The Felicity Chamber

[Silence Sei]

Round 2 starts Friday Night/Saturday Morning at 12:01 AM CST. This Chamber will include

Breaker
Herald of the Tempest
Enigmatic Immortal
Abomination
Mage Hunter
Reine

Chapter Two.....FIGHT!

[Silence Sei]

He looked over all of the tables in the lunch room. This place had seen more battles in the history of Ixian Castle than the actual training grounds. The checkered linoleum floor would soon be stained with crimson liquids. The long tables stretched out the whole mile and half, orange and blue stools connected to the varnished redwood tables. Six rows of tables, each nearly a mile long. They would make for great cover for the clever fighter, or a great bludgeon for a powerful one. There was about ten feet of spacing between each row of tables, and at the end of the mess hall was the food line, a smorgasbord of both hot and cold food filling the buffet. People were making plates, stacking food as high as they possibly could before taking their places. The barrier ended where the tables did, protecting any spectators busily grabbing a meal to watch the show.

The rays of light from the windows above gave a warm feel inside the large room, and soon it would fill with six more competitors ready to strike at each other once more. By now, the warriors chosen for the next round had been selected, and deigned to either enter the mess hall or the dungeon. Their abilities would be restored, their bodies mended. Within the crowd, more enforcers had been called in to deliver retribution to those that broke the rules. It would be a good second round.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Round Two of the Cell! And here are your warriors!"

[Herald of the Tempest]

He awoken with a start. It was one pulse of life. A spark of energy, and Vyrabond lived again. His arms were crossed against his chest, fully repaired and no longer bent or dented. His jaw was firmly locked in place as he slept, and his green eyes were alight with ill intent. He dropped out of his resurrection chamber landing on the ground with a thud. His hands fell to the ancient stone steps of the palace of the Storm Herald. Two Kron’tyr constructs approached the warrior, bowing low and dropping to one knee.

“The human settlers of the Ixian Knights have named you a champion. You are to return to their tournament and fight. This is by the Will of our Lord of the Tempest, Herald of the Storm; Eternal may his reign be!” Vyrabond knelt to one knee, one hand crossing his chest in a fist of salute. He rose, tapping his fingers across his chest plate in Kron’tyr Morse code. His reply was simple acknowledgment. He turned to the awaiting portal at the end of the chamber, his face locked in a permanent frown, but his inner logic processors alight with excitement to fight the lesser races again.

He knew not what to expect as his body entered into the dimensional gate, his atoms being ripped apart and catapulted across space and time itself at speeds incomprehensible to even the most intelligent of minds. He easily kept his gait as he disengaged from the gateway, several spectators alarmed to see the Kron’tyr step forwards through thin air. He brought his hands out to his sides, his talons releasing with a scrapping sound. He crossed each blade in a loud grating fashion, and his mouth piece chewed on air as if he could taste the prey that awaited him.

His logic sensors gave him a one hundred percent mortality rate. There would be no chance of survival in this chamber. Yet he didn’t fear death, even if he couldn‘t simply reanimate. As a construct he could not process such complex emotions such as fright and terror. Hope and happiness were also lost to him, but excitement, and caution, base emotions, those were still offered to him. So it was he let them both fill her sensory passages, feeling the killers instinct start to take over.

When it was time he dove into the arena already choosing his prey of choice. The female drow, listed by the Ixian Invitational as a Mage Hunter and known as Drusilla. She would feel the caress of his claws across her throat, or he would die trying. He wasted no time closing the gap on her, holding one hand back and reaching out to grasp her throat with the other.

[Mage Hunter]

Smoke lit up in the air as the monks worked and fretted over the form before them. They would continue to poke and prod, in small bursts until the figure would gesture them off, forcing them to forgo the treatment continuing it was touch and go as each time they would have slightly less time, until the figure began the dry heaving and restarting the process all over again. It took agonizing hours for the life they were obsessed with healing. When it was done the figure looked over her gear, reworked and patched by someone else, as she had the time and the coin to pay for such an endeavor.

Once the process was complete Drusilia Liadon, sole survivor of the Emma Chamber, took a long drag of the cigarette bummed off a wanderer that had come to watch the blood sports. She coughed, not quite used to the acrid taste of the tobacco, but shook it off as she moved to grab the artic hide that had saved her life from the Teifling last round. She had never gotten his name, but surely by now he had heard of the dismemberment of his corpse. It was a petty thing, shoving the man’s genitals in his mouth, but it had felt so right. She was making a name for herself; the fight against Xem’zund was only the beginning. This tournament would be how she forged it, and not putting up with people’s nonsense would be the first step she’d take.

The armor donned she looked upon the blades, cleaned and blade sharpened. She hefted the first one and carefully looked it over before she nodded and placed it in the sheath at the small of her back. It was then she hefted her preferred blade carefully looking over the blade with even more a critical eye. Not a single chip or smudge of blood upon it. Not a solitary speck of dirt the blade was immaculate. Her eye went to the setting; the stone set there looked plain, unremarkable. To the uncaring it was just a rock, for Drusilia it was one of her lifelines in a world full of magic waiting for her to stumble and fail.

Carefully this one was sheathed at her back, the reverence of the action belying how much she cared about that sword. That blade, it had grown to be her favorite for many reasons. One was it was the blade she had initially fought Godhand Striker, the legendary Mercenary who had not returned when they had gone after Xem’Zund. To think, the man had not cared what others thought, he fought for the simple sake that it made him money. There was no ulterior motive in his heart it was always about the money.

She could almost respect that, as shallow the motive was.

The cigarette hung from her lips as she heard the announcement that she had moved on. She let a snort of derision cross her lips as she thought back towards the voice, Thanks for the heads up.

Snark firmly in place the Mage Hunter moved towards the place that would be her chamber. The crowds had already begun to form about the place, a throng of stupid sheep looking for their fix of blood and death for the year. She ignored the cat calls and the begging for her attention, always focusing on arena, drinking in the details. A discarded plate here, a bit of food that could be used there, this place was a plethora of potential. Nodding she pushed through the throng entering the arena. The mystics had formed a human shield between the combatants and the crowd, allowing her to enter the arena before using their magic to erect the true barrier from outside interference.

Her eyes settled on the other competitors, and she still refrained from getting a truer sense of their strength. Detecting magical auras was always a risk, as she wasn’t strong enough to be able to gaze upon the stronger ones. So, she would have to deal without that knowledge and would have to assume anyone who came at her was like the Tiefling Not-Mage she had faced last round. The barrier erected, and with its rising the fighting began, everyone changed. Immediately that killer instinct that had been drilled into the Kyorl trained Drow went into overdrive as one competitor ran down the isles. Her eyes narrowed as she witnessed the construct from last round charging forward, arms outstretched in an attempt to tear out her throat. She let out a derisive snort as she moved forward a couple of steps, moving into the charge only to kick the nearby end of a bench hard, the wood creaked against the floor causing a barrier between her and her erstwhile attacker before she pulled her blade and stabbed it towards the constructs chest, bracing her boot against the polished wood. A grin lit up her eyes before she said, “You’d think after the last idiot charged me you’d have put that in whatever passes as a brain for you. I guess your creator forgot to give you smarts when he programmed you to fight.”

[Abomination]

Anyone fighting Draug can bunny him.

Draug walked through the empty halls, blood dripping from from his entire body, most of it not even his. His steps were arduous, the sound echoing deep into the castle. There was no fanfare for his victory; no cheering, applause, not even jeers of hate. Stunned silence was all he received, and as the barrier reluctantly let up, he limped off his grand stage from which he was the only survivor. Alone, he felt as though he would get jumped at any moment by the remaining Ixians, to take him out while they still could. They were letting him walk, the sole representative of the Cult in this tournament, and he had no further business in this competition. Leaving a trail of blood, he grunted with each movement, his face turning pale from the blood loss. He was well below the amount of blood needed to sustain an average human being, but the Abomination could survive.

This is your mistake, Ixians... To not finish me off while you still had the chance.

Something fell to the ground in front of him. He looked down and saw a silver comb, and was compelled to lean down and pick it up. When his eyes returned to the hallway, a young girl was standing in front of him. For the first time today, his heart skipped a beat. Overwhelming feelings that were buried deep inside came to the surface, feelings of love, passion, anxiety, and hate.

She stood there with a kind expression and a simple smile, wearing only a flowing white night gown. Her stark white hair fell down to her waist, and she opened her hands. As if moving on its own accord, he dropped the comb into her hands, but that was not enough for her. She grabbed his bloody palms and squeezed them.

In a soft voice, she asked, "My Precious One, where are you going?" It was Catherine, Cassandra's daughter. Imbued with powers that Draug could not understand, her presence was otherworldly. Draug could not help but love her, and yet he hated himself for these programmed feelings. "The next chamber, it is in the other direction."

Draug wanted to go back to the Cult, to have Memnar attempt to repair his stolen memories and find something useful. He felt in his core that the secret to greater power was attainable. Yet, he was helpless to Catherine's whims.

"You must go," she said. "I shall be watching." That was it. Draug's desires were overwritten, and he found himself walking in the other direction. The comb was still in his hand, and his body knew the outrage of his situation as it attempted to destroy the object. Yet, it did not break. Every time he tried to summon the strength, it faded, replaced by undying devotion and compassion. He saved her once as a ghoul, a mindless wreck that only served to satisfy himself. Whether or not it was an accident, it was the catalyst that had him chosen as Cassandra's son. Since then, his strongest feelings have been for her. Even though he wanted to live, to achieve the same goal as his mother, he would still use himself as a human shield for Catherine at any moment. She had more influence over him than Cassandra herself.

Apprehensively, the monks treated him, and when he found himself in the dining hall, wearing his cloak with his bandages completely repaired, he felt better than ever. His movements were sharper, his perception more focused, and battle sense more refined. Memnar could wait, he thought, as there was more improvement to be done. Before him was the start of the long redwood tables, and behind him were the observers, all of which reinvigorated with hope that Draug could be defeated.

This is different... Exactly who was in this chamber that could do such a thing? He made a few arrangements before the tournament started, but he did not know who was participating in this round. A few plates with leftover food were on the table before him, filling the air with the sweet aroma of animal bones and fruit. The Abomination grabbed some of the plates and smashed them into the linoleum floor. While they shattered, it did not look like that the flooring was actually being affected. The barrier was more strict this time around, he figured. Scooping up the remaining shards of the plates, he poured them down his throat, letting them mix around his body and find their appropriate place.

He needed tools like the explosive bags in his body, and the broken pieces would serve as shrapnel inside the bags. While the monks restored his body, they could not restore his alchemical ability, the one that served to do Jensen Ambrose in. No, that was something Cassandra's chief advisor and head alchemist Memnar had given him as a one time use. The alchemist questioned revealing this type of trick in a tournament which ultimately had no consequences, but Draug told him that he needed to constantly adapt, to learn more so that he could think up new ways of defeating his opponents. A move that only worked once should only be used once, he felt.

He looked back one last time before heading out towards the center of the chamber, looking for Catherine. She was there, he felt it. He could not see her directly, but he sensed her eyes on him like puppet strings. He clenched his fists and moved on, vowing to free himself of these petty obligations and emotions.

She would be the first one he killed when he was free.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Darkness invaded every nook of his psyche. A void of eternal night and emptiness left the immortal uncomfortable. No sound was made, he could hear nothing, but in his own personal hell he screamed. Overkill was a state of bodily damage that defied traditional death by warfare. Whatever the hell Draug Remi did, it was effective and did what many had tried to do but failed.

Energy lanced around his heart coiling in arcs of lightning like the grasping claws of a predator. Jensen felt it expand to his lungs creating a searing pain, white flashes drawing across the darkness like a knife. He felt the eldritch power spin in his chest, pulling pieces of his severed neck bones together and melding them back as another energy, more pure and homely, continued to work in sync with his Breath of the Undying. Green tendrils rolled around his limbs, awakening muscles that had fallen asleep creating a tingling sensation, and soon the world that Jensen lived in had sound.

It was muffled and distant. It called to him, crying out to him. He lifted his fingers, drumming them upon the cold metal surface. The energy pulsed back and forth, growing in power and strength as the eldritch lightning soared towards his heart after reaching each end of his body. It jolted upwards like a geyser making several Ai’Bron monks and medical officers of the Ixian Knights jump in alarm, and with a crescendo of illuminating beauty it slammed into Jensen’s heart.

He shrieked with agony clutching his chest pulling his shirt and coat into a knot as he breathed heavily. He sweated down his face like he had ran a mile, searching each corner of the room with hysterical glances. A comforting hand touched his back gently, soothing his nerves as Jensen shook his head rapidly to clear the post-death jitters.

“Welcome back,” a feminine voice soothingly spoke. Jensen took in several deep breaths with his eyes shut, softly letting go of his grip on his own clothing. He at last managed to regain control of his senses and turned his head to see Aislinn’s cold blue eyes. Her head cocked to one side, a knowing look on her features as if she was about to say something, but wasn’t sure how to proceed. Jensen returned the look with a blank stare, before he winked and made a move to touch her hip. With a raised eyebrow she gave him a dark look and Jensen lowered his perverted digits, but still kept the grin. “I will admit, the Ai’Bron monks do good work, but you’re immortality does go ’wonky’ when they interrupt the process.”

“Is that why you are looking at me funny? They messed up my beautiful face didn’t they?” Jensen snapped his fingers at a passing orderly. “You, skinny! Mirror, now!” Jensen waved him off and kicked his legs over the side of the table and looked to Aislinn. She gave him a sardonic look, but even she, with all her icy ways, couldn’t hide the small grin on the side of her face. Jensen kept his grin up, but he failed to hold memories started to flood his mind. He growled lowly, and looked to her with a more determined grimace. “I don’t know what that abomination did, but at least the bastard was killed.”

To the witch’s credit Aislinn didn’t drop her demeanor and kept eye contact, but her silence was almost as if she was screeching in his ear. Jensen felt his teeth grind against one another. His tension began to build like the rising tide and Aislinn spoke in a clear, concise manner. “He somehow learned your dirty habit of staying alive even after death. It was clear you killed him, there’s no doubt of that,” she said crossing her arms and leaning on her back leg. “But he lived, and somehow dealt the damage back to you. With Crozius in his hands, that thing went on a rampage. He killed Arden, one of the lesser knowns, and Talen bowed out before he too was killed.”

“Three Captains!” Jensen’s jaw dropped in shock. “He just walked through three of the Ixian’s generals like that?” He snapped his fingers and shook his head angrily. “What the fuck is he made of?”

“He’s obviously some sort of construct, but who made him is still a mystery. Regardless Jensen, the audience has cried out your name the loudest in the cell’s conclusion. You've advanced to the next round. I suspect my Uncle had a hand in arranging a little something for you,” Aislinn now winked, turning so her loin cloth skirt swayed, her boots tapping against the stone floor. “Redemption will be yours Jensen. Give the Cult hell.”

Jensen nodded to her, hopping off the table and heading towards the entrance. He passed by the table where blood was pooled at the head making Jensen ponder who it was. Regardless of the previous rounds events, Jensen pushed the dark thoughts out of his mind. Draug had caught him off guard with a play that was powerful, but not easily set up. Now that the immortal knew his trick he wouldn't fall prey to it again. He looked to the entrance portal to the medical ward spotting the brown scroll nailed to the door. He read the assignments for the next rounds arenas and smiled.

“The dining hall, huh?” Jensen muttered with a dark chuckle. “Looks like Sei is giving the Enigmatic Immortal the home field advantage.”

((All bunnying approved by me. Draug... Shall we continue the dance?))

[Reine]

Round two, here I come!

Somehow, even after being killed in a not so pleasant manner, Faelynn found herself advanced to the next round of this horrendously torturous eve--lovely tournament run by oh so benevolent Sei Orlouge and the amazing Ixian Knights.

No reading my thoughts now, ya damn psychic bastard.

Jared had said if she put her everything into it, she had a chance of winning. She never would have entered if she thought her only goal in this would be to lose. She'd planned on winning. Already had a nice victory speech picked out when she stood over Joshua Cronen's corpse and the pile of the rest of them. Of course, after what happened in the first round, she realized the likelihood of that was slim at best and more than not, an impossibility. The man had deflected everything she'd thrown at him as if her attacks were nothing more than annoying insects. Fast, ruthless and deadly accurate in all of his moves, he would make one hell of a mentor.

The thought lingered in her mind.

Fae had Oberon for the spear, Seth for stealth, reconnaisance and dagger wielding, and Jared for lock picking. But no one to teach her hand-to-hand combat, which is something Cronen more than excelled at.

She pushed the ludicrous idea aside before it could completely form. Joshua Cronen was one of Althanas' greats. He'd never be interested in training her.

Turning from her new cage, a mess hall of all things, Fae looked up into the crowd for a familiar face. In the brief interim between rounds, she'd gotten a chance to see Jared Cesarino. If only long enough for a comforting hug, a kiss and a couple reassuring words. He'd promised to be more visible in the crowd this time, though she could tell from the pained expression on his face that watching her fight was taking a toll on her red headed thief.

It was that red hair that finally allowed her to pick him out of a sea of faces. A huge grin broke across her face as she waved enthusiastically at him and she could see the answering smile from him. Then her eyes travelled to the two men who just sat down to his left and Faelynn froze, feeling all the colour drain from her face.

-----------------------------

"Seriously, Ferynn, how much longer can you possibly take?"

Ferynn reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, trying very hard not to snap at Connaire and somehow, miraculously, succeeding. The man had no patience and the attention span of a hyperactive squirrel. Taking a deep breath, he held it and counted to three before slowly releasing it and looking the merchant in his dull, flat grey eyes. They reminded him of low quality steel. The kind he wouldn't even use to make nails out of.

"Throw in ten pounds of high grade Prevalida, while you're at it." A smirk of greed passed over the middle aged man's lips. Prevalida was pricey stuff and didn't he know it. "And yes, I know the difference. If it doesn't gleam the colour of the bluest moon when it gets to me, you'll be sorry." He growled.

He was taking his frustration on Connaire out on the merchant, but he didn't care. Gave the man more incentive not to try and screw with him. Honestly, these Radasanthian merchants thought they could pull the wool over his eyes because he came from what they considered to be a backwards piss-water town. Underwood, in more ways than one, greatly surpassed the cesspool Radasanth had turned into.

"That's a lot of Prevalida." Connaire whistled as the two men exchanged papers with one another. No money would actually be given until the goods arrived at his shop in Underwood. He was no fool.

"Faelynn's day of birth is a couple months away." He said pointedly.

A wistful smile passed across his best friend's face. "Ah yes, I remember the very nice thank you I received for the last gift we sent her--" Ferynn punched him in the arm, "ow!"

"Stop thinking about my sister with that gross, perverted brain of yours."

His friend grumbled and rubbed his arm. Though Ferynn knew there was nothing between Connaire and Fae, the two of them did seem to have this odd, overly friendly relationship.

"I'm surprised you two aren't down at the tournament." The merchant said, Ferynn had already forgotten his name. He tended not to remember useless people.

"Tournament?" Connaire asked, a bright spark of excitement lighting his eyes.

"Aye, The Cell is going on down at Ixian Castle. I hear some big names entered this year too."

Ferynn frowned and knew exactly what was coming next.

"Sweet! I love tournaments. The last Cell was fantastic!" Connaire practically jumped in place with barely contained excitement. "Come on, hurry up with your purchase so we can go!"

"You know I don't like tournaments..." He growled.

In fact, he hated them. In his mind, bloodying people up just for the sheer fun and sport of it was not something he found entertaining. Yes, he was a blacksmith, but he made plenty of things besides weapons. Plenty more useful things, if anyone asked him. Not that they did.

"Please, Rynn, just this once! It's been so boring without Fae around, this'll be a nice change of pace." Ferynn glared at his best friend, who barely blinked at the withering look in his eyes. "Hey, you dragged me all the way to Radasanth to keep you company, the least you can do is let me get a couple hours of enjoyment from it."

If he refused, it would be all Connaire complained about for weeks. Then again, if they went, he'd talk about how 'awesome' and 'amazing' the darn thing had been for weeks. So he was obviously screwed either way.

"Fine." He spat out.

*~*

Ferynn moved through the mess hall, glancing around with curiosity. It was his first time inside Ixian Castle and it was slightly impressive. The high ceilings and large, wooden beams bigger than his waist. The huge windows allowing in the hot summer sun and illuminating the grey bricks and rows and rows of long tables. The smell of food lingered in the air, doing a poor job to disguise the smell of so many bodies crammed into one place. It was crowded. He hated crowds. No matter where he stood someone bumped into him, jostling him. He just needed to find a place away from the main crowd, where Connaire wouldn't complain he couldn't see anything nd these damn people would stop touching him.

Spotting an empty area next to some red headed guy, who looked slightly more put together than the rest of them, Ferynn led Connaire over there and took a seat.

"Looks like we missed the first round." Connaire said. They could have missed the whole thing and he would have been just peachy with it. "Probably for the best. All the weaklings get picked off in the first round. Now we can watch the real fighting."

