The Edge of Fate

[Viola Conda]

That dream again…

Viola bolted upwards in her bedroom, her eyes filled with tears again as she felt her heart race. They were more frequent recently, more determined and pushing her further in the dream world than she ever drifted before. However, the end result was always, despite how far she got, the same.

Her feet touched the wooden floor to feel the coldness of the hard wood; to anchor her to reality again. She placed her face in her hands, muttering to herself about the past as she shook her head. It couldn't be changed, no matter what, and these dreams made a mockery of her. They started the same each time with her in Emprea, her homeland, standing before five of the closest people she knew. They sat at the table they always did for their monthly meeting. There were smiles, laughter, and a bit of love as they talked merrily about state affairs.

Then the table would collapse and they would all fall, landing in the fires of her homeland’s invasion by Carthage. There she held her Halberd in hand, pointing it at the neck of the frail female friend of hers, Rachel Leona. Both were crying, both were in pain and emotional torment. Viola would pull the weapon back, hold her hand out, and Rachel would shake her hand, turning to lift her bow. She would strike the woman in the back, her body turning into a ghostly whisper in the wind, evaporating.

The world undoubtedly shook again, and it was replaced by the agile, wild haired and care free spirit of Brian McCorvan. His eyes judged her; they never stopped judging her as his tiny dagger swung at her in expert arks. It was all she could do to keep her hands moving and block the blows from stabbing her. When the hurt became to much her rage manifested in a bright crimson glow, her eyes judging him as her fist came up, sword in hand cutting the fabric in half.

The world would spin wildly around her like a tornado to an underground path, her boots splashing in the water as her bladed staff twirled expertly around her body, blocking two swords; one made of immeasurable darkness, and the other of blinding light. Both men who wielded the weapons were fierce in their attacks, hatred in one eye for the woman they fought, pity in the other as the trio of weapons clashed sparking tendrils of dark magic and bright illuminations.

The light weapon shifted multiple times, from spear, to lance, to halberd, to hammer, to bow, to whip, ever changing and ever shifting with bright glows of illumination. The mighty Balmung, the changeling sword belonged to Jonothan Andrews, her trusted friend. He spun with grace, as befitting the captain of the House Knights. Her eyes followed his as she trapped his lance formed hybrid weapon, moving in to cleave him in twain. Yet as she close dark tendrils of madness spun around him, a wisp of a chuckle in the air and Viola jumped backwards, her arm coming up so her grieve took the blow, but with a curse on her lips she spat in pain, blood leaking through her armor despite no cut being there.

David King, captain of the Guard pressed his advantage, pirouetting with a sharp riposte that dove through Viola’s defenses and came for her heart. She let herself fall, her weapon coming up in a wild horizontal swing. David saw the attack and his eyes went wide, but a bright luminescence parried the blow as Viola landed on her back. She rolled to her feet, her weapon keeping both at bay as they circled her. Here they were, the two generals of the once proud army she led. Fighting her with hatred when moments prior they laughed and talked about the wedding she was attending for Jonothan and Rachel.

Now they struck at the same time, light and darkness both swirling their energy to trap her within a circle of magic. She bent low, her belly grazed by the armor negating Tyrfing of David King. Yet the effect was instantaneous. Jonothan’s Balmung impaled David, and David’s Tyrfing bisected Jonothan’s armor like it was made of wet paper. Both images flashed into the air, ghostly images swirling in the air with a tortured scream.

The image faded, and it was always this one moment, this one scene that was hardest for Viola to face. She turned her weapon up in a block, but with a roar that shook the heavens a heavy double headed axe the girth of a growing tree smacked her feeble defenses aside and she went for a ride, her boots skidding in the dust of a fiery ruin. All her friends, the ones she had just fought were there, watching on in the wings with their eyes judging.

Yet she paid them little attention, for her foe was a force stronger than anything she could recall. Stalking towards her was the bulky mass of Emprea’s Wolf Lord, Paul Donovan. Rage covered his face, as if his brain was having trouble calculating emotions. His left eye twitched as he let out a roar of defiance, the world shaking again as Viola charged forwards. She ducked a wild swing, watching as his feet moved in time with hers in a counter walk, keeping a wide birth from Viola’s range. His axe came back, and she had to roll to avoid being cleaved in twain. His strength was enough that even with half of it he could cut a man in twain if they were thin enough. Viola came forwards, her weapon held like a spear in a charge, her lips letting out a war cry. Her throat went dry by the return howl from Donovan as he lifted his hand out grabbing her halberd by the shaft head, jerking it forwards to the side. Viola came flying forwards, lifting her boot to try and kick him with her momentum.

When they collided they collapsed, and Viola scrambled to mount him, grabbing his throat and squeezing. It was this moment that she felt her guilt come to the fore. Paul didn't judge her like the others. He only looked to her, as if he was a confused dog wondering why the master he loved hit him. Viola cried and howled, her fists beating into his chest as he grasped them and whispered words to him that made her collapse in exhaustion, tears staining her face. He only smiled to her, despite blood dripping from his lips as the sword she grabbed impaled his stomach. His spirit faded as did the others.

Rain always fell at this point, dousing out the embers of war and adding a measure of sorrow to the scene. Viola was no longer dressed in battle plate; none of the heroes were in their armor. They were in the rain on a single pass. A crossroads on the edge of eternity. Rachel stepped forwards first, lifting her hand up, a sweet smile on her face. Behind her Paul towered over her, lifting his own hand out to her. Jonothan and David stepped forwards next, flanking them as they too lifted their hands. Brian was the last, a cocky smile filled with warmth as he lifted his hand up next to Jonothan’s, all of them looking to her.

There was no judgment; there was no hatred in their eyes. There was only forgiveness. Viola looked to them all, her mind wracked with pain from betraying the people she called friend. She loved them, all of them, and to see them give her another chance made her rush forwards to take their hands.

But every time she was about to take it, a bastard sword cleaved the air, lightening striking the ground as Viola remembered the moment she paid that terrible price. Her hand lifted to shake a hand, but not that of her friends, but of the enemy who ransacked her home.

She pushed the thoughts out of her mind, but this time, on this night, the dream was subtly different. Standing at the cross roads of eternity, there were now two roads instead of one, a fork at the road that led to different paths. One led to the castle of Emprea, the other led to the path of glory and war. Standing before the path to her home was her friends, hands out and waiting. To the opposite was another group of people, a corrupt wizard, a drunken sell sword, and a noble prince who lifted their hands up, an expecting look on their face to join them with jeers and sneers.

In the middle, where the path ended and split, was a lone figure dressed in deep purple robes of royalty. His eyes were filled with mischief, despite that she couldn't see his face. He stood forwards, silencing both camps as he lifted his wrinkled, aged hands. His skin was cracked, and feeble, but when he removed the shawl covering his face she saw a young face of a boy, medium black hair splayed out in a wild fashion with a tinkerer’s goggles laid back. His eyes, the deepest shade of violet she had seen ate her up. His black pointed beard moved as he spoke.

“One path leads to the present, the other the past. Is it not the way of Heroes to have a single moment in history that defined who they were? I suppose the heroes journey is rife with such moments, but let me ask you this, Viola Conda, daughter of Michael and Gloria Conda, once proud Active Chief Counselor, and current Bandit Warlord of the Lunar Wolves; would you not agree that the moment you betrayed your friends is the moment you defined who you were?”

Despite the accusation of the question, Viola knew she couldn't lie to herself. She nodded to the man. He clapped his hands together, rubbing them end over end. He showed his teeth in a smile that wasn't warming at all, and lifted his own hand to her to take. “Viola Conda, what if I could promise you the thing you want most.”

“The thing I want most…” she whispered. Viola felt her heart grow heavy, and the wind of the rain rushed around her.

“I can take this stain upon your honor away,” the robed man whispered dreamily. “But you must first tell me how committed you are to changing the direction the wheel of fate, break free from the bonds that bind you and alter history itself.” She looked to the offered hands of her past friends, and the warmth of that option. When the lightening struck again, she looked to the choice she did make, seeing the coldness of the offer they held for her. "I have the power, Viola Conda, to let you choose which future you want."

“I would…I would…” Viola listened to the strain in her voice as she looked at both possibilities. “I would give anything to take back my betrayal of Emprea!”

Viola awoke after that, the man’s chuckling all she heard. He had promised her when the time came she would know instantly what was going on, and what needed to be done. Innately, all things would be explained. She had thought it was just a terrible dream, a trick of her mind to assuage her guilt, but as she looked to her left hand, eyes filled with silent horror she watched red lines begin to surface. They danced and swirled until they made the symbol of a crescent moon, pierced in twain by a diagonal crossed Lance. His final words echoed in her mind.

When the time comes, you will innately know what to do,

She looked to the mark again, the final word he spoke bringing sharp pain to her mind as memories not hers took over.

Legionnaire…

[Marduk the Black]

“Let me get this straight…you mean to tell me you are the avatar of a god?” Harsher tones had seldom graced the world as the scorn in the voice was hot enough to scorch the very stones the two men stood upon. The man whose voice held so much anger was dressed in combat fatigues camouflaged for a desert campaign. The world he stood in was no desert, and the building he stood within was certainly no battlefield. Brown eyes balefully looked upon the robed figure before him, even as he hand twitched slightly longing the draw the combat knife as the small of his back, a habit that police had told him to drop and he refused for the simple fact it had kept him alive this long.

“To be more precise, I am more accurately the god in questions direct conduit to this world. I must say it has been awhile since I have looked about. Mortals never seem to cease finding new ways to astound me with how they grow their technology. They say that science is almost as good as magic at breaking the laws that govern this plane of existence,” The man laughed as he said the words, his beard gracing down to his stomach. Kept neat and tidy the beard was drawn together in metal ringlets each denoting a different rune that seemed to glow even when no light shone in the vicinity. Robes of a deep royal purple bedecked the man as his hands remained hidden within the sleeves in a rather inscrutable way. Ancient grey eyes under a grey head of hair studied the man intently before he shrugged, “Though I suppose if you wish I could be called his emissary, even if I am the man in question.”

“I think I’ve had about enough of this bullshit,” The man said as he turned to leave.

“Oh Eric, have you forgotten why you came in the first place? What was your desire, to continue to fight until you were killed in battle? To not let the ravaging force of old age and time devour your considerable talents, did you not wish to continue fighting until you found someone stronger?” The footsteps stopped. The lips that spat out the words held a predator’s smile, showing teeth more than mirth, and hiding intent better than lies. He pressed the already won advantage, twisting the knife in the man’s wounded pride, “Discharged for old age and refusal to take promotion off the battlefield. Truly disheartening to one who had his hopes set on dying in combat I have been told. Then again you may leave if you wish; this was after all merely a meeting to put forth the ideas. It is not my fault if you do not explore every avenue available to you in pursuing your goal…”

“Speak,” The order was barked with barely restrained anger, even as the man’s grinned widened in a maddeningly slow way. It was the tiger’s smile, full on food but still toying with its prey.

“It is quite simple; an ancient artifact I created is would be the only thing you required. Perhaps you have heard about the Albion’s Legacy? It is a simple artifact capable of reversing any ill effect on the bearer, and further, granting its wielder any wish it desired. With this blade one could be undefeated in battle, but to use its ability to grant a wish would be to lose its might. A powerful weapon and magical token in one neat package, Albion’s Legacy remains hidden from mortal eyes…” The man explained even as he paced slowly about the man. He moved to the door of the room they were in and pushed it shut, “You certainly know the truth, the government found one of my artifacts long ago. I believe it was called the Toddesdale Flamberg…capable of incinerating an entire army with but a sweep of the blade, a weapon too dangerous to be used, and far too destructive to let go. I believe it is currently locked in a military base deep in New Lavinya…”

“I was part of the team that found it, how could I not know…and what’s to keep me from finding the Albion’s Legacy, if I found one I can certainly find the other…” Eric challenged even as he reached for the door knob.

“I am very particular with my toys. I purposefully lead your men to the dig site that produced it, because my weapons were to be used, not kept hidden away. Albion’s Legacy on the other hand, was by far too benign and too dangerous to let just anyone have it. In this fashion I created a pocket realm to hide the weapon away, right here in Larapool.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” Eric said as he leaned against the door his arms crossed.

“Eric my boy, the obvious question is how can you find something I purposefully hid? The correct answer is that you cannot, not without a guide. Already others have begun the search, finding information here and there that would point them to this city. Furthermore, they have conveniently found the most vital piece of information in locating my pocket realm hiding the blade… Only one who has passed through the veil of death and remained behind it can find the blade…”

“So what, I need to dredge up a ghost to find it?” Eyebrow rose even as he shook his head in incredulity. His voice held a note of barely contained anger as he said, “I may have found one magic toy of yours but I’m no wizard I can’t just conjure magic like I’m some kind of wackjob in the boogey brigade…”

“That’s where I step in; ritual magic is so very looked down upon for one reason. Think of it like a vending machine, you place your coin in the slot and make your selection. Well this particular vending machine has only one button, and only so many things inside. Everyone will be using this ritual to get their pick from the vending machine, and with luck the prize they actually want. The others haven’t gotten the information on the ritual yet, and therefore I place you at a significant advantage over them. I am going to flat out give you the scroll with the information needed to summon a warrior who can find you the realm in which I have hidden Albion’s Legacy…” He then placed a hand carefully on the man’s should and said softly, “Even without an iota of magic in your blood, you can complete the ritual and get first crack at the location of the blade.”

“Why do I feel there is a catch?” Eric retorted. A flick of his wrist saw the old man’s hand removed as he eyed the old geezer with narrowed eyes. A fist clenched even as his muscles subtly stiffened from relaxed to ready for combat.

“Well I figure in order for you to gain the youth you deserve, you will have to fight for it commander. With all these ghosts of warriors running around, everyone will most likely try to put the screws to each other in order to prevent someone else form finding it,” He shrugged his hand even as he pitched his voice slightly higher, almost acknowledging that he had hoped the man wouldn’t see the catch.

“You mean that whoever I call as a guide might have to fight the other guides to find the tomb you’ve tossed this blade in…”

“Oh make no mistakes about this Eric; there is no might about it. You will be forced to fight if you go searching for Albion’s Legacy, a true war fought in the city, over a weapon so destructive that it would cause nations to war just to get a hold of it. I sincerely hope a man of your caliber isn’t above a little fighting to achieve his goals,” Lazarus replied in kind.

“So, eliminate the other guides and use my own to obtain the blade, sounds like a good deal to me. I fight to get what I want, makes it feel right in taking it, rather than having it handed on a platter… Which guide do I call?” He asked looking at the man.

Laughter rang through the room as he gently coaxed the younger man back into the room and said through a sharks grin, “Oh yes, I have just the servant for you. I can give you rituals for many a hero, tell me what you seek and I shall tell you who you get. There are Saints, and Mages, Gladiators and Hunters to choose from, merely tell me what you are looking for and I shall supply…”

Eric put a bit of consideration into his thoughts before he looked at the old man and said, “I want a warrior, a man who understands that the battlefield is more than just a job, it’s a way of life. I want someone who appreciates strength and courage in the face of an enemy…”

The grin never left his face as he said softly, “Oh Eric, do I have the hero for you…”

[Disillusioned]

Dante Morcef calmly inspected his room one last time. Everything was in its proper place; books upon the shelf, clothes in the closest, various trinkets meticulously spread out here and there across the room. There was one in particular he was fond of, a rotating crystal sphere of the world no larger than an infants hand. What made it special was that it seemed to move on discernable power source, it simply continued to spin on and on.

Dante gently touched the object, and nodded in satisfaction. All was set to go. He adjusted his clothes one last time, a simple suit befitting a man in his late twenties, and picked up his suit case.

Though his parents left him a sizable inheritance, Dante did his very best to tap into that as little as possible. Therefore, though he could have afforded top of the line suits, he wore one that though tasteful, was well within the reach of most modern families.

He picked up his plane ticket off his desk, and tucked it away into his into his pocket. It was time to go. There was nothing left to do here, except for one thing.

“Heeeeeyyyyy!” screamed a distinctly high-pitched female voice from downstairs. Dante made to open his door, but that was a futile effort. In came bursting a teenage girl, who apparently gave no care about privacy. Or the meaning of a locked door. Dante inwardly cringed as he heard a cracking sound, and chunks of the door flew off the handle.

“Um, I’m so going to fix that,” the girl muttered as she glanced about the room, “but your taxi’s here! Hee hee!”

“Thank you Mary,” Dante responded as he ignored the broken door he stepped through, “try not to destroy any other parts of the house while I’m gone?”

“I only promise to try!” the girl named Mary giggled as she hugged her brother, “Remember not to talk to strangers! And don’t believe any handsome man who offers you a modeling job! Did you remember to pack clean underwear?”

“Did you remember to get the door for the taxi, or is he still outside, wondering if anyone is home?”

“Er. Um. B-R-B!” Mary shouted as she dashed back down the stairs while Dante clucked his tongue.

“Is it really that hard to say be right back?” he muttered under his breath as he hefted his suitcase.

“I have found that, for young teenage girls in this era, it is hard enough for them to be quiet for longer than thirty seconds,” came a third voice from a body that had not been there five seconds ago, “I myself would be more concerned about that.”

A figure materialized out of nothing. He was a bit older than Dante, but for the most part (minus the sudden appearance) would not have stood out too much. His clothes were fresh, a black silk shirt and pants. His long white coat was well-past out of style, but that did not bother him in the least. The one thing that anyone would have been instantly drawn to was the object at his left hip.

Nowadays, most people did not wander around wearing swords strapped to their belts.

Dante gazed at his avatar. He had summoned supposedly what was to be the strongest of the possible classes, the Swordsman class. After all, how many heroes in the stories used a sword? Just about all of them.

“I will never understand this so-called internet lingo,” Dante muttered, “I understand how such things as a world wide web could be considered useful, but such technology leaves a foul taste in my mouth.”

“As you say, my master. Still, this is the last time you may ever see your home, or your sister. Perhaps a bit of kindness would not be untoward as a farewell?”

“...You are correct Swordsman,” Dante answered, not using his avatar’s real name. Such a thing was dangerous once the game had begun. “You are as kind as the knights of the old.”

“I was once a knight, but in truth, I was far happier when I was wasn’t. I simply think girls as your sister ought to be cherished. They are few and far between,” was the reply of Dante’s avatar.

“Scatterbrained and a klutz? Not to mention whiny?” Dante laughed.

“Indeed. But a kind heart, if there ever was one,” Swordsman replied softly, his eyes seemed to grow misty with nostalgia as he talked about Mary.

“If you continue down this path, I will be forced to use one of my Voice of Reasons to keep you away from my sister. I would hate to handicap us in such a manner,” Dante joked. Somewhat.

He silently touched the three marks that had formed on the back of his right wrist, extending down to the middle of his hand. These three marks would allow him to, once per mark, substitute his own reason for his avatar’s, and force Swordsman into any act, regardless of his avatar‘s wishes or feelings on the matter.

Using it to keep the man away from his sister seemed like such a waste.

“Unnecessary my master,” Swordsman said with a polite bow, “I shall return to spirit form.”

And just like that, the man who had been talking to Dante disappeared into nothingness. He was still in the room; Dante could feel the man’s presence. They were connected now, and would remain so until one of them died.

That was how the game was played. One winner, eight losers. Many years ago, Dante’s mother had been entered in the game, and she had lost. Dante’s father committed suicide shortly after, leaving Dante and Mary to provide for themselves. As far as everyone was concerned, Dante had done splendidly at that. He had made certain that he and his sister would want for little, and would grow up as normal as one could given the circumstances, but now it was his turn. His turn to try his hand at Lazarus’s great game.

If he won, he could have anything he wanted. If he lost, well, best not to dwell on that.

“Be good Mary. I love you very much,” Dante whispered as he hugged his sister on the way out.

“Uh, dude, love you too. But, seriously, no need to be so serious. You’re gonna be gone for, like, a month at most?” Mary muttered back, almost in a bored manner, “I think I can manage to stay alive while your at your business meeting.”

“Tell that to my door,” Dante chuckled as he playfully ran his hand through his sister’s hair, completely messing it up. He had not told her of his designs, or his plans. She knew nothing about him, or his life as a mage.

“Ack! Hey! Not the hair! Not the hair you big galoot!” Mary shouted as she began a desperate attempt to fix her light brown hair. Her brother didn’t know it, but she had a date tonight!

“Obnoxious little brat,” Dante let out open last laugh, gave his sister one more tender embrace. He then stepped outside, and towards his destiny.

[Symbiosis]

The vaulted doors of the noble Vivian Family slammed open, the huge oak portals bouncing against the mahogany tables that flanked the brick laid walls. The window sheets fluttered open with a gust of wind, magical seither seeping outwards into the mansion estate as booted feet stomped across the desert rug worth a king’s ransom. A frail, aging hand flicked grey/white hair out of green eyes, a scowl on a wrinkled face that would break stone if given the opportunity.

Magdalene Vivian strode her hallways with an arrogant humph; her hands shoving her attendants and acolytes out of her way as she gripped the side of her decaying flesh, feeling the weariness of age take its toll as she seethed with frustration. Her hands hit and beat at anything foolish enough to be in her way as her body exuded rage.

“I am the greatest house of Wizardy and Scorcery! The winds of Magic call me the Crone for a reason!” she screeched her wrath to the heavens, as if they could hear her anguish. “I am expected to summon the strongest of heroes for the great game! As I have done in the past, and my father before me for four generations! We have summoned the strongest heroes, but today I am ashamed. I summon a Beast! And, and, and the shame of that class is further shamed by…by…YOU!” Unable to contain her inner fury she turned, her hand glowing with blue hell flame. The appendage darted to the side setting a bench on fire as she pointed an accusing finger with other hand at the entrance to the room she had exited.

Standing before the door was a man in simple clothing, a worn jacket modestly kept in good condition hung from his shoulders, a look of humble apology on his features as he merely shrugged lifting his hands up to accentuate that he really didn’t know what else he could do. He wasn’t a bad looker, this hero Magdalene summoned. Yet he was also lacking in a few areas that the Crone wanted. A good start would be to being an actual hero.

“I do not know why the lines of fate brought us together, Master, but it may have to do with your desire for the Game’s prize. A tendency to summon a hero with similar ideals is cause to pluck a spirit from the ether of choices.”

“Do not lecture me, avatar, on the rituals of summoning! I am the greatest sage in this endeavor,”

“Then by your words, I must be the strongest,” her servant joked with a polite smile, hands lifting to his side. “Come now, you must know that I am yours to command and we both must work together. Let us discuss the coming Game and perhaps in time we can become great allies.”

Magdalene looked to her new avatar and spat on the floor in disgust. “You flatter yourself to much. You have no magic, I can tell, so your simple attempt to charm me is not going to work.”

“I wasn’t trying to…” he muttered sadly.

The Crone turned angrily away from her charge, grabbing one of her retainer’s collar and dragging his face so he looked to her. “Ensure you make sure nobody is spying on this mansion.” The man nodded once, his eyes filled with fear as he lifted his wrist to his mouth and began to murmur into it about doubling patrols and setting up magical barriers.

“Raphael!” The elderly woman bellowed. An exotic looking man stepped forward, dressed in an all-black suit with just the olive flesh tone of his face to discern his origins. “My sweet, sweet man,” she whispered in a husky voice. “Kill the trash. If we are lucky, perhaps we can try another ritual.” Raphael nodded without hesitation, a knife appearing in his hands in the blink of an eye as he stalked towards her servant.

“There really is no need for this, Magdalene,” he shouted in a frightened manner.

“Yes, I would like tea in my study, I think,” Magdalene said without acknowledging the one she brought to the great game. “Useless trash is useless. It sounds stupid to say that, but one must admit things aloud to learn sometimes. I made a mistake in the ritual, in my arrogance.”

The sound of a fist hitting flesh, accompanied by the follow up of bile hitting the floor and a gasp for breath filled the air. The room’s tension stiffened, but everyone knew not to make any movements when their mistress’ desires were being enacted. Magdalene heard the disgruntled voice of a man in pain and smiled as she waited for her tea, but when her butler arrived, his eyes widened and he dropped the tray with her tea. She looked to him with anger, before she noticed something in the corner of her eye.

Looking into the tray of now split tea she saw something that made her own heart dance in terror. She whipped to see Raphael’s head held tightly while his body dangled in her Servants hand, but to say it was a man, or even her Servant she saw before was lying. Looking to her with a savage grin was a demonic entity, milky white soulless eyes glaring to her as the mouth opened like the distended jaw of a predator; slick, slimy salvia dripping from fang to fang like web of a spider. His physique was huge, barrel chested and arms ripped with muscles like tiny cannons. Ham like legs kept the beast aloft as a snake like tongue licked the side of Raphael’s face.

