The Armonia Chamber

[Silence Sei]

“I think that I should be immediately regretting this decision,” Sei spoke into the head of his advisor, Andrew Octane, “What if Breaker destroys the tower in the thrill of the fight?”

Then we will rebuild, and maybe even post a ‘Never Forget’ plaque in the new, better model.

“Not funny,” Sei pointed out, overlooking the arena that had been decided for the final chamber of the Cell, the Armonia Chamber. “I am pitting four of my strongest generals, three of which were too busy fighting one another to focus on the task at hand in the first round, mind you. Breaker is a destructive force of nature; it’s going to take weeks to rebuild the mess hall after round two. Worst still, we’re putting Draug, a man who is quickly tearing through the ranks as public enemy number one. And that poor girl…”

The one who reminds you of Kyla?

“That’s the one. Emma rounded up some thieves in the last round, and they may or may not be connected to her." Though it had only been an hour since the last round of the Cell, Kyla Orlouge, Sei’s favorite for the tournament as well as his daughter, had sustained too much damage. Something seemed off about her now, but the mute could not quite put his finger on it.

Something about this ‘Roht Mirage’ girl (whom the mute had come to learned was actually called Astarelle) was important enough for Kyla to defend with her life. Sei did not know what it was yet, but he was determined to find out, by pitting her in with some of the toughest Althanas had to offer.

He flew the safe distance of twelve feet above the Mystic dome (Which in itself was only ten feet high this time). The square of the tower was twenty-five by twenty-five feet, with no real cover for anyone to hide behind. The gimmick, this time, was that the dome extended past the towers length and width, and anyone who would fall from the granite stone monolith would more likely than not make a satisfying squishing sound upon contact with the ground.

The crowd was now surrounding the tower, cut off from the other warriors by the ten feet of ground and air that the dome covered. Mages of all varieties had gathered to show images of the fights events. Any second now, the fighters would be ascending the stairs of the tower, coming up from the cellar-like double wood doors and making themselves known. The finalists of the Cell. The Survivors.

“This is it, you six,” Sei proclaimed, his wings keeping him form from falling to his death below, “The battle of the year os about to take place. This is The Cell Finals! Now take us for a little ride!”

((Thread opens tonight at 12:01 AM CST. Early posting will be punished))

[Arden]

There was a place for every man in the world. There was a sanctuary, a palace, a hovel. Though it might take decades to find it, it undeniably exists. After centuries, Arden Janelle had stumbled across his retreat quite by accident. Though reluctant to fight, and hamstrung by the oni that corrupted his heart, the Hound stood central atop the tower. War was his calling. Defending the weak was his purpose.

“I have served my purpose,” he said. His condescending tone mocked the ‘great’ Sei Orlouge’s command.

He had returned to the Ixian Knights after battles with monsters, gods, and terrors dark. He had longed to keep some of that meaning, that purpose, and that excitement in his life. Arden searched all Corone for a new challenge. Though the monsters of the country were far from the maddening, gibbering kami, in the Cell, his search had come to end.

“I have atoned for my mistakes,” he continued, reflecting on the night Cassandra Remi paid the mystics a visit.

He had rescued Kyla Orlouge from death, and now she had repaid the favour. He had saved the Enigmatic Immortal from incarceration in his Neolithic tomb. He had inspired the remnants of the castle guard to a salient, though ultimately futile last stand.

Talen Shadowalker.

Joshua Cronen.

Jensen Ambrose.

Draug Remi.

These were the monsters he had spent decades preparing to face. Though his blade could not stay their rampage here today, the death he would deliver only had to be metaphorical. Giants, after all, have the furthest to fall. He laughed. His voice carried out over the battlements of Sei’s grandiose edifice, the ‘Mystic’s Tower’.

Compared to the previous encounters, this was truer to the tournament’s namesake. They would be contained, once they ascended the tower, and forced into close quarters. The coarse stone was cracked and worn, sandblasted and set free adrift in history. The crowd watched from afar, skein sliver revealing the madness as it transpired. The wind lapsed lazily across Arden’s bow.

“I’ve resigned myself to this path,” he concluded.

He balled his fists. He punched them together with a thud, the metal of his gauntlets chiming noisily. The leather of his gloves creaked, and his heart skipped a beat. With a thought, his red scarf shimmered with contained power. It extended, as though a waterfall of blood, and formed a full-length cloak that traipsed over the floor. He rested. He focussed. He was ready to do just what Sei had tasked him to do.

Kill the strong, save the weak.

Astarelle had to win. Arden did not know why, but if Kyla Orlouge gave her all for the Fallieni, then so would he.

“Long live Valeena!” he bellowed. He reached for his scabbard. He unsheathed his sword, to the tumultuous cheers of the crowd, and pointed it skyward. The Hound bore his Fang, and his bark resounded through Radasanth.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle Set'Roh stood silently in one of the few halls of Ixian Castle that didn't hum with activity. Her long skirt was as still as a statue's. Her corseted frame barely rose on each shallow breath. The only movement was her lataro staff, rocking back and forth ever so slightly before her toes, and the subtle shifting of her sand tattoos. It looked as if the mural of dunes was being kissed by wind, but it was not a wind that came through the small window she looked out of. It was the breath of Faroh, always connected, always a part of her. She had not prayed so deeply in... what felt ages. She had not wanted to reveal her location to her goddess, but now she knew the truth. There was no point in hiding.

With eyes closed, she turned her face to the gentle Corone sun and allowed herself to become once more a Farohtian priestess.

Roh, mother and guardian. I know I have no right to ask anything of you. But, I just don't know what you want anymore. The Kar'Roh threatened me when I left Fallien. I- I thought I was being hunted. I thought you sent them to take me back, alive or... as dead as you would allow me to be. I actually thought I could hide from you with the tricks that Akashere taught me. In every way, I was wrong. The Kar'Roh have been following me this whole time, haven't they? But... why? One of their puppets saved Raylene. I should thank-

Her eyes fluttered open. If I were you, she thought to the sky in a tight-lidded squint, and took a deep breath. Her chest pouted above the leather top. If I were Roh, I would try to make the runaway priestess feel guilty. She felt callous and ungrateful just thinking it. Her heart twisted into a knot of shame. I'm not ashamed. Her heart disagreed, and Roh certainly knew it. One could not bluff a goddess. But, she tried, because...

A teardrop-shaped memory came back to her from the ancient night in which she first met Akashere. He said that no cage could hold her, for she possessed something that even Roh feared. Determination.

Astarelle had her own word for it.

Roh, I will not thank you. Call me ungrateful, venomous, I don't care. What I am... is sand-blasted stubborn. If you don't like that, have one of your Kar'Roh sneak up and steal my heart. She spread her arms in proud supplication. Her eyes never strayed from the window, though she saw -or just imagined- movement at the corner of her vision. If you must, do it now. She willed her respiration into a calm tempo, or close enough. Three, six, ten long breaths. Nothing happened; absolutely nothing. Without looking around to confirm her isolation in the hall, she allowed a faint smile to touch her lips.

I'm still running. I'll never stop. But, there is something I have to do here first. There are people who cared for me when I was... nothing but a monster. I remember enough to know that I would not have tolerated a person like that in my home. You, certainly, would not have. Yet they did. They are the only ones I owe a debt to. Her staff jumped into her hands, and she snapped it into the crook of her elbow with a showy spin. Exhaling slowly, she turned from the window. I am grateful for the fact that your hunters saved Raylene. But... The shame still festered. Bury me, I will not thank you. I don't need you. I will find allies here who don't demand as much as you do.

Surely, she would, because she knew deep down that Roh's demands were as limitless as her fabled patience.

~

“Roht!” shouted Master Kotra from the end of the hall just as the former priestess approached the stairwell that would lead her skyward. He jogged toward her, sweat glistening on his dark -and very expansive- forehead. An enforcer was right on his heels, close enough that the old master's shadow might as well have put on polished armor.

“I told you. I'm Astarelle,” she said with a cheeriness that did not match the pale-knuckled grip on her staff.

Kotra skidded to a halt, the enforcer creaking solidly into position behind him. “You... you made it to the finals,” the fallieni elder said incredulously.

Astarelle allowed herself a long, soothing blink before resuming the good cheer. “Don't worry. I've got rope! The fight's as good as won.” She patted the ten meter rope that was slung diagonally over her torso. A blunt hook dangled from either end, which wasn't to her specifications, but she could kiss whoever had thought to include it.

Kotra's wrinkles sprouted even more wrinkles as she contorted his face. “You're... joking? This is no time for jokes.” With a sudden lowering of his head, he transitioned into the language of Fallien so quickly that Astarelle almost couldn't keep up. “I have to get the kids out of here. Raylene was attacked. The one who did it is still around somewhere.”

Astarelle tilted her head and studied his angular features, his mouth drawn tight, and the wizened eyes that seemed deathly focused on her. They also twitched ever so slightly to the side on each heart beat, as if he had a crow on his shoulder that would peck him blind if he dared look at it. Astarelle looked up at the enforcer who was, to her, anything but crow-like. “He's not going anywhere, is he?”

The knight stiffened and gave a stilted, “He and his children are staying where we can keep an eye on them.” Then, he shifted forward, causing the bulk of his armor to loom high over Kotra's shoulder. “We allowed this visit given your circumstances. Don't take it as opportunity to plan anything. You're lucky I'm allowing you to speak fallien.”

Astarelle glanced at Kotra's shakey eyes. “It's appreciated,” she said while shooting a chipper smile at the enforcer.

Completely unamused, he added, “We'll be taking you in for questioning after. There is a severed hand that no one has come forward to claim. Perhaps you can enlighten us as to why.”

Astarelle just nodded, then gave Kotra a sympathetic look and said in fallien, “I talked to Raylene after the Ai'Brone finished with her.”

For the first time, the old man truly looked old. With shoulders slumped in defeat, he looked at the floor and asked, “What did she tell you?”

“That man almost turned her into an unbound monster, just like he did to me.” She snapped her fingers just as had once been done to her; in that alley where all this madness began. Kotra jumped, and Astarelle felt a little twinge in her heart. She gripped her staff in both hands and leaned forward on it, speaking fallien at a softer volume simply to calm Kotra's nerves. “My hunters stopped him. I don't know why, and it probably won't happen again. But, now he only has one hand to perform the kaleidha with.”

“He can't,” Kotra said without lifting his eyes.

Astarelle raised a brow, skewing the divine Farohtian mark on her forehead. “I don't know why your tribe would send him after you, but I'm sure they taught him to do it with both hands.”

The old master, the gatherer of stray children and teacher of forgotten Fallien ways, actually colored in shame. He raise one hand and drew a finger down the back of it. “Only one hand...” he began, but words failed him.

“Tattoos,” the enforcer suddenly offered. Astarelle jerked her head up in shock before realizing that he had interpreted the gesture, not the language. “When we pulled the glove off the severed hand, it had tattoos. They seemed very... foreign.” The last word carried a weight that she almost found offensive.

“Your work?,” she accused with her eyes, dropping the false cheer that had allowed her to come this close to the arena. Kotra didn't look up. In fact, he shrank like a proud plateau collapsing into itself. He tried to say something, but couldn't force the sounds out. Then, Astarelle wrapped her arms around him, and he was too shocked to even try. The enforcer stepped back to avoid the wide sweep of Astarelle's staff, leaving them with a few moments of relative privacy. “I won't ask,” she whispered in a breath as quiet as desert dust settling, “I owe you too much. What I will do... is bring you some reinforcements. The only reason I was willing to go to this last round, to let them beat me for their amusement one more time, was to prove that I was someone they should take seriously.”

Kotra responded hoarsely, his nose pressing into her shoulder. “You might not ask, but they will. Blast it, they will. You can't impress them enough to avoid that. You're not Roht Mirage anymore.”

“I know.” She unclasped herself from him and held his shoulder in her free hand. He finally glanced up, though his eyes looked as if they were drowning in the far-flung past. “I'm no fighter. I can't even fake it. But, I'm going to show them I'm the most stubborn woman they've ever seen. The negotiations that follow, that's what I've been trained for. I'm going to bring you all the knights you need to put your history to rest.” Astarelle didn't know how to follow a promise like that, or even if she would be able to keep it. So, she turned and disappeared up the stairs, leaving a proud old man in stunned silence with his armored crow hovering oppressively behind him.

Like a rampaging sylph, she flowed up the staircase that coiled through the entire height of the tower. Floor after floor snapped past. The light that broke through the slit-windows was as crisp and clean as a series of blades, but she did not shield her eyes. Two steps at a time, she ascended, relishing each flashing cut of the light across her face. You monsters can cut me, crush me, throw me to my death. But, this is only a feint. When the dust clears, I'll strike where it matters, and I'll drag you all along to face a danger the Ai'Brone can't protect you from. So show me what you're capable of! She burst through the final portal, already open, and skidded to a stop on the coarse stone. A field of onlookers was visible in all directions over the toothy, waist-high parapet. They were hungry. So were her opponents.

Astarelle skipped onto her toes and spun a tight circle -one, two, three times- as she danced to a corner with her staff riding overhead, whipping the air while her body slipped through it gracefully. Four paces from the edge, she turned and pointed the reed at one she recognized. A desert-gold leg emerged from the split of her skirt as she shifted into a ready stance. Whether it was for battle or a performance wasn't clear.

“They tell me you're called Arden,” she said foxily, “I'm Astarelle, no matter what other names you may have heard. Care to dance again?”

[Breaker]

Dark water pressed inward like a vice forged from shadow, like a wet noose knowing only to tighten. Far beneath the riotous waves of the ocean's sun-sparkled surface, her true power dwelled in the crushing depths. With the weight of seas and storms and continents contributing to the pressure, walking along the ocean floor felt like carrying the world.

Breaker's enchanted black boots rose and fell in long exaggerated strides. One of the charms imbued in the boots let them weigh him down like hundred pound barbells, and the silty thickness of the saltwater slowed his steps further. Each footfall scared up microscopic bottom-dwellers amongst a cloud of dust that danced like angels before settling anew. A forest of colorfully curving coral dominated the murky underworld to his right. To his left yawned oblivion.

He had already sunk so far the sun's rays became a mere inkling of twilight amidst perpetual night. His heart rate had slowed to an occasional casual bah-dum. He could only slit his eyes to see, could not think of breath lest his focus slip allowing endless water to enter his mouth and nose. One more step to the left, one more leap of faith, and he'd be off the edge of the underwater canyon. Sinking through ink as he lost the power to think. Even Breaker could not survive such an ordeal. The sharks and groupers would feed on his remains, remoras and wolffish finding the scraps. His bones would be picked by the microscopic beings whose homes he destroyed with each step.

Breaker remembered this feeling, this place, this darkness and pressure and unexplored space. He had come here to kill himself two years prior, and found new purpose instead of demise. That had been a stormy night though, with as little light above as below. What could this be then... a dream of a memory? He recognized a growing glow ahead and knew. A dream, yes. A memory, yes. But Breaker's dreams were more than the random exorcism of memories recent and long past. He had brought himself there to find comfort in the arms of his Lady.

Currents roiled and colors emerged like a rainbow coaxed from her glow. She was there, but she would not take shape. Even a dreamer as strong as the Breaker could not summon her full majesty to his slumber. He opened his mouth to speak her name, and brackish water rushed in.



~*~


Joshua Cronen awakened in an unfamiliar stone chamber. Sunlight poured through windows facing south and west, casting shadows on plain stone walls. Water trickled into his lungs. He gagged and coughed and spat as he sat up, nearly knocking the slim monk who had been sluicing his brow over backwards. He scrubbed hands callused from hours of weapons training through short-cropped brown hair and down rough stubbled jaws. He traced the Y-shaped scars that blossomed from his dimpled cheeks and slid both coarse palms over his granite chin, past steely pectorals and washboard abdominals. He was fully healed, and fully nude save for the tight cotton trunks he wore as underwear.

And the monk was a woman.

With a start Josh recognized the Ai'Brone novice who had refreshed his health after the first round of the Cell. She was the only female he'd known the Order to allow within their ranks, and as he flexed fully functional feet Cronen understood the reasoning. The wounds she'd repaired for him following the first round had been trivial by comparison. In the Felicity Chamber his ankle had been destroyed following his encounter with the Genocide Giant, Tinerad Orlouge. But the injured limb did not even pop as he rotated it through its greatest range of motion. For a fraternity as old as Ai'Brone to open their ranks to a woman, she must have learned her magic before enrolling at the Citadel. Marvelling at the new scars that decorated his leg like abstract paintings in white and red, Josh took the room in at a glance and shot the Ai'Brone Novice a stern look as an afterthought.

The young woman blushed from her smooth throat all they way to the crown of her shaven head. The crimson paired nicely with the brown of her robe and amber of her eyes.

"Forgive me," she said, looking away from the table Cronen sat upon. Her focus lit on the only other furniture the room offered; a cloak rack and chair standing either side of the oaken door. "I did not intend to look upon you. Repairing your leg required the removal of boots and trousers... and the foul blood of the Abomination had stained your skin and hair." She held a dripping blue rag and bucket full of pink-tinged water up as evidence, and as a means of obscuring his body so she could see his hazel eyes without upsetting her chastity. "In order to fully cure the disease, I was first obliged to remove the source." She put the bucket down and focused fully on squeezing the cloth dry one droplet at a time.

"And you have my thanks again, noble healer." Cronen could not hide his smile. Her propriety and humility amused him, but his mind was thick with pressing matters. His belongings were strewn across the cloak rack and chair that stood sentinel by the door, and he asked after the next thing that entered his mind. "Are my friends about? The young woman red-and-gold of hair, the slim half elf, and the barrel-chested dwarf?"

"They wait in the corridor beyond," she said, nodding toward the door without raising eyes from the twisted cloth between her hands. "They are anxious to see you well and wish good fortune for the final melee." She peeked up from her endless task, shooting him a sly grin. "And mayhap to extract a promise not to finish the last battle in like fashion. Our healers did double duty following the end of the Felicity Chamber. You frightened a fraction of the audience to death."

Breaker's smile vanished as he slid off the sturdy table and paced to his belongings. A black Akashiman martial arts kimono and a soft red belt hung from the cloak rack opposite the sheathed greatsword. The garments were wrinkled and covered in bits of burlap telling of their recent purchase and hasty delivery. He stepped into the pants and set about fastening the soft buttons up the front of the jacket. In truth, he could not fully recall the final events of the Felicity Chamber. The Abomination's disease combined with his own blood loss and harrowing injuries had scalded the memories like boiling water poured into a greasy pan.

"My friends have little reason to worry," he told the Novice as he faced the oaken cloak rack, "I will not compete in the final round of Sei's bloodsport." He shrugged into the greatsword's scaly sheathe and slung the heavy coil of dehlar cable across both shoulders. the bald woman huffed angrily and marched past him. She slammed the door behind her. Josh quirked an eyebrow then turned toward the windows. "Sei actually gave me the corner office," he said aloud, shocked. Trees swayed distantly amidst a mild breeze that sent gold and brown leaves flurrying to the forest floor. The castle grounds bustled with activity that seemed centered around the tallest tower. Cronen lost himself in the events beyond the glass until he heard the door open and close again. He turned and nodded at Jacob Narmolanya.

The half elf's usual boyish grin abandoned him. He wore a stern mask atop earth-toned sifan clothing and soft leather boots. His unruly sandy hair failed to make his appearance comical as it clung slackly to his scalp. He had his liviol tonfa belted on his left hip. Although Cronen's memories of the day were scattered he recalled with certainty Jake had left the blue-hued fighting stick in Underwood. Therefore he had returned to the Concordian village by portal to fetch it in the minutes since the Ai'Brone novice's departure. Amongst his variety of useful skills the half elf held two in highest esteem; his knack for travelling miles with a single step, and his ability to batter larger foes with a seemingly non-lethal weapon.

"This isn't only about you, Josh," Jake said hotly as he approached. So, the Novice told them. "You may feel alone in these Mystic arenas, but I and Stacia and Master Bodorson have been watching. Even when we'd rather not." There was some guilt in the half elf's tone, a flicker in the intensity of his gaze, but he continued. "Underwood needs this victory, to bring us a new Sheriff. The Ixian Knights need this victory so Sei Orlouge knows he picked the right man as his new Chief Investigator. And Chronicle needs this victory, you're their last participant in the bloody tourny."

Shame built between Breaker's temples and gathered at the back of his throat, but he pushed the sentiment away. Jake knew him well, knew how to dredge up his infernal guilt. But by invoking the village of Underwood the youth had struck Cronen's reason for avoiding the final Cell.

"I can't watch Fae die again, Jake." Josh croaked, words thick, eyes stinging. Surely his friends would understand. Faelynn Thiadore was a young woman from Underwood, a girl he'd seen grow between visits to her father's forge. "Sei put her in my path twice already, and twice she's perished painfully at my hands. It's not worth--"

Jacob drew his tonfa one-handed and lunged. The blue stick blurred as it arced toward Breaker's ribs.

Crack, the blow echoed throughout the stone office. Josh winced and shifted away from the stick, minimizing the impact on instinct.

Smack, Jake spun smoothly and delivered a mirrored strike to the other side of his instructor's abdomen. Josh gasped and reeled. The half elf gritted his teeth and brought the tonfa overhead. He gripped the end below the crosspiece in both hands and swung at Cronen's skull like splitting timber.

Clang! The blow glanced off the dehlar sword-pommel protruding above his shoulders. Breaker had ducked a fraction of an inch at the last instant. His hands struck Jake from two directions, sending the tonfa spinning to the corner of the room while the half elf staggered into the table, clutching at his chest. Mere inches higher and the open-handed strike would have shattered his windpipe. His soft boots upset the Novice's bucket and water spilled across stone tile in a growing puddle. Jake picked the cloth up from where the bald woman had left it on the table and made as if to mop up the mess. The water rose under Breaker's magical influence and funneled back into the bucket. Jake clasped the blue fabric between his hands awkwardly, but his green eyes bored into Cronen's hazel ones.

"We came here to watch you fight... to watch you win." Jake said through a barely contained flood of emotion. "If you'd rather kill me in cold blood than do battle with those who would willingly oppose you in a tournament of legend... so be it. But I will watch you fight this day, even if it's the last thing I see." They stood frozen like sternly opposed statues, and then Jake shrugged and turned toward the corner where his tonfa had clattered against stone.

He wishes to carry the burden of my choice in this battle, Josh realized as his young friend stooped to retrieve the weapon. As much as he cannot... he would offer his life to change my mind. As the half elf turned Breaker recognized the blue cloth in his hands. Jake had stretched it taught to wrap it about the tonfa's handle, improving his grip. For a moment he displayed its size and triangular shape.

It was the blue kerchief Breaker had worn through the first two rounds of the Cell. The token given by his Lady to wear to victory that day.

Josh rushed forward with such speed Jake stumbled in surprise. Long muscular arms clad in dark denim sleeves caught him and embraced the half elf in a mighty bearhug.

"Get the others to the viewing grounds," Josh told his closest friend, "I think you'll want to see my entrance."