Oh yeah, real fighting.

Sighing, Ferynn looked down towards the arena and went cold. A low growl bubbled up in his throat, like the sound of a mountain shifting.

"We're leaving." He snapped. When he went to move though, Connaire shoved him back into his seat.

"No, we're not. You said I could watch the tournament and I'm holding you to it."

His jaw clenched so tightly he was amazed he didn't break a tooth. "Follow my line of sight, Connaire." He ground out.

From the corner of his eye, he watch his friend do just that and then nearly face planted with his reaction.

"Is that Faelynn!? It is Fae!" He stood up and waved enthusiastically at her.

Ferynn never took his eyes off his sister as he watched her hesitantly return the wave, her face a sheet of white. Oh, there would be hell to pay for this when she came home. More hell than she would know what to do with.

Despite the look of pure terror on her face, he had to admit, Fae looked better than last he'd seen her. Amalia, the weapon he'd given to her to protect herself with, rested on her back and that damn thieving outfit covered the rest of her. Those black and purple shorts and matching jacket, not to mention The Iron Shackles. He never should have given her those stupid things. She'd put on more muscle too, though she did appear to be a little on the pale side. The girl loved the sun. He often found her just lying on the roof of their house basking in it.

Her eyes darted to his right and Ferynn glanced over at that red headed pretty boy sitting next to him. They regarded each other with matching looks of wary and curiosity, before Ferynn turned and watched his little sister walk towards the fighting pit while every instinct inside of him screamed to stop her. His scared hands were white knuckled fists resting on his thighs.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen's approached the mess hall with apprehension. His thoughts were on his previous battle sifting through all the information that he learned about Draug; the abomination. He had never before encountered such a creature and as such he didn't quite know what to do when he faced him the first time. He had quickly adapted to each move Jensen did and left him very little breathing room. He had no time for doubts however, and instead focused on what he knew would work against the son of Cassandra. His speed would surely be tested yet again and his agility would also be pushed to its and limits.


The immortal approached the portal leading into the chamber of the new round stopping just before an official event coordinator. He looked to the woman with soft eyes and a warm, genuine smile. It took a moment to realize who was approaching her, but once she realized who it was her official demeanor seemed to diminish - only slightly - as she crossed the distance to meet up with the knight.

"It's good to see you, Jensen," Anita Orlouge said warmly, her hands tapping the back of her clipboard. Jensen pointed to the paperwork in her hand raising an eyebrow. She sighed, letting out a path of breath, and flip the board so he could see what it was in her hands. "These things? They're all the paperwork of every entrants items of personal possession. I'm in charge of making sure everyone gets back everything they are entitled to at the end of each round. Speaking of which, I have stuff for you." With the snap of her fingers a few soldiers of the Ixian Knights hurried over carrying a satchel full of items that looked far too heavy for a single man to carry. They dropped off the bag in front of the immortal as Anita checked off each item inside softly counting out the number of daggers throwing glaives, and his personal war maul and switchblade scythe.

"How's morale," Jensen asked, his words a breath of a whisper speaking in a low hushed tone. Anita fidgeted for a moment before she gave him a straight answer releasing a deep breath.

"Not very high I must admit," she muttered back. Jensen nodded in agreement looking around. He sighed softly, and patting her on the shoulder he approached the entryway into the cell.

"It can't all be bad," Jensen said with a grin feeling his stomach begin to boil over with dark chuckles. "It's double stuffed potato day."

Anita looked to the immortal watching him, unsure if what she heard was actually true. When she saw his eyes were filled with that warm glow, but also that determination that made him who he was she felt her own spirits raise as she nodded to him.

Jensen made sure he had all his items, and then turned away from the Cell, heading out the gates towards the main courtyard. He just didn't care so much about the glory and fame this tournament was supposed to garner, and honestly, he didn't have it within him to care anymore. There were more pressing matters than the glory of slaughtering people for blood sport.

Let them cheer for other's deaths. Let them clap and cry for death. They could rally behind their chosen champions all they want, too scared to face the world on their own or fight themselves. Jensen had something else on his mind, and he was more than content the other Ixian Captain's could handle the show themselves.

He had someone who needed to be killed, and wasting his time in this tournament was giving them longer to prepare for their master plan. Besides, instead of letting Draug learn more about the immortal, he would give him a new problem to adapt to.

"I'm coming for your mommy," Jensen snickered, thinking of Draug's face when he killed Cassandra Remi.

[Breaker]

Joshua Cronen walked away from the drying site of the Ella Chamber, arms around his two most trusted companions. Jake Narmolanya - the wiry green-eyed half elf with hair like a dirty straw mop - kept heartily patting Josh's shoulder, stinging a cut left by a Coralian shortsword. Stacia Alliendra - the slim young woman with creamy skin and gold streaking her cherry hair - flicked deep blue eyes from the gash on Cronen's cheek to the bruise blossoming on his bare chest, and then to the contusion on his temple. As if she couldn't decide which wound worried her the most, and wanted to spread her concern equally. Early afternoon sun warmed their backs as they strode in rough unison toward the distant walls of Ixian Castle. They were looking forward to a leisurely meal and some strategic discussion when the shuffling short-legged gait of a running dwarf hailed them from behind.

Terech Bodorson's heavy boots crunched through loam and then pounded over dead grass, but his baritone voice drowned the sound of his feet.

"Breaker! Slow down by the blood and blazes," panted the Master of Ravenheart Academy. Bodorson seemed to have endless endurance in his classes and in combat, but disliked running for any reason. He halted before them, stomach expanding and flattening as he breathed, hems of his tabard dancing against boulder-like abdominals.

"What's put your color off, Master Bodorson?" Stacia asked with a shallow curtsy. The Scara Braean woman often used courtly expressions at undeserving times, but her question struck the anvil square in the center. Bodorson's face was redder than the parts of his hair and beard not gone to grey.

"They've added a second round," Terech gasped as he regained his breath, "I mean, a third. A middle round, before the finals. It starts in thirty bloody minutes."

The mood amongst the trio could not have changed faster if the Dwarf had sung his report laced with Raiaeran magic. Joshua's triumphant expression changed to one of cold calculation and contemplation. Jacob's face erupted like a volcano and he swore and broke away from his friends to spit in the dirt. Stacia simply looked horrified. She'd come to support Josh through Corone's bloodiest tourny. He was the man who had shown her a life outside the servitude she'd been born into. The Sheriff who had made her feel so safe in Underwood during the Civil War. But she didn't know if she could stomach watching two repeats of what had happened in the Ella Chamber.

"Jake," Breaker snapped, adapting to the situation with his usual alacrity, "the list. At once please." He ripped the gorestained denim cloth from his shoulders and handed Jake the dehlar bastard sword he had slung across his back, its blade still stained with blood. Josh turned to the young woman. "Stacia... to the Castle if you would." He placed an encouraging hand on her shoulder, easing the tension in her neck. "If you find out any news, be ready to break it when Bodorson and I arrive."

The two youths sprinted in opposite directions without question. Stacia held her green silken skirts high as she ran, cherry hair streaming in her wake. She had been trained as an upper class whore by those who did it best since a young age. The call girls provided by the Scara Braean Sisterhood knew more than how to warm a man's bed; they could mingle with scullions and social elite with equal ease. If someone at Ixian knew something of worth about the upcoming melee, Stacia would discover it.

Jake skidded to a halt between a gnarled yew and a shattered oak that stood sentinel along Concordia's fringe. The half elf had brought the foursome there with his potent portal magic prior to the first round. Jake paused with a hand inside his sifan jacket, and a moment later one of his patented wooden doorways burst from the ground. Pulling a slip of paper from his pocket, Jake ducked through the door and it vanished along with him as it closed.

The first round of the Cell had gone according to plan, as much as any battle ever could. Cronen had intended to win it while taking minimal damage and limiting the powers he displayed. Aside from a few mishaps caused by the surprising strength of a Coralian who'd covered the arena in rapidly rising water, the plan was successful. Cronen couldn't help but smile as he met Bodorson's old grey eyes with his energetic hazel ones. Many warriors believed the uncontrollable nature of a fight made planning pointless, but such bruisers seldom reached the age of Terech Bodorson, or the skill level of Joshua Cronen. The Dwarf had suggested Breaker hold back in the first round and then burst into the finals with improved weaponry and powers blazing. Good thing we gave Jake the list beforehand, Josh thought, he should make it back in time. It seemed Sei Orlouge, the tournament Grandmaster, had changed the rules, and their strategy would adapt accordingly.

"What d'you reckon?" Bodorson asked as they followed Stacia's footprints toward the castle. The dwarf took two steps to match every one from the long-legged man.

"I don't know," Josh mused honestly, considering Sei's possible motivations. "We heard his daughter Kyla was competing. Perhaps she fell, and he's providing a second chance?" Josh scratched at the stubble on his chin and the seeping gash on his cheek, thinking deeply.

"The shadow mage?" Bodorson asked rhetorically, "Nay, she fought well by all accounts. More like than not the Mystic be conjurin' extra bloodshed to satiate the crowd." The dwarf gestured with both arms at the growing groups of people who swarmed toward the castle like many-legged molasses.

"The plan stays the same, I'd think," Josh said, and Terech nodded his agreement. "After the events in Ella, I'm sure Sei will match me with the hardiest killers." He sucked air through his teeth as he touched the contusion on his temple left by one Flint Skovic, easily his worst wound of the round. "So I'd best slay them quickly."

"Aye," Terech said, touching his own forehead unconsciously while watching Josh prod the contusion, "if ye' can keep somethin' as a secret for the finals 'twould serve ye' well, but focus on the fight first. Ye' still must win."

Bodorson described what he'd heard of the fiercest warriors in the other two Chambers while they strolled amidst late-Autumn wind and sun. They passed beneath the stone arch that topped the castle's open gates and strode with increasing purpose through the entry hall. Without a firm idea of where to go they followed the flow of gawkers down winding hallways that eventually opened to the mess hall. They'd entered through the entrance opposite the buffet tables and saw Stacia immediately. She was curtsying and nodding at anyone who came close and then wringing her hands and looking about until she spotted Joshua's broad shoulders maneuvering through the masses.

"Here!" She cried, raising both hand and voice above the cacophony of the crowd. "Josh!" She said softly as she leaned in close, raising on tiptoe to speak in his ear, "I wish it were someone else to tell you this, but they've matched you with--"

"Faelynn." Breaker finished the sentence as he saw Fae's black-clad form. He'd been forced to kill the thief - the slip of a girl who he'd practically watched grow up - in order to win the first round. And now Sei has set her in front of me again. Is this some sick initiation? Being Chief Investigator to the Ixian Knights was not worth slaughtering young women. Not by Breaker's rules. He whipped his head back and forth, searching for Sei but failing to find the mysterious mystic.

"Twasn't what I intended to say," Stacia blushed 'till her scalp matched the roots of her hair, "they've matched you with the drowess, the Abomination, and the Immortal." She glanced over her shoulder to confirm what Josh had seen and then nodded. "And Faelynn."

"The drowess, the Abomination, and the Immortal," Bodorson repeated, ticking them off on thick callused fingers, "aye Breaker, ye' were right. Orlouge has faced ye' off against the deadliest from Anita and Emma Chambers."

"And Faelynn." Josh repeated, voice like a clock striking midnight. If he had glanced to his right he would have seen Fae's brother, might have refused to enter the designated area and sought Sei out instead to question the mute's morals. But at that moment Jake arrived at his left elbow, bent almost double beneath the weight of what he had purchased at the Bazaar with Breaker's gold.

The greatsword was everything Bodorson had described when writing down the specifications. Forged around the original dehlar of Cronen's battle-honored bastard sword, its long grooved hilt was made of that same soft, heavy metal. But the hilt shone blue in the light from vaulted windows, denoting the best quality of prevaldia available for purchase. The broad blade, concealed within a dragonscale sheathe that sported several bulging pockets, was made from the same deadly metal.

Bodorson took the sheathed greatsword from the overladen half elf and held it parallel to the floor in both hands.

"She should have a name, 'afore ye' take her into combat." The dwarf said matter-of-factly.

When did my sword become a woman? Josh wondered as he sorted through the sack Jake handed him. It contained a kimono he would save for the final round, but also a long dehlar cable which he drew out and wound around and around his abdomen, finally looping the loose end around both shoulders to leave it dangling in front of his chest.

"What will you call her, Josh?" Jake asked as he and Stacia both ran inquisitive fingers along the coarse sheathe.

"She must have a fearsome name. A warrior's name," Stacia added as she grated the sword's pommel with a painted nail.

I'll call her anything you want, just so long as I don't have to cut Fae down again, Josh thought, but their enthusiasm had sparked a memory. A woman's name. A warrior's name. A Salvic beauty he'd met in years long past fit that description, her face swimming in his mind as clearly as if he'd last seen her that morning. Kristina. But that would not strike fear in the hearts of his enemies.

"Rythadine," he said. It was the Salvic Valkyrie's surname. The name she shared with her father, who had crafted the enchanted black boots Breaker wore on the linoleum. The name she shared with her brother, whom Josh had sworn to track down but never found. A good name to carry with him at all times. A good name to remember always.

"Rythadine," Bodorson said with reverence, and bared an inch of blue blade. His thickly callused thumb was tough but the greatsword's edge cut it like cake. Crimson droplets flowed into the broad weapon's drain veins, and Bodorson sheathed it, the ritual complete.

Josh slung the scaly scabbard across both shoulders and knelt to embrace the dwarf. Bodorson bopped him under the chin wit ha big fist and muttered something about finding a seat he could see from, and then scuttled toward the tallest chairs. Josh stood and wrapped his arms around Jake, whispering thanks for the youth's speedy delivery. He turned to Stacia last, but a young woman wearing Ai'Brone robes and a shaved pate had stepped between them.

"Forgive me Lord Breaker," she said with the half-bow and downcast eyes of a novice in the order. When did the monks start accepting women into their ranks? Josh wondered, feeling as if the surprises would never end. "It is my pleasure to offer healing before the second round begins." The woman continued, stretching out a tentative hand.

"I don't need to be hea--" Josh started to say, but then saw the worry in her eyes. Her robes named her a novice, the lowest in the Ai'Brone order, and although they'd clearly accepted her despite her anatomy, she was surely an exception to the rule. A novice whom all of the upper Order would scrutinize, searching out her every mistake and holding it as evidence against her and her gender. Josh's blood boiled, and for the first time he felt glad at the prospect of entering the Felicity Chamber. It was full of those who deserved his wrath.

"My apologies," he said through gritted teeth, offering the novice a muscular arm, "I accept with gratitude."

Her touch was like all the ice in Salvar shooting through a pinprick in his skin. The chilling sensation washed through his torso, closing the cuts on his flank and shoulder and dyeing the bruise on his chest back to a normal tanned skin tone. The contusion on his temple fell in on itself and the identical ache on the far side of his brain vanished. Even his legs, made weary by his efforts in the Ella Chamber, felt as fresh as if he'd woken from a restful sleep. The female novice nodded in response to his murmured thanks, her bald head shining in the sunlight, and swept away through the growing crowd.

Stacia replaced her and threw slim arms around his neck, almost leaping off the balls of her feet to plant a rougey kiss on his forehead.

Josh grinned, feeling the wet red outline of her lips above his brow. He had worn such a kiss on his cheek into the first round and emerged victorious. In Stacia's mind, he knew that more than justified the repetition.

Breaker breathed deeply as he walked away from his well-wishing friends and into the Felicity Chamber. He felt the Mystic wall snap into place behind him, the last contestant to enter the hall of battle. His stomach expanded against the cable wrapped 'round his abdomen as he breathed in. The ends of his knotted red belt slapped against denim-clad thighs as he exhaled and jumped onto the first table in one of the middle rows. It creaked beneath his weight but the redwood timbers held firm. Cronen frowned, looking down at the bloodstained pants which had been immaculate white that morning. They would serve as a constant reminder of what this middle round was - a bloodsport. A match orchestrated not to determine the champion, but to display the deadliest arts in Althanas.

Breaker stood a visionary amongst such artists.

Close-cropped brown hair fanned around his face as he sprinted the length of the hall, leaping from surface to surface as necessary. He stepped with such speed his boots blurred as they shattered ceramic dishes and scattered silverware, whipping up leaves of lettuce in their slipstream.

The scaled sheathe rasped like a waking dragon as he drew Rythadine with a long twisting motion and swung the greatsword to a high guard. As he raced past each opponent he struck with such swiftness and surgical precision many of the spectators may have thought he merely ran past. But the sound of the blade cleaving air as he pounded by on the table nearest to each opponent could not be mistaken.

Whummm went the sword as he flashed past the drowess, a slash aimed to seperate both her and her opponent's torsos from their legs.


Whummm Rythadine sang as her broad blade descended at the Abomination's gruesome neck.



Thrumm the final attack whispered, a thrust meant to punch the Immortal's spine through his skin.


Josh pushed himself 'till he was panting like Bodorson and skidded to a stop amidst the last table in the row, having sprinted the length of the hall in perhaps twenty seconds. His boots sent a leftover plate of meatloaf sailing to shatter on the Mystic barrier. The spectators beyond roared and poured wine down their throats, begging for blood to wash the translucent wall as the meatloaf had. Josh roared back with such force several people in the front row choked on their food. He hopped off the table, rotated in midair and cut it in half with a lazy sweep of his greatsword. The tabletop caved downward and Josh slashed twice more, breaking the halves into manageable pieces. He grounded Rythadine's point and pitched the pieces one after the other toward the crowd of combatants, hoping to confuse any still alive.

"Faelynn!" He roared, "Gather to me or I'll have to treat you the same as the others!"

As he hefted Rythadine in both hands he noticed the bloody footprints that led toward the middle of the room. Someone hastily abandoned this position, he realised as he carved up another redwood table. Breaker would not emulate their foolishness. With his back not far from the Mystic barrier, he could see all that would advance upon him easily. As he finished quartering his second table and flung the pieces into the melee, strange armor grew about him. Bulky blue and white ice encircled his shoulders and chest, thicker and rougher than normal armor. It was all sharp points and razor ridges, and before long it covered his upper body like a porcupine's quills.


Since no one specified their positions, you can assume Josh was sprinting by on whichever table is closest when he attacked, and yes, he attacked everyone but Reine using his fancy new sword. Used Icecraft to make the armor at the end.

[Herald of the Tempest]

Vyraond had two problems coming his way and he had no idea how to critically solve both of them without taking damage. The first problem was the thrust of the Drow to bisect his chest, and run him through. The attack was easy to parry enough, with only minor risk of further injury in her reprieve, but the second problem reared its head with more speed than he had time to process.

His charge was cut short as the elemental human warrior Joshua Cronen used some form of Ice manipulation to attack all the warriors in the chamber. His thigh was cut sharply causing his green eyes to spark into bright lights and he collapsed into a tumble sliding into the table next to the female elf. There was a clatter of noise as the food and plates fell and were smashed asunder, the construct gripping his wounded leg in his hand in sympathetic pain. His other hand reached out to grasp the wooden frame to help him back up. He focused upon the interloper who decided to be a show off, attacking all but one woman and began to diagnose the best course of action. With a satisfied nod he proceeded towards the human male, limping but keeping his blades twitching in his hands as he scraped them against one another.

Perhaps, maybe, someone would aid him in his march against this new threat.

[Mage Hunter]

The human charged through the room, and it didn’t take a telepath to realize murder was on his mind. Dropping to the floor she slid between the stools under the table, even as chunks of another piece of table smashed into the top of the table she had ducked under. She was on raw instinct, even as she carefully sheathed her blade and remained low, moving through the arena now and getting room from the voice that was calling for one of the combatants to join him or suffer the aggrandizing manner in which he had assaulted the entire room at once.

Move runt, move! The words of her drill instructor echoed in her head as she realized she had been given a boon. With the human indisposed by his own attack, and everyone forced within the very same, she had possibly been given near invisibility. Moving slowly through the tables she moved to where she could react to the events. Carefully moving her sheath and placing the titanium blade in her hand back within it. She couldn’t rely on blade work against someone who swung faster than she could keep up. She needed to see the blade, because like her drill instructor had said, watching their eyes was only going to make you look like you’re trying to seduce rather than fight them. You had to be looking everywhere, their weapon, your weapon, the surroundings, everywhere for any advantage.

The Kyorl didn’t put up with weakness, not even from their recruits. Perfection in all and loyalty to the Queen were her bedtime prayers. She moved through the tables, being careful to avoid other falling pieces of table. Finally she got what she wanted, sight of the arrogant man. She snorted with derision, she hadn’t gotten a good look at the human when it entered, now she could see him in all his bastardized glory. Of course it was a man making demands and desiring to win this quickly. Of course he was so full of hubris because he was a man, not even once considering the repercussion of his actions.

