Cage Number Three

[Ther]

(Roster:

Abenaki
Komosatuo
Artifex Felicis
Cyrus the Virus
Modrue
Shadar
Dissinger
Arawn )

It was the greatest moment of Mendan Kinnity's life.

For the young dramaturge, hosting The Cell was the culmination of two decades of hard work, a symbol of his transformation from a sickly child of privilege to a well-muscled, handsome young poet, arguably the greatest of his young generation thus far.

Twenty years ago Kinnity had fled from his ancestral home on the outskirts of Radasanth, upset over the prolonged physical abuse he suffered at the hands of Cantinil, the longtime elf servant of his family. Wandering the streets of the great city, he came across a man promising tales of magic circlets and dragons, tales of bravery and boasting. After searching through his pockets, the boy produced a coin he had stolen from his home, and was admitted into the theater. There, like the rest of the audience around him, the impressionable Mendan was transfixed by the tale of a knight, who, instead of training for a tournament he had entered, spent his time bragging about what he saw as his guaranteed victory. The knight, of course, was slain in the first round.

When the story had ended, the audience left the theater satistifed - everyone, that is, but Mendan Kinnity. The boy stood frozen in one spot until Dalo Smaith, the owner of The Swift Hart, saw him there standing alone. When the old man asked the boy what he wanted, Mendan replied that he wished to tell stories like the one he had just heard, an answer which caused Smaith to laugh aloud. Smaith told the boy to go home, but when Mendan lied and said he had no home and no family, Smaith grew concerned and offered to let the boy spend the night in the actors' quarters.

One night turned to two, three, and then a week. Smaith, having married his craft at a young age himself, noticed that the boy was boosting the morale of his troupe and eventualy took Mendan as his own son, training him to be both an actor and a poet. Because Smaith's plays often involved mock battles, Mendan also learned how to handle a blade, hardening his body in the process. And when Smaith died fifteen years later, there was no doubt that Mendan should be the one who took control of the theater, and indeed he did, boosting the size of his audiences with his historical plays, violent melodramas the likes of which had never before been seen on the Radasanthian stage.

So when Mendan had heard that The Cell had no promoted this year, the playwright decided he would organize the event himself, hoping to spread awareness of his work in the theater. He had spent The Swift Hart's entire treasury in promoting the tournament, but no man knew what the people of Radasanth wanted better than Mendan Kinnity, and it was therefore no surprise when all four amphitheaters hosting the tournament sold out. If all went well, the theater would see its investment returned tenfold.

With the crowd anxious in their seats and the warriors locked inside the cage, Mendan rose from his balcony seat high up in one of the ampitheaters, dressed merely in the simple colored tunic and trousers of an actor. With his booming stage voice, the young playwright made his first of five speeches that day.

“Friends, welcome to The Cell,” he said, bowing and pausing for a minute to allow the crowd its applaud. “My name is Mendan Kinnity, and I am the director of The Swift Hart Theater. I wish to thank you, the unified people of Radasanth, for coming out this day, and for making this tournament the largest gathering of citizens ever for an event outside the city’s gates. Today we will see competitors from all over Althanas, men from as far as Salvar and men from exotic Fallien, competing with one another in a steel cell for fame, wealth, and most importantly, for honor. These men deserve your respect and your adulation for risking their lives today, and I have little doubt that the fine folk of Radasanth will give that to them. To the competitors I have only one message: mercy is shown in life to those who act merciful towards others. Victory need not come at the expense of another man’s life – there is equal honor in accepting a yield from a broken and battered opponent. But as wiser men than I have said, ‘Words find glory only in partnership with deeds,’ so let The Cell begin!”

[Cyrus the virus]

It had been so long since Luc treated himself to a battle that he'd forgotten about the glory it offered, especially when the struggle is presented on a grand stage. A tournament, whether it be Serenti or the LCC, often provided the mage with a quick ego boost to tide him over for months, but The Cell presented him with a greater reason to join: there was a live audience.

An assured smile splayed across his lips, Luc was convinced that the entire population of the amphitheatre, save for his opponents within the cage of course, was cheering for him. Figuring he'd done enough in his life to earn such a wide reputation, the man with the cape didn't question the fact that he was the main attraction in the cell. And why should he? Looking over the others, he could only put a name on one of them.

Luc was intrigued to see that one man, Seth Dahlios. Their last encounter had been less than pleasant to say the least, particularly in the way it came about and the events that followed. They'd come across each other in a bar in Radasanth, where Seth had taken it upon himself to mock the mage, mimicking his speech among other things. Luc brought the former thief outside with the intention of slaying the drunken fool in front of his newfound admirers, perhaps even wanting to deface the corpse afterward and further the message. Yet even drunk as he was Seth had proven himself formidable. Luc crumbled in the face of the powerful, even frightening Hex Magic, and ended up walking away from the experience with a strong desire to learn more about Althanas' different schools of spellcasting.

In truth, reliving the experience in his mind's eye brought Luc's blood to the brink of boiling, and those primal urges to simply do away with the Hex Mage rose up again. The feeling collapsed in the face of the roaring crowd, however, as the sound once again broke through Luc's thoughts to bring a grin to his face.

He kept his eyes away from Seth, not wanting to have to deal with the Hex Mage until it was necessary. Perhaps Dahlios wouldn't attack him until it was down to the wire. Luc had to hope for that very situation; he could not yet feel confident in having to deal with those horrible spells.

The sun pelted him with rays, bringing the first beads of sweat to the brow of the young mage, quickly wiped away by a gloved hand. He could hear the young announcer well, and by the rising tone of his voice Luc deduced that the speech was nearing its end.

A green aura surrounded him -- glowing about a quarter-inch from his body -- as Stoneskin was cast. No sense in taking chances, he thought, and considering how many times a tournament opponent had surprised him, it was a rather good idea. He thought about casting a Spell Absorb enchantment on a nearby opponent's piece of equipment, but decided to save the spell for a better time, perhaps when he found out who, if anyone in the cage, could use magic.

He didn't draw his blade, nor did he move from his spot near the edge of the steel cell. Rather, Luc waited, emerald eyes darting about the nearby foes, whether furry or drow vampire. Making the first move would single him out, not to mention make his significant powers known to the others, drawing a collective attack. Needless to say, that was not what Luc wanted.

[Arawn]

The river of life flows differently for every being. For some, it is slow and calm from its birth to its delta, where all released souls eventually merged into the ethereal sea. For others, it twisted and coiled at odd moments of its path, often spilling over its banks. For Hikari Ashigaru, existence in the last few months had been naught but struggling against overpowering rapids threatening to suffocate him under their chaotic white foam. However, the white warrior had never been one to go down without a fight. His incomparable will drove him to fight for what he believed to be so rightfully his all this time. He had battled tirelessly for the sovereign control of his body against the vampiric essence stirring within him. The war was still being waged, even now. It was a ceaseless battle with the most diligent of foes. At the darkest moments of the conflict, the vampire had even managed to overthrow Hikari’s control completely.

“But not today…” the drow said aloud to no one in particular, his dark eyes turned upwards toward the shining sun that had proven a great ally in his internal strife.

It was the vampire’s way to shun daylight above all things, preferring to lurk in shadow. This fact was the source of Hikari’s confidence as he looked at the faces of his fellow competitors, returned to a familiar setting at long last. Arawn had no chance to show himself in the well-lit cage at the center of the amphitheater. Hikari would govern his own form without resistance, for once. It would be just as the last time the Cell tournament had been held. At least, that’s what the drow hoped. He had been a finalist then, elevated among his peers to a place of such tribute as he had only dreamed of before. He recalled how he had felt then, without question the most rewarding moment of his life to date. Thanks to Arawn, he’d almost forsaken all hopes of similar accomplishment.

Yet, here he was! The thought kept a wide smile plastered on his otherwise unwelcomingly harsh face, most uncharacteristic for Hikari as anyone who knew him would know. He was placed in his cage with seven others, only three of which would be advancing to the next tier. Hikari stretched his arms and legs like a runner preparing for a sprint, completely unarmed as he awaited the commencement of their host’s speech. His upper body was completely bare, unnaturally white skin glistening for all to see. Of his opponents, he recognized only the one, Seth Dahlios. A pompous thief with delusions of grandeur, Hikari had once had the distinct pleasure of humiliating him in the Citadel ages ago. The rest were unknown factors in the day’s equation.

Anything can happen.

With his grin still in place, Hikari turned his eyes to the gathered crowd in the stands beyond the steel mesh. They cheered mightily, several directing their adulation towards him. It was gratifying to see he was still well remembered for conquering his adversaries in the last Cell, his features unmistakable in the land. Still there was on looking on his battle that was disapproving of his being there. His sole companion, Argen, was disguised as a Radasanthian human spectator. Blending effortlessly in the crowd, he kept a close eye on his master. Hikari had refused to bring his enchanted cloak, despite the dragon’s wishes that he take along some security. The LCC had proven it too much of a weakness so long as Arawn dwelled within Hikari. Besides, the drow had participated before without such a garment. His black diamond, too, was distinctly lacking. He was as he was all that time ago, depending solely on his powers.

Then Mendan Kinnity began to address the mass of individuals at large. It was when she mentioned honor in such a place of prominence that the white warrior’s smile faltered. The actions of his darker half still came back to haunt him, flashes of the slaughter of so many innocents for his feeding rising from the depths of his mind. A wave of revulsion overtook him as he recalled the taste of their blood trickling its way down his inviting gullet and he swallowed hard to keep it down, traces of his smile suddenly vanishing. Who was he to think of honor after all he had done? No victory now would redeem his actions. Yet, it had not been by his will that others died. Looking at his hands, he thought of how they became claw-like for Arawn, eager to rend flesh. It was his body that preformed those acts, but was his soul accountable for another’s sins?

He noticed a silence and realized the speech had come to an end. The battle had begun.

“It’s not my fault,” Hikari muttered.

Even in this sunlit arena, he was never truly free of Arawn. His content mood moments ago was now replaced with a chilled determination to prove himself for what he was, though even he was not sure of what that might be. He merely prayed it was not ‘monster’.

[Abenaki]

Jada's heart was racing, his blood pounding in his temples. With the sun beating down upon the confined space he shared with several other warriors and with the anxiety in his heart coursing through his veins, sweat was beading on his brow and chest. The waiting was killing him, tightening each and every muscle in his body like the coiling of a spring...

For two days Jada had been waiting for this feeling. Two restless days spent recuperating from his recently completed battle with the warrior Xanith. There had been too many mistakes made in the battle, by both sides perhaps, but Jada could only identify his own shortcomings in that short but eventful conflict. Fighting with Xanith in the bowels of the famed Citadel had brought about a swift and profound change in the young warrior. Jada knew now that he was not nearly the warrior he had imagined himself. Amongst his own people he had fancied himself as a great champion, but here amongst all the strange and wonderful peoples of Radasanth he was nothing.

It wasn't only the prospect of the coming battle, however, that was bothering the warrior. So used to the open sky and the freedom of the wilderness, Jada was beginning to find that being confined inside this metal cage was irking him. There was a small voice in the back of his mind reminding him that the only reason he had come to Radasanth was to find and rescue those of his people who had been taken away as slaves. It was the same small voice that was also reminding him that those people, those he had come to save, were probably also trapped in a cage. Yet that cage was different for them. They could not fight their way out and earn their freedom by defeating everyone else in the cage with them.

That voice was putting the warrior on edge, and that feeling was only intensified by the other warriors spaced out around him...

Jada shook his head, displacing the sweat that was congregating just above his eyes. His hand strayed to the hilt of the weapon hanging from his belt. It was his only weapon, and compared to the numerous and sometimes wondrous looking weapons waiting by the sides of his fellows, it was horribly out of place. Jada found himself wondering how long the old, worn weapon would hold up should he find himself locked in a duel against some of those weapons around him. In addition to his shortcomings in the weapons department, Jada was also painfully aware that he was more than under equipped in terms of protection as compared to his fellow combatants. Shirts, cloaks, and a variety of other adornments crafted from metals and materials he couldn't identify protected their respective wearers. Jada had only his buckskin shorts, and nothing more, making him horribly vulnerable by comparison.

There was a voice floating into the cage from somewhere outside it, probably the organizer or conductor of the event Jada now found himself a part of. The warrior wasn't paying any attention to that voice, however, for he was so focused on even the slightest twitches and movements of his opponents that he couldn't be bothered to focus on making sense of the language he had only recently come to know. Of special interest to the warrior was the man almost directly across the cage from him, who was beginning to glow a shade of green...

What have I gotten myself into? Jada thought anxiously, as he rose up onto the balls of his feet and shook out his tense muscles. He would need to be limber for this fight, and probably more than a little lucky as well. Lucky meaning that his well armed and armored opponents would hopefully dismiss the under equipped warrior as a mere nuisance, and focus on more threatening opponents...

[Modrue]

The spidermagi turned over a small orb, its depths as dark as the surroundings. An acidic hiss slipped from her lipless mouth as diseased and blighted hand stroked the crystal. The orb was everything. It was sight for the eyeless, hearing for the earless, and speech for the tongueless. In the cave, it was the N’jalian Spidermagi’s link to the outside world.

{“The Accursed moves again.”} Instead of words the communication came through a more telepathic link between the magi’s. The one with the orb pulled away from its abyssal depth, placing the prized crystal in its patch of thick moss once again. She already knew he was moving, already knew the demon had entered, as directed, the fickle tournament on Althanas. {“The Mistress is pleased.”}

The blank face of the twisted follower of N’jal turned as the six spider-limbs of her lower half skittered across the wall of the cave. In the distance an underground waterfall from the aquifer offered what little serenity the perverse Children of N’jal could elicit from it. It meant little to them, in the most part, but for a steady increase in humidity within the caves – and occasionally fish.

On the other side of the small cave, which was used solely to commune with the goddess N’jal, the female spidermagi dropped from the ceiling and moved out of the cave. It was time to alert the high priestess of the movement. It was time to twist their puppet in his battle against humanity.
~+|+~

To all sides the cheering and jeering of the crowd resounded.

It was a conglomeration of humanity, a jumble of rich and poor, weak and strong. The sound was deafening, and a slow sigh passed the thin, pale lips of the tainted demon. He raised his deep crimson eyes long enough to spot the ‘sponsor’ of the event, a wealthy person of some grand prestige. Modrue had forgotten his name almost as soon as he had heard it; the very idea of allowing the man to sponsor the next round was ludicrous to the demon. However, the event creators saw no harm in allowing one of the most prominent people of the island of Corone the opportunity to inflate his own ego.

“Humanity,” he sighed under his breath as he opened the front of his leather coat and loosened the cuffs of the sleeves. The weighted coat was as still as death despite the slow movement of its master. The muted light from overhead flickered across the titanium gloves that rested across the demons fists. “Pride will be their downfall yet…”

Behind the demon the closed entranceway to the cage was shut and sealed, there would be no escape for the weak. A cruel, toothy grin steeled itself, his thin lips parting ever so slightly. On either flank and before him the other seven in the ‘cell’ waited on borrowed time as the sponsor finished his speech. Modrue gave little more respect to the man speaking then he did the dusty, rock beneath his feet.

“Honor… mercy… words used by the weak to justify their inabilities.” The demon pondered slowly on which opponent would cry for mercy first, which would plead for the honor of the honor-less. He clicked his gloved hands together as he allowed the toothy grin to rise a bit further.

Whispers of glory and fame mumbled in the back of his mind. Murmurs of power and the promises of wealthy satiated the greedy lust. Modrue had been promised a good turn in the tournament, and with it a spurt in power that would be unlike any other. The shadow goddess inside his head had spoken, what she said was truth, what she said would come true.

[Shadar]

((I’ll be doing OOC notes on the illusions just to make sure people don’t get confused and think I’m really ripping holes in dimensions and all that. Please, no metagaming with this knowledge.))

Heh, he’s not here. Looks like you wasted your time.

He’ll be here if he knows what he’s doing. It would be out of character to miss this, Shadar explained to Jackal, who was currently nothing more than a voice in his head.

If you say so, Spiderman.

“Spiderman?” the half-elf mouthed aloud, trying to figure out what the dream demon was referring to. Unlike the other competitors, he wasn’t just standing around. He was up in a ceiling corner of the cage, his feet and hands pressed to the metal mesh for comfort, not for need. That must have been the reference.

“Spiderman?” echoed Brigitte as she put her face close to Shadar’s. Her buxom harpy form was curled next to him as best she could while anchoring her talons in the mesh. Curiously, she cocked her head to one side, which caused her long red hair to spill over her shoulder and obscure completely his view of their opponents.

Shadar found himself biting his tongue to avoid shooing her out of the way. The tension must have been getting to him if he even considered it. Though, it was understandable. After searching half of Corone for this one who had convinced many that he was Yari Rafanas, then walking into a cage full of bloodthirsty hero-wannabes, he was expecting to have some luck on his side and see a glimmer of his target. But, fate didn’t like him these days.

