Standing Tall (Closed)

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Standing Tall (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=McqbsH2RWIw)


The large doorways to the upper level of the Citadel exploded open, the wooden portals creaking as they slammed against the inner walls, shaking the pottery plants resting peacefully upon tables. Two men strode with purpose down the walkway, each stride just slightly off the other. One wore a long trench coat, faded black and unkempt with care as the sleeves were ripped off, the belt torn free. It offered no warmth as such a piece of cloth should, and the wearer had a detached air about him, his eyes focused on the task before him.

Behind him was a man wearing black cloth, his robes covered by leather studded armor lined in a red trim. His clothing, unlike his comrade’s, was well kept and pristine. The leather almost had a shine to it as if reflected off the tall wall length windows. A large mace hung to his left side, lazily drifting back and forth with each hurried step. A broadsword was strapped to his back, the hilt freshly polished to a shine with a cobalt blue gem stone inlaid at the end.

“You shouldn't follow me, Adolph,” the lithe warrior said to his friend, head tilting back so they could lock gazes. Adolph matched his piercing look retorting with a coy smile.

“Sure I should. Someone needs to ensure you don’t lose your head. Besides, you are not the only one who needs the training. I’m helping you and that’s final.” The immortal Jensen Ambrose merely pursed his lips in a horse like sigh, rasping his tongue as he scratched the back of his head. He stopped to look at a portrait of a rough-ish cutthroat preparing to stab a soldier in the back as he lifted his hand in triumph. The caption was rather fitting and Jensen scowled at the cowardice of it all.

“Triumph Denied. What a stupid work of trash,” Jensen coldly whispered. He contemplated conjuring up a wad of spit in his mouth, but a calm hand by Adolph Gretzle, Reclussiarch of the Ixian Knights and leader of the Chaplains fighting order, stayed his wrath. They looked to one another for a moment before they continued onward to the room set aside for them by the Ai’Bron monks.

“Jensen,” Adolph spoke in a concerned, calm tone. It was odd to hear his voice so quiet, so content. The man was usually blasting away at high volumes speeches and oratory that invigorated the soldiers of Sei Orlouge to higher standards of excellence. Yet in the halls of the Citadel, the man walked in a hurried fashion after his comrade, boots clicking against the marble floor as his voice tempered an even leveled voice of reason. “Please, Jensen, listen to me.”

“I have already made up my mind,” the immortal said hoping to end the matter. Adolph merely shook his head, his shaggy black curls dancing around his face. The two had this argument since Jensen came up with the idea and sent a messenger ahead to set up the room and invite the targets of his choosing for this dance of death.

“But you did so with haste,” he countered. “You seek a fight, Jensen, and I do not begrudge you such a thing considering the year you had. But you also seek it without a clear conscious. Think about what you are asking; What it entails.” Jensen turned on his heel, his foot squeaking as he did so, finger lifted up so it tapped Adolph’s chest.

“I know damn well what I am asking, Adolph!” Jensen’s voice rose with venom as he narrowed his eyes. “I know fully the power of the words I sent out to those who I will challenge in the arena. Do not think for a moment that I underestimate the magnitude of this fight.”

“But why? There are better ways to prepare, Jensen. Better ways to train.” Adolph moved forwards to grab at Jensen’s shoulder but the faster warrior slapped his gesture of kindness away. The two stood in a standoff, Jensen’s eyes filled with a conviction the Chaplain had to admit was missing for a long time. Yet he stood there, face to face and did not flinch.

“I have lost too much to them,” Jensen whispered, his voice deep and full of vengeance, yet also a twinge of remorse and loss. “To her, Adolph!” The two squared off as they looked to one another.

“I don’t deny that,” Adolph replied quickly. He knew the woman Jensen spoke of and he cursed the name thrice in his mind. Cassandra Remi, leader of the Cult of Blessed Torture, was responsible for much anguish to the Ixian Knights, and especially Jensen Ambrose. “I would never doubt your righteous rage, but Jensen think more clearly.”

“I have never been more clear in my life!” Jensen shouted, his voice echoing up and down the hall as his hands exploded into life, his voice booming with pent up anger. Adolph took a step back as Jensen advanced on him, eyes full of a fire and vindication as he spoke his troubles with malice. “I have lost Stephanie to that bitch, Cassandra! My true love, fiancé, and mother to my adopted daughter!" His finger pushed Adolph in the chest. "I have lost my father, Nathanial, to her! My mentor, Ta’gaz Nosiba, was crushed under a castle by her deception and cowardly ways! That bitch has kidnapped Zerith’s child, Kyla’s child, Seth Dahlio’s child, and has made several attempts to kidnap mine! She’s a monster, Adolph, and the only reason she’s gotten away with all this is because I've underestimated her.”

“You are not the only one to lose people, Jensen Ambrose,” Adolph’s voice returned with a bone chilling warning it. He lifted his hand and touched the sword on his back. “I have lost many to the blades of her Cult as well. You are not alone in this,”

“But I am,” Jensen replied. “Because I am immortal, and you are not. I will live past any atrocity, any level of savagery. You will not, Adolph.”

“Battle may yet take my soul,” Adolph preached, his words measured as Jensen’s were passionate. “But until it does, I am your battle brother, Jensen. Sworn to fight with you and stop Cassandra’s ascension to godhood.”

Jensen lifted his hand out, softly patting the warrior on the side of his arm in a way a man respects another deeply. “You are my battle brother,” he said softly. “And no man will fight all the harder at my side than you, but I need to prepare for her. I need to be ready to fight a God, Adolph, and I need to do this alone. Because one day you will not be there to fight by my side. But by the horsemen of the Apocalypse, the word will witness the terrible reaping of blood we will distill from their corpses.”

“You speak as if she’ll succeed in her tasks,” Adolph pointed out with a wagging finger. Jensen gave him a serious look, a look that chilled every bone in his normally stoic body.

“We've been assuming since day one she couldn't do the things she’s done. It’s time to stop pretending we have her measure, and prepare for all eventualities. This exercise is to do just that, Adolph. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet, prepared to fight with everything I have at my disposal in order to fight her. In that way am I only going to be able to fight side by side with you and ensure our victory. My faith has never wavered in you or anyone else in the army. But this cause we bare, it is going to tear the very foundations of our souls. Cassandra Remi is not one who will lose gracefully. She’ll tear every bit of our humanity out of us. I must be ready to face that day.”

Adolph looked to his brother in arms and smiled, nodding his head. “Very well, but you will not fight without being prepared. Take Crozius and smite those before you.” Adolph turned to his side, unclipping the Maul from the chains around his wrist. The zealot priest always chained his weapons to him in battle so that they may never be separated.

Jensen took the gift with a respectful nod, turning to the doorway of the room that awaited him. He went over his armament one last time. His punch dagger, two poisoned tipped steel daggers, triangular throwing glaives, throwing knives, leather studded punching gloves, his switchblade sword and now Crozius. Jensen nodded to himself as he lifted the fighting gloves, stretching them until the leather creaked over his fingers, wiggling them in anticipation.

He punched the doors open to the portal, entering into the room of his quarries choosing. His mission was simple. He would fight the one group of warriors he knew could fight as dirty as the Cult of Blessed Torture. The group with enough oddities to throw Jensen off his game, and the determination to fight with their all despite death getting in the way. He had fought one of them three times before, playfully flirted with another, killed one of them during the Night of Debauchery, and the last was the enigma he looked forward to meeting. With a deep breath he strolled in, his usual charismatic charm making him saunter forwards into the unknown with a bravado of the foolish.

“Oh the wonder of the thing of brother’s is the fact that one must ponder,” Jensen sang with obnoxious enthusiasm like a barroom song. “How they carry on their merry way, slicing anything in their way, turning their knives inwardly and say,” Jensen’s voice lifted to a high pitch, pulling the note for far longer than necessary in a mocking respectful nod to his challenger. “Oh, Dear Brother, how would you like to die today?”

When Jensen finished his sortie of song he let out a giggilsh laugh that built in crescendo as his blood began to rise, pulling out his throwing glaives and preparing to let them fly at the first thing he saw.

[Duffy]

“Is it just me, or does his maturity not match his age?” Lillith enquired.

The Tantalum troupe stared at one another awkwardly. They formed a square, numbering four, and shuffled uncomfortably on boot, heel, and toe.

“You get used to Jensen,” Ruby chirped. She glared at Duffy. Duffy glared at Arden. Arden glared at Lillith.

“He does know how to get people together, however”

The troupe did not ignore Arden’s sarcasm. This was the first time they had been together in a year. It was a less than ideal reunion. Jensen had sent letters to each of them, requesting a one on one spar. He had played them for fools.

“I’ll say,” the bard sighed. “It’s been well over a year since we were a unit. A good eighteen months since I saw Jensen, for that matter.”

“Six months for me,” Arden said softly. His tone was sombre, his expression sour. He pictured Jensen in the iron maiden, and blocked out the screams.

“So why now?” Ruby asked. She folded her hands across her white blouse. Her hair tied back in a ponytail.

“Does it matter?” Lillith snapped. “We’re here, we’re ready, and we’re together.”

Though Ruby appreciated Lillith’s confidence, she did not appreciate her dismissive tone. She wanted so much to talk to her sister, not fight to the death by her side.

“If you think we’re ready to fight him, you’re mistaken.”

They would certainly give him their all. Duffy was crippled, but his sword arm was strong. The faith in those cold, marl eyes was unyielding. Arden’s transformation had reformed his character, and he carried Fang with the weight of purpose and honour behind it. Lillith wielded a trio of tanto that held dead gods in them, and hoped a fourth would come from testing her skills against another fallen idol.

“We can’t possibly lose,” she snapped back. She turned to stare at the doors on the far side of the room. Lillith was growing tired of rhetoric on battle strategies.

“Rush head first into this with that attitude, and you’ll fall first,” Ruby spat. She rolled her eyes.

“This is his plan,” Duffy said. “He knows we’ve been apart. He thinks this will catch us off guard.”

“If this is Sei’s doing…,” Ruby seethed. She would gut Jensen first, and then make her way to Corone, to find his superior.

Duffy shook his head. “No, this is something personal.”

The room fell silent. Duffy looked skyward to admire the stained glass dome. After their arrival, initial shock, and shouting match, they agreed on one thing. There was only place they would fight: an uncanny replica of the troupe’s playhouse, the Prima Vista.

