Round 2: Sahale Vs Logan [Archive]

Logan

09-14-11, 03:44 AM

Logan awoke from his unconsciousness in a dense fog. His brain felt muddled and unclear as his eyes opened and blinked a few times in an attempt to clear the haze. Slowly the room came into focus and he realized the end of the first round of the tournament had come and gone. There was no recollection of a victory, defeat or even a stalemate, nor could he recall how he came to be where he was. Taking a moment to look around and gather his thoughts, he sighed.

There had been a number of times after a battle, in tournaments especially, when he'd awake from an almost dream-like state only to learn the battle had ended prematurely. Neither victor nor loser, but yet he always moved to the next round. So it seemed the same had happened once again.

Instead of feeling joy for having advanced, something unsettling tugged at his thoughts. Every tournament Logan had participated in had ended with an intense level of controversy. Whether it was Max Dirks the well-known Puppet Master or some other force weaving a web of deceit, lies and politics every tournament had it's controversy. Could the same be said for this iteration of the Serenti?

What tugged his thoughts wasn't the possibility of the tournament being rigged or strung along like some cheap whore with a few gold pieces and some mildly offensive speech. No, by all accounts such things were accepted common-place and even expected. It was the deep down feeling of being the one strung-along which upset him most. After all, shouldn't the Master of Mental Manipulation be the one individual who could see the strings being pulled?

Such thoughts disturbed him deeply, but he elected to keep them at bay. Eventually, if he pushed his limits then he might have an opportunity to confront those who played puppeteer. For now, however, he had a goal and a focus. He must defeat his next opponent, whomever they may be.

With the thought of a necessary victory at the forefront of his mind he left the room taking only what he needed for the battle and ventured to the tournament entrance. Much fanfare awaited him, trumpets blasted his arrival and a crier announced his name to the masses gathered to watch the deadly duels. A few of the young children clamored for a touch of the psion, and he knelt down to acknowledge them one by one. For once, Logan was going to enjoy his celebrity, and not run from it like the drunken coward he vaguely remembered of his former self.

After spending time with the fans who greeted him so warmly upon his introduction, he entered the tournament arena chambers. Each chamber was designed to give an opportunity for the combatant to select his or her desired place of battle, but ultimately the chosen arena would be up to those in control. Once again the psion's thoughts shifted to thoughts on who might be the Master of this particular tournament.

The chamber was comfortably warm as he set his small backpack down. He looked into the mirror and began to describe his desired arena. As he concluded the final pieces of the puzzle of his battlefield, he reached for his backpack. The mirror swirled and with a shrug he entered, unaware of what horrors awaited him on the other side.

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Logan landed with a thud upon the cold, hard ground. His eyes adjusted quickly and soon the battlefield before him came into view. All around the veteran were beasts and creatures of all shapes, sizes and species. Only once before could he remember such a scene. The memory of the battle long ago against one his fiercest friends left him in a momentary daze which soon passed allowing him the luxury of examining the area more in depth.

He made his way around the creatures frozen in time in the midst of a great war of some kind to a large rock in the midst of it all. As he climbed the rock he began to notice the great depth of the war. Settling at the top of the large rock, easily the size of a football field, suspended above the war below, he looked out across the battlefield.

Blood pooled and weapons lay by the slain. Yet, it was as if someone had commanded time to stop entirely. Nothing moved save the lone soul atop the rock. In a few places he could see blood as it began to spurt from freshly opened wounds, yet the blood appeared as frozen as did the creatures. Fur hung in the air as if made of wax. It was all rather surreal. The beauty and horror of such an image would stick with Logan for a long, long time.