Cage Number Four

[Ther]

(Roster:
IDNK
Lavinian Pride
Ter-Thok
Ashiakin
Storm Veritas
AsukaStrikes
hushpuppy
Chelsi)

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!”

[AsukaStrikes]

Honor, indeed.

Asuka scoffed grimly at the organizer's booming speech and leaned against the cold bars of the cage, the metallic links sending ripples of cool waves across her bare arms. The redhead lass was not here for the swordplay or seeking honor in the name of her country. Not even for the promise of fame nor monetary rewards awaiting the victor of this gory battle.

She was here for revenge.

In the last tournament she had engaged in on the small island west of Corone, she had been humiliated by a certain ice demon who supposedly lost to an upstart lass in the first round of the Serenti Invitational. Asuka herself made it all the way to the Semi-finals, losing to the dark knight Letho Ravenheart and an elf by the name Zephyriah Ablione in the end. Her revenge would not be complete, however, seeing that Letho was nowhere to be found within the cage rosters for this particular tournament.

But the name Ashiakin Razzack was more than enough to draw this lass into the fray.

Echoes of hushed whispers drifted into the dusty compound as the lightly-armored fighter glanced about at the others inside her cage. The sheer number of spectators who came to watch this battle royale was staggering even to the Akashiman lass, even compared to the LCC which had the entire population rooting for their new ruler. The unrelenting sun was not helping her in the least bit - the dry, windless air putting her on edge. It was distrubingly unnerving.

The mud-brown sleeveless jacket hung limp across her shoulders, revealing the simple leather tanktop and her bandaged waist underneath. Beneath the freshly-changed bandage was the very mark Letho had given to her at the Serenti battleground - a severe wound that would remain in her memory for as long as she lived. And for that, she would not rest nor lose again until her vengeance was quelled.

So... Ashiakin is here as well as that brat Damon. Team Blank, is it? Asuka had just remembered the young, black-eyed boy was the ice demon's partner for the LCC. In that event the drow swordswoman Rheawien was her partner, albiet for a very brief period. Rheawien's in another cage, I see...

The Akashiman remained leaning against the cool metal cage, her right hand fiddling with Kazeryu's hilt as he remained strapped to the back of her belt. The battle was soon to commense, but Asuka wanted to remain out of sight until she could get a good look at her target. But with Damon in the way as well, this was going to be a hard-fought battle of wit and speed. This is just great. Ju~st great...

[Storm Veritas]

This cell was made for him.

He held himself inside this “Cell”, long fingers wrapped taut around the steel bars. In here he would be invincible. The very structure was suited for him perfectly. This was perfect, and the excitement brought a few beads of sweat at his slicked ebony hairline. He licked his lips as he envisioned what he would create here, the symphonic cackle-hiss of electricity dancing in and around the all-metal cage, no place to run, no place to escape.

If it comes to that.

There was no need for him to hit the ground running. Between Serenti and the Lornius Corporate Challenge, he was quite frankly exhausted. Whatever it was that had drawn him to enter this surefire bloodbath must have had a masochistic streak, because the names came at him hard and fast when he read the list.

Damon. Sarah. Ter-Thok. Ashiakin. Asuka. This is ONE Cell? MY Cell? You’ve got to be f*cking kidding me…

All of them were well known, from the incredible boy-legend Damon to Asuka, who he watched compete in the parallel semifinals of Serenti. All of them were dangerous. The two remaining competitors were unknown to him, and certainly no less frightening. The devil you don’t know is far worse than the one you do.

There was no sense in picking out a distinctive adversary yet. They would probably come to him. In general, Althanas didn’t seem to be short of hero-type idiots that ran forth headlong into combat, broadswords bared and ready for action. They usually also happened to be the people that died the quickest. Crazy coincidence, it must have been.

There wouldn’t be much time before it all started now. No time for a smoke. There was however, a bit of time to relax. With a respectful (albeit disingenuine) nod to Asuka, Storm backed himself into a corner. The place was clean, which he could respect. His cufflinks were pocketed – far too expensive to lose, and pressed white shirt rolled at the cuff to mid-forearm. His wrists draped lazily over his bony knees, comfortably wrapped in Radasanthian tailored dress pants. Even his shoes were shined. This must have been a special occasion.

The tinking sound of his hip-mounted daggers echoed off the unforgiving metal floor. A faint reminder of what this would come down to. His mind quickly spiraled to assess how slippery the steel floor would become when it was slicked with blood. Probably something to keep in mind, he figured, waiting for all hell to break loose.

[Lavinian Pride]

"I'm going to kill that bastard, and then again once they revive them," She muttered under her breath. It was supposed to be her biggest achievement to be in a tournament and win something Seth had never done. The problem with this grand scenario was that Seth had entered at the last minute and had basically erased any buzz about her from the goers. It enraged her that the man who had been pussyfooting about Corone had once again stolen the show from her.

She growled as she waited for the beginning, it was a long speech directed at the crowd, and she snorted at the words. Honor? What kind of happy bullshit was he peddling? It was about the first two, and only the first two. Fame and Wealth often went hand in hand, and so Sarah waited for him to announce the beginning, being told she would be disqualified if she attacked before the final words.

Her mind however, was not at all unused to looking for loopholes. However, as she looked about she only saw a few recognizable faces. Storm Veritas the winner of the Serenti stuck out like a sore thumb, amongst the others she had only heard of. Ashiakin the ice demon was about, made conspicuous by his white hair. Chelsi a former Brotherhood member was also about, though Sarah herself had never met the witch.

All of these people with the exception of maybe one or two were from the memories of Seth, and it infuriated her that she would have to use his knowledge for her gain. It was an acknowledgement that she didn't know enough, and that Seth was superior when she had to do so.

She had to pick a target, and so when she chose she chose wisely. As the words were starting to draw to a close she drew a thorn subtly. With the announcement that the beginning of the Cell was finally here, her attack was off like a bullet, the effects seen round the world as the glinting metal was thrown with the Lavinian's standard accuracy right for the one she perceived as her biggest threat.

The thorn flew arrow tipped point first at the Serenti winner, Storm Veritas.

[INDK]

Damon smiled. He didn’t need a particularly deep reason to join the cell, for he had his undying loyalty to Ashiakin. Still, now that it had begun, he could feel excitement pumping through his veins and confidence surging through his body. Already, the boy had studied the room carefully, trying to figure out who in the room might legitimately be a threat to him and his partner. “Ashiakin needs to win this too,” Damon thought to himself. “That will be the only way that everyone knows that he’s really invincible.”

The boy had a more secret motivation he hadn’t revealed to his friend as well. Damon wanted everyone to know that it was Ashiakin, and not he who was the senior partner in the LCC. The boy could barely deal with the pressure of holding up his end in the two player tournament, he really didn’t want all of Althanas getting the wrong impression. It was Ashiakin who was to be duke of Lornius, not him.

Thus as Damon unsheathed his sword, the boy was particularly guarded. He knew exactly who he was going to have to attack. One of the two Baneblades was in this cell, and the boy remembered his battle against them in the LCC vividly. They were bitter and deceitful, and all of Lornius had been glad to know that it was his team that had advanced. “She’s definitely going to go after Ashiakin,” Damon figured. He remembered that the girl had specifically targeted the Ice Demon in their LCC battle, so it would be just as likely that she would target him here.

Preemptively, Damon moved away from his ally and prepared for a battle against her. Ashikin would be able to handle his own fighting some of the tournament’s more high profile battles. It was time for honor, time to do what was right.

“Asuka…” Damon called, hoping that he’d remembered the girl’s name correctly. He said little more than that, for he’d only wanted to get her attention. Damon had absolutely no use for idle chit chat, and he thought that trash talk was a bit unbecoming. There was a lot he could have said, about how even if she were to won the Cell, she would not have made an honorable champion, gloat about the success of Blank over the Baneblades in the LCC, or even just point out that his mythril sword was of a higher tier than the weapon wielded by his opponent.

Instead, Damon was going to let his sword do the talking. Quickly, he struck forwards, aiming his weapon straight for Asuka’s right side.

[hushpuppy]

In the corner of the cage, swaying slightly and mumbling incomprehensibly, was a ragged farmer, his hands worn and calloused, his back permanently bent. Lank hair, surprisingly black and ungrayed despite his years, hung down on either side of a wide hat, peaked in the center, woven out of dry reeds. A ragged brown coat with peeling patches at the elbows covered his wilted frame. For support, he leaned against a pitchfork, fingers resting between the prongs, the tip, rounded by a thousand weeks of palms rubbing across it, stuck into the ground. His eyes were slanted by the merciless sun, his skin wrinkled and browned by it. From his collapsing boots to his mildewing breath, he seemed the very antithesis of a warrior.

Which was no wonder, since he was not a warrior. It was hard to tell from any distance beyond arm's length, but pushing out from his spine, just below the hump where his back met his shoulders, was a soft, round lump. Only a trained eye would be able to tell that this was not another inundation of the poor man's backbone, but rather a most nefarious tumor. Quivering independently of the tired muscles it rested on, it coursed its own strange power through the farmer's body. Seeing what he saw, unsteadily moving his lips up and down in meaningless exercises. It had held control of this weathered creature's body for several days now, watching those around it, aping their workaday activity, learning how to be human. It did not think like those people around it, nor did it feel like them: its heart was not that of a man's. But how can we know what lies in another's heart? Might anyone we know be just like this beast - feeling nothing but an animal rage? No one can see into another's soul, not even their lover's. And if we could, would we really want to?

