Fantasy The Great Games of Nye

[Emphoa]

Lots of things were still on their mind, but their mind was focused on the game ahead- their match up. They pursed their lips together, only hoping for more of the time to be able to catch up with their old friend later. After this first round, and after they could just have someplace more… private rather than this whole charade of television and peering gazes.

They didn’t snap out of this thought process, until it was time for their match up and they straightened up- stretching out their arms with a much deeper sigh before they glanced over to their opponent. An individual dressed up in a thick robe, a mask donning their face and their familiar seemed almost hawk-like.

Nueto sifted and gripped tighter onto Ada, and they only reached up to rub his head with a gentle expression. “We’ll be okay, Nueto.” They puffed out at the chameleon. Before they moved to their opponent, holding a hand out. “Adamaris, shake it or not- I look forward to our match.”


"As do I, guds veidim-hounder." Audin plucked his bowstring to test the tension. It was perfectly tuned; there would be no mistakes in the ring. "I am from the place you call Jarnstrond. You will find no pity in me, nobleman. I will take what is mine in the ring."

He stepped into the tunnel without shaking hands. It was a strange concept to the hunter from harsh lands. Where monsters and storms killed thousands every year, dotting the ground with frozen, twisted bodies. "Our match must please the pantheon, vedim-hounder. So I will fight with honor, and I ask you to do the same."

Audin doubted the noble knew what honor was. He'd never endured hardships that made men into legends, so how could he understand it? The hunter knew he had an advantage because of what he'd experienced. The countless nights without food in his stomach, desperate for even the smallest scraps. The winter cold piercing even the warmest furs, driving him to near-madness. The raids on his village before it was finally burned down; his family along with it.

Audin would channel his hardships and win the games; it was his destiny. There'd be no stopping him when he was so close to it, especially from a prissy man like Adamaris.



“I look for no pity, it feels foreign for you to call me Noble. Adamaris is just fine.” Adamaris offered up another friendly smile, before letting their hand fall and they looked back to the tunnel with a puff escaping them. They knew they couldn’t expect every individual to be exactly friendly, and they didn’t mind that. They moved forward, eyes flitting briefly over to their opponent with a curious gaze.

They let out a half of a chuckle, raising up their hands and giving a dip of their head before they adjusted their gloves. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on anything but.” They stated with a gentle shake of their head, eyes twinkling lightly as they looked back at the other individual.

They wondered how much the games truly knew about them or their origins, or how even now they could still be painted as a sort of noble. They shut their eyes at the thought, before finally shaking it and dismissing the thought entirely. It was their bloodline- and after reconnecting with Elriel, it would only be a matter of time before more would be uncovered about them, in time. “Jarnstrond, however, I’ve heard bits and pieces of it. I can only imagine what it may actually be like without seeing it for myself.”

They gave a gentle shrug at the thought, before they looked up ahead. “I traveled a while on foot, I only finally settled down in the United Eastern Kingdoms myself years ago.” They opted to be chatty, friendly, they were trying to get more of a read on Audin, but thus far they understood little.

Audin intently stared through his mask, taking measure of the man before him. "I know not the land you speak of, only the ill omen in your eyes. The fateful threads do not smile upon you veidim-hounder. They weep." Audin sensed a shadow around Adamaris, and the man wasn't alone. There were a number of contestants with the same aura around their hearts, and just the thought chilled Audin's spine.

"You and your ilk must leave the games, lest you bring misfortune upon it." He balanced an arrow on his finger to check the stillness of his hand. It was perfectly calm. The type only found in the minds of veteran hunters, waiting patiently for the right time to strike.

Meanwhile, the announcer pointed at the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, may I call your attention to the pre-fight interview!"

The speakers crackled as Audin's interview played. It was a quietly reserved set of answers, almost nonsensical at times. Mentioning gods and omens, fateful threads and life as a hunter. The crowd murmured without any clue what to think, but that changed when the next interview played.

"So Adamaris." The interviewer was a young woman with a calm voice. "Why do you want to be a Centurion?"

"It would mean everything, to be able to further help people, and be able to continue to help push my work forward for the future."

"Wow, that's an inspirational message! Much better than some of our contestants!" The interviewer laughed. "What would you say to those who think Centurions aren't a force for good?"

"They can doubt, but I hope it's not for long."

"I see. Everyone's entitled to believe what they want in the free city of Nye, but hopefully they change their minds soon." The announcer paused to read another question. "Are you confident you'd be a good Centurion, and can you explain why you'd stand out?"

"My confidence is brimming to the top, and you'll just have to see me in action to see why I do."

"I love your confidence! Now here's the last question. What would you say to your opponents if they were here right now?"

"I would wish them the best of luck, I know everyone here is here for a reason- and they're just as capable as I am."

The crowd cheered with approval. They loved the propaganda they'd been trained to believe, chanting "Adamaris" over and over again.

The announcer raised his arms and pointed at the crowd. "You ready to see a fight!"

The stand erupted with cheers and whistles, drawing a grin from the fat announcer. "Then let's get ready to throw down, in three, two, one! Begin!"

---

CLASH

The clank of armored gauntlets against metal as Adamaris pushed themselves into closer combat with Audin, their eyes flaring and their adrenaline pumping through their body as they dipped away from another one of the arrows from their opponent. They were thankful that their familiar was a chameleon- it was harder to shoot a target that could blend in with their surroundings, and they would have to use that to their advantage.

Audin was extremely skilled with his bow, and Adamaris had to respect it, really. Their eyes flitting to his armor as he reached out to grab the other man, heaving from the hits they had both taken as they brought their leg out- tripping Audin and slamming him into the ground.

They were quick- disarming the archer with another shaky breath as they grasped onto his arms tightly, holding him in place as they tried to keep focus. And then…

The match was called, Audin wouldn’t have been able to escape from their grasp and they all knew it, they also didn’t want to further injure either of them, before they slowly straightened themselves up and stood, the blearing cries of the audience around them deafening within their ears.

They let out a shaky breath, looking over to their opponent as they stretched and opened their clawed gauntlets and closed them again, blinking a few times as they fully registered-

They won.

Finally, they exhaled, stepping forward and holding out a hand to Audin to help the poor man up, searching his expression where they could see it before they clasped hands and they helped support the archer with a huff.

The chaos that was erupting around them was something hard to ignore nor process- but that was the point, wasn’t it? To everyone else, this was all a form of entertainment and they had truly been able to get a show out of the two of them.

“Hope you are not too beaten up- I suppose we’ve done a number on each other.” The former noble puffed out, between just the two of them.

Audin gently sighed and shook his head, embarrassed and annoyed at his own lack of skill. "Provast Skivan. I have lost." He clenched his hands and looked down at his feet, quickly fishing through his pocket. "I can tell your heart is pure." He looked up and threw a crystal at Adamaris. It was extremely cold to the touch, made of glowing ice that didn't melt. "But beware Adamaris; pure hearts can be used by evil men. For every hero seeks a villain to complete their story, and evil men always paint their foes as such."

He walked from the arena without another word, leaving Adamaris alone with the cheering crowd.

Adamaris was lost for words, for a moment, their lips pursed together as they watched Audin make his leave, and they looked to the crystal now clasped within their hands.

They brushed their thumb over it, before starting to make their exit from the arena and thinking carefully over the other’s chosen words… Unsure how to take them.


Collab with Jet

 

[Jet]

​

"Is that so?" Adrian looked down at his stomach. "Doesn't look too bad." He winced at the poor color of his skin, mottled blacks and blues like mixed paint on a page. Throbbing with a warm 'bump bump' like a second heartbeat, and each one hurt more than the last. "I think I'm doing just fine." He closed his eyes and laid his head on the stretcher, jaw tense and grinding. Mouth pursed as he deeply breathed in and out — in and out, over and over until the pain subsided.

"It's just a flesh wound." He slightly smiled. "Nothing a little soup and bed rest won't—

He suddenly coughed and clutched his stomach, eyes wide as his back arched from the stretcher. His muscles tensed like steel cables on a bridge, sending sharp pangs through his extremities. "Well that's just—

"Peachy." His back lowered to the stretcher, quickly breathing as he rolled on his good side. "You know... I think the chances were always good." He weakly smiled. "We're both strong enough to win, but not strong enough to make it easy."

"So here's to another five rounds of hell!" He raised an imaginary glass over his head, smirking as he said, "Speaking of drinks." He dimly looked around the area, spotting his gear roughly ten feet away. "Bird!" His hawk snapped to attention. "Get my bag."

Bird trotted away and plucked his pouch from the ground, carrying it over to the boy. "Detleaf would kill me if he saw this." Adrian laughed and withdrew an old silver flask, marked with worn, illegible markings from long ago. "How bout a real toast?" He unscrewed the cap before taking a long, satisfied swig, grinning as whiskey burned his throat.

"Nothing like backwater swill after an ass beating." He offered the flask to the young woman, assuming she'd happily drink like a fish. That's what he was used to anyway. The people back home drank through the day without thinking twice, and sobriety was unheard of. So he thought nothing of some light drinking while on the mend; but perhaps the knight would think differently.