“It appears,” Magdalene said with a grin covering the corner of her face, marshaling her fear. “That in my arrogance I have spoken too soon.” She lifted herself to a more regal height as she approached her Servant with a more critical eye. She could feel the fury of the man before her, the demon possessing the once thought useless being. She could see that it understood who she was, and she saw Raphael’s eyes shut tight in agony. “Release him, Beast.” Without much ceremony the beast flicked the human to the wall where his body collided with the wooden sectional, spider web like cracks forming from the impact as he slid onto his side. “Can you speak?”

There was a snarl, wet and full of phlegm as the beast snorted and spat, wiping at its maw with a taloned hand. The sticky saliva wiped to the floor and Magdalene noticed its white, soulless eyes focused and narrowed. “I…can…” he snarled, his voice barking in guttural speech. With another snort and jaw snap he spoke again. “It is…difficult…” the demon spoke, two voices snarling in a wet leopard like growl.

“Naturally it would be, for you represent the Beastial aspect of a hero's resolve. You see only rage and can feel only rage. This is curious because when I summoned your human form, he could communicate much more efficiently. This is a boon,” Magdalene whispered to her Avatar. In reply, all it did was lift an accusing finger to her face, before stepping forwards.

“I am Symbiote,” the demon cursed, jaws snapping the air. “I am your avatar,” he barked again and growled, the spittle from his slurred speech flying in the air like rain. “But do not confuse the roles!” he shouted standing over her, eyes wide with sinister. “Baxter…you do not control him…only me….Binky Boy is mine!”

Magdalene let out a chuckle, impressed by the beast’s lack of grace. “Can you change back?” The demon looked to her, before with a howl of pain it roared to the sky, body depleting in size until the howling noise of the demon was replaced by the wail of anguish by a human. Magdalene lifted her hand out and the human took it, his weakness returning as she couldn’t detect an ounce of useful mana within her Servant.

“Yes, Symbiote,” Magdalene smiled a vile smile. “You will be a fine Servant.”

[Mage Hunter]

“You cannot be serious…” The voice echoed through the silent chamber, bouncing about the stone walls in an effort to underline the ridicule that seemed inherent in such a phrase. Black hair fell freely about the head and shoulders of the woman even as she raised an eyebrow in challenge, demanding an explanation of the events that unfolded. Her arms were crossed in a position that exuded hostility even before a leg swept out and before the other in an attempt to seem more relaxed, despite the constant tension in her shoulders.

“As a heart attack,” The words were delivered back with the utmost conviction, even as the owner of the voice leaned against a wooden pew. The bench creaked under the weight, so long had this place gone without maintenance, a common occurrence with the so called “age of enlightenment” that the world was going through. They tried to dispel myths about the gods being true beings, though the woman before him had a few words on that matter as well. He adjusted his suit coat as he said firmly, “I put a lot of effort to get back in this for you, you know…”

The woman was dressed in a more modern outfit, her legs encased in tight jeans that accentuated her figure. Her shirt was also form fitting and a bright white to contrast the purple flesh and black hair she wore. Boots laced up tightly bloused her jean pants as she gazed upon her partner in crime and spoke candidly, “All this effort just to have another shot at me? Do you realize how stupid you sound right now?”

“Is it really so unbelievable that a guy would do almost anything for someone they care about? I mean really Drusilia-“

“What have I told you about calling me by name?” The Drow said firmly as she frowned at the mention of her true name, “I am a Hunter class Servant; refer to me by my title or not at all. If you let slip who I am, I will not gain any traction in this game. It’s bad enough I’m stuck doing another stint in Lazarus’ stupid game, losing before we even begin would be the height of stupidity wouldn’t it?”

“I’m sorry, Hunter,” He said adding the title afterwards almost as an afterthought. His shoulders cringed in a betrayal of his guilt before he said, “I wasn’t sure if it would work, and I had to try, especially after the last time this game played out. We got so far, and I didn’t want you to give up on your dream…”

“You do realize if I get my dream, we never meet? I would never be a Dawnbringer, and I would never be involved in that mess. I would never have to worry about playing this dumb game, and you would never have fallen in love with me, right?”

“Is the thought of being my servant in this matter really that galling? Say the word and I’ll free you,” He offered out his hand, displaying the marks of the Master, giving him dominion over his servant. The Drow looked upon the marks before she looked up at him and shook her head.

“Vith, dos ph' biu mal'ai...” Her fingers pinched at the bridge of her nose even as the man chuckled at the use of the ancient tongue. The Drow of today would have no clue what she was saying, but the master had a clue, and it was all he needed to know she was cursing in old Drow again.

“And you kissed your mother with that mouth,” he sassed as he said, “Just think of it as another shot at this. If we succeed you can get your wish, and I could perhaps get mine. Who knows, this thing is pretty powerful, it might work for both of us…”

“My mother threw me out the day I grew of age. I wouldn’t have pissed on her to put out a fire let alone kiss her,” the Mage Hunter began before she moved up and gripped the man by the front of his shirt and spoke firmly, “As for what happened between us, it was a moment of weakness. I blame myself for letting it get that far, and I blame you for pushing when you knew damn well that fight had gotten in my head. You were nothing more than an outlet for all the doubt I had about my convictions, and as good as that night was, it was the biggest mistake we made in the last game. We cannot afford such mistakes; especially with a fresh cast to this farce of a game. Am I clear?”

The man sagged under the withering assault before he said softly, “You really think everything between us was a mistake?”

She softened a bit at the accusation as she let the man go, her hand resting on his chest before she said softly, “The mistake was getting so involved with you. It’s not that I didn’t enjoy what happened between us, I merely am saying it clouded my convictions and we need that if we’re to win this. If I let my guard down like I was forced to last time, I don’t know what would happen. As it stands I’m more than certain you should have died last time…”

A hand gently cupped her cheek, and Drusilia leaned into the gentle caress before he said softly, “Not all the players are in the game, can we at least enjoy ourselves while the game is setting up?”

Her mouth opened and closed a few times each an attempt to answer the question before she pushed back, moving away from him and facing the altar of dilapidated church. She hugged herself for a moment in a rare nod to her feminine nature, before she spoke softly, “I…can’t. You know that as much as I do Jason. If I give in for a moment, I’ll want it more, and then we’ll be back where we started, in a huge mess with only one way out…”

Arms wrapped about her and she felt him press against her back, she tried to resist the embrace, only to find herself leaning into it before he whispered, “Then fight for me, fight for us. Make that your reason to fight, is not love one of the noblest reasons to fight? Why do you do so for Hate? You grew to know such famous legends and became a powerful hunter; you stopped untold pain and sorrow with the death of Alexander Memnar. Let go of the past, and join me here, in the future…”

“That’s cheating and you know it,” Drusilia purred even as her eyes drifted shut. She had been forced to be strong for so long, the feeling of being vulnerable held a bit of taboo pleasure for the Huntress who enjoyed the moment of freedom from her burdens. She relished the warm feeling of his skin upon hers, reminded of her times with the other human who shared his name. Humans could be very inventive lovers as she had come to find out, and it was with that she opened her eyes and realized what she desired more than anything.

“You okay Hunter? You seem like something occurred to you…”

“When I fought Xem’zund, I took so much necromantic energy in me that my body started dying on the inside. It started with any organ that wasn’t necessary to keep me alive, and when I realized it was eating me alive I flushed it out, but not before it destroyed one thing that I didn’t discover till later…”

“What’s that?”

“I was made barren by the magic, I suppose if I don’t get rid of my past, I could wish for a future…” She looked back into his eyes, “You’re sure you know what you’re doing this time?”

“I practiced hard to get the spells down to a science. I could do them half asleep. Though I decided not to change the summoning…”

She laughed before she spun in his arms and slapped his shoulder, “You just want to give yourself an excuse to share a bed again. I swear you lucked into getting me and lucked even more in forcing me to stay corporeal in this world.”

“I won’t lie that I had an idea of how the downtime this game could be spent…and without you being able to hide like the others I felt it was necessary.”

Her arms wrapped about his neck as she drilled into his warm brown eyes with her own. The ruffled his brown hair before she said, “Again, it was an amazing night, but we can’t do that until we win, understood?”

“Then how far do we go?”

“I’ll set the tempo, and I swear to the gods that still exist Jason, if you entice me into it, I will make you regret unleashing my sex drive. Am I clear?” She whispered as she gave him a light kiss.

Jason returned it before hugging her tightly and said softly, “I think I’d rather get to know you this time, rather than go for a quickie. If we’re going to spend our lives together, I want to make sure we’re both ready for that step…”

[Requiem of Insanity]

“Oh man, I don’t think I got it wrong this time!”

Sitting before a ritual circle upon a stone floor sat a youthful boy, his eyes lost in the many sigils and scribbling runes he had taken seven pain staking hours to perfect. He had only seen this circle once in his entire life, this image he created, but he knew it by heart already. The man in purple robes told him how it worked.

He lifted his hand to the back of his head, scratching it in utter confusion as he pursed his lips, resting one elbow on a knee as he placed his chin in his palm. He looked to the sigils again, looking for any splatter or missed ley lines. He leaned backwards, gripping the air in a stretch as he kicked his legs out balancing on his butt, yawning in agitation as he looked again more closely to his summoning circle.

“It’s a broken triangle, I know that. The perfect balance is disrupted; I should be summoning a hero by now!” He growled and lifted the image he penned in school. He had been thinking of it all day and sketched the image in all his classes. He skipped his final period just to get a head start on this project. He decided to distract himself as he recalled the vivid dream.

There was rain, lots of it. He stood in the street with the man in the deep purple robes looking to him. Images of all the times he was picked on in school flashing before his eyes. He frowned, remembering the beatings he received just for being weird. The day he snapped and fought back was also played, the feral look in his own eyes as he let loose his fists onto that jocks face. Oh how he felt vindicated! But his joy was short lived as he ripped away and ganged up on, body broken and bleeding by the time a teacher arrived.

This followed him through his whole life, each memory of his poundings taken form. He sought refuge in his books, his role play games, and anything that allowed him to escape. He had changed his life after a few years, avoiding his family, hanging with the darker kids at school. They would understand him, for a while at least. The haunting image of his onetime friends pushing him away when he killed a small cat. There was real fear in their eyes as they questioned his sanity. He let them go from his life as he pursued his new hobby. He began to cut himself to feel what pain was like, smiling as he watched the blood drip off the edge of the steel knife into his awaiting hand. Soon, his twisted mind began to wonder what other sounds people could make. He wondered how loud the would get…

What sublime singing voice they had when they screamed…

For him, it wasn’t even about the kill; it was just in the exultation of achieving that sublime feeling one more time. Just like that day he let loose and harmed someone, he enjoyed the painful wails of screaming.

The man before him explained there was a chance he could get his wish. If he could defeat eight other people in some competition, he would be given the chance to enjoy his hobby on a broader scale. The world would soon feel his knives on a scale unimaginable. All the victims he could want to make a symphony with. It was a no brainer. He dropped down on all fours and begged the robed man for the chance. And so he showed him the sigil and the rites to summon the one who would represent him in the coming battles. He awoke with a start, after that, his alarm for school reminding him that this was the hell on earth he would live with if he didn’t break the mold soon.

He stood, looking to the summoning circle once more. He let his black dyed hair cover the right half of his face, his shadowed eye looking and feeling the wrongness of the ritual he was making. Something was missing! With a laugh he pulled out a long combat knife he stole from his friend’s dad, unsheathing the blade and smiling as he looked to the wild, cross lines that seemed to be a contradiction to the perfect ley lines of the circle.

“An offering to you, mighty hero!” With a grimace, the boy lifted his hand up, running the weapon deep within the grooves of his hand, sawing the flesh away as blood dripped like a faucet. With a painful cry of mirth, he opened his wounded hand and quickly ran it over the summoning circle. The wild lines that covered most of the surface caught the blood, and softly they glowed with a crimson aura. The leylines of the ritual burned with a white/blue glow, exploding with magic as the crimson lines lifted and ate away into the air. The wounded hand of the summoner burned like a hot brand was pressing into his skin, those crimson lines forming upon the top of his flesh as he cried out in pain. His screams echoed into the magical vortex, and the magic caused the torrents of power to cascade upwards to the heavens. The room’s lights blew out save the candle lights of the ritual circle. A body formed in the darkness, a curvy, sensual body that formed and made his mind soar with sinister thoughts.

Black hair blew in the wind as a pale woman formed in the circle, hands across his breasts as the shadows themselves instantly clung to her body like a cloak, but they did nothing to hide her appeal as the boy tripped backwards, watching her feet hover over the ground, a red sigil under her naked feet that was painful to even look at for any length of time. Her eyes opened. An unnatural red that lined her hazel orbs as she peered directly at him.

“You have summoned me,” she said, her voice delicate and full of honey. He nodded to her dumbly. “You are my master in this endeavor. I will be your avatar on the field of battle.” She smiled to him, a look like a wolf about to devour a sheep.

“W-who are you?” he said, his grin returning as he could feel her dread wash over him making his neck hair raise in alarm. He had never been so thrillingly terrified in his life! If she could do this just looking at him, he could only imagine what she could do in real battle! Nobody could match him with power such as this!

She giggled, shaking her head. “Not yet, my master,” she whispered seductively. “I have learned much of how these games work. Suffice it to say, you have my loyalty so long as you serve my best interests.” She smiled and bowed to him, the circle’s energy slowly lowering as the boy stood and looked to her. When she looked up, there was menace in her eyes. “However, young one, if you stop to serve my best interests…” In the flash of an eye she was upon him, hands across his throat lifting him up in the air. She glared to him as she spoke, her words measured and careful. “I will not hesitate to take my knives and cut your flesh and make you sing to me regrets in a beautiful Requiem of Insanity.”

Madness gripped him as she held him up, his eyes looking to hers with adoration. “You’re…the…perfect…hero…” he chocked. The woman smiled as she lowered him back to his feet. “Ruthless, destructive,” he laughed with glee, punching a fist in the air. “Yes, perfect! Perfect Perfect Perfect! I have the perfect hero! A maestro for my choir! I accept your loyalty and the responsibilities of being your Master! My name is Dart!”

He looked to his new Servant, feeling pure joy in his heart as she smiled to him, her eyes filled with darkness that he could not gaze upon. In that instant he knew he was merely a boy playing with fire before, but now! Now he had someone who was his soul mate!

“Then let us begin the hunt,” she said vilely, her lips pursing in a predatory grin.

[Dissinger]

A faint glow emanated in the room, giving a twilight view of the contents. Chairs sat about a sturdy table designed for elegant meals, even as it was pushed aside for a more important task. A chalk circle constructed with loving care was drawn upon the wooden floor, and in the center sat a lone woman. Her black hair was tied back in a crisp ponytail, her clothing snug to her skin but revealing nothing. The turtleneck overbearingly hot, but it was the tightest clothing she had. She needed no distractions, no loose clothing to get in the way or obfuscate a gesture. She needed only to focus on the goal, even as she began the chant slowly.

“Born in darkness, called by darkness, ensnared by darkness, Traitor of the Six Siblings I call upon thee. May your will be unleashed once more upon this world. Shall your sense of honor be untainted, and your mind unclouded. I place myself upon your pride, that you bow your head to me. See into my heart, and know our path is true. See into the past and know our road has been long, and we are so close. Give me your strength that I may succeed on this final mission.”

Power thrummed to life in the circle, she knew he was coming forth, but summoning required sacrifice. Some would be satisfied with mere trinkets, others with the life of an innocent, others called for the sanity of their masters. None of them were like the servant she wished to summon. Her Servant had given much of this substance in the call of duty. He had given it freely, even when others would balk. The loss of such a substance had caused him to falter, but never stop, even when he fought against those that cursed his name.

His was a cautionary tale of standing against giants. It was said when he died he died alone, all his friends having turned their backs on him. Even his daughter could not bear to stand in his presence, and his commitment to completing this one final task was what had destroyed his very life. The fact he disappeared soon after leaving on his final sojourn is a note many scholars say is odd. Some say he succeeded, many claim it was a venture doomed to failure. Even still there were some who admired a man who had been shackled the villain, standing up against the gods themselves to break the bonds of fate.

If she was to succeed in this contest of wills, she needed this warrior. Others would demand only the best servants, those called Saints to be theirs. This woman was content with a mere Mage. These wars were often won by those who had the fortitude and courage to obtain their goals at all costs. Part of her considered grabbing this particular servant a fool’s errand. Many had tried and few had succeeded, often grabbing his younger protégé for their efforts. She had to succeed by showing him her own resolve and will. His Protégé would not be enough, even she could feel the power the other Servants had, and it was to her detriment that she was one of the last masters preforming the summoning. While it gave her more freedom to act, her own life had nearly been sacrificed searching for the runes and the words to carve into her floor in chalk.

Carefully she grabbed a dagger as she placed it in her hand, gripping the blade tightly, she then stretched it forth, to the circle in offering as she spoke once more, “I offer you my life, and pray that you see my commitment to your memory is not in vain. I call thee forth, Mage!”

Blood ran down her arm from gripping the blade so tightly, a few drops spilling onto the chalk circle she had drawn. The light the circle of power had been emanating since she had begun the ritual even now grew brighter as a hand gripped the hilt of the dagger. She knew the truth behind the test, and knew who held it, as the hand jerked upon the knife she rested two fingers upon the hilt and hooked them, holding onto the blade. The hand jerked once more before she spoke firmly, “I didn’t offer you the knife, now stop playing games Mage!”

Blood was now dripping with frequency upon the circle before a flash of light illuminated the room to a blinding brilliance. A sound not unlike a boom echoed through the room before the shockwave of the ritual completing hit her, carrying her back to the wall behind her. A gasp of pain left her as she fought to hold onto the weapon, and was rewarded with the low illumination of the residual magic of the summoning complete. The chalk ignited into flames before going out, permanently inscribing the runes into her floor, much to her dismay. She would have to grab a carpet to place over it, lest others figure out what she had done.

The faint smell of burnt wood wafted through the room, before she heard the heavy footsteps coming towards her from the circle. She realized her eyes had closed from the dizzying experience of the magic washing over her before she held up the knife and looked at it, seeing blood drying and caking it to her hand. She looked up in a daze at the man walking toward her and she smiled softly as she nodded, “I did it…”

“You reached into the depths of Hell,” The voice of the figure said, a wry amusement threading through the words, “You got guts girl, I’ll give you that…”

“Then you are?”

“Mage class Servant, in this matter I shall be your champion. In all matters concerning our war I am bound by your will to obey your orders. What is your name girl?” A gauntlet covered hand reached out to the woman, who in the daze offered her own up only to be pulled gently from the floor.

“Lauren, Lauren-“

“No need for last names Master Lauren, I am the servant, you needn’t treat me so politely,” The man cut her off. She noticed he was dressed in a pair of dusty boots, showing their age even as his vest and shirt gave him an air of elegance. His pants were made of some kind of leather and offered a nice harmony with the chestnut brown hair that fell before his eyes. The gauntlet clad hand gently brushed the errant locks from his face before he offered her a roguish smile and said firmly, “You are bleeding; perhaps you should wash that before you grow ill from summoning me. I would hardly be a good servant if I cause you to grow sick because you were too eager to summon me…”

“That first tug, it felt different, almost too light,” She said as a statement. The implied question was clear and the servant smirked as his grey eyes bored into her crystal blue eyes.

“That was her, testing to see your resolve. Only an idiot gives a murderer the tool to kill them. The second one was me, seeing if you were waiting for me or truly going to keep it…”

“I didn’t realize you were such friends…”

“We aren’t, she just prefers to save people from having to work with me if at all able. If you were dumb enough to give me the knife, I would have taken your life you know…”

“Neither good nor evil, neither hot nor cold, the worst kind of people…”

“Your problem is you see the world in black and white, you will discover the wonderful shades of grey this life has to offer, especially if we win.” Mage smiled at her, seeing her confusion and relishing the moment of small triumph before he said, “Now seriously, let’s get you cleaned up, you can tell me what the situation is and I will give you the best course of action in my opinion. Feel free to tell me if I’m being too pushy.”

“I should like that Mage,” Lauren said the smile widening as they moved into the kitchen.

“Do not say my true name ever. There are those that would know how to strike at us if you reveal who you have summoned. Only our anonymity will keep us safe through this, especially since you’ve chosen a high profile hero…” The explanations continued through the night as he carefully tended to her wound, and Lauren could not help but feel the protective tone in his voice, not unlike a brotherly love.

Perhaps, perhaps this time he will succeed and gain his wish…

[Lucifer Blight]

Berith Caim stepped out into the cool night air, his three thousand dollar suit doing a wonderful job of keeping him somewhat warm. He calmly adjusted his tie as his driver hustled out of the car to put on Berith's overcoat.

"Thank you Carl," the business man gave a polite nod, "Say, isn't it your daughter's birthday?"

"Er, yes sir. She's fifteen now," the driver responded with a wistful smile.

"Ah, they grow up so fast, don't they?" Berith said with a slightly ironic look; he had no children of his own. His driver Carl knew this, but nodded in agreement with his boss anyway.

"Er, yes sir. Here's your suitcase," Carl delicately handed him that piece of leather which was worth more than he would probably make in two whole months.

"Excellent. I believe that will be all Carl. Why don't you take the rest of the night off? I'll just take a taxi home," Berith offered as he checked his belongings. Everything was exactly where it should be. In fact, all things considered, there was no reason he couldn't afford to be a bit extra generous tonight. He reached into his pocket, pulled out two hundred-mark dollars, and pressed them into Carl's cold hand.

"Give her the best wishes of Knights of Apocalypse Enterprises." With that, Berith made his way towards the building as Carl stammered his thanks.

The security guard at the door checked Berith’s ID, even though Berith had been coming here regularly the past week. Still, the man was paid to do his job, and as Berith was an ranking executive of the company, it seemed more appropriate to congratulate the man on a job well done rather than harass him for actually doing his job. This building was open to the public, but only members of the company were allowed here after-hours.

Berith was assaulted by a blast of warm air as he stepped through the doors, instantly warming him up from the crisp night air he had so recently been enduring. He nodded to a few guests exiting the building, opted to keep his coat on, and headed towards one of the employee-only elevators.

Knights of Apocalypse Enterprises had built this building, at no small expense to the company, as a reminder of what good was within the heart of man. It was a museum of sorts, dedicated to remembering the past acts of the people of Althanas, and the lives they changed. It made for a rather popular tourist attraction, but made the company practically no money here as the founder and CEO of the company insisted on using the company's own revenue to pay for everything, charging visitors next to nothing.

With over ten thousand shares of the company, it should have bothered Berith more than it did.

"Well, it is his company I suppose," Berith muttered as he took the elevator to the fourth floor, "let him do as he likes."

The lights were dimmed down on this floor, all the guests had already left. Berith imagined he stood out some, what with his four digit clothes and two hundred dollar hair cut. He set his briefcase down next to one of the exhibits about the Ixian Knights, and gave a polite nod to the statue of Zerith adorning the area. If the presence of Berith Caim offended anything here, they did not voice their opinions.

He took out a set of keys, and opened a storage room towards the back. At least, it should have been a storage room. Most of it had been cleared out, or pushed off to one corner to suit Berith's needs. He let out a sigh, and stepped towards the center of the room.

There were many marvelous things in Althanas. Not as much as there once was, to be sure, but there were still places of mystery and enchantment. Places hidden away from the prying eyes of the world, so focused on making a quick buck, or spending said buck. In fact, magic was not gone from Althanas, there was just a lot less of it.

Hence, Berith found it fittingly ironic that he had found a powerful leyline here of among all the relics of bygone glories which to work his craft.

The circle was already set, runes and writings spread about six feet in diameter; the dark color of the writing made it look as if it was written in blood. It wasn't, but it certainly had a chilling effect on the spine.

Click. The unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. Berith turned to see three figures appear from the shadows. Two men, one female leading them. They were dressed in dark suits; both men had firearms. One carried a pistol, the other a submachine gun. Berith couldn't make out the make of either weapon.

"A hit team? I must confess, I didn't know our beloved CEO cared so much," Berith said with the face he had brokered multi-million dollar deals with. A face of charm, barely masking a focus so intense that others could not help but shrink back.

"You dabble in dark arts, you are dealt with," the woman answered coolly. Though Berith did not recognize the men, he recognized the girl. She was Sara Vern, a rising star among the lesser advertised departments of Knights of Apocolypse Enterprises. Not only did the company build schools, museums, and places of business, but its CEO had the fond past time of hunting upstart gods who hadn't learned their place was in the past.

Suffice to say, the expenditures of the Knights of Apocalypse Enterprises would make an average family weep at the waste of it all.