The farmer's head slowly looked around the cage, observing but not absorbing the scene. Creatures that bled were standing about him, preparing to bury their teeth in each other's flesh. Hundreds of pumping hearts were arrayed about the cage, quickening at the sight of blood - so much like their own - being spilled on the ground. The farmer's eyes widened, and he lifted the pitchfork, shifting it clumsily into both hands, stumbling slightly as he took one wavering step forward. If they were small, they were easier to slice. And one of them was quite small indeed. His heart was kicking in his chest as he dove toward one of the larger ones, sharp metal in his hand, the word "Asuka" on his lips. Calling back, the farmer's began moving faster as he turned to the trifle, lifting his pitchfork and taking another step forward. There was so much blood there. It would all be flowing soon.

The farmer ran forward, listing drunkenly, but keeping his pitchfork on course. A beastial howl rose from deep within him, and yet not from within him, rattling the metal holding all the blood back. It would flow.

[Storm Veritas]

In the chaotic cell, his own egomania would be his docile servant. He chose not to survey every piece of minutiae that worked within the cell, but rather those that noticed him. He was, after all, a big deal in his own accord, someone that should be considered a force to be reckoned with. It was not so long ago that he was handed the Serenti crown, but he found upon returning to Radasanth that his victory would do nothing to hinder anonymity. Simply, he was a legend in his own mind, and little more.

The comely Sarah Dahlios was the first to notice him. Slender and sexy, she was a vixen looking very ripe for the picking. Veritas had read stories of the siren’s ways, but was still enchanted by her beauty. She was looking at him now, pouty lips perched upon a pretty face. In his finely tailored clothes, he knew that he could allure plenty of similar swooning damsels on his own.

But her look was different. This was a predator, and he made no bones about it. As much as he’d like to take a run at her, he had learned that some women were simply not worth the trouble. He could very likely not afford her, anyway. Women like Sarah Dahlios didn’t come cheap.

Yeah, come on sugar. Come take advantage of the big strong stupid man. Swish your hair to the side before your deathstrike. He’ll NEVER see it coming.

When her thumb and forefinger began to roll about discretely, he paid attention. There was something there. She fired it forth at the stoppage of the roll call, but Veritas panicked as he could not find it. He had seen her play with it, roll it, shoot it over, but simply lost it in flight. It wouldn’t take long before he found it, working its way through his pressed dress shirt and spilling a small stain of crimson over his left nipple. The wound felt little more than an annoyance, a schoolgirl pinching the boy she likes. Unfortunately, things were rarely so simple, and there were likely worse things on the way. Darts like this that didn’t hurt much had a funny way of being poisonous.

Oh shit… You sneaky whore!

Fortunately for the anti-hero, Storm Veritas was short of any stifling nobility that would stop him from killing a woman. The age of chivalry had come and gone, and he found the very premise of it preposterous. She had played with the bull, and now she’d get the horns.

With four hard steps and an athletic bound, he was leaping at her, daggers drawn. He was scary fast, jumping from nearly twenty five feet and coming down near her with an overhanded slash attack, a panther pouncing on its prey. Sarah had some learning to do.

[AsukaStrikes]

Waiting impatiently for that final word to be spoken, Asuka caught Storm's friendly nod from the corner of her eye, throwing a curious glance as the fine-dressed man as he backed away into a corner of this cursed hellhole. It took her a few seconds later to register his name to a familiar name - Storm Veritas. He was the winner of the Serenti Invitational she was in, apparently declared the victor after her object of hatred - the very Letho Ravenheart who had skewered her at the end of his gunblade - announced his withdrawal from the final battle. She had heard news of it, herself busy with fighting Zephyriah at another arena, but had never seen him face-to-face. How did Letho, a demonic powerhouse of destruction, lose to some prissy-looking knave like Storm?

Then again, nothing was as it seemed in this kind of tournament. The dim shine of her Spiritstone pendant a clear sign that someone here was either very adept in magic or something about this arena is seriously wrong. But what was she to complain? Many had fallen in the name of Honor and Glory. Who knows how many of those have became wandering ghosts within this cursed stadium?

The final words came to a close with a sound of metal slicing through air. The battle began literally with the drop of a pin. A really sharp, fast pin at it as well. Asuka had no time to concern herself with its target, noticeably not aimed directly at her to begin with. However, a familiar voice called out her name and the maiden tensed up as one, her hand quickly finding its way to Kazeryu's linen-bound grip.

So, you want to die, kid? The lass smirked with glee, her eyes locking on to the black-eyed Damon as he rushed head-long in a bid to end her life with a single stroke. Asuka would have none of it.

No, she would have none of it. Damon would not have the joy of cutting down this enraged wildcat out for blood.

Asuka roared in defiance to the boy's charge as her feet shuffled left, Kazeryu flashing out from the worn-out sheath and cutting a new hole in the back of her jacket. The ragged brown strip danced in the windless air to the sound of steel clashing against mythril.

But it did not meant she locked swords with the black-eyed Damon. Kazeryu had come out of his sheath in a wide sweeping arc to her right, meeting the rookie's mythril longsword as the Dragon scremed for the heavens. The lass saw no adventage in locking swords with her enemy, especially if said person was not exactly high on her list of priorities to begin with. Her goal was set on Ashiakin's head, not his young side-kick of a boy.

Besides, sending your opponent staggering backwards would give her a lot more opening to work with. And even perhaps rid her path of a nuisance sooner than she had anticipated.

However, the Akashiman swordsmaiden had not anticipated his surprising strength, the force of the clash knocking her backwards into the steel mesh close to where she had started off from. The impact sent the lass onto a knee, throwing up a fine cloud of light-brown dust in the process. Grr! Why the heck is that kid so strong?! He's too wiry to strike with that much power behind it! Hrr! Nevermind that!

There was no time to think. Not time to rest. No time to make a plan of attack. The only thing on her mind was bounce back. Bounce back and meet the enemy head-on.

"Graaaah!!!" This time, it was Asuka who charge at her foe, Kazeryu trailing behind her in preparation for a decisive strike. It didn't matter someone else was also aiming to skewer the lad with a damned pitchfork. She would have his head.

The swordmaiden planted her left foot a mere three feet away from the boy and turned on her toes, bringing her blade in a wide right arc aimed to slice the boy's left arm into ribbon. That should be enough to warn the kid not to mess with her until her vengeance was dealt to Ashiakin.

[INDK]

Damon was in trouble now. While his initial parry had knocked back Asuka, a vision flashed in front of his eyes of another attacker running straight at him with a pitchfork. The boy cringed. He hadn’t expected to be overwhelmed like this, and wondered where Ashiakin was at a time like this. “He never let me down in the LCC,” Damon thought. “I don’t think that he’s going to let me down now.” However, in the meantime, Damon was going to have to find some way to survive. With two blows coming at him from two different directions at the exact same time, the boy knew that his promises for blocking were particularly limited. Even if he could get past the first blow, they would likely team up against him after that. The Baneblades had been a tough enough challenge the first time, Damon didn’t much care for the idea of taking them on when he was outnumbered.

Quickly, the boy thought up a plan. It wasn’t the best plan he’d ever thought of, but at the very least it would suffice. Damon quickly bent down as the man with the pitchfork charged towards him, and then used his sword to deflect the pitchfork attack straight towards Asuka’s blade. At the very least, that would tangle them up, and give Damon a few moments of wiggle room. The boy then attempted to roll under the two weapons, moving straight towards the edge of the cage. “It’ll be easier to make some kind of a stand here,” Damon figured. “I can get the pitchfork caught up in the chainlinks or something like that.”

Also, the boy hoped that by forcing his two enemies to lock weapons against each other, he might cause them to turn against each other instead of him. Though he knew the Baneblades were particularly underhanded, Damon doubted that Asuka would have hired a mercenary just to help her in the Cell. She wouldn’t have had the money for it, plus the boy didn’t doubt that at the very least, Asuka wanted the credibility of being honorable. “Even if she did nothing to deserve it,” Damon thought snidely as he stopped his roll. He was glad there wasn’t too much else going on in his Cell at the moment. Movement would have been considerably more difficult should there have been a mess of projectiles and weapons thrown about.

Damon had nearly dropped his longsword rolling forward. It had made his summersaults particularly awkward, especially given the changing angles he had needed to hold the weapon in to avoid slowing down his momentum. However, Damon knew well enough that the moment he picked himself up, he was going to need the weapon. Now he stood before the edge of the cage, a bit wiser from the initial experience. “Can’t just get caught up in the one on one of this thing,” Damon realized. “Even if everyone else here probably wants Asuka gone just like me, they aren’t going to be picking sides. Everyone’s attacking everybody.”

The boy sighed, composed himself and held his sword ready. Though he should have known better by now, Damon kept his eyes fixed on Asuka, as if to let her know that it wasn’t over between them.

[Lavinian Pride]

Sarah saw Storm rush her and grinned when he responded in typical male fashion. The bull was going to stamp his feet, then attack full force. As he did so and came at her she was ready and instead of dodging the somewhat predictable attack tried to block it the force sending her down to one knee. As she grinned she fought to push herself back to a standing position. She had chosen wisely for her first target, and for the plan to work she had to prove she had something to offer.

"You and I are both not stupid, that Serenti Title has a bull’s eye on your back. What say you and me team up for now, push the others towards Ashiakin and the boy protecting him, I figure we get enough force on them, and even they can't hold up forever," Sarah said as she kept the grin on her face her voice low so only he could hear it.

"Of course, you could also be pissed I threw the knife at you, but think of it this way, the only way this could work," She muttered as she pushed herself closer to him, "Is if we look like we're fighting. I figure we could even play act a bit, and toss a few attacks at them at, inopportune times. I think you know where I'm going with this."

