You have 2 weeks to complete your battle, may the best man win!
Printable View
You have 2 weeks to complete your battle, may the best man win!
“Practice makes perfect,” the mystic had heard the phrase so many times during her life. The phrase was tossed around in the mystic village from the moment a child began training for the light or shadow trials. On any given day one could hear parents saying the words to their children, as though simply knowing that it took many failures to create one success would be enough to keep the world going. Kyla found herself reflecting on this proverb as she looked up at the towering monstrosity known as the citadel. The shadow of the building had held many of the greatest warriors who ever were, and now they held her.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few hours earlier—
The mystic girl had just recently been informed that she was to represent her family’s name during the Serenti Invitational tournament. Unfortunately, like most things that involved Kyla’s uncle, Steppenwolf Orlouge, this news came late. It turned out that while Kyla Orlouge was spending her time training little Azza Ambrose in a secret garden within Ixian Castle, the opening round of the tournament had completed.
Kyla was out of the Serenti before she could even get to the town.
Kyla had taken the news well, with a sigh of relief and a silent prayer of gratitude to whichever thanye had saved her from risking her life repeatedly for sport. She sat in her room, unpacking her large duffle and making room in her chest for her belongings. A light knock on the door pulled her from her task moments before her uncle Sei’s ‘voice’ filled her mind.
”I have some news Kylana.” The telepath stood waiting as the girl opened the door slowly, attempting to hide how happy she was to be free of the burden of representing the great warriors of her family. She stepped aside and extended her arm to allow the mute entrance to her large room. He took in the space, and Kyla hoped he was not as she imagined remembering just how much each of the somewhat lavish furnishings had cost him. ”I see you’ve redecorated.”
So, apparently he was in fact doing just that. Kyla smiled at the man who had taken her in and given her so much, “I suppose I didn’t need all of this, I would have paid you back with the prize money had I won the Serenti.” The lie rolled off of her tongue with a slight taste of venom, she had never enjoyed being dishonest.
”Well Kylana, that’s what I’ve come to talk to you about actually.”
“I can’t compete Sei, I’ve missed the first round.” Was he actually going to expect her to pay him back?
”Lucky for you, Niche had byes for the first two matches then.” A smile reached his eyes and Kyla thought for a moment she might faint.
“So I have—I mean get to compete after all?” The words came out a bit louder than anticpated and the girl sat down on her bed abruptly to stop her shaking knees.
”It’s excellent new isn’t it?” Sei patted her shoulder happily. ”I’ve arranged transportation for tomorrow morning, but today I want you to visit the Citadel, the other challengers will have two rounds of warm up and we need you to be on the top of your game. I’m so proud of you Kyla. His words were like an anchor on her shoulders and it took great effort to force a smile to her lips. He nodded his approval, I’ll leave you to re-pack your things.
When the door closed lightly behind him Kyla threw herself backwards onto the mattress. “Here we go again.”
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The building always brought with it a tinge of fear that sent goose bumps running all over her skin. Every time the girl came here, she usually found herself facing the worse end of a beating; she had blown herself up while fighting William Arcus, was tortured by the sadistic psychopath known as the Trap Master, and had been humiliated by her own adoptive father not once, but twice. Things would be different now, though. She would make sure that nobody would embarrass her at the Serenti Invitational.
She pushed through the twin doors only to be greeted by a short, stocky monk with a black bowl cut hairstyle that was in desperate need trimming.
“Miss Orlouge,” the monk’s carried with it the sweetness that seemed to come with the profession, “Your father informed us of your arrival, and we already have a room prepared for you. “
“I only found out I was coming half an hour ago, how did Sei---“ Kyla paused for a moment, answering her own unspoken question, “Oh. Right. Telepath. Great.” The girl rolled her eyes as she allowed the monk to lead her down the empty hallway. It was a strange feeling, to see the citadel devoid of most of its warriors.
She had never noticed the echo of footsteps thanks to the background noise offered by the crowds who typically filled the passageways. The monk stopped abruptly in front of a red door with a few small designs carved into the wood. He gave her a smile and gestured for her to enter the room. She smiled at him one last time before taking a deep breath and reaching for the handle. Once the door was pushed open, Kyla could feel a warm mist upon her face. She could see nothing but fog before her. Taking a hard swallow, the girl walked through the doorframe and into whatever might await her. One thought filled her mind.
Practice makes perfect..
((Continued directly from round 1.))
Brigitte hated clowns.
It wasn't a traumatic childhood fear or even the instinctual mistrust of anyone who can sustain that level of happy for a whole day. It was a hatred that had gone from tinder to inferno in the space of minutes, and it was because one of those colorful fools was capping off her already hectic day by leading her on a chase toward the Citadel, where she had been just hours ago.
Brigitte was not a woman who enjoyed going in circles. What Brigitte was, was a construct of war who only looked like a woman, and her opinion on circular travel would include the saltiest, most god-searing words known to man. Her otherworldly creator had taught her a great many of those words, and some that mankind couldn't even fathom, but she preferred a more primal form of expression.
To the men and women of Radasanth who had the misfortune of passing under the Citadel's shadow this early evening, the world took on a single, piercing note. By comparison, all other sounds ceased to exist; the crackle of wicker baskets dropping, the stuttered crash of baked tiles hitting cobblestone, the scrape of talons shaving those tiles from the roof tops, and the whoosh of heavy, powerful wings. Under the deafness imposed by the shriek, they had no clue as to what creature skimmed the city's low skyline. They knew only that waiting to see would be a mistake.
The populace divided below her lithe, ruby-haired form, turning like soil under a plough.
~ ~ ~
“I hope she's not drawing too much attention,” Shadar wondered aloud, “We might need to leave town quietly.”
Below him, an armored and uniformed man gave out a wheezing moan, then tried to sit up. He froze as he locked eyes with the silver-haired one standing over him. Shadar made a fist. The guard breathed in sharply as if retracting his previous statement and lay himself quietly back down among his beaten and bruised brothers-in-arms.
Shadar stalked away from the six bodies, all alive even if their egos might not recover. “Good shots,” he grunted as he held his coat open and examined the four arrows sprouting from his abdomen at varying lengths. Blood flowed freely around the shafts and turned to bright crimson mist after a moment's exposure, only to dissipate after a few seconds. As nonchalantly as if dusting crumbs from his shirt, Shadar ran his hands down his body. The arrows disappeared into the inky material of his gloves, and small flashes of fire cauterized the wounds. Each flare drew from him a sharp wince.
With the suppressed pain now catching up to him, he leaned heavily against a porch railing and tried to not think about the unanswerable questions. What had the clown done to rile up the armsmen? Why were he and Brigitte the ones to get caught in the crossfire? Why was it up to him and her to settle the matter? He smirked. He had an answer for that last one. It was because the guards shot first.
“Wrangle the clown,” he had said to Brigitte before the fighting started. He couldn't remember why, other than to beat the fool for running right into them with his murderous entourage in tow.
A green wig, discarded, blew through the deserted street like a noxious tumbleweed.
All Shadar wanted now was to leave the city. “I guess I'll just follow the screaming,” he said as he straightened from the railing. With a wave to the terrified-yet-curious eyes of a child peeking from the front window, he vaulted onto the porch roof and took off, running lightly along the tiles in the direction he had seen Brigitte flying.
~ ~ ~
Three city blocks of guard-worthy disturbance later, Brigitte found herself once more in the antechamber of the Citadel. It was even quieter than it had been earlier, now with one shrouded warrior and the same cluster of chatty pikemen just askew of the main door. Apparently, that was their hangout. There were no hulking brutes or shiny knights for the clown to hide behind, and the deepest of alcoves held only the glimmer of daily-polished stone bricks. That glimmer held about as much homely warmth as the shine of polished armor.
