The last place to look

[Shadar]

Shadar stepped onto the cold steel and made an appreciative sound that seemed to hang in an unnatural echo. Three stories high and just as deep each way, the plain room spread out before him. Every surface was a blank steel face lit by some sourceless light that made the air seem blue and thick. The only shelter from that light was within man-sized holes at the exact center of the floor, ceiling, and each wall. Beyond a few inches deep, there was nothing but blinding, threatening darkness.

You thought up this shit? grumbled a voice in the depths of Shadar's mind.

A long time ago, he answered with his own thought, seemingly distracted.

Diamond Jackal huffed, You get creepier every day. Then, he retreated to the alcoves that Shadar could not reach within his own mind. It was just as well. The half-elf didn't want to deal with the mental demon today.

With eyes casting about thoughtfully, he took a step forward. The scuff of his shoe, the shuffle of his pants, and the snap of his long sleeveless coat all seemed louder and more prolonged than normal. Acoustics aside, there was an even greater oddity about the room. In normal circumstances, Shadar could hover and glide to put flying squirrels to shame. But, just with that step, he had felt an upward pull as if he were ready to take off. Gravity was lax, here. A normal man might be able to spring high and shift about in the air, and he, augmented as he was, would be one step closer to true flight.

He should have been elated, or at the very least amused. But, the arena merely grated on his nerves. He had spurned it once, when the monks of the Pagoda had approached him with their offer. He couldn't imagine why they had welcomed him into it upon its resurrection, lest it was because of Yari. Shadar remembered, if vaguely, that Yari had been somewhat of a celebrity within these walls. The monks hadn't confirmed or denied it, but it had tempered his dislike for them to match what he felt for the caretakers of the Citadel. It was a cruel man that said, "You saw your best friend die. Have a piece of his fame," as if reading from a will.

With his long face turned up in a scowl, Shadar chewed bitterly on the thought and awaited his opponent.

[Breaker]

I fell.

Darkness engulfed me, robbed me of all vision. As if the loss of sight was not enough, the falling numbed my other senses. Air rushed past my body. It thrummed in my ears and billowed through my shirt like a failing parachute.

I liked it.

The complete lack of sensual experience gave me time to think. I concentrated on breathing slow and steady, locking myself into pranic meditation. As the power of my senses increased, so did the sway the wind held over them. Before long the air had swept away all thoughts not related to the upcoming battle.

I had spent the last several months training in the Pagoda as a Warrior, duelling all who challenged me. I enjoyed the thrill and risk of constantly fighting new opponents with unique abilities, but now my life demanded progression. I met a dream walker named Dirk Xalstad, and working together we created a Power Group which could one day become a great force on Althanas. As a Warrior, it seemed like I encountered a new challenger each day, and made just enough gold to live by. That had been fine by me until Imperial was born. My life had become more demanding since then. I needed free time to nurture the growth of Imperial, and more money to fund its expenses. Becoming a Master meant a fatter purse and fewer battles. Not to mention how a position of such grandeur would draw new members to the clan. I was not about to let the Power Group wilt before it had a chance to bloom. So I challenged the half elf named Shadar.

The fall slowed. The transition from bone-shattering plummet to casual drift seemed so natural that I wondered if I imagined it by becoming acclimatised to the speed. My superhuman senses knew the difference. The pressure on my skin lessened, the vibration in my ears all but ceased. My eyes stopped watering.

Light.

The aquatic glow did not hurt my eyes; rather it soothed them as my pupils constricted. I looked down and saw the floor three stories below, racing to greet me. Fear slid into my mind then slithered out again, snakelike. Fear had no place in me that day. As I passed a hole identical to the one I had fallen from, my descent braked abruptly. I sailed the remaining distance to the ground like a seedling, intent on planting my roots to usurp this Master's domain. Finally my feet touched the ground and I stood facing my opponent.

Shadar's physical appearance did not impress me. He stood of a height with me but boyishly thin, his elven roots apparent in his musculature. A trailing trench coat failed to hide a pigeon chest which could not possibly contain powerful lungs. His only strong feature was a striking hooked nose which reminded me of a bird of prey. "The hawk strikes from above," I mused. I knew this man must possess some sort of magical powers that would give him an edge over me. I would not underestimate him for a second.

I bent my knees slightly, bare feet comfortable on the cold floor. My simple black clothing stretched to accommodate my body's flexibility. I felt energetic and buoyant, my mind empty as the darkness I had come from, focused as the free fall that brought me here. My weapons resided on the back of my belt, hidden but ready for use. Countless times I had taken such a stance, ready for whatever the Pagoda chucked my way. But the dynamic had changed. This time, I needed to win. This time, I was the challenger.

[Shadar]

When the man drifted down from the ceiling, Shadar realized that there had been a hope building inside him. It died in that same instant. This was not Yari's imposter. He had heard of the man long ago, probably months if his sense of time hadn't completely deteriorated yet. Someone claiming to be Yari returned from the grave; someone trying to resurrect the Bandit Brotherhood. Shadar laughed deep in his throat, for it was all clearly wrong no matter what people hoped. He had visited Yari's grave, undisturbed and untended. He had scoured Concordia for a new bandit clan, one that could only be a mockery of the clan Yari had sacrificed himself for, and found nothing. He had searched every alley and pit that the rumors pointed to, finding only dirt and delusional men. If the imposter, someone able to fool even Yari's old allies, wasn't out there, he couldn't have followed Shadar here.