She remained low, and smirked as she did so, seeing him trying to be the grandstanding hero. How she loved to make such idols fall from their pedestal. Carefully she pulled her bow and strung it drawing the arrow back. She was close, so close to her target if this attack went awry he could close the gap, so she carefully notched an arrow and waited, as a patient hunter. Looking about she hissed softly, “Someone else get the brutes attention, and I guarantee he won’t see what hit him…”

She vaguely remembered Godhand once talking about a man similar to this and suppressed a snicker keeping her eyes on the monstrosity. If ever she had seen an abomination of magic, this was certainly one. She felt almost overwhelmed by the mana he saturated himself in. Godhand had called the man nothing more than a sissy who went out and tried hard to prove himself. Who he was proving himself to was a different matter entirely, no one knew. Still the Mage Hunter remained crouched so as to be out of sight out of mind and prepared to ambush the arrogant man the second he let his guard down.

[Reine]

Everything happened way too fast for her.

One moment she entered her arena, staring at the tables so long she didn't even think Josh could lift them. They would make good cover, the wood was thick and the blue and orange stools that surrounded them looked just light enough for someone of her stature to pick up and whip around. Though, a much stronger opponent could possibly grab a couple at once and toss them at her head. Then a blur of motion rushed passed her, a tickle of air that touched her face, neck and arms and a white lance of cloth that snapped in the air and briefly touched her arm.

She gasped.

Had that been someone attacking her she'd be dead now.

In all honesty, her mind had been elsewhere. Focused on her brother and Connaire and Jared. Focused on anything but the battle she should be participating in. Never in all her wildest dreams did Faelynn think that Ferynn would actually show up here. The man detested blood sports of any kind. He'd never allowed her entry into any other tournament and hated the fact that she went to The Citadel. She'd been able to justify that one to him, just enough to make sure he wouldn't beat her into a bloody pulp whenever she regaled Connaire with her stories of this fight lost and this fight won. Justified because if she made a mistake in those walls, she would live. If she made a mistake outside, in the real world, she would lose her life. Permanently. No snappy little monks to revive her out there.

Green-gold eyes wide, she watched that blur of white rush through the arena, metal flashing in the light of the sun as it streamed in through those tall windows. That flashed slashed down at each one of the contestants, attempting to end all of them. Each one except her. Why not her?

She thought back to the participants in her own cell and knew only one made had worn pure white clothes like that, clothes now stained red with blood. Some of which was most likely her own.

Josh.

Her stomach clenched tight, heart feeling as if a fist wrapped around it and squeezed to the point of breaking.

Josh had destroyed her in the first round. Absolutely destroyed her. How could she possibly fight him again? She had no more real tricks p her sleeve to deal with him. The flashbang had not worked, the doppelgangers had been ignored and her own ice had been turned back against her. Not that she'd known that one until she asked Jared exactly how she had died. She'd closed her eyes against the water, and in doing so had not seen the end when Josh had sent it at her.

The young thief watched, marvelling at his skill, as the warrior skidded to a halt upon the redwood tables, blade still clutched in his hand, the grand warrior as his kimono flapped around him. Then he did the last thing Fae would ever expect. He called her name.

Startled, Fae kicked herself into gear. She jumped up onto one of the tables, a flash of black as she went running towards the man. No way in hell would she let this opportunity pass her by. As she ran across the table, movement to her left caught Faelynn's eye. She looked down to see a woman, a Drow, notching an arrow, the point of which was aimed right at Cronen.

Oh no you don't! That's my man!

She ran passed the woman as if she didn't see her. Hand reaching back, she grabbed onto the shaft of Amalia and pulled it from it's sheathe. Instead of folding the weapon out she kept it short, in it's tow foot state. Then, tensing her legs, she pushed off the wood, jumped backwards. She flew high through the air, somersaulting and landing behind the woman in a crouch.

No words passed her lips, nothing needed to be spoken. With a firm grip, she thrust the sharpened point of Delyn straight at the woman's back. No hesitation this time. She'd learned from round one.

[Mage Hunter]

Aim was leveled and before she had a chance to fire she was spotted. Cursing her luck she kept the aim going, hoping that the girl would keep going and was rushing to distract the warrior, not to protect him. It was then she pushed off and Drusilia did the only thing she could, she loosed the arrow. Sending the arrow at her target she could only hope that she would provide the opening someone else could capitalize on. Hearing the form slam against the table behind her she began to pull herself forward using a stool.

The spear tip came rushing for her back and she winced slightly as she managed to get some distance, enough that it wouldn’t punch completely through the artic hide, but first blood was certainly the girls. She moved forward in a crouch and reached up unsheathing the blade upon her back before she turned to face the girl and shook her head, “Either you’re using magic or I’m already slowing down with old age. Either way I’m going to take you apart bit by bit for that one. I don’t like bleeding; it’s right up there with vomiting in my book.”

Bow was dropped with a clatter to the floor as she stood up to her full height and took a ready stance, holding the blade out to her side and watched the spear tip. Her eyes briefly darted over to the human male that had tried to eviscerate her. Trying to gauge the situation, she couldn’t tell what was going on with the human, not with a cursory glance, instead her attention snapped back to the girl as she moved her boot forward slowly and switched stance to bring the sword hilt up by her ear. He boot managed to catch the bow string and with a subtle shift of her foot, Drusilia managed to get her foot under the bowstring.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Can't compete with my magic? If you're a little worried I could tone it down for you." Fae said mockingly. She shifted her stance, brought her left foot behind her slightly and lunged at the woman's torso.

The girl was closing the distance with her spear before it was batted away contemptuously. Using the opportunity that had presented itself Drusilia kicked forward with her leading foot, sending the bow she had discarded towards the girl’s chest. She then slashed forward, using the momentum to hiss, “Oh no, use your parlor tricks. It’ll make this last long enough to be a good warm up to the others.”

[Abomination]

It happened so fast, Draug almost missed it. If he had not already started a sudden motion to attempt to find one of the other competitors, his neck would have been chopped off completely. Fortunately, the blade cut through his neck only partway, spraying blood onto the tables in front of him. He pressed his hands on the wound, taking a few steps back and choking.

That speed... Jensen? No, it was...

It took more than speed to make that attack, it took strength and a weapon Draug had never seen before. Blood poured out of his neck, but it soon stopped when his regeneration kicked in, a thin layer of flesh plugging up the leak. The wound was still bruised and tender to the touch, and for a while even a paper cut would open it back up again, but at least he was not losing all his blood anymore.

Before he could even figure out what happened, flying chunks of the tables flew at him. He shielded his body with his arms, having them grow to twice the thickness to absorb the hits. The first wood chunk crashed into him and shattered into smaller wood pieces and splinters, Draug's immense mass keeping him on his feet. It was not just the fact that the tables were flying, but the force used to throw them was astounding. He stretched out his arms and smashed them into a table, letting a few meters of the middle part be separated from the rest, and kicked it over on its side. He pressed it against the rest of the long table, using it as a shield against further debris from whoever was throwing them.

His arms reverted back to normal length and width, and the blood that stained his cloak started to dry. His attacker called out one of the others by name, and looking around Draug could only assume he was talking about the one competitor that was not attacked, although he may have been too far away to see most of them. The Abomination knew that he needed to improvise when dealing with speed demons, but there was also the concern that just like in the last chamber, at any moment they could coordinate an attack on him.

He sprinted from his wooden shield, getting closer to the action and seeing three of the competitors: An ice-encased man, a drow, and a human-looking woman. The table chunks were easier to avoid once he was on the move. Is he the one who attacked me? It was more likely than not, but Draug did not truly know about anyone he did not meet personally. His knowledge of the world boiled down to his personal experiences and anything his mother told him. He could not attack him directly, there was just too much he did not know. Although, if one of these women was the one he was talking about...

While running, he pulled two iron daggers out of his throat and threw one at each of the women. A sword then ripped through his right arm, covering it in blood, the handle stopping at his palm. He brought the sword out horizontal his body and then when he got close, he slashed at at the drow.

Iron dagger thrown at Mage Hunter. Iron dagger thrown at Reine. Steel sword slashing at Mage Hunter.

[Reine]

Her spear tip dipped towards the ground. The dull gleam of the Delyn absorbing the light of the sun rather than reflecting it. The metal never bit into the redwood of the tables though, instead Fae redirected the point and shifted the shaft of Amalia across her body. In the brief span of seconds though, her new opponent did not remain stationary. She shifted, her foot suddenly jerking up.

Fae expected a blow to her stomach.

Instead, a bow came flying at her.

The hardened wood slammed against the metal shaft of her spear, spun and clocked her right in the side of her face. Gasping, she stumbled back. Instead of catching her momentum, she allowed her feet to take her down.

Sorry, but I've been trained better than that.

Her back hit the table with a thud. Even expecting it, some of the air still rushed from her lungs in a whoosh that passed her slightly parted lips. Her arms took most of the weight from her fall and her one elbow smashed against the wood painfully, sending that damn tingling sensation of pain right up and across her whole left arm. Staring up, she saw the woman's blade slash through the air where she'd been standing only a second before. No one threw an object at another just for shits and giggles. They do it to distract them for the follow up.

As the reflecting arc of her blade cut through, so did something else. A dagger, an arrow, she didn't know. She only saw the brief flash and heard the thunk as it stuck into something off to her left. If she hadn't fallen back, she may have had two blade stuck in here.

Jared was not kidding when he called this place a glorified death trap.

On the ground, Faelynn knew she could be at a seriously disadvantage.

Could be.

Shifting, she placed one foot flat on the smooth surface of the long table, then pushed off and lashed out with her other foot directly towards the woman's knee. An iron spike sprouted from the iron tipped toe of her boot just before it would connect with the soft flesh that surrounded her knee cap. At that moment, she noticed another combatant enter her field of vision, but the man seemed far more focused on the Drow than on her. A sword, dripping crimson, went straight for the woman's chest.

Not losing her momentum, she rolled over the side of the table. Her body smashed into a couple of the stools, the padding not so comfortable when it gets shoved up ahainst squishy bits like her stomachand breasts. Grimacing, she dropped down onto the black and white linoleum floor.

*~*

“Wow, Fae certainly has improved.”

Ferynn glanced at Connaire, who was watching his little sister fight with abject interest. The kind of interest he just couldn't muster. His sister was down there fighting for her life. Sure, if she died the monks would revive her, but that didn't necessarily make this any less serious. Any one of those opponents would kill her in a most unpleasant manner while he was forced to watch and endure it, unable to do a thing to help her.

If someone held the point of a sword to him and forced him to answer honestly, he would say the same thing, though more articulately than Connaire put it. Fae had gotten better since last he'd seen her practising in the yard. The time spent in Lavinya must have done something for her skills then. Perhaps all the worrying he'd had over his sister being trained by the infamous Lavinian Demon had been for naught. He still didn't like knowing the man had a hand in anything she did though. He frequented pubs often enough to consider the man nothing more than a heartless killer. Why Faelynn idolized him was beyond his understanding. Most of what she did was beyond his understanding.

As Fae rolled under the table and out of his sight, Ferynn glanced at the man sitting next to him once more. The stranger had said nothing since they'd sat down, but his grey eyes followed Faelynn with an focus and intent beyond the other spectators. When someone made a catcall at her, the man's body tensed slightly, his mouth pulled down at the corners and he searched the crowd as if trying to discover who said it. If Ferynn had to take a random guess at it, he'd say this man knew his sister and quite well at that.

“So, which one are you cheering for?” Ferynn asked nonchalantly.

The man glanced at him, grey eyes searching his face for something that he clearly didn't find.

“Faelynn Thiadore.” He said, his eyes dancing between him and the fight, obviously not wishing to let his eyes leave Fae for too long while trying not to be overly rude.

“What a coinci—“

Ferynn jabbed Connaire in the gut to shut him up, then growled at the man. “Keep your mouth shut and watch the tournament.”

“Did you watch her in the first round? We missed it.”

The red head nodded and looked back down, still unable to see Faelynn. “She fought rather well, but not many people can survive Joshua Cronen...” He let the sentence trail off and Ferynn didn't need him to finish to get his meaning.

Cronen had killed his sister during the first round.

Interesting.

He couldn't wait until the man came in to his shop for his next purchase. He'd make it an extra special one, just for him.

[Breaker]

Terech Bodorson guffawed around a turkey leg as Cronen rushed past the other competitors, nearly beheading the Abomination. Watching the fleet-footed Breaker run circles 'round folk in training whilst lopping at them gently with a wooden sword was not quite the same. The dwarf sipped ale from a brass tankard to wash down his mouthful of roasted poultry. Grease spread from his lips and dripped down his beard. He'd chosen a seat in the last row of spectator's tables, which stood atop wooden risers and gave him the height he needed for a full view. He spotted Jake and Stacia threading between tables and stools toward him and waved a broad hand, feeling the sting of air rushing past his wounded thumb. Bodorson grinned and sucked at the cut as Jake took the stool next to his, but Stacia hesitated, hands pressed to her stomach.

"I am for a walk around the castle grounds, not more bloodshed." She said faintly. Jake rose to join her but she stopped him half-way up and leaned on his shoulders 'till he sat again. "You cheer for Josh in my place," she told him, and then strode smartly away, face turned from the gory chamber.

The dwarf and the half elf said farewell and then craned their necks, looking toward the end of the long arena. Chaos reigned.



Breaker had sundered the two middlemost tables at the ends of the six redwood rows, carving out a space with no cover. Come at me, he urged the strange construct that limped toward him, losing energy where Rythadine had opened its leg. There's nowhere to hide out here. He noted Faelynn's scuffle with the drowess long before the arrow was loosed - his keen ears had caught the Aleraran's intended whisper through the melee. But with the two female combatants in close quarters, he could do little to assist Fae.

The arrow arced his way, and Josh pretended not to see it, deflecting the shaft with a casual movement of his greatsword. The arrowhead panged off the broad blade and he started as if shocked, and then flung his arms wide. Rays of sunlight reflected off Rythadine's lengthy double edges as his armor peeled away like the first layer of a frosted onion. A collective gasp issued from the closest section of the crowd. They had realized what composed his armor.

One hundred icy flechette darts, each a pound in weight and as strong as steel. Their bodkin heads and razor flanges weaved into an intricate pattern like a bulky version of elven mail. But as the dagger-sized missiles unfurled around him, their true form could not be mistaken. Forty of the hundred darts occupied the air around him, splitting between two V formations like migratory birds.

Within the chilled confines of his remaining icy armor, Breaker stood absolutely still. The armor moved around him as he commanded it, but with so many sharp edges it would be difficult to avoid spilling his own blood. He brought Rythadine in front of him laterally and used the blade's reflection to check for unseen threats at his back. The woman whose name the sword bore had watched his back as well. Josh and Kristina had fought shoulder to shoulder in the Salvic Civil War, bringing their bare hands to battles against rioters armed with sword and spear. He saw his own wry smirk in Rythadine's reflection, the smile that brought Y shaped scars to his cheeks where dimples once existed. They had been young and reckless, proud enough of their unarmed prowess to rush in headlong against magic and metal. Breaker had taken a stern lesson from his time in Salvar. Bring the tool that will finish your enemy fastest. If he'd learned that sooner, Kristina might have been watching him compete that day.

Although his initial sprinting assault had barely served to slow his enemies down, Josh's swift strikes had broken the initial tension of the melee. He saw flickers of movement as Fae crawled beneath the tables, utilizing her stealth as she had in the first round. Just stay down a bit longer Fae... He thought as he fired forty flechettes at two targets, choosing the combatants who had moved to attack him.

The first V formation shot straight toward the limping construct like twenty arrows from twenty bows. They stayed in their aerodynamic cluster until the moment before impact and then spread suddenly, aiming to stab or shred the strange creature from hips to head.

The second score of darts demanded more of Cronen's attention. He arced them just beneath the Mystic ceiling, sending twenty points down at the drowess from above like a hail of miniature javelins. Josh concerned himself mostly with driving the bodkin points into the drowess' body and head, but also paid some mind to not hitting the Abomination. The thing's throat had already re-grown a layer of skin over its fearsome wound, and based on the alchemy Josh could see built into it like arcane clockwork, it would heal with equal ease from ordinary flechette damage. Best not to anger that beast until I'm close enough to cut it in half, he noted, preferably far away from Fae.

The former Sheriff of Underwood - the Ixian Knights' new chief investigator - turned and flicked his sword at the crowd. Blood from two creatures spattered the mystic barrier, and the onlookers roared their approval.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen’s feet were about to pass out of the stonework flooring onto the dirt road leading out of the castle. His weapons were loaded, locked, and primed ready to be thrown, shoved, and slashed into flesh. All he needed was his target and as leader of the Wetworks team he had his prime choice in mind. With Draug fighting in the Cell there was no better opportunity to go after her than right this moment. She would be helpless without that freak show to protect her. However, all his plans were placed on hold when he felt a sharp tingle in his mind, a polite cough within his own mind. Jensen paused, foot held in mid-step, and waited.

You cannot go, Sei thought to his Captain. Jensen snorted in mirth, lowering his foot back to the stone floor. Draug cannot be allowed to advance after what he did.

“Don’t you have your new boy toy Joshua Cronen on the case?” Jensen muttered to the air, knowing fully well Sei would hear him. There was silence for a moment and Jensen continued. “Oh come on, we all read his profile. The guy has titanium butt cheeks and the strength of a mountain and the speed of a cheetah that smoked the good stuff from Aislinn’s private stash. If he can’t handle the Cult’s Champion then perhaps the hype was all for not.”

Jealousy is unbecoming of you, Jensen.

“Nobody said the word jealousy!” Jensen shouted, making a guard near him flinch awake from his perch. “Nobody was thinking that, you fairy bastard!”

I’m starting to think it is, Sei ’chuckled’ in Jensen’s mind. The reality is a little more clear than that. Joshua may be able to take care of himself, but I’m afraid of what damage he can wreck among the combatants.

“The dude is a narcissistic ass-twat with a god complex the size of the chip on his shoulder. No thanks, Sei.” Jensen felt his mind tingle a little, as if the mute was debating on causing harm, but he spoke instead.

Sound like anyone we know? Jensen was about to reply, but one look at the guard whom's slack jawed face spoke of his great confusion and the immortal nodded. He turned with a grin as wide as his face would allow, his giggles coming through. Of course it reminded the knight of someone; he was just too modest to admit it about himself.

“Alrighty, Sei, I’ll jump back into the fray. But you owe me one.”

I arranged Draug in the same cell room with you so you could have a second go. Jensen nodded.

“And I thank you, but you got one thing you have to do” Jensen said, his words carefully being articulated. The mute remained quiet and Jensen spoke with the deadliest of intent. “I want one twice baked potato ready for me, you got that?”

There was a pause as Jensen held himself back from entering into the chamber again, watching as Joshua grabbed tables and moved like the wind, chucking them with ease and then turning into an icy porcupine. The drow was pinned down and assaulted by Draug and some chick, and the immortal noticed a hobbling construct limping after the personification of perfection. He remained stationary for a long time, before Jensen watched a guard lift a bake potato from the audience chamber, placing it within a silver tray and closing a dome lid. With wet lips he ran his tongue down his lips, wiping the drool free and he let out a riotous clamor laughter and noise.

He moved swiftly, all his speed born into his run as he pushed the wind around him to increase his run. His switchblade sword lifted into his hand, and with ease he hurtled over tables, rolling along the oaken wood letting food stain his jacket, the whips of his weighted coat snapping on dishes and cracking them. He kept his momentum all the way up and located a fallen piece of cake. He purposely stepped his boots into the cake, running on the very tip of his toes. When the timing was right he used the icing as a lubricant, sliding on the linoleum flooring all the way to stop before the mage hunter, blocking Draug’s weapon with his own, slamming his face into his so only the two could match eyes.

“Hey cupcake,” Jensen spoke, his laughter slow and demented. “Got your fancy shoes and dress on right? Cause I’m taking you through a ball room blitz!”

((Jensen blocked Abomination’s attack, back exposed to the two ladies and the icy porcupine. Control of Jensen is allowed))

[Herald of the Tempest]

Vyrabond was at the mercy of the heathen gods now. With his limp from the attack prior, the follow up ice dart was all the more elementary in its follow up. He had fought valiantly before, but in this room full of those who defied the natural laws he was but a paper tiger in front of a tornado. When the darts changed trajectory at the last moment, he felt his chest erupt with fires the size of needles all over. He couldn’t scream, for he was a mute, but oh did he pray he could. He staggered backwards, arms uselessly hung to his side as he dropped to the floor knees first, then to his face.

The crowd cheered to see the construct get dissected like a tin can by this behemoth of strength and skill. Every attempt to make momentum had landed the Kron’tyr in a world of agony and disoriented. His talons scraped the floor, dragging them through the food and scrapping the wooden chunks of table, ignoring the soaring warrior who flew over his head sliding on cake frosting towards the Cult Champion. He willed himself to stand, shaking, wobbly digits gripping the bench and pulling him to his feet again. His chest heaved and the warrior’s rasping breath came from locked up processors. His sympathetic nodes worked to make the Kron’tyr mimic pain, and this was the best it could offer.

