Boundless Journey I.(Open!!!)

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

(Okay let's get this show back on the right road!!! Looking for ONE partner, level don't matter. First come only please, no need to instant message or anything. Just come in and let's fight. I PREFER a level 0-2 but will fight any level thank you!)

It's been a long time. He thought to himself as he looked at The Citadel's walls. As always, the building's impressive mesh of various cultural architectural styles left the blacksmith inspired. For a long time, Dyne vanished in the shadows to focus on his blacksmith's career. It had paid off. Now, the warrior side of him had awakened once more and he was itching for battle. The highlander studied the walls of the skyward tower for a long moment before he decided he was ready. He'd heard the call a few weeks prior, but had been too busy with his blacksmith apprenticeship to do anything to answer the call. The Citadel's twisting hallways had become somewhat of an obsession to the blacksmith.

To the point where every moment that was free, he would draw imagined schematics of The Citadel. Each new version only slightly different than the last, but always the same basic idea. A cultural melting pot that represented the fury of an age. It was art, it was beautiful to the blacksmith who already had made a career making tools of war. And business was booming. Dyne closed his eyes as he stood staring at The Citadel, and could envision the workshop he called home. Most importantly, the heat of the forge was there. It was constantly there and could cause the temperature of his body to rise with excitement. Without even having stepped foot in The Citadel's halls, the blacksmith's heart was already racing. It was a good feeling, and reminded him of the trials of his youth. Al had come a long way. The first steps as a newbie gladiator to the current journey as a mastersmith. That was Al's goal.

Althanas's history was rich with the stories of the great mastersmiths that made weaponry and armour for the Heroes of olde. Al wanted to join that long line of rich history and write his own story. You've come a long way, boy. Now it's time for you to pursue your story. Suddenly, there was a light breeze coming in from the West. Al felt the chill cause a jolt of electricity to go up his spine. Readying himself for the trial he was about to face, the blacksmith started to walk towards the staircase that lead up to The Citadel proper itself. But before he even started to walk, someone put a hand on his shoulder. Al turned towards the person who had touched him and he smiled softly to a monk of the order. The man was slightly older, in his late thirties. However, he appeared to be in good shape due to constant training. Al had never seen the monk before but the man had somewhat fancier robes.

"I never thought I'd see you again. What happened to you?" The monk asked of Al. There was an awkward pause.

"I was working this whole time." Al responded for a moment. "It's been a few years since the last battle here." Al continued. "I am eager to begin my training once again."

The monk smiled. "You will be coming more often then? Shall I prepare you a regular Chamber for public use?" The monk asked.

Al thought about that for a moment.

"Any empty Chamber will do." Al said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"Follow me then, Son of Cormyr." The monk said, clearly knowing Al's full name and clan name. That bothered Al a little bit. "My superiors assigned me to handle your case if that's what you were wondering."

"But how did you know?" Al asked. "I mean how do you know who I am? I'm just a blacksmith."

"My dear young man." The monk began. "It is our business to know. And to prepare." Then he walked over to Al. "I will answer any questions you may have later. But for now, I'll see to it that we prepare you a Chamber."

"Very well. There will be a time for words after the battle then, Sir Monk. Lead the way." Al said.

"SIr Monk? That's so informal. Please, call me Henry." The monk said, introducing himself. "My name is Henry Salphen." The monk added. "I would like to think of our relationship as one of mutual respect and friendship. For the order has much to teach about combat and other arts of warfare and we know you are a student of knowledge."

A few moments later, Al was once again inside The Citadel. It's been too long. He thought again. And as he walked in the building, nostalgic memories of his youth flowed through his mind. He stopped walking for a moment and recalled previous ventures he'd faced in the ancient building. The most intense of these memories was the time he'd faced Metaldrago Scorpio. The vision of that fierce foe burned in his memory, and he recalled a promise he'd made to himself. Someday, I will be powerful enough to defeat him combat. With newly found determination, the blacksmith clenched his fists and steadied his thoughts. The ghosts of his past shifted once more to the back of his mind. As he walked towards The Chamber, marked Forty-Six, Al looked at Henry for a long moment. He was visualizing a suitable arena for him and his appointment.