Hey, dipshit! You gonna do anything about flexo, here?

Shadar's head jerked as if waking. Yeah, he snapped bitterly, and completely on instinct. It took him a few moments after that to appraise the man as more than just another not-Yari, and he wasn't very impressed. His opponent could have been any street thug from any sizeable city, or maybe a bouncer given his composed demeanor. It didn't matter one wit. This was just another head to smash, lop off, or perforate for getting between him and his vendetta.

"Good day," he droned, sounding utterly bored, "Or maybe good evening. I can't tell from my little cube of death, here." He combined a wide-armed gesture with a tired stretch and seemed oblivious to the change taking place in his elbow length gloves. From within their surface darker than pitch, thin veins of iridescent prevalida sprouted and multiplied until the material looked organic. Skinless and disease black, but still organic. "Let's be gentlemanly, first. What's your na-"

He didn't wait for an answer, or even to finish the question, before he heaved himself off one foot and darted over the floor hole like a low flying sparrow. His arms were tensed, one before and one behind his body. From the one his opponent could see, a thick metallic liquid bubble out and formed a large, pincer-like blade with guard spikes at the base. As soon as it solidified, it was hooking crossways at the man's throat. And, just as quickly, his other arm shot out with a steel cane grafted to the forearm. With a smug grin, he swept it low to catch the man's feet in the crook.

Just one more obstacle to cut through, same as every other day.

[Breaker]

Any bunnying is approved from here on in.


The soft blue light gave a waxy, almost translucent look to the half elf's pale skin. I breathed easily in my loose stance, dividing my focus between Shadar and our surroundings. At the moment, it did not seem as if his arena concealed any traps or pitfalls, aside from the obvious hole in the floor. Despite the apparent innocence of the neutral steel walls, I kept my mind open to any possibility. I would not be duped into an easy loss with the future of Imperial on the line.

I scrutinized my opponent as he spoke. The expression in his eyes as he looked me over matched the flatness of his voice. He either underestimated me or wanted me to think as much. Whichever it was, his disdain renewed my hunger for victory. I would dominate this small cocky man and assume his position as Pagoda Master. For just an instant I allowed myself to imagine the fame and power my victory would lead to. No more would I have to seek out new recruits; they would arrive by the dozen to join up with a newly promoted Hierarch.

His gloves changed. But for the supreme awareness the pranic void allowed me, I might have missed it. The very material of the pitch black opera gloves seemed to writhe, as though the cells were rearranging themselves. An instant later Shadar tensed, my keen eyes spotting the tendons that stood out on his neck. He sprang towards me, and I moved to meet him. The battle had begun.

I let the half elf come to me, watching amazed as two vicious curved blades sprouted from his right forearm, backed by a pair of wicked spikes. Even through the void I felt surprised. "That's a neat trick... and I thought I'd seen everything." Clearly Shadar was about to re-educate me in the limitless phenomena of Althanas. "And I'll teach him a thing or two about gentlemanly conduct."

The curved arm blades raked up, slashed at my jugular like an eagle's talons. Ducking away would have been easy enough, but I intended to respond in like form to Shadar's lethal assault. My right hand snapped up, a dry slapping sound hanging in the air as my palm met his forearm in between the spike guard and elbow. My cross-block stopped the slash suddenly. The blade halted barely an inch from my throat. Dozens of potential counter attacks raced through my head.

Something tugged at my ankle. While he dazzled me with the abilities of his formidable right glove, I had completely forgotten about the other one. Now he had a cane at my feet, trying to knock me off balance. We stood at exactly the same height, which made it easy for me to look into his azure eyes, my own hazel ones sending a clear message.

"You've got to be kidding me."

At the very least I weighed fifty pounds more than he, most of that pure muscle. Not even taking into account my well-rooted balance, I didn't see how he could have hoped to pull me down with his little sparrow arms. Sneering into his smug grin, I closed my right hand, attempting to catch his forearm in my crushing grip. Shadar was about to go for a ride.

I stepped in, planted my right foot in between his two feet, pivoting as I did so to turn my back on him. My knees bent and my shoulder dipped, then I straightened my legs, driving my shoulder upwards at his armpit and heaving down with both hands. A neatly executed shoulder throw, the move would ideally carry Shadar in a tight arc over my head before slamming him onto the steel floor.

"That," I mocked, "is how a gentleman sweeps you off your feet."

[Shadar]

Bunnying of reactions has again been discussed and can be assumed to be fair from here on.

The man should have died, either by losing his head right there or backstepping against the hook and eating pincer blade on the floor. But, he stood as solid as a mountain. That brief moment of eye contact seemed far longer than it should, enough that he felt the jarringly painful halt of his right arm and the firm resistance against the cane. Dammit, he winced as time clocked up again and he was swept through the air by forces not his own. The whole of the large room seemed to ring with the impact.

