This wasn't in the contract...

[Kerberos]

Open to one.

"Are any of you women? No, I am being serious. The hood that every single one of you apparently likes wearing, well, it kind of gives off this dominatrix type thing, and I am so into that. I would let any of you tie me up any time, as long as you are actually, you know, blessed with womanly body parts. Heck, you don’t even have to be a woman, as long as you are missing the male organs, and somehow endowed with the female ones. I will honestly take just about anything I can get. Seriously. The hoods turn me on that much."

He was met with more silence.

"Guys?"

Slowly, Kerberos approached one of the hooded monks, a nervous smile on his face. This was his first time in this place, and so far, he was totally freaked out. He had walked through the doors at the suggestion of one of his bar buddies, who said that Kerberos and his fighting skills might actually have a chance in one of the arena’s of the famed Citadel. Kerberos, never one to ignore praise, had puffed out his chest, shot a wink at the nearest barmaid, and shouted boasts about how he would beat everyone there, in any situation, at any time. After several had applauded, and several had asked him to remember some of the cooler details, in order to have some good stories, Kerberos had gotten so caught up in the moment that he had actually made the trip here. He had just been bragging and fibbing at first, but with the barmaid shooting him those seductive looks, and the other men shouting about his bravery for fighting at the Citadel, he had gotten a bit too caught up in his little story of valiant battles. So, medium-sized story short, he had walked through the doors, into an empty room. A large empty room with weapons and paintings, artifacts and books, and several hallways leading off into the deeper reaches of the building. Not so sure of what to do, he had poked a head outside, making sure there wasn’t a sign-up sheet or anything, then turned back into the main room. The monks had seriously not been there before. But at that second glance into the main room, there had sudden been a ring of eight, each of them hooded and cloaked, staring at him with shadowed gazes. It made him nervous.

"Guys?"

Kerberos was dressed simply, in a white sleeveless shirt, and black britches, a bit worn at the edges. His rippling arm muscles were obvious, along with the two tattoo’s on his right arm. It was his left hand though, that slowly reached out toward one of the hooded monks, attempting to touch it to make sure it was actually real. It wasn’t until a hand on his back suddenly pushed him forward that his mind comphrehended that the monk had suddenly vanished, as his hand reached out. “Say wha…?” He was being pushed from behind! And it wasn’t pushing him over, it was pushing him forward and across the floor, deeper into one of the hallways. He managed to gurgle out half of a surprised curse and attempt to spin around before the hand on his back interrupted his sudden panic with soft words. “You are here to fight, are you not?” Kerberos paused, his feet still sliding forward over the stone floor. What if he dug his heels in? Would he pause, or just get hurt? “What if I am?” The being behind him laughed, leaning forward a bit, letting his shaded hood reach the edges of Kerberos’s vision. “Then you will need an arena? Any preferences?”

Oh, well, how nice. Kerberos instantly relaxed, his rather simple mind taking the monk at face value, and not even noting how odd this was. The monk was incredibly strong, incredibly fast, and was now leading him toward the arena without any permission asked. Not like he really needed permission, after all, Kerberos did want to fight. But still, you would think they would at least try to be polite. Then again, Kerberos hadn’t started off too polite either.

Giving off a rogue of a grin, Kerberos let himself be led. “Surprise me.”

The monk let out a chuckle, taking a sudden, unexpected turn, and ending both of them up right in front of a large stone door, painted a deep red. “Very well. Good luck.” He took a step forward, placing himself beside of Kerberos, and pushing open the large door. The arena was revealed beyond.

The entranceways were opposite of each other, placed about 10 feet above the arena floor, forcing the fighters to drop down onto the arena. The arena itself was simple, but completely insane, and demented. It consisted of a large chunk of what looked to be a circular piece of black rock, 60 paces wide, and tall. It was a perfect circle, really, nicely spaced, an even and smooth surface. Multiple tree trunks were spread out across the black surface; black and dead trees, barely a few inches thick, although reaching about seven feet tall. The interesting feature was the extremely thick metal chains, which consisted of various metal chains (mithril), twining together to make one massive chain. It came down from a ceiling unseen, and dove into the exact middle of the little black rock island, anchored deep within the stone. Even more interesting was the fact that this chain was the only method of support for the rock arena, which when put to further investigation, was hovered about 50 feet above a bed of pure lava. The lava, was, well, lava. Hot and deadly, and not really good to fall into. Stones about 1 foot wide and tall could be found scattered all over the surface of the lava, so you weren’t completely dead if you fell.

Kerberos’s eyes widened. “Bloody hell.” Blinking rapidly, he took a hesitant step forward, standing at the very edge of the entrance and staring down. Flexing his right arm, he started to reconsider this fool mission. No one had told him about lava. “Match start. Like I said, good luck!” Kerberos blinked as the words echoed from behind him, then the realization of what they meant hit him like a ton of bricks. “No, wa-“ He was shoved from behind, and sent yelling down into the arena. Cursing a string of words that are not appropriate for this post, he managed to land on his feet, folding his legs into a crouch to absorb some of the shock. He landed on the south end of the island, halfway between the edge and the chain. The island tilted.

