Round 1: Ashes to Ashes v Paint-a-Wagon

[Logan]

Round 1 pits Ashes to Ashes (Christoph and Flames of Hyperion) versus Paint-a-Wagon (Shinsou Vaan Osiris and Elite Optic), and will begin on Tuesday, March 15th at midnight EST.

[Flames of Hyperion]

“This is a dream.”

Why then, time after time, did he revisit this tower? Dawn dew glistened on walls of polished stone, and on the black blade poised high over the elegant bed. A brisk breeze stirred his sweat-damp scalp from the open window behind him. The sun beat down on his neck, lord of blue skies as bright as any hope, casting its blinding glare upon Winyaurient, Castle in the Clouds.

Why then, time after time, did he watch Xem’zund’s bone-hilted sword fall? His heart stopped beating every time it pierced her flesh. His screams echoed without sound, his mind held prisoner to paralysis. Clenched fists drew blood from his palms. Rivulets of watery crimson spilled from the spidersilk sheets. Necrotic plague ate at the fringes of her wounds, an entropic rot that turned flesh to sooty ash.

“This is all a bad dream.”

Words of despair spilled from his lips like the tears that he could no longer cry. Kayu’s dying screams forever lingered in his ears, every echo like a shard of glass across his soul. Why then, time after time, did he willingly relive this moment? Was it solace he sought, in the shadow of his greatest failure? Or was it to reaffirm his solitude, in the only place that he dared ever to see her again?

But today, somebody else intruded.

“I didn’t expect to find a Dawnbringer so broken. Is this the will that brought down a Forgotten One?”

The strange voice belonged to a strange face, curiously nondescript and framed by curly hair the colour of earth after rain. How many months had passed since he had last laid eyes on another, or heard a voice not his own? Only the irises stood out on first glance, an old man’s stare on a young man’s face.

He met that gaze, then glanced away. The tower in Winyaurient crumbled from sight, torn apart by the freezing cold of a Berevaran blizzard. The brisk breeze gathered force into a gale wind, and needles of ice and snow replaced the wide blue skies. Neither smell nor sound interfered with the ambience of this dreamscape of angry white; he could not see any further than three paces ahead. He had no need to rely on memory any more. This was the world that his body occupied in reality, and he only had to relax the walls of his mind before the deadly conditions invaded even his dreams.

The stranger scanned the shifting environment, betraying no unease. A bubble of magic, the colour of a glowing hearth, surrounded him. Fresh grass sprouted beneath his feet, forcing through the melting ice and snow.

Who was this man? A powerful practitioner of either the arcane or incarnate arts, to have infiltrated his dream. Salvic by the manner of his dress, and either determined or foolhardy to have taken the trouble to track him down. Why?

Pushing his spectacles up his nose so that they better hid his eyes, he turned to face the intruder once more. His own voice, parched and hoarse from months of disuse, somehow forced its way through a throat that burned with fever and dehydration.

“I would know why you have sought me out.”

“First I would see you stand. There is someone who needs your help, and I want you on your feet.”

Those inscrutable irises pierced him, penetrated him, daring him to ask why. He needed not. The measure of a person lay not in how long they crawled through snow and blood and dirt, but in whether they could stand again afterwards. This man had expended great expense and effort in finding him. Of course he would want to see it rewarded.

Nanashi, nameless wanderer, rose to his full height. Even in his dreams, cramped muscles spasmed and frozen tendons popped. The accoutrements on his belt, tucked into their pouches of woven silk, slapped against his tattered tunic and the gaunt ribs beneath. His cheeks hollow from malnutrition and exposure, dark circles framing his battered spectacles, this time he forced himself to meet the intruder’s glare.

It hurt.

But not as much as the Necromancer’s blade, or Kayu’s screams.

In response, the other mage brandished the palm of his hand. An intricate arcane glyph smouldered in the weathered flesh.

“That’s a start, but I need to know you’re not as pitiful as you look,” he said. “Memorise this sigil. When you wake up, burn it into the ground. Exactly one meter in diameter. Once done, stand in its center and awaken it with your magic. If all goes well, it will transport you to me. Here, I will be able to adequately test you. You have my word that I will answer your questions afterwards.”

Even now, Nanashi knew that he could refuse. His instincts, even in his dreams, wanted to do just that. What guarantee did he have that the intruder spoke truth? Why would anybody need his help in particular?

But the man had found him once, and possessed the means and obvious will to do so again. Better, then, to play along. He only had one further question.

“Where will this take me?”

The intruder smirked.

“I’m sure even an outlander like you has heard of the Citadel...”

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Salvar: Tirel outskirts
Three weeks prior

Despite Shinsou Vaan Osiris’s strength, each shovelful of Salvar’s thick white snow felt heavier than iron. The muscles in his arms and shoulders ached with a searing pain, and the skin on his hands and cheeks glowed red with the combined toils of the grim labour and the harsh winter climate. When he was finally finished, the Telgradian fell back, panting, next to the icy well of what was to be his Bane’s final resting spot. The powdered snow of the blinding storm covered nearly every inch of his bare flesh, but Shinsou made no effort to move.

He was too tired.

Though the work was finally done, there was no comfort in the hole he had dug for that of his one and only friend on Althanas. Bane, the former ranger and his mentor and friend, had deserved so much better than a burial plot in the frozen wastes north of Salvar, miles from home and so crude in its construction it left very little to ceremony. Shinsou wanted to scream, and cry, and slam his first into the tundra beneath him at the infuriating and desperate unfairness of it all, but nothing came. His voice was too parched with the bitter cold, his tear spouts had long since been torn away from him and the Telgradian was simply unable to exert any more energy to redirect his anger.

Shinsou eventually feebly slid himself down to the floor of the grave, parting his legs out across the freshly disturbed dirt. Sighing, he let his head fall back against the cold wall of the empty hole while he took a moment to reflect on what had just happened. Temperance, though incomplete, was alive. The beast of shadow and bone that had manipulated him into warring against his own people, forcing him to bestow untold death and destruction upon Telgradia had been thought sealed, but somehow it had awoken and found its way here. It had torn through that Jal Shey invasion portal like it was nothing, ripping viciously at the membrane of the gate as if it were rending flesh from bone, before coming face to face with him.

Bane hadn’t a chance. All Shinsou could see loop in his head over and over was the malicious bone-clawed hand of his nemesis pierce sickeningly through the ranger’s chest as if it were made from wet paper, eviscerating his entrails over the clean, pressed Salvar snow. The last look Bane ever gave the Telgradian was one of shock and horror before he witnessed his own beating heart crushed before his fading eyes.

The rest of the memory faded to black. The Telgradian couldn’t focus on any more details. With the cold snow flaking down heavily above him, Shinsou ground his teeth and clenched his fists so tight that his bloodstained fingernails left purple crescents in the skin of his palms at the thought of his friend’s gory death.

Shinsou was determined he would grind Temperance, the Jal Shey and even the Telgradians into the dirt in penance for what they had done. In his eyes, they were all equally culpable, all of them a plague that destroyed everything he held dear, and a virus that needed to be exterminated. In his heart, even if Bane’s wandering spirit forgave him, the Telgradian could not pass that forgiveness onto any of them.

As the storm hit it’s most violent phase, and at the crescendo of his seething rage, he pulled a crude survival sheet over his head with a violent jerk, almost tearing it in half, leaving him alone in the dark in the middle of a six foot deep trench with only Telos Soltair’s words left for him to ponder.

This man trusted you with his life, and you led him to ruin. For that alone I could kill you where you stand. It would be so easy after everything you’ve done, after all the shame you have brought upon our family and our people. Your power is evidently no-where near its previous level. At a place and time of my choosing, you will atone for what you have done. This, though, is not the time, nor the place.


Despite his emotional turmoil, Shinsou could see him vividly now; his father, a member of the Council of Five’s execution squad sent to capture or kill him. He was dressed in those Royal Guard robes, consisting of the traditional black uniform with silver buttons and a flowing white Haori with great, wide sleeves. They were a little frayed at the edges and covered in Bane’s blood as the soft hearted man knelt at Bane’s side and performed last rites. Those usually soft, hazel eyes peered out from underneath a curtain of matted black hair and fell upon Shinsou Vaan Osiris, but they didn’t gaze upon him kindly.

Telos was supposed to end his life. Why did he not kill him? Surely it wasn’t out of some misguided loyalty to his son. The Council of Five’s orders were absolute, and Telos never disobeyed an order. So, why was he still alive?

Did he know the truth?

With that final question burning in his mind, Shinsou’s fatigue finally caught up to him and he fell, finally, into an abyss of fitful sleep next to the wrapped corpse of his only friend.



Present day
The Road to the Citadel


The Telgradian, wrapped in his white greatcoat, awoke to the sound of hooves of horses mixed with the traces and chains, the hollow rumbling of rickety wooden wheels of a wagon, and above it all the thundering crashes as tons of brass, iron and timber bounced on the bumpy mud throughways. Groaning softly, he wiped a sore hand across his eyes, and blinked several times.

Opposite him, Sorian slept soundly through the racket. He was an old man, and his short grey beard had become a frail version of its former years, but despite this the ‘contract broker’ was still a powerful figure in certain circles. Shinsou had first met him several months ago during the purging of Sunwing, the dragon of fire. In exchange for a share of the bounty, he had offered up the frightening and enigmatic Elite Optic as a living weapon to help their collective group of misfits slay the terrible beast that had terrorised the Twilight Mountains. After the battle they had all gone their separate ways, but the Telgradian had made a note of the man’s name. After all, in a world as dangerous as this, it was always useful to have a person like that in a contact book somewhere.

Shinsou looked to Sorian’s left and cast a curious glance over his newly contracted combat partner. Just about seated on, and dwarfing, a wooden lip of the wagon’s interior was the giant chassis of the half tonne, un-dead Elite Optic. If simply being seated opposite Sorian could be considered intimidating, which was often the case for most men, by comparison being sat across a four foot gap with this beast was absolutely terrifying.

Elite Optic’s skeletal structure was bulky, uneven with calcium deposits and almost golden yellow, stained by ten thousand years of wear. Jagged thorns of bone protruded from his knees, elbows and shoulders, as well as the base of his ribs. Where two brightly burning scarlet flames would usually be seen in his eye sockets, though, there was now only murky darkness. Shinsou supposed that Elite Optic was, for now, inactive or in some sort of state of slumber. The immortal beast was an enigma to the Telgradian, but there was no mystery surrounding the beast’s power. He had witnessed for himself Elite Optic’s lethal, blunt-force nature and that was exactly why he had contacted Sorian about his availability in the first place. The old man was only happy to oblige. And, of course, Sorian wanted something in return. As payment for his services, he wanted to test what the Telgradian was capable of, and through his ring of shady contacts the peddler of the dark arts had set something up, something big.

Sorian wanted Shinsou to be as ruthless as the bone golem he employed, and the Telgradian had no doubt that, eventually, the man would want him as a permanent addition to his circus.

It was a problem Shinsou realised he would have to deal with in order to adapt and to survive in this harsh new world, but it caused him emotional and nearly physical anguish whenever he thought about conflicting against what Bane had helped him become. The Telgradian had seen Bane as a father figure, someone who showed an immense amount of compassion but could display an equally tremendous amount of strength. Bane had spent months teaching this balance to Shinsou, to try to make him repentant of his deeds under Temperance and the Jal Shey, and to teach him there was more to life than he ever knew.