Arcanist

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Ava Marco
interaction: none​

With her match over Ava sat down patching herself up but realistically it got her thinking about what that bitch had said.. what was she? It was a good question but Ava was never the introspective type so until someone mentioned it she never really through hard on the idea.. I mean what in all the god damn world would turn an otherwise normal girl into the stupid behemoth she was? Of course it was from her dads side of the family she just assumed it was a generic thing? Maybe it was a curse or something. The massive woman rubbed her temple before sighing, yeah whatever it was hurting her brain frankly the girl just happy to munch on a pie for now as she sat down on a bench that was creaking under the weight of her body.

 

[Jet]

​

"Oh?" Mischa mischievously smiled. "The right places eh? Now where would that be?" She pictured him in the arena with a prod in his hand, repeatedly shocking another man's most touchy, sensitive parts. Surely the pain would be immense. "I know a few lads who could use a shock like that, maybe I can pay ya for the trouble?" She laughed to let him know she was totally, seriously, one hundred percent kidding, well mostly anyway. There was one guy who really needed a shock to the groin, but he was neither here nor there.

"Lucky for you, you're not one of em," she happily said. "So I'm glad you fought a scientist instead of those monsters." Her gaze shifted to the few remaining front runners. They were all expert killers; each a daunting threat with years of combat experience, especially the man named Taust. Mischa struggled to stay calm looking at them. Her eyes momentarily flashed with raw, unfiltered fear and regret for joining the games, but it didn't stick. Not when Rat was so calm and happy, a carefree smile plastered on his face.

Mischa found his attitude so weird. He should've been panicking like she was; or at least serious and strategic? But instead he was like a happy kid in a candy store, and the feeling was infectious. Dispelling her fears as she returned his warm smile. "Not that you gotta worry about the monsters, with that shield you'll stop em in their tracks eh?" She looked down at the metal disc. Her eyes shined at its unnaturally smooth surface. The lack of screws or welds that covered most devices, proving it was made by a master.

"I wonder how strong it is?" She looked up with mischievous eyes. "Wanna test it? Do some… field research?" She withdrew her gloves and dangled them in front of her. "Promise I won't hit too hard."

Emphoa

 

[Arcanist]

Brynwyr Protheroe



Mentions: Jet ​

Brynwyr scoffed, shaking her head. “I wonder if we’re looking at the same thing,” she said, though she cringed at Adrian’s violent coughing fit. It was a picture most knights, including her, painted of themselves. Strong, even as their exterior crumbled. She looked away, gave him a moment. It was hardly becoming of her to stare at him as he recovered. Did they need to call for a medic?

She looked back once he had stopped hacking, and smiled. “No, not at all. It’s more exciting anyway, the challenge of it all,” she laughed before she gasped, grabbing her shoulder. “Ah…” She pursed her lips and blew, riding out the ache. She still managed a nod to Adrian’s toast before she heard him command his familiar to fetch his bag.

She watched as he fished through the bag, pulling out the catch - a flask. Brynwyr felt her eyes grow wetter at expectation, the realisation that she was suddenly parched. She tried to blink away that visible desire, even as Adrian offered her a swig. She stared at the flask, eyes tracing the markings. Confliction bubbled in her. Drinking was not a banned activity for those among her profession, but she saw too many knights waving their swords and threatening the very ones they sought to protect. There was a time and place for drinking.

….but she was not at home. She was not on duty. She had done her part here today, and a swig would do no harm. She pushed herself up, wondering if this was how Christ felt in the desert, before wiping away the thought and taking the flask. Brynwyr held it aloft in a toast. “Cheers, and here’s to many more victories,” she grinned, before gulping the whiskey. Its spice rose like smoke as it hit the back of her throat, and she muffled a cough. She could not hide her eyes beginning to water and she chuckled as she returned the flask.

“Forgive me, it seems I’m not so used to your backwater swill like I thought I would be.” Brynwyr sat back, blinking and clearing her throat. She did not try to hide behind bravado. Many others would do so, and though she initially came off frosty, she felt she had thawed.

Perhaps that was dangerous, to let yourself be vulnerable in the lion’s den.

Brynwyr ignored it, looking back to Adrian again. “This Detleaf of yours,” she smirked a little, “whoever he is, his teachings did not stick so well, did they?” She could imagine who he was. An older, stern friend. A teacher, mentor.

 

[Emphoa]

Rt's grin only grew as he looked to Mischa and his eyes twinkled playfully before he placed his finger over his lips and sat back a little more. "I don't play dirty like that- but hey I would study up on the human body, there's just some places you can knock someone down a peg or two if you hit em right." He puffed out a little bit at the thought before he rolled his eyes as she mentioned knowing a few people who would need a good reality check. He couldn't help but laugh a bit and he gave her a gentle nudge. "I'll make sure to send you my rates." He snorted out, sitting back onto his hands as Remy sniffed through his hair on his head.

"I was glad to meet my opponent- he's smart too, I think he would do solid if he had won, anyway." He stated with a gentle shrug as he glanced back through the crowd. "If I got one of those meat heads, I'm sure I would have been able to handle myself, anyway. Like I said- it's about knowing the human body and what it's capable of, I want to build my tech around that too, but it takes time, you know?" He mused out at the thought and he looked back to the red head as he listened to her and a grin erupted back onto his expression.

"That sounds like fun to me." He snorted out, getting up back onto his feet and Remy squeaking in protest as he reached up to have the rat climb onto his hand instead and his attention focused back on the young woman he was standing with. "You think it'd be alright if we messed around with it? I don't know if there's anything important we need to be looking out for." He snorted a little bit at the thought as he looked around, and he let Remy crawl back into his personal pouch he wore before he turned back to Mischa.

"But I'm always down to have a little fun- especially if it involves testing out some new tech- maybe I can even improve it a little bit depending on what we may find out." He stated, swaying his head as he thought about it and Remy sticking his head out from the pouch to look up at Rat- and then back to Mischa as they were speaking with one another.

Jet

 

[Lost Echo]

Well, that was true. It wasn’t like she really trusted the people at her side, she just knew she was outclassed and it was better to go along than resist. Well maybe better was too strong a word, but it seemed like the best option then and now she was drowning in this situation. Her eyes kept flicking to the dead body. What was his name? Why couldn’t she remember his name? She’d seen the dead before, but it was rare they died in front of her. And the blood came out so quickly.

The boy her age, who was either naive or very skilled, dashed off to Disarm. A. Bomb. Like what the hell. Didn’t we just talk about trust and shit? Why has the chief of security not called someone who was an expert? What if the guy--you know, the guy whose defense to be trusted was that no one could be trusted--was lying?

She drew her gaze from the dead man (why couldn’t she remember his name?) to Johan (would she forget his if he died in front of her?). Expecting him to take control. The woman--did she ever know her name? *uck why couldn’t she think?--took over instead, asking questions. Wait, weren’t these two Nye? Oh, she wanted to enlist his help actively. That seemed like a good way to be killed, and Anya definitely wasn’t on the same level as the others to avoid death. “You can start by telling us who your masters are. Are they working alone or are all three families working together? Or has another sect sprung up?” She’d never been to the undercity, but like anyone else, she knew of it. The Families were deep into the drug trade, and Peirama was an excellent place to make drugs. But why would they want to destroy the games? How would decreasing the population give them more customers? No, something else must have been involved.

 

[Jet]

​

Adrian's home was known for bootleggers and bad liquor, so he wasn't surprised when she coughed and sputtered. "The contaminants really bring out the flavor." He slyly smiled as she carried on for a moment, chuckling when she said, “This Detleaf of yours— whoever he is, his teachings did not stick so well, did they?”

"Now where have I heard that before?" He took another unpleasant sip. "It's almost like you're the old man himself?" He smirked and passed her the worn metal flask, savoring the poison's warmth and numbness. The bitter hints on his tongue. "He's a good man, stronger than anyone and smarter than em' too, but he's a harsh bastard."

"He'd see me in brown robes drinking raw eggs every morning, waiting for marriage as I read books in a monastery. So I pick and choose when to listen." He fondly remembered his teacher's meditations, a sarcastic name for his lectures and life lessons. Ideal for those without happiness in their poor, pathetic lives, only fighting and killing with training in between. "He acts like he was any better in his younger days, as if I haven't heard the stories."

He chuckled and sat up with a grunt. "What about your teachers? They have you scrubbing floors with toothbrushes? Fighting wolves at seven and praying before bed?" His brow raised with thoughts of Albion. What little he knew was steeped in rumors and legend. The old houses with strict codes of chivalrous honor; tales of white knights and sly villainous dragons. He found it charming in a way, but he was used to the mud and muck. To rusty armor covered in dents and bad welds, worn leather boots and dull swords.

"I don't know much about Albion, but I'll visit one day." He frowned at the sad, creeping realization that he was uncultured. Having spent years in the ruins of a country he didn't remember, remnants of a war he missed by many years. Leaving the world a distant place he barely knew. "Is it everything it's cracked up to be? Knight errants talking in Olde common? Rangers in green tights taking on the man?" He mischievously smiled for a moment, disguising his interest with dry comedic flair.