"What sort of arena would you like for this battle?" Henry asked.

Al rubbed his chin thoughtfully for a moment. "Actually, I do have one idea." Al responded. "If you could possibly..."

***
Sometime later, Al was in the arena marked forty-six. It was a standard combat arena and the monks had already worked the illusion arkanos within the chamber's walls to create the world Al had imagined. It was disturbingly real. As always, Al felt the same chills when he entered the imagined world he had in his youth. There was no greater feeling next to an orgasm. Before the blacksmith was an appropriate battle zone. It was a large blacksmith's workshop. And it was empty. There were several work stations in the forge, and in the center, was a huge forging work station. It generated a tremendous heat that burned hotter than the fires of Hades. Al smiled. He was in the legendary Skyforge. Older blacksmith folk talked about several ancient smithies in the world. Amongst the talk, was talk of Skyforges. The Citadel's Chamber was fashioned after what Al thought a Skyforge might appear as. Al looked around the chamber and saw what he needed to see. There was a machine for smelting ore, and several piles of ore nearby. Taking off his shirt to reveal his chiseled physique, the blacksmith got to work whilst he awaited whoever was destined to be his opponent. Al took several pieces of Iron Ore, and began the process of melting them into smithable bars. If he should die right then, he could honestly say that Skyforge was Heaven.

[MetalDrago]

A pair of bright violet eyes opened within the darkness of the Citadel's famous Healing Ward. "I died, didn't I?" came a cold, callous hiss, from the red, scaled lips of the one staring at the ceiling. The monks nearby nodded at him and went back about their work, tending to what remained of the warrior's wounds. Collapsing back on the bed, the creature sighed before he began to chuckle. He cut himself short as a sharp pain ran through his chest."Broken ribs, heh. Whoever that guy was, he was good. I've never had so much fun!"

The healers shot him a quizzical look before shrugging leaving the room. As soon as they left, someone else came in. A balding, grey haired man of not inconsiderable age sat down next to the beast and looked at him with a half smile.

"I told you the Mover of Mountains might have been a little out of your league, Scorpio. Alas, you never did listen to me," the man said as he jokingly prodded the man in the chest. A sharp hiss of pain, then laughter followed the jab. “You always were one to overstep his limits, though. Can’t say I blame you.”

“Eins, I told you to call me Drago, not Scorpio. You’re an old friend, and one who accepted me despite my change. You have long since earned the right to call me by my nickname,” Drago said. He propped himself up on one elbow, adjusted the pillow on his bed, and sat with his back against the wall. “I’ll be healed soon. I might want another fight before the day’s out, though. I haven’t quite exhausted myself or your healers quite yet.”

Eins chuckled to himself softly as the other man described the fight to him, every detail, including how the Mover of Mountains had moved him right into that infirmary. “Well, if you still have the energy for another match, I think we have a perfect one lined up.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke, until the creature looked the man in the eyes and said, “You were waiting for me to say that. You were going to ask me to do this as a favor if I didn’t request another match, weren’t you?”

Eins seemed almost surprised that the lizard-like warrior had caught on as quickly as he had. Sensing this, he said, “I’m a lot smarter than most people give me credit for. I might fight with the madness inherent to my nature as a Disciple of N’Jal, but I’m also a scholar and tactician, don’t forget. Besides, being surrounded by criminals, con men, and psychos all the time does have its uses. I’ve developed a knack to know when I’m being led on a leash toward something. It’s all a matter of whether or not I want to be led.”

Eins nodded, then smiled and said, “I don’t need a list of your credentials, you show off. You know why we pick you. With your particular... talents and allegiances, the people we set you up against are often certain that they’ve accidentally chosen the same arena as some creature of darkness from whom they’ll never manage to escape. You just fit the description of monster so well that we sometimes use you for that purpose as a test.”