"It is not as if I am going to summon a demon, or say, unleash sixteen hundred dragons upon an unsuspecting city. I simply have been chosen," Berith said without batting an eye. Sara was a practitioner of shadow magic, a type of magic which sole purpose was to render other magic uncastable. Simply put, it made mages utterly useless.

"Being chosen by Lazarus is in an of itself a curse. To follow through merits but one reward," Sara snapped her fingers; two shots rang out. Berith slumped to the floor with two bullet holes marring his expensive suit.

"I was an unnecessary addition to the team," Sara muttered to herself, "Berith was a terrible mage. Canceling all magic in the area was overkill. I seriously doubt he could have even cast a proper curse on any of us."

She whipped out a cell phone as the man with the pistol went to check the kill, while the other man did something with his submachine gun. Sara found herself clucking her tongue at those mundane weapons. What use was a gun when a mage could freeze the air around you? What use was a grenade when a pyromancer could set a field a flame with just the power of his mind? Most mages believed that technology was simply a crutch for those lesser peons who were uneducated in the arts that had made the legends of Althanas legends.

Swordplay unparalleled, magic unrivaled. Furious beasts and valiant heroes, demonic minions and fiendish villains. That was what had made Althanas great, but the world had moved on. Now people like Sara had to carve their niche out in the shadows of the world, lest the mindless masses discover what mankind could truly amount to, and kill themselves, and most of the world, off in sheer panic.

The fact that her superior had her report via cell phone frustrated Sara to no end. It would be a simple matter for Sara send a familiar to deliver a message, but she had been told there was no point; a cell phone could do the exact same thing, after all. Her superior was just jealous of the fact that Sara had a talent for magic that most lacked. Including her boss.

"Hey, Melinda? Yeah, it's Sara. Job's done, one less rogue mage. Someone just inherited a lot of the company's shares. We're going to start phase two now."

Everything had been planned out to the last detail. This whole room had to be destroyed, no traces of magic could be found. Hence, a terrorist attack on the Ixian Knight wing of the museum would occur, destroying most of the fourth floor. There would be no casualties, save for one businessman admiring the exhibits after hours. Poor unlucky sod.

The unmistakable sound of machine gun fire shattered the silence just as Sara hung up her phone. Damned guns! She thought to herself as she barred her teeth at the gunner. Noisy pieces of low class filth!

"I didn't give the order to wreck the room yet you uncultured, barbaric..." Sara froze mid insult. Berith had gotten back up, stabbed one of her men with a long, slender dagger, and now had a gun! How the hell had that happened? Her shadow magic should have stopped all forms of regeneration, and Berith had taken two shots to the chest!

Berith Caim tossed aside the corpse of the first man, now riddled with machine gun fire. Dagger in his right hand, pistol in his left, Berith stepped past the body of his human shield as the other man dropped his now empty machine gun, and went for his own sidearm.

Bang bang bang! Berith unloaded the rest of the clip into the man. His target stumbled, clutching his chest, still raising his gun, albeit weakly. So, the man had worn body armor? No matter, that was what the dagger was for.

Berith flung the blade with ridiculous accuracy. Sara would have loved to have altered the blade's path with magic, but the sole problem with shadow magic was that it was always on; it was completely impossible to turn it off. Shadow mages made for great mage-hunters, but they couldn't do a thing against regular weaponry.

“About what you said,” Berith focused his gaze on her; the man’s previous charm was nowhere to be found now. Now, there was just a burning determination in his eyes.

“I am indeed a poor mage. Terrible actually. My specialty lies in binding spells, most of which are easily breakable by a better mage. I suppose I could weaken a spot on the body before I struck it, increasing the damage done to the area, but that is about it. That is why I prepared these in advance,” Berith reached inside his coat, and pulled out two more daggers.

“Shadow magic stops the altering of the environment via magic, thereby making it impossible to cast spells. It locks the ether of the world in place, preventing the manipulation of the raw forces of the world. Of course, if the spell has already been cast, then it will remain in place as long as the magic is no longer needed to continuously alter the subject.”

Sara recognized the weapons Berith was holding. They were known as Grey Whispers. The hilts of the dagger were amazingly small, so much so that one could hold a dagger in-between one’s fingers. The blades of the daggers themselves were two feet long, but only extended from the hilt when fed a small amount of magic. Not much was needed; even a poor mage like Berith could conjure up enough. Once the blades were extended, the magic simply faded away; much like fuel burned up when using a car. The blades of the daggers could be retracted by applying a bit more magic, making the Grey Whispers an excellent weapon for pathetic mages who couldn’t rely on their own spells to defend him.

Sara pulled out her personal weapon, a retractable sword. Her own blade whipped out from its hilt, extending quickly via unfolding. A gun would have actually been a better choice for a weapon, but as previously stated, Sara was like most mages. She hated modern technology.

“Tell me something shadow mage,” Berith flung one dagger forward, “what’s a mage without spells who relies solely on spells?”

Sara ducked under the blade and charged forward, noting the body armor Berith was wearing as she ran. That was how he survived the bullets. He was more clever than Sara gave him credit for, but it wouldn’t matter if she could get close enough. Grey Whispers were made for throwing, not close quarter combat, and her sword would easily shred through both Berith’s body armor and his fancy three-piece suit.

“Dead of course,” Berith answered his own question as he flung his last dagger. Another miss. Sara was in range now; she shouted a cry of battle as her sword cut through the air. Berith stepped backwards, out of her reach.

“Think you can run?” Sara quickly switched her grip, and pressed forward. Only too late did she realize that Berith hadn’t been stepping back, he had been taking a stance.

One-two-three. A quick succession of blows rained upon her as Berith instantly closed the distance between her and him, narrowing the gap to the point where a sword was nowhere near as good as a fist. That wouldn’t have been a problem, as a punch was generally not very fatal, unless of course...

Sara stumbled back, gasping for air. Was one of her ribs cracked, or was it broken? She glanced at Berith while she cradled her side. His stance was no poor-man’s attempt at karate. His footing was sure, and his eyes held the gaze of a man who knew exactly what he was doing.

“As I said, I am a poor mage,” Berith sidestepped her sword with blinding speed. She felt a firm grip upon her sword arm, and then heard a sickening crack. She opened her mouth to scream as Berith broke her arm, but a sudden punch to the solar plexus removed all the strength from her body, and sent her to her knees.

“However, my martial arts master told me he had never seen a student apply himself as much as I did to learning his art. I suppose the lessons paid off,” Berith usually would have let out a chuckle as he often did when he had crushed the opposition in a business deal, but that was a wasteful frivolity. This wasn’t some million dollar business deal, this was serious.

“You’ll never succeed,” Sara coughed as Berith tossed her onto the middle of the summoning circle, “I bet...you can’t even complete the ritual. Piss ass wannabe.”

She shot him a defiant grin, even as he picked up her sword.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that. The ritual wants to be completed. I imagine it will do most of the work for me, but there’s always the more direct approach. Sara, how good of a mage would you say you are?”

Her defiant grin turned to horror as he plunged the sword into her stomach, and jerked it about, spewing blood about the circle.

“The blood of a fine, upcoming mage such as yourself will no doubt power the ritual quite adequately. Honestly, I was certain I’d have to spill some blood to get the avatar I wanted. I was more worried about spilling too much, and ending up with some deranged Cult of Blessed Torture sadist.”

Berith cocked his head to the side.

“Thankfully, your men had the decency to die well away from the circle.”

Sara felt her conscious fading. No, it was more than that. It was as if someone’s hand was in her insides, pulling them out. Deeper, further, faster. More and more of her body was being pulled away. Her intestines, her liver, her kidney, her bladder. All of it was being taken away, and she could feel each and every tug and pull of it...

Berith wanted to smile as the room became hazy red with power, but he didn‘t. He never did. Instead, he spoke one word, knowing that he had probably cast the most complex and powerful spell of his entire lifetime absolutely perfectly.

Conqueror...

[Sheex]

The two walked down the street, ambling about as young couples tend to do. True, the woman looked a bit too solemn to be really out on a date. She was dressed in a dark beige suit; no skirt, pants. Dark brown hair cut in a short bob style; thin glasses on her face. She wore dark gloves, and no earrings. Plus, the woman was a little on the skinny side.

She was not, as they say, a pretty thing.

While the woman's face was locked in solemn disappointment, as if this evening had just not gone according to plan, the man's face was strangely cheerful. He wore a blue windbreaker and jeans; the night air gently rustled his short brown hair.

"A freaking Trickster," the woman muttered for the eighth time.

"A freaking handsome Trickster if you please," the man responded for the eighth time, Seriously, not my fault you didn't know what you were doing."

"I freaking know that, okay! I get that maybe I should have checked the freaking circle more! I certainly should have crossed checked the leylines in order to determine the proper focal point, and I damn certain should checked the time!" the woman began screaming hysterically; several passersby shot her strange looks.

"Uh, no offense Nat, but isn't this suppose to be like, a secret war?" the man whispered to her, and then shrugged at one of the people staring at the two of them.

"She's had entirely too much to drink I say," the man in the windbreaker muttered. There was a murmur of consent, and the flow of foot traffic recommenced.

"My name is Natalie you damned fool! Stop using that nickname!" the woman called Natalie whispered harshly, recognizing the wisdom in the words, but not liking them in the least. "I hate it when people use nicknames! And I haven't had a single freaking drink!"

"A situation that must be rectified posthaste," the man suddenly stopped walking, and opened the door to a pub the two had just so happened to be passing by, "Shall we, milady? A toast to our future endeavors?"

Natalie hesitated for a moment as she glanced about.

"I'm only agreeing to this because it is cold out, and I did not bring my jacket," she conceded as she pushed her glasses back up her face; they had an annoying tendency to fall forward whenever she began talking in an animated fashion (quite often).

"Hey, I'll take what I can get," smiled the man as the two walked into the bar. He ordered a twelve year single malt scotch on the rocks for himself, the lady ordered some sort of girly drink that he wasn't too familiar with. He made a silent promise to rectify that mistake as soon as possible. Being summoned into the game granted an avatar the basic knowledge to avoid culture shock, but not the minute details. For example, he knew what a car was, and how to drive it. He could not, however, tell you the number of cylinders on say, the third car outside the window, nor about the inner workings of an ignition system.

Thankfully, scotch was still scotch. That he knew a lot about.

"That'll be eighteen dollars," the bartender said as the man scooped up the drinks. Natalie looked at her companion, and then frowned while all he did was shrug at her.

"Hey, don't look at me Nat," he said with a smile, "I only just arrived in town. I'm dead broke."

"Freaking cheap ass date," she muttered as she paid, causing the bartender to chuckle as he handed out the change. She left enough of a tip not to be known as stingy, and the two headed off to a nearby table away from the main area where they could talk in somewhat secrecy.

She had wanted the Swordsman, the strongest of the classes in a straight fight. That was her type. Other classes had their own tricks, whether it be the powerful magic of the Mage class, or perhaps the raw fury of the Beast class. The Trickster class was known for their ability to stay undetected, but terrible in a fight. Such things boded ill, seeing as how fighting was inevitable in the game.

Plus the Swordsman would have been chivalrous. If she had that avatar, she certainly wouldn’t be footing the bill here, now would she?

"Freaking damn it," Natalie cursed again as she sipped her drink, "How the hell am I suppose to win with a Trickster? Perhaps if I enhanced your abilities via spells? Maybe it could narrow the gap? No, my spells would pale in comparison to an avatar; there's no closing that gap. It's tactics then. We must begin an analysis of our strengths, and weaknesses."

It may have seemed stupid to talk strategy out in the open, but in all honesty, in was far less of a risk than it seemed. The game would be played throughout the whole city, no area was off limits. As such, a good number of masters had already begun to stake out possible hideouts of opposing masters. Scrying spells, listening spells, alarm spells. All that, and more, were being scattered throughout the city.

Natalie Cyan, for her part, had already discovered the hideout of at least one master. Not that it had been hard; that particular master was the "old guard" type. The type that didn't give two licks about technology, considering even the use of such devices tantamount to blasphemy.

Natalie herself had never been like that. In fact, she loved computers. She had spent hours upon hours in front of a glowing screen, her fingers racing and her eyes absorbing everything. That was an advantage right there. You could erase the minds of everyone you came into contact with, but damn it, when you moved into a new house, there was still a paper trail. Those old fogies never bothered to check on those; doing so would have required being up to date on what a lab top is.

That was another reason she was walking around the city with her avatar. Not only was it wise to do a bit of reconnaissance on the eventual battlefield, but there was nothing more suspicious than a person who stayed holed up in their house for days on end. That was how rumors started, and that was how attention was drawn. A couple out for a walk though? Completely commonplace.

A date though? Gods, that suggestion had made her roll her eyes, even though it made a certain sense to call it that. An annoying sort of sense, that grated on her nerves. Among other reasons, not the least of which was the implied intention behind every smirk of her avatar. That being said, she wouldn’t have minded a date with a dashing hero.

This guy though? Anything but her type. Not only was he lacking in martial skills, as most Tricksters were, she had been straight speechless when she had asked him for his name.

“My name is Sheex Deltin pretty lady. What’s yours?” he had answered.

“I, ah, don’t remember any story about a Sheex Deltin,” Natalie had answered. She had read quite a few stories too. There was roughly a hundred on the various heroes of the Ixian Knights, a near equal amount on the Cult of Blessed torture. Good number on people like Letho. But a Sheex Deltin? That was unheard of, and that’s when he had dropped a bombshell.

“Well, there aren’t any.”

That was COMPLETELY unacceptable! It was a basic premise of the game! You drew an epic hero! Well, okay, maybe some would draw an epic villain, but the premise was the same! You simply didn’t draw a nobody!

Think about. What chance did Jon Every Man have against the likes of Jensen Ambrose? Absolutely zero. What was the odds of Sally Normal Girl taking out Joshua Cronen? There weren’t any, because no one was stupid enough to bet against him! Unless of course it was on taking Joshua out on a date. There were probably plenty of girls that did that, and not a single one was remembered because they HADN’T AMOUNTED TO A GODDAMN THING!

So what chance did her no-name Trickster class hero have against a Swordsman in a fight? A Conqueror? Any other class? Zero.

“Y’all right there Nat? Looking kinda pale. About to spill your drink,” Trickster (you didn’t use your avatar’s real name; another rule) said with slight concern.

“This is...a freaking nightmare,” Natalie muttered as she downed her girly drink, and motioned for the bartender to bring her another one.

“Well, look on the bright side. Trickster’s are known for their stealth.”

“Yeah, and?”

Trickster swirled his scotch, savoring each and every precious moment, as if he hadn’t had a scotch in a thousand years. Actually, as he was long since dead, he hadn’t.

“I lived my entire life without being mentioned once. My whole life, from beginning to end, is unknown to the entire world. Where I went, what I did, who I met, not a single of these things were recorded,” he took a long drink of scotch. God, it was good.

“How’s that for stealth?” he finished with a smile.

Strangely enough, she found herself smiling back. Sure, they were outgunned in everyway imaginable, and yeah, her avatar was the weakest by far, but the guy had heart. And, though she didn’t want to admit it, he had a bit of charm that somehow just made the world a bit lighter.

After all, it was only a game. A game played for the highest stakes, where the winner took all, and the losers didn’t even walk away. They died.

“I still would have preferred the Swordsman,” Natalie muttered as she raised her glass, “Freaking Trickster.”

“Eh, believe it or not, I knew a few swordsmen,” Trickster responded with a smile, “There not all they’re cracked up to be. Trust me.”

The two clinked their glasses together. Natalie may have summoned him last night, but she would always remember that little bar where their partnership had truly began.

[Viola Conda]

“At last, you have arrived,” the summoner spoke with an exhausted sigh, looking to her new avatar in the Great Game. She was a lithe creature, and at first Fiora had assumed she was an elf, but the Halberd in her hand, as well as the military uniform she wore showed her more human traits. The boots she wore were pristine, as was the teal and blue outfit. With a grateful nod her avatar lowered her weapon and offered her hand to help her master stand. Fiora took the proffered hand and stood with a grunt of pain, her muscles long since deadened from the complex summoning.

She gave another once over of her comrade in arms in the following battles (war, she corrected herself quickly.) and nodded with acceptance of the result of her efforts. “A Legionnaire is nothing to be ashamed of,” she whispered to herself. “I was personally going for the Conqueror class, but it seems that one was already taken before my ritual was complete.”

“Am I not satisfactory, M’am?” her Avatar spoke with quick military efficiency, no hurt pride in her speech as she stood at attention. Fiora shook her head quickly with a slight grin. “Then why do you speak as if you are disappointed?”

“As I said earlier, Legionnaire,” Fiora looked to her and saw the disciplined blue orbs of her Avatar give her the full undivided attention of her entire being. “I apologize in advance, it’s not very formal, but I will not be calling you by your name during the Great Game.” The other woman merely shrugged, gesturing to her to continue her debriefing. “Right, as I said earlier, your class is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“But you would have preferred a Conqueror.” The statement wasn’t a question in the manner she spoke. Fiora merely shrugged as the woman nodded to her with understanding. “Naturally, one would want the strongest option for themselves. I cannot vouch for what opposition we’re up against, but I can assure you, M’am, that I will fight with my all to see us to victory.”

“You are correct, Legionary,” Fiora said ending the matter. “And just because someone has a stronger class doesn’t mean they will be victorious. Planning and strategy will dictate that. But seeing your discipline makes me relieved; I’d hate to deal with a rouge hero or, god’s forbid, a Beastial warrior.” Fiora smiled to her companion, looking to her outfit and shaking her head as she issued a wagging finger for her comrade to follow.

The two walked down the hallway of the one story house, her Avatar glancing at the pictures on the walls, checking each room quickly as if looking for danger. Fiora didn’t bother to explain to her that the house was all but foolproof. She had charmed her parents into buying her two tickets to the location of the Great Game, and compelled them to go on a vacation of their own. It took her a year’s worth of saving and neglecting all but the barest of duties to ensure she had an empty house. In this manner, she knew she was alone and thus she wouldn’t be bothered by awkward questions or endanger her family.

Simply put she played a gamble on this summoning and it so far was paying off perfectly. Fiora liked to think she was a powerful mage, but even she knew her limits of witchcraft and spell slinging. Simply put, she could charm someone, was superb at Barriers, and could ritually summon and do a few defensive spells, but attack spells, and basic conjurations were out of her reach. To make her house a bastion would require power well beyond her reach of control, but a small hotel room she could easily cast and maintain without draining her. So it was she summoned her Avatar in the safety of Corone, and would fly to Revan for the game.

“Are you familiar with anything in this time period? I’d imagine the house is a bit of a shock,” Fiora asked as her Avatar gave her a quick nod and grinning with a knowing look.

“To see it for the first time, yes, I suppose, but this is not so much a shock as getting acquainted with your world. Part of the summoning infuses me with the knowledge of the current age as well as the advances in history and technology. I am also, thanks to the correct use of the Ley lines you placed, fully capable of operating anything with intuition. I merely just have to think a bit, and I could very well drive a car for you.”

“That’s a relief. There was one Great Game I read about, a Slayer was summoned incorrectly and the culture shock drove him insane and he was swiftly killed by his own Master because he was out of control.” Her servant merely nodded to her words and continued walking to the end of the house in the master bedroom. “My mother is about your size, for now I will have you wear one of her summer dresses. When we arrive in town we’ll get you to a tailor and buy you some modern clothes so we can begin looking for other Avatars.”

There was a nod that followed the orders, but this time a bit of hesitation as the Avatar looked to her pants and boots. Fiora lifted an arched eyebrow in confusion and the woman sighed. “I don’t really like,” she murmured haphazardly, coughing to clear her throat and standing tall moving forwards.

“Like what, Legionary?” Fiora grinned.

“Dresses make me uncomfortable,” she said hastily, and narrowed her eyes as Fiora giggled.

“Very well,” Fiora said with mirth as her companion looked to the dress already picked out next to the pants and collared shirt. “I doubt you’d fit in my father’s clothing, he’s huskier than you, and we can’t afford to look out of place. The dress will have to be used for now, but when we arrive in town we’ll get you a nice suit.” A nod was all she got as her warrior began to strip and prepare for her first assignment.

“In combat, you gave me the ability to switch outfits on a whim back to my military outfit. I promise you that I will only ever wear my combat fatigues when battle is joined to reduce our chances of being seen.” Fiora nodded to that as the dress fell to the Legionnaires shoulders. With a bit of a grimace the woman began to push down on the fabric, trying to hide her knees. “Must it be so…short?”

“Yes, Legionnaire, it must.” She nodded as she looked to her outfit. She outstretched her hand, and clenched it tightly. Before Fiora’s eyes the clothing and weapon began to glow a soft white, before swarming in small balls into her servants hands. Happy with the result she looked to her champion and nodded once more. “Yes,” she repeated. “A fine avatar indeed.”

“You mentioned that we will be flying to the location of our battle,” the Legionnaire said adjusting her clothing again. Fiora lifted the folded brochures.

“Larapool, Revan. That is where the Great Game is taking place this time around. Do you have any experience with these Games?” Her avatar shook her head and looked out the window to the world around her. There was a tree with a swing that lazily rocked back and forth in the breeze of the air, and the cut grass stood sentinel as a pair of elderly women walked by. They caught sight of the Legionnaire and politely waved. She waved back, smiling before turning to answer her Master’s question.

“I’m afraid not. To do so requires powerful magic, the correct use of Leylines, and you must be summoned by a master who has previously summoned you. Considering most Masters are killed in these games the likeliness is rather poor. For all I know this could be second time, my fourteenth time, or maybe even my first.” The summoner was in the middle of stacking shirts upon one another into a suitcase as she gathered up the last of her belongings. She had everything ready and looked to see her Avatar looking out the window, her hand lifting to her hair where she began to tug on it, curling the tips back and forth. As she gazed, she lazily tilted her head towards her summoner and spoke in a day dream like curiosity.

“It is said, Albion’s Legacy will grant the Master and their Avatar one wish. A wish so powerful that it could break the chains of Fate itself, and roll back the gears of time…” Fiora watched for a moment to see what her Avatar was getting at, but with a sharp nod to her reflection she stood at attention. Fiora looked at her servant with a grin, but it faltered as she noticed despite all her properness and discipline, there was a slouch in her shoulders, like a terrible burden that couldn’t be lifted except by a powerful miracle; a miracle such as Albion’s Legacy. Fiora felt her own ambitions begin to stir for her reasons to earn the right to make the wish, but before she let herself get too ahead of herself she swallowed her breath and focused on the task at hand.

Albion’s Legacy would only reveal itself when the blood of eight other worthy Avatars is shed, after all.

Fiora grabbed herself the keys to her father’s car, but as she twirled them in her hand, prepared to pocket them her avatar’s hand deftly reached out and snatched them out of her grasp. With a confused look she made to grab them, but her Avatar merely lifted them out of reach. “What on earth was that for? Give me my keys back!” Fiora fumed. Her avatar merely shook her head.

“You said it yourself,” she said slyly, grinning to herself. “We must look the part of normal, everyday people. You’re too young to drive in this world. So, I will do it.” Fiora looked to her Legionnaire, before with a satisfactory nod she smiled, lifting up her suit case and turning to the door.

She’ll do very well… she thought greedily.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Dart had once thought he had been a creature of darkness, a soul who’s light could only be seen in the shadows of the moon. He inflicted pain and suffering, and enjoyed the rushing of blood. He was without a doubt a twisted soul, and his soul mate was once thought the perfect match to meet him head on.

He was now realizing she was not his soul mate, but his savior.

Blood caked the ground in a wet sticky quagmire; the stench of flesh and blood, with the wafting scent of voided bowels permeated through the air and hit him in waves of revulsion and ecstasy. He was not afraid of this revelation that the harm he caused was merely a troubled boy playing in the shade. He embraced it as he watched her work, making the one on the table scream and holler. She forced a soul that would never have given into Dart’s desires regret the mere fact they were born. In their hate they cursed her, in their agony they begged her, and in their delirium they worshipped her: The queen of release; sweet, sweet release. When she was done she merely looked towards the moon, a look of lust in her eyes that made him want to be devoured by her as he stood aloft in the darkness, letting her enjoy herself.

“Dart,” she whispered in a seductive voice. “The Great Game has officially begun. I can feel the Lines of Fate ensnare the land, the shroud of magic that protects us from those who would interfere with the contest. How much do you know of this battle?” Her head never turned to him, still looking to the moon as she bathed herself in the illuminations of the darkness. Dart scratched his head again, jumping into a puddle of blood and letting it stain his black boots. He walked towards the doorway, looking outside of the small shack they used for her playtime, and spoke softly.

“I really don’t know much,” he admitted. “Just that I gotta uh…kill pretty much anyone else who gets in the way of our prize?” Now her head turned, the weight of her hazel red eyes bearing upon him. He felt his heart beat rapidly to see her gaze upon him, and he felt his flesh try to actively crawl away as he smiled at the feeling of being terrified.