Arcanist

 

[Jet]

​

Mischa could barely believe herself. There she was among murderous villains and mercenaries, all wanting her head on a pointy stick, yet she was calm and carefree. Listening close and laughing when he said, "I'll make sure to send you my rates."

"Aces!" she happily said. "I'll send you a list of names." Her laugh drew scowls from across the room, but she didn't care. Her attention was squarely fixed on the young man before her, subtly nodding when he mentioned his foe. "I wish I could've met him, but it's really no matter. I've already picked my favorite gear head."

She returned his nudge and nodded at his question. "You can learn its max capacity, otherwise ya might block something it can't handle." Her face glowed with divine confidence, a queen of blueprints and tensile strength. Key aspects of ship building. "Though maybe that's just an excuse to have some fun."

Mischa donned her gloves with a smile. "But we might as well entertain ourselves in this dull place… and to be honest?" She paused for a moment. "You should be my partner in crime for the next week, seein' as we're both unharmed and got plenty a' spare time, might as well make some trouble." There was no escape for him now. He was going to be her best tournament friend; her dynamic duo and engineer buddy. If he protested then so be it, Stockholm syndrome would eventually kick in.

"So about this very scientific experiment." She tapped the disc on her glove. "This can dish out ten thousand Newtons, more than enough to snap a femur." She smiled like a proud parent. "I'll use half power on the first hit, just in case things go um… sideways?" She winced at the sobering thought. "Um… actually let's do quarter power. Worst case you get a nasty bruise."

"You ready?" She cracked her knuckles with a determined glare, for this was no laughing matter. This was science… sort of. It was also a dumb idea but hey, so was competing and yet there she was, in the second round without a scratch on her skin.

Emphoa

 

[Lost Echo]

Nyaall && Vixie
a collaboration with Anne Boolean
​

Vixie ran her palm against the smooth iron on her knuckles, trying to get used to the feel instead of the blades she was used to. She knew how to use them, though she also was aware she might instinctively slash where she should punch if she wasn’t paying attention. At least this way she wouldn’t be able to scar her hero. She just had to win without hurting him too much. Falling into an almost boxing stance, her tail flicked before she launched her attack of a series of punches and kicks.

Once the ref announced the beginning of their match, Nyaall let out a soft breath. His magic was all parlor tricks, so he wouldn’t be able to truly hurt the girl aside from temporary blindness. He had to make it look like a sincere attempt, though.

Again, Apawllo appeared at his side. He picked the luminescent feline up with a smile before bringing him up to eye level while doing a spin. The next moment, the cat had once again disappeared, leaving Nihal with his signature cat ears and golden eyes. One less-known trait he also had were the claws protruding from his fingers. Glancing down at them, he assumed the most they could do was leave some deep gashes, which may be potentially lethal if left untreated, but at most, he planned on maybe giving Vixie a small scratch or two.

He blinked when the girl came at him. Surprisingly, his training had been enough to allow him to dodge the punches and kicks. A hit this soon would certainly not be good for his image. Still, Vixie was doing good. For all he knew, she could have come out with two large blades to shred him to ribbons. He tried to give her encouragement with a small smile.

Then it was his turn to go on the offensive. The footwork and swings he took looked like they came out of some martial arts, but instead of fist flying, it was just a swipe with his claws. He made sure to move wider though, so as to ideally not strike Vixie, or just leave her with a small scratch.

Vixie made sure to keep her form perfect, but slow enough for her to remember to punch instead of slash. Just as she hoped, it telegraphed her movements for Nyaall(!) to block and dodge them. ‘It’s just like at school. This is a school match. Nothing bigger than that.’ She chanted in her head. A school match had stricter rules than this, but that was for both competitors’ safety.

She was used to fighting her peers, so the additional height and reach were a surprise. As she dodged the first few swipes and blocked the kicks, she forgot the extra distance needed and a faint scratch sliced her forearm.

Instinct took over, and she leapt back away from her opponent. To maintain the space, she left a flare of fire behind. Something he just needed to not walk into. Even if he did, it was more smoky than hot, so it wouldn’t hurt much. Still, she had a moment of panic, her tails flaring out as she lost sight of him in the smoke. “Nyaall?”

Nihal noticed the hit he left. It wasn’t all that deep, nor was it anywhere vital on the organ. Good. Hopefully, the cameras picked that up though. And with some movie magic, it could look like a dramatic wound.

Vixie still wasn’t a sitting duck. She managed to quickly gain distance once again, leaving some flame and its smog in her place. He was left coughing for a moment and stumbled back to escape the obstacle. Once his vision was clear again, he gave the girl across the field from him a smirk.

“I won’t go down that easy!” he called out, imagining it would be cheesy enough to televise. Perhaps it was time to use his own magic. He had the handgun which he could channel light through on him, but once again, he was not looking to do actual damage. Instead, he allowed himself to glow for a moment, following it up with a flash of light to split into two. As he said, “which one’s the real me?” The duplicates emoted and expressed in unison. The same glow and flash took place once again, and there were four. All of them then started running forth toward the girl.

As four adults ran toward her, Vixie felt a frizzle of fear. It seemed like Nyaall was better than she’d assumed from his request. That made sense, no one would have joined these games without training. But why did he want her to beat him? Her thoughts ran her out of time, as the four reached her. She jumped to the side, picking the man on the end, and started to throw a series of punches his way. Her features grew more vulpine as she drew on her and Philos-o-fur’s connection. She knew her speed was how she was going to win this. Her fire could, but she didn’t want to hurt him.

That wasn’t the right one. The Nyaall she sent a flurry of fists towards faded. Lucky for Vixie, her turning to confront the clone made her step out of the way of another swipe from the actual Nyaall’s claw. It would be a challenge to strike her while at the same time maintaining the mystery of which one was real. If a fake one hit her, its claw would phase right through the girl. If he and his clones moved quickly enough, he might have been able to confuse the girl as to which one was actually landing hits on her in the storm of slashes. His goal wasn’t to actually take down his opponent though. He just needed to put on a good show and eventually fall.

His fanbase was not built on how good of a fighter he was. In fact, despite so many people in the audience being here to cheer him on, he imagined they would stay loyal even if he were to appear incompetent in combat. He had a little too much pride to allow himself to appear completely incapable, but he certainly wasn’t against proceeding in a way that made Vixie look like a fighter worth their salt. So he joined his clowns in a series of swipes that seemed to just barely miss the girl, trying to make it seem as if it was due to her moving out of the way or predicting his anticipation of her next move. He just hoped this wouldn’t influence her upcoming matches to have her face off against someone truly bloodthirsty.

Shocked when the first target disappeared, Vixie overcorrected, stumbling once before spinning around, her hair flaring out as she faced the other three. “That is so cool!” She cheered. It was like watching one of his concerts from on the stage. From there, she could keep track well enough to dodge, or mostly dodge? She was sure one of them, wait two, weren’t actually going to hit her and some of her blocks went through, but she wasn’t sure which one. It was a tangle of limbs that she was weaving around. “I bet….this one’s you!” She punched out toward the one on the opposite end, secretly hoping to be wrong.

Vixie was right. The fist, whether it was aimed there or not, struck Nyaall square in the jaw. He stumbled back with a grunt, and the clones around him faded. He lightly felt where the impact had been left with his hand.

“Aww man… you’re gonna mess up my money maker!” he commented once he was able to confirm nothing was broken or dislocated. “Just kidding. That’s not my money maker, and both of them are insured.” He gave a small chuckle, hamming the cheesy line up for the camera. The punch was strong, but unfortunately, it wouldn’t be enough for a believable KO. He appreciated Vixie’s attempts to be gentle, but it seemed this match would need to be dragged out. Oh well. He could improvise. He was in showbiz, after all. If Vixie could, they could draw this match out until he inevitably “collapsed” from exhaustion. He kept his eyes on her. What would be the most effective way of doing that? Should he continue to play the fitting role of a cat? Or maybe it was time to switch over to the mouse.

She hit him. Oh my god, she hit him. Vixie stayed back for a moment, flexing her fists around the brass knuckles. Thankfully it was a glancing blow (joking aside, the Clowder would kill her.) Planning to aim lower from now on, she called in response, “We love you for more than your face Nyaall!” It was awesome to just say that. This was a miraculous opportunity. And she was going to enjoy every minute of it.

Bringing her fists up, she declared, “I’m still going to win.” She couldn’t let her hero down. With that, she ran forward to attack. She left herself open for a moment when she used one hand to lay a line of fire behind Nyaall, preventing his escape.

He let out a chuckle at the girl’s assurance, gratefully waving her off. Well, it was nice to know his fans, or at least one of them, liked him for more than his looks.

“Good! I’d be disappointed if you went easy on me!” he called back to her next declaration. For their plan to be a success, she couldn’t.

As he had been planning, he started getting ready to move back when Vixie approached. She set the path behind him alight with her fire to prevent his escape. Smart. They could realistically make it seem like he was cornered. He noticed the opening, and he assumed could have gotten some space with another jab. But instead, he decided to try another tactic. His light clones once again appeared around Vixie. He could make it seem to the audience as he was trying to shift with one of them and let it take the hit instead. His magic couldn’t teleport, despite him having used it in his past performances to give the illusion of such.