But the result was not as intended. Shinsou had been weak at a critical moment, and Bane had paid the ultimate price. That moment of weakness had been witnessed by his father, the very man sent to kill him, and that was bad. If Telos and the Council of Five ever stopped fearing his ‘power’, they would put and end to him instantly.

Shinsou believed it was only the fear of that power, or the illusion of that power, that was keeping him alive.

In some ways, The Telgradian wished he could have been more like his terrifying companion. Cold hearted, hardened, and able to get the job done with maximum efficiency. However, Shinsou knew it was too late for him to revert back to the way he used to be in Telgradia, that heartless instrument of war, and by most accounts he wouldn’t want to. But by having this unfeeling, almost mechanically minded colossus at his side he felt he would be able to tap back into that ruthless streak that made him formidable once again. Once he surpassed his previous limitations, Shinsou would hold everyone to account for the things they had done.

As for Sorian, his needs would have to wait.

Whatever they were...

The Telgradian turned his attentions to the outside through the horseshoe shaped gap in the rear of the cart, where the ivory canvas peeled away. The villagers, slowly stirring to the break of a new day, could be heard pacing around the dirt tracks around the wagon long before they came into sight. Every now and then another bump would send the wagon into recoil, and the resulting bashing of metal and timber would drown out the chattering of neighbours and friends. Then they were in view; the farmers, carpenters, merchants, and their outriders, all of them to travel; the sloping dirt trail ahead to the next village to ply their trades. Mothers held their smallest children and pointed at the men, husbands and fathers, and waved them goodbye, wishing them well for the day ahead.

"We’re approaching the Citadel gates. This is your stop!”

The driver’s voice was shrill and loud as he tried to make himself heard over the horse’s hooves and ambient chattering around him. As Shinsou exited the wagon, He suddenly felt a chill shoot up his spine as the shadow of the looming form of the Citadel swallowed them whole, and with that, the three of them proceeded into the famous stronghold.



The Citadel arena: Council of Five chambers


The funnel wall of the Citadel’s portal snapped and crackled as the electrical substance it was made from bent to the monk’s every whim. Strange, tendril like anomalies morphed and swirled in front of Shinsou’s face as the arena morphed into focus. The Telgradian judged the two foot gap between the lip of the portal and what appeared to be some sort of stone path and stepped down perfectly; Shinsou’s foot pressing, for the first time, onto the cold, hard floor of this monk’s creation.

Shinsou had designed it himself, from memory, and had sent word ahead to the powerful monks of the Citadel to work their magic. With an approving nod, the Telgradian surveyed the wonderful work that had taken place in his absence.

The glistening surface of a white marble path carved an icy garden in two. It was covered with crispy, frost covered leaves, the kind that littered the ground on a bitter winter’s morning, and as his entourage’s footsteps crunched one by one, Shinsou cast his gaze to the approaching, nostalgic council chamber grounds.

Just ahead, that familiar silver gate stood at least three times the height of the ten foot wall on either side of it that encircled the chamber of the Council of Five. It was topped with crystalline spires that glinted like diamonds in the low morning sun. The dome shaped structure was made of some sort of white granite. Finely carved statues adorned the edges of the gate around its massive iron doors. Shinsou had seen the decorations before, although he couldn’t make out any of the statues from memory. Heroically posed warriors, insignias of Telgradia and the Council of Five and assorted coats or arms were some of the more prominent statuary, breathtaking in their beauty and refinement.

As they approached, Shinsou, Sorian and Elite Optic exchanged no dialogue. The Telgradian pressed his hand against the iron door on the right, and after a bit of a struggle it slowly opened on its massive chrome hinges.

The secretive halls of the Council of Five’s chambers were as silent as a crypt, and almost as dark and eerie. In Telgradia, the mausoleum like structure was well guarded and kept away from any official Telgradian military buildings. It was used only to summon the Council of Five, and was so scarcely attended that anyone walking its cold corridors could feel a cold chill down their spine as they peered at the empty walkways. Shinsou suddenly jumped as the heavily reinforced doors slammed behind them, whilst Elite Optic remained stoic and unfazed by anything, his scarlet red eyes fixated on nothing as Sorian looked on. Settled again, Shinsou took a moment to investigate the replica of the building he had been away from for over ten years

Far over their heads, vaults and arches sailed up and converged in a classical array of marble carved embellishments. A row of marble columns rose to the ceiling and created an avenue that extended past the end of the dome chamber in which they stood. At the end of this avenue a white statue of a goddess, shrouded in celestial robes, loomed over the walkway with a single hand held towards the heavens. The floor consisted of a myriad of marble slabs that led to a centre circle underneath the peak of the dome, from which all other passageways through the building were connected. Here, the flooring was laid in such a way that the emblem of the Council of Five was sketched out over the circumference of the room.

“It’s just as I remember.”

Shinsou once again led the way, walking a straight path between the columns with a silent Elite Optic and Sorian in tow. The lay-out of this section of the building was similar to several of the other royal buildings in the complex; high, narrow windows of colourful stained glass, patterned to portray important events in Telgradian lore. They alternated with the pillars, dark with the lack of any background light. Under these, tucked into coves far into either side of the corridor, were strange pedestals that contained small statues of previous council members. Rows of lighted, scented candles flickered on top of tables positioned either side of these figurines.

Shinsou couldn’t help notice that the Council of Five’s inner chambers was as enormous, and as disquieting, as any other part of the main building from the outside. It was then, as he cast his gaze down, he saw a lone figure at the end of the corridor.

“Be on your guard.” Shinsou said to the behemoth next to him. There was no sound of acknowledgement, just a snort of some deep ethereal tone.

It was a man, from the Telgradian’s first glance. He looked about six foot tall, of medium build. His mop of thick brown hair was wavy, almost curly, with clean shaven facial features. He matched Sorian’s description of a man named Elijah Belov, one of the ‘subjects’ of this strange game. However, the other man, one that Sorian only referred to as “Nanashi”, didn’t appear to be around.

“Where’s Nanashi?” Shinsou asked calmly, but assertively. “I’m sure you gentlemen are above the parlour tricks of rogues and assassins, so is he late?”

Shinsou stopped, brushing a thread of chestnut brown hair from his face, his golden eyes steeled onto the crouching form of Elijah ahead of him whilst Elite Optic stood motionless behind him. The Telgradian then smiled, closing his eyes and gesturing in the vicinity of the rafters and the coves.

“…Or is he lurking in the shadows?”

[Christoph]

Bunny approved.

“Any day now, Dawnbringer…” The sorcerer’s whisper rode a puff of frozen vapor. Elijah Belov crouched beside the glyph, painstakingly chalked onto the stone with the help of the monks, that would bring Nanashi to him. Eventually. His grand experiment would be short-lived if the primary subject failed to appear, leaving Elijah to face a dark future without a guiding light.

His opponents’ footsteps echoed across the vast chamber. He sighed. He had pushed his way into the arena the instant the monks let him, but he knew his time was limited. If Nanashi failed to correctly replicate the glyph in time… That’ll be awkward for everyone. He would have brought the outlander hero to him sooner, but the ritual could only work with the Citadel’s immense ambient magic fueling it.

Standing up, he faced his two opponents. Threads of magic, silver and green to his sight, wove themselves into intricate knots in his eyes, awakening his mage sight. The human’s aura burned hot, but nothing unusual or alarming. Eli nodded imperceptibly, turning his enhanced vision to the hulking minion. Its aura was a churning, hungry darkness like the deep ocean.

Undead, he thought, then smirked at himself. What was your first clue, Eli? Couldn’t have been that he’s a twelve-foot tower of bones. A red pulse throbbed within that abyssal aura, a knot of rage. More importantly, of awareness. Not a mere construct, then.

“Hello, hello,” he finally verbally acknowledged the mismatched pair. “My comrade is making an especially long journey, but should be arriving shortly.” He gestured to the chalked glyph, as though it explained everything. “I appreciate your decision to not immediately rush me while I’m by myself. Tactically foolish, but commendable.” He grinned, wide and full of teeth like a shark.

Before his foes could reply, the glyph flared to life. White chalk lines turned blazing orange, fiery light gleaming off the pillars and spawning dancing shadows in the recesses of the grand hall. Flames burst from the floor. They swirled and contorted, taking a man’s shape. Wreathed in a magnificent burning halo, Nanashi the Dawnbringer emerged.

And promptly collapsed.

“You’re making a great first impression.” He reached down and hoisted the haggard new arrival up. “I trust the trip wasn’t too taxing?”

Nanashi groaned a response.

“That answers that, I suppose.” Eli shook his head. “I assumed your appearance in the dream was simply an exaggerated projection of your waking state, but in truth it painted a flattering portrait. How are you still alive?”

“Spite, I guess.”

“I can relate to that.”

Finally steadying himself, Nanashi’s hands went to the pouches at his waist, the glasses on his face, and finally the swords in the small of his back, as though convincing himself that he had arrived in one piece. At last he exhaled, loud and echoing through the high vaults. He peered about the room, settling on their opponents. “What is this place? Who are they?”

“This place is an arena of their design, I believe,” Elijah replied, widely gesturing to the vast chamber. “Reminds me of Saint Denebriel’s Cathedral, and I don’t know if I like that. As for them… if my information is correct, the regular man is Shinsou Vaan Osiris. And outlander like you, and perhaps a former revolutionary in his homeland. A man after my own heart, really.” He spared his foes nary a glance as he talked about them. “Then we have his giant… undead bodyguard, perhaps? Either way, like I said earlier, this is the Citadel, so obviously we’re here to fight them.”

“I know what the Citadel is, but why? You said somebody needed help.” He frowned. Annoyance sparked in his tone, giving it a much-needed edge. He almost sounded like a warrior again. “I fail to see how this frivolity helps anyone.”

At last, Shinsou interrupted. “It seems a grievous misuse of the Citadel’s powers to hold a conference. Perhaps when you gentlemen are ready we can get to the crux of the matter?”

Belov raised a single finger at his foe. “Hush, the adults are speaking. Anyway, Nanashi… I assure you, nothing about this is frivolous. I’ll explain everything after we dispatch these two.”

[Elite Optic]

Ah, the smell of fresh heart pumping blood...I don't miss it like I used to.

That scent, that beautiful scent of living blood, pumping around the body from a healthy strong heart. It was important to him, to know he could still smell his enemy. There were so few things he could sense since he had become an undead, this smell was at least something that he could appreciate. It had created a sort of fascination within him, listening to the beating hearts of humanity, being able to hear the tossing and turning of nerves, or the powerful beats of love.

There was part of him that missed those feelings, those emotions that carried a human to feats of great strength or acts of bitter shame. What did it say about him, that he didn't really care about any of that anymore? Not that he harvested no emotions, but because they no longer effected him on a physical level. He had become a beacon of blissful ignorance, but they only saw him as a behemoth of the undead. A thoughtless minion that lacked the intelligence or thinking capability to be part of the living world. How wrong they were.

Sorian rested his hand against the yellow grit stained leg of Elite Optic, just within the base of Elites vision, as he watched the couple of men assorting themselves to their new predicament. This old man, standing between his legs within the great domed hall, had become important to him. His thirst for vengeance of his friends, for valour of battle, and his search for bigger, greater opportunities to rise against, was all that Elite had strived for when he was human. The eudemonic pleasure that came over Elite Optic when he was reminded of his past was exhilarating. A driving force he rarely felt anymore.

