Cellebration: The Basement

[Breaker]

The Basement is only accessible by first posting in the main thread (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?26269-The-Flesh-Failures-Cellebration). Reader discretion advised as this thread is rated R.


Angeline poked her head into the basement. An enchanted orb set in the ceiling washed the sprawling single room with dim light. A once-grand prizefighting ring dominated the center of the space. The dehlar cored leather-wrapped cables surrounded the square platform on slightly sagging steel poles. The canvas atop the ulder frame was torn in some places but still serviceable. The willowy manager of the Flesh Failures nightclub sighed. Josh had taught her to fight there, had turned their security staff into a fighting team of note. The bouncers still trained down there every so often, but the canvas would not have been torn in Breaker's day. The mats that surrounded the prizefighting platform would have been clean and new, not haggard and shredded near the middle where they'd been improperly folded. Most of the punching bags that hung from low rafters outside the ring were light on sand, and the cupboards lining the walls were mostly jammed shut.

Worst of all, the bleachers beyond the training area had long since turned into storage space for deliveries that came early or bottles that didn't sell. It was the only depressing part of the club, and Angeline made a promise to herself to see about sprucing it up over the next week. Unless Josh had been planning on doing that. She hadn't asked the Breaker why he'd spent the past few nights in his room two floors above, but it certainly wasn't for the tranquility of the locale.

The club's manager sighed and cracked her neck, long blonde hair trawling along the shoulders of her sleek black dress. She took a moment to compose herself, remembering that she'd seen Molly Doomeye stationed by the staircases on the main floor. She'd have just enough time to catch a word with the legendary bladeslinger before her final tour of the club.

And then the craziness would begin. Angeline had a knack for knowing the wild nights before they struck, like a wise woman sensing a storm. She tingled from her shadowed eyelids to the tips of her toes as she walked back up the spiral stairs.


Several "easter eggs" are concealed throughout the Basement, see the OOC thread (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?26240-Cellebration-OOC) for details.

[Amber Eyes]

For once her clumsiness was not a disadvantage. Joshua caught her before she ever realized she was falling and pulled her close. Her heart was racing and while she told herself it was from the close call, the butterflies in her stomach said something else. A nervous giggle escaped her, and for just a moment she rested her head against his neck, enjoying his arms around her. Kyla lifted her face to meet his gaze.

He flashed that smile again and the mystic had no choice but to mirror it. Her cheeks flushed and she readied herself for a joke but the man simply help her regain her balance and they continued on their way down. The thought of another fall did cross her mind but Kyla thought better of it. Instead she led the way, her eyes scanning the room eagerly. The artist in her appreciated the rugged state; often it was the wear and tear that made things truly beautiful. The warrior in her tried to imagine the space in its glory days, and the girl inside simply wanted to find a cozy spot to become better acquainted with her new friend.

She reached the bottom step and turned her head to the side, catching Cronen’s eyes for just a second before walking towards the worn ring.. “So this is where it all began? The great Joshua Cronen appears out of nowhere and becomes a household name?” She ran her fingers along the leather cables, imagining the Breaker moving through the ring, that look of concentration in his hazel eyes. Heat filled her veins at the thought. Was there anything about this man that wasn’t appealing?

She turned a complete circle, her eyes taking in the entire room before settling once more on his. He approached, holding the bottle of wine in one hand and the glasses in the other. The mystic stopped, reaching behind her and hoisting herself to edge of the ring, her back resting comfortably against the ropes. Josh smiled, handing her one of the flutes. He uncorked the bottle with one fluid movement and poured her glass followed by his own. He glanced around the space , “It has seen better days.” His attention turned back to the mystic and he lifted his glass towards hers. “At least it is a bit quieter down here.”

Kyla lifted her own glass, biting her lip slightly as they clinked together. “To a bit of quiet.” She brought the glass to her lips and enjoyed the feeling of the bubbles as they tickled her throat. She watched as Josh sipped his own glass and did her best to hide the catch in her breath that seemed to come every time this man did anything.

The girl reached out and grasped Breaker’s hand, pulling him close enough that her knees rested against his frame. “So, Mr. Cronen, as a fellow general I have to ask.” She leaned towards him, gripping his arm with her free hand to keep herself stable, her voice little more than a whisper. “Are you enjoying your time with the knights?”

