would choose to join when you are such a pacifist."

Timothy stood in his black long sleeve polo shirt and black jeans. His oval shaped face looked young, but his silver eyes spoke of knowledge and wisdom that came to a veteran of life. With all his weapons on his hips you would think him a trier of many weapons, however, each weapon he holds, he has mastered. On his right hip a long sword and broad sword sat sheathed. On his left was his rapier and the sheath for his short sword which he held in his right hand. On his right arm sat a shield that had a razor sharp edge to it. He was ready for anything.

"Well," Timothy said as he tried to keep a serious face, "a man has to challenge himself sometime my dear."

Maroon just shook her head before she walked through the portal. Timothy laughed as he too walked through the portal. Once on the other side they saw the crowed. luckily they had teleported to the the top of the wall that surrounded the courtyard. As soon as they left the portal it just faded into oblivion.

Maroon turned back to Timothy and kissed him full on the lips for a second. "Be safe my love." She then sat on the edge of the wall as Timothy jumped down through the top of the magical dome into the courtyard where the battles were to take place.

[Cicilix]

Still outside the magical barrier a small girl was nervously walking back and forth while looking into the chamber every other second. Even though she tried her best to not let her nervousness show she failed miserably with it. She had been pacing like this for almost half an hour now, wiping her sweaty hands on her pants every now and then. She knew that she would have to enter the round fighting area soon. And she wasn't looking forward to it.

“Oh my god... Why did I ever agree to do this...” she mumbled to herself, her voice full of bitter regret.

The fact was that it was her stupid pride that had gotten in her way again. She had been at home in Scara Brae, enjoying a nice evening in a tavern with some friends when they had met this strange man. He had seemed nice enough at first and had shared several drinks with them. But then he had mentioned something called 'the Cell'. Cicilix cursed the moment she had been stupid enough to ask him what it was. Of course he had taken the opportunity to tease the girl for her lack of knowledge about it. And if there was one thing in this world that could make her truly angry it was that. The whole thing had almost turned into a fight when the man had flashed a grin and suggested that he take her with him and enter the Cell for herself. In her anger, and the fact that she had had a few too many drinks, she had agreed.

And now here she was, about to enter a fighting tournament with skilled fighters. The man that had taken her here had conveniently disappeared as soon as they got here and thus she was all alone.

Suddenly she stopped in her track, stomped her foot in the ground and clenched her fists. She was determined to show him that she had what it took to enter this. As she turned towards the barrier and took a few steps forward all her nervousness ran off her and she couldn't help but let a small smile find its way to her lips.

As she walked into the area she draw her dagger, held her head up high and then swallowed hard as she looked around at the others who had already entered. Her confidence completely flew away again but this time she didn't let it show as much. Instead she stood still, just inside the barrier, and looked at each of the others with a look somewhere between fear and curiousness.

They sure looked like they all knew how to fight. They also all looked absolutely terrifying to the young girl. She couldn't help but to think that they would be able to crush her without any effort at all.

But even though Cicilix had probably never been this scared in her whole life one should never underestimate her stubbornness. Once she had set her mind to something she was going to do it, no matter what. And she was going to do this.

“I will show them. I will show them that I am fit for this thing. I don't care what it will cost me.”

Somewhere in the back of her head she just hoped that it wouldn't cost her her life.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Once again, Aurelius found himself inside a cage.

The tiefling glanced overhead, his serpentine eyes marking the magical barrier surrounding the arena, disliking the feeling of being boxed in. Still, this place was a pleasant little vision of Heaven compared to his home-city. He rapped a knuckle against the dome keeping the combatants in their areas. Solid. He'd expected nothing less. A cursory glance at the tiny tempests raging inside the barrier spoke of the power poured into creating and maintaining it. Maybe the chant on this "Silence Sei" wasn't all bollocks, as the warlock suspected. From what he'd heard, this Sei bloke was one of the scariest mutes in all Althanas. And his group, these so called 'Ixian Knights', held a lot of sway in Corone. This was the perfect opportunity for the insurrectionist to get a look at their stronghold, their numbers.. their leader..

He idly drew in another lungful of smoke from the hand-rolled cigarette dangling loosely between his lips, turning his mind back to the task at hand - waiting for the soon-to-be-deaders to start filing in. Like lambs to the slaughter, he mused, a predator's grin splitting his face. Kneeling at the far edge of the arena, arms rested carefully on his bladed knees, the half-demon glanced around and once again wondered what madness had possessed him to come back to Corone of all places.

The Coronian Armed Forces already had wanted posters of him dotted about after his antics in the Citadel a few months back, and he hadn't exactly done wonders for his reputation in Serenti either..

But the answer, as always with the hedonistic deviant, was simple; it was a chance to pen bodies in the dead-book, and get all sorts of goodies for doing it. And if he was nothing else, Aurelianus was a natural born killer.

His cold gaze wandered over the assembled crowds - various stablehands and other labourers here at Ixian Castle - gathered to watch the bloodbaths that were to ensue. Well, wouldn't want to disappoint 'em now, would we? he smirked, running his forked, black tongue over his fangs. The other competitors began to arrive, and Drak'shal took to his feet, right hand resting casually on the demon-hide grip of one of his Baatorian knives. The other hung at his side, ready to unleash any of his invocations on command. But before he made his first move, he wanted a chance to study what he was up against. It was never smart to leap blindly into the fray. And while he may not have been much for forward planning, he wasn't an idiot.