He wouldn’t do that this time, though. As long as Vixie continued forward and struck true, he would be knocked out, she would win, and their plan would come to fruition. From an outside perspective, it would appear as if his dexterous technique had just failed. So he stood still, bracing himself for the impact from whatever blow she threw at him.

‘I can do this.’ The mantra led her forward. She ignored the clones around her, trusting they were an illusion and the moment she was in range let out a series of punches, not holding back, at his torso. Then, even with the knowledge the Clowder would never forgive her, she aimed for his face, her brass knuckles shining as she punched.

Perfect. She had hit the real him. The flurry of fists on his chest caused him to wince. One went straight into his gut, causing him to double over. She would need to do better than that to knock him out in a convincing way though. Hopefully, her fanship wouldn’t stop her from dealing a decisive blow.

Vixie proved to be a reliable comrade though. She sent forth another punch straight to his face. He let out a groan at the impact, which was genuinely strong enough to stun him and cause him to stumble back. Nyaall went along with the momentum. He allowed himself to fall to the ground onto his back, hoping to avoid the flames. He allowed himself to lay there with a spinning head and stars in his vision for a moment, wondering if he would need to make a show of trying to get up and failing or whether the ref would just call the match there. The former option would be way too hammy, in his opinion. Groveling and pathetic was not what his fans wanted to see. Hopefully, the official knew a few things about showmanship, or hopefully, his management would step in.

For a moment, Vixie broke character, just standing there looking horrified, her ears pressed to her skull. Did she kill him? Did she kill him?! And his hair! It was so close to the flames! Her eyes darted to the referee as she waited for something to happen, but the bored-looking man seemed to be waiting on something. A countdown? Weren’t those aloud? Clenching her teeth, she knew this was her chance to help her hero. She could not let him down. Throwing a hand out, the flames brightened, becoming flashier, though not as hot, just in case. Then they encircled the downed form, trapping him even if he managed to get up.

“There.” She said decisively, turning to the referee. “Call it so we can make sure he’s okay!”

The man looked up at the crowd, feeling the tension of the united held breaths. Taking his time, each step increasing the pressure he walked over to the prone form. Covering his face for a moment at the bright glare, he turned and signaled to Vixie, “We have a winner!” He went to reach for the young girl’s arm to raise, but she dodged him, dousing the flames the moment he spoke and darted to Nyaall’s side.

When he felt the heat from the flames surrounding him, for a moment, Nyaall thought Vixie had gone rogue. Some of his fans had pushed boundaries, but none of them had ever tried to kill him. Did he manage to piss her off that much?

After hearing her speak, he let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Hopefully, the announcer wouldn’t be barbaric enough to demand bloodshed, but he wouldn’t put it past an official of the Great Games. If that was the case, his unbeating heart would go out to Vixie, who would surely face consequences just as harsh as the ref’s.

Thankfully, the official called it, and the flames around him were extinguished. He didn’t hear any cheering after though, but instead footsteps. Soon enough, he saw his opponent standing over him.

“You’re missing your victory pose,” he said, giving her a thankful smile. He moved to get up, making sure it was slow and giving a show of how incapacitated he was. His golden eyes gazed at the crowd watching them around the stadium before turning to Vixie. With a grin, he took her hand with his own and raised it up into the air, looking once again at the audience expectantly. After a moment, a slight applause started, and then, like an avalanche, it gained power as more and more people joined in. Soon enough, the whole crowd was clapping and cheering for the girl.

 

[EldridSmith]

Zulan understood Tefra's actions, though it didn't mean he agreed with him... though he couldn't blame the man right now as it was his best chance at survival or a lighter sentence. There was no per-established connections to trust, but Zulan was only here as a guard and while Johan wouldn't care of he butt in the assassin would, and realistically he was trying to get in the good books so he had nothing to say yet. The talk of the man seeking the city's destruction, a bomb, if it was true at least some credibility would have been made... though even still the fickle and tricky minds of humans could so easily still contain vast amounts of deception. Now Zulan didn't know about the undercity but based on the reactions of the others it seemed to be a real thing.

Ren started speaking up how the man was willing to kill numerous people... but at this point Zulan turned to Ren. "I do not know his position but I have been forced to kill hundreds if not thousands by Nahzir... until otherwise known it's possible for him to have been forced to do this in the same or a similar way. Still does not pardon one's crimes... this I also know well." Zulan remarked somberly as the boy ran off to disarm the bomb. The assassin lady then spoke to the man about him becoming an agent to pull apart his superior's plan... he didn't really pay it much mind, he wasn't concerned what happened to the man and he himself had pondered so many a moral quandary that throwing one at him was more like a small mental exercise instead of a great moral dilemma... though from what he could see on the assassin's face it wasn't quite the same. He couldn't decide for her but he could offer his own wisdom but he wasn't about to bring it up in such a tense scene... though it was clear she was going to default on her superiors decisions.

He couldn't blame her for it, he had seen many a soldier put aside all their guilt behind the simple words "I was told to" or "I was just following orders." it's funny how cheap lives became when someone else tells you to snuff them out... so many candles he had seen turned so ever swiftly into puddles of wax with so much wick left spend burned up prematurely... too many he himself burned up quicker as a grim reaper... an accomplice even if unwilling in the death of so many. If there was an afterlife he was going to hell as things stood, and he planned on clawing his way towards the light by any means... even if his own candle was snuffed out prematurely. He turned to Narzas and went against his prior decision. "Every life has value and weight... be ever so careful about cutting one short... lest your sins haunt you like mine haunt me. Do not hide behind orders like those I have seen on the battlefield." He softly whispered to her.
Jet Lost Echo rozukitsune ZackStop

 

[Arcanist]

Brynwyr Protheroe



Mentions: Jet ​

Teachers were all the same outside of Albion, it seemed. The knight chuckled, taking the flask once again and drinking. The substance still burned, but it felt easier to keep down. “I can’t say I’m surprised about that,” Brynwyr smirked, sneaking another sip. “Teachers tend to hide all sorts of stories about them. Perhaps we would understand where they came from a little better if they were just honest about their past misdeeds and gallivanting.” She had heard her uncle was a rowdy man, deep in his cups and late to drills. Her mother was the opposite, but then she figured there always had to be a sinner and a saint. Jeston had sobered much since his time as a boy.

Brynwyr scoffed at Adrian’s wit but smiled. “Is that what they put in the tourist pamphlets?” She asked, sarcasm coating her tone. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. People outside Albion say such strange things for having never set foot inside our borders.” The names she was called, the mocking questions hurled at her for being what Albion preached was a position next to godliness. But she was happy to answer this one’s questions, even with his dry wit.

“For a start, there’s plenty of knights. You’ll be surprised to hear most sound like me. Some are so studiously devoted to the Bible and the Crown, others who are more laid back, willing to help and serve as they ought to. Although, we haven’t had a ranger with his tights pulled up to his pits in quite some time,” Brynwyr laughed. Should she have been so mocking about her country? No, it was only a jest. Medicine loosened tongues too.

“Perhaps your Detleaf would get along with my uncle-er, Ser Jeston. Early starts were common to prepare for the day, plenty of training and bruising, chivalry and goodness and on the list goes,” Brynwyr smiled. The time spent with her uncle was a few of the best years of her life. Roaming over rippling hills, claiming victory with just the right swing of her sword, discovering Cleonard.

“It’s a beautiful place too,” the knight adjusted once again, nostalgia glazing in her eyes. “Lots of greenery and hills and flowers. Too much rain. A beautiful culture and friendly people. Perfectly idyllic.” She paused, the glaze clearing, her smile thinning. Too idyllic. Roses were beautiful, but one often would forget about the thorns underneath if ignored. Every place had its cons, her own country included. She had thought of listing them. It would only lay bare why she decided to venture here, onto a floating city far beyond Albion’s capabilities.

“But I’d be wrong in saying I wanted to get away from there,” Brynwyr murmured, “only for a bit. I’m hardly outside of Albion. So I suppose I could do with becoming more worldly. I guess I’m much like you not knowing anything about Albion, because I don’t know much about the DMZ either,” she shrugged. “But I would like to know more. Not just about there, but…a lot of other things and places too.” She wanted something more, she wanted to say, because surely, she was not the only one to want that. Those in Albion didn’t seem to indicate they wanted anymore than what they had. Their surprise only sought to alienate her in her own home.

Brynwyr felt free to let her tongue loosen here, despite the responsible voice in her head indicating she shouldn’t be so naïve. She would not speak of such desires to even the closest of her family. Trust nothing, no one. It wasn’t as safe as she thought it was between her and Adrian, surely not. This was Nye.

 

[Jet]

​

Tefra leered at Ren through loose strands of blonde hair, a mischievous twinge on the edge of his mouth. "I was ordered to plant the bomb, had I refused it would've been a betrayal. The very essence of disloyalty and dishonesty."

"So which is it? Am I untrustworthy for following their commands? Or should I have betrayed them earlier?" He stood from the ground with a smirk. "Lucky for you, I was never ordered to die, and I've far too much to accomplish."