Closing his eyes, Shadar compensated. He looked at their souls. The picture was ringed by a thick, steaming glow. That was the audience, each member nothing more than a leech. They were the kinds of people who wanted the thrill of being on a battlefield, yet were too cowardly to put themselves in any real danger. If the real Yari was here, depending on what mood he was in, he’d either give them a show they’d never forget or rob them blind, probably both. Shadar just wanted to flood the place and watch their heavy gold-filled pockets drag them to the bottom. But, he couldn’t focus on them. His objectives were the others in the cage. In this dark space, they appeared as wispy ovals of light with fainter cones of light issuing from the head areas. That was where their thoughts were directed, essentially where they were looking. At the moment, each humanoid spotlight was snapping about too fast to keep track of in all the afterglow. Him and the harpy weren’t targets… yet.

Brigitte, upon receiving no answer from Shadar in the last few seconds, turned to look over the others. “I don’t see any spiders.”

“Jackal’s nonsense,” Shadar responded as he opened his eyes. In that first instant, they were pure black, but they quickly returned to normal as his real vision returned. “Don’t ask me to make sense of it, cause we both know that’s impossible.”

The harpy grimaced, though with a touch of sympathy, and leaned back against the steel again. As she scanned the area, she appeared more agitated. Just mentioning Jackal tended to have that effect on her. “When can we fight them?” she asked with an audible amount of pleasure at the idea. Her answer came not from Shadar, but from the backer of this overblown ego-trip. At the word “mercy”, she chuckled and glared harder at the combatants. Her eyes narrowed for a moment and, with another quizzical tilt of the head, she blurted out, “Isn’t that Seth?”

Shadar let out a startled, “What?” as he followed her gaze. There, locked in a cage with him, was the very man who had first told him Yari was back. Everyone who believed that story was a deluded fool, but Seth stood out. He actually served under that imposter, and he had enough of an ego that he wouldn’t listen to reason. Because of that, Shadar had given him a gift last time they met. “Hey!” he shouted disdainfully, “How’s the scar? Hope I didn’t mark up your pretty face too bad.” The laugh that followed suited his newfound smile perfectly; bitter, maniacal, and very dangerous.

[Artifex Felicis]

A lot of tournaments had gone by, and the grandmaster had taken part in quite a few of them, performing above and beyond what others had thought of him. He had risen, taking third place in the Magus Cup in Scara Brae, helped to save the elfin homelands from the Undead menace during the Adventurer's Crown, and performed a major upset during the Lornius Corporate Challenge. Bumps, bruises, scrapes and cuts all had been inflicted upon him upon his journey as he went along the path he had chosen. The Cell however, was different than the others in a way he did not expect. It felt almost clean in a way, more real than simply fighting some people in strange arenas and strange restrictions. The cat boy had not seen war, but he had doubts there was ever a time when there was true rest in the middle of the battle. Here in this arena would decide if the cat boy truly could fight, or if he was simply kidding himself.

The soft, yet strangely feel hard of the yarn in his hands was comforting in the cage. He could have fought the battle with everyone else with just tooth and nail, but something in him told him this was not going to be easy in any respect. . A steel mesh wall was looped around in a circle, enclosing the cat boy and the other seven combatants within it. The dirt floor was as clean as it could be, though the cat boy doubted it would stay that way for long. The yarn strands coiled around his hands, hiding them for their true purpose. The others in the Cell were all unknown to him, though he had seen enough battles to guess some of the other combatants. There was at least one mage he could pick out, and two of them were easily close fighters. A foolish grin played across his face as the roar of the crowd continued. He would have enjoyed hearing his opponents movement and taunts. There wasn't many things better than simply making someone eat their words.

The call for the Cell to begin was made over the roar of the crowd, and there was almost a silence within the battlefield itself. Not one of the fighters so much as twitched at the moment, each waiting for the rest to make their move. Slowly, making sure none of the others broke the silence and attacked him, his paw crept into his pocket, drawing out a shining steel weapon. He pulled at the string attached to the middle, letting the yo-yo drop to its limit. The crowd roared for them to fight to begin as the cat boy held the yo-yo at the ready again. He licked his dry lips, anxious at the moment and glad that he had donned light clothes instead of his baggy ones.

There was a very good thing about being an underdog. There was no ugly politics to worry about. No one offered him money, weapons, power or gave him threats before the battle. Nor for that matter did he have any true fans in the audience. They were all there simply for the fight. To see the warriors kill and be killed. He grinned again, thinking that he may have been the only person within the arena there just to fight. There were no thoughts of redemption or of fame clouding the boy's eyes. He had no tied to any of the others within the cage, and there was nothing he stood to lose.

He sidestepped slowly again, swinging the yo-yo around. It went slowly at first, barely making the string it was attached to taut. It began to swing faster and faster, looking like a shining blur in the sun. The cat boy was not used to using the toy as he was now, but that didn't matter. He let go of the shining yo-yo, the steel head flying towards the man with the green aura. All the Cell needed was a chip in the dam, then the flood of fighting would begin.

((I thnk it'll be a bit easier to just do it this way. Steel yoyo flying towards Cyrus. Weeee!))

[Komosatuo]

He should have never left home.

Home was where there was peace. Home was there was quiet. Home was where there was safety.

There was nothing of that here.

Here there was war. There was noise. There was danger. Here, there was The Cell.

So much was The Cell that it seemed no mouth could be silenced. Each flapped freely, spilling mounds of information from their bowels and each providing a more detailed insight as to what exactly it was he who wished he hadn't left home, was now currently facing.

Eight seasoned and battle hardened foes, locked down tight in a restricting steel mesh cage no larger than a tavern common room. At least, that was how it felt.

The rules? Survive and kill whoever you could, however you could.

It was a familiar scenario, but one that he hadn't been faced with yet. Even the graduation challenge at the compound hadn't been this brutal. He could see though, now, why it was the graduation ceremony at the compound was formed as it was.

The compound taught you how to be quick. Think on your feet. Remain alert under severe pressure and under extreme odds. He was glad now that he had found the compound as a child, it taught him a valuable lesson. A lesson that he was going to have to put into effect on this day, if he was to survive the night.

He opened his pale gray eyes and glanced around at the seven other combatants occupying the cage along with him. One, a lean human of medium height, glowed with a strange green light. He made a mental note to discover what this light entailed. Was it a physical enhancement? Perhaps an enchantment, making them harder to hit? He didn't let his gaze or his thoughts linger long on the man though; he turned his gaze else where.

The cat man. Quick, agile and deft with small arms. He had heard of him, from the tongues of the many that talked of the cell. He didn't know his name; names were of no importance to him however. You didn't need to know the name of every man you killed. The cat man might make a worthy opponent. Again he didn't let his mind linger and shifted his gaze.

He lifted an eyebrow at the next man. A drow? Here? This must be the one they all spoke of as the one they thought too win this time around. This, time around? So, the drow had been here before, and had placed close to the top. He was better off avoiding this one. He knew his limits and he didn't boast or boost them. That only led to a swift and merciless death. His gaze shifted, content that he knew all he needed to know of the drow.

Again his eyebrow lifted, but not because the next was a half-elf. It was because beside it, was a very large winged creature. He searched his mind for a name for the creature but could not find one. Still, the half-elf and his winged creature presented a major challenge. To have assistance from the air was a great advantage and one that must be dealt with swiftly. He made a mental note to prepare a few special items for the creature, just in case. He shifted his gaze and let it come to rest on a very peculiar individual.

Barbarian. That was the first word that came to mind when he set eyes on the bald, massive humanoid creature. But after a few moments of closer scrutiny of the creature did he realize that it was more like a daemon than anything else. The pointed ears and hollow, crimson eyes he had seen so very often in books that were devoted completely to the damned kind. He was slightly set back on the fact that he did not see any scales, daemons normally had scales but he thought that perhaps they were beneath the creatures clothes. It was probably smart to hide such a deciding feature, conserve its identity. Although the ears and eyes were valuable hints. His gaze shifted.

The next occupant was a human, young and of height and weight. He was also dancing on the tips of his toes, alert and ready for anything. That was when he noticed something odd about the way the human was acting. He was second doubting himself. This much was obvious in the way he shook his body, loosening muscles that should already have been stretched and loosened minutes before. The human was weak. A perfect target. He let his gaze shift once more and let it come to rest on the last individual of the cage.

He could only describe the man as, sad. Eternally sad, but all the same, very alert and terse. The man was an excellent warrior, this much was learned from the great many waggling tongues. The man was a major threat, one that he would have to avoid until the very end, should he survive that long. His gaze shifted once more, but this time to a speaker who was just coming forth.

The words that pored from the speakers mouth were of no concern to him. He didn't want to be distracted. His gaze fell back to others and he smiled again. He paused, letting the speaker continue to drone on, and slowly, inconspicuously, reached into two hidden pouches on either side of his thighs. From these pouches he pulled three weapons. One throwing knife in his left hand, and two throwing stars in his right. He leaned further back and tensed his legs and arms, preparing to throw.

The speaker’s voice stopped and all around the cage the waggling tongues began to scream and shout. The fight had begun and was proven such when the cat man sprang into action like a coiled spring. A shining mass of something flew from his hand, straight toward the man that glowed green and he smiled in spite of himself. This was the perfect distraction. Now it was his turn to uncoil like a loosed spring.

He tensed his calves and pushed up off the mesh of the cage with his elbows and back, bringing himself into a full and upright position almost instantly. As he rose he swung his right arm across his chest, flicking the two stars into throwing positions as he did so, and in one smooth motion threw them as hard as he could, straight for the winged creature beside the half-elf. Letting the forward motion of his right-handed throw propel him forward a single step, he twisted his left hand around to grip the knife in a throwing position, wrapped it around his chest and let it fly as well. Only, in the direction of the young human who was gazing at the man glowing green.

He took a second step and instantly dropped into a defensive stance, arms up and legs bent slightly, ready for almost anything. His smile never faltered. The greatest moment of his life had just begun, and Komosatuo Isachi Satuo wasn't one to go down without a fight.

[Shadar]

It was a pity. Shadar wouldn’t get to enjoy Seth’s response, for he was distracted by the sudden attention upon him. Even though he wasn’t immersed in soul sight at the moment, concentration as intent as someone aiming a projectile was like a ray of moonlight across his vision. There was enough time to follow the path of thought to a man wrapped in black silk. He had just risen, but two pieces of metal were already in his hand. Shadar tensed to dodge, which would be easy since it was a more flippant than focused attack. But, as the shurikens left the attacker’s hand, he noticed that the concentration was not directed at him. It drifted off to his side, directly at Brigitte.

Noticing Shadar’s sudden tension, Brigitte compressed her legs and lay her wings at her sides as opposed to wrapped about her as they had been. Moving with such desperate exertion that he drifted away from the wall, he swept an arm up in front of her. From the elbow-length black glove, a large square of mythril chain mail unfurled and intercepted the shurikens. Harmlessly, they tinked off the metal curtain and fell to the ground. Brigitte, her eyes wide, watched them fall before her as the mythril was pulled back up into the inky darkness of the gloves.

“I think it started,” Shadar said sarcastically, though with a tone of “You’re welcome” as he drifted away from the wall. An idea struck him, then. Instead of letting it be known that he could practically fly, he’d put Jackal’s suggestion to good use. The instant that he began to tilt backwards, when those below would expect him to begin plummeting, a long, thin leg shot out from his side. It seemed to sprout from his sleeveless coat, for it was the same color and texture. With a disturbing sound of flesh thumping metal, the leg latched onto the ceiling and Shadar swayed forward under it. More legs shot out, then, until there were two on each side. The half-elf laughed again as he hung there like it was natural. “You picked the wrong target, ninja,” he spat. His shoulders tensed, his eyes narrowed, and he extended both arms out to the sides. A glistening, two foot long, black claw grew from each fingertip like bones pressing through the skin.

Suddenly, from behind him, there came an ear-piercing, eagle-like battle cry that was harsh enough to make him wince. Brigitte had collected her wits and was apparently going to take things into her own hands, or wings as it were. Stepping from foothold to foothold, she quickly moved around Shadar amid the rhythm of creaking steel and launched herself into the air. For just an instant, she hung in front of him with near-golden wings spread majestically. Then, she collapsed her wings around her and dropped, screaming her shrill serenade all the way down. Right in front of the man in black, she snapped them out and hooked upward in the air with both taloned feet going for his shoulders.

The half-elf was on the move too. With heavy, rattling footfalls, he used the spider legs to sprint across the wall until he was directly above the ninja in the instant that Brigitte and him would meet. His right hand was tensed over his head and the claws began to change. Their bases narrowed until they were almost bending with just the force of gravity. Should the ninja dodge, or even if Brigitte succeeded in lifting him skyward, he would find those five darts flying toward his torso.

((Spider legs (both visual and sound) are illusions, he's actually flying in a jagged pattern to simulate walking with them. The claws/darts are very real. Anyone who knows his illusion tricks (Seth only for the moment) can see some transparency to them if they concentrate.))

[Abenaki]

Stay calm. Jada reminded himself. Stay focused. Don't get caught up in any one duel with any one opponent...

After having assessed each of his opponents as best he could, Jada had decided that the best course of action was not to get primarily involved with any of them. Any of the other combatants, even at first glance, could prove themselves to be more than a handful for the young warrior. Also, Jada had reasoned, that in a melee involving so many combatants it would be far too easy for any one of them to come in from the side or from behind and dispatch him if he was too involved with any one person. If he was going to survive this, Jada needed to be flexible. He needed to be the one dispatching enemies as they preoccupied themselves with the others...

Every enemy that is but for the man easily resting in one of the upper corners of the cage. Something about that man spoke of power that Jada could not match. Hell, it might have even been the fact that the man was suspended nonchalantly from the ceiling that gave Jada that impression...

Then movement caught the attention of the warrior’s keen senses. A small metallic object on a string had descended at the side of the one combatant that seemed more cat that man. His appearance was unnerving to Jada, who had never seen anything like him before; but not nearly unnerving enough to dissuade the warrior from his suddenly decided course of action...

There was no warning. No war cries, no taunts, not even a single introduction by any one of the combatants. It was as if something had startled everyone at once, jerking them out of their private conversations with themselves and throwing them into motion. In the blink of an eye the cat-man was swinging the metallic object, another man was throwing something in the direction of the suspended man's corner, and Jada was charging towards the cat-man.

Were he not already in motion, and not currently focused on the immediate task at hand, Jada might have noticed that a second projectile had gone flying in the general direction of where he had been standing not a second before. Yet, as it were, he was totally oblivious to the hostile intentions of his fellow combatant. Instead he was pulling his sword free as the cat-man launched the object at the end of the string in the direction of the man Jada had focused on earlier. The man with the odd green glow that had been standing opposite him. Closing the short open distance of the arena floor between himself and the cat-man, Jada brought his shortsword across his body in an upward angled, left to right slashing motion.

Jada was hoping that, preoccupied as he was with attacking his glowing neighbor, the cat-man would be unable to avoid the vicious slash of his weapon. In the blink of an eye the battle had begun with earnest, and Jada was hoping that in the blink of another, the cage would already be down at least one combatant...

[Dissinger]

(Apologies for the long post, skip to the second section for relevant information. Liliana will not be involved in the fight beyond a bit of cheering/heckling and is my own character.)

Seth had heard of the Cell, and originally his plans had been to never step foot near the place. As he resided in Radasanth, he knew that most of the town was abuzz with information about the tournament. The scar of his left cheek was prominent as he merely relaxed in a tavern, no longer alone, as Liliana Ambria, a person easily considered his other half sat beside him. The two were one of the few customers in the tavern, and he was rather happy about that.

As he sipped his drink, she gently placed a hand on his shoulder, before she whispered softly, "You aren't going to do the Cell? You went to Serenti, and you went to Lornius, why not try this one?"

"I'm beyond meaningless displays of gruesome violence. Besides, Demon has been behaving himself, and I don't wish to push my luck. For all I know the Cell would turn into another situation where I come close to regressing," Seth replied blandly. It was obvious the reply was well rehearsed, and even more, close minded.

Liliana however pushed as she said, "So you're afraid?"

Seth felt a bit of his old pride well up in him at the stark accusation. However, he managed to keep it down well enough. As he looked at her he said softly, "You want to see me fight, is that it?"

"I've seen you fight, that’s not the question. What are you afraid of?"

Seth sighed as he averted his gaze before he said plainly, "I don't want to let you down. You are standing by me, and I appreciate that, but I don't take it for granted. I don't want to ruin one of the last good things in my life for some stupid prize."

Liliana giggled at the reply before she kissed his cheek, on the scar. He looked at her accusingly knowing full well she knew his feelings about that scar. It was almost as bad as the death mark on his chest, which she had played with more than her fair share of times. The point was she was pushing him into something, and what he didn't know.

"You going to tell me what you want? Or are you going to keep pushing until something happens?" Seth asked pointedly.

Pressing a finger gingerly to his lips she said softly, "I want you to prove to yourself, you have control. Fight it out, have some fun, don't let yourself become a monster. It’s that simple."