~*~


Breaker burst onto the tower's roof chased by the rapid-fire staccato of metal boots striding up stone stairs. He stepped onto one of the open cellar-style doors, adhering an enchanted boot to the sturdy timber. His motion tore the door from its hinges easier than pulling apart parchment. He kicked off the opening in the roof and flipped the door into his hands like a youth with a skateboard. His boots hit granite and he slid toward a vacant corner, twisting about like an elven ice dancer. He crouched and held the door as a makeshift shield, monitoring his opponents as his boots skidded and sparked over coarse stone. His back thudded against solid parapet, announcing his arrival in the north-west corner.

Seeing no archers with bows raised nor bladeslingers with arms cocked, Josh dropped the door and backflipped fluidly to land astride perpendicular parapets. The sun warmed the back of his neck and the greatsword Rythadine rocked between his shoulders in its scaly scabbard. Three cargo pockets bulged away from the body of the sheathe like spikes on a dragon's spine. Wind from the west whipped the blue kerchief knotted around his neck, and he summoned a cloud of steam that swept up and down his body. It cleaned and pressed his garments like they were fresh from the board, and buffed his boots till they glinted darkly. Sunlight brightened the white Y-shaped scars on his cheeks as he spread arms wide.

The roar of the crowd sounded from far below, voicing their thirst for blood. They cheered for Breaker, who had felled the Genocide Giant. Breaker, who had won the first two rounds outright. Breaker, who entered the tournament a favorite and saw the oddsmakers tip scales further in his favor with each fight. The attention had painted a target on his back, but he would cherish the battle even as he longed for it to end. With every moment he feared Fae might poke her little head through the trapdoor. But he'd entered to win, and he'd promised his friends a show.

"Roht!" He called across the square to the mysterious woman who balanced in the corner opposite his, "I feared we would not meet again so soon. Come embrace me!" Breaker began to unwind the long dehlar cable from his shoulders, paying no mind to the familiar-looking swordsman who stood between him and the Fallieni. He thought he recalled the fiery hair surrounding the eyepatch, and if it did belong to Arden Janelle... being ignored might entice the Hound to attack.


Josh has positioned himself atop the parapets in the corner opposite Astarelle. For the purposes of continuity I assumed that he burst onto the scene directly following her question to Arden, potentially interupting his response with all the noise.

[Hysteria]

Soft rays of sunlight streamed through the porticus, creating beams ending with a bright rectangle against the cracked and weathered stone walls. The smell was strong, dust and too much time, and it caused a slight look of annoyance to settle on Talen's face. His small, white features seemed to shine as he moved up the stairs, punctuated as he entered the streaming rays of light. His body was relaxed, hands plunged into the pockets of his pants and his gate slow and easy. His hair, ever messy, stood at wild angles from his head, adding to his general unkempt appearance.

“Tsk...”

The sound came from Talen's mouth as he pushed open the latch that led to the roof. His blue eyes fell on the three people who had beaten him to the top. Once again Arden was there, the hound has been constantly dogging me he thought, his smile broadening at his own wit unbeknownst to the world. A few more steps, the scraping of his feet on the ground as he feigned dragging himself out onto the roof was more effort than he could afford.

“Yo.” Said Talen, raising a his hand in an informal salute to Astarelle.

Talen didn't stop to chat to Breaker, pretending not to register him readying some kind of attack. The kid walked away from the trio, leaving whatever shenanigans they were going to get into to their own business. The kid took a seat on the wall in one of the embrasure and leant again a merlon. His arms rested in his lap for a second before dark ribbons materialised around them. The darkness quickly hardened into his gauntlets. The punch gauntlets, as they had been called, were made from shiny black metal. Each hand was turned into an assortments of blades, reaching down over his clenched fist, but also into claws extending from his fingers.

The kid's eyes focused on those present, waiting for more to arrive, and for the first attack to be thrown. His money was on Breaker, but Arden was also a wildcard. The youth's grin remained fixed, a gentle calm settling across his body.


* * *

I watched Talen walk out of the line of cells that hard marked the second scene of the battle. He looked sullen, his eyes focused on the ground in front of him. I don't think I've ever seen anyone concentrating quite so hard, his mind a million miles away. The youth's cloths were burned, a few small cuts and marks dotted his body, but overall he was unscathed. Compared to the mess of body parts and blood... well lets say he looked pretty good.

Despite myself I yearned to know what the boy was thinking. Shouldn't he be happy? He was going to move onto the next round after all. He seemed anything but. I moved with the crowd, not even the bravest among us got too close to him as he led the way. I guessed that he was heading towards the healing area. It'd make sense to get what little damage had been done to him healed before the next battle.

Behind me monks had already started scraping together body parts. How they would put some of those people back together I had no idea. At least it wasn't as bad as the first round. How does one turn a bag of mush back into a brain?

[Abomination]

Anyone is free to control Draug in a fight.

Draug awoke with a start, lifting his upper body up with trembling eyes. He took in his surroundings vacuously, having never experienced the sensation of memory loss before. He never slept, and this was the first time he actually lost consciousness. He stood up from the bed, finding himself covered head to toe in bandages, save for his eyes and mouth. He ripped the bandages off his head and tossed them aside, taking stock in the small room. There was a fresh cup of coffee on one of the tables, still steaming as if someone was just here recently. Next to it was an envelope, but right now he just grabbed his head and yelled out in rage.

What is going on? I... There is a gap in my memory! He hated not knowing what happened to him, being a creature that continuously absorbed information from his surroundings, forming an uninterrupted narrative of his existence. He was a creature with no long term memories, only being created recently by The Dark Mother to serve her will. Thus, he treasured any and all memories that were formed, and to him not knowing a part of his life was the same as not existing in that time period. What if he was simply a new Draug injected with the thoughts and feelings of the old one? He had no way to tell, no way to fill in the missing puzzle piece.

He sundered the table with his fist, the coffee spilling out onto the ground and the envelope floating gently nearby. Blood seeped through the bandages on his hands, and questioned bubbled in his mind. He looked down at the envelope and picked it up, opening it to reveal a letter inside.

The letter's contents surprised him: It was a list of all the competitors for the final round, including their names and observed abilities from the previous rounds. Why would someone leave something like this for him? Unless...

I'm in this round.

He tore the letter apart and discarded the pieces. His advancement was not the source of the anger, but rather the list of participants, at least half of which were killed in previous rounds. The described location also forced them to deal with Draug very intimately.

This is meaningless. Every life I snuff out just comes back, in this tournament everyone is the same as the Immortal.

He picked up the bed and chucked it through the door, sending both into the hallway with a crash. Dust rose from the debris, and Draug retrieved his black cloak from a nearby chair, wrapping it around his figure. Once again the risk was too great, and his best option was to go back to Memnar and discover the secret to ascension. He didn't feel Katherine's influence on his mind at the moment, so this may have been his only chance.

As he stepped out into the hallway, a painful sensation invaded his head, sending him reeling into the wall. He put his hands on the stone, gritting his teeth as blood dripped from his nose. The feeling passed, and when he looked down the hall he saw a hooded figure walk up to him. Draug's grimace turned into a grim when he recognized the man.

"Just who I wanted to see," Draug said.

Memnar pulled his hood down, sporting dark rings under his bloodshot eyes, "I see that you've changed already. A little more, and even the best the Ixians have to offer won't be enough, I suspect."

"Alchemist!" Draug roared. "The essence speaks to me. It tells me of possibilities! We must head back and ascertain its worth."

Memnar sighed, "If it was that easy, we would've done it already." Draug's mouth hung slightly agape as usual, revealing his razor sharp teeth. "I figured I would tell you this personally, since I doubt you would trust the words of anyone else." Memnar fished out a small vial filled with crimson liquid. "This is some blood we collected from Mr. Ambrose. You can assimilate him and get as many memories as you want, it won't do you any good. We want you to continue to improve while it's still risk-free."

"Risk-free?" Draug wondered. "Here?"

Memnar nodded, "Notice how I'm here? I'm the last one to get anywhere near this place if it wasn't safe. We have something going on, so go ahead and continue to improve. I will analyze the results afterward."

Draug spat on the floor, "Very well."

After he moved to the tower, Jebb Remi appeared beside Memnar, "Looks like he bought it."

"Maybe," Memnar shrugged. "I don't know what he's thinking anymore. Make sure everything's going smoothly on your end and we won't have a problem."

"Watch your tongue boy," Jebb snapped. "If my darling daughter wasn't so infatuated with you, you would just be another meal for Draug."

Memnar resisted the urge to glare at his master's father and knew that there was a hint of truth to his words. Nonetheless, he was not going anywhere anytime soon.

Some time passed, allowing the Abomination to arrive at the scene. Draug leaned against the rampart on top of the tower, waiting for the others to arrive and the round to officially begin. He was now quite aware of his opponents, and their nonchalance despite their close proximity amused him. There was one advantage to such close quarters, and it was that there was no escape that didn't involve a long trip to the ground.

Once most of the competitors arrived, Draug looked up to the sky and opened his mouth, spraying a couple liters of blood into the sky, against the wind. He planned to start things off by infecting every single person here.

Draug just created a rain of plagued blood. I'd like to assume everyone arrived before he did so, but it's up to anyone who hasn't posted yet.

[Arden]

Arden lowered his blade, turned to Roht, and smiled. He ignored the other combatants as they appeared. He had a plan. He had a direction. Pomp and regalia would not sway him.

“Oh, I’d love to,” he said. He bowed his head and body, servant-like. He switched the Fang to a reverse grip in his left hand, and held out his gauntlet in a friendly offer. “Only if, my lady, it’s not the tango.”

The second he held out a gauntlet, it began to rain. Any normal man would have been repulsed at the sight of blood falling from the heavens. Arden, on the other hand, drew strength from life. He looked up, let the ichor wash over him, and smiled at the irony.

Draug had given the Hound a distinct advantage, and as Fang drank the homunculus’ tainted blood, a plot formed in the swordsman’s mind. The final round of the Cell would be a bout of dinner, death, and dancing.

“Take the lead,” he said, as he dropped his bloodied gaze to his partner.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

He sat immobile on the seat in the staging area, body still covered in dried flakes of blood, dirt, and food. His ears rang loudly, everyone’s words a garbled mess of fuzz. His eyes were shut, not looking to anyone, and his nose gently breathed the air around him. He took in a lungful, let it go, and listened again. Nothing had changed.

But something had. He could suddenly hear feet pounding up a staircase, fingers drumming with anticipation, and the murmurs of many. It was as if a slack wire and suddenly gone taught and Jensen rose with the rise of the masses.

“The winds,” Jensen said after a time. “They are picking up. I can feel the tension,” He closed his eyes again and narrowed his shut eyes.

“The round is starting,” the green-haired elf mumbled back. She was next to Jensen, wearing his jacket and leaning against the wall as he meditated. She and Felicity, the small black cat in his lap, had been the first on the scene to him when the barrier went down. They took his body straight to Aislinn who did her best, leaving Jensen to repair the final details on his own. He had slowly regenerated, his Breath of the Undying moving in rhythmic patterns akin to an ocean wave across his torso and legs. When it was done he tossed his jacket off and sat in a chair, closing his eyes, and focusing on the world around him. The two ladies decided to let him be, but also stuck by for another reason.

The Dark Family was there. Cassandra Remi’s kin had been a thorn in Jensen’s side for years and it seemed perfectly in character for them to even the odds to assist Draug in keeping the immortal down. However, the Immortal knew they wouldn’t pull any stunts. Something in the little child abomination that was Draug was different.

In the first round he was all about the Dark Mother. All about sacrifice, about punishing Jensen and making him squirm; the usual Cult of Blessed Torture antics. But the second round had seen a dramatic change in Draug. He was just as preoccupied with the Dark Family as Jensen was. Draug could have won his fight against Jensen by smashing his face into the barrier. He had the strength but he was holding back. He was a creature that could evolve, but could he evolve to…

“Draug’s gaining control.” Jensen said at last, lifting his frosting covered dirty nails to pet Felicity. Her eyes went wide and ears flipped back as she tried to avoid him, but he was too fast for the fuzz ball.

“Excuse me?” Tobias asked giving him a confused eyeball. Jensen looked up to where the battle was going to be starting soon.

“Nothing leaf licker,” Jensen yawned, stretching as he stood up dumping Felicity to the floor. With cat like reflexes she landed with grace, glaring daggers at Jensen as she began to clean herself.

“So then what are you going to do?” Felicity ‘asked’ Jensen. He shrugged as he usually did, scratching the back of his neck in the same spot he always did, letting out a rasp of a sigh and patting his belly.

“I don’t know…” Jensen said lowly. “I just…don’t know.”

~*~*

The immortal had waited in the tower for his answer, thinking long and hard about what this round meant to him. It meant a great deal to Sei, to Joshua Cronen, to Arden Janelle and to that new girl. What it meant to Talen was unknown; probably a club house he and his friends could go play hide and seek in. Draug was always for the Cult; at least, that’s what started him down this path. But the options were still narrow for Jensen. Why was he fighting?

To fight with a purpose; an ideal that you would give your all for no matter if it is right or wrong, is the warrior’s pride. The words of his mentor Ta’gaz Nosiba and come to his mind. Jensen clenched his fist. He wasn’t sure if a purpose could change, and he had no mentor to ask him. Jensen was as alone as he ever felt in his life. The names stitched into the back of his jacket gave him no comfort today. He had to think this one alone.

He could hear Arden talking above him, the Hound having an internal monologue no doubt. He looked to the staircase leading to the tower top. He debated on what Duffy’s advice would have been in his broken Scara Braen accent. He shook his head and pushed those thoughts away. For now, he had a mission to do. He walked up the steps into the arena, taking to the roof at the same time Breaker jumped into the arena as Arden talked with the Fallien girl.

“Watch for those two,” Jensen said to her with a wink passing her by. “They are heart breakers.”

Jensen looked to Talen sitting on the wall, and he grinned to the boy. “You look like your father forgot to pick you up from practice,” Jensen twirled and landed on the side of the tower walls next to Talen. “I’d know something about that,” he mused. He too watched the scene between the Breaker and the Hound and the Fallien native. “Twenty gold says Joshua flexes his muscles for her just once.”

Jensen didn’t wait for a reply as he watched Draug appear. He narrowed his eyes, watching the bastard look to his combatants, and then did the nastiest spittle drop the immortal had ever seen. Knowing full well what that the man was full of poisonous tricks the immortal took his coat and spun standing before Talen. He dropped his jacket over the kids face and pushed the wind around him allowing the acidic substance and infectious disease to hit the stone walls around him.

“Watch my back, bed wetter!” Jensen shrieked as he ripped the switch blade sword from the belt loop and activated the scythe mode charging after Draug. Laughter built up within his stomach and like a damn breaking his mirth let out in a wail of screams and giggles, rushing down the abomination.

((Jensen Covered Talen, and used his Leaf on the Wind power [1 of 3] to push the rain away from them both. Talen has Jensen’s jacket which has two throwing Glaives, and the war maul Crozius attached to it. He is currently attacking Draug with a charging attack. Jensen has stored one EX move.))

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle did not need the jovial newcomer's advice, though she did flash him a smile just in appreciation for his tone.

Oh yes! Hold me, Breaker, you lady-throwing, eye-punching, sun-scorched puddle of scorpion piss. The venom rolling in her mind soured her painted-on smile. She was just about to say it too, but took a moment to guess how quickly the grappler, once enraged, would close the distance between them.

Wary of what the bastard might throw at her -or throw her at- this time, she looked toward Talen. She had heard his name after waking, but still thought of him as her guardian shadow. From the beginning to the end of their battle in the prison, he had been at her side. That, she had to be informed of also, as she had lost track of him during the explosive finale. She raised a hand and almost mirrored his colloquial greeting, but was overridden by Arden's elegant riposte of her dance metaphor.

Nothing but surprises in the Cell. She turned an inquisitive glance toward Talen. If he objected-

Before her eyes could alight on the youth's lounging form, she saw the shrouded stranger spew blood into the air like a being from her nightmares. Bad surprises, too. The wind took the droplets back over the tower. Bad bloody surprises! The simple instinct of a desert native, mixed with the sensibilities of a rizak-wielding Farohtian, took hold. She would not let her sand get wet; not again. The Ella chamber, two resurrections-of-convenience ago, was all too fresh.

The sand tattoo along her empty hand moved almost of its own accord, forming a claw that she used to split her already-split skirt in its entirety. She lifted the cloth on one arm and propped the swaying end outward with her staff just in time. A sickeningly heavy patter sounded so close that she shivered, then the stone around her drummed a thick vibrato. It smelled of iron and... death, almost. It was too fresh to smell dead, but she couldn't put it off as imagination. With her makeshift umbrella still rigid, she couldn't see Talen or his friendly elder, but she was able to watch Arden just by turning her head; and almost wished she hadn't.

On many a journey over Fallien's rolling dunes, she would have given anything to have a mere moment of rain. Just a few seconds -with her sand tucked safely away- to feel the drops on her bare skin, the weight of her hair as it went limp, the tease of moisture in her parched throat. Sweet, crystal life. She saw the same joy in Arden as he surrendered to the spray, coloring his face in streaks to match his hair. And just plain weird surprises, also...

After the shower, he faced her. His eyes seemed maniacal and absurdly dangerous behind the blood dripping from his lashes. She lowered her cloth tarp and readied her staff in case he charged, but he -in apparently all seriousness- beseeched her to lead him.

Astarelle suddenly realized that she was even more bare than if she wore a Farohtian dancing cosutme, which would have had enough function to, in her mind, be considered modest. Now, in a corset and tight leggings not even as low as the knee, she was anything but. At least none of the blood had touched her gracefully toned and softly desert-painted legs. Her tattoos even shifted, rolling over the meager stretches of fabric to extend the dune mural from knee to ankle.

Bury me! I don't care. I'm sure half of them have already seen my insides.

Without touching the soiled side of her retired skirt, she slung it over the edge of the tower and spread her feet in a purely battle-ready stance, unconsciously keeping to the little island of clean stone amid the spattering of blood graffiti. If he wants direction...

“Arden,” she commanded in a tone that came out more sultry than she intended, but all the better. “You seemed to enjoy that. There's the source right there.” She pointed her staff at the man -the thing- called Draug. “Let's squeeze the rest out!”

She flicked an apologetic glance toward Talen, who she couldn't make out in the taller man's rush and the ripple of his fallen coat. “As long as I have my shadow with me,” she called sweetly, only a hint of concern making her voice flutter.

“And Breaker!” She kept the teasing edge... barely. “If you really want to embrace me.” It shook, teetered, nearly fell into the realm of disgust.

“Then- then- Go hug a harpy!”

Even Astarelle had her limits.

Without waiting for any responses, she moved toward the center of their platform, sidled around the open, stair-tongued pit, and closed on the blood-spewing man without overtaking the one called Jensen. Whatever was about to happen, she wanted a bit of distance between her and the theatrics.

[Breaker]

The calm before the cyclone of combat.

Breaker experienced the same phenomenon in the first round's Ella Chamber, and in the middle frame's Felicity. His own approach to melees dictated leaving his emotions outside the arena, but the pain of Faelynn's double demise haunted him so strongly he'd nearly abandoned the tourny. Jake's furious insistence and boundless aggression had restored the balance required to overcome five killers, to fight the best Althanas could offer. Breaker took lessons from the first two rounds, where his initial headlong assaults had shattered the nervous tension between participants. Adapting his strategy, he waited patiently for someone else to draw the group's attention, uncoiling most of the dehlar cable from his shoulders and looping it twice around the tower's corner parapet. A cylinder of ice joined the loops to one end, anchoring the cable to the granite block.

The Abomination vomited a wave of blood into the wind.

Even with the breeze at his back the full stench of the fetid fluid invaded Breaker's nostrils. It conjured painful memories from the Felicity Chamber. The martial artist had no focus to spare on flickering images of Fae falling with a redwood stake through her chest. He leaped off the rampart and sprinted across the tower's northern limit. The ends of his red belt flicked and snapped like flags in a gale as his body became a black blur with a crimson stripe. The blue kerchief tugged at his neck as the slipstream begged to pull it free. Dehlar cable spooled out from the pile of heavy coils he'd left in the north-west corner.

Josh leaped over the eastern rampart, losing the sun's warmth as he dropped along the tower's shadow side. The cable stretched taught and he swung into the immovable wall, bracing both boots against coarse granite. He heard the wet spatter of blood atop the structure, like a sudden summer cloudburst that ended as swiftly as it started. In the Felicity Chamber he'd allowed the Abomination's disease to infect him, and his judgment had fallen victim to the potent sickness. He would need clarity of mind to best the foul beast amidst a gang of worthy warriors.

The crowd's gasp at seeing their champion plunge toward a deadly drop became a full throated roar of approval. He raced along the east-facing wall like a spider suspended on metal web.

Breaker rounded the south-eastern corner at a run, boots clinging to the wall with each step. The cable snaked along the wall behind him and he angled upward as it tightened around his torso. Lungs and legs burning with the effort, he crested the ramparts at the south-western corner and paused for an instant to check his work.

Droplets of blood spotted the granite rooftop like an abstract masterpiece in grey and red. The cable stretched taught from its anchor point in the north-western corner. It extended along the tower's northern border within the stone ramparts, but strained against the outside of the eastern parapets. The cable's porous dehlar exterior grated up the tower's shaded wall inch by inch as Cronen looped another length around his torso. He strained for an instant, heels braced against the rampart, leaning back over the dizzying drop to take every inkling of slack out of the artfully strung cable.

Breaker whipped the dehlar cord up and over the eastern wall and dove backwards off the opposite rampart. The cable shwicked across the battlefield at chest height like the reverberation of a lute's plucked string. Although it could catch any or all of the combatants, Breaker had angled the cable so it would gather around the closing group of Roht, Jensen, and Draug. If the attack worked as intended, it might clothesline them over the waist-high barrier to join his earthward plunge.

Josh curled into a ball as the cable squeezed his shoulders. It caught on the corner parapet and slammed him against the western wall, crushing air from his lungs. He embraced the pain and forced his boots to find purchase, running up the outside of the tower. Cheers from below strengthened his strides as the sun warmed his black gi and wind combed his close-cropped hair. He reached up and planted both callused palms atop the tower's north-western corner.

Breaker vaulted between his arms and over the parapet that served as the cable's anchor. Both boots landed on the rooftop amidst the sickening splat of displaced blood.

Already the rooftop smelled of death.


The cable is 30 yards long, which equates to 90 feet, more than enough to stretch across three sides of the tower. Breaker's weight was distributed across at least two points of contact each time the cable stretched taught, so the full stress was never on the anchor block.

[Arden]

Arden, lacquered with toxicity, watched the calamity unfold. Mesmerised by the Falliani’s transformation, it dawned on him why he felt he needed to protect her. He drew to her because she looked like somebody he loved. Sometimes, that was all the reason a man needed to let altruism guide his actions.

“At all co…,” he trailed off as Joshua Cronen, instead of fighting, took to flight.

When Arden ascended the tower, he had considered all the different outcomes of the finale. He could have died, suddenly, and without fanfare. He could have engaged in a righteous duel to the death with a peer. He could have squandered his morality, and slain the weakest amongst them. After seeing whom he was to go against, he threw all those eventualities out of the window.

“What the hell?” He frowned.

There was only one outcome now, and that was with a titan triumphant. The heroes, minute and insignificant, would live through their fleeting fame and fall into darkness. It was the way of history. It was the time-honoured tradition. He had expected it to be more blunt, direct, and devastating.