She then winked as she looked at him. She wanted Seth so badly she was willing to set aside her own pride to get the chance. Her ambition in full force as she tried to keep the two of them locked up. Finally she pulled back away from Storm Veritas as she twirled her daggers and dropped into her traditional stance speaking loudly, "So what’s it going to be? You want a bit of fun, or am I going to have to give it to you rough?"

[Storm Veritas]

(((Pat – small bunny of Sarah in here. Let me know if you want me to remove))

The girl was fast and strong. He hadn’t underestimated her fighting ability, but perhaps her strategic planning was a bit more refined. Storm was, after all, more of a chameleon in combat, changing his ways to stem the tides as necessary. Sarah was a planner, obviously, a careful schemer that came into the Cell with a plan in hand. And a damned good one at that. Ever the optimist, Veritas considered the alliance.

But why should I trust you, you snivelly bitch? Don’t you think I can see right through it? Ride me past the rest, and then stick a knife in the back of your own horse…

…Whatever. Maybe those tits will get the job done for distraction while I get busy killing.

He leaned into her, his body contorted in a posture of overpowering the girl while his menacing snarl whispered forth his own plans. Beneath curled lips, the voice of a diplomat.

“Fair enough. Makes sense to me. Circle the wagons.”

He sheathed his dagger and cocked his right hand in a flash. Suppressing the smile was tough. Biting his lip, he spoke once more.

“…now punch me.

“…Whore!”

With a massive swinging paw, he struck her across the face, feeling the loud clap of flesh as she punched him in the jaw. He staggered back – she had a hell of a right – but still smirked at the moment. Not everyone got to pimp slap Sarah Dahlios, but dying without doing it makes for a life less fulfilled.

He lifted his head again, sweat beginning to bead and dagger redrawn. The stumble away from the girl was natural, and now he had to find the next enemy, someone waiting to strike at him, who appeared to be wounded. He had to draw pigeons to the cat.

As he focused, there were two others closing in on the wonderboy. Damon was very vulnerable now, but Storm stood and breathed deep, hesitating. Where Kaosi went, Ashiakin wouldn’t be far behind. If Damon could dispatch the twosome already attacking him, then the lightning mage would strike. And if the cavalry arrived to help the noble young elf, there would be hell here waiting for him.

So if Damon is the object of all this affection, I’d be a fool to step in the way of those legend killers. They wouldn’t see me break away from Sarah anyway, so if I keep moving they won’t notice a goddamned thing. Lambs to the slaughter…

While it seemed perfect, plans which seemed too good to be true usually were just that. The soreness in his jaw gave him reason to doubt Dahlios, as her acting ability was obviously not enough to successfully pull a punch. While he would love to roll in the hay with her, he wouldn’t trust her farther than she would be thrown from the bed.

[hushpuppy]

As the lad rolled deftly away, a surge of anger, like a fierce fever, ripped through the farmer. It poured out of his mouth in a torrent of wails, high pitched and piercing. The farmer's blow was far too wide of the mark, clumsily striking where the lad's face had just been. With a crashing clang, the prongs of his weapon collided with the sword slashing in from the lad's other opponent. Two of the pitchfork's prongs snapped off with the force, and the weapon was nearly jolted from the farmer's quivering hands. The attack jolted the man, who fell to one knee. His speed kept him in motion, and he crashed to the ground, the pitchfork bouncing away from his reach. Groaning angrily, the farmer scrambled on his elbows toward the woman standing beside him who had deflected his blow.

He could hear her vein pulsing, and it made his tongue flick across his lips. Reaching out with boney hooks of hands, his ropey muscles tense under his rags of clothes, he tried to latch onto the woman's legs, and gnashed down at her flesh with his yellowed, splintered teeth.

Crouching on the man's back, the lump shivered with anticipation.

[AsukaStrikes]

"Mother Effin-!"

Asuka had underestimated the lad yet again as he parried the pitchfork away and directed at the swordmaiden's blade instead. She saw the farmer's lifeless eyes as he stumbled forward, his pronged snapped away like dried twigs. The lass herself was thrown off-balanced and nearly lost grip of Kazeryu in the impact but steadied her feet just in time to see where the little menace had disappeared to.

"You twerp! I'll show you to- OW!" Asuka yelled angrily at Damon and tooka step forward, only to halt from the unrelenting bony hands locking her left leg in a deathgrip and the vile, ragged teeth that followed soon after. The jagged yellow bones punched through the thick brown boot into her shin, drawing a stream of red from the shallow wound.

"Let go, you scrawny old man!" The girl yelped and tried to pull free, giving the ghastly farmer a swift kick to the chin in an attempt to shake the man loose. Asuka could've just put her sword through his head and get it over with. But, no, she would not bring herself down to quarrel with a nobody. She would not waste her time and effort with something as trivial as he. She didn't need to kill this man to make him stop. All she needed to do was put him to sleep.

She didn't feel the need to waste another living creature's life in order to achieve her goals - killing was only reserved for those who had earned her eternal hatred like that sleazeball in Serenti, Ashiakin Razzack and Letho Ravenheart.

Damon and that old farmer was just a ditch in the road to her goal. All she needed was put them out of her way and go after the big gun.

[hushpuppy]

A poisonous smile curled the old man's lips as blood seeped around his teeth, staining them red, his mouth like a child's around a sucker. It was a tangy, sweet taste across his tongue, a sudden and fleeting satisfaction, a macabre happiness drawn from a well of pain. Frustration flared in his chest as the woman kicked him away, but with the snap of his jaw, darkness flooded him, and all emotion peeled away. He slumped to the ground, his shoulder slack, his blood mixing with hers in a small puddle spreading from his shattered mouth. As she charged away, the farmer's body was left alone, his breath shallow, his eyes half-shut, unmoving even as kicked-up dust settled in them. It was as if his years of hard labor had finally crashed down atop his weakened frame, shattering his body and soul. He was alive, but for what reason? If his mind was not sunk into unconsciousness, doubtless he would not have a good reason.

As his body lay, useless and still, one of the lump on his back rustled, moving from side to side. It jerked, and the jolt seemed to make the farmer's body shrink and slacken even more. The lump rolled down his back, pushing aside ragged clothing, until it reached his shirttails. Pausing, it seemed to contemplate its options - as if a lump could think. Wavering for a moment, the lump rapidly moved out from the confines of the clothing, and bounced out and away from the body.

It was a strange object that appeared, rolling from the farmer onto the open ground. No more than a tuft of hair, the longest of its strands waving in a light breeze, the lump was no more than six or seven inches across. No one would have taken it for any more than the remains of a stuffed bleeziar, or a wad of mufftar down, but there it was, rocking back and forth of its own accord, quivering every one and a while like a sleeping child. Once, long ago - or perhaps not so long ago - it had been known as Meerplex. But it didn't give itself a name: something else had done that. A flash of memory, really no more than strobes of color, garbled noises and creeping shapes, rushed around it, blocking out the battling men and women in the cage for a seemingly interminable moment.

It is something left over from the mind of the man it has just fled. Flat fields, flooded with brown water, hemmed in by tall levees, topped with plodding beasts and hunched men, stretch out to either side. Men are working all around. A cloud blots out a burning sun, the shadow rushing along the ground until it eats up a mountain standing in the distance, covering everything. The man in the memory isn't working. He is standing very still, too still to be anything but amazed or frightened. Ten feet away, on the other side of a furrow of willowy stems, stands a rail-thin, quiet-as-a-statue egret. A pale feather is stuck to its yellow bill, tugging away with a gust of wind. Its tiny black eyes are looking back into the farmers'. The shock of its wings unfurling and flapping in big booms as it takes off fills the farmer's chest with a burning glee.

What does it mean?

The Cell returns. Meerplex quivers again, and then begins rolling across the ground, bouncing in foot-long leaps every few seconds, following the woman who just vanquished the host body of the farmer. Approaching her lower legs, the smell of blood stings the air, and the ball of fur leaps for the wound, trilling like a warbler as it bounces toward the small sliver of flesh and skin peeking around her clothes. By latching onto her body and fighting back her mind, it can take control of her body. And then, she will spill the boy's blood. It will flow all over her.

[INDK]

Damon tried to suppress a giggle as the farmer bit Asuka. The boy had been a bit surprised that his plan had gone so well. It had been something made in a moment of desperation, and while Damon’s instincts were particularly good, what he had managed to accomplish there seemed to have solved all his immediate problems.

At that moment, the boy took stock of the Cell. The farmer seemed to be beaten by Asuka, to the point where it was likely that he would have to fight the girl again. Damon grinned. He liked the challenge of fighting Asuka, not only was he helping Ashiakin, but the boy knew he was fighting the good fight, good against evil. Thus, he kept his sword ready, watching to see what Asuka was about to do. The girl seemed habitually incensed, so her anger towards him was nothing new. However, Damon wondered whether or not he had become her target. Her final revenge was most likely targeted for Ashiakin, so it would be likely that she would choose the path of least resistance. Damon figured he was going to have to make it clear that had to go through him first.

However, the boy knew better than to charge forward a second time. The two other people active in the cell seemed mostly concerned with each other, but Damon didn’t want to be caught by surprise again. The farmer was defeated, but the boy noticed that a strange furry creature had left off the back of the fallen farmer and was now headed towards Asuka.

“Some kind of possession thing?” Damon wondered. He had never seen a creature like the one that was leaping onto Asuka’s leg, but that didn’t say much. Damon really hadn’t seen all that much. Immediately, he began to rack his brain for any knowledge on creatures like that, wishing for the moment that he hadn’t split up with Ashiakin so he could ask the more knowledgable ice demon about the creature.