“Is there any point me asking if there’s a plan?” Arden sighed. He checked his gauntlets, hound shaped pauldron, and neck guard. Though frustrated with them, he would channel his needs at his enemy, not his allies.

“Stay on the stage, keep him distracted, and if we get the chance…,” Duffy trailed off.

“If we get the chance?” Arden encouraged.

“We can pull out all the showstoppers.” He looked to Ruby. “Remember where we kept the gunpowder?”

Ruby nodded, but immediately regretted encouraging his hair-brained schemes.

“My only plan is to stick it in him repeatedly,” said Lillith glibly.

Duffy broke into childish laughter, which earned him a poke in the ribs from both Ruby.

“Hey, that was funny!” he complained.

They continued to wait in silence for the boisterous brawler. He would arrive laughing, cackling, and crashing through the doors like a ‘leaf on the wind’. There would be jibes, insults, and testosterone-filled camaraderie.

“I’m not sure who I want to slap the most,” Lillith said after a few moments. Her cold stare thawed into a soft smile. “You or that oath.”

They broke into laughter, blissfully ignorant of explosive consequences their actions would have.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The Prima Vista was an airship Jensen had little experience on. The travelling troupe’s floating theatre stage had always baffled the Enigmatic Immortal in its wonder and splendor. The lavish rugs, the posh cushioning, and the tacky lamp shades all lent a very upbeat, carefree vibe that invigorated the warrior in a way that someone feels when returning home after a long journey.

And Jensen was sure Duffy stole half of the ships belongings.

He waded along the red carpet, a blood kissed red that was vibrant to the eye and went on endlessly towards the rear of the ship. He knew the steps of this place well, for many a drunken game of grab ass was played with his brother Duffy as well as -when both men could gather the courage- Ruby Winchester.

Further along the way would be the kitchen where Jensen had his most fondest memories of the fiery red head. The phoenix lady had her dramatics whenever she spoke, long measured words, curt insults and the occasional breaking of character to let out a solid string of lewd words accompanied each and every cucumber sandwich. She was a temperamental woman. As prone to hugging Jensen as she was to stabbing him. Perhaps it was her eccentricity that made the two get along as well as they do. A professional, detached friendship that could blossom had either one give it the chance.

Further up the walkways was the dressing room where Duffy had once spilled his heart out about the troubles he had and the ludicrous story of his troupes origins. They dressed like women, drank and sang, fought and cheated at cards. Each step of the way they engaged in verbal jousts and sharp witted ripostes until they brawled on the floor like drunkards at the closing bell. They spilled the others blood and soaked in each others vitae, but always they shook hands affirming they would be closer than comrades at arms; Warriors with a connection stronger than the sharpest blade could cut, and more powerful than the toughest armor could defend.

Yet he ignored those nostalgic rooms for a specific reason. He didn’t come here to drink and brawl with Duffy. He wasn’t looking for a cucumber sandwich and to peek up Ruby’s skirt. He was here to kill, essentially, his family. His boots creaked the wooden floor, the Citadel marvelously recreating each detail of the fallen ships majesty. He couldn’t hear his opponents, but two of them were assassins. He expected they would be terrible at their jobs if he heard them. But being an assassin himself, he knew which corners to look in, what shadows were real, and what shadows were fabricated to throw him off guard. Lillith and Arden would not enjoy what he never revealed to them before; a fully capable warrior with savagery that would make their Akashiman gods pause.

He stalked the corridors that led to the backstage of the Prima Vista’s stage. He looked at the scattered trousers and shirts of many quick wardrobe changes, scattered manuscripts of a dozen plays stacked like old newspapers. Yet these trinkets, these memories were all fake. No, what Jensen knew to be wary of was the power of their ancient relics. The one place Duffy was forbidden to show the immortal was their reliquary, and for good reason. If a fraction of the bravado Duffy used to explain them was true, the immortal would be hard pressed.

A sinister smile crept across his lips at the thought of the entire Tantalum going crazy, unleashing their terrible weapons upon little ‘ol Jensen Ambrose. He looked forwards to showing them what six months fighting Cassandra Remi and her horde did to a man, feeling the pulsing energies of the Breath of the Undying within him, giving him fresh energy to fuel his limbs even as he took horrific wounds in battle. The hidden power of the Horsemen rested within him, for he was truly now the Avatar of Famine, and the chance to unleash it was a tantalizing thought that made his blood run with adrenaline.

He continued to giggle, a haunting chuckle of the deranged that saw nothing but a fat joke in the face of death. Fighting, especially in the Citadel, was a pointless excuse to shed blood for the sake of shedding blood. To cut loose and really go all out with nothing to hold you back had seem more like a cruel mockery to the Jester of the Apocalypse. That which mortals feared entertained the immortal to no end, and the lie of life had made him twisted when battle approached.

The Rules of Nature simply did not apply to Jensen Ambrose.

Without caution, hesitation, nor fear Jensen stepped onto the stage like an actor waiting for his big moment, arms flowing outwards to welcome an audience of millions. Clearing his throat in an exaggerated fashion he twirled, fingers preparing his throwing weapons as he roared. “Wakey wakey, hands off snakey!” Jensen’s voice echoed in the amphitheater, followed by the maddened laughter of the enigmatic immortal.

[Duffy]

“Nope, I definitely want to slap Jensen more,” the assassin quipped.

Before they could stop her, she unsheathed Crab and Spider. She took one-step forwards, and leapt. The air around her seemed to bend to her will, carrying her as though she were weightless.

“Uh-oh,” Ruby mumbled. She had tried to warn her about being too hasty.

Jensen watched Lillith descent, produced two glaives, and tossed them into a reverse grip. Executing a spin, he clenched his right fist, and ploughed it, all too eagerly, square into Lillith’s chest. The immestakible sound of unstoppable force hitting an immovable object echoed around the stage.

The trio watched her fly backwards. Her arms flailed, her daggers fell, her enthusiasm died. She crashed into a red curtain that divided closed off backstage, and vanished.

“Hello Jensen,” the bard greeted dryly.

He looked to his blood brother. His blades glinted in the light of the midday sun. His body, posed like an athlete on the start line, was bridling with barely contained strength.

“Duffy, can it!” Jensen replied. His voice echoed with a clap of thunder.

“Oh, don’t worry.” He unsheathed his katana and levelled the tip at the brawler’s neck. “I won’t talk you to death just yet.”

“Good.”

In a blur of bourbon inspired hand gestures, Duffy signalled to Arden and Ruby. Arden leapt from the stage with a clang. Ruby brought Lucrezia up in a defensive stance, and stood at the bard’s side.

“You got us here…,” Duffy began. He gestured for him to advance.

“So stop wasting our time…,” Ruby finished.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen watched with morbid curiosity as the assassins body fell off his blades. There was a look in her eyes as if she was surprised that he even caught her, let alone have the reflexes to maneuver his blades into a killing blow. The scene eerily played before him in slow motion, her hands losing her grip on the blades she carried before they clattered across the stage floor. Lillith looked into the eyes of her killer as she slid off his blade, and all the immortal gave her was a dark chuckle.

"Well," he remarked coldly with a detached enthusiasm. "That just happened."

The knight flicked the blood from his weapon, as if dismissing the assassin entirely, turning his focus to his blood brother. It had been a while since he had actually seen Duffy. The last time the two met was within the halls of the Ixian Castle, Jensen regaling the bard with the tale of his fiance's death. The two hadn't made much time for each other since then. Each path the other walked put them towards a different direction. The immortal took a moment to regret that decision as he looked at the cocky Bard's smile, seeing all the bravado and friendship that he had been missing in his life those long six months.

"Now isn't this just a heart-warming family reunion?" His uncontrollable fit of giggles came over him again, trailing each laugh with a whine like wheeze. He let out a deep sigh scratching the part on his head that he always did when he was unsure how to proceed. His fingers danced over his throwing weapons, rotating them one finger at a time over his knuckles in a habitual nervous tick. "No speech about friendship? No comments about how warriors use words? Not even a monologue about how good will triumph over evil?"

"Not today, I'm afraid," Duffy replied with a sardonic look on his face. "I have learned that you are not much the man for words. Usually because in the middle of one of my monologues you have a tendency to throw something at me." Duffy wagged his finger at Jensen to accentuate his point.

"Well, yeah, of course," Jensen replied with a grin. "How else am I going to get a better opening?" Jensen flashed one of his most charming smiles, showing all of his pearly white teeth to his brother in the manner a wolf shows its teeth to its prey.

Ruby muttered something next to Duffy, her eyes rolling in a humorless manner. Jensen gave her a quick one over for he had never actually seen Ruby fight. He had heard tales of her prowess in battle and wondered silently what it would be like to fight the woman.

"Hello Ruby," Jensen said to the redhead, giving her a quick wink. "Hate to be a bother, but the men are talking here. Be a good lass and do what you do best. Make me a sandwich; cucumber, no crust." Ruby's reply was an indignant snort of anger, her hands lifting up and mouth opening. She never got far though as Duffy chuckled, calming her down with a wave of his hand.

"He's looking to lift your skirt up," Duffy calmly told her. "Best to let him prattle on and ignore the more crass drollery." The redhead looked to Duffy, nodding as she took a deep, cleansing breath.

"Last warning," Jensen spoke, his voice trailing off with a bemused grin.

When the woman didn't respond the immortal shrugged, twirling inwards and spinning to add momentum to his actions as he released his first throwing glaive. The weapon cut through the air with grace and deadly intent as it whistled almost silently outwards. Duffy moved with quick, if not entirely graceful, speed. In a half turn, half hobble, his katana swung outwards in a traditional Akashiman block. He caught the small throwing weapon upon the blade edge, sparks erupting as the weapon glided upwards and sailing to the ceiling. A shriek of laughter followed the parry, Jensen already on the move as he pulled out one of his poisoned tip daggers, aiming it at Duffy's thigh.

[Duffy]

Duffy was many things. He was a bard, a god, and a grumpy bastard. He was also unnervingly quick, when he had to be. Though his injuries curtailed his former alacrity, he reacted to the brawler’s attacks with quicksilver reflexes.

“Not so fast!”

The katana clashed against the blade and veered it off course. Instead of hitting bone, it hit carpet. Jensen buckled to his knees and Duffy leered at him. They stared at one another.