Limping, chest torn, and barely able to stand he rose again. Many audience members cheered, gawking at the construct and pointing pudgy fingers, their lips covered in grease from fatty food. It was hard to look menacing when you were being dismantled with ease by a chosen champion. He had no leg to stand on, literally, and the intimidation he had - if any- was gone. But he cared not for petty insults of the portly crowd nobles. None of the jeers and cheers to see him ended phased him. Vyrabond knew he wasn’t an elite warrior, nor a crafty one. He was merely an observer; a scout. To waste their talents on him was a waste of their time. In some small way he had gained victory with that.

But he wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot. Like a zombie he began to shuffle towards the one who the crowd called ‘Joshua’ with their mantra like chanting of his name. His talons lifted to the ready, and he aimed to attempt to cut this bazaar man one way or another.

((Doing the truffle shuffle towards Breaker))

[Breaker]

The cries and chants of the crowd echoed down the sprawling mess hall. Blood painted the floor and magical walls of the Felicity Chamber. The smells of foods rich, savory and sweet mingled with the rank odor of approaching death.

Jake Narmolna picked at his bowl of spinach-and-apple salad topped by roasted turkey. Ordinarily the tasty harvest meal would have vanished down his gullet faster than Breaker could quarter a table, but Jake was unused to dining amidst carnage. He could handle the two individually, but could not fathom how Master Bodorson managed to sit there supping on roasted flesh while lacerated flesh showered the linoleum below.

"Hahar," Bodorson laughed, seeing the half elf's pale pallor, "durin' the first round ye' were complainin' about a lack of bloodshed lad. Is this too much now?" The dwarf chortled while shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth, somehow not inhaling any of the buttered delicacy.

"I thought there might be a break for dinner at least," Jake retorted, forcibly loading up his fork and depositing the food in his mouth. Chewing made him remember the way Josh's flechettes had shredded the obsidian-skinned construction, and he swallowed the mouthful half-masticated.

"Nay, 'tis like the good ol' days again," Bodorson laughed, spraying the frothy ale he wore like a second moustache, "they don't stop the battlin' for nothin'." He took a bite of turkey with great gusto and watched intently as the combatants below fought and jockeyed for position.



Breaker almost lost himself to the beauty of battle. He trained as often as he could with warriors and wizards of every discipline and order. He faced their might and called for more, and pressed them all to exhaustion. The hallowed halls of the Citadel and Dajas Pagoda knew his name well. The challenge drove him and he enjoyed the pain of each lesson and the pride of each triumph. The death-defying magic of the Ai'Brone monks made the fighting even more visceral. Competitors laid their lives on the line and rolled the dice, hoping a friendly figure showed in the pips. Every step was their great struggle, every attack potentially their last.

It seemed so with the construct that limped toward him. The creature's slow, determined pace reminded Josh of the zombie he'd beheaded in the Ella Chamber with a flying clothesline. But this was no wight; its strange stony skin crackled with power to Cronen's eyes, not unlike the alchemy laced into the Abomination. Someone crafted this beast for a terrible purpose, he thought, best to send it back to its maker.

Some undercooked rice lodged in the tread of his black boots crunched as Breaker stepped to his left. The segmented icecraft armor that surrounded him billowed open like a cape and rose toward the ceiling. It hovered shy of the magical barrier, a writhing mass of flechettes waiting to unleash. Breaker stepped left again, bringing Rythadine up defensively between his red belted waist and the advancing Herald. He planted both feet next to an intact table and activated the enchantment that adhered his boots to the ground. His feet warmed comfortingly as he stabilized despite the slippery mixture of blood and fruit juice on the floor.

The Herald lifted its talons into a sudden manic attack.

Breaker was ready for it. Even the construct's soulless eyes seemed to show desperation, and he'd seen that same burst of energy in a hundred battles before. That final flow of life force that told them you can take down a legend. He'd felt the same thrill when he snapped Teric Bloodrose's sword arm in the Cell tourny two years past. The old mercenary had been a longtime Grandmaster of the Dajas Pagoda, and overcoming the renowned swordsman with only his physical skills had earned Joshua a place of honor in the hearts of many spectators. But shortly after that moment of glory the wrath of the Cell consumed him, and he had learned from his mistakes following months of denial.

Those who fought for glory often lost. Breaker fought to win, and the fighting was his glory.

Rythadine's prevaldia edge swept up and blocked both of the Herald's talons. Cronen removed one hand from the dehlar hilt, reached between the construct's arms and grasped its throat.

Breaker powered upward and his boots released their grip as he pivoted through a puddle of pink mush. He turned and chokeslammed the creature through the table he'd guided them to.

He backed into the empty space he'd carved out with a defensive swing of Rythadine's broad blade. Bodorson was right to insist I call her a lady, he mused as the greatsword hummed through sun-spotted air, this is like dancing with a partner at a harvest feast.

Herald approved the chokeslam bunny.

[Abomination]

Several Ixian knights stood guard behind the barrier, keeping the audience from causing a riot. A man walked by one of them toward the seats which made one of the knights flinch. The man's mere presence made the knight feel uneasy, but he chalked it up to the terror that was occurring inside the chamber. The man sat down at one of the seats, chicken leg in hand. After a few moments, the knight decided that maybe this newcomer was worth investigating, so he walked over to where the man sat down, but he was gone already.

"You!" Draug spat. "I didn't know they let headless corpses advance." The Abomination pushed in, and knowing the difference in their strength, Jensen jumped back and landed on top of a table.

Jensen smiled, "If you want to get rid of me for good, you'll have to do better than that!" He jumped down and slashed at Draug, who met blade with blade once more, deflecting the Immortal's switchblade and sending the Ixian hopping back into a defensive position. He was feeling the monster out, getting into his groove.

The dance continued, Draug's eyes following Jensen's movement with added sharpness, the Immortal's blade meeting neither flesh nor bone. After just one fight, Draug was this different? Jensen could tell that he still held the speed advantage, and Draug knew that as well as he attempted no counter-attack, no powerful swings that exposed him to Jensen's agile strikes. As the tinging sound of the blades resounded throughout the chamber, Jensen couldn't help but notice that every few seconds, Draug glanced at the other competitors, especially one in particular.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but your opponent is right here!" Jensen said, beating his chest with his free hand.

Draug gave him a dissatisfied look, "I don't want to spoil my appetite for the main course." The threats on Jensen's family and friends were one thing, but this was another. Jensen felt a different type of rage, the kind he hadn't felt since William Arcus tied him up and left him to die over and over again.

"Are you calling me an appetizer?!" Jensen yelled, his expression hard to verify as he alternated between maniacal glee and rage incarnate.

He jumped forward, but didn't swing at Draug, instead keeping his blade held forward in a defensive position. Draug did not know what to make of this defensive charge, but if he acted too late then Jensen could easily get in his face and skewer him, so he swung down at the Immortal, which is just what Jensen was waiting for. The Ixian dodged the attack, jumping sideways in a corkscrew fashion, and slicing into Draug's sword arm, which sprayed blood all over the Immortal. The Abomination felt the pain, his nerves disconnected as the blade reached all the way to the bone, and he lost his grip on the sword, letting it fall to the ground. Jensen landed and attempted a follow-up attack, but a couple arms from Draug's back tried to grab him and forced Jensen to back off once again.

The Cult's Champion grabbed his wounded arm with his left, squeezing hard to merge the flesh back together. The nerves connected right away, but the muscles would take a few minutes longer to twist together. He grunted, again feeling that he needed to assimilate Jensen in order to keep up with his speed. Moving to one of the tables, he lifted one of the segments with his left hand and ran at the Immortal, swinging the table in a wide arc. All of the leftover food flew off the table, with the audience being subjected to rice, beans, and peas hitting the barrier. Jensen backed up, trying to figure out what Draug's game was. With the two arms on the Abomination's back, trying to get around him was fruitless, and this new weapon made frontal attacks more difficult as well, as Draug could swing the table just as fast as his sword.

"If you want to take me out to lunch," Jensen said. "Just ask!"

Draug's grip on the table was so strong that his fingers were digging into the wood, nearly meeting his thumb on the other side. He realized something: If Catherine is here... that means they think it's safe for her to be in the heart of Ixian territory. She's somehow undetected, which means...

In another seat all the way on the other side of the chamber a mile away, Jebb Remi bit into the chicken leg and remarked, "That's better. I couldn't see anything from over there."

[Mage Hunter]

Chaos.

That was this call that she heard in this cell chamber. Her attack with her bow as a distraction had paid off a little as she had actually caused the girl to fall against the table. Seeing the success she snarled as he blade cut through the air and found no purchase in her soft skin. She had traded a bruise for a bloodless dodge and to the Mage Hunter she was impressed at her ability to sense the flow of battle. This girl had trained well and learned how to compete against dirty fighters. Her shortened spear was a godsend in and of itself as the recoil had been dramatically reduced and allowed her more freedom in the enclosed space.

So much so that when the knife flew over the girls shoulder Drusilia felt a wince as the other one hit her squarely in the shoulder, her good one to be precise. She spun from the force of the blow in time to watch the dazzling display of the human at the far end sending the magical icicles to shred the automaton. As well a vicious kick from the girl next to her went off the mark, only adding to her spin rather than doing any true harm. She let her spin carry her to the ground as she looked up at the falling rain of icy death and curse, “Shu!”

A flash of white light was all the crowd saw as the ice disappeared. Nothing happened to the Drow left prone on the ground as she looked and saw that another man had moved between her and yet another attacker. The Drow remained there for a while before with a grunt she got up, leaving the blade in her shoulder as she glowered venomously at the girl, “You must be Faelynn, for him to put so much attention into me.”

Using the sword for a crutch she hauled herself up before she brought the sword about two handed and took her stance. The pain surged through her before she growled out, “It’ll take more than the best intentions of some asshole mage to save you little girl.” She brought her hand out and gripped the dagger before she pulled it out gritting her teeth. Stabbing the knife into the table next to her she felt the cool rush of air into her wound and knew it would allow her greater freedom in the fight. While the wound would open and reopen, causing blood loss, it was a trivial wound compared to the hobbling injury the girl had tried.

Gritting her teeth against the pain she muttered under her breath in Alerian, “Ril drada nindol kluthak mzild lu'mzild saph vel'drav usstan malaruth Sunscar...”

She wasn’t sure if that was a good or a bad thing, as Nialon Sunscar had nearly killed her. Still she could not wait for the girl to get back use of her magic and instead began to tease and prod at her testing her defenses as she slashed and parried quickly ignoring the feeling of the wound opening wider under her shoulder. At this rate she was likely to tear the arm to pieces if she kept it up and while her other arm was good, it was not her strong hand, then again this girl while practiced in the arts of the spear, the brown haired female was not an expert.

The form was flawed and she was beginning to see the holes in her defense. In the middle of the attack she balled her right hand into a fist and brought the hand behind her back while tossing her sword into her left hand. She kept up the fighting, but now her wounded shoulder would have time to close up and she could continue the series of feints pokes and slashes, waiting for the girl to figure out the hole Drusilia purposefully put in the pattern.

She would always take a step forward as she parried, moving into the attack. The second the girl tried to take advantage of it, she was going to find the Mage Hunter’s right hand go right for her jaw, and that would be the only opening the Mage Hunter would need to finish off the little brat before her would be protector could intervene.

A couple of notes for this post for those who think they can skim over it.

1) Null stone is in use currently. Until I’m going to say at least two posts from different people have been posted; Jensen, Draug, Drusilia, and Faelynn have no access to magic and any magical items are turned off. This has also dispelled Joshua Cronen’s magical Ice darts. As his expert control makes me think they aren’t a conjuration but an ongoing magical effect in the manner he’s chosen to use them.

2) Drusilia has unknowingly been infected by Draug’s Plague, the effects of this haven’t begun yet as it’s still incubating.

3) Faelynn’s kick did not take out her knee but it did hurt a bit.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Draug had managed to keep the immortal at bay with his limb play, but that was to be expected. He was still the swifter of the two and he made sure to press each advantage on the Homunculi. They smashed dishes, crushed food, wasted drinks and smashed their weapons against one another in a display of sparks and echoing laughter.

The crowd ate up the performance of the arena, and Jensen felt his whole body grow excited as the hype of carnage built into a crescendo. The infection of carnage made his blood boil and stomach churn with laughter. He let each sadistic note of glee ring in the abomination's ears, his blade ringing in the other. In an attempt to catch Jensen off guard he pushed one of his tentacle like limbs out, the extended fist enlarging like a disgusting growth. It popped like a pimple, causing more than one spectator to loose their lunch as a net flew outwards rapidly. Jensen's eyes lit up with excitement as he brought his blade outwards, teeth shivering with anticipation as he screamed for it to come with a shriek of malice and distorted pain.

When the net spun forwards Jensen diagonally slashed his weapon out catching the net in the blade, activating the scythe mode with a flick of his thumb over the rune, pushing the attack to the side. He let the weapon ride off into the barrier, smashing the glowing crystal fracturing it in the same manner as a spider web collapsed upon itself. The immortal laughed spinning in a tango, arms thumbing the loops of his throwing knives letting them loose in a dance to the macabre.

Draug's body compensated for the threat, dashing in a sideways run. Jensen spun in circles releasing his throwing weapons at the pinnacle moments. Draug's bloody appendage absorbed the attacks, the stump turning to shredded, bloody ruins. Jensen followed the insane man's rush, darting low and kicking stiffly with his foot into Draug's stomach. One limb grabbed his ankle, twisting sharply and tossing him aside like a rag doll into a table. It toppled with the immortal, smashing him against the barrier and he felt his world spin from the impact.

Half wheezing, half chuckling, the immortal made to move when he felt his chest glow with white hot agony. Something within him started to rebel, as if it shuddered and waned, and his eyes went wide with panic as he coughed up blood. The crowd cheered, and Jensen could feel something within the air shift like the wind on the sea. It took him a moment to realize what it was, but when he did the immortal felt his spine shiver.

Oh shit! I lost my connection to the Breath of the Undying!Jensen placed one hand on the barrier, the humming energies making his teeth rattle in his mouth as he struggled to stand, his own body warring with the anti-magic spell. Jensen turned to the audience, and he felt his heart spike with red hot rage, fingers curling into a fist as he started to vomit his own blood.

"What's wrong?" Jensen could barely hear, but he could read the lips of the man outside the barrier. He spoke slowly, carefully, and articulated his mouth to ensure there was no discrepancies. "You feeling sick, immortal?" Jensen felt his anger boil, and he made to retort with a solid middle finger. His head exploded in pain, white flashes impairing his vision as Draug's fist grabbed the back of Jensen's head and slammed it into the barrier, holding his face against the magical energies. He could have died there, but something in Draug was rebelling, as if he was forced to hold back.

"Look at this," the man said again. "Here I am, eating chicken from your army, sitting with my dirty bloodstained boots on your armies table, watching my grandson kick the shit out of the best this army has to offer."

"Jebb..." Jensen spat, his mouth muffled as his head swam with a hazy pain.

"The best part is, that Drow whore just sucked all the magic out of the arena. You're little ressuerection trick just got put on hold. And not a moment too soon," Jebb chuckled, eating a large glob of the chicken leg, letting the juices run down his shirt onto his overalls. "And you may not even realize it yet, but Draug's a little special. You see, now you are getting infected, and without your nasty ability to stay alive despite death...well I do think you sir are screwed." Jebb's laughter was full of malice, and the father of the most notorious serial killer was hiding in plain site, his private conversation lost to the crowd's cheers for Joshua and the woman Drusilla.
Jensen felt his head start to sweat, body shivering with the chills as he felt a fever take root. He coughed blood onto the barrier, the red substance oozing down the barrier. Draug turned and tossed Jensen onto the table pieces, a sharp end of the shattered wood impaling Jensen in the back. The crowd winced to see blood spurt out as Jensen hollered in suffering, his teeth stained crimson and his drool bloody. Draug looked to Jensen, as if disgusted, before turning to a young woman who was fighting against the Drow.

"I want you to watch," Draug said. "Watch me kill everyone in this arena and tear them apart. I want you to feel hopelessness, despair, and terror knowing you cannot do a thing about this. You'll die again, Jensen, and you know what? I think I'll make that female over there scream like mother made Stephanie scream when she killed her."

The immortal felt his will start to sap, body broken as the undying energies within him attempted to pulse and repair the damage, but whatever it was Drusilla had done broke the connection Jensen had to the orb that resurrected him. He fought to survive, just to hold on, but he wasn't sure how long he could as the world started to darken around his vision.

[Reine]

Even on the ground, the flash of white light blinded the thief momentarily. It enveloped the area around the Drow woman and spread outward. Somehow, she felt it on her, in her. It did something. She felt no pain or discomfort, but she sensed something snake into her body and suddenly a disconnection was made in her. Like the fire had been snuffed out. The boots that covered her feet went dead. The symbiotic pull they had on her energy, feeding off her to stay active, no longer leeched upon her.

Stunned and confused, Faelynn tried to activate one of the enchantments upon them, but nothing happened. She need not use it to know that the enchantment simply would not turn on.

That bitch nulled my magic!

She'd heard there were people capable of such things, but never before had she encountered one. Never before had it happened to her. Without the boots she would be hampered. They allowed the parlour tricks she was so fond of.

No, the boots are just a tool. She reminded herself. Seth has made me fight without them and Jared is right, I rely on them too much. I can do everything without The Iron Shackles, they merely enhance my own skills.

Tightening her grip on Amalia, Fae rolled away from those damn blue and orange just as the Drow started rambling into some speech about how she needed an asshole mage to take care of her. Fae's eyes darted across the chamber to Joshua Cronen and the armour, the reflecting, shifting ice that surrounded the man. So, he'd gone from killer to protector in just a matter of thirty minutes. She wasn't going to complain, but she was definitely not going to let some chick she didn't know talk down to her like she needed that protection.

As she came to her feet, the Drow descended on her, sword flashing through the sunlight. Fae raised her spear and a dangerous dance began to play out between the two of them. Their feet shifted on the smooth floor, the rubber soles squeaking and screaming in their ears as the sound of their heavy breathing filled the space between them, those precious few feet that they kept between their bodies.

Metal vibrated with each blow struck, the woman changed hands, changed tactics and her right arm disappeared behind her back. Out of sight and out of mind.

You think I was trained by a fool? You have nothing on the man, nothing. All your tricks are paltry at best.

The Drow gave herself away the moment she hid that hand behind her arm. Like a warning.

Each time she moved forward, she left herself open, just a bit. Just enough. A green soldier would go in for the kill and Fae couldn't help but wonder what she had planned in her back hand. A fist to the face? A knife to the chest? Drow were untrustworthy creatures. She didn't doubt this one would slit her open navel to neck in the span of a heartbeat.

Around them, the fight between two others were taking place. Even from the corner of her eye, as the two women danced around each other, Fae could see one of the warriors practically on his last leg, a piece of sharpened wood sticking out of his torso, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Her heart went out for him, even though she knew him not. She couldn't help it. Watching someone else die and standing around just seemed wrong to her somehow.

But I am no hero.

Playing into her game, Fae lunged at the woman when she stepped into the parry, the point of Amalia heading straight for her stomach. The Drow twisted to the side, the spear point going nowhere and her fist sailed right out at Fae's face. But even without her enchantments and her magic, Fae had speed and agility on her side.

She twisted on her left foot, turning her body and her head, her hand lashed out and wrapped around the woman's wrist. With a twist, she pulled the Drow in towards her and fell backwards. Bringing up a leg towards her chest and bracing her fall with her other arm, Fae hit the ground and rolled. Knee planted in the woman's stomach, she hefted her up and over, throwing her off and away from her. Then she continued with the roll and came to a crouching position on the ground, spear held at her side, ready and waiting for whatever came next.

*~*

“Did you see that, Rynn? Did you see that!?” Connaire grabbed Ferynn's arm in his excited, before he stood up and yelled at the top of his lungs. A considerable yell really. The man had quite the set of lungs on him. “Yeah! Go, Fae, GO!!!! Kick that dark skinned bitches ass in!”

Ferynn said nothing, just watched as his sister crouched on the floor, already streaked with blood from another warrior who clung desperately to what little life he had left. He coughed and sputtered and blood flew from his open lips, coating his face and sending droplets flying in all directions. He frowned and grimaced down upon this disgusting blood sport.

The red head remained quiet, but Ferynn could see a slight smile play at the corner of his lips. If he had to hazard a guess, he would think the man looked proud at the move she just pulled off.

“You seem pretty intent on watching just her.” Ferynn remarked. “Know her personally?”

Grey eyes glanced at him with that searching expression. He could tell the man wanted to know why he asked so many questions, but didn't voice it aloud. Perhaps scared of the answer, or maybe he already knew.

“Yeah.”

“How'd you meet her?”

He opened his mouth and then closed it, as if thinking better of his response. “Just happened upon one another in Radasanth.”

I'm sure you just happened upon my baby sister.

A worried feeling settled in the pit of his stomach. Ferynn knew what Faelynn did in Radasanth, what she considered to be her form of employment. Was this man somehow connected to her little thieving enterprise?