Their eyes met and for awhile it seemed a fight of its own was about to brew before he sighed and said curtly, "You're lucky I love you, or I'd have tossed you on your ear."

"You're lucky you're cute, or I'd have done the same," Was the sarcastic reply. Seth sighed as he shook his head and got up leaving a few gold pieces on the table. Moving quickly he went for the amphitheater hoping there would be room for one more...

~*~

...and regretting every moment of it. As he stood in the cage amongst the others he counted at least three people he had a major scuffle with in his lifetime. In no particular order was Hikari no Ashigaru, the Drow of rather odd abilities, who seemed to be eyeing the thief in distaste. Well some things never change, wonder if he still thinks he is the end all, He thought bitterly as he smirked and gave a casual salute off in the white Drow’s general direction.

The next person was a bit more recently engaged, Luc Kraus, the mage of elements, taking his strength from the forces of nature. This man had nearly killed Seth, and it was all Seth could do to keep the man off his feet. Still however, he knew he could beat Kraus, he had done so twice already, and that would not be a problem. The real problem however, lied in the third man he saw;

Shadar Logath...

At least that was what the roster called him. The name was one he had heard, and while he wasn't sure if it truly was that man, he knew he would have to be on guard about this brutal illusionist. He could put two and two together, and Yari's old drinking buddy or not, Shadar was a name synonymous with the crumbling Bandit Brotherhood's list of alumni. As he eyed the man carefully he sent out a taunt, and seemed to be awaiting the thief's reaction.

He never got a chance as a man dressed up in shadowy clothing befitting an assassin or stealth adept attacked Shadar putting him off guard. As Shadar recovered Seth frowned seeing the man begin to sprout legs like a spider. Grimacing he thought to himself, More illusions or what? Never can tell with this guy, better left to someone else...

"Shadar" was for the moment distracted with the shadowy man who attacked quickly. So he leaned against the side of the cage without a second thought. While most saw it as an act of cowardice or pride he merely waited, knowing someone would seek him out eventually.

From the stands Liliana watched seeing Seth's reaction, seeing how he was nonchalant and frowned. He wasn't trying, and it seemed that he wouldn't until he had reason to. A worthy goal, but the Cell was a carnal house, not a place of peace. Eventually the demon's tranquility would break, and Liliana would see what truly lied in Seth's heart.

[Cyrus the virus]

The measuring had been done. After a quick study of the others who populated the cell, Luc concluded that his powers were more than capable of bringing him through this struggle alive. Beyond those immediate thoughts, the mage was sifting through the spells he knew, organizing when each move would be most appropriate, and beyond that, when he should expose his true power. Undoubtedly, enacting a great whirlwind would bring too much attention to himself, so starting slow was his preference until the number of fighters had dwindled a bit.

His eyes were fixed upon the one who was opposite his position in the cage, a catlike furry of some type, who bounced a silly ball on the end of a string. Such stupid baubles these animals carry, he thought. His ire toward their kind was strengthened by his recent visit to Ost'Dagorlin, where he and a stupid, distracted cat-human had learned the basics of Song Magic. Truly, he wanted to ram the stupid metal ball down this one's throat, to relish the tortured meows of the ugly beast.

Luc thought to let the toy bounce off of his newly enacted barrier as it soared at him, but ultimately knew better than to waste a layer of the powerful spell. The mage, lucky to have been watching the furry creature when he released the metal ball, sidestepped the projectile instead of dealing with it magically, as his arrogant nature would have usually bade him do.

The red tint of the blade might have given away the fact that it was magical, as Luc's gloved right hand drew it from the beautiful sheath. That was a risk he was willing to take for now, and besides, plenty of warriors carried magical weapons. They were nothing a dragon's stash of gold couldn't buy.

He then ran, rather normally, across the center of the cell to face the cat creature, who was already under siege by another warrior. Luc's focus was so set on the furry that he didn't notice the spider illusion Shadar had enacted on himself, running carelessly under.

His next move might give away the nature of his powers, and Luc was all too painfully aware of it. Regardless of that threat, the mage thrust the Sword of Slykrit forward, and a great stream of flames erupted from the body of the weapon, tearing quickly through the air to reach for the cat and the nearby ninja. The magic brought an interested ooo from the audience, who roared approval at the attack.

Roasted kitten, he thought, repulsed by the idea.

((Attacking Arty and Komo))

[Arawn]

It’s begun, the pale drow considered with only a slight revisit of his previous eagerness, sick still threatening to rise up from his bowels.

He spat at the floor as if to rid himself of the oddly metallic taste of blood, seeming so real upon his tongue. The saliva on the stone ground was transparent, no shade of crimson anywhere upon it. Hikari needed to keep himself in the now. Perhaps he was culpable for Arawn’s crimes, but he had no control of his body in those moments. He was undeniably responsible now, however. It was at present that Hikari had any chance for redemption, if it could be had. Focus was by far his greatest tool in keeping the vampire at bay. A hub for his mind would strengthen his dominion, as it always did. The Cell served just such a purpose excellently. He had to keep his mind on the victory he had so desired.

His fellows did not target him in the initial stages of combat, which was just as well. Though unarmed, he had somehow deterred their gazes to seemingly weaker foes. This was the law of the wilderness at its purest. Enclosed in the steel-adorned ecosystem, individuals attacked whoever they believed they could honestly defeat, while others were forced to simply act and react to assaults on their person. Feeling himself the great white shark in a pool minnows, a smirk flickered back to his face. Once more, his pulse was quickening. This was what he had come for, the promise of great foes he could bring to beg at his feet. His dark orb-like eyes on his distracted opponents, the dark elf made his first move.

Raising his hands to the air, wisps of light appeared and began circling his white arms, glowing a rich yellow in evidence of their glowing source in the sky above. They gained speed quickly, increasing in number and spinning about the upraised limbs like so many photons accelerated beyond human speeds. Soon, his arms were no longer visible, hidden behind a cloud of yellow blurs. Next, he extended his arms before him and, with considerable physical exertion, he brought them together. When his hands came together, there was not a small clap, but the roar of thunder that echoed loudly throughout the cage as a yellow rift appeared in the air before him. His muscles bulging with the effort, he pulled the crack wide from its source at his fingers, opening it inch by inch. Finally, he forced an opening wide enough for his intentions and stepped back as he released it, a glowing yellow crack in dimensions suspended in front of him.

From the rift came two beings answering his call. They stepped out of their own realm without hesitation, the fissure of yellow light closing behind them and vanishing. Hikari’s breath was coming hard as he looked on his aides, the effort of breaching dimensions sapping his strength. They were naked and unarmed but for their natural weaponry, both composed of solid white light from head to toe. The first was an impressive griffin standing on four menacing claws, long talons agleam. It held its plumed chest out majestically and spread its wings wide once past the brilliant doorway, stretching its muscles. The second was an imposing minotaur. Once pushing by the griffin, its hoof pawed at the ground uneasily, bull’s head snorting as it looked around.

“Go,” Hikari said simply.

Without further command, his minions knew the will of their master. They were linked in such a way that words were needed as little more than guiding precursors to their actions. Turning around, they picked out their respective marks from the fray. With a hawk-like screech from its beak, the griffin took to the air, pushing massive amounts of wind behind its wings for lift. Flapping for vertical elevation at first, the beast then made to maneuver its way toward a harpy diving at a human below. It would not reach it until after it met the ninja, but that was of little consequence as the griffin extended its forelimbs out in front of its flight to rip the harpy apart. The minotaur, for its part, simply charged with its head bowed to allow his horns to pierce a human in the center of the cell some twenty feet away, running with a deafening bellow. The man’s back was to his glowing attacker, busy shooting fire at his enemies.

Satisfied for the moment, Hikari put his hands on his knees and caught his breath in half-crouched position, his eyes still on his foes and following his companions’ offensives. He had no chance to join them just yet, so he simply allowed the sun to replenish his stolen energy within the habitat now boasting an abundance of predators.

So far, my attacks are directed at Brigitte and Luc. I’m wiling to allow slight bunnying of my aides if you contact me with the details.

[Modrue]

The dark priestess of N’jal slowly drooped from the ceiling from an impossibly thin strand of silk. Her entire body was without clothes, just like the rest of the Dark Queen’s children. Her head turned this way and that, perceiving her surroundings yet not truly grasping them without much of her senses. The price of power and eternal life had been costly for the former wood elves, but it was nothing compared to what the brethren that had refused it had suffered.

She moved gracefully, for being an oversize cross between elf and spider. The sharp, talon-like claws at the ends of her arachnid legs tapped as they freely found a path among the ragged rocks and unsure cave floor. To either side of her, and especially above her, human sized sacks were tightly wound with the lackluster, gray silk of the spidermagi. Within them were the vapid, yet not dead, bodies of those that had attempted to move too far into the forsaken woods of Concordia. Slowly the bodies of the victims would be eaten away by the disease, leaving only a rancid sack to be sucked by the magi at their will.

No longer did the idea bother any of the Children of N’jal.

Through the caves the high priestess moved. She was the center of that cave’s particular infrastructure. Around her, from the shadows, more magi were ‘shifting’ out of the darkness and following her. Each magus, male or female, watched with a discerning and cautious eye everything that the high priestess did. One day it would be them that would take up her position, just one of them.

{“Move,”} the priestess hissed with her acidic tone as he passed into the dingy, ill-lit abyss that was the cave of devotions. Along the corners luminous mushrooms and flickering moss lit the small cave. It the most light the spidermagi of N’jal could stand for at any point in time. Without waiting for the others to fully push through the small entranceway the priestess scooped up the orb and began stroking it.

Through the ball she could see the world around their demonic marionette. It was crude, filled with the spawns of humanity, but most of all it was bright. Even through the dim, empty orb the light of the natural sun was at first painful for the magi. The ball turned and twisted in the priestess’ cautious hands, moving the picture in a wide spectrum. Through the crowd she searched for the ‘target’ that the Dark Queen demanded. He was not there. Instead, after calculated searching, the magus found what she had been searching for. The man was on the field of battle.

She focused in on the one named Hikari.
~+|+~

Modrue moved as the dust kicked up by the other combatants began to rise around him. He spit to his side, relieving himself of the dirt that had begun to settle onto his pallet. It was getting interesting with the minorities battling each other. As it stood, none had challenged the heavy demon.

He sighed to the fates that had led him to the tournament. To him it appeared that there would be no challenge if he stood there, none of the competition held the bravado necessary to fight him. The demon tapped the steel cage and watched the half-elf climb with spider’s legs to its pinnacle.

However it was the elven-kin that had caught his attention. For what seemed to be no more then a second his eyes had locked on the man, an intense desire to kill him was accompanied by it also. It was something that had been quickly stilled when he had opened the portal though. The steel chain of the arena was yet quivering with the thunderous roar that the man’s simple appearing spell had caused. Along with that his two minions of light appeared to be his means of defense, and an intimidating means at that.

Modrue chose a new route though.

With that voice still silent in the back of his mind it was the demon’s choice alone which target to attack. From overhead blades were being whirled around like children throwing rocks for fun. At the center of the melee was a weak human of sorts wielding a sword with a crimson tint. It was interesting, until the demon focused on his current target. It was the ‘stealthy’ human at the center, who was also targeted by the overhead mage’s attack. A quick thought and a snap of the demon’s fingers and his crimson eyes were aglow.

From beneath the man two shackles of shadows reached up for his feet. Modrue had been taught to fight by himself and by the Elite Order of Assassins, or the Brotherhood of The Banishment. Both ways he had learned highly valued the art of fighting at a distance, not being seen, but most especially surviving. With the man’s potential ‘lock-down’ in his position there was little hope for him to use agility or dexterity to avoid the blades and the flames…

[Artifex Felicis]

The grandmaster didn't know what he really liked about the tournaments. He supposed it was just the ability to beat the crap out of someone else, and have nearly everyone thank him and praise him for his actions. Despite most of his mannerisms, Leon was not a very peaceful man at times, nor did he have many qualms about fighting dirty. He would never attack someone in a fight from behind of course, but kicking sand and hitting below the belt were all allowed in his mind. That didn't stop him from getting annoyed when other people did it though, much like the brown man cruising for him and nearly close enough to strike.

The yo-yo missed the man with the glowing green aura entirely, though Leon could hazard a guess or two as to what it did. It was most likely some sort of shield, but from the way he dodged, could also be offensive and require concentration to pull it off. He did not have much time to ponder the curiosities of magic, not with the brown man so interested in skewering him with the rusty iron short sword. The boy's foolish grin remained on his face as he locked eyes with the green ones of his attacker.

There was a soft sound, unheard in the roar of the crowd as four claws were extended at the ends of one of his hands. He grew used to the familiar pain whenever he did it, welcoming it as he savior. He twisted and hopped at the sight of the sword on its way, the boy's impressive speed shining for a moment as he swiped, claws catching the iron blade and pushing it out of the way. He hit the ground hard, barely catching himself as he fell. He didn't want to alert that much attention to himself just yet, but he also wanted to make this war as long and enjoyable as possible.

There was a different sound from the audience right then. It wasn't the usual roar, or occasional whistle or cheer for the dodge he just performed, but rather one of amazement. The grandmaster's eyes widened as soon as he looked up. The glowing green man was pointing a red tinted weapon at him, but it was the flames rushing towards him that interested him. He did what any normal person would have done in that situation. The cat boy hugged the ground, lying as flat as he possibly could as the flame flew over him. Most of him remained fine, but this was one of the time when he hated having a tail.

He bit his lower lip softly, his hard teeth threatening to pierce his skin with just that. The pain remained even after he smothered the small flame that used to be on the tip of his tail, a shiny burn mark and a pulsing pain remaining. He loosened his jaw on his lip, instead grating his teeth and growling softly at the mage. He got to his knees, one of the strands of yarn wrapped around his hand loosening, and changing color to near the shade of the ground. It was a simple, but effective trick he would pull off later. Until it was time however, it would remain hard to see. He moved to the side as the stealth yarn kept track of where he went, going on all fours to make his form smaller and hard to hit. He stood, putting his back to the wall again before surveying the arena, pleased at what he saw.

It was absolute chaos. There were at least four or five fights going on at once that he could see, though he appeared to have been hurt the worst at this particular moment. Though in the end he knew that the burn would be trivial compared to what would happen to others. He looked from side to side, focusing on the glowing green mage and the man who attacked him before. The others were of no concern to the cat boy as of yet, though the spider thing was rather interesting. Leon tensed up, ready for someone else to come at him. The glowing mage wasn't a problem at the moment, not with the others focusing on him. Until something else happenned, he'd be content to just watch chaos.

[Cyrus the virus]

The stream of flames had died, but a thick vapor still clouded the caped one's vision when he heard the coming charge. Knowing he could not immediately see the result of his sword's labor, a scornful frown was upon the mage's youthful face when he turned to meet the coming threat, a minotaur of pure light. Luc could feel the metaphysical properties of the beast somehow, as if he could sense it the same way he felt the elements, and other tinglings of magic around him. That magical sense helped him to keep a grasp on what was going on.

He fumbled with the sword, sheathing it awkwardly and therefore giving himself away for the novice he was. Even though there were more pressing matters at hand, Luc couldn't help but feel stupid for the blunder whether anyone noticed it or not.

Regardless of how badly he needed to lay low for the time being, Luc had been growing impatient. His audience wanted to see magic and he was having a hard time holding back, even in these early stages of battle. So he gave in, hopping into the waiting wind as it carried him high and above the charging beast of light. He was fortunate that the gryphon had not decided to come after him as well.

The mage's eyes traced the bull's path back to a huge, impossibly white being. Luc couldn't classify him under any particular race from such a distance, but it didn't matter. Cat, human, drow and vampire alike would crumble in the face of his magic.

And then Seth, of course. How sweet that revenge would be.

Luc wanted to look back at the furry beast, to observe in grim glee the charred remains of the creepy little cat, but his eyes did not leave Hikari. Something about an attack from behind just annoyed the powerful mage and to annoy Luc Kraus was a bad choice to make, more so in a tournament where the objective was to pummel your foes.

The mage was growing bored with avoiding his useful, plentiful magic. What good was being Althanas' most flexible wizard when your strength was not recognized? He made the decision at that point to abandon strategy in favor of glory, knowing the audience would take to his magic like drunks to wine. "Have a taste for silly cantrips?" Luc yelled above the noise, taking joy in mocking the fool creature's attempt to hurt him. "There comes a time when a budding wizard needs to abandon such useless, worthless abilities, and adopt something more..." he paused. "Potent."

Predictably, Luc intended to use the word to suggest a taste of things to come. He lifted both hands, one after another, and dropped them as quickly as they'd risen. Long, thin javelins the length of his own body formed from the wind, bursting suddenly through the sky at the pale warrior below. He decided to leave it at two and see how the man dealt with the threat.

And then he'd proceed to impose his will upon this cell.

