Just for fun, just for fun, just for fun...

[Knave]

They had built knowing that people would come, and with this intention they had stocked it with all the means and provisions it would need to erupt into a display of jaw dropping violence. After all, what else did the monks of Radasanth do, but study the ways in which man destroyed. In the center of an arena whose walls rose up sharply, and whose gates were locked, they had built a city block. Two adjacent rows of buildings faced each other, each fashioned in the most recent of metropolitan architecture with steeple roofs, second floor balconies, and the cheapest of wares that would furnish small stores of drugs, clothing, and cutlery.

Everything had been set up in the most professional of manner, and though cheap, and by extension gaudy, the place had an unwholesome unlived in nature about it. The five or six large houses, which would have gone to a middle class family that assumed itself rich, were bare of the filth, warmth, and comfort that made a home. All the windows shined, the beds made, the table set, and though there was always a light shining, somehow those wonderful monks had frozen the sun at early dusk and the poor copy of a small town looked sleepy and ready for rest.

Sadly, that would not be happening, the stage was set, everything mundane and breakable had been arranged into proper order, and now it was time to watch it burn to the ground.

The doors to the tavern were one of the few things in constant motion, the combatants having nowhere else to go while awaiting the order to begin their contest of might, and had clustered into a makeshift tavern to spend their time laughing and enjoying the company of those they would soon kill… or to enjoy the ail, many a drunk entered the Citadel, winning paid the bills, but losing still bought dinner. One of our heroes had no intentions, he was here to be one of the last men standing, and he was more than equipped for that position.
He had come among them.

The boots of a smiling young man made no noise as he entered the building, when he moved he drew the attention of those around him. Though he couldn’t have been more than five feet and eight inches in height, he struck a spark of fear. So far Ace had made a killing in the arena, and those who had watched him were impressed… and those who knew neither name nor person felt a strange oppression when they realized that this fighter had arrived.

“Alright, women and children, it’s time to get started!” He shouted, throwing up his fists and walking into a hive of scum, gallantry, and heinous licensed murderers. He was met with a wave of agreement and raised drinks, the signal to begin hadn’t been given, and any man who loved a fight would be glad to have Ace Mandelo on the scene. The man took up, and ordered the bartender to poor him a drink, demanding a mug too large, one so great that if he drank from it it would eclipse his head.

[~Humphrey_Nonyton~]

Sitting at the bar and taking in the scene at hand, was a young exorcist named Humphrey Nonyton. A member of the beast-men races, Humphrey was dressed much like a preacher might. However, the overcoat he wore covered much of the lower portion of his face with a large collar. Gloves were worn on the hands of the makai slayer, gloves which were currently wrapped around a chalice. Humphrey was a man of the cloth. He did not drink alcohol, but rather, he ordered an exotic juice that was native to Akashima. It was a popular drink in his tribe that combined several citrus fruits with just the slightest hint of sour lemon. It was a blue-coloured drink that had a particularly strong, but fruity scent.

Humphrey quietly sipped his drink oblivious to the waiting surprise that found it's way mysteriously into their drinks. Humphrey had no way of detecting that surprise, and as such, ingested it along with the rest of his drinks. Humphrey believed in the good nature of people, he believed in the basic desire of people to do the right thing. An idealist, Humphrey was part of a dying world. A world that had no more room for Heroes. As Humphrey drank, another braggart entered the large tavern. Humphrey turned to look towards the fellow and acknowledged him with a courteous inclination of the head.

The exorcist appeared well armed, and, well dressed. His weapons were kept in top condition at all times. They were also kept on his person at all times in case the exorcist had to forcibly spread the word of the spirit warder. Humphrey looked at the bartender for a moment or two, and then turned his attention to he newcomer. He knew this was The Citadel, and anything could happen at any moment.

Just as Humphrey was prepared to introduce himself, the kitsune warrior suddenly felt the pin-point prick of a dagger tip against the back of his neck. The battle had begun. Just as he'd been told, the entire battlefield would suddenly erupt and become a weapon. A weapon of flesh and blood.

The thick scent of booze and sweat touched the kitsune's nostrils. He could feel the heat of a large, burly man standing behind him. The kitsune grinned and remained seated. The expression hidden by his high collar. Waiting for a moment or two so that the bandit could make demands, the spirit warder placed a hand quickly on the hilt of his steel katana. Both of his main weapons were strapped along the back of his hip. They formed a neatly organized "x". The rest of his weapons were concealed by the techniques of the Akashiman martial tactics. They were tantos, and they were short blades used for killing strokes.

However, this man, the bandit, would be quickly felled by the acrobat's skills.