[Silence Sei]

Sei watched from on high as the competitors in the Felicity Chamber began to tear into one another. Despite the mute’s faith in his bodyguard, the threat of Draug loomed ever present. Worse still, it seemed as though Jensen was engaged in conversation with a third party during the fight. Using his microscopic vision, Sei identified the form of Jebb Remi within the crowd.

While destroying a member of the Cult would be all too easy for the psychic, he was bound by the laws of the Cell to try and not get the crowd involved in personal vendettas. Whatever trash talking Jebb had for Jensen was proving quite effective. Sei winced as the Cult’s Champion began to lay into the leader of the Wetworks Team as if he were nothing.

“Hey son,” a gruff voice came from behind, it’s owner stepping beside the telepath, “What’s the story with the ice guy?”

“His name is Breaker, and he is one of our newest members. His abilities had me place him as head of the Investigations Team.”

“Investigations? Didn’t that used to be Kyla’s department?”

“It did. At least, it was until I felt she was ignoring Akiv.”

“Well then. He looks quite strong. Mind if your old man takes a few swings in the ol’ Cell?” The question was met with a laugh so loud, it even drowned out Sei’s telepathic protests. The giant of a man jumped, the power in his legs propelling him down the mess hall and straight into the barrier, a hole opening up to allow him in. As he fell to the ground, he readied his arm, landing on table closest top one of the walls (a table no other competitor was around). His sheer force of impact caused the elongated furniture to bow and break under his incredible strength.

Sei’s eyes widened, knowing full well that his father was too powerful for any other Cell combatant to face. “Do it now!” Sei demanded, fear for his men taking precedence over his carefully laid plans. The other Mystics listened, and soon a grenade-like explosion ‘popped’ above the fighters, almost as if it were ‘on’ the barrier itself.

After the first explosion, another took place, this one closer to the action. Then another, and another. Soon, the barrier was filled with conflicting Mystic energies, creating a literal barrier of explosions all around the dome. The Knights had rushed the spectators further away so as not to get caught in the blast. This was Sei Orlouge’s ace-in-the-hole should Draug had made it to the finals. Not even the Cult’s Champion could take too many ‘Mystic Bomb’-like effects and still remain standing. Now, Sei was hoping that his own patriarch would not be able to withstand such an assault.

However, Tinerad Orlouge still stood, the explosions seeming to herald his arrival, and he grinned as he looked to Breaker, a line of fighters between him and the new Ixian. His long flowing hair of gray that reached his back whipped through the wind as he began his run towards Breaker. In the process, the seven and a half foot Mystic backhanded Drusillia and inadvertently kicked Reine. Both blows would be enough to skyrocket a normal man into the explosion-barrier. The brute with the scarred face quickly grabbed a hold of Vyrabon’s body, and used it to slam the construct into Breaker. Unlike the other enforcers, Tinerad Orlouge was not the kind of person to hit-and-run.

The Genocide Giant was here to stay.

((OK, here we go.

Breaker- You’re opening attack was borderline powergaming.

Reine, EI – you can not edit actions after somebody has posted, and ‘locked in’ your post. You may edit to add descriptive fluff, or perform an action not immediately related to combat. Since EI asked nicely in the OOC thread about it, this is conditional for you based on Breaker’s response. Reine, however, changed the way she dodged, so this is not negotiable for her.

Herald – You simply misinterpreted Breaker’s attack from what I saw, Thus the ‘penalizing blow’ against you will not actually destroy the already incredibly weakened Vyrabond, but simply hurt and annoy him.

And finally Mage Hunter – Your null stone would not work like that against Breaker’s flechette (Sp?), but since the attack was already locked in, you can not edit and thus have to take the penalty.

Tinerad is remaining in this Chamber for the duration of the tournament now, a ‘wildcard’ that can not advance and may help/hinder at random from now on. All of you are professionals at this by now, and I expect more of you. That being said, this is a great fight. I can answer any questions about Tinerad in about 5-6 hours, so if you want to attack him but will miss your post deadline, continue as if he is not there and I will answer any question you have that pending when I get off of work tonight, where I will let you edit in fighting/dodging/whatever actions –only- referring to Tinerad provided your posts aren’t locked in.))

[Reine]

Fae flinched as the first explosion echoed throughout the chamber. Her whole body went tight as a bowstring. At first, she thought it was the sound of a gunshot, her mind flashing back to those instances in the first round when bullets had gone flying in all directions. One even aimed at her. She still didn't know entirely who had fired them or why, but she could hazard at guess at both and neither were comforting answers.

This, though, this was far different than the tricks of flying metal.

This was magic, powerful magic. It conflicted with the barrier around them and Faelynn could see it shifting, expanding and reacting. The energy just barely beyond her perception, like a thin veil placed over her eyes, strained and reformed and then strained again. It was like a war of mystical energies going on all around her. Once one exploded another went off until the sound became a deafening roar in her ears that even bled out the sound of her own breathing and heart rate.

Was Cronen doing it?

She looked towards him, but never got a chance to make eye contact. A boot from nowhere came down towards her and slammed her right in the chest. She went flying backwards, breath whooshing out of her lungs in one great expulsion. Pain exploded along her breastbone and she forgot momentarily how to breathe.

Seeing the tables flying away from her and realizing the kick had sent her flying back, Fae tried to right herself, even as she realized it was futile. Then her boots kicked in. The familiar drain on her energy began once more, puling at her powers in that gentle and caressing way they had. Almost addicting really as she fuelled them with her own life force.

Realizing the nulling effect had worn off, Fae twisted about and pushed off the air like it were the ground. She came to a stop, then started heading back towards that checkered floor instead of the mystical exploding bombs of awesome above her head. Twisting her legs in front of her, the young thief came down with a jarring thump and immediately bent her knees to absorb the blow.

Somehow, she managed to keep a hold of Amalia through all of that and she could really only thank the reflex to desperately hold onto something for that one. Her fingers had tightened around the metal haft like a noose and even now didn't want to let go. Knuckles white, muscles sore.

Reaching up with her left hand, Fae felt her chest and chest to see if anything was broken. It hurt a bit to breathe, but everything seemed intact. At least she hadn't gone splat into that bomb thing that continued to flash and charge above her.

Looking about for her opponent, Fae widened her eyes when she realized someone new was charging at her.

Crap, I'd rather have the drow.

The thing with multiple arms looked freaky at best and downright scary at worst and it was heading straight for her.

Standing to her full, intimidating and awesome height of five feet and a whopping three inches, Faelynn jumped up onto one of the wooden benches and charged her now working magic once again. Just as the thing approached her, she whipped her head out in front of her, releasing a ball of energy between them. Closing her eyes, she could still see the environment lighten considerably as the flashbang exploded. White light enveloped the area just as Fae reached up and covered her ears, negating the deafening noise that followed the explosion.

She waited a full three seconds before lowering her hands and opening her eyes once more to see if it had worked. It hadn't on Cronen, at least not very well, but maybe her Flashbang would have better effect on this thing.

*~*

Ferynn shielded her eyes as the explosion of Fae's flashbang went off in the chamber. He'd been on the receiving end of that often enough to know it's effects rather well. From up here, the muffling effects of the follow-up boom did nothing to him, the crowd cheered too loud and drowned it out. But the white light still created the dance of spots that covered his vision and made it hard to focus and see anything clearly.

Connaire had all but been absorbed by the excitement of the tournament. His friend screamed and yelled and cat called out at anything and everything, including the sudden intrusion of another fighter into the chamber. Fae had dealt with her blow rather well, though he couldn't help but wonder what she'd done to deserve the interference of one of Sei's men. Since he knew nothing about the silent mage, he could not hazard a guess.

Turning his gaze to that redheaded man once more, Ferynn reached up and scratched at the stubble upon his cheeks and chin. His scarred and misshapen fingers a testament to his work as a blacksmith.

“I feel as if I've been rather rude asking you all these questions without introducing myself.”

He turned those steely grey eyes on him, brow raising in question and perhaps a bit of surprise. Ferynn didn't know, he had a hard time interpreting this man.

He held his hand out and practically crushed the red head's in a rather strong grip. The younger man flinched, but squeezed back just as hard, even though the blacksmith could barely feel it.

“Ferynn Thiadore.”

The man's jaw practically dropped and the pale skin of his face went slightly paler. Ferynn would have smirked, but he rarely smirked. If he didn't know any better, the man's reaction would indicate that the relationship he shared with his sister was a little on the intimate side.

“Jared...Cesarino.” He mumbled numbly.

“Ah, you're the man that saved my sister's life once.”

He released the iron hold of his grip. He owed the man that much. Jared to his credit pulled the hand back but didn't rub at the red, irritated skin therein.

“Yeah...that's how I met her.”

Ferynn nodded. “And you're helping with her training in Lavinya right now, aren't you?”

He nodded, his eyes dancing back to the chamber as Faelynn engaged that monstrous thing that had basically ripped right through another one of the contestants. So far, she seemed to have the upper hand.


Fae just released Flashbang. It has no limits on how far it can effect people, but we'll just say anyone in the immediately area around her would experience temporary blindness, deafness and their equilibrium will be slightly thrown.

[Abomination]

Permission obtained from Reine.

Draug grit his teeth, his fists clenched so hard that blood dripped from the bandages in his palm. The explosions stopped his charge at Reine, and he was left with his eyes moving erratically across the arena to follow what was going on. The Abomination was programmed with extensive knowledge about the crazy Orlouges, and seeing Tinerad join the fray put him into an almost elated state. Someone like him... if I assimilated HIM... This was more than simple manipulation, Memnar was right about this tournament being a trap. His thoughts were cut short as he noticed Reine landing and turning her attention to the Cult's Champion. Draug remembered his intentions, and he wasn't one to change his mind so easily, so he ran at her again while licking his lips.

She released some sort of orb of energy between them, and Draug did not know what to make of it. He pulled a pair of swords out of his throat and held them in each hand, ready to run around the orb and strike at the girl, but then it burst. The Abomination was in the worst position to take the brunt of the flash, a sharp sound nearly destroying his ear drums and a brilliant light burning out his retinas. The effect would not have nearly been as extreme if he was not virtually shoving his face into it before it went off. The bang stopped him in his tracks, letting him elicit a loud, guttural roar throughout the chamber. He struggled to maintain his balance, feeling as though the world had shifted to a side.

He did the only thing he could, which was spin around with his arms extended and try to deflect any would-be attackers. Reine however saw her opportunity to take out the Abomination, and proceeded to stab Draug in the thigh mid-spin, pulling the weapon out before she lost it to the momentum. Draug stopped his spin, falling onto and breaking a nearby bench, the back of his head smacking into a table and falling into an unfinished bowl of soup. He pulled his head out, his eyes still blinded, and limped forward a step. The pain coursed through his leg, blood dripping out of the wound for a few seconds before his regeneration clotted up the area. Before he could take up another defensive position, from behind he felt the tip of the spear puncture his back between the two spawned arms, ripping through skin and muscle. If Draug's body was not as sturdy, these spear attacks would have run him through completely. The arms behind him tried to attack whoever stabbed him, but the thief was already moving around to his front.

This woman... she has to be getting close to attack me. Even if I can't see or hear...

Draug looked forward and opened his maw, stretching it wide and throwing up a pound of flesh onto the ground. It boiled, grew tumors, and expanded until two dog-like creatures crawled out of it. They were made entirely of muscle and bone, their large mouths dripping with acidic saliva. Like Draug, they could not see, but they had a sense that was unhindered by the explosion: Smell.

The minions immediately sniffed out the closest target and set upon her. They chased her around, trying to bite off her ankles, arms, and torso, but she deftly evaded their attacks. By using the broken tables as leverage, she jumped on top of them and stabbed down to push her spear completely a minion's lungs. She then pulled the weapon out and spun around to avoid a bite from another minion, stabbing it in the head. As she removed her weapon, she noticed that it had stopped moving, and the other one was choking to death on its own blood.

Unfortunately for her, this took long enough for Draug to regain his senses. He lunged at her with his swords, slashing at her with killing intent. Luckily for the thief, she knew that the flashbang had a time limit, so she set up a decoy in front of Draug to absorb the blow. The Abomination cut through the decoy's chest, and then chopped off its head. It popped like a balloon, sending Draug reeling and putting another ringing sound in his ears. He caught the real Reine trying to position herself away from him, and jumped at her, the arms on his back stretching to catch her for when she dodged. The plan would have worked if she did not activate her steel bangles, becoming insubstantial so that the arms on his back passed right through her.

While confused by this development, Cassandra's son did not let up, attempted to fruitlessly pursue Reine for the entire duration of the effect. The moment it ended, Reine spun around and took the opportunity of Draug's sloppy attacks to make a risky play. She noticed that Draug liked to have his mouth open while he fought, and decided to stab him right in the mouth.

Her spear tip hit the back of his throat and tore through his head, coming out on the other side. The swords fell out of his arms and it looked like all of his bodily functions had ceased. For a normal opponent, that would be the end of it.

But Draug was anything but normal. The magical egg inside him activated, repairing the damage of the spear and allowing him to immediately grab Reine's shoulders with his hands while the spear was still lodged in his skull.

[Herald of the Tempest]

It was disgusting to think he was at the mercy of Joshua. The bastard human was in complete control and had his fingers around the mimics throat lifting him up and slamming the beast through the hard wooden table. HIs body shook and his back sparked signals of torment as he rolled his head back and forth, fingers twisting upon each other, unable to find a fetal position that could cure the ailment in his body. Joshua and broken the table using the construct as the catalyst and the crowd ate it up.

"Did you see that?!?" One man shouted, pointing to the destruction.

"Holy crap! He just decimated that thing!" A second began pounding the table his excitement clear as day.

"OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!" A third portly man was about to lose his control as he freaked out at what he saw not more than ten feet in front of him. "AS GOD AS MY WITNESS HE BROKE HIM SMACK DAB IN HALF!"

Vyrabond ignored their cries, slowly using a table, once more, to get back up. He was beyond broken now, beyond the ability to be a threat, but still he moved with dogged determination. Joshua Cronen would at least think about messing with the Kron'tyr.

There was a terrible crash, a loud explosion of noise, flashes of white, and the complete loss of orientation and senses. The Construct was lost for words and what to do, at a loss to even stand as he was placed in the merciful hands of whoever placed the Kron'tyr between themselves and their prey. Collateral damage was a by-product of war, attrition a cost of battle, but that was usually the Kron'tyr that was out of the cross hairs.

His body lifted as if angels had grabbed his arms and carried him, talons held to his side as he was blown from his feet towards the target of his choice. He couldn't tell what caused this chaotic blast of energy, but it didn't really matter in the long run. He had little time to think, and even less to process a counter measure. In the end he was just too slow on the uptake to know what to do. He felt his coppery flesh impact upon Joshua's sword, blade slashing a gouge deep into his exo-epidermis shell. His eyes sparked, one of the lights exploding, popping out the glass lens, his skeletal face wide in agony as pain receptors flared, he shook and shifted upon the blade, fingers twitching violently left and right as he thrashed about in pain. He stopped thinking, he stopped processing. His system went into shock and he found rebooting protocols offline.

Vyrabond was dying.

He felt his energy waver, the orb within his chest nicked by the blade and causing untold damage to his chest as he managed to slide off the weapon. The laceration to his chest would have bled like a stuck pig, but all that splashed out was sparks of energy and eldritch energies of dark sciences that were unknown to this culture. He stepped backwards, body shivering and head twitching erratically. For the fourth time he found himself placed against an opponent and a table.

"OH MY GOD!" The portly man shouted, watching Joshua move on the dead creature. "NO! NO, DON'T DO IT JOSHUA! NOT LIKE THIS, NOT LIKE THIS!"

((Vyrabond's orientation is on the way to the action, this is in no way to denote that Josh is ACTUALLY moving on him.))

[Breaker]

The chokeslam had the desired effect, whipping the crowd into a frenzy and seeming to finish the construct. Breaker smiled as he reclaimed his dominant position in the Cell... and then everything went to hell.

An invisible force swelled and erased the ice darts plummeting toward the drowess from existence. His arcane connection to the flechettes snapped back with such force he lost all control for a moment. Rythadine's broad blade sheltered his head as sixty flechette darts shattered on the floor all around him. He brought the sword back down diagonally in front. The drowess was the source of the antimagic and he turned his head to look for her, but a flash of movement caught his eye as a tall man plummeted through the mystic barrier to join the fray. And then Breaker lost track of what he was seeing.

Explosions rocked the arena. Footsteps thundered and tables cracked. Air rippled like a puddle around a large stone. Competitors tumbled like blades of grass in a breeze. The construct's body was lifted and slammed into Josh like a bludgeon, squeezing the double-edged broadsword between them.

The martial artist threw himself backwards as Rythadine bit his bare chest, a desperate bid to lessen the damage. Warmth seeped from a shallow gash as Breaker tucked and rolled along his shoulders and hips, swordblade spinning above the floor like a chariot scythe. He slammed into the mystic barrier at the end of the hall with a grunt so soft is was more of a sigh. Fae's flashbang erupted amidst the mystic bombs all around. At such a distance and with his eyes protected from direct light by the rows of tables, the spell caused only a mild ringing in his ears, which worsened as the mystic bombs continued. But he recognized the flashbang's energy signature as clearly as the girl's voice. Fae had used the spell in the first round as well, but only after she'd been gravely wounded. The furious body-block from Sei's enforcer had winded Breaker badly, but the thought of young Faelynn in pain forced him up to his knees. Even as he regained his breath, he held Rythadine before him in a low guard.

I had to kill Fae in the Ella Chamber, but that's no reason to let anyone else hurt her. The girl hailed from the village he had protected throughout the Civil War. They had both been cogs in a community of survivors, and such bonds ran deeper than the rules for any game of death. Breaker assessed the damage with a quick downward glance.

Blood and other fluids from the floor coated his skin and stained the once-white loose pants he wore. He could feel a wrongness in the gore, a pulsating evil that had entered his bloodstream when the sword opened his chest. Bile gathered at the back of his throat and he spat upon the reinforced linoleum. The disease inside him had a taste, a scent, a name. Abomination. The creature carried that fetid odor everywhere it ran.

Josh stood slowly and conjured fresh water from the air. It splashed over him in a controlled wave, hot as a cup of steeped tea. It gathered the blood and juice and other mess smeared across his skin and the cable wrapped about his abdomen and shoulders. Warm fingers of water cleansed the wound in his chest, drawing out all the badness it could find. And then the water slid away like a snake's skin, leaving him clean and dry. The wave washed over him and formed a levitating ball of murky muck.

More.

The shattered remains of his sixty flechette darts melted instantly, absorbing the blood and juice and sauce on the floor and blending it. A much larger wave than that which had cleansed him rose up to join the ball. Mist surrounded the red-brown liquid as it twisted and re-formed and took shape, rising all the while until it hovered just beneath the arena's ceiling. Grisly flechette darts laced with the Abomination's disease formed aerial ranks, a new stockpile of sixty missiles to replace those lost.

Perhaps the Abomination's own blood can harm it, he thought as the last of the crimson liquid rose from his blade to reinforce the darts, leaving Rythadine sparkling clean. If not, there must be enough goodness in the fruit juice to cure the brute. Aside from feeling disgusted by the sickness manifesting within, Josh caught flashes of Fae's furious duel with the Abomination near the middle of the hall. So he's the one that forced her flashbang, Cronen decided as all sixty specialized flechettes sped forwards.

They zipped along beneath the mystic ceiling, a wall of red-brown bodkin points ten across and six deep. Several spectators screamed warning to the intended targets as the darts divided and dove toward two combatants.

The drowess, and the Abomination. Although he could not see the Aleraran's position clearly, Josh sensed the item she had used to drain the arena of magic. It was like a void in reality, an empty pit waiting to swallow endless mana. He could have found it blindfolded in a Salvic snowstorm. The darts meant for her arced downward and flew beneath the tables the rat liked hiding behind so much. Thirty points (less any lodged in table legs) thick with Draug's disease would come at her along the floor, and strike upward at whichever part of her body carried the null stone.

The Abomination's misshapen bulk made him easy to spot. Thirty darts laced with an assortment of vitamins and minerals dropped from above like targeted hail, but swooped away from the massive upper body and attacked its vulnerable legs. The spiked heads of thirty flechettes thirsted to punch through the Abomination's knees, thighs, ankles, and feet.

Josh finished his icecraft by drawing a frozen bandage over the diagonal gash on his chest, encasing the wound. His instincts urged him to leap upon the dazed construct. His heart told him to seek out the drowess and the Abomination, both beasts who had threatened Fae, and destroy them.

But a mountainous mystic towered before him, and the crowd chanted an illustrious name amidst rhythmic pounding of fists on tables.

"Gen-uh-cide!" Boom, boom. "Gi-ant!" Boom, boom.

As the cheers and jeers and calls for death and mercy mingled against his ears, Josh recognized Tinerad Orlouge. He had heard only whispers describing the legendary warrior's appearance, but the titan was a known favourite at Ixian Castle, and with good reason. A dark bruise blossomed around the encased gash on Cronen's chest, replacing the discoloration healed by the Ai'Brone novice. Winning the round and saving the girl heroically were idle interests compared to an opportunity to fight the greatest grappler on Althanas.