For a moment, Damon contemplated warning Asuka about the little furball. Even though she was a sour person with a bad attitude, Damon thought that having her body possessed would be a punishment too excessive. However, the boy doubted that she would believe him. Even though Damon was never insincere, he knew that people who told many lies often didn’t believe the truth of others. Asuka was likely one of those people.

Still, Damon couldn’t help but to want her to be saved. He pulled out a small throwing knife from his shoe and threw it straight towards Asuka’s leg. Damon’s aim wasn’t particularly good, but he figured that if the furball was stationary, it would be an easy enough target to hit. At the very least, he would have reminded Asuka that he was still there.

[AsukaStrikes]

That was some dirty trick the farmer played on her. His bite was not entirely fatal, or a hindrance to her movements even. Only the shallow holes remained on her shin, trickling streams of red staining the leathery boot and its ropey shoestring. Fairly impressive for someone who looked good enough to be already dead, or maybe that was just it. The sheer force of her kick tore a sizable gap in the boot, revealing the pale skin underneath.

No way! That guy's jaws shouldn't be that strong! She thought and took a few steps forward in the direction of her next target, still wondering how in the world was he able to sink his teeth through her boot and not feel a thing. Maybe there was more to him than meets the eye. Either way, he would not be a threat to her anymore. Hopefully, not a threat to himself as well.

Next to go... Damon. A saisfied smirk crept across her determined face. There was no way she would lose to this rookie swrodsman. Rheawien nearly killed him back at the Padoga in the LCC, what could be so hard for Asuka to do the same?

What the lass had not anticipated, however, was the bouncing little ball of fluff behind her, shrilling like a bird as it invaded her body with sickening tendrils against her open wound.

What the-! What in the name of Lady Akashima IS this thing?! Asuka stopped dead in her tracks, a good ten feet away from her quarry with weapons drawn, and stared down at the furball in near-hysterical terror. Whatever it was, the thing wasn't merely using her as its safe harbor.

It, weaving through her thoughts and senses, was trying to take over her body. An intruder.

No! No, get out! Go away!

She screamed like a crazed lunatic, clawing her head and doubled over. Kazeryu fell unceremoniously to the dusty arena near her right foot as his master fought hard against the intrusion.

What- What's wrong with me?! What's going on?!?

[Chelsi]

Everything was going pretty much according to plan. Chelsi had never made it passed round two of any of Althanas’ esteemed tournaments and, god will-it, it wasn’t going to happen again this year.

Only months after her sulking return into the Althanas limelight, Chelsi had registered for the Cell; an enormous free-for-all which drew all of the world's most famous players, and even more not-so-famous ones.

Perhaps main reason Chelsi had entered her name into the Cell’s rosters, was that she had fallen into that second category. Memories of fame and grandeur flooded back to her when she first stepped onto the site of the monumental tourney, and now, sitting in a shady corner of her respective cell, she was positively drunk on them.

Of course, the witch had never really placed a whole lot of stock in valor, preferring to take the subtle, and easier route to fame. So she sat in the shadows, perfectly concealed, and content to let the stronger of her opponents finish each other off, and then she would swoop in for an easy win. The plan seemed flawless and so she watched in silence, the intense battle raging in front of her.

From her vantage point, Chelsi heard clearly the ploy between Storm and Miss Dalios. She saw the mock battle for what it was, and didn’t pay it much heed after the two exchanged blows. She did however keep the two in mind. The young witch never much cared for uneven fights…

Unless of course she was the one on the side of the advantage.

More interesting still, was the battle waging on the other side of the cage. She watched intently as the crippled old farmer spun off into the sand. His female opponent seemed to have won the conflict, and had only one foe left. The witch turned her attention to the warrior and felt a stirring of memory.

Damon?

Was it Damon Kaosi? She couldn’t recall. Names jumbled in her mind. Gild. The Bandit Brotherhood.

Was it him? Too much time had passed for her to be certain, so her thoughts returned to the situation at hand. One combatant had already been defeated and she hadn’t lifted a finger. Her plan was going perfectly.

Perfection, however, always seemed to share a bed with disaster. As if the arena itself was growing bored with her idleness, the sun and lighting of the stadium shifted, and the shadows which she had concealed herself drew back, leaving her open and exposed in the light, mere feet away from where Storm and Sarah’s mock battle had waged.

Cursing, Chelsi drew her bokken. It seemed that she was going to have to pull her weight in the battle after all. Creeping towards Sarah, who was now alone, as Storm had turned away to find a fight elsewhere, she hoped that the element of suprise was still with her.

[Storm Veritas]

I don’t think Ashiakin’s gonna show up at all… the boy is left to fend for himself.

…Screw it! If he can survive on his own, he deserves the victory. It’s easy in the shade.

He had seen another woman approach Sarah, some conveniently sexy young vamp moseying over with a raw intent in her eyes. The Dahlios girl was known to dabble in the sapphic arts, so Veritas wasn’t sure if the intent was to kiss or kill. He wouldn’t stand in the way of either regard. If his new accomplice was worth half a turn, she’d be able to handle herself.

He was strolling smoothly, his lone wound superficial, his body still rested and energized. The adrenaline which raged through him earlier was actually dissipating, and he felt an unnatural tiredness in the midst of the match. These things never went smoothly.

Way too easy.

Damon’s tied up. Farmer down. Sarah’s busy. Asuka’s… What the f*ck is that thing!?

His mind didn’t process what his mind saw. Some fluffy, furry, ungodly thing was scampering about the dirt floor, awkwardly meandering away from the fallen body of the faceless farmer. Without eyes, ears, or limbs, its very locomotion was inexplicable. Easily dodging an incoming projectile from Damon’s keen hand and hopping up unto the frame of Asuka, the beast settled into what appeared to be a somewhat comfortable position. Veritas watched as the rodent-driven warrior writhed in pain.

OK, that’s enough. Show’s over, exit stage left. I’ve seen it all, and got the tunic.

His pulse sped up a step, his breaths coming short. Being caught off guard was one thing, but there was no way to prepare for the little furry abomination. Instinctive retreat ensued. He was backpedaling now, a slow and careful retreat from the center stage. Whatever that… that thing was, he wanted no part of it. At least the powerful warriors bled and breathed and died.

When his shoulder blades touched hard into cold steel, his head knocked back against the perimeter. With wide eyes he glared about the Cell, almost a spectator in the midst of all this. He felt fortunate, but also tempted to rattle the cage a bit. One jolt to the metal, and they may all fall down, wrapped in the midst of a massive surrounding electric cloud.

But not now. Not yet.

His head was on a swivel, scanning left, right, and above him. Paranoia was gripping at him quickly. They hadn’t rushed Damon. They hadn’t heard from Ashiakin. His thoughts to the old gambling days rushed him.

If you don’t pick out the rube ten minutes after sitting at the table, the joke’s on you.

It couldn’t be coincidence that he hadn’t been attacked yet. The hairs on the back of his neck were on end. Was there a trap set to be sprung? How deep in had he stepped?

[hushpuppy]

((Bunnying allowed by Asuka))

Meerplex latched onto the woman's leg, pressing up against the wound he had caused, feeling the warmth glowing out from it. It hunkered down against her skin, purring like a cat and latching on tightly with some unseen force. She was strong, vibrant, burning up through the cuts like a brush fire. The leg Meerplex attached itself to crumpled as Meerplex stretched out into her consciousness, knocking aside emotions and thoughts, tearing straight to her soul. A throwing knife narrowly missed them as she stumbled, doubling up, snatching at her head. Possession had already begun.

This was not like the old man. He had been weak, sleeping, his dreams like cobwebs, desires and hopes wilted by the realism of old age, emotions dulled, mind warped, dementia aiding Meerplex's hunt. This woman, this Asuka Murakama, as her mind betrayed her, was younger, fiercer. Anger scourged her memories and hopes, channeling them into an iron will. Unlike his faded thoughts, hers were bright and gawdy, almost searing. She had coals in her heart, firing a desperate fight against this intruder. Vulnerability screamed against her anger, a fearfulness stained her willfulness. An opening, then. Meerplex pushed against it, cracking into the heat at her center, pushing his way into the coursing knot that was the mind. Prodding into the knot, fastening to the woven cords of body, mind and memory, Meerplex jerked at her arm, waving the sword clumsily in the boy's direction. Blank. The boy was Blank. Or one of Blank. Memories coursed back and forth, melding together, incomprehensible. Anger and pride buffeted against the furball, and it sloshed emotions across them, indecision and self-pity, and yanked memories from the ropey mind, crossing them up in a protective web. They were the easiest to pull forward, as they were closest to the surface. A cut rope, falling in space. A white figure, another Blank. Jeering people. Moving wearily up a stairwell. She was a Baneblade, and she had lost. Asuka Baneblade. Meerplex smashed the memories up against her jolting soul, and they seared together, molten and broken, held back.

Her arm jerked again, and she unsteadily moved toward the Damon Blank boy, her feet dragging across the ground, her boots skidding noisily.

[Ter-Thok]

A look of bemusement crossed Ter-Thok's face as he watched the goings-on in the cage rather dispassionately. He carefully maneuvered another helping of popcorn into his mouth, rather more than half of the kernels dropping, likely unnoticed, to the distant ground. The demon shrugged and tucked his shirt back in; it appeared that hanging upside-down by one's tail from the ceiling of a cage was not the most comfortable way to eat popcorn. He kept getting the urge to vomit whenever it would travel ponderously up his inverted esophagus. Ter-Thok reached for another handful nonetheless, disappointed when his red-skinned fingers only scratched the oily interior of the paper bag.