"Give me the gold!" The drunkard demanded. "Don't try nothing funny, you hybrid!" He said, further insulting the intelligence of the makai slayer.

"You know..." Humphrey began. "It has come to my attention that you are already dead." He said quietly.

"What...?" The bandit asked, and Humphrey was on the move.

Using his advanced reaction rate and acrobatic skill, the kitsune warrior suddenly pushed forward against the bar. Feeling his biceps bulge tightly underneath his fur, the kitsune quickly pushed upward holding on to the side of the bar. As he pushed upward, he extended a powerful heel kick towards the lower jaw of his opponent. The bandit only saw the kitsune move, but not exactly how the acrobat moved. When the kick connected, Humphrey pushed his heavy weight against the attack. Bones in the bandit's neck broke suddenly, and the kitsune went flying backwards over the bandit's falling body. Humphrey released the bar at the last moment and easily jumped atop a nearby table. Moving to a combat position, there was a flash of light as Humphrey drew Akashiman steel. He held his sword with both hands in the awkward positioning of the Akashiman martial warriors.

Several nearby bandits began to approach the slayer as he prepared for the battle ahead. The entire time there was only one individual who caught his eyes, and that was his true opponent. The man wreaked of demonic essence and power. Humphrey would enjoy purifying this latest foe of the darkness. A doppelganger in human flesh...Humphrey's trained eyes could see the darkness within Ace...

[Knave]

Ace swiveled in his chair and set his back and elbows against the bar, sizing up the room, and giving the least number of people his back. The bartender, a large Akashiman with a full beard, and fearsome size continued to pour drinks and make small talk with those people who entered. Massive, and loud, Ace gave the most obvious man in the room the vantage he’d be able to make the least use of, surveying he crowd for the spark that would light the fire.

It came from the left, a sudden eruption as the quiet tension finally snapped. At a table of four amid laughter and applause a man tilted back his next mug of ale, the green froth flowing down each side of his face and everyone cheering him on as he drowned himself in the chemical courage that would propel him into the fight. He stopped however at the peculiar sensation of in his throat. The bear drink tasted strange, but the pressure that lanced his throat soon moved, carving his neck open with a flick of the wrist. The man who had done it leapt to his feet before anyone else could, and lunged over the table to deal the next man his doom. The cue was taken, a dozen tables erupted into violence, and Ace looked out over it all with a wide smile, content to watch for once as other men fought for their lives.

“Don’t you think you’re being selfish?” A rumbling voice said, its natural tone seeping into the sounds of violence and overpowering them. A turn of the head revealed the Akashiman to be where he was most expected. The clothes of moment were a simple smock laid over his simple black shirt and pants. He shared nod with Ace and watched as another table collapsed under the weight of wrestling forms, sending wooden mugs flying into the air. “Shouldn’t you be out there? While the bar might like your company I’m sure they’d appreciate your attention even more.”

“I’m no opportunist, Sir,” Ace said, leaning his head back as if too lazy to turn around, “But what good is a brawl if it ends before anyone can really get started?” Ace turned brown eyes on bartender, his look of suspicion one of mounting excitement, “and when did monks start joining in their own games?”

The Akashiman shrugged, holding his hands up as if to claim his innocence, even though he admitted his guilt, “No one ever said I was a monk, and no one ever said I was the bartender. I’m just Seigen, a traveler who knows his way around arrows and drink.” Cold eyes narrowed even as the man’s smile widened, and a nervous laugh underplayed the rough and tumble background of violence, flying teeth, and growing heat in the air. “Forgive me if I don’t play fair, but-“ rather than finish his sentence, he lifted his chin and pointed out the beer drenched, badly bleeding, still alive, wildly screaming man that lunged with knife in hand.

No one expects things to be shown on short notice, and the bleeder never knew what hit him as crumpled backward to the ground with a thump, and a clatter as the mug bounced into the crowd. Ace looked after it with a longing that was almost comically forlorn, and then as if nothing had happened, very little in fact, he turned back to Seigen to find him gone. For a giant, the man was astonishingly fast, most likely faster than anyone that size had a right to be.

“Ah well, if he isn’t going to stick around, then why bother worrying about him.” Ace thought, his concern more along the lines of a vague interest, and his worry directed to when the large man would return. The alcohol had attracted quite a few people, but that didn’t mean everyone was inside or apparent.

Getting up, and drawing the knife Ace had stolen in a previous battle, Ace waded into the violence.

