And So It Happened (Mathias vs. The Sweetest Thing)

[Mathias]

"Your first opponent will be arriving, soon," said the monk, clad in a brown robe with the hood drawn up - darkness obscuring his features. He bowed to the planeswalker as he walked by.

Mathias walked through the doors to his room in the great Dajas Pagoda - feeling somewhat alienated by the orient style of the building. He thought about the melting pot of Scara Brae, and the mixture of cultures that were currently being churned about through this generation - a homogeneous concoction of identity that was crafted by the break down of barriers between the nations of the world and a certain semblance of unity and empathy across the spectrum of society.

In all of this, he found ironic that, despite the standard of decency and dignity had been raised, there was still a call for arenas. People still enjoyed to see people suffer - to see them fight for their life. For whatever the reason, glory-seekers still found a beautiful appeal to the nature of combat, and so, great testaments to this nature of theirs had been built. Huge structures of towering importance, of cultural significance, like this pagoda, were erected to stand as a beacon to those who wanted pride, honor, and valor. This was a place to earn acclaim for one's martial skills, and it was undeniable that Mathias was the person most likely to draw out the vermin lurking the shadows around Scara Brae.

For the purpose of luring a former lieutenant of the Scara Scourge, Cruz, who had betrayed the Scourge and many of the other "old," crime outfits in the city. He had sided with the new arrivals - the Blackhood Syndicate, whom delved into unethical practices that even the lowest rung of Scara Brae's criminal underworld would never even think of touching. And behind them was the arch-lich, Morian Fleshbane, pulling their strings as he pursued Mathias across the world - seeking to harness the potential and power that he possessed, up until recently, unknowingly.

He sat down in the middle of his room, reflecting and meditating heavily on the events that had brought him here, and the favors that had been called in to get him to this point.

It was rumored that even Leader himself had requested Mathias a warrior's spot on the roster - the council had agreed to it on the condition that the Scara Scourge lay off of tampering with the betting pools. As large as compromises could get, they acquiesed - and it had become apparent just how far the war between the Syndicate and the Scourge was going to escalate.

Drawing in a deep breath, Math calmed himself, trying to find his clear his head and allow his senses to prepare for the fight ahead. I guess I'm back to being a gladiator, he mused wryly to himself - thinking back to his days as a cage fighter in the Zirnden, as well as a puppet gladiator for Morian himself.

Although, now, he had a real cause. Something worth fighting for. Maybe that would turn things around - just maybe... that'd give him reason enough to win this battle.

[The Sweetest Thing]

Wind tugged at the tresses of the girl's simple white dress as she ducked into the Dajas Pagoda, glad for protection against the blustery day. A tiny backdraft fanned her hair out as the door rushed shut, red streaks on the golden locks shining like pheonix fire in the stolen sunlight. A soft gasp whispered from her lips when the door slammed, petite pale hands gripping the knee length skirts before hastily releasing them. A blush rose in her cheeks as she noticed a hooded monk nearby, his reaction to her folly shrouded by the shadowy brown robe.

Following the stoic figure, Anastacia Alliendra tried to gaze in eight directions at once. The architecture was exotic and elegant, supple wood carved and molded to form high vaulted ceilings. Her flat heeled boots made small echoing clicks on the polished floorboards, not unlike a lazy woodpecker searching for a meal. The monk led her to a screen door that whispered open like caressing wind in a wide meadow. He guided her inside, and she suddenly found herself in a room which was very plain indeed.

Stacia's dress looked as if it had been tailored to match the white screen doors which made up the most interesting part of the room. The rest of it was steadfast wood panelling; floor, walls, and ceiling. It had a certain dignity, not unlike the muscular man that was its master. Stacia gazed shly away from the youth, twin pools of innocence fixated on the blank wall as she spoke.

"I bring you my Mistress' good tidings, my Lord. She wishes for some of her girls to learn the ancient art of unarmed combat, and I am one of those lucky few." She bent at the knees and lifted her skirts in a low curtsy, head bowed, eyes never straying from the wall.

"My Mistress has good coin to spend, and tales of the legendary Pagoda Warriors are often told at the Sisterhood. And so it happened that I came here... I," wide blue eyes glanced timidly at the hierarch's features. "I hope to be a good student." She studied his feet, a relieved smile tugging feebly at the corners of her mouth. "For true, I expected someone older."

Doll-like hands smoothed at the white silk dress, seeking to iron out any inadequecies Mathias might spot.

