The Fall of Man

[Tobias Stalt]

It was an austere arena. The laboriously shined floors were devoid of any trace that they had ever been used for battle, though this was the heart of the citadel. If any one arena was not warped or twisted by illusions, it was the floor beneath Tobias now. No Ai'brone tricks- he didn't see any of the monks anywhere, in fact- and no guards. There were balconies above where onlookers could watch the proceedings, but the main doors to the chamber were barred.

Tobias faced the far side of the room with a mask of stoicism, either of his hands resting on a dagger. Orlogue. The name was like a blight, widespread across Althanas in both heroism and villainy. He could not recall ever meeting one, though he had read many pages about the enigmatic Sei. Whispers about the swordsman Ciato had reached him, along with a challenge, and Tobias had found himself enticed.

Doing battle with a legend was a chance Tobias would not pass up. The man had expressed simple terms- a battle to blooding. Whatever delusions he held about the Orlogue family were gone. His golden gaze glided across the room, and he accepted that it was level ground. No weaknesses and no advantage.

When the far door creaked slowly open, Tobias' eyes flicked over to watch the other man enter. "You came," he called with a hint of anticipation in his voice. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't."

He did not intend his words as an insult; Tobias believed that a notorious man like Ciato would have better things to do than meet a lowly, traitorous Alerian soldier. His hands fell harmlessly to his sides as he watched the man with sharp features walk forward. Tobi took a deep breath.

It was to be an intense battle.

[Ciato Orlouge]

"A true Orlouge makes good on his word, no matter how delayed the response may be." Ciato stepped through the door of the arena as his eyes shifted upwards. The nobles that were already gathered in anticipation for what was to come brought a smile to the swordsman's face. He could even see some of the people withdraw their tiny binoculars so they had an even closer view of the fight. The man that was known as the 'Alabaster Bastard' was in good company with this setting.


"I commend you, Mister Stalt," the Mystic withdrew his blade and tapped the tip against the ground. It clicked three times against the prestine floor. In his people's culture, such an act meant that they would fight to the best of their abilities without killing one another. "You should be honored, you know. Normally, I don't do battles such as this. However, word of your exploits have even reached my ears, and there's a lot of my own brother that I see in you. That, as well as the fact that you-know-who wants you dead piqued my curiosity. We'll see if you are worthy for me to hunt you down in the future."

He raised the tip of Asterodeia as he looked back towards his opponent. Tobias Stalt was wanted by Ciato's employer, Lichensith Ulroke, for betrayal against the Order. This would be a test to see if the former Alerar general would be worth the maniac Mystic's time down the road. He could hear the nobles above begin to hold their breath, as though they were about to reach some form of high during the fight. The air around Ciato was fresh, as the nobleman presumed it was around Tobias. Only the smell of the wax on the newly polished floor teased the pale warrior's nostrils.

"En Garde, and may the best man win," Ciato darted towards Tobias with his opening gambit, an attempt to run the man's right shoulder through with the blade of Asterodeia. A good sportsman tried to disarm before handing his foe his defeat, after all.

[Tobias Stalt]

Slow breaths escaped him, practiced and controlled. There was a formality that surrounded the killer's movements that Tobias could not boast. While the battlefield held familiarity for both men, Tobias got the sense that this being before him had been born on it, rather than simply trained to survive in its constantly shifting tide. A sound not unlike a collective gasp rippled through the air far above the two as Ciato took the first move.

He could appreciate the man's prudence. Tobias twisted his body deftly out of the way of the strike, which passed by like a whispered threat. His golden eyes watched Ciato in slow motion as his weapon flowed wide of its intended target. The former soldier decided his reaction time must have been just a hair faster than the Orlouge had anticipated. The youth took a quick step and shuffled closer to Ciato and threw a left hook toward the Mystic's jaw.

The world came alive around them. A roar of applause tore through the crowd at the excellence of their deadly dance. The floor itself shook beneath appreciative screams, and tokens of good fortune fell all around both men like raindrops, indiscriminate to either side. It stunned them that Tobias had evaded first blood. It excited them that he had countered. It brought them to life to know that this fight would be memorable.