“Try again,” Jensen goaded.

Duffy danced into a retreat and Jensen waltzed into an advance. With the grace of a trained pugilist, he pummelled Duffy’s guard with his fists. With no blade to parry, he could only knock aside the first calamitous blows. In short order, one slipped past his blade and connected.

“Oh lord,” Ruby winced.

Jensen struck Duffy’s chin with thunderous force. The Prima Vista fell silent. A katana crashed onto the stage. Even Jensen to balk at his success. Duffy, contrary to gravity, continued to rise.

The moment Duffy crashed through the stained glass dome, three things happened.

Firstly, Ruby swore, very loudly.

“Fuck me sideways, it worked…” She looked out at the midday sun through the hail of glass fragments.

Secondly, Lillith emerged from the curtains, chest bloodied, but very much alive. She limped.

“I told him that would backfire,” she chuckled coarsely.

Thirdly, the three upright members of the troupe charged. Ruby approached from the front, sword hand singing, and grey hair ablaze with red light. Lillith skittered across the dusty floorboards, geta striking the century old pine with ominous thuds. Arden charged from beneath the stage, using his ability to teleport and appear immediately behind Jensen.

Lucrezia arced downwards at his head.

Crab and Spider jabbed into his right side.

Fang cleaved upwards, aimed for his spine chord.

Thirdly, Duffy Bracken had an epiphany amidst a flock of gulls, as perturbed by his enigmatic rise as he was.

“I’ll stick to pulleys and ropes next time…,” he groaned at the top of his ascent. After a brief moment of weightless, he began to plummet. The gravity trap had seemed like a good idea at the time.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen had to give the troupe their do. Here he was, knee deep in their own home turf laughing like a fool. Taunting them endlessly and poking the giant as it were. And now, he was in the thick of it nice and deep. He awoke the unity that the Aria invoked within them, bringing the sum of their parts together for the first time in years. He had witnessed this once before when they attacked Lucian and the fallout of that battle still sent shivers down the immortals spine.

This was exactly what he wanted.

"Now we're all on the same page!" Jensen shrieked when he spoke, his elation to shed blood building his adrenaline to a crescendo. He could feel his life energy course throughout his body, each of the many veins in his body pulsing with excitment. He flicked his blades up to his face, pulling out another throwing knife and steel dagger with sadistic glee as he peered to Lillith over the crest of the blade's edge. He could hear his own heart beating in the back of his ears, a war drum of erratic pace that made his giggles trail into dark chuckles. This was what Jensen lived for, this was why he could not die. The rush of battle was truly a remarkable thing, and the terrible irony that he will never know how to fear death made the whole thing one, disgusting, hysterical joke. This inner turmoil would spill outwards into his actions, and Jensen would enter the killing fields once more.

The Tantalum was swift as a group. Assassin's, by nature, were gifted to be agile and lithe, and the siblings Arden and Lillith were no exception to this. Combined with Ruby's encouraging song, Duffy's bravado, and you get a special forces team of operator's that will dazzle their foe and kill them with the greatest of ease. Yet nobody in all of Althanas was as swift or lithe as Jensen.

With the ease of a practiced man he bent backwards, arching his spine to dodge the thrust of Ruby's thrust letting her blade run along the dagger in his hand. He pirouetted while in his limbo state twirling back to a full standing position; throwing dagger released at the height of his rise towards Lillith's chest. His other arm rose, as if holding the hand of a dancer he intended to turn, his body moving in a rhythm to a beat that only he could hear. Arden's teleport was the trickiest play in the gamble, and he paid a punishing price for his miscalculation as he looked to see the Hound's descent.

Blood arced upwards as Jensen's arm split open, his flesh leaking like a crimson faucet. he let out a wailing cry that warped into a twisted giggle as Jensen backed away with a few well placed flips. Arden rolled after him from his fall, tumbling at the perfect moment in his fall to give chase. Blades were tossed between the two in a dance only true born assassins could perform. The air ignited with steel and iron as tiny collisions erupted as sparks when the weapons clashed. Jensen laughed as he countered every throw of Arden with his his own, calculating that he ran out of throwing knives and glaives. When Arden came up in his trot Jensen had already swung his switch-blade sword up in a diagonal execution swing. Arden halted his steps, nearly having his chest and neck sliced cleanly open, his palms off to the sides to regain balance swiftly.

At the peak of the arc Jensen's finger thumbed the metal switch, activating the pull chord that turned his sword into a scythe. He pulled back with all his might looking to cut Arden's head from his shoulders with the man none the wiser it even happened. And all the while Jensen shrieked with laughter, his immortal soul raging in a euphoria of bloodletting.

[Duffy]

“After he saved your life?” a voice asked from on high.

The immortal, denied his gloating, span about. He looked upwards, scythe held in a bloodied grip. The bard was falling, far too quickly, back to solid ground.

“I owe nobody favours!” he roared back. He bounced from foot to foot.

“Think of it more as a debt we’re collecting on,” Ruby clarified. She began to sing a haunting aria in high elven. Her hair danced with light of kindness, and not the heat of flame.

“You can fucking try,” Jensen spat.

That was all Duffy needed as justification. He spread his arms wide, let the wind rush over him, and conjured his armoury to within reach.

“Oh for…,” Ruby spat. She slid forwards on a dainty heel, cursing Duffy’s sense of timing. She lashed with Lucrezia to distract Jensen from the bard’s gambit.

Jensen dropped his gaze, ploughed the blade aside, and for just a moment, forgot the metal rain tumbling towards him.

“One down, who’s next?” He span, stretched out a leg, and aimed his boot at Ruby’s cheek. She stumbled back, bloodied, bruised, and blustered.

A red cutlass shrieked into the stage and embedded several feet into the planks. Two daggers clattered and bounced next to it. Two ancient swords clanged behind the brawler. When he looked up, Duffy was on top of him, katana held in both hands, blade pointing downwards.

“Fuck me,” he roared, realising his brother’s intentions at last. It took all his speed to turn the scythe into a blade and raise it in defence.

With a meteoric crash, Duffy grunted, Jensen bent at the knees, and the two stared through crossed blades into one another’s blazing pupils.

“Not on your life,” Duffy quipped.

Jensen pushed up, and the tension splintered the planks beneath them. Duffy’s momentum failed, and he tossed clear from the stage. The shock of impact tore open the scars on his shin, and he trailed blood in his wake.

Lillith circled the stage, knees bent, tanto at her sides. Ruby circled in the opposite direction. However, though she had regained her composure after Jensen’s roundhouse, her head still spun, and her cheek was already purple.

“I think it’s time,” she whimpered. She spat blood. She wiped it from the corner of her mouth. “I think it’s time we told you something.” She pointed to the portal on the northern wall. It lead down into the lounge, a wide, rickety staircase beneath pine arches and cobweb trails.

“Hey, you said no talking!” Jensen cried.

Ruby ignored his jibes. “Have you noticed there’s only four of us?”

Jensen Ambrose allowed his ignored to blind him to the fundamental truth. He had called for all the Tantalum Troupe, yet only four were present. Somewhere in the shadows, the fifth fragment of the Forgotten One Oblivion observed the chaos with a cheeky smile.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen’s body shivered at the haunting chuckling of the fifth member of the Tantalum. Lucian, the Thayne of the Troupe clapped softly, as if enraptured by the carnage thus far. The immortal’s eyes never left as he watched his new foe enter the arena, standing tall, regal, and proud. He commanded the space around him with authority, as if being in the presence of such a creature demanded your fullest attention and nothing less. He could feel the Thespian god’s powers start to trickle in the back of Jensen’s hair, for this man was also known to serve Xem’Xund as Oblivion.

“You couldn’t have forgotten me, Jensen Ambrose,” his whispered words struck Jensen’s heart like the booming of a bass drum. “Not after all the fun we had,” he continued, lowering himself slightly to cross his arms across his chest, robes as long as his body dusting the floor exposing black leathered boots. Jensen gave him a wry smile, his eyes burning to look elsewhere but finding it difficult to keep his focus elsewhere.

“Oh, you know,” Jensen replied, voice low and menacing as he chuckled darkly. “It’s hard to recall someone when they have a forgettable face!” Jensen shrieked with laughter, boots kicking off the creaking wood as his scythe wildly spun out behind him, a whirling cusp of wind dancing around him making his unending laughter echo. Jensen jumped forwards, body curling into a ball of spite and rage as the wind launched before him, a gale of air heralding his demented giggling. Lucian’s hand rose in a defensive posture, his lips curling in disgust as Jensen wheezed out another belt of his haunting, annoying joviality. He slid on the ground when he landed, weapon coming up to be blocked by Lucian’s own magical force of will.

The two glared daggers at the other, lips parted in rictus grins of spite and malice. They pushed off one another, the tornado like gust of wind pushing Ruby, Lillith and Duffy aside as their clothes flapped in the breeze. Jensen spun with his blade, activating the scythe as he screamed for blood. Lucian’s arms lifted in warning, his own laughter joining the whirling winds with Jensen’s. When blade met robes no flesh was seen, but Jensen knew the man was crafty. He rolled with his wild swing, ungracefully rolling to his feet and sliding back several feet as Lucian teleported in the same way Arden had previously in the battle. His strike was met wanting, his feet carrying him at the immortal.

Jensen touched both hands to the floor, kneeling as he prepared for his next onslaught. Lucian’s rage was clear as he moved in, arms swiping in clawed like fashion to rip the grin off Jensen’s face.

“Wait!” Duffy tried to warn his god, but it was too late. Jensen was already lifting up in a flash kick, his boot connecting with chin pausing the Thespian Lord. In the height of his flip Jensen’s body twisted and turned, landing square on his feet, fist rising to Lucian’s stomach and connecting hard. Bile pushed out on the immortal’s arm from the lips of his foe, eyes bugged out in alarm. Jensen was already moving before Lucian had the whereabouts to think, hooking his arm on the god’s and rolling onto his back and beginning to rain hammer blow after blow upon the enemy’s head like he were a personal tribal drum. Rolling off backwards Jensen landed in a kneeling crouch, Lucian spinning to swat at Jensen only to find a harsh, second flash kick that rocked his world. Jensen landed from the flip, rolling to his hands and rotating in a spinning wheel kick, heeled boot hitting the mark four times before coming up with dagger at the ready, spinning the weapon in the glare of the stage light.

