Cage Number Four

[hushpuppy]

Rolling towards the crow, watching more birds floating down towards the puddling blood, some pecking at the farmer's fingers and clothes, Meerplex put another surge into its dash forward. Trilling with malicious pleasure, focusing on the crimson splatters on the birds' obsidian bodies, the furball was already concocting a plan, drawing a line from the crowds clustered around the farmer's living corpse to the half-dozen vultures wheeling overhead. They were more stronger, larger, more adept at tearing flesh. The wet snap of muscle ripping, the moist spray of a severed artery: These were what made the fuzzball's shaggy coat tremble. The murder of crows was growing around the farmer. If he was not dead yet, he would be soon. It was a delicate art, finding which creature was best suited to possession. They could not be too strong, neither too weak. Anger and passion made it easy to enter a mind, but more difficult to control. Must always they must be able to kill and draw out blood.

A crow fluttered down and landed a few feet from the furball, pecking at it, hacking out a caw. Meerplex leapt into the air, whistling harshly like an upset whippoorwill. It landed on the back of the crow, splitting its small mind open deftly, cracking through the bird's riotous surface of hunger. Underneath roared greed, an ocean shrouded in mist. Fear and confusion rushed upward in a furious waterspout, but it was all to easy to forge the ill-formed motivation and animal drives of the creature into a glassy wall that pushed the jet back, crashing onto the ever-changing waves below, flattening it out into a canvass, motionless and blank. Weaving a net across the surface, Meerplex took the crow's eyes, its wings, its beak, and made them its own, flapping clumsily into the air.

A crashing, blinding swath of color and sound filled the air, and with a jolt time froze. Another memory. Asuka falling, air whistling, a rope flailing behind her, the ground rushing up until it crushed against her, heavily and forcefully. Pain and shame pushed back. The lesson this time was less evanescent than the egret. Meerplex released the crow, pulling back immediately, and pushed against its body in mid-air. They flew apart, the crow spinning towards the ground and the furball twirling in a misbegotten arc. Damon's body came crashing down, as if fulfilling the memory's prophecy, smashing the crow. His head slapped the furball, more of a glancing blow than that against the bird. It was enough to slap Meerplex down, skidding it across the ground, bouncing slightly like a clumsy child falling down the stairs. As the furball slid to a stop near the farmer's feet, it howled mornfully, mewing like a sick cat, expanding and deflating slightly, panting painfully. Would no one take pity on a wounded creature?

[Storm Veritas]

It had worked, the success of the surge being wild and far reaching. His electric pulse had shaken the entire field, awakening them, showing them the power they were dealing with. Arrogance was now trumping both paranoia and the irrational fears. The smile that crossed his face remained well painted as he flipped the daggers back into his hands, standing tall. The bladeslinger.

To think I thought there was a trap. Heh. F*cking child’s play. I’m the trap here, and these are the mice.

Carnage was beginning to fester, chaos being the order of the day. Kaosi narrowly escaped the assault, leaping down with incredible athleticism. It was just as well, Storm still held proud to the far-reaching influence of his magical prowess. Asuka was down, Sarah shaken, and the goblin-thing was rambling on, about and all outside of the arena. Despite its spectacle, Veritas snickered at the impish little demon. He couldn’t take it serious, and thought him for some sort of parlor trick.

The other parlor trick seemed far more dubious. The furball monstrosity which had gathered so much interest seemed to disappear into a crow, one gathering near the downed farmer. It took off, spiraling high to an unnatural path. He was largely unsettled with the entire element.

So now what? That little beast goes fluttering off to recruit something bigger? Maybe someone with a gun, or a goddamned elephant… I don’t have any time for this!

His eyes were keen and focused, dead set and target-locked on the bird. He had hunted as a child, using arrows and bows to stalk prey. His current projectile was far more graceful, destructive, and accurate. Holding a dagger in the air, he inhaled slowly as he watched the menace, feeling the electric glow build within him. He fired, a single blast of current rippling through the air. Right through the air towards the crow, which turned a flap-beat south of the bolt.