His words seemingly fell on deaf ears, with Ren dashing away to find the hidden bomb. Tefra didn't care one way or another, he only argued to entertain himself and pass the time. "What a rash boy!" He loudly laughed and patted his stomach. "How does he mean to find the bomb without me? Does he think it's in a wooden crate with 'TNT' on the side?" He brushed past the group with laughter on his lips.

"Come now, I'll answer your questions while we catch your rambunctious friend."

Johan grabbed his shoulder and tightly squeezed. "Slowly now." His eyes narrowed into slits. "Hands where I can see them."

"Very well." Tefra raised his hands above his head. "This better commissar?"

"Good enough." Johan nodded at Narzas and nudged her elbow, silently approving her promises — even if the council denied them later. "I'll vouch for her. If you stay with us we can protect you from your masters, and hell, you can be the good guy for once. Save some lives instead of blowing up kids."

"Hah!" Tefra incredulously shook his head. "Good guys?" He glanced at Anya with flashing sparks in his blue eyes. "Take for instance the undercity she knows so much about, who do you think lives there?"

"We know." Johan stopped walking for a moment. "Nye isn't perfect; my head hurts just thinking about the lies we tell the public." He faced Zulan with a perplexed glint in his eyes. The man was too sympathetic for the cold, harsh realities of war and politics. "And I'll keep that in mind, but we can't treat everyone kindly. We might not be the good guys, and maybe he's just a pawn in someone else's game, but we'd never kill kids to make a point."

"Oh?" Tefra walked to Johan and slyly smiled in his face. "But you most certainly do! This city was taken in blood by your ancestors — streets filled with the screams of dying children, innocent men and women who'd done nothing wrong. The death throes of a great civilization."

He sneered and tilted his head back, almost looking down on the centurion. "The ones below were refugees at first. Hiding like rats to escape roving kill squads. Languishing in the muck of their oppressors."

"Years later it became a place for outlaws and criminals; the same families you align me with." He sneered at Anya with fire in his eyes. "As if I'm common scum."

Johan blankly stared in return. "You make a compelling case, but sins of the father aren't passed down for centuries. They don't excuse killing innocent people who did nothing wrong!" His lips twitched with barely controlled, uncharacteristic rage. "So don't say that again."

"Well well." Tefra slowly clapped three times, echoing down the empty concrete hall. "It seems you have a temper below that cold, damp exterior — and as for you!" He looked back at Anya. "We have nothing to do with that degenerate rabble.

"We're a resistance—

"Shut it." Johan sighed below his breath. "You're not convincing anyone." He was bone tired of the conversation. The man was too long winded and confident for his station, attempting to control everyone like a puppeteer. "So cut the rambling and answer her question." He glanced at Narzas while Tefra contemplated his words. Silence hanging for a long, awkward moment.

"Well then," Tefra said, breaking the heavy silence. "You can't protect me from my people, and that's assuming your superiors don't torture me to death first." He turned and slowly walked after Ren. "It seems I'm a beast with no nation, so I'll work with you today, but I'll find my own path after we're done."

Lost Echo rozukitsune EldridSmith ZackStop

 

[rozukitsune]

For the first time since they'd joined forces, Narzas looked at the man in glowing red tattoos like so many scattered embers of a fire as he muttered his advice. It was ironic he'd thought her naïve not even ten minutes before when she'd casually lied about believing that Nye was some kind of utopia, but he was now saying such nonsense to her about being careful about whom she murdered. Just because she was having second-thoughts about eliminating Tefra didn't mean he didn't need to die. The way he acted now he was being given a stay of execution declared in no uncertain terms that once he was done here he'd probably go right back to doing the exact sorts of things that had landed him in this situation to begin with. Planning to slaughter innocents for some yet unknown slight or greater goal. Ugh, politics.

She glared at Zulan impassively, tilting her head toward Johan as the Centurion countered the point with effortless efficiency while the group moved out to head back up the hallway to the room where they'd seen this man come out from - where the bomb was most assuredly hiding somewhere out of sight. As everyone moved as a unit, she sidled close enough to the shirtless stranger he would be able to hear her whisper back and muttered: "There is no point in allowing the souls of the dead to weigh you down. I can tell at a glance that you and I are not so different. Not so different from Tefra, either. No point in speculating on an afterlife which may or may not exist. We are here now, and we all have our orders. Lives we live that require a certain amount of personal sacrifice in order to not wind up crushed under someone else's boot." She sighs, shrugging her shoulders minutely in a rare display of surrender.

"If there was a choice, another way... perhaps your advice would be worth listening to, but I just don't see how offering my hand in peace to every stranger is going to do anything but eventually end with me bleeding out in an alley somewhere down the line. True change requires sacrifice, the larger the change you are trying to bring about, the larger that sacrifice needs to be." She tilted her head toward Tefra though she kept her voice low so hopefully the psychopath wouldn't hear her. "The blood of thousands, innocents... if it could be used to bring about something better than before then it could be worth it - that's the sort of logic we are fighting against, and simply allowing those sorts to continue to breathe is not going to fix the problem."
Thanks to her photographic memory, it wasn't hard to find the room, nor Ren as he thrashed about the room looking for the object. Narzas kept back in the hallway, her eyes on Tefra's back and just waiting for an excuse to slit his throat, her hands hovering over the knives in her belt. "No funny business, and you can walk away." She agreed sourly to his words. The implied threat didn't need speaking aloud.
Jet Lost Echo EldridSmith ZackStop

 

[Lost Echo]

The barely clothed man (she never knew his name, she was pretty sure of that…pretty sure) drew her attention as he spoke to the young boy. Th-thousands? Her step backward sounded loud in the otherwise quiet stairway. Forced seemed like a distant comfort. There was definitely a point where you tipped the scale in ‘it’s either me or him.’ Anya didn’t know where it was, probably something in the double digits, but thousands, hell even hundreds was too much. How many has Doc killed then? Did her life saved lighten the load? She pushed that thought away as she always did when thinking of Mark.

The remaining enemy (hopefully?) spoke in response, mocking the boy. But what she cared about was how he ended it, I’ve far too much to accomplish. He was not surrendering. He was just biding his time. Even the admitted multi-killer sounded more regretful than this one. She could hear him speaking something softly to the woman with the Cube, something about every life having value as the cloaked man brushed by her to follow the boy. She ignored him: he wasn’t likely to add her to his kill list at the moment and that was the best she was going to get.

Anya followed silently, ignoring the blue gaze as Johan and their captive (yeah, that didn’t really fit) debated the goodness of Nye. All she had to do was remember Hannah and the evidence she found to know where it fell on the scale. That was the problem. Everyone was bad somehow. She might have not done an atrocity in her lifetime, but she knew what she was willing to do to get Hannah back. Hannah was why she was doing this. She had to focus and remember for exchange of this, Johan might help her find her.

To be frank, Anya did not know the history of Nye. She didn’t care what happened to people long dead: she had too much to focus on staying alive as it was. It didn’t surprise her to hear the suggestion that it was built off of innocents, but what great civilization he was refering to lost to her. But he did end up answering her question in the end: it was a different faction that had grown from the discontent within Nye. One whose fanatics were really proud, too proud to even pretend to be cowed.

Wait. Did they agree to let him go?! Did she miss that or was he just bullshitting them? There was a big difference between staying where you could be seen and out of sight. Anyone scared of spiders knew that. Still the female assassin agreed and Anya didn’t want to be the one to contradict. The man would definitely never forget she wanted him to stay imprisoned.

 

[Emphoa]

"Hah! Send em my way." Rat snorted out playfully, giving a little wink soon after before he placed his hands onto his hips and his eyes watched her carefully. He supposed it would be a shame if she never got to meet Dimitri, really he was a nice guy and he hoped he wouldn't be eliminated here and now- it was doubtful, he was talented in his own right and Rat was sure he would be seeing more of him as the time came. He let out a puff and he looked back to Mischa with another lopsided grin. "I'm sure you'll get to meet the guy- just because he's lost here and now doesn't mean we won't see more of him!" He snickered a bit soon after, however, and crossed his arms over his chest. "But I won't complain about being your favorite- better not change your mind later."

Remy huffed out a little bit at that, and Rat gave h is head a little rub before he turned his attention back to his fellow engineer with a gentle shrug of his shoulders. "Limits are good to know, and I also won't complain about a little fun anyway." He winked playfully before he placed his hands onto his hips and watched as she started to talk about her gloves. His brown eyes flitted down to the disc and his eyes scanned it over- almost like he was studying the piece of magitech. His eyebrows knitted together and he rubbed his chin for a moment before he finally gave a gentle nod of his head.

"Impressive- I guess we can start pretty small anyway." He stated finally, his eyebrows knitted just a bit further before he focused back on her face. "Don't worry about harming little ol me- I'm sure it will be alright." He chuckled a little bit at the thought, waving his hands a little bit as if to ease her worries- he never liked to think too hard about his actions, it would make him hesitate too much after all.

Finally, he took a little step back, bracing himself with a curt nod and his eyes gleaming a little bit as he looked to his new found friend. "Try me- I'm ready when you are. Let's see what this thing can do, yeah?" He chirped out, giving her a little smirk at the thought.