“Curtain’s falling, Forgotten One!” Jensen shouted with glee, his weapon nearing the throat of his foe only to strike hard metal. A flash of sparks illuminated the katana Duffy wielded, and a stoic look was on the bard’s face. One Jensen had encountered more than once. “Well this isn’t good…” Jensen chuckled as he felt the burning heat of Ruby behind him.

(Well, if there is anything wrong, tell me what to fix, but enjoy kicking my ass.)

[Duffy]

A crash of blades rang through the stage room. At the last moment, Duffy stepped in to his friend’s aid, shaken, but not broken by his wounds.

“I was down, but not out!” he roared.

Jensen tried to pull away, but they locked tight. A melody rang from Ruby’s violin, and Duffy began to sing along to it. It was a raucous old limerick in Scara Braen so thick it was indecipherable.

“What does that mean?” the immortal clucked. He finally ducked out of the blade’s path, free and limber.

Before they could stop him, Jensen bounced at Oblivion, and delivered an all too easy sucker punch to the face. The mask of the ‘Forgotten One’ hid the face of a rather frightened looking young adult. It fell from his face in shards, dimmed, and crumbled to dust.

“Lucian is dead.” Duffy’s tone was flat.

“You helped us kill him!” Ruby added.

Jensen dodged Duffy’s follow up slash, rolled backwards, and bounced upright. His punching knifes appeared from nowhere, and crossed together in a defence stance.

“What the…,” Jensen blurted. His confused expression, though common, concerned the demi-god’s transformation. “Who the fuck are you?”

Even the troupe did not quite know. They tried to work it out for centuries, settled on ‘Pettigrew’, and left it at that. For the purpose introduction, Duffy relied on ample embellishment.

“We call him ‘Pete’.”

Jensen curled his lips. He expected an odious title. The boy’s brackish hair, oily cheeks, and lanky form did not intimidate him in the least.

“Looks can be deceiving,” Pettigrew chuckled. He tossed aside his demi-cloak, folded his arms over his chest, and tried to look at least a little bit threatening.

“If you’d been around,” Duffy mumbled.

Somehow, Jensen got angry before he knew why. He bolted at the bard. With the spell song diminished, Duffy could not rebuke a second double punch, and the daggers slipped through his meagre guard with ease.

“…You’d have been…”

Blood trickled down his cheek as his lungs filled with air. He looked down, whimpered, and managed to croak a final word.

“…Around.” He pushed himself backwards with a sickening grate of blade against bone. Instead of falling down dead, he vanished.

Pettigrew smiled. Ruby smiled. Lillith smiled.

“Wait…,” Jensen spat. “That it?” He shrugged.

Ruby chuckled, exiled her violin, and renewed her sword stance.

“Oh hunny, we’re just getting started!” Her laugh outshone Jensen’s maddest cackle, and announced the beginning of act two.

Before Jensen could react, Lillith and Ruby charged. Pettigrew scuttled away, swung to the balcony on a not-there-a-second-ago rope, and vanished behind a curtain.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen’s body tensed as he wished he had the knives available to throw at the retreating form of Pettigrew. He instead took a half step back, his teeth clenched as he corkscrewed in retreat, dodging the first thrust of Ruby and landing his blade sharply across Lillith’s weapon of choice. Sparks erupted as the two weapons ground against one another, Ruby’s laughter matching his own fit of giggles while they twirled. He managed to parry the trhust of sword and knife but not the sharp stiff kick of heels and toes into his leg and stomach. Spit lifted up to this throat but he snatched his mouth shut, drawing it into a wad and holding it for a moment.

They continued their dance, Jensen continuing to parry, dodge, and miss opportunities as he was on the defensive against this sisterly swarming tactic. He felt his shirt rip, coat tear, and pants split as their blades carved into him, a wet pile of crimson staining against the black fabric. However he twirled with them, leading them as the master of the pack, feeling Ruby’s blade clip his cheek drawing a nasty line that made him cringe and shout with agonizing glee. Lillith followed up with a quick impaling motion, stabbing her weapon into his abdomen and letting blood join the mucus in his mouth. It pooled out the sides of his grin, his body convulsing as she wrenched the weapon and turned into him, her hand caressing his cheek like a lover and nuzzling into the side of his face.

“You talk too much,” she whispered huskily as Ruby snorted a laugh, her blade coming back to her shoulder and thrusting forwards. Jensen went to move but Lillith pulled her blade out, winding Jensen as he let out a wheeze of pain, still holding onto the ball of spit and blood in his mouth, the taste of copper intoxicating as he watched the blade near his body. With a twist of his shoulder he dodged the blade just barely, watching her arm extend over his torso. He winked to her, watching her mouth cup into a confused look as they locked eyes, and with a wink and vile grin he launched his built up pain into her face, splashing her eyeball with crimson spittle.

His hand reached out and grabbed her wrist turning his whole body collapsing to the ground as he hip tossed the redhead over his hip. She cursed and spat, her body dragging on the ground rolling away. Jensen let out a lungful of pent up laughter into the floor, slapping the stage and pushing his body up, kicking his feet forward to stand. Lillith was glaring daggers at the immortal and he too gave her a wink.

“You‘re boring the crap ‘outta me,” he spoke to her with heavy sarcasm out of the side of his mouth. Lillith’s brain processed things rather quickly, and the insult wasn’t lost on her.

“You’ll not fool me into on of your flashy finishers, Jensen,” the woman said with her thick accent. Jensen shrugged, kicking the stage and making a scene as he huffed.

“Well shit, and here I thought we were gonna go the distance,” he shrugged and snapped his fingers. “Certainly longer than Arden went,” Jensen added, his toe kicking in the direction of the headless body. Lillith’s eyes looked to him with a woman’s wrath, a sister’s rage of losing a loved one, and Jensen merely bent forwards, tapping his chin. The way he spoke was disgusting in its demeanor, full of disrespect and venomous insult. “Can’t touch me.”

Lillith stood for a split second, her body convulsing before she let out a rage filled scream, Ruby screeching in protest as she tried to warn her sister at the same time Lillith swore her oath.

“I’ll do more than touch you immortal, I’ll KILL you!”

“Lillith don’t!” Ruby lifted her hand out as if this would stop the events playing, but Jensen let out an obnoxious fit of laughter, drowning out all sound as Lillith’s weapon came at him, her fist clenched and landing on Jensen’s jaw. He felt his jaw shift violently, eyes turning glossy as he stumbled in the arc of the swing, feeling woozy and disoriented as Lillith’s face was a mask of hatred.

It was exactly what he wanted her to do.

Focus suddenly snapped like a wet towel back into focus. His arm came up and lobbed it deep into her gut, managing a wheezing cough from the assassin of Akashima. Jensen’s fists began to roll with one another, his shoulders moving in time with his possessed like words as he moved in a blur of speed. “One-two, one-two!” He continued on like this for a few seconds, dropping to a knee and looking up at her with sad, puppy eyes, mimicking her woozy stance as he rolled his head side to side. With a fierce upwards movement, his fist caught the woman’s jaw, and he lifted her up with him in an uppercut that shook the very foundations of her bones. When she landed on her back Jensen turned his back to her, coat flapping in the breeze behind him as a Scara Braean accent left his lips.

“Gutter Trash,” he muttered glaring daggers at Ruby.

[Duffy]

“We’re all in the gutter, Jensen.” Ruby glared daggers back. “The difference between us is we look up at the stars.”

Duffy stared sombrely at Lillith’s corpse. For a hopeful moment, she stirred, and a long, pained breath drew into her lungs. Then she died. He felt her pass, connected by ages, time, and space. He sighed.

“We manage because we have something to look forward to.”

“You’re still talking?” Jensen interjected. He remained poised, bent at the knee, and ready for anything.

Ruby stood to the south. Duffy stood to the north. She broke into a violin concerto. He began to tap a gentle rhythm with a tip of his cane. It was a song not heard by on Althanas in centuries. The First Song. The song that made them.

“We’re not talking, my friend, we’re singing,” they harmonised.

Ruby played increasingly feverish. Her hair whipped back and forth. Her dress rippled as though in a heady breeze. Her limbs arced, her bow ran true, and her soul burnt bright.

“That’s supposed to be better?” he moaned.

Something changed. Not just in the playhouse, but in the very core of the Ai’bron. The monks, perturbed by the development, peered closer into the viewing sphere. The pool of divination shimmered, as though hands not of the order were changing it. Whispers echoed through the sandy halls.

“I didn’t come here for this shit!” He charged the spell singer. His feet slammed so hard the stage juddered.

The arena froze. Time stopped. The note that had been playing sustained itself into one, long, and angelic piercer. Duffy froze, mid lyric. Ruby froze mid-scale change. Jensen froze mid frenzied charge.

“About damned time,” said a voice.

Pettigrew Jones took the note as his cue, and stepped out from behind the curtain with a cocksure grin. The shabby clothes he had been wearing minutes ago were gone, replaced with a crimson doublet and pantaloons. He wore an entirely unpractical cap peaked with three white plumes.

“I hate being backstage.” He dusted himself down and let time resume.
“Fight me!” Jensen jolted. He continued in his run, oblivious to the magic afoot, and went to pummel Ruby mid play with his punching daggers. His coat flapped behind him. His eyes burned fire. His heart beat like thunder.

Pettigrew disappeared.

“I don’t think so,” he mumbled. He fell down through a trapdoor, and bounced right up in front of the brawler, eyes glistening, smile broad.

“Wha-” Jensen’s eyes widened. He aimed for Pettigrew instead.

“The lady’s not for turning,” Pettigrew goaded.

“You little punk!”

The magic in the air empowered Duffy’s sword arm. In the split-second chance, Pettigrew’s distraction had given him; he had approached Jensen from behind. He swung his sword with intent. He swung with hatred. He swung with brotherly love.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen’s world went wild with white hot flashes, pain racing along his back as Duffy landed on his one good knee, holding the Katahara in place reverently.The immortal’s jacket had slipped from his shoulders, torn asunder and stained in blood. It hurt to move the few stumbling feet he did, his back arched in agony. Jensen’s eyes watered with the feeling of helplessness, falling to his knees as he tried his best to touch the wound in a feeble attempt to understand more of it.