It took two separate movements to stow a sword of Rythadine's reach. The point flicked up and around his shoulder and found the mouth of the scaly scabbard, and then the long prevaldia blade slid home.

The sheath rocked on Joshua's shoulders as he ran. He approached Tinerad with short swift steps that flowed flawlessly into a leap off his left foot. His right leg lashed up like a whip, toe of a black metal boot flaring toward the titan's chin. He'd used the leaping front kick to fell Geoffrey Rythadine, Kristina's traitorous brother. But that attack had worked against an apprentice of a legend, in an emotional mountaintop battle of wills. Tinerad the Mystic would not be caught by such a straightforward strike.

The rising foot whipped downward and left. A feint. Cronen twisted his hips powerfully and barrel-rolled through thin air, left heel coming around in a looping kick at the mystic's head.

Just to clarify, Josh used the elapsed time since Tinerad's entrance to cleanse his wound and blend new ice flechettes. The disease will still effect him but due to his ability 'clean living' the impact is approximately halved. The new flechette darts are still as strong as steel, laced with draug's blood and fruit juice (I don't expect that to do extra damage to the Abomination, I just thought it was funny). Then Josh took a run at Tinerad and Attempted the Insiguri!!!!

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen's breaths were ragged, his chest heaving as blood trickled down the black satin of his shirt. His vision was blurry and he couldn't see much of the arena. The crowd's cheers and jeers turned to a far away hum, devoid of the edge of excitement and anticipation. The immortal rolled his head back and forth, willing himself to stay alive as the seconds ticked away. He felt his vision fade to black and he couldn't hold his head up any longer.

This was it, he was going to die and without the energy of the Breath of the Undying his swift return was dashed away. When he saw the white flash he figured the end had come, like it usually did in the same manner. He prepared for an eternity of darkness, locked in the corners of his own psyche to listen to Draug and Jebb insult him. It wouldn't be the most pleasant of deaths, but it wouldn't be the worst.

Yet in all the times he had died, Jensen never experienced explosions. He felt the screeching of crowds as they hastily retreated, like villagers before a giant. Something was wrong, and the immortal pondered what it could be.

Wait, i can think? Jensen thought feeling his brain kick. Pain, sweet, agonizing pain coursed through his body and his vision returned. If he could think, and feel pain, then Jensen Ambrose wasn't dead. No, it was a sign of the very opposite.

He had to blink several times to wipe the death from his eyes. After he cleared his vision he looked down upon the energy pulsing around his chest and wound. His stomach lifted in elation, and Jensen's body began to convulse off the destroyed table. The shards of splinters fell from his wound like rain, dust and debris flaking off as he dusted himself off, kicking up his switchblade sword and activating the scythe mode back into the sword. He turned to Jebb, his chuckles slow, building in height as they reached a crescendo, turning back to Draug and running his blade along his throat, the Breath of the Undying's green eldritch energy phasing over his flesh a final time sealing the deadly wound.

"Let's see here," Jensen muttered with a wispy giggle, a whining twitch to it. "I do think you are ignoring me, Druag. So let's try a little harder to keep the focus on me!"

He kicked off the floor, dashing past the mystic giant in his midst. Jensen never met this member of the Orlouge family, but he was sure the man was more than capable of holding his own. The Mystic race were some of the more powerful warriors on Althanas. Besides, his prey was off where the Drow and the other women fought. He moved with the swiftness of a fleeting deer, jacket whirling behind him, the weighted cloth removed in a single motion. He didn't have much in his tank left and it took all his will power to move like this, but he cared not. It was all in the art of the kill, and Jensen was a master of killing. He pulled the switchblade up to his arms, aimed it carefully, and tossed it out like a boomerang, activating the scythe mode.

Jensen knew that Draug wouldn't be killed so easily, but he did know that he too had to be running on empty. Jensen pulled his all into one final attack, bracing himself for the conclusion to their dance.

"Ultimate," Jensen whispered into the wind. "Emerald," he chuckled a little louder. "Immortal," he spoke out loud, aiming his entire body into the move, twisting his whole torso in a corkscrew so he could grab the bastard's waist and set him up for one of his most devastating finishers. "Buster!"

((Jensen threw his switchblade sword like a boomerang aiming for your head Draug, I wouldn't lose it if I were you. In addition, he is using your block to time his finisher -Ultimate Emerald Immortal Buster!: Jensen leans into his foe and slides behind them with a quick kick to their gut, grappling their waist and doing a series of two belly to back suplex, before hoisting the foe to his feet where he spins to their front and hits them in a belly to belly suplex, landing them on their head. As they are down he grabs them by the head and performs a crushing power bomb, lifting them to his shoulders and hoisting them up for added height as he guides them down with a vicious laugh. STR + 3 for this maneuver))

[Mage Hunter]

“Gi vith!” So lost was she in the moment she had never considered maybe this little girl had been trained properly. She had the mind of a soldier and had out thought her twice already, taking a blow when am amateur would have tried to prevent it, and again in setting up a counter trap. The follow up throw was also of importance because she careened into stools along the way and felt one crack but not give entirely under her weight. The sword clattered to the ground as she felt pain everywhere in her body.

Groaning she stood up, feeling everything go out of whack as she clutched onto the nearby table and gripped her head. So lost was she in her own body she missed the punch that sent her flaying through the air, even as the explosions rocked the arena. Flailing through the air she felt herself enveloped in purifying flame as it licked at her causing a white burst of light to emit from her as she collided with the side of the arena, its impenetrable barrier.

Another burst of light left the Mage Hunter at the contact with the spell as well as a sickening crunch that heralded broken bones. Hitting the ground with another bone crushing force Drusilia was left feeling dazed and confused at the headache. Her body trying to keep up with the catalogue of injuries she had been given, before the vomiting began as the mana seeped into her system. Violently she purged the mana through her bile and stomach acid, spilling it on the floor as a few of the people jeered at the Mage Hunter. They obviously had no idea what was going on.

What confused her was the fact that she still felt nauseous which was something that shouldn’t have happened. It was actually the first time she felt so sick after coming in contact with mana. It made no sense and she racked her memory for what could have caused it going back through the many injuries she had sustained. Finally one made sense, one she had shrugged off as a murder attempt. The abomination that had thrown the knife at her had also thrown one at the girl. She had missed a vital piece of the puzzle, as he blade had come out coated in her blood, but the girl’s dagger was also coated in what looked like blood.

The damn thing had poisoned her.

Carefully she grabbed the leg of a stool and pulled herself under a table. She would have to sit this out until whatever this poison was, and the splitting headache she had didn’t help her either. Her sword was lost in the maelstrom of chaos out there, all she had was her other long sword to tide her through the end of the fight, and she wasn’t sure even that would help. She felt so weak, and lightheaded. The more she thought about it the more she though she wasn’t poisoned, but sick.

Moving carefully through the tables, Drusilia tried to remain far away from the action as she fought to recover her gear. Maybe if she could find her bow, she could change the outcome of this fight, because she couldn’t stand in the middle of the fighting anymore, not like this. Her hair was burnt and singed all over; her skin was enflamed, patches of smoke rose from her form. She was lucky to still be alive enough to move, and it was probably only by sheer willpower that she continued to use the stools as crutches and hunted down her bow.

Both uses of null magic were used up Drusilia is dry in terms of abilities once more.

[Reine]

Every time she stabbed him, the wound closed over. Blood flowed, and it flowed freely across his skin and down his body, soaking into the bandages that already covered him. In a way, he was far more terrifying that Josh Cronen. Though that man had survived everything she'd thrown at him, it was because he'd dodged it, turned it around and redirected her attacks back at her. This man took everything she gave him and more. Each thrust of the spear made contact and sunk deep into that flesh, but he just wouldn't die. He barely even seemed to feel it!

Deep in the pit of her stomach, she could feel a small swell of panic beginning to form as Amalia rushed forward and jammed itself into the man's open mouth. She felt it go in deep and hit something hard at the back. Some point of bone she didn't want to think about. The feeling of the metal suddenly stopping sickened her.

Did it work? Tell me it worked.

Then hands with a grip like iron grabbed her shoulders. She could feel the fingers digging in to the skin, deep, bruising her. She grimaced and tried to pull away, but couldn't.

With her spear still trapped inside his mouth, Fae twisted it, feeling the point scrap against that bone and cut even more into his flesh. Blood flowed from between his teeth, over his lacerated tongue and down his chin and neck.

Her stomach roiled watching it.

The contents of her breakfast, eaten so long ago, threatened to bubble up to the surface.

The panic set in again.

“What the hell are you?” She asked, green-gold eyes wide.

No, keep it together. He is nothing but a monster.

She couldn't help the mall whimper that escaped her lips as the man, no the thing, continued to move with the spear lodged deep into the back of his head. Shifting, she brought her leg up between them and braced her knee off his stomach, then pivoted her weight off it, brought her second leg up and braced her foot off his chest in an effort to wrench free from him. Just as she applied pressure, multiple flashes of light caught her eye and Fae looked to see dozens of those icy arrows heads coming straight at them.

Oh no!

At first she thought Josh meant to kill them both, then the heads went only for the creature holding her. They ripped through his legs and he roared that terrible sound once more. She cringed, then pushed off him using the enchantment on her boots. His hands were wrenched off her, nail scraping against the material of her jacket, tearing into it and rending some of the flesh beneath.

She grimaced, but ignored the pain.

Landing on the ground in a crouch, she watched as the man from before, the one he'd practically impaled, send some kind of scythe flying right at him before he charged.

What the fuck kind of tournament is this? Don't you people know how to die!?

Not wanting anything to do with these freaks anymore, Faelynn used the distraction from the other two and her enhanced speed to slip away. The two immortal freaks of nature could battle each other for eternity for all she cared, just as long as they left her the fuck alone. She was seriously beginning to realize why Jared had not wanted her in this to begin with and why Seth has not seemed entirely thrilled with her decision either. Perhaps she should have let her redheaded thief talk her out of it. But then again, she knew if he had, she'd only be mad at him and feel left out, or like he thought her weak. No, she'd made her decision and entered into tournament. She had to see it through.

Looking out over the chaos and the fighting still going on, Fae spotted the Drow a couple tables over. She seemed rather badly injured, smoke rose from her body, blackened patches covered that arctic hide of hers and her skin looked raw, red and swollen.

Jumping across the expanse between the tables, Fae ran for the woman, her original opponent. A much safer target in all honesty. At least not one that seemed capable of regenerating herself from practical death. Coming up behind the woman, Fae pushed off the wood, flipped through the air and landed before the Drow in a crouch, her spear out at her side, the tip smeared with the blood of the freaky blonde man.

The Drow moved for something at the small of her back and Faelynn tensed, ready for action. Then she stopped, her hand going to her temples.

“Vith...” She practically hissed the word, her voice sounded pained.

Fae blinked in confusion. Unsure how to continued. The woman wasn't even paying attention to her. “What's wrong with you? Attack me!”

She glared murder down at her, her jaw clenched tight before she spat the words out between grinding teeth. “If I could I would have done so!”

Slowly standing from her crouched position, Fae lowered the tip of her spear to the ground, but kept it out in front of her in case this was some form of trick. “Do you yield then?”

Before she could react, the woman grabbed the shaft of the spear and lifted it, the point dangerously close to the dark skin of her throat.

“Don't you dare let someone else take this from you. Give me a warrior's death...” Then she groaned again, her hands wrapped around her temples, rubbing them, as if to blot out whatever agon had overcome her.

Her stomach revolted once more. Killing someone in battle was one thing. It was the heat of the moment, the adrenaline, the fuel to the fire. But looking this woman in the face and stabbing her through the throat was entirely different. Still, Fae knew what it was like to request a warrior's death. When the water covered her head in the first round and she thought she was going to drown, all she'd prayed for was a quick, clean, death. A warrior's death.

She nodded her head. “All right...”

She couldn't do it to the throat though. That would be too much for her.

Shifting her position, Faelynn brought the tip of her spear point up and levelled it at the woman's chest. The Drow focused hard eyes on her, even through the haze of pain Fae could see therein. When she hesitated, the woman stepped forward, just one little step, the spear point pushed into the hide right above her heart.

Drawing in a shaky breath, Fae pulled back, then quickly thrust Amalia towards the dark skinned warrior before she could change her mind. The spear tip slid through cloth and flesh, nicked off bone and lodged itself somewhere deep in the woman's chest. Blood spurted and flowed from the wound, small droplets splattering against Fae, a dance of red upon her face, hands, arms and chest. The woman's knees buckled, but Fae caught her before she hit the ground and slowly lowered the Drowess to the black and white linoleum floor. The crowd around them hushed as the thief reached up and closed the woman's eyes, her own shining bright with unshed tears.

[Silence Sei]

When Breaker made his way towards Tinerad, the Genocide Giant smirked. In truth, the Mystic Patriarch loved being able to goad his opponents into a good fight. Joshua’s steps were elaborate, and when the Breaker broke into a run and kick, Tinerad capitalized. The graying warrior grabbed the kick of his opponent, a wide, dumb grin upon his face. He was, however, taken off guard by the second kick, the power behind the blow turning Tinerad’s face and causing him stumble downward.

He managed to stay on his feet, his gaze shifting to see that he still held the ankle of his opponent. Tinerad spat some blue blood out of his mouth, much to the shock and awe of those who could see it. Joshua Cronen, the Breaker, had managed to make Tinerad Orlouge bleed.

“Now this is gonna be fun!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sei watched in horror as his father easily manhandled the rest of the competition in the Felicity Chamber. While the Mystic knew that his enormous patriarch would not turn down the challenge of the Breaker, he also knew that this was the only thing that interested the Genocide Giant at this point. Even if Draug had attempted to stab the powerful brute, Tinerad would shrug off the blow for the chance to go blow-for-blow with the Ultimate Sheriff.

“He never learns, does he?” Sei’s mother, Armonia Orlouge sighed as she watched the events beside her son. Sei shook his head, eyes closed and his thoughts resigned to worrying about the well-being of everyone else in the chamber. “Would you like me to pull him out?”

Sei knew that his mother was powerful enough to uplift her husband like it was nothing. However, the chants of the crowd, as well as Joshua Cronen’s sudden interest in Tinerad, provoked Sei into shaking his head. “No. Listen to them. This is a match little children have dreamt of since they learned the names Tinerad Orlouge and Joshua Cronen. This match is a battle of wills, a test of whose legend is stronger.”