“Ah, bloody hell.”

Scrabbling toward the middle of the island, muttering more curse words, he realized the devilishness of this place. Any sudden weight on any part of the island too far away from the supporting chain would upset the balance, causing the island to tilt, and certain unluckies to fall to the lava beneath. Great.

[Solstæce]

Continues directly from here. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=17355)

"I still don't understand why you're so nervous."

Mylea Hollowell's tone was playful, her question lighthearted, but an undercurrent of concern was written everywhere from her eyes to the way she turned her body towards her companion. Both she and Lhaxæan knew perfectly well why he was nervous, but their recent exchange, coupled with the fact that they had hardly known one another a week, had transformed both into insincere, guarded caricatures of their usual selves. The walk from the Hollowell residence to Carré Il Santhalas had begun harmlessly, both being good-natured, friendly creatures, but gradually Lhaxæan had withdrawn, his already frail physique visibly shrinking with every step towards the Radasantian forum. By the time they entered the square, their walk had become awkward, forced, uncomfortable, and many other adjectives with powers to totally disarm most men, let alone one who had recently been found buried in a Salvarian snowdrift, thrown unceremoniously into a freighter ship, and had emerged from his coma sixty pounds lighter in a city he had never been to before.

"You're not going to get hurt," she persisted, gesturing lazily towards the dominant structure in the Radasanthian forum as they sat on an available bench. "They can heal anything that happens in there. The monks, I mean." Her companion sighed.
"I know," he replied. "I'm not afraid of what anybody can do to me physically. I mean, look at me, I'm a wreck, I'm not planning on winning any fights for a while."

A pause. Mylea continued to gaze at Lhaxæan, the worry in her eyes growing more and more evident. He, however, kept his eyes lowered, and continued in a very quiet, very different voice.

"It's just...I'm worried what I'm going to find out..." His voice faltered. Mylea gently reached over and placed a hand over his, squeezing reassuringly. The touch surprised him; not the action, not the warmth, but the familiarity, as though he had held the same hand a thousand times before. He looked up, meeting her brilliantly green eyes.

"About what?" she asked quietly.

For a moment that held a million years they stared at one another. There were a million sights in front of him, everywhere, but he would not look. A million souls, unique and beautiful, passed just beyond his reach, but he would not go out and meet them. A million thoughts swirled through his mind, but they were mirages: shadowy, distant, and far from the present. A million words hung on his tongue, breaking as fruitlessly against his lips as waves on rocks. And even as his senses were being ceaselessly accosted, as he sat in the midst of the busiest centre of the entire island, the only thing he could feel was the warmth that was growing in his bosom. An amazing lucidity began to seep through him; never before had he felt so close, so connected with his own self. Suddenly he realized just how afraid he truly was; afraid of the truth, afraid for himself. But most of all, he was afraid of leaving the only people who had ever shown him genuine concern, or care, or love, or whatever mix of emotions was so evident in a close family. Lhaxæan would have to leave, again, just as he always did, and for a moment he felt as though his heart would break. But as soon as he had felt this fear, let it dominate his consciousness, it faded. He could still feel it in his chest, a small lump, but in all essence it had retreated into a well-hidden nook in his soul. All that remained was purpose: whole, healthy, and incorruptible. He stood up, turning towards Mylea, and she was startled to see a broad, sincere smile dominating his features; startled, for she found herself staring not at the ghost of a man she had met a week earlier, but at the man as he was supposed to be, handsome and full of life.

"I'll tell you later."

And without a backwards glance, the slight, lithe form of Lhaxæan Ædinsolstæce bounded away from Mylea Hollowell, leaping up the broad stone steps, worn smooth by the feet of centuries. Crossing the legendary threshold, he hardly noticed the immediate disappearance of all outside light and noise as he jogged through a vacant corridor.

Don't stop. Never stop.

A doorway, plain and dark. Upon it hung a single spear, oak and steel. He froze at the sight; not from surprise, not from fear, simply paralyzed in a state of full excitation. Whatever the reason, he couldn't allow himself time to think, time to reconsider. No, what he needed at this immensely consequential junction was a confrontation with death in order to achieve confirmation of life. He lifted the spear from its brackets, and within it he felt the true soul of the weapon. Death was indeed present.

Without a second thought, Lhaxæan strode through the door, and instantly felt a blast of heat that nearly overcame him. Blinking furiously against the ash-filled air, his quick mind realized three things in succession: the precariously-hung rock-island and lava pit dominating the chamber, the fiendishly arranged surface of the island, and the fact that he was not alone in discovering the Ai'Bronean monks' latest devilry. Gripping his spear, Mylea's words echoing in his ears, he took two steps back, breathed deeply, and threw himself from the platform to the arena below.