“You are not the best of Masters to summon me, and clearly not the worthiest, but at least your understanding of my deeds makes up for it. For now it would be easier if you just trusted me,” she turned to the dead body, and looked at the carcass like one who was bored with their toys. She walked towards the exit, her feet never once dipping in the blood of the departed. Dart feared her approach, unable to move as his muscles tensed. She merely lifted a hand to his face, feeling the stubble as he looked to her with total adoration.

“Your Voice of Reasons…use them to summon me to your side if you are in danger, or I am in danger, but remember you only have three of them. If you use all three, I vanish immediately from the Great Game.” Dart dumbly swore to her he would obey and he watched her smile to him. Her warmth…it felt like a mother’s love for a son, and in the glow of her smile he felt like a small child who was lost, but now was found.

Dart was about to say something when he felt a cold chill run down his spine. Sweat began to form into beads upon his scalp and drip down as he felt a tingle of excitement run through his veins. Cassandra narrowed her eyes as she looked to the wall on her left. Past the rusted tools of a garden shed, past the rotting wood workbench on the opposite side and through the hedges towards the working streetlights her gaze penetrated. Dart had no doubt in his mind that she was capable of feeling something far more grander than he did.

“What is it?” he asked, a whisper of fear in his trembling tone.

“You should know,” Cassandra muttered. “It’s magic. Very well hidden magic for that matter. We’re in danger, Dart. Take my hand and follow me, my child. We stick to the darkness…” He followed her orders without hesitation and to touch her skin sent a wave of pleasure he never knew even existed rush along his blood. It was the softest of silk, and gentle. With a wave of her free hand the darkness swarmed around them, and in moments Dart could feel the coldness of the darkness wrap around him like a blanket. She opened the door to the shed, and Dart could feel a primal feeling within his chest urge him towards the bushes and shrubs on the eastern wall, and with cat like grace they moved until Cassandra released him. In the shadows he felt the comforting wave of emotions and knew without a doubt he had magic cast upon him.

Cassandra had vanished, but he could tell she still clung to the shadows, the Mistress of the Night no doubt was far more capable than he of hiding herself. Dart didn’t have to be a genius to know that his life very well could be on the line at the moment, and his silence was key to his life. He could feel his heart begin to race, but the darkness he was clinging too began to whisper sweet nothings in his ear, like a gentle lover. Slowly, he gave into those carnal thoughts and let it control him, and within moments he felt a sliver of courage that kept him calm and ready.

“He says he can smell the magic in the air. It’s coming from over here.” The silence of the night was interrupted by the sound of leaves being crushed underfoot, and a party of four people stepped forwards. There was a brush of wind upon his back, and tingle in his mind as he heard the sweet words of his Avatar speak to him.

“Who are they, Dart?” He gazed deeper into the group, and the front two men who wore expensive looking black suits fanned out checking the area. Dart felt his blood begin to quicken, before the Darkness reassured him that he was safe in the shadows. He focused on his Savior’s question, and peered to the last two people. One was a man, Salvarian in his accent as he spoke, and wearing a very nice, but a bit large overcoat. His mannerisms were obviously of a man who was uncomfortable.

The woman next to him however he knew. Not personally, but he had seen her in a book in the house of a victim he murdered only a week prior. She was known as the Crone, and was a potent user of Magic. Considering it took Dart all his skill just to summon his Avatar, he knew that chances were she was a powerful person. Far more powerful than he.

“The three men, I have no clue, but the woman. She’s a mage. A very good one. I think her name was…Mary…Maddie…Maggie…Magdalene!” He remained quiet as he felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, hushing him as they watched.

“He says he can smell the magic in the air,” the Salvarian said loudly. “As well as some other unpleasant things…” he added as an aside. The Crone looked to him with disgust as she slapped the man’s chest.

“A novice could tell magic is in the air, this was a reaping of Mana. Using the distilled product of the human soul to replenish an Avatar’s personal store of magic! And they weren’t subtle about it either, which makes me think it’s a trap. Keep your eyes peeled, Baxter, and have Symbiote ready to go on my command.”

The man nodded in submission as he sniffed the air loudly, like a hunting dog. Dart watched as he moved his way slowly across the backyard, his feet crushing the dead grass as he stalked ever closer. The hand on his shoulder tightened, and he knew he was in danger until there was a shout of alarm. The Salvarian quickly turned to see one of the suited men run out of the shed, dropping to all fours and purging his stomach as the other one stumbled backwards in terror.

With a dark chuckle Dart felt himself be tugged backwards deeper into the darkness, and away from the danger of the Crone.

[Mage Hunter]

“What do you see Hunter?”

The words hung heavily in the air even as he noticed the shift. Drusilia had already shifted into a new form. Gone was the simple outfit of the drow woman, instead her hair was pulled back into a taut pony tail. She wore leather the deepest of blacks over her chest, hiding the curves that Justin had been so interested as they had walked down the boulevard. She had caught the faintest of whiffs, but with a single step towards the source, she had become the hunter on the move. The narrow patch of sidewalk was darkened, already the light broken from what many would suppose would be a burnt out bulb. Never was the entire street held in darkness, but enough to suitably dim the area giving the immediate area a look of menace. Justin merely nodded as they stopped before a house.

Her boots had shifted from rubber to leather soled. The Hunter had picked up the scent of her prey and even the hooded cloak could not hide the excitement coursing through her. Her moves were fluid and sure, swift and lethal. Even as she unslung the bow from its spot beside her quiver and strung it she peaked over the fence of the house into its backyard and smirked, “Four people in the backyard. The Crone and three thugs from the looks of things, I’m going to drop the ones on the outside while you get into a safer spot. Once I can confirm your safety I’ll move on the last two. No sign of the source of the mana pulse, there should be more mana than that here.”

Her eyes shone a bright blue before she closed her eyes hissing, “The Crone registers as normal, too bright to watch for long, her lackeys don’t have an ounce of magic. Do you think she went to ritual sacrifice this time around?”

“Magdalene is a lot of things, stupid enough to preform dark magic is not one of them. She’d rather die than shame her family in that manner. It reeks of desperation,” Justin looked to Drusilia before he said, “Do you think me casting on you will work this time? I mean last time it was-“

“That’s just the nature of being a Mage Hunter, unless you pool that mana into the connection between us for this game it’s useless for me. Don’t try and give me a leg up, or do you want to repeat the vomiting session we had on Black Isle?” The words were soft and harsh, and Justin visibly flinched away at the cold tone in her. This was a Drusilia that he knew was not going to relent on the matter. He would have to use a Voice of Reason to make her accept any magical gifts, though if that was the case, he might as well slit her throat now. She wouldn’t be able to fight if any mana touched her through any means other than the connection.

She smirked as she heard the retching of the two suited men leaving the shed in the backyard. She then pressed a slender purple digit to her lips even as she notched two arrows on the bowstring. She nodded her head in silent count, feeling the rhythm rest in time with her beating heart before she carefully reached up, grasping the release on the fence gate. Pressing softly she felt the resistance and mentally kicked herself. Her entry would be loud, and that would be unacceptable. Pushing the gate in slowly she could feel the spring getting ready to squeal and paused, resuming the count in her head. She would have to be swift with this if she was to finish the deed and drop the Crone before she could act.

Justin meanwhile was moving already around the house to the other side. Most would think it was him running away, but Drusilia would have never let Justin touch her had that been the case. No, he was moving in support, his magic more cunning than that. He was moving somewhere safer for him, in that he couldn’t be easily reached. Drusilia was creating the crossfire that they would need to confront the Crone, and the first step was in removing the lackeys so she had no support of her own. With no one to fight on the front lines they could force the Crone out of her comfort zone. Magdalene Vivian was solely the reason they had come together, and the thought of defeating their old foe excited the couple to no end.

It happened in a few heartbeats.

In the first second the groaning of the gate opening resounded through the backyard. The men who had been recovering from the stench of blood and offal snapped their heads up. One even managed to reach for his gun before Drusilia fired the arrows, both hitting deep into the man’s chest. He clutched at the shafts of wood, tipped with metal even as another arrow was plucked from the quiver. This one held a white tipped arrow and she narrowed her eyes as the other man struggled to his feet. She sighed at the sluggish movement and wondered just what made these men think they could protect Magdalene from any servant that wished her dead.

Servants were more than their mortal counterpart. Where in life Drusilia had indeed been a ruthless killing machine, in Myth she had become the epitome of a hunter. Her greatest strengths were exaggerated by the very mythos that included her in the band of heroes that had saved the world from Xem’zund the Necromancer. This was the aspect that was called by the great rituals, not the actual hero of time, but the echo they left behind. It was because of this that the name of that Echo was to be kept hidden; for always when you talk of a hero you talk of their greatest weakness. That flaw too, would be exaggerated by the rules of the game, giving them a point to strike almost instantly upon recognition.

By the nature of being that Echo, Drusilia had left the possibility of what a mortal could do way behind, roughly where she had transformed into the Servant that stood before the men now. She carefully pushed the tip into the dying grass and grabbed another arrow even as the gun was pulled from its holster. Another arrow was shot, hitting the man in his hand and causing him to cry out, before an arrow took his throat and ended the loud quarrel. Not a single shot was fired, and now that the scene was finished Drusilia carefully grasped the white tipped arrow. Carefully notching the arrow in her bow she moved forward silently and was relieved to see Justin had jumped the fence and was moving across the grass with her. As she took a knee she aimed carefully at the entrance to the shed.

The silhouette of a figure emerged from the shed even as the coat of the man draped over the grass his hands up in a sign of surrender. She snarled softly before she hissed in the common language that had overtaken trade speak, “If you wish to live, put your hands on the back of your head, and lay face down in the grass. Do not make any more noise…”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, see my Master demands I fight to protect her, since you so brutally dispatched her two guards, and might I add you could easily do the same to me, perhaps we can all just...walk away?” The words were forthright and she could detect a hint of Salvarian in his accent. She immediately fell into tradespeak, in an attempt to ferret him out;

“<Is that so? Tell the Crone we’ll let her live if she surrender’s now…>”

“<Again, no can do Lady…She's rather stubborn,>” the reply was sure and stiff before he shrugged his shoulders as if trying to persuade her of his uselessness in the argument.

“Is it that damn hunter again?” The voice from the shed held no tone that brokered anything but the utmost obedience. Drusilia felt her skin crawl at the authoritative tone of it, remembering her training to become a Mage Hunter. She carefully moved to the side as she tried to angle a shot behind the man, who moved to stand in her way even as Justin took up the conversation.

“Lady Magdalene, you can just give it up, we both know your track record for these games …”

“Listen here you brat! I will not tolerate such disrespect to the Vivian Family name! I lasted long enough to put you in your place, do not think I will not do so again…” The Crone’s voice held an iron determination and Drusilia mentally shrugged in Justin’s direction.

Her eyes never wavered from her quarry before she spoke, “Servant Class Hunter, at your service. To whom am I speaking?”

“Baxter,” The man replied as he sighed and put his hands down, “No chance at doing this the easy way? Both go our own ways, leave each other be until the dawn...or better yet, never again?”

“We have a quarrel with your master dating back to the last game, it cannot wait…”

“Oh, so you must be the huntress that fell for her master…” The man said before the coat was tossed off. Plain clothes were revealed underneath even as he continued, “Look, I’m sure you can walk away, take a night to enjoy what time you two get together. Love is something that should be cherished and taken advantage of, not-“

The arrow sang through the air even as an inky darkness coated the man’s skin. The arrow was harmlessly deflected even as the amount of mana in the area spiked. Drusilia tasted a presence she had not felt before in the mana immersing the area. The spike that had called her had been a sickening sweet taste, not unlike a poison that was saccharine on the tongue. This one tasted of filth immediately, decidedly different and immediately she spat, “Get back Justin, it’s the Avatar!”

Justin barely evaded the bolt of magic that swarmed towards him even as the bow dropped into the dead grass. The sound of metal upon metal could be heard resounding through the back yard as a cut immediately caused the shadow creature to jerk back the extended forearm, tipped in razor sharp claws. Baxter uncomfortably swayed softly in the moonlight in front of the Crone as Drusilia stood before her master and spoke, “Justin, start running, I’ll buy you time then follow…”

“What? You can’t be serious Dru-“

“What did I tell you about using my true name!? Now run, I won’t be long behind you…this isn’t what drew us here and I don’t want to think about the possibilities if you don’t get somewhere public fast!”

Justin squared his shoulders as he eyed Magdalene and spoke, “No, you won’t get out, not with old Maggie watching this. I’ll have to help you if you want to retreat. So it’s do or die time…”

“Vith, dos ph' biu mal'ai...” The hunter muttered, even as she let the predatory grin cross her lips, “Suppose you wouldn’t have it any other way either…”

[Symbiosis]

“Upstart little runts! Beast, focus on the Avatar, I’ll deal with the master!” Baxter let out a whimper of regret, looking to his master like a dog being ordered to go to a vet. His eyes begged with pleading, but the Crone ignored his discomfort. She wasn’t talking to Baxter anyways…

The air snapped with the sound of bones breaking and Baxter howled into the air, screaming as his muscles ripped and grew in mass. His jaw distended like the mouth of a hungry snake and the talons on his hands grew larger, more hawk like in their demeanor. The wail of agony was replaced with a inhuman shriek of rage, and Baxter’s eyes rolled into themselves, leaving two soulless milky white eyes to peer at the tiny Druchi. His maw opened, strands of saliva running from fang to fang as his tongue slithered out like a serpent tasting the air.

“That’s your freaking Avatar?” Justin’s voice broke into an alarming pitch, his eyes looking in concern from his Huntress to the Beast. Magdalene felt a particular pride in seeing the effect her Avatar was having on the two, as even the Huntress nocked an arrow and let it fly, the arrow tip piercing flesh. In return the Beast roared, grabbing the offending missile and pulled it out, black ichor leaving the wound as it snapped the hardwood oak in half like a twig. Symbiote bound forwards in the flash of an eye, his clawed hands swiping the air in furious strokes as he curved to follow the retreating elf.

Magdalene listened to the Beast’s roars of impatience, and felt content he could be more than a handful for the bitch of the last Great Game. Drusilla was the embodiment of a hunter who had defeated a great necromancer named Xem’Xund was paired with her boy toy Justin. To see him in the game again concluded why he entered. “Such a waste for Albion’s Legacy to grant you her,” Maggie mused as her hand lifted upwards, a white circle of pure energy forming in front of her.

As expected, Justin wasn’t clueless that she was in the area and had attempted, at best, a weak conjuration of abusive magic to swarm her. It bounced off her shield harmlessly as she strode forward, lowering it as she lifted her hand upwards and a push of magical wind knocked the man to his feet. “What would you know,” Justin murmured loudly, rolling to a knee as he reached, no doubt, for a weapon of the modern times. She tisked her tongue shaking her head in annoyance; everyone was so excited to use guns nowadays. So noisy…

Justin saw her condescending motions and narrowed his eyes, assuming she was mocking his reasons for why he fought. “What would one who they call Crone know…” his words were laced with venom as the mages stood off against one another, eyes filled with a burning passion for different reasons. Yet it was when Magdalene had summoned a great Legionnaire in a previous encounter, many, many games ago, that she had learned a valuable lesson about warrior’s and their pride. “To fight for an ideal, and give it your entire being, to fight with all your strength each time you engage in combat, is the mark of a warrior’s pride. It is never about being right or wrong.”

“I merely stated I thought it foolish,” Magdalene said with an impish grunt, turning her nose upwards and to look at the real display of power going on as Drusilla and Symbiote fought. “And to fight you in a contest of mages would be no contest at all. I feel particularly good this evening, getting great detail on who I am up against. A novice mage who botched a ritual with a stupid Master who didn’t know any better. And now I know you and Dru are back at it again; for me I learned about two of my enemies. Now sit back and watch, Justin, and see why Lazarus created these games.” Justin warily looked to Magdalene, and she merely smiled a devilish smile as she watched the fight go on.

This was not mercy she showed the Mage. No, Justin was no match magically for her, but if she broke his precious elven doll in front of him…then maybe he would learn to stay out of events bigger than himself.

Symbiote let out another screech of rage as lifted both arms up to block a hail of arrows, his arms leaking with black ichor as he swiped both claws forwards in a wave of spite. The wooden arrows rained down to the earth where his feet stomped on them, bounding forwards in leaps and bounding after the far quicker elf. In return she danced around the makeshift arena, her feet running along the side of the fence, jumping onto the roof of the shed and firing three arrows as she rolled to the edge, grabbed the ceiling, and slid off to her feet and darted under a blow. She ran right at the wall of the building, jumping at it.

The Beast was kicked hard in the chest as Drusilla leapt from the side of the shed into him, a dropkick that staggered the beast as she kicked her legs around in a wide circle to get back to her feet. She rolled to her left, avoiding another strike as she ducked to dodge the following backhand. However when his knee lifted she felt her wind leave her as her body went up. The beast grabbed her by the back of her leather tunic, holding her and bringing his other hand forwards to claim her life. Her hand fumbled for a dagger at her belt and she slid it into the torso of her adversary, but the demon still held her without any real notice to the weapon. The claw, however, never came to end her.

“Beast,” Magdalene said darkly as she peered at her Avatar over the bridge of her nose. “Why do you hesitate? Get rid of this filth, now! Do not make me use a Voice of Reason!” Symbiote’s breath was hot against the dark elf’s face, her eyes narrowing at the putrid scent as his tongue licked the air, and his nostrils flared. He sniffed the air twice, and with a low, predatory wet leopard like growl the demon threw the Dark Elf into the building; it seemed he was done playing with her. Magdalene lifted her hand up, prepared to use her Voice of Reason and force her Beast to submit and obey her command and kill Drusilla off, when her eyes noticed the Mage Hunter’s body shift. The Elf looked around the area as well, before she reached for her bow and spat in her native language. Magdalene listened to the winds of magic and at last she detected it.

“Show yourself, Avatar!” Magdalene ordered with annoyance. “You may as well join this gathering too! With mana that weak that I have to strain to detect it I’ll have my Beast conquer both you and the Hunter in one night!”

(I do believe this makes our resident Suit clad friend show up next.)

[Lucifer Blight]

He stood quietly, with a soft smile on his face. A smile both of curosity and cruelty. He wore a grey suit, and black shoes. His tie hung loosely around his neck, and the top of his white collared shirt was unbuttoned. His medium-length black hair was wild and uncombed. Still smiling, he stepped out from the shadows, one hand in his pocket, the other lazing about his side.

"You're going to have your Beast? Conquer me?" the man let out a malicious laugh, his eyes wild with anticipation, "I would honestly like to see that."

A slight wind blew through the night, gently ruffling the man's hair. Ever so slowly, he extended his hand from his pocket, and held it out to see. At first there was nothing, and then the man snapped his fingers.

Shadows coalesced around him. At first, the onlookers saw nothing but a growing darkness, but then it became more distinct. Soon enough, they were not shadows, but soldiers. Inky tendrils of nothingness conformed to arms and legs, clouds of darkness became heads and feet. The figures retained no essence of personality; they were shadows without identity, but they had a purpose.

Swords and shields, spears and lances. Each shadow drew forth some sort of weapon. Though they had no faces that could be seen, each shade seemed to move a bit differently. Some were faster than the others, some carried their weapons with more professionalism than the others. They were shadows, yes, but soldiers nonetheless.

Conqueror chuckled, and pointed at the fools who gathered before him.

"Take them out. Show the old hag that magic means nothing; true strength comes from within," Conqueror ordered. At once the shadow soldiers began their advanced, moving in a formation that proved that the faceless beings somehow at one point or another had military training.

There were twelve soldiers in all, three for each of his foes. Men with spears advanced towards Beast, prodding at the animal from a distance. Three quick moving soldiers armed with short swords ran towards the already near-beaten enemy in order to finish her off. The remaining six scattered in all directions, aiming to use their bows catch both of the masters within a crossfire.

And Conqueror just stood there, watching it all with a face of mild amusement. It was as if he didn't even seem to care about the great game, or maybe he thought it was already decided, as if the winner was a forgone conclusion. Perhaps it was overconfidence, or simply an uncaring nature, but the Avatar known as Conqueror had not even bothered to draw any weapon of any sort. In fact, he remained in his suit, something completely modern and in no way from Althanas past.

"Now then, let us test the limits of the so-called heroes of this game. Men," Conqueror ordered, "kill them all."

All at once there was a fury of movement. The three spearmen attacked as one, two of them flaking Beast while one went straight for the chest. The short sword men ignored all form of finesse, and simply went to stab Hunter to death. Six shadowy bolts flew through the night.

A beast roared, and a hunter began the hunt. Magic spells flew throughout the air, and shouts of battle filled the air. Conqueror smiled. Now the games had truly begun.

[Mage Hunter]

Ashes…

Drusilia tasted ashes immediately. As she fought to control her fear she could taste the burnt ashes of a city, something she had quite a bit of experience with. During the War for Raiarea against Xem’Zund she had traveled with a mercenary taking out the more magical back up of the necromancer called the Necrosition. These undead monstrosities each had their strengths, but with Drusilia’s guile and the mercenary’s strength, she had persevered against odds that far outnumbered her. Though they fought at the time for honor glory and money, she had passed through many destroyed towns, and learned the true fate of failure. The world would become this nightmarish landscape if she allowed Xem’Zund to remain unchecked.

The taste of a dead city, burned to the ground, hovered about the man as he summoned his minions. The short swords were dispatched to kill her swiftly and Drusilia knew she would have one chance at their escape. This was the taste of a conqueror, and if the shadows he summoned were any indication, Drusilia was out of her depth. Had she the element of surprise she could dispatch him, but in a straight up engagement, she had only one trick, and she was loathe to use it infront of the other servant. Hand gently brushed against the hilt of the long sword at her back, and closing her eyes she braced herself for what was going to be the worst feeling she would ever have and sent a mental note to her master.

Did you ever get that teleportation cantrip to work? We’re only going to get one shot at this and if you fail, we’ll die together.

Justin looked at the men forming the crossfire before he hissed at the other master, “Just had to get him riled up didn’t you Maggie? What a fine mess you got us in…” Mentally he had let his mouth do the talking, and sent back across their bond, Yes, but it’s going to be a one trick pony, it takes a lot of mana and more than once means I have nothing to give you later.

Drusilia looked at the shadows even as the Conquerer raised his hand pointing at each of them in turn and began ordering their deaths. Drusilia bared her teeth before she shouted, “Now!”

She could feel the tug of magic against her body as Justin dropped to a knee to force the archers to take more time to aim. The moment’s distraction gained he pressed his hands against the ground and hissed words in the language of magic before Drusilia made her last play. Forcing her will towards the hilt of her blade a small stone set in it flashed into life, white energy building up before she was gone, the sword left behind in her wake.

The energy of magic’s antithesis, the very opposite force flooded the small area about her as he sagged to the ground on the sidewalk in front of the house. The sounds of combat could be heard and Drusilia felt Justin’s hands pulling her up as she retched into the gutter, magic purging from her body. He dragged her along as fasta s they could go even as he looked at her. Drusilia at least had the presence of mind to revert back to the jeans and t-shirt she had been wearing most of the game, causing her gear to dissipate from the backyard, waiting for their owner to reclaim them in the bond between servant and master.

Even having just thrown up she had the where withal to stay in the light, in public view. She needed to use the public eye as a shield as much as she loathed the act. They hurried down the street and around the corner, hoping Beast was putting up a fight to keep Conqueror from pursuing them. As they reached the beginning of the downtown area she slumped against the side of a building where Justin held her aloft as she grunted in pain, “I haven’t had to do pain blocking classes in a while…must not be doing it right, because this still hurts…”

Justin carefully pressed his hand to her ribs where she groaned and he spoke softly, “Dru, your ribs are either bruised or broken. You are lucky to even be standing. I’d say your training is working properly.”

“Need mana then…” Dru said softly.

“Let’s duck into a diner or something, give you a chance to recover a bit, I’ll eat and give you mana so you can at least make it stop hurting…”

Their eyes met, only briefly and he could see the fear in her eyes. They had literally almost died to Maggie’s little monster, and had Conqueror not taken Maggie’s bait, they would have been out of the game once and for all. He hugged her close, giving her the support she needed as she carefully pushed the fear from her eyes and whispered, “Thank you Justin, for not arguing with me back there…”

“I told you Dru, I want to get to know you, can’t do that if our first night out on the town you get killed,” Justin replied softly. He felt her tighten the grip before he whispered, “Let’s go, there’s a small bar has good food if you know what to order. I can give you the mana you need while we’re there…”

Footsteps pounded on the pavement and Drusilia’s fear was hidden behind that hunting mask of hers again. Justin only waited for orders as she pulled him into the bar, and dragged him to a nearby table. Sitting down they didn’t even stop to think of who might be sitting there, only that they were. As the figures rushed by the building Drusilia sagged the process of getting into the bar draining her of what little adrenaline she had left.