[Abenaki]

Fast... was the first thought that shot through Jada's mind as the cat-man flashed his claws and knocked away the warrior's first attack. It was the same thought that had crossed the warrior's mind when Xanith, his first opponent in armed combat, had deflected Jada's first onslaught in their previous battle. There were similarities that could be drawn between Xanith and this new opponent, perhaps, but Jada wasn't given much time to contemplate the possibilities there. For almost as soon as his strike was knocked away, a great stream of fire roared by on a beeline course for the man he had just tried to kill...

Acting on both reflexes and instinct, Jada turned away from the flames and dropped to one knee, his left arm rising up to shield his face from the intense heat. The stream of fire roared and died rapidly, leaving on the air a thick vapor cloud that hurt Jada's eyes and made it hard to see. For a few seconds Jada could do nothing but try and wave the cloud away from his face, praying that no one crept up behind him in the haze and dispatched him. A breeze drifted through the cage, dispelling the smoky vapor and restoring most of the warrior's visibility. Images of a roasted cat flit across Jada's vision, and he quickly turned to face the direction of the flames origin. They had come from the same place in the cage where the glowing man had been standing at the start of the battle, and Jada was afraid the man might be looking to press the advantage his surprising fire trick had given him.

Those fears turned out to be unfounded, however, as the man with the green aura was floating away on the same breeze that had served to dispel the cloud left by his previous attack. Just underneath the man was a large bull-like creature made of light...

"More sorcery." Jada spat, trying to clean the taste of smoke out of his mouth. All around him the battle was in full swing, and yet in places the fighting was not quite as fierce as expected. There were still a couple of combatants waiting in the background, watching the battle with keen interest. One was still nonchalantly leaning against the side of the cage, while a very pale man seemed to be watching the antics of the light-beasts, of which Jada could now see two...

It was then that Jada turned around to see just how much of the cat-man remained after standing in the path of a great stream of fire. Surprisingly, there was much more of the man left than Jada had previously imagined, although it was clear that the man's tail had seen better days. He was settled back now, watching for the next attack, his muscles coiled and ready to react. Behind him the metal of the cage was sagging slightly, as though a circular section of the barrier had begun to melt. The fact that the man was still alive was not only disappointing in a way, but it also presented Jada with a sudden dilemma. His whole plan for staying alive had been to lurk in the background, picking his strikes carefully. Engaging himself in a solitary duel with any one opponent didn't factor into that equation...

Everyone else seems occupied enough. The warrior decided quickly. And those who aren't are on the other side of the arena. He added, alluding to the two men not really taking part in any of the primary conflicts. In only a few seconds Jada's plan shifted from staying out of the way, to pressing his perceived advantage against the man with the tail. Dispatching one opponent meant that there would be less of them to keep track of as the battle wore on...

Pressing the advantage meant acting quickly so as not to give his opponent any real time to compose himself. Springing back to his feet, Jada charged across the short distance that had opened between himself and the cat-man when he had scrambled away from the flames. His arms were at his hips as he charged, the blade of his sword pointing away from his back. As the distance closed Jada then brought the sword up to his shoulder and then down, swinging down and at an angle as he came in close enough to strike at the cat-man once again...

[Dissinger]

His grey eyes took in the carnage as he watched with interest. It seemed everyone was pulling out all the stops and he was quietly snickering at the various displays of machismo. With the unleashing of the beasts from what he could only assume was a different plane of existence, to the flame attack that nearly singed Leon Timyon, a name he was vaguely recalling from the Grey Braves War. He was amused to say the least.

As he crossed his arms across his chest he held a hint of the old roguish grin. This was more entertaining than fighting of course. He saw a few people look at him, but no one really did much. They would look at him, then go after the aggressor. His grin became more full bodied. It was amusing to say the least at how people had no concept of stamina, but he would let them exhaust their tricks, that made it far easier when the fresh opponent came in to clean house.

As he looked at Shadar he could swear things were rather interesting. The harpy that accompanied him was attacked as was Kraus, and as he watched Luc retaliate with his own attack he had to say he was impressed by the whirling javelins of air. The elemental mage was certainly making his job easier by taking out one of the three nuisances. If Arawn were to accidentally die, it was no skin off his back. Waiting in silence he felt energy begin to stir up, and waited. Now was not the time, he would wait for this particular blow.

He needed more carnage more blood drawn for this trick to work. So as he waited patiently he stifled a yawn. The bloodshed and violence entertained only so long to a man who was beginning to critique his opponents, judging them on a scale as to who could be slaughtered, and who would require work. Immediately Arawn, Luc, and Shadar were at the top of the work list. Leon was getting there, and the ninja was starting to hit the bottom of the massacre. Right at the top though was a tribal looking person, who he knew would be dead if Seth even thought of focusing on him.

He pulled a lung popper from his belt as he began to clean his nails all the while waiting for someone to come at him. Until he was engaged he would wait, feeling the energy in his veins begin to pulsate humming an enchanting melody for the Lavinian. He merely held his ground waiting for a chance to strike like a coiled viper.

Liliana however was watching him and wondering just what was going on. Seth was merely watching the show, and not participating. She was certain that he would have been in there, killing as proficiently as he had back in Otaria, when he had put the thugs that had mugged her in their place. Watching she shook her head as she whispered to herself, "What in the hells are you thinking Seth?"

[chumley]

The hot-air balloon sailed over the wall of the amphitheater, obscuring the sun for the briefest of moments as, buffeted by the winds of this benighted world, it settled above the steel cage. Chumley chuckled as he looked down over the side of the wicker basket, a long cigarette holder lodged in the side of his mouth. For the twenty-first time (he had been keeping a record for his memoirs) he reached into his jacket and pulled forth a curled piece of parchment, stained with garlic juice and tomato sauce, and read the almost indecipherable script yet again:

Chumley:

Your old friend from the LCC is in another tournament being put on by the man-apes who populate this dirt-encrusted, brothel-filled, smoldering ash pile of a world. I believe you may have a score to settle, my popinjay of a pal. The rules say you may enter the battle, even if you have not registered, if you can fight your way past the guards. Please find directions enclosed. I hope you are well and that you are finding success in all your endeavors.

Signed,

Your Friend

"This Mr. Friend is certainly kind, if he does have an unusual name," Chumley quipped, tucking the sheet back into his jacket. "So, Guy, are we prepared for the descent?" The Calvinist minister whom Chumley had saved from a mob of raving papists, Guy Baptiste by name, whose favorite pasttime was hopping about in hot air balloons, nodded solemnly. He then began yanking cords hanging from the flame-spewing contraption above him, lessening the flame heating the air within the silk balloon, solemn all the while. Chumley supposed most of the Elect of God were often solemn, as befitted their blessed metaphysical circumstances, but he preferred a jolly demeanor. Why sip champagne when one could chug hard cider? (A question President van Buren had not been able to answer - to his sorrow.)

The basket lowered atop the cage, and Chumley nimbly leapt out, tossing his cigarette aside with great aplomb. "Thank you, dear Guy," he called out, "May Zephyr always blow his mild breezes at your back, and Jupiter spare you his roiling thunderbolts." Guy nodded, solemnly, and pulled a cord that ejected a merry toot of flame that lifted the balloon into the air. Chumley smiled, dabbing his nose with a handkerchief, and then looked below him. The cage upon which he stood had no spaces small enough for him to shimmy through, and even if it had, it was a long fall to the ground. "Mayhaps I should have put more thought into this..." Chumley muttered, searching for a depressed looking teenaged girl below. His search quickly ended, as his bright little eyes found Seth Dahlios below. Leaning down, Chumley directed a yell at the moody milquetoast.

"Hello down there, Dahlios!" He cried, "I heard you were the belle of the ball at your debut! Why, then, do you appear so put-out? Perhaps your drunken leprechaun of a father slapped you across your barbell tenement again, eh?" Chumley disliked insults, but that was the only way to deal with Irishmen who had no sense of honor and consorted with women who could only be described as the whores of Babylon. Shaking his head in disgust at the mere sight of Dahlios, he straightened up and tried to focus on something more pleasing. He directed his eyes to what appeared to be a pile of living excrement that was watching the battle from the stands and nodded approvingly. "Birds of a feather, as my father always said. Birds of a feather." A motion at the edge of the top of the cage caught his eye. It appeared to be a guard, dressed in the garb of a pantywaist, waving weapons that were no more threatening to our dear elephant than mere twigs.

"You, sir, are no better than a child slapping a hoop down the street with a stick!" Chumely roared, and began throwing rotten tomatoes at the guard. He sliced a dozen in half in mid-air with one swipe of his weapon.

"You fool!" The pile of excrement called, "Those guards are the best trained soldiers they could find! They're not pantywaists, and their weapons are more threatening to you than thunderbolts! Besides, a dozen are approaching you as you speak!"

"WHY WOULD I LISTEN TO A PILE OF DUNG?" Chumley screamed. Then he realized a dozen men in chain mail, waving halberds and swords that put Excalibur to shame, were standing around him, grinning darkly. "THANKS FOR THE TIP!" Chumley added, a bead of sweat appearing on his forehead. He turned his head skyward, and blamed the only logical cause of these troubles. "SETH DAHLIOS, YOU'LL PAY FOR THIS!"

[Komosatuo]

Chaos.

It was the only word that came to his mind when the events directly preceding his two initial attacks, unfolded. Unfolded in such a manner, that most, if not all the actions and reactions of the seven other combatants in the cage, were directed solely at him.

Sure there were a few people who had other targets in mind, but it seemed that most were either aimed directly at him, or were part of some after effect that would still, somehow, effect him. When he looked back on it, in the few split seconds he had to himself to gather his thoughts, he wondered how in the hell he had managed to survive.

First there was the flying creature he had initially attacked. Almost instantly after he settled himself into a defensive position, which he knew was going to be a totally futile attempt at protecting himself, the half-elf and the creature attacked. With a scream that would make a wailing banshee jealous, the creature took to the air in a fury of feathers. The half-elf soon followed the creatures attack, but in a very odd, very disturbing and very unnerving fashion.

He grew, legs. Spider legs to be exact. From his back no less. He then proceeded to climb up the cage mesh and center himself firmly in the middle of the ceiling and raise his arms up. Komosatuo knew, beyond a doubt, that for whatever reason the half-elf raised his hands, it was not to wave hello or to praise some god. That was when, in the moment that he was still coherent and sane enough to notice it, claws began to grow from the half-elf's fingers. That was when the clawed feet of the creature came abruptly into view and Komosatuo lost all sane and coherent thoughts, reacting instead on pure instinct and instinct alone.

He ducked.

At the same exact time, almost as if the man had predicted it, five razor sharp claws exploded from the tips of the mans fingers, straight towards Komosatuo's chest. Komosatuo reacted by instinct alone, just as he had when he ducked.

The clawed feet of the creature were just beginning to close on empty air when Komosatuo's own fingers closed around its ankles. He tensed his calf and thigh muscles, closed his eyes and heaved himself upward. The creature screamed a second time and beat at the air with its wings, using both its own power and the momentum from Komosatuo's jump to elevate itself higher. Had this been a one on one confrontation, Komosatuo would have cheered as the five darts imbedded themself firmly into the solid surface of the floor below his feet. But this wasn’t a one on one battle and where he would have cheered, he cried out in shock and fear instead.

A solid bar of liquid flame, gouging a path through the air, rocketed past the place where his torso had just been resting. First it was the creature, then it was the darts, and still further it was the flames. Three separate attacks, three separate people, one target. Him. Komosatuo began to wonder if he wasn’t prime target number one.

Barely a half a second after the darts had imbedded themselves into the ground and the flames had rocketed past, another attack found its way to his person. Or rather, the person that was currently being held onto by him, the said person. Komosatuo stared with his mouth agape as a white griffin, shining and shimmering like the sun itself, barreled through the air at a breath taking speed, straight the creature, and him.

The creature abruptly fell silent as a calm night, as if suddenly aware there was a greater threat than a meager human that had attacked her simply on a whim and then attached itself to its legs, and bucked as it tried to turn to face the new foe. Komosatuo, still trying to gather his wits from the darts, the flames, the screaming creature and the new glowing griffin, felt his grip on the creature’s ankles slip and was thrown quite forcibly into the cages mesh wall, his body hitting some six or seven feet above the ground. He bounced off the cage wall like a bouncing ball to paving stones and flew four feet out into open air, hovering for an instant above the chaos that was the cage. Instinct took over as he fell.

Knees tucked under his chest and his arms fully extended to his sides, Komosatuo rolled in a half flip, half somersault through the air and landed smoothly on the balls of his feet. It was almost like running on a wall and jumping off of it. Almost. This one involved his life, or his death. Where as the other, was just a classic stunt that could be used in a thousand effective ways to either save your life, or end it with style.

Seems to fit perfectly.

If there was one thing Komosatuo knew about fighting, which he knew enough to survive most cases, it was that it was a stupid idea to stay standing in one spot for too long. There were a few people in the cage doing exactly that, but he knew enough now to leave those few well enough alone. He needed to find a new target but first, he needed to find a place to settle down and catch his breath. Gather his wits, but mostly to catch his breath.

He spotted a nearby empty place against the cage and leapt up to run towards it. But instead of running as he had hoped he fell face first into the ground. There was a crack as something in his face snapped and he cursed when he felt a warm, sticky liquid begin to poor free from the new wound. He pushed himself to his hands and knees, tried to stand but instead found that he was unable to. His feet were planted to the ground, two shackle in appearance objects wrapped firmly around his ankles, restraining him from any movement. It was the beginning of another attack, he knew it as such because the shackles were meant as a restraining device. And restraining devices were meant, in battles, to hold someone still long enough to launch an attack without having to worry about them running away.

Komosatuo’s head shot up and his eyes flickered left and right, searching for the new threat was going to reveal itself at any second. He paid little attention to the thin red stream of warm liquid running down his face and soaking through his face covering scarf. Instead he found his attention riveted on the monestrous barbarian creature that had reminded him of a daemon, its eyes glowing a bright crimson and within the instant that his eyes met those he knew. The daemon was his attacker, that meant that the daemon was his next target.

He snarled and pulled two small fish darts from a conceal pocket in his calf, deftly maneuvered them in his fingers and in a swift underhand motion, sent them flying towards the daemon. Hoping, that perhaps with the break in its attention span, that its hold on his feet would break loose. Allowing him some much needed time to escape to a distant, perhaps less deadly, portion of the cage.

If not, well. . .if not, Komosatuo had a sinking feeling that those two fish darts would be the last things he ever threw, for a very long time.

((OOC: The bunny of Shadar’s Harpy was approved. Modure, if I’m not the target of your shadow shackle, please PM me and I’ll edit.))

((OOC::EDIT:: The respective edits requested by Shadar have been performed.))

[Shadar]

((Bunnying of the griffin was given the okay.))

As Brigitte swept upward with the ninja and Shadar loosed the five claws from his right hand, he realized there was another shriek in the air. At first, he thought it was just his ears playing tricks on him. It was proven that Brigitte’s war cry could damage hearing, so maybe having heard it so many times had taken its toll on him and skewed the sounds of magic exploding all over the cage. Closing his eyes, and ignoring the ninja in the process, he shook his head as if that would stop the bird-like shriek from sounding like two.

Brigitte, as she pumped her wings to pull the ninja upward, was under no such delusions. Hearing the call that was not her own, she swiveled her head and suddenly became silent. The man-sized griffin was almost upon her. Its wings and limbs seemed to blur, but the razor sharp beak and claws were clear enough. Frantically, she shook the ninja off and twisted in the air. Only in the instant before impact was she able to raise her feet and catch the griffin’s forelimbs. With their talons locked, she was plowed backward through the air and straight into the side of the cage. The metal shook as her body slammed against it; a sound that seemed to echo in her skull like a legion of rattling swords. Through the noise and the pain, she could only make out one other sound. It was directly above her, and it called out desperately in the all too familiar voice of her protector. “Brigitte! Hold on!”

Gritting her teeth, she did hold on. She locked her talons around the griffin’s tighter and spread her wings against the mesh. If the creature of light tried to peck at her, it was too late. With one strong push, she propelled herself upward over the beast’s head. It had no choice but to follow as her strong feet pulled its own upward and rolled the beast a quarter turn backwards.

With his own words just barely out of his mouth, Shadar raised his other hand. The claws turned to liquid in that instant and flowed together into the form of a wide, thick dagger. It was heavy enough that gravity would do most of the work when he threw it. The instant that he was about to, though, Brigitte took control of the griffin. His arm was ready to throw it, but he held it still in the moment that Brigitte was in the way. The muscles burned from the sudden delay, and then snapped downward viciously as the path was clear. The blade shot straight toward the griffin’s exposed underbelly, ready to enlighten them all as to what innards this creature really had.

However, Shadar couldn’t be bothered to find out. He glided down to Brigitte’s back and wrapped one arm around her waist. Startled by the sudden but reassuring touch, she kicked away from the griffin’s claws and winged them both to the very top of the cage once more. At arms length from the ceiling, she stopped and hovered there with gentle, controlled strokes through the air. Shadar hovered directly in front of her, his form completely still. “I wanted to say, let me take the lead,” he admitted quickly, “But, you clearly don’t need me to.”