He clenched his fists, and by some manner of divine intervention, he sprinted forwards. His hesitation had nearly cost his and his charge’s life.

“Shit!”

Joshua Cronen was quick as lightning, greased and crackling with temporal velocity. He rounded the tower and set up a vicious trap both devious and deadly before Arden could finish drowning in his sorrow. His boots slapped against the tower’s stone, and only his nimble footwork prevented him from sliding into Astarelle full-tilt. He reached out; a gauntleted hand reddened by Draug’s plague, and grabbed her by the shoulder.

“Get down!” he roared into her ear. He pulled on her arm, hoping it was enough force to put her out of harm’s way.

He concentrated on the Tap, and let it take its hold on his body. There was a distinct whipping noise, a thud, and then a veil of blue ribbons that fragmented the ochre tapestry with colour. He vanished. When Arden re-appeared, there was only one thing on his mind.

"Astarelle!" he shouted, fangs dripping, eyes wide, and heart racing.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle had been torn between watching Breaker's death-defying stunt and the Abomination's impending melee, so she hadn't fully grasped her own looming bisection until Arden's blood-slick gauntlet grabbed her shoulder. Wetness, vile and dead. Her body went limp in protest, but she did not go down to her knees. The carpet of vitae gave her too little traction for that. Instead, with a grunt, she squatted her barely-covered bottom onto her heels and braced her back ever so slightly off the ground with one outstretched hand and her staff, pinched between elbow and ribs vertically, as a brace.

The cable snapped overhead, caught a subtle ridge in the iron-hard reed, and yanked it from her grip. She actually squawked as it left her tight grip, taking a bit of skin along for the ride, and clumsily braced her abandoned elbow down against the spattered stone.

Keeping one hand planted on the ground, she popped herself up and off her elbow where the sand tattoo already sloughed off wetly, including a small amount of dry sand to scrub the area clean and keep the moisture from spreading. A similar cleansing took place at her shoulder where Arden's gore-print marked his saving gesture. The foot that bore most of her weight remained pinned under her rump, and the other slid outward to balance. It might have been an alluring pose if she wasn't so clearly avoiding contact with the floor.

Arden's shout was a faint, distracting buzz as she watched her staff ride the cable toward the abomination... or where he had been.

Right arm has been cleaned of blood. Sand lost at elbow and shoulder. Left palm is still planted in the blood.

The staff is riding the cable the rest of the way, possibly aimed at either Jensen or Draug. If anyone describes it flying over the edge, please add that it rebounds in the air as she desperately summons it back.

[Hysteria]

They were all here, players ready to strut their stuff at the whim of the puppet master Sei. The youth knew his part to play, which lines were his and which weren’t. But that didn't mean that he was going to play by them. Arrogant isn't something that Talen aspires for, but it sure was something he was. He was determined to make the most of the opportunity, to cast himself as more than a fretting soliloquy. He wanted to be seen, to be respected. The simple act then of Jensen dumping his jacket over the youth’s head carried slightly more significance than intended.Talen had seen his mutated opponent spray its own blood into the air, leaving the kid both frustrated and grateful at being covered by the jacket.

The coat was heavy, confirming and dark. It contained the immortal's weapons, and one in particular instantly stood out to Talen. Peaking out from under the jacket to make sure that the spray had ended, Talen pulled back the coat and jumped to his feet. In his hands was the maul, Crozius.

The effect on the youth was instant, the power of the maul flowing through him, coursing through his veins and pumping up his limbs. The power felt incredible, a surge through his body. It took as the youth had to keep a lid on his emotions, to keep the calm smile and relaxed posture. The youth moved to follow Jensen, his feet squeching on the blood that now coated the roof. The youth let his eyes flick towards the others, an almost instinctive glance to make sure that everyone was accounted. He noted with joy that everyone bar Arden had focused on Draug. At least nearly everyone.

Talen stopped in his tracks Where is that bastard Joshua? he thought. The only thing remaining where he had been was a cable tied around one of the stones and Arden. Alarm bells roared in Talen’s head as Arden roared for Asterelle to get down. Talen instinctively did the same, the cable whipping above his head. The movement was unnecessary as the cable was much higher than the youth, and even had he been standing his short stature and the flick of the cable would have passed over him unscathed.

The youth eyed the Breaker warily as he reappeared, this was his first time facing the beast and the stories seemed true. Talen’s grip tightened on the hammer, his metal claws scratching against the handle. The moment passed, and Talen turned back to Jensen. His hand lifted, sending a blast of shadows from his open palm at and then around the immortal. They twisted around his body and formed a dark echoing illusion around his limbs. For each movement there were echoes of others, creating a discord of actions and movements. The youth had given the immortal a sort of camouflage, a cloak of shadows that would act over the immortals movements. One punch would look like three, each moving in slightly different directions and hopefully requiring different actions to block. Talen gripped his warhammer again as he edged around Draug, making sure he kept an eye on Joshua.

Talen unnecessary ducks under the cable, returns the favour to Jensen by casting an illusion that’ll make it harder for people to track his movements.

[Abomination]

Permission from Enigmatic Immortal obtained.

Draug watched intently as his bloody theatrics failed to catch anyone off guard. All of them seemed intimately aware of Draug's intentions, and worse yet they were honed onto him like a pack of wolves. Jensen once again started one of his famous suicide charges, feeling no fear for what might happen to his immortal body. The Abomination realized that the caliber of his opponents could make short work of him, but he did not expect Jensen's commitment to the attack. Rather than dodging or preparing a counter-attack, Draug did the next best thing: He got tackled.

Both the Immortal and the Abomination were sent flying off the tower, Jensen detaching himself before Draug could get a grip. They were both sent flying toward the ground, with Jensen acknowledging Arden's feelings on the way down with a smile and a wink.

Draug threw his right arm at the tower, stretching it as fast as he could. He fell so fast that he was halfway down by the time his hand reached it. With his strength, he pierced through the stone and stopped his descent, sending the rest of his body crashing into the stone wall. The stone cracked and pebbles fell to the ground, with Draug's elongated right arm firmly wedged into the mess of stone above. He looked down and saw the Immortal's body, who apparently did not have a particularly graceful landing, but the Cult's Champion knew better than to assume his death. No, it would take much more than that to put Jensen out of commission.

The Abomination punched through the stone of the tower with his left hand and held on tightly while he ripped his right arm out of the tower above. It returned to its original size, but everything beyond his forearm was mangled and bloody. He quickly climbed down by kicking holes in the tower to use as steps and jumped off when he was near the ground.

Jensen's corpse was still prone, but Draug noticed the familiar green aura surround the Immortal. Running at him, the Abomination ripped a sword from his left hand, leaving it bloody and the skin from whence it came tattered. He sought to pierce the Immortal's heart before he could fully revive.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The immortal flew off the edge of the tower without fear. He had done it several times before and from taller perches than the lookout. He trained in the path of the Wind, using the current to give him safe landing even from such a monstrous height. True, he had fallen to his death on several occasions, but since the Night of Debauchery the knight had never failed to land on his feet, no worse for the ware.

This would not be one of those times, however.

Jensen awoke with a start, eyes bloodshot from his abrupt landing on the floor. The green power of his undying energy washed around him as blood flowed to his limbs once more. Shooting pains sparked his nerves as circulation returned to them and wearily he got his brain thinking quickly once more.

He flew off the edge, tackling Draug off and over and to the floor of the arena, he used his limbs to save himself dumping the immortal off to his own death. He used his Leaf on the Wind trick to land upon the ground with enough force to not destroy him and he was waking back up. That could mean only one thing as he took in the information at a rapid rate.

Hairs on his neck sprung to life and he rolled with the swiftness of a fleeting deer, avoiding the lunge into his heart as Draug impaled the sword all the way to the hilt in the dirt. Jensen looked up at the abomination and leered at his foe, building up a wad of spit and loosing it in the bastard’s eye. He rolled on his back and kicked in a wide circle looking to trip the creature and raise himself to a standing position. In the same motion he pulled out his fighting gloves with the steel plates and tossed them into his mouth, rising upwards to his full height and shifting from one foot to the other in a rhythmic manner, flowing in dance of the fight. He spat his gloves to his hands, the leather tasting dry and rugged on his tongue. They creaked as he flexed his fingers into them, pushing them all the way down against his fingertips.

He was ready to let loose now. There was no Joshua Cronen, there was no Hound, no bed wetter or scantily clad womanly distractions. There was just a monster, and an Immortal, and a field of battle between them. Draug had seen an enraged, grief stricken immortal. He had seen a desperate, humbled knight. But Draug had not seen Jensen fight with purpose. Not yet. But that was all about to change.

He maneuvered himself like a darting snake, his movements precise and loose all at the same time. He danced across the dirt and grass, letting the blades sway with him as the wind picked up around him like a lover in a passionate Salsa routine. He hopped back and forth, each movement smooth in transition as well as abrupt and wild. To see Jensen move now was unlike anytime he moved before. There was no slouch to his posture. There was no holding back.

“I fight with purpose,” Jensen whispered. “I fight with my all,” he continued. “I fight to define who I am and in the conflict of battle I learn why I am immortal. This is my pride as a warrior, and why I fight with my all. So dance with me, Draug Remi, and maybe you’ll learn the pride of a warrior too.” His prayer said, Jensen opened his narrow eyes, mouth gaping in a stupid grin as the giggles came out in rough, fits of laughter.

Jensen moved with all his speed, all his agility, and launched a series of kicks in a flurry of motion. “Keep up if you can, Draug!”

((Jensen has utilized his stored EX move to increase the strength of his attacks by 1 STR value. He’s hitting harder, and moving with his full swiftness. Jensen has used his Undying Immortality [1 of 2] Jensen has used his second Leaf On the Wind. [2 of 3]))

[Breaker]

As Breaker's feet splatted onto fetid granite he summoned water from the atmosphere around him. Clean clear liquid seeped outwards from his corner, flooding across some of the rooftop in a thin film and absorbing the Abomination's diseased blood.

Enough of their squabbling, Josh thought as he peered over the parapet at Jensen and Draug, those two can hire a private chamber after the event. The Cell is no place to slake personal wrath. He twanged the dehlar cable thoughtfully. His path had strung the thick wire taut around the western ramparts, like the ropes of a prizefighting ring. He added another double loop to his anchor stone. The last thirty five feet of cable piled in the corner and connected to Cronen like a tail. He had wrapped the final few yards wrapped about his shoulders and torso in a makeshift harness. The coils had squeezed around his denim gi like a metal hand juicing a lemon. His ribs ached, already bruised where Jake's tonfa had encouraged him to fight.

Josh took time for two long measured breaths as he leaned against the parapet, watching the duel below with one eye and monitoring the opponents on the rooftop in his periphery. He saw Roht's staff sail back up and over the edge toward its owner. The water finished cleansing the rooftop and receded to roil at Breaker's feet, brown with blood, forming deadly shapes and freezing. As the lataro stick slapped into Roht's sun-darkened hand, twenty flechette darts rose into the air around Cronen.

The Breaker who had met the young Fallieni in the Ella Chamber would have been distracted by her showy display of stockinged legs. But he knew there was no room for error atop Sei's final towering arena. He'd seen the unpredictable danger of the Abomination and the Immortal in the Felicity Chamber. Those previous victories would mean nothing when the last bell tolled. Above all else he knew to press the attack when an opponent took a blow. Only dead men stop fighting, he reminded himself, and Jensen doesn't stop even for that.

The flechettes finished forming. They zipped over the parapet and down toward the duelists. Each dart was a cruel pound of steely red-brown ice laced with diseased blood. Without time to focus on driving the bodkin points and sharpened flanges straight toward their targets, Josh directed a hail of ten in the general direction of each of his grounded opponents. Trusting gravity and the flechettes' streamlined shape to finish the task, he returned his full attention to the rooftop.

The boy who's black unkempt hair danced in time with the darkness about his wrists could only be Talen Shadowalker. The youngest and most surprising of the Ixian Nine, he gripped a borrowed weapon as Cronen had gripped the cable during his gut-wrenching fall. The red haired swordsman who'd taken the brunt of the bloodbath was Arden Janelle, Josh had heard tales of the monster hunter, had even fought him long ago in a four-against-one Citadel match. The Hound looked older and worn but moved with a quickness and grace that lightened his years. And that sense of propriety and purpose remained intact. He seemed smitten with Roht, but he'd called her...

"Astarelle," Josh said, tasting each syllable of the name and finishing with a flourish of adept Fallien accenting. He stepped away from the corner, one foot falling on the door he'd detached in his entrance. "Talen," he continued, keeping his back to the west and pivoting to glimpse the pile of loose cable in the corner. "Arden," he finished, and then reached up and drew his greatsword.

Rythadine left her sheathe with a rasp of dragonscale and a prevaldia sheen. Crafted around the body of a trusted bastard sword, the long broad blade shone blue beneath the sun, her heavy dehlar handle clasped comfortably in two callused hands.

Josh cut the air once, a long diagonal slash that split his vision of each opponent. Rythadine sheared through the corner of a granite parapet at the end of the sweep. Tang! The tiny stone pinwheeled toward the ground far below, leaving Breaker before three warriors. His right hand rested against his hip, his left held Rythadine in an unwavering grip. The glimmering blade pointed behind him to the northwest. A salute to the ocean where his Lady waited for happy news.

Josh addressed the trio with a friendly smile that showed his Y-shaped dimples.

"Attack me... with all the powers you possess."


Had permission to bunny the staff to Astarelle's hand. My, it's nice to finally get to call her that.

[Abomination]

Hysteria, I don't know what you did. I tried to find the ability you used on Jensen in your profile, but I didn't see anything. I don't know how long it lasts or any other details about the ability. I'm going to make some assumptions about it in order to make a post, but I would really like some clarification. Also, I have obtained unlimited permission for the rest of the round to bunny Jensen.

Draug struck down, but the Immortal was already up and about. Jensen spit in the Abomination's eye and swept Draug's legs from under him with a kick. Draug tumbled, landing on his back and smacking his head into the ground. He was too late to put the Immortal to sleep, and as he got back to his feet, Jensen was already swaying back and forth, building momentum. There was something more to his movements, as if he was moving so fast that there were multiple Jensens.

What... ?

The Abomination swung his sword, but Jensen's speed made the attack look like it was in slow motion. He started kicking at Draug, and the Abomination intended to avoid the kicks when he noticed there were more than one coming at him at the same time. In the confusion, he took a shot to the ribs got the wind knocked out of him. Jensen followed it up with a series of kicks, each one more ferocious than the last, and for once he was pushing Cassandra's son back. Each kick sent Draug reeling, giving him bursts of pain in his chest, his neck, his shoulders, and his thighs. He was pushed back to the outer wall of the tower, where Jensen really laid into him, cackling like a maniac. The stone behind Draug cracked and shook, each kick embedding the Abomination further into the architecture.

Only one of the attacks is real? The rest are illusions...

"What's wrong baby, can't keep up?" He spun around and roundhouse kicked Draug in the side, forcing the Abomination to spit up blood and saliva. Draug attempted to swing the sword again, but only received a kick to his arm in response, sending the sword flying into the ground. Jensen hopped backwards and bent his knees. "I don't need immortality to keep getting back up. All I need is to think of all the people that believe in me!"

Draug spit out another drop of blood and said in a low, guttural voice, "I tire of your prattle."

For his retort, he received a jumping double dropkick, which sent him through the rest of the stone wall and into the tower itself. He felt one of his ribs crack from the attack. The Draug-shaped section of the wall crumbled and dust rose up, temporarily blinding the Immortal. Jensen jumped in after him, expecting to find Draug on the ground covered in debris, but the Abomination was on his right with a mace in his left hand, swinging it upwards at the Immortal. Jensen dodged just in time, the mace grazing his cheek and flicking blood onto the Abomination. The mace continued its pace and crashed into the stone above the opening, causing it to crack and cave in to close the entrance.

The darts which were en route to the fighters crashed into the caved in stone from the outside. Inside, they both found themselves in the bottom floor of the tower, which was rather plain except for a large wooden door and the start of a spiral staircase in the corner. Draug, grew a pair of arms from his hips with a steel sword in each hand, and one of them chopped off his mangled right hand, allowing a new hand to grow in its place. With his two original arms back up and running, he reached into his throat and pulled out two more steel swords, passing off the mace to a new arm that grew directly from the back of his neck. He extended his original arms so that the blades faced his right and left, and then extended his extra arms so that they faced his front and back.

The blood that the mace retrieved was enough for Draug to assimilate Jensen, giving him a small boost of speed and a flood of fragmented memories. He pushed aside the familiar sensation, knowing he had no time for them.

Tch, those kicks actually did some damage to me. He felt nerves all over his body take damage, limiting his movements. He looked at his surroundings and such a closed-off location gave him an advantage. With his weapons pointing in all four directions, he started spinning around at a rapid pace. Like a spiky top, he spun towards Jensen at an increasing speed. The arm with the mace on top also spun around at a slower pace, its purpose to keep Jensen from attacking him from above.

All the while, he wondered whether or not Memnar lied to him. The alchemist made it sound as though they already attempted Draug's discovery, but if that was the case then he should have known about it. What purpose would they have to keep him in the dark? Did they know that he had ulterior motives? It was not likely. Perhaps Memnar was right, and the only true method of ascension was through enough assimilations, mixing and matching traits for the perfect combination.

Yet, something stirred deep within him. Once again assimilating Jensen's memories gave him more resolve. Even the Abomination felt a twinge of pride in what he was, and what he could be.

[Hysteria]

That bastard..

Talen watched as Jensen and Draug flung themselves over the edge of the tower. The youth's face was cold, annoyed even as they went about their own squabble once again. The youth had put up with this in the first match, and now again. Talen took a deep breath to calm himself down, turning his eyes instead to Joshua.

“Ugh...” was all the youth could manage at the Breaker's challenge. Talen lifted a clawed finger towards his opponent and resting the maul on his shoulder in as dramatic a pose as he could manager. “At least you appear good at cleaning. After this could you give my room a once over?”

Talen paused for a second, his finger moving from Joshua's direction to the kid's chin as a thought entered his mind. “Just stay out of the bottom draw of my desk...” he said, a flash of colour lifting to his cheeks. Without realising it, his eyes drifted over to Astarelle's scantly clad form. Talen quickly looked down and coughed into his hand as if to dismiss the thoughts in his head.

His eyes lifted back to Breaker. From the small of Talen's back burst into existence six long tails, each one lifting into the air as bundles of barely contained muscle, twisting and moving like the tentacles of a octopus. The youth bent low one hand gripping at the corners of the stone work ground and his feet digging in. The appendage shot out behind him and latched onto one of the huge stones forming the parapet. The stone groaned as the tentacles ripped it out rocketed back towards Talen with stone in tow.

The huge stone, over 200kg, flicked towards Joshua as the shadowy tentacles released their hold. The youth instantly reversed his hold, pushing his feet and hand into the ground and launching himself after the stone. Boy and rock moved through the air, with Talen reaching the stone with the maul in hands. With all the might he could muster he smashed the maul into the stone, cracking the stone into easily a dozen fragments hurtling with even more speed towards their target. The youth lost control of himself, careering to the side and hitting the ground. The shadowy tails took most of the impact, reacting and pushing Talen back onto his feet in an instant, if a little disorientated from the manoeuvre. The only thing the youth could think of during the whole thing was how much he needed to steal the maul from Jensen. His eyes spun took a second to regain focus, and his shirt rode up his side revealing pale, slightly grazed side. The rush was intense.

[Arden]

Seeing that Astarelle was safe, Arden turned his attentions elsewhere. The combatants had as expected formed clichéd alliances. Draug and Jensen locked together. With piercing eyes, the swordsman turned to Talen Shadowalker, and his prone state. He sighed. As he broke into a run towards the shadow mage, he muttered an apology. Feigning an attack was Arden’s means to an end.

“I know I said I wouldn’t…,” he mumbled.

He would let Talen live out of professional curtsy. With so much at stake, he had to put on pretences to the other combatants. When the gap between them closed, he shoulder barged the air. His cloak vanished in a cloud of red mist, revealing the bulwark of his armour in all its bestial glory.

“Oi, kiddo!” he roared.

The Mastiff erupted from his pauldron, and with a mighty roar, its front paws crashed against the wet stone. Its hind legs kicked into a calamitous charge at the grazed side of its prey.

“Look sharp!”

Over the Mastiff’s effervescent body, Talen would see Arden approach. He held the Fang out at a forty-five degree angle to his right. His armour weighed him down enough to gain traction on the slippery surface, and centuries of running after, and from prey kept his muscles tight and balance steady.

[Roht Mirage]

((Bunny approved.))

Astarelle matched Talen's snark with a display of her own. She flicked the moisture on her clean palm in Breaker's direction, as elegantly and poignantly as a duchess returning a soiled handkerchief. She spun a half circle and thrust one hip, along with the long slant of a leg, in his direction. “Don't bother with my room, Breaker dear,” she slipped in cattily after Talen, “You're not allowed there. For any reason.” She gave her staff a spin and stopped it above her head, sloping shallowly down past her coy smile. Her hands both held its center, causing her elbows to arc high and exaggerate just how much of her was -not- covered. She caught Talen's glance, and realized at that moment how human he was. Not just a shadow. Or, at least, he was a shadow that could blush.

Well, if I can't get any praise for my fighting ability, there's still-

Talen led the attack, catching her off guard by displaying his powers in a way that she hadn't seen in the last arena. My shadow, she told herself, Darkness to my sand. She would still rather not stare directly at his tentacles. With the spectacle of maul-versus-stone nearing its thunderous climax overhead, she was perhaps the only one who looked elsewhere.

Breaker was stupidly clever. She knew from experience. Anything could become a weapon in his hands; even a whole sand-blasted person when he had the opportunity. She eyed the frameless door under his feet, the coil of wire well out of their reach, even the cleanly-cut stone chunk near him. For his sword: barely a glance. She knew how he would use that.

With a deathly crack, her guardian shadow launched the first volley, and her adrenaline spiked so forcefully that her hair would have stood on end if not for the braid. She rolled her staff to a lower position, ready to surrender to instinct, ready to charge wherever she was needed...

And spun to kick an ethereal hound right under its ribs as it passed. A bone noisily crunched against the iron plate in her shoe, and the beast's frantic feet found nothing but air for two strides. She heard it land. She heard it scrabble back to full speed. But, she couldn't look. Her eyes were locked on Arden's. Hot, dangerous. Looking through the lines of drying red like a prisoner with face pressed to the bars.

“Do you want a repeat of last time?” she shouted point-blank with her staff wedged horizontally across his breastplate. She didn't brace herself for a sword strike. If he took the chance, it was over. But, she had heard something earlier. He had called her name... with real feeling. Whatever good mood has taken you, don't let it end now. She leaned closer. His breath was like pressure venting. “This is a dance for three... or nothing.”

“Talen?” she called over her shoulder without looking. She wanted the knight to see the concern in her eyes. Perhaps unnecessarily, she added a breathy, “I'm not a dog person,” and just left the connotations of that up to his imagination.