The sounds of people mingling and conversation rang through the air. There was the clink of glass on glass, the sound of jovial laughter and conspiratory storytelling. It was a place of happiness, and suddenly Drusilia felt out of place, never being one for public places. She looked at Justin worriedly, before she realized someone had been sitting there, a young man in fact. His brown short cropped hair was resting peacefully upon his head, even as he looked at the two with a bemused expression. His chocolate brown eyes looked over the two with a look that spoke volumes of his mentality. He held a glass of some alcoholic beverage and raised it in toast to them before he said very lowly, “I know inter racial relationships are supported nowadays, but you guys take the cake…”

Justin tensed upon hearing the words before he said softly, “Look, don’t make a scene and I’ll pay your tab, anything you want you get, just let us rest here for a moment…”

[Symbiosis]

Magdalene wasn’t expecting a Conquerer to arrive, much less ruin her chances of destroying the Hunter class in one go. The situation that she so firmly had in her grasp was slipping away and the arrogance of the newcomer matched even her ego. Here was yet another warrior who stood before her, another Hero of Time who dared to comment that Magic was useless. Eyes narrowing, she vowed to prove this upstart wrong.

Her wrinkled, feeble hands lifted upwards, her robes falling to reveal talismanic tattoo’s along her flesh to show her skeins of magic that ran deep. Most mages never improved themselves in such ways, and as far as Magdalene was concerned they were useless trash. In the glow of the moon her arms illuminated a bright blue, and in front of her outstretched fingers a white ethereal energy pooled in a circle. The shadowy darts of Conqueror’s archers were absorbed as they tried to push down upon her, and with a yelp of frustration she cast her hands aside, lifting up her right and conjuring a ball of fire in her digits. The heat felt nice against her withered flesh, the magic coursing as the winds of magic swirled around her.

Her concentration, however, was disrupted by a screech of primal fury so obnoxiously loud she faltered back a step. She looked to see the Hunter Drusilla vanish in a flash of Magic. Beast was moving with measured, predatory steps as he let out a wet leopard like growl, his maw oozing with saliva as three warriors tried to futilely use their pole arms to keep him at pay. One grew courage, advancing and striking deep within Beast’s gut, his blood a black like ichor that stained the dead grass. Without even a peep the demon grabbed the weapon, snapped the shadowy shaft, and used the broken handle to snap the neck of the offending warrior with a vicious back swing blow. His other hand reached for the weapon impaled in his flesh, ripping it out with a sickly sound spraying more blood onto the ground and using it to swipe another’s face back to the shadows where it vanished.

The warrior’s meant to attack Drusilla turned to Magdalene, lifting their weapons on high and charging at her in an attempt to rush her. She saw their blank faces, seeing no defining features or souls, but mere echoes of a man. Her fireball in her hand burned brightly and with a snort of annoyance she tossed it, hitting one in the face as she lifted up her other hand. “Stop playing around, Beast, and return to your master!”

She waited impatiently for her servant to come, casting a protecting charm upon the air in front of her. A shield of magic formed and blocked her from the strikes of the first warrior to approach her, but the second strike saw it shattered without effort. Her eyes widened as she faltered a step backwards, her heart beating rapidly as a sword swung and took a chunk of her robes out. She felt her limbs, old and fragile, protesting as she hurriedly ran backwards to avoid being killed. Her eyes looked to see Conqueror smirking at her, a look of amusement and that child like ‘I told you so’ stare. Her rage intensified as she lifted her hand to conjure more magic…

Only to have it sliced open from wrist to finger. Her teeth jammed shut as she seethed in pain, retreating a few more steps as she bellowed out in frustration. Her other hand wiped the air; a wind torrent strong enough to blow them back a several paces giving her precious breathing room. “Beast, now!” Magdalene shrieked. There was a roar of defiance, followed by the sound of arrows being let loose, and Magdalene instantly knew what was happening. Conqueror tried to use these shadow warriors to box in her Beast. It was in this moment Magdalene knew her chances of defeating Conqueror in an impromptu fight was gone. To attack him head on would require her to have a strategy. At this rate, she was going to be eliminated from the game, and more importantly, about to become a corpse a few years earlier than she wanted to be.

Yet she still had a plan.

“Beast! Now!” She ordered, but still it violently thrashed around, the demonic essence screeching and howling challenges and calls of battle and strife. She watched as the short sword wielding warriors were approaching. With a sigh of irritation she grimaced raising her wounded hand and speaking in a controlled manner. “Beast, listen to my Voice of Reason, and return to me now!” The air before Magdalene sparked with energy, a barrier pushing the warriors back as the ritual summoning circle formed next to the crone. Beast formed out from it, the demon leering at the warriors with a grin of sadistic glee before swiping his claws out to push a weapon away. His hands reached out, grabbing two skulls and squeezing tightly, popping the shadowy forms like a balloon as they vanished from sight. The third warrior lifted his weapon to kill the Beast a warped garble cry upon his lips. Fire pulsed outwards from the circle as Magdalene’s arms and eyes glowed with eldritch energy, ensnaring the warrior and consuming him like the jaws of a dragon.

“Hail to you, champion,” Magdalene said arrogantly as she hid behind her beast, turning her back to Conqueror. “You win this round, but you will regret toying with me. You shouldn’t trifle with magic stronger than yourself.” Beast roared outwards a defiant cry, his arms covering his face as arrows landed in his flesh. The demon pulled them out as if they were no consequence to his body. He snarled, snorting like a caged beast before with a dark chuckle it bowed to the Conqueror.

“Be…seeing you…” he taunted, snarling again and wiping his huge fist along his jaw catching his drool. “It’s been….a pleasure,” Symbiote chuckled again, spitting at Conqueror before turning to Magdalene, grabbing her waist, and pumping demonic energy into his limbs. Before the next bow shots were loosed he leapt into the air in a large epic bound, hitting the roof of the building and springing off of it to the streets below and away from the Conqueror and his shadow minions.

[Requiem of Insanity]

In the shadows of the alleyway Dart held his head weakly feeling a pounding sensation behind his left eye. He felt nausea that gripped his stomach and squeezed making him wheeze wet spit all over the cobbled stone as his other hand held onto the brick wall of the building before him. Moving through the shadows and sprinting were activities he wasn’t exactly used to, and felt a dark chuckle in his ear from his partner as he took in another long breath of air.

Lifting himself up and spitting another mucus wad to the growing pool below the teenager shook his head hesitantly laughing with a thrill. His heart raced and blood sang as the feeling of being hunted gripped his psyche and he nervously checked his body for injury. Yet as he suspected, no harm befell him; not that the Dark Mother would bring him harm.

“So the Crone is involved in this,” He said to break the pregnant silence, eyes searching up and down the alley for intruders as he let out another spit ball. “That’s pretty fucking serious business going on there! I’ve heard her magic is considered so powerful that they keep a trained army on standby in case she loses her control!” Dart let out another round of nervous chuckles, eyes hazing over as he giggled. “Jeeze, makes me wonder what other high rollers are out there.”

“Keep your wits you imbecile,” Cassandra’s harsh words flowed from the shadows like a whip and he felt the verbal sting of her threat. “High rollers or beggars matters not. What’s more important is keeping you alive and by default me as well.” Dart turned his body to the shadows, looking for the source of his mother, but her silhouette was nowhere to be found. He began to walk down the street towards the road, lifting his arms and stretching like a feline as he yawned.

He walked in silence for a few blocks, passing by other people on the street, his mind wandering to each face as he read them. It became a revelation that anyone, anybody, could be a master in the Great Game, and after the display from the Crone, Dart realized there wasn’t really any true hiding places. He was no mage, and he began to realize that actually hindered his mother’s chances. Yet she never made it known to him that it was bothersome. In the short time he knew the woman, he began to realize that if it was a matter that was ignored, it was a trivial matter. So for her to know, which she had too know by now, that Dart was fighting against master’s who’s experience was superior to his own yet said nothing to him about it gave him confidence in his cause.

“No way anybody can defeat a goddess like you,” Dart muttered lowly, his arms crossing his chest. “With your ability to hide in the shadows, we can sneak up on people and…” he jumped forwards, hand extended in a stiff punch. As he laughed to pull it back, he felt a gloved hand grab his wrist and twist. Dart turned in a painful pirouette, his arm wrenched above his head as he whimpered out a feeble cry of shock. With a push to his back the boy stumbled forwards into another alley in the dark, looking up at the nice shoes and trimmed silk pants of another man. His face looked mean, meaner than anything he ever recalled in his life. But the man’s eyes held a fire of passion, like he hunted for something always out of reach and took a thrill of chasing that elusive dream.

Dart hadn’t time to think as the one before him grabbed him and kicked his knee out from under him, dropping him to his knees and wrenching his head. His whimpers grew silent as he heard something heavy whoosh by his ear, cutting the strands of hair that normally cover his right eye flutter away as a bastard sword struck into the stone floor with a definitive slam. The blade’s edge was right near his neckline, and the aggressor sighed grabbing Dart’s hair and shoving him close to the blade.

There was a silent standoff as Dart looked to the man before him. He was dressed in a suit, a damn fine suit made of materials he couldn’t even think to afford. The man had a long scarf, one of those fancy ones that he never understood the purpose, but always did bring a bit of class to a man. With a tug the scarf was opened revealing the opening to the man’s coat that he propped with one hand, putting his gloves into the pocket. He closed his jacket, fixed himself a bit, and then nodded to Dart.

“Hello,” he started with a grin. “You are Dart, Senior of Charter High, grade point average one point seven eight, dead beat with no job. Your hobbies include crappy poetry, emotional crying in the rain, and the occasional small time murder of tiny animals. You’ve been to four psychiatrists and all described you as ‘Mentally unstable,’ and ‘Fit for an asylum.’ You claim that your parents were murdered in front of you, but they really died in a car crash when you were fourteen. The last four years of your life have been filled with so much angst and depression and other…well I don’t frankly know what the kids call it these days but let’s just say you’re a mad house full of perky thoughts about homicide.”

“Who are you?” Dart asked weakly. “Why do you know so much about me?”

“None of your business,” The man replied. “However, to answer your second question is easy; You never go into business with someone you don’t know. Simple as that.”

“What could I possibly-“

“Dart, you’re a smart kid, despite what crude things I said about you earlier. How many people walk around towns with a sword bigger than your spine?” Dart’s reply was to feebly look up at his aggressor. “And I know you just met the Crone personally and ran off. What you pulled, well, was impressive, and conducive to my ends. As you so elegantly put it, anyone who can strike from the shadows should win.”

“You’re a part of this game!” Dart’s eyes went wide as he trembled, recalling the Dark Mother’s desires to live, but only if Dart did as well. The situation he was in suddenly made him panic. “Oh god…oh god oh god oh god oh god…” The man chuckled as he lifted his hand up to his throat.

“Well, yes. And the business of this game is simple. Eliminate the competition…by any means necessary,” the man smiled a charming smile. “This is simply business kid, and nothing personal. Conqueror…if you would do the honors.”

Dart felt his head jerk back, prepared to be slammed against the blade’s edge when something darted out of the shadows and lowered to just under the Master of Conqueror’s chin. It was a blade, an ugly, large blade more suited to being a Butcher’s knife than a sword, and the Conqueror held his stance as Cassandra casually strolled out of the darkness into the light.

“Business is booming tonight,” Cassandra said with a hint of amusement. “Here two masters and warriors are weapons at the throat of the one they serve. In this case the power is in the hands of the Warrior’s, isn't it Conqueror?”

[Lucifer Blight]

Conqueror smiled at that last remark made by Assassin. He let out a soft chuckle as he spoke.

"Something I learned a long time ago. Power resides where people believe it resides; the belief that one has power is simply that. A belief. Nothing more."

"Belief counts for quite a bit," Cassandra replied in a soft voice, filled with a sultry, enticing demeanor, "something I learned when I became a goddess."

The two avatars locked eyes with one another as each dangled the life of the other's master, and as such their link to this world, before them. Assassin gently pressed her cleaver-like blade against the throat of the man in her arms, drawing a thin red line of blood. Conqueror responded by pressing Dart's head against his bastard sword, causing the boy to whimper.

"If I may?" the master of conqueror asked politely. His avatar gave the man a curt nod, almost as if the master had asked the permission of the avatar. Such a thing was, of course, completely absurd.

"Assassin, Conqueror, we have reached a stalemate. You two may kill both me and the boy, but you will in turn both fade away in a matter of moments. Assassin, you may last a while longer, due to your reaping of mana, but I seriously doubt it will be for very long, yes?" the master of Conqueror spoke in a smooth tone, one that had negotiated many deals under many stressful circumstances.

"How'd you know about that?" Dart barked. He was, for the most part, utterly ignored.

"Then, I propose each side release their hostage. You may then hear my proposal. If you like it, excellent. If not, we each go our separate ways, none worse for the wear."

"I assent with one condition," Cassandra whispered softly, just loud enough to be heard, "Conqueror releases the boy first. Age before beauty."

There was a moment's pause, and then Conqueror let out a hearty laugh. With a wild grin, he yanked Dart to his feet.

"By all means! Take the boy! If it helps you feel safe, I'll even disarm myself!" Conqueror bellowed as he shoved the poor teenager towards Assassin's feet, while the large sword that had been close to cleaving Dart's face in two vanished into a fine mist.

"Now Assassin! Slit his throat!" the teenage boy whooped in triumph, sure of his victory. The master of Conqueror simply remained as he was, a stern and emotionless bastion.

"That is of course, an option. You can kill me, and might even be able to flee from Conqueror before he disappears. This option offers you the most short-term benefits. However, if you will hear me out, I believe my proposal will benefit you more in the long run," the man said calmly, despite death was mere inches away from him. Assassin let out a soft, sexy chuckle; one that would make any man's blood boil.

"You have courage, master of Conqueror, I'll grant you that. Your name?" she asked in a tone that was polite enough for someone who may be about to kill you.

"Berith. Berith Cain."

"Well Berith, I think I like you. Perhaps sometime we might even take to the theater together? I happen to love music, and I think I have a piece in mind that would delight you. In the mean time," Assassin released her grip as she spoke, allowing Berith to take a few steps away from her, "I would be happy to hear your proposal. After all, men like you tend to be...interesting, if nothing else."

"Excellent. After going through so much trouble to meet you, Assassin, I would hate to miss out on an opportunity to converse with you," Berith adjusted his suit as he began. He did not get too far before Dart interrupted him.

"To meet her? But, that means that you saw her-"

"I did not see so much as hear. Your...music, milday, tends to attract an audience," Berith responded coolly, showing no emotion about Assassin's previous work in the shed, "Assassin is nigh impossible to track and see if she does not wish to be. You Dart, however, have absolutely zero talent in many things, including stealth. She can shield you with her magic, but I saw you before it took effect. From then, well, a bit of research backed with my resources can find a stupid boy who did not even think it would be a wise idea to hid his identity rather quickly. Now then, child, may I finish my conversation with your master?"

"My master? But she's the avatar," Dart stuttered in response. Berith looked at him in a manner that conveyed annoyance tinged with a slight something else that was indefinable, but may have been curiosity at Dart's thinking processes.

"As Conqueror stated, power lies where we believe it relies. You may think her the servant, and believe you have power, but trust me when I say, you are the servant. After all, if I wanted to talk to you, why go through all those motions to bring out Assassin? By the way, Conqueror, speaking of where the power lies, I believe we can stand your men down?"

At this time Conqueror, who had been watching the proceedings with mild amusement, lifted his eyes upwards. All other eyes followed those eyes, up towards the shadowy archers positioned on the rooftops.

"For the record, I could have turned you two into pincushions at any moment. But, we've decided to play nice for now," Conqueror said as he waved his hands, sending the shadows back from whence they came, "so take me not killing you as a sign of my good will, and let's hurry up with these negotiations Berith."

"Of course," Berith answered with a apologetic bow; how he treated his servant was far different than most other masters. He turned towards Assassin.

"Our proposal is a simple one. If like calls to like, you are of a caliber closer to villain than hero were I to judge by your master. Then there's the business at the shed. Without revealing Conqueror's name, I am allowed to say that this does not disturb either of us. You are gathering magic for a reason. We would aide you in this."

"And why should I believe that?" asked Assassin.

"Because Conqueror's shadows are just that. Shadows of men and women of the past. They have not the power of rank to be an Avatar; mere imprints of former lives. They are useful, but a truly powerful hero can tear through a good number of them. Beast tore through at least four or five in minutes, and Conqueror himself has only above-average abilities; it is unlikely he can defeat the more powerful servants should they get pass the amount of soldiers he can summon."

"But if your soldiers were to act as a distraction to lure away an avatar from his master, why, he'd be easy pickings for an Assassin. Is that what you're going to say?" Cassandra asked, though she had already figured out the answer.

"Indeed. It is unlikely that the other masters will think you to be anyone's ally; you're methods and motivations are rather self-centered. We, however, see a common goal. That makes us partners," Berith finished with a gesture towards himself and Conqueror, the skill that he had used when he had negotiated multi-million dollar for the Knights of the Apocalypse Enterprises all coming to the fore. "We'll even help you with your collecting of souls, if you like."

"I can handle the ritual, but I wouldn't mind a sentry or five. How many of those soldiers can you summon Conqueror?" Assassin asked as she tapped her chin, plots already began forming. Her eyes darted quickly towards her Master, but it was clear the boy didn't have a say in this, and would not go against her wishes even if he did.

"I truly do not know," Conqueror answered with a shrug, "at least twelve with no issue. I imagine could double that amount in a pinch."

"More than adequate. Berith Cain, I believe I'll accept your proposal," said the goddess with the sweetest of smiles playing on her lips, "it's customary to shake in this time period, isn't it?"

"Indeed," was all Berith said as he took the offered hand. The skin was soft and smooth, silk-like in its delicacy. Yet, at the same time, Berith found the hand to be very, very cold.

[Dissinger]

You do realize how exposed you are?

The words hung in the air as the young brunette looked out at the scene before her. People moved from the area leaving the young girl alone. To most the sight of the young woman in her long dark coat would have been odd. Even more so that it was so late in summer, but with no way to hid the triangular marking on the back of her wrist, she knew that she would have to invest in more long sleeved clothing to get through the game.

“Isn’t that the point? I thought we were trying to taunt them into coming out of hiding?” She replied to no one in particular. One of the workers walked by her without saying a word, it was still rough getting used to the idea she was invisible, but Mage had taken it upon himself to help her through her forays into magic. They still moved about the area carefully as they watched the last of the workers finally leave, the chain linked fence being closed and chained shut as the workers left their job for the evening.

There is a difference between baiting and foolishness. Why are we out in a very exposed position from which one could attack from a multitude of angles? A park would have been better, far easier to reach the safety of the public and use it as a shield…

“I disagree Mage, using humanity as a shield may have been a suitable tactic for your previous masters, but I refuse to stoop to such dirty schemes,” She replied as she looked about and with a sigh released the magical field. It was training her to maintain it and now that the last of the cars had pulled out, she was sure she had the seclusion she desired.

As you wish, shall I show myself or do you wish me to remain hidden for now?

“I shall take your lead on this one, this is after all your desire to show me what you’re capable of Mage,” Her voice was firm in the matter. She looked upon her still bandaged hand and remembered how careful his touch had been.

Blade was at her throat before she even finished her sentence. Her eyes widened as the blade remained silently still. She could feel the edge of it against her skin, only a hairs breadth from cutting into her flesh. Hot wind blew into her ear as it hissed, “I don’t need to show you what I can do. You need to learn what you can do. It would only be a simple matter for any of the other Noble Heroes of history to arrive and you’d have been dead here.”

“This is a poor lesson by an even worse teacher. You use my invitation to show up in order to intimidate me,” She replied dully. Fear was laced in the words but she knew better than to show her avatar fear. He was a predator, at least how the books on the subject read. Even if she was terrified and close to voiding her bowels, she had to maintain composure. Fear would only spark his desires for hunting.

A wry smile laced through his words as the blade was removed, “Well said. I’m happy to see my progeny can think on its feet, even if it is foolish in its acts.”

“From what I recall, that seems to be a hereditary trait since the dawn of our line.”

Mage moved before Lauren before he said, “Another clever bit of wit. Very well, it is time I explained to you what being summoned as a mage entails.”

Lauren narrowed her eyes as she said, “You could be summoned in another position?”

“I am technically an Assassin, Mage, Beast, Gladiator, or a Hunter. It all depends greatly on the aspect of the story you focus on for the summoning. You highly ritualized my summoning and appealed to my more magical nature. Had you used the blood to appeal to my more brutal aspect, I would have been a bloodthirsty beast upon the battlefield. Further you could have botched the ritual entirely but been fated to appear. When this occurs they are summoned as a gladiator. The end result is weaker than any one aspect, but gains strength from not being so focused,” The response was educational for Lauren who frowned as she asked,

“And the hunter aspect?”

“That aspect was a focused man who would doggedly pursue its target. Had you wished someone dead it was only a matter of when, not if,” He replied. His garb had changed only slightly. He still wore the wide brimmed hat and duster, only what remained underneath had changed. More of a suit than the leathers he wore underneath he took on the aspect of a businessman who had a taste for westerns. She had asked him about his manner of dress only to reply that even he couldn’t hide some aspects of himself. That the outdated leather clothes that remained was a function of her choice to summon so well known a champion.

“So what are the strengths and weaknesses of the differing traits?” Lauren moved with her avatar as they moved slowly through the quarry his eyes ever hovering about the area. Silence reigned between them for a while. She was almost about to repeat her question before he spoke;

“Hunters are able to destroy any give champion summoned given half a chance. Their unique talent lies in the fact they can observe and notice weaknesses others may miss. It takes them awhile to hunt someone but if they get the scent they will wreak havoc on them,” Mage explained even as he looked up at the night sky, “Hunters are dangerous indeed, I would not envy the man who attempted to kill one and failed. It only serves the strengthen them, giving them valuable knowledge for later. When they see a noble phantasm, they retain knowledge of its basic functionality. They understand it on a subconscious level.”

“A desirable class then?”

“Too slow a burn, to effectively use a hunter is to require the game to go on far longer than they usually run,” Mage said shaking his head. He then looked upon her as he spoke, “Gladiators strengths and weaknesses I have already spoken of. Any hero can be a gladiator, but it is best used when dealing with a Hero that can be versatile. Gladiators need to be flexible people to function well or the class slot is effectively wasted.”

She could feel his grey eyes study her as she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. Finally she spoke, “Mages, what is their part in this game?”

“Mages sense the shifts of mana in an area. I can tell you if an avatar has manipulated events nearby, or how close to bottoming out they really are. A mage need only think-“He stopped his eyes narrowing. Lauren had learned to trust the man’s instincts when he tensed so visibly. He rarely put on such shows for her benefit. It usually entailed him giving her terse directions to follow, so they could maneuver through some back alleys on their way here. Finally when he spoke his voice was calmer, but no less dangerous, “We cannot evade this fight, someone approaches. Stay back and do not under any circumstance put yourself in a position I cannot be at within seconds. I believe our first opponent has deigned fit to come to us.”

[Disillusioned]

"I believe that the pair have finished setting up their barrier," Dante said softly as he stood up from the street bench he had been sitting on. There was a construction yard not forty feet from here, and it was laced with magic.

"If I may ask, my master, why did you wait for them to finish putting up the barrier? It would have been to our advantage to attack them while they were distracted, would it not?" asked Swordsman. He stood at his master's side, wearing the clothes he had been summoned in. He saw no point in changing them, for he was not that out of place save for his sword, but that was easily concealed by his long coat.

"It was a harmless barrier to conceal the area from those without magic. There was no point in stopping them from creating that. I would have ended up setting up a similar one myself," Dante answered calmly. No need to involve innocents in this game.

"Very well. What is our course of action?" was all Swordsman answered with. His master may not have been as ruthless in battle as he should be, but the man's heart was in the right place. That was enough of a reason to follow the man, if nothing else.

"That depends on you. I know not what may be ahead, I cannot accurately tell you what type of foe you may face. What of your own abilities?" Dante asked while Swordsman mused for a bit before answering.

"As far as telling what is up ahead, I have no skill at that. Scouting and reconnaissance is by definition, the Trickster class's specialty. Their ability to infiltrate an area puts other classes to shame. They are not, however," Swordsman gently touched the saber at his side as he spoke, "as skilled in combat as the other classes."

"And the Swordsman class? What of your own thoughts on that?" Dante questioned further. Swordsman shot him a soft smile.

