IK vs PA (Round 2) Multi-Battle Dungeons

[Enigmatic Immortal]

This battle begins at Midnight Monday evening!

The following match up is:

Silence Sei vs Cinderella Man

[Enigmatic Immortal]

You have two weeks, GOOD LUCK!

[Silence Sei]

((Should go without saying, but bunnying of both Cinderella Man and Max Dirks approved by their respective owners))

The constant drops of water upon the black floors of the dungeon echoed through the room. A smell of mildew had formed in the weeks that any person, Ixian Knight or prisoner, had seen the cells of the castle. Now, a few days after the travesty that had been what Sei came to call ‘The Radasanth Incident’, three individuals were now in this place. Two of the men were standing, looking at the third, whom was bound to a simple wooden chair by rope. The captured man in question was Victor Callahan, the only prisoner of war that Sei had managed to apprehend during the skirmish almost half a week ago.

“Do it,” Sei’s ‘voice’ had a sort of intentional meanness to it, the kind of cruelty that was reserved for true enemies of the mute.

The last figure, the criminal Max Dirks, nodded to his friend, balling up a fist and planting it squarely into the stomach of Victor Callahan. Victor’s eyes popped open, his breath leaving him from the blow. Sei had gotten worried that if he had left Victor unconscious any longer, any information he may have had would have been far too outdated to be of any use. Furthermore, there was a high chance that the enemy would soon be upon them, seeking to release the mercenary they had paid good money for. What fools they would turn out to be to find a (mostly) empty castle, filled with only children and their care providers.

Victor’s eyes met with Sei’s, who in turn looked back to Max Dirks. The gunslinger placed his hand around Victor’s neck, squeezing tight around his jugular, the awkward gasps of the man adding a new sound among the drops and squeaks. “Talk. Tell us everything you know about Phoenix Ascendant, why are they so determined to stop us?”

Max’s words came off more as a guttural growl, and his question would remained unanswered for as long as he held his victim’s neck in place. Sei stepped in front of his friend and placed his hand on his arm, causing the criminal to release his grip. Sei kneeled down towards Victor’s, his eyes cold and calculating. He had made sure the medical ward had bandaged the boxer up good, feeding him nutrients so he would not become so weak that he could not speak. Overall, Victor Callahan managed to receive a good bit of care from his enemies, probably more generosity given to him than any Phoenix Ascendant would have given the Ixian Knights.

Sei shuddered as he thought about the bloodied and battered mess that had been Zerith Dracosius and the assassin known only as Margaret. They had put up a valiant fight trying to evacuate a small port town to avoid collateral damage, only to be ambushed by the drunks of Phoenix Ascendant. They were still in the intensive care ward, under the watchful eye of Sei’s niece, Aislinn.

Sei focused once more into the eyes of his prisoner. “Victor Callahan,” he said, an almost smug ‘tone’ to his telepathic voice, “I apologize for Max’s rather barbaric behavior.” an exasperated sigh escaped from behind the Mystic, obviously Dirks’ own opinion of what ‘barbaric’ meant. “I’m going to be honest with you, Victor. I don’t care about Phoenix Ascendant any longer. Any dreams of taking over Corone have been put on temporary hiatus from my end. Now, I don’t want to do this any more than you do, but I do not think you would have left me any other choice.”

Sei stood from his kneeling position, his eyes shifting towards the cells that lined either side of the walls to the dungeon. His people had done good work remodeling, turning torture benches into beds, iron maidens into harmless looking sarcophaguses, even managing to give a few of the cells a slight sun roof, little rays of sunshine trickling in to add some much needed color to the drab area.

“I need to know about that monster Victor,” Sei turned from his foe, biting his lower lip. Max Dirks looked to his friend for a moment, and then began to approach the boxer once more. The mute raised a hand to stop his friend’s advance, and continued. “I need you to tell me everything you know about that monster that Phoenix Ascendant allied with to stop us. Every little detail you know. A cold-blooded killer like you could not possibly fathom the importance this is to me.”

Sei’s voice had changed during this part of the interrogation. His voice had gone from arrogant and smug to concerned and desperate. Something had happened in these last few days that had sent the Mystic on a downward spiral of tragedy. As much as he hated to admit it, Sei had to rely on the one person in this room he could not stand in order to give him what he needed. Despite their physical positions, Victor Callahan currently held all the cards in this game.