[Breaker]

The light wine moistened Joshua's lips and throat and its bubbling sweetness went straight to his head. Alcohol had a lesser impact on him than most men, but it had been several months since he imbibed. The fruity flavours and radiant company made him feel like a lad stealing his first sips of liquor. He set the open bottle aside as the pounding music from above softened and adopted a lilting rhythm.

Cronen could no more stop his smile than he could keep his cheeks from glowing. How long since any woman had entranced him so? One of his dearest friends was a reformed call-girl whose every whim and word made mens' knees weaken. Stacia kept herself painted like a porcelain doll and garbed to display much of her creamy skin, but she never made him blush so. Blood throbbed in Cronen's veins and gathered to Kyla's closeness, making the form-fitting Akashiman trousers uncomfortably tight. He thought about sipping some more wine as a distraction but the Mystic grasped his forearm and drew him against her. The contact all but crackled like a looped electric current.

"Being a General has been... lots of work and little fun," he confessed, tucking a dark curl behind her ear and gazing deep into her dilated blue orbs. "But I've faith that soon, the more wondrous aspects of the knights will be revealed." He saw the ocean in those eyes, the endless influence of his Lady... and yet thoughts of Am'aleh and celestial powers faded with the memory of Kyla's face outlined in tea leaves. The past week had been a blur of organizing his office at Ixian Castle and making inquiries throughout Radasanth in the name of Chronicle. It seemed as if the passage of time had accelerated since the Cell, but slowed to a crawl the instant he'd pressed lips to Kyla's hand. What might happen if I kissed her again?

Most days, destiny and desire denied one another. At the Flesh Failures they met and mingled in Kyla Orlouge.

Cronen realized he'd combed his fingers through curled brown locks only when they tangled in a knot halfway down her neck. The ensnared hand touched her just above the collarbone, feeling her rapid pulse. Hair rasped between his callused palm and her smooth skin at the gentle caress. She inhaled deeply, responsive as a well tuned guitar. Her chin lifted, jaw dropping ever so slightly. She was delicate and powerful all at once; Josh saw her Mystic potential even as he admired the contrasting reds of her lips and tongue.

He sealed Kyla's soft mouth firmly with his own, eyes closing as he indulged in the mixture of mint and wine and her.

[Amber Eyes]

She had come here to save some face after her loss, to build a few alliances for the knights, to enjoy herself just a bit away from Sei’s watchful eyes. Joshua Cronen had been the furthest thing from the Mystic’s mind. Now he was all she cared to think about.

She shouldn’t be here. There would be rumors and whispers in the halls of Ixian Castle. What would Sei think? Would she be able to walk past Breaker without turning crimson? All the awkward moments from her past crept to the back of her mind. Now was the moment when she would say something wrong or manage a fall. She would mess this up and feel more relief than regret, at least for now.

Then his lips met hers and all the thoughts were gone. Damn Sei and damn the Ixians, she wanted to be here, now, with him. She pressed into his kiss and every inch of her begged to be closer, to move faster. His hand gripped her thigh and Kyla gasped, turning her head upwards and breathing deeply each time he kissed her neck. She pulled back for just a second; needing to see if the hunger in his eyes matched her own. His lips were smudged red from her lipstick and his hair was mussed from her hands, but the look in his eyes was the same as she’d seen during the cell. Pure lust.

She greedily kissed him again, her eyes closing as she arched her back at the touch of his hand on her spine.

She was filled with heat, half from his body’s warmth and half from the rising fire within her. The mystic ran her fingers along Josh’s sides, the smooth material caressing her fingertips. She could feel the power in his arms, the muscles below tight flesh. Her voice defied her, the tiniest moan escaping her lips.

[Breaker]

She tasted like winter's first snowflake melting on his tongue. Josh kissed her without thinking and couldn't stop. His lips drew a dotted line down her quivering throat. Each trembling gasp urged him onward. Downward. Kyla clung to his contoured frame as if the feel of flesh through thin sifan were all that kept her alive. Her eyes were wanton whirlpools begging him to slake an endless appetite. What have I awakened? Cronen wondered when a kiss that brushed the top of her dress produced a moan of desire. He drew his head back, sucking air as if surfacing after an underwater swim.

"Kyla," he whispered, meaning to apologize and step away. Instead he got lost betwixt the syllables of her name. Both wineglasses had spilled over in the sudden embrace, liquid darkening the worn canvas of the ring. "Kyla..."

