The Emma Chamber

[Gold]

Timothy held his right leg in pain. "Interference with the match should be illegal," Timothy mumbled as he looked at his thigh where two knives were stuck in them. Best not to pull them out, he thought. He then felt a bullet graze his right arm, then another his right leg, and a third one ricocheted off his shield. He looked up just in time to see the girl who attacked him, with only one arm, had started to unclasp the chain from her neck. but before she could the woman he saved grabbed his assailant and stabbed her in the back before his ally pulled the gun from the assailant's hand and aimed it at her head.

Timothy moved to stand but fell to the ground. He couldn't get up, he was as good as dead.

[Amber Eyes]

It has to stop. The thought consumed her. Something pierced her and breathing quickly became impossible. Every inch of her begged for death, and soon she would concede, but this wasn’t quite over. She felt her pistol leave her hand, and the reality that she may not have more time struck her.

Kyla noticed the shadows of the towers upon the ground, and she knew it was her only escape. She melded into the darkened ground, feeling the cool of the shadows absorb her. She managed to unclasp her necklace before she made her way back into the light in the unoccupied north side of the cell. Her limiter necklace now free, Kyla focused her newfound energy on a dirt mound nearby.

She stared hard, watching as the mound began to spin, faster and faster with each revolution until the air around it began to fall in step. The spinning current grew, beginning to move towards her and blowing everything in its path away. Kyla pulled her focus, content that her creation could live on its own, and instead created an orb of light below herself. As the shadows began to squeeze it tight Kyla smiled. Perhaps she wasn’t quite done after all.

The orb exploded and Kyla Orlouge was dead.

She felt nothing, it was over quickly and soon all of her parts were airborne, spinning rapidly as they were carried by the twister. It headed south, towards the rest of the combatants and spewing bright blue blood and pieces of flesh in all directions.

Somewhere in the crowd a child screamed, but as quickly as the sound was heard it was gone again. There was no time for sympathy in the Cell.

[[[This is Kyla’s conclusion]]]

[Gold]

The twister struck Timothy first as he was the closest to it. He was swiped up and bashed around. His shield was ripped from his hand and all his swords flew out of their sheaths. They all spun around in the vortex and just missed each other as well as Timothy, for a while that is. Suddenly, his rapier skewered his right side, as his long sword embedded itself in his right leg next to the knives that had made it impossible for him to run. His broadsword got stuck as it hit his third rib up on his right side and his short sword cut deep into his left shoulder. As Timothy was about to cry out in pain his bladed shield came around and chopped off his head, thus his cry of pain went unheard. his body and weapons stayed in the tornado as it continued it's path towards the others.

(Timothy Gold is no more. So this is his last post.)

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Some slight bunnying done. If anyone would like edits made, feel free to contact me in chat, or via PM, and I will happily oblige.

Chuckling to himself, amused by his opponent's skills rather than put off by them, Aurelius admitted to himself; he had picked the right person to square off against in this tournament. He allowed a brief pause in the combat, nodding amicably to the girl, twirling his knives in little flourishes to keep his wrists loose. The green-steel of the blades glimmered in the overbearing sun, each serration shining like the fangs of some feral predator. Much like his own pearly-whites.

Chit's makin' it a decent scrap. Let's 'ope she can--

The drow went down before he could even finish the thought, vanishing in a tangled mess of coal-black skin and--

Everything spun violently.

Something slammed into the tiefling like a meaty cannonball, sprawling him on his back as he felt something warm and wet splash across his cheek. Reaching up a finger, he ran it along his now-dew-damp skin, bringing it up in front of his eyes, trying to focus. His fingertips were stained red... it took a moment longer than it should have for the importance of that fact to register - it wasn't his blood. For the briefest second, ears ringing, vision dancing, air knocked out of his lungs, anyone could have ended the warlock; no muss, no fuss.

Luckily, no-one in the small pile of bodies was in any position to do so, all of them in much the same state as himself. Dragging himself back to his feet and gathering his knives as he did so, Aurelianus winced a little as he felt the unmistakable ache of cracked ribs under his armour. He snapped his glance from the dark elf, extricating herself from under what appeared to be a metal statue, its form resembling what some sculptor thought a human should look like, having heard the description, but having never seen one themselves. Before it started moving again, the Cager flicked his gaze to the one who'd taken him off his feet; the chit was short, he could mark that even with her curled up on the ground, and he noted, heavily wounded judging by the bloody stripes down her back. He glanced at his own body, seeing the red smears across the various hooks and blades sprouting from the segmented leather.