[The Cinderella Man]

Victor Callahan often used to daydream of being awoken from slumber by a gentle caress of a loved one. There was something magical in that perfect time between deep slumber and awakening, something eerie in the world filled with leftover imagery of the last night’s dream and the first shreds of reality tearing through that silky veil of mystery. And then a touch or a kiss would serve as a perfect guide through the torrent of snapshots as it led the sleeper back to reality. He read about this in one of the soppy novels his older sister used to stack on her nightstand (and secretly felt ashamed for doing so), and though he never experienced it himself, he knew it was one of the few moments of bliss and perfection. And it was only a matter of time before he experiences it.

Well, today was nothing like that.

The touch that brought Victor back to life was a punch to the gut that forced the air out of his lungs before the he even consciously realized he was alive. His first thought was that he was still back in the streets, where the smoke-filled sky rained boulders even as he rained lead on everything around him... and he wasn’t too far off. The last thing the ex-con had seen before all sense was punched out of him was the first thing he looked at now, even as his eyes shot open and his abdomen exploded with pain. Max Dirks, leering at him, asking questions and trying to convey their importance with a hand at Victor’s throat. Victor considered spitting into the criminal’s face, but then realized he neither had enough spittle nor enough air to launch it at the man. Instead, the imprisoned mercenary did what any bound person did when they were being choked to death: he trashed and he growled and desperately tried to breathe before his esophagus was crushed. Luckily for him, it wasn’t long before Sei Orlouge intervened.

Of course, who else? Victor thought as his head dropped to his chest and he breathed in raggedly, greedily almost. He coughed most of the air right out, consequence of trying to fill his lungs too fast, but soon enough his breathing normalized and he was able to ascertain his surroundings. The people around him were the same ones he had tried to kill in front of the City Hall, but everything else was different. Gone were the dusty streets with their smoke clouds and ash falling like grey snow, gone just like the hole in Max’s shoulder (unfortunately) and the gashes all over his body (fortunately). His shoulder still hurt something fierce, throbbed dully with every beat of his heart and sent sharp jolts right up his neck even as he struggled against the ropes that tied him to a chair. In their stead was the bland scenery one could see if they visited just about any prison in Corone - mossy stone walls, cobwebs as thick as silk curtains, heavy doors with their iron studs slowly eaten by the rust, the smell of months-old rushes and years-old dust. Victor had seen enough of these in his time. Hell, he spent ten years of his life in one of these, though in considerably better company.

It was Sei’s turn to talk, though the man didn’t exactly talk. His voice had a way of simply making itself right there, somewhere within Victor’s skull, like a voice of another personality in a schizo. The first time Victor had heard it he found it disquieting and wrong somehow, like having a person trampling your own thoughts. But right now he simply found it annoying, especially given the topic of the little monologue. The conclusion in particular rubbed the muscular gunman the wrong way.

Heroes, so quick to label people. Though people like Sei, with their big heads and inflated personalities, weren’t the only ones to jump to conclusions, their kind found it particularly easy to do so as far as Victor could tell. Things were usually either black or white to them, and it was just instinct to separate things in either one basket or the other. Most days, the ex-con would’ve just shrugged to comment off, but most days he wasn’t trapped in a dank cellar with leaders of rebel movements that threatened to topple governments. So he decided to play along with the whole cold-blooded murderer tag. At worst he could get another punch in the belly.

“Let me ask you something, Orlouge. Would you like me more if I was a kind-hearted killer?” Victor said, allowing a smarmy grin. Dirks was quick to wipe it off with a backhanded slap, but with Sei so close it was nowhere near as strong as those punches that knocked the ex-con out a couple of... days ago, was it? Victor couldn’t tell. It was difficult to keep track of time while being unconscious, but his stomach seemed about as empty as it would be if he went without food for several days, so it was as close of an estimate as Victor could make. Not that it mattered. All the hit did was make him chuckle.

“You know the difference between a cold-blooded murderer and a warm-blooded one?” he continued, feeling around his mouth with his tongue. All of his teeth seemed to be accounted for, and with the beating he took that was a small miracle that made him grin again. Medicine men who knew how to fix teeth were hard to find. “It’s the amount of sleep they get, nothing else. Their victims are just as dead, and I’m pretty sure that once they’re dead they don’t care whether they were killed by a man with a grin on his face or a tear in his eye. And their employers – people like you, Orlouge – they don’t care either as long as the job is done.”

“I’d never hire the likes of you,” Sei insisted.