Brigitte hitched her long brown cloak tighter. Sensing temperature was a skill her body didn't have, but the way the Citadel's imposing weight pushed down her anger left her feeling a chill. It still smoldered, though, ready to explode the instant she saw anyone in floppy penguin shoes.
Briskly, she entered the main hall, the first of many that honeycombed the building. Doors no more than twenty paces paces apart. A whole world hiding in each. The last time she entered one, she found herself in a “noodle house”, whatever that was. With a name like that, she hadn't expected it to be as flammable as it turned out to be. The monks hadn't said a word about the property damage, though, which led her to assume that what was beyond the doors wasn't really... real. To give the clown what he deserved, she'd have to drag him out of an arena and give him a real throttling into the polished stone floor.
“There's a problem, father.”
The soft voice carrying the disciplined tone of the Ai'Brone drifted to her from around the next corner. She quickened her pace toward it. Talons as translucent as glass phased through her boots and tapped anxiously with each step.
“The other that we scheduled for the experiment cancelled.”
She rounded the corner with enough loud clicking that the two monks present turned to her. The shorter one had a droopy curtain of black hair; the taller compensated with a hairline that began and ended along the back of his head. She faintly recognized him as the one who had been yelling at Shadar when they parted in the antechamber earlier that day, just prior to the episode with the noodle house. As to why the monk had been shouting, she had no idea. His Ai'Brone calm had returned, now, reducing the once-angry lines beside his eyes to crow's feet of experience and prestige.
“Where's the clown?” Brigitte demanded. The mere possibility of cornering her prey set her bloodlust to a simmer.
The older monk gracefully gestured toward the door at his side. “A clown did pass through there,” he said with smoothness and warmth in equal measure to the Citadel's stone. A fan of gossamer lines were all that could be seen as Brigitte's ethereal wings passed through her cloak, and her steps hastened as if she were trying to lift off before even entering the arena. “Allow me,” the monk intoned as he pulled one of the double doors open. Fog immediately swelled onto the floor and was just as quickly beaten back by the force of Brigitte lunging through like a hound cut from its leash. The fog swallowed her eagerly, and the monk closed the door with a soft click.
“Problem solved,” he said with a smile that didn't break the serenity of his features.
~ ~ ~
Brigitte's charge into the fog came to an abrupt end as a pillar lunged from the darkness and gave her a kiss. She bounced away, blood already foaming from her nose, and was greeted just as harshly by the stone floor. “Aaack!” she squawked when her mouth caught up with the situation.
The pillar that had assaulted her was already invisible from where she sat, and the floor around her was only an impression of solidity in the clinging dark. The blood from her nostrils, already turning to mist, was visible only as a slightly deeper patch of darkness in front of her instead of the rich blue she knew it to be.
More disoriented than afraid, though a seed of that emotion was beginning to sprout, she crawled toward the pillar. It loomed widely before her at little more than an arm span away. Tentatively, she touched it. The stone was pitted and old, yet it spoke of a time, ages ago, when it had been smooth and pristine.
“Anyone?” she asked uncertainly to the fog.
Light seemed to flicker around her. She discounted it as imagination and tried to blink it away, then was blinded as it hit full bloom. Through slitted eyes, she saw that a large glass sphere sat seven feet high on top of the pillar. Even as her vision adjusted, it was difficult to look directly at the sphere's core. However, when she looked away, the darkness crowded back in as hungrily as before. The monochrome contrast drew a stark border at a mere step's length away from the edge of the pillar.
“Who's there?” she called. Despite the monk's assurance, she didn't expect the clown. But, even if it was, she would have been relieved to know she wasn't alone.
She would still tear his painted face off, though.
Kyla was a simple girl, it did not take much to keep her happy. A warm bed, sunlight, some pretty scenery and the mystic would be just fine. This posed a slight problem since this place had none of that. The cold damp air surrounding her only increased the irritation she already felt as she tried to approach the imminent tournament with an open mind. Why would Sei have the monks arrange a room like this?
“Conditioning.” For a moment Kyla was not sure if she had simply thought the words or if they had come from the mist around her. She slowly looked over her shoulder though she knew even if something did lurk there she would be unable to see it through the blanket of darkness surrounding her. She stayed perfectly still, hoping that her eyes would adjust enough to at least find her opponent.
It did not take long for Kyla to realize that her pupils would not dilate enough for her to see through inky air. Brushing her now damp hair from her eyes she let out a sigh of frustration. She would have her revenge on Sei when she returned to Ixian castle, but for now she had better figure out how to find her foe in the blackness.
She began with small steps, shuffling her feet along the floor with her arms outstretched to avoid running into anything that might stand in her way. Her whole body tensed as she moved slowly through the space. As the girl took her third step her foot slipped on the damp floor below, plunging her into the floor and into a state of confusion. As she fell she could have sworn she heard someone speak, and perhaps even felt a hand brush against her skin.
What had just happened? Kyla pushed herself from her chest and sat upright, walking backwards on her hands a few steps just in case she was not going crazy. The damp floor slipped against her hands as she clumbsily made her way back to her feet. As she stood the girl realized that now not only could she not see her opponent, but she had no idea where the door was anymore. The idea did not give her any comfort as she continued forward. She looked down and noticed something she had not seen before. A soft combination of white and gold light shone on the her left hand, an indication that her Zodiac Weapon would be ready for action at a moment’s notice. The mystic moved on, her steps now being made at a common pace to avoid a repeat of her embarrassing trip.
”Are you there?” the voice seemed to come from everywhere, as if the very mist around the girl wanted to talk to her. She jerked her head from side to side as though trying to pinpoint the location from which the voice reached her. She took a few more steps, praying in a whisper for some source of light, even if just for a moment.
Kyla froze as her prayer was answered in the most unhelpful way possible. A bright light shone from above, burning her eyes for a moment before she shut them tightly and plunged herself again into darkness, this time by her own will. She gave herself a moment and then reopened them, vowing to deal with the pain for the sake of figuring out where the hell she was. As grateful as she was not to be in the darkness anymore, the light did her little good. The beams only lit up the area immediately around her and if anything it would only allow her enemy to find her easier. Kyla took a step backwards and was immediately blanketed again.
“What… is… Going… on…” She stepped in and out of the light a few times as she spoke, trying to figure out how it worked and staring up at the large glass bulb several feet above.
“This….sucks,” Kyla groaned, heading in the opposite direction. She was greeted by a freezing cold wall, made of some smooth material. She followed it to the corner of the room in an attempt to give herself some sense of direction.
She sighed as she turned around, the paranoid feelings inside her growing with each passing moment. Her hearing seemed to elevate slightly, and constant whispering seemed to crawl through the mist and to her ears. She did not know whether she was imagining what she was hearing, but it was frightening none the less. She allowed her non-glowing hand to form the familiar black swirls of shadow magic that made her shadow sword. She could feel the friendly heat of the weapon in her hand and the normalcy of it calmed her slightly. If anything was planning to surprise her, it would soon regret it.
She thought she heard the snap of a twig and turned on the spot, sure that something had followed her all along. She thrusted the sword towards where she believed the sound to have come from.
“Got you…” The girl spoke again, the words coming off more as a question than anything else, “…please?”
No response. There were little sounds, too low to even be whispers, and a faint rustling that could have been leaves. Nothing that indicated life, though, or at least the kind she wanted to see.
Brigitte put her weight against the pillar and slid down until her bottom touched the ground again. Her outstretched legs lost a few inches in the nearly physical wall of darkness. She folded them up to her chest and hugged her knees tightly.
There it was again, that rustling. Not a tree, though, just a few skittering bits of one. She looked around her lit island and noticed the crunchy red and gold of autumn's attire, evenly spaced. It wasn't as if they had been blown (she felt not a hint of breeze), but as if they had been spread deliberately by a wedding's flower girl. They seemed distinctly unnatural as they shimmered with a dampness that she was just beginning to feel through the seat of her pants.