"I know," she replied, nuzzling against his chest, "please," slender hands roved over his back and hips, grasped the hard muscles in his legs and slid up his granite abdomen. "Just let me," she lost the thought to a rising coo as his palm ascended her spine, dissolving tension from each muscle it touched. "Thaynes alive," she gasped, "we..." the word triggered something and she giggled and sighed contentedly.

"We-" Josh tried to say shouldn't but the lips where her taste and rouge lingered refused to finish the word. "we should continue the t-tour," he said, wavering as she tangled his hair with both hands. "My rooms upstairs are more comfortable. And private." Kyla glanced over his shoulder at the empty staircase, as if suddenly realizing that anyone might descend. She nipped his neck and then rubbed the pad of her thumb along his lips, wiping away what lipstick she could.

"Can't have you looking so out of sorts when we pass through the club, Mr. Cronen." She chided as she ran pale fingers through short brown hair, making the mess worse. Josh took her hands in his and kissed her palms, one and then the other. A cloud of steam swirled into sight above his head and settled his hair back to its usual state. Warm water vapor combed through Kyla's locks, straightening the tangles he'd created. The steam dissipated leaving only hungry eyes and flushed skin as evidence of their passionate outburst. Kyla wiggled her shoulders appreciatively at the cleansing experience. "Do you wish to bathe me, Ser Breaker?"

"I wish to take you to my bed," he growled through gritted teeth, barely containing the urge to tear off that red dress and have her against the ropes. "If you'd but accompany me." She slid off the ring's apron and hugged both arms around his waist, leaning into his chest and inhaling his scent. Josh draped an arm around still-shaking shoulders and they walked to the foot of the stairs. Sweet nothings passed between Breaker and the Mystic like whispered secrets as they climbed the spiraling framework.


Kyla and Josh are on their way up but can be intercepted on the staircase if someone posts in here before we transition to the main thread. Play it as you like! edit: don't forget to make an exiting post in the main thread before transitioning though!

[Warpath]

The young, would-be lovers were not far at all from the top of the stairs, and the party beyond could have been on another planet for all the care they had for it. It showed in their body language, and on their faces. Flint had all the time in the world to prepare, but it only took him a fraction of a second to decide what to do.

He burst out of the hazy smoke and the shadows like a three-hundred-pound bat-out-of-hell, airborne and agile, twisting in midair and then shoving both boots down at an angle. Cronen reacted with superhuman speed, and did the only thing he could think to do: he put himself in front of the lady, pushed her to the side of the staircase, and took both feet to the chest. He was sent downward and out of sight in half a blink of an eye, so violently that Kyla felt the pull of displaced air.

Now she was reacting, but Flint was on his feet again, and he stepped not toward her but back toward the party, chin raised. “Miss Orlouge,” he said amiably, almost cheerfully. “You look lovely. Aaah, calm down, madam.”

Flint leaned just to one side so the mystic could see over his shoulder, where the party was still in full swing. “Your protective instincts are admirable, but I fear your particular talents might end the revelry above rather gruesomely. Rest assured, I intend to leave enough of your friend whole to satisfy your needs. If you’d kindly return downstairs, Mister Cronen and I have something to discuss, and I fear he may react poorly to me without you at hand.”

When it seemed that Kyla was more likely to try and blow him up again anyway, Flint raised one hand to indicate the basement beyond. “Please,” he said, and something in his tone was almost genuinely imploring. “I do not believe I could kill him if I wanted to. And besides, it never seems to end well for innocent people when you direct your magic at me.”

[Amber Eyes]

Kyla's hands trembled as she reached the top of the stairs. She paused for just a moment to asses her state and suddenly she felt the force of Josh's arms against her. She held in the scream that threatened to escape her and turned, shadows already building in her right hand.

She had only felt a rush of air, Josh had fallen hard and the mystic had no intention of letting anyone near him until she knew he could defend himself. It took her a moment to place the large man, she had learned his name only after the second chamber of the Cell. Her body tensed as she stepped upwards, unsure of her retaliation. Her mind could not process going from sweet bliss to battle so quickly.

When Flint spoke her name Kyla remembered herself. She paused, shadows still swarming in her palm. At the mention of the other guests she absorbed the energy. What would Sei think of her causing a scene in the basement of a club where she'd just been...? No, she had to play this smart.

Her eyes shot daggers at the man, but she headed his directions. Her steps were slow, careful. Her body was tensed and a chill ran down her spine. She kept her eyes forward as she spoke, her voice pure silk. "You are lucky I don't wish to tear this dress." She thought she heard a bit of a chuckle from behind her, but her thoughts were already focused on what lay at the bottom of the steps. She only hoped that she would find an intact and probably very angry Breaker.