Brigitte’s reaction was mixed. Initially, she smiled; a very satisfied, almost smug, showing of teeth. Then, she looked slightly up above his head and her eyes widened to the size of condor eggs.

After a moment of confusion, Shadar caught on and snapped his head back to stare upward. The first thing he noticed was that the spider leg illusions were still there and apparently supporting him. He had forgotten completely about them, which meant that Jackal must have taken over to keep them from faltering.

You’re welcome, the dream demon growled with a tone of ‘you owe me’. Then came a more surprised, Holy elephant butt!

That was exactly what they were staring at. It was impossible to fathom, but in all the confusion, a pachyderm had somehow gotten on top of the cage. Shadar could do nothing but stare, even though Brigitte was shouting in a very urgent voice, “What’s that?!” and Jackal was humming the circus song. After a few seconds of flabbergasted jaw-stretching, he realized that this animal was actually talking. More surprisingly, he was hurling potent insults at the very man Shadar wanted to smear across the steel mesh.

It didn’t take long to put that together with the fact that some heavily armed guards were surrounding the elephant. As far as the half-elf was concerned, there was only one thing to do. Shouting as loud at he could to be heard over all the battle noise, he said, “If you’re an enemy of Seth, you’re a damned good friend of mine! Get in here and help me mash him into peanut butter!” As he finished, the texture of his gloves shifted to a rippling viscosity. Both palms, he pressed directly to the mesh under the elephant’s feet. At the instant of contact, a single pulse traveled out through the metal and rendered it momentarily transparent. For the next second, it wasn’t steel but simply a shadow of what existed. With a very rational fear of the now unsupported beast above him, Shadar darted out of the way and stopped by Brigitte’s side. Finally, he answered her question in a hushed voice. “It’s the biggest, ugliest godsend every.”

((The spider illusion didn’t falter, and it still appears that that’s how he’s staying at the top. A small section of cage at the top has momentarily turned ethereal, so the elephant should be plummeting into our midst any second now.))

[Dissinger]

Son of a... was all he could manage as he saw the elephant show up. The pachyderm screamed out towards Seth Dahlios with an unbridled hatred. As the cage was still a barrier he knew he wouldn't have to worry too much about it. Still when Shadar Logath talked and brought he pachyderm up, he knew he had hit his limits. Keeping his feet planted he brought his hand up as he shouted out, "Tell you what Shadar, if you're so eager to find a replacement, let me finish the switch out!"

Grinning as he knew no one had tried to stop him, or even approach him he had stood in one spot long enough and so had no difficulty in knowing what was going on. Holding his hand out he spoke the phrase softly, not trying to bury it in words, "Penance for your sins."

Once the words were spoken Seth was off the cage wall like a bullet speeding towards Shadar. Purple energy sparked and arced over his skin as he held his hand out to the side, letting it coalesce into the ball of purple energy known only to him as Sin Harvest. While not his strongest spell, he had few times where he could use it, and considering what Shadar had done to Seth, he was more than certain a few sins were lurking beneath his flesh, and the scars would be far more ugly than the one Shadar had given him on that fateful day.

With a quick twirl he threw the ball of energy right at Shadar Logath before he was again in motion, this time sliding to a halt. As the first attack was let off he drew a Kunai and once again took aim throwing the weapon blacked blade right at the Pachyderm that seem all too determined to end his tenure in the Cell. As he snorted he put out, "What are you going to do to me? Sing another bad number and show how sub par your dancing skills really are? Let me give you a hint, it’s a bad song when no one gets what spews from your pathetic mouth."

Coming to a stop he knew he was exposed, he only hoped everyone had the courtesy to let him wash the floors red in the elephant Chumley's blood.

Liliana watched the show and grimaced, remaining silent as she watched helplessly. Seth had begun to fight, now was the true test of control. If he held back, perhaps there was hope, but if not, there would be a lot of work to get him back to normal. Whispering softly to herself she said, “Hold on to yourself Seth, just hold on…”

[Shadar]

“Switch out? No,” Shadar growled under his breath, “Big grey meat shield. Yes.” He placed a lot of trust in that creature’s bulk to absorb whatever Seth threw at him, so he took his attention away from the man long enough to glance at Brigitte. Now, without the distraction of an elephant above his head, he noticed that she was wincing with each push of her wings. Apparently, the slam into the cage wall had done damage, and it was startling to see her fierceness dimmed by it. “Are you-” he began to ask. Then, the purple light struck him and splashed up into his vision. The last thing he saw was Brigitte reaching out to him and squawking desperately.

Shit, it’s coming in! Jackal shouted before he too faded away.

Perhaps it was because Shadar was now very much a creature of thought that it had such a strong effect on him. He could even feel its energy delving into his mind, searching for something. Memories flashed before him without his consent, images of him and Brigitte wandering the wilderness in search of news of the new Bandit Brotherhood. Then, farther into the past, when they were hiding out in the mountains after the Gisela. There was where the spell found its fuel.

Vividly, Shadar remembered the final sight he had of his army. It had been created by Jackal for the Gisela only, a bizarre mix of creatures. There were purple men with two upper bodies mounted on a single set of legs, thin dragons of fire and ice, hordes of buxom harpies, and a flurry of small pink pixies. They were all that remained after the fighting, and they would not remain for long.

They had all assembled in the mountains. Brigitte and Shadar looked down on them from the elevated mouth of a cave, where Jackal’s illusionary image was directing them into a portal. It was the same opening from which they had been born, and now they were to go into it to be recycled into the energy of thought. Obediently, they entered it. Brigitte winced as each went in, for that would have been her fate too if she hadn’t defected from Jackal to Shadar. In an attempt at comforting her, he wrapped an arm over her shoulders and whispered, “I’m sorry we couldn’t save them.”

Forcefully, she shook her head. “No, don’t be sorry,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’m not one of them, and they don’t know the meaning of being saved.” Shadar nodded solemnly to that. Brigitte was truly the only one who would understand. Jackal had given her alone the intellect to appreciate life, and therefore to resist when he did rip her apart. He was a sick bastard for orchestrating that all just for his pleasure, but Shadar could do nothing to be rid of him. All he could do was watch each glimmer of life disappear back into that rainbow-colored portal, like paint dripping from canvas and back onto the easel. A part of him went with each of them, because he knew he was responsible for it all coming about.

His mind became aware of his body once more, and something very strange was happening to it. The feeling began at the tips of his fingers, then carried up his arms. It was as if the skin was opening on its own into hundreds upon hundreds of paper cuts. Each was insignificant, but the combined pain was like fire speeding along oil-soaked rope. Rapidly, the lacerations spread all the way to his shoulders and spilled out over his chest and back. He was wrapped in a blanket of fire, one that was trying to smother him as the spell reached up his neck and over his face. It missed eyes and mouth, but the cuts continued up to his hairline. If this new body of his needed air, he would have gasped what he thought would be one last breath. Then, he heard the raucous voice of an angel.

“Shadar! Shadar!” Brigitte shouted at him. His eyes snapped open, and time rushed back upon him. He could feel that his mind had been working quickly, which meant that only a few seconds had passed so far. In that few seconds, though, his upper body had become a mess of crisscrossing lines. His white shirt was marked with each individual line as the small amounts of blood seemed out, making it look like a child’s attempt at drawing a grip with red crayon. His face was also cut, though to a lesser extent, as if the spell had run out of steam. The blood that he felt dripping was minimal, as the cuts were shallow enough to quickly close. That didn’t stop the fire, though. It burned through him, stronger now than when he had been lost in his mind. Only by struggling and groaning through the pain was he able to determine where he was.

His view was of Brigitte’s red hair alongside his face and the floor far below where the battle raged. It seemed that she had caught him as he began falling and managed to anchor herself to the ceiling. Now, with both her feet gripping the mesh, she was sitting up so as to have her body horizontal. He lay across her like a towel covering her stomach and chest, his head hanging over her shoulder and the illusionary legs nowhere to be seen. The slick red lines running through his shirt now marked her soft bosom as if she had shared the same pain.

Jeez, that was a trip! Good thing you’re still alive. I don’t want to be stranded in a corpse with all these freaks around.

Penance. It feels good, was all Shadar said in response, as if he was talking to himself. The burning shroud around him was so very warm that he couldn’t help but feel the comfort in it.

Jackal staggered for a moment, then spat, You’re sick in the head.

Hearing that from Jackal, Shadar wanted to laugh out loud, but he held it in. Instead, he whispered solemnly into Brigitte’s ear. “What would you do if I died?”

At first she seemed to be relieved, for her form relaxed as much as it could while supporting him. But, when the words set in, she tensed again.

Not waiting for the inevitable question, he assured her, “No, I’m not dying now. It’s hypothetical.”

As if recovering from a terrible shock, she shuddered. Then, she responded very seriously. “I would die.” It was true. Without his energy to sustain her, she would fade away, and it was the same if their positions were reversed. Though, he could sense the overpowering fear that was just now leaving her system. He had no doubt that what she meant was, “I would want to die.”

Be smiled, though the motion pulled at his scarring skin. With a moment of thought, he could have blocked it out. But, the warmth still held that comfort. He wanted to wrap it about himself a while longer despite the pain. “Then, pretend,” he whispered in a commanding tone. “Pretend that I’m dying. Let me fall.” Against the side of his head, he could feel her nodding. She knew his tricks.

Shuddering from the sudden lack of strain, she let her body go limp. Only her feet stayed fixed as she hung like a bat and let Shadar’s body slip off of her. Then, she screamed. It wasn’t her battle cry or a reaction to being wounded. It was as if she willed all her energy into that single sorrowful, earsplitting sound.

In the next instant, the falling body of Shadar exploded like a bag of dust broken open. It was a thick navy-blue mist that he became, one that spread out to ten times his body’s size. A wind seemed to blow through the cage, then. It was very faint, just enough to set the cloud of mist drifting toward Seth. Like a river diverging, it split around anything that got in the way, elephant or otherwise. When it neared him, it widened out to a narrower band so as to prevent his escape, then wrapped around. So thick was it that one would only be able to see someone directly in front of them, and that was where Shadar appeared. Marked still by the thousand lines of red, he smiled from a face like chipped porcelain and thrust his hands out to grab Seth’s. Along the palms and the inner edges of the fingers was a mess of metal, literally dozens of triangular razorblades sprouting from his gloves. Smugly, he hissed, “As thanks, I share my pain.”

((Spider legs are gone. The mist is an illusion, which Shadar was hovering at the core of. The faint wind that everyone in the cage felt was an illusion as well. If Chumley makes a quick attack in his post, it will happen before the mist reaches Seth.))

[chumley]

"I thought this was a dance!" Chumley cried as the guards moved closer. "The publicity material is very clear that these are eight-person dance contests! I think you all owe me an apology!" The guards smirked at each other, bearing their weapons in threateningly. Chumley looked from one to the other with an uneasy glance, trying to get a handle on how to react to these threats. van Buren again leapt to his mind, as he realized how ironically similar his predicament was to the election of 1836. A voice wafted up from below, pricking the elephant's ears, and he smiled as he heard the voice of Seth Dahlios, spouting effronteries more at home in an adolescent girl's diary than the halls of combat:

"What are you going to do to me? Sing another bad number and show how sub par your dancing skills really are? Let me give you a hint, it’s a bad song when no one gets what spews from your pathetic mouth."

"Why!" Chumley said, grinning widely, "That reminds me of a song!" He tooted his trunk loudly, and the trumpet seemed to infect the guards' feet with some sort of dancing disease. They began tapping deftly across the cage, leaping from bar to bar, clanging their armor rhythmically. Chumley tapped his toes lightly for a second before leaping into a bouncing dance, spinning and twirling. Some bladed weapon flashed past where he had just stood, but he paid it no mind. The sound of electric guitars began filling the air, intertwined with a tune picked out on a banjo and a whistling flute. It seemed that instruments had magically appeared in the guards' hands, replacing their weapons, and they were now producing a very up-tempo beat, filling the air with a merry music that overtook the grim roars and cheers of the crowd. Chumley felt a song rise in his throat as he danced, and he was loath to keep it from bursting forward.

Oh my name is Chumley, and I'm here to say
'tho it ain't approved by the ASPCA
Now I'm fightin' like Michael Crichton,
Against global warming might've
And it's really quite exciting
To be here today!

He performed a pirouette, spinning deftly, and made another leap into the air. An electric guitar appeared in his hand, and he felt the irrepressible need to rock out. As he landed, he blasted out a killer riff while three ninjas leapt out of a low-flying zeppelin, rocking out on their own axes. As the zeppelin sprayed a huge plume of smoke and began shooting out a gnarly laser light show, Chumley finished his solo and smashed the guitar on the bars of the cage, sparks flying from the remains of the axe. With a flourish, Chumley tossed the remaining pieces of the guitar away and began banging away on a steel drum set that had appeared in front of him. The guards began banging on their chestplates with drumsticks, rapping out a rockin' tune, while the ninjas tore away their outer clothes to reveal Jamaicans beneath, who began smoking marihuana and playing green, yellow and red colored bagpipes, shockingly enough at the same time. Chumley continued his song:

I've gone far and wide, and I must say
I've never seen such a crowd as I see today
You'll see Seth do all his best
To come out a'top all of the rest
But, Lord, he is such a mess!
He'll just pout and bray

A hundred donkeys floated down from the sky, harnessed to a series of parachutes, hee-hawing like a bunch of angry adolescents. They were wearing white wigs and hooded robes, with huge bulging bags marked "1,000 Daggers" hanging from their belts. They landed on top of the cage with Chumley and his retinue of dancing guards, and began doing an ungraceful shuffling dance, their tiny hooves clattering in sync as they moved back and forth, bobbing their heads and wheezing noisily. Ozzy Osborne appeared in the middle of the dance, hobbling about with his rusty walker squealing indignantly. Chumley continued.

Oh a lie-dee-dye and a lo-dee-do
These jackasses put on quite a show,
All their dancin' and their prancin'
Keeps them from too much romancin'
So they go without carnal sin
Like a lad we know!

"Mighty hard to get the ladies when you act like one!" Chumley cried, ending his ballad by leaping into the air, doing a somersault, and shooting fireworks out of his ears. As he landed, the zeppelin, donkeys and Jamaicans disappeared, leaving only him, the guards, and several stinking piles of dung. Chumley searched the audience for applause, but there was only reverent silence.

"You're a hack!" screamed a fat fellow eating apple dumplings, but two men dressed as Russian day laborers with eyepatches leapt up on either side of him and began pounding him to a pulp with brass knuckles.

"A triumph!" Roared a man with a handlebar moustache, who was sipping lemonade from a tall, narrow glass while three Negroes polished his shoes and starched his spats. "A joy! I'm sure I speak for the entire audience when I applaud your musical, lyrical, melodical, discombobular skills, not to mention your knack for animal husbandry! Additionally, I hope I speak for us all when I say that that Ozzy Osborne character is more tired than Seth Dahlios at a Goth Convention!"

And indeed, he did.

[Artifex Felicis]

Stopping for a moment to both catch his breath and to survey the arena, the cat boy was able to realize just what he had gotten himself over. One of the people shot fire that probably could have gone through his chest. His tail was singed rather badly and it hadn't even touched the actual flame, at least so he thought. Still, with spider men, powerful mages and summoners around this was not going to be the cakewalk he thought it would be.

Most of the many things going on around the Cell were easy enough to simply look at quickly, then switched his attention. The man with the spider legs was simply something he would worry about later. There were two people that he felt should have deserved more attention from him Leon than what they were currently getting. One of which was pasty white, almost to the point where Leon would have made fun of him. The magic he wielded, assuming the two light monsters were his, was formidable though, and his muscled form spoke that he wasn't just a spell user. The other he would need to watch for, besides the brown man that attacked earlier, was a ninja like man who was almost running everywhere around the arena. He hadn't done much that the cat boy could see, but his gut told him to watch for him.

The man coming at him from the side was noticed nearly too late. The blade, thirsting for blood, slit a neat cut on the cat boy's shoulder as he stepped away. The blade continued its course, cutting into the tip of the boy's tail, cutting it deeply but not all the way. The small lump of flesh that hanged only by a small muscle and skin, blood dripping surprisingly slowly from the wound.

The crowd could almost hear the swears that went off in the grandmaster's mind, and hear his teeth as he ground them together, clenching his jaw so a vein was shown on his neck. He grinned slowly, breathing hard through clenched teeth, though any man with eyes could see that it was a forced one, a mad look entering into his eye instead. He steeped slowly, ears perked and picking up most sounds in case any were directed to come near him.

He almost knelt as the cat boy went onto all fours, growling softly, blue eyes focused only on the brownish skinned man in front of him. The grandmaster stepped backwards cautiously, keeping low, ignoring all other sounds and sights in the grave of seven warriors. A hiss escaped him as he bared his fangs, his arm shooting out as the yarn continued. The string whipped towards the man quickly, aiming for the man's sword-arm and to wrap itself around. The boy roared, fearsome and loud, leaping a moment after, teeth and claws bared and ready to tear flesh.