The diminutive demon sighed and crumpled the colorful sack into a paper ball. He waited a moment to take aim, and tossed the buttery mess rather accurately towards the head of the young boy below. The events had been rather interesting; he hadn't expected there to be a parasite inside the old farmer, much less one that appeared to have levered itself out of a lint trap. However, seeing as how the events were beginning to lose his interest, Ter-Thok figured he might as well get involved. Extricating his tail from the bars of the cage, the demon began to fall gently, like a feather. At about six feet above the floor of the arena, he stopped, now standing the right way around.

Calmly, the demon adjusted the settings on his ElectroProd, clicking the bladed end into place and tweaking it to produce maximum voltage. A grin soon crossed Ter-Thok's face, and he dropped in the air until his hooves were about even with the unfortunately infested woman's shoulder-blades. "Well, well, well," he chuckled, "What have we here? A parasite? Can't be having with any of that, my fuzzy little friend. What say we let the lady go; I've got a couple of amigos that would just love to meet you. Love, of course, meaning 'pay through the nose'. Heh."

The demon laughed, not menacingly, but rather cheerfully, as he swung his crackling bladed weapon towards the tiny monster.

[INDK]

Damon watched as it seemed that Asuka had suddenly transformed before his eyes. No longer was she the confident warrior that the boy had known, but a strange, zombie like creature who seemed completely emotionless. Damon cringed. While he couldn’t be certain, he was more than sure the little white creature that had leeched onto her calf was responsible. For the moment, Damon saw himself in a particularly tough dilemma. Even with his aid, this cage would be a particularly difficult one for Ashiakin to win. While Damon didn’t know any of the other participants personally, he was aware of their reputations. If Asuka had been slowed down by some kind of fuzzy white creature, then it would make things easier on the ice demon. However, Damon was fearful for the girl’s soul. At the end of the Cell, all the fallen competitors would be healed, but unless he did something, it would be likely that Asuka would remain possessed.

The boy resolved to help, but this resolution came a bit too late. A rather diminutive demon seemed to be prepared to take care of the matter. If that was that, Damon could move on to other priorities. Asuka would likely be too busy recovering from the impact of her sudden brush with being an automaton.

“Time to move on,” Damon figured. However, he hesitated shortly making this decision. “What if the demon is unsuccessful?” he wondered. And even then, if the demon was successful, what kind of havoc would the little red creature unleash once the fuzzball was in his possession. There had been a mention of friends willing to pay, and Damon shuddered at the idea of the kind of friends a little red demon like that would have.

It was a moment that transcended everything that the dramaturge had spoken about in the introduction of the battle, save for honor. Honor dictated this matter and it called upon each and every person in the cage to drop their individual battles for a task much greater. They had a common enemy now in the cell, a fuzzy little creature that could take over any one of their bodies.

Damon climbed up the mesh cage until he was a good fifteen feet above the ground. He then turned around so he was facing the cage, and cleared his throat before he spoke to the entire cell.

“Excuse me people!” Damon demanded. “I know we’re here to fight each other, but there is a creature in this cage that can destroy us all. It takes over our bodies, and is white and covered with fur. We all have to destroy it if any of us are going to survive!”

Certain he’d made a convincing case to the rest of people in the cell, Damon smiled at them, expecting that his call to action would soon be received with a unanimous cheer of solidarity.

[Lavinian Pride]

After the slap came across her face she snarled as she rocked back with a punch to underline the fact she would not be the bitch of this engagement. Sending Storm reeling away she shook her hand gently to let the stinging leave her knuckles. As she began to calm down from the attempt on her pride she turned to look about the arena. Her grey eyes scanned for her next opponent, expecting someone to pop out and jump her with the element of surprise.

The result was she saw the fur ball launch an assault on the girl. As an eyebrow rose in curiosity she watched the show unfold. It was like a tale from childhood, of the possessing fur balls from another plane. Shaking her head slowly she was completely off guard to anything Chelsi the witch would be doing. She didn't even hear the sounds of the bokken as it was raised. The screaming and yelling a perfect cover for the approach of the Brotherhood reject.

Watching the seen she found she almost couldn't turn away as a demon attacked the fur ball which had clung to the girl's leg. Grinning slightly at the being's words that babbled across the field she sighed as she brushed a stray strand of hair from her face. It was then she began to relax, not even bothering to look for an opponent. She was confident she could stay out of the fight for a little while and join the fray again a bit later, perhaps with Storm's help.

She had no idea the murderous intent of that damn witch...

(Chelsi, first hits free, make it a good one. Following that don't expect another chance without earning it...)

[AsukaStrikes]

AAHHH!!!

Asuka screamed as the ghastly tendrils latched onto her, squeezing the maiden's ethereal form and trapping her within the deep recess of her own mind. She had no idea where she was, nor how long that thing had locked her there. It was dark, but not cold or moist like the cellar she was locked in back in Serenti. There was no wind, either. No sound. No air.

LET GO, YOU STUPID STRINGS! The lass kicked and scream, to no avail. But the strange thing was, she could still see and feel everything that was going on inside the Cell as well. It was not normal, that she knew. But how unearthly things were going, she would have no idea until later on.

Asuka's feet dragged lazily across the hard, dirt floor, stirring up a tiny cloud of brown dust in her wake. The sensation was strange - she never dragged her feet even when walking at all. And what's more, Kazeryu laid in the dust, discarded with little regard. She couldn't believe her eyes. She couldn't believe she was jumping into the fray unarmed, swinging her arms about like a drunk. It didn't feel natural. It was as if she's just there for the ride even though she's supposed to be the driver.

That fluffy thing- THE FURBALL!!!

She could feel its searing tendrils coursing through her mind, but she couldn't do a thing to its form. Memories from her past flooded the girl's vision, bringing back old wounds that she had so badly suppressed for so long. The overwhelming grief at her father's deathbed, holding feebly onto the man's callous hand. Dark purple bruises from those bullies down the street who did nothing except plot and plunder. Losing control. Losing her identity. Losing her will to live.

No, she will have none of it. She vowed, ever since the day a dreary-eye man shot a firelock at her, she would never give in to anyone. Never give in to anything, be it Death itself.

She vowed never to lose again. Never.

GRAAAAAA!!!! GET! OUT! OF! MY! HEAD!!!

With every last drop of her willpower, Asuka staggered forward and slammed into the chain-linked fence right under the black-eye Damon, completely unaware of the tiny demon behind her nor the efforts of the other combatants in her cage. The lass wanted to end this on her own. She needed to end this, for the sake of her own pride.

GET! OUT!!!

[hushpuppy]

Asuka's emotions roared, a cyclone of fire and embers lashing against Meerplex's roughshod protections. Pulling strands of emotions and memories from her mind, the furball whipped them together like a net, throwing it against the warrior woman's roaring willpower. On the other side, pressing against Meerplex's presence, an icy wall of resolve was growing out from her soul. Cords of control growing out through Asuka's body, strung from the tips of her fingers to the lodelines of her mind, were pinching, consumed by fire and strained by the strength of her resistance. She was slipping away, a thick glass wall growing up around her mind, pressing the intruder back at three sides.

Seeing through her smoky vision, shrinking and fading to monochrome, Meerplex watched a creature float down from the top of the cage, a decidedly murderous looking creature. It voice was a high whine, buzzing indistinguishably as the woman's senses faded, her vision blurring to gray. As a vessel of attack, she was worse than useless now, her inner fire too strong, her resolve overcoming any baser emotions that could be dragged from her. Meerplex released from her, rolling down her leg, consciousness splitting, the world returning to its form and color. The furball rolled away, a weapon thrown from the demon bouncing off the ground, missing where the creature had just latched.

Meerplex searched the cage for a weaker target, one that could more easily be controlled and yet still strong enough to direct as a weapon. It sensed a beast lurking about the body of the unconscious farmer, dipping its hard black beak in the puddle of blood spreading from the man's mouth. The name "crow" surfaced from the fractured memories Meerplex had skimmed from Asuka and the farmer. A disciple of decay. Meerplex rolled toward it, quickly as possible, mindful of the demon floating in the air beside Asuka.

[Storm Veritas]

The legendary Kaosi climbed the cage, with each step Storm beginning to realize that this general disorder was actually not a trap, but rather just the entropic style of a free for all. The boy summoned them to attack the little white thing, informing them in a youthfully high but even voice that it could take over their bodies. It made sense, he supposed, but this seemed a bit too cut and dry.

Your savior doesn’t show up, and you want everyone to attack this little mystery puffball. F*ck that. We all turn our attention there, and then what?

His cynicism had reappeared, mixing with his paranoia. Across the cage several of them were clustered, with Damon, Asuka, and some… little… floating… goblin… thing. It looked vicious, and Veritas preferred his location opposite the cage. Even the deftly hopping legless rat was of little concern. He was bored. It was time to shake things up, and as the red-headed warrior hit the cage, his smile displayed large, white, teeth in a crooked and horrible grin.

Screw it. Party time.

With Dahlios over with the gothic themed witch girl, and the cloister of people lingering painfully close to the cage, Storm could no longer resist. He wrapped the bony fingers around the thin metal cage bars. He took a deep breath, and held the energy in. Letting it grow. Allowing it to fester. Build dramatically, a slow and steady excited state. And then the release.

The crackle-snap was loud and echoing, quite an impressive sound as a massive pulse of electricity surged throughout the cage. He felt the circuit complete between his hands, and enjoyed every second as the sweet scent of ozone filled his lungs. It was delicious, awakening him, bringing him to life.