Sighing, Drago collapsed once again. “The only reason you’d be flattering me right now is because this is someone I’ve helped you test before and you need a follow up exam. It’s the Alberdyne kid, isn’t it?”

From behind the door to his room, a voice carried in, “Indeed it is, Dragonian. You’ve fought him before, and we need to gauge his progress, if indeed he’s made any at all.”

A robed figure walked through the door and looked the Dragonian warrior dead in the eyes. “Elder, I assumed you’d have retired in the year since I last saw you. After all, you are getting on in years, and...” Drago looked him up and down, “you’ve started wearing a toupee.”

Hearing this,the elder allowed his eyes to creep upward slightly before bringing them back down to lock back onto the N’Jalian Paladin’s. “Regardless, we feel that you are the one best suited to tell us whether or not he has progressed appropriately. After all, few know his fighting prowess...”

“...as well as I do. I know, I know. However, he did not have much prowess in battle to speak of. His weapon and shield broke after my first two strikes, he tried to fist fight me, and just stood there while my Shockwave Slice cut through him like he was a rotten fruit or something. Anyone could gauge his progress from that. If he can fight now, he’s progressed.”

“Yes, well... it’s a bit more complicated than that. He’s always looking to better himself in the attempt to out perform you in combat. Now would be a good time to stoke that fire.”

Eins looked on at the two arguing without saying a word. It was like watching a bear match blows with a gorilla. You couldn’t tell who was going to win.

“I see. You want me to go in and rough him up so he’ll double down on his training. Is that about the gist of it?”

The Elder nodded. “Pretty much exactly what I was thinking.”

Drago threw his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, his eyes still in a deadlock with the Elder's. “Well, it’s not like I had any specific plans on who to fight. He’d better have at least improved somewhat, or no matter what you say I won’t fight him again.”

The Elder nodded and said, “I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.” He then turned to Eins. “Lead Master Scorpio to chamber forty-six, immediately.”

Eins did as he was asked, and with nary a word between the two, the Dragonian was brought to the door. “Keep in mind, Alberdyne has the advantage of picking the field this time. The Black Forest will not be there to test him alongside you."

The Dragonian nodded, his draconic face carrying a look of great self-confidence. Whatever this arena was, he would make due. He was a tactician, after all. He stepped through the door and after a few seconds of nausea and disorientation, he was within the world of the Citadel room. Steam, mist, and smoke softly clouded the air as Drago took his steps within, and as he turned a corner, he saw the young man he sought smelting ore.

He walked quietly as he could toward the young human, his armored feet clacking against the stone masonry work of the floor beneath him even as he approached. He was certain the young man would soon turn around if he was not too engrossed in hiswork, and when he laid his eyes upon the object of his obsession, he would most certainly be speechless.

Without even drawing his sword, Drago leaned against a nearby pillar, crossed his arms, and waited for the young man to notice him.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

Time passed and Al worked on the smelting process.

Seemingly engrossed in his work, the blacksmith was still quite alert. The heat in the blacksmith was still, and rarely moved. Al immediately sensed the change when his opponent arrived. More intimately, he felt a cold chill travel up and down his spine. Al immediately knew who it was that the monks had sent to him, and that transformed his face into a scowl. Damn, I'm not yet ready to face him! Al growled as he worked, finishing up the last pile of Iron ore. Once he was done he turned towards MetalDrago Scorpio and acknowledged his fellow Citadel Leagues competitor with a profound respect. Earlier in his career, he had a deep hatred for Scorpio and his allies. Over time however, he had learned to push that hatred aside and eventually turn it into a weapon. Al bowed his head towards Scorpio, and closed the furnace like smelting machine.