His head rang too, and the drifting blue of the air took a moment to sort itself into recognizable shapes. A moment later, he saw the face of his opponent looking cockily down at him. His arm had been released, probably because of that same attitude, and every piece of spawned metal had fled into the Void.

Shadar realized that he was making a raspy, gasping sound, which was strange considering that his respiratory system had become obsolete long ago. Old habits died hard, though, and if they left him looking weak, he would have to make good use of the misinterpretation. "Sweep this," he hissed as he twisted onto his side and pressed both palms against the floor. The steel seemed to ripple under him for an instant. Then, he disappeared into it like a pebble striking a pond.

It was only for the barest of moments that the steel sat empty, solid, and bewildered, before he re-emerged from another ripple a short distance away with startling speed that the lack of gravity only amplified. When solid objects kicked him out, he knew they did so roughly, but he hadn't been prepared for the ease with which he cut through the air and neared the ceiling. It took all his flight control to get his feet up for a braced landing, and it hurt nearly as much as he'd have expected. With teeth gritted, he tightened his nerves slightly, just enough that the pain wouldn't touch his voice.

But, before he spoke, he heard the low laughter that had been rolling about the back of his head the entire time. That was bloody beautiful, Jackal said so powerfully that tears would have streamed from his eyes, had he owned any. Oh, I'm so assassiny cool! Look at me attack. Oh, my arm! My spine! Ah, my organs!

Whatever taunts Shadar had for his opponent were swallowed in anger. He glared up at the floor, his shoes scuffing against the ceiling as he tensed. One hand pulled a short baton out of the air. It appeared to be wooden, but the grain ran diagonally as if it had been molded by unnatural forces. "You're in my house," Shadar spit as he craned his arm back so far it hit his coat, dangling above his shoulders. From deep in the Void, a ruby surfaced on the back of his hand and began to radiate a faint light. When his arm snapped forward, the ruby flashed and set alight the wood. It struck the wall farthest from his opponent with a metallic whine that almost spoke of pain.

Under Shadar's rage, there was a tiny amount of thankfulness for the monks. They had apparently designed this room to his specifics, because the struck wall, swiftly and silently, became the floor. With a low, triumphant laugh, the half-elf kicked off the ceiling that was suddenly a wall, reoriented himself to the new gravity, and dove. A thick steel pike grew from his hands, and he gripped it tightly in both fists. His body tensed, spring-like, in the weapon's wake as it lunged for his opponent's torso.

[Breaker]

Shadar surprised me with his toughness. Considering the near perfection of my shoulder throw and the dull thunk his body had made when hitting the floor, I half-expected the half elf to be knocked unconscious. Apparently the thin man had more going for him than his appearance portrayed.

Surprise does not even begin to describe what I felt when Shadar disappeared into the floor. One second he lay there, taunting me in a pained voice, the next he simply entered the steel, vanishing from sight.

I staggered back from the scene, my mind churning. "Where did he go? Where the hell is he? How can I fight a man I can't see?" Possibilities raced through my head as I tried to consider everything at once. It was simply too much to handle. My paranoia ended seconds later when Shadar erupted from the floor like a rocket taking off. Upwards he flew until he neared the top of the room.

"Shit... he can fly. Well, this certainly changes things." I could do little more than stand idle, watching the hovering half elf, waiting for him to come back down. He produced an odd wooden stick from thin air, an act which under any ordinary circumstances would have impressed me immensely. "Doesn't compare much to merging with the floor though. How in the hell did he do that?" A moment later the stick ignited and Shadar struck the wall with it. Then my whole world turned upside down.

At least, it turned sideways. Seamlessly, soundlessly, the cubic room began to rotate. With the floor I stood on quickly becoming a wall, I flopped onto my back, sliding down the rapidly increasing incline. The feeling of buoyancy I had experienced earlier returned, slowing the sliding process. Folding my legs and spreading my arms on either side of me, I used the flats of my hands and feet to further control my slide. "There's something odd about the air in here," I realized. It reminded me of the difference between swimming in fresh water and salt water. Like ocean water, the air in Shadar's arena seemed more willing to lift me. "Maybe that's how he managed to fly up there," I reasoned, forcing myself to accept the alien concept. "Maybe I can fly too, or near to it. That could come in handy."

Shadar's flight path had changed; he now soared straight for me with a menacing polearm grasped in both hands. Like when I entered the battle, I fell. This time, however, I could see and hear, no rushing wind or crushing darkness to blot my senses. Also, I could control the slide by applying pressure with my palms. The confidence I had lost in my moment of confusion returned stronger than before. Flying away had been a wise choice by my opponent; returning would be his mistake. "No matter whose arena we're in," I told myself, "Hand to hand combat is my world."

I liked it.

The enemy telegraphed his move from some distance away, and as he stabbed I lifted my right leg off the ramp, bringing my knee up to my chest before lashing out. My foot flashed in a crescent in front of my body, my instep knocking the pike's point away. I heard it glance off the ramp beside me, a hollow ping that hung just above the squealing of my palms on the polished metal. Shadar still hovered out of my reach, and I didn't feel comfortable abandoning my controlled slide in an attempt to jump for him. "Come a little closer, elf boy. Just let me get a hold of you again and I'll show you who's the real Pagoda Master."