[Ciato Orlouge]

Tobias Stalt was quick.

The younger warrior shifted himself in such a way that he escaped the narrow point of the Mystic’s rapier seemed to meet with naught but the air. The crowd gasped and cheered as Tobias maneuvered himself around the pale nobleman and attempted to throw a sucker punch at the aristocrat. Ciato’s face turned as the former Alerar strategist’s fist made contact. The blow did not make contact with Ciato, however.

The air around the Mystic shattered, cracked as though his attacker caused an affront to the air itself. The golden eye warrior was the quicker of the two, but the alabaster bastard was far more experienced in combat. He grew up the middle child of six, so attacks from both older and younger siblings kept the suave swordsman on his toes at all times. The glass of Mystic Protection shattered all around the ivory skinned entrepreneur, the fragments of glass a snake that wrapped around his form as though he were caught in a crystalline tornado.

The crowd roared with both applause and screams. They seemed torn on which of the two fighters to cheer for, as each possessed qualities their opponent seemed to lack. Ciato’s eyes shifted to his audience for just a second before they focused back on the transparent viper of glass that seemed to await his command.

“Legs,” Ciato said plainly as he spun around and attempted to draw blood by dragging the tip of Asterodeia across the face of his foe. The glass attacked at the same time, roughly three dozen pieces of glass shrapnel honed in on the thighs and shins of Tobias Stalt in order to appease its master. Ciato’s features drew a smile as he looked at his opponent. “This…this is going to be fun.”

[Tobias Stalt]

Disappointment roiled through the arena as Tobias' cheap shot seemed to break the space between them and send the fabric of reality splintering. Fragments of the obviously magical ward defending Ciato cascaded downward like sand in an hourglass, swirling in a rhythmic pattern in accordance with the pallid swordsman's whims. Tobias knew without taking the time to consider the implications that he was in a great deal of trouble.

He slipped past Ciato narrowly and jerked free the long knife at his left hip, an eerie black blade that glowed with a pale malefic light. Before Tobias had time to register the word, Ciato had stated the word "legs." The tactician thought it a rather odd thing to say, but the word was justified when he realized it for what it was.

Like a swarm of tiny wasps, the shards whipped out with razor precision toward Tobias' lower body like a tripwire, intent on ruining his balance. His clothing alone offered scant protection from the haze of shrapnel that buffeted the meat of his thighs and tore more holes in his already ruined uniform. A haze of crimson replaced the clear magically conjured fragments, as their purity was forever tainted by human blood.

Blood that, when it plastered the glass, seemed to suck the contrived life from it. While it lacked the strength to rip the magic from the spell that Ciato had woven, Tobias' blood seemed to battle the Mystic's will for control of the shards- if only to send them clattering uselessly to the dirt.

While he grunted in the face of agonizing pain, Tobias met Asterodeia head on. The sound of stone against Damascus was a jarring noise, less elegant than the clash of normal blades. His balance wavered under the weight of many wounds opening along his legs at once, but Tobias' feet dug firmly in and he resisted. Both his hands gripped the long knife's hilt firmly, fighting off the wicked rapier mere inches from his face.

"You bleed next, Orlogue," Tobias promised with a hint of masochistic amusement pricking at the edge of his lips. The youth took a staggered step forward, his mobility visibly hampered. Instead of pulling back from Ciato, Tobias pressed forward. "You and your parlor tricks can..." he grunted, shunting Asterodeia away with a concentrated effort, "get-"

Tobias ripped Calm through the distance between them, toward Ciato's chest, gold eyes promising pain. "-FUCKED!"

Silence had gripped the onlookers as Tobias defied a storm of his own blood appearing from nowhere. When he staggered forward and continued to fight, they gasped anew, and upon his blade's rebuttal, an uproar took them again. The City of Radasanth itself was awake, the ground around him was painted in his blood, but Ciato's words held a bit of constancy that Tobias appreciated. This fight would be fun.