Jet

 

[Jet]

​

Adrian listened along and found himself lost in her vivid imagery. The swirling greens of swaying grass and old forests, pious men in castles of pale blue and white granite, walls shining in the bright summer sun. For a moment he wished for another childhood. To roam pastures of grazing cows and picket fences, where only clouds stopped the sun from warming his face. Not choking plumes of ash from burning towns and scorched bodies, crackling in piles of splintered wood and broken homes.

Yet he felt kinship with her. They were both frogs at the bottom of a well, unable to see the world above their narrow, distant window to the sky. "Hmmm…" He grumbled when he came to the cold, harsh realization that he knew absolutely nothing about the world. Trapped in a snowglobe of death and depression. "You know, we're so caught up in learning how to kill things, we don't know our ass from our elbows. I think we're fucked."

"Screw it." He snatched the flash and took another swig. "I'm getting philosophical —so quick, hit me with something." He patted his heavily bruised chest. "Not hard though, you might kill me." He laughed to himself before sighing like an old, weary man. "But that's enough depression for today. I've decided to visit Albion even if there's no singing thieves wearing tights. Damn shame that is; was always my favorite story."

He sarcastically shook his head with a smirk. "As far as visiting the zone, only go if you're a real masochist, or really fuckin' desperate for work. Cause' there's not a village without threshers or a friendly neighborhood Leshen, and you'll probably get robbed once or twice."

He smiled with thoughts of his demented home, a real shitshow compared to actual civilizations. Its only positives were the lack of dull moments, cheap booze and low taxes. "But that's another rabbit hole I've been down too many times, so I'll leave it for another day."

"And anyway, I've been meaning to ask," he said, desperately changing the topic. "Your words painted Albion as the perfect place to live, a real paradise where peasants eat cake and nobles piss rainbows." He strongly met her gaze and leaned forward. "But your face told a different story, so I'm curious, what's poisoning your slice of heaven?"

Arcanist

 

[ZackStop]

Ren had no idea what he was looking for. It had taken him a moment to shake the fact that he just found a body, one of many lives that those men had taken. He could only imagine what he must have done to deserve this, or at least what they thought was deserving. He must have simply seen them, and that would have been enough. Maybe he saw them planting the bomb, so Ren stood up and took a step back, to see if maybe his orientation would lead him in the right direction.

"Crap..." Ren said to himself, realized he lacked the skill or intuition to pull something like that off. It would lead him nowhere. Instead, Ren just looked around the room, as did Phalanx, finding various crates and shelves, all of which was for storage. Mops, brooms, buckets, that bomb could be anywhere. Ren tried to think hard to maybe squeeze out some Sherlock Holmes, but ultimately threw his hands up in frustration and went right for the shelves right in front of him. He made sure to honor the body and not disturb it, jogging around it to climb onto a crate. He rather sporadically shoved stuff back in forth to see if the bomb was hiding behind anything. However he made a point to move everything back where it was. Who knows how often people came down here. If it were him Ren wouldn't want all his stuff out of place either.

He paused for a moment, realizing what he had just done. "Ah, damnit! Priorities! I gotta find that bomb!!" Phalanx just watched him as if he was just plain stupid, before witnessing him aimlessly pry open a bunch of crates. It would take forever for him to open them all by himself, even if it was in fact hiding in one of them.

As it turns out, there was quite a bit of sherlock in the feline. While Ren was flinging stuff open, Phalanx was slowly circling the room with a calm leisure before coming to a stop. 'tiktiktiktiktiktik..." Phalanx picked up on the faintest sound. It was a rather fast ticking sound like one heard from a mechanical timer or pocket watch. As he got closed to the corner, Phalanx was able to deduce where it was coming from. It was no coincidence that they were looking for a bomb, and with a sound this out of place, it had to be what they were after. That sound was in fact coming from the ceiling. A rough bumpy texture on the square ceiling tiles much like the ones in offices and schools, blank and ugly, but easy to force an individual apart from the neighboring tiles.

With a few nimble leaps onto the shelves, Phalanx made it to the top and alerted Ren of his finding. Ren stopped prying a crate open and blinked. "Eh?" He looked up at Phalanx on the top shelf and jogged over. "Phalanx? What are you doing up there?" The cat shoved his head up against the tile in question, forcing it open. It didn't take long for Ren to find out what he was trying to communicate. He quickly climbed up to reach inside the ceiling, where he was able to find what looked like a box wrapped up in a brown paper and held closed with some twine that was rough, with small pieces of the fabric coming loose and had an itchy texture. Ren hopped down with the package and set it down on the floor.

With great care, Ren undid the knot that kept everything together but what he found inside wasn't quite what he expected. It was surely a bomb, but not just that, it was another Compression field, larger than the one Tefra threatened them with. He could feel his heart sink just looking at it. He closed his eyes and took a breath. Looking at it some more, Ren was able to look the clock attached to the thing, figuring that was the mechanism to detonate the cube at a specific time. He had no idea how much time he had to disarm it, but he recalled what Tefra had told him, to simply remove the clock. That seemed too obvious and very well could cause a premature detonation. "Uhh. Hold on." He said to himself as Phalanx watched from the top shelf still.

Ren looked closely from every angle, even lifting the cube up... gently... and looked from inside it. Despite it glowing so bright, the Compression field was transparent, so Ren was able to see how the clock was attached. This did him no good though, since what he was looking for was any service hatch to the device. If he could get that open he may have been able to disarm it properly. Being a mechanic, moving parts and gears and cogs were nothing new to him, but with no way to get it open, his skills were useless. All it was in essence was a large pocket watch tacked on to the cube, by whatever magic means or however they managed to do it.

"This is a lot trouble just to disarm a bomb... I gotta wonder what they're trying to achieve." He said to himself as he was left with only one option he could thing of. He gripped both sides of the clock face's rim and began to pull it apart. His face turned red and he struggled, but all he managed to do was cause his fingertips pain. He was doing his best to be careful not to make this thing go off, but even if he put all his muscle into it, this thing was not budging. "Damnit! How am I gonna disarm this damn thing?" He pulled one of his shields off his back and looked and the deep blue face of the shield. "Maybe I can pour water on it and short it- Gah! No that might just make the damn thing blow!" He sat there scratches his head furiously with both hands. The last option, maybe, was to throw it off the edge of Nye. The only problem was he didn't know how far he would have to go, and he certainly had no way of knowing when the bomb was set to detonate. Ren figured the best thing to do now, is to see what those other people thought. Ren picked up the bomb and went up the stairs to take a look around.

 

[Jet]

​

"Oh I won't be changing my mind any time soon, you see your competition?" Mischa looked at the other fighters with a raised brow, almost impressed at how psychotic they looked. "Bunch of asylum escapees they are; I'd rather befriend lions at the zoo."

Mischa chuckled and slipped on her old leather gloves, stretching her hands into their tight nooks and crannies. "Right then." She cracked her knuckles and stared at the disc in his hand, a tense feeling in her stomach. "Let's hope he's the man you think he is; not a bastard tossing you junk from his scrap pile."

"But there's no point in waffling about!" She cocked her arm and strongly stepped forward, leaning into a punch as she said, "Here's for science!" Her palm hit the disc and released a shockwave that wooshed through the room, but the shield didn't move at all. Almost like she'd punched a concrete wall with her bare hand, and she felt like it too.

"Fuck me!" She doubled over with a deep breath, quietly humming as pain shot through her forearm. "That didn't hurt a bit. Nope not even a little!" She groaned and shook her throbbing forearm, grabbing her hand as it painfully twitched. "Don't mind me! I can do that all day." She sat on the bench and massaged her aching hand. "Well there's good news and bad news."

"Good news is, it bloody well works, and maybe a bit too good at that." She weakly smiled and shook her head. "Now the bad news? Every action has an equal one, right into my hand like a mobster whacked me with a sledgehammer." She winced as she flexed her fingers. "It would've snapped my wrist if I went full power; hell of a piece a' tech that is."

Emphoa

 

[EldridSmith]

Zulan wasn't a fan of what Tefra said, but by Ren's words he himself would be untrustworthy for wanting to abandon 'his country'. He had no loyalties to it, especially considering it was join or die. Still Tefra was also in a similar situation... though Tefra seemed less repentant about things than he was... and off to catch the boy who ran off they were going. Not until Johan was sure Tefra wasn't pulling any funny business... though Zulan was still wary as he didn't see the man's familiar. The politics of Nye were then discussed, equally as corrupt as Nahzir if not worse... but at least Nye didn't blindly seek to slaughter so many in the name of conquest. Johan looked at Zulan with a perplexed look. "I may be philosophical and regretful for my sins but I am still a trained soldier Johan... as much as I hate doing so I can and will do what I must to survive and live freely and to atone." He responded with calm eyes, he wasn't about to have his credibility questioned over having a semblance of a heart left. He just didn't want to see someone go down the same dark path he did. Still advice was often free and things given freely are often taken for granted. He couldn't force anyone to take his advice and he wasn't going to force anything down anyone's throat.