[Modrue]

With a careful hand the perfected practice was used again. The long, thin fingers of the pale twisted elf stroked the surface as a slow, deep aura began to surround her. Her head lolled back and forth across her shoulders, rising and falling with the droning of the noise. Across what was left of her once immaculate elven body ripples of gooseflesh rose and fell like the coming and going of a tide. And a tide it was; a tide of power.

The aura around her took on an ethereal emerald glow. Spats of lighter olive pulsed from the orb like the beat of a war drum, and indeed it was much the same. The woman’s head snapped to the orb, the eyeless face concentrating sternly on the task. The other spidermagi stepped away cautiously as she lifted one hand from the ball, leaving the under beneath it for support. From the lifted finger a long, slim sliver of darkness grew like a needle. Gently she pushed it into the orb.

{“Dear love,”} she whispered with her mind. Before her the picture of the arena changed to her liking. The dust was picking up with the quick movements of the warriors, but amongst them was the still demon. From the orb the picture of the world was skewed, bowed like the ball itself. But at the dead center was the pristine elf, the target of the magi, the bane of the shadow. {“This one is but an obstacle, a mere uneven cobblestone in the pathway to glory…”}

As the woman continued to talk, the others inched closer. They could understand what she spoke, through the link of the shadow. They needed to be close to her, needed to see their puppet dance for them. The one he was targeting was something higher, something stronger than they had been requested to destroy before. The demon was merely a tool.

{“This one you can finish easily,”}
~+|+~

The woman from within had come to the fight with the demon.

Lounging across the shoulders of the target of the demon’s fury was a man, the stealthy man who had been a distraction. Her hand stroked his chest, running from his waist up. Eyes like smoke wafted from her perfect face. Nothing covered her body from head to toe, but unfortunate as it was the human was larger than her. Modrue straightened as she talked, moving slowly along the outskirts of the fence and watching her scintillating, wispy form.

{“But the one of the white is your goal. Love, for me, destroy him. The shadows are hurt by his existence… wounded by the very power and being he serves…”} With a wink the woman vanished in a cloud of violet smoke.

The words enticed the demon, touched him deep down into his core. He moved slightly, watching the man that she had but second before been lying behind. The man’s shackles were released; he was no fun to the demon if he was held down. Besides, he was also not the intended target. Modrue wasted no time as the man’s hand loosed two small daggers, both of which were well aimed and intended for him.

The unbuttoned coat was tossed over his arm and swung before him like a shield. The steel darts tapped against the plynt plating like rain on a tin roof. In the same fluid motion the demon continued the coat around and threw it high into the air. The shadow the trench coat created grew to its pinnacle before the demon dove into the shadows.

They were cool, sweet, and comforting. He had longed to be released into their dark depths, but had been waiting till the correct moment to do so. Before the sixty-pound, weighted coat hit the ground where he had once been the demon began to move. In the shadows of the cage grating and the other fighters Modrue slipped towards his prey slowly.

[Abenaki]

The score was told in blood as Jada's blade marked the cat-man's shoulder and nearly nicked off the end of the man's already burnt tail. His opponent recoiled briefly, jaw clenched and veins throbbing to hold back the words probably burning in his throat. Shifting his weapon to his left hand, Jada was about to press forward with another attack when he was unsettled by the forced smile and the wild glint that lit up his opponent's face and eyes. He suddenly felt as thought he was a small child again, throwing rocks at the catamounts that used to wander near the winter cooking fires of the Kokopelli...

His feelings now in this instant were the same as then, and the mad look in his opponent's eyes reminded him very strikingly of the half-starved mountain cats looking for an easy meal...

You've messed it all up! Jada thought, reprimanding himself. He had promised himself not to get involved in any one fight. Staying alive was the name of the game, and staying alive meant picking off his stronger opponents as they dealt amongst themselves. Now he was stuck close to one wall, his back towards the majority of his fellow combatants, any of whom might take this opportune moment to end the warrior's life as he contended with the cat...

There was a great deal of shouting and taunting going on in the background, and Jada couldn't have told you if any of the combatants were yet downed. All he could say at this moment was that it was too late to turn his back on his current opponent in search of easier, more distracted prey. If he had turned away or perhaps if he had even glanced behind him to secure his own back, Jada might have missed the nimble string as it leapt out and curled about his sword arm like a vine...

A single word, Awasos, leapt into his mind as the cord tightened on around his left arm. To utter that word meant instant strength for the warrior, and his reactive mind almost coaxed his tongue into using that strength to tear away from the restrictive nuisance. Jada had made that mistake before however, and the level-headed voice in his mind stayed that word in his throat. It was too early in the battle to be playing trump cards...

There were teeth and claws bared for his flesh, seeking to rend the dark skin from his bones. They came in the air in the form of a cat-like pounce. Rather than shy away from the claws, however, Jada attempted to put his airborne opponent to his advantage. He could already imagine the pain of those claws tearing flesh and drawing blood, but to imagine that he could have entered such a battle and not faced pain and injury was foolish.

Jada was prepared to deal with a little pain...

With his arm secured tightly by the string around it, Jada yanked hard, hoping that the cord was indeed attached to its owner, and the sudden jerk would unbalance his leaping opponent. At the same time, as his torso turned counter-clockwise to pull the trapped armed back behind him, Jada brought his right arm forward in a big punch, aiming to catch his opponent in the jaw or neck as the cat hurtled towards a collision with the dark-skinned warrior...

[Dissinger]

Before Seth could even hear what Chumley was doing in reaction the dust enveloped him. He covered his face as he looked about quickly, before he saw Shadar before him, reaching forward to grab him. Closing his eyes he let himself go as he moved swiftly dodging the incoming strike. Keeping his eyes closed he spoke his arrogant tone causing every word to drip with sarcasm, "So it’s a real fight now? Not some phantom game you wish you could play?"

Moving he began to move at Shadar where he was Located last, his mind racing as it tried to work without his eyes. He was blind fighting and it showed at the less than flawless attacks he tried to rain down on the elder thief. His moves were swift as he tried to go after the man keeping his eyes closed. He knew better than to play with his eyes open against a man who could change things the entire time.

If you were going to chase shadows, you had to forget the light existed.

As he began to find his footing, something unexpected happened. He suddenly felt as if clubbed from behind, and promptly fell to his knees as the pain overwhelmed him, both unexpected, and unstoppable. Groaning as he reached for the back of his head, expecting to find it slick with blood he frowned finding nothing on his fingers. As he tried to recover he had no clue as to what had done this to him. Trying to rise to his feet he felt the beginnings of a pounding headache in his skull.

He was not expecting to feel pain like this; it had been so long since this had happened to him. In fact, as far as he could tell, he had never felt pain like this before. Abrupt and unyielding, even his considerable pain tolerance was of no use against it. Still he tried to focus through it, as it brought stinging tears to his eyes.

He couldn't afford to give ground to Shadar, even if he was on his knees.

In the meantime Liliana watched in abject silence as she watched the cloud envelope Seth. Something was wrong, there was too much going on, and not enough answers. Still, she watched and silently prayed that Seth would come out alive. He had too much to do to be slowed down by dying here.

[Shadar]

Brigitte’s sorrowful wail died to a whimper as she assumed the motions of grieving. Whatever had been there fueling the scream, and there had indeed been something powerful there, was exhausted now. So, she simply quivered as she hung from the ceiling. When her and Shadar had stumbled upon the ruins of a routed town, she had seen a woman at the side of the road doing just this. She was over a body, shaking and crying quietly. Shadar had to explain to her exactly what the woman was doing, and she still thought it was strange. How weak would one have to be to succumb to despair like that? Had she earlier when she pretended to scream? In utter confusion, she stopped her acting and tried to think quietly. It hadn’t felt like an act when he fell from her.

Suddenly, she heard Shadar’s voice from the mist as he shouted some unintelligible swear. Perking her head up to look down at the ground, she scuttled across the ceiling to bring herself directly over his illusion. Holding very still there, she concentrated all her will into it. To her eyes, the mist seemed to thin to the point where she could see two bodies, and she noticed that Seth was wildly making a counterattack. Whatever Shadar had been planning, it didn’t seem to have worked.

“You bastard!” was what Shadar had shouted earlier, for Seth had just dodged away from his grasp… with eyes closed. Veins began to bulge in his forehead. Is he trying to mock me? he shouted inwardly. The satisfaction of penance and the glee of retribution slipped from him. Now, he was just a man, a man who looked to have had a close call with a cheese grater. As the pain roared over him with new and unwelcome heat, he lurched to the side and stumbled to his knees. Vaguely, through his pounding pulse, he heard Seth moving around in the mist toward him. There was a sudden pull of Jackal assuming control of the illusions, and there arose a sound of footsteps moving away from him. Shadar would have thanked the demon for the distraction, despite whatever gloating would ensue, except that he couldn’t bring himself to think of anything other than the burning.

With a mental strain that had him groaning as if injured, he forced his consciousness deep into his own mind to a place Jackal had shown him before. It appeared before him as a dark, fleshy column, though dotted all over with twinkling lights. He didn’t remember the biological details, but he knew this was what controlled his sense of touch. With a calming thought directed at the column, he dimmed the lights. Suddenly, the feeling of having his skin flayed was nothing more than an annoying rash. Everything else faded as well, though. The feeling of his clothes on his back, the uneven pressure of his studded hands bracing himself on the ground, even the sensation of the air around him seemed to disappear. It was as if he was floating in his own body, and so disorienting was it that he had to stand slowly while he got used to it.

As he opened his eyes, he found that the area around him was severely changed. Jackal had twisted the illusion from a cloud to a hollow dome. From the outside, it must have still looked the same, but there was a very clear and bright space around him and Seth now.

What did you do? Shadar asked, stunned at finding his enemy kneeling.

Jackal took a moment, perhaps tempted to claim glory for himself, before he finally said, Hell if I know. I was just giving him noise to chase after like an idiot. Then, he fell down. Maybe the sissy stubbed his toe.

I doubt it, Shadar said suspiciously, as his eyes darkened quickly to pitch black. Seth’s light of intent wasn’t focused on him the way a stalking, waiting predator’s was. It quivered with distraction. That pain on his face must have been real.

Smiling darkly, Shadar raised his right hand to the side as all the metal shards were reabsorbed into the Void. Helpless, he chuckled. If this was anyone else, he might have had some pity, but Seth represented too much to him. Everything that had gone wrong since his return, in fact. Channeling that hatred, he tried to summon to his hand the power of fire that he had acquired alongside Yari, the real Yari, long ago. It was the same power that had marked Seth’s once-pretty face. But, it slipped from Shadar now like fine grains of sand.

Quickly, as he stepped back analytically, he realized what was wrong. He was too annoyed, too conflicted to command that kind of magic. Part of him wanted to capture Seth. Somewhere in that whimpering husk was the knowledge of where the imposter was. But, he also wanted to end this. Seth was an annoyance, a damned dangerous one. Growling to himself, Shadar gave up on the glorious finishing stroke he had planned. Oh, but how that body would have burned…

Instead, he took a step toward the downed man and pressed his hands together. When he separated them, there was a roll of closely-spaced barbed wire stretching between. With a sweep of the arms, he unfurled it over Seth and tensed so that he could twist it to entangle the limbs viciously. This bastard would reap his blanket of fire too.

[Dissinger]

Seth fought through it before he heard a shout, while there was plenty of shouting going on, this shout seemed to cut through the fog. The reason being, it belonged to the one person who mattered most to him. Liliana's voice cut through the fog as he heard her voice encouraging him, "Come on Seth! You can do it!"

The words were more helpful than she could eve know as she shook the last vestige of pain from his figure. As he did so he felt barbed wire begin to fall upon him, before he was entangled in it. The pain of being cut into was ignored as he moved it away from the spots that could take his life. The cuts adding up as it was slipped over his gauntlets and vest, where the vicious barbs could do no lasting damage. Once that was done he glared at Shadar.

"Should have known; thief to the last. Well you should know about cornering a thief!" He said as he tried to get up, the pin pricks of pain that crossed his bloodied body coming forth. He was now a mirror image of Shadar, failing one thing, there was no scar on the left side of his adversary’s face. Dropping Spite and Malice form his hands he grinned as he drew Ebony and Ivory. He was going to enjoy giving Shadar pain.

Rather than focusing on Shadar with his blades he took the tip of his blade and broke the skin of his finger. Feeling the pain welling up in him, as the pain from the distraction, the pain from the barbed wire, and the pain from being pricked began to double, then triple, then rapidly escalate he hissed before he managed out, "You will feel my pain!"

A bright flash of white light erupted through the dome, almost invisible in the arena they had made for themselves. However, the effects of it would be felt, as those within ten feet of Seth, would soon feel the same pain he himself was feeling. A grin crossed his face as he pulled the blade form his finger, dropping again to one knee from the pain, this time legitimately earned. As he chuckled he said abruptly, "Hope you can take it, if not, I'll be more than happy to finish you off."

Everyone within ten feet of Seth is under the effects of Pain. In short, his pain is instilled in everyone within ten feet of him. Be prepared. Click on my link to see what that exactly details, link words crossed the line.

[Shadar]

Shadar knew he had made a mistake. Seth rose, enduring the stings of the wire as he drew even more blood from himself. Not even a masochist would be as pleased with this situation as Seth looked at that moment. Then, Shadar looked from that bloodied hand back to the face that was nearly his own.

Ooooo… you blew it.

With Seth’s words, pain filled the cage. Shadar’s illusion shattered like glass around a volcano. The last shards of it, nothing but wispy blue comets, ran ahead of the white light like a halo. And at the center of it was Shadar, howling as he endured an inferno from his already deadened nerves. Helpless, he collapsed onto his stomach as the tense wire net fell from his hands, its edge springing to a rest a few inches from where his outstretched hands lay. He was motionless, simply grunting as if to take in breath that his body didn’t need. It was all his tortured mind could do to prove to itself that it was still alive. Ripping apart and burning, but alive.

There was another scream above him. Brigitte, his mind twitched. Fumbling within himself, he found the lights of his senses. Darkness encompassed more of them, not from calming thoughts but from desperation. The torrent of pain barely faded, but he found enough of an opening to lift his head and see Brigitte’s body crash down upon the barbed wire in front of him. See it was all he did. Hearing had disappeared along with as much of his tactile senses as he could force out. Fire seemed to ring his vision as he watched her writhing and kicking, her feathers shredding on the weapon of his creation. Though he couldn’t hear her wordless screams, he felt them from her soul. It was breaking under the flood.

He pushed away more, nearly every last tie to his senses. She became nothing more than a sun-wreathed outline. “It’s ok,” he manage to squeak out in a surprisingly calm voice as he thrust one hand forward and slammed it down upon the wire. Immediately, steel turned to liquid. The reflective silver droplets of it gleamed for only an instant as the matter of the wire condensed. The next moment, Brigitte’s frantic kicking scattered the droplets near her in a wild spray that suddenly seemed to panic. As if truly sentient, the droplets of metal quivered and darted about in the air until they located their source. Then, the rush of cool molten steel flooded back into Shadar’s gloves. So strong was the force that he was spun onto his side and kicked a few feet back.

Brigitte still thrashed from the pain that was in her head. It was pain that she didn’t deserve. Pain that Shadar would pay Seth back for tenfold. Harder he pushed at his senses. In the last moments of vision left to him, he formed the sheet of mythril chain mail from one quivering arm and slung it over toward the struggling, nearly mindless harpy. His last image was of it landing squarely on her. Thank you! he thought heavenward to whoever might be listening.

He flopped over on his back, completely unaware of the sensation. He was far from his body and drowning in a lake of fire. One thought remained as the waves hit him over and over again. You’ll pay… for hurting her. Somewhere far away, he knew that he was raising both arms skyward. From them, all the steel within the Void poured upward. It began as a silvery burst that seemed to fill a spherical ball of air, then it rippled into defined ridges and soon a collection of four foot long metal slivers wound as tightly as a ball of yarn.

He thought his body laughed, then, as he released his hold on the metal. Immediately, it exploded with the tension of a hundred metal shards bent and barely holding each other. Outward the shrapnel flew, though some of it pierced his body. He was too far under the fire to notice as the skewers pinned his right leg, right shoulder, and left torso to the ground. He would care when he awoke from hell.

If he awoke.

((There are roughly a hundred steel shards, about an inch by four feet each, shooting away from his location. Enjoy.))

[Artifex Felicis]

A savage grin almost seemed to appear on the cat boy's mouth as he opened it, large pointed teeth appearing where normal flat human ones would have rested. The brown skinned man, Leon's prey now, pulled on the yarn biting into his skin. It slipped out of the grandmaster's hand easily, not so much as a rope burn on his paw to boot.