Turning his head back to the center of the cage, he didn’t know what would have happened. His false, stupid courage reinstalled, he didn’t much care. Perhaps Sarah Dahlios would need his help. Perhaps he’d singed a few of those that came to play.

Or perhaps there was the business end of a sword waiting for him. This is why he didn’t like surprises.

[INDK]

Damon could tell the electric charges were coming a minute before their creator had used his electricity magic. A vision of him frying on the cage wall and then his limp body falling down flashed before his eyes, and Damon knew if he didn’t move quickly, that would be his fate. “What… what, but why?” Damon wondered confusedly. He didn’t understand why he would have been attacked like that, especially when he had offered to help everyone in the cage. He could understand maybe a particularly evil person like Asuka being unwilling to help, but the boy figured that at the very least, most of the Cage would have at least let him go about his buisness.

The injustice of the action might have crippled the boy, had he not seen that Asuka was also against the wall. Then Damon realized that the attack was most likely targeted towards her, and to get the little furball away. Damon was just going to end up an inadvertent casualty, and if he moved fast enough, it might be a fate he could avoid.

“Quick think!” he realized, a slight bit of panic setting in. A few drops of cold sweat poured down his face, and Damon found himself distracted by the fact that his throat was suddenly dry. Already, he had probably wasted precious seconds off his minute, and his prospects for survival didn’t seem much better. He couldn’t climb down, Damon was going to have to leap. There was nowhere on the hard sand floor that would have provided a suitable landing point for the boy, and as he looked around, the softest place to fall seemed to be on the corpse of the defeated farmer. Even that would be a hard landing, but at the moment, Damon had few other options.

The boy leaped into the air moments before the entire cage began to shake with the force of electricity. The chains seemed completely solid, vibrating amongst themselves as they knew not what to make of the force around them. Sparks flew, the air cackled all along the air as Damon Kaosi flew desperately through the sky.

“Please… please…” he muttered to himself desperately. More than anything else, Damon was fearful that he’d fall to his death without making much of an impact in the Cell. He had been here to fight for Ashiakin, and now it looked as if he might pass without as much as destroying the little furball. If Ashiakin was not going to show, Damon thought it would be a complete tragedy if both members of Blank were to exit without a single great event.

However, as Damon sailed through the air, he saw the little white creature. It was still a few feet in front of the corpse, and Damon knew that if he could somehow adjust his trajectory then he could land on the nefarious creature. Then, at the very least, he would have died making a great sacrifice for the Cage.

As the air cackled and popped, Damon summersaulted in mid air, moving so gracefully for a moment it felt like it didn’t matter he would have to land. For brief seconds, he was hanging in air. Then, Damon headed back down to the ground, falling quickly, and straight onto the furball.

[Chelsi]

Damon's rallying cry was the perfect cover. With everyone pretty much united against the furball, Chelsi would be free to do as she pleased. Which at the moment, was striking Sarah Dalios in the back of the head with a long, hard piece of specially treated mammoth bone. Her first action came with a wave of her left hand, as she cast one of her most simple curses. One that would cause Sarah's eyes to well up with tears and haze, like she had just spent the afternoon in front of the sink, washing and cutting onions. The time and duration of the spell depended on the victims force of will, but would last at least five to thirty seconds. More than enough time to finish the busty young Lavinian.

But then, confident that her spell had taken affect, even though she could not see the young woman's face, a notion came over Chelsi. A silly one that defied all of Chelsi's pragmatic logic.

If the girl's neutrilized, why not go help the kid with the fuzz-ball problem?

...

Unfortunetly for Sarah, it was only a notion, and her arms were already in the process of lifting her weapon high over her head, and bringing it down into the back of Sarah's skull.

Still the immoral young witch felt something as her bokken decended. What was it, remorse?

Flickers of memory licked at Chelsi's subconcious, like the beginnings of a brushfire. Memories of a time before the sorceress resorted to petty goonery. Before she needed to. A time where she found herself surrounded by friends and companions. A brief period of contentedness where despite the bad reputation of her bandit allies, she was among people with good intentions and morality.

The thoughts were almost overwhelming, and for a brief moment, Chelsi yearned for those moments again. But yearning wasn't enough, and the backstab was complete, as her blow connected with a solid "THWACK!"

Chelsi reeled slightly, as her weapon reverberated in her hands from the force of the impact, sending a sharp pain up the length of her arms, just as Storm unleashed his electrical assault. Chelsi's hair begain to rise as the static energy in the arena began to increase rapidly. She released her grip on her weapon with one hand, and tried without success to smooth down her hair, choosing vainity over over defense.

Somethings never changed.

[Ter-Thok]

Ter-Thok scowled as his blade missed it's mark. He pulled the Electro-Prod roughly from the floor and began searching for his erstwhile quarry. In accordance with the words of the young boy who had, until just then, failed to register on the demon's radar, Ter-Thok spoke, "The theatrical man-child is pretty much right, really. Whatever that thing is...oh, none of you are listening. Yeah, I should have expected that. Right." He prodded the fallen woman with the butt of his weapon, then shrugged and let his hooves hit the floor, finding himself suddenly in the Mystical Forest of Crotches. He did not dwell on this fact, as the joining of the hips held little significance to a genderless organism.

Scanning the cage, which Ter-Thok insisted had not been part of the original plan for this tournament despite all evidence to the contrary, the demon's eyes immediately focused on the slimy gent whose fingers were caressing a steel cage bar like...something hard and cylindrical that a human male would enjoy caressing; perhaps there was a snappier metaphor available? Ah well. Even if his literary devices were not as sharp as they might be, Ter-Thok knew that tell-tale crackle in the air as voltage poured out of the sleazy creature's hands. Stamping his hooves gratefully in the warm, insulating dirt on the floor, Ter-Thok levered his own instrument of electrocution, the spear-like weapon glinting as the demon charged towards his latest target, the ball of fuzz momentarily forgotten.

Up in the stands, occupying somewhere in the neighborhood of five and three-quarters of a seat, was Hans, Ter-Thok's loyal ooze employee. The seven-foot, cohesive ball of crimson slime's interior was marred with dozens of containers of rapidly dissolving snack food, several species of vermin common to public arenas, and the hat of one man unfortunate enough to fall asleep on the ooze's side. Said man shifted in his fitful slumber, and slumped to the spectator on his left, a rather regally dressed elf, who sighed and shook his head. Summoning up all of his strength (of which there was, indeed, a surplus), Hans shouted encouraging words towards the cage.

"WOOOOOOOO! GO BOSS! HANS KNOW BOSS CAN DOES IT!" the ooze turned to his right, beaming mouthlessly at the middle-aged orcish couple who had turned out for the fight, "DAT HANS' BOSS OUT DERE. HANS TOTE LEE PURD OF BOSS. BOSS SAY TO HANS, 'HANS, YOU GIVE PEOPLE DESE C'LECT BULL TRADE CARDS OF BOSS, DEN DEY HOOKED FOR LEAF. 'SPECIAL LEE CHILLINS," The orcs gingerly accepted the small, laminated rectangles of cardboard. The husband peered over his mousbone spectacles, seeing what appeared to be a picture of Ter-Thok holding a very large, green fruit. The caption read "Uh-Oh! What A Melon!". The orcish hutwife was equally confused, as hers showed the demon in a seedy bar, using a pool cue to bludgeon a small man. Quite incongruously, the caption went "A Wonderful Day for A Birthday!".

"What seven hells be dis?" she inquired in a feminine, phlegmy rumble, as she smoothed out her monkeyskin frock.

"Me not know, deer ist. But me sud'nlee want 'nother one."

"HA HA! GREENYMAN AN' LUVELY LADY HAVE WAIT 'TIL NEXT ROUND!" the ooze laughed as he turned to give his pitch to a now quite conscious man wondering, all at once, why the elf next to him was so annoyed, why there was a red stain on one side of his face, and where the devil his hat had gotten to.

[AsukaStrikes]

Release.

Never had the word sounded sweeter to Asuka than the moment that... thing relinquished its hold over the swordmaiden's body in the presence of her fiery willpower. The creature's simple mind was surprisingly difficult to understand, however, as the only think the lass was able to make out during her few secinds of captivity were swirling colors and incoherent noises surrounding the core of its own mind. What was it? Where did it came from? What were its motivations, its thoughts, its will? These questions would linger long after this little brush with death had ended, even though the girl would rather forget the entire ordeal. She had no intention of reliving the experience of being the slave of another. No way she was going to let herself turn into a zombie ever again.

The steel mesh bars rattled in excitement the moment her limp form struck the cage, bouncing weakly against its solid hold. The girl was completely unaware her intended target was now directly above her, dangling precariously ten feet above her head and rallying the others to slay the evil furry beast. Asuka would rather slice the boy's leg open for attempting such a useless tactic had she not been completely drained of all strength. Fighting in the physical realm, clashing blades and trading blows with the legends around her, was already taxing enough for the young girl. Fighting for control her body, even though it was a purely spiritual experience, was just too much for the lass.

The weary Akashiman didn't even have enough strength to push off the steel mesh when the Defiler's searing shock erupted around the entire cage. She didn't even have the strength to open her eyes and see the blue-white tendrils racing along the chain links like bees to honey. She had no way of escape.

The pain came at her with loud Crackle Crack in its wake, paralyzing the girl's entire body as her arms tore away at odd angles, the matted copper locks fraying and standing on ends. Asuka couldn't remember much of anything during the ordeal except that she screamed. Screamed like those ungodly harpies that once followed her out of Akashima. She thought those voices were beyond annoying already, but then again the phrase "Above the skies, there is a sky" proved its worth for her to see.