"It's a smelter." Al began. "Blacksmiths use it to transform raw ore into bars for smithing." Al looked around Skyforge with a grand gesture. "This is one of the legendary Skyforges." Al manged a chuckle, though in truth, he felt extremely uncomfortable being in front of his old rival. Shifting his weight, Al turned to look Drago in the eye. "It's been a long time, hasn't it?" A sort of physical sadness touched his eyes. "I was weak last time. I've longed for this moment where I could meet you again and beat you." Al said. "But now that you are in front of me, something's changed." Al rubbed his chin. "I no longer see you as an enemy. You beat me last time because I was afraid of you." Al looked at the ground for a moment. He was bare chested, and bare foot. "I would like a chance to fight you as an equal!" Al said, excitement flowing this his heart. Al admired the Dragonian warrior because Drago was strong. That was all there was to it. In the Citadel Leagues, allegiances did not matter.

Only strength mattered, only power was law.

Since the last time that he had met Drago, Al had learned a few new tricks and gotten better at several old ones. The heat in the Skyforge was a testament to the artistic ingenuity that Al had. Al took a careful look around Skyforge for a brief moment, and then walked to where his gear was. Al grabbed his longsword, daggers, and his shield, strapped the shield along one arm. Then he pulled his longsword from the scabbard, light from nearby fires reflecting off the magnificent bronze. Al was not afraid, he was sad. The conspiring monks would throw me my rival in such a sorry state. How could they? Know they not my current skill level? Al, was of course, thinking about himself being in a sorry state. He respected Drago as much as he hated the man. Al sighed and looked at Drago carefully. The sad face turned into a smile soon after he realized what seeing Drago in such a state meant. The Monks were respecting him.

Al took a basic swordsman pose, with shield and sword at the ready. Things would be different from the last time that Al had met his rival. Remember the tell-tale sign when he's about to use that accursed move! Al thought to himself. Signalling to Drago that he was ready, he pointed his longsword to a nearby sharp slab of iron. Focusing his will, he exerted himself on the iron, and the piece suddenly came to life. Floating several inches off the ground, Al moved the ore psionically so that the sharp end would potentially connect with Drago's neck. He wasn't playing around this time. Al knew exactly what Drago was capable of, but Drago had no idea what he had just gotten himself into. The blacksmith wanted to walk tall amidst a league full of titans. Al suddenly rushed Drago, hoping that his sneak attack would catch the warrior off guard. He had a whole environment of tools to use against Drago, and he would implement Skyforge itself as a weapon!

"I am destined to destroy you and everything that you stand for!" Al suddenly yelled. He ran until he was a few paces away from Drago's front side.

[MetalDrago]

A smelter, huh? Drago thought to himself. As if he even cared what that was. As long as his weapons were well made, he didn't really care what the process was. He looked around as Dyne continued to hammer away at his ears with mundane talk related to smithing. If he's looking to bore me to death, he's started off pretty well in the process, the Dragonian thought as his eyes flitted from steel machine to the stone floor, looking for something he could use to his advantage as the battle passed. It seemed the entire place was meant to be a forge. Ore, ingots, and various unfinished weapons were scattered the room, decaying carcasses in a similarly desiccated building. "Interesting..." the Paladin of the Dark Goddess said under his breath. His eyes alighted upon the several huge furnaces around the area, and he smiled. He reached for and drew the Shadow of Light, his masterwork mythril katana. Holding it up to the light of the flames, he watched as it seemed to glow with a red aura.

Finally, after speaking for an interminable time, Dyne used a trick of what appeared to be sorcery to launch a sharpened piece of iron ore at the man. The paladin lifted his arm and swatted the ore from its flight path with a single strike of the back of his hand. He brought his hand down with an wicked grin on his face.

"Destined to destroy me?" His laughter echoed throughout the chamber at the thought. "You're barely skilled enough to kill a common beast, let alone a monster like me." Drago lifted his arm again and brushed his cape back over his shoulders, revealing the most frightening addition to his armory, a full set of armor made from a symbiotic creature affectionately called the Endless by the Grand Primus of N'Jal, Lorenor. The armor had roughly the same strength as steel, and could be called forth and banished by sheer force of will, though Drago had yet to master the process and was extremely slow about it.