"We are the duelists of the game. Each Swordsman has their own way of fighting, but in a one-on-one confrontation, you will find no better Avatar than a swordsman. Perhaps a Beast class Avatar of immense strength would pose a problem, but I believe that if they are in range of my blade," Swordsman's voice lacked all forms of hubris; he was simply stating his level of skill, nothing more, "victory will be mine."

"So the only issue then is getting in range?" Dante flexed his arms and moved forward.

"Yes. I have a few talents of my own, but were I to engage in a prolonged battle of range, it would be to my disadvantage."

"Then forward Swordsman," ordered Dante, "I know not what they plan, but my magical skill is by no means small. I can sense a master out in the open, and this works to your advantage. Close the distance between you and the master; force a close-quarters confrontation."

"Yes my master," Swordsman quickened his pace as he put his hand on the hilt of his blade, "and what of you? Were you to fall, I will cease to exist very quickly. You are my link to this world, after all."

"Irrelevant," answered Dante, "I will face this master as you face their Avatar. I cannot handle an Avatar, but I will not hide behind mine and let you do all the work. Besides, a two-pronged attack makes the most sense."

Dante smiled at his Avatar, who raised his eyebrows quizzically.

"I'm the better spell caster here."

In all honesty, Swordsman would have liked to have said it made far more sense to hide and let the Avatar do the work. His master putting himself at risk made little sense regardless of who was the better wizard, but there was no point in saying such things. After all, like called to like, and Swordsman would have done the very same had he been in Dante Morcef's shoes.

"Then, I move to engage," was all Swordsman said.

When he was alive, Troy Priam had been one of the fastest men with the blade he had ever known. Though his legend was not as grand as other heroes, he had left his small mark on history. Being able to go toe-to-toe with the Saint of Swords and his brother (who was famed as the man who had destroyed an island nation with over sixteen hundred dragons) left you that much at least.

His movement was more a streak of white than anything else. One instant he was standing, the next he had drawn his sword and had bounded towards the construction yard.

"Trying to keep me out of the fight eh?" Dante muttered as he muttered a quick incantation. He felt his body grown light.

Not at all. I simply assumed you could keep up. Was I wrong?" Echoed his Avatar's voice within Dante's mind.

"You assumed correctly," Dante answered to no one in particular as he called forth the wind. In the next instant he was flying over the road, watching Swordsman dash towards the destined area. Swordsman leapt over the fence as Dante began his landing.

"Hello," Dante offered as he ceased his spell, and stood up. The landing had been a little rough, but to his pride he had not fallen behind. He had arrived just a moment behind Swordsman, who stood calmly in front of his master.

Their foes were a young woman with black hair, perhaps a year or two younger than Dante himself. Next to the woman, standing over her watchfully was an older man, easily ten years Dante's senior. He wore dusty boots, his clothes slightly faded from traveling, though nice enough in their own way. Every now and the man's eyes would glace over to the woman protectively.

"Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dante Morcef, this is my Avatar, Swordsman," Dante said politely, offering a short bow. Just because they were enemies didn't mean they couldn't respect one another. He noticed that Swordsman followed his motions, but never did the Avatar's eyes leave the man next to the woman.

"Mage," was all the man said in a slightly tense voice.

"I'm Lauren," answered the woman, "Lauren-"

"No need for that," the man quickly cut her off, "it's a foolish thing in battle to reveal more than what is precisely necessary."

"In that case, you should have remained silent," Swordsman advised as he raised his sword; it was a simple saber, but meticulously cared for, "you just revealed you cared little for courtesy or honor. Was that worth hiding a name?"

"The knightly type," the man muttered as he withdrew two daggers, one in each hand, "I would have had you pegged for a Swordsman even without the introduction."

"I have no need to hide what I am," Swordsman answered as he raised his saber in salute of his enemy, "I may hide my name, but I will act in accordance with the principles I believed in during my life."

The two avatars locked eyes with one another. An unworldly tension filled the air.

"I am not about to let this game change the man I am," Swordsman stated flatly. Mage smirked at him.

"Well then," Dante held out his hand, "may I have this dance Lauren?"

[Dissinger]

Lauren looked upon the man as he offered to dance with the woman. Her eyebrow raised before she bowed in a similar manner and spoke, “I must respectfully decline. My strengths lie off the field of battle. Were you to challenge me to a game of Chess, I might be your match.”

Dante nodded before he spoke, “You seem far more reasonable than your counterpart.”

Lauren merely smiled warmly and spoke, “He has his reasons and I’m sure you can respect that. Perhaps if this were a date you could get more from me.” She then gave him a coy smile as the man merely turned to watch the two avatars. Mage had already removed his hat, and in a practiced maneuver the jacket followed suit. Tossing them in a pile behind him he began to twirl and play with the knives in his hands, almost as if unable to prevent himself from doing so.

Mage never let the smirk leave his lips as he spoke up, “So, handy with a sword?”

Swordsman scoffed as he shook his head, “I never get why people feel it necessary to prattle on in a fight.”

“I find that once a fight begins, you see someone as they truly are. You poke and prod each other as best you can, testing defenses, find out their mettle. What most people don’t realize is there’s two ways to do it…”

The knives continued to flip about before swordsman attempted a strike in the middle of a twirl. The knife came to a halt succinctly and the blade bounced harmlessly off as Mage grinned, some of his hair falling before his eyes.

“I figured you weren’t just showing off,” The swordsman said firmly.

“You give me too much credit. Maybe it was just luck,” Mage said as he shrugged. Another blow came out and was deflected as Swordsman tried a third and a fourth. Mage deflecting each one with practiced ease, “Okay I get it already, you ain’t falling for it.”

“Your style is a cloak and dagger routine by which you attempt to use flourishes and twirls to conceal the method you will attack. You also have managed to work in some rather ludicrous flourishes to the routine to make you seem defenseless and yet are never left exposed,” Swordsmen said firmly as the fighting continued. Mage continued to parry each blow before with a harsh kick he brought some distance between him and swordsman once more. A grin lit up his face before Swordsman took up his stance once more and continued, “Your mastery of the blade is such that I would say you are one of a handful of master dagger wielders.”

“Handful? That’s far too broad for my liking,” Mage responded with a hint of jealousy in his voice.

“Enough prattle, lets end this,” Swordsman said as he went in on Mage. That grin lit up his face as the two flashed steel into the night and suddenly troy was left with his eyebrow raised. He had the sword poised to the man’s throat, and yet he could clearly see a dagger that would have punctured him in a lung pressing against his chest.

“What’s the matter? Too afraid to make the killing blow? Knock us both out of this fight?” Mage quipped. He took a step back, the gravel under his feet crunching in the cooling evening. The light of day was vanishing from the world as the Mage brushed the stray strands of hair from his face. The process began anew as the thief waited. When the two clashed again this time dirt was flung up by the dirtied boot of the Mage and in the end, a similar karmic strike was achieved, this time with Mage seeing a parry dagger against his stomach, while a blade was held against the man’s throat. “I have all the time in the world to wear you down Swordsman. All. The. Time.”

“You greatly overestimate your options,” Swordsman replied,

“You see, I learned a few things about the way you fight Swordsman. You have a very, smash mouth style. You like to get in close to your opponents. You especially like to make clean killing blows. That tells me of a man who studied the blade long enough to detest using it,” Mage started.

“You strike ruthlessly and with every advantage one can create on a field of battle. Any distraction, any action is not beyond you. You fight with a ruthless determination and I am beginning to think you were toying with me, but the pangs of fear even now worm through you. You aren’t striking because you don’t have me figured out, and that frankly scares you.”

“Cute,” He replied before he backed up a step. He turned his back on his opponent, though Swordsman remained ever ready. He then looked back over his shoulder, “You like playing the psychiatrist or is it because you think you know who I am?”

“I can tell when someone fights with the intention to kill. You haven’t breached that line yet, I have no clue why with what is at stake.”

He turned to look at swordsman before he tilted his head with a look of confusion on his face. Finally when he spoke his voice held a tone of quiet anger, “You think I don’t comprehend what’s at stake? What are you fighting for? What could possibly draw some nobody like you into a contest between the gods themselves? Do you have any clue what these games create? No, I can see on your face you don’t and never will. You have no concept of who I am and what I’m doing here. You don’t know what I’ve been through, and where I’ve gone to do it. That’s okay, you’d be surprised what you could live through.”

Red energy coursed along his arm as he tossed the sphere towards the swordsman who’s eyes went wide as he realized Mage was only looking for the room to act. It only took him a moment to fire off the spell at the man who seemed to clench his teeth and hiss something unintelligible. Seth only heard a vague idea of it and it sounded like tricks of some kind. As the sphere rushed between the two a sword materialized out of nowhere and slammed into the sphere, discharging its energy harmlessly into the dirt. As a crater formed in the ground before swordsman he had an annoyed look on his face.

“Holy Swords of Saint Knu, a secret sword technique only known by those deemed Kensai. The Kensai being the collegiate that forms the body of the Saint of Sword’s followers that died out in the time of Karel Raven. You’re a cut above normal swords men, but your swords aren’t golden, so you weren’t a saint. You just were close enough to make a play for being one,” Mage said studying the dissipated energies before him.

“Knowledgeable,” Swordsman said in appreciation.

“I fought Karel Raven, I know what other techniques you have access to.”

“Then you know fighting me is futile,” Swordsman answered.

“No, I know you’re perfectly beatable, I just have a new way of tiring you out,” Mage retorted as he threaded his fingers through several throwing knives. He grinned as he said, “Either you know one or all the secret techniques. Let’s see if you got Blood of a Thousand…”

[Disillusioned]

"The one that cuts someone til they quite literally bleed a thousand times?" Swordsman asked with raised eyebrows, "Do I really strike you as the type?"

"I suppose not," Mage smirked as he flung several knives at his foe; Swordsman batted them out of the air with his sword in an instant, but Mage already had more in his hands.

The knives had come out at incredibly high speeds; one would believe they were bullets more than knives. Sparks lit up the night as they bounced off Swordsman's saber as he twirled his blade about calmly, easily deflecting the attacks.

"What about Abcindo Venas? The one that explodes all the veins in your body?" the knives were coming in torrents now; Mage's hands were moving at an ungodly speed.

"Decidedly my least favorite of the arts. Are you done testing my reflexes yet?"

"Just about," came a voice from the side. By the gods Mage could move! One minute he had been standing there, flinging knife after knife, the next he had more blurred than moved to the right, and was charging his magical attack.

"Tsh," Swordsman cursed silently as he threw up two more blades. The red magic released by Mage smashed through them this time, forcing Swordsman to dodge to the right rather than risk the effects of whatever spell was just cast, 'I really hate magic."

"Says the man who calls the magical blades of Saint Knu," Mage taunted.

"Something I am not too fond of. Forcing me to use them to counter your attacks; I give you credit," Swordsman acknowledged with a respectful nod, "still, you give away too much Mage. I will end this now."

"How confident," Mage smirked, "and just why do you believe that?"

"Because," Swordsman waved his hand; two blades of blue crystal appeared before him, and sailed towards Mage, who easily dodged the attack as well as the follow up attack from the Saber, "though they easiest way to identify an Avatar is by his Noble Aspect, there is no need when one gives away as much about oneself as you do."

Mage went in with his daggers, but Swordsman quickly took two steps back, and went in low with his saber. Easily parried by the daggers, but the gap was too far for Mage to do anything about.

"I said you were among a handful of masters with your dagger, but you said that was too broad for you. This tells me that you consider your talents with daggers to be among the very best, shall we say top ten? Or would you prefer five?"

Swordsman kept his distance, matching each advance with a careful step back. Always his sword was just close enough to be within striking range, but his body was far enough back from the daggers that closing the gap would be risky.

"You use magic. No surprise there; you are of the Mage class. Still, your first instinct was to use your spellcasting offensively. I will wager that is the primary use of your spellcraft," Swordsman said calmly.

"I am an arrogant dagger master who casts spell offensively? I wonder how many of those have lived over the course of Althanas's history?" Mage laughed as he tried once more to close the gap; Swordsman instantly fell back a few more steps.

"Many. Still, something you said struck me. You said something along the lines of a 'what could draw a nobody like you into a contest of gods themsleves?' This implies that you find yourself the equal of a god," Troy let a soft smile escape his lips, "or perhaps you just admitted to being a god yourself?"

"Using the length of your saber to compensate for the speed of my daggers. You're keeping me perfectly within your striking distance, but out of mine. Impressive," Mage muttered under his breath, "Not enough, impressive."

It was as if a switch had been flicked. The two warriors, who's movements up to this point had been for the most part fairly easy to track, suddenly exploded in a furry of motion. Mage blurred in close to Swordsman, but the daggers that seemed to be four places at once were parried by a saber that seemed to be five places at once.

"An arrogant master dagger user that casts spells offensively, that either became a god, or at least was strong enough to challenge one," Swordsman quickly ducked low to avoid Mage, who had literally flown over his opponent to avoid the fifth movement of the saber. Mage landed with an annoyed look as Swordsman turned to face him.

"But you have told me more," Swordsman said calmly as he slowly took his sheath out of his belt, "for example, you are clearly concerned with your Master's well-being."

"As would any Avatar be, I'd imagine," Mage responded off-handedly, "she is my link to the world, after all."

"Yes, as is mine. But whereas my Master can hold his own in a fight, yours has a clear desire to avoid fighting, yet she still places herself out in an extremely exposed area, one which I seriously doubt you approved of."

"Get to the point Swordsman."

The fighters blurred. Both Dante and Lauren nearly stumbled from the gust of wind that came at them simply from the Avatars' movements. By the time they had recovered, the daggers and the saber were locked together, with both Avatars trying to overpower the other.

"My point is the arrogant god-dagger master let his feelings for a girl overrule his sense. I can only imagine there's a reason for that as well," Swordsman said as the clash broke. He pivoted his body as Mage flashed by, a blur of steel and magic. Dante would have been lying if he said he wasn't concerned for Swordsman's safety, but the young man just glanced at Lauren with a raised eyebrow.

"And then there is the one thing you should have never said. I did not wish to use my Swords of Saint Knu, as they show a clear link between me and the Saint of Swords, but you forced my hand," Swordsman gave his blade a twirl as he spoke, and slowly sheathed his blade, "but then your hubris caused you to make a foolish mistake; you told me you actually fought Karel Raven."

Mage narrowed his eyes with killing intent. He did not panic, such a thing would have been unbecoming of an Avatar summoned in the Great Game. However, there was no mistaking that look.

This man is major threat. I have to kill him now.

"You are a god-like pinnacle of dagger mastery with spell casting capabilities who feels protective towards young women. Really Mage," the saber clicked into the sheath, "how many people like that went toe-to-toe with Karel Raven, a man whom I obviously know about as I am, as you said, a 'Kensai?' The answer, Mage, is not many."

This will be the last attack. He knows he has over stepped himself, and I will not have another chance at this. Still, I am within range of my Noble Aspect. Swordsman's right hand hovered over the hilt of his saber; his ice-blue eyes narrowed in focus. "Come Mage! This move will take your life!"

"To me Swordsman!" Dante cried, "Mage, to your master! She is in danger!"

Everything happened in an instant. Though he felt that he had a surefire victory in his hands, he abandoned it. He and his master were a team; the only way they could win was if they had complete faith in one another. Mage blurred again, just in time for Lauren to scream.

"Well he's got you pegged, doesn't he?" snarled a muscular warrior with a feral look in his eyes. He was dressed in filthy clothes, with dirt and grim covering his chain steel shirt. His worn boots, covered in mud, slowly inched forward. He wore a gauntlet on each of his large hands; each one was outfitted with barbed claws that slowly closed in on Mage's neck. The only thing stopping them were Mage's daggers, trembling under the weight of the newly arrived Avatar.

"You..." Mage began as Lauren scrambled to her feet, she had been knocked over by the Avatars colliding next to her.

"Been a while eh, Se-"

CRACK! The beast-like warrior was silenced by the sound of a gunshot.


Was I too hard on poor Mage? Let me know and I'll change it, but pride goeth before the fall friend! Heh heh heh.

[Marduk the Black]

The bullet never hit as it came perilously close to the Head of the summoner. Lauren dropped to the ground instinctively even as Mage shouted out “Get behind any equipment you can, there’s a sniper in the area. I’ll hold off the Avatar!”

“Awww, isn't that sweet, it’s almost like you care Mage. Isn't that how it goes, you get some nice young girl, like oh say your daughter-“

“Mention my daughter again you filthy mongrel and I’ll tear your throat out!” Mage hissed as suddenly, the form of the newly arrived avatar went sailing in a bout of anger fueled strength on Mage’s part. As a clawed hand scraped along the ground he gripped the dirt and landed heavily, a leering grin on his face, even as the dirtied tangle of dreadlocks settled in a mane about the man’s shoulders. He tilted his head this way and that as he cracked the stiff joints of his neck then let out a booming laugh.

“It doesn't take heightened sense to tell you’re afraid there old friend. You know exactly how this is going to go right? I mean we did this song and dance once before and boy was your face red…” The newcomer said.

“Who are you?” Swordsman immediately stepped forward even as mage’s hand went back holding off the help of the avatar before he hissed;

“Don’t you dare interfere Swordsman, I got a bone to pick with this asshole.”

The shamanistic creature let out a guttural laugh as he took up a ready stance and spoke, “No sense being rude to the boy. He’s curious because he was stuck in a hole in the ground while you were off gallivanting through the world fighting gods, killing them, making them pay for corrupting your daughter. Though to be fair, the bitch wanted to be corrupted, as much as you did at one point...”

Mage flung himself with wild fury at the man who laughed as he gripped the fighter and flung him away, hitting a piece of construction equipment. The impact rocked the piece almost to the point of falling over, before it righted itself in a boom of dust. He stepped forward before he spoke, laughing at the Mage’s folly, “I am Gladiator. Though I have gone by a number of names, I can only be delayed, never stopped. My most famous one was Marduk the Black.”

Lauren’s eyes widened at the mention of the name even as Marduk felt a tingling in the back of his head, Are you sure revealing that is a good idea?

Marduk mentally shot back at the voice of his master, I was never defeated by the time my name became known. Let them tremble before me, there are no weaknesses in my tale, because I destroyed them, systematically.

Knives sank into the chain links causing his back to be peppered with a few cuts and scrapes even as the links prevented true penetration. He chuckled even as he turned to the Mage who emerged from the dust. He looked untarnished and Marduk could only grin as he shrugged, “Face it Mage, I got your number. Your magic doesn’t work on me, and neither does your little throwing knives. I mean chainmail one oh one man, it’s made to take weapons designed to pierce. Even slashing weapons are of reduced efficacy,” At those words he looked back over his shoulder at Swordsman and gave him a wink.

The girl is crawling about halfway between me and the piece of machinery. Take the shot, even if you’re going to miss Mage’ll take the hit.

Mage? Who is the mage, do you know him? The voice was intrigued even as he could faintly see the glint of light off of the scope fo the rifle readjust to a new position.

A fool named Seth Dahlios, perhaps you’ve heard of him… Marduks tone took on a mocking tenor, almost inviting the man to challenge him back. His master had long associated the tone with Marduk in a good mood, trying to bait as many fights as possible.

I’ve heard a lot fo stories about him, underestimating him is a bad idea, Marduk’s master warned.

He’s too easy to throw off balance, and once there his focus and killing intent is dulled to a butter knife’s edge. Just you wait and see… Marduk retorted as he heard the shot go off. Mage was on the move again and took the bullet even as his master screamed.

The bullet should have cleanly punched through the mage, but he seemed to absorb the shock of the bullet before he stumbled a step. Hunching over his masters form he looked her in the eyes before he spoke up, “Let’s go!” Immediately he grabbed his summoner and bolted, using his preternatural speed to escape the scene even as Marduk laughed at the effort. Looking at the Swordsman he chuckled wryly.

“So, you going to stand there all day, or am I going to get that fight I came here for?”

[Disillusioned]

Swordsman shifted his stance towards his new foe, now that Mage had departed from the scene. Gladiator, no, Marduk the Black, gave of an aura of ruthlessness. There would be no niceties with this man, no exchange of pleasantries. The best Swordsman could hope for was a few insults.

"I have no qualms," Swordsman answered as he relaxed his body and let the tension flow out of him; he had been prepared to use his Noble Aspect against Mage, but he would not rush head first and reveal his trump card without at least feeling out his new opponent.

You are in danger as long as you remain in the open. Bullets and modern weaponry have a significantly reduced effect against otherworldly beings such as Avatars. Swordsman communicated to his master via thought. You however...

It is of no consequence. Dante responded curtly as he began to mutter something under his breath. I have prepared for firearms.

"Come on now. Waiting," Marduk said with a arrogant sneer.

"Apologies," Swordsman answered sincerely, "We begin."

Two blue blades made of crystal appeared at Swordsman's side, and homed in on Marduk. The muscular man chuckled, and dove underneath the blades, which flew off harmlessly into the night. A huge, clawed hand came at Troy, who sprung backwards, firing off more blue swords as he went.

"No good!" Marduk spat as he dove underneath the blades, his claw rending the earth as he dragged it across the ground; the Avatar's inhuman strength easily shredding deep into the dirt, spraying debris into the air. With a snarl Marduk dove through the dirt-screen, lunging at Swordsman.

"Tsh!" Troy cursed as his half-unsheathed saber blocked the incoming attack, "Revealing your name so freely. Your are quite confident, I will give you that."

"I have no need to hide who I am. I'm not some piss-ant like you. I am Marduk the Black!" Gladiator roared as he spun about, backhanding Troy across the face. Not only was it a solid insult, but the backhand of an Avatar is on a whole other level than just a slap. The force of the blow was enough to send Swordsman sprawling across the battlefield.

"See ya," Marduk smilied as he turned towards Dante. The crack of a rifle sounded.

The bullet was a Revanfield .30-06 calibur rifle bullet. One of the most common cartridges, it saw wide use throughout most areas in the world, particularly in the Corone army. Though it was the standard cartridge for said military for over forty years, it was eventually replaced with the 7.62x51mm SCAR. However, it remained popular due to its larger cartridge; sportsmen and soldiers often reverted back to the Revanfield .30-06 for their custom-loaded bullets. The larger cartridge allowed for more powder to be loaded, creating a bullet with overall more stopping power and range than the 7.62, if one took the time to customize the rounds.

The bullet exited the barrel, propelled at over two thousand and five hundred feet per second. A spiraling object of death, the Revanfield bullet raced towards Dante's head, far faster than the human's eye could possibly see. However, were one to slow time down to roughly one-fourth its normal flow, they would observe a rather interesting series of events.

Miniscule droplets of ice began to form on the bullet as it approached its destination. The closer it came towards dealing death, the slower it began to move. When it was about four-fifths of its way towards destination, it had practically become a flying ice cube. Its feet per second slowed dramatically the further it went, changing it from a spiraling object of death to a harmless projectile. By the time it was three feet away from Dante, it fell harmlessly to the ground; frozen solid.

"Is that the best you can do? Cheap tricks will not win you the Legacy, master of Gladiator," Dante said to no one in particular. Marduk snarled and moved to finish the job, but had no choice but to defend instead as Troy quickly closed the distance between the two of them; his saber slashes left soft blue arcs as he swung at a speed far beyond that of a mortal man.

"You and Mage are far more alike than I imagine either of you are willing to admit," Swordsman observed as he pressed his advantage; Marduk had been caught momentarily of guard due to taking the time to taunt Dante, "you are both arrogant, both overconfident, and both completely sure that..."

Troy began a high-level sword art. He quickly created three blades that spun around him, forming a shield against Marduk's extremely close combat weapons. Forced to defend against the spinning blades, Marduk smashed away two of them with his gauntlets, leaving the third to crash against his protective chain mail. Marduk then prepared himself for the follow up attack from the saber, but it never came.

From the sky Troy fell, his sword poised to deliver the perfect blow. His crystal swords had been the feint; they had not followed him when he had moved at inhuman speed, leaping ten feet into the air in no more than half a second. They had remained where he had summoned him, allowing him freedom movement.

"A no-name contestant cannot possibly threaten you," Swordsman finished as he dived downwards, his saber nothing more than a light blue arc amidst the night sky. Marduk stumbled back, his chain mail unable to fully protect him from the combined force of both Troy's descent, and a fully prepared strike from the saber.

"The time is nigh!" Dante shouted as another rifle shot was fired, this one too fell to the ground frozen uselessly, "end him!"

Troy landed perfectly, flowing into his follow-up attack with the accuracy excepted of an Avatar of the Swordsman class. This attack would seal Marduk's fate, severing his neck from his head.

"Burn away the impurity!" Marduk screamed quickly, "the First Wind! Forger!"