Would he call Sorian a friend? No. Yet this would be the closest to a friend he could possibly have. A true compatriot that held his values. He didn't know how many years Sorian had left in him, but while he was alive, he was worth being around.

For now though, he was not welcome on the marble floor. He wasn't to be involved in this fight, this war of swords and magic. He patted Elite on the leg, like a master awarding his dog a faithful pat on the head then began to walk away, almost dejectedly. He might have been old, but he never wanted to back out of a fight.

Elite glanced at Shinsou, his small fragile looking colleague for this battle. They all looked fragile, they all looked weak, but this world had changed a lot since he was human, and he had already leanred that humanity was now stronger than it appeared.

No more underestimating...

Sorian had quickly vanished, but the scent of old man hung in the air before slowly fading mournfully in valediction.

Elite remained very still, not breaking his posture or their belief that he was nothing more than an unintelligent brute. Yet he watched the two before him; the slim tunic wearing man, he was clearly armed and wearing glasses, he looked the weakest. A fight with him seemed boring and Elite hoped with great desire he would give more than his small frame suggested. Then Elite glanced back over to the first man, the one seemingly enjoying mocking Shinsou over brief discussions, and he couldn't hide the small grin that graced his arrogant face.

Elite reached up and over his shoulder, his slow movement, not reflecting his true intentions. Gripping the hilt of his sword, he lifted it clear of his bone rack chassis, the old skulls of his victims rattling as he did, and then he lowered it to reside beside him. The bizarrely rusty flaking sword began crumbling its flakes on the floor by their feet. They probably hadn't seen anything like this before. The giant two meter long blade was an intimidating sight, and Elites entire visual was unique and certainly dangerous.

Yet, it wasn't clear if the two men really cared about this or not. They would have to soon, because Elite Optic was not known for his irenic qualities.

[Flames of Hyperion]

Dispatch these two?

Behind his spectacles, his eyes glowed with whorls of white flame. The shrouded Citadel chambers spread before him, overlaid with a pulsating kaleidoscope of winds above and leylines below. Ambient arcane power surged like adrenaline at his every whim, its taste that of a tangy Underwood lemon on his tongue. No wonder the stranger’s teleportation glyph had activated with such force.

The aura of the one he now knew as Elijah Belov flared to his right, brighter and more focused than his. The opposing swordsman, who sought ‘the crux of the matter’, seethed in icy shadow. Alongside him, an abyssal maw, roiling with tempestuous hunger. Something throbbed there, almost as if...

Did that undead monstrosity have a soul? Could Nanashi just bend his will to its destruction, as he might have done to one of Xem’zund’s abominations? What in the names of all the kami, Thaynes, Stars, and Ancients had he involved himself in this time?

He shook his head, violently homesick for the Berevarian blizzards he’d left behind. At least there he didn’t have to deal with people.

Dispatch these two?

Of course, this was the Citadel, after all. He’d never fought here before, though he had studied it enough in his copy of Arkakroth’s Cross Continent Travel Journal & People I’d Like to Bludgeon. He had read that within the confines of these mystical walls, the monks of Ai’Brone could resurrect the recently dead. But only in extreme self-defence had Nanashi ever spilled the blood of another, and never before had he ended a mortal life. He would damn himself in the eyes of the only one who mattered, if he dared to use his current circumstances as a callous excuse to start doing so.

“Convince me,” he addressed Elijah at last. “This person that we must aid… does his or her life depend on us?”

“A great many lives may depend on the both of us,” the man replied without hesitation. Ignoring their opponents, he turned his ancient irises to Nanashi and lowered his voice. “Believe me when I say I may have no one else left to turn to.”

“And these gentlemen oppose us?” The outlander peered at the two of them again over the rims of his oversized spectacles. As fighters in the renowned Citadel, they would be unlikely to retreat from words alone.

“They don’t oppose my, our, cause, but they are our opponents here. Accessing the Citadel to summon you involved agreeing to battle against them.” Elijah too glanced back to their opponents. “I expected them to be more eager… but regardless, we only leave when we or they lie defeated.”

Nanashi sighed beneath his breath, recognising the truth in his words. “This is all a bad, bad dream.”

“Wake up quick then, because I still wish to… assess your capabilities.”

The warrior-scholar nodded, one final display of reluctance. Then he stepped forth, two echoing footfalls disguising an esoteric incantation in a foreign tongue. His hands flashed to his sides, palms downwards, clumsily spilling his belongings from his waistpouches. A chaotic clatter of parchment, writing inks, and shaped cardpaper cascaded to the cold marble.

In the midst of the cacophony, he ground out a single word through grit teeth.

“Gurengoku.”

A wall of flame washed through the darkness, dazzling and disorienting, disappearing almost as soon as he had conjured it. He took care to avoid harming the swordsman and his bodyguard, but still the wave of hazy heat bathed them in shimmering mirage. The spell wrought havoc on the column-cast shadows, casting a bright flash into the high vaults and recessed alcoves. The rows of tamed candles that once lit their path now blazed in molten pyres, alight with remnant white fire. A faint aroma of balsam overrode the stench of smouldering beeswax. Backdraft wafted through the limp strands of his hair.

“I know not who you are, or why you are here, but I ask that you step out of our path. I have neither the time nor the patience for bloodshed.”

Sometimes, in his dreams, those words would help him avert conflict. On other occasions, they only served to inflame the situation.

The sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach warned him how it would play out this time.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou was a little startled as Nanashi unleashed a molten stream of flame through the main hall. As a wave of hot air washed over him and Elite Optic, the Telgradian raised a palm to his face to act as a shield against the unfavourable temperatures, which although not dangerous were still mightily uncomfortable. After the burning draft subsided, his shimmering gold eyes looked back through the rising heat towards their opponents. Everything in the room was distorted and out of focus, like a poorly taken photograph, and the pungent scent of melting wax coalesced with that of the scent of pine incense. Beneath them, the emblem of the Council of Five glowed in a fiery scarlet hue. It was the only bit of the building constructed from Frach, a crystal native to Telgradia, and the flames had been so hot they had superheated the gemstone tracks forming the crest in the floor. It looked beautiful, but it should have been a warning.

Too slow, kid. If he’d been serious about that attack, you’d be ash. You’re getting sloppy.

The other voices now talking in the Citadel had been drowned out by the solitary voice of one man alone in Shinsou’s mind; a man by the name of Bane Stark. There he was, right at the forefront of his memory again, his visage sporting a year-old black beard with thin sideburns meeting that greying crew cut on top. He was built like a house, with monstrous shoulders that were barely concealed by his coat.

How many of the Council of Five that swore allegiance to that crest below your feet have been outlived by it, I wonder, by taking their opponent for granted? You can’t stand toe to toe with these guys. Where’s your brain, Shinsou? Where are your instincts?

A bevy of thoughts poured into Shinsou’s mind. He tried to shut them down, shaking his head and bringing himself back to reality. Bane was dead. It didn’t matter what he thought, or what he would say or do in this situation. Only he, the Telgradian, could control what happened here. He looked to his right to see the giant skeletal chassis of Elite Optic bearing the weight of a belt of his skulls. As grim as the display was, it was an almost gratifying experience just to see the beast coldly parade round the chain of his victims in such a cool, proud manner.

That’s what he needed to be like at the moment; cold, calculating and ruthless. Here, in the Citadel, he’d take those first steps towards that.

“I know not who you are, or why you are here, but I ask that you step out of our path. I have neither the time nor the patience for bloodshed.” Nanashi’s voice echoed throughout the great dome, pinging off of the walls and reverberating down the smooth marble hallways.

Shinsou didn’t reply. Ahead, the partial silhouettes stood and the hissing of Nanashi’s voice issuing what sounded like a masked ultimatum dissolved into nothing. The Telgradian, with his brown hair covered in a layer of soot and his skin numb from the preceding heat, suddenly noticed a feeling in the pit of his stomach that seemed to ebb and flow, pulsating powerfully one moment before gently caressing his nerves the next. He struggled momentarily, forcing his fingers to release themselves from the balled fist by his side.

Then, in a split second, it came to him. It was a dark, heavy thing Shinsou sensed. He felt that he could almost see a pair of brilliant white eyes staring out at him from underneath Nanashi and Elijah’s skins. The sky, suddenly blackened, was aghast with crimson celestial energies. All of it was chaotic and yet utterly, inconceivably silent. The only sound in those seconds, measurable only by a sixth sense that Shinsou could never truly rid himself of, was the thumping and pounding of destructive Jal Shey magic tearing apart vast tracts of the landscape. Then, the telltale hushed intake and release of breath from one of the beasts themselves.

As Shinsou returned to reality, he suddenly knew what it was he was sensing. It was the overwhelming pressure of the life-force from the Jal Shey around them, tainting the air with dark intent. Yet, these two people weren’t Jal Shey at all.

Something evil was observing their battle from outside the confines of the Citadel.

“Elite,” Shinsou finally whispered to his compatriot after a few moments, “we aren’t alone here. I sense something, a presence in the darkness watching us. We need to make our move. Once I cast this incantation, we’ll have twenty minutes. Pull back and follow me into the corridors behind us.”

Shinsou’s head dipped as he raised Enpera forty five degrees to his shoulders. The room was still like an oven thanks to Nanashi’s pyrotechnical display, and streaks of sweat travelled down his face and chin as he prepared his first move. Enpera’s glimmering blade began to emit a strange purple aura.

“Senkai: Enpera Suigetsu!”

Both of his opponents had seen his sword, and now they would both succumb to his illusions. The Telgradian found himself savouring the familiar sensation of his fingers tingling with the power of his Senkai once again. Flicking strands of brown matted hair out of his face, the Telgradian snapped his head up and smiled slightly as the purple light that had manifested from his sword faded, and was replaced by the ambient light provided by the smouldering candlelight.

Three foot in front of Elijah and Nanashi, ghostly apparitions phased through the floor and seemingly manifested into physical matter before their eyes, screaming as they did so. Nanashi would look up and see the visage of his own partner, Elijah, looking back at him. There was no mistaking his thick, curly brown mop and his clean shaven skin, or even the scent of the man. Everything was identical to the letter. Elijah, on the other hand, stared back at the form of Nanashi. He would look upon that face, one that still boasted a youthful innocence that the world had not quite yet destroyed, and he would gaze into the dark eyes that peered out from those battered half-rim glasses and not know the difference.

With the two mirages now standing in their places, blocking their opponent’s perspective of the two warriors, Shinsou motioned to Elite Optic and pointed at a corridor to their left. It was one of the main arteries of the building that led to a labyrinthine set of magically re-enforced inner walkways that Shinsou knew about from his time in the Telgradian military.

“Down here. Go!” He shouted as he began his sure-footed sprint into the mouth of the corridor, the soles of his shoes slapping the marble floor below like a snare drum.

[Christoph]

Elijah grinned as his comrade unleashed his fiery assault, taking those moments to weave spells of his own. Hot wind swept his woolen cloak, muffling his mumbled arcane formula. His fingers traced through the air, weaving invisible thread that glittered in his enhanced sight. With a tug, he pulled those arcane energies into his body. His muscles tightened with sorcerous vigor and quickness. A metallic sheen washed across his skin, making it hard as steel.

When the Dawnbringer issued his warning, Belov’s grin soured. “Has that ever worked?”

Before anyone could answer, an apparition appeared before him, phasing through the floor. It looked just like Nanashi, even smelled like a man who had spent months starving in the snow.