“Neat,” she mouthed quietly to herself. It wasn't for her surroundings, which she had decided to think about as little as possible. It was for her own composure under circumstances that, mere months ago, would have irritated her into a frenzy; she was getting wet. Her old self would have panicked. But, her old self had been a harpy, literally, with golden feathers and a ridiculous bust-line that spoke more of her creator's cruel humor than any dominion she held over men.
Staring through the blue puff of nasal blood and into the dewy stone floor, she drifted back to that cave in Salvar where Shadar had remade her. He had given her a lithe, attractive form that wouldn't draw that all-too-familiar gawking. He had rendered her wings and talons to something like “summoned” parts, and had even given her arms. Arms! They were unwieldy things, but she was practising. With a grin, she realized that the act of hugging her knees had been natural, not carefully planned and executed like so many of her gestures. She was getting better. And now, as she let the moisture seep through her clothes and tickle her flesh -truly paying attention to the sensation for the first time in her new life- she thanked him for also erasing one of her old ticks.
She wouldn't dare think of him as a second creator, though. In perfect detail, she could imagine the hurt on his face if she ever referred to him as such. Her creator was a demon who had reflected his own inhumanity on her. Shadar was her guide and partner. Her protector.
The present rushed back with a scuffling that was different from the other sounds. It seemed to have weight. Brigitte concentrated on the darkness, which only made her doubt whether her eyes were open at all. She heard it again, though, that sound that could hardly be defined yet was more real than any of the stray whispers trapped in the fog.
Her eyes were open. She knew because there had been something... the barest glimmer of light. It was wiped out in an instant as if the fog had thickened in response, or gobbled it up. Hesitantly, she stood up at the border of light and dark. Blackness reigned again, but it hadn't been imagination. She knew the flicker was real; needed it to be.
With a determined huff, she stalked away from the safety of the orb. It winked out behind her, which she had expected enough to not jump as her eyes became instantly defunct. Her steps were slow and long, each foot landing tentatively to test the footing. Five paces. She thought this was where she had seen the light. Eight paces. She should have passed it, assuming she was even going in a straight line. On the ninth pace, she found a twig, and someone found her.
A sensation of mass came toward and into her. The object's sharp point pierced the slope of her right breast. Shallow. A sting. She jerked back, twisting the narrow breach into a longer cut that left a patch of her shirt slightly agape and revealed flesh, already slicking with blood yet to evaporate, to the moist air.
Her throat readied the shriek that half the Citadel district would not soon forget, but was interrupted by the voice of her assailant. The speaker felt very close, but also impossibly far away, as if the words had to contort and writhe to simply pass through the fog. They reached her ears without any indication of tone or gender, only a faintly mocking undercurrent that could have been her imagination.
“Those are new,” the voice said. Brigitte covered the exposed flesh, yet only realized she had performed the movement when she felt the misting of ethereal blood against her hand. “Tease.”
How had the attacker seen what she could not when looking down at her own breast? How had it known they were new? Her bloodlust flashed back to its full fury in a blink, turning her need for answers into a need for screams. If her stalker screamed the answers, all the better.
Her wings and talons reemerged from her body as she ducked low and rocked back. Then, with one mighty heave, she skimmed along the ground and swept out a leg below what she thought was the source of the blade. Her shriek finally broke forth, short and fierce, before turning into an accusation. “You've been watching me! Spying. You shouldn't know!”
Shallow breaths mingled with the fog and reached the mystic’s ears. Fear gripped her stomach as she felt her sword make a connection with something solid. In the blackness it seemed like everything was real and impossible at the same time, and her head swam with thoughts that this too was a trick of the night. She took a step backwards as once again the voice approached her from all sides; something about it was familiar yet terrifying. It was as though her sweetest memory wanted blood.
“You’ve been hiding things! Defying! You must go!” Her mind raced as she tried to understand the meaning of the accusation or to place the voice. Did she know her opponent?
“I don’t understand,” Her words were cut short as a scream filled her lungs. Something sharp stabbed her left leg and she fell hard to the floor. Instinctively she tried to sit up as soon as she landed against the leaf-covered floor, but as she pushed herself up with her arms at her sides her leg seared again with pain.
Something was pulling the injured appendage into the air and within seconds the rest of her followed. Her hair covered her face as she soared through the dark, unsure of how high they flew or what gripped her leg. She tightened her stomach muscles and tried to reach up towards the torturous wound. She had just reached her knees when the being jolted her higher and she was thrown back to simply hanging upside down, her ponytail whipping about from the wind created by whatever appendages were helping her foe take flight, while her ears filled completely with rushes of air and the loud 'woosh' sounds made above her every couple of seconds.
She was just about to try again when suddenly her head hit a hard surface. Her ears rang as she brought her hand to the side of her face, her fingers were immediately covered with warm liquid. It seemed as though time skipped in the mystic's mind, somehow she missed her fall to the hard floor below. Whether the attacker had hoped to snap her neck, or simply released her from the hold remained a mystery. Feeling a bit woozy, Kyla pushed herself back up from the ground, her body swaying from disorientation.
“Ooohhhh,” Kyla groaned, lifting her shadow sword mere inches from her face in an attempt to regain her bearings and defend herself simultaneously. She had landed in an area with some semblence of lighting though it was only barely enough to see her own hand inches from her face. I did not matter, any light at all was a blessing in this thayne-forsaken battle, she took in the little she could like a starving child. It was then that the girl noticed that her black sword had an odd color to it. Her eyes narrowed on the out of place color, her body trembling with shock and fear.
Blue blood. There was blue blood trickling down the arm of the girl, dripping off of the ‘blade’ of the darkened sword. It was incredibly hard to see it, but Kyla had seen enough of her own essence to know what it looked like in dim conditions. Just to reassure herself, Kyla looked at her left hand, the small glowing light confirming what she had first thought. Azure liquid covered the glowing opera glove, staining its white fabrics with proof of her opponent’s race.
A mystic. I’m fighting a mystic. Kyla was quickly overcome with a sense of dread. She had only met a handful of mystics outside of her own family tree, and knew very little about them. What she did know of those few warriors is that they typically far outclassed the girl in any combat aspect. Kyla swallowed hard and took a deep breath. She was now unsure about her prospects for victory, a fear reflected in her body trembling even harder.
The trembling caused her knees to give out, sending the girl onto the ground once again. This time, she had managed to catch herself just right, her bottom falling upon her legs. As she thought about what powers her foe had in his or her arsenal, her ears began to fill with more noises. Leaves were rustling close to her, branches above were swaying, threatening to crack, and a strange change in the air around her quickly lead the girl to believe her foe was in front of her once more.
“STAY AWAY!” Kyla screamed at the top of her lungs, raising her gloved hand into the air and pointing. Her body reacted instinctively, relying on the girl’s magical prowess. Kyla could feel that feeling in the pit of her stomach, as if she had just thrown up. It was how she always felt when she was trying her heavier attack spells. She could not see the ball of white form a good ten feet from her form, nor could she watch as several strips of black wrapped around the white ball, constricting it like a snake would a rat. In the span of three seconds, the ball of white could take no more, and a thunderous boom filled the blackened arena.
She could feel the wind whipping past her as her mystic bomb attack went off. Leaves rustled past her ears, and the sound of something sizzling took precedence in her range of hearing. It was a desperate attack, and one that probably wound up completely missing her target. However, anything closer to the ball than ten feet was likely to feel some sort of effect from the explosion. Kyla just hoped it would be enough.
She had intended to fly above the oppressive fog, above whatever canopy produced the carpet of leaves, though she had yet to encounter a tree trunk that would have supported said canopy. She would break through to a place where her eyes once again belonged to her. Starlit and horrified, she would finally see her stalker's face, and she would let the creep fall.