[~Humphrey_Nonyton~]

Whilst the combatants positioned themselves all around the chosen combat arena, there were several men discussing matters around a table. The table was in one of the many shady corners of the bar that happened to be positioned farthest from the epicenter of the fight. An argument was currently ongoing between the men sitting around the table. One in particular, a dark skinned man who was staring wildly at the other three men seemed highly agitated. The subject matter, when one dared listen, was quite questionable.

"What do you mean no!?" The dark skinned man yelled suddenly, smacking a large pitcher of alcohol to the side. "I'm telling you, it's the best feeling in all of Althanas, you can't argue with pure pleasure!" The man said. "I must've done it at least a thousand times."

"Yeah probably with boys too!" Another man yelled in an aggravated fashion. His eyes were getting shifty.

"No. No! How dare you!?" The dark-skinned man replied. His rage at the insult clearly rising. "Little boys cannot compare to the pleasure, there is no other pleasure like that pleasure. A booty. A man's butt!" The dark skinned man suddenly jumped up on top of the table. "Now. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way!" He exclaimed.

"Sir! Control yourself." One of the men said.

"I've had just about enough of this. There will be no...." Another man began to yell as he was suddenly cut off by the dark skinned man.

"You choose the hard way!!!" The man exclaimed and suddenly rushed at the largest of the three men...

***

Humphrey stood atop the table for another moment or two when the immediate brawl broke out. At first, wild-eyed men were staring at him from all the native species of Althanas. Humphrey kept his katana in front of his person as his tail lashed about. Excited, there was a hyper-tension in the air all around. It was an aroma that tasted like fried meat.

Humphrey carefully sized up the competition around him. He kept his eyes upon Ace's actions as he finally moved away from the bar and joined the battle at hand. There were many arguments and fights occurring almost simultaneously around the kitsune warrior.

It all happened within the time frame of but a few seconds. The spirit warder jumped towards Ace having no other target currently except for the demon himself. With his sword out in front of him, the acrobat approached without fear. His leap was skillful and graceful, he zipped through the air towards Ace who was in a trajectory that was roughly his general direction already. As the acrobat moved, he suddenly slashed Akashiman steel in Ace's general direction. It was a brawl, there was no right or wrong. Humphrey sensed a demon hidden within Ace, and that's exactly the reasoning behind his sudden attacks.

There was no hesitation, only fluid thought melded into a singular action. The power that Humphrey sensed from the demon was outstanding. It would make a particularly useful trophy to collect. The slash that Humphrey performed was a mid-air one aimed for the throat of Ace. Humphrey went right for the jugular vein. There was no need to hold back. He slashed in a circular, arching attack that moved from left to right. His swing favored the right side of his body. With his trained body, the acrobat was prepared to feint as necessary.

At last, a challenge...

[Knave]

Walking with arms out stretched Ace welcomed the onslaught of chaos as men and women fought for their lives. The floor was soaked with beer, and feet slid and struggled for footing in the seething crowd. There was no room for halberd or katana; axes brought were ineffective, there was no room to swing anything but knives and fists. The exceptions were those whose skill, and sheer luck, allowed them the opportunity to wield their weapons.

A howling shriek of impending violence erupted in the back ground as an Akashiman dressed in yellow robes bent his legs and heaved himself a head and shoulders above all those surrounding himself. The heels of his legs lashed out and cratered the faces of two astonished men who had previously been so eager to accost him; they fell like mountains — crumbling to the ground... The Akashiman made fools of them even as he twisted in mid-air and screaming let loose a single strike of his fist, a third jaw was destroyed as he sent another surprised attacker flying to the ground. Regaining his feet, and raising his hand in the style of strict martial offense. For a split second, all who looked into the eyes of Chuck Lee saw a ghastly light shining there, a light that knew the proper method for breaking the human spirit and killing the immortal soul.

The heavy hands of a giant in the distance locked around the neck of a scrawny bespectacled man, and raised him up to throttle him as the triumphant example of Abraham’s wrath. The man was seven feet in height, and had come in the attire of all modern wrestlers of Corone, almost naked. Clad in shots cut just above his knees and the stovepipe hat that was his trademark the man terrified all who came near him, his face harsh and bristled with stubble. Arrayed around him were his defeated foes, a circular ring of unconscious and bleeding men. Grim and daring the man towered above the others and looked down on those about them as if he were among ants, his eyes searching their faces without recognition and with a single swing hurled the man into ground upon his back.