Despite the small trick, his prey still managed to retaliate, his fist slamming into the boy's teeth in time to stop any truly major damage. The cat's arms closed in anyway, the flesh splitting before his claws as if it were water. His body fell quickly, thumping hard on the ground and tail. A hiss escaped him as he skirted back, surveying his attack.

While not nearly at the scale that he would have liked, small droplets of blood had already began to fall from the man's arm. He couldn't tell how many of his claws managed to rend flesh, but enough to create a small stream at least. He spat from his mouth one of his teeth as he did so, proud that there was a small enough nick on the end of his arm. It was minor, not even worth fussing over, but he was still proud for some reason nonetheless.

Whatever thoughts he had, whatever actions he was about to perform, quickly were thrown away from his mind. To his eye, millions of steel spears had just flown passed him, Two cutting through the excess cloth that hanged from his legs. Another few, the boy couldn't tell, cut the top of his body like a farmer's scythe. One hit him the side, though it managed to only his the yarn returned to his side, stopping the shard enough so it would not kill him.

He groaned, getting to his feet slowly as he did so. Enough damage had been done to ruin his balance somewhat, though he may have taken a blow to the head to help. He stumbled, hand grasping on of the more smooth steel shards that now littered the arena. The cold steel bit into his hand, but not enough to make the cat boy drop it. The shard was pulled from the hard ground, coming loose easily and into the boy's hand. He smiled, losing his balance slowly as he turned, nearly tipping over as reeling. The wall was his saving grace before he fell, steadying himself on with his free hand. He still had targets, all seven apparently. The grandmaster tried to catch his breath instead of going back into the fray, all the while blood dripping from where his tail used to be.

((Abeneki's bunny allowed. If I went too far, I can edit if you want. Also, Ow.))

[Komosatuo]

Komosatuo blinked and stared.

Blinked again, then stared some more.

The daemon had disappeared.

Not disappeared in a sense that he had vanished from sight by blending with the rest of the people in the cage, but disappeared in a sense that he really did, vanish. As if into thin air. Komosatuo had never seen the like in his life, ever.

Sure he had seen men disappear, as if into thin air - as a Horachi’Lykn Ninja he knew much of the technique used to perform such a feat - but never this. He stared, like a helpless animal trapped in a steel teeth and clamp trap, as the coat the daemon had just used to effortlessly block his thrown darts, settled heavily to the ground. The sound that it made when it hit said that it was probably coated with some sort metal lining.

Smart, Komosatuo thought as he reached up to touch his broken nose. It was definitely broken, but luckily not shattered. He winced as he placed his thumb and forefinger against the bridge and shifted it. There was a grinding noise as the broken piece of cartilage slid back into place and when it did Komosatuo noticed that it was suddenly easier to breathe. The pain had subsided a little as well.

He tried sniffing and wiggling his nose. That ended with a sharp inhale and grunt of pain and he instead settled with a shake of his head. As he finished shaking his head he noticed something about the dark masses that were wrapped around his ankles.

They were gone.

There was something odd about the way those shackles worked, something that Komosatuo was still trying to slid into place. For one they didn't feel at all like real shackles. There was just, there. Kind of like the trousers he now wore. He couldn't feel them against his skin, his suit being in the way, but he could still see that they were there. He couldn't feel them, but he knew they were there. That was kind of how those shackles worked, at least, in his own experience it was.

They were gone though and it still felt as if he was still shackled. Although while he was shackled, it still felt as though he were still free. The thought process confused him and he evidently let it slip from his mind as he stood and dusted his knees. It was a useless action; it had become more of a habit than anything else. After he had finished straightening he walked over to the daemons discarded coat and bent to retrieve it.

It felt as though it weighed a ton and Komosatuo had to bend his knees and nearly sit on his ankles just to get into a position to stand. Standing was the easy part, as he used his legs to do most of the lifting and when he was finally upright again, he turned to face the center of the cage. As he did he saw something most unusual happen.

For one, there was a rather dark looking mist hovering in the center of the cage. Secondly, there appeared to be two figures fighting in the dark mist. And thirdly, he thought he recognized one of them.

Of course he should, it was that spider freak from a few seconds - or was it minutes? - earlier. Komosatuo's eyes suddenly peered upward and he caught sight of the creature that had attacked him. It didn't look too well, but it was still managing to hold onto the ceiling so he guessed that it mustn't be too badly hurt. Still didn't mean it wasn't a threat but he decided to ignore it this time - he didn't want a repeat incident. He let his eyes once again settle onto the two figures fighting in the mist and squinted to see if he could get a better look.

That was when things go real nasty, and Komosatuo would look back on that point as well, and wonder how it was he survived.

He couldn't tell but he thought that one of the figures had gained an advantage in the fight and was moving in for the killing blow, but he couldn't be entirely sure. It was hard to see through the mist and he -- there was abruptly a very bright, white flash of light and Komosatuo blinked in confusion as the after affects left dark dancing spots in his vision. He was about to shake his head to clear the spots when his skin suddenly tingled dangerously and then erupted into a searing pain he had never felt before in his life. It was like he was being squashed together by small wires riddled with thousands of spikes. He only lasted a half-second before his mouth opened in mute surprise and pain and his legs gave way beneath him, landing him in a heap partially beneath the heavy coat.

His breath came in ragged gasps as the pain cut deeper into his flesh, overtaking his entire body in the form of white hot pulses. Never before had this kind of pain been inflicted upon him. In the past he had endured many kinds of pain, from broken bones to cuts and crushing blows that should have killed him, but those had all been from a source that he could see. This, this pain, was from no where and every where at once. The fear of it was enough to magnify it ten fold. He knew that soon, should the pain continue, he would pass out.

Then, suddenly, as if on cue, the pain subsided and faded to nothing more than a dull ache in his flesh. Almost like a memory of a pain from long ago. Komosatuo's breath came and went easier now that the pain had subsided and he had just gathered himself enough to push himself up from the heap that he was on the floor when the world exploded for a second time. This time however, it wasn't an explosion of light.

Hundreds of metal shard like spikes erupted from a body lying on its back in the center of the cage. Komosatuo, in the split second it took him to realize what was happening and duck back behind the coat, saw that it was the spider freak. He also noticed that the cloud of mist had vanished but the observation was lost in the panic of trying to duck and cover to avoid the barrage of metal shards.

He had just managed to get most of his torso beneath the coat when something slammed hard into the thick leather, right between his eyes. A bright white light filled his vision and he abruptly lost all recollection of the next few seconds as he was hurled into unconsciousness.

[Abenaki]

Jada watched in grim fascination the bright red droplets of his own blood as they fell steadily from his fingers. The cat's claws had gouged several crimson snakes into the red-brown flesh, their ugly puncture-mark heads hissing at his shoulder as their tails curled down to the wrist. He tried making a fist, but only his thumb and pointer-finger responded to his silent command. The other three hung limp, broken, and the flesh on his middle knuckle was raw to the bone where fist had met tooth...

The Snake's Defiance, the scar-like glyph on the back of his neck, was warm; a warmth that flowed through Jada's limbs and numbed his mind to the pain in his arm. The mark had been one of his parting gifts from his elder shaman, and it was the only armor he really had. Though the rune could not protect his body from the weapons around him, Jada was more than grateful for the pain-deadening armor it could offer his mind...

"It ends." The warrior said simply in the direction of the cat. At this moment in time he wasn't entirely in the mood to trade idle banter in a language he could not fully comprehend. He was here to fight; kill or be killed, and he wasn’t totally aware of just how true his words were about to become…

Cold metal impaled him in the back, a horrible pain radiating from his left side, just above the hip despite the pain-blocking effects of his rune. Nda! No!, Jada thought, suddenly regretting a perceived mistake. He could almost visualize one of his other opponents standing confidently at his back, a smile on their lips as they held their blade in the young warrior's back. Always look behind you... was the lesson Jada learned to late...

Yet, the cat didn't look very pleased at all. He was pulling at something lodged into the arena floor, blood dripping onto the ground around him. He held in his hands a length of metal roughly similar to Jada's sword, but this metal was cleaner, shinier. Jada fell to his knees as the cat reached for the wall to hold himself up, and the warrior turned his head to look over his shoulder. There was no one behind him. No sneering or grinning foe with his hands on the tool of death lodged in the warrior's back. There were only more of the shiny metal blades, dozens of them, scattered across the floor of the arena.

"Gagwi yo?" Jada said out loud, a small trickle of blood dribbling out of the corner of his mouth and down his chin. His breathing was shallow and quick; his lungs working double-time to keep up with the sudden frenzy of his heart. The simple warrior was trying to comprehend; trying to figure out what had just happened. Where had all these blades come from? Who was responsible for this? These were questions that the warrior needed answered, but they were second in his mind to more pressing concerns. Could he still fight? Was he dying? Was this what death felt like? He had come close to death once, as a young adult on the banks of the river. That day his spirit had struggled to leave him; the same day he was chosen to be a shaman. It had felt different then, with the water filling his lungs and choking the life out of him...

It had been different then, but strangely, the feeling was somewhat the same...

[Modrue]

Deep in the shadows the world of Althanas was left behind. The empty expanse of the void was easy to shift through for the demon, and was more secure than wandering about the cage. Through the darkness, too, he could watch what was taking place within the cage. Light and darkness flickered on the end of every random spell, and people fell one after another in the chaos of battle.

Steel shards were scattered throughout the arena, just overhead of the shadows. It was by pure luck, and blessing of the shadow goddess, that Modrue had not been prey to the attack. From the depths he could see the people falling. One after another. First went the human who he had attacked earlier, attempting to use the demon’s own trench coat to escape the attacks. Then another human, then another. It was a massacre, and the one at the epicenter had fallen also, the spidermage.

“The target is compromised,” the demon thought as he floated through the void, picking a new target to attack. “A new target is necessary, and quickly”

Without waiting for a response from the goddess Modrue released himself from the void and returned to the melee. The cold shadows were shed and replaced by a thin cloud of dirt, a veil of dust. It was almost enough to make the demon wish to shift again into the darkness. But his target was directly before him, and time was against him.

A grunt due to the force of the attack escaped his thin lips. Titanium fists arched in hooks that were aimed directly for the side of the cat-man-thing. It was an abysmal beast that was second on the list of opponents to destroy. He was already injured, but it mattered little to the demon.
~+|+~

The high priestess’ finger was pushed out of the orb. A hiss crossed her lipless face. Something had gone wrong with the battle; someone powerful had interfered with her control of the demon. The black needle at the end of her finger dissipated as she twitched her head back and forth. The others within the damn cave scuttled back towards the entrance, not wanting to be caught in her fury.

“{Contact the Avatar’s, send a message. I want the demon here, now. I will not play any longer with this orb.}” Immediately the spidermagi towards the entrance turned and ran through the long caves. The Avatar’s were those that were controlled by the spidermagi voluntarily, those that gave themselves over to their lust for power enough to take the side of the Dark Queen. From deep in Concordia the Children of N’jal had more influence than most of the other Thayne combined.

They would be able to send word to the demon. They would bring him to the lair of the spidermagi and then the Dark Queen’s will would be done.

[Dissinger]

Everything happened so fast. The barbed wire fell away, along with the creation of the spikes. When the spikes began to penetrate his body, causing him to shudder with each one he coughed, blood began to trail down his lips. Part of his was satisfied with the ending he had come to in the cell, but part of him thirsted for more. It wanted to continue the fight, to clutch the Gift of the Magi and be reborn anew, to kill maim and destroy once more.

Looking at the falling body of Shadar the steel blades that extended through his body looked like needles carefully placed as they skewered him through his chest through a lung, through his legs, through his arms. They were everywhere as he clutched to life with his one good hand, the other hanging uselessly as the blade had punctured through his shoulder. He looked upon the fallen thief and coughed again, the blood flowing freely from his lips as he smiled.

A wet gasp escaped his lips as he contemplated his goals in the cell. He wanted to prove he had control over himself. He had fought admirably against the man before him, only using two of the tricks in his arsenal, one of which replenished. So, when he grinned he winced at the pain and coughed once more, "Yes, I win..."

Those simple words caused more blood to pour from his lips, the blood trickling down his body forming a rather demented picture of the man many referred to as Demon. Reaching up with his good hand he groaned as he pulled one of the slivers from his leg. A spurt of blood ejected from the torn limb as she convulsed and fell forward. Using the four foot shard as a crutch he pulled himself to his feet as he ignored everything else. His sense of hearing having gone to hell as his body began to shut down.

Hobbling towards Shadar coughing as he did so, he loomed over the downed thief blood dripping on the fallen figure, surely giving him ample time to notice the thief's actions. Seth however, was a man hell-bent on revenge. Trying to stand on his own two feet he rose the shard in his hand up, almost above his head before he stabbed it down with enough force to puncture through the skin, and possibly devastate the insides of the man, if he even cared anymore.

Once the act was done he fell over onto his side, before he groaned, more blood flowing into a pool about his body. He had proven he was in control, now he had to prove it again. As he shut his eyes and played dead, he could feel the fatigue overwhelm him. He was so close to finishing his job. With a wet gasp he clutched the Gift, and remained silent as slowly, one by one the shards of metal began to slide out of his body, as it ejected the vicious intruders.

Playing dead he only hoped no one wished to pursue the thief while he tried to recover.

[Shadar]

((Bunnying of Seth was given the ok.))

Shadar saw nothing, felt nothing, as the lake of flame stirred about him and he sank into its dark depths. He was too numb to feel any pain or sorrow. The only sensation that arose in his mind was a deep longing. He knew he was leaving for a time. It felt as inevitable as the sunset. But, if he had to leave, he’d give Brigitte one last pulse of positive thought, even if it was weakened by the distance between life and death.

- - - - - - - -

As she had watched from the ceiling, it was like every fiber in her body was twisting in on itself. Motion, thought, even her will to live disappeared under the strain of knotting flesh. She didn’t know that her claws unlocked from the mesh, or that she landed on the hungry bed of wire. With a mind as fresh and fragile as hers, it became numb instantly. She wasn’t a sentient creature, not even an unthinking animal. She was more like a fallen leaf, wilting and crunching under the unforgiving heat of a cruel sun.

Thought returned to her slowly as her environment changed by layers. The floor, which she was only vaguely aware of now, seemed to become smooth. Then, the light of the sun was blotted out by a blanket of cold metal. It wrapped around her soothingly, the residual thoughts on it reminding her of him. Finally, the overwhelming pain faded, leaving only the ache of being slammed into the wall and then the floor.

Only then did thought truly return. With a gasp, she remembered the image of Shadar screaming the instant before she herself had been struck. Reflexively, she tried raising a wing to lift the chain mail, his chain mail, from her. She only succeeded partly, for the movement sent a new wave of pain through her. In her few months of life, she had admittedly experienced little despite her distinction as a fighter. Just this much was enough to send her wing twitching back to the floor.

The faint spots of light that filtered through the links was just enough for her to make out the mess of feathers around that wing, many of them perforated by something that was no longer there. Perhaps it was because of that concealment that she did something for the first time in her life. She wept. Quivering, she let the drops of hopelessness fall silently from her eyes. I’m useless to him, she scolded herself as she lay limply between the metal blanket and a small pool of her own blue, wispy vitae.

As long as you’re ok, said a comforting, if distant, voice in her head.

“Shadar?!” she squawked excitedly. There was emotion in the thought, emotion that seemed to warm her stomach and give her the strength to rise. Forcefully, she threw the blanket off and sat up as her blood floated from her scratched back like clouds in a dream. Shadar had to be there, and he was. But, he wasn’t safe.

The harpy stared in horror as Seth drove the shard into Shadar’s already pinned and massacred body. There was no sign of resistance from his cold, empty face as he stared unblinkingly at the sun. “No…” she whispered.

He had told her in the beginning that they would be revived at the end. But, that didn’t stop the streaks running down her anguished face. Screw the future. At this very moment, Shadar was laying in front of her, a bloody red mess. He was her partner, her source of life. No, she thought resolutely to herself as she slowly stood, her form shaking with both sorrow and rage. He’s not just my source. He is my life! It was such a deep emotion that filled her that she could barely comprehend it. But, it was still real. Like an extra set of wings, it lifted the strain from her and set purpose into every muscle. Almost silently, she lifted herself from the ground as the sorrow faded and the rage washed through her. Her face seemed to twist into something almost monstrous, and she rushed forward to the fallen man whose own hideousness still outweighed her own by leagues.

He might have been dead there on the ground, but that didn’t matter. If he was just a corpse, he would be a ruined one. Heavily, she slammed into his back and her talons found a home among the flesh and bone. Then, with one mighty sweep, she lifted him upward and drove him toward a shard sticking up from the ground only a few feet away.

[Abenaki]

I am... Jada thought despondently. The circumstances were different, as was the overlying pain, but the feeling underneath was the same; the conclusion was the same. The Snake's Defiance was a red-hot brand on the back of his neck as it tried to hold back the rising tide of agonizing pain welling inside him...

I am...dying...