[Mathias]

Mathias opened his eyes, looking up into the girl's blue eyes - a color which matched the oceanic tint that his own held. He stood up and made a deep, sweeping bow as a gesture of respect. "I am Mathias. I'm, to be honest, only a recently appointed Warrior here, and this will be my first formal battle. Despite my youth, I'll assure you something, Miss... I've had more than my share of fighting experiences. Although I've gotten a bit rusty, I'm no push over," he explained, his eyes sweeping over the girl who couldn't barely be older than her. "I promise I will bequeath you whatever advice I may have to give throughout our session together."

He unbuttoned his jacket, sliding it off his shoulders and throwing it to the side. Clad in his unrestrictive, sleeveless black vest and white pants that stopped at his ankles (only because they were held up by his belt, as they're a bit too big for his waist), he rolled his shoulders around and stretched his neck.

"I'll be honest, in likewise - I wasn't expecting a lass as my first opponent. Although, by no means do I underestimate you, but to be fair... and I do not mean to be arrogant in any sense of the word, but, I can't help but feel that I'd break you. Then again, it may just be your doll-like features that have me in that particular disposition," Mathias said.

Although his flattery was heartfelt and true, it also masked his intentions, as he sized her up, gaging her, feeling out her aura and intent. He registered her size, her handling, and her posture - taking in so many details that the lovely face framed by the rose-streaked blond barely even made impact on him.

"I will say, however, that I find it unwise for you to consider yourself lucky to be chosen for combat. It's not a fun existence, to be sure. Especially for a lass of the Sisterhood... yours are a delicate and very fair type - or so I'm lead to believe. This is the first time I'll have ever been able to enjoy one's company, although... I imagine these are not normal circumstances upon which we would have otherwise met. Might I ask your name, then, lady?"

The planeswalker approached her, cautiously, and extended his hand. He gazed at her with a polite smile, a showing of his intent to remain formal, calm, and collected - or at least until their "festivities," would truly begin.

[The Sweetest Thing]

As Mathias threw off his jacket Stacia's eyes caressed the youth's broad shoulders and hard muscles. She covered her mouth with both hands, hiding a smile that was all to evident in her innocent eyes. Plainly the lad was uncomfortable; already he babbled like a brook overflowing with winter's thaw.

"My name is Anastacia Alliendra," she complied, "but I would be honored if you'd call me Stacia, all my closest friends do." She clasped his outstretched hand in both of hers as she spoke, drawing it close enough that he could feel the body heat radiating from her bosom. His fingers were strong, calloused, so unlike the pudgy hands of the wealthy merchants the Mistress often had her meet with. Her own fine-fingered hands felt like dainty white orchids growing in a rock garden. Her eyes melted to an ethereal sky blue, and the way she gazed at him, they could have been the only two people left on the planet. She half-curtsied again, bravely matching him stare for stare.

"I will follow your direction without question, my Lord. I know I am frail, but I would learn to defend myself just the same." For a moment, Stacia thought about the boot-toe knife hidden in her customized boots. To soon, she warned herself, he is still wary of me. The look of sincere hopefullness never left her face or body for a moment.

"May we begin?" She asked like a child requesting a sweet treat. Her head bowed to kiss the back of the young man's rough hand. Rosy lips, supple yet firm, pressed against his skin. An instant later Stacia sank to one knee, grabbing for Mathias' fingers with one hand and his thumb with the other. She twisted as she dropped, using all of her weight to attempt a wrist throw that would put the warrior on his back - and perhaps, at her mercy.

[Mathias]

Mathias laughed on the inside - the hilarity of the internal monologue he was having only being apparent to himself. You really are a sucker, he scolded himself. But does she really think I'm going to melt into her like that? And that's when he felt the tension in her body change, and he immediately realized his mistake. He was too formal, too trusting, and too naive - even still. He had let his guard down for a mere moment of courtesy, and he was distracted by her attempt at using her natural charm, before he realized: Of course she has a faint fucking clue as to what she's doing. This is the Pagoda!

Rather than resisting the throw, the vandal allowed himself to roll into it, twisting and ending up in a quick descent onto his back. Again, he had to berate himself. I hate using tricks so soon, he thought. But I guess my hand is literally being forced... Well. Atleast I don't have to act like a gentleman anymore.

Before the moment of impact, Mathias reflexively shifted his entire being - body and soul, into another plane. Some of the momentum from the twist was lost as he planesflashed into the Vivid Plane, and although he still felt a bit of the wind knocked out of him as he landed on the ethereal ground of his favored battlefield. However, he hadn't yet activated his arena - he'd merely brought himself into the plane out of instinct.