Oh, you whore!

He had missed the crow, his electrical bolt catching hold of a draped crimson velvet curtain behind the audience. A small flicker, and a fist-sized flame popped to life from the spot of contact. It was tiny, and would chew slowly through the cloth towards the wooden frame of the building that surrounded their cage.

Or he hoped that the fire would spread slowly, because being stuck in the cage amongst the others was a deathtrap two-fold. If the other monsters beside him didn’t kill him, the smoke and fire would certainly suffice.

Eyes wide and mouth open, Storm Veritas was feeling the part of a very, very stupid young man.

[Ter-Thok]

Halted in his charge by the sight of the unpleasant gentleman setting fire to a curtain, Ter-Thok rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He glanced momentarily at the sudden arsonist, then back at the burning curtains. "This is your trump card? Burn down the amphitheater? Que brillante. Man, I was going to attack you, but now...this is just pathetic. You stew in your own juices for a while. I'll go fight somebody else, and maybe find a way out before we all burn to death. Maybe." Forgetting the sudden sense of urgency, the demon strolled leisurely around the arena. The parasite's previous host, the young lady with the red scalp-agriculture, appeared to have collapsed, likely due to the electricity. There was something of a bitter duel going on; Ter-Thok decided against interrupting it.

In weighing his options, the demon decided that, perhaps, escape would be the best bet in this situation. Shrugging, he approached one of the large bars forming the western wall of the cage, and began climbing it. A bit of investigation at the top revealed that each of the even larger bars forming the ceiling was held in place with an enormous screw at either end. Ter-Thok grinned maliciously, slowly manuevering his Electro-Prod outside of the cage. Carefully aligning the blade with the groove of the screw, the demon paused a moment, muttering, "Righty tighty, lefty loosey...right. No, left," before beginning to twist the simple machine.

It wasn't long before the metallic whine of the opposite screw under stress began echoing throughout the somewhat busy amphitheater. Ter-Thok wisely chose this time to inch several bars to the left of the now-ailing ceiling support. With a tinny snap, the bar began plummeting towards the floor of the arena, leaving a gap in the ceiling that would probably allow the passage of a human being, and would definitely give a demon enough room to squeeze through. The improvised screwdriver of earlier made short work of the chain-link surrounding the bars, and Ter-Thok found himself once again watching the battle from above. He couldn't tell if the fallen bar had injured any combatants, but it wouldn't have been a stretch to assume so.

If they had all survived, well, at least they all had a way out. Ter-Thok's grin widened. "Why not help them some more?" he murmured as he went to work on the next bar over.

[Chelsi]

The events of the Cell were rapidly becoming a blur.

Damon took a swan dive off the side of the arena, as Storm unleashed his energy into the cage, making Chelsi’s cell a danger in and of itself. Asuka went down a few feet in front of Sarah, as the white ball of fur took off in what, Chelsi could only assume, was possession of a large black bird. On top of all that, the roof of the cage seemed to be falling apart, as a long, steel bar came crashing down somewhere in the arena.

Things were getting out of control, and it was getting very difficult to keep track of everything going on and things would only get harder, as an enraged Lavinian lunged at her with an arrow-tipped knife. Chelsi’s attack had apparently only briefly stunned her, and not enough to stop her from turning around and making an attack of her own. Sarah must have been a seasoned fighter, and that didn’t bode well.

Any further attention to events beyond her attacker was gone, as the pointed tip of the knife punched through her skirt and dug shallowly into her hip as the agile witch attempted to throw herself backwards.

Chelsi screamed, both in pain and in anger, and thrashed about, trying to dislodge the nasty little weapon from her clothes, but the knife had snagged in her skirt, trapping the witch in close quarters with the feral girl unless she let go of the weapon. The knife proceeded to tear her skirt, and further open the wound on her hip as Chelsi tried desperately to get loose.