[Breaker]

Josh rubbed his chest ruefully as he stood, back sliding up the ring's baseboard. Skovic. Who let that lunatic in? He heard muffled conversation from above but not the sudden expulsion of breath that would signify combat. What's he up to? Cronen grimaced and rolled his shoulders back till his sternum popped. He grasped the bottle of wine and took a long pull as four feet descended the stairs. Two heavy, two light. The bubbles went down smoothly, providing enough social lubricant to stop him wanting to kill Flint again.

Luned would not approve. Breaker had known that being a member of two influential Coronian power groups might cause conflict at some point. Couldn't have come at a worse time. He took another, longer drink of wine and padded forwards as Kyla descended into the dusty old basement, followed by Flint. Josh tipped the Mystic a nod and a wink to show he was well, and approached to within two paces of Skovic.

"That was a little after the bell," he admonished the boulder-backed man. About seven days is all. Flint's eyes blazed with elation and hate, the kind of inferno that could never be extinguished. It had to burn itself out, and a bruiser like Flint would have a lifetime of bad memories to fuel the flames. But seriously... now? Josh's eyes kept sliding toward Kyla. With dark tendrils of power crackling about her palms and disarrayed brunette hair making a fierce mane the Mystic had never been more attractive. Breaker wanted to put Flint down with an axe kick to the temple or a well-placed bolt of energy. He wanted to step past the bruiser's twitching form and throw Kyla over his shoulder and race up the stairs to his rooms. But something in her blue gaze quieted his anger. She'd been willing to hear Skovic out, and somehow Cronen felt compeled to do the same. Which felt odd. He made choices based on logic and need, not what others did. Even if that other was a felllow General, and had lips like ripe cherries...

Josh shook his head forcefully. "Speak your piece then, Skovic." He noted there was no need for introductions, and had an idea of what particular offense might be causing Flint's eyes to strain out of his skull like chained hounds. "Make it quick, or Miss Orlouge might lose her patience." Kyla summoned and dispelled a spiked scythe-sword of shadow as casually as she might comb her hair. No, don't think about her hair. He could still smell her soap and the anxious vitality beneath. Josh took a final pull of bubbly, leaving the bottle half full, and stepped within arm's reach of Flint. He held the wine out like a peace offering, doubting Skovic would like the stuff but trusting the gesture meant more than the bottle's contents. He was offering to share a drink in true Salvic fashion.

The fact that the trio had not met in the Cell's final frame surprised Breaker, and from the stiff rapport between Skovic and Kyla he figured they must have met in round two and cancelled each other out. Under different circumstances he'd have jumped at the opportunity to share a drink and tales of the battle, but at the moment he just wanted time alone with Kyla.

[Warpath]

Flint’s eyes took in the underground arena in little stabs of motion, efficient and unblinking even as he descended the stairs with Kyla between himself and the Breaker. One learns the soul of a man in the midst of honorable struggle, but seldom the mind, so the brute did not know how Cronen might react to his reintroduction. Would he laugh? Would he rage? Would he be cautious, or aggressive? Would he seek to regain the element of surprise? Impossible to know, so Flint kept himself close to the mystic.

When he spotted Cronen by the ring, he relaxed imperceptively. “That was a little after the bell,” the Breaker said coolly. Flint stared, unspeaking and unmoving.

When his once-murderer began to move closer, a bottle in hand, Skovik stepped out from behind Kyla Orlouge and off to the side. When the bottle was offered, Flint grunted. Despite his anarchism he was a man of Salvar, and its culture and customs were deep in his bones. He did not consume alcohol – chemical dependence was a weakness – but the symbolism behind its offering could not be ignored. He accepted the bottle after a beat, took a long drag, and then held the bottle out to the side at arm’s length and tipped it. It splashed on the floor, spattering their boots, but neither man moved.

“You should be dead,” Flint began as he tipped the bottle upright again. There was still a quarter of the bottle left. “It was not twenty four hours ago that I tapped a man in the chest, and shattered three of his ribs. It took no effort. It was almost an accident. I broke him.”

Kyla glanced between the men.

Josh listened, calm.

Flint went on staring for a beat, tense.