That was not the victory this night held for her, though. Before she had completed even the first circle with her flailing captive, she was slapped wetly across the whole left side of her body. The surface was as smooth and solid as glass, and it whispered with the keratin scrape of her feathers as she struggled to stay aloft. No chance. Her left wing folded against her back, her captive fell, and Brigitte spiralled back to ground after forcibly rebounding from the wall.
She crashed down on her left shoulder -the wing still safely folded- and slid to a standstill. Laying prone, she told herself that the crunching and snapping had been the brittle leaves under her and not her own body. Her shoulder screamed otherwise when she tried to push herself to her feet. Bitterly, she tried to spot her stalker in the darkness. Her eyes held the promise that, by whatever force necessary, she would repay him threefold for the furnace of pain venting both down her arm and into her collarbone.
Yes, him. It felt like it should be a male. Not for any features she had seen while in close proximity, though. That had just been a shape, an afterimage against the darkness of something distinctly human. The light was what made up her mind. She had glimpsed it in the few flashes that the fog offered, but she saw enough. Wisp-like and ethereal, it was the light of illusions. Not since Salvar had she seen it. Only the faintest glimmer, it had been, yet her memories could fill in the rest. It was a light deceptive and cruel, and violently masculine.
With a jolt that pained her shoulder almost to the point of screaming, she took to the air again. Unburdened, she rose higher than before until she sensed a thick, shifting weight above in the way her wing gusts reflected against her back. So there was a canopy; and branches to spread the leaves instead of so many ghostly hands doing the work. The rustle and fall of foliage into her splayed hair was the first familiar sensation this light-forsaken place had given her.
She hovered there a moment. The burning in her shoulder shrank against the welcome feel of tender, swaying branches. They seemed too thick to fly through and secure enough to trap her if she tried. The tips of her wings only dislodged small pieces that tumbled into the void below.
“GOING AWAY?!” screamed the untraceable voice, causing her to forget her tempo and drop a short distance before correcting. She tried to find the source, but it had struck her from the darkness itself; darkness that had once more consumed even the canopy. With no ceiling or ground to reference, Brigitte felt herself wobble in the air as her muscles strained to find “up” by feel alone.
Then, a mercy. The fog parted just enough for her to see a light with no source, that illusionary brightness that should not exist. She collapsed her wings and dove as if drawn to it. Moth to a flame, but with talons extended and grasping. Whoever was creating that familiar light would perish, for it only existed in a bitter memory, and there it should stay.
The darkness pulsed around her like some giant beast's throat, yet the single point of light grew stronger and stronger... until it exploded.
~ ~ ~
Shadar rounded another corner, one of many he had taken through the oddly quiet Citadel. His search had been ridiculously easy. Naturally, the worst aspect of it would not come to fruition until the guards -or whichever authority decided to take issue with his and Brigitte's rabble rousing- plucked their sluggish way along the trail he had followed. At least he had sent the pikemen by the door packing. Their information had been helpful, if as wordy as could be expected from professional gossips. All it took to run them off, though, was the implication that the violence wouldn't be relegated only to the arenas tonight. Apparently, the pikes were just for show.
“The redheaded woman's a better fit than the one we scheduled. How did you know?” said a voice in a nearby hall. Shadar pressed himself against the stone and craned his head to peek. Two monks leaned against one wall, their eyes locked on the opposite wall like they were seeing more than simple stone.
The older of the two was immediately recognizable in a way that made Shadar want to bark, “He didn't!” even though he had no idea what they were talking about. The reference to a redheaded woman, however, meant that his search had come to an end. In a much milder, if no less condescending tone, he entered their hall and announced his presence with, “What have you fine gentlemen done with my friend, hmm?”
Both monks faced him in that infuriatingly unsurprised way and eyed his shirt. The open coat laid bare the four cauterized wounds, the cloth around each ringed by singe marks and then dark crimson. Though his blood evaporated in time, some of it always found a way to hide out in the fabric. Never clotting, a mist that nonetheless left a stain; it was as if his blood was inconvenient by design, which he wouldn't doubt. Diamond Jackal was full of tricks, the full extent of which hadn't been obvious to him until he had remade Brigitte and seen the sinister intentions that guided her architecture. It was disconcerting, especially given the changes he had allowed Jackal to make to his own body. In spite of his life prior to the dream demon, he was likely no less a child of Jackal than Brigitte was.
“You are not welcome here,” the older monk said sternly. His face tightened, crinkled, almost buckled against an anger that had already broken out once. Shadar just smirked. As much as he disliked facing the repercussions of his time under Jackal's influence, he appreciated that the demon had driven him to do something most would think impossible. He had offended the Ai'Brone faith, a doctrine bound in so much mystery that many assumed the monks to be atheist. The incident in question was years old, and it would have never happened if the Ai'Brone's gods hadn't put their noses -literally- where they didn't belong. He couldn't remember much else of that day. But, Shadar knew he had given those noses a good, solid thump.
Shadar pressed a finger and thumb to his temples, feigning exasperation. “On topic. Where's Brigitte?”
“She will be returned as she was,” the balding one assured. Then, he turned back to the wall as if that had ended the conversation. The younger man, wrestling with and then shrugging off a look of confusion, returned as well to that unexplainable business of the Ai'Brone.
Shadar, also, stared at the wall between two doors, though he only saw gleaming stone where the monks obviously saw something much more interesting. “No one leaves this place unchanged,” he muttered.
~ ~ ~
The explosion, for all its brutal force and the full-body shot of pain that made her wrenched shoulder seem trivial, was a welcome reprieve. Where once there had been only darkness, there was a warm, searing light. No less obscuring to the eyes, but it was an assurance that her eyes still functioned and would continue to do so even as the darkness welled back in, which it did angrily.
In the pitch void once more, she flew backward. Her wings wrapped her in a shroud of ghostly feathers. They were far more solid than they looked, though, as evidenced when her body slammed into a column and the left stem snapped as loudly as real bone. A short scream convulsed from her as she slid to the ground.
Overhead, the orb atop the column blinked to life with a solid yellow glow so unlike the light that had teased and pounded her. The fog seemed suddenly darker at the very edge of the illumination, either because of her shocked eyes or because of the darkness' conscious effort to seize her. She doubted she would see any more flickers through it.
Looking down, she cringed at the mix of smoke and blood-mist dancing off her body. Her clothing was intact, as was her flesh, in spite of the numerous bruises and burns. Her wing, however... She leaned forward and a scream of agony welled up, not from her throat, but from her whole left side. When it did reach her throat, it knotted into a lump that escaped her mouth soundlessly.
Helpless, she pressed her forehead to the ground and felt the fog tousling her far-flung strands of hair like a spurned lover. The wing quivered and shook, then retracted into her shoulder blade on its own volition. She lay there for a second more, waiting for the pain to disappear just as the limb had. By comparison, her shoulder didn't hurt so much after all.
Finally, when she thought the vibrations wouldn't shake another scream from her, she used her right hand and wing to heave herself back onto her knees. Her hair snapped away from the fog with only the faintest of resistance, spraying the few leaves that had somehow clung on during the explosion.
She gritted her teeth in what was almost a smile. Broken and burned, she could still fight. She was more warrior than human, in spite of her appearance. “Stalker!” she called into the wall of shifting obsidian, “You've been following us, haven't you? You know about me. You know about Shadar. You even copied his illusion lights to fool me! Jokes on you, though.” Her laugh was strained with the exertion of standing. Muscles simply didn't want to move. “He hasn't been able to make illusions since Jackal left us. The dirty dog took his dirty lies with him.”
Her talons scraped against the column, finding purchase in the age-worn divots. With pumps from her lone wing, she skittered from foothold to foothold until she reached the orb. She wrapped her legs around it, strong thighs locking down on the unusually cool sphere, and wrenched it sideways while her wing beat to stabilize her.