Eli took a startled step back, but then stopped, his face falling back into a blank, unimpressed mask. Why would their doppelgangers appear out of thin air? Next to him, Nanashi mirrored his reaction. His eyes flicked once to Elijah, then back to their new-formed shadows.

“Ware, Master Belov,” he warned. “These are just--”

“Yeah, illusions.” Elijah’s mage sight flashed again across his vision, revealing the obvious aetheric tapestry of the fakes, like snarled knots in the threads of magic. He tsked. “And mediocre ones at that.” Impressively convincing to mundane sense, but he left that unsaid. Underneath, their fakeness was obvious -- he had met only one illusionist in his travels who could convincingly mimic aetheric patterns.

He ignored the phantoms completely, seeking his foes with his mage sight; their auras now fled toward the main corridor on Eli’s right. He frowned. “It seems our query means to flee.”

“So perhaps they did heed my warning,” Nanashi replied.

Eli laughed then, even as the illusions harmlessly attacked them. It was a deep, genuine laugh bubbling up from his chest. “You’re adorable, Dawnbringer.” He wiped his eyes, stepping right through the phantom version of his ally. He tracked their foes’ movements. “No, I think they want to slip away into the maze of tunnels and use stealth and trickery to even the field, and ultimately delay our escape from this place.”

“Then we must endeavor to stop them.”

Belov’s grin returned. “Aye, we must.” He wove a new spell, calling wind to his feet with a cascading pattern in the threads of magic. Twice, thrice he repeated the pattern until a whirlwind enveloped him, all but pushing him forward. Shinsou and the bone brute had already turned into one of the vast side corridors. “Try and keep up, will you?”

He bolted forward in a great gust. Wind carrying every stride, he cleared a tremendous distance in moments. Still not enough. He turned the corner and leapt twenty feet into the air, spinning within his personal cyclone. His hair swirled in a chaotic storm.

He kicked off a pillar midair, rocketing toward his foes. Enveloped in blue and orange flame, he streaked across the chamber like a falling star. Polished marble rang with his impact. He rolled his landing, appearing on his feet between his foes and their escape, sword drawn.

His grin, now furious, gleamed in his fiery aura. “Hi!” Then, explosions. Blue-orange flames erupted from his fingertips, sending chain bursts of heat and kinetic force at the fleeing pair. The stone floor cracked beneath the assault.

Through the howling, roaring inferno he called out. “It seems a grievous misuse of the Citadel’s powers to play hide and seek!”

[Elite Optic]

Elite almost admired him as he cleared the great distance to leap over their heads. The more Elite learned and discovered about Althanas, the more interesting people he had met. In another place, another time or situation he could admire the powers he observed. Yet here, within these walls he was an opponent, a wall blocking his path. He would never admire a wall, no matter how clever it was. He could only destroy it.

Elite never broke stride, the burning, melting attack before him laying waste to the marble as it approached them with lethal intent. He fired forward strategically as if to hinder their movement, their escape, if that’s how the man wished to see it. However, no burning flame could phase the giant skeleton from his path, who was far from feeling the need to flee.

“What? How was he so fast?!” Exclaimed Shinsou as he halted his run with a inverted bow to avoid a flying ball of flame.
Elite stopped at Shinsous side. "Tell me your morale isn’t broken so easily Shinsou?"
The spreading balls of fire and kinetic energy were now crashing around them. The speed of their attacker was powerfully inhuman, and far beyond that of what his normal human appearance would suggest. He had been silent thus far, but the time for silence was at an end. Elite’s burning eyes stared through the flames before him, the heat haze blurring the general view before them. Yet at twelve foot tall, no amount of hot haze would obscure his sight to the small man who arrogantly impeded his path. He hastily replaced his heavy sword within his bone rack, the mighty rusting blade would remain harmless, for now.

“Get on my back!” Elite almost roared his words, collecting the nearest wooden table with his right hand. “We're going for a ride!”

Shinsou hesitated for a second, but being as bold and trusting in his partner as he could, he nimbly used the protruding bone spikes to climb up, and then clung onto Elites ribcage, hanging rather comfortably clear of the melting marble and flying flames below. Elite lifted and placed the table rather awkwardly on his back. The array of spiked bones from his bone rack stabbing and interlocking with the table legs enough to hold it in place, and then, he marched forward. Veering his movement to the right to grab yet another table, except this time, he gripped with both hands, his bony fingers gripping the smooth wooden surface and steel leg jointly. Holding the table up before him, he focused on his assaulting foe.

Then, he charged forward, meeting the flames head on, the table before him placed well enough to take the initial blows as it literally exploded in his hands. The thick strong wood was tough, but the kinetic fire was stronger. Still, as Elite crashed through fire, unable to feel any burning as the fire balls flew between his bones, singeing for sure, but making no lasting impact without a direct hit, he did enough simply to protect his partner.

Stepping into attacking distance of Belov, with the protective table demolished, Shinsou leapt free, dropping into a forward roll onto the safety of the untouched marble. While Elite tossed the remaining table leg aside, grabbed the more sheltered second table, albeit still fairly damaged, and flung it at Elijah with all of his might. Feeling more eager as he embraced the heat, he continued to draw his sword in one fluid motion, the table still flying through the air towards Elijah, and aimed to follow up with one mighty swing of his beast of a sword.

[Flames of Hyperion]

Weaving the heady warmth of the chamber into a cloak about his person, he spared one last glance towards his illusory self. His cheeks had grown gaunt, his eyes sunken and haunted. Persistent magic had held frostbite and hypothermia at bay, but still his wanderings had taken their toll. Had he ever grown his hair so long and greasy, or let so much grime accumulate on his brow?

Bile rose from the shrivelled depths of his stomach. Murderous impulses seized control. This person, this flaming half-witted cretin who had caused his dearest friend to suffer beneath the attentions of daemon and demi-god alike, deserved nothing less than an overwhelming and final death.

No. Not here. Not now.

He exhaled his frustration in a stream of desiccated halitosis. Unchecked emotion served no greater purpose.

Even if this is nothing but the continuation of a bad dream. There is something now that I must do.

He supposed that he had Elijah Belov to thank now, for chaining him to this reality.

Clearing his mind of cobwebs, he finished weaving the zephyrs into their swirling cocoon. The flaming meteor that was his companion streaked in front of their opponents. Both his duplicate and Elijah’s had drawn blades and moved to cut him off from pursuing their master. Had they made better use of stealth and shadow, such lifelike illusions might have ravaged his fragile sanity. But he knew their true nature, and he knew to ignore them.

Smouldering pine and balsam warred in his nose. Shadows shuddered beneath the flaring light. A maelstrom of silence and thunderous cacophony resonated through his ears. But his mind settled into the calm of an empty room, the tranquillity of a full moon. Words of power slipped past his lips, a typhoon contained in a single breath.

“Reppu-no-kata.”

For a handful of heartbeats, he became the wind.

At the touch of his thoughts, the tempest woven about his limbs carried him to his desired destination: behind the swordsman and his bone golem, hoping to trap them between himself and Elijah. But the skeletal brute chose that exact moment to barrel through Elijah’s flames, the swordsman slung like a sack of freshly-dug potatoes over its back under the protection of a pair of wooden tables. Explosions cracked the marble at their feet, sending splintered shards fizzing through the shadows. The heat alone could have melted flesh from bone. Somehow the bone golem made it through unscathed, dumping his charge onto cooler ground and turning to fling the surviving table at Elijah.

Not on my watch. Now he spoke fire, a flash of fury and ferocity.

“Kaendan!”

The head-sized fireball caught the makeshift projectile mid-flight. The resulting focused explosion cast a million burning splinters right back at the golem and its charge. A quintet of smaller fireballs followed in its wake, aimed at the feet of the opposing swordsman to drive him backwards and away. Splashes of purifying white flame took life among the pyres of wax and incense sticks upturned by the undead monstrosity’s sacrilege. Their light mingled with the Salvic spellslinger’s searing blue-orange, a riot of churning heat.

The undead guardian rose from the smoke and flame, greatsword plunging downwards in a mighty arc. Into this melee Nanashi lunged. A sphere of compressed air blossomed upon his palm, aimed to scythe through and shatter the bone golem’s thighs.

Xem’zund’s worst monstrosities had not fazed him. This one would not, either.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The Telgradian had seen a lot of Elijah in this conflict. He had seen bursts of magical flames laying waste to everything they touched. He had witnessed the warrior carry himself great distances at unfathomable speeds. He had watched in awe as the beautiful marble underneath Shinsou’s very feet that made up this ancient Telgradian building cracked and shattered under the force of Elijah’s conjurings.

Now, however, the deceptively frail, gaunt looking Nanashi had entered the fray, and his counterattack was far more furious than Shinsou was expecting for a man of his apparent conflict-shy disposition. His opponent’s eyes were searing underneath the rims of his spectacles as he blasted a raging fireball directly at the Elijah-bound table and smashed it into a cloud of fiery, jagged wooden shrapnel. The world to the front of Shinsou was suddenly covered in a blanket of flaming timber hail, and all Shinsou could do was jump hard to his right to avoid the coming storm. He dodged the initial blast with athleticism, looking back to the relentless Nanashi, before realising that five other smaller white-hot flaming spheres were screaming towards his legs, incinerating everything around them.

Shit!

There were people in the world who often crossed the road and looked the wrong way and, before they knew it, a charging horse would be upon them. So, what would those people do? They freeze, and their life wouldn’t flash before their eyes because they are too fucking scared to think. They would just just freeze, and pull a stupid face. Unfortunately for the Telgradian, unlike Elite Optic, he was made of meat and bone, and he was no more capable of dodging those fireballs than any of the other stupid bastards caught in the road would be of escaping the trample of those charging horses. So, he did the only thing he could do.

He froze, and pulled a stupid face.

The volley of projectiles smashed with a violent intent into the marble mere centimetres in front of Shinsou’s rooted legs. The sheet of rock exploded in great orange embers, spraying volumes of white hot ash towards him and pulverising the tarnished floor into liquid magma. This time, the Telgradian was slow, and an upwards splash the size a fist landed low on his left foot. Shinsou flailed and pushed himself back as though some secondary force was coming from the ground behind him. The pain was agonising as he felt the leather of his boots burn to a crisp and then immediately feel as if they were fusing to his skin. With his remaining foot, Shinsou kicked hard at the heel of his left boot, knocking it clear. With it, a nine inch strip of seared flesh tore from Shinsou’s foot.

The scream of agony was lost in the chaos behind him. Nanashi, his goal achieved of slowing the Telgradian down, was already past him and preparing to attack Elite Optic. Desperately, Shinsou scanned about for any sort of plan. The world around him seemed to be blurring into a sickly haze, like an oil painting ruined by a water spillage. His joints ached where some of the wooden shrapnel had struck him and where he had impacted the cold, hard floor as he had dodged. Refuge, rescue, or relief from the pain of his burning wound was urgently needed, but none looked promising. Blood flowed in crimson torrents from his foot, dripping down his charred skin and forking down the front of his almost exposed metatarsal.

He could only think to do one thing with what power remained in his body. Dismissing his ineffective Enpera Suigetsu by mental command, Shinsou managed, slowly, to push himself onto all fours. His breath was laboured to the point of almost choking and his strength felt sapped from the temperature of the building and his nine inch wound, but eventually the Telgradian staggered to his feet, swaying like a rubber man before eventually steadying himself on two feet. His first steps were slow and small. He looked down to his right hand to see Enpera still somehow locked in his soot smothered grip.