A woman of common stature, ebony-rolling locks held a drunk and dead man to her chest, her arm wrapped around his neck and their faces pressed together. She held him hostage, her back against the wall and the bloody dirk held in her outstretched fist as she threatened anyone who came near, she was grinning and having the time of life. “Bring your lumpy sack this way, and I’ll part you from it a dozen times!” She taunted, and with that insult, the lumbering cohort of fighting men rushed her, a wall of sweating and hairy men in torn clothes and savage dispositions. With underhanded ease, she sank behind her shield, and dived for the freedom between one man’s legs. In passing, she made good on her promises, and as compatriots clustered around a newly made eunuch she turned for the door, intent on last as long as possible away from the chaos well aware that here sylphic form could be crushed by falling bodies along.

The violence was simply gratuitous, a wild display of base instinct in a wild worship of brutality. The unseen Lawrence could not be more pleased. He felt stronger now than ever before, and with the changing of the seasons and the death of all out door sport in the face of Winter, the Citadel was growing more packed, filled with people who dreamed of inundation with scenes they could never be a part of through either birth or desire. The world as it was served his purposes, but even as he moved to be a part of it his mind was elsewhere spheres of knowledge, collected rumors, and untold lies in concept orbiting the blazing sun that was his mistress, a sun whose touch was both far and wide — an omnimalevolance.

A time will come where I must end this, and in my passing mark, the first chapter as complete. This role grows old as I do, I may arouse passion in others, and wax august in elusive maturity of depth, but there are issues that are more pressing, and acts of greater cost than the perils of battle or maintenance to immortal image. I shall not bear this mantle or this name alone. Perhaps I shall turn my ministrations to the continent, and—

A flash of steel caught Ace’s eye and broke the ramblings of his inner machinations, and breaking his stride Ace abruptly stepped back, a sharp movement that surprised Ace both in the abruptness of the attack and his own full stop. Ace’s hands seized, but he forced them to relax, and rather than drawing any of the blades he kept on his body, he shoved the left in his pockets, and clutching his chest with the remainder looked much aggrieved. “Come now, just because we’re in a hall of drunks doesn’t mean we can’t be civil!” He said over the din, matching the strange beastman’s wariness with something akin to indifference and nothing like animosity. “An eye for decorum is how you recognize a good man from a dead one.” He admonished, above the eroticism of unrefined violence in more than one way. Ace liked to chat and get to know the people he was to kill. Law preferred it as an outlet for things left unsaid, wicked things. One before the other, or not at all.

[~Humphrey_Nonyton~]

(Sorry for my delay sir)

Humphrey's primary attack was evaded with impressive skill. Landing on the ground next to Ace, Humphrey turned his gaze on his target. The fighting had already erupted in earnest all around them. The two could fight in the cover of battle without being impeded by any distracted. Humphrey righted his body and felt his back straighten with tension. It was clear that Ace was a superior foe, and one who liked to talk. Humphrey was a talker as well. Though he used it quite differently than Ace and his apparent lack of imagination could. Humphrey turned on his heels and quickly faced his opponent, moving so that he was now in front of him. Effectively becoming a road-block to whatever destination Ace had in mind. Humphrey's eyes narrowed, and he stared at Ace deep in his eyes.

"I see the shadows that you hide." Humphrey began. "You will be going nowhere, but to Hell!" Feeling the darkness that flowed from the makai-hidden-in-the-vessel-of-a-man, Humphrey readied his elegant Akashiman weapon. "You are an enemy to all that is pure and righteous in this world, devil!" Humphrey said carefully. There was venom in his voice. HIs accent was thick with the Akashiman highlights. Humphrey suddenly attacked Ace as he had before.

Knowing that he was no fool, Humphrey had taken the opportunity to recover momentum from his previous attack. His muscles had tensed, and the acrobat was ready to unleash the full amount of madness that he could. Still, he held his weapon with both hands, tightly. Preparing to attack Ace, Humphrey twisted his upper body towards Ace. When the movement was completed, the acrobat prepared to slash. He sent an elegant attack towards the neck of the makai. Knowing that he had advertised the attack, the maneuver was mainly for feinting purposes. But he would take any hit he could. In such close quarters, Ace would be hard-pressed to successfully evade the kitsune's attack.

Silver light flashed through the air as Humphrey lashed out towards Ace's neck. Then, he prepared the rest of his attack. When the sword had reached the apex of it's swing, Humphrey released a kick from his tensed up leg. He balanced himself on the leg furthest away from Ace and sent the kick towards Ace's stomach. If the maneuver was overzealous, it was quite all right. Humphrey was not going for browny points, he had an enemy to defeat. His sword slash was as skilled as he could make it, and he never removed his eyes from Ace's own. His expression was vicious as he prepared to analyze the damage that his attacks might cause, if any at all. Humphrey was ready for any outcome of his actions, even a counter. He had trained well for the hour he would hunt Makai on his own...