“And yet you have the likes of him to do your dirty work,” Victor retorted, nodding towards the criminal Max Dirks, who seemed more than ready to put a bullet between his eyes. “So tell me, why should I help you, Orlouge? Because your pal over here will beat me some more? Because he can put a bullet in me? Do you really think a killer like me cares about his life?”

“Seems to me you’re scarcely different than that Eard...Edras...” Victor continued, the name of the Ascendant’s leader refusing to come to the imprisoned gunman in its fullness. “...the elven prick I’m currently working for, and at least he’s paying me and isn’t in this for the power and glory.”

It was a lie, of course. Victor Callahan never asked for a wage as he joined the Phoenix Ascendant nor inquired about their goals, never really asked too many questions at all, though he probably should’ve. All he knew was that his old acquaintance Sei Orlouge was planning to make a right mess of Corone, and that was an insult to injury of a realm that already bled like a stuck pig. And Victor didn’t like the sound of that at all. But that story didn’t fit the profile of a cold-blooded killer he was trying to play here, so alterations were in order. So he threw the bait out there and waited for either an answer or another punch in the gut. Possibly both.

[Silence Sei]

It seemed as though the phrase ‘money is the root to all evil’ was exemplified in Victor’s reply to the Mystic. Ironic that it was the promise of money that had first caused Sei to cross paths with the gunslinger, and once again caused them to meet today. Sei looked to Max, who seemed eager to look for any reason to strike Victor once more; his victim’s breathing starting to return to normal after his assault. He could not help but think that this wasn’t about Max Dirks and his urges, not even about Sei Orlouge and his cause to help Corone. This was about Kyla Orlouge.

Kyla… Sei’s thoughts trailed off, once again drowning out the sporadic sounds of mice and men. Looking at Victor’s battered form; Sei’s mind could not help but wonder. We bandaged our prisoners up. Cassandra Remi would not provide the same hospitality. We give them the opportunity to redeem themselves. Cassandra would kill them where they stood if they crossed her. Victor Callahan is just one person, taking him out of the equation would severely hamper Phoenix Ascendant’s progression. Maybe….just this once….it is okay to be Cassandra Remi.

“Leave us,” Sei ordered his friend, waving his hand towards him, “I wish to speak to him alone.” Max seemed a bit stunned by the order, his head shifting from Sei to Victor several times before finally settling on his ‘boss’ and nodding. His footsteps echoed through the empty dungeons for several minutes, until Sei was sure he could hear the sound no more. The mute then approached Victor, reaching at his left side for a bladed ring.

Sei approached Victor; his hand tightly clenched around the handle of the chakram ‘Neosaim’, and kneeled down before him once more. The mute stared into the eyes of a man he long thought to be his enemy. Sei had watched Victor torture a man, leaving him to die in sheer agony, with nobody to care for him. It was by a miracle that Sei himself had been around to cradle the man, and to deliver the final blow the poor soul so sought. Sei saw Victor Callahan as a spineless worm that day, a man who did not have the intestinal fortitude to finish a job he started.

Cassandra Remi would have killed the spineless worm. Sei raised his chakram close to Victor’s throat. Cassandra Remi would have made sure he was awake to know that death was before him. Sei showed off each side of his weapon, making sure that Victor could see the razor sharp edges of the weapon. Cassandra Remi would have maimed her foe, made sure that he cursed her with every last breath in his body. Sei stared at Victor, sweat pouring from each of their heads as they contemplated the end to this interrogation.

Cassandra Remi saw the world in shades of gray.

Sei Orlouge was not Cassandra Remi.

The bladed ring quickly left Victor’s vision, instead traveling behind the man to his bound wrists, and severing the rope. Sei stood as the knotted object fell to the ground. “Fair enough, Victor, you win,” Sei spoke with a determination in his voice, “I will do whatever it takes to find Kyla. My little girl is out there, possibly being tortured by one of those horrible creations the Phoenix Ascendant chose to ally itself with. My daughter, my Kylana, is a warrior who chose this war upon herself, but damnit Victor…!”

Sei’s eyes filled with tears as he thought about what cruelties Cassandra Remi was no doubt inflicting upon his adoptive child at this very moment. He could not help the waterfalls, the very scene reminiscent of the night that Victor had all but executed that innocent man. “If you help me find Kyla, I will offer you a spot in the Ixian Knights. I don’t care if we win or lose this war, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Sei walked over to one of the walls of the dungeon, his free hand forming a fist and slamming it into the hard black stone. The pain that surged through the Mystic’s knuckles seemed to stop him from becoming hysterical, but did nothing to stop neither the physical pain, nor the pain in his heart. It was foolish to expose his back to a man he had labeled a mortal enemy, but it was a gesture of good faith.