Blood had sprayed in an arc across the wooden floor leaving a trail that followed him. The immortal cursed with every word he knew, unable to focus over this crippling strike. Ruby had sauntered over, giving herself time to properly fan her wild hair out, fix her clothing and address the fallen knight with ginger lips full of that sweet ‘I told you so’ honey.

“How arrogant for you to think you could take us all on!” Ruby’s tone rose with her chastising, eyes lit with burning passion. “What are you trying to prove, Jensen? How big your ego is? We all knew very well you think you are some invincible god of loving and depravity,”

“No…” Jensen hissed, at last collapsing to all fours as he struggled to hold himself, body visibly shaking.

“Then why, Jensen? Why do you put your brothers and sisters in harms way? You call us family yet you fight us like we were your greatest foe.” Ruby was unrelenting with her motherly bashing of Jensen’s motives, but instead of answering her he just waited, coughing and taking deep cleansing breaths to sooth the pain in his back. “Did we piss you off because we weren't there to defend Stephanie?” Ruby asked, her tone akin to a whisper on the wind.

“No…” Jensen muttered with a mopy demeanor, looking up to her. “Nobody can be blamed for that.” He looked back down to the floor, fingers visibly trembling in torment. Ruby bent at the knees and looked to Jensen as she gave him a confused look.

“Then why?”

“Because he isn’t fighting us,” Duffy said with a gasp of pain, turning on his hobbled foot to approach behind Jensen. “He’s not seeing us, he’s seeing Cassandra and her filth.” Ruby cast her look up to Duffy and wrinkled her nose in doubt. When she looked back to Jensen she saw his head bob up and down. “He’s purging his self perceived weakness,” Duffy continued on, lifting the blade he held up with a toss and snatching it deftly in the air, his boots clicking on the floor as he circled Jensen. “My dearest brother thinks we are holding him back.”

“Jensen,” Ruby asked, shock in her tone. “Is that true?” Jensen said nothing in reply. Pettigrew marched forwards now, looking down upon the immortal. He cast his eyes upon him long and hard, measuring the weakened man as Ruby stood up.

“It is,” Pettigrew confirmed.

“But...why?” Ruby asked incredulously.

“You don’t get it,” Jensen mumbled. “You don’t get it at all, Ruby,” his voice turned to a low growl. “Do me a favor, Duffy,” Jensen shouted. “I want to hit the reset button. Mind stabbing me in the back and letting us go again?”

[Duffy]

Duffy stopped in front of Jensen.

“Okay,” he said, after a short pause. The look of sorrow on his face reflected his feelings.

“I’m sorry?” Ruby spat.

“Shut up,” Duffy barked. His nostrils flared. His cane vanished. Something in him, and the arena, changed irrevocably.

“Don’t you dare d-” Her expression went from anger to terror.

He moved with the slightest motion, yet Ruby shattered. Her image fragmented. The shards of her ruptured, splintered, and fell to dust. A windstorm swept them up, drew them into a singularity, and then…nothing.

“What the fuck?” Jensen said, without cackle, candour, or cruelty.

The bard forgave himself for pulling such a cruel and clandestine trick. It was necessary. It felt required. There was no other way. Sei Orlouge could not help his captains. The mystics held no sway over this particular heartbreak. There were few things in life fear and anger could aide, and Duffy learned that lesson too long ago to let Jensen suffer anymore.

“You bastard!” Pettigrew cried. He produced a dagger from his belt, nothing more than a kitchen knife, and charged across the stage. The magic that constructed the illusion was truthful to the last.

Duffy held up his palm. In a similar, gruesome manner, Pettigrew Jones shattered, imploded, and disappeared. With two clicks of his fingers, Lillith and Arden’s corpses vanished too. Stood equidistant on the stage, bard and brawler faced one another alone.

“You…,” Jensen mumbled. He bounced from foot to foot, gearing up to have another go. “You’d really do it?” He smirked. “A dagger in your own brother’s back?”

Duffy shook his head. “I would never give you an easy way out. Not after all we have been through. Not after the tower. Not after Lucian. Not after Oblivion, Stephanie, and Cassandra. There is never an easy way out.”

“You’d know, would you? You’re all fucking immortal!” Jensen screamed.

He flexed his arms, which rippled beneath his battered jacket. Crozius snapped into view, its head crackled with the power of the skies themselves.

“Dying is just a painful for us. For centuries, whenever we passed, we would forget who we were.” Duffy began to unbutton his shirt. Soon enough, he wore only his slacks, shoes, and the snakebite piercings that served as penal brands. “We allowed the poison of not caring about our lives to ruin everything we held dear.”

Raising Crozius, Jensen looked at Duffy between his arms, eyes glistening with barely contained outrage.

“That a dig?”

Duffy smirked. “Make of it what you will. The fact is, the only person that will be the death of Jensen Ambrose…,” he trailed off, raised his hand to the roof, and let loose the true vestige of his power. The Tap entered the Citadel, in full, unbridled force.

Jensen disappeared.

Duffy disappeared.

For a while, the Prima Vista fell silent. It found peace, tranquillity, and respite from war. There was only books, crumbling aertex, and feeble attempts at carpentry and cooking. A tiny crack, hairline, widening by the second, split the arena atwain. It let through light, dancing peals of heaven, and then erupted open. Like Ruby, Pettigrew, Lillith, and Arden, the stage shattered. The picture, perfect in every idyllic way, imploded and vaporised.

“…is Jensen Ambrose.” Duffy’s voice echoed through the pure white eternity that filled the arena in the stage’s stead.

Jensen appeared.

Duffy appeared.

“Ruby is in Scara Brae. Arden is in Radasanth. Lillith is in Akashima. Pettigrew, I’d wager, is somewhere I won’t be able to find him.” Duffy smiled wearily. He had changed in the interval. Where weakness existed, now there was strength. His shin had, for the time being, healed as much as it ever would.

“You chickened out.” Jensen drew the only conclusion there was. He felt disappointed, and yet, wherever he had gone in-between worlds, his anger drained away.

“That is such a crude way of putting it. I did not chicken out; I bravely came to show you what you lost sight of in the last year.”

Jensen knew that whenever Duffy got judgemental, preacher man-like, and tiresome, metaphors were soon to follow. The prospect of a dagger in the bag and a clean slate seemed further and further away. The immortal looked around, saw nothing but pain inducing bleakness, and tried to work out why he did not just fall into nothingness. The floor felt real enough beneath battered hobnails.

“Enlighten me.”

Duffy cracked his knuckles. He ran his fingers through his hair, and pulled his fringe behind his ears. He let the cool air that flowed in behind him calm his nerves. He did not need to say anything else. He simply waited. He closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Duffy?” Jensen asked meekly.

Silence.

“Duffy…don’t make me come over there.” He punched his fists together with a thunderous clap.

Silence.

“Fucking hell!” he bellowed.

The second his right foot slammed forwards, the floor beneath him shattered. From that focal point, the white fell away. He saw crystal at first, and when he skidded to a halt after a brief jog, he was already standing on a pallid, and floating, quartz platform.

“No way…”

He looked ahead, and in a flash, the white wash was the crystal world. Duffy and Jensen had started, and ended, a series of ‘competitive jaunts’ here. They had been dark messengers of youthful rage. They had died, without relenting, a thousand deaths in the search of the upper hand. For once in Jensen’s life, he got what the verbose little shit meant.

“Welcome home, Jensen.” Duffy opened his eyes.

His voice was calm, angelic, and serene. He had changed as much as the arena. His skin was glowing, covered in runes that Jensen would recognise as Ancient, the language of the Myar. Before much of the world was populated, and the equestrians reigned, the Myar were god like. They had conquered the Tap, until it, in turn, had conquered them.

“My home is not here,” he spat back. He began to charge. Somehow, Duffy’s trickery had taken all his weapons, save for the two that mattered most. Left Fist and Right Fist.

“Home is wherever the heart is, and your heart belongs in protecting your family, and fighting until the end.” With his final metaphor said, Duffy let nature take its course. He held out a hand, clicked his finger, and sprouted a myriad tentacles, tattered wings, and silver threads.

“What do you think I’ve been doing all this fucking time?” The cry was deafening. Just as being in the Tap showed Duffy’s true form, Jensen found himself regaining his full potential.

“Show me,” Oblivion said. His voice tore through aeons, whispering into each second of Jensen’s life. “Show me how to feel Jensen. Show me how far you are willing to go to earn forgiveness.” Allowing the power in his veins to take control, Oblivion mentioned no names.

“I’m going to kill you…again, and again, and again!” was the natural, zeal fuelled retort. With the power of the Horsemen firmly back in his body, and the Forgotten One manifesting in Duffy’s rejuvenated husk, two titans, standing tall, let lose their wrath.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen’s perception of reality altered with Duffy, torn asunder upon the anvil of their brotherhood. The immortal had known all about the bard’s tragic history with Oblivion, but there were many, many details the madman always left out. Yet none of it really surprised the knight anymore. He jostled around in his new feeling body, power flowing through his veins like the predatory beasts of the jungle on a hunt. Leylines of eldritch power flowed across his body in talismanic tattoos. They had a sickish yellow glow to them as they pulsed an unholy aura, and then it happened.

Then…things changed.

The Knights of Apocalypse had worshipped the four horsemen, deific entities of the end times that would bring the world back to the state of primeval times. Jensen was apart of an order of warriors who venerated their teachings. Good and Evil spawned the other like the sun made the shadows. The Darkness was eternal but unable to dwell in the glory of Light; yet the Light must always reveal itself to the Darkness. Two sides of the same coin created a dynamic duo-existence of hatred, rage, hope, and love. For every emotion of Anger, their was an opposite shade of Joy. No…they could not hunt just one side of the problem; they had to hunt them all.

In so doing the knights were established to balance the world back to Grey. The absence of true Light and true Darkness. In this manner, this only way, could the Horsemen return to finalize the end of the world and return it to a neutral state. No war, no peace, no hate, no love, but the embodiment of all of them at once to create everlasting content.

So it was to carry out the will of their gods, the Knights established a bridge between the Horsemen and the Knights; the Avatars. These men and women would govern the Order and steer them towards the paths to balance the world. They were gods amongst men. Warrior’s without peers. They were Mystics, Naga, Holy Zealots, Pious Knights, corrupted Magi, and mighty warlords in their own rights. A sliver of the Horsemen’s power was their own to master and become one with. An embodiment of the Four Faces of the End Times. To fight such a warrior was no small undertaking.