Alongside my confidence, my determination had returned. It was an all-or-nothing scenario, and I did not intend to walk away empty handed.

[Shadar]

The man clung to the wall almost pitifully, clearly out of his element. It was a small, vengeful comfort to the half-elf, so much that he didn't begrudge his pike being kicked aside. Instead, he let it go from his right hand. Where the tip had struck, the weapon's base also grazed along the steel wall and fell sluggishly alongside them. The faintest seam of light, like a fold in the tinged air, trailed behind the weapon.

"Go," Shadar said slowly and deliberately as he matched the man's falling speed and twisted in the air. His right leg shifted up and across, curled like a thin, menacing serpent. "Home!" He stomped his foot toward the strong man's right kidney.

If the imposter was in the Pagoda, damnable pit of bravado that it was, he would find him. He would plow through every obstacle and idiot just as the real Yari, the true Bandit King, had done before him. This man was nothing but flesh and instinct, where as Shadar knew the cold facts of the game, and he bestowed that knowledge into a spiteful lesson as he snapped his right hand low over the hip he thrust with.

The barely visible wire connected to his glove hummed as it drew taught from his fingers to the blunt end of the pike, which thrust itself back toward them in the same motion. The wire pressed against his opponent's cheek as Shadar swept his hand so close to the wall that the pike skittered along the steel. He had to turn with the motion, to keep the wire from going slack, but he felt the heat as the ruby on his right hand flared once more and set the pike ablaze with a tight, concentrated skin of flame.

The lesson would be written in fire and pain. Fair play is for fools.

[Breaker]

Again the foolish half elf telegraphed his move like a distress signal, as predictable as before. He floated arrogantly alongside me. I watched his leg curl in and lashed out. "Take the hit," I commanded myself, shoving aside the automatic reflex that compelled me to block the kick. "Take the pain. He's got no idea what a big mistake he's making, giving you his foot."

I tightened my abdominals to the maximum, but even so the kidney shot hurt. I felt it as a sharp bite deep in my gut, sensitive nerves jarred by Shadar's stomp. "You're gonna' regret that," the black thought soothed my pain as I gritted my teeth against it. The second Shadar's kick landed, both my hands snapped inwards like a bear trap, pinning his foot to my abdomen. An instant later the slide ended, my feet coming to rest on the room's new floor. I grinned, nothing but menace in my eyes. "You're finished, fool," I thought, my grip on his ankle tightening, "You've made one mistake too many--"

Outside the void, there was nothing but pain.

Fire streaked across my left cheek, laying it open. The gash flapped like a second mouth, a mouth meant to vomit a stream of blood. But no blood came; the white-hot blade had cauterized it instantly, leaving the edges of the cut blackened and burning. I wanted to scream, but another voice spoke from deep within the void, my battle-hardened mind commanding me. It sounded calm as a cool breeze, and soothed the agony.

"Attack now. He expects you to be finished; show him his fancy weapon tricks are no match for your skill. Attack!"

I roared like a wounded bear, dropping to one knee. My body gave full voice to the pain I felt, but at the same time my hands worked feverishly, methodically. I transferred Shadar's ankle to my left armpit, trapping it there. My right hand went to the kneecap of his trapped limb while my left hand settled on my right wrist, supporting it. With furious energy I drove both hands straight down, intending to smash Shadar into the floor once more. But this time I meant to do real damage; the same leverage that would force the levitating bastard to the ground could snap his knee.

"If I can get him on his back, he's finished."

Even in the heat of battle my meditative mind remained coldly calculative, drawing plans for Shadar's demise.

"No flying freak with a funny pair of gloves is going to keep me from rising to Master. He'll need more than a few cheap tricks to halt the advance of Imperial." Glowing aspirations of grandeur fuelled my might as I heaved downwards on the leg. I saved my breath rather than wasting it talking, but in my head I answered Shadar's previous taunt.

"I'll go home... but I'm taking your title with me."

[Shadar]

The surprise attack had connected with satisfying precision, but disappointing results, before the flaming spear fell back into the depths of his fist. It had been meant to scar, not bleed, a wound to the pride more than the flesh. But, the man ignored the pain, much like Shadar ignored his own despite the way it numbed him. Perhaps it was ironic that, within the slow, dreamy atmosphere of the cube, their pain was fleeting and their battle agonizingly tedious. Shadar would change that.

But, that would have to wait. The beast of a man, despite the cruel branding, hadn't even released his foot. The half-elf could phase through metal, but not willful flesh, and that flesh bore him down toward the ground. "Bastard," Shadar hissed as he was cranked toward the floor despite all his efforts to levitate upward. He guessed when he was almost touching it, because he couldn't actually feel with the soothing numbness spreading down his back, and he put his hands below him as if to brace himself.

He was starting to almost like these monks, because the material of the room yeilded easily when his pitch black hands reached into it. They had given him this arena, after all. It belonged to him alone, and therefore was as moldable as the material in the Void. Now, urgently, Shadar needed to test the limit of that.