"Your soul will never know peace!" The exorcist yelled.

[Knave]

There was never anything new about the enemies found in the Citadel these days. Ace met the righteous youkai’s accusations of evil with a sphinx like air of utter indifference. Even as men slipped in spilled Shankar*, bled openly on the ground as they had openly exposed the means of a myriad of ambitions, and in waves and crashing, tumbling, thunderous storms of violence crashed against the walls; Ace smirked as though he was on top of the world, and there was not a thing Humphrey could do about it.

“Shadows? There isn’t a thing about me that isn’t clear.” Left hand still sheathed in his pocket, right hand giving a dismissive wave, our hero addressed the eastern demon like a brother still living in his dreams, a fond annoyance. “And save the theatrics for a better stage, no one dies in the Citadel.” His first step followed his dismissive tone, planting his boot on the bare chest of a man who had not live long enough to finish his ale, if the terms were certain death, he would have died long ago, but those monks of madness and mayhem were merciful.

“You seem to be on the wrong page, my demon kin.” The lack of either sincerity or sarcasm stealing what hints there might have been of irony from his casually familiar address, “there isn’t a soul here looking for anything but a place to worship and things worth believing in, I’d think you’d know as much seeing as you’ve come all the way here…” Ace paused in his speech, his face searching, “Humphrey.” Ace had never remembered Humphrey to be one for drama, but he recognized the lack of flare, even impassion to hate, Humphrey was not any different from before.

Oh, they had met in the past and days prior, and while Ace’s pulse did not quicken, or his expression grows anything less than amiable, there was little chance that Lawrence would not indulge in something as rare as this. Retribution was for the righteous, revenge for the wicked, but spite was personal and small and was always the first cut from the list of priorities. The first time they had met, Humphrey had stolen Ace’s prize, cheating with a magical sword where Ace, forced to expend the sum of his power, had been outmatched against the Makai, some new strain of damned unleashed on the face of Althanas. It was small, petty, and meaningless, but Lawrence new nothing of any positive pleasure these days, he deserved this. Barehanded, with blades, all powers, none at all, incredible strength, empty words, he deserved this.

A fat fool stepped from the background then as Ace focused in on his dramatic foe, the timing ill with the rest of the world as his violent carousal threatened to barrel Ace’s smaller form from his feet to the floor in a wide armed lunge that promised defeat to lesser men. At the same time, Humphrey heaved his entire body into the motion of a single strike at Ace’s neck. Hidden beneath the shirt and steel that lined Ace’s chest, the jade statue of a cat hung with immaculate care, its green eyes glowing as Ace vanished, displacing his entire being with something more akin to sleight of hand than magic.

Dilfram was confused as well when the man…boy, he had sought to crush for his ambitious impudence became little more than a breeze that ducked his arms with a turn. Numb to pain, numb to suffering, he would only realize at the last moment where his little victory had gone before two hands seized his middle and used him as a shield to stop another’s blow. The blade that kitsune bastard dipped through skin and bone and stomach, parted him through a dozen ribs to pool blood and liberated matter from his gut to the ground. He was then kicked; it did no more harm, but threw the body back on its wielder back a stumbling foot.

Ace looked over the shoulder of his savior; his expression filled with the kind of mirth only the truly cynical are capable of, things would always proceed beyond the point of grief and pessimism. Standing as though he had rescued a corpse and talking to a compatriot Ace voiced his opinion, “We’d do good work together, you and I, a shame only one of us can make it out alive.” Shifting the weight, lifting with his legs, Ace raised the body overhead, and gave voice to all the justification any in that room needed, “ Save your oaths for challenge instead of a beating!” With that, he proceeded with his secondary objective, to make Humphrey regret, heaving the better of three hundred pounds through the air to give his shield the crushing victory it had desired. To cut the body in half would bath Humphrey in too much blood to do anything but blind and soil him, and to take the force would force Humphrey to surrender the ground beneath his feet.

His energy taxed by the exertion, his very nature demanding it, Ace wiped blood and sweat from his brow with satisfaction, and watched the rise and inevitable fall of his mighty weapon. Perhaps he’d meet Humphrey’s stupid sword with every able body he could find. Thee were so many reasons to smile at that.