[Arden]

The Mastiff leapt. Its fangs, formed of nightmares, bore down. Instead of flesh, they tore only through air, and the creature came to a standstill feet away from the boy.

“I’m not sure on the footwork for that,” Arden said reservedly. He stepped back from Astarelle’s staff, knowing it skilled in her hands, but more a symbolic defence than one to incite a reprise.

“Let the woman lead,” Talen snipped.

Astarelle’s lips curled into a devilish smile. “I am glad there is reason left in that thick skull,” she retorted. She winked at Arden, signifying she was speaking to Talen, and not him.

Arden lowered Fang, called the Mastiff back to his side, and examined the curious woman’s form.

“What kind of animal are you, anyway?” he asked.

“Scorpion,” Astarelle replied, almost too quickly.

Arden had to laugh. She certainly did have a sting in her tail, and claws that cut could a man in two. He would have settled for tigress, but it was fitting enough. He pointed over her shoulder.

“You’d best lead then, Shadowalker,” he said, referring to the strange decision by the Ixian Knight to appear, at times, as a woman himself. He winked back at Astarelle, turned her gently to face Joshua Cronen, and leant in to whisper something kindly in her ear.

She smiled.

He walked around her, patted the Mastiff on its head, and drew a kanji in the air. The Mastiff charged directly at Joshua Cronen. Arden muttered a prayer for the creature and raised his sword into a defensive stance.

[Breaker]

The massive chunk of granite split into a dozen or more pieces amidst an erupting cloud of dust. Stone shrapnel flew at Breaker like a flock of homing pigeons.

Joshua's smile grew 'till Y-shaped scars shone from the dimples in his tan cheeks. He lifted his right hand and thrust the callused palm at Talen, sending a gust of wind to meet the stony shrapnel. The air that bent to his will could not halt the attack entirely, but it upset the Shadowkin's immaculate aim. Four head-sized shards redirected to the rooftop, scratching blemishes in the arena's floor as they bounced toward the open trapdoor. Four fist-sized stones deflected straight up. They bounced off the Mystic dome a mere ten feet above the tower and landed unceremoniously near the middle of the roof. The dust cloud and smaller pebbles reversed their path, failing to hit Talen as he sprawled to the side.

Four chunks of rubble kept their course, hurtling at the lone warrior.

Breaker gripped Rythadine's hilt with both hands and swung the flat of the broad blade to meet the projectiles. Clang-clang-clang! Three stones rang off the prevaldia greatsword in rapid succession, joining their brethren in the center of the arena. The fourth pinged off Cronen's dehlar-wrapped shoulder, bruising the muscle beneath and ricocheting over the parapet to tumble to grass far below. Josh glanced backwards as if distracted by its flight and used the action to re-affirm the height of the ramparts, and the length of wire he'd lashed tightly about them. He hopped backwards and sprang off the ropes, flipping and twisting with his dehlar tail wagging in his wake. The pile of cable unwound like a startled snake, leaving a lone coil in the corner and a slack line writhing in the owner's wake. Black metal boots thudded onto freshly cleaned granite just shy of the gaping trapdoor.

As his opponents deciphered their allegiances Josh knelt and scraped eleven odd-sized chunks of rampart down the stairs. They thundered toward the tinny echoes of combat at the base of the tower. Breaker knew by the time they reached the ground floor the granite rubble would possess skull-cracking momentum. He kicked the remaining door off it's hinges, making the hole in the floor yawn mightily. The wooden plank skidded a couple feet to his left as he faced the poorly planned team. A thin sheet of ice frosted the granite two square yards in front of his scuffed boots. Water swelled around the slippery surface, absorbing dust and pebbles left over from Talen's attack.

Roht - no, Astarelle - was still scheming like a Haidian Queen. In the first round she'd exploited Cronen's weakness for women, behaving as if she'd entered the tourny by mistake. She enlisted Breaker's help and turned on him after he'd floored the Ella Chamber's more powerful competitors. It seemed as if she'd met Arden and Talen in round two, and woven her web of deceit around the unwitting pair. Josh shook his head, admiring the dark skin that housed her devious mind. Despite all Arden's magic, Jensen's speed, Talen's shadowplay and the Abomination's might, the sand-speckled waif was his worthiest foe.

Janelle gestured sharply and the mastiff obeyed an unspoken command. The big dog charged at Breaker fangs first.

Josh waited until the beast's front paws struck his patch of ice and then side-stepped smartly, kicking his dehlar tail out of the way.

With a squeaky ruff of surprise the mastiff slid headlong into the stairwell, following the path of bouncing boulders. The ice sheet shifted to cover the opening, and water imbued with granite dust washed over top, freezing to form a second stronger layer. In short order six inches of solid steely ice covered the entrance, dappled grey by stone reinforcement.

Breaker tapped the new barrier with the tip of his sword, testing its solidity. No doubt Jensen or Draug could get through that, he figured, but it'd take several blows to shatter. Should provide a warning at least.

Josh squared off against the trio and reversed his double grip on Rythadine's hilt. He bent his knees and stabbed the prevaldia blade deep into the thick granite roof, driving downward until the sword lodged fast with half its length entombed. He stepped over the pommel, hands rising and wrists arching on the inhale. The arena still held a mote of disease and death, but the crisp Autumn air was alive with fresh scents. As he blew breath through pursed lips his hands flexed into Akashiman fighting forms. The fingers of the right curved like an eagle's talon, held aloft to shield hazel eyes from the sun. The left flattened like a board and pushed a gust of air toward Arden and Astarelle, aimed to knock them off balance. The callused palm remained extended and twisted to face clear blue sky. The arm swiveled 'till coarse fingers pointed at Talen.

Breaker beckoned like he was in a bar ordering a round of drinks.

"Come on," he taunted the raven-haired youth, "have a proper try."


Bunnying of the mastiff fully approved by the Hound. The gust of air aimed for Arden and Astarelle is aimed for Arden, If they aren't still standing close together.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle did indeed smile for the private comment that Arden had put directly into her ear. A genuine smile, though the corners twitched down with the weight of her conscience.

You honor me, but perhaps too much. She paired the thought with his secret words, and tucked them safely away for later.

Back to the bloody business.

“Breaker is... doing stuff,” she warned as she stayed close to Arden, ready to intercept if he tested the alliance. He seemed firmly in hand, but he was so blasted hard to read that she couldn't be sure. “And your dog's down,” she snapped, mostly to press the seriousness of the Breaker threat home. She -almost- touched him to ensure she had his attention, but stopped at the blood still lining his armor. Bury me. I make the strangest friends.

“You know how this trick works,” she piped up instead, giving her staff a twirl and readying it for a throw. Breaker gestured to her before she could release it, and with the gesture came a punch of wind. It hit her right in the gut, forcing her back on braced legs and tossing her staff end over end. She gripped the coil of rope around her torso, wary that if she went over -rather, when she inevitably went over the edge- it would be her only lifeline. The gust ended just as quickly as it had begun, leaving her only two short paces back and her nerves well-shaken.

Breathing hard, she huffed out a quiet, “Lead, I shall,” before stomping forward and recalling her staff from the floor behind her. It jumped to her hand, brushed her fingers enough to slow and orient itself horizontally, then fell in front of her. She shot up a foot, catching one end on her shin, and kicked it for Breaker's legs like a low-flying javelin, albeit a blunt one.

Immediately, her hands were busy with the rope. She ripped it over her head and, with the force of a quick spin, sent one hooked end sailing over the slack length of Breaker's “tail”, laying between him and the last parapet tooth he had secured it to. “For you!” she shouted to Talen as she yanked the dehlar cable closer to him.

With approved bunny permission, the length of cable, 25 feet, is being drawn toward Talen's grabby tentacles. Reel in that marlin. Staff is up to the usual fly/miss/recall schtick. Bunny it as needed.

Also, I checked with Abom. Between the sand-sacrificing scrub and the rinse of her hand, I'm going to say the blood is off... until Arden touches her again.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Draug had became a spinning top of death as he approached the immortal, his mace already licking his cheek for a bit of blood. No doubt the bastard thing used it to his advantage, but Jensen cared little. It wouldn’t be enough for him to understand the full extent of Jensen’s abilities. He moved around Draug, keeping him moving towards him as he guided the beast along. He spun in cartwheels to breath distance between the two, laughing with every step he took.

Knowing advancing would be too difficult, Jensen opted to try a more proactive defensive posture. His body stooping low and picking up hand sized chunks of debris from the stone wall and tossing them into the tornado that was the Abomination. He poked each defense the creature had at his disposal ensuring that he moved him where he wanted him. Sometimes Draug would retaliate by hitting the stones back, and Jensen would feel the wind whip past his red tipped hair, colliding against the back wall and creating fractures in the stonework.

As Draug followed the immortal’s guidance the beast continued to keep his defenses up. Phase one was already completed. Now that Draug was where he wanted him the knight took his moment to corkscrew sideways, landing before a fallen beam. He kicked it so the far end slid to stop in front of Draug. He lifted himself upwards with a laugh, dropping all his weight onto the tip of the opposite end, creating a see-saw effect that snapped the shattered wooden beam upwards into Draug.

“Don’t lose your head!”

((Jensen snapped a fallen beam upwards into Draug’s spinning death. Enjoy!))

[Abomination]

Draug stopped his twirl, leaving his head the only thing still spinning. He quickly put all five of his arms in front of the beam, too dizzy to move out of the way, and let it crash into him, sending him hurdling into the wall. A section of it crumbled behind him, burying the Abomination in rubble. Roaring, he burst from the debris, covered in blood and rage. All but his original arms were damaged beyond repair, and he cut them off one by one, letting what remained of them slough off like a tipped over plate of butter. His internal organs struggled to reorganize to repair the internal damage, the bleeding quickly sealed before it started affecting him seriously. He grunted and stepped from the destroyed stone, dropping a sword and picking up his mace which had fallen to the ground. He grit his teeth and almost stumbled backwards, forcing himself to recover from the dizziness.

It was then that he realized that some of the shaking was not caused by his status, but rather the tumbling of rocks from the staircase above. Dust and loose stones fell from the ceiling as the rocks fell downwards, some of them rolling into the levels above, but most of them on a crash course to the bottom level. As they reached their destination, they ricocheted from the staircase and crashed into the ground, the ceiling, and the walls, causing cracks in everything. Draug and Jensen positioned themselves at opposite ends of the room at each end of the staircase to avoid the avalanche. The Immortal cackled maniacally as they waited for the stony storm to pass, while Draug merely glared at him. Despite his assimilation of the Ixian, he found his mind too clouded to join him in the sadistic mirth. Maybe Jensen knew something.

"Curious..." Draug said, looking up at the cracking ceiling while the stones tumbled by. "I can't help but wonder how we got here."

Jensen yelled out, "The only thing you need to wonder about is how many pieces you'll be in once I'm through with you!"

"Do you know... how I keep advancing?" In the letter, Draug discovered that it was Sei's original intention to keep Draug from getting here. "I didn't kill everyone last round. Not to mention all the Ixians that I ravaged in the first one that made it here."

"You should be happy for that, it means more times that I get to kick your ass!"

"All of the Ixians and myself in one spot... how distracting it must be for Sei to watch it all. I wonder if someone other than him is calling the shots. Maybe I'm here to keep you and the other Ixians busy."

"Considering what I'm about to do to you, I can't say you're doing a very good job. Now die!"

The rocks had stopped falling, but there was a groaning in the tower. They heard a creaking, the sound of floorboards coming loose, stones being dislocated, and seams being cracked. Jensen charged the Abomination once more, and Draug started dodging, using the cluttered ground to maneuver around the Immortal in ways that made it hard to follow. Glancing around the room, Draug knew that if Jensen's moves were restricted, he could catch him. He started cornering the Immortal and attacking him widely with both his hands on the mace, striking the walls whenever he missed, sending more stones collapsing onto the ground. While he took the occasional counter-attack that damaged more of his body, the crumbling walls continued to make Jensen's avenue of attacks narrower. He expected the Immortal to soon attempted to either leave the tower or go up a floor, which would gave the Abomination a chance to make an attack or recover.

All the while, the limit to how much damage the tower could take was approaching. Dust filled the room from each attack, and cracks spread throughout the walls at a faster pace.

[Hysteria]

Talen lifted one of his gauntlets to his face and gently massaged his temples as if suddenly overcome by a headache. It was only a slightly feigned action, the fact that his attack had meant to be a distraction for the other two to attack Joshua, and that both had decided to go on their own escapades caused more than a little stress to show on the face of the normally nonchalant kid.

“For fuc...” Talen silenced himself lifted his eyes back to his on again, off again ally Arden, and the suddenly frivolous Astarelle. Talen liked the last part slightly, but not enough to outweigh his desire to defeat Joshua. It wasn't the legend that drove him, nor some sort of rivalry. It was because Joshua was acting so arrogant that drove him.

Astarelle was the one that took the lead, sending a distracting attack towards the Breaker while grabbing the cable. Talen swallowed the bile that sat in his mouth as the woman mimicked what he considered to be a less effective version of his own attack. With a look of indignation three of the youth's dark limbs stretched out from behind him and brushed Astarelle as they latched onto the cable. The others flicked out in the other direction, latching onto the side of the tower to provide a counter weight.

A moment before he acted the tower below him shuddered. It was slight, but noticeable. A second went through, this time joined by a thick crash, partially muffled by the tower and distance.

“I ju.. too much to ask...” Talen stuttered, unable to find his usual eloquence with words as the ground below his feet prepared to literally fall away.

The youth's face hardened, his limbs tensing as they pulled the cables as tightly as the could. The youth lifted off the ground, his body suspended between the two forces as he fought to rip Breaker from his perch and send him flying towards the youth, and hopefully over the edge. He did his best to ignore the cold dread of knowing that the two idiotic fighters below were probably doing.

If this doesn't work, can we all just gang up and take out Jensen and that Draug guy- thing first?” Talen, his shadowy suddenly contracting, “please?”

[Arden]

By the time Arden steadied himself, the fight had moved on. He flicked his fringe from his forehead, surveyed the unfolding chaos, and analysed the ebb and flow of battle. Talen and Astarelle continued their attacks against ‘the Breaker’, and Draug and Jensen continued to decimate the tower’s foundations.

“We don’t have much time…,” he mumbled.

He had seen towers fall before, and the people below had little chance to avoid the falling debris. If they fell amidst it, then their fates were sealed, and there would be no victor here today. That meant the fight had to resolve swiftly, one way or another.

“Astarelle, keep him busy!” he roared. He looked at Talen, and admired the hideous beauty of his tentacles. “Talen, a lift if you’d please?” he asked. He pointed at the frozen barrier.

Mid-flight, a black tentacle whipped down at Arden and flicked him skyward. Using the cover provided by their acrobatics, the heavily armoured swordsman tumbled. He tucked his knees. He braced himself. He glared at Joshua as he descended. He would never beat him head on, but perhaps he could steal away some of the man's power.

A hum of power swarmed around him, an aura made of the Tap that stole voice and arrogance. Joshua would find it impossible to speak.

He vanished inches from the ice. It sparkled blue, reflecting the wisp-like ribbons of energy that formed in his absence. The sound of him crashing down the stairs echoed dully through the permafrost.


Silence applied to Joshua Cronen.

[Breaker]

The madness of the Cell threatened to overload Breaker's senses. Granite vibrated beneath his boots as if an earthquake and a tornado fought on the bottom floor. The clipped adrenaline laced voices of his rooftop opponents laid hints outlining their plans. Wind caressed the beads of sweat on his brow, a pleasant cooling against the furnace in his core. Behind the smells of forest decomposition wafting from Concordia's treeline, the stench of the Abomination still lurked.

Josh shifted his stance as Astarelle launched her staff at his legs. He kicked the lataro weapon, attempting to send it back at the Fallieni with more force than she could handle. While Talen hesitated Astarelle was in motion, snaring the dehlar cable and moving it with an elegant spin. Breaker caught a chuckle forming in his throat and swallowed it. He'd been waiting for them to take the bait, like a mongoose crouched outside a sand-snake's den. Thick arms crossed along his abdomen and callused hands grasped the lowest coils of the improvised harness. Josh exhaled, emptying his lungs to make his body as slim as possible. He pulled up on the dehlar cable, wriggling his shoulders and drawing the harness over his head like a too-tight T-shirt. The dark denim jacket rrripped and came off, tangled inside the ball of porous wire.

Sun lit Cronen's brutally bruised and ornately scarred torso. Red and purple spiraled around the skin of his chest and shoulders where the cable had tightened. He looked like he'd survived an assault from a family of constrictor serpents. Raised white designs etched his muscular frame from abdomen to broad back. The wounds from a thousand battles, healed into abstract artwork by unique regeneration. Some reminisced of duels in the Citadel and Dajas Pagoda while others recorded skirmishes through the streets of Knife's Edge and Radasanth. Josh had fought in the Salvic and Coronian civil wars, then an unknown force of one that flitted through shadows with deadly purpose. Every moment of agony, every life he'd taken, every friend and lover he'd lost had hardened him for the Cell's nerve-grinding nature. Hot rage burned within and amongst the other combatants, but frigid water filled the Breaker's veins. He was swifter than the wind, colder than the ocean depths where he'd met his Lady, harder than the ice barricading the rooftop's entrance.

As Talen's tentacles grasped the slack cable Josh tossed his bundle of ruined jacket and porous coils over the north wall. It slid back and wedged between the teeth of two parapets as the youngster pulled. The trio's teamwork was improving, one baby step at a time.

This is no training ground, Josh thought as Arden sailed through the air beneath the Mystic dome, crackling with mana. No place for hand-holding and gentle lessons. He judged the Hound's flight path and spun smoothly, dealing the hilt of his entombed sword a straight stomp. Spiderweb cracks spread around the weapon, loosening the tower's grip on the blade. Breaker drew Rythadine from the stone and chopped at Arden's descending form, cleaving only air as the knight vanished again. Josh followed the momentum of his swing and turned full circle, facing west once more.

Rather than steadying the tower shook harder. Like a slim Scaran southerner lost on the plains of Berevar, it quaked 'till toothy ramparts chattered.

Josh tried to curse aloud but the magic Arden had cast upon him caught his tongue. What the hell are those two doing? He wondered. Mere minutes had passed since Jensen and Draug plunged off the edge of the tower, and he'd heard no explosions. Nothing that should have compromised the mighty tower's integrity. I am the Chief Investigator in these parts... better take a look. He sheathed the greatsword with two short motions: A flick to find the scabbard's mouth followed by a push to slide it home.

Like an arrow from a bow Josh sprinted to the western wall. With each thunderous footfall, stone slaps fell in where Rythadine had pierced the rooftop. He leaped over the taut wire Talen had formed and sprang off the cable lashed about the ramparts. Wind whistled past his ears and lifted close-cropped hair on end as he plummeted downward at a sharp angle. His palms hit the Mystic shield followed by boots that swung down and adhered as enchantments activated. Abdominals burning with the effort of staying static against the dome, he assessed the damage with a swift glance over his shoulder.

It seemed as if the duel between Jensen and Draug had torn holes in the tower all the way to the ground. Ugly gashes gaped from crumbling granite, occasional stones shaking loose to shatter below.

Sooner or later the tower would fall. Sooner works for me.

One wide hand reached behind his back and into a bulging cargo pocket, drawing a solid delyn ball from the custom sheath. Power flowed from his palm and embodied the two-pound projectile, giving it explosive potential. The throw was awkward, the target too big to miss. The impact grenade struck the structure's western flank thirty feet above ground. Rapid combustion roared and tore chunks from the wall. Rubble showered inside and out as dust bloomed.

The tower trembled and reeled like a prizefighter taking a left hook to the liver. Wooden supports groaned and splintered as masonry ground and cracked. The tall construction bowed against the wind like a redwood responds to a saw's insistent bite.

Josh ran along the side of the dome, curving downward as he fled the tilting tower's path. Breath thundered in and out of his lungs, fueling muscles strained to the maximum. But running horizontally was easier than clinging to the translucent wall in one place, and without the bulky dehlar cable he felt light and invigorated. Cronen had reached the south-eastern limit of the dome when the leaning tower struck the Mystic shield to the west. Reverberations lanced through the dome, and somehow his magic boots lost their purchase.

With Arden's spell of silence binding his tongue, Josh emitted only a gasp of surprise. He plummeted the final fifteen yards to the grass below.


Had Roht's permission to bunny the staff, and Sei's permission to bring the tower down. Whoever goes next gets to finish the demolition I guess.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

“Dammit Draug!” Jensen shrieked over the sound of the wood snapping, stones tumbling, and dirt shifting. “When you throw a hissy fit you throw a gods be damned hissy fit!” With a giggle he turned towards one of the holes that were made, but was stopped as a tentacle like arm of gooey flesh wrapped around his ankle. A large amount of masonry blinded the immortal as it collapsed onto his head. He turned towards the door again, pulling all his weight as the Abomination pulled back, and Jensen realized he was fastened to him like superglue. This game him a devilish idea.

Two of Draug’s arms wrapped themselves past Jensen on support beams, giving him a tri pod of force to hold the immortal at bay. His fifth arm grabbed the mace and began to prepare it to smite Jensen. The tower took a mighty blow from above, shifting the world around them as the balance of stability shifted dramatically, casuing Jensen to gain a few tumbling feet before Draug righted the building with his arms, keeping his hold on Jensen.

“If this place falls, I’m taking you with me,” Draug said. “Another lesson on sacrifice you’ll never know.”

“Yeah, about that,” Jensen pried his fingers into the mess of flesh, trying to loosen the grip as they both grit their teeth, sweat bearing down the immortal’s neck. “Why is the Dark Family here?” Draug said nothing to the immortal, and the knight took a moment to wipe his eyes clear. He noticed that Draug wasn’t answering him because his own face seemed confused. “You going rouge?”

More of the tower shifted after an explosive went off, teetering closer to total collapse as Jensen continued to look for the sheen in Draug’s eye. He had made a life of looking into people’s souls and destroying them mentally after they fight the immortal. He hadn’t done this in years, but that wasn’t the point. The point was Jensen trying to find the reason within in Draug. All this time Jensen continued to tug away, and Draug continued to pull him closer.

When the man blinked Jensen at last let go, using all the wind he had for one final gust behind him. Like a sling shot being loosed the immortal whooped with glee, his feet lifting up in a dropkick towards Draug’s chest. He flew like an arrow, impacting the abomination’s chest and ripping him back. One of his arms exploded off his body, blood spraying everywhere as the other ripped the housing off the tower. The two tumbled on the ground and rolled towards an impromptu hole, Draug landing under the dirty, half broken bed of their first cave in and Jensen flying out the tower to the grass below. He laughed thinking it appropriate that monsters stay under the bed.

The tower imploded upon itself, the top half sliding like a fallen giant as the middle gave itself up to the abyss below. Jensen could barely make out the form of a tumblinf figure in the rising storm of debris. He didn’t know who it was, but the odds were good they weren’t a member of the Cult of Blessed Torture. That was all the incentive he needed. As beams shattered, stone ground to dust, and masonry poured out from the foundations like a river the immortal ran towards the falling Fallien woman.

A guilty feeling came over him, for falling to ones death was never a fun adventure to the afterlife. It was actually Jensen’s top ten least favorite ways to die. He had to dance around a falling tower piece, keeping his eye on the prize as he concluded where the fall would end. He opened his arms out and slid to stop just where the impact would take her.