Jada sat back on his heels heavily, his weapon forgotten on the ground beside him as his hand fell lazily from the hilt. His arm was a crimson mess, blood pooling beneath his fingers on the right side of him as his lifeblood oozed into a rapidly growing pool on the left side. The sticky red substance was warm on the bare flesh of his back and on his bare calf where the stuff seeped from his stained shorts on its way to the ground. Jada felt dizzy and lightheaded, and the weight of his limbs seemed to increase tenfold…

All around him was the smell of dirt, of blood, of smoke, and the metallic odor of cold steel. The arena was spinning in front of his vision, and the coppery taste of blood was in his mouth. Jada tried to focus his mind, reaching desperately for the one word that would fill his body with the unnatural strength he needed to continue the fight. He couldn’t find it, however, nor could he even focus. All of his senses were beginning to fail him, blurring into the black clouds that were gathering at the edges of his vision…

Jada’s eyes rolled back slowly into his head, and his whole body went slack as if the last of his life had oozed out of his wounds and onto the ground. Darkness crashed over him, and Jada was gone before his body slowly pitched forward into the dirt…

[Komosatuo]

I'm dead.

This is it, I've finally died.

Pushed myself too far and this is my final price.

I'm dead, I'm dead, I'm dead I'm dead I'm dead I'm...

He sat up with a startled gasp, his hands immediately reaching for his throbbing head, and croaked out a single, astonished word.

"...Alive?..."

He sat still for a moment, gathering what scattered thoughts that he could, trying to remember exactly what had happened. It was a dim haze, like an early morning fog resting just above the surface of the ground, and he felt as though trying to penetrate it was like trying to walk through a brick wall. There wasn't a way around it or under it, the only way was to go through. Unfortunately, that was impossible. He shook his head again and opened his still closed eyes.

For a moment, after his eyes had opened to complete darkness, he thought he was still dead and panic gripped him, causing his breath to come in quick short rasps and elevate his already racing heart to an even faster pace. He quickly realized however that he was in fact not dead, just covered by some sort of heavy material. A quick scrutiny revealed that it was leather and he reached out to test the tension strength of the material that was wrapped around him.

It moved with ease and it took another moment to realize that it was merely draped over his head. A wave of relief washed over him as he pushed the fabric up and over his head, pulling it forward over his skull. Pale light washed over his eyes, causing him to squint in its ferocity and it took a few seconds before they fully adjusted. When they did, he almost wished he was truly dead.

Blood was everywhere. The crimson substance of life coated the area like dirt in a field. Pools and wild streaks of the dark color dotted the floor, whether from someone simply laying to long or being dragged across the ground he couldn't tell. A quick count told him that three were dead for sure. One impaled unceremoniously on a metal shard sticking straight up from the ground. A second laying motionless, its eyes staring blankly up at the source of the light, a shard driven deep into its body. The third lay face down, blood pooling from a shattered arm, a sword laid forgotten by its side.

It was like waking up to a nightmare. A horrible, horrible nightmare. One that you wished you could simply just wake up from and forget about, never to have to see it again. He recoiled, throwing one of his arms up in front of his body and scampered backwards until his back hit something semi-solid behind him, causing him to stop. He snapped his head around quickly, fear welling up inside him and prepared to jump back the other way only to pause in bewilderment. The semi-solid mass behind him, it was semi-solid because it bent a little when he hit it, was really just a tightly wound mess of wire formed into a sort of fence.

It only stalled him for a second.

For any man, every man even, the will and the need to run away in fear far surpasses any known emotion. A man will do anything, everything he has to do, to get away. Even if it means giving up his own life, he will hardly hesitate. In this case the need to get away, the feeling of immense fear, was the headlamp of his thought process. With fingers interwoven into the wire mesh that was the fence, he did the next best thing he could.

He began to climb.

What he would find at the top he didn't know, didn't care. The fear drove him, and what he feared was strewn across the ground beneath him. Death where before he had thought there had been none. Blood where an instant before there was simply dirt.

He coughed and a small amount of blood frothed at the edges of his mouth and he slammed his fingers between the mesh, not caring if they got cut or ripped, and pulled himself higher above the death and carnage below.

[chumley]

"Rapscallions!" Chumley roared as he was tossed from the amphitheater, his legs and arms bound behind him like the most surly of hogs. "You'll never get away with this!" The guards who had tossed him out chuckled, deriding the poor pachyderm, and one of them threw a rotten tomato at him. "Ironic that my own projectile should be turned against me," Chumley grunted, seeing humor even through his rage. "You foolish fellows have no idea what you've done! Seth Dahlios is nothing short of a heinous villain, and stopping me from ending his reign of horror will make you nothing short of infamous evildoers, yourselves!" The guards laughed again, giving each other high fives.

"Maybe you should have jumped through the hole in the top of the cage!" One retorted, his grin showing that he was missing three teeth. "Aye," one of his one-eyed comrades seconded him, "'Twas the easiest mode of attack, m'boy." Chumley scooped up a handful of mud with his trunk and slung it in the fellow's one good eye.

"You babbling baboon!" he cried, "Even the most skillful trapeze artist would have been cowed by that drop. And although I am an artist, I have never been on a trapeze!" The mud-strewn guard, his ears and neck turning red, jumped at Chumley, a dirk appearing in each hand. Two of his fellows leapt in front of him, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him back from the elephant.

"We ain't got no bidness ta be attackin' him out here!" One snarled. The one eyed man bared his teeth, but didn't say anything. As the guards were engaged in their own fracas, Chumley noticed a shadow spreading across the ground, and smiled from tusk to tusk.

"Gentlemen," he addressed them, "I bid you farewell. I am sure, however, that we shall meet again!" The guards turned to see the elephant levitating into the air, as if by magic. Mouths gaping, they looked upward at the hook and chain looped into Chumley's rope restraints, and followed them up to the hot air balloon above. "Guy, you old dumpling!" Chumley cried upward. "Once again you come to the rescue! Oh frabjous day!" As he was drawn ever higher by principles of pressure and volume he did not fully understand, the elephant laughed a hearty, booming laugh.

"Oh yes! Who knows what evil lies in the heart of evil Irishmen? CHUMLEY KNOWS! I will never rest until Dahlios is brought to justice. Mark me by it, sirs! Mark me!"

And then, Chumley floated off toward the last round of the LCC, towards a fight he had inexplicably advanced towards despite any discernible positive qualities.

[Dissinger]

He was only trying to rest...

Soon however, he realized that in defeating Shadar, he had not defeated Shadar fully. There were many things that he would come to understand, the first and foremost being, when a man kills a harpy’s master, the harpy tends to get pissed, very fast. As he tried to regain some energy after exhausting himself on the other thief, he felt talons dig deep within the flesh of his back. Grunting softly as his nerves were finally starting to protest to this most heinous treatment of his body the Harpy flew directly towards the nearest shard preparing to skewer him alive.

Daggers fell from his hands as this occurred, the pain finally causing him to act like he had a pain limit. It had been a long time since pain had caused him any serious discomfort, and yet here it was. Flailing at the bird he watched as she dipped preparing to drive that metal shard straight through his chest. Shaking his head he tried to grab for the bird's foot as he shouted out, pain evident in his voice, "You'd be surprised what you can live through you damn canary!"

Red energy arced over his body as he tried to thrust it into the bird, unsure if he would survive, however, he knew he was done for, as the bird continued its crash course he turned back just in time to see the shard begin to enter his chest. As the momentum of the Harpy continued to push him against it, it pierced his leather vest with ease, and he slid down into the dark embrace of the cold steel. Immediately his body went limp as he closed his eyes, shuddering as he felt his heart being pierced. He was dead; he knew it and his body craved it.

Closing his eyes, blood began to drip from his mouth as the hole in his heart made way for the crimson fluid to go where it had sought previously. Closing his eyes he muttered half to himself with his final breathe, "Draw."

Liliana covered her mouth with her hand as she saw the brutal display, Seth had a vicious streak she knew, but seeing it again, so viciously attacking the other man was surreal. The man that had been so kind and gentle, had been like that? She couldn’t even fathom how the thief she knew had become so cruel and vindictive, but she knew that he wasn’t succumbing to his baser instincts, he was those instincts. The thief she loved while there, had lowered himself into the depths of darkness to survive, and this was the result.

She knew she would have to help him now more than ever to raise back up.

Seth Dahlios is dead. He has tried to cast Seven Deaths on Brigitte, if you choose to let it hit, she only has to overcome one illusion not all seven.

[Shadar]

Brigitte barely noticed as Seth wriggled in her talons. She wanted him to feel death so badly that she knew he would. He couldn’t stop it, no matter what he threw at her. She was right. With the heavy, juicy sound of a knife in a melon, he was impaled on the spike and she wheeled upward with a cry of triumph. The red light that had hit her must have been bloodlust messing with her eyes, because as she released all that anger into that final push she had felt and seen it fall away. That sensation of a second pair of wings left her and the pain returned like a strip of sandpaper down the back.

Then, the horror began. Far above her, clinging to the ceiling of the cage, was the very opening from which she had been born. It was a large portal of all colors, like paints mixing but never blending. The round edge was a dull silver metal that was gripped by the four bearers. That title was the only name she had known for them. Creatures of gaunt grey skin, hidden all but the head within green robes, and large bulbous eyes that glowed red like iridescent blood. They were her midwives, and now as they stared at her with cold purpose, she saw them as something else.

Angels of Death.

Turning frantically, she faced the body of Shadar and threw herself toward it with damaged wings flailing. She could feel them on the ceiling, skittering across it in the blink of an eye and with not so much as a hiss of fabric. Fearfully, she hazarded a glance upward and confirmed it. “Leave me alone!” she squawked harshly.

In response, their withered feet let go from the mesh and they plummeted downward in a controlled fall. They didn’t just descend alongside the portal; they lead it with the precision and speed of a bolt of lighting. Brigitte tried to sweep low to the ground to dart from underneath, but it was too late. She manage to only squeeze between two shards before it pressed her to the ground and left nothing in its wake but a puff of her misty blood.

’Bout time, bird bitch.

She wanted to weep as she looked around. Everywhere was the color of thought, a multihued mess reminiscent of gelatinous creatures pressed together. Some of them still had characteristics of the Gisela army. A purple arm here, a flicker of pixie wings there, all lifeless.

This’ll only hurt… a lot. Hellish, really, Jackal scoffed as he hovered in front of her. His fiery eyes were an inferno of delight, casting his purple furred muzzle in an almost bloody tone. The rest of him was bright, almost obnoxious purple where he wasn’t covered in his red robes of Egyptian cut and marked with hieroglyphics. Should be fun, he laughed heartily as he pulled a latex glove from the air and slipped it on one clawed hand. The diamond embedded in his forehead bore her reflection as he leaned forward intently, and she saw her tear streaked face. Ringed by the mane of almost shimmering red hair, her face was despairing to look at. Her mouth was aghast in wordless terror and her eyes as wide as a child’s. There was reason for fear.

Grinning smugly, Jackal pointed to her right leg and twitched one latex-covered finger. Tickle tickle. Her leg fell open like the layers of an onion. Feathers, skin, flesh bone. Everything peeled away with a sound as sickening as the feeling of it. It was focused pain, too light to numb her mind, but potent enough to make her arch her head and open her mouth in a silent, tear streaming wail. Jackal levitated the shredded pieces of her onto a small metal tray that had appeared beside him. We’ll do the rest slowly, he teased as he licked his lips.

One word left Brigitte’s mouth, a quiet and fractured word. “Sha… dar…”

The demon cackled. You think he can help you? He’s ready for a biology class last time I looked. He’s doomed, anyway. Even if they revive him, you’re not there to feed emotion to that new body of thought he’s so freakin’ proud of. He’ll just fade away… Jackal made a sweeping motion, as if shooing away dust.

Brigitte continued to look upward, never meeting Jackal’s gaze as the tears continued to flow. She could see her blood misting about her as if to trap her there for the coming torture, but that wasn’t the force behind the despair now. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed in near silence to the corpse that she knew was too far away to hear. “I… I…” Then, something even stranger happened. She laughed, a sudden cackle of glee like a vengeful child punching their rival in the mouth. It rolled off her tongue in a harsh bird-like tone, but there were hints of smaller birds in the sounds, ones that sang beautifully.

Losing it already? the dream demon asked incredulously.

Brigitte look at him now, her pain-gritted teeth turned into a frightening smile. “You must have made me dumb to not see it until now,” she hissed with pained triumph. “If Shadar disappears, you lose a vessel and you’re stuck here forever. If you pull me apart, Shadar disappears.” She laughed now without a hint of pain. The relief was so overwhelming. “You can’t hurt me for your own survival!”

Point and match, Jackal said uncharacteristically as he bowed like a gentleman. Then, he blurred out of existence, as did the entire realm of birth and death.

Brigitte found herself curled up on the ground, her form shaking with mirth. It didn’t last long, though, as she realized the pain was still there. Looking down, she saw that her leg was actually gone, the wound steaming blue. Clenching her jaw to keep from screaming, she snapped her head back. There, she found Shadar’s body, still pinned, only a few strides from her. Her heart swelled. Pain, fear, despair, none of it mattered when she was near him. Struggling on broken wings, she lurched to his side and wrapped herself about the side of his body. Their different bloods mixed in the growing pool, forming a dark purple.

“No one can take me away from you,” she whispered into his ear as she began to sing gently to him in all the tones of beautiful birdsong.

((Everything portal related was an illusion created by Seth's spell, I assume visible only to Brigitte. What everyone saw was Brigitte freaking out, then her leg shredding to nothing.))

[Artifex Felicis]

The boy's breath did not even begin to return to him. His body felt weak, sluggish and unresponsive. He did not take his eyes away from the battle, watching it and hoping for some sort of opening to plant the frog sticker in his hand into the body of someone else. There seemed to be hundreds all around him, as well as a strange sort of noise above them in the stands.

The audience was cheering, many of them for their deaths. A weak smile managed to play itself across the injured cat boy's face, the irony of what the audience was thinking. It passed quickly as the cat boy nearly reeled again, his lose of balance still hurting him. He let go of the wall as he made the yarn return to him, taking a few tentative steps towards one of the two downed men that seemed like easy pickings.

As with the rest of the battle, the far more unlikely happened. The harpy, something the grandmaster ignored for almost the entire melee, swooped in, pulling the dead body of one of them men. Leon stopped, hesitant at that moment, his mind coming to a simple conclusion after his head swiveled, seeing the broken body of the brown skinned man and another gone as well. A genuine smile broke his face, enough to make him forget his strange balance and weakness.

"I survived to the end!" the boy said allowed, his voice harsh and scratchy in his throat. He coughed, a movement catching the side of his vision. The cat boy turned, in enough time to see the two fists slam into his side. A crack reached his feline ears, probably coming from ribs hit by the gauntlets. He stumbled back, the yarn shooting out, aiming for the strange demon's neck as its controller fell to the ground, coughing up a small bit of blood as his head hit the ground. His teeth clacked together as he did so, possibly chipping.

The cat boy wanted to scream, but his chest was in far too much pain for him to do so. He slowly inched himself back, controlling the yarn, making it go on its course. The narrow make shift rapier he had taken lost as he fell. His body hurt badly at the moment, but the worst of the pain was in his head. Darkness began to eat at the corners of his eyes as the yarn drew back, lashing out again for the demon's neck, following the will of its master for its last few moments.

[Ther]

Advancing: Dissinger, Abenaki, Komosatuo

Abenaki-
Introduction: 6
Setting: 7
Character: 8
Dialogue: 7
Rising Action: 5
Climax: 5
Conclusion: 5
Strategy: 6
Writing Style: 8
Wild Card: 7
Total: 64/100

Shadar-
Introduction: 6
Setting: 8
Character: 8
Dialogue: 6
Rising Action: 5
Climax: 6
Conclusion: 5
Strategy: 7
Writing Style: 7
Wild Card: 5
Total: 63/100

Artifex-
Introduction: 6
Setting: 6
Character: 7
Dialogue: 5
Rising Action: 5
Climax: 5
Conclusion: 4
Strategy: 7
Writing Style: 8
Wild Card: 7
Total: 60/100

Komosatuo-
Introduction: 6
Setting: 7
Character: 7
Dialogue: 5
Rising Action: 5
Climax: 5
Conclusion: 6
Strategy: 7
Writing Style: 8
Wild Card: 8
Total: 64/100

Dissinger-
Introduction: 8
Setting: 6
Character: 8
Dialogue: 8
Rising Action: 5
Climax: 6
Conclusion: 5
Strategy: 7
Writing Style: 7
Wild Card: 8
Total: 68/100

Cyrus gets 130 EXP
Modrue gets 160 EXP
Arawn gets 80 EXP
Chumley gets 75 EXP

[Ther]

Dissinger gets 3,163 EXP and 300 GP.

Abenaki gets 3,025 EXP and 300 GP. Raises to Level 1.

Komosatuo gets 3,025 EXP and 300 GP. Raises to Level 1.

Shadar gets 900 EXP (75 bonus) and 100 GP.

Artifex gets 900 EXP (75 bonus) and 100 GP.

EXP/GP added.