This is it, my last chance. I’m going to put everything into this.

Shinsou closed his eyes, his cheeks red and searing and his eyes jaded and watering from the pain he was in. He raised Enpera, and slashed it across the air in front of him.

”Senkai Shinjitsu: Enpera Kurohitsugi!”

As Shinsou wobbled on the broken floor beneath him, a wall of air behind him began to shimmer like the reflection of the moon on a lake at night. Forking tendrils of black and purple convulsed and converged around each other to form a fifteen foot wide circular portal of black and purple energy. There was a crackling sound as the strange, phantom like mist of the void met the humid, uncomfortable atmosphere of the arena-cum-oven, the chemicals in the Citadel’s magic reacting violently and repulsing that of the void, but then in an instant the gateway was stable. Protruding from the abyss of darkness were fifteen thin, dangerous spears of dark matter, eight aimed at the hazy form of Nanashi in front of Shinsou’s eyes and the other seven pointed in a wide arc at Elijah. They all hung there with an ethereal hum as they waited for the order to attack.

Without even having to motion, Shinsou commanded the assault with everything he had. They shot out of the portal and wildly tore towards their intended recipient, forks of blue and purple electricity ripping at the seared air around them and scorching the surface of the remaining unscathed white marble floor beneath them as they travelled. Shinsou features were gaunt and frail, almost as if something had leeched the life from his body, and his chest rose and fell harshly. With his most powerful attack draining him of energy, the former emperor’s balance failed him. Shinsou’s already damaged foot gave way and sent him crashing to the floor, belly down.

Is this the end?

[Christoph]

Howling wind, roaring flames; the chorus of battle filled Elijah’s ears. Nanashi finally entered the fray, his sorcerous onslaught blossoming from the eye of a fiery storm. Belov lowered his shoulder to charge through the flung table, but instead rushed through a blast of blazing embers. He almost missed the sword.

Eli sprang back, feet skidding on smooth marble, as the weapon crashed down. The massive blade clipped his reinforced temple with a metallic shriek and a spray of sparks. Pain jolted down his neck. Blood flowed down his face from a fissure in his rock-hard skin.

That knocked something loose up there. His vision spun, ears ringing with every heartbeat. Everything seemed slow, like a world underwater. Staggering backwards, he cloaked himself in the billowing smoke and dust and forced back a cough. Change of plans.

He scooped up a head-size chunk of hot marble; it smoldered harmlessly in his grip. Holding it to his lips, he breathed magic into the stone in a strange language, like familiar words turned inside-out. The piece of jagged rock glowed a faint red and hovered above his palm, infused with the essence of fire. With his mind he spun it in the air, faster and faster, molding it into an explosive, molten spike. Then, his potent will launched it as fast an arrow, right at the golem’s murky outline. He grinned. If neither his explosive attacks nor Nanashi’s purifying flame could stop the brute, the sorcerer would strike with more… substance.

His mage sight blurry from head trauma, he almost missed Shinsou’s spears. A dark pulse through the threads of magic provided his only flicker of warning before his foe unleashed his volley of shadowy spears. His body couldn’t dodge, but his mind was faster.

His eyes flashed. Energy crackled through the air in front of him. Five black spears bounced off his invisible barrier in rapid succession. The sixth struck hard, the air rippling as his shield crumbled. The final projectile smashed through the ward and cracked against his abdomen. Arcs of dark energy coursed through him, blood seeping from another shallow fracture in his skin.

Gritting his teeth, he focused on the human’s aura through the haze. Kid’s got some fight in him after all. He knew Shinsou Vaan Osiris was technically his elder, but manhood was earned through deeds, through hardships, not years. Let’s give you a couple gray hairs today.

Elijah gathered wind to his feet once more and bolted for the human. He ignored his pounding head and burning lungs. Glyphs flared to life on his sword, the blade blazing like hot iron. He reached his foe just as the man collapsed. Belov had no time to question it -- he adjusted his first swing, arcing it downward in a blinding, blood-boiling slash.

[Elite Optic]

The fearsome explosion had shattered the free flying table into oblivion, filling the air with a flurry of wooden splinters and charred wood. Like a overwhelming dust cloud it blurred his fiery vision, his swinging attack of rusty metal now lashing out blindly into the very cloud that intended to halt him in his attack.

Damn it!

Elite let his attack continue, a single silent swing that quickly slipped thought the burning cloud of splinters. It came as no surprise to Elite as his blade struck something, and while unclear as exactly to where he struck his foe, he enjoyed the feeling regardless. It might not have shown on his emotionless face, but he smirked as the smell of blood touched the air. He could smell it through the melee of burning fire and melting marble. He could smell through the sweating bodies and searing heat, and he loved every second of it.

Yet, as he adjusted to face to the oncoming attack of the second spectacled man, it became all too clear they were too fast. The man out stretching his palms as if to strike forward, he was fearless and bold as he had stepped into the fray without much of a concern to the large Skeletons presence. This world seemed to care not for its creatures of the undead. Was he not as frightening as he used to be? Or had the world simply seen enough undead to know what they were getting into?

"Impressive...Not as frail as I thought..."

A strange orb left his hands, barely visible to the naked eye, launching at him with little effort, and yet Elite could feel its power as it struck at him. As quick as they could produce their magic, Elite could produce a little trick of his own, his body appearing to collapse as the compressed air struck him. First his legs, knocked away by the power of the attack as they flung across the room scattering like bag of dropped marbles before crashing into the nearest wall of the corridor. His upper body flailed about, his arms waving as if in pain, and then his body crashed into the ground and shattered into complete segregation.

The clattering of his fallen sword echoed into the domed room as his bones rattled into obscurity. By all appearances he was defeated, destroyed and broken, and yet in the silence of his own defunct skull, he could still see and think. Now, he would wait for the perfect moment to arise. Slightly damaged now or not, Elite was no creature of Xem’zund’s creation, nor was he one of the N'jal God. He was a new creature, one of his own making, and he wouldn't be defeated as easily as these common men would expect.

[Flames of Hyperion]

The swordsman’s screams pierced the cacophony of conflict. Arching vaults and sanctified alcoves sang to the whisper of battle steel. Etched columns smouldered beneath the nauseating malodour of burning flesh. Amidst it all Nanashi reeled, dodging the rusty cleaver as it clattered to the marble floor.

Just like the Night of Nefarious Flame, when the daemon Natosatael laid waste to the Academy. Just like the wars in Choson and Raiaera. Always the same, burning flesh and flame. Always retching and dizzy, pounding ears and watery eyes.

Each time he had tried to resolve matters without violence. Each time he had failed. And now he had harmed another. That he acted in defence of a companion assuaged his guilt, but did not excuse it.

Another wound to his heart. Soon it would scab over, become another scar.

How much more would he bleed? How much longer before he bled no more, before he caved in and took a life?

The bone golem’s soul pulsed through shadow and smoke, though his winds and Elijah’s lava had scattered its monstrous form. The swordsman conjured abyssal spears from a rift in reality, and they screamed through heat and haze, wreathed with amethyst arcs of lifeforce. Why did they fight? Was this what the Citadel did to people, with its honeyed whispers of immortality and lack of consequence?

The questions faded from his mind as eight of the spears struck at him at once. He had neither the time to redirect them, nor counter the spell. But he did have one card he could play, an ace up his tattered sleeve.

“Ka!”

Arcane energy, sour like raw citrus, flowed through his body. Hot, thick air pushed back against him like syrup, clinging to his skin even as it resisted his movements. The world slowed to his mind. He calculated the trajectories of the spears and the exact point where they and he would collide. Knowing that, it was a simple matter to...

Searing pain exploded in the back of his head, months of wandering through frozen wastelands finally demanding recompense. The lemon on his tongue turned to ash. Blood filled his nostrils.

The world sped up again, scrambling all his calculations.

Three spears pierced his flesh, stabbing through the shoulder, the hip, and across his left thigh. Pinned to the wall, propped up against the floor, his tunic trousers dampened in arterial blood. Arcs of dark energy coursed through his nerves. Spastic contortions further tore his wounds.

His mind blanked with agony. In the darkness behind his eyelids, he could see only one face.

Kayu.

Ragged nails dug into his palms. Teeth bit into his lips. Pinned and dying, he still had the will for one last display of defiance. One last show of his resolve. For her.

He fought to make his voice heard. He wanted them to feel it tremble through their bones. To fear it.

“Hi yo kitare.” I call upon you, flame.

“Todoroku chi no soko yori wakeyo honoo.” Boil forth from thundering abyss.

“Yaketsuku rengoku yori sosogeyo honoo.” Pour forth from searing purgatory.

“Ware to wagami to kanomono to.” My self, my body, my foes.

“Subete no kage wo yakiharae.” Purge all shadow from my sight.

One final word poised on the tip of his tongue, brimming with the last of his power. Once uttered, the firestorm would obliterate everything that stood before him. Elijah Belov, with his affinity for fire and his myriad cantrips, might survive. The others...

Kayu...

He smiled at them all, sheepish from behind his spectacles. He would not succumb to the honeyed temptations of this daemon’s arena. He would not harden his heart to treating their lives so lightly. He would not become them. She would not approve.

Runny phlegm disgorged from his mouth, bright crimson in the firelight. With it, he allowed his spell to dissipate.

Never once did the smile leave his face, until the world went black.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Shinsou tried to raise Enpera to meet Elijah’s fierce blow but his muscles were too fatigued to obey their master. Instead, his arm remained limp and the edge of his Damascus sword never left the cracked marble floor beneath him. A fine blood mist sprayed from the Telgradian’s back as the blade tore through his right shoulder blade, shattering his rotator cuff and collarbone. The force of the attack was brutal – the razor sharp cutting edge sheared muscle fibres away from tissue, cleaving the bone underneath into two separate pieces that ruptured many of the surrounding blood vessels. As a wave of agony consumed Shinsou whole, he had time only to gaze upon the face of his vanquisher. Elijah’s face was entirely unfamiliar, and yet something about it tugged at the deepest recesses of Shinsou's memory. It felt like there was something he wanted to remember, but he just couldn't remember what.

From you…I feel such strength. It’s such a real and tangible power, but it’s not cold, or dark. It’s…warm. Is that why I couldn’t win?

His breath hung on the air, the anticipation of being so close to the end of his life in this battle making his body numb. Shinsou’s eyes in those final moments were no different to those of any other that had accepted their fate in the Citadel. Death had finally come to collect. He knew he should be doing something, anything, to protect himself but now there was just acceptance of the inevitable. It felt like he was trapped in quicksand and no matter how much he struggled he couldn’t seem to move. Shinsou used his last moments to look up and survey the carnage about him in what seemed like slow motion. As he did so, he caught sight of Nanashi slumped against a wall of the great council chamber, motionless amongst the debris of his Enpera Kurohitsugi and Elite Optic’s scattered remains.

Nanashi…I feel something different from you. You wield power, but you hold back even here, in a place where the cycle of life and death is an infinitely turning wheel. What is it you’ve seen? What is it you’ve…done? Elite Optic…I feel life in you still. But, more than that, I feel…

It was then that Shinsou saw himself from across the hall, where a full length mirror was attached to one of the corridor entrances. A pair of wincing, dark eyes looked back toward him, the glowing bruises above his cheeks visible even in the dim glow of the hall. His features were pale and weak, and there was no strength in his gaze.

Then, suddenly, reality was sucked into pure, brilliant white.