The plane-touched watched them as they came, trying to decide who would be a threat, and who could be ignored; the man dropping from above, wearing all manner of weapon; the nervous little chit who looked like she was one step away from pissing herself; the knife-ears with the ebony skin. Aurelius did a double-take at her. He'd seen "black" people, of course. But this girl, her skin was actually coal-black. Then again, he realised, running a hand over his quill-mohawk, he wasn't in any position to judge on appearances.

It was a few minutes later that the chit walked in, wrapped up in a bizarre red garment, her skin dotted with what he could only assume were some sort of mystical markings.. or just simple body art, it was hard to ever be sure. He'd met her in his pre-battle piss-up the night before, both of them bonding over their attempts to get in some other chit's knickers, before necking several bottles of rum. As far as he knew, she'd been as unsuccessful as him, and he hadn't even managed to get into her's. Still, he liked a chit who could handle her booze, and she had even beaten him in an arm wrestle. Aye, she's a rare 'un, he admitted, though it didn't stop him turning a lascivious eye over her exposed flesh.

Resolve.

She sidled up to the warlock, both of them silently agreeing to their course of action without a single word being spoken. The half-breed Anarchist finished his smoke, crushing the butt under his heel into the dew-damp grass, drawing his green-steel blade in one fluid motion.

While his crimson-clad companion lashed out with her own magic, Aurelianus summoned a swirling ball of black Hellfire into his palm, hurling it at the easiest target in sight; the coal-skinned chit puking her guts up in the corner. It had barely left his hand before he was following it, intent on knifing the elf if Shahab's Lash didn't take her out.

Time to play.

[Herald of the Tempest]

Vyrabond lowered his gaze to those who entered, looking at each one and quickly doing preliminary checks on their skills and assets. He watched the one woman puke, and wondered what could cause such a thing. He noticed the barrier around them weaken, slightly, and pondered if there was a correlation. Another entered, sword drawing against with that unmistakable sound , and moving on prey of his own.

Then Vyrabond saw the frightened, nervous one. She was a frail thing, tiny and weak. His talons swept against one another, striking and scrapping making a sharp noise in the air. The mute construct pointed one finger to her and initiated combat. He took no thrill in killing those weaker than himself. While the satisfaction of shedding blood would rouse the blood of flesh, to him it was a cold calculation. This target had little chance to defeat him, and he hypothesized he could make the fighting last.

He dug one claw into the ground as he ran, his half flesh dangling around his torso as he ran. The scythe like finger tips dug up enough dirt from the grass and when he neared his quarry he flung the debris at her in a makeshift assault tactic. Perhaps she would dodge the attack, or accept it with a block. Either way met little to him, for it was all a distraction. Vyrabond only wanted to slash his weapons against her body and show her weakness to his prey.

((Vyrabond declared an assault against you Cicilix. Dirt to the eyes! A clever rouse – the real attack is the slash! Vyrabond doesn’t have any enhanced skills or abilities that would help here, so feel free to have fun. I figure this way, the powerhouses can blow their own heads off and we can live! ^_^

I, Herald of the Tempest, Give any and all combatants the right to control Vyrabond.))

[Amber Eyes]

The Ixian courtyard was turned upside down. The gray weathered stone buildings surrounding three sides were just as they always were, but within their shadows was a flurry of activity. There were concessions and sword smiths doing their best to make as much money as possible in the last few moments before the match. There were small children placing bets with pocket change and grown men doing the same but with ludicrous amounts of coin. In the center there stood what could only be described as the largest, strongest, most magical bubble one would ever see. Inside the bubble, there was Kyla Orlouge.

Already the sun seared through her light cotton shirt, a soft breeze doing very little to stifle the heat of Radasanth in summertime. She could smell the flowers of her garden, each tingle of her nose bringing to mind the orchids and tulips that grew just past the housing tower. If she looked up, Kyla would be able to make out the west window of her chambers, if she looked down she could make out the footprints of the kids who for today played indoors while their usual activity spot prepared for bloodshed. If the young woman looked around she would see those who hoped that blood would be hers. Rather than face all of that, Kyla kept her eyes closed. The magic of the dome sang to her, soft whistles as though offering her comfort, even without her eyes she could see the beautiful colors that always accompanied light magic. It was like a giant prism to those who could see it, the ground would be a rainbow; at least until it all turned red.

An announcement began, Sei’s usually calm demeanor somewhat shaken by this tournament as it always was. He never quite understood the need to prove oneself in battle, he had never needed to know that he was capable, his self-assurance certainly wasn’t passed on to Kylana. The mystic focused on the power radiating through her body, the cool flow of shadows passing the heat of the light, two powers never quite touching. She allowed the cool to wash over her, pooling into her right arm and forming into something solid. The weight of the long sword felt natural in her hand, balancing the white glove that adorned her left. The muscles in that arm twitched, allowing the silver blades to protrude for just a moment.

The chamber was named after Kyla’s second youngest sister. Emma was the muscle of the bunch. Like Kyla, she yearned for her share of the action, and she just wouldn’t settle for someone else winning this one. The girl smiled. This was her castle, her family, her roses filling the air. It was the very magic coursing through her veins that created this cage.

Kyla was home.

Just as Sei finished Kyla opened her eyes, ready to greet the challenge and see who she was up against. She said a quick prayer to whatever God might be listening. Then it all turned to hell.