As his body was pressed flat against the ground, his gloves began to drink. The steel opened around him rapidly in a thin pit just wide enough for his body. The pressure of the attack continued, though, and it forced him against the wall of the pit as it reached sharper and sharper angles. Finally, he was almost upsidedown against the near vertical wall, the metal spliting sheer above him as if his body had been a hot knife through butter.

His opponent was out of leverage, and his hands ached from the influx of material. So, before the man could re-evaluate the odd situation, Shadar decided to release some of it back into the world. He wanted to form a long, thin blade to cut the man's innards out, but the narrow pit didn't allow him any sideways movement. Instead, he settled for lifting his arms and pressing them into the steel base of the pit, just above his head. Chains formed, thick blocky links that led into wickedly sharp hooks suited for grappling. That was just what he planned to use them for. With too much concentrate for him to smile menacingly, though he did so inside, he threw the hooks up and over his opponent's shoulders. Instantly, he snapped them back, driving the hook points harshly toward the base of the shoulder blades.

This strongman wouldn't be held my his strength alone, he grudgingly admitted to himself. So, after molding the bases of the chains firmly into the bowl of the pit, he gripped the nearest links in closed palms and reclaimed them, cinching the chains tighter link by link. The fool would see just how cosy a cold metal coffin was.

[Breaker]

Like some masterwork illusion the ground vanished beneath Shadar's touch. I kept up the lock, looking for leverage and finding none. The surprising turn of events stunned me momentarily.

"Did he do that? Is this his own brand of magic, or is it how the monks designed the arena?"

In my confusion I barely saw the two cruel hooks which arced out of the pit. On a split second reflex I released Shadar, my right hand catching one of the hooks while the other sailed over my left shoulder.

"He must be slipping if he expected those to--"

The chains jerked forward. My body moved instinctively, dropping flat even before my mind realized what was happening. But I hadn't been fast enough. The hook I had caught dropped from my hand as I watched its twin tugged away from me, a substantial chunk of flesh attached to it. I floated in a surreal dream world for a moment, suddenly aware of how cold the steel floor felt on my hands and face.

Then the pain came.

It blasted through the void, shattering my focus with a single blow. It sucked the air from my lungs and welled up within me, so much that it flowed out the wound in my back. With it flowed everything that had kept me alive; my confidence, determination, the will to succeed. All thoughts of seeking glory in the name of Imperial rushed from my body, replaced by the singular agony which ripped through me in waves. It was that all-encompassing agony that gave me my last chance.

Without thinking I began to meditate once more, fresh pranic energy flowing into me with each breath. The pain seemed to take tangible form, leaving my body with the blood that ran out my back. My thoughts fell into a surprisingly lucid order. I took comfort in the steel floor, cool and strong beneath me. My breath still came in short gasps, but I had control over my mind once more.

I assessed the damage. I couldn't move my left arm; I could feel it, and it hurt a lot, but the muscles in my shoulder must have been too shredded for it to function normally. My shirt grew warm and heavy with blood. It was the kind of wound that would bleed me out eventually, but take its time doing so. No major arteries had been severed the ripping weapon.

Groaning, I pushed myself to one knee. I had been reduced to my most basic level of thought. The idea of usurping Shadar no longer seduced me, the prospect of fame and fortune for Imperial seemed laughable. All that mattered was that I beat him, for no other reason than that we were fighting and I wanted to win. I would need to be patient, no more charging headlong after the enemy. The snake of fear relinquished its hold on my mind, the cool voice in my head using icy fingers to pry away steely coils. Calm as could be, I considered my tactics grimly.

"He's better than me... all these damn powers of his are too much to deal with. But that doesn't mean I can't beat him; I just have to outsmart the bastard. And I'd better do it quickly, before I lose all my blood."

[Shadar]

Finally, the end began. Sweet red nectar sprayed into the heavy blue air and stole the waking dream quality of it. Shadar back-flipped out of the pit with his chains once more affixed to his hands and dragging behind him. "It's about time," he said snidely and with an air of complete leisure, as if he would be perfectly content to let this as-of-yet unnamed man bleed out. With identical flicks of his wrists, he jerked the hooks back to him, leaving a bloody trail from the right one.

That took you waaay too long to be cocky.

Maybe, Shadar responded with the same smugness that colored his face, But it proved something. He let the thought hang, and the demon stew, as he sucked the links back into his palm until they were only long enough for the hooks to dangle by his feet. "Quick question," he said as he started to walk wide around his opponent. He only managed one step, though. His leg moved just fine, and his foot came down solidly. But, it must have been luck because he couldn't feel anything between his knee and his hip. It couldn't be helped. If he pulled the numbness from his nerves, the pain in his back would no doubt become visible on his face, and the last person he wanted to show that to was a wounded combatant with little time left. So, as fluidly as if he had planned it, that single step led into a hover that took him toward the pitch black hole at the current floor's center.