“You skank!” Chelsi screamed. “This is my favorite skirt!”

The black, pumpkin adorned skirt was already in rough shape as it was. Some might have thought that getting angry over something as trival as torn clothes was pointless, but those people had obviously never tried to find clothes with a Halloween motif in a world where the holiday was nonexistent.

Chelsi shot her free hand forward, grabbing for her opponent’s long, brown hair, to yank her head down and bash her with the hilt of her bokken, right on the goose-egg that was no doubt beginning to form on the Lavinian’s head.

“You couldn’t just make this easy on me and pass out from the pain, could you!?” the frustrated witch snarled, beginning to build momentum.

[AsukaStrikes]

Numbing. Crackling. Paralyzing.

Pain.

What was supposed to be a corpse inside the ring of steel started to shift uneasily in the bowels of the Cell, slowly at first but nonetheless moving. Crimson specks of dust clung to her face, turning the normally captivating young girl into the very image of a leper with an acne crisis. Each turn of her neck, every inch her burnt arms stretched forward, a hint of arching blue sparks shot up and down her body.

S- Storm... The Akashiman swordmaiden crept forward, her nearly useless body straining against its very own rebelling fibers with every move she made. Each time her arm reached out to grab a handful of dirt, flaring pain would bite down against her joints and drag her arm back against her side. Every moment her head turned to look at the other combatants, each occupied by either the crumbling arena or engaging ferociously amongst themselves, a light-blue arch would snpa her head the other way, causing the lass to writh in agony.

C- Curse you!

She had not believed that sick bastard was capable of feats beyond human bounds. Who would ever thought a skinny man like him could shoot lightning from his finger tips! That slick snob looked more at home sipping tea with the aristocrats than in a fight-or-die competition like this. But then again, he was able to snatch the title of "Serenti Invitational Champion" from that demonic Letho Ravenheart after all. She never should have thought less of his skills. Again, she had under-estimated her foe. Sooner or later, this would seal the deal for her demise.

"D-... Dar...n... y...you..." But Asuka was not ready to throw in the towel just yet. She wanted to die in the fury of a massive assault, a worthy death of a warrior. She would never allow herself to die from an ambush, especially by a prissy mongrel such as him. Even though she hated the very name of the dark knight, Letho Ravenheart was by far a more honorable man than this so-called "Champion."

Kazeryu, thrown down by his master as she was mind-controlled by the devilish furball, rested in waiting under a fine layer of dust. He awaited the return of his master, waiting to be reclaimed and enter the fray once again. A sword without a master was nothing more than a piece of sharp steel. But Kazeryu was different. He wanted to make his master proud. And one way to do that was to draw blood from her enemies.

Clank!

A piece of the ceiling fell from out of nowhere and slapped the tip of the sword, sending him spiraling through the air in a low arc before bouncing oddly against the solid ground, sliding across the fine dust for a few inches before halting a few feet in front of his master.

Asuka heard the steel bar echo over the din of combat, unsure of what to make of this new development. Was someone trying to intervene, turning the tide of battle against a certain mongrel here? Or could it be a ploy to assassinate a certain high-profile individual lurking about unseen? Could it be Rheawien herself, coming to help scratch Damon and Ashiakin off the list of advancers?

Flaring jitters subsided after an agonizing few seconds, followed by an overwhelming numbness that was no more helpful than it was before. Still, it was enough for the wounded lass to stretch her neck sideways without fear of the electrical tendrils still jumping around her body. She was genuinely surprised by what appeared before her eyes and the chaos that ensued.

The curtains and, to an extent, the ampitheater itself was on fire. She could care less the very arsonist was the very Storm who gave her quite a jolt. Smoke billowed towards the sky while ember showered the arena. A piece of burning railing plummeted through a hole and landed in the middle of the battleground, kicking up red fireflies as dirt sprayed the fallen warrior.