"Seems like you have picked up a few tricks, boy. However, don't think I am going to take it easy on you like I did last time, and you'll learn I too have picked up a few tricks. One particularly nasty trick in particular... Behold!" With a flourish of his left arm, Drago's hand flashed behind his neck, gripping the hilt of a sword that had been hidden on his back by his cape. As he slowly drew the sword, a hellish black aura began to develop around his body. When the tip of the sword, called the Nocturne of Madness, finally left the sheath, the black aura solidified and the Dragonian warrior's eyes began to glow with a blue-white light. Finally, the aura seemed to dissipate, but one trained in the arts of aura seeing would be able to tell that the man's aura had taken on the deep violet tone of madness incarnate.

The black and blue clad demonic entity crouched low, his eyes intently set upon those of his opponent. The face of a maddened, cunning and bestial entity with no remorse or compassion, that had become the true face of the evil paladin. He stepped forward slowly, his eyes never once leaving Dyne's. His metal clad feet clacked softly against the cold, solid stone floor below. From behind the wicked smile on his lips, a fit of laughter seemed near to escaping. He held both of his swords low. Their tips barely escaped dragging against the hard ground below.

A light laugh escaped the half dragon's lips as he began to speak in a slow, methodical tone, "I'm going to cut you open from from your skull down."

His sadistic laughter only intensified as the thought brushed past his lips, the fevered whispers of a madman. He rushed forward, one sword coming from below, the other coming around in a crushing side slice. Teeth bared, as if ready to tear at flesh, the man waited hungrily for the counter strike he was sure to take from his reckless maneuver.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

(Note: Bunnying approved by Drago)

This is all wrong, damn it! On the inside, Al was terrified, always terrified. However, he hid that fear well and turned it into focus. His opponent bounded on him with inhuman speed but Al was prepared. Al suddenly grabbed his shield, and released a psychokinetic bolt on it, tossing it forward towards the interception point of his opponent's attack. A somewhat desperate maneuver, Al knew he would have to use his psycho power to full extent. When he felt the successful throw maneuver leave his hand, Al was on the move. He gripped his feeble sword with both hands and rushed underneath the incoming attack. The shield intercepted most of the blow and there was an explosion of light and bronze metal. The metal created shrapnel that flew in every direction. Al caught a piece of the shrapnel in his side, by one of his shoulders. The injury was not too serious, it would not slow him down.

Al attempted to run around Drago at that point, his feet hitting the ground hard. He hoped the sudden explosion of light and metal would at least distract Drago long enough that Al could react. Regardless, he ran at his best speed his legs could allow. It wasn't as impressive as Drago's speed, but it would do. He found himself behind Drago. He had already used a psychokinetic bolt, so he had one other trick to use. He had to wait until the cool down of his psycho attack was over, but he had a readied Negative Feedback Loop at his command. Deciding that he had better use the attack, he released his power once again. Focusing the cauldron of negative psionic's energy at Drago's back, the youth hoped to the Thaynes above that it would connect. This moment of the battle was his only chance to hurt Drago before the warrior became even more insane.

As last time, Drago had attempted to finish the battle early. However, unlike last time, Al was not afraid. He had faced too many hardships to suddenly feel fear at the presence of his enemy. Al knew that eventually, he would have to battle Drago's Master. Lorenor. And that would be a frightening battle. Al concentrated as he released the loop. He was completely vulnerable to attack, but he hoped that the new trick would work. If it did, he would be able to defeat Drago on his own terms. Al started to count off the seconds as the convoluted blast flowed towards Drago. He did not say anything, he did not make a sound, he only held his breath in fear. Cold sweat poured down his body as he looked at Drago's back. He sincerely hoped that the Gods would smile upon him on that desperate hour. The most desperate hour of the youth's career in The Citadel League.

[MetalDrago]

An explosion of sparks and broken shrapnel flew out from the shield, nearly blinding the Dragonian. His eyes flared wide open and a deep snarl erupted from his lips as he watched the young man circle behind him. "You're still using those primitive bronze weapons?!" he yelled out. He growled lowly, his eyes fixed on the spot that the shield had connected with his sword. Suddenly, from behind him, he felt a familiar tingling run up his spine. Energy was being manipulated. "Well, I'll be damned," he said as he turned on his heel and watched as a beam of energy erupted toward him. "Another new trick? Looks like the kid's got a few more powers than I realized."