A thud, a grunt, and a very ominous creak heralded Lhaxæan's first arrival to the platform and the Citadel. Taking a cautious step towards the center, he felt the island respond, restoring equilibrium. Balanced, he began his search for movement among the miniature forest of dead, blackened trees.

[Kerberos]

The ash in the air burned at the throat, causing his mouth to water at every opening, and then dry up just as quickly. Water was quickly becoming something he craved, something he needed, the stifling heat sucking the very life from his bones, it felt. Even thinking of the liquid and his lackthereof made it feel as if the life was draining even faster from his bones, the steamy air pentrating him to his very core. Still scrambling along the ground, hurriedly making it toward the center of the platform, he paused right next to the central steel chains. Muttering something about just wanting a drink, and about killing a bar friend, Kerberos grabbed at his top and in one smooth motion, ripped it off. He was going to go in as little clothing as possible, because dammit, it was hot. Shaking his head, he reached out for the supporting chain, as if to test the strength of the only support this island had. It certianly looked good enough, but still. Best to check, yes?

Bad move.

"SonovaBITCH!" A loud curse, a loud yelp, and a sizzling sound would echo around the arena, pained passion held within the words and sounds. Kerberos danced backwards, waving and blowing on his hands in a comical fashion, the pain clearly written across his face. His hands were red, looking minorly burned, most likely from the steel metal chain that had been absorbing heat for who knew how long. He hadn't fully wrapped his hands around the chain, so he had escaped without permanantly scarring himself (Which would be horrible, really. He would have to leave this detail out of the story he told the bar folks.), but he still had firy agony running through his hands and arm. Muttering more and more curses under his breath, Kerberos quickly waved his arms and hands up and down, fanning them much in the fashion a burnt five year-old would. His muscles rippled with every move, giving off a bit of an idea to just how strong this man was.

The island shifted again, startling the easily-startled manwhore, then just as quickly shifted back to normal. God, he hated this. Crouching a bit, to better help him keep his balance, he scanned the treeline quickly, searching for some kind of difference among the landscape. It wouldn't be too long before he laid eyes on Lhaxæan, who wasn't but fifteen, twenty paces away. This island wasn't really all that big, was it? Then again, Kerberos had made the wonderful tactical decision of placing himself right in the middle, like any other obvious buffoon would. Ah, hell, he didn't care. He was more concerned about his safety, even if no one else was. Smiling, he waved frantically at Lhaxæan, trying to catch his attention. His whole arm moved with the motion, once again, a five year-old style of doing things. "Hello there!" Still grinning his little madman grin, a lopsided smile that made you want to grin along, he pointed at the chain he was next to. "You know, if you look up, you can't see where this thing attaches to." It was true. Follow the chain up with your eyes, and a ceiling was not to be spotted. I don't feel safe. The lava below, the incredibly hot air, and the fact you are not a lusciously-curved woman who enjoys hand-to-hand combat does not help matters either. I am supposing you are armed too."

Kerberos and his grin grew, and he spread his hands out, palms facing upwards, and shrugged. "Go easy on me?" All of cocky, confident, mocking, and just stupid, in a single try. They were either going to get along, or enjoy beating each other to a pulp.

[Solstæce]

"Go easy on me?"

The chamber echoed loudly with the big man's powerful voice, reverberating off the roughly-hewn rock walls and creating an intimidating cacophony of sound that did nothing to reinforce Lhaxæan's desire to proceed with this fight. His stomach muscles began to contract involuntarily, but with a grimace he fought it back, tucking his fear once again into the depths of his being. Being an inherently friendly creature, he knew that any other day he would have readily bantered with Kerberos; this, however, was arguably the most important fight Lhaxæan had ever participated in, and he was in significant danger of losing his nerve and falling limply from the platform into the Ai'brone monks' waiting arms.

No.

There would be no words, no betrayal of faith or fear. There would be no second-guessing, no doubt. There would be no conscience, no rational mind, no higher thought-process dissuading him. If he could not marshall himself in a controlled (albeit devilish) arena, then there was simply no hope for him in the world outside, and he knew he would simply wither and die.

NO.

There would be no discussion, only direction. There would be no love, nor hate, only existence. There would be no fear, only a heightened sense of being. He would lose himself in blood and bone and nerve, lose himself for a glorious hour after which he could thoroughly accept the purpose of his renewed life.

The echoes faded, and with it so did the bubbling of the lava, the gentle creak of the massive mythril chains, and the scuffing of boots upon rock. A subtle, very subtle ringing rose in Lhaxæan's ears; not unwelcome, but as thought it were a dam, protecting his fragile, low-lying consciousness from the constant ravages of the ocean of reality. One moment passed, a single moment in which Lhaxæan was acutely aware of every pore of his being, every beat of his heart, every twitch of his muscles....and then he acted.