The electrocution lasted for only a few seconds, feeling more like an eternity, as the lass was launched twenty feet across the arena like a discarded ragdoll against the unforgiving Autumn gust. A strip of dust erupted as the writhing body collided and rolled, bouncing inhumanly into the air a few turns before coming to a rest at the foot of a Dahlios thief. Asuka felt like yelling at the top of her lungs as her blood boiled and shot through her teeth, painting the brown arena with blobs of vermillion worth a few healthy gold coins as abstract art. But she didn't care how much it would fetch in the art market, anyways. All the lass could think of was the sheer pain ripping mercilessy through her fractured body.

The shock therapy, a strange, inhuman way, revived the lass for a few seconds just enough to look up at the other combatant inside the Cell. Peering painfully through watery eyes, Asuka could have sworn it was that elusive Lavinian thief she had met back in the Serenti.

"... S... Se... th...?" That was all the fried fighter could muster before collapsing into unconsciousness, crimson drips trickling out through her ears and nose. The lass was down for the count, battered and well-done. For the time being. Until she would rise again to return the favor to the bastard that electrocuted her.

[Lavinian Pride]

Thwack!

The sound resounded through the arena as Sarah collapsed on her hands and knees. Pain rippled through her slight frame as she closed her eyes fighting back the stinging tears. Shuddering as it traveled down her spine and back again she held back the groan of pain, not even giving her attacker the satisfaction of hearing her reaction. Shaking her head she fought through the pain trying to lessen it as she felt something hot on the back of her neck.

Before she had even a chance to say anything she saw a body collapse before her. The girl was a red head, and someone she didn't even recognize, yet the girl looked at her. Her glassy eyes held a far away look that seemed to see right through the Lavinian, as she looked upon Sarah. The fallen warrior’s eyes focused as best they could, before she spoke the one name she never wanted to be called again. Seth.

Reaching back there she felt the beginnings of a genuine goose egg bump. Something she had only heard related to her when talking about parent’s old scolding and beatings. Still it amazed her how much that simple bump hurt, and even worse how much blood it had drawn. As she looked over her shoulder she saw the culprit. Chelsi, the Brotherhood reject had backstabbed her.

There was only one course. The girl was obviously off guard from the electricity that coursed through the arena. Growling lowly letting a bit of the anger at being called by that bastard's name from the dying warrior she drew a thorn before she lunged, stabbing right at the black haired witch. As she did so she growled between her lips, "Next time make it metal and save me the headache!"

She was infuriated by the attack, and the fact she had to endure such a disgraceful act, was something she would not forgive.

[hushpuppy]

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

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

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

[Storm Veritas]

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, you whore!

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

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

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

[Ter-Thok]

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

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

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

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

[Chelsi]

The events of the Cell were rapidly becoming a blur.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[AsukaStrikes]

Numbing. Crackling. Paralyzing.

Pain.

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

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

C- Curse you!

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

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

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

Clank!

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

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

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

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

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

Storm... Veritas...

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

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

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

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

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

[INDK]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Ter-Thok]

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

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

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

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

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

[hushpuppy]

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

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

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

[INDK]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Ter-Thok]

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

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

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

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

[Storm Veritas]

((Asuka, I PMd you but didn’t get a response. Let me know if you’re not cool with the bunny and I’ll change my post around.))

By the time he thought to move, it was on him, the attack he should have seen coming, the assault that he should have evaded easily. Asuka had sprinted at him, her feet tiny pistons in the earth, her body a scarlet blur across the Cell floor. When she launched a vicious assault at him, he was able to turn slightly and rock to his heels before being ravaged by the terrible attack. He wouldn’t know what hurt for some time, his head knocking hard on the steel bars that lined the cell around the fence. The lights went out quickly, and as the world dulled he heard the passing of more fleet feet.

It was Damon moving past him, but he was nowhere near cognizant enough to stop the lad. The boy would continue on safely, and Veritas was in no position to challenge anyone. Were he to stand against any of them now, it would spell doom for him.

Urgh… whore… bring it together…

In his weakened state, he was not surprised to find himself alone again, Sarah Dahlios nowhere to be found, nowhere to aid him. It was fortunate, rather, that none took the opportunity to strike down a wounded man. He was certainly vulnerable enough, and hadn’t exactly found a home for himself amongst the upper echelon of Althanas’ most loved. After a few seconds, painful, punch-drunk moments that passed like hours, he could stumble forward, rocking himself to a crouch on unsteady feet. There was noise and screaming and chaos, but the disrupting element now was the smell of smoke.

Oh shit, it’s spreading much too fast…

And so this would be it. Damon and the demon thing were gone, out (could it be) through the fence and out of sight. A tumult from above, and he saw the goblin-thing leaving through a hole in the ceiling of the cage. Perhaps the only way out. Climbing to the top would be perilous, however, as he would be a sitting duck the whole time. Curiously, a pang of compassion hit him as he looked at the downed Asuka.

Yeah, you came for me, fair enough. Just payback, I suppose. Can’t die here, not like this. Not now.

The potential for being heralded as “heroic” didn’t escape him, and it was a romantic notion. He couldn’t climb the cage, he sure as hell couldn’t go through the weak fence, but there was another way. Suspending his hands inches around one of the fence rods, he fired a tremendous pulse of energy between his long fingers. At first, the resistance was negligible in the steel, but over the spanse of a few seconds he felt the heat to his palms. The metal softened, and finally yielded in a molten drip, the bar bending slightly. He repeated the process for a section lower on the same bar, the section falling to the ground with a gentle, hollow thud. Checking over his shoulders, he was forced to cover his face with a cloth covered hand as the smoke began to burn his eyes.

Not much time. Keep moving. Keep moving.

With a dagger in his hand, he sent his charge once more, the blade glowing a fiery orange in seconds. He was able to cleave the links of the fence quite easily with a smooth, sliding loop. The deliberate circular motion left a large section of fence falling to the ground, disconnected and lifeless. A giant mouse hole remained, and he felt perfect as the rat to sneak through. He lurched a foot through the metal before he stopped, turning in spite of himself.

Don’t leave the girl. You would deserve better, and so does she.

He fought with himself as he moved, unsure now of what he was doing. Textbook idiocy, suicidal, foolish, and irreparably moral. Hooking the warrior woman under her limp armpits, he turned her and dragged her back. Stuck in the back with a metal bar for his troubles as he tried to escape, he was met with well-wishers who quickly stepped forward to the scarlet-haired soldier, grabbing her with the intention of ushering her to safety. She would be fine.

Fine and set to kill you another day, you f*cking fool.

He was able to stumble outside in a drunken haze, relishing in the cool breath of fresh air as the inside burned to hell. There were still others inside, but he felt as though that Murakama girl had likely survived. He had done something good, but the smoke in his lungs forced him to hack half a lung in vile reproach of the entire set of events. It probably wouldn’t matter that he had helped, his equity of evil well founded upon Althanas.

But it felt damned good, he thought. Within a few moments, walking away from the amphitheater of brimstone and fire, he was searching suit pockets for a cigarette. This one would take some time to soak in.

[Lavinian Pride]

Sarah had been conspired against from the beginning. It seemed even the fates had decreed she be destroyed for her arrogance, for her ambition, for her pride. As she tried to stab the witch in the gut, all she got was a hip and a tear in what apparently was Chelsi's favorite skirt. The response was brutal as the growing lump on her head received yet another sharp rap, this time from the butt of a bokken. Pain seared into her as she felt the shot connect with the back of her skull.

What was supposed to be simple had turned ugly with the cheap shot from behind. As she fell to the ground the thorn she had grabbed slid from her grasp clattering across the field as she sprawled on the ground. Laying still she was going to play dead, try to get away. As she tried to wait for the witch to move on in the ensuing chaos, Sarah Dahlios was once again tormented, this time from within.

Pain began to flair up in every nerve of her body, causing her eyes to tear up in sympathy. She was trying to hold on, oh how she tried. As the pain overwhelmed her sense the hits to the head didn't seem so bad, compared to the pain that enveloped her, tried to embrace her to oblivion, sound, sight, and taste went out the window as the girl curled up into a ball trying to escape what she knew was Seth's fault.

The worst part came when she felt pain along her back, fresh and sharp. It was so overwhelming she nearly passed out. To the observer her back now had two sets of small cuts, opened in sympathy for what the other half of her soul was going through. They bled each one in roughly the pattern of the talons of a bird. As she lay still she let the pain envelope her, and tried to shrug it off, she didn't need to succumb, she couldn't afford to as the smoke hovered over her. She thanked the gods for the grace that she was low enough to breathe the only good air left in the cage as she lay perfectly still tears streaming down her face as she did so.

However, it was the pain to the gut that finally got her, and even the vixen of Lavinya couldn't hold out against that much pain. As gradual as the others were, this was the final straw, and the girl slumped, completely out of the fight. Her fate was sealed when she had heard Seth was in the cell, and now she understood why. Dahlios wouldn't try to protect himself, pain was his weapon, his style of fighting never trying to protect but cause the most pain possible.

Finally the girl who didn't even ask for this pain succumbed, and blissfully drifted in sleep, unable to hold out any longer.

[Chelsi]

((Sarah, if anything about the post doesn’t work for you, PM me and I’ll change it.))

Her latest strike connecting solidly, Chelsi felt the pull, as the Lavinian girl who was caught on her skirt, slumped to the ground, releasing her grip on the vicious little knife she was holding. The young sorceress took a few moments to unhook it from the tear, and tossed it to the other side of the arena, taking note as she did, how empty the cage had become.

I… did it!