The tower had finally collapsed, and with it the tattered remains of the castle lookout sent its dusty spirit into the world, cascading upon itself within the confines of the barrier making visibility near impossible. Chaos was taking over the Cell now, and its approvers clamored and clapped with gusto as the warriors within were lost in the haze.

((Well, Edit: Jensen is going to save a real lady in need. He's used his third and final Leaf on the Wind technique. And just for clarity, permission to Bunny Jensen is approved by all parties.))

[Arden]

Arden ran down the spiral staircase at the heart of the tower, eyes glazed over, heart racing. He could only hear the dull roar of the crowd over his heavy footsteps. The Mastiff had been pawing at the ice when he crashed through. After a bittersweet reunion, they descended side by side.

When the tower overhead began to crumble, instinct took over. The stairway cut short fifty feet ahead by a boulder, and the cloud of debris hit the far side with a rain of chaos. Arden did not slow in the least. He mightily leapt, and with his cloak fluttering behind him, he landed expertly on the far side.

He paused to analyse the collapse of the structure. Looking up to the now open sky, the walls fell outwards, inwards, and downwards in a predictable manner. Fortunately for the occupants of the Cell, physics were not warped in the arena, only pride, ignorance, and greed. He grit his teeth.

“Come, Bartok,” he said to the Mastiff. He pointed up into the dust cloud. He set his eyes on a falling figure through the storm.

The shadowy fur of the oni danced. The red lines that ran down its torso and hind legs glowed brightly. It slobbered, barked loudly, and pounced back and forth excitedly.

He had set out to find a hero to recruit into the ranks of the Ixian Knights, but as fate would have it, he had re-discovered the chivalry and purpose within. He waited. He narrowed his gaze, and wrapped a fold of his cloak around his forehead to veil his eyes against the falling debris. The black dot through the fallen wall and buttress was clearly Astarelle.

“So who’s that?” he mumbled, his plan unravelling. He looked down at the grass. The shadow on the ground was running back and forth, as though making to catch something.

Jensen Ambrose.

“Oh no you fucking don’t!” he screamed, bolting down the steps on an intercept course. The Mastiff followed. His cloak extended fully, splitting down the back so they mimicked archaic wings, tattered vestments of a hawk pursuing prey.

He had worked the others like marionettes, twisting words and meanings, plying emotions to fragmenting allegiances. That nauseating fuckwit would not deny him the pay off. He moved with the speed of a man born on the streets. He turned several rotations of the stairs and leap in between Astarelle and Jensen.

Bartok leapt after him, and with a final earth-shattering howl, it erupted into smoke and trailed after its master. It vanished into Arden's shadow.

“…A promise is a promise,” he whispered in her ear as he made to embrace her. He rolled over mid-air.

A spinning, swiftly hastily thrown dagger slipped beneath his weak point, making light work of his ornate armour. Arden’s eyes widened, his mouth opened to scream, but only a hiss emerged. It had perforated a lung.

Irony.

“I save the damsels around here!” Jensen screamed skyward.

Red wings formed from his injury, beat once, twice, and thrice, and carried the Fallieni and the Scara Braen away from danger. Sadly, it also carried them on a precariously uncontrolled course through the dust cloud.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle had her hand out, ready to recall the staff, when Breaker made it unnecessary. She only had time to raise her bracers and lean to the side. The traitorous weapon hit hard, rocking her arms and lifting her off her feet. She gave a yank on her rope in a desperate attempt to steady herself. Nothing but slack. Her hook slide free of the limp cable and followed her.

Two distractions for nothing! Get him, Arden! she shouted internally as her bare shoulders scraped against the roof and her air was punted out of her. The hook clattered nearby, a faint sound against the whistle of breath rushing raggedly down her throat.

Arden disappeared.

Astarelle blinked. Burn you, blood-drinker! I swear I will-

Suddenly, she realized that the vibrations running through her body weren't just the fanfare of returning air. It's falling! She rolled to her feet, still wheezing. Hot wetness ran in a sheet down her back, and her shoulder blades screamed as if she was a harpy with wings wrenched off. Oh, how grand wings would have been in that moment. But, she had always known the fall was inevitable; the Cell's tribute to the gods of spectacle.

Breaker apparently had the same idea. Without an inch of cable, possibly without an inch of brain, he threw himself off the edge.

“Talen, get clear,” she called to her remaining ally as she capered across the crumbling roof, “I'm following that jihta!” The loose hook bounced behind her like an excited puppy, her staff its slower brother some distance behind. All of her dry sand rolled over the expanse of bare skin and leather, forming a sleeve on her right arm that she wrapped her rope around. Loop by loop, the sand gripped it, locking in the spool.

She reached the edge, braced her knees against the rim, and leered over to take in Breaker's acrobatics. Biting off a curse, she wrapped the slack end of her rope around the parapet's blocky tooth and hooked it back on itself. Cinching it, she ran to the side, leaped onto the corner-most stone, and jumped. Sand-brain, a small part of her quietly swore. The rest of her was riding a lopsided raft in a sea of adrenaline.

Her staff caught up, thonked over the parapet, and smacked into her left hand, forcing her farther out. For just one still-life second, she thought she might actually fly. Then, she fell. The sand-locked spool on her right hand jerked almost immediately, then kicked over and over as she let the rope slip free one turn at a time. The back of her hand sang and reddened as each whip-crack snapped past.

With some crude estimating, she thought that she might be able to swoop onto Breaker... if not for the explosion. She felt the force of it buffet her, challenging the wind of her descent for only half a heart beat. The tower groaned overhead, leaning as if to mock her weight. It crashed against the barrier and jerked her in kind. She struck with her upraised arm first, bruising her ribs but leaving flesh unharmed as she slid. Who know that magical walls were so smooth? She rode the swing, well in Breaker's wake. Sand began to well from her staff and into a spear point. She would catch him if she just swung faster, if she narrowed her body to cut the air, if she pushed off the barrier with her feet.

If she bought more rope.

The last loop of it thrummed off her sandy arm. The loose hook on the end teased her finger tips and laughed a small, whistling laugh as it snapped away from her. For what seemed the hundredth time in one sand-blasted day, Astarelle was a projectile. She didn't have the opportunity to watch the approaching ground as the last tug of her tether spun her to face skyward and the stomach-lurching sight of the tower following her down.

It's over, she lamented. Her whole ordeal culminated in the fluttering fall of a single brown leaf on the wind.

A familiar gauntlet seized her. Her body automatically closed into a fetal position even as her mind staggered. “Arden,” she breathed numbly, the word almost without meaning. His arms cradled her, guiding her... somewhere. She didn't know their destination, but saw the wings of blood sprout to carry them to it. Against the powerful thrusts, her trail of familiar sand stirred and swirled and danced with his blood.

“Arden,” she gasped, now with a vivid, wide-eyed understanding.

Dust stole her sight, her breath. She felt small fragments of rubble strike her flesh, as well as the harder vibrations of larger pieces striking her bearer. They careened through a gauntlet that she could only hear as if a far away storm, with his arms the cave she had taken shelter in.

He held her until the very last moment, when something more solid than mere rubble took his feet from under him. Astarelle flopped to her knees, scraping against some surface she couldn't see, let alone orient herself upon. Somewhere out there, her staff had been thrown, her sand lost. Both called to her, tried to creep toward her. But, she lunged back in Arden's direction instead, staggering, falling. “Are you hurt?” she called into the sun-streaked shroud of mortar and stone.

[Arden]

Five hundred and thirty six years ago, the Forgotten One Oblivion penned a character into history. He took the name Lao Sheng. At the height of his fame, he leapt from a tower in Akashima, the Royal Orrery, to save a falling Lillith Kazumi. Arden remembered the moment with perfect recall, her scream a piercing note of clarity through the ages.

“I…I’m fine!” he shouted. His voice was half-carried away by the density of the cloud. His memories were clouding judgement and vision alike, but rekindled strength within.

The landing tossed him sprawled to the grass, and his wings had vented trails of blood in his wake across the rubble-strewn prairie. He careened through the dust on blind faith, divining strange shapes in the obfuscation in search of Astarelle. His heart pounded, signs of weakness, and his knees trembled with every step. Jensen’s perfect aim had driven the dagger deep, and Arden had been through enough wars to know when an artery severed.

“Where are you?” he shouted louder.

She appeared, and for a moment, she was Akashiman, not Fallieni. Arden skipped a beat, uncertain if he was hallucinating, or if the Cell was finally over.

“I…L…Lillith…,” he trailed off.

In that descent, he had saved his sister. At the end of that day, the Greater Oni had sealed away, exiled, and forgotten by his hand. He had saved the girl, and with the very same blade strapped to his back, he found meaning.

“Astarelle…” he corrected.

He dropped to his knees with a thud. His head span, though not with injury, or with fatigue. The burst of adrenaline as he descended through the tower had exponentially accelerated Draug’s corruption.

“Poisoned…,” he mustered in explanation. Astarelle became two figures, then three, and then he blacked out. His head smashed against the ground in unison with the tumbling rubble of Sei Orlouge’s grand bastion.

Though he had saved the girl, composed by some strange notion of history repeating itself, it was time for the girl to save the boy. His pauldron howled, long and wistful, as though a mastiff nestled his corpse in vigil.

[Roht Mirage]

Arden's assertion that he was -relatively- uninjured, coupled with his dust-caked body emerging from the settling storm, put down the tense ache of Astarelle's anxiety... and uncapped the venom.

“I gave you an opening up there, and you- you just disappeared! Then back at the last moment to save...” she trailed off, uncertain of her own rolling emotions. The man was too erratic to be called a guardian, too chivalrous to be called a bastard. A blood-streaked contradiction.

And a liar. He sank to his knees, muttering something unintelligible.

“Arden?” she asked, wobbling toward him over the rubble. She felt heavy, as if the dust clinging to her bloodied and torn skin was trying to built itself into a new structure. He mumbled something cryptic and delirious about a plague, but she couldn't hear enough to make sense of it. The storm of falling stone still thundered nearby, obscured yet threatening. “Are you-” He slumped forward into the uneven bed of debris. A dagger stuck from his side like a victory banner planted in the center of a killing field. She thought she could hear the mournful howl of his hound, though it might have been the tower's final groans.

She rushed to him, catching her shoe and sprawling at his side. He didn't stir, though she could see his shallow breaths. Final breaths? “Bury me,” she choked out in a puff of dust and grief. He was blasted unreliable; until he was really needed, and then just as quick to expire. He might have been a proper ally in another place and time, somewhere far from the insanity of their bloody game. Maybe, he still could be...

“Arden,” she whispered over his ear, unsure if he could hear her. “There is a battle coming. A real one. I will need all the help I can get. I- I- If you're willing, I would have you as one of my champions.” His only response was to bleed upon her, a mix of his fresh and Draug's stale washing against her bare skin.

His earlier whispered words unwrapped in the back of her mind. She steeled her jaw. I'm not someone you should entrust this to, she responded belatedly to the request that seemed scant minutes and a lifetime ago. Nonetheless, she reached for his sheathed sword. It felt warm against her palm, and the dust provided enough grit that it seemed stuck to her. She drew the beautiful prevalida blade into a two-handed grip and lifted it high, putting all of her weight and strength into the height of its arc. Then, downward. Armor surrendered reluctantly to the impossible edge, and the flesh below yielded like nothing. “Though I stab you in the heart,” she whispered as she leaned upon the blade, suddenly tired, “I am no Kar'Roh. I will not steal it.”

Taking a deep, chalk-filled breath, she forced herself to her feet. Her sand rained down as golden specks amidst the floating grey. The grains took up a slow patrol around her, a shroud of her own.

“I'd better...” She pulled the dagger from Arden's ribs and held it downward in a murderous grip. “Return this.” Dust caked her body, hiding her bare skin, a mixture of dripping blood, and the divine mark over her brow. But it could not hide her grim purpose as she stalked toward the thundering destruction.

[Breaker]

Breaker lost control for the first time in the Armonia Chamber. The enchanted boots had never failed him. Shock slowed his thoughts as he fell, but with the ground racing up he reacted on instinct. Both legs lashed out and struck the Mystic wall in the instant before impact, sending him sideways and downward into the dirt. He tucked for a tactical roll, the maneuver that made him famous in Underwood. Hundreds of villagers had seen him duel the Kron Sha'keth across thatched rooftops. They'd watched him fall from a two story building and rise unscathed, having distributed the force across his shoulders and hips through precise tumbling. He'd been exhausted and weary that night, far more fatigued than the Cell's final round had him. He'd been distracted by cries from the young woman the Aleraran Assassin had held hostage.

But he hadn't been wearing a sword on his back.

Rythadine's dehlar hilt lodged deep in soft ground as he attempted to tumble. The long blade's flat lifted his spine and flipped him forcefully on his face. He plowed a furrow through the dirt 'till his boots met the base of the toppled tower. Chunks of granite showered around him and a smaller stone struck the back of his head. The thunk drowned out falling rubble, cries from his fellow combatants, and even the roar of the crowd. Moist soil invaded his eyes, nose, and mouth, and he respired erratically as a drumroll on an air pump. The greatsword had come free of the scabbard, remaining braced at an angle with the hilt fully buried.

Dust billowed from the broken tower like ash after a volcanic eruption. Within the confines of a dome that let wind in and nothing out, the granulated granite stirred restlessly.

Something wet oozed around Breaker's ears, lacking the familiar red warmth. Even running through his hair and dribbling down his cheek, Breaker's blood felt cold.

Then it froze.

He spun and sat up so swiftly the back of his head knocked against what remained of the tower's eastern wall. The familiar tinkling of shattered ice slithered down his bare back. What's happening to me? He wore a frozen red streak down his cheek like a welt from a lithe lash. Blood crinkled and fell away when he lifted the blue kerchief to cover his nose and mouth. Tentative fingers reached up and back, examining the wound. Josh breathed from his diaphragm to steady his galloping heart. The scalp was split, the skull intact, and a layer of ice stemmed the swelling. That's never happened before. Breaker crafted braces and poultices from ice frequently in battle.

Never by accident.

Cronen drew on his connection to the Eternal Tap and conjured water, to absorb dust from the air and smear camouflage on his skin.

Nothing happened.

There was a split second of indecision. A hundred thousand thoughts and worries spasmed through his mind like an electric current. Had the blow to his skull damaged his brain? He was fine. He felt fine. Bodorson hit him harder than that in training all the time. Never with something so small nor to the back of the head, granted. And his ice magic never misbehaved... but it wasn't hurting him. It had sealed his wound in the exact same he would have, at the same speed. Like a reflex, like kicking himself away from pure vertical impact at the last instant. He tried again to conjure water. This time the failure washed away like receding waves. Joshua Cronen had not possessed a connection with the Tap when he killed the King of the Tiered Mountain in Salvar. He'd known nothing of the arcane arts when he rose amidst the ranks at Dajas Pagoda. And he hadn't needed magic to take down the Genocide Giant with a modified swinging head-scissor.

No icecraft? No problem.

Breaker rolled like a dog in a pile of dust gathered alongside the pitiful remainder of wall. Wind kept it thick within the dome, obscuring vision, but he breathed easily beneath the blue kerchief. Coarse granite grit coated his sweat-slicked arms and torso. His black pants and boots were already smeared and scuffed with the stuff. More had been settling in his hair and clinging to his face and neck since the collapse. He removed his ornamental red belt, the only article that might draw attention, and stashed it amidst the rubble.

Cloaked in the same dust that filled the arena, he crept toward a voice echoing Arden softly. Astarelle, alive somehow. Josh smiled as he slipped from ruined wall to pile of rubble, choosing silence over speed with each step. It would not have boded well if the little scorpion perished so soon. The first time they had met she'd caught him in a wristlock. The swift technique had taken him by surprise, and he'd socked her in the eye on instinct. He no longer felt bad about that - he'd given her a free shot in the Ella Chamber - but he wanted a rematch for the wristlock.

Breaker sneaked through the dust stormed Cell wearing granite camouflage.

Invisible.




Josh is not invisible, merely camouflaged and stealthy. Due to the head wound he can only use the 'encase' function of ice magic for (at least) my next two posts. No flechettes or other nastiness. Other than that nothing has changed about the ability, I'm just playing it like he's lost control.

[Abomination]

Two robed men with dark hoods stood beyond the edge of the barrier, watching the carnage unfold.

One of them turned to the other and asked, "Sir, this may be out of line, but I have to ask: Why did you let Draug go? This is, pardon my Aleran, suicide."

The other one, Memnar, continued to look in, watching what was left of the tower leaning into the barrier, its base collapsed, "You're smarter than that, Kahr. You're my top pupil, the greatest alchemist that I know."

"And yet in my apparent wisdom I fail to deduce why you didn't do to him what you did to them. You've managed to replicate an artificial immortal essence and imbue it into mother's family. Everyone but Draug. Why is that?"

Memnar shook his head, "Draug is a vessel; they are not. He has a part of Cassandra inside of him, she has been made less because of it. Once that essence cultivates, we can use it for the next piece of the puzzle."

"Would not the artificial essence assist in that? Seeing what it did to the likes of Jebb..."

"Don't second guess me!" Memnar snapped. "We would not only lose control of him, but the delicate balance between his existence and Cassandra's essence would be diluted!"

"Then... the normal plan. Won't it eventually make Draug exceed even mother? Even if that would make it ideal for cultivation, the risks are too great."

"Nobody said ascending to godhood would come without a price."

Draug opened his eyes, only seeing due to cracks of light in the debris. There was another troubling lapse in his memory, but it was only a few seconds. He felt around but discovered only large boulders in every direction. The ceiling collapsed on me? He was fortunate in that a protective formation of stone fell around him, giving him a nook to avoid the avalanche, but he was apparently buried. He tried to move the stones above him, pushing so hard that the muscles in his arms were tearing, the skin on his fingers peeling off, but to no avail.

His breath was hoarse, and he was covered in blood from head to toe. The bandages around his body were mostly destroyed, mere bloody scraps that hung off his form. He coughed from the high dust content in the air, feeling as though he was breathing sandpaper. That damn immortal... A pain shot through his mind, the images of Stephanie appearing once more in his mind's eye. Agh, why now...?! She stood in front of a great sandy gorge, overlooking a cliff that descended into eternal darkness. This is... Draug somehow knew what this place was. He slammed his fist into the ground, knowing now that he had a clear destination for when this was over.

First, he had to get out of here. He pulled all of his bombs from his throat, feeling his assimilation of Jensen fading. He lit the fuses by flicking them across the coarse stone, holding the bombs out in front of him. There was no way to escape the explosion, and even then there was no guarantee that this would not just bury him further. He shoved the bombs into the cracks of the rocks above and then grew two extra pairs of arms adjacent to his original two, merging them together to create a limb with triple the thickness. With all of his strength, he lowered the two massive arms down, waiting for the perfect moment, the time when the bombs would explode.

With a roar, he uppercutted the rocks as the bombs exploded, creating a huge blast that blew dust in all directions and scattered stones toward the barrier and the other competitors. Draug emerged from the hole, his entire upper body missing. There was the sound of a droplet hitting a body of water, and his upper half reappeared, the mystical egg inside of him becoming dormant once more. His arms were good as new, his teeth sharper than ever, and he was ready to join the fray once more.

The first thing he did was get some distance from the collapsed tower, and then he vomited a pile of flesh. From it emerged all four of his minions, their bodies made of muscle of bone, their face lacking any features other than an elongated mouth and holes for the nose and ears. Despite the dust obstructing their smell, Draug sent them out to sniff out and attack any enemies they came into contact with. After the action, Draug nearly lost his balance, a nauseating sense of fatigue overwhelming him. He was nearly down to a typical level of blood for a human, which meant he couldn't grow any further body parts. He began looking for his opponents, looking to tear them apart with his bare hands.

A bunch of stones are flying at everyone from the explosion. Also four evil doggies are running around trying to find you all and chew your faces off. I assumed the dust makes specific targeting difficult.

[Breaker]

The Cell's third round kicked the first two in the pantseat.

Jake Narmolanya enjoyed the illusions cast by the Mystics and magicians hired for the purpose. He'd gasped along with the crowd at Breaker's quintuple cable clothesline, hearing the whipping sound as if he were amongst the combatants. Maybe I'll enter the next one, the youth thought, imagining battling the Hound and the Shadowkin for Astarelle's favor. Jake tapped the crosspiece of his liviol tonfa. That Fallien lady made losing a fight look good.

Stacia showed signs of jealousy as they discussed the strange alliance between Cronen's opponents. Ordinarily the red-and-gold haired girl was the damsel surrounded by a support staff of suitors. Meanwhile Master Bodorson puffed on his pipe and muttered about how he couldn't see the duel inside the tower. Stacia had tried to appease him, swooning as the tower shook mightily, admiring the three-on-one fiasco. The dwarf spoke one phrase and went back to his pipe.

If yeh're not watchin' the whole battle, yeh're not watchin' the Cell.

Bodorson had some archaic opinions, especially when it came to tournament combat. And blacksmithing. And swordplay. Not that his skills were any less for it. The ash-and-flame bearded dwarf could best Cronen with a blade, the Thiadores in a forge, and had written several tomes on combat strategy. He and Josh had spent hours discussing which tools the martial artist would carry to battle.

When the tower came down Stacia wound up with all eight fingers in her mouth. It would have been attractive if she hadn't looked so terrified. Her already pale face had gone translucent as the Mystic barrier. When Breaker fell her knees had buckled, but Bodorson was there to catch her, chortling about breaking her Cellhead.

They snacked on apples and pears packed from the courteous luncheon as they scanned the dust for Breaker.

Jake's half elven ears perked up. There were two robed men standing near the barrier, and he thought he'd heard them talking about the Remi's in a respectful manner.

That alone merited suspicion.

There was another possibility however. Ever since Jake was exposed to the foul stench of exploded Abomination in the Felicity Chamber, he'd felt slightly off. Mild hallucinations were a definite possibility after a snootfull like that. The half elf took a deep breath then a juicy bite of apple, searching for Cronen as pulp trailed down his chin.




An explosion from within the tower's hull sprayed debris over Joshua's cover. The echoing concussion played tricks with the wind amidst the labyrinth of rubble. He hooded his eyes to keep the sand out, barely able to see, but his hearing was excellent. Astarelle's voice had come from the north... or had it echoed from the west? The majority of the wreckage hulked there in a tangled mess. A sickening image of Astarelle trying to pull Arden from beneath iron-shod rubble filled Joshua's mind. In the Cell he was no guardian angel, but he could bring swift mercy.

A small swathe of dust swirled against the wind.

Breaker, stalking his prey.


A sinuous hound lathered in fetid blood slithered around stacks of rubble. It followed a scent, nose down, acidic salivia burning through stone with each step. The wind shifted ever so slightly and it raised its rank maw, steely fangs dripping malice.

A hand holding a dark knife slashed from the dust and cut the beast's throat like butter. It collapsed without a sound, innards steaming in the brisk air. As close to a clean kill as possible where the Remis were concerned.