[Ciato Orlouge]

The glass that attacked Ciato’s opponent like a coiled viper now fell to the ground as if beheaded upon contact with the blood of the younger warrior. The Mystic’s eyes widened as the glass shards fell against the ground with a ‘tink’ sound and also seemed to cause a loud gasp from the crowd. He could hear a slow applause start from the counter upon counter that the two warriors used upon one another, and it was enough to get the pale swordsman on the move once more.

He spun as his opponent attempted to run him through with a knife. The blade missed its intended target, but found a new home just below the left shoulder of the alabaster bastard. Ciato gritted his teeth as spurts of azure droplets flew from the point of entry and stained the ground below. He shunted his shoulder off of the weapon and raised Asterodeia into the air. The ivory demon slashed the air several times as he backtracked in order to put some distance between himself and his opponent.

His body felt odd, woozy. It was as though the nobleman were on a ship that got swallowed up in a hurricane. The room seemed to tilt back and forth for a moment. He shook his head around to remove the proverbial cobwebs as the spectators above started to cheer for Stalt. Ciato grinned at their bloodlust; it seemed that whoever caused the most damage became the hero of the minute to these people. He would make sure the battle would end with him as their champion.

“Blood for blood,” Ciato nodded as his eyes looked down at the leather boots his foe wore, “that’s some nice footwear Stalt. Remind me to buy you a new pair with the money I earn for striking you down.” He smirked, though the feeling of dizziness once again washed over his form once more. Time seemed to slow, though it may have just been his perception of time. His gaze upon the shoes of his foe was an attempt to make the leather turn to solid stone, similar to Asterodeia’s stony exterior. Tobias Stalt would lose his speed advantage.

Ciato dashed forward, his rapier raised up as he attempted to bring the hilt of the weapon down upon the boy’s temple. With any luck, Tobias would be too distracted with his sudden lack of mobility to focus on the task at hand. The audience exploded in cheers and jeers as Ciato made his move, the wound in his arm a steady stream of blue that poured onto the floor.

[Tobias Stalt]

Tobias leaned out of the way of several quick strikes without moving far from his spot. He smirked from the realization that Ciato was giving ground, though the crowd certainly would not see it that way. Genuine confusion rippled across several voices who cried out, "fight!" "What are you doing, Stalt?" "I have money riding on this!"

When the Mystic ceased probing with his stony saber, Tobias flipped Calm in his hand deftly. "Backing off so quickly?" He asked with a wry grin. "Do you have a new plan, Ciato Orlogue? One that involves advancing to the rear?" He attempted to take a step as the blue blooded man commented on his chosen foot wrappings, and he found their weight substantially heavier than he remembered. "Or that," he muttered at the grim realization.

The fray stretched out between them was painted with visceral blues and reds, like some wicked god demanding tribute stood laughing at their peril. No dark rituals rose up between these combatants, however; Ciato raged forward, this time intent on striking Tobias while the chestnut haired youth was disabled.

"I can still move," Tobias murmured as his body shifted to one side and his head narrowly avoided blunt force trauma. "Just, not very well." It took turning his entire body into the movement to even half lift a foot. Tobias gave a grunt of effort as his form writhed and began to fall clumsily backward. "Gods below," he spat as momentum carried him heels over head, tumbling in a heap to the floor.

It was a slow process, finding his way off the floor. His palm made a squishing sound as he pressed off of a puddle of his own blood and crackles of glass crunching beneath his weight crackled as he got to his knees. Ciato had succeeded in sufficiently annoying the hell out of him, that was for certain. "I'll never understand the allure of tricks like that," he snorted as his grip on Calm was asserted once more.

He couldn't simply slip out of his shoes, as they were laced tightly enough that his feet were imprisoned. Tobias would just have to deal with a slower movement speed. Wary of Ciato's ability to capitalize on his fall, Tobias had already taken a firm grip on his second knife. Blood dripped from both hilts and hands as he slid Cold from his side and brandished the twin blades. Blood still drained from the multitude of tiny scrapes and cuts beneath the fabric of his now-useless pants. If not for the crotch area of the garment remaining intact, Ciato and the crowd would have a prime view of Tobias' manhood. The man counted his blessings that the Orlogue lacked a perverted streak.