“I will triple whatever the Ascendant is paying you, I will grant you this entire castle, I will let you end my life right here, if you must, Victor Callahan, but please, do whatever it takes to find Kyla Orlouge..”

[The Cinderella Man]

((Bunnying approved))

For a moment, Victor Callahan thought that he was surely going to die. The jig was up, the bluff hadn’t paid off and he was all out of chips, staring into the eyes of his executor. And he wasn’t ready for it. Sure, he talked big. Sure, he acted as if his life was in the gutter and not worth prolonging. But when it comes to being inches away from the end, nobody is really ready for it except loonies. Even the pious folk like his good old father faced the end with regret and trembling desperation, and deep desire to keep on living. Maybe it was just the way humans were wired, their self-preservation kicking in whenever they came eye to eye with grave danger. Or maybe it was simply the fact that impeding death served as a sound reminder of things worth living for, of deeds left undone. Either way, when Sei brought the blade to his face, Victor was all out of smarmy retorts.

And then his bonds were cut.

As Victor slowly got back to his feet, rubbing his wrists and trying to get some blood back into his hands, Sei Orlouge laid out his predicament before the gun-for-hire. It appeared that the rebel leader had a daughter, and that she got caught in the whirlwind of warfare as well. And though some things didn’t add up – for one, Sei looked far too young to have a daughter old enough to be fighting in this war – there was sincerity in the tone of the voice that echoed in Victor’s head that couldn’t be denied. But it was more than just blunt honesty. Perhaps it was due to the telepathic way Sei communicated, but the gunslinger could sense the heaviness that burdened the man, the desperation to rescue this Kyla, and the conflict within him to release the man that he despised. All of this Victor could feel in a way one would feel when watching a really good actor performing on a stage, the kind that could convey the emotions to the audience. It was touching, heart-warming even.

Too bad Victor didn’t seem to care.

When he approached Sei, the mute still had his back turned, clenching the bloodied fist that failed to make a dent in the stone wall. For a second, Victor’s hand on the hero’s shoulder was comforting... but then the moment was gone and it yanked him around firmly and into the swing of a huge right hook. Sei stumbled back against the wall, trying to get away, but Victor had been a pugilist for half of his life and he knew when to press the advantage and the element of surprise. He closed in, feigned an uppercut to make the hero shield his face, the proceeded to land a pair of blows to the plexus before bringing his fist up for another hook. But his right shoulder was still stiff sore and hurt like there was a piece of metal in there, and Sei was no greenhorn when it came to fighting. He managed to parry the swing, and instead of backing away again, he did the wiser thing and went for a tackling grab, closing the distance. But the initial blow seemed to rattle him enough so slow his attack, allowing Victor to counter. Victor’s upper body went sideways as far as it could, making Sei’s tackle a glancing blow that sent them both rolling on the floor. But once they’ve come to a stop, it was the ex-con looking down on the hero, his forearm pressing against Sei’s throat.

“Now, listen to me, Orlouge. You wanted a war. This is war. And in war people die. Even those you love,” Victor growled at the man. When Sei tried to punch him, the gunman caught the blow and trapped the arm.

“I never wanted this war!” the self-proclaimed hero shouted inside Victor’s head. And even as he did, he flooded the gunman’s mind with images. Most of them Victor didn’t understand, the comings and goings of the Ixian Knights, their missions, their interactions. But through it all was weaved a camaraderie, a sense of singular purpose, a brotherhood amidst people so different from one another. And above it all was a face that Victor didn’t know with blue eyes that threatened to pierce his soul. The one person that made all that worth doing. Kyla.

“No!” Victor shouted, shaking his head and firing a jab at the side of Sei’s face. “You get out of my head!” The second blow made the images fade away like a bad dream. The third knocked Sei out cold. Victor got up, breathing deeply as he stumbled away from the unconscious man.

He found his equipment stashed in the corner, his guns stuffed in their leather shoulder holsters, the ammo spread around it. They even retrieved his leather coat, shabby as it was from the wear and tear and the recent trip through the fire. He slipped inside the leather straps, buckling them over his white cotton undershirt before he tossed his coat over his shoulders. It was like putting on an old pair of shoes; everything fit perfectly and felt just right. And as Victor pulled Aicha out and loaded a fresh clip, he looked down towards where Sei was lying. He could end it all right then and there, the gunman knew, the rebellion one bullet away from an abrupt end. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do, the thing he set out to do when he joined the Phoenix Ascendant. Yet why did the thought of doing it feel so wrong?