[~Humphrey_Nonyton~]

Indeed, Humphrey had cut a target, but not the target he had intended. A third party interfered in the match between Humphrey and Ace, a fat man with waves of blubber marring his appearance. The man had pin-point blue eyes that stared with a chemically driven hatred. Humphrey felt no regret cutting the man, it was a life-or-death situation. He whispered a silent prayer for the man's soul and prepared to continue when the next part of Ace's dance happened. He's fast, he has skill and power... Humphrey managed to think as the body was hurled his way. There was only one option for the kitsune, and that was to head up. Humphrey leaped upward with powerfully knotted legs, and further boosted his jump by kicking off the body with his massive weight.

Humphrey saw the body's general momentum change, hurling in a slightly altered direction than intended. Grasping his sword in one hand, Humphrey clutched a the rafters with his free hand and hoisted himself upwards with his acrobatics skills. He heard the chaos in the bar, and for a moment studied the various battles occurring all around them. Humphrey then decided to alter his tactics, never noticing the trickles of blood that were slowly pouring from his nostril. As he stared downward at the chaos, he felt a little woozy for a few seconds. It passed, however, and then he found Ace once again, he'd lost sight of him for a few moments due to the fat man's actions.

Then, there was a sudden whizzing noise, as someone armed with a crossbow fired at Humphrey. Humphrey reacted to the best of his capacity, and slashed at the incoming bolt. It was too late to tell where the shot had been fired from. The sword cut wood in half, cleanly, and sent the bolt falling down to the floor below. Humphrey then quickly jumped across the rafters moving towards Ace. Ace was the primary target, because his power was clearly demonic. He speaks of alliances, and calls me a demonic kin. Damn him! Humphrey knew the silver tongue of demons all too well, they oft attempted to bring about the corruption of men. Humphrey would not be having any of that.

When he was close enough, Humphrey jumped off the rafters, and leaped in a flawless angle towards his opponent. He extended one of his legs towards Ace's head. He moved so that his body was positioned in a leaping kick to his opponent. It was graceful, and the movement was without hesitation, there was no fear in the heart of the fox. Readying his sword, Humphrey prepared to cut Ace should his kick connect. If he missed, there would be a plan for that as well. Humphrey felt alive when he was slaying one of those bastard demons. That was for certain. Humphrey was counting off the seconds before his bare feet could potentially strike his foe. He aimed for the man's temple. He knew Ace had significant strength, so he was going for a quick knock-out for the fight, otherwise, Humphrey knew he stood no chance.

[Knave]

Through some trick of motion, Ace could only suspect was humanly possible, but clearly within the youkai’s power to spring from flying bodies to rafters without complication. “Well…wow…that was impressive.” Ace watched the lesser fiend clamor into the rafters after spring boarding off the airborne missile of his kill. Afforded time to gaze up for the briefest of moments, Ace gave those lofty shadows a salute the promised they would meet again. With that raised hand, Ace wheeled about, and with the back of it laid a dwarf low. Seconds could pass like eons, sensations of illusory time all perception, but all things being in transition, Ace swept up in chaos could hardly find time to think.

Moving to some primal rhythm his inhumanity could not inhibit or likely preyed upon, Ace made a boisterous show of force. His voice among many shouting, his laughter alone innocent, his expressions impassioned with fulminating gestures of violence and the wild eye of eager exuberance. He bettered every man, woman, elf, and giant he laid hands on too. No threat once levied would he let fail, clamoring through bodies and fists to meet the one who would catch his eye. Where others came with knives, blades, broken chairs, the legs torn from tables, they found empty hands and closed fists.

The heady, overwhelming stench of alcohol filled Ace’s head and dragged across his skin into pours. Senses attuned without distinction or discrimination, there was only the almost pleasant distraction of pain and impact. Ace to his credit did not fall, stumble, or recoil, but stared with rapt glee over the mountains of another man’s fist. The slick floor beneath his feet gave ground before he did.

Antoine Fichier, a stout gentleman of thirty-nine, a butcher by profession rather than sport, furrowed his receding hairline, and bit down on the stump of his cigar where doubtless some unlucky fool had had the audacity to make him bite down. This was the archetype of a man born to the wrong family at the wrong time, a daring figure whose shadow made men small—his size, his power, his stature alone spoke to men’s souls and taught them animal fear! And here he sensed another.

There was not time enough for pretty stances, or an exchange of words, all dialogue was physical, and that form would suffice. While two heads taller than average people, and bit more than that with Ace, Antoine felt the violent shock from his abdomen and resisted its urge to bow his head. Breath and tobacco, long united in his lungs, escaped him. Antoine’s reply was simple, he reared back with a speed nothing so large should have, and laid the hammer of his forearm across Ace’s raised right, and sent him skittering back through the clearing their presence demanded from the chaos of unaimed combat.