The man then tried appealing to Anya before Johan quickly shut him up before they argued over the man's fate some more. The assassin seemed displeased with his speech, and he would have gladly bantered back and forth with her on philosophy were it not that they were dealing with a bomb and unrepentant and remorseless terrorist. "I will gladly discuss morality with you later... I think Johan is likely tired of banter especially after the prisoner talked so much." On the other hand he seemed to have terrified the young girl, Anya. She seemed to have forgotten his name even though he introduced himself earlier, but it mattered not she seemed too terrified of him to be interested in further chatter especially considering how she backed away from him.

Jet Lost Echo rozukitsune ZackStop

 

[Fred Colon]

Spoiler: Howard

Howard moved through the hustle and bustle of the arena, towards the little infirmary that he knew they were keeping Adrian. When he arrived, a young man in the white garments of a healer stepped in his way.

"I'm sorry sir, but civilians aren't allowed here."

Howard blinked at him, and then turned around and scanned the rest of the room. He scratched the back of his neck in genuine puzzlement. There didn't seem to be anyone else attempting to gain access to the infirmary. Howard turned back to the medic.

"Who are you talking to, man? I don't see any civilians here. Although I suppose they could have scampered off before I turned around. They likely recognized Howard Greenfellow from behind. Combine that with your warning, and they must have left at light speeds!" Howard shook his head. "It's for the best. It's absolutely obnoxious when people just walk into places of rest and rejuvenation like they own the place! It's extremely important that those recovering have sufficient privacy."

A thought occurred to Howard. These medical professionals were doing a very important job! In particular, patching up his new best friend Adrian! Adrian who had, despite his injuries, been so inspired by Howard Greenfellow that he had shouted his name to the crowd before collapsing!

He handed the medic a few gold coins. It was only fair! He was sure they weren't being paid nearly enough for such an important job. Perhaps when he was the leader of Nye, he would increase funds to medical professionals! He bet no one but him had quite realized how significant their work was! Peasants probably had to deal with all sorts of bumps and bruises from working outside all the time, and horrific venereal diseases owing to the fact that they bred like rabbits!

"You really deserve this, you know. You're doing a fine job. A fine job. The Nye citizenry is healthier under your watch!"

The medic stood, his eyes wide.

"Ah. Thank you. Uh. Mr. Greenfellow."

And, naturally now that the mysterious civilian had obviously gone, the Medic stepped out of Howards way.

It didn't take long for Howard to spot Adrian. He was talking to another contestant, the noble knight, Brynwyr, who had almost pledged her sword to him.

"Adrian!" Howard cried. "What a rousing spectacle! The Giant Guadalupe was a daunting and skilled opponent, but he was unable to best you! Spectacular. Truly spectacular." He flashed his smile at Brynwyr as well, utterly and completely unaware he was interrupting a conversation. "Your fight was quite good, too, Brynwyr! Bracken was a bit of an odd one, though, I have to say. A curious end to the fight! He must not have realized he'd only brought ten arrows! Silly, silly. You have to be more prepared than that if you want to be a centurion." He turned back to Adrian. "But, anyway! I've come to check on you, my friend! How are you doing? A little banged up I see. Don't worry, if you can't walk, your good pal Howard Greenfellow will wheel you into the post-fight ceremonies! The two of us together will have enough star power to blind anyone who looks at us for too long!" Howard laughed aloud, loudly enough that an unconscious wounded fighter on another cot was awoken from her slumber to glare at him.

Jet Arcanist

 

[Jet]

​

"I'm only tired of his banter." Johan pointed at the cloaked bomber. "The rest just, I don't know, rolls off my back? I don't worry about things I can't change, and I can't change anything here, so what's philosophy gonna do for me? Tell me I need a drink?"

"Hah!" Tefra looked back with a grin. "Quite the nihilist, but then why have you achieved what you've achieved? Ascending the rungs of power and prestige, working in the shadows for your many masters? What's the point if you don't care?"

"Promotions are the side effect of following orders."

"How convenient for a man with bloodstained hands, but we both know that's not completely true."

"Your random insults aren't landing stranger; aim better next time."

"Oh?" Tefra curiously said. "I think I hit the bullseye."

"See." Johan faced the others with a disgusted frown, almost like he was smelling bad meat. "Now this — this is tiring."

"Why?" Tefra said. "You've nothing to say perhaps?"

Johan narrowed his eyes. His nostrils flared and warmth shot through his stomach. Truly, he could not stand this man. "You hid behind orders before, and now you blame me for doing the same thing? Pick one."

"Bravo! Well played my droll friend!" Tefra stopped at the door beside Narzas, sarcastically looking her way. "And don't worry girl, I'll play nice and keep my hands to myself. So you can lower your eager little hands." He strode inside just as Ren accidentally pried off the clock, dropping it with a dull metal clunk.

"Well well!" Tefra smiled at the young man. "You actually believed me! Hah! What a gullible boy!" He kneeled and picked up the watch. "Lucky for you, I was telling the truth. It takes some force to remove of course, bonded to the cube with magnetism, but it comes off without much trouble."

"Just keep the cube safe or you'll destroy a city block by accident." He turned to the group of judgemental, angry people at the door. "Now may I leave? I've done my part and hampered my goals in the process. You've no idea how costly this has been for me."

Johan stepped forward and slowly, tensely crossed his arms. "One last question, where can we find your group? Tell me and you can leave."

"The undercity, I've already—

"Where exactly is it?"

"Hmm?" Tefra creepily smiled. "I'm afraid I've forgotten."

"Then you're not leaving."

"You'd void her promise?" Tefra looked at Narzas. "I thought you were a paragon of justice?"

"She works independently from me; her promises aren't mine."

"Hah!" Tefra spat with venemous bile, maliciously dripping like poison from a wound. "You're the worst kind of scum."

"Ironic."

"Perhaps, but in that case, I've another piece of information to whet your pallette, one more important than a place you can already find."

Johan narrowed his eyes and watched every movement Tefra made. The slight changes in his posture and face, his small twitches and shifting glare. The look in his demonically pale, exceedingly sharp eyes. "Go on. I'm listening."

"You've a mole, a high ranking and extremely powerful one."

"Bullshit."

"Really?" Tefra snickered below his breath. "Why do you think security is so light this year? Where are the swarming guards and checkpoints? How did we stroll in without a hitch in these cliche black cloaks?"

Johan tensed his jaw and looked back at the door. "I don't believe you but—

"Yes you do. I can see it in your face." Tefra smirked and stepped forward, slowly looking around the room. "I've a contact who knows their identity, follow the trail and you'll find exactly who's pulling the strings."

Johan nervously tapped his sleeve. "You're staying with us until we find them."

"No."

"You really want to play hardball in your situation?"

Tefra let the silence hang in the tense, cloying air. The sound of skittering rats and dripping water filled the room, but only for a moment. "Do you want to let a mole escape?"

"Of course not."

"Then do as I say."

Johan chewed his cheek and cracked a thin, resigned smile, almost like he'd lost a hand of cards. "You know, I'll track you down if this lead is cold."

"Indeed, but I promise it's warmer than a winter hearth."

"Then I'll humor you. Who's your contact?"

"His name is—

Tefra stopped and grabbed the back of his neck. "Hmm?" He rubbed his skin and closely checked his fingers, narrowing his eyes at a small speck of blood. "Who did this?" He felt a wave of sickly heat in his limbs, dull and throbbing like a broken finger. His stomach twisted as the room suddenly spun around his aching head, and his prickly skin moistened with sweat.

"Something's wrong." His throat burned and he coughed before clutching his neck. Foam bubbled from his mouth and he stumbled back against a shelf, leaning sideways before falling to his knees. He pushed the wall and tried standing on shaky legs, but his feet splayed as he collapsed to the ground. "Poison! I've been—

He sputtered and coughed until his face went red. His ragged breath echoed through the room and his heart seized in his chest. He grabbed at his shirt and rolled onto his back, punching the ground as he screamed in pain.

Johan slowly stepped back as blood drained from his face. "How?" he whispered before turning to the door. "What the fuck just happened?" He rushed into the hallway and merged with his familiar, a small bat within his hand.

"Everyone quiet!" He closely listened for any footsteps or heartbeats, something to explain what the hell was going on — but there was nothing of note. "There's nobody here." He turned to the room and rubbed his wrinkly forehead, stressed and confused, annoyed at his own foolishness. "I thought maybe, maybe someone went invisible, but—

"There's nothing." He entered the room as the bomber seized on the ground, painfully groaning before he finally went still. Wrathful, dead eyes staring at the lights overhead. "I know it wasn't one of you, there's no way I would've missed it."

He leaned against the wall and slowly slid to the ground, rubbing his temples as he deeply sighed. "I just... wanted a normal day for once. Just one day to relax and watch the games." He chuckled and looked up at the same light. There was a fly trapped inside its plastic casing, bumping against the walls of its brightly shining prison.

—​

The next twenty minutes were somber. The corpses were taken to a morgue by government agents, and the fighters were interviewed by stern lawmen.

Johan supported their innocence and so it was set, they were given monetary rewards and ushered back to the staging room, with a strong warning to stay in their lane.