Black flame poured forth from Marduk's mouth, spilling forth like dragon's fire. What was suppose to be a sure-fire kill for Troy quickly turned into a near defeat. The only thing that saved the Avatar of the Swordsman class was his high-level of instinct; a skill that had been forged through countless battles. Without thought, the moment Marduk had spoke his words, Troy changed the arc of his blade ever so slightly; the target became the mouth rather than the neck.

Though he avoided the full force of Marduk's Noble Aspect, the black flames still wracked his body. Troy let out a shout of pain as he stumbled back, his only salvation from the fire attack had been that the tip of his saber slashed Marduk's left cheek, causing the Gladiator avatar to jerk his head to right, a good portion of the flames.

"Swordsman!" Dante shouted as he began to quickly accelerate the rate of his mana flow into Swordsman, dramatically increasing his Avatar's regeneration rate. Troy flipped backwards instantly, firing off his Swords of Saint Knu as he did so.

"I am all right," Troy offered as he landed, gently wiping away some ash from his skin. Though his clothes were charred, his master's magic really was first rate; his burnt skin had already healed, "I thank you for the support."

As he spoke, Marduk began to smash away the five swords that came at him. The first two were batted away with his heavy gauntlets. The Gladiator then dodged the third, smacked the fourth blade to the floor, and grabbed the final blade in midair.

"To force me to use a wind against you," Marduk seethed as he crushed the crystal blade with his right hand, "I will grind your bones to dust for this Swordsman! I will remove your very soul from these games, crushing you as I do this blade!"

The crystal sword that Troy had summoned began to crack, and soon shattered into dust in Marduk's hand. As he did this, Marduk's right foot slammed into the ground, the sheer force of his step was enough to make Dante stumble.

"Try. You will find me equal to the task," Troy challenged as he responded with his own footstep. It was light, far lighter than Marduk's hand been. Whereas Marduk's step had been a forceful earthquake, Troy's had been swift gust of wind. Just like the wind, he closed the gap between the two Avatars in a moment, joining battle once again.

[Marduk the Black]

To say that the fight had taken on a new brutality was to say the sky was blue, or the ocean a large lake. It got the point across but grossly misled the recipient of such a phrase to believe that they had begun fighting in earnest. Marduk, never held back in the first place, but with the release of the first wind, he seemed to grow stronger, more durable, fiercer. He could swat the blades, deflecting them now, where before he would have to dodge them. He had even flung one of them back at Swordsman in a daring opening that stopped his erstwhile opponent from slicing through his chainmail in one focused shot to his gut.

It didn’t take long for sirens to ring through the area. The gunshots had to have been heard, there was no silencing technology. Truthfully the plan had not accounted for the magic of Mage obfuscating the arena. In hindsight it had made perfect sense to hide the avatar and summoner from others, so as to let them practice in peace. Marduk had been right in guessing where an avatar would seek to test their fortitude. He had merely been wrong in guessing who would have done it.

Still he laughed victoriously as the sirens drew closer his grin reaching an evil leer even as he threw a punch that nearly took the swordsman’s head off were it not for a timely dodge of leaning his head to the side. The blade bounced off the chainmail as they broke apart and the cars rammed through the chain link fence to stop around the combatants. Immediately doors were opened as four cops stepped out of the cars using the doors for cover, even as they drew firearms on the two avatars and the solitary master left in the open.

“Freeze! Put your hands up and drop any weapons you are holding!”

Swordsman looked like he was about to leave when Marduk shouted out, “I put my hands up? Like this?” His hands mockingly went into the air even as he leveled a grin at the swordsman, almost daring him to take the free shot. When his opponent refrained he spoke, his voice utterly calm, “The second wind of ascension is Reaver, slaying the unworthy.”

Two of the officers immediately fell clutching their chests. Older men one had a salt and pepper look to his features even as the gun fell to the ground. The other man who dropped was out of shape having a more portly complex. The two other officers opened fire the shots feebly bouncing off Marduk’s armor before one of them finally succumbed to the oppressive aura that was invading the area. It was a deep chill that slowly ate away at the officers, before the last one had emptied the clip and began to succumb.

Marduk looked upon that last officer before he said, “Not bad, you almost lasted a minute. Still too weak to join my flock and I would never bend the rules for one like you.”

“What did you do to them?” Swordsman said even as the avatar slowly dropped back into a fighting stance.

“They, were unworthy. I was a high priest of Tiamat, the mother of Dragons who gave one commandment that to this day still rules this pathetic little plane you call Althanas. The strong rule and the weak perish. If you are not strong enough to stand in my presence when I release the divinity of the Dragon Mother, then you are too pathetic to let live. I will admit, I thought you would have been feeling it already…”

“You killed them,” the words weren’t a question. They were merely the voice of reason in the insanity that surrounded the Shaman.

“I think I’ve toyed with you enough. Time to choose hero, the summoner, or the avatar…” He said before he spit on the ground, “The third wind of Ascension is Eliminator, clearing the path to victory.” Immediately the oppressive feeling in the air fell even more heavily upon everyone else in the area. Even Dante stumbled a step under the weight before he pointed at the Summoner, “I’ll finish you later.”

A shot rang out through the area as the bullet flew towards the master. While ice still built up it did not however stop shy of Dante. When it hit, it hit with the force of a tennis ball knocking him down and nearly knocking him out. A large red welt appeared on the skin of his forehead where the bullet should have punched through. As Swordsman looked back at his master Marduk swung going for the throat. Once again he was barely parried as he continued to push against the boundaries of the swordsman, forced onto the defensive.

“Contemptible parlor tricks!” Swordsman hissed as he was forced on the defensive, even as a silent war raged in Marduk’s head.

That was my last shot, we’re done. Pull out before more cops show up.

I have him on the ropes, his master’s out of it, one solid blow and this is over! Do not deny me my victory! Marduk railed back at his master.

You mistake my words for a suggestion, back out. Now.

I refuse! I will not leave when I have this bastard in my hands! If you force me to leave now I will never have this chance again…

You’ve already revealed too much information to our enemy. Listen to my voice of reason and obey Marduk the Black. Fall back to our rendezvous point now.

Red light broke out from the fisted gauntlets of the avatar stopping him mid swing as the chains shackled him back. A roar of fury left his throat before he stepped back, the chains slackening against his wrist. He then spat on the ground before the swordsman before he spoke, his voice full of contempt, “Get stronger, this wasn’t even my best. If you’re the best this tournament has to offer me, I’ll use your skin for toilet paper.”

He then bound through the opening the police cars had created even as he mentally lashed and railed at his master for calling off a perfectly good fight.

[Sheex]

"You can really put it away eh?" Sheex joked as the man, who called himself Justin, finished off his third meal. Of course, bar food wasn't exactly known as the most filling of meals, that had been the same when Sheex had been alive. Still, three meals were three meals.

"Been on my feet all day," Justin muttered as he wiped a few pieces of steak off of his chin, "Haven't had time to sit down at all."

"Work?" Natalie asked as she sipped her second girly drink, which Sheex had learned was some-sort-of-fruit-drop. He wondered if there was a type of drop for every fruit, or only just particular fruits? Either way, one thing was still the same: scotch. He motioned for the bartender to bring him another one.

"Something like that," Justin answered, "I've been doing some work on the side too. Freelance stuff."

"Ah? Well, try not to take it too hard friend," Sheex offered, "after all, if you don't have your health, what do you have?"

"Apparently scotch," the woman who had introduced herself as Lia responded, in a tone that was rather cold.

"Sorry sorry!" Sheex said with a roguish grin, "am I abusing your kind offer? Ah, what a leech I am!"

"No no, it's fine!" Justin answered quickly, shooting a look to Lia, telling her not to cause a scene.

"Just tell him if he is," Natalie muttered, "he'll just keep going if you don't."

Sheex chuckled, nodding his head as he did so. After all, he only had so much time in this second life, best to use it to its fullest. The two "couples" had been at the bar for close to three hours now, chatting about different things. Usual stuff that people talk about when they have nothing else to do; there was quite a livid discussion about whether at the forty-five minute mark.

"In any case, I believe we have been here long enough," Lia finished as she looked to Justin, "time to settle the bill?"

Justin nodded, and motioned for the check. The four talked idly for bit longer, Sheex had one more scotch, and then parted ways. Justin and Lia bid a hasty farewell, and departed quickly. Sheex and Natalie meandered about the outside of a bar for a little while.

"Interesting pair," Sheex began as he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"I'll say. I don't know if such things were common in your time, but nowadays it is pretyt rare to just barge in on a table like that," Natalie responded as she checked the area. Justin and Lia were long gone.

"She moves quick she does," Sheex whispered to himself as he lit his cigarette, and took a long drag.

"When did you start smoking? And you mean Lia?" Natalie asked as she wrinkled her nose up at the smell of tobacco. She, as she would say, freaking hated that smell.

"I mean Drusilla Liadon, Mage Hunter extraordinaire. She went toe-to-toe with the necromancer Xem'zund, or so I've heard. And that guy was quite the terror...or so I heard," Sheex chuckled at his own repetitiveness.

"You've met her before?" Natalie asked with a stunned look, "and you were there when Xem'zund started his war?"

"Of course not. I was well out of the way of any and every major conflicts on Althanas. I find swords, bows, dark magic and things to be hazardous to my health. I have never seen either of those two people." Sheex answered as he flicked away his cigarette into the street.

"Then how do you-"

"Special talent of mine. Not a Noble Aspect per se, but let's call it a skill. I've read a lot of stories, been a lot of places in my time. Picked up a few things," Sheex winked at Natalie, "can't be totally useless, after all."

"This...this is good! This is freaking good!" Natalie exclaimed as she whipped out her cell phone. Sheex didn't know the model, but he recognized it as one of the higher priced ones. Hell, even if the Great Game hadn't prepared him for this century, he probably could have figured it out by all the fancy buttons. Well, not that a touch screen actually had any buttons.

Ha. Touch screens. Sheex momentarily wondered if that was one of Lazarus's nefarious inventions. People did seem to spend a lot more time staring at those touch screen cell phones than the person in front of them. Speaking of which.

"Nat? Hello Nat? Althanas to Nat? Helloooo?" Sheex waved his hand in front of Natalie's face repeatedly.

"Hmm. Good stuff good stuff. Master archer, gotta watch out for that. Maybe if we got in close? Wait, that guy was probably her Master and WILL YOU FREAKING STOP THAT!"

"Scary scary!" Sheex jumped back, "does this mean you don't want me to tell them?"

"She's a Mage Hunter," Natalie said, "and I bet her observation skills are first class. She won't detect you?"

"As I said, my stealth skills are unrivaled. I am near impossible to recognize as an Avatar, and as for magic," Sheex waved his hand, "I do recall saying my talent with that is nil."

"Find out where they live Trickster," Natalie ordered, "I'll do research on her, maybe we can use it to our advantage."

"I'm on it, Master o' mine," Sheex said with a bow.

"I freaking said to stop calling me that!"

[Viola Conda]

Viola sighed into the night air, feeling the tendrils of energy spark along the windy veranda of the motel balcony. Fiora had done well in creating the barrier that obscured their flow of mana to the outside world, and now dressed in knee length shorts made of soft fabrics and a tank top she felt more at ease. Dresses just were not her style, but that didn't matter anyway. Should battle be called she would transform into her military outfit, just like that.

But the clothes were rather comfy.

She wasn't blind to the things around her. She felt the terrible reaping of mana through dark artifice, the sparks of power emenating from a construction site, and while it was hard to pinpoint, she could tell the others were out there too; Conqueror and Slayer. She had no clue where Trickstar was, but then again, wasn't that their thing?

Firoa walked out onto the cobble stone awning, stretching out as she played with her hair. It was still damp from her shower, the flight taking a bit out of both of the competitors. It was nice to freshen up and dress casually. But it was also a waste of precious time. Viola turned to Fiora, giving her a curt nod of respect and spoke plainly.

"Moves are being made all over the city. It would be best if we investigated them."

"Someone's already used their Noble Aspect," Firoa replied, not looking to Viola. "That was one helluva a pulse of magic coming from over there," she pointed near the construction towers. Viola turned to look and pointed to a urban neighborhood off the side of the motel.

"Mana was reaped over there, it's a sign of sloppyness. Perhaps they wanted to be caught?"

"A weakness this early in the game," Fiora rebuttled quickly. "I could feel it too. No that was...that was a botched ritual to reap mana. It may have worked, but it had no subtly in it at all. That was no intention, it felt like it was done that way on purpose. Like they didn't have any other choice."

"I can feel power sources down by the movie theatre," Viola lifted her gaze and slowly dragged her pointing finger towards the long strobe lights. "I could go and invesitgate, and bing in public may deter enemy Masters from making plays."

"Would you be dettered?" Firoa asked, her tone serious as she looked to her Avatar. Viola gave her a dark look, not enjoying the implications of her question. Viola nodded her head. Fiora let out a gentle sigh. "Rest easy, Vi, i'm not in this to hurt innocent people."

"Viola, my name is Viola," she muttered through clenched teeth. Pet names were not her thing either. Infomrality was also a pet peeve when serious business was being discussed. It just got in the way of efficency.

"Not anymore. I can't call you Legionary in public, too obvious. So we need a name that is natural to both of us. Vi isn't to uncommon a name, and as long as you dress like my best friend going out to downtown, we should be fine. No engagments, and if we find two warriors,"

"We run like scared pedestrians. A feigned retreat isn't a bad idea, but I prefer to stick around in case we can finish off an avatar when they are weakened." Fiora tilted her head thinking it over.

"Not a bad idea," she lifted up the rental keys to their car and tossed them to Viola. "You drive. We can grab food while we're out."

((You next Mr. Priam, Beast ain't hard to find.))

[Disillusioned]

"Marduk the Black," Dante muttered as he picked himself up off the ground, "truly, there have been some big names summoned this game."

"Indeed," Troy answered, "What happened to the invisibility field? Those officers should not have been able to see us."

"That Lauren must have been giving that field a constant supply of magic; when she disappeared, so did the field. Stupid of me not realize that. My apologies Swordsman."

"It is I who should apologize. I was caught off guard by his strength, and his multiple Noble Aspects," Troy said softly, "Many Avatars have only one; it is not out of the realm of possibility for the truly powerful to have more. To think that one would have three, or even more-"

"Is it not also possible that his winds are different aspects of the same Noble Aspect? That too could be a possibility," Dante mused as he dusted off his suit, "Either way, we have gathered a good amount of information on him. A bit of in-depth study into his past will go far, and I have quite the collection of books."

"He is a famous figure, of that there is no doubt," Troy said softly, "speaking of that, I must ask. I have no complaints about my master, but I must ask, why did you summon someone such as me? I am confident in my skills, but-"

"My mother participated in the last Great Game," Dante stated, "Do you know who she summoned?"

"I do not. Though Avatars are provided with the basic information to live within modern Althanas, and we know as much as an average human would about world history, but we are specifically banned from knowledge about previous games we were not part of. It would create an unfair advantage, so to speak. Unless of course we actually participated, or a Master managed to fix his summoning somehow to make us know."

"She summoned Karel Hector Raven, the Saint of Swords. Your brother-in-law," Dante spoke in a straightforward tone, concealing nothing, "He was supposed to be the best of the Swordsman class."

"That is a lie," Troy answered harshly, "I know more about Karel than any living person in this era, save for perhaps one. He was not the best."

"Then who was? And for that matter, who else knows more about Karel than you?" Dante turned to look at the spirit he had summoned. Troy gazed up into the night sky, pondering briefly how odd it was that the sky had not changed in this era. True, it was more clouded than in his time, but they were all still there. The stars still looked down on Althanas; the audience to Althanas's pithy little games.

"The best was the son of an old friend. Karel's legend may be greater, this is true, but believe me when I say that that boy was the best there ever was. He was also happy, and made those close to him happy, which is more than Karel can say. If you desire proof, we can visit my other brother-in-law after the Great Game. Vladimir Sigma," Troy finished his statement with a cold glare to who knew where.

"The man who burned down all of Black Isle," Dante mused, "he is still alive?'

"He is cursed with immortality," Troy said softly, "He cannot die."

"Some would say that is a blessing," Dante put his hand on Troy's shoulder; strange how though Troy was a spirit given form, he felt so real.

"Some should experience an eternity before they talk," Troy muttered as he turned to face his master, "what happened to your mother?"

"Shot through the heart with a gun," Dante answered as he pointed to his chest, "which is why I, though I despise modern technology, I will not neglect to study them. Mother was a true genius when it came to magic, and yet she fell to something I could buy in a store."

"In chess, every pawn has the potential to become the deciding piece of the game; never dismiss a threat as beneath you. A firm rule of war," Troy said, thinking back to his days at the academy.

"Which is why we'll win," Dante smiled, "because they'll underestimate you every time."

"You picked an unknown Avatar to lure the enemy into a false sense of confidence?' Troy coolly raised his eyebrows, "how cunning of you."

"No," Dante shook his head, "I picked a man I could call a friend as an Avatar. The other reason my mother lost? She and Karel did not get along. I put trust first, we will make our plans accordingly."

"You are wise, my master," Troy shot Dante a soft smile, "though I wouldn't be to hard on your mother. Karel was not the easiest person to get along with."

All of a sudden, they could feel it. A mana so thick in the air, even the most rudimentary of mages would have been able to sense it. The wielder of this powerful magic wasn't even trying to hide it. Whoever it was, they openly flaunted the vast arcane power at their command.

"We dallied to long." Troy muttered as he reached for his sword.

"On the contrary," Dante answered, "we dallied long enough."

He stepped forward, this young mage in his twenties, and offered a polite bow to the mage who had approached him.

"Lady Magdalene Vivian, it is truly an honor."

[Symbiosis]

Magdalene walked amongst the dirt, a smile upon her lips as only Baxter flanked her. The two gentlemen before her turned, a wisp of magical wind picking up their coats. There was no mistaking it, they were participants in the great game. Magdalene heard her name given from the young man. She offered a polite curtsey in response to his welcome and Baxter merely stayed a foot behind her, a smile on his simpleton lips.

“Salutations,” Maggie commented with a whimsy twist of her wrist. The air popped as a barrier grew around the group, green lines of power creating a brick like bubble around them as the magic stacked on top of itself. “I am so very sorry, and don’t think me rude, but it’s common for many to know my name and for me not to know theirs,” she lowered her hand out as the roof of her barrier finished being built. “You would be?”

“I am afraid you know the answer to that,” the boy replied with a sincere apologetic nod of his head. Magdalene warmly nodded. “I see you have placed a barrier, which means you have with you your avatar.”

Baxter nodded for her, stepping forwards as his coat was lifted from his shoulders and placed end over end and gently folded over a fence. He turned back to the swordsman, eyes never leaving his as he gave him the sorriest look he could muster.

“I have placed a superior barrier than the one provided here. This should keep the riff raff out of our affairs. Now I see you have yourself a mighty warrior of time. A sword in hand is common these days, but it’s a saber. Saber’s are not common amongst legends. My thoughts are he’s a swordsman class.”

“I see you have a studious eye,” his master replied taking a step back. “But I am afraid I went to great lengths to keep this one a secret. As for yours, I see a man who is tortured, even pained, to be here. He has no stomach for this war it looks like. I would hazard a guess he’s not used to this kind of fighting you are forcing upon him.”

“Baxter?” Magdalene mouthed with disgust. “He’s not even ready to wipe his own arse for how useful he is.”

“I have feelings…” Baxter whispered. He lifted himself up to his full height as he looked to the swordsman. “You, good sir, may I request that perhaps you…surrender?” The swordsman shook his head. “Please?” Baxter insisted. Still no reply.

“Then it’s settled…BEAST, GO!” Magdalene pointed to the swordsman. The warrior instantly moved before his charge, watching as Baxter let out a small whimper of noise. It was soon echoed by the snapping of bones as his shoulders exploded in girth ripping the shirt apart into pieces. His chest doubled in size four times over, hunching his meat like thighs as he tore his pants asunder. Talons grew in place of nails, flexing out in agony as the head of Baxter lolled upwards. An inhuman howl left the warriors lips as his mouth mutated in the maw of a gaping hellspawn, lips trailing sticky saliva like webs of a spider between each snarling tooth. The human’s eyes rolled into the back of his head revealing milky white orbs that looked upon the Swordsman as if he were a snack.

“I,” the beast smacked his lips in excitement. “Get to let loose?” He snarled the words in one go, snorting into his mouth and spitting out a globule of drool. Maggie nodded as her hands began to weave a string of complex spells to unleash against the master of Swordsman. With a roar that broke the mortal realm he charged, hands outwards in a thuggish, crude charge to grapple the warrior.

In a split moment the swordsman had moved, his master already many feet away as he countered Magdalene’s spells with blocks of ice. Beast looked to his left, lifting both hands in time to block a strike that cut his forearms deep, letting out a shriek of pain. He had no instinct to protect himself as the red haze of battle clouded his mind. He looked to his wounds, shrugging in differently as he kept his gaze on the swordsman. He moved more methodically, looking for a weapon to use to bash the little rabbits head in.

“Beast, use this.” Magdalene had used her magic to push a pipe into Beasts direction. He saw it twirling in the air before the swordsman and he rushed to grasp it in his meaty hands. Swordsman saw the incoming tool and prepared to strike at Beast when it landed. He used the cutting edge of his weapon to easily push through the weakened metal to strike Symbiote’s form, but when his weapon met iron he was shocked to feel his blade bounce off the weapon.

A foot lifted and kicked Swordsman aside, turning to leap towards him while he soared in the air, slamming his weapon two handed over his head and downwards. He snarled as his pipe met sword, shoving Swordsman onto the dirt as he towered over him, drooling and spitting as he gnashed his teeth and screeched for blood.

“What in the world!” The avatar shouted as he barely kept his blade up against the pole.

“Ha! Meet Symbiote! He’s a demon that possesses souls and found his way into idiot Baxter’s soul. He’s my avatar in this war! And His Noble Aspect is a powerful one indeed. Anything he touches can be demonically possessed, increasing it’s status from mundane to demonic. You won’t be cutting through anything he wields in his hands!”

In reply Symbiote lowered one hand to the side of the Swordsman’s face, gripping the side of an overturned vehicle. With little effort he flipped the four wheeled truck back to its original orientation, and, using his demonic infusion turned the new toy on. Lights turned red as it growled in echoed mirror of Beast, moving forwards on its own towards the Summoner of Swordsman.

Magdalene lifted her hands to the skies, showing her glowing tattoos as he called for all the winds of magic to aid her in keeping the man rooted as Beast held Swordsman down. “I’m sorry no name, but you will just be another mage who thought they could contend with the Crone!”

((Here's the gist of the post, will probably expand on their back and forth when we get a chance to talk it over.))

[Disillusioned]

A chunk of ice disintegrated as it blocked a black lightning bolt from Magdalene. She's truly earned the title of the Crone. Dante thought to himself as he assessed the situation. Magdalene's magical power was incredible, as was expected. Hers was superior to Dante's, which was saying something. Still, the gap was not deciding, and Dante had a few tricks up his own sleeve. First things first though. He had to assist Swordsman out of his predicament.

And do something about that demonic truck charging him. That would be a good idea.

"Swordsman," Dante shouted as he waved his hand before him; wisps of evaporating ice trickled from Dante's fingertips, "Beast's footing!"

Troy grunted under the pressure of Beast's assault. Troy was the quicker of the two, but in a contest of pure strength Beast had the advantage, making the current situation favorable to the monstrous avatar of Magdalene. Still, a beast was a beast. If he wasn't, Beast might have sensed the change in the ground.

Risking a smashed head, Troy released his left hand from defense. In less than a second, he had created a crystal sword in it; and swung it at Beast's right leg. The monster, reliant on instinct, shifted his weight to avoid being cut through the kneecap; his endurance had already proven he could ignore most non-critical areas of his body.

That was a mistake. The thin layer of ice Dante had formed beneath Beast's feet caused him to lose his footing. Troy quickly took advantage of his foe's loss of balance by shifting his saber to the right, causing the demonic weapon to smash harmlessly into the ground. Now would have been the perfect time for a counter attack, but there were more pressing matters.

Moving at a speed that only an Avatar could posses, Troy dashed across the battlefield. Dante had erected an ice barrier to stop the truck, but it did little save to waste the man's magical energy. In fact, Troy himself doubted he could do much with his sword against that truck, but then again, he had a hunch about Beast's Noble Aspect.

Troy quickly grabbed his master, and fired off a sword at the truck's wheel. It bounced off harmlessly; though the magical blade would have shredded any ordinary tire, it was completely ineffective against the demon magic powering the vehicle. Still, it was a slow moving vehicle, and one easily avoided if one possessed the speed that Troy did.

"Impressive," Magdalene stated with a nod as Troy finished his landing; he had jumped out of the way at the last second. The vehicle veered after him, but soon sputtered out as the magic powering the truck faded away.