“Up there, just now,” Flint said, turning his head slightly and nodding toward the staircase. His eyes never left Cronen. “Up there I meant to kill you. Not hurt you, not move you, kill you. Your body should have torn like paper dipped in blood. Your heart should be mist in the wind. Your ribs should be dust. But here you are, not even so bruised that the pain might distract you from the girl. You could take her upstairs now and forget I was even here come morning. You probably still will.”

The brute turned his head to one side, narrowing his eyes.

“What’s your point?” the Breaker said.

Flint answered with violence, snapping into action with such alacrity that it seemed that the speaking brute had been instantly replaced by a wild one: two separate creatures with the same body. He swung the bottle at Cronen’s head, but Josh was faster still, intercepting Flint’s arm at the armored wrist. In another snap of motion, he snatched the bottle back out of Skovik’s hand. In that very instant, Flint shoved his forehead forward in what should have been a cruel headbutt too sudden for resistance, but Cronen’s hand was between them, a blur. Josh shoved up and back, Flint’s body went effortlessly up, over the top rope, and into the ring. He landed hard and bounced.

The Breaker handed the bottle to Kyla with an apologetic smile that said this’ll just be a moment, hang tight, and then he turned and hopped up onto the edge of the ring with one long stride. He gripped the top rope and cleared it with an effortless and graceful hop, but before his boots touched the mat Flint was up again. The brute caught him around the waist in midair, twisted at the hips, and forcefully shoved his foe into the turnbuckles. Flint mounted the lowest rope, raised one metal-clad forearm, and then brought it down on Cronen’s head in a savage backhand.

His head should have been bouncing torn and bloody across the basement floor. Instead, the blow might have stung a bit. Cronen lashed out, caught Flint by the throat, and then stood up straight and carried him away from the ropes. The tips of the brawler’s boots didn’t even touch the mat, and he gripped the Breaker’s forearm with one hand, and let the rest of his limbs hang loose.

“Are you finished?”

Flint smiled, so Cronen dropped him. Flint's boots hit the mat and he stumbled, growling the ache out of his throat and then inhaling gratefully.

“What are you?” Flint said at last, his voice a little rawer now, eyes blazing, and he rubbed his throat. “Do not tell me you are just a man. Do not tell me you are a hero, or that you just wanted it more. You are beyond every plateau that defines humanity. Tell me how. Tell me what you stole or what you learned, or who you pleased or angered or outsmarted. Tell me the deal you struck. Tell me what you took into yourself – what you found.”

And now, as Josh looked down at him and Kyla looked on from the ringside, Flint felt himself exposed, all mystery stripped away. He was not a rabid animal, nor haunted by shattered delusions of grandeur, nor possessed of a need for revenge. He wasn’t testing himself, or struggling to prove his worth against the only man to defeat him. He was a survivor, a struggler, a gladiator who had had to push himself to the limits of what it was to be human in order to keep breathing, and then he’d found a line he hadn’t been strong enough to cross when it mattered most.

So he had turned to something outside himself. He had made himself into something inhuman, and now he would never know if, given time, he could have surpassed that line if only he’d been better. If he’d had a choice.

“I cheated,” Flint growled, hard and desperate and imploring. “The only reason that I can hope to strike you every fifth time I try is because I drank something that changed me. I need to know what you did. I need to know that you cheated. That this strength is not possible unless you become something else. So, you tell me. What are you?”

[Breaker]

What am I? The blow Flint had delivered to Cronen's skull still reverberated with the beat of the music from above. He had whipped his head away from the bracer as it connected, dissipating the bulk of the impact. A dozen easy answers sprang to mind, but the one Josh chose was for him alone. A fighter, and a lover. His smile drew the Y-shaped scars taught as he glanced at Kyla. Skovic's reinforced arm swooshed into a short elbow, the same technique he'd dropped Breaker with in the Cell. Bare feet found easy purchase on the scarred canvas. Josh bobbed his head and weaved under the blow.

"I don't blame you for cheating," he said as he changed direction and ducked under Flint's follow-up haymaker. A thick vambrace grazed Cronen's short brown hair. "There aren't any rules when you fight for life." Flint changed his tactic and threw an uppercut that would have killed a horse followed by a flurry of straight strikes. Breaker backpedaled, torso swaying above hips that floated with the fluidity of his steps. His head swayed off the centerline of the assault while his forearms matched vambraces blow for blow. "But the elixir you seek does not exist to my knowing." Josh grunted. He braced the callused bottom of a bare foot against the padded turnbuckle as Skovic drove him into the corner. Tanned wrists locked against cold metal as Breaker gathered his strength and then exploded forward.