The hooks swayed like mocking pendulums as he moved, eyes always on his opponent. "What's your name?" he continued belatedly. "I'd like to keep track of my Pagoda victims, and I'm not going to have 'muscle-bound thug number one' as the first on my list." Suddenly, he turned and snapped his hands out over the hole. Like a living entity, the darkness leapt upward and caressed his prevalida-veined gloves. The chains were enveloped, then spun outward of their own accord and wrapped around each other in the stream of non-light that tainted the surreal blue air. Shadar turned back to his opponent, leaving behind the short, pitch-black column and brandishing a new weapon. The chains had melted into a wide, obsidian barrel, and the hooks had become the fangs of the dragon head that capped the hand cannon. Within the open jaws, a hot red light began to grow. "I'll give you ten seconds," he warned, and neither his narrowed eyes nor vengeful smile disputed the seriousness of that statement.

The real Shadar fell in darkness, the very same that had appeared to leap out of the hole and bestow his apparition with a weapon so obvious that he wouldn't have actually used it himself. Illusions had to be blatant, though, to fool someone in the midst of battle lust.

Ten seconds. That was how long his opponent would have before Shadar reappeared randomly from another of the holes about the arena. That is, if the monks had constructed this last trick to his specifications. Also, if their workmanship was true, that ten seconds outside would be a full minute for him within the distortion of the tunnels. It was time that he needed to prepare, not waste. But waste he did.

It had been so long since he had really fallen. The world's gravity was an annoyance, a hindrance, but never life threatening to him. Here, however, he was pulled by something else, a desire in the blindingly dark tunnel that willed him forward at what felt like an incredible speed. For a moment, it actually scared him.

Splat! Jackal shouted the instant he detected the emotion, and just like that, it was gone. Some other day, Shadar would contemplate with some worry how easily his bravado overcame rational thought. But, he didn't have any time for that now.

The design was in his head, flowing down to his right hand, and forming there in pitch darkness. Shadar only knew he was constructing it right because it was correct in his mind, every barrel, catch, and spring. It felt finished right when he saw the light at the end of the tunnel, and he jerked his hand up to lead with it. As an afterthought, he formed a long, curved masamune blade that engulfed his left hand and continued up from it, complete with runes along the surface that made it half as heavy as it should have been.

Then, he was reborn into the blue cube. The languid air wrapped about him, now tinged from the fiery light that blazed from the dragon cannon on his illusion's arm. The cannon was pointed to the left, so Shadar arced that way and followed the wall as he glided. His right arm, ringed by eight thin barrels, pointed directly as his opponent. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name," he joked quietly to himself as he pounded his feet into the wall and darted toward his opponent at a trajectory crosswise to and high above the stream of illusionary dragon flame that erupted from the cannon.

He could feel the false heat that he had gifted the illusion with. It actually made him flinch as he took aim and fired a short spike from each barrel in quick succession. The long blade would finish whatever was left of the man as soon as he got within range, and he would add 'muscle-bound thug number one' to his list without any reservations.

[Breaker]

"Ten seconds."

I would have smirked, but it hurt the gash on my face. If the scrawny half elf expected me to try to speak with my cheek laid open, his brains must have been scrambled by the rotating room. I met his eyes as the dragon cannon formed. He looked lifeless, unmoving. I stood up, a jolt of pain flashing through my shoulder. I ignored it; concentrated on Shadar. Not only did he not fire the weapon, he didn't move. Not a flicker of an eyelash, not a twitch of a muscle. I could see the very pores of his pale skin but could perceive no movement. I listened, but couldn't hear his heart beat. He stood as a mannequin in the aquatic light; impressive looking, but not much good for anything practical.

Without taking my eyes from the immobile Shadar, I walked to the deep depression he had left in the floor. The mannequin didn't move, didn't follow me with the barrel of the cannon. I sat with my legs on the gradual slope of the pit, looking around the arena. In my head, I counted down the final two seconds of the ten Shadar allotted.

High above, the half elf flew into view.

The dragon spat flame.

I could do nothing but throw up my arms in defence, but the mannequin's fire provided only a pleasant warming sensation. It eased the ache in my shoulder, fuelled me with energy for the endgame. Through the billowing flame I could barely see Shadar as he flew down at me, wicked weapons growing form each arm. I grimaced, preparing myself for the pain. "Next time you're gonna' get cocky," I thought at Shadar, "Pick a victim who is afraid of death."

I sat with my right arm behind my back supporting me, my left dangling like a dead snake. I watched, helpless, as Shadar took aim and fired.

Thunk, thunk.

I couldn't be sure how many spikes he fired, or where the others went. But I was plenty sure that two of them hit me square in the chest. A deep groan dragged from my throat. My pectorals constricted like pythons, embracing the spikes as snakes embrace their prey. That was all the attention I could afford to give to the pain. I focused on Shadar, unrelentingly determined, as he dove towards me with murder in his eyes. My abdominals burned with the effort of keeping me upright as I brought my right hand out from behind my back.

"Sometimes a knife can reach farther than a sword... you should know that, Pagoda Master."

I gripped my bayonet, the blade between my thumb and first finger. Its azure color matched the light of the arena, a fitting weapon for the cubic room. I took careful aim as the half elf swooped closer and closer, waiting. I could hit a target reliably at twenty paces, but I let him come to me, fifteen paces away, ten. My arm whipped back then forwards, the bayonet spinning like blue chain lightning.