Shinsou shut his eyes. The floor, the walls, the whole council chamber had exploded into a million tiny fragments of reality that spun away from him uncontrollably. Was this some sort of trick or illusion? Was Elijah using one last spell on him? It wasn’t long before he realised, alone in the blank void, that he could no longer feel the pain of his injuries or taste the bitterness of his wound upon the tip of his tongue. His clothes were clean, his hair swept back into its usual slick style. Surely, death had come for him now, and this was the beginning of the journey to the other side.

“Where am I?”

He wasn’t expecting there to be a response, so when it came and took form of Bane’s gruff voice, it startled him.

“That is not the question, my friend. The question should be…who are you?”

The ranger’s form seemed to manifest through a cloud of silver vapour before his very eyes, and took a moment to fully appear. He was built like a house, with those gigantic shoulders that were barely concealed by his coat. He sported a year-old black beard with thin sideburns meeting a sort of crew cut on top; a proper ranger’s haircut. A giant custom double-edged sword, which was basically two great broadswords welded together at their hilts, remained at his side and the flawless steel of its blades glimmered in the light. He stared at him with green eyes that regarded him with a warm interest, and yet all the while seemed to enquire.

When the realisation hit him after a few moments of reflection, Shinsou’s eyes widened with shock.

“Bane?”

In the blink of an eye, the atmosphere changed and for a moment it threw Shinsou off guard. The air became hot and dry, but laced with a familiar scent of Jal Shey bitterweed that caused him to squint unflatteringly. They now stood in the ruins of a vaguely familiar Telgradian valley, one he couldn't place off the top of his head, but a looming statue blinked into focus against the burning red sky as his eyes adjusted to the dying light.

Then, he knew. This was the Valley of the Jal Shey Lords. Bane turned, standing next to Shinsou as they stared towards the setting sun on the horizon.

“That feeling you sensed before was not the Jal Shey watching you,” Bane started, resting a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “…That evil power which you felt…”

The ranger paused. He turned directly to face his friend, his one and only true companion in the world, and placed an anvil-sized hand upon his shoulder.

“...Came from you.”

As suddenly as it had disappeared, the white void returned, wiping away the remnants of the Jal Shey valley and collapsing in on itself to form a corridor of bright blue light. As Bane’s silhouette faded into non-existence, Shinsou was pulled into the passage, which dipped sharply as it carried him back into reality. Strange sensations followed, from what seemed like him splashing through stagnant water to there suddenly being many openings along the walls, gaping mouths revealing endless chasms to the unknown.

The moment came at last when Shinsou finally snapped back into his broken body at the council chamber. A whole new surge of emotion welled up in him, confused by his vision of Bane, but this one he stamped down as hard as he could as he cast his dying eyes back towards his bleeding mirror image.

That is not me Bane…I won’t become that! I refuse! I will not become like them again!

Shinsou’s train of thought stopped dead as the Telgradian felt Elijah’s sword carve through the rest of his muscle and bones like a knife through butter. He was done for, of that there was no doubt. Before long the only remaining evidence of Shinsou's physical form would be a bloodied, mutilated carcass spread across the Council of Five’s glowing crest. However, he was determined to make one final stand, strangely empowered by the words of his fallen companion, and spurred by the determination to make his last moment a monument to his strength and his resolve to fight whatever darkness it was that was eating him up inside.

Get up...

The Telgradian used the last remnants of his remaining strength to roll his body onto his back. As he quivered and convulsed in pain and looked up, he no longer saw a man called Elijah. Instead, a demon loomed above him, his eyes ablaze with righteous fury, wielding his bloodied sword menacingly. Yet, Shinsou felt no malice from him. It was then he realised that they reminded him of what he needed to be.

“Thank you, Elijah…Nanashi…” The Telgradian panted, struggling to form words from his cracked lips, “…For not holding back, and for showing me what I have lacked. Let me have the honour of giving you my last breath in recompense…”

Shinsou’s eyes drooped and he cocked his head to one side, raising his left hand level with Elijah. From the gulley of Shinsou’s outstretched palm, the intertwining electrical threads of his Dark Matter finally answered the call of its master. Shinsou’s heart, for the first time since he had challenged these two mysterious warriors, leapt into his throat as he watched Elijah approach him for what would be his mortal blow.

In those few seconds, as the deadly and crude Dark Matter lance solidified and tore towards the crack in his fearsome opponent’s chest, rending asunder layers of skin and tissue from Shinsou’s own hand as it launched, the Telgradian finally felt true fear one last time before the darkness gripped him and dragged him down into an abyss of permanent slumber.

[Christoph]

They always try that. The thought flashed through Elijah’s mind when Shinsou’s hand moved. Going out in a blaze of glory in the one place where such gestures are meaningless. His full attention on the human this time, Belov saw the final attack coming. A flick of his sword deflected the dark energy bolt, sending it flying off into the shadows.

“I’ve allowed enough concessions in this fight,” he said, advancing to deliver the coup de grâce. His opponent died before his blade fell, without further encouragement.

And then there was one. Amidst the scorched pillars and cracked floor, blood and dirt and ash, he sheathed his sword and wiped the sweat from his brow. The pain in his temple and torso spiked. Am I getting sloppy? he wondered. After years of fighting in the real world, he had forgotten the insanity and stubbornness of people who don’t fear death.

He spared Nanashi’s mangled corpse a glance. Indeed, his new companion had learned that lesson the bloody way. Overdramatic bastard. Eli should have better explained the Citadel instead of assuming the Dawnbringer would realize that their foes sought a real battle. Fought to its logical conclusion. Best way to practice staying alive is to die over and over again.

His comrade’s body vanished along with Shinsou’s, evaporating in streams of glittering motes. The skeletal brute’s bones lay scattered across the chamber floor.

“About that time, then.” With the battle over, he could leave.

A section of wall crumbled away, revealing a long stairway leading up to sunny sky. With leaden steps he ascended, leaving the scorched arena behind him. He had much work left to do.

[Elite Optic]

Into the sudden silence, Sorian walked slowly across the charred room. There was no need to rush, and not even a hint of a hurry remained in his relaxed, lazy wander. Like a king surveying his battlefield, he admired the damaged arena, and yet like a serial killer he showed not a inch of care or pity for the dead. He walked around the burning haze of remaining fires, and stepped over the cracked marble tiles. He avoided the bloody stained floor and took care to ensure the exiting would be victor left the arena without a notice to his existence.

"You can get back up now." His voice hummed with impatience.

Sorian waited, and he did so with a deep hatred for waiting. Even with his old age; even with his long grey beard and tired eyes, even with his aching muscles and weary human frame, he would never keep another waiting.

The sudden rattling of bones against marble filled his hairy ears and he stroked his bushy moustache to delay his irritation of having wait for Elites appearance. Finally, before him, the bones gathered. Collecting together in a pile before merging together like a pre-prepared statue. First his legs to his hip, then his spine and arms, before being finalized by his skull and rack that neatly rested on his back.

"This process feels way to slow..." Elite complained as he flexed and then fisted his fingers. Kneeling down only to grip his sword and replace it on his back.

"Your bones are...damaged."

"It's just another frame. Another imperfection that will only strengthen me in time." Elite tapped and gripped his arm as if to test its remaining durability. "I wish he had destroyed me, at least then I could go back and get another, fresher, stronger body. This one is too fragile."

"These humans, if we can still call them that. Were much more powerful than those we have seen before."

"A little more than the common cattle I expected."

Sorian looked up at Elite, the imposing creature still intimidating in sight and size, and yet Sorian was past fearing him. He was far too old to be concerned with morality anymore. If Elite wanted him dead, he would have done it when they first met.

"This world has changed dramatically since you returned. They saw you as nothing beyond that of another Undead. We'll have to work on that. Come now."

Sorian's lazy walk returned, pausing only to kick a small burning ember away from his path. His cloak almost dragging on the floor, but even if it had, Sorian had no care in the world. It was that lack of care, lack of fear and foolish arrogance that Elite enjoyed of this old man. He might have been old and somewhat frail for a fight, but his general attitude and knowledge of this world was of interest to Elite.

"Keep ordering me about old man. I may one day cut off your head for it, and add it to my rack."

Sorian didn't turn around, nor did he halt his walk. For when he was to lose his head, he had hoped to join Elite as another of the walking dead. The thought pleased him, and he grinned at the idea of immortality. Elite Optic was once Elite Guard Marcus Heroptic, and was locked in history now as Elite Optic. This name would one day be feared again, just like in the forgotten past.

Maybe one day, Sorian could join his legacy. "Hahahaha! I look forward to that day! But for now, let us find a place where the blood doesn't clean up after itself, and smell of death can fill my lungs."

[Flames of Hyperion]

Some time later...


“This is only a dream.”

Time after time he revisited this tower. Dawn dew glistened on walls of polished stone, and on the black blade poised high over the elegant bed. A brisk breeze stirred his sweat-damp scalp from the open window behind him. The sun beat down on his neck, lord of blue skies as bright as any hope, casting its blinding glare upon Winyaurient, Castle in the Clouds.

Time after time he watched Xem’zund’s bone-hilted sword fall. His heart stopped beating every time it pierced her flesh. His screams echoed without sound, his mind held prisoner to paralysis. Clenched fists drew blood from his palms. Rivulets of watery crimson spilled from the spidersilk sheets. Necrotic plague ate at the fringes of her wounds, an entropic rot that turned flesh to sooty ash.

“But still... I’m so very, very sorry.”

“Who was she?” Again, someone intruded. Again, he looked up into the ancient irises of Elijah Belov.

“Somebody important,” Nanashi replied, releasing emotion with a gentle sigh. Time after time he willingly relived this moment, and now he thought he knew why. It was solace he sought, in the shadow of his greatest failure. It was solitude, in the only place that he dared ever to see her again.

But it was also to remind himself. Never again. Never again.

Elijah nodded, a strange and sad smile creeping onto his face. “I lost someone important before.” He sighed, the nod becoming a shake of his head. “For a while, I couldn’t even blink without seeing her face.” His stare, riveting and haunted, refused to release Nanashi’s own. “Ever see someone’s trust turn to ash in an instant?”

The tower walls behind Elijah crumbled. In their place burned a horizon of dying trees and the ruins of a Salvic fortress. A hooded figure held a glimmering knife to the throat of a tall, fair-haired woman. The din of distant war drowned whatever words of hope or despair they spoke.

A fresh tsunami of terror surged through his chest. Panic took a choking grip upon his throat.

Silvery steel flashed. Crimson blood flowed. Her blue eyes filled with betrayal, and hatred. Her life faded through his fingers.

Nanashi’s eyes flicked once to the boundary between his vision and Elijah’s. Static lightning coruscated and multi-hued flames danced in the jagged rift between their respective dreamscapes. Then they met the man’s gaze, realisation dawning.

“Is she... the one you want to save?”

Involuntary shock darted across Elijah’s face. A glance over his shoulder clouded his expression in controlled fury. A wave of his hand banished the woman from his mindscape, but the smoke of the smouldering forest and the screams of dying men lingered with them still.

“She’s not your concern,” he snapped.

“Then by all means enlighten me,” Nanashi persisted, When might he get another chance to question Elijah on the matter? The skies over Winyaurient darkened with his words. A winter storm barrelled across the northern horizon. If he wanted to trust his new companion... “What is my concern? Unless you can convince me that you are not about to sweep me up in further petty frivolity...”