C- Curses! What's- Curses! No time! Up! Up! That was all the lass could think of as her shaking fingers wrapped themselves around the hilt of Kazeryu, using the sturdy blade to support herself and rose onto her feet. Lucky for her, everyone else was busy going at each other's throats to notice the fallen warrior stagger up and cast her eyes about the crumbling arena. And before long, her burning emerald eyes locked onto her target.

Storm... Veritas...

The mad man looked shocked and bewildered, with jaws agape and fear plastered all over his face.

"You... BASTARD!!!" Asuka was beyond furious. Furious for striking her down from behind. And most importantly, furious for making her lose sight of her intended target. "You're MINE!"

Even before the lass could finish, her legs were already hitting the hard ground, propelling the swordmaiden forward in an unsteady gait. She ran forward, eyes burning with the fury of a thousand hornets. Blood streaming from the corner of her mouth and eyes, a fatal result from the electrical blast coupled with the metallic amplification of the cage itself. The numbing pain kept her from moving as gracefully as she used to, but still fairly fast for a normal human being. Sword ready behind her, a faded aura covering the sword's entire blade. With determination marked clearly on her face, Asuka launched what would possibly her final full offensive against another fighter inside this blood-stained arena.

"OKAZE SLASH!!!" The sword whipped forward at an odd angle as she was a mere three feet away from the knave, arching from high on her right across to her left hip as she stumbled forward from the sheer force. The wind blade raced to meet its prey, ready to rend flesh on impact.

But the lass would never see if it would hit. The last of her strength was drawn for the final assault and as a result, the lass collapsed in a spray of dust and blood. As suddenly as she stood, the red-headed wildcat was down for the count yet again. But this time, Kazeryu remained in her iron grip. Her willpower remained, vowing never to let her father's sword stray from her side again as long as she lived.

[INDK]

Damon was grateful that no one had turned to attack him as he’d lay hurting on the floor. The little furrball had skirted away injured, and the boy had suffered both broken ribs and a broken nose because of his fall. His eyes stung with tears, and he fearfully wondered where Ashiakin was. The cell was becoming increasingly intense. The violence had been escalating to the point where even if Ashiakin were to join in now, he would have missed some of the most interesting events.

“What am I going to do now?” Damon figured. He would still have to fight. Ashiakin would expect that. Someone had to advance, honor had to be maintained.

As the boy picked himself up, he was infuriated by the injustice of the Cell. It was only a tournament like this where honor was turned into a zero-sum game. Those that won maintained it, those that lost lead lives that were meaningless and without event. Now, as he staggered up, his knee unable to bend properly, Damon feared that he would be the first to fall.

“I have to do something!” he realized. The little furrball was going to have to be destroyed. That had become more to Damon than just a battle for glory, but a mission all to itself. Now, the boy noticed the creature was waiting by the feet of the farmer, breathing hard as if Damon had managed a bit of damage.

The boy unsheathed his sword. At the most, he figured he had stunned the accursed creature. “Don’t see any blood anywhere,” he muttered. The boy clenched his sword with both hands, holding the blade downwards as he raised the weapon over his head. Suddenly, a rush of blood entered into his brain, and all the pain throughout his body seemed like it was meaningless. The boy spit blood out from his mouth and didn’t even notice that it contained a tooth. With that, he delved the sword downwards, shouting out loud even though it hurt his ribs to scream. The boy wanted nothing more than to destroy the furball, the creature that had distracted his attentions away from Asuka and still had the gall to live after he’d sacrificed his body to destroy it.

It was the only thing that he could do. When… if Ashiakin came, the ice demon would have to be on his own for Asuka, Damon knew he would no longer be able to defeat the girl at her full strength. Everyone else in the cage was enough of a threat that Damon probably couldn’t destroy them either. However, that didn’t matter nearly as much to the boy as the fact that when his blood finally ran out, the furball would be dead with him.

Truth was, with his body aching and breathing itself becoming difficult, Damon wasn’t sure how much longer he wanted to fight. Ashiakin would have given him strength if he had been there, but the little furball was the only other motivation Damon had.