The blackened trees were blurs as he closed the first five paces between them in a bound. Blood was pounding in his ears as he dodged between stumps, closing the middle distance at a run in two steps. Five paces: he leapt. His knuckles were white on the oaken shaft of his spear as he rose above the tops of the deadwood, his jaw set, his eyes fiery in the ashy chamber. The island wobbled ominously, reacting to Lhaxæan's leap, but all he could see was the muscular, powerful form of the man fate had decreed he would fight on that day.

Today, Lhaxæan would know life. He was still a shadow of his former self, but his skills had not deserted him. The steel spearpoint cut a path through the thick, smokey air, unwavering, straight and true towards Kerberos' torso. No; today, regardless of the literal outcome, his soul would not know death, only life.

He lunged.

[Kerberos]

Something was wrong with this man, this opponent.

Even with the smoky cloud covering his eyes, and the heat in the air burning his lungs, Kerberos could tell. Even with his mind numbed down because of the still-lingering thought of the able-bosomed young woman he had met like last night, even with his mind just simply dumb because he was a complete numbskull, he could tell. The look in the eyes of his opponent was one he had seen long ago, staring darkly back at him in a mirror, back when he was eight, twelve, and sixteen. Eyes filled with hurt, pain, uncertainty, fear, dismay, apprehension, confusion, all emotions that any kind of human being should never have to feel at the same time. It was like he was looking at that mirror once more, staring into himself, yet this time, it was slightly different. This time it was Lhaxæan. Keberos felt a tear at his heart, and a rough tug, his soul distantly connecting with that of the opponent, which was widely considered a bad move indeed. Those eyes looked so familiar, and Kerberos could tell for a fact that the man hadn’t escaped those feelings, as Kerberos had. Sure, he had drowned them in women and drug-induced sleep, but still. Slowly the fist-fighter’s body relaxed, slowly he lowered his fists and arms down to the side. A slight look of empathy crossing his face, he took a step forward, various emotions now written across his suddenly serious face. “Are you ok-“

Then suddenly, Lhaxæan found his resolve.

Just as easily as Kerberos had recognized the negative emotion in Lhaxæan’s face, he now recognized the steely, stubborn, hardest emotion, and was quick to react as well. Biting his lower lip to force himself to concentrate, to set aside his own fears and worries about the arena, to try and set aside all other thoughts besides this match, this life and death, he took a moment to pause. Only a second of this motion would exist before Kerberos moved, regardless of the results of his quick meditation. The island shifted as Lhaxæan took flight multiple times, crossing the paces between them in leaps, runs, and bounds. Kerberos merely spread his feet a bit more, keeping his balance intact, or at least trying to. The man was charging straight-up, the dangerous-looking spear in hand, glinting harshly in the glowing chamber. A spear was best use in a thrust, and the man was taking that to the extreme. A full-on assault, nothing left behind, everything brought.
When the man left his feet to come jumping at Kerberos in a final bound, was when things finally came to a sudden clash. As the island began to lean toward Kerberos, all of the weight on his side now, he had to bend at the knees just a little more, grit his teeth just a little tighter in order to keep the dangerously-moving island out of his mind. He too, had found his resolve.

Leave nothing. Bring everything.

As the man came down, thrusting his oaken and metal spear at Kerberos’s in a beautiful, powerful thrust, our brawny playboy went into action. The thrust was a killing move, a single blow that if landed, would put Kerberos out of commission, and into the monk’s hopefully able-healing hands. That, and the thrust had the power of a skilled user, letting Kerberos know this man was going to be rough to deal with. Kerberos waited until the opponent had dedicated himself to his thrust, having watched as the man pulled back his arm for the power needed to thrust, and moving when the man threw his arm forward. Right about, now. Stepping to the right, planting his right foot, he effectively dodged the blow, his body blurring to the side (http://www.onemanga.com/Rurouni_Kenshin/53/15/). The island tilting even further now, Kerberos let his body go into full instinct, and went into a twirl, using his planted right foot as a pivot, and twirling uphill in a tight spin. Out would come his arm and fist, and with all of his lethal power packed into one blow, he brought his arm around with his spin, and aimed a harsh blow at the back of his opponent's neck and head. (http://www.onemanga.com/Rurouni_Kenshin/53/16/)

He was attempting to club Lhaxæan down the slope of the island, and into the lava. He himself would figure out what to do about the still tilting island in the next few moments.

The look in this man’s eyes spoke of the danger he would be, the resolve that he held.

The pictures are accurate, he is just using his arm instead of a sword.

[Solstæce]

A beat of his heart.

Lhaxæan's spear leapt forwards in his hand, a reflective blur cutting through the middle distance.

Two.

Kerberos entire being began to shimmer, evanescent in the heat haze. In a blur, he was gone.

Three.

The deadly spearpoint found only air, and Lhaxæan felt his momentum leave him. Then his world came crashing down around his undersized body.

The ringing silence that had pervaded his consciousness during those glorious beats of his pounding heart exploded into a whirlwind of sound and agony and choking ash. His eyes were fountains of flashing lights and salty tears as the powerful blow seared through his head, wave after wave of blunt-force pain radiating from the back of his head seemingly setting off every neuron in his whole skull. For a split-second all he knew was his own suffering; a respite, if anything. It did not take long for Lhaxæan to be forced into a brand new world of excruciation.