“Relax and be patient. All in good time.” Drawing on the distant clouds, Elijah cast a thin layer of rime across both dreamscapes. In another place, another time, it might have calmed the pending confrontation. But Nanashi had spent the winter wandering the depths of the frozen north. Mere frost did not faze him any more, not when the words behind them implied that he did not have anything better to do with his time. He didn’t know how many lives Elijah held in the palm of his hand. But he himself had Kayu to think of, and the Cataclysm that Touma and Natosatael and Xem’zund the Harbinger had all warned him about.

“Time is the one resource that I can not waste.” His jaws locked upon his gritted teeth. Grimy nails dug into the raw scars on his palm. His nostrils flared, breathing of cinder.

“There are many pieces at play, Dawnbringer. Things more pressing than your desire to bury yourself in Berevarian snow.”

“Doubtless many more than you or I can imagine, Master Belov.” Nanashi’s temple pulsed with every heated heartbeat. A trickle of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, where his teeth bit into his lips. “Including the reason why I travel by land through Berevar to the east, rather than by sea.”

Elijah rolled his eyes. “I don’t buy that. I know a thing or two about running away. I know what it looks like.”

A woman’s death scream pierced the flames behind him.

“And if you want nothing more than to get back to that, then you're not the man I thought you were.”

Something snapped in Nanashi’s mind. The slender spires of Winyaurient disintegrated, swallowed into an abyssal pit at his feet. Xem’zund’s bone-hilted blade shattered, though Kayu’s screams grew only more shrill and urgent.

“Accuse me of cowardice if you must.” Even now he fought to control the fires that burnt in his heart and mind. But the heat they generated escaped with his words, through breathless lungs and clenched throat. “I won’t deny it. But if you learn one thing about me, learn this. I would never... never... turn my back on her.”

[Christoph]

Elijah grinned as the Dawnbringer’s anger crashed against him like a hurricane. It was a driving emotion he’d feared Nanashi lacked. Hellish images washed across the dream. Black skies, stars pulled from the sky, and a horizon consumed in flame. A great maw of teeth and tentacles devouring cities whole. The ground of both mindscapes shook.

“Calm yourself, Dawnbringer,” the sorcerer called, his voice falling from the sky, both distant and intimately near. “I am not your enemy, which is fortunate for you because my will is the deep ocean.” His mind’s touch swept across the subconscious landscape as a gentle rain.

Like water over hot oil, it only inflamed the inferno. A thousand colors of flame exploded outward, steam billowing forth in a scalding wave. Their minds crashed together like continental plates. The ground rumbled, the sky answering back with streaks of lightning.

“Enough! Enough.” The storm dissipated between them, fires extinguished, and the sky calmed to a dull gray. Nanashi stood in the center of a crater, eyes like cold steel. His aura blazed as bright as the sun; it took all of Elijah’s composure to not squint and look away. He had shown too much vulnerability already.

The outlander took a breath. “Forgive me, but though you may not be my enemy, you make it difficult to trust you as an ally.”

Eli shook his head. “No, forgive me. I was unsure about you and chose to push you, to test you. I have fewer doubts now.”

Indeed, his goading was meant to measure the depth of the Dawnbringer’s resolve. He never expected to find in the man a will that matched, or perhaps even exceeded, his own. A brilliant moon parted the clouds above, casting its silver gaze upon their wasteland.

“I brought you here because…” he began, trailing off before a deep breath. Two months of work and a small fortune to retrieve the Dawnbringer, only to be at a loss for words. “In truth, you’re not the man I expected, but you may yet be the person I need.”

“Need for what?” Nanashi offered gently, his voice a calm breeze after a storm.

“The future is dark, Dawnbringer. I need a guiding light.” With a gesture, Belov projected a new vision in a bubble between them, showing a blizzard veined with lightning. “I can’t tell you everything yet, but I will show you what I can.”

“I will take what I can get.”

Elijah nodded. The scene expanded, revealing a faceless horde marching silently from the snow. A great city encased in ice. Thousands screaming and fighting and dying. She strode through the madness, cloaked in white silk, a black mask covering her face. Men froze solid at her touch, silent terror forever preserved on their lips.

“I received this vision from a scrying pool in Fallien,” Eli said. “I don’t believe in fate, but I do believe in warnings. I don’t know if I can prevent this future or simply prepare for it, but it starts with finding her.” He pointed to the masked woman in his vision “You defeated Xem’zund. If anyone can help me, it’s you.”

“Why?” the Dawnbringer asked. His face had gone pale. “Who is she?”

“Denebriel lives.”

[Logan]

Before I lay out your scores, I want to say from time to time in judging we happen across a thread which enthralls us to the point of breaking down our emotional barriers to connect with each and every participant -- even NPCs. There are few times in my stint as a judge where I can truly point to such a thread, but without a doubt this thread achieved this in every way.

While there are certainly things to work on, at least to bring your writing more inline with the measuring stick we all know as the rubric, this thread connected with me. There is no higher honor I can truly award a thread, save a JC, and as you all know there is much tape to cut before a thread can ever achieve such. Onto the judgment.


Flames of Hyperion
Plot 24/30
Story - 9/10
There are many qualities you possess as a magnificent writer, but one of my favorite is your ability to weave a tale. It should seem natural for a quality writer to possess the ability to tell a story, but you achieve an effectiveness few can boast. From Kayu in your introduction to Nanashi maintaining what has become a promise to her, and to the subsequent explanation via conclusory posts at the end, this tale is incredible.
Setting - 7/10
Exploding table fragments, pillars alight with magical flames, and far more create an environment that is truly necessary to the thread. While your use of the various components of the setting was well above that of an average writer, you never quite reached that masterful part. Masterful use of setting implores the utilization of the environment as a creative canvas for destruction. Still, I certainly liked your take on it.
Pacing - 8/10
Many, many writers fail to figure out how to properly pace a thread. They either start too slow and the thread drudges on and on, or they end too quickly and it leaves the reader with a void of satisfaction. This thread, and especially your posts, strike a subtle but effective balance. It worked for me in so many ways, and the only thing I wish is it could have been longer. I realize for a thread of this length, with posts the length they are, that sounds a bit absurd. Again, however, this thread drew me in, and I never truly wanted to leave that tower or the Citadel.

Character 23/30
Communication - 6/10
Your use of Nanashi’s body language to describe his emotions or his reactions is second to none. For such a wretched creature, I found myself caring for him, especially by the end of this thread. I attribute a lot of that to the way he feels natural and alive, yet dead all the same. I did, however, deduct a couple of points for the disconnect in how Christoph wrote his dialogue and how you wrote his, and vice versa. I’m not honestly sure how you address that other than have the other write the line, but it was a bit jarring - but only a bit.
Action - 8/10
The use of Nanashi’s abilities within this battle were entirely on par for what I would expect to read, but it was in those final moments of the battle where he didn’t go to his ‘finisher’ that I feel you most exemplified proper use of action. Writers will usually go to their ‘finisher’ simply to win, but you showed restraint and kept it a ‘fair’ fight. Well done. Improvement here would necessitate more creative use of the environment itself to enhance the actions more, and to show more strategy.
Persona - 9/10
What can I say here that I haven’t said above? You have a clear grasp of who Nanashi is, what his story is, why he is who he is and what he is. You understand how to write him, and to write with him. I am a sucker for a really well-developed character, and Nanashi hits on everything that I look for: in-thread development, backstory which develops through the thread, depth in emotion, etc. You absolutely nailed my checklist for Persona, and I don’t think I can do your work justice by listing out the myriad of moments where you did so. Even in taking the killing blow, and yet staying true to character, was a stroke of master class.

Prose 26.5/30
Mechanics - 9/10
There were maybe two or three spots where I saw something I might even remotely consider a mechanical flaw, but in that I have to be nitpicky to the point of coming off as obnoxious. As such, I elected to dock the single point(and only a single point), because giving a 10 requires absolute perfection. I will simply point to your (probably intentional) use of the semicolon in your introductory post, “dreamscape of angry white; he could not see…” It wasn’t necessary, but again so minor and nitpicky I feel overly obnoxious even pointing it out. But I digress.
Clarity - 9.5/10
There is no single moment where I simply cannot understand what you as the author intended. Further, there are no moments where as a reader I could not grasp what you were saying. Your effectiveness as a writer is on full display here, and frankly if I gave out 10s in tournaments you would receive one here for sure, thus the 9.5. I can’t even critique your clarity because it was that incredibly flawless.
Technique - 8/10
You interwove countless alliterations, countless pregnant pauses, countless other literary techniques across the entirety of every one of your posts. You are an absolute master of the English language, and quite frankly should be teaching linguistics or literary writing to every English teacher or professor I ever had the displeasure to endure. I’m not sure how Althanas lucked out in nabbing you for our roster, but I am certainly glad we did. Still, while you did so with a masterful stroke, there was one glaring thing which began to irk me becoming almost unbearably obnoxious - and most likely unintended. Your use of the word cacophony in just about every one of your posts. Too much, man. Too much. Other than that, I can point to the moment in your second post, “darkness, dazzling and disorienting, disappearing…” as being a bit much, however many judges would likely applaud such aptitude at alliteration. Thus the point deductions.

Wildcard 9/10
This category is functioning as a means to encourage effective and efficient responses from competitors in this tournament, to keep threads both alive and flowing. With the two week time limit, the method I’m using is to deduct 1 point for every 24 hours following an opponent’s post (within the posting order), thus the single deduction comes from your reply at “3-19-16 @ 9:55AM” to Elite Optic’s post at “3-18-16 @ 7:05AM”.

Total 82.5/100

Christoph
Plot 20/30
Story - 7/10
It is in no way surprising to me how seamlessly you weave Denebriel into a battle thread in the LCC. Your posts hold all of the merits of beginning, middle and end to the story itself, but the story being told by you through Elijah feels far too predictable in terms of how he arrives from to A to B. Elijah’s use of his super speed is a perfect example, and I should note I will explain the suspension of belief portion of this in the later portions of the judgment. He always knows everything: how to counter any form of magic, how to weave through the maze of tunnels, who his opponents are (to some degree), etc. With Elijah, I feel there is no build-up to a bang, and that hurts you.
Setting - 7/10
You didn’t use the setting in almost any way, shape or form, yet it did exist and you did wonderfully describe it throughout each post. As I said for Flames above, what constitutes mastery is not just painting a beautiful backdrop, but also utilizing it in creative ways. Give me something to make me go “wow”, especially in a tournament battle. Were this not a tournament thread I would likely award an 8 here, but this a tournament and as such I expect far more out of you.
Pacing - 6/10
As mentioned in story, Elijah’s lack of any build-up to suddenly going full force at a million miles a second is unsettling as a reader. He arrives, Nanashi blasts out using his fire attack, they perform a hologram-type maneuver, and Elijah just goes to super saiyan speed mode immediately. I didn’t feel it, and it seemed like everything for Elijah was full-bore up until the very last post. With experience in the Citadel I would expect some of this, thus the 6 instead of less, but it just left me feeling unsettled and quite frankly didn’t work as well as I’d like for a thread of this quality.