As he scrambled to his feet, the adrenaline hit his brain and his thoughts ceased to run tracks through his mind. Now that it had started, he was completely engulfed in the battle, and nothing else could be made visible to him. The girl may as well have been right - they could be the only two people in the world, for all that it mattered to Mathias. And with the completion of that thought, the planeswalker ended his planesflash and materialized back into the Firmament, back into the arena, in front of the girl.

Hoping to take advantage of what surprise his ability may have caused her, he lifted his leg and aimed a kick for the side of her head, putting his force into the blow. His ocean blue eyes no longer seemed like the surface of water on a warm day, but instead, the frozen-cold depths. His voice, likewise, was much colder than before as he answered her previous question with a very stoic, matter of fact, "We may."

[The Sweetest Thing]

The satisfied smirk that settled onto Stacia's face as she tossed the Warrior vanished in favour of pure astonishment. Mathias was gone - just gone.

Panic gripped her like a dragon's talons, and for an instant she was paralyzed. She had lost control of the situation so quickly the whiplash left her gasping for breath.

She had been so certain it would work. The passive, almost masochistic demeanor combined with her ivory skin and rosebud lips brought most men to their knees faster than a kick to the jaw. She stood up, eyes ice blue and wide open, darting around the barren room. Her hands quaked involuntarily and she clasped them together, pressed them against her lips to keep them still. She needed to stay calm, and stay ready. If she allowed Mathias to overcome her, she would never advance to the Master tier of the Dajas Pagoda. An image of Joshua Cronen appeared in her mind's eye, the man who had taught her more about fighting in a day than she had learned in years prior. What would he tell her to do in that confusing situation?

Stacia realized the answer just as Mathias appeared before her. Cronen's voice echoed clearly in her memory, a simple command that had been drilled into her subconscious.

Move.

She dashed forwards, ducking to avoid the kick and throwing up both arms to protect her head. Mathias was swift, however, and his kneecap grazed the top of her skull. Stacia's vision blurred at the edges and a sharp ringing exploded in her ears, but her forward momentum only increased, like a rock rolling down a hill. She aimed her slim shoulder for the cluster of muscle and nerves just above the knee on Mathias' support leg. A moment before impact, her smooth arms shot forward like a pair of striking snakes, reaching to hug the Warrior's calf.

If the single leg takedown worked, she could put the youth on his back again, and perhaps he would not escape so easily this time.

[Mathias]

If ever there was anything that resembled a cosmic force that people liked to call "fate," acting in the universe... it was undeniable that it had, not only a sense of humor, but an almost obsessive fetish for irony. Not only had Mathias let his guard down against a woman whom he'd drastically underestimated, despite his vow not to, but she was a grappler - something thing that he had never gotten used to fighting. He recalled his defeat at the hands of Joshua Cronen, although he had never learned that man's name. It had left him seething - not for hatred of the man particularly, but with anger at himself, for being susceptible to him, and for losing and incurring Morian's ire, of whom he was a slave of at that time.

Now, however, the stakes were vastly different. Before was merely strife of survival; in the present, Mathias had a vendetta. His conquest in the Pagoda was for the purpose of an all consuming burn for revenge, and his selfish reason may end up being the deciding factor in his will to retaliate. Before, he had been submissive, downtrodden, and beaten both physically and emotionally. Now, his will to live was bound by a drive, and that was what made him strive to become something more, and something better, than he was before.

Maybe fate is a bitch like that, he thought to himself. I'll lose when I have only a basic need to win... only when it's for a reason beyond my control, or a sense of selflessness. But you throw in my greed, my selfishness now? Maybe that's what changes the tide of battle.

But suddenly, the planeswalker felt an explosion of force from underneath him and he was taken to the ground by Stacia. Immediately, he realized something that wryly ironic: it wasn't fate that would decide the outcome of the conflict. It was his own ability.

As that thought set in, he hit the floor with a hard thud. His head smacked off the ground, and he felt pain shoot through him. Ultimately, however, this went against the first rule of any major fight: Never hit the face first. The moment the adrenaline hits, pain is forgotten and anger overcomes anguish. Mathias was a prime example of that, having exceeded all of his normal capacity out of sheer desperation in fights that had come before this one. Especially now, he felt his blood boil and rage fill him, and he twisted his body so he could face his opponent.

At that moment, he let out a guttural roar - a crash of his vocal chords as they boomed forth from his throat and into the open air of the arena. The room recognized its master's will, and immediately blinked out of existence. It was replaced by the psychedelic vividness of the ethereal plane, and the true nature of the Planeswalker's Arena was activated. Chaotic colors swirled around in vibrant, obscuring mists and explosive sprays of fog and immaterial incandescence.