Two sounds heralded the first collision: a thunderous snap as blackened, charred trunk exploded upon meeting with Lhaxæan's chin, and the awful, sickening, unmistakable crack of separating bone. The first echoed loudly, filling the chamber with bouncing sound; the latter seemed to hang in the air, pervading the entire space at a frequency one did not hear, but feel. Another tree broke with equal splendor; two at once cracked upon his body, sending him into a nauseating spin. A hand, a single anchor, flew from the chaos, scrabbling furiously for purchase. From within the whirlwind, there was a final, feeble creak, and Lhaxæan's world stilled and turned orange.

Pain forced his eyes shut. It was a literal, burning hell: a broken body hanging limply from the blackened roots of physical death above the awaiting inferno. Perhaps a second passed, maybe it was ten; all Lhaxæan knew was that every neuron in his body was on fire. He could feel the bruises riddling his body, the blood dripping from his nose and skull, his jaw dangling grotesquely, yet he felt a very odd, very inhuman, and very, very familiar sense of detachment...and calm. And with the calm came the most soothing sensation of confidence, that one is completely at ease in his own body. His pain left him.

Calm. I am calm.

Calm. Yes. There is no time.

There was no time, but he was calm. Already he could feel his feet scorching, the soles of his boots beginning to melt even from this height, but again, all he could feel was calm. It would be many moons before Lhaxæan could hope to understand: his walk into the Citadel today was simply the first step towards physical redemption. But his mind...how could his mind ever hope to reweave its tapestry with so many threads missing? He knew he would not know now, not yet, and so he opened his eyes, allowing the torments of reality to close in once more: a massive blast of heat and an overwhelming brightness met him. With a huge effort, he reached up with his left hand, grasping the martyred remains of the outermost of trunks. The island pitched, threatening his grip, but he held, and pulled with all his strength, every fiber of his being, and staggered onto the sloping stage. Before him lay a veritable path of destruction. Shattered trees littered a space spanning the entire radius of the platform, a gruesome testament to the ferocity of Kerberos' blow. The massive chain dominated his vision, and he followed it with his eyes until there was no more to be seen as it disappeared into the blackness above.

Is that all that's waiting for me? More darkness?

No; he could not allow himself to pause for distractions. He let his eyes fall earthward, towards the scattered fragments of charred trunk and rotted wood. Kerberos stood across and above him, separated by the arborous devastation and the slope of the stage. This time, Lhaxæan would know patience. He would wait.

His spear, knocked out of his grip during his tumultuous fall, miraculously lay almost at his feet. He bent to pick it up and felt his jaw wobble. Without a thought he raised his free hand and struck himself firmly in the chin with his palm; a loud pop sounded the reunion of ball and socket.

Lhaxæan would know calm. The Island pitched menacingly; he simply tightened his grip upon his wooden saint and savior.

He waited.

[Kerberos]

He could feel the spear whistle by his skin, barely nicking the curve of his ribcage as he spun out of the way. A slight sting, and he could now consider himself wounded, even if it was very minor. The spear head cut through his clothing like butter, bringing a chill to his spine, making him shake at the idea of what would have happened if he wouldn't have been able to avoid the attack. The movement of the man, the lunge, the power held behind the thrust, it all spoke of someone who knew what he was doing. Kerberos was afraid of that, afraid of the bladed weapon when all he had was his bare fists, and afraid of the skill at which the man wielded it with. Perhaps that was what had made him spin to the side in the first place, because his fear of this man, his sense of danger had compelled him to do so. Whatever the case was, it was definitely the slight tremble in his spine that made him put all his strength into the blow, as it spun toward the back of his opponents head. It was beautifully placed, and the original, beginning blow that Lhaxæan had lunged forward with was beautifully dodged. Kerberos felt the shudder run up his arm as his muscles powerfully connected with Lhaxæan, sending him off his feet and flying away.

Bring it all. Leave nothing.

Kerberos lurched a bit, off balance from his sudden move. The island was still, yet the sounds of a human body crashing through debris echoed around the arena. Kerberos was slow to savor this, slow to turn and survey his destruction with shaded black eyes. He took it all in, the destruction, a broken tree here, a fallen branch there, and the crumbled form of his opponents body about a dozen or so long paces away. He could still fear the tremor of fear chilling his body, as he had not faced many bladed weapons. So far, all of the brawls he had managed to get into were ones that involved fist and feet. He wasn't sure if would ever forget the image of that flashing spear aimed at his chest. He was actually pretty positive it wouldn't ever leave his memory. Licking his lips, parched from the heat, he took a step toward his downed opponent. Was it really that easy? He had sent the man spinning through trees, busting through solid wood. Was it over, would he be allowed to leave this forsaken place? He needed water. He could feel his clothes singe, feel his parched throat sting, feel the heat of the air assult his sweating skin. This battle shouldn't drag on too long, as the heat would wear one down quickly. Maybe it was over, maybe it really was-

Bloody hell.