The hero recoiled, and attacked as the giant advanced, the Makai had been the largest foe Ace had ever placed himself before. There was no comparison! Attacking while his opponent advanced, rushing in where devils knew their match, Ace jump returned. “King” Fischier, fist cocked to destroy met Ace who did the same.

The difference in size was too great, Lawrence could see that. While he carried on an open dialogue, speaking with him-self as if he were many a division instead of one manifold, at Lawrence’s core was a will for victory that doubled as a will for life. While Ace was the face of this show, Lawrence decided what was real. Truth followed form.

Antoine would forever be sure that his aim had been true; he would call it the work of the Thayne that Ace’s neck had not snapped. However, the mind plays tricks, and he would always remember the way Ace’s features had smeared in the open air. It was all a blur anyway, perhaps he had had too much to drink, but the next moment was crystalline in memory. The impact had been audible; Ace’s entire body turned into a vicious swing, and already ready, the next one accompanied itself with the wet snap of two gigantic ribs.

The fight finished, the terms: to the death. Ace’s stride never slowed as he beat the man to his knees, and made one final show of refusing the man an unconscious place among the bodies. When Ace finished, Antoine’s eyes blackened and swelled to the point of being gone, and teeth littered the ground. It was a moment of victory for the warrior. It was a moment of sorrow from the priest who cared for men’s lives while they lived. All—any—would find time to reflect from one fellow on another. Ace simply dropped the body.

Bought a second’s rest, Ace was loathe to take it, the clamor of mammonism in the air, the search for glory, the souls desperate to depart as they tried to fill themselves on some visceral meaning to all the mindless madness. What was there not to hate about being in such a group; where no one was certain, almost no one familiar, and, certainly, nothing was personal. Looking left and right, Lawrence ached for silence. He almost missed—all ruminations must end, this one by a solid foot to the face.

Ace was knocked from his feet, head first. The world was not shaking, but alternating between sound and silence, shades of light and darkness, vertigo and motionlessness, and a world constantly revolving in the wrong direction. The one thing that stayed in his mind was the foot, whose ankle his hand enclosed, the leg that led from there, and the owner of this new insult. Electricity surged in Ace’s palm, the kind of power that induced creatures of flesh to helpless, paralytic seizure, and hearts to throbbing agony. There was no visible sign of any of this though, just the grasp of one man on another even as he was finally taken down. A clutching, grasping left hand searched to accompany the right, seeking to drag Humphrey further into this hell. Damn all plans, there are simply some things that were inevitable.

[~Humphrey_Nonyton~]

Meanwhile--

All around the chaotic storm of violence, there were warriors and magi of every sort fighting it out. Several battles were going on which were a smaller piece of an uglier machine. The machine called devastation. Blood had already formed a thick layer on the floor making it quite slick to walk on. People representing all races of Althanas had to struggle against the environmental disaster. Nearby, a man grabbed another and slammed his head into the bar of the tavern. People did not need a reason to fight, they just fought. Amongst the warriors, was the dark-skinned man named as Fleece. He was a man from Kebiras, and like all Kebirans he possessed unique talents and power. He had already bested five men in a matter of moments.

Blood and gore dripped off his knuckles as he stood there gasping in the glory that was to be had. Fleece carefully studied some of the nearby brawls, and readied his weapon. A simple combat-knife made of the green-material called Plynt. It too, dripped blood in thick rivulets to the floor. Fleece watched the big man, Ace, take people down with ease and decided to avoid that quagmire. Instead, his attention went to the strange Akashiman he had noticed earlier who had directly confronted Ace without fear. Fleece knew that the Akashiman had merit and skill. That would be a worthy opponent indeed. When Fleece turned his attention away from Ace, there was a sudden crash through the window of the tavern.

All around, outside, the entire township had erupted in a fierce battle. Several new combatants entered the battle from outside but this new lot was more serious than the last bunch. Fleece felt a certain evil emanating from the bunch. They were six-strong and wore distinct uniforms that meant they were from only one organization: The Syndicate. Those men were probably hired by some superior officer that lurked within the tavern someplace, and that individual became Fleece's target. A slender man of Underwood origins came crashing towards Fleece with a deadly attempt at a right hook. Fleece saw the whammer on the fucker and decided it would be best to avoid that situation. Ducking, Fleece proceeded with a smooth stabbing motion to the side. It connected, the slender man yelled and clutched at his injury. More blood dripped down on the ground.