Drago pulled his cape around his body, and it began to shimmer like the surface of the ocean at dawn. He threw his hands in front of him as his newly metalicized cape bit into the ground in the path of the beam of energy, providing him with a shield. "Did you think I'd leave myself completely open?!" he asked as the beam hit his transmuted shield. He smiled in triumph until he realized that the energy from the attack had not dissipated, and had instead been absorbed. It was now travelling at an increased speed up his shapeshifted wings and finally bit into his back at the base of his neck before travelling up and into his head. A blaze of light and sound erupted into the Paladin's eyes and ears as he was rendered nearly completely senseless. He squeezed his eyes shut, in a feeble attempt to fight off this power, though his body remained standing, steady on its feet as his mind retreated into itself.

Sensing the weakness in the mind of its wielder, the Nocturne of Madness flared to life, as a bright violet aura began to surround it. The aura from the blade began to envelop the body of the Dragonian warrior, snaking its way up his arm and spreading slowly across his torso. Even to the untrained eye, this aura was palpable, real. To the untrained, it would look as though a bright purple flame was slowly engulfing the man, yet leaving not a single burn upon him. As the flames licked the face of the dark one, a smile crept across his lips. It was an empty, hollow smile full of nothing but pure, undiluted malice. His eyes opened slowly, revealing an even more startling facet. His eyes were completely blank, devoid of all intelligent thought and pure white, the blank canvas upon which the Nocturne would paint a frighteningly beautiful new visage of carnage.

Somewhere deep within, Drago railed about, trying to escape the grip of this assault on his mind. In his mind, he had suddenly been trapped in a cage, and surrounded on all sides by a burning, strength sapping white light. He screamed in rage as he bashed himself against the walls of the prison forged by the attack of his opponent. When he hit the wall, he was assailed by beams of light that burned worse than the heat of a thousand suns. "Dammit!" he screamed as the beam struck him, burning through even his imagined armor.

"I hate you. You'll die here!" he heard the voice of Dyne echo through the dead space. He collapsed to his knees, the dull thud of metal on metal not nearly loud enough to block out the voice of hate and vengeance he heard railing against him.

"You're nothing. Less than nothing. You are a stain on the existence of all races, servant of N'Jal!" another voice screamed at him from the surrounding void.

"Monster!"

"Dark Paladin, my ass! You're nothing but a puppet!"

"Petty... tricks... gambits of death, fiery convocation - you would do well in a war, my good sir, but in affairs of the heart, of life itself, I pity you for giving up your freedom so surely and swiftly. Graciously I bow out, but remember... this black forest, is nothing more than a reflection of your black heart..."

The black clad monster could take no more, and curled up on himself, covering his ears as he pushed himself back to the corner of the cage. This hatred, brought from deep within his own memories, was almost too much to bear. He felt now, more than ever, the weight of the decision he had made in choosing to serve the Dark Goddess, and he was starting to realize that the decision may not have been to his benefit. While it was true he had gained much in the way of power, he had lost something far more precious.

Back in reality, Drago's body lumbered forward, cruel smile still plastered across its lips as the two swords, black and silver, rose above his head and began to glow. A guttural laugh escaped its lips as it stepped toward the man before it. Both swords came down with shocking speed as both swords unleashed the Shockwave Slice, an attack designed to increase the range of a sword slash by as much as ten feet. As the laughter continued to bellow forward, the almost demonic figure of the Paladin rushed forward and slashed his blade horizontally to each other in opposite directions, in a move designed to disembowel an unwary opponent.

[Alberdyne_Cormyr]

Only Al knew this, but his power was a revolving gate that worked both ways.

As his opponent was tormented by invisible hands, Al too saw some of the horrible things that Drago had done in the name of N'Jal.

It was more of a reason to hate the Dragonian warrior, and all of his allies.