For reasons clouded in prophecy the Avatars were disbanded, their lot killed off and never to return. But that did not mean the mark of the Horsemen faded. A child was born to a mighty leader of the Knights of Apocalypse, his birthing cries echoing her death wails. All around this child was magic of untold nature, decimating the surrounding terrain. Jomil, the Thayne Goddess of Decay, had shown up to the child’s birth as did her son, the Horsemen known as Famine.

He will be gifted the fruit of the Gods; Ambrosia. He will live forever to continue to fight even when we are destroyed. He will never find himself long gone from the struggle. They will take from him endlessly, but they will never stop him. He is the Juggernaut of War. He is the eternal warrior, the famished knight. Jensen Ambrose; I am Famine, and I mark you my Avatar.

Jensen howled with agony as he rose in the air, wind whipping around his feet lifting his body into the air. His hair snapped all over his face, eyes rolling into the back of his head. His body began to atrophy as he screamed. His muscles shrank and the clothes he wore became ragged and baggy. The very air around him became stale and starved, his fingers curling in pain as his nails cracked and became disgusting talons.

His voice echoed another’s as his eyes glowed with a yellow twinge around his iris. He slowly lowered his head, his screams hoarse and empty they silenced at last. He looked to his sad brother, Oblivion, and spoke in two voices, each harmonizing around the other like the rasping sound of weathered leaves crackling. They were not in the Ahria as Jensen knew it, but they were using some of that strange magic. Jensen knew that magic well, and so his voice sang out in song to answer his brother’s call of challenge.


“The time has come to an end; for this was always what was planned. Being tracked by a starving beast; hungry for the daily feast. A predator on the verge of death close to its last breath.” He sang melodically between the two voices that echoed from his lips. “They will run when the sun comes up! With their lives on their line. For a while, you must follow the rules of life!”

The immortal moved like lightning, his flesh a blur of motion. Where he went the Aura of Famine moved with him, decaying everything including the very air around him. It was poisonous to be in his way as it sapped and exhausted the very soul of those within his decaying power. His hooked fingers lifted to grab Duffy’s face and preparing to drag his brother to the next realm if need be to show him all that he wanted.

Jensen narrowed the gap quickly looking to his brother with a haunting gaze ready to rip him from existence if need be.

[Duffy]

Jensen’s fingertips pierced Oblivion’s skin as though it were paper. Instead of blood, creativity oozed. Instead of pain, laughter sung through the crystalline realm. The glowing corpse of the Forgotten One stumbled back, and began, without life to defend it, to wither and crumble.

“What the fuck?” the brawler roared. Disappointment was death incarnate on his electrified features.

“Did you forget me so swiftly?” whispered a voice. It haunted Jensen’s soul. It sung through the crystals in tandem with the laughter. It embedded itself in the vibration of the equestrian’s soul.

On a platform fifty feet above, Oblivion flickered into view anew. His face was blank, a polished sphere of obscurity without feature or fire. Nothing shone there, nothing dimmed, no shadow. He folded his arms across his chest, and peered over the edge with eyes unseen.

“You can’t run forever, death comes for us all, famine wins out!” With a kick down, Jensen launched himself upwards, wind whipping his hirsute features to life, every bit charisma in contrast to Oblivion’s insidiousness. He slammed down behind him, cracking the quartz beneath his titanic strength.

“I am not running, Jensen.” Oblivion turned. He clicked his fingers and conjured an all too familiar katana into his right hand. Its black hilt bound aeons ago, its blade as sharp today as it was hot from the forge. “Don’t you remember?” He gestured to the platform.

This was where he and Duffy had tussled in their previous encounter. Jensen grimaced as he remembered the testicular blow he had delivered to his blood brother, but felt no guilt, for here and now. Duffy was no more. He clenched his fists. He grinned. With the strength of gods dead and dying in his veins, he redoubled his efforts to tear off Oblivion’s face.

“I’d remember if you let me,” was the only reply.

Jensen closed, pulled back his fist, and punched. Oblivion raised the blade, edge to the knuckle, and tensed. The silvery veins protruding from his spine, threads of stories untold, whipped back and forth. Though the impact cut Jensen’s skin, the blade buckled, chipped, and flew away. The first caved in the phantasmal shoulder, scattering vignettes and sonnets to the darkened, umbrae skies. A second blow punched away the sword hand, and a third rose in an uppercut into Oblivion’s chin.

“At least you won’t forget me!”

The equestrian, remembering himself, if not the times he had enjoyed, found his form. He watched Oblivion rise feet, and then descend metres off the edge of the platform. Jensen stepped to the edge, skin rippling with adrenaline, brow beading with sweat, and gloated in triumph.

“Oh…,” he mumbled.

Quick as he was, he was still same old Jensen. Stars and stanzas trailed after the Forgotten One, forming a web of truth and a lattice of possibility. By the time his body crashed into the quartz below, shattering it in half, the view of the immortal’s victory slipped away from him.

“You will always fear my name…,” whispered the darkness, glistening with malefic, dancing with fear. The web faded, leaving nothing but a storm of crystal shards spiralling chaotically into a debris field. They careened into other platforms, tearing the lower echelons of the battlefield asunder.

Jensen pouted.

“It’s the bullet I fear, not the gun…” He bounced from toe to toe. He smashed his fists together, ignoring the cut into his bone. “So reload, and try that again!”

The laughter that burst from his lungs boomed across Radasanth. He bucked back his head, puffed out his chest, and heaved his shoulders with every relished guffaw.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The darkness around the Immortal vanished in a dervish of wind spiraling around him as color bled into the tornado. As the wind picked up pace Jensen felt his feet lift from the ground, his own demented laughter echoing as a tapestry was painted from Jensen’s tormented soul, the brushes and colors born from Duffy’s psyche. They bled into one to create a small woodland clearing near a brush of grass, the distant sound of running water echoing in the back drop. The immortal stood dumbfounded, his body still atrophied and feeding off the magic in the air. His yellow tinted eyes created an afterglow effect as his movements became exaggerated; like he moved his limbs through water.

Jensen howled with rage and torment, his cries ending with a fit of giggles as he landed on the ground of this make believe world born of stubbornness and insanity. The sky was milk white and the sun never existed, and beyond the immediate surroundings Jensen saw no backdrop but the white bleakness of eternity. He turned to see a fox dart out of the bushes, raising its tail up in alarm as it curiously looked to the immortal. Its tail relaxed, splitting into seven bushy tails as it sat on its hind legs looking to Jensen.

“Tell me a secret,” it whispered in a seductive voice. Jensen lifted his hand out, slow and showing after effects of his decaying nature that created ripples in the air around them. The fox nuzzled to his touch, despite the withering it started to feel as it backed away. “Don’t you trust me?” it asked again. The fox winked as it barked to him, an obnoxious sound that made him shake his head.

“You do not give your secrets to a Kitsune,” Jensen mouthed, his voice echoing with the avatar’s power.

The fox hopped away, yipping into the void as Jensen turned to see a Mastiff approach. The regal, noble hound regarded Jensen with a sniff, before it growled lowly to him. Jensen knelt down and looked to the mutt with a harsh glare. “Your very presence burns my essence. You are poison, scum of the earth!”

“And you are an opinionated asshole, but nobody’s perfect, Hound.” Jensen replied crassly, lifting his hand up shooing the dog away. “Don’t think this will work,” Jensen replied. “I have no idea what this place is, or where we are, but I am sick of it!” Jensen shouted as he rose, lifting his hand to the sky to rip the very fabric of the veil away only to stop and linger at the image of a red figure before him.

For all his rage, for all his bravado, for all his insanity Jensen couldn’t help but feel his heart melt to see such majesty and beauty. A phoenix pecked at the ground for something, looking to the immortal and burning his soul just to be near it. He hissed as he looked away, turning to see his brother once more. He stood as tall as Jensen, but his face was covered in hair, and his hands and feet were more ape like in nature. A sword was strapped to his back and he gave the immortal a cocky grin as he thumbed the blade free from its bonds. Jensen pulled his hands to his sides, opening his stance to allow the monkey man his strike.

They darted forwards in a single leap, passing one another and parrying each other’s blow with skills neither could possess outside this world. Jensen landed in a slow fall, landing with grace as he turned, showing a rip in his shirt leaking blood. The Monkey turned his face, still smiling as he spat out a tooth in a globule of blood. They faced the other again and moved like blurs of light. They passed one another and turned, smiling as Jensen spat out a tooth and the monkey showed his new facial scar.

When Jensen moved again the Fox moved with him, darting at his heels at the same speed he moved. It maneuvered itself with agility even he couldn’t match as tendrils of magic flowed outwards from each tip of the Kitsune’s tail. The Monkey wasn’t alone as the Mastiff barked, its mouth opening and swallowing the magic as it tackled the Kitsune. Jensen and the Monkey met hands and feet kicking, punching and attempting to stab at one another as the immortal managed to grasp his foe and toss him to the earth with a resounding smash. Dirt kicked up, but instead of gravel touching his face it was crystal that cut his face. The Phoenix rose above Jensen and displayed its wings screeching, forming words as it began to sing to the warriors below.

Jensen pushed from the air to the ground and met the Monkey head on. With ease the foe leaned back and grabbed him by the shoulders, kicking Jensen off of him and over. The immortal landed in a heap of his own body, rolling and tumbling until he met the mastiff. It barked and bit at him, snatching onto his arm and not letting go as it wrinkled its face in pain. The Kitsune jumped on Jensen, grabbing his shirt and ripping at it, spurred to aggression by the song of the phoenix.

Yet it was the Monkey who saved Jensen, kicking both creatures off and defending him until he could stand again. Jensen stood, slowly as a pack of Mastiff’s approached from the brush, followed on the opposite side by a gathering of Kitsune’s.

“Give us your secrets!”

“Show us your pride!”

The two men fought the hordes off, Jensen ducking and grabbing tails and using them as weights to bash into the others white the Monkey fought back to back with him, using his sword to cut away the jumping dogs. They fought like that until the world began to shift in weight, and the ground collapsed beneath them in fragments of crystals. Jensen laughed with energy renewed as he free fell, turning to see the Monkey man had not fallen with him. Instead Jensen looked to see the form of Oblivion once more on top of the crystal pillar where Jensen met him not scant moments before.

“What the hell is this?” Jensen screamed.