"I am the Uncrowned King of the Tiered Mountain," he told Flint as his fists chopped a series of barely evaded blows at the Northerner. Those cold steely eyes showed disbelief. The Tiered Mountain was a well known myth in Salvar, and rumors of a southern martial artist felling the legendary king had enhanced the original story in recent years. "I have trained amongst the harshest elements and fought the hardiest foes. Mages. Psions. Shifters. Wights." With each word he aimed a unique blow; a stomping front kick, a knee to the midsection, a swooping crane strike, a two handed palm thrust. Skovic panted but kept pace, swatting the techniques aside like pesky insects. Josh feinted left and slipped right, driving his knuckles into the Northerner's side as Flint lunged the wrong way. The fight went out of Skovic for a moment as the liver shot stalled his nervous system. Josh hadn't wanted to kill the man, merely stop his aggression.

"I have dedicated years to my art without a moment's lapse." Cronen said simply, hands falling to his sides. "For a long time I lost sight of everything else." He rubbed a coarse thumb alongside his index finger, the sound like sandpaper folded inward. "There may be shortcuts to the same place I stand, but I never found them." He paced to the side of the ring and put a heavy hand on the top rope. "My path was every day, every meal, every moment whether asleep or waking. I measured myself against titans and refused to stray 'till I could look on this world from their perspective." And I felt lonely. He'd been aimless until Am'aleh had found him, saved him, taken him in. But his Lady was not the answer Skovic sought. She had chosen him because he exceeded the realm of mortals, not before. And even with her purpose driving him there was an emptiness.

"You're already far down a different path than mine," Josh spoke to the Northerner but looked to Kyla from the corner of his eye. "There may be a way to build a bridge between the two, if that's what you want. But there would be great pain, and sacrifice." A year earlier he might have offered to help the man find the path, but he had developed goals beyond sharing his art. Other guides existed, if Flint had the will to find them. But Joshua's days were clotted with responsibility, and that night he had eyes only for Kyla Orlogue. "You may have found a good anchor point in Luned Bleddyn," he tossed over his shoulder as he gripped the ropes and began to slide underneath.

[Warpath]

Flint dropped to the mat with a sharp wheeze and winced, then settled himself back into the corner of the ring. The earth felt like water under his feet, and he couldn’t trust his own balance. If someone else had started the fight, or if he was to die, or if Luned was there, he would have clawed and swung and bit and flailed until the bitter end. He knew the Breaker wouldn’t kill him though. If he had wanted to kill the brute, he would have done it already.

So Flint watched him slide out of the ring, and considered his words.

Liar, he thought first. All of it, lies. He is greedy and afraid.

But Flint knew the weakness of a stubborn denial when he heard it, and never tolerated it – especially from himself. Was it possible the man didn’t know? Could a half-god be born to man, live, and die without ever knowing what set him apart? Or was it true? Had Joshua Cronen simply wanted it more?

All the things that made Rauk into Flint fell away, and he was suddenly just a man. He’d seen a lot, and done a lot – good things and bad – and he was capable of impressive feats, but he was just a man. He despaired. He sighed, and gave up.

But only for a second.

“Enjoy your evening,” he said when Cronen stepped away from the ring.

The Breaker paused and eyed him for a moment, but Flint didn’t look at him. He just sat half-turned away in the corner of the ring, arms propped up on the low ropes.

“You do the same. Enjoy the party, Skovik. Get yourself a drink.”

“I believe I will,” Flint said. “I will celebrate my last night in Radasanth.”

“I can’t say I’m sorry to see you go,” Cronen said honestly, “but where are you headed?”

“Back to Salvar,” Flint said. “I must find mages and psions, shifters and wights. If there is something greater than titans, I will surpass it. And then I will find you again.”

Cronen stared for a long moment, almost smirking. “Good luck,” he said.

“If that is what I require, I will take it,” Flint said. He turned his head slightly toward them, but not so far that he could look at them directly. “It was a pleasure to see you again, Miss Orlouge. Please give Sei my regards. Tell him how much I anticipate our inevitable first meeting.”

And then the brute sighed, turned away, and slouched against the ring post. He waited for the young lovers to leave him.

He had much to sulk about.

[Amber Eyes]

It was an emotion she had become quite accustomed to. Kyla Orlouge was many things, but brave certainly didn’t make the list. Sei had told her time and time again that bravery was about much more than overcoming butterflies in the stomach and a pounding heart, but the mystic had never quite believed him. Something about Flint scared her. She had wanted to test this fear when she first felt it in the Cell, but there were too many distractions, too many people attacking all at once.