Eyes widening slightly, Kerberos paused in a second step that he had been about to take. The man was rising. Lhaxæan was getting up off the ground, slowly, but surely. Kereberos felt his jaw drop, surprise showing in his face. No one had gotten up once he had hit them. Especially in the back of the neck, and this one had gone through, what, four trees? Surprise was the first emotion, yet another one was soon to follow, then another. First, another twinge of fear, as the man picked up his weapon. Then, a twinge of anger, that the man had brought on fear. Clenching his fists, Kerberos glanced down at his left side, gazing at the open slice in his shirt.

Damn him.

He knew his temper was flaring, and he knew it was starting to get the best of him. Reaching to the side, he grabbed the hot chain that anchored the island, letting the pain rush through his receptors, and bolt through his arm. Calm down. Think. Only holding the chain for a few moments, then letting go, his hand freshly burned, he tried to calm down. With the lurching of the island, the heat, and the fight, he was slowly starting to lose his formerly confident state of mind. He had to keep that. He had already landed one blow, he had the upper hand. He had to keep it. Muttering to himself, he bent low at the knees again, once again regaining his sense of balance on the slightly lurching platform of rock.

Wait.

Kerberos blinked, his eyes snapping around the platform of rock. Why was it moving? He and Lhaxæan were not moving, they hadn't done anything in quite a bit to agitate the natural balance of the island. Bringing his eyes up to meet his now-waiting opponent, he studied him, taking a moment to think. They had both been fighting in the center earlier, and the island had been sloping, rocking, and lurching. It shouldn't have, if all their weight had been in the center. Sure, maybe they had done a few things to offset it, but still-


***

Several yards up, dozens upon dozens of yards up, a control room was attached to the ceiling, among the darkness. If you could see within, you would note two monks, among a bevy of control panels, buttons, and levels. If you could see the outside, you would note the chain that was distantly attached the island below, sliding up into the small control room and anchored there.

One of the monks smiled, and reached out to pull a lever.

Things were about to get nasty.


***

Kerberos kicked it out of his mind, knowing that he didn't have time, nor did it matter. He would take the oddly swinging island, and deal with whatever it threw at him. He had to attack now, press the advantage that he had. That he would have, throughout the entire battle. Gritting his teeth, clenching his fists, he lunged forward, and blurred into a jump. He jumped much different then any other man normally could, clearing seven paces forward, downhill, with incredible ease. He didn't falter as he landed, using a sudden jolt in the island to instead hop into yet another leap, sending himself flying directly toward Lhaxæan.

Wait. A jolt?

Midair was about when the island decided to suddenly jerk upwards, the chain yanking the chunk of rock straight up.

With a startled shout, and a curse, Kerebros collided with the island before he had even fully completed his jump, but still when he was coming down, the hunk of black mass blurring so fast that it actually moved up enough to catch him. Kerberos landed prematurely, his legs crumbling underneath him at the sudden shock, sending him skidding facefirst in the ground, toward Lhaxæan. He skipped and hopped on his face, stomach and side, over rough rocky ground, his plans completely ruined. And Lhaxæan was waiting. No. No.

Damn, damn, damn. Not like this.

[Solstæce]

Lhaxæan's heart was pounding in his throat. Standing upon an outcrop of hell with an anonymous angel of destruction, his breath rattling in lungs choked with ash and blood, he allowed the blissful, wonderful detachment steal him away. His body was battered, but his eyes shone bright in the fiery air, ignorant of the dripping blood and mutilated bone. He made no attempt to rationalize his state of being, to compartmentalize his symptoms and classify them scientifically as he would have in his previous existence. No; Lhaxæan embraced the detachment, aware of his physical and psychological sufferings yet feeling nothing. No hurt, no agony, only the amazingly resilient sense of purpose he had entered with, thoroughly reinforced.

He had faced death, and he had risen. Again.

The sound of sizzling flesh brought his eyes and mind to Kerberos. The powerful man stood gripping the blisteringly hot chains with a cold look in his eyes, acutely aware of his living, breathing pain. What was his purpose here? Arrogance? He did not seem, outwardly, to possess the personal trauma Lhaxæan felt; or perhaps Lhaxæan was mistaken. He knew his own sufferings were readily evident, being both recent and remarkable. Too remarkable, perhaps; Lhaxæan had known the path he needed to follow from the moment he had awoken in a Radasanthian bed. But what of this man before him? What had brought him here today, with such purpose and anger? The reflection, however, was quickly driven out of his mind; the island pitched, and the whirlwinds of fate spun into the chamber.

The space before Lhaxæan shivered, a blur of colour and motion as Kerberos bounded towards him, shimmering elegantly in the hazy heat and his own prowess. Lhaxæan crouched, white knuckles upon oak, twitching muscles ready to spring. The beautiful ringing sensation again pervaded his consciousness, reducing his focus to the leaping form of Kerberos quickly closing the middle distance, and in that moment Lhaxæan knew that his life in this battle hung in the air with the powerful brawler. He brought his shaft down to guard...but the attack never came.