But whether his razor-edged attire had done those, or not, he wasn't sure. Either way, the bitch wasn't likely to be much of a threat. Even so, he couldn't help lashing a heavy boot into the girl's ribs, hissing through clenched fangs in anger. A drop of blood, like ink, from his lacerated ear splashed down onto her prone form. He took a deep breath, making sure none of his ribs were broken.. but it just seemed to be the sharp ache of several fractures. He would live.

Which is more than can be said for any of the other berks in 'ere.

The warlock's real opponent, the Aleraran, was too busy dry-heaving to defend herself. Could pen 'er in the dead-book now, he mused, head cocked to one side like some sort of predatory bird. But, he shook the thoughts away, sliding the knife in his left hand back into its sheath. He was no stranger to dirty fighting - by all accounts, he was a bloody master of it - but he was having too much fun to waste a decent cutter by nicking her throat when she was down.

Thankfully, he didn't have to argue with himself o'erlong on the matter, as the metal creature staggered to its feet, giving him the perfect way to vent his bloodthirst.

"You," he snapped at her, retching in the grass, "on your feet. I want a fight when I come back to finish our little matin' ritual 'ere."

The tiefling turned his snake-like eyes to the construct before him, scanning the sod-box to see the extent of the damage it had already suffered. It was barely in any position to fight, but it still seemed intent on trying. Either admirable, or stupid - he couldn't decide which.

"And you," he barked, stepping in front if the thing as it tried to go for the other girl, "interrupted my pikin' foreplay."

He lashed out with his left hand, letting out all the built up rage at having his fight interrupted erupt in a wall of pure magickal force, hammering into the golem-like creature with more strength than any normal human could muster. It took the creature off its feet, like a hammer-blow from a pissed off giant, the edges catching the drow as well, tumbling her a few feet across the arena floor.

The half-demon snarled savagely, starting after the metallic humanoid... before seeing the magical tornado raging across the arena towards them all. He even blinked once in astonishment as he witnessed the chit Resolve had been squared off against explode in a way that could only be described as "gore-tastic". It didn't take a genius to know that was a game-changer. The tiefling even managed to watch, somewhat amused, as one of the other challengers was ripped from his feet and mangled inside the vortex. It was, he wouldn't deny, a spectacular sight. But it boded ill for everyone else involved.

"Well," he started, trying to find a word to accurately convey the thoughts rushing through his head. "Shit."

[Cicilix]

The whole world was spinning. Even if she had opened her eyes Cicilix wouldn't have been able to see anything for the pain. It was pulsing through her body with each heartbeat and she couldn't concentrate on anything else but the pain. Somewhere in the back of her head she registered that she hit someone when she rolled around on the ground but she couldn't even force herself to open her eyes to see who it was. The girl could feel her wounds burning where they now where covered in dirt and as the person on top of her stood up again she could feel more wounds all over her body, though she didn't understand where they came from. Then again she couldn't really think at the moment anyway.

Then the kick hit her. She winced lowly as she felt how some of her ribs cracked, but she was too weak to do anything about it. But the kick had brought her back somewhat to consciousness and she slowly opened her eyes. It took a moment for her to steady her gaze as she looked up at the man who now had his back against her. She knew it was he who had kicked her. Her eyes widened a little as she saw his clothes. No wonder she had felt new wounds after he fell on her.

Still dizzy from the impact and blood loss she watched as Aurelianus turned towards Vyrabond instead. A hint of anger suddenly forced itself into her mind as she watched how he hit her opponent to the ground.

“No!” she thought. “He's mine.”

With her last strength she pulled herself up ever so slowly. She gritted her teeth and the world started to spin again as the pain screamed at her to lie down. But she wouldn't have it. Slowly she moved over towards Vyrabond, one step at the time until she sank down besides him. Her hand found one of his broken talons on the ground besides him and she gripped it hard, she had no idea where her dagger had disappeared to and right now she didn't even think about it. This was all that mattered, she would win over this creature.

With a hard motion she thrusted the talon down hard into her opponent's eye. A sense of satisfaction spread through her body and she smiled while her hand let go of the talon and she sat on the ground, too exhausted to move. Somewhere behind her, like in another world, she could hear Aurelianus say something again and she looked up right in time to see the twister before it hit her and span her up in the air.

With an incredible force it threw her away across the arena and with the sound of bones shattering she hit the barrier on the other side. As the girl's body fell down on the ground the smile was still frozen on her lips.

((Okay, so Cici is out as well.))