The light winked out. The darkness rush in. But, she was not as blind as she could have been. She knew the direction from which she had been thrown. So, it stood to reason...
On the frantic direction of a single wing, she spun and wheeled through the air. The momentum of the orb built until even her vice-like grip threatened to slip, and it was at that point she launched it toward what she thought was the source of the explosion.
After the throw, all orientation was lost in her fight to make the landing as smooth as possible. She bobbed wildly, good arm clutching her bad one, and strained outward with her feet to brace against anything that decided to get in her way. It turned out to be that smooth wall, which she only realized after the stomp and subsequent squeal of talons scraping down glass. She flapped to stay upright as she slid, but it was only a moment before she softly, if awkwardly, found the ground.
Brigitte pressed her right hand to the glass and waited for the world to stop spinning.
Though the breeze Kyla created was unnatural to the dark arena, it was quite comforting to the girl. Few things could stand being hit directly by the mystic bomb technique and survive, even being close to the explosion would typically injure somebody enough to cripple them for the rest of the fight. Kyla was sure that at best, her opponent had been blown to pieces by the powerful spell and at worst; she had injured them into agreeing that this battle would wind up a tie.
It was a good thing too, because the young mystic did not know if she would even be able to stand up any more. She had already suffered several traumatic blows from her mystery opponent, and was unsure if her legs could support the full force of her body weight any longer. She continued to wait for several seconds, the sound of her breathing seemingly the only noise filling the area.
“Coward!” Kyla’s opponent yelled back finally, causing the girl to curse under her breath, “I’ve followed you. I know about you and your caretaker. Your light illusions won’t fool me! You’re a joke, a jackal! Leave, wuss! You’re a dirty dog who’s going to die!” Kyla grew a little confused at the choice of wording by her opponent, trying to place the strange phrases. It took several moments before she realized that it must be a trick of the fog.
This sound of glass being shattered answered the bulk of the girl's questions, and did nothing to soothe her fearful heart. She thought she could feel the blood leaving her body as she raised her arms to protect her face. She knew what would come next and she did not wish for her features to be any more damaged than they had already become. True to her nightmarish theory, several glass shards came flying at the young girl. As she tensed her body for the impact, certainty of her foe filled her mind, only a mystic could summon mystic protection.
Yet she never felt the cold bite of glass shards penetrated her skin. Instead, she heard another echo of breaking glass fill the arena. The young girl lowered her arms to see that her survival instincts had finally kicked in, giving her some sense of a chance. The area around the girl began to crack, though she could not see it in the blackness that still filled the room. Taking the opportunity, Kyla forced herself upon her feet, still very dizzy and disoriented from the previous blows. She stumbled her way to her feet, doing her best to avoid slipping on her own blood pooling beneath her, and ran towards the direction she believed her foes mystic protection had shot from.
As she started running, her own mystic protection finally shattered, sending out knife-like shards covered in a magical flame. Kyla smiled weakly, blood from her head wound seeping into her mouth as she did so. The girl paused mere steps from the wall she had hit a couple of minutes before, the sound of glass hitting the surface just inches from her body alerting her of the presence of the surface. She let out a sigh of relief, leaning against the wall and starting to let her body slide down.
“What…?” Kyla asked weakly, noticing something different about the wall this time. There were now three distinct scratch marks down the wall, but it seemed as though the claw marks were on the other side of the glass. Kyla brought a hand up to feel at the marks, only for her glowing white opera glove to feel a smooth, unscathed surface.
“It’s a wall of glass!” Kyla shouted out loud, placing her back to the wall to keep an eye for her foe. As she spoke, the white light above shone once more, this time Kyla’s eyes receiving a good vision of the person she had been fighting. “No….anybody but you…”
It was only a couple of seconds, but it was enough time to notice the hair as orange as a rising sun, the gray tattered outfit that was in desperate need of sewing, and the glowing swords in each hand giving off an eerie blue hue. A feeling of fear swept over the girl as she slid down the glass, finding rest on her butt once more. Tears welled up in her eyes, prepared to just give up then and there. Kyla had been right all along, she had been fighting a mystic. She had expected that.
What she had not expected, however, was to be fighting Sei Orlouge.
Brigitte heard the glass bulb shatter like a pitiful imitation of the earlier explosion. Then, nothing. Her tormentor offered not a word of either pain or mockery. Somehow, that made the darkness feel even more threatening.
She closed her eyes and turned her head side to side, wishing Shadar had done something to enhance her hearing while he had the chance. At the moment, there was nothing but the tinkle of glass settling. Soon, that faded, and all she had left were the whispers that might have been her own fear finding voice.
Another spray of glass. Close.
Her eyes snapped open. She tried to cower behind her left arm. It didn't move; the motion yielded nothing but a whimper. She was too distracted to register the pain, though. There had indeed been another shower of glass. It had struck the wall she was against, but the sound was so faint... It was as if the shards had hit the other side.
A light suddenly appeared beyond the glass. Brigitte skittered backward on her heels and good hand, expecting her assailant to crash through the wall. The face that appeared, however, was completely unlike any stalker she could imagine. It was a young brown-haired woman, her face too sweet to utter any of the stalker's vile words. Could she really be...?
Two images settled the matter, both of which stuck in her mind with absolute, unshakeable stillness. First, the woman's illusions were different. There was a warmth as if the illumination was born from something real; magic of true light rather than deception. Second, there was panic and fear so strong in her eyes it was almost a scream. Brigitte's own eyes had been like that, she had no doubt, and they would return to that state as soon as the bewilderment passed.
For the tiniest of moments, the woman studied the scratches on Brigitte's side of the glass. Her eyes shifted toward Brigitte, then passed over her so blindly that despair pulled her to her feet. “I'm here,” she called pleadingly. Stumbling, she threw herself into the bloom of light that was being projected from the other side of the wall, but the woman had already turned away. Beyond her, visible by his own glowing swords, was a man. Brigitte only registered a mess of orange, grey, and blue before she was reminded that she wasn't alone on her side either.
“Give daddy a kiss,” rasped a voice behind her. Iron bands of fear cinched painfully around her innards. She didn't turn. She couldn't. If the only other being on her side of the glass as who she thought it was, she didn't know what she would do. Cry? Howl? Maybe even cease to exist, as he had promised on their last meeting.
The voice continued, bestial and cruel. “I know what you've been up to, little bird-bitch. You and the pansy avenger had a day on the town; playing at the Citadel, chasing clowns, shopping.”
Brigitte jolted as if the last word was a physical blow.
“You weren't kidding,” said the monster in an impersonation of Shadar so perfect that she could once again see the store counter, the pastel-dressed owner, and the rack of masks. “It doesn't look exactly like him. But, then again, what are the odds of anyone making a purple dog mask?” To the owner, “I'll take it.”
“I didn't want you to actually buy it,” Brigitte remembered aloud like an actor chained to the stage. “I just wanted you to see it.”
The words reaching her ears and the words from her memory were indistinguishable. “Jackal's gone. I know how to make it official, too.... with fire.”
An explosion of howling laughter broke her from the trance, and her head began to creak around. “It's very sweet of you two shits to think of me. Who knows, maybe I'll be there for my own effigy.” Finally, the monster had confirmed his identity. Brigitte turned no faster, though, as if the muscles in her neck were clockwork.
She caught sight of an illusionary light, one with none of the substance or warmth that she had seen from the illusions of that other woman. The light danced over the tip of a blade that wore her blood, and it played in the blue mist that still drifted from the stain. Then, it moved further, guiding her eyes on the grand tour.
The blade wasn't held in a hand. It was grown from it. Around the wrist, the metal ended, and so began the inky darkness of a very familiar glove. An emaciated arm connected to a bone-sharp shoulder, and then her eyes jumped to the face. It was gaunt and pale, but it was Shadar's.