Through a wave of multi chromatic hues, Mathias threw a heavy punch, somewhat obscured by the mist, somewhat trapped by the takedown he'd suffered - but a powerful blow all the same, and one that Math hoped... no... eagerly desired would connect, and give him the familiar and welcomed sensation of fist connecting to flesh.

[The Sweetest Thing]

As you know, writing grappling can be tricky. If you feel like anything in here is bunnying or unclear just let me know and I'll alter it accordingly.

Striking Mathias' thigh felt like running into an oak, but Stacia's slim shoulder must have been an axe, for the youth fell hard. The floor gave slightly as the golden haired girl finished the takedown, pressing her weight onto her opponent and burying her head, still hugging the leg furiously. Her breath came in short sharp gasps as she fought to control the river of molten adrenaline that coursed through her veins.

Mathias let out a mighty roar, and the world changed in a puff of pink vapour.

Stacia hyperventilated, her heart a neverending drumroll. The floor was still there, sturdy beneath the grappling pair, but all she could see was never ending whiteness filled with dancing, darting clouds of colored smoke. The vivid colors left her starstruck, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Her head, still buzzing from the impact of Mathias' knee, swam amidst the elusive images burned into her brain by the ethereal plane.

Keep moving! She screamed inside her head, but her body felt numb, unable to respond. She felt the Warrior shift against her, his shin digging into her side, and knew the end was near. She braced herself against the impending impact, shoulders hunched, head tucked down near her arms, almost curled into a ball around the hierarch's leg.

She felt him exhale, felt his body tighten, and the heavy punch glanced off her shoulder.

Stacia's eyes snapped open. She was not dead, nor unconscious, nor grieviously injured. Her arm hurt, but it was a fleeting pain, washed away by that river of epinephrine. As the blow glanced off, surprise galvanized her into action. Surprise that the youth had not finished her with one punch; surprise that she could stand up to his power, even weakened as it was by fighting from his back. In that elated instant she responded with an attack of her own.

Releasing the leg, Stacia pushed off the invisible floor, hoping to stay on top of Mathias and keep him pinned on his back. With her eyes squinted against the distracting swirls of color she slid up his side, keeping the full weight of her slim form pressed against his chest. Her elbow dropped on the far side of his neck, her knee already on the near side, and like a pincer the two points pressed together. She attempted to crush his throat between them, using her free arm and leg to establish a solid base on the floor, her breath still coming fast but now in controlled bursts. She had never expected the path of the Pagoda to be an easy one, and she was willing to work as hard as necessary to travel it.

[Mathias]

Mathias felt his heart sink a bit as his fist grazed an unintended target, far from the mark he'd intended - knowing full well that he was trapped otherwise. Stacia, in a burst of energy, pinned him down further, and he was unable to retaliate despite his violent thrashing. His head turned, and his vision was filled with the impending threat of her attack; he saw her knee rushing forward towards him. Vicious! he thought to himself. Horrifically vicious. For a moment, he was unable to comprehend how a woman who belonged to a sisterhood of courtesans could possibly have such aggression, such fervor, and such ferocity. But a quick revelation told him that she must have a lot of pent up misandry, having seen the entire spectrum of disgusting from some of her escorts.

However, he was offended to feel himself being lumped into the same category, and he held himself to a standard of not allowing personal aggravations take hold of him during an affair that was beyond himself. This fight was not for his own glory - it was for the glory of the Scourge, for the vindication of his friends. And so, too, would every fight after this, because right now, he could not afford to lose.

Not with the way things were in the criminal underworld of Scara Brae, with so much at stake and depending on him, and his companions' ability to fight back against the encroaching Blackhood Syndicate. His dedication to his mission filled him with a zealous energy, and he was invigorated with a negligence towards the risk he was about to take. For in truth, planeswalkers are those who force their will to transcend the bindings of one particular plane of reality. In doing this, they break the laws of physics and metaphysics, and become part of another realm in their entirety; doing this, they transfer the essence of both body and soul to another level of existence.

The principle of planesflashing is that one takes themselves out of their normal plane with a quick yank, allowing them to move freely and avoid immediate danger. But this is a dangerous practice, for it requires complete concentration and control over one's body and mind. Mathias, to be honest, was not as calm and collected as he made himself out to be, or even as much as he wished he was.