[Ter-Thok]

Just as the second bar was beginning to come loose, Ter-Thok felt the flames licking the bottom of his hooves. The curtains had gone up like paper soaked in vodka. The demon sighed, irritated. The second screw had been much more difficult to remove, as a thin patina of grime had covered it. Not that it mattered much anymore; most of the crowd had vacated the premises. Not even Hans remained, chortling in barely understandable amusement and passing out those cards. The cards had been a stroke of genius, after all, as most creatures had a natural obsession with collecting. They'd make him a killing, if he made it to the next round.

But, no longer able to deny the all-pervading clouds of smoke filling the amphitheater, Ter-Thok figured he might as well follow the crowd's lead and leave. Still, something tugged at his conscience, minimal as it was. The demon scurried down along the outside of the enclosure, standing on the stage and looking into the prison of steel. He shouted, "Hey! If any of you morons feels like surviving this, I would suggest leaving through the gap in the ceiling! If not, feel free to die of smoke inhalation. It's up to you." And with that uncharacteristically short-winded speech, the demon high-tailed it out of the nearest clearly-labelled exit.

Outside, he was greeted with a concerned crowd; most of them had remained outside the burning amphitheatre, torn between their instinctive need for safety and their urgent human desire to get their money's worth from the tournament. There was a lot of murmuring at his exit; "Who's that?" "Is it one of the contestants?" "I think it is! The fellow on the bizarre paper squares!" "Oh dear gods, did he win? I bet thirty-five gold on the red-head!" And other similar utterances, as one might expect.

"People, people, please!" Ter-Thok shouted, as best he could, over the din, "Yes, I did in fact win. Soy el ganador, after all. But the point is, even though I may have bested them in combat...without really fighting any of them...and come out on top by not burning to death, which they just might potentially be doing, we should still honor their efforts to win this flashy tournament. For about five seconds. Now is the time for a victory party. To the taverns!"

A cheer went up; Ter-Thok may have been a difficult contender to root for, but a good old-fashioned pub crawl was something a crowd could really get behind.

[hushpuppy]

Meerplex squeaked, a series of shrill gasps, calling out to anyone in the cage who might lend aid to a wounded creature. These beasts that called themselves human sometimes acted foolishly when they heard cries of pain. No one seemed to hear, though. They continued their collective suicide, attacking each other with reckless abandon and even pulling down their cage about themselves in a shower of steel and embers. Anger, frustration and despair floated on the air, and for a moment the furball's injuries seemed to melt away. For all its failures, Meerplex had seen death this day after all. The crowd roared its approval, distant and tinny.

A figure hovered overhead, a black, hooked shadow shuffling close. It was like the crow, only larger, fiercer, more permeated with a love of death. Clacking its beak, the hunched bird moved closer, its claws scraping on the ground, breath huffing, feathers brushing against each other breezily. The sweet stench of decay wafted from its body, wearing a caked coat of blood and flesh. It had come from death, and was bringing that dark unknown at the tip of its curved beak. Meerplex felt no emotion - could not - but the stillness of impending dissolution pressed down upon it. Overhead, steel bars and flaming ash fell downward, hitting the ground, scattering crows, but being swallowed up by that quietness. Fed by this heavy rain, the shadow of silence spread, covering all things until only the hiss of the bird's feathers with each hopping step could be heard. It was called a vulture, and it fed off the disease crows left behind, annihilation giving its lifeless life purpose. It loomed above Meerplex, bent yet tall, eyes flashing without light. Lifting its neck to strike down the final blow, the furball could only whistle tunelessly, a morningdove at midnight.

In the last second, the silence shattered and the vulture faded. In its place, thrusting down a mortal blow, stood a young boy. As the blade dropped, the murderous furball felt itself growing out, living beyond its small body. It needed to possess no man. It had already possessed them all.