—​

Two hours later in a morgue across the city, Doctor Braun extracted vials of blood from the cold corpse of Tefra. His mortuary was cold and sterile, stainless steel glinting in the dull fluorescent glow.

"It's good to meet you!" A man said from across the room. "I've business with the corpse you're prodding."

"Excuse me?" The doctor lowered his mask and briskly approached the man. "Who the hell are you? You're not authorized to be here?"

"Neither are you, yet here you are!"

"What?"

"It's no matter, but you've good reason to let me see the corpse."

"Get the fuck out of here before I call the guard."

"I could, or you could be fifty gold richer? None the wiser to my presence in your morbid practice."

"Hmm?" The doctor stopped to think. "Make it a hundred."

"Done." The man took a small gold bar from his pocket. "One hundred on the dot, now leave us."

"How long do you need? I can't be gone for more than a few minutes."

"That's more than enough."

The doctor snatched the gold and wandered off without a word, leaving the man alone with Tefra's corpse. "Well well, you've found yourself in quite the predicament." He smiled and gently placed his hand on Tefra's cold, lifeless chest. "But you're not done yet, are you?"

Lost Echo rozukitsune ZackStop EldridSmith

 

[Lost Echo]

Anya felt caught in a river. The cloaked man was the current, pulling her forward. He was the rapids, knocking her left and right. Johan steered as the water lashed out of him, trying to get a reaction. He kept his cool as words were practically spat into his face.

And Anya just floated on behind them. Not willing to break free, a mix of curiosity and fear keeping her with them. What if the boy set the bomb off accidentally? Did any of the people, stuck in the same boat as her know how to defuse a bomb?

The waterfall hit with a dull clunk. Her stomach dropped with it. Heartbeats passed as she waited for the bomb to explode before she registered they were alive. The cube, the bomb was safe in the young boy’s hand and nothing seemed to go wrong. Anya came up for a gasp of air, taking slow breaths to calm herself once more.

This time, Johan took charge of the conversation. Demanding the location of his cult. Anya forced herself to pay attention to the man’s dripping words. Maybe they could help her find Hannah. She had to keep every option open. Especially if the man was going to be let go. He offered instead what seemed obvious to her, perhaps she didn’t know this organization had a mole in the ranks, but of course, there were moles in the ranks. She'd just not known this organization existed. That was what she was looking for after all, someone who would lightly betray Nye to help her.

Johan took it hard though, seemingly changed by the information. She watched as the two spat back and forth before the promised contact was--not said. The man paused, reaching behind himself and returning with blood. She watched him keel over, for the first time truly understanding its meaning. As his ragged breath filled the room, she ran over, ignoring Johan’s command, and knelt beside the man as he screamed.

“*uck *uck *uck” was a litany or like a prayer as she placed one hand on his chest and the other on his abdomen. Pressing down simultaneously she tried to fight his writhing. This usually worked best when the person was unconscious.

She recognized the sign of a bad brew immediately (the foaming at the mouth gave it away) but she also knew these things were often instant, and he hadn’t taken anything. Plus the timing was too perfect for it to just be delayed.

Anya was drowning. The man beneath her hands had stilled. She kept pushing His face was still red and saliva dripped from the corners of his mouth like a dog. She kept pushing. Her fingers tingled with the electricity that wanted free but she knew that would kill him for sure. She kept pushing. But she could feel it. His own electricity, whatever made humans work, was gone. He was gone. ‘This type of death I’m used to. Though usually, it’s self-inflicted.’ She sat back.

Her head felt underwater. As Johan lamented the day, her return chuckle seemed to echo in her ears. “Maybe a raincheck for that tour?” She heard a distant part of her ask. She blinked and then there were men and she was expected to stand, ushered out of the way while the body was taken away. A woman stepped into her view and she blinked at her, her vision blurry. She asked questions, but Anya hadn’t done anything really. Just watched. Tears glistened on her lashes as she watched Johan vouch for her. As he deserved, it was his fault she was here.

And suddenly she and her fellow competitors were ushered through halls she forgot as soon as she passed them. And then they were in front of a crowd of people and left, the door swinging shut behind her. Anya stood still, searching the group for a familiar face. One muscular form stood out, a massive woman who stood out among massive warriors.

Immediately, Anya made a beeline toward her, having to push her way through a few. She was panting by the time she reached Ava, or maybe hyperventilating. She couldn’t tell. In between gasps, she spoke, “You’re a hug person right?” She remembered Mark giving Ava a hug. Or vice versa, he didn’t protest that was a surprise enough. Not bothering to even look for her friend, she said, “I could really use a hug right now.”

She stood there for a small eternity before flinching as arms came around her. After a second, she recognized the leather and chemical smell that always hung around Mark, and she let herself sag in his grasp, her head down, tears falling to the floor.

rozukitsune Jet ZackStop EldridSmith (For the first part)
Huntertabbysandshark3 EldridSmith (For the final part)

 

[rozukitsune]

Narzas was not surprised by how easy the bomb was to disarm. How casually Tefra strutted his stuff and demanded his freedom once the deed was ended.

She was not surprised when Johan chose to add more conditions to the man's sentence. It was perfectly reasonable to demand more when more needed to be known.

She was further not surprised when Tefra 'refused' to give away his compatriots location but offered them a shinier target within Nye itself. Knowledge of a mole within the higher ranks would definitely go a long way to help sort out this mess they'd all accidentally found themselves in.

But when the man suddenly began choking and convulsing and neither she nor the seemingly infallible Centurion among them could find a source of the attack... her world titled. As Johan scrambled and called for silence it was all Narzas could do but to stare in wide-eyed shock at Tefra as he fell, foaming and gagging to the floor. She didn't move, hardly even breathed.

This was not possible. Not possible to sneak up on not one but two fully trained assassins without a sound or visual. Not possible to assassinate a man surrounded by bodies and eyes and in the presence of a damn Centurion!

Unbound from the heavy mental conditioning of her upbringing by the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, Narzas did something she hadn't done since she was a child... she mourned for the dead. Dropping to her knees beside the man as he stilled, she bowed her head - heart aching at the injustice. Tefra probably didn't deserve her pity or her tears... but she didn't really spill them for him. She spilled them for the dozens of people she'd witnessed die or murdered herself on the orders of seemingly soulless superiors. Their blood was not on her hands, not really... but the burden of knowing she might have stopped it, might have tried to fight to save them was.

In the end though all she would have accomplished would have been dying herself. With a sigh, she gathered her emotions back up, wiped her tears away and muttered a prayer in her home tongue, then reached over and closed the man's eyes just for good measure.

What a fucking day.

Lost Echo Jet ZackStop EldridSmith

 

[Arcanist]

Brynwyr Protheroe



Mentions: Jet , Fred Colon ​

Adrian’s philosophy was not untrue. People lie them lived and died by the sword. Pledged to a lord or for greater good, for gold and prestige. Even survival. She was lucky she didn’t experience much of the latter. She felt guilty for letting danger become a desire in her heart.

Brynwyr wondered if she was so desperate for it that she would take herself to the zone. She pushed it away, hissing through her teeth at Adrian’s warning. “You’ll have to tell me all about it then one day. I doubt dealing with any of those villages are as easy as chasing bandits with their trousers down through the woods.” She rolled her eyes. Some criminals in her parts weren’t even worth a thrill any more. “But I’ll make sure there’s a band of merry men in green tights, ready to sing and steal for you.” She winked.

Talk turned to Albion instead. It was like passing a bomb neither wanted to defuse. Brynwyr’s smile faded, and her eyes dropped to her bare hands. She stayed silent, lips parting and closing. Another minute passed in her deliberation before she finally chose to defuse that bomb. “Albion is idyllic, peaceful. It’s nothing compared to what the QZ is, from what you told me. I’m thankful that I was raised there, and surrounded by people who cared for me and taught me what I know today…” People did unspeakable things to rise to the comforts and security that Brynwyr had in life. She hesitated for a moment before she turned to Adrian, her hand gripping the railing. “Do you ever find yourself wanting? Like you have just eaten the most fulfilling meal you could ever have, and yet, it doesn’t satisfy you? You could go for something bigger. Something far different from the menu you always eat from.” Her knuckles went pale, bones pushing against flesh.

Her focus on Adrian was unflinching. “That is what I feel like,” she whispered, “I eat and drink Albion and yet, it is never enough. I want for nothing, and I stamp my steel-toed feet, because I want more. I wish Albion had more. And it cannot live in a self-sufficient bubble--”

“Adrian!”

Brynwyr jerked back from the railing. Colour bled back into her knuckles, and she moved her head to hide the wildfire flush that flared in her face with her treason. Howard Greenfellow, as far as she knew, hadn’t noticed it, babbling on about Adrian’s spectacular fight. Then her own. She looked at him, careful not to show her face. She donned silver steel in her mind and nodded. “My thanks, Mr Greenfellow.” Brynwyr did not seek to correct him on his opinions of Bracken, having known the true reason herself, as he moved on. She sat back in her cot, content to listen to his plans to wheel Adrian out into the arena to solidify their partnership – their contract.