I felt tired, the agony and blood loss from multiple injuries weighing me down. I wanted to close my eyes and sleep. But I kept them open; more than anything, I wanted to watch my combat knife bury itself in Shadar's heart.

[Shadar]

He figured it out, Shadar noted with annoyance, though not enough to dampen his impending victory, I'll have to make them more lifelike on their own. Half-blinded by the illusionary fire, he heard the spikes contacting more than witnessed it. Or, rather, he heard the metallic pings of the misses, six of them. Two, muted by the dragon's breath, must have found juicy targets.

Satisfied, almost laughing, he drew back the long sword that engulfed half his arm. With one thrust, he would pry the tasty flesh from the pit it hid in, though without the posh mannerisms of true escargo enthusiasts. Something stopped him, though. It was a sudden, hot punch to the chest that drove him to the ground too early, then to his numb knees at the edge of the pit. Inhuman blood, dark red and half misty, puffed out before him, and his long blade skimmed harmlessly along the rim of the pit.

He'd never forget the bastard's eyes, leering up at him with both dying agony and smug pride like his hog had won first place at the fair. "Sneaky," he growled, "Must have learned it from me." He would have spit blood onto the man's face, but all of it was puffing out of his chest in foggy bursts around the knife. He numbed the nerves there, though the effect had already faltered in his back and left him cringing regardless. "Yours," he added, cool and mocking despite the pain and humiliation. The barrels around his right hand peeled back like dying stems as he used it to pull the knife out, and he let it fall into the pit with a bloody cough exiting the wound in its wake.

The man wouldn't see him fall apart anymore, he decided as the knife struck metal loudly. The trick he had been planning for earlier, had the man been winched into the pit on his chains, would suffice. He couldn't think of anything else in his blood-drained mind, and he felt like a marionette as he raised both hands in a sudden condensation of liquid metal. All the material of his current arsenal, plus some dug from the pit itself, groped its way through the air and formed a domed cap as wide as the pit's mouth. As soon as it formed, he couldn't hold it, so it crashed unceremoniously upon the bastard's impromptu coffin. Points of fire appeared along the edges, tack-welding it into place for good measure.

Then, Shadar's body collapsed half on, half off it. He would have drifted into darkness that moment, but a purple, fuzzy foot dinged the metal before his eyes. Weakly, he looked up to see Diamond Jackal's image sitting upon the peak, the bright colorations of purple fur and red and purple robes downright radiant against the blue ceiling. "Before you die like a pussy, tell me what you meant by this 'proving' something," he commanded, his voice no less a headache when spoken aloud. The diamond in his furrowed brow sparkled with emotion, curiosity perhaps, but probably something far less sympathetic.

Shadar tried to answer, but all it did was push more mist into the semi-solid puddle about him. I'm in the right place, he thought, it sounded snide and resentful despite the fact that thinking wasn't much easier than speaking at the moment. If this guy is what passes for the first rank here, anyone with the strength to impersonate Yari could be... No, would want to be in the higher ranks of this damned blood pit. His thoughts began to flicker as a dream stole him. Maybe there's even a chance that... he's really... Darkness took him, leaving Jackal alone both inside and out of the half-elf's mind.

"I know the drill, tell the monks to let Brigitte heal you," the demon droned as he kicked the fallen head with his ghostly foot. "You delusional idiot."

[Breaker]

Some distant part of me felt elation as my bayonet pierced the half elf's breast. It was a well-placed throw, a kill shot for sure. While in the back of my mind I wanted to celebrate, for the most part I felt numb. My wounds ached, but I had stopped caring. At first my own passive mood confused me, and then I realized I was dying. It seemed my mind had accepted that as inevitable.

Even with a knife in his chest Shadar still flew, or perhaps fell towards me. My mind may have given up on survival, but my body had been trained to stay alive. I pushed off the ground with my good arm and slid down the slope to the bottom of the pit, hearing Shadar's long blade ring off the floor. From my position I couldn't see Shadar, but I could hear him. I could hear him dying; hear the blood bubbling from his chest as he pulled my bayonet out. The blade clattered into the pit, coming to rest beside me.

"Thanksth," I managed to say through my ruined face. My tongue poked through the hole in my cheek, a gruesome feeling. I pulled it back into my mouth and decided not to speak again. Then the unthinkable happened.

Like a tidal wave of liquid steel a dome appeared above the pit, and then slammed into place, sealing me within. It shut out the blue light, leaving me blinded and bleeding. In the darkness I heard Shadar collapse atop the dome, a fitting headstone for my resting place. Questions drifted in my mind, largely ignored. Who had won? Even with the success of Imperial resting in the balance, it didn't seem important. I couldn't focus on any one thought for very long, and worrying about my power group would have to come later, after the monks had healed me.

"The monks..."

A strange epiphany dawned on me. I had fought countless battles at the Citadel and the Dajas Pagoda, and the monks had healed my wounds after each. But I never died. I had heard people speak of the revitalizing process, but never experienced it myself. My good hand groped in the darkness, finding and yanking out Shadar's spikes one at a time. My muscles clenched and slid on the sharp projectiles, as though my body wished to retain them as proof of the battle. Blood seeped from the open punctures and I felt my senses failing, like falling into a drugged sleep. My mind clung to a final thought as invisible warmth spread across my torso.