Agony tore at him as he planesflashed a second time, ascending even further into the ladders of reality and leaving behind the Vivid Plane where his arena had translocated to. Ye gods... I'm going to destroy myself before she even has a chance to, he thought to himself, feeling the ripping of his essence in every ounce of his being. However, before his body could completely dematerialize from the plane, the pincer crushed the echo of his body - still attached, but not a complete physical shell. It took the wind out of him, and it caused him to cough and choke as he moved forward, finally free from Anastacia's grappling. He rolled over himself, onto his feet, turning around as he started to fade back into the Vivid Plane, returning to the heat of battle.

Hoping to catch her by surprise one more time with his trick - the last up his sleeve, really, he rushed towards where Stacia had been kneeling, bringing up his foot in an upper-cutting punt of a kick towards her face.

[The Sweetest Thing]

The pincer closed on Mathias' soft neck-flesh, and Stacia felt his heartbeat wane, felt the victory impending. A few moments more and the warrior would be unconscious. Then, she could challenge Josh Cronen, and see him again. He was the greatest instructor to ever teach her, and so much more. The only man she had ever truly wanted. Determination doubled by the mere memory of those wise hazel eyes, she squeezed the choke harder, and at that moment Mathias vanished.

The hierarch disapeared so suddenly that Stacia actually elbowed herself in the knee, and she yelped in shock, rubbing the bruised area. Frustration swallowed the determination that had powered her before; not only did she have to deal with this bastard's size and strength, he kept running away! Her icy blue eyes scanned the area, probing between swirling clouds of colored mist, searching for the silhouette of a man.

He appeared quite suddenly, sprinting through a lazy green haze, intent on ending the battle. Shock seized the girl, and she only had time to throw both arms up in a hasty X block before the kick landed.

The boy's pure power knocked Stacia backwards, and she slid a full yard before coming to a halt. She took the kick hard on her left tricep, the kinetic force causing her right forearm to bash into her face. She tasted the metallic tang of blood from a cut on the inside of her lower lip, and felt a thin stream of the crimson liquid running from her nose, staining her snow white skin.

Stacia lay on her back. Her head spun slightly, the repeated drubbings causing an unpleasant dizzying nausea. Her left shoulder ached, from the earlier punch and the vicious kick. She was gasping for air - panting - like a dog on a hot day. She could not keep chasing Mathias, particularly not when she could not see him. Up until that point, she had been the aggressor, always pursuing her opponent. Now it was necessary to make him come to her, so she could capitalize on his mistakes.

The arena seemed to respond to Stacia's moment of clarity, for the dancing mists that had blocked the combattants' view of each other suddenly rushed aside. They formed a writhing technicolor whirlwind, encasing the fighters. The girl wiped her nose hastily, smiling as best she could through long, bosom-heaving breaths. She waggled her slim creamy legs at Mathias invitingly, the skirt of her dress sliding down and baring her to the thigh, hinting at black undergarments beneath. Bracing her forearms on the floor behind her, she lifted her head and quirked an eyebrow at the enemy.

"Will you come to me, or would you prefer to flee some more, little boy?" She gasped.

[Mathias]

Mathias felt his kick connect, knocking her backwards and allowing the satisfactory feeling of the transfer of his force to seep into him. For a moment, he reveled in the sheer joy of pain and its infliction - an appreciation that he had been conditioned to through all of his time as a gladiator and slave. The planeswalker stood there for a moment, looking down at the woman on the ground, and he scrutinized her with his sea-swept eyes. She moved her leg, and his gaze ran over her flesh, and a wry smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. He shook his head, scoffing lightly. "I'm sorry if I disappoint, but I've lost a bit of my boyish naivety. You're the challenger - I need not make any concessions. My only concern is giving you the fight you were looking for," he said, somewhat apologetically. His tone of voice was strained, and his breathing was labored.

He could feel the muscles inside of him straining, ripping, and tearing from the pressure he'd put on them. Him, standing there, was a stalling tactic to allow him breathing room. Planesflashing twice in such quick succession had lacerated the sinew and tissues of his body, and pushing himself to his physical limits while fighting would certainly not help him any.

The only relaxation he felt was from the cool air brushing against his skin. The mists of his plane had parted to the sides, and he was certain that it wasn't his will that had caused it. A fickle mistress, the arena was, bending to the whim of who desired it most. Mathias preferred it chaotic, untamed, and unrestricted, and thus, for those who required a clear and concise are to battle in, would often find the sprays of chromatic hues much more docile than before. This has to end relatively soon, he told himself. He took a deep breath, hoping to summon the willpower to become reckless against his own need for caution and self-restraint, and to push through and finish the battle in favor of himself.

"But I will compromise, just this once," he said, dashing forward and leaping into the air, aiming a spear-headed kick at Stacia's chest.