Brigitte felt nauseous. She had been expecting Jackal's face, not-
The eyes flashed red as if the doors to a great furnace had been thrown open, and the purple-furred maw of her creator swept over the twisted face without obscuring it, as if Shadar wore an apparition of Jackal like a sheet. Only... it was clear who was wearing who, and the truth made her curl into herself.
“It's good to be done with that little game,” Jackal said through Shadar's mouth, “Trying to match words to your girlfriend over there was such a bloody chore. Probably because we don't talk like scared little whores! It's that right, Sei?”
From the reverberations of Jackal's voice, Brigitte had no doubt that his words reached the whole arena, glass wall and twisting fog be damned. She wanted to turn and watch for the reply of the other woman's monster, if only for an excuse to look away, but her eyes were locked on Jackal's empty hand. Shadar's hand. She couldn't think of it any other way as material began to pool from the depths of the glove in a display that was Shadar's only -or should have been.
In moments, the hand was holding a small orb consisting of metal plates. Fire pulsated along the seams, speaking of barely contained destruction. Shadar had never created a bomb, but Brigitte knew it for having already felt it once. With a flourish, Jackal enclosed the weapon in a shroud of illusionary light. “Does the birdie want the shiny? Again?” the demon squawked, but the smirk was Shadar's.
“Why?” Brigitte found herself asking toward the familiar face. There was no Shadar there to answer, though the mannerisms screamed otherwise. The creator and protector together made a horror far greater than the one had ever been.
As if a spell had suddenly faded, Brigitte was on her feet. She vaulted the two steps to the glass wall, still barely lit by the woman's light, and she pounded her fist against it. “Please,” her eyes said in the same language that the woman would know all too well in this nightmare, “Please don't take the light away.”
“I’m surprised it took you this long to figure it out, Kylana,” Sei's 'voice' filled her mind with a hiss. Kyla stared up at him; tears running down her face as her blue terror filled eyes met his. This was far from the first time the two had fought, but each time Sei had limited himself. He had always put Kyla's safety before his own will to win. Now, Sei fought with a kind of killer instinct. He had used the darkness of the arena to his advantage, tossing his niece around like a child’s toy. Kyla trembled as she watched the orange haired warrior slowly walk towards her, twirling each of his swords. She had always wanted Sei to fight her with his full potential, but this blood-thirsty man was not the man she knew. Anger distorted his features, something Kyla had only seen during trying military operations, and certainly never directed at her.
“Jackal and I have had our fun now, though,” Sei continued to speak. With each inch he advanced Kyla fought a bit harder to will her weak body to stand. “It’s amazing how similar we are, Shadar and myself that is. It was quite easy to fool you and the harpy until we were ready to show you ourselves. I do hope we didn't scare you too much.” The last words filled the girl's mind with a sick laugh.
The end of Sei’s speech ignited something in Kyla’s mind. "I hope we didn't scare you", he had said. It suddenly all began to make sense. The mystic and the demon had both been using everything they could to instill fear into the two warrior women. Kyla’s fear of the dark had caused her to make rookie mistakes and something had terrified that girl through the glass. Kyla could only assume that the other girl had been given a similarly shock, learning that she faced something that truly terrified her.
The glass pounded behind her, causing Kyla to shift her head to the side, her eyes moving towards the strange girl's form. Kyla could not hear the woman's words, but the desperation in her eyes and her trembling lips told Kyla everything she needed to know. As she looked at the tear-filled eyes of the other woman, something in Kyla finally snapped. Fear could turn the tide of a battle, but once that fear was conquered, the once fearful could topple mountains.
“No…” Kyla spoke with a determination she did not know she possessed, “We will not die here. I am done being scared!” Kyla’s spoke with a fire that came more from knowing that she was not alone in this fight than from within. If she was not strong enough to stand up to Sei for herself, she would do it so that somehow she could reach the other woman. Sophia’s Mane began to glow stronger as she shouted, almost enveloping her entire arm in bright white light. The orb above her began to brighten as well, as if trying to compete with the zodiac weapon for which could shine the brightest.
Kyla charged at her adoptive father, screaming at the top of her lungs. This caught her foe off guard, and he was ill-prepared when three claws popped out of Sophia’s Mane and slashed him clear across the face. Sei’s form stumbled backwards, dropping one of his swords in the process. His now free hand went to his face, touching on the azure liquid that now ran down his damaged cheek. He slashed at the girl with the only blade he had left, a three foot, blue steel long sword. Kyla moved faster than she thought possible at this point, catching the blade with her own shadow sword. Kyla took a breath as their swords locked in the air. She pulled her sword down as she plunged Sophia's Mane deep into Sei's arm, raking the blades through his flesh.
Speckles of blue blood splattered across the mystic's face, a few stray droplets flowing down into her mouth. Her attack was finally answered by a kick to the sternum from her opposition, sending the girl wheezing and stumbling backwards. She found herself against the glass wall once more.
Her eyes were fixed on Sei’s arm, or what was left of it. The limb lay at his side, lifeless. Chunks of skin and muscle were torn from his forearm, bones covered with the sapphire hue of her race's blood showing through the tangle of nerves she had cut through so viciously. Kyla stood upright, pulling her shadow sword back to her face, and lowering Sophia’s Mane towards her hip. She turned her head once more, hoping the girl could read her lips, if she was even still looking through.
“I'm sorry."
She then turned her head back to her fellow mystic, prepared for anything he had to throw at her. For too long, Kyla Orlouge had let her fears overtake her. She now stood with bravery that she rarely held, a fierce drive and urge to stand her ground. Kyla Orlouge was no longer a scared little girl; Kyla Orlouge was no longer terrified of dying in this place. As Sei brought his sword up to deliver what she could only assume would be the killing blow, a smile graced the girl's lips. She would die here, but she would do so staring deep into the eyes of her killer. And for the first time Kyla realized that perhaps being brave enough to do that meant a lot more than winning.
Brigitte's experience with lip reading was -as per her relatively short life- nil, so it was with a pounding sense of betrayal that she watched the other woman step away from the wall. “Wait!” she called, pressing her nose to the glass as if to soak in the last traces of the warm, human light. Any moment, the fog would slam back down. The wall would be only a wall and the woman would be gone as if she had been nothing but Brigitte's terrified reflection. There had been something at the end, though, a hardening in those cerulean eyes. She had seen it just as the woman turned away. If only she could see it again. If only the woman hadn't left her and faded...
She hadn't faded. Brigitte blinked, replacing the scene her fear insisted upon with what she actually saw. That warm light shone bright enough to burn away the fog, and the woman herself shone courageously below it. She was fighting her tormentor! Brigitte beamed and cheered silently.
“Fine,” Jackal barked behind her, his voice tinged with that familiar annoyance at being ignored, “If you're just going to cry there like some pea soup puking baby...”
Her hand flicked to her face. “Crying?” she asked aloud. In the light that still blazed through the glass, she saw the thick bulb of a tear roll down her finger and disappear beyond the curve of her wrist. That was new. When she was Jackal's harpy, she hadn't been able to cry. Shadar, she thought with a smile that threatened more of those oh-so-human tears.
With one last look at her sister in the nightmare, fighting like she was the construct of war, Brigitte looked over her shoulder. Defiantly, she refused to turn her body. “Bite me, mutt,” she said as she tossed her cloak askew and slapped the pretty bottom that Shadar had given her.
Jackal screamed like the monster he was. It blasted to every corner of the arena, and the illusionary light, as if disgusted with his lack of control, flew apart with it. For a moment so small it would fit through the eye of a needle, Brigitte saw the arena. The foliage hung unsupported overhead like cloud cover and at least another three pillars stood solemnly, their bulbs intact and shimmering under the false light. To Brigitte's right, a body lay in a broken heap on the ground. Though it had the shape of a man, it was nothing but meat, a squished and battered dummy with the mark of her talons on one leg. Then, darkness fell once more. The fact that her only successful attack had been another ruse should have disheartened her. It didn't.