By then, the floor of the tavern, and even many of the combatants, were covered in blood. Fleece included. He took his attention away from the battle between Ace and Humphrey. They were not a concern. Only The Syndicate agents, and their liaison in the tavern were. Fleece skillfully leaped up to the second floor of the tavern, jumped over the rails and landed smoothly. Someone dressed like a chef ran towards Fleece with a butcher knife, and the Keibiran warrior reacted. He shimmied to his side, shifting his body's weight with tremendous skill level. The chef swung with all his might but struck nothing but air. The Kebiran carefully disarmed the chef, and then snapped the mad-man's neck. All in a continuous motion. Fleece continued his journey across the second floor of the tavern.

Screams came from every room, and he had a feeling he knew where The Syndicate liaison would be. Kicking open the door, Fleece saw a battle taking place between his man and a mysterious third-party. The third-party was dressed in an elegant Vlince uniform he had never seen before. Fleece frowned at the unknown element to his plan. Moments earlier, he'd subdued several individuals within the mad-melee. He only hoped he could capture The Syndicate liaison before the new stranger could. Power crackled through the air at the same time as he entered the room, the two individuals did not bother addressing Fleece. Fleece had a free attack on either of the two warriors, but was only interested in the one.

As he entered the room, he heard the two arguing.

"You fool! Do you realize what you have done!? You have allowed Ragnarok to roam free in a disgusting environment such as this. Is this what you want Radasanth to become?" The taller of the two men said. Fleece saw that the taller man was very elegant, a man of some great social standing no doubt. "Your actions were not what we agreed upon."

"Nevertheless. If what you say is true, the creatures must be destroyed. The one, the righteous heart, he alone possesses the weapon we need to destroy the changeling." The Syndicate agent responded. "The changeling will come to destroy us all. I've seen it happen. It is a harbinger with many faces and can assume the face of anyone." The two great warriors were fighting.

"That creature you speak of, the changeling." Fleece suddenly called out to the gentlemen. "I know the name of the mask it currently wears."

Fleece was taken a huge gamble interfering, but the two warriors stopped fighting and turned their attention towards Fleece. They both sheathed their weapons before this new interloper.

The Vlince-wearing man spoke first.

"You there, you have information that is of use?"

Nor Fleece, nor, The Prophet, nor, The Agent were figments of The Citadel. They were all real warriors who chose to fight in the same chamber as Humphrey and Ace.

***

Humphrey pressed his weight down hard on Ace. He was surprised that he had actually landed that kick when he had. It had been a gamble, but it had paid off. Already readying his sword, Humphrey stared down at the Makai beneath him. Then, he was suddenly grabbed by the creature. Pain coursed through his body at the touch and Humphrey yelled. It was a terrifying moment, electricity coursing through his person with the intent to kill. However (And I read your profile bro) only skill level prevented the contact from being lethal. The leg that was grasped by Ace immediately heaved from the terrible pain that was wrought upon it.

Large spasms broke from the ankle, all the way up through the calve and the entirety of the thigh. Humphrey clutched at his injured thigh as almost every muscle group within the leg lit up in spasms. The pain was horrendous and he remembered what had caused it: I cannot let the bastard touch me like that again. Humphrey's tail was twitching from the pain as well. The contact had not been prolonged enough to cause lethal damage but it had done it's job. The entirety of his leg felt numb, and that meant that his vast movement capacity was shot to hell. Humphrey crawled away from his larger opponent, holding his sword at bay. The sword brought an unwavering sense of security to the slayer.

Though his leg was twitching with agony, Humphrey faced his opponent without fear. He just needed a moment, just a moment to recover. However, something else was occurring the entire time. As Humphrey crawled he suddenly felt a tremendous pain in his chest that was inadvertently triggered by Ace's shocking touch. Blood came rushing out of Humphrey's fox-snout and pain followed shortly after that. Tremendous, burning pain. Fire burned through his lungs and he clutched his chest on instinct. Closing his eyes, Humphrey pointed his enchanted sword in Ace's general direction. Humphrey's face was twisted up in a mask of emotion that made him look more intimidating. His teeth were sharp, and he could bite into Ace if he chose to, but he didn't trust the spawn's demon-blood.

Standing would be a difficult task, so he had to grasp the moment the best he could. In the agony he felt he was dying. There wasn't much time left. I have to exorcise that devil before he can inflict more harm. Humphrey had pinned the root-cause of the devastation on Ace. Never knowing that The Syndicate was actually behind the loss of life. Humphrey was so focused on the demon changeling before him, that he never noticed it when The Syndicate agents came rushing into the room killing all who stood. This was a hatchet job. Humphrey readied an aspect of gingitsu. His sword began to glow with the radiant chi he was using, and he shot a bolt of pure energy at the chest of the devil. I can die in peace now.

But that was not meant to be...