“You will remember by the end of this,” was the ominous reply. With a tormented laugh Jensen launched himself at the figure, arms out ready to grasp and beat the tar out of his brother once more. He gripped him by the shoulders, falling with his arm lifted prepared to punch Oblivion in the face. When he landed on the ground looking up, his yellowish eyes widened, looking to see a sight he would never forget in a long time.

[Duffy]

“Now do you understand?” Oblivion’s voice flickered between Duffy’s, Ruby’s, Lillith’s, and Arden too. It was ethereal, touched by heaven and hell alike. He re-appeared on the edge of Jensen’s platform, unplaced by indecision or weakness.

Jensen understood. He did not like what he saw, but he understood. He dropped down into a crouch, tiger-like, and observed his nemesis further. His body still electrified by the power that swelled through every inch of his being. His muscles taught. His adrenaline like quicksilver. His senses, keen and clarity bound.

“It was easy enough to weaken the ‘bard’, and easier still to overwhelm his opulent attempts to contain me. He is a prison for me no more, and you are without a brother.”

The crystal world seemed insignificant now. Oblivion had drawn on Duffy’s memories to put the pieces of the trap together. Jensen had allowed the Forgotten One the opportunity to go beyond in his performance. His ego, as ever, was his undoing. In turn, Oblivion’s belief in his own invincibility would be his. Jensen curled his lips into a smile.

“You killed Duffy?” He was hurting inside, but now was not the time to grieve. He had learnt that mistake once before. It would not consume him again. “Great. Save’s me the hassle.” In a heartbeat, the immortal broke into a bull rush Oblivion had no choice but to weather.

The unstoppable force collided with the immovable object. Two things happened. The first was chaos. The crystalline world suddenly found new meaning and purpose. The platform they stood on cracked, and a shockwave rushed out across the dim lit spectral heavens. Second, Oblivion lost his mask. It was a cruel edifice, befitting of a coward, and all saw his true form.

“I murdered him,” Oblivion corrected. They crossed blade and fist, strength and precision cancelling one another out. The Katarhna, Duffy’s namesake, could not tarnish Jensen’s skin. It rippled against the strain, but the power of the gods in the man’s veins did not relent. “In front of Ruby, no less.”

Jensen trilled. He pushed once more, kicked ahead, and knocked Oblivion flying. The ethereal form of the Forgotten One flew to the edge of the platform, and further still. Before the essence dropped out of sight, Jensen was away, and leapt after him. They tumbled headlong over the edge, directly into a large platform three hundred feet below.

“No!”

The roar from Jensen pained. The intonation suggested heartache. The shriek from Oblivion that followed suggested vengeance. As they landed, Oblivion back first, Jensen atop him, the brawler’s fist balled, and thundered into the creature’s chest. He realised now why Duffy had feared the last of the five so much. Even after the creature had shot him, and tormented Erissa, he still could not comprehend the man’s evil. His own weakness mirrored Duffy; they were cowed low through their loved ones. He had learnt that lesson the hard way with Cassandra Remi.

“She will suffer in his absence, even if the oath laughs at all from hell.” Oblivion’s voice appeared from behind Jensen.

In his rage, the brawler had not noticed the ethereal form, bound in lose rings of steel and black leather disappear. The tendrils of his essence gathered anew behind him, and before Jensen could respond, Oblivion pounced. He drove his sword into the man’s shoulder, above the blade, and twisted it.

“You’ve freed her,” he roared. Defiant of his injury, he twirled, twisted, and rose. With expert skill, he made every minute motion required to free the blade with as little harm done as possible, and rise with the strength of a hurricane behind his fist. Like a leaf on the wind, Oblivion rose in testament to the Horsemen’s tenacity and wile.

“Jensen…,” a voice whispered into the Immortal’s ear.

“She will not have to fear you anymore!” With eyes ablaze, Jensen followed the Forgotten One through his descent. Only when the boy hit the floor and all hell broke loose, did he realise he had heard another’s voice.

Though Oblivion’s body vanished, the wake remained just as deadly. As before, crystal shards rose, and flew outwards, suspended by the strange gravity at work in the arena. Some as large as houses darted past Jensen, smashed against invisible domain, and crumbled into the vermillion abyss below. Others, only fist sized, bounced off his hirsute chest.

“Jensen!” the voice repeated, but with haste.

The brawler turned, fists balled, eyes narrowed. Expecting another of Oblivion’s tricks, he met eyes with none other than Duffy Brandybuck.

“Don’t you ever die?” Jensen spat. He stood not a hundred feet away, legs parsed, and expression sour. Only now, free of battle, did he begin to feel the wound on his shoulder. Blood trickled down his musculature in tributaries of goodwill. “I’m bored.”

“Listen to me, for once in your life…,” Duffy wheezed. He pointed to his shin. “It’ really me.”

Jensen looked at the injury. More so than usual, it bled. Black slacks cut at the knees, and white shirt muddied and ripped. The marl eyes told the brawler he was looking at the real bard. It bled more so than normal. In the doorway, which appeared the moment the battle ended, Duffy was quite literally bleeding to death. The pool dripped over the sandy edge, and fell down into a waterfall into the shadows. The crystal shards continuing to ricochet about the arena, tireless physics gifting strange momentum to Oblivion’s death throe.

“What the fuck was all that about then?”

Duffy rolled his eyes. He wavered on his cane. His hair danced in a thermal of temporary power. He was gaunt. He was ethereal, almost.

“Oblivion is free. I failed. I am…dead.” That was not exactly true. He was dead, as Jensen knew him. He wished he had the time to explain, but he had to make the oath promise him one, small favour.

“Shit…” Jensen bit his lip. He took a deep breath. “No coming back?”

Duffy shook his head. “No green light. I need you to promise me one thing.” The tone in his voice changed from desperate to firm. It went from friendly to officious and left Jensen no choice but to comply. With his last strength, Duffy bound the immortal to an old, unforgotten promise.

“I guess I can do that.” The time for grief was creeping on Jensen Ambrose. He could not quite believe it. “What?”

Duffy began to fade, lingering between life, death for a painful, and poignant moment.

“Protect Ruby…” He coughed blood freely. "Be the brother I never was able."

Standing tall, the bard vanished into the afterlife he called home. The arena began to reform into the sandy brand stock it was between bouts, and Jensen found himself, perhaps for the first time in a long time, truly alone.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

“Things I protect die,” Jensen muttered into the void left in Duffy’s wake. “I started this whole thing to grow stronger to protect those very things I love,” With a clenched fist, the leather of his gloves creaking tightly he shoved it down into his other hand. Pain lanced up and down his knuckles as he took a slow turn to face the source of much of his recent pain. “And now I couldn’t even protect you, Duffy.”

Oblivion stood before the immortal, his eyes filled with an amusement that boarded on the realm of cruelty and insanity. His leather cloak rimmed his black boots, the studded armor shining in the crystal realm. “And soon, all you love will be dead. That means you will be all alone, Immortal. The foolish box you opened is your own doing. So why not just embrace the abyss…and just let go…” Oblivion lifted his hand upwards; a pulse of energy that created rings of translucent power arced outwards hitting the knight in the chest. He was lifted off his feet, tossed upwards with enough momentum to spin end over end downwards into the abyss of the shadows. He tumbled, seeing no end to his fall and his heart lifted up to his throat, a thrill of terror washing down his spine.

All alone. Jensen thought dismally, his own immortality making the free fall sensation no more than a passing fright. Yet Jensen thought about those words again, a flash of red hair passing in the corner of his right eye. The names he stitched on the back of his jacket began to grow warm and comforting, and Jensen felt his pocket open, a stained red flower falling out attached to a chain that hovered before his eyes. He looked to the flower, the stain a symbolic measurement of Jensen’s promise to an old friend to never lose control again. He felt his other pocket open, the note of the battle flashing before his eyes.

My dear friends, was the first line he read. Jensen watched it pass above him, sailing away towards the crystal pathways. Alone…

Jensen Ambrose was never alone. Energy filled his form once again as he swallowed his fears and felt a righteous feeling in the pit of his stomach. His blood began to pump actively again, the yellow lines of power from his Avatar state resurging with fresh vigor. His tinted yellow eyes burned with a new purpose as Jensen looked up to the platform that was a mere spec away.

Jensen willed himself to focus, his eyes closing as he thought back to Arden. He recalled the sparring matches they did, back to back, against the order of the Ixian Chaplains. It flashed to a drinking contest of them slamming one pint after the other and roaring in approval as the women around them giggled and touched their broad shoulders. He took those memories and brought all his energy forward, focusing deeply on the magic the troupe used. He felt the silk like tendrils of the Hounds magic wrap around him and in that instant Jensen was moving between realms. In the matter of seconds he was deposited back onto the crystal with a crunch, his boots hitting hard as he lifted one hand up and pointing to Oblivion.

“Can you even cheat to name any friends you actually have?” Jensen curtly spat out. “Do you not gather what us immortals seriously need to work on? The one group on all of Althanas seems to understand it, and as much as I hate to admit it (and slightly glad Duffy is too dead to hear it) the Tantalus had it right all along. I was never alone. I have my friends memories to continue to inspire me, and I have the friends I am with now to continue to move forwards. So if you’re going to try and rip apart my family, you’ll have to kill me,” Jensen lifted himself to his full height, all the eldritch power in the room spinning to a vortex above the two men. Jensen’s hair whipped the side of his face as Oblivion’s coat fluttered behind him.

“And I could laugh until I die,” Jensen wheezed as he returned his shit eating grin to the fore, eyes filled with a lust to shed some blood. His depraved laughter built to a crescendo of noise, starting with giggles and evolving into something worse. His voice echoed two mouths, two points of ear splitting laughter as Jensen went on the attack. “Time to forget the Forgotten one!” Jensen howled as the Crystal world around them shattered from one thunderous reverberation of Jensen’s wild mirth.

Fist after fist lanced out with speed to inhuman to keep up with. Jensen’s body was a blur but his face, which continued to remain mouth open, tongue out, full of a joy so savage and sanguine at the same time it caused even the battle heartened to take pause. Oblivion’s own fists came up, but the power Jensen exuded, his Aura of Famine, ate away at the stores of power in his hand. Even his connection to the tap was severed in such proximity, shattered as he bled more and more. He could barely murmur grunts as knuckles ground into his lips and teeth. A wad of spittle and blood mixed around a set of three teeth that danced upon the quartz like flooring. Oblivion felt his own energy waver, collapsing to a half standing, half kneeling position. He couldn’t even collapse for the speed of the Immortal’s brutalizing punishment kept him aloft, but his ears could not deafen, they could not puff or bruise in any way to muffle the demented, torment filled laughter of Jensen Ambrose.