[Herald of the Tempest]

The weakness he thought on the ground, his back aching despite having no muscles. The terrible, weakness of flesh. He couldn’t move at all. Everything in his body shut down as regeneration protocols kicked in. Even his self made protocol was dropped in favor of his healing. He could only observe through his green eyes, the spark faded long ago except sudden flashes of green energy. Everything was a blur, and the only thing that swam into focus was the woman.

She was weak. She was pathetic, but she stood. She had no right to be above him, none at all, but she was there, before his fading eyes. She had murderous intent written over her features; a desire to end what he had started. He couldn’t feel anything on the emotional spectrum. He was healing now, and his grudge with her vanished like a leaf on the wind. She towered over him, and he could see the one factor in the lesser races he had misinterpreted. For all their frailty, all their weakness, they had one strength Vyrabond wasn’t sure the Kron’tyr could muster.

Willpower.

It was the simplest difference between the two. She had the willpower to end this fight, and he had not. So it was only fair her hand lowered in a violent arc, and his eye went offline. The Construct buzzed with feedback, the last of his spark kicking out into the sky as he watched her stoop to her butt, sitting. He admired her now, for she was stronger than he gave her credit for.

When the tornado came it grabbed her, tossing her in the air where he lost track of her. It didn’t matter. There was no victorious warrior in this cell. What happened to his body would be a mystery. Just as he felt the wind tug his body upwards, his eyes lost power and the construct became inert, a desecrated statue of the Kron’tyr now. His last thoughts was upon the storm clouds in the distance, and his final thought was to his lord.

Long live the Herald of the Storms, who will wash the lesser races-……….

((FIN))

[Mage Hunter]

She never got a chance to even begin making the duel crashers pay. One second her opponent was yelling at her to get back on her feet so he could continue his…

She couldn’t believe he said that. She honestly couldn’t believe he had said anything of the sort. However, as quickly as she wanted to dismiss the action, it sprung to life in the form of another challenge that confirmed what he had said, calling the fight between them foreplay. Drusilia heard a distant snap, somewhere in her head and blacked out from the rage.

~*~

Rage fueled the mage hunter as she pushed up to her feet, the sword she had been desperately holding on brought up to a ready position. Even now she could see the magic running rampant through the arena and barely dodged the caress of the murderous hurricane that swept through the arena. It promptly picked up both of the opponents that had interrupted her fight and promptly saw both of them eliminated from the Cell. She now had no outlet for her rage and instead turned it to the dying spell of the mystic that had already interrupted their duel twice now. Focusing her will towards the stone in her blade she began to vent her rage as the nullifying stone set in the cross guard began to shine bright.

“I have been taunted, flung about, propositioned, mocked, played with, enshrouded in bugs, and covered in Gods know what else. I have been nearly gutted, burned, tortured, and maimed, and I have had it up to here with these juvenile mage antics!” A hand gestured over her head as the white energy washed through the area. The tornado that was sweeping back towards her promptly settled, the gore and gibblets it had collected in its journey splattering even more on her as her hair was died a dirty crimson in the deluge of crap that had afflicted her.

Her sword with a flourish was brought into a ready position as she looked at the Tiefling before her and spoke, her voice commanding, “You, asshole, are you going to finish what you start? Or are you going to be like every other man I know and have already blown your load on nothing of consequence?”

As the wave passed every magical effect it touched fell apart at the seams, leaving nothing but a natural silence in its wake as she waited for the answer to her question. Her eyes burned with a loathing that seemed otherworldly about her. It almost created a palpable heat even as the sun continued to fry her overhead creating a sweat the caused her clothes to be soaked under the well-kept black leather of her artic hide breastplate.

“I’m waiting, either toe the line or piss off.”

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

The girl was sucked up into the raging maelstrom of magic, her body being dashed against the solid dome; the metal creature the same, though the warlock raised his eyebrow quizzically as the thing phased right out of sight. Either it was a canny fail-safe (turning invisible when beaten) which sparked a few ideas tumbling in the tiefling's brain box.. or he somehow had a way to bypass the arena's allegedly impenetrable defenses. Either way, he was a deader too.

Aurelius backed up quickly, darting a few paces further away from the tornado's approach. Even so, he felt the winds starting to pluck at his lean frame, his quills rustling as they scraped together, his bloody-red mohawk swaying in the etheric vortex. A trickle of blood, escaping the neat line scored into his arm, was picked up and carried away into the roaring storm. He ignored the sting of the cut, his unnatural eyes flickering back and forth, trying to find a likely way to avoid getting splattered against the walls like the little chit.

The tiefling, his attention locked on the biggest threat to his health, still marked his opponent dragging herself up from the ground out of the corner of his eye. But he didn't pay her much mind - trying to survive the whirlwind that had already slaughtered three of the competitors was a more pressing concern.