Sei raised his head, a smile upon his features now, “And from the looks of things, it’s the only way to put Breaker on a more level playing field with everyone else. I just hope Father does not hold back too much…”

~~~~~~

Tinerad acted quickly after his taunt, gripping Joshua’s captured ankle, his large hands wrapping around the appendage as if they were nooses, makeshift shackles for a man who could not be chained. Using his behemoth strength, Tinerad shifted his weight, slinging Cronen over his shoulder in an attempt to make the man’s face get more acquainted with the linoleum.


((Sorry for the short post, I want to make sure you have plenty of time to post. Tinerad is trying to slam Joshua into the ground. It should be noted that Sei's conversation with Armonia was taking place during the crowd chants for Tinerad, before they fell silent from Fae's kill of Dru. Tinerad's attack attempt takes place immediately after his taunt.))

[Abomination]

Draug coughed, blood dripping from the open wounds in his mouth and his legs barely able to stand after the dart barrage. Not only had the girl managed to get away from him, but now the damnable Immortal was back in action. This battle was definitely not going as well as the last chamber, something Draug suspected would happen when he wanted to go seek out Stephanie's memories. In due time, the likes of the speedy ice mage and the giant would kneel before his might, but not yet. Not now.

The switchblade flew at Draug's head, heralding the follow-up attack by the Immortal. He ducked under it, grabbing his cloak with hands. The arms on his back were chopped off by the switchblade's flight. As he bent down, he felt the soggy meat of his legs squish and crunch, sending sharp signals to his brain. His pants were shredded, and the bandages around his legs were torn apart.There was no way to repair the damage of the darts in time, so he grabbed the cloak and pulled it off him, throwing at at Jensen to obscure the Ixian's vision. The cloak spread out like a sheet hanging out to dry, but Jensen was undaunted by the diversion.

He spun around and dodged the cloak, catching the Abomination in his vision again. The monster before him was holding his fist out in a defensive stance, but Jensen was too fast. He kicked Cassandra's son in the gut, grappled the monster's waist, and went to do his first suplex. While he was doing it, he felt something was wrong due to how light Draug was, but it was too late. He slammed the monster's head into the linoleum and Draug popped like a balloon. Without a grip on anything, the Immortal fall on his back in confusion. From inside the apparently-hollow Draug, a lit explosive bomb rolling beside him.

Jensen blinked, "Eh?!"

Fifty feet away, under a table the real Draug was crawling on his arms, leaving a trail of blood from his shredded legs. Sweat poured down his face, and he rolled over on his back and breathed heavily. He looked under his fingernails again, and there was Reine's skin from when he dug his claws into her. He assimilated her from that time, which gave him the ability to spawn a decoy in his place. That may have been the limit of her stole magic, but it was enough to get him away to recover. He looked at his useless legs and snarled, pulling the enchanted kunai from his throat and holding it just above one of his thighs.

Immortal... our fight is meaningless here. We both know it, yet we still persist.

SLICE! Draug cut through the meat and bone of his legs, lopping them off like unwanted branches. He felt the blood drain from his body, a nauseous sensation engulfing him. From the stumps, he concentrated and spawned two new legs, using double the amount of blood due to the sudden loss of the crimson liquid. He could only make a handful of limbs from this point forward, but hopefully it would be enough. After taking a moment to recover, he rolled out from under the table and stood up, taking of his surroundings. His neck, head, arms, and back felt tender, a weak point for subsequent attacks. He observed the fight between the giant and the dart-throwing maniac, and the death of the drow. There were also the remains of the construct that he barely noticed this entire time.

He threw up another pile of flesh, and from there two more of his minions emerged. He needed more time, so he sent them at the Immortal.

In the audience, Cassandra's lover Kane sighed, "Jebb outed himself. The man is incapable of following a plan." Aerith Remi, Cassandra's other daughter, looked at him expectantly. Kane glanced at her. "We're fine, we're fine, dear." He placed his hand on her head. "The fun hasn't started just yet."

[Reine]

“Fae...”

Ferynn looked down at his sister, hands shaking in his lap, mouth pulled down in a drown. Most of the room had gone silent at her display of tenderness. This was not what they wanted form The Cell. They wanted death, mayhem, blood, guts and glory. They did not expect someone to be merciful and kind. They did not expect one of the fighters and gently lay down another combatant as if they were laying a comrade to rest, a fellow woman at arms.

Still, he had not been the one to issue her name in such a sorrow filled sound. That had come from the man next to him.

He glanced at the look of torment that crossed Jared Cesarino's face. A mix of pain and anguish, sorrow and dismay danced in his eyes and on the way his mouth twitched at the corners. His whole body was as tight as a bowstring about to snap in half.

“She was never meant to kill.” Jared said, even the words filled with a kind of remorse.

“No...” Ferynn admitted. “Lynn is a lot of things, but she is definitely not a killer. I could have gone through my whole life happily knowing this never happened.”

Even Connaire had gone uncharacteristically quiet. His best friend sat there with a look of shock on his face, perhaps finally realizing the kind of toll this tournament would take on Fae.

“She...she killed her.”

Ferynn nodded. “Aye, Connaire, that's whats he signed up for, remember? That's what you've been cheering her on for this whole time. Or are you now just realizing that this tournament is going to either turn our little Fae into a killer or a victim.”

"It's easy to cheer when no one dies," both Ferynn and Connaire turned towards the red head as he uttered those words, "it's harder to cheer when you realize that needs to happen four more times." At the end, his eyes took on a steely quality as he stared pointedly at Connaire.

Ferynn could not agree more with him.

The mage wisely said nothing, just sat there, blue eyes gazing down on the scene as Fae knelt next to the woman. All three of them, no, that whole section of the crowd watched her slowly rise from the ground, her face ashen, eyes glazed over and perceiving nothing around her. Ferynn could see them roaming around the other combatants, but he knew his sister saw none of it.

Then someone started chanting her name.

The call was taken up by another spectator and another, until a roar resounded around the room, all of them calling to her. The fist in his gut turned to a lead weight as he watched his sister look out on those people, unsure, perhaps even a little scared. He did not cheer. He did not clap. He did nothings but watch. It was the only thing he could do.

*~*

Fae stared around at the spectators, eyes glancing in every which way as feet stomped the floor, the wooden seats and hands clapped together creating a crescendo with the cry of her name that stunned the young thief. She had just taken a life, practically murdered a woman right before them all and they called to her as if she had saved a Kingdom.

Now, now she understood why warriors became addicted to this kind of thing. The adrenaline that coursed through her. The feeling of elation as the crowd screamed for her, her, as if she were someone special.

But I'm not.

All she'd done was give the woman exactly what she'd wanted. A quick, clean death. A warrior's death. At the end of a blade.

Looking down at Amalia, Faelynn stared at the crimson stain that dripped from the end of her spear. The blood of two people coated it. A monster and a woman. As the swell of noise echoed around her, she reached down with a shaking hand and wiped the blood off on her sleeve, no longer able to stand the sight of it.

I just gave her what she wanted. Why do you cheer for me? I am not your champion...

Turning towards the other combatants, Faelynn watched as the freaky blonde man battled the crazy immortal guy. Or at least she thought he fought him. Instead, the blonde popped like one of her dopplegangers. She stared in stunned silence. How could he use her own technique like that? Better yet, just where the hell was the real one?

Unsure what to do or where to go, Fae took a step away from the prone form of the Drowess only to feel the world around her shift. She stumbled, but quickly righted herself. Shaking her head, she looked around at the crowd, the blurry faces and moving hands, the tables piled high with a ruined buffet that blended together into one giant conglomerate of colour.

“What...what's wrong with me...?”

She reached up a shaking hand and touched her forehead, feeling the heat radiating off her skin.

A fever?

Taking another step almost sent her to her knees. Oh god, had she been poisoned by something? The only one who'd drawn blood from her this round had been that thing, that blonde monster, but just with his fingernails. Had that done it? Could that possibly be all it took?

[Breaker]

Terech Bodorson enjoyed his ale as the fight for the Felicity Chamber raged on. The old dwarf upset his tankard amidst chanting and pounding when the Genocide Giant joined the melee. From his high seat Bodorson could not quite make out Breaker, who had secluded himself at the end of the hall like a snake digging its lair. The dwarf had been content to focus on his frothy brew and observe the incredible battles of attrition and magic displayed nearer the middle of the chamber. Every so often a swarm of familiar flechettes entered the fray, and with the intermittent crack of breaking tables Bodorson figured his friend was doing fine. But the spectacle of Cronen fighting the Mystic Patriarch urged his sleepy legs to move.

"Don't worry lad," he commented to Jake, whose yellowing pale pallor made him look ill, "If Orlouge let his Pappy in on the fun, he must not be plannin' on eliminatin' folk." Bodorson stood suddenly, bumping the table with his broad chest. He roared his approval and applauded mightily as the Abomination used a decoy to foil the Immortal's finisher, a lit bomb replacing the popped doppleganger. "This round is just for the fun." He smiled at distant memories of his own days competing in fabled tournaments, and stepped past Jake into the aisle between tables. Nobody behind him complained; one of the many benefits of dwarven stature. "Come along then, let's seek some seating by the Breaker!"

"By the... right." Jake said as if woozy, glancing down at his empty salad bowl. How the lad could survive on rabit food and lean protein, Terech would never know. "Did you see how those darts shredded the Abomination?" The half elf asked as he pushed to his feet and followed Bodorson. "Josh is--" the lad's comment was lost as his eyes lit on two familiar profiles in the crowd. "Look, Master Bodorson... it's Ferryn Thiadore and his friend, er... Conrad?" Jake swallowed nervously, eyes averted from the arena. "I might just say hello first."

"Suit yourself lad," Bodorson chuckled, and hustled down the aisle toward the distant buffet table and the battle between titans.



As his heel connected with Tinerad's skull, two emotions of equal power rippled through Joshua's being. Triumph at landing the blow, echoed in the roars of approval and gasps of shock from the crowd. And sudden fear, a deep-rooted questioning of his foolish action. He knew the kick could have cracked a cliff face or a cut a yew in two, but he understood something else on a darker level.

The Genocide Giant had barely budged.

In the moment of weightlessness while he swung over Tinerad's shoulder like a rotten sack of potatoes, Breaker realized how badly the stories he'd heard exaggerated. Under-exaggerated. The Mystic's physical might and the power that practically crackled beneath his skin would have cowed most men who could glimpse their complex capacities. As his head arced toward the reinforced floor, Josh knew he could not hope to defeat this new adversary. There was too much potential in those mana-enriched muscles. A quiet voice in the back of his mind, one heard so infrequently he could scarcely call it his own, urged him to close his eyes and let it end. Surely he would still advance to the final Cell, after his performance in the first round. For certain the spectators would speak of the blow he'd landed on the Giant in years to come. And he deserved a short rest...

But Breaker's body would not stop. Before his crown could strike the ground he curled inward so forcefully the ice compress on his chest shattered. The curve of his abdomen shortened his spine and close-cropped hair grazed linoleum. He activated enchantments in his boots, and suddenly each weighed one hundred pounds. Whipping his torso past Tinerad's hips, Josh hooked the Mystic's neck with his free foot and harnessed his swinging momentum to send the Giant spinning toward the nearest table.

Rythadine's dehlar pommel struck solid linoleum like lighting finding an iron rod. A shockwave strong as an earth tremor reverbrated the length of Cronen's spine and he realized he was sliding across the floor again, torn from Tinerad's grip by the collision of forces. His boots were still at their heaviest and dragged in the mess on the floor. He came to rest in a pile of apple cores and corn cobs, broken candles and other odd leftovers.

His spine still felt as though it might have shaken a few vertebrae loose, but adrenaline filled his veins and he pushed to his knees and got one leg under him. His right, which Tinerad had seized just above the ankle. At first it seemed as if his boot was on backwards, but then pain flooded past adrenaline and he collapsed on his side, vomiting the bile that had been building within since his broadsword bit his chest.

Breaker's ankle... was broken.


Modified one-foot headscissor takedown approved by the big guy!

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The immortal's body turned and swayed to a beat only his head could hear. His limbs moved with the flow a rhythym that allowed him the ability to use his legendary agility. When he hooked Draug for the finisher he admitted to himself that it was over. He would break the son of Cassandra in half and claim victory.

Sadly, Jensen got exactly what he wanted and the body of Draug snapped into two.

"Be careful what you wish for, huh?" Jensen said loudly, following it up with a fit of giggles standing back up to his feet. He observed the battle, watching it, and waited as he read the flow of tension in the air like one would watch a leaf on the wind. When that tension siwftly altered, Jensen twirled into action doing a one handed cart wheel and dodging the first of Draug's minions lunging bites.

"Here boy, come here!" Jensen whisteled, clapping his hands. The fiend turned sharply, nose sniffing the air and barking. When it caught Jensen's scent it rushed forwards howling, drooly saliva dripping from its maw. Jensen flipped backwards, his feet and arms working in tandem to keep his momentum for four flips, landing the final flip with his leg extended, axe kicking the dog on the snout. It yelped and growled, blunting the attack aside. Jensen rolled to the left, rotating his legs in a wide arc to spin back to his feet, hooking an object on the floor back up into the air.

The immortal, for lack of a better phrase, posed holding his hand out and hooked his arm through the jacket. He spun to let the weighted edges of his coat tails whip the minion in the face, his other arm hooking the jacket secruely to his body. He popped his collar, winked to Jebb Remi, and turned kneeing something heavy up into his hand.

Jensen felt the leather grip of Crozius in his hand creak under the pressure of his fingers and he smiled bringing the war maul up into the lower jaw of the beast that attacked him. Its head splattered into a meaty chunk, all the muscle pulped in the quake of the attack. Blood flecked in a spray behind the mutt from hell spalshing the barrier much to the crowds delight. Jensen bowed to the audience, turned, and swung with all his might catching the second of Draug's minions in the face, the beast sneaking up behind him from under a table. Its face imploded into mush, the body skidding over the ground to come to a halt on the floor.

The minion's could only have meant Draug lived and Jensen wasn't sure where he was, but he knew one thing, and that was he wasn't far. He turned to look for Draug, but his attention was devided as he caught himself admiring Joshua's form. The man battled with the Genecide Giant with gusto and style he had to approve of with a sense of wonder. When the man kicked, he didn't dick around. Using the force of a rampaging Fallien Oliphant he watched that foot crack against the body of the Mystic, the immortal assured that some damage would be done. When nothing happened, the immortal's jaw dropped. "Shit that would have taken one of my lives!"

Overly impressed with the display and looking like he lacked focused the knight continued to watch the fight, chuckling to himself as he rose his hands to his chest impatiently. There was another shift in the air, a note of tension that sung out of key to the chorus of battle, and Jensen turned quickly to find Draug standing once more.

"For fucks sake!" Jensen cried out. "I thought immortality was a damn rare curse, now everybody's fucking got it!" He howled the words, echoing them with demented laughter as he charged Draug, keeping the abomination in his sights. When he saw he didn't move Jensen felt his body shiver. He corckscrewed in the air, smashing one of his enlongated limbs away with his maul, but he realized too late it was a feint. Jensen was grasped by the bastard and held to the ground. Draug moved closer, his body shaking and weak. The man was on his last limbs, but Jensen could see the murderous look in his eyes. He didn't care about winning, or losing, or anything. He only cared about killing Jensen. That look spoke volumes to the immortal. He was going to go out and take Jensen with him.

Flashes of the previous round played in front of Jensen's eyes. He squirmed to get free, his chuckles frantic and sporadic. He kicked whatever he could, but still Draug came forward, opening his arms like an angel of mercy. Jensen wasn't sure what game the man was playing, but it became clear when one of his appendages dragged the corpse of Drusilla to him. The bastard was going to assimilate her skills and take her ability to shut off magic. It all added up and Jensen felt his time ticking away.

"We'll embrace our deaths together," he laughed. "We'll die in each other's arms. Won't that be fitting immortal?" Jensen felt his options fleeting, but he looked to Joshua and saw the man performing some gymnastics over the giant's body. It looked like he was going to use the brutes momentum against him. He turned back to Draug, watching his flesh in his nether regions open like the jaws of a hell pit abomination. Jensen twisted his face, looking at the insides, watching the bombs prepare to go off. Then the idea hit him.

Using Crozius Jensen slammed the enchanted tip into the arm, feeling the drain on his own strength. Drusilla's null magic was already siphoning off power, and he knew he needed to act fast. The limb snapped like a twig, breaking Jensen's arm free. He shoved the mace forward in his grip, and pulled it all the way back aiming for Draug's hip. The abomination was weak, and this attack meant his body was failing him. That was all he needed to know to put his entire will into this swing.

Like a caveman of elder years he swung the mace into the fleshy side of Draug, the magnifide strength of his swing landing the blow far harder than the average human. The weapon's tip fizzled, but didn't give out, and the Cult's Champion let out a roar of anger. The hip portion of his body was beaten off, torn like cloth caught on a nail. It flew away from Jensen, saving him from the explosion. Draug's free arm pulled on Jensen's captured arm, and the immortal fell forwards, his shoulder popping out of place from his enhanced strength that was powerful even in his agonizing state.

The abomination cried out, his mouth opening with razor sharp looking fangs, and he bit Jensen in the meat of his neck, causing the immortal to screech with pain as he fought with Draug to rip him off. Draug held Jensen in the lock, and watched his lower half break apart.

The bombs within Draug's body escaped out into the open...

...and landed on the linoleum floor...

...and rolled right where Joshua's head scissors would land him amongst the apples.

((Control of Draug approved))

[Abomination]

Tentacles spawned from Draug's remaining upper half and wrapped around the Immortal's legs and torso, locking him in place. The Abomination carved out Jensen's neck, biting off a bit piece and devouring it. Jensen's eyes started rolling back into his head. The pool of blood below them was growing exponentially.

In a low, guttural voice, Draug said, "It doesn't matter if you keep coming back, it doesn't matter if the entire Mystic race opposes us. What we are can't be measured by power, by the standards you have set in your society." Blood dripped from his lips as he talked, and his intestines were hanging out like hoses in a shed. "When your knights go on patrol, I make their bodies impossible to identify. Your people hold out hope, they wait for weeks and pray that the missing soldiers are not the mangled bodies they found. When nobody shows up, they get angry, they seek retribution, they put their stock in justice. When they fail to kill me, then despair sets in. More bodies come in, and the length of time they hope is shortened every time." Blood flowed from Jensen's neck, his arms now limp and his legs only held up by Draug's tentacles. The Abomination's hold was crushing the Immortal's bones. "Now they expect me when the knights go missing. I have become a legend; a tale mothers tell their children at night to make them behave. You can not win Immortal, you are fighting against a story, and it doesn't have a happy ending."

He let go of Jensen, and the Immortal's knees buckled, his body collapsing like a rag doll. Draug himself fell backwards, hitting the linoleum with a thud. He was a creature that needed no sleep, yet his eyelids were heavy. He was a creature that needed no rest, yet his breaths were deep and slow.

I wonder if I dream...

In the audience, Jebb stood up and sighed, "That's my cue." He looked around for signs of Catherine, but she was nowhere to be found. Nobody but Cassandra herself could control that girl, anyway. "It's been a while since the last blood moon."

[Breaker]

Josh could not look at his ankle as he set it. Teeth gritted, chest seeping, surrounded by a cluster of leftover food and broken candles, he forced himself to scan the arena as he turned his broken foot through a torturous hundred and eighty degrees. He gasped as cartilage clicked and unbearable pressure built and built and then finally released with a jolt that lanced up his leg like heat from a fanned forge.

The headscissor had worked, and somehow Josh's dragonscale scabbard was still intact, if a little loose. A deformed pile of splintered table and torn up checked tiles surrounded the body of the Genocide Giant. Josh could only see Tynerad's tree trunk legs sticking out from under the debris, toes pointed straight up. Those massive feet vibrated, heels drumming the floor, and for an instant Cronen thought he might have wounded the Mystic Patriarch.

And then he heard the laughter. Deep, booming, mildly muffled by the tables folded about him and the dent his body had made in the floor. The Giant sounded like a child who had found a new plaything.

Down the hall some distance between rows of redwood surfaces, Cronen spotted two of his original opponents. The Abomination had gained the upper hand on the Immortal amidst a sea of both combatants' blood. Seeing the homunculus brought back the smell, but why was it so strong? Cronen's second slide across the floor had sent him over the area he'd scoured of fetid blood, and yet the overpowering stench clung to him as if he was doused from head to toe. Or...

Breaker noticed a large metal ball with a tinder fuse poking out the top amongst the corncobs and apple cores that surrounded him. The bomb was coated in Abomination entrails, but its wick remained dry somehow. And unlit. Cronen lifted the weapon and forced himself to sniff it, feeling his stomach turn, and then set it back down.

The cajun tang of gunpowder was unmistakable. Jensen must have given that beast a serious gamble for its gold, Breaker mused as he cast about for something that could strike a spark. He'd heard of the Immortal's physical prowess but most of the stories described a glorified brawler. How fatigued must the Abomination be if its forgetting to ignite its weapons? The fact that a lit bomb might have killed him did not occur to Cronen. He would have heard its hiss or spotted the spark of the wick... while he was emptying his stomach. In any case, he had a moment to spare while the Genocide Giant giggled.

There.

His callused fingers closed on a wet book of matches trapped beneath an overturned cantaloupe shell. He channeled a drop of water into the already soggy matchbook and then pulled out all the moisture he could, letting it splash over the empty cantaloupe. A swiftly summoned gust of air finished drying the wooden strikers. He fumbled and broke the first sulfur-crowned match, unused to wielding anything smaller than a dagger. But the second sparked to life as he cupped his hands around the growing flame.

The bomb's wick caught, and he tossed the match to sizzle on a still-wet section of floor. Breaker sat with his good leg curled beneath him and the freshly set ankle stretched straight, foot so swollen he didn't know if the boot would ever come off. Pain still radiated in endless waves, but above all else Josh knew how to fight through adversity. The other competitors had honed their skills in the safety of training grounds like the Citadel and Dajas Pagoda, hallowed proving grounds where a duel to the death meant a short nap and a free meal. Cronen had frequented both sacred stadiums, but the majority of his combat experience came from real life. He had fought in the Salvic Civil War barehanded against armed hoodlums, Kristina Rythadine at his side like the sword on his back. He'd aided the Rangers in their recent victory over the Empire by working as a spy within Radasnth's walls. Even in Underwood he chose to practice without the safety of having healers present, submitting himself to a world of injury and painful recovery. Sei Orlouge seemed to have recognized his knack for facing unbeatable odds and emerging victorious.

I guess Sei couldn't resist setting up one last test for his new Chief Investigator, Breaker decided as the Giant's laughter faded.

He bowled the bomb as its fuse burned down, watching the flickering wick draw swift circles in the air. It rolled over sodden breadcrusts and slid through slick puddles, meandering to a stop a couple feet away from where the Immortal and the Abomination lay like spent lovers. The fuse smoked and hissed, burning the last of the tinder.

Josh drew an icy brace around his swollen ankle. Another frozen poultice covered the wound on his chest. And then the warming sun streaming through the hall's windows was blocked by a seven foot shadow.


Paying full respect to Abom's post #33 where he used his first bomb, I gained Sei's permission to make the one rolled at Josh alone, and unlit, giving full respect to EI's post #36. Enjoy! Also had Sei's permission to bunny Tinerad, although the bit about his shadow at the end may be changed at Sei's request.

[Reine]

"Something's wrong."

Ferynn watched his sister stumble, as if in a daze. Her normally tanned skin had paled considerably and her eyes looked unfocused as they shifted across the expanse of the battlefield and the spectators. It was like she looked at everything but saw nothing.

"Come on, sis...keep your head in the game." Ferynn ground out.

As much he didn't want to see her fight, as much as watching her take that life pained him, he did not want to see her stumble and fall either. Though it may be easier on her psyche should she merely die and not have to kill anymore, it would be harder on his. These combatants would show her no mercy. Not the kind she had given the Drowess anyway.

"You're right," Jared began, "something is wrong with her, but it's not her focus. It looks like she'd been poisoned."