She had felt it again on the stairs, but now there was no safety net.

The two men squared off in the ring, Flint trying time and time again to harm the breaker and each time failing. When he spoke again Kyla saw him clearly for the first time. The look in his eyes that stopped her in her tracks was much more familiar than she cared to admit. Desperation. Knowing that no matter how you try, you will never be the strongest, the fastest. You can defeat a thousand men, but it will never be enough if there is one who stops you.

Joshua was Flint’s one in a thousand.

She furrowed her brows as she watched Josh leave the ring in a graceful slide. In seconds he was by her side, taking her arm in his with a polite smile and a whisper of apology for the interruption. Kyla returned the grin, resting her hand on his arm as they once again made for the steps. Something inside her begged her to look back and person she saw wasn’t the same man that had entered the basement.

He seemed much smaller now, with his intimidating stance gone. Kyla had felt the way he looked a thousand times and perhaps if she were a better person she would have told him so. Instead she turned away and focused her attention on Joshua Cronen.

She stepped ahead of him as they reached the stairs, turning a step above and grasping both his worn hands. She leaned in to kiss him gently on the scar on his left cheek. It was a thank you for taking it easy one the broken man, but also something she’d been dying to do all night. Joshua smiled and gestured with his arm towards the door. “After you, Miss Orlouge.”

At once she was back under his spell, her biggest concern the bottle of wine she'd left on the mats below.

[Breaker]

Cronen glanced down the sleek red curve of Kyla's dress and glimpsed her shifting calves before correcting his gaze to a more gentlemanly level. Too late. Molly Doomeye smirked down at him as they rounded the staircase's final curve. How much had she seen?

"Sorry Breaker," the bouncer grinned, "that Northerner slipped right by me. Shall I throw him to the gutters?" Doomeye lifted her arm and conjured a long lash of air, the crackling mana nearly invisible even to Cronen's experienced eyes. Molly swung her arm forward in an exaggerated throwing motion. The cable of air whipped downward.

"I shouldn't think so," Josh said, matching her grin with cold eyes, "that was just a little friendly competition between Knights and Chronicle." Doomeye heaved back on the line like a deep-sea fisher hauling in a Coralian. When the tendril of air re-emerged it had split three ways, gathering the half-full wine bottle and empty glasses in a tinkling bundle. Josh caught the bottle and one of the glasses while Kyla grasped the other.

"Twas a joke," Doomeye chortled, "I noticed Miss Orlouge looking back at the grape juice." She gave Kyla a friendly nod and turned to Josh. Her smile melted, revealing the impassive scarred face beneath. "Don't make me play server again, Cronen."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied, "mind if we rejoin the party?" The band had switched to a swelling slow song, ripe with long mellow solos from each individual instrument. The furious output of energy from musicians and dancer alike had finally peaked and steadied.

"Of course," Molly said after a brief pause. She found her grin and nailed it back in place. Legs lined by bristling leather sheathes stepped back from the threshold, giving Josh and Kyla room to re-enter the club (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?26269-The-Flesh-Failures-Cellebration).

[Warpath]

Flint sat with his eyes closed, obsessing over the moment, reveling or wallowing in his humanity depending on the emotions that wandered freely through him. He was truly present, and this made him hyperaware: he felt the ebb and flow of the cool, stale air in the basement, felt the aches and strains of his struggle with the Breaker fade, felt the throb of distant music from above.

He focused on everything and nothing, anything but questions of whom and what he was and where he was going. He felt a little sting when it occurred to him that he’d failed and there had been witnesses. Some small, wicked voice told him to kill Kyla Orlouge to preserve some infinitely important secret, and he chuckled to himself for being mad, pathetic, and a fool all at once.

He opened his eyes and they fell directly upon the bottle of wine the mystic had left. It looked like a miracle, and before he knew what he was doing he reached for it. He told himself he hadn’t given himself time to do otherwise, but in truth he lifted it to his lips because he wanted to.

He drank everything that was left, set the bottle down, and waited for the unfamiliar haziness to fall over him. Flint was not a drinker – he thought it made a man weak – and it had been decades since he’d tasted alcohol or enjoyed the oblivion it wrought. As the moments crawled on he scoffed, and then he closed his eyes and laughed wryly.

He felt nothing.

He couldn’t even get drunk anymore, and despite his feelings about inebriation he felt like he’d lost something profound.