But something slipped through the temporary union of their minds. MetalDrago's memories punished the young blacksmith as he witnessed what was happening to his opponent. The idea that his enemy suffered brought a sadistic smile to his face as Drago's memories quickly flashed through his head. Much of it was Dragonian nonsense that Al couldn't use against him. Another stack of memories had to do with N'Jal, and he was trying to shut his eyes away from that nightmare, though he couldn't. Then something happened. Al found himself standing in a certain chamber, very far away. He would never know what exactly that chamber was, only that it was somewhere on Althanas.

Al found himself in the center of a crowd, gathered in what appeared to be a cathedral built within a room of earth and stone.

In the center of the cathedral's chamber there lurked a small wall behind an altar of sorts. And a very specific individual. Two of them. One he recognized as his enemy; MetalDrago Scorpio. The other was a gentleman of grotesque nature he had never seen before. Is this in Drago's head? Al thought to himself as he studied the scene. The two spoke. And Drago was addressed as a Captain of something or other belonging N'Jal. Then, the shorter of the two individuals turned to stared directly at Alberdyne Cormyr.

"Drago. It seems we are no longer alone and the time has come." The short man said with a profoundly deep voice.

Another individual who stood nearby the pair spoke.

"He has arrived?" She asked.

"He has." Then, the shadowy shorter man looked at Alberdyne Cormyr once again. "You have defeated yourself. Son of Cormyr. You will remember all that you have seen on this day, and know we have defeated you. You will remember my name for I am Lorenor. We are the Paladins of N'Jal and we have prepared for your war against our kind." Lorenor looked towards Drago. "My good Captain. Please destroy this interloper." Lorenor said.

And the shadow-image of Drago rushed at Al...

At the same time, Al found something out. Whispering through the temporary connection in the back of his mind, Shockwave Slice was repeated over and over. The connection had been brief, but Al knew that in his head, a lifetime had passed. As he reeled from the pain he felt, he growled angrily. He had decided his path at that point time. Lorenor, the puppeteer was the shadowy mastermind behind MetalDrago. Al had learned a great deal about the enemies of Althanas, and what he had to do to destroy them. Despite the mind-rape, he knew it was a necessary end to defeat his enemy.

As the images burned in his mind, it brought about an unexpected reaction. He focused.

Holding the sword in his hand, he saw the transformation occur in his enemy and it disgusted him.

"Follower of N'Jal! I shall wipe you from existence!" And with all his might, Al threw his sword right through his enemy's super attack. The sword took much of the damage, but a large portion of the attack still struck at Al. Crying out in agony, Al felt the blade's energy release lick his skin. He was heavily cut open, but it was not like the previous time that he'd faced MetalDrago. This time, Al had been ready, more focused. And he would not allow such a disgusting thing to defeat him twice. When Al fell on the ground to his knee, he saw the destroyer that was MetalDrago approaching him. It was a gamble, but Al guessed that MetalDrago's faculties were not all there thanks to the Negative Feedback Loop.

Al moved on all fours. He was gambling one last feint technique. A simple, elegant, yet dangerous maneuver. On all fours, he looked down to the ground and would appear to be submitting to his opponent. But that was far from the truth. The entire time he had launched his last line of defense at Drago's chest, he'd been channeling one final psychokinetic attack. The Shockwave Slice was a power attack, but it had already done it's damage and Al watched his own life-blood as it passed from his body. He hurt, but he needed to prove to himself that he could beat a superior enemy. So he focused. He concentrated. And he prepared the last and final assault against his hated enemy. When the psionic's bolt was ready, he would launch it against the most unlikely target imaginable. He was going to risk everything for a victory. Al had already suffered so much at the hands of this creature that he was ready to endure a few more moments of suffering in order to best him.

"Want to know something funny, bastard of N'Jal?" Al found himself saying. "I know of your master, Lorenor." Al was saying. "I am going to destroy him too. And the city of darkness that you two have built in her name. You're a blight. And I curse you to the seventh sphere of Hell!"