The warlock, with the self-assured ease of someone who had done it a thousand times, brought Freki's Shield roaring from his body once again. It was harder this time, though not by much; he had never actually tried to summon it more than three times in the same day, knowing his magicks could sometimes be.. unstable. The bubble of magickal heat swirled into being around the wolf-lean plane-touched, hopefully enough to ward the worst of the weapons and debris roaring inside the cyclone when it inevitably ripped him from his feet.

Surprise didn't even begin to cover Aurelius' reaction when the ebony-skinned chit stood strong in the face of what would inevitably be a messy end. I like 'er, he smirked, she 'as girl balls. He couldn't hear what she said, over the all-encompassing shriek of the mystic winds, but a heartbeat later the stone set into her sword unleashed a powerful burst of pure white light, washing over everything in the area. The tornado, a second ago a certainty to sweep them both up and kill them, dissipated like early morning mist. The collected body parts, weapons and detritus it had been carrying started to fall like rain; the half-demon dodged back as a shield clattered off his own magickal protection, lodging itself in the ground with a razor-edge. Other parts, recognisable as perhaps once being parts of the other challengers, hissed and spat when they splattered off the soundless flames and heat-haze surrounding the Anarchist warlock.

Aurelianus was less amused a moment later, when the white-wash of energy caressed Freki's Shield; the flames swathing him rose up in retaliation, but lasted only a fraction of a moment before they, too, were banished. Feeling the magicks being severed, the tiefling tried to bring up a ball of Hellfire in his palm.. he was disconcerted to find nothing came.

Alright, bitch has some tricks up her sleeve, he allowed.

He let out a hearty chuckle as she mouthed off at him, his fangs exposed in a genuinely amused grin. He stopped trying to invoke his warlock abilities, and settled instead for drawing his second green-steel knife again.

"I'm more than just a man, luv. I'm a 'alf-demon, an' a pure bastard," he smiled lasciviously. "And I'm never satisfied with blowin' one load, but you'll find that out soon enough."

A bead of sweat ran down his brow, sliding around the base of one of his glossy horns before dripping from the obsidian rings in his eyebrow. The sun overhead was making itself known, scorching the air in the dome almost uncomfortably. Raising his left hand, he wiped his finger through the slash across his bicep, clearing out the dust and grime that had caked in it. His probing let loose another small flow of black blood, as he savoured the sting of the wound. Running his black tongue across his keen fangs, he started spinning his knives once more, loosening up as he squared off against the mage-killer.

"Take your best shot, sweet'eart."

[Resolve]

To Resolve's dismay, the girl vanished from underneath her, absorbed into the shadows beneath them. It left her kneeling frustrated and cursing on the grass with a serious case of blue balls for violence. But she still had the gun, and the cold metal against her fingers filled her with a surge of power.

When Kyla reappeared in the distance and blew herself up into a blue-blooded tornado, a move as irritating and arrogant as her mystic heritage, the exorcist sneered. What the hell was she supposed to do with that? She staggered to her feet and stepped back, almost walking into the barrier, but instead circled around toward where her apparent partner and the dark elf remained. In seconds, it would take them as well.

The funnel of wind barreled across the arena, wrapping two of the competitors in its embrace and tearing them to pieces in a brilliant display of sheer force. "Shit," Resolve muttered, unable to look away. All she could do was conjure some armor to keep the scattering debris at bay. There was no way she could fight that.

But one of them could. The mage hunter approached it with balls the other two couldn't muster, using powerful anti-magic to negate the encroaching storm. Resolve decompressed in relief as the flurry slowed and dropped, earth settling and pieces of the dead competitors' corpses raining across the vibrant green grass in a splatter painting of congealing blue and maroon. And then the man spoke.

Half demon.

Ettermire.

That accent, that… oh gods, that tongue. She could see its forked ends flickering beneath his fangs. It nearly made her retch as she recalled it from Luned's stories. The nightmare which had haunted her closest friend for months had somehow materialized before her, and for once, Resolve couldn't believe in mere coincidence.

"Aurelius," Resolve choked, eyes widening as she stared blankly in realization. "Of all the foolish, idiotic, ignorant––" she began her tirade with self-deprecation, quickly changing to insults on the notorious man–– "vile, mother fucking son of a cunt––"

She attempted to summon some energy in her free hand, but to no avail. The elf's anti-magic had affected her, too, and she would have cursed again if not for the treasure clenched in her right fist.