“You alive, Gouger?”

The voice brought him back from deep thoughts, and he had some vague impression that a fair amount of time had passed. He opened his eyes to find Doomeye crouched before him, her multitude of knives glinting in the dim light.

“Was that in question?” he said, closing his eyes again.

“Well, you did come down here looking to pick a fight with Josh Cronen, and he came back up, but you never did…so yeah, that was in question.”

“I am alive.”

“Can you walk?”

Flint chuckled wryly. “Yes, I can walk.”

“So why are you sitting down here by yourself?”

“Do not make me feel more…overdramatic,” Flint muttered. “I’m just thinking.”

“I try not to do too much of that,” Molly said with a grin. “It’s dangerous. Come on, let’s go upstairs. You can buy me a drink.”

“You are working.”

“Let’s say I’m on break.”

“It’s a waste of money,” Flint said, waving at the empty bottle beside him. “I can’t get drunk.”

Doomeye raised her eyebrows. “You’re going to have to explain that one to me.”

Flint stared at her for a moment and then, without really knowing why, he told her everything. He told her about the Swaysong, about the gauntlets on his arms, about his struggles with Cronen and the question of what he was. He told her that he’d sacrificed his humanity to become a god, and in the end he’d been cheated. He was neither man nor god, and he’d been defeated by a man. All was lost for nothing, and insult was added to injury.

“You know how many fights I’ve won?” Doomeye asked when he finished. “Thousands. Maybe tens of thousands. And as little as I like the guy, the truth is that I don’t think I could even land a hit on Cronen, much less beat him. Hell, I’m betting if everybody in this place right now, tonight, tried to kill him? He might not win, but he’d walk away. He’s a freak of nature, Gouger.”

“And we aren’t? You and I?”

“Oh, we are, that’s not the point. You’ve lost perspective. There’s nothing binary about strength, Gouger. It’s all relative, yeah? There’s no such thing as strong enough, because there’s always something out there bigger and meaner than you. It’s a numbers game. You’ve found one freak of nature bigger and meaner than you, and it’s made you lose sight of all the little monsters running around underfoot – the ones you squash when you get out of bed every morning.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Flint said, opening his eyes to look at her again.

Doomeye smiled. “You’ll know when I’m trying to get somewhere, and it won’t be with flattery. All I’m saying is, gods of war don’t crop up overnight, and you don’t cheat your way up a mountain. You might find a shortcut, but those get sparse the closer you get to the peak. Do you get what I’m saying here?”

Flint nodded. “I do. You’re saying I have work to do.”

“That,” Doomeye agreed, “and also that you’re being a bitch and ignoring how far you’ve already come. Now, are we going to fuck or…?”

Flint laughed, genuinely, and for the first time in months he did not try to contain it. For one last moment he let himself be a man without designs on anything greater. As his laughter faded he smiled up at Molly Doomeye and she smiled back, kindred spirits momentarily free of their stony masks.

The moment passed, and Molly lifted herself back up to her feet, and then offered her hand. Flint took it, and she pulled him to his feet, though not without a grunt. He was heavier than he looked, and he looked heavy.

They took turns rolling over the top rope and out of the ring, and then walked side-by-side to the stairs in silence.

“…cause I was serious about the break thing,” Molly said. “I could totally fit in a quickie.”

“Miss Doomeye,” Flint said, “I must regretfully decline, for two reasons that have nothing to do with whether or not I would like to accept your offer. First, I am quite happily spoken for. And second, if I were not, I can assure you that you would be incapable of remaining on your feet afterward, even after a ‘quickie,’ as you put it.”

“Oh-ho!” Doomeye threw her head back when she laughed, and her braids swung in graceful arcs in the process. “Oh you think so? Look at me, Gouger. I’m serious, if you think what you can see here looks like it can take a pounding, that’s nothing compared to what my…”

Flint cut her off, waving his hand dismissively and grumbling. “Stop tempting me.”

Doomeye shrugged and smiled coyly, and then turned and pointedly started up the stairs first, moving just a little slower than she needed to, and putting far more sway in her hips than was her wont. She looked good in leather, and she knew it.

“What did I just say?” Flint called up after her.

“I’m just walking here,” Molly said, smiling down at him over her shoulder. “I’m still on that break though. Just saying.”

Flint let himself smile one last time, and then he followed her back up out of the basement. (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?26269-The-Flesh-Failures-Cellebration/page4)