“You’re nothing,” Jensen shouted, his voice highly pitched with a bass edge to it. “You’ll always be nothing,” fist after fist collided with each spit fueled jab. “You’re the forgotten one,” Jensen laughed again, at last his onslaught over. “And it’s going to forever be that way.”

Jensen’s hands grabbed the head of Oblivion, turning it sharply so it barely was on the verge of cracking, and with a vicious snap the neck was broken and a final gasp of pain escaped Oblivion. Jensen felt the universe he was in start to collapse, the ground trembling at his feet. He tossed Oblivion over his hip with as hard a thrashing as he could, breaking apart the pillar he stood upon and falling once more to his doom, but this time, Jensen laughed the entire time.

“Catch me if you can, Brother!” Jensen shouted into the unknown.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

“So you sent me a letter about fighting the entire Tantalum troupe in one of the Citadel’s gladiatorial battles,” Ruby said gently as she lowered a mug of hot tea to a round white plate, a soft chink escaping as the porcelain met porcelain. She lifted an eyebrow in confusion and sat back in the plush red velvet chair, slowly crossing one leg over the other as she studied the immortal in her room.

“Yeah, about three weeks ago. I took first ship to Scara Brae four days ago in the morning and I just got here.”

“As you explained earlier,” she mentioned off handedly. “You sure you will have no tea, Mr. Ambrose?” Jensen shook his head. “Well I do apologize but that letter hasn’t reached me yet.”

“Ya know, if it wasn’t for the fact that it seemed none of you got my letter, I wouldn’t mind.”

“But you tell me you fought us anyway; Learning later that the entire plot of this theatrical deployment was to somehow end your life by Oblivion no less.”

“Nearly did,” Jensen admitted as he crossed the plush carpet and took a seat next to Ruby’s, lifting one leg to rest on his knee. The ticking of the grandfather clock behind him made his heart start to beat in time before he looked back to the greying red head.

“Well I dare say then,” Ruby passed her lips to the tea cup quickly to suppress a grin. “How did I do?”

“Technically speaking,” Jensen said scratching his chin and letting out a chuckle with her. “You were last woman standing. Standing Tall and Proud and giving me an earful for fighting you all.”

“Which brings me to my next question, Jensen,” Ruby again lowered her cup of tea, but this time placed the arrangement on the circular oaken table, gently shoving it aside as she lifted one hand out to grab his in a caring manner. “Why did you want to fight all of us?”

“Honestly, I had a thousand and one foolish excuses why, some that may even have been passable, but in the end I cannot in good conscious use a single one compared to the truth of the matter. I felt like you guys were a weakness…a weakness that can hold me back and have everything I love be stripped away.”


“Ah,” Ruby said knowingly, her head shaking. “The whole, if I don’t have any friends, than I can’t have anything used against me tactic. I saw the start of that within you when last we met at the Ixian Castle. I’m sorry, Jensen, for not being there to help you.”

“You knew?” Jensen piped up, lowering his leg to sit forwards as he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Ruby nodded nonchalantly.

“You think you are the first person in my many lives to pull this crap before?” She gave him a rueful, you should have known better smile, and Jensen took a moment to process her words before he too snorted and let out a chuckle. “Jensen, we have lived many lives, you and I. I could not begin to imagine the curse of never getting a break like we do once in a while, but Jensen, we do know that pain you feel. We have experienced it many times. And we are here for you because you are just as much a part of us as we have become a part of you.”

“I guess you guys know when I use your magic.”

“Your songs are crass and full of depressive lyrics, and your tone needs to be retuned to something your vocal chords could actually produce, but yes. We can hear your song just as we can hear everyone else. And when you sing, we can hear your thoughts and emotions too. We know when you are in trouble and pain, and also know when you are filled with Joy and Love. The Ahria is a unique way to connect us all. I’m just glad you are safe now.”


“Well, safe for the time being. I have a few issues I need to attend to,” Jensen said with a sigh. “The Cult of Blessed Torture is still on the loose, and it’s growing. The death of Duffy is a huge blow to the Ixian Knights, and for once I have to worry about something that eclipses all those things at once.”

“What in the name of the Thayne is worse than all that?” Ruby asked lifting her tea. Jensen waited for her to sip, before he spoke in a deadpan voice filled with terror.

“My beautiful little girl, Azza, asked me about boys.”

Ruby’s tea launched outwards onto Jensen’s shirt, her inability to keep her composure as she let out a host of giggles. Jensen joined her, uncaring of the hot tea in his lap as he slapped his knee and truly enjoyed the moment of peace. “Look, Duffy wanted me to take care of you like the brother he couldn’t be. So do me a favor and keep in touch and see about moving you and Mr. fancy pants Winchester to the Ixian Estates. Sei won’t mind I’d imagine.” Jensen stood again, heading towards her door.

“Leaving so soon?”

“Yeah,” Jensen sighed. “Still have a lot to do in Duffy’s wake. Gotta talk to Lillith and Arden and ensure they are okay too.” Ruby stood up and rushed to Jensen as he finished putting on his jacket, looping her arms around his waist and hugging him tightly.

“Do not be a stranger, Jensen.” He nodded patting her arm. The door opened and Jensen headed out down the cobblestone paths towards the docks when Ruby shouted one last thing. “Jensen!” He turned to look at her as she gave him a bemused smile.

“Do try standing taller.”

[Amber Eyes]

Standing Tall: Standing Tall (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25742-Standing-Tall-(Closed)/page2)

Judgment Type: Full Rubric

Participants: Enigmatic Immortal vs Tantalus



Plot: 22 --- 21

Story- 8/10---8/10

Both of you had explanations for your characters being in the fight. Tantalus did an excellent job of integrating multiple characters and pulling it all together. Jensen’s story took center stage in the beginning and for most of the thread I thought he had this category. In the end though, I had tears in my eyes as Duffy said he couldn’t come back. This thread is a beautiful companion to Goodbye Goodbye and a perfect way for Duffy to say his goodbyes. Job well done.

Setting- 7/10---6/10

Both of you did a good job of setting the stage. Its always difficult to find the balance between action and setting but it was well done all around. Tantalus- at times you lost track of setting during large dialogue sections. I would have liked to see more use of sound (especially given the acoustic opportunities of a theatre setting.) Focus on the lesser used setting options (taste, smell, sound) to brings this up. Pacing- 7/10---7/10

The thread flowed well aside from a few mechanics issues. Toward the end it began to drag a bit with the introduction of Oblivion but you got it back on track quickly.



Character: 22 --- 23

Communication- 7/10---8/10

The dialogue was well written throughout. Both of you were believable, but Mordelain’s quips and the communication between the troupe gave him an edge here. I was especially impressed with how easily you slip into each other's characters. That type of teamwork is what good battles are made of. Good work guys.

Action-7/10---7/10

Throughout most of the thread I was able to picture exactly what was happening. There were a few points where the disappearing and reappearing became a bit confusing, but it detracted very little from the overall read.

Persona- 8/10---8/10

Duffy and Jensen are both incredibly well developed characters. I’ve read both since they were fairly new concepts and it really is incredible how much they come to life in this story. Duffy, the interactions you create with the troupe are witty and funny and all too real. I feel my own annoyance with my siblings growing up when I watch Ruby chastise Duffy. I feel the protectiveness I feel for them when Jensen speaks of Arden to Lilith. Jensen’s anger and resentment is written just as strongly, though on a selfish note I am eager to see where he goes once the threat of Cassandra is gone. I think he has much more potential.



Prose: 18 --- 21

Mechanics- 5/10---7/10

EI struggled a bit here. A quick proofread is really all that was needed to even the playing field. As I know both of you are entirely capable of proofreading I’m going to keep this short, but here are a few things I noted.



“The large doorways to the upper level of the Citadel exploded open, the wooden portals creaking as they slammed against the inner walls, shaking the pottery plants resting peacefully upon tables.”



Here you have a run on sentence with a tense change at the end. A better way to write this would be- “The large doorways to the upper level of the Citadel exploded open. The wooden portals creaked. They slammed against the inner walls and shook the pottery plants resting peacefully upon tables.” You have several sentences where you change tense after a comma. This is one of the easiest ways to spot a run on.


Homophones- Keep in mind that spell checker software will not catch homophones, in this case you used bare instead of bear.


There were a couple places where you missed apostrophes and a couple where you placed apostrophes where they weren’t needed.



most fondest- This should either be most fond or simply fondest.



Focus suddenly snapped like a wet towel back into focus.


Tantalus-



“Even Jensen to balk at his success.”





Duffy broke into childish laughter, which earned him a poke in the ribs from both Ruby.



Most of your issues were like this, just lack of proofreading. Overall the thread on your end was clean. Your sentence structure has improved dramatically.


Quite often you use fragments as a stylistic choice, but keep an eye on this as too many can detract from a thread.


Clarity- 7/10---7/10

As noted earlier, the disappearances were a bit confusing at times, and mechanics hurt here a bit, but overall the thread was easy to understand. Tantalus- This is an area you have really improved on. With each thread I read I see you get closer finding a balance between flowery writing and clarity. I think you found it here. Awesome job.

Technique- 6/10---7/10

Both writers did well here. Tantalus, you have your style down to a science. As noted earlier, watch how often you use fragments. Both of you used alliteration well, though I would suggest always re-reading to make sure it isn’t bogging down the sentence. Especially when you use certain letters (in this case W’s) it can actually make the reader have to re-read if overdone. EI- your style has really grown, but there is still a lot of opportunities you can capitalize on to bring this score up.



Wildcard: 7 --- 8

I cannot overstate how much I enjoyed this battle. Duffy gets an edge for making me cry, but honestly both of you did excellent.



Final Score: 69---73

Tantalus (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?13978-Tantalus) Wins!:



5200 EXP!

150 GP!



Congratulations!


Enigmatic Immortal (http://www.althanas.com/world/member.php?14249-Enigmatic-Immortal) Receives:



1200 EXP!

175 GP!

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added!