[INDK]

“That’s it…” Damon said as his sword sliced down right into the little furry creature. It would be the end of his troubles, he was now victorious over something, and even though Ashiakin had not entered, the boy’s time in the cell would not pass without meaning. The headiness of his feat gave the boy a bit of joy. A smile appeared on his face and a sudden rush of euphoria empowered him in a way more pleasing then adrenaline.

It was only now that Damon began to notice the smoke. His breathing had been labored and his eyes watering before, but the boy had thought that had been caused merely by his pain. Now he began to sweat more profusely, and everything around him seemed warmer. Before, Damon had been so centered upon his single target, the one white ball of fur that he had barely noticed the flames all around him. It wouldn’t have mattered anyways earlier, he had naturally assumed he was going to die. Now, Damon wanted to live, get out of the flames and accept deserved adulation from the crowd. Though the boy had always detested attention, he wanted recognition now for his feat. He needed someway of knowing that Ashiakin’s absence would not prevent him from being etched in the psyche of the crowd.

Also, as injured as he was, Damon knew he could escape the flames, there were ways that he could alter his body so that he’d be able to pass through both the chains and fire and emerge from the cage safely. Then, he could rest, get medical attention and consider his work a job well done that he’d managed to get out while the rest of the competitors all burned alive. Damon might just have escaped triumphantly that way, had he not noticed that there was one other who had seemingly emerged unharmed from the cage. It was the small demon, the one that couldn’t have been more than four feet tall.

“I’m going to have to defeat him,” Damon realized, even though he was battered and wounded. The boy began to chant, so that he could pass through solid matter without impediment. Then, wounded, he began to move, past the wounded Asuka and the man with electricity, and the two women whose fighting had not been of much concern to the boy to this point. He moved past the flames and out onto the apron, and staggered forwards as he returned his body to its natural state.

“I have also escaped,” he said. “It looks like we don’t have a winner just yet.”

There was a mixed reaction from the crowd. Many of them were pleased that another warrior had escaped the cage and would challenge the little demon. However, a good number of them could have cared little for an ensuing battle between good and evil. They were just looking forward to free drinks.

[Ter-Thok]

Ter-Thok sat perched on a piece of statuary designed to decorate the amphitheater. One of the few crowd members that had deigned to bet on him had brought him a mug of ale; it tasted rather awful. Not only that, but demon physiology renders them immune to the intoxicating effects of most substances, so in addition to the poor taste, there was nothing fun about it. The assumed victor of this round of The Cell stared at the mug a moment, but was not about to allow a stein of piss-tasting swampjuice to ruin his victory. The crowd, some members of which were slightly soused after having nipped around to the nearest taverns (which sold the harder stuff, being outside the city proper), sent up another ragged cheer.

Unawares that another had exited the cage safely, the demon stood on the statuary, holding up his foul-flavored mug heroically. Just as he was about to launch into another long-winded speech, the boy behind him spoke. Ter-Thok spun around, secretly overjoyed as the motion sent his ale splashing to the ground. He examined the emerged contender for a moment, then laughed as heartily as someone with miniscule vocal cords could. "Really, now? I say we do have a winner. You look like shit. I don't mean like regular shit, I mean, like, a five-hundred pound bloodmonkey with diarrhea drank laxative coffee and then stabbed the end result with a sharpened stick for three hours. That kind of shit. Hans, do me a favor and laugh at this gent, would you?"

The translucent red dome that stood out among a crowd of more-or-less normal heads pushed it's way through, and focused it's mirthful black eyes on the small boy. "HA HA HA! HA HA HA! HANS SAY DAT FELLEROW TOTE LEE FAILURE."

"Thank you, Hans. Listen, chico, maybe you were better off staying in the cage." Without even a gesture, or a muttering, Ter-Thok exerted his psychic abilities, wrenching a hunk of burning timber from the walls and sending it hovering at an achingly slow pace towards the child. It sat in the air above him for a while, shedding sparks and chunks of charcoal, before simply dropping out of the sky. Grinning, Ter-Thok hefted his ElectroProd, tweaking the electrical output away from lethality and more towards crippling pain.