Breaker wiped the black diamond blade clean on a splintered wooden door and then sheathed it, watching acid eat away at grainy oak. The knife had been torn from Kron Sha'keth's hand in their battle across the rooftops of Underwood. A rare and surgical weapon. He heard another hound snuffling nearby and picked up a fist sized chunk of rubble with an iron support peg jutting out. No, not iron. It was recycled aluminum from Alerar, dyed black at the lowest cost. Breaker stifled a chuckle, mindful of his stealth as he climbed patiently along the tower's remains. Who got paid to build this thing? He made a mental note to connect Orlouge with Bodorson. The dwarf was an excellent mason.


Abom has given Breaker permission to kill 2 hounds, that's the first. Roht and Abom have some optional bunnying permissions from me for the second. If I got the wrong idea about the mystics doing illusions of the fight a la bigscreen I'll change that, just let me know Sei.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle moved through the wreckage as a tottering cloud, for her veil of sand -a mere three paces wide after the ravages of wind and cloying blood- was allying itself with the granite dust. It wasn't a strong alliance. The dust just found it easier to caper within her shroud than out of it; a pact of convenience, as so many are.

I keep to my allies, she told herself resolutely, the train of thought distracting her from the next teetering step. She stumbled. One hand snapped forward to balance. The other held the dagger out to her side as if it might bite at the slightest provocation. Even if they aren't perfect... I keep to them. I'm in no position to ask for more. She wanted to focus on the grey limbo surrounding her, but her mind was stuck... and hot. Her forehead burned like the belly of a furnace. Perhaps it was Roh's disappointment pouring through the divine mark.

Final chamber of the Cell. Her first kill. Was Roh disappointed in her lack of skill, or that she had finally embroiled herself in the blasphemous sport of Corone?

An explosion rocked her from her guilty reverie, followed by the crunching patter of redistributed rubble. Who's there? she shouted in her head, because she dared not say it aloud. Talen? She stilled her breath and listened. There was another sound. Softer, stranger.

It was a rapid snuffling... like a dog tracking. “Arden's?” she asked in a whisper, bewildered, as she lowered her veil to the jagged ground. It pouted outward, launching the accumulated dust in a wide ring around her feet.

Not Arden's dog. The beast was a cruel facsimile, all teeth and meat. If not for the coating of dust, she was sure it would be the color of exposed muscle. An acute nausea welled up in her, making her gag audibly. Thankfully, the beast seemed deaf to it as it continued snorting along the rubble, grazing over sharp spears of wood, wavering flaps of metal, and the low-slung ring of dust that had abandoned her veil. It snorted loudly, then locked an eyeless stare right on her. Teeth gaped from corner to corner, nostrils flaring as if, through them, it could see her as clear as day.

The only movement she allowed herself was a cinching of her grip over the dagger. She felt the heat spread from her brow and coil down through her tense muscles as the beast's back legs also coiled. The priestess almost growled.

She was spared her dignity by a chunk of granite, rocketing horizontally from somewhere past her shoulder. It struck the not-a-dog perfectly, sending it careening to the side in a burst of blood and yelping. The jagged end of a rafter caught it right in the head, and it hung there, drooping low and quiet like a flag at half mast.

“Talen,” Astarelle breathed in relief as she spun. She wanted to hug him, tentacles and all. As long as the tentacles didn't hug her back. She thought she saw a shape move from the projectile's origin, but it was too big to be the pubescent shadow. “Talen?”

Nerves quivering once more, she inched toward the lazy swirling dust where the shape had been. She almost pulled her sand from the ground to veil herself, but then something caught her ear. It was a low murmur. It sounded so much like him, but it was from above. She arched her neck, just barely making out a single nearly-vertical support that had somehow stayed in one piece during the collapse. Perhaps two stories up, its tip was silhouetted against the hazy sun, a spear aiming to make night fall forever. There was already a casualty on the spear, though. A lanky body, narrow in the limbs, still as death.

Astarelle choked. Not you too. She was answered with another blast; softer, closer, more direct. At the foggy edge of her visible range, it kicked up dust and shrapnel, forcing her to shield her eyes. She risked blindness for only the first few seconds of bombardment, then peeked.

Impounded in the rubble, cross-adorned hilt skyward, was the maul that Talen had wielded. Granite gore already covered its dehlar gleam, but it shone to her eyes nonetheless. Thank you, she thought before pushing everything out. Guilt, fatigue, anger; everything was expunged in her new overpowering purpose.

Astarelle ran, the carpet of sand her sole ally, to claim the farewell gift.

Took a couple small (heh) liberties there. If any of this is not cool, let me know and I'll change it as soon as I can. Details in OOC thread.

[Breaker]

Breaker grinned beneath his kerchief and mask of grit. The tin-studded stone had slain the second hound with a satisfying thunk. From his prone position atop a curving spine of rubble, Josh could just make out Astarelle's slim Fallieni form. He exhaled and remained still as she looked in his direction, then followed her line of motion as she sprinted through the dust.

The warhammer protruded from the same long body of wreckage Josh lay upon. Some twenty feet away, it might well have been twenty miles unless he compromised his camouflage. Muscles coiled like steel springs, ready to pounce and intercept the dagger-wielding damsel. Cronen hesitated. What would be the harm in letting her seize Crozius? He'd witnessed the way the hammer poured strength into Talen's form, but judged it would not bring Astarelle near his level. He wanted a fair rematch with the Fallieni, and he wanted it without weapons, like the first time they'd grappled at the Flesh Failures. Josh pondered the paradox as Astarelle's stockinged legs made tiny tornadoes in the dust.

A third hound poked its misshapen snout around a tiered pile of three parapet blocks. Pulled by the dying throes of its fallen brethren, the beast of muscle and bone emerged in Astarelle's wake. So intent was the Fallieni on her destination, she failed to note the familiar snuffling, the outline of its earless head. She established a handhold and foothold on the rubble heap, scrambling toward the summit where the war maul and Talen's stake grew like two generations of odd trees. The hound was almost at her heels, dagger-like fangs dripping ferrous acid.

She won't be able to fight me if it tears out her tendons. Breaker made a split-second decision.

The Granite Phantom rose from the rubble and streaked through clouded air. Dust billowed around his frame, compromising the careful camouflage. One sanded leg extended like a lance. The scuffed boot struck the beast's spine a shuddering blow, sending it snout over paws to lay in a paralyzed, whimpering pile.

The Abomination's traipsing footfalls approached from the north, and Jensen's manic laughter echoed from the south. The sounds of sprinting, wheezing, and heavy breathing surrounded Cronen.

For a fleeting moment he wondered if he'd fallen into a trap orchestrated by Astarelle. It made little difference.

The Abomination stepped around a mountain off rubble, streaked in blood and dust. It placed a gory hand on Cronen's bare chest, drawing its fist back for a haymaker.

No! Too late Josh felt the leech of his powers. Not an energy drain like Lillian Sesthal had employed in the first Cell he entered. More an assimilation of his unique abilities, absorbing arcane knowledge. Breaker growled like a wolf and spun. His sidekick struck Draug with such force the Abomination pitched backwards, disappearing behind curtains of dust.

The click and crunch of Astarelle's climb neared its apex. Jensen's laughter and rapid-fire footfalls buried the Falleini's scurrying as the Immortal burst into sight.

Josh only had time to turn halfway before bony shoulders impacted his thighs and slim arms wrapped around his waist.

Jensen looked half blind and suffocated by dust caked around his eyes and mouth. Wild brown orbs bulged wide, throat open in laughter, choking on the inhale that followed each gout of mirth. Stories painted the Immortal as a glorified brawler, but he had shown refined skill in the Cell. He cackled as he attempted to tackle the Breaker. Not a brawler. A berserker by the purest definition.

He probably thinks I'm Draug, I doubt he can see past his nose. Josh had bowed his knees to absorb the impact, leaning into Jensen's strength, making the Immortal carry his weight. He hammered the slim fighter's spine with a downward elbow, not finding space for crippling power. His thoughts turned to the black dagger in his boot, and he began to bend sideways.

Hazel eyes lit on the tiered parapets, a meter behind Jensen's scrabbling heels. Josh exhaled, emptying his lungs as he had when he escaped the dehlar harness.

He reverse-rolled over Jensen's neck and shoulders, adhering his belly to that bony back, trading positions fluidly. Arms like constricting chains encircled the Immortals waist as the Ixian Knight fought to wriggle free.

Breaker straightened his legs and elevated the Immortal. He arched his back and fell forcefully into a bed of gravel and grime.

Jensen came down beside and behind Josh. He was cackling as his shoulders split the top tiered parapet in half. The ruined rampart caved inward and there was a sick squelching sound. Beneath the broken granite table lurked Cronen's abandoned cable. One end had been sheared to a point in the fall, a point that penetrated the base of Jensen's skull.

The Immortal laughed his last, and the light in his eyes faded.

Breaker rolled away from the grisly spectacle like a log down a gentle slope. Ice magic scoured Draug's bloody palmprint from his chest, replaced by a fresh coat of grime. Josh edged into a nook between two chunks of tower and scanned the snowglobe of an arena, searching for his opponents.

Astarelle stood atop the wreckage next to Talen's lonely stake, Crozius held aloft in both hands. She practically glowed with power.

Josh glimpsed her face as a sudden gust of wind opened a roiling window between them. Those metallic grey eyes shone like whetted steel.

Sharp. Determined. Deadly.



I gained prior permission from everyone involved for the action above, including killing the third hound. If there's anything anyone wants changed, just let me know. Draug assimilated Josh and Astarelle has the Sledge of Strength. Ice magic still impaired as before.

[Arden]

Epilogue

Arden opened his eyes. Instead of the fetid humidity of the arena, or the veil of dust that had risen in the wake of the tower’s fall, two familiar faces greeted him. The red hair of his sister and the marl fringe of his brother were comforting. The stern glare on their faces, on the other hand, was anything but.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Ruby spat, as though to imply she rather he had remained dead. “We were ‘worried’.”

Arden rose slowly, head pressed against his throbbing brow, and eyes narrowing at the glare of the sunlight streaming through the room’s solitary window. Instantly, he knew was far from Radasanth, and far from the caress of Aibron’s healers.

“What…happened?” he erred, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and rolling the stiffness from his shoulders.

“Where. Do. We. Begin.” Duffy said stoically, and with a renewed authority. Arden had not heard that tone in months.

“You succeeded,” Ruby said flatly.

Arden pieced his last moments together, and nodded with appreciation. Most men, after learning that had lost, died, and been reborn would have felt some kind of remorse or shame. This time, it had been the swordsman’s intention.

“She made it?” he asked, eyes pleading, brow beading with sweat.

Ruby slid two stools to the side of the feather bed, and together, the bard and the spell singer perched atop them. Both wore simple white shirts, black trousers, and silver accessories. Arden recognised the garb as belonging to their new venture, Chronicle. That, without needing to ask, told him he was in Brandybuck Castle. How, on the other hand, was a question he would want answering.

“When she drove your sword into your chest, something formed in Astarelle’s mind.”

“…she found the strength you gave her…,” Duffy interrupted. There was a smirk on his face, which Ruby wiped off with a sweeping sideways glance.

“Let’s just say that strength translated into you achieving your goal, but we left shortly after she picked up Crozius, and made it her imperative to attack Joshua Cronen.” Ruby eruditely enunciated her explanation with rolls of her wrists, flicks of her auburn hair, and coy smiles.

Arden blinked. He made to rise from the sheets, but was pressed squarely back into the confines of his bed by the tip of Duffy’s cane. He shook his head.

“I have to help her!” he exclaimed.

“Arden…,” Duffy said, before he realised the need to explain had to come after he had thought about how to explain it.

“…The Cell ended a week ago.” Ruby had no such reservations. She produced a piece of parchment from her pocket, cocked her left leg over her right, and lightly bounced her heel. “We pulled you out of the arena the moment you ‘died’.”

With cold, distrusting eyes, Arden read the note as it thrust in front of him, and took it all in. She was right. He had perished by means of poison, dagger, and dangerous acrobatics, and declared dead exactly as he remembered. He turned his attentions to the portal overlooking the lake, and allowed the calming and idyllic view to settle his frustrations.

“She is going to be fuming with me…,” he reflected. Her sincerity in trying to help him, especially following his request to drive a sword through his heart, had been touching. Somehow, he had remained professional in his efforts, but now…he felt remorse. Who was he to toy with people so earnestly trying to survive in the world?

“Can you blame her?” Ruby spat. She retrieved the note, put it away, and clicked her fingers.

A plucky butler entered the room through the only door, and pushed the portal to with a kick of his hobnails. In one hand, he expectantly balanced a tray of drinks, and in the other, a smile bundle of letters and dossiers Arden recognised as pertaining to Chronicle.

“Thank you, Wilfred,” Ruby pointed to the end of the bed, and waited for the manservant to set the items down at Arden’s feet. He stepped back, expectantly.

“Could you send Leopold up, if he’s awake?” Duffy asked, smiling politely, and catching the old man’s wink.

“Sir, madam,” he said, and practically vanished from the chamber. Despite his age, he was unnervingly quick on his feet.

Arden flopped down onto the pillows, crimson hair striking against the well-starched, pearl white cotton. He stared up at the gothic architecture and the eaves, and tried to work out what Astarelle would think of him in his absence. He did not suppose there was anything he could do about it now. He had played his part in testing the girl’s resolve, and if ever they crossed paths again, it would be in service of ‘the greater good’.

Ruby picked up the letters, unfolded the first, and cleared her throat.

“Sorry brother,” Duffy said glibly, frowning. He caressed his thigh, as though Ruby’s sincerity and constant belittling were driving a dagger into his wound. “But now you’ve found another grain of sand for the hourglass…”

Arden sighed. “We have to keep time turning,” he finished the motto reluctantly.

Chronicle had decided Astarelle, the Fallieni fearless as she was beautiful, was worthy of their support on the path to truth and freedom.


Exit stage right.

[Abomination]

Another round of dust was kicked up by Draug's landing, the Abomination finding himself on his back once more. He placed his hands on his chest, feeling the new broken ribs lurking underneath his torn skin. He coughed and got back up, using a former beam to support himself. He felt something pulsate from within his body, a sensation of power he had never felt before. This is... Cronen?! He had seen Joshua's power in the last round, and read of his exploits in the letter, but he never imagined Breaker's abilities to this extent. He only felt a fraction of the strength and speed, a microcosm of the potential, but it was enough to conclude that he had never assimilated someone more powerful. In addition, Breaker's memories only served to confuse the Abomination: They overlapped, sharing destinies with others, so Draug could not get a read on what kind of man Breaker was.

Where did this guy come from?

He shook his head, feeling an excess of energy building up in his system. Adrenaline pumped through his body, and he felt as though there was a chance for him now. The difference between them was still too great, but he could even the odds with one swing of luck. He grabbed a stone twice the size of his head and started swinging it around, imbuing within it the energy surplus in his body, giving the stone explosive concussive force on impact. After a few rotations, he let it loose toward the base of the idle beam that Astarelle stood on. He needed Crozius, only that would put him on even ground with Breaker's strength.

After throwing the stone, he charged in after it, intending to catch the descending sand princess, turn her into mush with his hands, and take the maul. During the charge, he noticed his surroundings as the dust started to settle, and could almost not believe that the Ixians took each other out. A big smile covered his face, baring his fangs with blood and spit dripping out of his mouth.

I think I understand, mother. This whole time... this whole tournament... it was all leading up to this moment. With all of the Ixians in one spot, incapacitated, the opportunities are endless. It would've tipped them off if I knew. The final step must be... this barrier. As soon as it is down, during all the commotion they will strike. The last one is Breaker. After that, everyone will die!

Draug threw a rock-grenade at the beam Roht is on and wants to give her a big hug.

[Roht Mirage]

Crozius.

She had heard the name before the match, but never connected it with the maul. Yet, she knew. The 'how' was unimportant. She gripped the red leather hilt, and she just knew. Like a piece of empty lataro, it came into her hands, almost making her stumble off the wooden beam. Too light, she gasped. Her muscles seemed to move with more ease, as if some connection had formed between her mind and each individual limb, bypassing her physical frailty and just allowing her body to be what she needed it to be. She hefted the weapon's thick head skyward in both hands.

Astarelle breathed one word -a word she knew to be demonstrably false- as she grinned like a sand-blasted fool. “Impossible.”

The rubble under her exploded, far stronger than with Crozius' landing, as if a delayed aftershock had been waiting, brooding. The buffering sand that pooled around her feet was sent screaming to every corner, and her body was thrown skyward on a wave of force that made her bones howl. Wooden darts -formed from what had once been her perch- lanced into her bare legs.

Thrown and exploded. The two repeating steps of this dance. Thrown and exploded.

Sand and dust left her, falling low or blasted clear. She was still caked in the stuff, a child of the wreckage flailing airborne as her gritty mother disappeared. A man, no father, but caked just the same, reached up for her with a malicious grasp.

Enough!

She slung the maul in a high arc, feeling its pull. Though it granted her power, it did not grant her weight, so her center of gravity rested near her hands. It might have been a debilitating imbalance, were she not one who could ride and tame the spin of Farohtian dance. A dance that moved the very flesh of Fallien. In the wake of the maul's sweep, her descent swerved to the side, taking her clear of the hug. Just.

With a high-pitched scream, she landed on legs that still throbbed from the explosion, both due to the porcupine coat and internal fractures. Her muscles would not yield, though. They would not allow their supports to buckle. She felt her body burning with unreasonable heat, and her equilibrium was off-kilter.

~

A younger Astarelle danced upon a moonlit plateau after staggering days through the desert. Dehydration and hunger were her partners. Delirium, her music. Her steps were imprecise, but stable, as her toes drew a ring of flower petals around her spinning core. A moonlit Fallien blossom, tilting in the nocturnal wind.

~

And now she had a weight in her hands, a solid chunk of power and stability at the whim of her slim wrists.

Her abandoned dagger twanged down somewhere, heralding the abomination's next charge. She leaped back, maul once more swinging early to grant her speed. Her legs snapped into the space where her weapon had been, where the monster lunged, and she felt the shrapnel in her shins impound against the back of his hand. Sand swelled around her, no more than three handfuls returning through the settling dust. It wrapped her hands, sealing them to the hilt like a mentor shaping himself to her form, immaterial chest to her back.

She danced with Crozius in the now, and with Akashere in the memory.

The maul struck the ground first, anchoring her, spinning her behind it to crunch granite chips under her shoes. No pause, no breath. She push off with screaming legs, then let her partner lead.

Leaving the angle of the attack up to you.

[Abomination]

That damn thing is leading her around!

Draug snarled, unable to anticipate the sand princess's movements. She had dispatched one of his minions with ease, and now she was guiding the Abomination like a lamb to the slaughter. Draug had never encountered this fighting style before, and it showed in his sloppy reactions. With Astarelle's next attack, rather than intercept or counter it, Draug chose to dodge it, jumping backwards until he was several meters away from her.

He wanted to fight her, but there was no time. His borrowed power would start fading soon, and he needed it for Joshua himself. He thought of his options, and once again he was brought back to the letter. They could have provided something like that in the first two rounds, but instead they only chose to inform him of his opponents in the last one. Did the Cult know that the Ixians would rip each other apart? Did they know that Breaker alone would remain among them? He thought of Breaker's exploits, the descriptions of his observed abilities, and in his hand he felt the surplus of energy once more, bubbling within his body and seeking release.

"Cronen!" he yelled out toward the direction of his other three slaughtered minions. "This entire tournament you have been looking for a challenge, looking for an opponent to truly test your limits." A dagger inside Draug's body became charged with energy, lying in wait. "You have been left wanting. This competition has been beneath you." Another dagger within his body became charged, leaving two energy bombs within his flesh interior. "Get me that hammer, and that will change! I will defeat you in front of all your fans, your friends, and your comrades. I will break the Breaker!"

[Breaker]

Jake Narmolanya spat out seeds as he finished eating the apple's core. All that remained was the tiny twig that had anchored fruit to tree. He dropped the stem in the grass and put his arms around Stacia in a reassuring hug. There'd been an explosion from the middle of the arena strangled by a tense silence, which was shattered on occasion by demonic baying and snuffling. Jake's green eyes flitted about the arena, but saw not even a silhouette. The youth was feeling more and more certain he'd seen something, heard something dangerous. He hadn't caught a glimpse of the robed Remi enthusiasts since he thought he'd overheard a few words of conversation. But the collapse of the tower and the mire in the arena made him worry all the more. Why would Sei Orlouge bring a team of illusionists to show images of a granite-fogged battleground? When Josh had shared news of his invitation to join the tourny and take up the mantle of Chief Investigator, Jake asked about Sei. He has one of the most powerful minds in Althanas, Josh had responded without hesitation. Surely the venerable Grandmaster hadn't lost control of his own house, at his own competition?

The roar of the crowd had muted to a buzz of grouped conversation during the dust storm. The explosion accompanied by the cayenne smell of burned blackpowder riled the younger element. Dozens of youths near Jake's age had set to chanting the names of their favorites. The Fallieni had the strongest support, but the barrel chested boys screaming her name were not crying out for combat. Breaker and Jensen shared contending ranks, and there were even cries for Remi. Arden's heroic flight had earned him a rousing chorus, but his fans had seen the dagger strike beneath his arm as clearly as he'd caught the Fallieni. There were tears and sickened expressions amongst the Shadowkin's supporters - the youngest combatant's body was impaled before dust swallowed the corpse.

There had been cries for Remi... Jake craned his neck, searching the crowd for robed men.

"Are you unwell?" Stacia asked, placing a delicate hand to his brow. "You do feel warm, have some water." She rummaged in the haversack they'd packed at the buffet and came out with a sloshing skin.

"I just ate an apple," Jake pointed out, but opened the vessel and took a quick sip anyway.

"Were you searching for someone just now?" The Scaran woman inquired. Her porcelain features glowed scarlet and a slender eyebrow arched.

"Just..." Jake said, not wanting to express a paranoid delusion. "I thought I heard some robed men talking about the Remi family. They seemed confident of victory. That's all. Probably just some of the sickos who follow their ilk."

Another explosion rocked the arena. This time there was no burning smell on the wind. A clean blast, like one of Breaker's, though not nearly so noisy. Dust stirred and swirled and finally began to settle.

Bodorson tapped his still-burning bowl near the grass and ground the embers beneath his heel. The dwarf stowed the pipe beneath his broad tabard and stamped heavy boots to increase circulation to his feet.

"That did not sound like nothin' lad." The dwarf said softly. "I may take a stroll to see if I can't find the healer who tended Josh today." He clasped forearms with Jacob and then took one of Stacia's hands in both of his own and gave her a level-eyed nod.

"We'll come with you," Jake offered, eager to move about.

"No," Stacia intoned, touching his sifan clothed chest. "I do wish to speak with Joshua. He must be well," she reasoned, nodding toward the arena. The dwarf and the half elf pushed out from the front of the crowd, taking opposite paths around the dome. Stacia breathed deep and pressed hands to her belly, trying to forget she was surrounded by strangers. She inflated her lungs and then screamed for the Breaker, as loud and as long as she could.