Resolve raised the pistol and released all three of the remaining bullets in quick succession, directed at Aurelius' precariously close chest. Even if she hadn't aimed a firearm before, their proximity was forgiving.

"I'm gonna rip off your head and shit down your neck, you piece of shit!"

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

He heard Resolve call his name, and was almost glad to hear his "ally" had survived the rest of the mayhem rampaging throughout the arena.

"Don't worry, luv, you can sit this one out. Tall, dark and shaggable over there is mine," he smirked.

But then he heard the tone of her voice, heard her swearing at him.. he turned his head to see what was up with the chit.. and then he saw the gun in her clenched fist. The tiefling's eyes widened, slit pupils narrowing, half in surprise, half in rage. If there was one thing in the worlds he'd been to that still had a chance of scaring the planewalking warlock, it was bloody guns!

Oooooh, shit shit shit shitshitshitshitshit!!!

Instinct honed over decades of hard-living kicked in, and he started to try and dive aside, but even as he did, he knew there was no hope of dodging the firearm. His preternatural speed may have saved his life more times than he could count, but bullets... powers damn whichever "clever" sod had thought up those thrice-cursed bastard weapons.

Three ear-popping bangs rang out in the still air, and Aurelianus was sure that was it for him. Even his inhuman reflexes couldn't keep up with the rounds as the punched into him, passing through his armour like it was paper. The first sliced a deep furrow along his ribs on the left of his torso, the heat burning the wound even as his black blood started flowing, coating the bladed plates. The second was luckier and hammered clean into Aurelius' gut, exploding out his back in a shower of blood and armour. It felt like someone had run him through with a lance, but before he could even hit the ground from his dive the third shot hit. It was slightly more off target due to the half-demon's almost futile attempt to survive.

The bullet smashed into one of the myriad sharp-adornments covering his body, the sheer force shattering the blade, and the round itself. Red-hot shards of metal peppered the plane-touched's face, and several punched into the exposed flesh of his right arm.

All of this took place in the space of a heartbeat, before Aurelianus hit the ground and rolled, venting his agony in an inhuman hissing-roar. One of his Baatorian knives flew from his grip, his hand spasming as the metal splinters stabbed into his arm. Blood flowed from the wounds, but as far as he could tell from the mind-numbing levels of pain howling through his body, he was still not quite in the dead-book.

"That was for Luned and Otto, you bastard," Resolve snarled, still standing where she had been, weapon smoking in her fist.

Despite the torment, Aurelius could not contain the bitter laughter from spilling out between his fangs, bloody-spittle dribbling from between them and dripping to the ground. He had trouble focusing his thoughts with the ragged holes torn in him, but there was no way he could not recognise those names.

"Are you pikin' kiddin' me!?" he snarled, a smirk still twisting his lips into something closer to a sneer.

The half-breed was no addle-cove; he knew these wounds effectively meant if the two attacked him, he was almost guaranteed to lose. The thought wounded his pride - a crime far worse than anything the pair of chits could do to his flesh. He clamped his hand to his side, feeling the hot trickles running down his arm and dripping into the already gore-stained grass. But as he dragged himself, agonisingly, to his knees, the Cager slid his hand into the holster under his left arm, the action hidden behind his left arm, the one supporting him.

He turned his eyes up to Resolve, pure unadulterated hatred twisting his regal features into something closer resembling the demonic side of his heritage. He could feel the Hellfire starting to well up in the back of his throat and--

wait, Hellfire!

The warlock masked his glee as he realised whatever had been shackling his invocations was gone. He surreptitiously slipped a handful of his shurikens into his hand, before forcing himself to his feet shakily, feeling his wounds open wider and the blood spill more.

Spitting a mouthful of what, he was concerned (though not surprised) to see, was blood-speckled saliva, he snapped his gaze between the dark-skinned elf and the back-stabbing bitch who might just have killed him - in fact, certainly would have if not for the inhuman toughness his demonic ancestry/ parentage granted - wondering which one he hated more at this particular moment.

The answer instantly flashed through his brain-box; the pikin' bitch who bloody well shot me!

Moving as fast as his critical injuries would allow, the tiefling threw up his hand and unleashed the barbed and serrated discs in a blast of pure Eldritch energy; it was an almost poetic reflection of Resolve's own attack. A feral growl gurgled liquidly in his throat, and his vision blurred from blood-loss as the vindictive bastard hurled every ounce of his fury and spite into the blast.

His bloody-minded rage fuelled the Eldritch Blast to its limits, hitting Resolve and his original opponent with the force of a rampaging bull.

If Drak'shal was going to die, he was damn sure going to take one of these bitches with him.