Chambering the first cartridge, Victor thumbed the safety on the side of the gun and returned it back to its holster. “Now we’re even, Orlouge,” the gunslinger muttered as he made his way out of the cell.

The rusty hinges wailed as Victor pushed the door open, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around to be alerted by the sound. The darkness of the corridor, interrupted sporadically by pools of round orange light coming from fluttering torches, looked empty. He made his way through the hallways carefully, walking as softly as a man of his stature could, checking around every corner. He hit a dead end twice, but before long the yellow light of the flames was replaced by the brightness of daylight and Victor was able to breathe in fresh air.

((Victor exits the Dungeons and enters the Outer Gates))

[Silence Sei]

Sei’s body lay motionless on the floor for several minutes, Victor’s devastating blows managing to render the mute unconscious. Faint trickles of water dabbled on the back of his orange hair, running down the length of his neck and into his back. The constant drip of moisture eventually soaked the mute’s gray gi, causing an unfamiliar coolness in the body of the Mystic. The fingers in his hand twitched, first involuntarily, and then of their own accord. Slowly but surely, Sei was starting to regain consciousness.

As he began to return to the real world, Sei began to experience several visions. This was not unheard of; telepaths were known to ‘share’ memories with people if enough blows had been delivered back and forth between the two. The first time this had occurred, it was a jarring experience for the mute, as if one were watching a play outside of their own body. That had been years ago, and the end result was the earned friendship and trust of Max Dirks.

This time, however, Sei had been placed square in the memories of Victor Callahan. The mute was forced to watch as a young Victor watched his father waste away to nothingness thanks to a deadly disease, was powerless to watch the boxer’s mother try to scrape every single GP she had in order to support the family, and even wept when he watched Victor no longer trust in the God his family so believed in.

However, with the sadness, also came happy moments. There was Victor’s letters to a girl, the feeling of joy that radiated from the young prizefighter was infectious, and quickly dried Sei’s tears. There was Victor’s career as a boxer, boasting at first an impressive winning streak for the love of his life. Sei legitimately hoped that the man would get to win the heart of the fair maiden; it was a fairy tale that the man deserved, yet one the fates deemed unworthy.

Heartache. So much heartache. From having to support his family, to the decline in his fighting career, to Aicha. Aicha was a beautiful girl, hair the color of coal and eyes as piercing blue as Sei’s own. The love Victor had felt for her, it was as if the Mystic was watching his own relationship with Ryoki Nishoba blossom all over again. Much like Sei’s story, however, Victor suffered the loss of his beloved, blamed for her death by one Walter Jimes.

Walter Jimes…why does ….Thaynes! Sei’s head immediately shot up from the dungeon floor. Walter Jimes had killed Aicha, and Walter Jimes was the man Victor had hired both Sei (at that point, in the disguise of ‘Silas’) and another warrior to assassinate. The whole event had lead to Sei’s hatred for Victor in the first place, back to the pier where the mute was forced to snap that innocent man’s neck with a sickening crunch. This revelation did not absolve Victor of all of his sins, but it surely justified his thirst for revenge.

Sei’s eyes darted around the dank and dark dungeon, making sure that Victor was not hiding to finish the job. Even if he were, Sei had a secret weapon in such a situation, but for now such extremes were unnecessary. Victor had left Sei alone, perhaps trying to even the score with the Mystic for sparing his life. The mute slowly brought himself to a standing position, his legs still quite wobbly from Victor’s brutal beating. A hand was brought to the side of his head, pulling back to find only a small amount of azure liquid streaming down his palm.

Victor had hurt him, but not crippled him.

Sei looked down to the ground, saw his chakram glistening in the dark, and knelt down to pick it up. Standing back upright proved a little more difficult, as it caused the Mystic to lose his footing a bit. While the damage wasn’t severe, it seemed as though Sei’s former prisoner had distorted his equilibrium a bit. The mute grounded himself for a moment, taking several deep breaths before he turned towards the doors of the dungeon. It would be a small walk to the outer gates from here, but at least he could witness Victor’s escape from there.

Sei began to walk, his weight shifting heavily to either the right or left every few steps. One thing was for certain; Victor Callahan had one mean jab.

((Sei leaves the dungeon for the Outer Gates.))