"Damn well better," Tobias acknowledged his foe's taunting words at last, "good leather is bloody hard to come by."

[Ciato Orlouge]

Ciato did not expect his opponent to take such a quick tumble downwards. As his hand came to meet with the temple of his foe, he quickly found his face on a rendezvous with the floor thanks to Tobias’ body tripping up the noble Mystic. He slammed upon the ground with a loud thud, then quickly rose to the sound of laughter at his expense. He took a moment to shoot a glare around the room, which quickly hushed the juvenile giggles of the crowd.

Through the fall, he held Asterodeia tight, and the sword never left his grip as stood straight and back towards Tobias. The fellow warrior was busy attempting to rise himself, and Ciato saw another opportunity to strike. The pale swordsman ran behind his anti-magic nemesis and wrapped his arms around the waist of the nearly nude man.

“I believe you said something about attacking from the rear?” Ciato spoke even though he knew well enough that it would give his foe more time to maneuver out of his volatile embrace. Ciato bit his lower lip as he allowed the magic to through himself. The effects of whatever Tobias did to him were starting to wear off, the dizziness subsiding, though the alabaster bastard knew that this technique would not be in his normal repertoire.

In an instant, Ciato’s skin instantly became spiky, as though he were a human sized puffer fish. With any luck, Tobias would not have slipped from his grasp and quickly find himself skewered upon the sudden spiky sprouts of the entrepreneur. “Is this more along the lines of what you were expecting?”

[Tobias Stalt]

The sound of a voice roused Tobias to near terror. His feet, still weighted down, impeded any chance he had at slipping away. The soldier shifted his hips as the Mystic mounted him. His body turned into the pale skinned freak, and Cold ripped toward Ciato's undefended throat. "I didn't know you felt that way," Tobias growled as arms tightened around his waist. "This is awkw-"

Before Tobias could complete his sarcastic comment, the youth's face turned pale. He stared down with wide eyes to see several strange spikes impaled in his chest and midsection. Blood slithered from the newly opened wounds and a steady stream of it poured from his lips. "F... fucker...!"

He dragged the malefic, pale blue blade across Ciato's neck, seeking to draw a deadly line across it. Gold locked with blue at an evil impasse. Tobias' lips turned up into a sinister smirk. "I'll bite, Orlogue," he rasped, throaty words strangled on frothy blood, "let's sleep together."

His vision began to blur. Tobias felt all the colors of his world twist together and squeeze his brain. In a quick, nerved motion, he brought his arm up to embrace the man tightly to him and drove Calm toward Ciato's heart. "Be my fuckin' Juliet."

[Ciato Orlouge]

As soon as Ciato performed his maneuver, he immediately regretted the decision. He could feel the blood of Stalt as it slowly absorbed into his ivory skin. He could not feel anything, even when his opponent’s neck was dragged across his neck in a single fluid motion. His entire body felt as though it were lighter than air and the world decided to become a merry-go-round on maximum speed. His azure blood spilled over Tobias’ form in a sort of gore infused shower of sorts.

The mixture of blue and red blood made for a brilliant purple hue upon the floor below. The audience not only gasped, but applauded as if the two warriors were doing some sort of art show. Ciato’s eye lids began to lower and quickly shot open when he felt his foe’s knife pierce his heart. He tried to breathe, but found the simple task much harder now and his eyes slowly shifted towards Tobias Stalt.

“Well done, boy…” Ciato whispered. His arms were still very much wrapped around the anti-magic anti-hero, his hand still a firm grip on Asterodeia. With the last vestiges of his will and strength, Ciato attempted to run the blade into the spine of his worthy adversary. The paler swordsman leaned in and pursed his lips, pressing them hard against those of the brown haired warrior, much to the adulation of their now captivated audience. They spectators above cheered and made cat calls even as Ciato fell limply backwards, his arms nothing more than limp limbs now as he slammed onto the ground.

“You asked….for it…” the Mystic whispered as his eyes closed.