"As long as he holds the object, it will continue to be demonic," Troy observed, "however, it has only a minute or so of power after he releases his grip."

"A demon truck is still a demon truck," his master muttered as he dusted himself off, "can you handle him?"

"I believe so," Troy answered softly, "if you can hold off the master. Them working in tandem is problematic."

"I believe I can do that," Dante responded as he reached into his pocket, "I was saving these, as I only have a limited amount. Still, if I'm not going to use them on Magdalene, who would I use them on?"

"Beast, be more careful this time," Magdalene ordered as her Avatar snarled, "and young man. What is it you have there? An ice cube? No, I can sense its magic from here."

"A gift from my mother," Dante answered politely as he tossed the small ice cube into the air, "Primus Glacies-Weave!"

The ice cube quickly transformed into a bird of the most beautiful quality. It had the resemblance of the most detailed hawk; each and every one of its feathers were of the most perfectly formed ice. From its beak to its claws, this ice sculpture was a master artists work.

With a screech that tore the air, this ice beast dove straight for Magdalene with its claws extended. The Crone muttered a quick spell, and sent a dark bolt of lightning at the hawk. Dante motioned to the left, and the hawk quickly veered off course to avoid the lightning.

"Is that all? I can-" Magdalene quickly stopped talking to focus. Every where the hawk went, a small trail of ice followed it. Her eyes went wide as Dante muttered an incantation.

"Secundus Glacies-Strike!" Dante commanded as parts of the trail turned into icicles, and flew towards Magdalene's heart. She quickly threw up a shield; it had been ineffective against the shadow forms of Conqueror, but against magic like this it should hold.

The air resounded with multiple cracks as the icicles were deflected. Magdalene grinned, but it was a short-lived victory as she felt claws rake her back. She stumbled, cursing as her old body screamed at the attack.

Dante's second hawk flew away after its attack, to join its brother in flight. The two circled over Magdalene's head,, mimicking perfectly the birds of prey they were modeled after. As I thought. Her magic is first class, the best of the best. Still, she is an old woman, and physically speaking I am far superior. When it comes to dodging attacks via her own speed, I have a huge advantage. I must use that to its fullest with my Glacies spell.

"Boy," Magdalene muttered with a nod, "I may have underestimated you. You are a worthy opponent, one worth competing in the Great Game. Against you, it is no insult to use my full power!"

Troy heard the exchange between masters, but paid them no heed. Beast's weapon was tearing up the terrain, smashing wildly about. Troy's saber darted in and out of Beast's attack patterns, finding purchase everywhere it went. Still, no matter the spot struck, Beast just ignored the black ichors flowing from his body and continued the assault; the Avatar's endurance was phenomenal!"

Eventually, the whirl of chaos within Beast's mind came up with an idea. Beast dove forward, brining down his weapon with all his strength. It was an easy dodge for Troy, and he stabbed his saber into Beast's side. The monster howled, releasing his weapon with a snarl.

"What...now....SWORDSMAN!" Beast bellowed as his claw-like hands gripped the saber still impaled in his side. His demonic influence began to infect Troy's sword, painting the steel of the blade black and red. Troy's eyes went wide; there was not telling what would happen if he let this continue! He tried to yank out his blade, but Beast's strength was far superior.

There was no choice in the matter; Troy abandoned his weapon, less the infection spread to the point where it might actually damage him. He silently thanked the Gods of Althanas that his saber was an ordinary one, and lacked any sort of special powers. There was no telling what Beast's possession could do if he got his hands on one of those mystical blades. Beast too must have realized this, as he discarded the saber in favor his pole.

"No sword....NO CHANCE!" Beast bellowed as, with inhuman speed and strength, picked up the pole and smashed Troy aside with it. Troy let out a gurgle of pain as he coughed up a bit of blood; he clutched his side tight as he skidded across the ground.

"Swordsman!" Dante shouted as spells crackled around him, "Are you-"

Troy silenced him with a wave of his hand, and a glare. Slowly, Troy picked himself up off the ground; his clothes and face covered in dirt and scratches. His saber was at least fifteen feet away from him, and within those feet stood the imposing Beast. Troy's eyes narrowed as he summoned his strength.

"My world...is filled with swords!" He chanted as he summoned four crystal blades and flung them at Beast; each blade impaled the dirt, one on each side of Beast.

Troy dashed forward, creating another blade in his right hand as he did so. Beast met him, and the Avatar's demonic weapon turned the crystal sword to dust. In the span of a heart beat, Troy picked up one of the weapons he had thrown into the ground, and continued his attack.

This happened time and again. Each time Beast's strength turned one of his blades into dust, Troy snatched up another one off the floor. Shrieking and howling filled the air, and every time Troy's weapon was turned into nothing. After Beast broke the fourth sword Troy had prepared, there was nothing left.

"Die...." Beast gurgled as Troy took stock of the situation. He was six feet from Beast, and pass that, another four to his sword. Was it enough? There was only one way to find out.

"She only had one truth," Troy whispered as he closed his eyes and held out his hands, "but it was simple and pure."

Two more blades appeared. This would be the deciding moment.

Beast let out an inhuman roar, one that shook the very ground the warriors stood open. Troy met that monster's gain with his own cold blue eyes.

"False Flight," Troy whispered as he flung the blades at Beast; the monster batted them aside without a thought.

"Broken Sight," Troy whispered as he dashed forward, closing the distance between the two Avatar's at a rapid speed. Beast made to swing at Troy, but let out a low growl.

It was only his bestial instincts that told him something was wrong, what else could it have been? Or, perhaps Beast had heard the echo of a blade whirling at his back as Troy swung the sword in his right at Beast.

"Useless Might," Troy whispered as one of the blades Beast had deflected came at the Avatar's back. Beast let out a bellow of rage as he twirled his pole, shattering the two offending blades for good this time. But, there was still more.

"Perfect Strike," Troy said softly as he brought up the blade in his left hand. The second blade Beast had defected came back, whirling straight at the Avatar's back, just like the other one.

Truly, Beast was a monster. Only a monster could move at such inhuman speeds, and block the four simultaneous attacks Troy had used. But, that was Beast's limit, and Troy had a free moment at last. Blocking the four attacks of the False Flight, an attack Troy had learned from someone long since gone, created the opening he needed.

Troy skidded to a stop in front of his saber. Beast came charging at him, brandishing his demonic weapon with full force. One blow from that weapon would take Troy's head clean off.

Swordsman sheathed his blade in one smooth motion, and then released his Noble Aspect.

[Symbiosis]

Magdalene’s blood chilled as she observed the birds in flight. Her eyes widened in a historic wonder as memories flooded before her eyes of the previous war. In that battle she had witnessed a powerful manipulator of the elements, creating a flock of these winged ice avians. Her eyes recalled witnessing the complete control of several of them that pranced and danced around and for once the Crone of the Winds of Magic felt her body grow numb to be outclassed so thoroughly. It was sobering to find someone so well versed in the arts of magic and her Servant, a powerful Swordsman known in history as the Saint of Swords working in tandem in such a manner that they were a shoe in for victory.

The winner was lost upon Magdalene due to her being eliminated after her Servant went rouge, but it seems she had to have placed highly.

So here she was, witnessing once more the birds in flight and for the first time since this battle began she opened her eyes to actually get a good look at her opponent. He was rugged, handsome, and the look in his eyes showed absolute confidence in what he was doing. He was mastering his fears with ease and it was clear he either had a great teacher, or knew the stakes of this war. Regardless, his manipulation of the magic in the air was telling. Every wizard left a print when they did magic upon the winds. Like the way a dog could smell a scent so too could a talented mage scry the air. So when she opened her eyes to really look at the boy, she opened her inner eye to the magic in the air.

“You’re her son,” Magdalene muttered loudly. She brought her hands up around her with a surge of motion. A volcano like air pushed around her sparking the air and igniting it into a halo of fire around her frame. The woman felt the prickling heat against her weathered flesh and she gave a rueful smile. With dancer like motions she began to move, feeling the fire worm around her wrists. With careful, practiced ease she let the fire lance out shooting a volley of fireballs at the Glacies avians. She twisted in a pirroutte letting her robes swirl in the haze of fire, her hand pushing out in a closed fist. Flames poured from her fingers in torrent towards Dante in a blaze of fire prepared to engulf the young one.

Dante did a reverse step, twirling as he pooled the magic into his arms and hands. With a sharp step he planted his back foot and pushed forwards with both hands aiming at the ground and swiftly lifting upwards creating a wall of ice in front of him. Magdalene lifted her lip in a snarling grin of satisfaction, her eyes glowing with the fire around her. She pulled her fist back, centering her form as the fire realigned around her body in a hellish glow. She brought one hand out, twirling it over and over upon itself in several rotations.

Her opponent did not hesitate as she prepared her next spell. He stepped forwards with a stomp pushing cracks along his ice wall and with the palm of his hand he extended his hand forwards pushing the ice and breaking it into several perfect dagger shaped icicles. They flew at Magdaelne with the force of an arrow aimed for her entire body. She laughed, cruelly, as she pushed her rotating hand out and twirled in a salsa like dance letting wind be her partner. It created a gale force strong enough to lick up the shards of ice in a tornado. Using her newly acquired ice weapons she hopped forwards and landed with both hands extended one over the other palms out releasing her tornado at her foe.

Dante moved his hands in rhythmic patterns, eyes widened as he started to breath heavily. The pattern of movement created ribbons of ice that formed around him like the petals of a flower, enclosing him and scooping out the dangers of the tornado’s icy fangs. The force of the wind however proved strong enough to lift him off the ground and push him several feet away where he landed hard against the side of an industrial sized truck.

“There is still fight left in you, child!” Magdalene shouted with pure joy. “It’s been so long since I actually dueled with someone of your caliber! Give me the fight I deserve! Show me the arts of magic aren’t dead in the young. Come, I know who’s blood runs in your veins, you will not disappoint me!” She moved with speed once again, feeling the ages of time melt away as she prepared for the next engagement when reality suddenly grasped her attention with both hands and slapped her.

Beast’s roar was not one that could be ignored, especially when it was a scream of pain. Magdalene turned to see the Swordsman lowering his blade back into the sheath as Beast grasped a very large wound across his chest. It spat out curses and cries of alarm as it tripped and fell to a knee from its own blood. It roared, loudly when the Swordsman turned to regard him, all of its teeth dripping with crimson stained webs of spit. The screech shook the very air around it as one taloned hand reached for the broken pipe that Magdalene had used.

“You clever bastards,” she said turning to watch Dante rise up, fixing his shirt. “You separated me from my Beast. Together we were too formidable for you to handle, but apart you knew I would enjoy the battle more than the victory.” She looked to beast, lifting her hand and curling her fingers. Wind pushed around the beast creating a gap between him and the swordsman as Beast echoed into the swirling chaos. “There is more in common with this ruffian than I care to admit…” She muttered.

“You only have enough mana to heal him,” Dante said. “But Swordsman and I are still capable of combat. The biggest difference here, Lady Magdalene, was that I could tell from the first engagement of words that I trusted Swordsman completely, where you did not trust Beast at all. Dividing you too would put you both on the back pedal.”

“Oh, but you see,” Magdalene teased with a honey sweet tone in her voice. “You saw what you thought was my Servant…”

Swordsman’s body swiftly turned as cables of wires sprang from the ground with a cloud of dirt and debris. Demonically possessed electrical conduits turned into the stuff of nightmares as they moved to snatch the Swordsman like the grasping tentacles of a kraken. Magdalene pushed her wind spell off of Beast and aimed it towards Swordsman, a victorious smile on her face.

Dante moved quickly using his Glacies as they dive bombed into the wires, using their claws to grasp the tentacle like chords and pull them away from Swordsman who swiftly moved from the course of the spell. When he landed away he turned bringing his sword up in a horizontal block, Beast landing from an epic leap using a bundle of tied up rebar as a club. Swordsman parried him off to the side as Beast landed next to Magdalene, claws digging into the ground as his mouth drooled onto the ground. Even his soulless eyes he showed a glint of elation to be fighting once again, his wound on his chest scared and puffy and still leaking blood. He heaved each breath, but if the Beast could register the pain anymore, or even the dangers of fighting in such a state, it cared not.

“I care not for Baxter, but the demon inside is my real champion, and I trust him completely as you do your servant. So then, Dante Morcef, you and I are an impasse. Who’s servant has the most trust? Who’s master is more confidant in the victory! This is what the game is for! This is what Lazarus wants! To test out mettle, skills, and cunning in even the most trying of situations! So my beautiful boy, show me the next steps in this waltz!”

Swordsman stood up as Dante stood next to him fixing his cuffs and preparing for the next stage of their dance.

“Gladly,” Dante whispered.

[Sheex]

Apologies for how long this took. I'm a very busy man now, but I'll do my best to try and at least finish this thread. I emailed both of you something to hopefully make up for my immense tardiness. Assuming I remembered your email correctly that is.

Natalie's eyes went wide as the raw forces that made up Althanas were shaped and re-shaped according to the two casters' whims. Perched atop a tractor left just a little outside the construction site, Natalie fiddled with her binoculars. They were modified, by herself of course. They had night vision to begin with, but Natalie had attached a thermo scope to the top of it. It was a weighty thing for sure, but the ignorance of mages made it worthwhile. Any mage could cast a spell to hide themselves from a layman's sight, but that was just the beginning of magic. For example, this cloaking spell had been extremely hard for Natalie to even begin to detect; all she had to go on was the trace of magic in the air. Indeed, through magic or sight alone, it would have been near impossible for Natalie to make it this far. The cloaking spell even prevented sound from escaping the battlefield.

But that was the flaw of the thinking like a mage. There are ways to find someone other than by human senses alone. Once Natalie had found the general area, all she had had to do was turn on the thermo scope, and instantly located the battle. The avatars were bright lights; not human but instead walking magic coalesced into solid form. The mages too were visible; it was even possible to identify them from a normal human due to the heat given off via some of their spells. One of the mages in particular was constantly surrounded by what appeared to be fire.

"I should have waited for Trickster," Natalie muttered to herself, though there was little chance of her being found. Both mages, as well as both avatars, were focused solely on the fight, and not much else. Not that he would have stood much of a chance here. Still, this is such a good oppurtunity...

She pondered her options as she crept closer. She took her time to bypass the spell that hid the battlefield; it was a master level spell, and she felt no need to rush. In this particular case, time was on her side. Finally, after what seemed like ages and incantations, she was able to view the grandiose duel.

The avatars were easy to spot. Not only was one a roaring beast, but even though the other looked human, each action they took was well beyond what even a powerful mage could accomplish. Each time the beast swung with his claws, swipes that Natalie could literally feel the pressure from where she hid, the man with the sword reacted with godlike speed. At one point, the beast-like avatar's right claw plowed through the ground, spraying concrete and gravel into the air. The beast's opponent's dodge was so graceful, that despite the spray of debris, barely a speck of dirt touched his white coat.

The clawed one is obviously Beast. Natalie thought to herself. And the other would be Swordsman, judging from his weapon of choice. Though I suppose there's no rule saying other classes couldn't use a sword. Gladiator and Legionnaire for certain could be a possibility.

But whoever he was, THAT was a real avatar. A real hero. He moved with grace and finesse, he struck with poise and accuracy. His blade was swift and sure, and his eyes were focused solely upon the duel. THAT was the type of avatar Natalie was suppose to have.

But that, Natalie decided, wasn't what was of real importance here. Even with full surprise she couldn't touch those two. The Masters would have to be her target; without a link to the world an Avatar wouldn't last long.

There were two Masters. One was a young man, dressed in a simply suit (which at this point was flapping madly as he moved about). His brown hair was cut short, but was still long enough to have just a slight wave within it as he moved about. He cast his spells almost as if it was some form of martial art. He took a sure stance and shot forth his right arm as if to punch, but instead of a punch, a wall of shearing ice erupted before him. When he back stepped in a smooth arc, he traced his right foot across the ground to erect an ice barrier to stop the black lightning that came at him. Every now and then he would move one of his hands in a swooping motion to order one of his ice birds to attack, but it was a movement with just a hint of flourish. Natalie wondered if that was part of the spell, or if he did it to just look good?

There was no mistaking his opponent. She was old and wrinkled, with lines on her face and nothing but grey hair left. But she didn't act like an old, tired grandma. She cast her spells as if it was a dance; her twirls produced gouts of flame, and her spins the harshest gust of wind. With a fierce grin she would sometimes extend her fingers, and send jet back lighting at her foe.

She was the Crone, Magdalene Vivian. She was also the type of mage Natalie hated the most. Old, proud, stupidly arrogant, and completely blind to the modern age. Magdalene was the type of mage, no, the type of person who dismissed what she thought was below her without a second thought. Without a doubt, she would take one look at Natalie and think her an annoying pest at best, or a stain that needed to be wiped up at worse.

But then again, maybe this was an opportunity! If Natalie helped out here, she could both make an ally and eliminate a powerful foe in one fell swoop! Even though she didn't have her Avatar with her, she wouldn't necessarily need him if she played her cards right. Plus. she had a little something she had been saving for the Great Game; her ace in the hole as it were.

"Vivian!" Natalie shouted as she leapt out from her hiding place, "watch this!"

The young girl extended a small pole, no larger than a foot. The pole itself was made of some sort of black metal, though the handle was laced with buttons; the functions of which only Natalie knew. She thumbed one of the larger ones, and smirked.

She had caught the old lady in the middle of one of her black lightning blasts. Perfect. Natalie could think of no sweeter feeling than the look on the Crone's face as the old lady's spell was instantly redirected towards the item in Natalie's hand.

Maybe the expression on Vivian's face as the lightning was completely absorbed by Natalie's masterpiece? Years of testing, years of work, years of burning her eyes out to the point she needed glasses to see properly, all worth it. Her technological achievement that combined both sorcery and science, the "Gurges."

This wondrous marvel had two functions. First, it was capable of absorbing the raw ether of magic; the very basic component of any spell. Ether would be absorbed into the Gurges, rendering any spell useless. Naturally, there were limitations; an object of this size could only absorb so much. The cloaking spell that covered such a large area was beyond the Gurges, but most attack spells and defensive shields would be rendered nil by Natalie's crowning achievement.

But not only that, it could store the raw ether for further use. Natalie could absorb spells, then use the Gurges as a focal point, increasing the power of her own admittedly average magic several times over! This is why keeping an open mind was so important! This is why she would be the one to defeat the lauded Crone!

"Strike now!" she shouted at the man, "you won't find a better opening!"

The man gave her a strange look, then turned towards the monetarily defenseless Vivian. With a swoop of his arms his ice birds dove in a beautiful line, unerringly finding their target.

The twins of ice came to a rest upon the man's extended right arm, as a hunting hawk would to its master's call. He gently stroked one of the birds, and shook his head.

"If you would fight, fight. I have no need of cheap tricks to win this war," the man muttered, dismissing Natalie and her action with a shake of his head.

The word stunned would apply to the emotion's of Natalie Cyan at this moment, in the same manner that a stick of dynamite can be compared to a child's bottle rocket. Didn't this guy realize this was a war? He just passed up a once in a lifetime opportunity to remove one of the biggest threats in this battle, and he did it as he would dismiss a stray!

"I thank you for your sense of fair play," Magdalene said with a polite nod; the man nodded back appreciatively. It was at this time Natalie realized that both of them had called off their Avatars, and each stood by the side of their respective master. It also dawned on her that her Avatar was nowhere near her.

"Um....I have obviously interrupted something important, so I'll just be on my way..." Natalie stammered as she motioned to leave; the old woman clucked her tongue.

"Now now now my child, you started something. Let us see it through," Magdalene flexed her fingers, "though it is a poor mage who has to resort to technology to win."

"Stuck up old hag!" Natalie cursed as she flicked a switch on Gurges, reversing the flow of ether. She quickly canted a spell; a simple fireball, but Gurges would do the rest.

What began as a tiny fireball the size of an apple quickly increased in size. In mere moments it was the size of a watermelon, and Natalie sent in flying towards her foe. Magdalene grinned, and swooshed the air in front of her just before the attack hit, causing the fireball to careen off into the night.

"Is that it? I could cast that spell just as fast, with three times the potency," Magdalene chuckled as she extended her wrinkled hand. With the very same incantation, the old witch fired off three already enlarged fireballs. Natalie quickly flicked Gurges back to its original setting, and absorbed the three spells.

"That's the power of science," Natalie spat as a frown appeared on Magdelene's face, "Bitch!"

A bolt of lightning, which quickly split into a five pronged attack, was sent at Magdalene, who quickly threw up a shield. The young girl smiled a smile of satisfaction as one of the five bolts pierced the shield, singing the old mage's hand.

"It seems to me," Magdalene began in a very serious tone, "a lesson is in order."

The old woman stamped her right foot, causing a bolder to fly out of the ground towards. Natalie absorbed it with Gurges, then made to attack, but Magdalene had already began a second spell. With a twirl the old woman sent force a shearing wave of ice no smaller than a small car. This too was absorbed by Gurges. A stream of flame, a blast of lightning, and some sort of shadowy curse were all absorbed in term.

"Come on you old hag!" Natalie shouted, "Gurges can absorb twice that much!"

"Then it is a good thing I'm only using twenty percent of my power," Magdalene stated flatly.

Magdelene began a real incantation. Not the jabs and quick cants that she usually laced in-between attacks, but a real honest-to-god spellcraft of the highest order. She twirled her body like a flamingo dancer, swooping her arms in a perpendicular arc towards her opponent. A stream of black lightning erupted towards Natalie, which Gurges quickly began to absorb.

But the spell just did not end. As more and more of the black lightening was absorbed, Natalie’s prized possession began to shake in her hand. Too late did the young wizard see Magdelene’s plan, and far too late did she realize that that terrifying aged woman wrapped in a storm of jet-black lightning was far beyond what she thought.

Pushed to the breaking point, and having stored more ether than it was ever meant to store, Gurges exploded in Natalie’s hand. Before the poor girl even had time to mourn the loss of what she had considered her life’s work, the earth sprang up around her, latching itself to her wrists and ankles, pulling her onto her back.

“I believed I promised you a lesson,” Magdelene began, “we shall start at the logical starting point. The basics. There are five types of elements, five all-encompassing forms of magecraft. These can be broken down into subdivision after subdivision, but all magecraft originates from one of these elements: fire, earth, wind, water, void.”

Magdelene summoned five large rocks that hovered beside her as Natalie struggled against her bindings to no avail. Sweat began to trickle down the young girl’s face as her end drew near.

“This is the simplest of tests. Five boulders for five elements. Your objective is to destroy them before they crush you. Let us begin with water,” Magdelene waved her hand and one of the boulders began to crush Natalie’s left knee.

“Water must be fluid, the ever-changing element. The man who’s duel you so callously interrupted is a fan of manipulating it into ice, but that is one of the many subdivisions. It is a favored of divination as well, for water reflects many things. Anything?” Magdelene cocked her head to the side as the boulder weighed down.

“Wind must be subtle and manipulative. It is the trickery element, though you may use it as an attack, most mages use it to conceal and reveal. My concealment spell, for example, came from this element. Perhaps you can summon up a hurricane to stop this boulder?”

A dim corner of Natalie’s mind recognized that this element was her favorite element, if not the only one she was good at. She often enhanced her scouting devices with forms of magic that would not only enhance her vision, but also remove mundane obstacles of a non-magical nature. In no way shape or form could she, however, use her wind magic to move the boulder crushing her right knee.

"S-s-stop!," the young mage manged to choke out.

"Fire is the element of power. Raw, coursing, burning, devouring power," the old mage conitnued her lecture; heedless of Natalie's cries, "the most powerful of mages can shape it into lightning, the purest form of fire. I'm proud to say that this is my specialty, and my black lightning is of the most powerful forms of fire in the world."

"I suppose that means I deserve recognition for blocking it," the young man chimed in, his voice betraying a hint of something akin to worry.

"Indeed you do," Magadelene said with respect, "now you, Little One, had best conjur up some sort of fire spell to stop this boulder from crushing you right arm? No? We continue then?"

Magdalene then explained how earth was the stablest of elements; unchanging and unyielding. It was a popular element of defensive spells, though it had its uses in offense as well. Like the fourth boulder crushing Natalie’s left arm for example.

“I surrender!” Natalie whispered softly amdist the pain, “Lemme go! Please! I don’t wanna die!”

“The last element is void. It is the unseen that binds the other four elements together. it is everything and nothing,” Magdelne lectured as she raised the last boulder over Natalie’s tear lined face.

“It is also the only element that no matter how much you practice, no matter how much you try, you will never surpass your innate natural ability with it. You either have it, or you don’t. Good-bye, Little One.”

The boulder descended.