The fist of pressure that had been crushing Ferynn's heart this whole time, turned into an iron weight. His stomach dropped and roiled and it took almost every ounce of strength he had to sit there and look down on Lynnie as she tried to shake off the effects of whatever was eating away at her.

"Ferynn! Conrad!"

Hearing a familiar voice, Ferynn tore his eyes away from his sister and saw Jake Normandyne raising a hand in greeting. He was surprised to see the man here, but then, he realized he shouldn't be. Jake and Joshua were good friends and often came into the shop together.

"Call me Conrad one more time and I'll break your pretty boy face." Connaire mumbled.

A twitch of Ferynn's lips was the only sign of his amusement over the situation. Connaire never had cared much for Jake, and Ferynn purposefully believed the man forgot his name all the time on purpose.

"What are you going to do?" Ferynn asked. "Beat him with your magical wand?"

Connaire looked at him stunned. "Did you just make a joke?"

Ferynn opened his mouth to respond, but then all hell broke loose around his sister and he forgot all about Connaire and Jake.

*~*

Fae backed away from the two warriors as they threw everything they had and then some at each other. She stumbled, unbalanced, head swimming and a dull, aching throb starting somewhere in the back of her skull and spreading out. When blondie reached for the body of the Drowess, Fae almost found herself interfering. Almost. Then she remembered the way her spear tip had plunged into his face and he had survived, undaunted, as if not even feeling the sharp point of Delyn scraping along bone and slicing through flesh.

Screw the Drow's body, she couldn't feel anything right now anyway.

Fae on the other hand, could.

But when blondie practically ingested her, bone, skin, clothes and all, Faelynn felt her stomach give one final heave she couldn't ignore. Doubled over, she wretched up what remained of her breakfast, the foul smelling liquid splattering on the stained floor and splashing back up all over her boots. She didn't care.

Turning back just in time to see him take a chunk out of the other man's neck, Fae felt her face drain of whatever colour was left in it.

That could have been her.

When his hands had wrapped around her shoulders, he'd probably had the same intentions in mind. That thought alone, along with the excessive amount of flowing blood giving the air a metallic taste, forced her stomach to revolt once more. This time nothing came up. She dry heaved as the crowd around her screamed at the blood shed.

Falling to her hands and knees, smearing more of the crimson liquid along her hands and leaving finger streaks on the floor, Faelynn drew in several deep, shaky breaths. She ignored the roar of the crowd, ignored the screams that surrounded her, ignored it all. She concentrated on the beat of her heart, the steady rhythm that throbbed in her ears and pounded within her chest. Eventually, the shaking left her, but she felt weak and unsure, and a massive headache had taken it's place.

Slowly, she raised herself from the floor. Blondie and his opponent lay on the ground barely ten feet from her, neither of them appeared to be moving.

Farther back from them, she saw Cronen on the ground, creating ice around his ankle and chest.

With shaking legs, she headed towards him, Amalia still in hand. The floor beneath her kept shifting and her head felt simultaneously like it would explode and float away at the same time.

"Josh!"

She stepped around the two bodies, her eyes never leaving the blonde monster as she walked passed him, not entirely sure if he would get back up or not.

Fae made it only a couple feet away when the explosion ripped through the arena behind her. Used to the muffling effects of Flashbang, the sudden and intense sound of this ripped through her ears drums as a shock wave of pressure hit her back a mere second before something else slammed into it. She stumbled, knees slamming into the hard, linoleum floor as her hands shot out to brace her fall. Heat washed over her back and tiny pieces of debris rained down all over her body. Food, wood and things that may at one time had been skin and bone, things she didn't want to think about.

When she tried to push herself up, pain sliced through her chest, back and down her left shoulder and arm. Sucking in air between clenched teeth, she felt her chest constrict, a sudden coughing fit overcoming her. Each time she tried breathing in, it only got worse, until the young thief felt as if she'd cough one of her lung up. In the end, she coughed up blood.

It splattered against the ground in a great, wet, plop. More of it dribbled down over her lips and chin.

Taking small, shallow breaths, she straightened her back and looked down at her chest only to see a sharpened point of redwood protruding just above her left breast. Crimson liquid dripped off the end of it.

No way...

With shaking hands, Fae reached down and grabbed it. Agony tore through her; vision sliding to blackness. When her eye sight cleared, she realized she was lying on her side. a steady stream of blood dripped out of her mouth and nose and everytime she breathed in or out, she felt a rumbled in her chest, like bubbles.

Movement caught her eyes. Feet away from her, at the barrier that separated her from the rest, Jared knelt; hands pressed flat against the magic that prevented him from entering. She could see a guard at his back, pulling at his arms and shoulders in an attempt to remove him from the barrier. Jared snarled something at the man and practically threw him off before he turned back to her, his face a painting of anguish. His lips moved, but she couldn't hear what he said. Finding some strength left within her, Fae reached out to her red headed thief as tears fell down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry..." She could only mouth the words.

He shook his head as Ferynn came up next to him. She gave them both a small, red smile and prayed her heart would just give out before she drowned on her own blood.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

​Jensen lay on the floor in a pool of toxic blood and his own crimson vitale. He felt the small tingles of the Breath of the Undying try their best to rekindle his fighting spirit, bring him back to life, but he wasn’t going to kid himself. Draug had made his play, and in the end it worked. He just looked up at the ceiling, watching the master of the Ixians observe the battle below. His face felt heavy, and every breath was its own personal battle to keep him from blacking out. He gently turned to watch the woman stumble by him, body lifting up and exploding with shrapnel, debris, food, and most importantly a large stick of red wood.
​
Ha, know that feeling. Jensen mused as his own body rolled violently end over end, blood trailing in a wake like a deluge of sticky red paste. The explosion had shocked his body awake for a brief moment, but the pressure to his ears left a ringing that nulled all the noise in the arena. He collapsed against the wall, looking to his body littered with tiny tiny holes that all bled out his precious life force. He was a mess, and the immortal knew the limit was reached.
​
“You win,” Jensen muttered weakly, a giggle on his lips that was feeble and shallow. Draug’s stumpy top half landed near him, neck awkwardly positioned against the barrier. Jensen coughed and felt his body shift again, the barrier of the arena exploding once again sending Draug up into the air landing in a heap of his own squishy flesh. Jensen collapsed end over end, rolled to a seating position against the hard redwood table off to the end of the arena.
​
The crowd cheered for Joshua, booming excitedly for his theatrics and gusto against the Genocide Giant. He let out a huff of exhaustion, feeling the Breath of the Undying stir as tiny green lights began to form around the wounds. It was all for naught; Jensen knew he hadn’t much blood left to give to a fight.
​
He coughed up more of his blood, a raspy chuckle leaving his lips as he continued to watch the two warriors fight. Feeling broken was never pleasant and the immortal gazed up to Sei’s station, looking to the mute. “You...picked...a...winner…” Jensen mumbled.
​
Sei said nothing, but Jensen could tell the mute heard him. He turned back to the audience, looking for Jebb, but the bastard was gone. He knew the man would leave, but not for long. The Remi’s had a nasty habit of sticking around past their welcome. “Sei...my…”
​
Silence, Jensen, Sei thought to the immortal. She’s already on her way here with Anita and Adolph. I knew the Dark Family were here and planned accordingly. So just...just rest my friend.
​
“Fri...end?” Jensen’s words were slurred and confused, his ability to focus drifting. This was it, the end was coming. “Heh...you...faggot...fai...ry…” Sei’s amusement left a mental impression on Jensen and the immortal smiled, warmly as he closed his eyes. He felt something soft plop into his hand, and the knight opened one eye, looking upon his feet to see that which he desired all along. “Is...potato...mine?”
​
Contract fulfilled, Jensen. Sei’s reply was short and sweet, and Jensen lifted up bloodied fingers to the potato. It steamed still, smoke wisping in the air and wafting to his ruined nose. He could smell the tasty butter pooling into the crevices of the starchy mountain of magnificence. The sour cream cooled his fingers as it melted onto his fingers, soothing away his aches and pains. He could detect the hint of chives mixing in with a whiff of bacon, the juiciness of the potato too alluring for the immortal to give a damn about anything else.
​
He had fought William Arcus time and time again for the right to eat such a thing, losing it to Kyla Orlouge in the end, and then fighting so hard for it the potato was ruined along with the tower of the Ixian Castle now affectionately referred to as Twice Baked Tower. Every time he fought, the immortal never had the chance to eat the delicious, delectable, and always delicious twice baked goodness of the holy potato.
​
Stubborn determination carried his fingers to grip it tightly, shoving the goodness to the top for a solid bite. His arm weakly lifted up to his face to take a bite, and he felt light headed at the euphoria of at long last getting his precious potato. He closed his eyes, took a shallow breath, and held the food before his mouth. He felt weak and empty inside, and before he could seal the deal he slumped against the table, the potato falling to his chest mixing with his blood and ruined flesh.
​
Echoes of the mess hall flashed before his closed eyes, the entire cell round transforming in his mind. He didn’t see the menagerie of Coronian people, but the hardworking outfits of the cobalt blue and gold of the Ixians. Their cheers and shouts were replaced by soldiers pounding the tables with cries for William or Jensen to nab the potato first. Tendrils of time turned Joshua and the Giant Mystic into a mirror image of Jensen standing before the inferno that was the Revenant, the potato before them. Joshua’s mouth moved but it was Jensen’s haunting, laughter filled wails of mirth. The scene played out before him and a solitary tear rolled down the immortal’s face as the entire audience around them built into one whooping crescendo.
​
That’s… they screamed.
​
“My...potato…” Jensen mouthed, falling into the embrace of death.

[Breaker]

Jake lingered awkwardly as Ferryn and Conrad and the red haired fellow rushed to speak with Fae at the barrier. The half elf hadn't really wanted to speak with them; he barely knew Ferryn, had never been properly introduced to Conrad and felt certain the older youth hated him. But the combination of bloodshed and greasy chicken had tied his stomach in knots. Hoping no one would notice, Jake turned and strode for the exit, thinking he might find Stacia on her walk. The blue eyed beauty surprised him, entering the hall as he reached the door.

"Stash!" He exclaimed, a seldom-used nickname. He rubbed his chest through his green sifan shirt. "I was coming to join you." She pushed past him, seized his hand and drew him along the aisle that stood between the last row of spectators and the impassive stone wall.

"You should have!" She exclaimed as she dragged him toward the far end of the arena. The place by the emptying buffet table, where Cronen had carved out his den. "This may be the last beautiful day we have," she said with sad determination, "come along Jake, pick up your feet!"

Jake sighed and jogged along with her, resisting the urge to wince with each bouncing step. The crowd was on its feet, and the noise had changed. Escalated. Cries for Breaker and Genocide Giant and even Abomination still rang out, but the roar of the masses had taken on a shrill edge. The sound was somewhere between cheers of glory and screams of horror.

Stacia heard it as well. Her pale face, so pretty it could be porcelain, drew tight around lips that pursed and blew nervously.

"How fares the fighting?" She panted as they ran in rough rhythm behind swathes of screaming, waving spectators.

"I don't... Josh is winning." Jake took the easy lie. He hadn't truly been paying attention for some time, focusing instead on keeping his lunch in his belly. The pack of spectators pressed all the way to the wall as they reached the corner, and Jake found himself separated from Stacia as he squeezed between bodies. Lost in a throng of sweaty faces and shouting mouths, it was all he could do not to spill his guts. It took some minutes of struggling but he made it out the other side and found Stacia waiting for him, hand outstretched. Of course she could walk right through a mob.

They rounded a wall of people hand in hand and stopped short when they saw Master Bodorson. Stacia gasped, and not from the sudden force with which Jake gripped her palm.

A crumpled tankard lay behind Terech's heavy feet. He leaned into the Mystic Barrier nose first, pounding with both hands like he was back in the forge ruining hammer and anvil. The back of the dwarf's neck was redder than the arena floor, but what horrified the youths were the words tearing from his throat.

"Breaker you bastard, cease this madness! What are you doing you fool? You FOOL!"

Jake and Stacia rushed to his sides, pupils dilating in terror as they joined his frenzied cries.

"Put it away!" Jake pleaded, no strength in his voice. Stacia struck straight to the point.

"Jooosh! Noooooooooo!"



~ * ~


The Genocide Giant's shadow shrouded him, and Breaker's instincts took over. He abandoned the ice poultice half-formed and snaked an arm behind his back, plunging a palm into the first of the sheath's cargo pockets. He gripped a delyn ball and created something worse than the still burning bomb.

But Tinerad had vanished.

Cronen blinked. Could have sworn something blocked out the sun there. His forehead burned. Blood dribbled down the outside of his right boot like the brim of an overfilled glass. There was no feeling below the ankle. Cronen coughed and pulled water from the air, pouring it over and around and into his boot. The liquid stabilized and exhaled mist as it froze into a clunky cast, encasing the broken limb from knee to boot sole.

A familiar voice called his name.

"Fae?" He shouted, turning his head so fast his neck popped like a gunshot. "Am'aleh's eyes, get down! There's a--"

The explosion suspended her like a tormented marionette, and for an instant Cronen's heart soared. She had cleared the blast radius. The thunderous report rocked his equilibrium but he held the seated position firmly, marveling at the girl's endurance. She had come back from a difficult defeat to challenge in the second round. She had survived the worst the Abomination and the drowess could deliver. She had... a small redwood growing from her breast. A tree that wept crimson tears.

Josh rolled to his front and retched. There was nothing in his stomach to come up, but the disease inside wanted out, and he couldn't watch her die again. He slammed a fist into the floor in frustration, and then again and again until the writhing in his stomach stopped and the din of the crowd faded to a buzz and the linoleum took a permanent impression of his knuckles.

He pushed off the ground and stood. Wobbling on his slick peg leg, he looked around blearily at the wreckage of the Felicity Chamber and saw the screaming spectators beyond. They sounded like insects, buzzing against the window. Why wouldn't they leave him alone? Why hadn't the mana shield faded? It still glowed and sparkled between him and freedom. Or was he intended to leave?

Stumping over the linoleum felt like wading through the Ella Chamber, where flood waters had swallowed Fae whole before he drove merciful spikes of ice through her heart. As before Josh found himself encircled by fallen warriors, and yet the barrier remained. Perhaps not all have fallen... He had passed the divet in the floor left by Rythadine's pommel and the section of tile torn up by Tinerad's fall.

The construct still leaned against the last unbroken table in the final column. Its strange stony skin flickered with energy, its head shook from side to side, and indistinguishable whispered word-sounds flowed from its mouth. Something in its core kept it alive, something powerful that glowed to Cronen's eyes like a torch to a moth. The battle does not end until all but one have fallen. Those were the rules... it seemed foolish. The construct was finished. Why wouldn't Sei bring down the shield? What reason could there be to...

The truth of it gripped Josh like a brazed gauntlet. Sweat trickled from his hairline, blazing a trail through the crevasses of concern that opened on his brow. He couldn't be certain. He wanted there to be a reason for all this pain. He needed something to redeem the failure of letting Fae down again. But he could still be right. That must be it. Orlouge, you crafty bastard... As tournament Grandmaster, the customs of the Cell bound Silence Sei to protect the lives of the competitors and the crowd.

Breaker was bound by nothing but ice.

He hooked the construct beneath its sturdy shoulder-joint and hauled the mumbling paperweight across his shoulders, hearing it knock against Rythadine's hilt and grind over the looped dehlar cable. He knocked the table over with his hip and then turned and limped, burdened and slipping, to where the Immortal lay with the Abomination's upper half.

The ice on his leg and the slide of his cast on the red-white-and-black floor transported him... years in the past and across an ocean, to a mountaintop south of Sulgoran's Axe.

Kristina had vanished in the midst of a riot staged outside the palace walls in Knife's Edge. Kidnapped by her brother Geoffrey and the King of the Tiered Mountain, taken as leverage to force her father to make weapons of war. The Mountain King had been the most feared fighter in the shadows of Salvar. A myth more than a legend. Cronen had pursued them like a Haidian hound through wormwork tunnels beneath the city, and caught them after miles of underground paths ramped to an open-air plateau. At least, he thought he had caught them. The King of the Tiered Mountain merely wanted to test his prized pupil against the Breaker. Josh had felled Geoff with the same leaping front kick that cost him his ankle against Tinerad. In the mad flurry that followed the self-proclaimed king had snapped Kristina's spine like a winter-dried twig.

The sickening feeling returned as Josh dumped the construct between Draug and Jensen. He kept his eyes away from Fae's broken body, but he could not escape his memories.

With Kristina gasping and dying in the snow, desperation had driven Cronen to act. He'd thrown the still-woozy Geoffrey from the cliffs, knowing the man's enchanted gloves would carry him to safety. But the distraction had opened a crack in the Mountain King's steely defenses, and Breaker did what he did best. Two threats to the Salvic Royal family had fallen through frigid air that day. Cronen could not forgive himself for letting Geoff escape, but he would have yielded them both go if it meant bringing her back. Kristina had died in his arms, choking on her own blood and wishing him well in his life to come.

Breaker roared. Air he didn't know he'd inhaled burst from both lungs in a long, single-syllable note of loss. He raised a bloody hand and then plunged it deep into the construct's gaping chest.

Callused fingers closed around the Power Orb as it seared a layer of flesh to its surface. Cronen cackled like a mad crow, for there was no pain that could find him. He was alone with Kristina atop the palace walls where they'd shared their first kiss. He was standing in the Underwood smithy chatting with Master Thiadore while Fae flashed eyes at him from the bellows. He was home atop the Peaceful Promenade, smoking his pipe and hearing a knock on the wooden door that heralded Jake or Stacia or Terech.

He drew the Power Orb out in a cage of curled fingers, feeling as much as seeing the crackle and hiss of unstable energy. Endless energy. The orb shuddered and smoked like fire and lightning battled within.

Cronen almost toppled over as he reached back with his free hand and carefully removed the weapon he'd created from its pocket on Rythadine's sheath. The plain delyn ball contained a portion of his own energy. Explosive energy, compressed to the bursting point. He half-crouched and bent forward and crammed the ball into the Abomination's maw as gently as he could. His lips peeled back from his teeth as he crafted a razor of pure ice and shaved the orb from his palm like coarse stubble. Fresh blood spattered the floor but he focused on placing the radiating item to rest between the Abomination's opened jaws.

The corpses had stayed 'till the shield dropped in the Ella Chamber. Nothing got out without the Mystics' permission. Souls had to spend the interim somewhere.

Cronen had not touched the orb for nothing. He had charged it with the same energy as the delyn ball, building on the tumultuous storm inside. Two impact grenades shone from the homunculus' lifeless maw, the glowing one balanced atop the delyn. Stable, for the moment. A haze blurred Joshua's vision and the buzzing in his ears crescendoed as he forced himself to stoop further, lifting Jensen over his left shoulder like a sack of baked potatoes. He'd never met the man before, but the Immortal fought well, and was one of Sei's Generals besides. Breaker did not know how he found his way to Fae's blood-soaked form, but she was weightless as he slung her over his right shoulder. He tottered through tiny step after tiny step for an eternity, and finally fell behind the table he had tipped on its side. The last table at the end of the hall. It lay like a pitiful barricade, solid redwood surface flat toward the sea of blood that surrounded the Abomination.

One wide palm grasped the top of the redwood barrier, followed by the other. Cronen pulled himself to a kneeling position with his right leg stretched awkwardly behind, the ice cast weeping frigid tears between Jensen and Fae. Josh leaned against the varnished wood, letting the weight of his chest and shoulders settle on the edge. He reached back, stretching as far as he could as the cast melted away. He drew a revolver from a holster on the numb ankle and dipped his other hand into the seemingly empty pocket on Rythadine's sheath. Fingers sticky with gore collected another metal item, smaller and streamlined and perfectly smooth.

With his last ounce of energy Cronen drew a gust of air across the Colt Anaconda. The big handgun would fire wet, but he wanted no room for error. Jake had searched furiously through the Bazaar in his short allotment of time that afternoon, and found a single bullet for purchase. A steel forty-four caliber slug with a conical nose.

He slapped the Anaconda's cylinder open lazily, like slapping palms with an old friend, and dropped the projectile into place. The gun clicked and clicked as he pulled the trigger five times, feeling the draw and checking the mechanism and rotating the bullet to the barrel. His forearms rested on the table edge as it absorbed his weight once more, gun gripped in his right hand, left cradling the weight.

Sei didn't want an investigator. He needed a killer. He wanted the Breaker.

Josh lined the steel sights up with the still-sparking Power Orb balanced atop the Abomination. He inhaled to his diaphragm, testing the table's give and the strength in his arms. He exhaled and surrendered to oblivion.

Breaker squeezed the trigger.




End! I'm not actually trying to kill anyone's character off, just honoring the old tradition that corpses are fair game and giving this the best ending I could think of. If I read Herald's profile right, he would remain alive so long as he was in proximity to the Orb, so I figured the walls would stay up. It can all be another Josh hallucination if that's what keeps people happy. I'll leave that to Sei/the reader. But I do think the Mystics and Monks could handle a little exploding whatsit. High risk with the cliff hanger, but I had to pull out all the stops. Thanks to everyone who participated, I had fun!

[Silence Sei]

Reine
Mage Hunter
Enigmatic Immortl
Breaker
Abomination
Herald of the Tempest



Story
6
5
7
7
8
5




Setting
6
4
4
6
7
5



Pacing
4
4
5
5
7
5



Communication
6
6
7
7
7
5



Action
4
4
7
5
7
4



Persona
5
6
8
8
9
3


Mechanics
6
8
5
7
7
5



Clarity
4
4
5
5
7
7



Technique
5
5
7
8
8
5



Wildcard
8
0
8
6
9
0


Total
Total
54/100
46/100
63/100
64/100
76/100
44/100





Breaker
While your opening post would have technically been in your characters power, you should have communicated with your opponents better as to where everyone was positioned.
Communication via PM is key to things such as that, even if you’re not necessarily bunnying the characters, by herding them all in one place, it was godmodding.
That being said, you kept your opponents on their toes the entire round, despite also being distracted with the Cell’s enforcer. You did so in a belivable way as well, good job!

Reine
By performing several actions in the thread that would take more than a couple of second(Breaker was guilty of this as well), you have commited the other players to either retroactively attack you (which would make no sense) or have to ignore you while you get your tirade on (which makes it more of a 1v1 than a free-for-all.
You’re writing can be a bit unclear at times, shifting tenses and having you, as the author, refer to the reader takes away from the experience.
Reine’s fish out of water story is an interesting one, although one that has been done in the Cell before, your relationship with Joshua helped make this a little more unique than those.

Mage Hunter

You abused your null stone, plain and simple. The description in the profile said it last for one post, yet you said it required the people –you- specified to post twice before the effects wore off.
You missed your deadline on the last post, and thus were docked a 0 in Wildcard for being late. Also, you were docked in setting for not using the setting established in my first post.
Your fight with Reine was interesting to say the least, and I look forward to seeing a rematch! I also noticed hardly any spelling or grammar errors!

EI
You got docked for editing the actions in your post, as you already know
I would suggest using Microsoft Word or another Word-like document to read your posts out loud, maybe twice to see if it sounds ‘right’. Your clarity hurt because I sometimes did not understand the nature of Jensen’s attacks.
It looks like Draug and Jensen are becoming better rivals than Jensen and Arcus! Also, your ending was really good!

Abomination
There was some confusion about Cassandra’s family in your post (Aerith is wheelchair bound, Kane is dead, both happening in Night of Debauchery) and while you weren’t counted off for the confusion, it would behoove you to talk to someone about their NPCs before you use them in your writing.
You had a great fight with Jensen, and Draug’s evil persona is one that just drips with the vicious anime-like ‘monster’ characters.
I noticed no powergaming on your part, but please be aware like the others, that excessive bunnying will keep the free-for-all style of the Cell from being a free-for-all.

Tempest
You posted early, and thus were docked accordingly.
There was not another post after my Tinerad intro (I believe you were dead anyways, according to you), but because I cannot confirm 100% that this was the case, you also received a 0 in Wildcard.
Your character wrote clearer than almost anyone else in the Cell. I could understand was Vyrabond was doing without question. Just be careful of those times next time, pal.


Breaker, EI, and Abomination advance to the finals!

[Mordelain]

Abomination receives 3750 experience.
Enigmatic Immortal receives 3750 experience.
Breaker receives 4000 experience.
Reine receives 750 experience.
Mage Hunter receives 550 experience.
Herald of the Tempest receives 550 experience.

Each participant receives 100 gold.

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.