“Bite this!” came the expected retort, then the sudden fiery glow of the bomb flying at her.
As if you would do anything else.
Brigitte had kicked of the wall and spun into position even before seeing the bomb. Her single wing, wrapping her from one shoulder to another, swept out and upward, volleying the bomb directly above her head. It hung there for less than a second before she orchestrated the most difficult move her new arms had ever attempted. She slapped the insidious thing right back at its maker.
Darkness was ripped asunder again, this time with blinding fire. Brigitte's body was forced against the glass as if the whole room had rolled. It only lasted a second, though. A second in which she thought she heard Jackal scream in pain. She smiled gloriously through the drying tears and the misting blood.
When the glare faded, she realized that the light reaching her side of the glass was brighter than before. She turned with her shoulders still against it and realized that she was perfectly in line with the woman on the other side. Her head was also turned, their eyes connecting. This time, she understood the message, though it confused her. "Sorry for what?"
Suddenly, she was seized. Corrupted and decaying limbs sprouted from the darkness as if a dozen caskets had been thrown open, their occupants furious. Two of the hands gripped her head, pinning it to the glass as surely as the rest of her body and forcing her to stare directly into Jackal's inferno eyes. The Shadar puppet underneath smoked and smoldered, no longer recognizable.
“Scream, bitch!” Jackal demanded.
“You aren't invited to the effigy,” Brigitte answered.
The darkness crowded close, erasing all but the very center of the arena where, back to back, stood two warriors victoriously. Two blades, moving as perfectly as reflections, pulled back and thrust through their chests. Both points met at the same spot. The mirror cracked-fractured-shattered as the women died, victorious still.
Her eyes opened slowly then were snapped back shut. The bright light above was blinding, and she put her arm over her face before opening them again slowly, letting them adjust as she took in the somewhat blurry room. There was another bed across the room, currently empty save for a pile of blankets awaiting use. She turned her head and saw no one attending to her at the moment so she pushed herself to sit, still feeling somewhat sore here and there. Once again, the dying had hurt.
A soft knock came at the door to the room and was quickly followed by the long haired monk from earlier in the day. He kept his head held low as he carried in a tray of what looked like mashed potatoes but from the smell were probably instead a type of anesthetic. "I remember you." Her voice came out gruff and manly, causing her to clear her sore throat before continuing. "What the heck was that?" Confusion filled her head; unsure of weather she had just had a terrible dream.
"Ma'am, you should sit back and rest, you've only just been revived. You did very well today." The monk dipped a piece of cloth in the mashed potatoes and touched it to her face, stinging when it touched what was let of her cut.
Kyla's mind struggled to fill in the terrible details. It took several moments for the memory to become anything but darkness in her fuzzy brain. When she could finally picture the end of the battle, she jerked her hand and pushed the monk away. "No I didn't! Why did Sei....who was...the girl?" Her thoughts rushed together as she tried to find something coherent to say to the man, her vision again blurred as she tried to sit up straighter, forcing her to lie back down for a moment.
"I told you that you needed rest, you really shouldn't even be awake yet." The monk looked the girl over and gestured at the still-healing wounds as though to prove his point.
"You're just full of helpful information now aren't you?" Kyla's voice was filled with fire, and she pulled her hands to her temples to dull the pain that was building in her head. "You couldn't have been this helpful this morning when you sent me into that chamber with no idea what the heck was going on?" She sat again, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. "And why did Sei? That couldn't...."
The monk interjected, again holding her still and trying to reach her head wound. "That wasn't Sei, it was supposed to be someone you trust more than anyone else, but also fear deep inside. It's something we're working on. I'm sorry we didn't ask beforehand, but people haven't exactly been banging down the door to test it for us."
"I wonder why?" Kyla forced herself to her feet, steadying her shaky frame on the bed as she stared into the monk's eyes. "How can you even do that? This is sick."
The monk stood then, grabbing Kyla's hand softly. "It is just an experiment, none of it was real. Think about the possibilities, people can take on their biggest fear, even if they don't know what that is. They can fight the greatest champion to ever exist, so long as their mind can generate the opponents moves. Now please, you must lay back down."
Kyla thought over his words, something about someone digging around in her head bothered her. She had always enjoyed how true to the detail the monks could make a battlefield, but to re-create a person from a memory? "So you said that I controlled both the doppelganger and myself?"
The monk nodded slowly.
Kyla grabbed her belongings from the bedside table and then looked hard at the monk. "Then you make damn sure it gets put down that I won." With that she left the room, listing to the monk pleading in the background for her to return and finish the healing process. She passed one doorway before the dizziness got the better of her, and then used another to support herself as she waited for it to pass. The light in the room was bright and she could only make out a bed in the space.
Shadar sat on the floor, leaning against the recovery room's wall directly opposite the door. His coat was as immaculate as if he had just purchased it, and his shirt had not a hint of hole, burn, or blood. Brigitte, who lay across his lap with her head on his shoulder, only had small hints of wear and tear left to patch.
With practised smoothness, Shadar traced a finger up her torso, resealing the torn clothing over perfect, untouched skin. “Welcome back,” he said when she twitched and grunted something that sounded like “don't tickle.” She didn't return the greeting, though she did raise a hand and press it to his opposite shoulder. Her fingers softly drummed to a tune that he could just barely hear her humming.
Smiling peacefully, he ran his fingers to where the cloth had been split over her right breast, when he suddenly looked up with ice-cold fire in his eyes. “I remember beating up a pair of your gods on that day,” he said to two monks who were too stunned to look away immediately, “Was one of them a god of voyeurism?”
Both monks, young and baby-faced, blushed as they turned away with obviously fake coughing. One straightened the sheets on the bed that they had tried to place Brigitte on initially. The other fiddled with a tray of medical tools that looked rather menacing. It had been the same scene right after Brigitte's battle that morning. He'd explained to them then, just as he had tried after this battle, that Brigitte didn't need their aid. Apparently, Ai'Brone ears were too plugged with duty to be much good at hearing.
“Out!” ordered a familiar voice from the doorway.
“Father Shol!” gasped one of the boys who had been not-so-stealthily looking Brigitte's way again. They both bowed to their superior and scampered through the door, their earthy robes brushing his as he entered.
“If you have a moment,” the monk said with a charade of politeness that dwarfed the young ones' attempt at nonchalance.
“Shol, huh?” Shadar sneered as he finished with Brigitte's clothing. Through slitted eyelids, she gave the monk a drowsy look of annoyance. “That's a pretty funny name for an Ai'Brone.”
“Tell me of this Jackal.”
Shadar snapped his eyes up and stared into the piebald monk's face. “Your turn. Out!” he commanded. The monk just shook his head condescendingly. Glowering, Shadar asked, “Why in hell are you bringing that up?”
Shol gestured to Brigitte appraisingly, “Her mind generated him as an opponent.”
“You bastard,” Shadar spat, twitching as if only her weight stopped him from lunging. “You have no idea how-”
Brigitte's sleepy giggle stopped him. “I blew his fuzzy ass up,” she said as her eyes opened to halfway, “Just like that stupid noodle house.”
Shadar's anger was squashed under the weight of relief and pride. “That's damn good to hear,” he said with a slightly higher tone as the worry faded.
“He was a dream demon, correct?” the monk continued, smiling as if he thought he could be part of the pleasant moment.
Shadar flicked his eyes to Brigitte's, which were just as wide. “Did Jackal say...” he whispered.
“No,” she mouthed, then wobbled to her feet before Shadar's sudden stand could dump her on the ground.
Father Shol met Shadar's level glare companionably. “What do you know of dream demons?”