Josh had rolled all the way inside the tower's wreckage by the time Draug's grenade erupted. The familiar concussion shook the foundations for the slightest moment. Some hidden sense told him Astarelle could overcome the monstrosity. Through every twist the tournament had thrown her the Fallieni chose her tools with triumph in mind. A shiner earned in advance of the tournament, a length of rope with hooks, a Shadowalker, a Hound. With Jensen's Crozius in her tanned hands, the woman would feel unstoppable. Confidence counted for more than many warriors dared admit. Even so he'd risen to assist her when Stacia's call filled the air.

Stacia never screamed like that. Breaker forgot about stealth and ran to the east. Her voice had swelled across the arena's emptiest space. He saw her as he skirted the broken wall where he'd stowed his honorary red belt. He heard the Abomination roar a challenge about testing limits and competition and cared not a whit. He raced past Rythadine, the greatsword still embedded hilt first at an angle. If Draug had killed Astarelle, Draug could hunt the Breaker. If the sand-snake still lived her fangs would be bared, filled with the venom of Crozius.

"Stash?" Josh said, pulling the kerchief down around his neck. He realized for the first time Arden's spell of silence had lifted. He rarely spoke in combat, saving his breath to fuel his muscles... but a well placed taunt was a weapon like any other. "What's wrong?" He asked in a whisper for Stacia alone. Factions of the crowd directed cheers and jeers alike at Breaker, but no one approached the Scaran woman.

"Jake thinks a plot is afoot," Stacia responded with a measure of disbelief, "Remis in robes ready to riot, or some nonsense." Her voice dipped in tone and volume, to something beneath a whisper. "Do you know anything of this?"

Breaker knew he could not remain talking for long. The thrill of the Cell called. But Stacia would not have screamed for nothing. She was worried, and he trusted the porcelain skinned woman's instincts as well as his own.

"Discover for me who built this tumbling tower," he said evenly, brushing caked dust from his pants. "And then I might answer your question." He turned to seek the Abomination. Stacia stopped him with a word.

"Wait!" She pushed to the balls of her feet. Leaning toward the mystic barrier intimidated her, for though it shone translucent to Cronen's eyes, she had no connection to the Tap. She saw nothing between them but silty air. Stacia puckered her lips and extended till her rouge left a ruby kiss on the arena wall. "I did miss my chance to give you that before the finals began," She said, crossing slim arms over her autumn dress. "Be well and fight well. You will win, Joshua." Stacia turned and scurried away, searching for information.

Breaker shook his head as he circled northward. Stacia and her superstitions. His face fell in shadow as he ducked behind a mess of parapets and wallstones. Although he'd lost the advantage of camouflage, he kept low amidst the copious cover. Draug had brought explosives to the second and third rounds of the Cell, and utilized Cronen's own explosive potential following the assimilation. He likes to make a bang. Draug also had no intention of fighting Breaker. The Abomination had avoided Cronen throughout the Felicity Chamber, and fled many attacks brought against him. Even when he'd fought little Faelynn he'd needed his hounds for support. Whatever the cretin's intentions, they would definitely be dirty and deadly.

Having circled around to the northwestern frontier of the Armonia Chamber, Breaker poked his head and shoulders over a jumble of wooden beams and tin-studded rubble. The wreckage of a tower built to tumble. He saw Astarelle some distance away and a grin cracked his jaws. The scorpion danced with a new stinger raised. The Abomination was standing between the Fallieni and the Breaker. For all his extra limbs and plasma, the brute had only two eyes.

"Draug!" Josh snapped in his most patriarchal tone, an idea striking him suddenly. "Did your parents tell you where they gathered your genetic material?" The words came clipped and fast like bolts leaving a repeater. "Do the powers you borrowed feel familiar? Like they belong? Yes Draug... I am your father!"

A taunt was a weapon like any other... when launched from the lips of the Breaker.

[Roht Mirage]

Astarelle ran, feet skittering over a maddening assortment of dust-coated gradients, and for each three short, there was one long meteor of a stride where she let Crozius swing into the lead. “I'm more than enough for you,” she teased from a throbbing throat as she blocked the abomination from pursuing Breaker.

Good riddance, she thought to his fading footfalls, lost more to the rising cheers than to distance. As the last of the dust settled, their volume rose higher and higher, staggered by huge, mass-intakes of breath. She spared but a glance for the crowd, a long horizon of rabid faces and pumping fists. Watch well, Corone. With fever-bright eyes, she focused soley on Draug, taking in his grey, naked -ungendered?- form. He, or it, looked like a marble statue brought to life in a nightmare. Whose nightmare was anyone's guess, but Astarelle aimed to make it his alone.

He hesitated. Astarelle advanced, her body making great sweeps to each side as the maul swept before her like a surprisingly-graceful elephant trunk. Her feet quickened, as did her weapon, and she closed with the erratic flight of a gnat. Another scream burst from her mouth for the heat and pain welling up inside. But, the crowd overrode her, chanting an assortment of names.

Many of the names were her's.

Leaping off a ramp of scarred stone, she swung Crozius in a high arc, forcing her body almost horizontal as she completely two threshing spins in the air and heaved all its weight downward. Draug retreated once more, leaving her only rubble to pound in a thick puff of dust and grit. Blinking but undaunted, she rose.

He's scared.

She laughed. A long and lilting song for both her swelling ego and the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Like Jensen and, perhaps, all the wielders before him, she unreservedly quaked with mirth. Crozius stole the teeth from the word 'impossible', making it just another naughty word. A sand-blasted joke.

Her swaying, loping charge resumed. “I don't have time for you,” the non-human grated as a dagger sprouted from his palm. He almost threw it, then hesitated. Astarelle gagged as if her stomach was ignoring all other stimuli to latch only onto the most sickening. It didn't help when his palm wetly reabsorbed the weapon.

“Don't say that, love!” she shouted at him, delirious joy overriding any tease or sweetness she might have meant to include. Her head throbbed, either from the crowd's swelling thunder or some internal pressure.

They continued the dance, her and Crozius at least. Draug always stayed back, played across the outer range of her strikes. She started to get dizzy. While a wonderful partner, the maul was outpacing her more and more on each step. Finally, she had no choice but to plant its head in the rubble and brace her legs wide like a beleaguered tripod creature. Shouts spurned her onward.

And Breaker's grating voice sounded off on the other side of her opponent. Draug snapped his head to the side, keeping both of them in his peripheral vision. It would have to do. Scraping Crozius forward, then upward, she charged as if it was a battering ram and aimed to obliterate the granite-caked head from his shoulders.

[Abomination]

Draug was dumbfounded by Breaker's response.

Is he an idiot... ?

There were murmurs in the crowd about how Breaker turned down the challenge, about how he was letting a woman do his work. Maybe all the hype was for nothing? Was Breaker a coward? Due to the dust, it was difficult to see who had actually killed the rest of the Ixians. Some speculated that it was Draug after all. None of this mattered to the Abomination, who continued to dodge Astarelle's attacks, jumping from rock to rock, heeding the maul's trajectory carefully. Her style was interesting, but the Cult's Champion was starting to understand it. Another dagger in his body became charged with surplus energy, bringing the total to three. With that move, Draug felt a wave of fatigue wash over him, the ability taking more out of his stamina each time. He speculated that he could only do it once more without falling over.

There were two concerns he had in his fight with Astarelle: One was the fact that if she landed a good hit on him, they would both find themselves lacking bodies, and the other was that if he harmed her, she would be less effective against Breaker. It doesn't matter what happens to me. Memnar can restore me from any state, so I just need to go all out. He knew he would likely experience memory loss again, but now that he knew he had a mission, it did not matter.

"Let's play some other time, love," Draug said, grinning. He dodged her latest attack and bolted after Breaker. "Cronen! You are nothing to me, a mere worm wriggling in the rain! After I kill you, I will hunt down everyone you hold dear and torture them until they regret ever knowing you!" He hoped Breaker would take the bait, to fight him in close range with an intent to kill.

A fourth dagger become energized in his body, bringing the total to four. Draug hid the effects of the fatigue as best he could, knowing that both the assimilation and his stamina were fading. The moment Breaker landed a good hit on him, he would protrude the weapons in the impact spot and blow both of them up.

Mother... We will rid the world of these petulant, righteous do-gooders. When the blood moon rises, they will bask in its glow.

Elsewhere, Memnar walked through the halls he previously found Draug in with his apprentice Kahr in tow.

Kahr spoke up, "Is not Draug important for the plan? It seems he's opting for a rather drastic tactic."

"Do not worry, apprentice," Memnar replied, revealing the intricate designs on his palm. It was transmutation circle, one that allowed him to reform Draug no matter what happened to him. "Draug's power grows each time he falls. If they strike him down, he will become more powerful than they ever imagined."

[Breaker]

The Abomination's bright yellow eyes bugged out as it turned, seeming confused. Astarelle seized the opening, thrusting with the maul... not quite quickly enough. Draug flowed out of harm's way, charging toward the Breaker's protected position. Somehow the thing found breath in its pale, depleted body to roar a string of crazed threats.

Ah well, Josh thought as his hands finished their careful work on the bank of beams and rubble that separated him from Draug. The scorpion missed her moment. He heard the change in the crowd's cries and stifled a knowing smirk. Mountainous heaps of fallen tower hid him from spectators and opponents alike, only his bruised shoulders and ice-encrusted pate rose above the maze. He stepped backwards 'till he met a column of piled granite, all solid chunks of ramparts broken in the fall. His palm found a wide thick slab of rock and he leaped up, boot's taking the hand's place, never turning away from Draug. For an instant he crouched and the scaly sheathe pressed against his spine.

One pocket bulged. The rest of the scabbard hung empty.

Breaker stood straight and spread his arms wide, offering Draug disdain. The claim of blood relations had been the most distracting jibe he could think of... and though Astarelle's opening had passed, the taunt had served its purpose.

"Hunt whomever you please, plaugeling. Any of my friends could kill you." Cronen's expression darkened. "The next time we meet will not be under Ai'Brone protection." The threat thinned air between them.

Laughter swelled from nearby onlookers, and jokes about monsters being brave from behind monks' robes spread like wildfire. But boos began to overwhelm the cheers. Much of the crowd wanted Astarelle to continue her graceful battledance. Many fans of the Cell had come to watch a clash between titans. All of them wanted blood.

Their lust would soon be slaked.

For the first time in two rounds of fighting the Abomination tried to close distance with Breaker. Its thunderous footfalls made small stones shudder and dust motes whipped about in its wake. Blood dripped from a muscular body designed to regenerate constantly. The only way to kill it was all at once, with a force too devastating to heal.

Explosions worked best, in Breaker's experience.

The Abomination's feet pounded toward the jumble of beams and rubble between the beast and its target.

The jumble was a giant pressure trigger.

Josh had charged the delyn ball missing from his scabbard with pure energy... the same explosive potential that had torn open the tower's western wall. The impact grenade was wedged between two of the middlemost beams, bearing as much weight as it safely could. Any more pressure from the crisscrossing woodwork above and shrapnel of stone and oak would shatter in all directions, chased by lethal concussion.

Breaker stood like a statue until he felt certain Draug's course would carry the homunculus onto the jumble, and then dropped behind his granite column. He landed crouched and covered his head, braced for the impending explosion. One day Breaker suspected he'd track down the Abomination and kill it... permanently.

In the Cell... he'd settle for seeing it in pieces.

[Abomination]

As Draug charged, he felt as though something was wrong. The sight was clear from his battle with Astarelle that Joshua was up to something, but the Abomination had no idea what. He pulled one of his few remaining swords out of his shoulder blade with his right hand, making it look like he had a plan of attack. He found it hard to believe that the man known as the Breaker would hide from the Abomination, but there must have been some purpose for it.

By the time he realized what he stepped into, it was too late to go back. He only had time to do one thing.

Oh shi-!

Another explosion rocked the chamber, kicking up a fresh round of dust. From the explosion flew Draug's severed right arm at blinding speeds, and within it were all four of the energized daggers. It only had one destination: Joshua Cronen.

Final post.

[Breaker]

Terech Bodorson had circled northward, scanning the crowd for the novice who informed them of Breaker's brief breach in resolve. Rather than attempt to find her smooth face amongst the forest of human observers, Bodorson searched the garments. The chants and cries of the crowd told him only that three contenders still remained, and he could not see the action through the thickly packed spectators. He had trudged halfway around the arena, stroking his beard and swivelling his head, when he spotted slim shoulders beneath a brown habit.

"Would you spare a moment for a word?" The dwarf asked, touching the bald woman's elbow with a thick forge-branded finger.

"Wha--" the healer tore her eyes from the field of combat. "Forgive me Master Bodorson, the Fallieni's dance is most beautiful." She smoothed her earth toned robe and clasped hands at her waist.

"Have we bloody met?" The dwarf demanded, forgetting his manners momentarily. Although he was many years older than he dared admit save when sauced on Firewhisky, Bodorson rarely forgot a face.

"You mistake me," She replied, scarlet sheening almond skin from throat to shaven crown. "I have studied some of your writings, and would consider it a dishonor if I could not recognize the Master of Ravenheart Academy."

Bodorson found himself flushing in response. Despite his many, many talents Terech had never been good with magic. He respected those who wielded it well immensely, the Ai'Brone order in particular, and her compliment melted his suspicious demeanor.

"Tis my turn to apologize," the dwarf said earnestly, folding hands into voluminous tabard pockets, "but I have words to break with ye' that must not wait." The novice allowed Bodorson to draw her several paces away from the roaring, stomping, waving crowd, and the dwarf went on in a whisper. "Somethin' be off about the proceedings today," Terech said confidently. He had seen his share of Cell tournies over decades, and felt a strange energy in the masses of bloodthirsty onlookers. He had not identified the difference, the source of the strangeness, but Jake's revelation had spiked the feeling.

"I must confess I lost myself in the battle," the novice said with a small smile. "The Breaker and the Fallieni are true martial artists, the way in which they--"

"Please," Terech interrupted, "do ye' not sense the same? Did nothing strike ye' as odd?" Bodorson kept the worry from his tone, posing the question as one combat enthusiast to another. He watched her response carefully, but got only a raised eyebrow before a familiar voice cut between them.

"Master Bodorson!" Stacia had followed the same path as the dwarf, and spotted the whispering pair as she rounded the arena's northern perimeter. She raced to them with green skirts held high, lips pressed together in a stern line. "I did speak with Josh," she said in a rush, slightly breathless as she skidded to a stop over browning grass.

"What is your worry?" The novice inquired, her smooth brow crinkled in concern, "so that's where the Breaker vanished to..." she trailed off as Stacia regained her breath.

"He did--" the Scaran woman panted, whipping red-and-gold locks out of her eyes, "he did ask after the builders of the tower. Who laid the stone, and who took the coin?" Her message delivered, Stacia placed hands on knees and breathed deeply.

"I might seek out my chapter leader," the novice offered placatingly, "or perhaps Orlouge himself if he is about." She spread her hands and shrugged, "I do suppose the tower fell easily, but--"

A concussive clap rocked the arena, followed by four smaller explosions.

"Please do seek out some knowledge," Terech told to the healer, and then plunged through the crowd at Stacia's side, their faces creased with worry.



When Josh lifted his arms to cover his head they met an icy half-helm that had expanded from the poultice over his wound. He marveled for a moment at the strange impairment to his ice magic, how his instincts had embodied the defensive aspect... and then the trap triggered.

The jumble of beams and rubble absorbed the bulk of the initial explosion, though wooden and stone shards showered the wreckage, bouncing off the mystic barrier and trailing through the dust.

Draug's arm struck the granite column Josh had sheltered behind.

Four explosions tore up the first layer of stone like wolffish swarming their prey. The column of granite shifted, throwing Cronen on his side. A trio of parapet pieces rolled lazily off the top of the shaken heap of stone, crashing down at the fallen fighter's legs, chest and head.

Josh rolled on his back and folded his knees over his chest. The heaviest rock slammed to the ground where his shins had been, and he caught the midsized boulder with feet and hands before it could impact his chest. The fist-sized stone shattered part of his icy helm and glanced off, barely upsetting his equilibrium.

Breaker rose from the wreckage slightly wobbly, and the crowd's roar nearly knocked him off his feet. Dust cloaked him as it roiled once more, but on his head shone a cracked crown of ice. He wiped grit from his eyes and spat and blew, sholders squared like a penniless king.

Entrails and bone fragments of Abomination painted portions of the mystic shield. A rough circle of shredded wood and stone surrounded the site of the well-placed trap. Frenzied onlookers pounded on the shield, roaring appreciation for the carnage. Fresh chants for Breaker and Dancer and even Corone and Fallien drowned out all others as the count for contention fell to two.

Josh was thinking about what Stacia had said. Rioting Remis in robes. A robe made the perfect garment for one wishing to conceal weapons. The audience was thick with Sei's supporters, Mystics and Knights alike. But Cronen had met and overcome the best warriors Ixian Castle had to offer that day. Talen had seemed to regret ever stepping on to the top of that tower, and Jensen had no concern for tactics. If these were the generals, how well would the common soldiers fare in an ambush, one struck suddenly on their very grounds? Draug's sucicidal charge seemed foolish, even for the Abomination... unless the creature sought to end the battle at any cost.

Could that be it? When the shield fell, would an ambush assault the castle? Breaker was woozy from the blows to his skull, and pulled the blue kerchief over his mouth and nose to block the dust. He felt more drained by the use of his energy surplus than he should. He'd received healing between rounds and felt refreshed as if waking from a long restful sleep. Yet Ai'Brone magic could do only so much for such complete fatigue. The female novice had closed his wounds and washed away the exhaustion, but was she even capable of restoring his unique power? It seemed unlikely, and Breaker's magic boots felt heavy.

He closed his eyes for an instant and thought of Stacia, searching for the answer to his question. He thought of the threats the Abomination had made and the way the beast had used the structurally unsound tower to slow its deadly fall. He remembered the way Draug had avoided him in the Felicity Chamber, how the homunculus succumbed so easily to Jensen's tackle off the top of the tower. He thought last and longest of his Lady, and drew on his final reserves of endurance and internal focus. Sweat beaded on his brow despite the chill from his crown.

Chief Investigator Breaker, piecing the puzzle together.

Josh could not see his friends amidst the writhing many-armed masses that screamed around the Armonia Chamber. He would need to give Stacia more time, some minutes to find the answer he needed...

"Astarelle!" He called through dust floating earthward like snow of stone. "Do not let Jensen's hammer twist your mind any further. I know the sweet nectar of power you taste, I have drunk deep of its like and swum in seas of regret." Breaker stepped into the circle cleared by his trap, bruise-coiled arms held aloft, hands empty. The kerchief muffled his voice but he enunciated clearly. "You cannot hope to tame the strength of Crozius in a single day." He rotated, scanning the arena as dust settled, listening for the light stacatto of Fallien feet. "Release that cursed weapon while you still can and I offer fair contest... let unarmed combat choose a champion for the Cell, and for this great Coronian crowd!"

The response from the audience was deafening; Yes! Yes! Yes! Waves of affirmative cheers rounded the gore streaked arena and built to a mighty crescendo.

[Roht Mirage]

Sweet nectar, my rump.

Astarelle knelt, one hand in the shallow dust, the other on Crozius' supportive shoulder, as she spilled a long-forgotten meal from her mouth. Explosions had punctuated some of her heaves, wringing her tighter and tighter until all her innards seemed ready to perform a mass exodus. The puddle quickly gathered a granite skin over its near-red. Don't be blood. Don't be blood.

~

Akashere lay at her feet, coughing blood across the pristine floor of his home. She heard herself wail, felt her body kneel and her hands cradle his head, but she was not truly there. Her mind was suffocating in one wretched, desperate thought. Without you...

He creaked tear-wet eyes up at her, and she read them like all those times when they plied their trade in Irrakam, wearing their sand faces and holding close the secret of their forbidden city. So many secrets they had to keep. Sometimes... even from each other.

“You knew you were sick,” Astarelle breathed, an oasis welling in her eyes, “Why didn't you-”

He looked away, eyes heavy, and let her find the answer amidst all their memories.

She kissed him on his dark, unshaven cheek. “You are my life, Akee,” she whispered, invoking his manazen, his lover-name, for the last time.

~

Astarelle wrapped herself in the warm, wise words of Akashere the Gatherer, spurned savior of Faroh.

We all have our roles, and dreams that we have to put away. But, though we surrender so much, there is one fight you must never step away from. Time is precious. Your time. Never surrender it.

“Never,” hissed the daughter of Roh. She scraped one bracer roughly against her sick-spattered chin, cleaning the flesh for a fresh coat of grey. Jaw locked, eyes closed, she forced herself to her feet. Crozius walked with her, eager but polite. It swayed with each movement of her right foot like an ally bearing her along.

Granite snowfall fell around her, soft and dream-like. The first snow she had ever seen. It was beautiful; even with gore and destruction all around.

Her feet squelched through the remains of Draug, scritted up the mound of rubble, and set her at a perch overlooking the crater where Breaker waited. You want to fight Roht Mirage, she reasoned quietly on an island of peace in her burning mind, You want the woman who embarrassed you in a club. She almost pitied him.

“Breaker,” she called softly but proudly, like the whisper of a far-off storm. The crowd, still demanding, quieted slightly to hear her answer. “The woman you met that night... she died this morning. She is gone.” Rubble scraped and sang as she slid down the bank. “I can't fight like that anymore. I'm just... me.”

No one can cage you.

She padded along the eerily-smooth ground, weapon held level at her side, and rose her voice with a confidence that had been planted years ago by the most gentle of hands. “I am Astarelle Set'Roh. I have befriended the shadow. I have tamed the hound. I have survived this bloody Cell! But, I have not tamed Crozius. She dances not for me, but with me.”

To her Fallien ear, Crozius was a girl's name. A sister's name.

Astarelle danced forward, truly danced. There was no charge, none of the tense and release of a proper weapon-wielder. There was only the spinning, leaping, careening dance of her people. Each move a beat in the unbroken flow, each swipe a feint, except when it was not. Her and Crozius took turns leading, holding to an uneven tempo that pounded in her skull like the pulsations of sand as a corpse descended to the desert's depths in true Farohtian burial.

Bunny this show all the way home.

[Breaker]

Jake Narmolanya had circled south around the Armonia Chamber. With his legs moving and his heart pumping he felt better, and doubted whether he could have heard the men in robes correctly. By the time he reached the arena's southern frontier he was mingling with the crowd and watching the show more than searching for the novice. His feet paused and rooted when explosions rent the air, showering the dome with earth and entrails. He wanted to watch the end of the battle, not wander about searching for the healer. But as the crowd quieted to hear the exchange between Josh and Astarelle, a familiar voice caught the half elf's ear.

"The Breaker asked after the tower." It was the novice! She stood huddled beside a fat man who seemed strangely familiar. "How could he suspect our plan? It was only luck his friends came to me with their concerns..." the bald woman trailed off, distracted by the action in the arena.

"Can't see how he'd know a bloody thing," the man responded, wiping his nose with a rough worker's hand.

Jake frowned and moved through the crowd, getting closer as their conversation quieted. The cheering had resumed and built steadily, and he ended up standing directly behind the conspiring pair before he caught another word.

"... and we put down different names at the Pleasure Palace than we gave Orlouge for his reference check." The fat man said. Another two louts of similar shape and proportions joined the pair. One of the newcomers had a broken nose.