Chelsi was actually somewhat surprised. She had defeated the girl and the majority of the other participants in her cell were now abandoning it. Looking around, Chelsi seemed to be the only one remaining that she could see.

If it weren’t for the thickening clouds of smoke, Chelsi would have been elated. She was the soul survivor! If only the arena weren’t on fire…

It pained Chelsi to have to leave. She was certain that if she could stand the heat and smoke, she would be declared the winner and would move on to the next round. But as a plume of the thick black smoke wafted into her nostrils, the young witch had to concede that it wasn’t possible. The only option left was escape. The only question was… Should she save the girl lying unconscious at her feet?

“What do you think?” Chelsi asked the limp form at the tip of her Delyn-toed boots. “Are you worth saving? You weren’t a very worthy opponent. And on top of that, you wrecked my favorite… my ONLY skirt. I have half a mind to just leave you here to burn.”

Chelsi sunk her Delyn capped footwear into the girl’s ribs once, for good measure as she pondered her course of action.

It would be difficult to escape through the hole in the cage’s roof between the two bars around the one Ter-Thok had released. And it would be impossible if she took the girl with her. But there was also the newly created hole that Storm had just made. It seemed the most plausible route, and with a little effort, Chelsi would be able to haul the girl over there as well.

The conflicted witch looked over the body of the girl lying at her feet. It would be a shame to leave a beauty like that to get all burned and scarred. But more importantly…

Hmm,

Chelsi’s eyes came to rest on the girl’s hip where sat a hefty belt pouch, full of gold coin.

“Alright, how about a trade? Your money for your life?” Chelsi asked the girl, knowing full well she wasn’t in any position to decline the deal.

Moments later, Chelsi was none too gently, pulling the girls limp body through the hole in the cage, and towards the exit where a few of the other competitors now stood.

With a final sigh, and knowing she had probably just missed her chance to be declared the first round winner of The Cell, Chelsi knelt over the Lavinian and flicked open the clasp on her pouch, relieving her of three-hundred or so coins.

With that, Chelsi moved off to find whoever it was that was passing around all the free ale.

[INDK]

The feeling of being in front of the crowd now had suddenly become heady. For the first time in the cell, Damon had imagined himself winning it. Perhaps he never would have had this revelation had Ashiakin entered, but as it was it provided a great opportunity for him. He only regretted wasting so much time earlier on. “This would have been easy to win had I never gotten hurt,” he realized.

Damon wasn’t sure what kind of attack the little demon was preparing for him, but the boy decided to act quickly, pulling out a throwing knife just in case it became necessary. He also dropped his sword in favor of a blunt titanium pole, as if he was preparing more for a defensive stance than an attacking one. He was injured, and time was certainly on the side of the little demon, but the sudden thought of all he could win had suddenly transformed the boy from his normal care free self into a conservative and calculating veteran. He was thinking everythint through, overthinking, almost to the point of inaction as the demon brought his weapon forwards.

He was being insulted, and some of the crowd laughed as he spoke, but Damon didn’t really care all that much. He was too busy thinking to bristle under the kind of cheeky insults that would have normally been quite galling. “Shut up!” he demanded as the demon fidgeted with a weapon of some sorts. “You either fight me or surrender, this is not a war of words.”

Everything Damon was saying sounded particularly trite and even a bit rehearsed, as if the boy was now playing out a fantasy that he had thought out numerous times within his head. And in fact, it was almost exactly like the kinds of true fairytales that were so prevalent on Althanas. Trite challenges destroyed in a smoldering backdrop, and attentive crowd, vile antagonist and most importantly, none other than Damon Kaosi playing the hero role.

His black eyes glistened with anticipation and Damon moved forwards, knowing that he would have to be careful when the demon had some kind of blobby life form as an assistant. Given how injured he was, Damon knew that there would be only one way that he could finish off the two. He was going to have to use his strongest attack.

Once within range, Damon hit the ground hard with his fist, readying for any attack the demon might send his way. He began to spin quickly, and soon a tornado of lasers and organic debris spread out from around his body. Within it, Damon staggered, the blood loss and wounded knee jeopardizing his equilibrium. However, the boy was finally dedicated to victory, and he was determined not to come so far only to lose.

It was time for Damon Kaosi to update his own legend.

[Ter-Thok]

Ter-Thok shielded his eyes from the sudden storm surrounding the apparently useless young boy. The hunk of burning timber the demon had intended for a projectile had been caught in the conflagrance and tossed uselessly aside. Ter-Thok abandoned his perch in the face of the onslaught, ducking towards his semi-liquid underling. "HANS!" he shouted, "POSITION FOURTEEN! GO! GO!" The ooze drew himself up to his full diameter, pride glowing in his eyes. He bulged forward, a concavity forming behind him. Hans pushed outwards like a sail in a hurricane, his hardened eyes glaring daggers at the tornado of what were, apparently, lasers, which dissipated harmlessly upon hitting the creature's body. Hans stretched himself out farther and thinner, shielding the crowd from the attack as much as possible.

The ooze's employer grinned obligingly at the former spectators, now brought slightly too close to the action. "You see this?" Ter-Thok inquired, "A citizen of your own planet putting all of you in danger. Typical hero, if you ask me; all about fighting some abstract perception of 'evil'. Never care about the common people. Let me tell you fine people something: unlike some people, I care about the average citizen. This is why, when I establish the Embassy of Space in the great city of Radasanth, I fully intend to listen to you, the fine people of this good country. However, out of my desire for you and your children to enjoy this fine tournament, I have, at my personal expense, printed these,"

Ter-Thok drew from his pocket a large wooden box. He held it aloft a moment, then sent it floating gently into the crowd. It opened with a slight creak, and several foil-wrapped packages levitated out in a circle. Each one was, as necessary, quite shiny, and emblazoned with the image of a fighter. "Each one of these packets contains ten trading cards, featuring any and all of the competitors in the starting rounds of these-" Suddenly, a laser pierced Hans' bulk, roasting one of the card packets and, incidentally, striking an unfortunate bat that had emerged a bit too early to hunt for mosquitoes. The demon grinned apologetically to the crowd, and dashed back towards his employee. "Uh, Hans? Little close that time. Might be advisable to thicken up a little.

"HANS SORRY, BOSS. HANS NOT CAN DOES DIS FOR MUCH LONGER."

"Shit. Well, try and hold it until the cards are passed out, then pretend like he, y'know, beat ya. Comprendes?"

"HAHA, BOSS ALWAYS HAVE GOOD PLANE!"

"Damn right I do," Ter-Thok swaggered back to the crowd, and began handing out the packets of cards. First taste's free... he thought to himself. After a moment, Hans cried out in what he probably believed was agony, and reconstituted into his typical spheroid shape. The demon imitated alarm, shouting, "Run! He's going to kill you all!" before disappearing off into the distance himself, blob in tow.

[INDK]

From the center of his tornado, Damon did not see much. He could hear very little as well, and wasn’t even aware that he’d managed to make some kind of connection with Hans. Thus, the boy hung on diligently to this weapon, maintaining the mixed tempest for as long as he could before it finally subsided. Then, exhausted both in energy and fluids, Damon crumbled down onto the ground, collapsing under the weight of just one good knee.

With that, Damon looked around. He was drenched in blood and sweat, and all around him people were filing out of the arena. The boy couldn’t know why, and he was deeply hurt.

“I won…” he managed weakly. “I… won…?” Damon said again, though this time it seemed like more of a question than an assertion of a job well done.

It didn’t seem to matter much. No one was around to celebrate his victory. Damon also couldn’t be sure, but there were no remains anywhere to suggest that the little demon and his blob had perished. It was a general tragedy for the boy, and his eyes brimmed with tears of frustration and self pity. His fairytale had suddenly found itself cascading in on itself, like a house of cards collapsing in the wind. A reflexive shudder ran down Damon’s spine, and for a moment he felt like there was no choice but to give up forever.

“I hate this…” he said. He was injured and bloody, and had sucked up his pain for the ultimate prize. Now, he wasn’t even graced with the ignominy of defeat. The people milling out of the arena were telling Damon that even if he won, they couldn’t care less. That stung more than anything else, that he had invested so much in something that wasn’t even a great event.

Any claims to the legend of his past self were wasted on the day, and now Damon looked towards people milling out with despondency. He wished Ashiakin had been there, the ice demon would have guided him and prevented him from making this much of a fool of himself. Everything he had just attempted now ended up being of no avail. His life in the Cell was about to pass like a minor event. Damon sniffled, and then rubbed away at a tear.

Soon, they would turn off the lights.

[Ther]

Advancing: Hushpuppy, Ter-Thok*, INDK*, Storm Veritas*

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

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

Lavinian Pride-
Introduction: 6
Setting: 6
Character: 6
Dialogue: 7
Rising Action: 5
Climax: 5
Conclusion: 4
Strategy: 5
Writing Style: 7
Wild Card: 6
Total: 57/100

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

hushpuppy-
Introduction: 6
Setting: 6
Character: 7
Dialogue: 7
Rising Action: 8
Climax: 5
Conclusion: 6
Strategy: 6
Writing Style: 8
Wild Card: 7
Total: 66/100

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

Chelsi gets 140 EXP

[Ther]

Hushpuppy gets 3,738 EXP and 300 GP. Raises to Level 1.

Ter-Thok gets 3,575 EXP and 300 GP. Raises to Level 1.

INDK gets, 3,575 EXP and 300 GP.

Storm Veritas gets 3,575 EXP and 300 GP. Raises to Level 6.

AsukaStrikes gets 975 EXP and 100 GP. Raises to Level 1

Lavinian Pride gets 975 EXP and 100 GP.

EXP/GP added.