“What do you know of dream demons?” Shadar hissed. “Every person I've said that to thinks I'm just stringing words together. A chair that rocks is a rocking chair. A demon of dreams is a dream demon. Obvious. But, you say it like it means something to you.”
“It means nothing, sir.”
“Bullshit!” Shadar spouted as Brigitte let out a short, angry squawk. “If you've got nothing more than what you've seen all those times I came in here with Jackal, you're wasting my time.”
The monk's brow furrowed, redrawing the strained lines around his eyes. “He's been here before?”
Shadar raised his hands, then his voice. “Ha! Here I thought you guys watched every fight.”
Shol's shiny head shook thoughtfully. “We do, and we keep records. This fight was the first appearance of your Jackal.”
Palm to forehead, Shadar spoke slowly. “Two years ago, when I assaulted your gods or their avatars or whatever the hell I did, he was screaming right in their faces and pointing right where he wanted me to hit them. Don't tell me he's a figment of my imagination, because I could bring in at least twenty people he's personally pissed off.”
Only faint concern crossed Shol's face as he began to slowly pace. “This was the first time we viewed one of your party's fights in person. As a template for possible Serenti battles, we had to see how the deception of the arena would hold up under audience scrutiny. To simply scry it would have been all-seeing and pointless...”
“So your... scrier's broken,” Shadar interjected as he began to step around Shol, “Glad we could help solve that. Brigitte, let's go.”
His last words were buried under her loud gasp, and she was out the door faster than the pervy young monks had been. A woman who seemed about the same age as Brigitte (at least, as old as she appeared) was leaning against the opposite door frame. Then, she was leaning against Brigitte due to the sheer force of the construct's hug. Through the silence that both Shadar and the monk shared, Brigitte's words were just audible.
“It's late, but... you don't have to be sorry for anything.”
Shadar could hear the tears in Brigitte's voice as well as see the tears falling down the other woman's face. “Thank you,” she said just as quietly.
Shol came back to his senses first. “Speaking of the Serenti, I would like to offer you a place in it. It may have started already, but accommodations can be made.”
Shadar returned to the conversation with venom in his voice. “I'm not going to dance in some sand pit for your paying crowd.”
“Think of it as penance, long due,” Shol offered with a smile that Shadar wanted to slap clean across the room, “Or as payment for information that I may be able to obtain on matters of interest.”
Miraculously, Shadar kept his hands where they were. “Information you already have. Give me this much, first.” He lowered his voice. “Can a dream demon die?”
The monk's eyes glimmered as he said solemnly, “Dream demons are absolute and eternal, not to mention irrationally vengeful.”
Shadar sighed, and his shoulders dropped as if the stone roof had fallen upon them. “I really don't like you, Shol.”
“Very good,” Shol said with a nod that almost hid the smugness lighting his eyes, “I will ready transport for your party.”
Shadar locked a hand on the monk's shoulder, squeezing not nearly as hard as he would have liked to. “In our own time,” he said as he looked back toward Brigitte and her friend. Their embrace was only now breaking, which led bizarrely into the exchange of names.
Shadar smiled, though he couldn't help but feel a little sad. Brigitte needed good moments, for there might be very few in the future. She was cursed to be surrounded by liars, her creator a being of deception incarnate, and her protector his apt student.
From deep in the void beyond his gloves, Shadar felt the mask dance about. It mocked him with his own voice, his own words.
“Jackal's gone.”
Let me just say that I liked the idea behind this battle of yours, but there were a few hiccups along the way that could’ve been done better. I’ll try to address them in the rubric. Amber Eyes’s score will be in RED, Shadar’s in BLUE.
STORY – 7/5
Shadar, I had two issues with your posts here. First, the identity of Jackal is revealed at the very end of the very last post even though you mention him (Her? It?) throughout the thread. And even then we find out very little about him. I understand that you don’t need clarification about him, but the reader does. The reader won’t have knowledge of your past threads and it is your job to make the story accessible to both a constant and the occasional reader. My other issue here is your pacing. You flip the point of view four times within the first post, then it sort of bogs down during tapping in the dark, and then when it finally picks up again, you cut it with Shadar’s tidbit with the monks. This just killed the pace for me. Amber did better here, her intro with Sei and her reluctance to be in Serenti foreshadowing her conflict.
STRATEGY – 5/6
Don’t have much to say here. Though you never fought each other, you both utilized your abilities in tune with your characters when fighting your opponents, but it was nothing spectacular. I took a point off Amber because I found no reasoning why she didn’t use her light magic to produce a significant source of light in a place so utterly dark.
SETTING – 7/8
Here’s an odd situation. There wasn’t much of a setting involved, what with the arena mostly being devoid of light. This would usually make for a poor score, but in this case, the darkness served its purpose (of keeping the mystery of the actual opponent concealed) and you did well to convey it to the reader. I’m giving advantage to Shadar here simply because he seemed to use other senses more often to present the situation Brigitte was in, mainly the sense of hearing and the sense of touch on few occasions. Some might argue that the score is too high, but I think you both did a good job at showing the reader what’s it like to be in complete darkness and I stand by it.
CONTINUITY – 6/5
The problem I mention under story is reflected in continuity as well when it comes to Shadar. You obviously leant a bit on the previous round (noodle house) and your history with this Jackal entity, of which I know nothing about. With Shadar on the sidelines, it made it rather difficult for me to pick up the pieces. Amber was more straightforward, but there is also the problem of including the Serenti Invitational in character. You both seemed to have added notes to it as more of an afterthought, so this thread still pertains to it.
INTERACTION – 7/8
I’m giving high scores here because the parallel action happening with the two of you was done very well. You did a very good job at misleading me to think that you were actually slugging it out in the darkness, revealing tidbits of the charade with occasional details, such as the blue mystic blood, the different words spoken, the mystic barrier breaking. It made me suspect a number of things which is always good. Slight advantage to Shadar because Brigitte seemed more involved with what little setting she could perceive.
CHARACTER – 7/6
Given the setting – or rather, lack thereof I should say – you had ample opportunity to turn inwardly to your characters and you did so decently enough. I’m giving advantage to Amber here because Brigitte seemed a bit flippant at times, from chasing people in the streets, to sinking to the floor in apprehension, then to belligerence at the end. Amber seemed to have more consistency when it comes to Kyla, with her inner struggle being overcome in the end.
CREATIVITY – 9/9
Screw it. I failed to guess what was actually going on until you revealed it and that earns you both mucho points. Maybe I’m a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to these things (I usually don’t guess the ending of the movie), but it takes some work to pull it off and for that my hat’s off to you. Hell, for half the thread I was wondering why nobody mentioned approved bunnying (another clue, though not an IC clue).
MECHANICS – 5/7
Amber, there weren’t as many problems with commas as there had been the last time (though they were still present), but I wonder if this is due to the lack of actual dialogue. There were some others though, like missing capitalizations and semicolons where they weren’t supposed to be. Also, you sometimes tend to be a bit repetitive. In the very first post, you start two sentences (and two paragraphs for that matter) with “Kyla”. It sounds redundant and should be remedied by either writing “she” the second time around or something other than her name again. Shadar had a few misspellings, some words repeated, but nothing overly concerning.
CLARITY – 7/7
Given the darkness of the arena, you did a decent job at keeping things clear enough for me. I had to reread some lines a couple of times just to get a better bearing on the situation, especially at the point where Brigitte rocked the column to make the orb crash, but it was nothing too unclear.
WILD CARD – 7/6
I noticed no missed deadlines, so no points off for that. I’m giving an extra point to Amber because Shadar himself was barely present and didn’t feel like an integral part of the whole story.
TOTAL SCORE – 67/67
Congratulations! You both advance to the next round!
It’s the first tied battle I ever judged. Not sure about the amount of EXP/GP you’re to get for this. Sei will know.
Shadar and Amber Eyes both get 2500 Exp, 100 GP
GP-Exp added.