Character 16/30
Communication - 5/10
At most points in the thread Elijah’s dialogue works quite nicely, but then at other points it falls entirely too flat. The best example of falling flat is in your introductory post, “Either way, like I said earlier, this is the Citadel, so obviously we’re here to fight them.” I understand Elijah is obnoxious and arrogant, and that he possesses nothing within him that offers doubt or fear. Still, this line of dialogue comes across as pointless, and entirely out of place. I could’ve replaced it with “like duh”, and it would hold the same level of emotion and connection with the reader. Also, see the comments I made for Flames as they hold true for you as well.
Action - 4/10
It was mentioned earlier in this judgment about the suspension of belief. What I meant is while certainly plausible that Elijah of all combatants could maneuver at such great speed he could outpace the opponents, his ability to know which hallway within in his own words “the maze of tunnels” his quarry lie makes me question if he is, in fact, a god of Althanas. Not only did he know who Shinsou was through Elijah’s contacts, he also knew how to combat any magic thrown his way and whether it was magic at all (not everything mystical has to be magical), and further he knew how to shrug off any proper blow -- even one of such immense strength. If I suspend my belief in the tangible (ie: reality) for a moment, then yes all of these things fall within the realm of believability. Unfortunately, as a judge, I have to question at what point Elijah’s abilities to know everything cease being part of character and leap into the territory of powergaming. Be very careful with how you portray Elijah’s overwhelming physical and mental superiorities, as it is a dangerously fine line to tread.
Persona - 7/10
Elijah certainly has plenty of persona, and it works well for how you portray him. His mannerisms are that of someone superior in every way to those around him, even at times practically disregarding his comrade in arms, “Ware Master Belov...these are just --” “Yeah, illusions.” I will assume for the sake of this thread Elijah considers Nanashi nothing more than a means to an end. If he thinks of Nanashi as anything more than a means to an end, then you have completely lost what that more is with this very line. There are methods to write an obnoxious, know-it-all character, and yet still have moments of surprise. He has seen a lot, certainly, but he has not seen it all, nor experienced it all. It is for these reasons, I had to dock a couple of points.

Prose 23/30
Mechanics - 8/10
There were a couple of very specific moments within your posts I can point to as mechanical mistakes, and even those were not so much glaring as just there. In your second post, “It seems our query means to flee.” The proper word usage is quarry, which means any object of a search or hunt, whereas query specifically means a question. Also, in your first post in explaining the information Elijah was able to gain on Shinsou, “...is Shinsou Vaan Osiris. And outlander like you…” there is no doubt for me that “And” should be “An”. These two examples did cause me to pause in reading to go back and make sure I read correctly, and were the only mechanical errors I could specifically point to that did not come across as intentional.
Clarity - 8/10
Your ability to write with clarity is solid. Really, the only points I can dock here are due to the above issues with what I considered encroachment upon god territory. Much like Flames, you write incredibly well, and I look forward to continuing to read your work well beyond this tournament.
Technique - 7/10
You write with a certain flair, but you fall short in applying anything beyond what I would expect from an early high school writer. I could easily see your writing on the shelves in the Young Adult Fiction section of the bookstore, but I am not certain it reaches beyond that. You have immense talent, and possess and vernacular that rivals many. However, when paired with a writer the level of Flames, your flaws are more readily distinguishable. While you do not fail in technique, you not succeed either. You brought a pregnant pause or two, used some subtle juxtaposition, but that is where it ceases for this thread. A tiny sprinkle here and there of something truly more would be sufficient to knock you up to an 8 or even a 9.

Wildcard 8/10
As noted in my explanation to Flames on Wildcard usage for this tournament, your two point deduction comes from a 24 hour delay in posting a reply to your opponent twice. If you look at the timestamps, you can see Shin’s intro post at “3-15-16 @ 1:25PM” and your reply at “3-16-16 @ 2:45PM”, and also Shin’s second post at “3-20-16 @ 11:18AM” and your reply at “3-21-16 @ 4:01PM”. Thus the two point deduction.

Total 67/100

Shinsou Vaan Osiris
Plot 25/30
Story - 9/10
You wove a pretty intense story from the very moment you introduced Shinsou in this thread. While the introduction was a bit long for my liking, it painted a thorough backdrop and provided all of the necessary ingredients for the setting. The introduction itself could have stood on its own merits as a short story or even a full thread all its own. Still, it was necessary in a way, and prompted an emotional connection as the reader with your character. Further, throughout the thread you kept the story alive with nods to various bits of introduction, and added flavor when it was warranted such as the voice of Bane and the subsequent appearance of Bane in the haze of Shin’s mind. It never felt jarring or out of place, but always time masterfully.
Setting - 8/10
Your initial description of the arena had me wondering if it was intended as a battlefield at all. That subtle nod to leaving the reader guessing as to its purpose was quite masterful, and you followed that up by having the flame ability of Nanashi set aflame the sigil of the Council of Five so beautifully I could absolutely see it in my mind as I read it. Escaping to the maze of tunnels was an expert stroke of strategy, and helped to utilize the setting more than your opponents, thus the slight bonus over their use of it. The only thing you could have done to bump up to a higher score would have been utilizing the setting in a more creative manner, similar to how Elite Optic did with the tables.
Pacing - 8/10
I did not feel, even with the weight of your introductory post, your posts were too much or too little for this thread. You wove the tale at a pace that as a reader was comfortable in every way, and left me aching for more. Your posts rose the action at the right times, and let it crescendo at the exact moment it needed to do so. The only thing I might suggest would be to shorten your introduction just a hair, for the sake of pacing, but even then it would affect other scores so maybe not.

Character 25/30
Communication - 8/10
The dialogue itself felt right on point for Shinsou, except this one line of thought I took issue with, “This is it, my last chance. I’m going to put everything into this.” I don’t know about you, but when I am telling myself something, I don’t tend to use “I’m going to”. I’m more likely to think “This is it, my last chance. Put everything into this,” because it is a command to myself. A bit nitpicky as it isn’t totally out of place, but considering the quality of your opponents, it was necessary. I really liked the discussion and character building through the haze with Bane. It worked quite well for me.
Action - 8/10
Much like dialogue, Shin’s actions in this thread speak volumes about his character, and this even extends to his dying breaths. You portrayed the battle he endured, both externally and internally, beautifully. I did not find myself jarred by the presence of the actions, or even wondering if the actions were too much to be beyond belief. Still, I return to the note above about setting and how I wanted a slight bit more creative use of it. The same applies here, thus the not quite perfect score.
Persona - 9/10
His actions, his thoughts, his mannerisms, his everything felt inline with what I come to expect and know of Shinsou. You did not break character, and you maintained a certain cadence with him that felt natural to the point I was drawn in entirely. He is engaging, and as a reader anytime a character can pull me to the point I find myself to some degree rooting for that character, you have succeeded. Well done.

Prose 23/30
Mechanics - 7/10
Whereas your opponents were near flawless in their prose, you fell a bit short. A typo here and there, but nothing too egregious. Still, considering the quality of the opponent, it was necessary to be a bit more stringent than normal to offer a fitting scale for critique for this spectacular battle. None of the errors were jarring, however, and thus the decent score here.
Clarity - 9/10
Much like with Flames’ writing, I never found myself asking what happened, or why it happened. Everything about your posts made sense to me, and fit wonderfully with the story being told. You kept to a singular format throughout, and it worked well for you. This is without a doubt some of your best work to date.
Technique - 7/10
Much like I noted for Christoph above, you utilized particular techniques effectively, but you fell short when placed against Flames’ quality. Still, it should be noted were this not a tournament, you would be likely to have achieved an 8 or even possibly a 9 here. While nothing you showed in technique blew me away, it never hit a negative for me either, which is a very good thing.

Wildcard 9/10
See above for explanation on how wildcard is functioning for this tournament. Check the timestamps if you have questions about this.

Total 82/100

Elite Optic
Plot 23/30
Story - 7/10
In an average thread against most any other opponents, you would score higher here. You interwove bits of Elite’s story, notably the bits at the beginning and end with Sorian, but in the midst of the battle the story seemed to essentially just kind of stop. In some manner, this is expected, but without some minor tie-in to the introduction or conclusion, the story feels broken. Again, this is especially true in light of the sheer master quality of your opponents. I know you can weave story, so next time just give me more in the middle.
Setting - 9/10
Here’s the thing too many writers tend to miss on Althanas, readers don’t need to have the same scene described by every writer in a competitive thread. You never described the arena, but instead allowed your opponents and your comrade to do so for you, and it actually worked. What won you the additional points here, however, was your use of the tables. While not exactly a “wow” moment, it caught my attention. Creatively using the environment set before your characters is the way to my heart, so kudos on nailing it.
Pacing - 7/10
As I mentioned in story, the lack of any real story in the middle of the thread from Elite left me feeling a bit hesitant as a reader. On the one hand, you introduced this wonderful monstrosity with a great introduction, and then suddenly he was just fighting. It felt a tad disconnected, and for the function of pace it just disrupted your flow a bit. Even still, were this against other opponents in a battle outside of a tournament, you’d likely receive an 8.

Character 20/30
Communication - 6/10
Elite communicates through force of action more than with words, and it works fine for him. The only thing I would say is when taking the time to write out discussions between Sorian and Elite, read them aloud and see how they sound to you. Your last post more so than others, the dialogue felt a tad trite and forced. It wasn’t glaringly bad, but noticeable, and thus the deduction in points.
Action - 8/10
I’ll be honest, I liked the bit with the separation of limbs from his body to give the impression of death. It made for a humorous climax for me, and it really worked in light of this thread. There was plenty of intensity from the others, and so that flash of humor helped return me as a reader to the ground softly. Again, your use of the tables was smooth, clever, and strategic and it won you a small bonus here.
Persona - 6/10
I get that Elite is really just a hulking monstrosity, and you played so well with the whole scent of blood bit. However, what hurt you was just leaving it at that. As a reader, it felt like something more was needed from Elite, that perhaps he would then tap into some extra reserve of energy or fortitude, or just something.

Prose 20/30
Mechanics - 7/10
Due to the constraints of time, you were rushed in your posts and it showed. While they were in no way bad, your posts held some mistakes which were noticeable enough to warrant a second readover. Similarly to above categories, you also were hurt a bit by the quality of your opponents here, as it provided a near impossible to achieve scale. Example of one of the more glaring moments, “This process feels way to slow…” should be “way too slow”, but you know that. Another is earlier in the same post “like a pre-prepared statue.” I’m pretty sure preparation is pre, no matter how pre it is, if you get my drift.
Clarity - 7/10
Unlike with your counterpart, there were a few times where either the choice of wording or the manner of wording forced me to read over the paragraph an extra time or two to grasp what was being said. The time where this is most noticeable is in your description of the tables maneuver. While brilliant, it bordered on a bit confusing for me as well, especially in the explanation of the interlocking legs with Elite’s bone spikes.
Technique - 6/10
Again, were this a battle outside of a tournament, and one against other opponents, you would likely score higher here. That being sad, the scale was set by Flames, and thus you received a 6. While you didn’t do anything outlandishly bad with your technique, you never stuck a chord with the level I know you possess. I’ll attribute most of that to having to post so rapidly, but I felt it still needed to be noted and pointed out.

Wildcard 6/10
Please see explanation of Wildcard’s usage in this tournament in my explanation to both Flames and Christoph. If you need explanation on where these deductions came from, feel free to ask privately.

Total 69/100


Winners - Paint-a-Wagon!

Flames of Hyperion receives 1250 EXP and 100 GP
Christoph receives 1250 EXP and 100 GP

Shinsou vaan Osiris receives 4060 EXP and 75 GP
Elite Optic receives 4060 EXP and 85 GP

Congratulations to the winners, and good luck in the next round!

[Logan]

All EXP and GP have been added!