It's the pigs from the Ella Chamber! Jake realized with a shock, turning his face away. The trio of men had said they were brothers when they befriended Stacia and Bodorson during the first round. Jake had always been suspicious of the louts. He was edging away, one hand on his tonfa, when the novice noticed his dirty blond hair.

"Seize him," she hissed to her companions. They responded with alacrity, rubbing knuckles and chuckling darkly.

Jake could not flee through the press of chanting onlookers. Instead he lunged at the brothers, drawing his tonfa and crashing the crosspiece into the first lout's temple. He turned and slashed at the head of the first man, aiming a short kick at the legs of the third.

The bald woman in the Ai'Brone habit darted in, a punch-knife shining between her fingers. Jake rolled his shoulder back but the blade struck flesh, slicing through skin and muscle. He growled through the pain and drove his forehead at the woman's face only to have her dance away. Jake stumbled, feeling sickly warmth spread in wake of the pain. Something smeared on the knife's point had spread into his veins, stealing the very light from his brain.

Jake slumped alongside the two men he'd felled as their partners escaped toward the woods. Past closing darkness the half elf saw four familiar feet racing toward him; two stout with heavy boots and two stepping daintily beneath green skirts.



For once the Fallieni's flashing legs and acid tongue failed to summon Breaker's smile. He scanned the crowd as she dropped into the crater, disguising the action as a disappointed shake of his icy crown. A storm of strangers screamed in tongues and stamped their feet along the Mystic wall. None of his friends waved or called from the mob. Breaker bowed to Astarelle's challenge, bending at the waist with eyes up, hands running down dust caked shins. When he straightened a revolver gleamed in his right palm, the black diamond dagger in his left.

"I am Joshua Cronen," he said simply as she danced forward, "and I will defeat you as I please. Your pincers are gone little scorpion, and that stinger poisons only you." His hands snapped forward and back like striking snakes, releasing their treasures together.

The Colt Anaconda skittered across gore stained granite to nestle by the Abomination's ruined head. The Aleraran blade flew past Astarelle's shoulder, chopping a chunk of sweat slicked hair from her swinging braid. The dagger snicked into Talen's stake as umber strands floated to the crater's floor. The explosion had emptied a space five yards in diameter with walls high as Cronen's hip. The blast had shorn up loose rubble and grit as wind forms dunes over time.

Surrendering the fearsome weapons had no effect on Astarelle. She flowed into formless attack.

Breaker ducked and circled, boots drumming the ground, a step ahead of her dance. He searched outside the dome for Stacia with subtle flicks of hazel eyes, seeing only the chanting crowd. He feinted and dodged as Astarelle spun and kicked, the hammer her third leg as needed. Cronen wished to show her the sick shining in her gaze, but he had no more air for speech. His breathing deepened beneath the blue kerchief as he remembered the end of the Ella Chamber. His Lady had appeared in the arena's rainstorm, a woman of water and refracted light. She gave him two words to win by, two words to carry to the tournament's end.

Let go. He released the need to wait for Stacia, trusting in his friends and the Ixian Knights. If there was an ambush, they would be ready... his battle was in the arena, in the crater, in the moment.

Josh danced with the Fallieni and her captured maul, matching them stride for stride. Astarelle cartwheeled over Crozius and Breaker corkscrewed to counter with a kick of his own. Her strikes grew swifter as she circled and twirled, trying to crash through Cronen's arc. He leaped high at each twitch of her hips, for the hammer was an extension of her core. Pounding of feet and roars from the crowd composed their rhythm and melody. Man woman and maul danced a death-waltz for three, swirling dust and thrashing the dirt.

Sand chattered like a rattlesnake's tail as a hand spirited from the hammer's haft suddenly. The sand formed a dagger that stabbed for Cronen's heart as he fell from his latest leap. Blood spilled from split skin but the dagger disintegrated as Joshua flexed thick pectorals. The dance resumed as music from the masses swelled at the scarlet spectacle. Crimson fluid from Joshua's wound spattered both combatants. Breaker would have sacrificed thrice as much blood for the opening it had presented.

When Astarelle struck he seized her lone wrist between large, callused hands.

Crozius pounded the ground in furious circles. Each time Josh turned her forearm to trap it Astarelle jumped and spun over the lock. Each time maul met ground the crater quaked, walls loosing rivulets of sand. Breaker noted the shift in their surroundings, but Astarelle's power-glazed eyes could not. She led with the hammer as an extension of twisting hips, anchoring maul to earth to fly through spinning kicks. Josh was forced to duck and pivot on each rotation, feeling iron-shod boots graze his hair. He chased the wristlock diligently, breathing deeply through the blue kerchief on his face.

Let go. He released Astarelle's wrist when next she leaped. Crozius braced her weight and both feet left the ground in a graceful arcing double kick. Silt from the walls of their sunken ring showered the smooth floor.

Breaker ducked and spun against the grain of their rhythm. His leg swung low to the ground and sweep-kicked the maul supporting her. Josh forced the fatigued muscles in his legs to perform as he exited the spin. He back-flipped out of the pit and landed heavily, making himself watch what followed.

Astarelle struck smooth ground with Crozius cradled greedily in both arms. Her impact combined with Breaker's boots on the rim shattered the last of the crater's stability.

Remains from the fallen tower reduced to sand by concussive force caved in around the Fallieni.


Bunnying fully approved by Roht.

[Roht Mirage]

There was not enough power in her, even enthralled with her dehlar partner. Nor was there enough time, for the pulse in her head was growing stronger, heavier, threatening to shake her consciousness to pieces.

Don't touch her, Astarelle's fracturing mind cried as Crozius was swept from under her. The sand of her dagger, sacrificed to draw so little blood, hadn't returned to the hilt. Only a thin film of grit remained, tearing at her fingers instead of securing them.

As if it was a person -as if it was her abandoned temple-sister, left at home to assume all the duties of the runaway priestess- she hugged Crozius and felt for just a moment the warm skin and fluttering hair of awkward little Lisere. She had left behind so much responsibility for the poor girl to bear.

So Astarelle would bear her own, without complaint or regret, in an alien place to protect people she barely understood.

Sei Orlouge! she thought as loudly as she could, hoping to reach the fabled telepath, Clear your schedule. When this is over, we are going to have a talk.

Her mind reeled from the sending, spurring on the dizziness that seemed so much worse when she was prone. Yet, she found her feet, hoisted herself up on two legs of flesh and one of dehlar, and charged for Breaker in spite of the crashing tide. She left the ground through the force of Crozius' skyward sweep, but it was too steep, and gravity too strong. Even as she spun in the air, a fluttering brown leaf once more, she knew the wave would wash over her.

You danced beautifully, she bid adieu to her partner as her grip quaked, loosened, and broke. Crozius sliced through granite froth straight for where Breaker had perched so proudly, but Astarelle did not see the crescendo. Her body smeared across the blasted earth just in time for the wave to wash over. A thousand sharp weights pinned her. Air became a mass of dust, yearning to be solid once more and almost succeeding. In a thunderous rush almost as loud as her pounding heart, she was rolled, surrounded, and bur-

She did not utter her favorite curse. She did not even think it. She just chuckled against the granite debris that was her final breath.

How fitting.

Fin

[Breaker]

Crozius smacked into Cronen's palms as silt buried the Fallieni. Frenzied chanting from the stomping crowd washed over shifting sand. Splintered timber and blasted stone collapsed to entomb Astarelle. Disturbed dirt settled and rumbled, hungry and asking for more.

Breaker heard nothing but the sweet song the warhammer sang. It flowed through his veins like fine elven wine and smooth-burning dwarven tobacco. The weakness in his legs and the ache of his torso vanished behind a surge of strength. Godly power imbued the Breaker's body as he brandished Crozius high. Despite the coat of dust the dehlar weapon wore, its etched cross caught a ray of light. With this kind of strength he could conquer Corone and crush the Remis one by one. He could seek out Sha'keth and slit the assassin's throat using the Aleraran's own blade. He could rise above his Lady and walk amidst the Thayne, letting his hands shape the land. He could smash to the depths of Haide and free souls of friends and lovers lost. He could...

Let go.

Josh swung the maul down and struck the ground with all his magnified might. The dehlar weapon was buried to the cross in a wave of rippling earth. He'd released the handle in a moment of inspiration, clinging instead to a memory of a moment. When he'd stood on the ocean floor beneath crushing dark water and heard his Lady's promise. Crozius granted godlike strength, with it he wielded power untold. But the road to deification was straight and shortcuts were not for the bold.

"There is no path to Godliness," Cronen panted as he pushed up to his feet, translating an Akashiman proverb. "Godliness is the path." He touched the icy poultice that covered the wound on his chest and remembered how he'd stopped Astarelle's thrust from piercing his heart. He had flexed for her - just once. "Guess I owe Jensen twenty gold," he muttered as he pulled the kerchief down to his neck.

His words were swallowed by a unified chant from a crowd that boiled and cheered. Dust within the arena swirled and swayed as the Mystics lowered the shield. It split from the top amidst translucent sparks and folded downward to nothing. Onlookers moaned in despair or danced for joy as the winner walked out of the wreckage. Over shattered stone and spilled blood he tread past the bodies of Knights and their enemies. Mystics filled the field as he left, picking through the tower's remains.

Joshua Cronen's hazel eyes swept the flushed faces of the crowd. His torso still showed a winding road of purpling cable bruises. The icy crown atop his head reshaped to something of splendor, and people drew back as if true royalty walked among them.

The audience parted to make way for the Breaker and two familiar forms appeared. Bodorson sat with Jake's head in his lap, slapping the youth's pale cheek gently.

"Wake up skinnybritches, bloody well wake up!" Terech growled, shaking the half elf's lifeless shoulders.

"What happened?" Josh asked, kneeling at Jake's side. He glanced at the forms of two unconscious men, both wearing trickling head wounds.

"Poison," the dwarf replied, peeling back a hastily wrapped bit of green cotton. Jake's shoulder was swollen with pus, the skin around the cut blackened as if burned.

"Where's Stacia?" Cronen asked as he placed a palm on Jake's chest, feeling a faint rapid pulse. He recognized the bandage over the toxic wound as cloth torn from the Scaran's skirt.

"Bringing Orlouge and his healers at the double," Bodorson replied, feeling Jake's sweat-slicked brow. "He be burnin' like a forge fire, Breaker."

Josh removed his icy helm without feeling its misting chill. He nestled the crown around Jake's matted hair, letting it slow the boy's fever. Josh ran his fingers across Jake's face and neck, touching pressure points and stimulating veins. He could not draw poison from the youth's blood, but he could help his friend access some energy the toxin had blocked. As he pressed a soft nook behind one pointed ear, green eyes sprang open suddenly.

"Wench!" Jake cried as he came awake, breath catching and dragging in his throat. "Josh?" He coughed and rolled off Bodorson's legs, posting on his good arm. "It was the novice, Josh. Master Bodorson, the healer who..." Jake trailed off as the surge of adrenaline left him. He slumped in the grass, awake but stunned by the pain of his wound. "The louts," he uttered, "they were her partners." Bodorson helped the half elf drink some water from a skin.

Breaker frowned and grasped the nearest corpse-like man by the collar, dragging him closer. A nasty swelling covered a contusion on the man's temple. Josh had seen the wound before, on less-experienced fencers foolish enough to cross swords with Jacob's stick. He patted the overweight Coronian down, finding a small purse and a sheaf of paper in burlap pockets. He ignored the coin and unfolded the documents, whistling a low note as he scanned the contents.

"This is a wager slip from Piston's Pleasure Palace," he said as he read the finest print, "Six thousand gold on the Abomination to win. And this," he raised an eyebrow as he flattened the second parchment, "is a letter-of-rights from Sei, entitling the bearer to payment at any bank for services rendered." He dropped the documents on the concussed man's belly and lifted the lout's right hand. Long thick calluses different from his own lined the large man's palm. The type of wear gained from hours spent laboring with mortar and stone.

"Are those papers orders from the Remis?" Jake asked, choking on a mouthful of water. Bodorson tutted and capped the skin.

"Not quite," Josh chuckled and patted his friend's leg. "It seems our novice tried to hedge her bets with the help of these men."

"There were three," Jake said, gritting his teeth and working his shoulder, "the last one got away with the bald woman."

"They may have each wagered on a different contender," Josh mused, rubbing his chin. "Her healing felt different than the usual Ai'Brone way. She closed my wounds and replenished my muscles, but the Tap felt fainter as the fighting wore on..." he trailed off and snapped his fingers. "I thought it was just because she was new."

A pulse ran through the crowd that stood back a respectful distance, as if a smaller mystic wall had been erected to protect the three friends from the masses. Voices buzzed and heads turned as Sei Orlouge and his retinue approached.

Josh inhaled. He knew there would be questions to answer, criminals to track down, and the ceremony that concluded the Cell. But something else pulled him, a promise made to him, and he knew in his soul Jake would recover. His concerns about Ixian Castle's security melted as he stood and saw Sei striding through the parting crowd. In the Cell it was easy to feel alone. He had earned a place among the Knights, but a different kind of companionship called like a Siren's song.

"Jake," Breaker said, "I've asked too much of you today--" the youth cut him off with a pained chuckle.

"The ocean?" Jake coughed violently, but when he uncurled his abdomen he'd drawn a golden quill from his jacket pocket. "No worries Breaker, I've been saving my," he sighed sleepily, "strength."

An oaken doorway sprang into existence in the space left by the crowd. Cries of surprise and questions upon questions poured from gaping mouths.

"Be well," Josh said, turning the knob and looking back at his friends.

"We've got this bloody well under control lad," Bodorson replied sternly, "just don't be gone too long."

Cronen pushed open the door and stepped through the portal onto a sandy beach.

The cove encircled a glimmering bay of waves that swelled and waned. The sand shone like a bed of diamonds and tall trees swayed beyond. It was Jake's lucky spot where he often brought girls, his horseshoe shaped slice of paradise. But it emptied into the northern sea, and that was all that mattered.

Josh kicked off his boots like a kid during summer as the doorway vanished behind him. He strode barefoot through the surf, sand squelching between his toes. The chill of the ocean embraced his ankles and lapped up around his knees. He waded out 'till saline licked the pebbled skin of his granite stomach. A wave broke and two shimmering droplets splashed his lips.

Yes... he could taste her in the water.

Rather than recede the wave rose up and surrounded him in a cylinder of her scent. She appeared like home around the last bend in a long road wearily traveled. Her body took shape in shades of white and blue, water and refracted light. Shimmering strands of liquid hair flowed down an elegant neck. Eyes as soft as summer rain shone for him alone. Legs like rapids, lithe and long floated above the ocean's surface. Her raindrop toes dipped beneath and splashed the Breaker playfully.

"My Lady," he said, tone encrusted with awe.

"You may speak my name, Champion among men," she whispered like drizzle in the dark, "I see you still wear my token on your neck... but where fell your icy crown?"

"Did..." Josh clapped a hand to the poultice on his heart and found that it had melted. "Am'aleh... did you protect me from that stone?"

"The Mystic's shield allows nothing in and nothing out," she laughed like rain on the sea.

Breaker glowed in her presence but noted how she evaded the question. She was everything and nothing, and he could only wonder whether her hand had slipped the barrier. Love and serenity overflowed doubt and spilled it from his mind.

"After I triumphed in the Ella Chamber, you granted me a kiss." He reminded her. "Would that winning through Felicity and Armonia could bring the same reward." His nerves flared and fired with furious anticipation as she floated downward toward him. More of her merged with the water until breasts like swollen like storm clouds faced him.

"You may capture your kisses however you please," she said, eyebrows arching as rainbows behind falls.

Josh reached up and took her face in his hands, finding her solid and warm. He drew her down to his level and slipped a strand of glistening hair behind her sapphire ear. Gently he thumbed her eyes closed and pressed his lips to her lids, one and then the other.

The wave receded leaving the sandy cove bare, save for a pair of black boots.



Concluding post. Feel free to bunny my NPCs when you put a bow on it Sei.

[Silence Sei]

As Breaker stood amongst the contestants, the last of the Cell warriors. Sei began to glide down from his makeshift seat in the air. He could still smell the dust from the chaos as the barrier began to lower around what was left from the fight. Breaker instantly took off towards his friends, Sei calmly following behind him. He kept a safe distance from the group until Breaker said his farewells and left the area. It was only then that Sei walked over towards the ‘Breaker Group’.

“Ma-Master Orlouge…” The injured one, Jake spoke between labored breaths, “The Cult….the Remis…”

“Are already being taken care of, sir” Sei spoke calmly. The looks on the faces of the three friends of Joshua seemed to be skeptical at the mute’s response. Before he could elaborate, however, Andrew Octane appeared beside him, courtesy of the plant-like beast known as Misery.

“Sei,” The young man said, his hands tucked into his leather jacket as he looked upwards to his leader, “The spectators have been safely delivered back to their homes. Misery worked really hard during the last minutes to make sure they got to safety. Your doggy deserves a treat for his efforts.” Sei waved the youth off as if he were trying to swat away a bug. He smiled while looking towards the three.

“You will find that most of the crowd this round were filled with soldiers of the Ixian Knights, as well as the Mystic race. I had the Mystics build new barriers around any straggling innocents in the audience. The Remi’s would have found themselves with faces full of glass if they tried to attack them. Everybody else was well armed and prepared for what was to come.” A sly smirk crept across Sei’s features, as if he were simply showing off how smart he was.

“By the Thayne,” Bodorson spoke, his own mind wrapping around the intricacies of it all, “You knew they were going to do this the whole time. You planned for it!”

Sei nodded as he reached into his pocket, taking out a war fan and placing it over his face. He hated the smug look that graced his features when his plans had been realized, too late for anybody to do anything about it. “Correct, Lord Bodorson. I knew that if I kept advancing Draug during this tournament, I would lure in more and more cultists getting ready for some sort of surprise attack. You see, the Cult has launched too many surprise attacks against us, I felt it was time to give them a taste of their own medicine.”

As if on cue, there were screams from all around the group. The cult members that weren’t surrendering were being cut down without remorse by the Ixian Knights. The blood of Cassandra Remi’s fodder stained the castle grounds, staining the blades of Sei’s soldiers. Those that would hope to strike a blow against the Knights would find that the Mystic race would not sit on its laurels while it’s savior’s army fought on their behalf, often launching Mystic Protections, light and shadow magics, and (for those that had lost their Mystic powers, yet still learned other Non-Mystic magic) the fury of the elements.

“It will not be a permanent solution,” Sei noted, “but it will make sure that the Cult never attempts to come after us in our home again. I knew they could not resist the opportunity to send their ‘Champion’ out, and the more Generals I sent his way, the more they took the bait. They honestly thought I wouldn’t prepare for an imminent attack when the majority of my Generals may have been injured from the tournament? Cassandra Remi is a bigger fool than I had thought.”

“What of Jebb and the daughters?” Octane asked, his head turned more to the sounds of the chaos, “We’re just going to let them go?”

“Correct. We need survivors to tell Remi how the Cult failed her this day. Her rage will be so immense; she may eliminate many of her ‘children’ herself. Furthermore, we’re sending her an even greater message; we could have taken whatever left she held dear to her, but chose not to. We’re the bigger men in this war she is so set on waging against us. Breaker may have won the round…”

Octane finished for the mute, “But the true victor of the Cell was the Ixian Knights.”

[Silence Sei]

Hysteria
Roht Mirage
Enigmatic Immortal
Breaker
Abomination
The Hound



Story
6
7
6
9
7
6




Setting
5
7
5
4
4
5



Pacing
5
7
5
8
5
6



Communication
7
8
6
6
7
5



Action
7
8
8
8
8
7



Persona
6
6
7
7
7
8


Mechanics
5
7
6
8
7
8



Clarity
6
7
8
6
7
5



Technique
5
6
6
7
6
7



Wildcard
0
7
0
6
5
5


Total
Total
52/100
70/100
57/100
69/100
63/100
62/100





The Winner is Roht Mirage! Breaker wins Second Place, and Abomination squeezes by for Third!
Bullet point notes

Hysteria

0 for missing your deadline in wildcard.
Nothing about Talen really stood out this round, other than his being compelled to aide Astarelle. Though it was a cool angle, it was expected after the last round, leaving your story a bit dry.
Your action and communication among your peers gave you a slightly higher score though, while it lasted. If you had not missed your deadline, you may have been in the top 3 this year.

Roht Mirage

The story of this girl dealing with who she truly is (or rather, could be) struck out to me. The appeal of Crozius’ power drawing her in made me actually wonder just how long it would be before it corrupted absolutely.
I enjoyed how Asta managed to turn a foe into a friend rather quickly with Arden, and then attempt the same with Josh. Her frustration at Draug and Jensen really came through in your writing.
While you used a few literary devices, very few struck out at me. I would leave some suggestions but I’m not a technique master myself.

Enigmatic Immortal

Also a 0 for missing your deadline.
By taking Draug downstairs, you made this entire tournament a Jensen Vs Draug 1v1, and while it would make sense in the context of your character, I could also see Jensen asking for help from Talen, and maybe even Arden at this point.
Your fight played out like an episode of Dragon Ball Z, complete with over-the-top attacks. I liked it.

Breaker

You’re elaborate rodeo opening, while cool, was rather impractical and took a couple of re-reads to truly understand the intricacies.
While there was some okay non verbal communicating and dialogue in your posts, the star wars reference was really jarring and dragged me out of the experience. It was funny though.
Once you lost your ropes, your clarity spiked up, and your actions, stealthy or otherwise, were quite a clever use of Josh’s abilities. Land Mine FTW!

Abomination
I couldn’t buy that Draug would just stop mid-fall by jamming his arm into the wall of the tower. If anything, he’d just be sliding at a slower rate, and more likely than not break/lose the arm in the process.
Draug has a major character flaw in that he’s going to take a lot of work to actually evolve, though you have been making strides in this tournament to get him to that point.
As with Jensen, your fight was good, if not a little over the top, and a couple of your attacks were questionable (The blood rain in particular had me debating whether or not to dock you for powergaming) Also, your ending was, quite honestly, not your best.

The Hound
As usual, you shine through with technique and mechanics, but your Clarity suffers for it. Particular during your Astarell Rescue scene. I’m still not entirely sure what happened there.
Arden surprised me in changing his tune, and your ending was really good as well/
Arden doesn’t really convey himself well to others, be it non-verbally or otherwise. It’s hard to get a read on the guy when he tends to be a blank slate of emotions.


There you have it Ladies and Gents, this Concludes this years Cell! Exp will be calculated shortly, but here are your prizes.

Roht Mirage Receives 5000 additional Exp on top of what she earned in the finals. She also receives a magical item of her choosing as Cell Champion.
Breaker Receives 2500 additional Exp, and a choice between a 75% off Bazaar Voucher, or a 250 PM Box
Abomination Receives 1500 additional Exp, and a choice between a 50% bazaar voucher, or a 200 PM box

Congratulations to the winners!

[Mordelain]

Prizes for 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place have been awarded.

[Mordelain]

Roht Mirage receives 4250 experience.
Breaker receives 4000 experience.
Abomination receives 4000 experience.
Hysteria receives 850 experience.
The Hound receives 1275 experience.
Enigmatic Immortal receives 1275 experience.

Each participant receives 100 gold.

[Mordelain]

Experience and gold added.