With a massive, booming sound, a hundred tons of solid rock accelerated spectacularly through the oppressive air. His focus broke as the island collided sickeningly with the airborne Kerberos, the leaping man's legs crumpling beneath his muscular body as the platform sped towards the darkness above. Kerberos' strangled curse was lost in the rushing wind as he tumbled, falling victim to the sloping platform and gravity's inexorable pull. For the smallest fraction of seconds, Lhaxæan watched, amazed, as Kerberos hurtled towards him; before he could act, Kerberos was upon him.

This time, it was Lhaxæan's yell swallowed by the vortex. He attempted an ill-fated leap, but his legs were swept from beneath him as he and Kerberos met for the second time. With another inaudible shout he collided with the unforgiving rock, pain blossoming in his shoulder, but as he rolled, his eyes turned towards the edge of the platform, and the pain and everything else was driven from his mind. Just feet away, Kerberos was still falling, his tumble unchecked by Lhaxæan's smaller frame. The bigger man's limbs were flailing, his momentum uncontrollable, and the deadened trees surrounding them were ruined from Lhaxæan's original fall. In that moment, Lhaxæan felt a horrible twinge of guilt as he watched, feeling as though this hesitation had cost Kerberos his only chance of surviving this hellish room. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he was spared his survivor's guilt; the slope of the island was now inescapable for either man. Lhaxæan felt himself accelerating towards the waiting edge, caught in the same unforgiving pull as Kerberos.

His eyes flashed. This was not how it was supposed to end. A cruel twist of fate, machinations from omniscient hands, gruesome entertainment, but nothing wholesome or real. He had just suffered a devastating blow, and had risen, but now the Gods of the Citadel were striking him dead anyway. Nothing could be more disheartening. Without a sound, his heart heavy, he watched Kerberos tumble over he edge.

This was NOT how this was supposed to end.

A hand flailed in front of him. Without thinking, acting on pure nerve and instinct, he lunged with his right arm, flesh, oak and steel flashing through the air in pure, beautiful synergy. No; Lhaxæan would not submit so meekly, so fatalistically. If he failed, he could be consoled with the fact that he was simply not strong enough. Thus, his strength was tested. The spearhead cut the air towards Kerberos' hand. The bigger man would suffer, but if Lhaxæan's aim was true, Kerberos would be spared a horrible fall to the bubbling lava below, hung precariously from his own flesh. With a last, desperate effort, Lhaxæan kicked out with his feet, amazingly finding support from the stump of a devastated tree. Wrapping his legs around it, he threw all of his strength behind his thrust.

As Lhaxæan's blade approached hand and rock, the island shuddered to a halt, and the only sound was whatever would emanate from the desperate move.


***

High above Lhaxæan and Kerberos, the monks watched. Detached physically and emotionally, they simply observed, perhaps silently relishing the pain subjected upon each man but betraying nothing. They did not care of love or loss; the Citadel was their laboratory, a hive of experimentation designed to further their magic, improve their techniques. As they watched the smaller of the combatants throw spear and body towards the other, a thought passed between them as easily and clearly as a spoken phrase. The control room was silent; words were useless. But an excited tension was quickly growing, filling the room with an ambiance of striking power; the monks, after all, were powerfully magic. In the low light, a single hand moved, coming to rest on a lever marked only with a word:

"Release."


***

[Kerberos]

"Wait."

Above them all, in that hellish control room shrouded in darkness, a single word echoed out. It was quite a mouthful for the sadistic monks, and quite an earful for the listening monk, all at the same time. The hand that had set on the demonic lever paused, fingers loosening a bit around a glossy black handle. A tilt of the hood was all that was given to show that the monk was listening, awaiting the next spoken words of his companion. For a moment, the two that were struggling for their lives went un-noticed, the scene focusing solely on the two monks. The speaking one tilted his head as well, and the listening one followed, both hoods tilting in sync until you could get the distinct feeling that the two magical beings were meeting gazes. If one would have been able to see in the darkness that shrouded them both from sight, the next motion from both of them would have been a breath-taking one indeed. After a few moments of silence, and simple stares, each issued a small smile.

Turning their heads in sync once more, each angled his head down, looking through the clear glass floor of the control room, to the distant arena below. They then spoke in sync, a creepy kind of unision.

"Wait for the perfect moment."


***

Pain blossomed through each and every one of his limbs as he bounced and skidded along the rocky ground, fate leading him to narrowly miss any tree stump or crag that would have been able to help him, and in most cases, causing him to miss it by only a fingertip. Pain seemed to be focusing most in his left arm, the arm that he seemed to be landing and skidding on the most. He was pretty sure he had heard a crunch of bone earlier, but then again, how could be sure of anything in this hell? He knew he was on an uncontrolled slide, and he knew his opponent was awaiting him with a sharp spear in hand. Things were not looking good, and the curses echoing in his brain were only growing louder and louder, passing moment by moment. He almost wasn't aware of it when he smashed into the lower parts of his opponents legs.