"I've always wondered what it's like to die."

[Witchblade]

Shadar:

Storyline

Continuity: - 6 I’m not entirely certain what was going on with Shadar at this point in his storyline. There was a lot of mentioning of Yari, the BB and some impostor within the ranks of the Pagoda, but I really had no idea what the character was going on about. It was slightly annoying and confusing, which is affecting your clarity score as well later on.

Setting: - 8 In the beginning, I felt that the setting was lacking from a descriptive point of view, however it did get better the more you wrote and holy cow did you ever use it to your advantage. I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone use the setting so much in a battle before than this.

Pacing: - 7 The pacing wasn’t bad, the build-up throughout the posts was good and kept the reader rather easily on the edge of their seat. The two of you played off each other rather well, but I found the ending a bit anti-climactic.

Character

Dialogue: - 8 Shadar’s dialogue is great, especially the stuff that comes from the Diamond Jackal. There were a few times when I found myself laughing aloud from the stuff he was saying, which was definitely a nice break from the tension in the battle. Sometimes, breaking the tension a bit like that can really help the writing out.

Action: - 7 Shadar’s actions were well written and thought out and some of the stuff he did was just downright cool. I really thought his leg was going to bust until he melted into the floor like that again. I found it a bit hard to keep track of him floating around in this cube like that, but I was never really confused.

Persona: - 6 I didn’t really feel Shadar’s personality truly come out in this quest. He was cocky and arrogant from the start, which could very well have helped his eventual downfall, but other than that I didn’t get much from him. There was some emotion when he talked about Yari Rafanas, and his Diamond Jackal demon certainly had an interesting personality, but other than that, Shadar fell a little flat.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 8 I spotted, two maybe three small spelling mistakes or missed words. Other than that, the writing was solid.

Technique: - 6 There was the use of some technique here and there in the writing, mostly I found towards the end of the thread your writing got better, whereas in the beginning it fell a little flatter.

Clarity: - 6 As I mentioned above, the whole thing was Yari was just confusing to me. I don’t really know where it came from, where it’s going or what the point of it was. It just kind of popped right in there and left me going ‘huh?’. Other than that, the writing was clear. I would watch how you describe things when your character is floating/flying around in his little cube though.

Wild Card: - 6 You fought bravely and with honour, young dream-being. But you still received a bayonet to the chest.

Total: 68



016573

Storyline

Continuity: - 8 There was a lot of background story given to the reader about where Josh was at this point in his life and exactly why he was doing what he was doing. It gave the reader a more in-depth look into his actions and actually gave them a bit more sympathy towards him than Shadar. I would watch the overemphasis on this though, as there were a few times when I was hoping Shadar would beat Josh’s ass down just because the man was being a little too confident and self assured about his win.

Setting: - 7 Setting was well described and occasionally used, though from Josh it seemed more like he was trying to escape the setting than actually use it to his advantage. Of course, I don’t think he really could have used a giant cube to his advantage much, not when his opponent is shifting in and out of the metal.

Pacing: - 7 The overall feel in your writing kept me on the edge of my seat, my only issue was having to jump from third person to first person threw me off a few times. I can’t fault you or take points off you for that though, because P.O.V. is a personal choice, but I do suggest maybe next time in a battle having both writers choosing the same P.O.V. for the reader. I liked the multitude of questions left buzzing in Josh’s head at the end though, especially him wondering exactly who had won the match. I did notice you have a lot of internal thoughts with your character. Try not to overuse this, as it can and will affect the overall flow and pacing of a post.

Character

Dialogue: - 6 I thought Josh’s dialogue was good and seemed true to his character, though the guy really does tend to think a lot. Like a mentioned before, you might want to try and limit the internal thoughts a bit. Keep them in there, but perhaps not that many. It also would have been nice for him to say some of those things out loud.

Action: - 6 Josh’s actions were fluid and well executed for the most part. He comes off feeling like a well-trained secret agent in the way that he fights back against his opponents. I did find that him always being able to read Shadar’s next move a bit annoying. Well trained or not, Shadar is two levels above him and I’m sure Josh can’t always perfectly read his opponents.

Persona: - 6 I’ve read some of your other stuff from Josh and written with you, but I got the feeling I was looking at a side of his personality I hadn’t seen before. He seemed really taken with the glory of defeating the Pagoda Master and though I’m sure that could be a big adrenaline rush, it seemed a little odd coming from him. Perhaps, just something I’m not used to from him.

Writing Style

Mechanics: - 8 Very few mistakes in your writing.

Technique: - 7 I saw some techniques that you threw in from time to time and your writing was very solid right from the beginning.

Clarity: - 8 It was clear.

Wild Card: - 6 I’ve got to put comments in here too!? The battle was a very enjoyable read and the amount of detail thrown into your posts certainly helped that much more.

Total: 69

And the winner -- by one freaking point -- is 016573!



016573 receives 2,000 experience and 150 GP!
Shadar receives 600 experience!


EXP and GP Added!