A weird combination of satisfaction, yet begrudging guilt and worry for another life flowed into his being as he managed to catch Lhaxæan in the legs, sending him falling and tumbling onto the slope as well. Faintly, agaisnt the pounding of blood in his ears, the gurgle of it in his throat, and the hiss of sweat steaming from his body, he heard a small voice demanding he grab out, try to grab Lhaxæan in some crazy attempt to save them both, as if that made any sense. If Lhaxæan was falling the same as he was, then they both were doomed. This was not how this was supposed to end.

He could almost hear another voice, screaming it with him.

This was NOT how this was supposed to end.

Lunging with his arm, still tumbling down the slope, not knowing when he was going to reach the end, he flailed out for a passing tree stump. Horribly missing, he flailed for another, and then another. The pounding of blood in his ears was growing louder, the hissing and bubbling of what he could assume to be the lava below was screaming at his senses, and the pain was growing even harsher. Flailing, he struggled harder, slamming fingertips agaisnt stone floor, trying to dig his nails into the rock in a hopeless attempt to halt his fall. The only thing he managed to do was bloody his fingers. Was he going to die? No, no. He had already spoken out against that idea. Gritting his teeth, feeling the edges of his boots slip out into open air, a flash of steel and light caught his eye.

Finding the smallest of rocks on the very edge of the stone arena, he caught it with his boot, pushed, and lunged.

A pained scream echoed from his lips as the palm of his hand found steel, the spear head puncturing through his skin in a flashy display of blood and gore, the spray catching him in the face. His arm bucked, thrashed, and he felt skin seperate from skin, his hand nearly splitting in half. Refusing to take just this, Kerberos desperately grabbed for the shaft of the spear, the oaken part of the handle right below the spear head. By some act of the Gods, admist the pain, the agony, the gore and the blood, the harsh yells echoing in his head and from his own lips, his hand found wood, and wrapped tight. In a sharp motion, his body snapped taunt and the muscles in his being bulged, his fall suddenly cut short by the supporting opponent on the other side.

He was in pain, scared for his life, and not even thinking of the fight any longer. He merely hung on for dear life, his left hand gored and bloodied, but somehow still operating well enough to hold onto the wooden weapon. He wasn't sure why his opponent was doing this, or if he should even be trying to hold on. Biting his lower lip, blinking through sweat and blood, he attempted to reach up with his right hand, to get a better grip on the weapon. His body was aching, from the fall, and from the sudden stop, as well as from the gored left hand. Really, this was probably a bad choice on his part.

But it was the only choice he had.

Well, you know, besides the lava.

[Taskmienster]

This wasn’t in the contract… :: Due to this being an unfinished battle, I’m going to be doing a regular rubric with limited to no commentary. If something stands out, I’ll note it. Though, since it’s been sitting in queue for a bit I’m not sure as to how fresh and useful this will be for Kerberos who submitted it… or Solstaece who’s not around to have finished this. If you have questions or concerns just PM me or catch me on AIM (TheTaskmienster) or MSN messenger (hola_fools@hotmail.com) if I’m on.



Kerberos
Continuity 5.5

Setting 6

Pacing 7
Be careful about writing paragraphs that are really long… or sentences that have too many dependent clauses and in turn draw out the pacing too much.

Dialogue 6
Well done, especially your opening post. The very opening was great. However, when you write dialogue make sure that it’s at the beginning, end, or by itself. Though you put it in bold text, it’s still in the wrong place by way of grammatical correctness.

Action 6.5

Persona 5

Technique 5.5
You write in a way that seems almost informal, with a good bit of formal mixed in. It’s not bad, but be careful to not be too informal with your approach to the third person narrative. If you are going to be informal and speak in a way that makes the reader feel like it’s more of a third person narrative written by the character, do so tentatively. There is a very fine line to work with, though you did well at times, at other times it was almost too informal.

Mechanics 7
When you write numbers, it’s best not to put them numerically, but instead spell them out. Grammatically, it’s the correct way to go about it.

Clarity 8

Wild Card 6



Solstaece
Continuity 5

Setting 6

Pacing 6
You had the same problem with making things almost overly intricate when you write paragraphs. Just be careful and make sure that they aren’t too long winded, as well as split well enough to make sure that they keep the reader interested.

Dialogue 5

Action 5.5

Persona 5.5

Technique 5

Mechanics 7

Clarity 7

Wild Card 5

Score:

Kerberos: 62.5
Solstaece: 57

Rewards:

Kerberos: 550 exp | 150 gold

Solstaece: 165 exp | 80 gold

[Taskmienster]

Though this did not meet the 10 post minimum, and was unfinished, I felt like it deserved rewards... so that's why you got it all like normal.

Exp and GP rewarded.