Fantasy The Great Games of Nye

[Emphoa]

Collab with Jet
​

The announcement of the start of the games made reality hit harder here at this moment, the rat letting out a breath and offering a small smile to Remy. “We’re going to be just fine.” He insisted quietly to the little familiar, finally pushing himself to leave the locker rooms and tightening on his gear as he followed the arrows. There was quite the array of characters- and he wondered which of them he would come face to face with.

He pursed his lips together, only half listening as they mulled over the rules- the dos and don’ts and the usual others who try to shake the faith of those who might have been feeling antsy. His gaze grew more stern, mentally preparing himself for the task up ahead. Mostly, he was quiet, until it was time for his match up and his eyes flitted up to the bracket.

He stood, stretching out his arms with a puff of air escaping him, eyes flitting over to the other individual that had stepped up. His eyes twinkled just a bit at the sight of a cat familiar- and he looked to be a gear head… Just like he was. Interesting match up, making us fight against one another.

“Looks like it’s us, nice to meet ya- I’m Rat.” He sneered a bit at the thought- a cat and a rat, classic trope. He wasn’t surprised the people running this thing would jump on such an opportunity. “Funny match up, ain’t it?” He stated, before he started to make his way out.

Dimitri stared at the gear Rat carried, forgetting to speak as he examined every piece. It was impressive stuff. Homemade and covered with patches and repairs; a sign of true craftsmanship.

Assuming it all worked of course.

"Oh yes! This is quite a match indeed!" He smiled after the long, awkward silence. "Sorry about that! I'm Dimitri, fellow gear head galore! In fact, they call me the king of lightning tech!"

"How about we make this interesting? Winner gets one piece of gear from the loser." He glanced at the arena with a narrow smile, chest swelling with confidence. He knew he'd win no matter what. There was no choice given his gambling debts and business loans; a huge sum he'd pay with a centurion salary. It was a perfect plan given his perfect equipment, and adding another piece would only make things easier.

Rat’s grin only grew a little bit as he listened to the other man and watched how he examined his own gear. It wasn’t hard to see that familiar glint in the other man’s eyes. One of curiosity and a desire to study- expand their knowledge. That was something he would always understand and he straightened up a little bit.

“King of lightning tech! Sounds like a grand title.” He chuckled a little bit at the thought, and his brown eyes twinkled playfully. “Sounds like a good one to have, always glad to see some like minded people.” He tapped the side of his head with a little smirk on his expression before he cocked his head to the side.

At the mention of a sort of deal, the boy gave a little sneer at the thought, cocking his head to the side and seemingly considering it. “I’ll do one better, I’ll create something, suited to your tastes.” He stated, eyes gleaming a little bit. “Makes things a little interesting- and I’m sure well worth the time.”

"Well isn't that lovely!" Dimitri smiled and clapped Rat's shoulder. "You're a good sport you know, a shame I'll have to send you packing!" He laughed as they entered arena. The crowd screamed with rabid anticipation, desperate for a good scrap after the previous one, a landslide win lacking tension and drama.

"I can barely hear myself think!" Dimitri yelled over the buzz, bouncing on his toes as Dyus prepared to speak.

The rat’s eyes snapped to the hand that clapped on his shoulder, paying close attention just in the case anything could have been planted there with the one single action. Perhaps, it would have been a paranoid thought, but Rat wasn’t one to be foolish- and he wouldn’t take a risk with a fellow gear head with an array of tech as he had.

Finally, eyes snapped back to the other man with a small smirk on his expression. “I look forward to see what you can do, let’s make it interesting- yeah? Crowds love that and all.” He snorted a little bit at the thought, but truthfully could care less about what the crowd themselves thought, he was here to test his gear and show it off, nothing more.

He scrunched his nose and he could feel the way Remy shifted in his small carrier from the loud noise and he clicked his tongue. “You’re telling me- should have brought some ear plugs.” The boy sneered a bit, glancing back to Dimitri with a little grin.

"YES IT'S QUITE OBNOXIOUS! I CAN ALREADY FEEL THE LIFELONG DAMAGE TO MY EARS!" Dimitri plugged his ears and deeply exhaled, wondering what the crowd put in their coffee. He figured it was hard drugs; that was the only explanation that made sense to him anyway.

Meanwhile, Dyus said the battle would begin soon. He described the men and detailed their backgrounds, physical stats and betting odds on the match, before their interviews played through the PA system.

Dimitri's interview played first. It painted him as an arrogant man with a bloated sense of importance — quite accurate indeed. Rat's however, painted him in a much different light.

"Why do you want to be a Centurion?" The interviewer began. "Do you want to help people, fight crime, take down bad guys and all that good stuff?"

Rat answered after a moment. "I don't have some big or charitable reason to join the games; it doesn't matter to me." His words sounded smooth and natural. It was perfect editing.

"What would you say to your fans? Your detractors? Anyone in the crowd you want to send a message to?"

"They mean nothing to me."

"Wow, that's incredible, you really don't care huh? Well what about your future opponents? What would you say to them?.

"Hope you're ready to be a test subject for a little while."

"Uh… okay well moving on! Do you think you'll win the games? You certainly have the gear for it."

"Let people figure out whether or not I can themselves."

Rat had been completely screwed by the producers, and there was nothing he could do except win the games. Perhaps then he could set the record straight, but until then, the crowd viciously booed with hatred for the young man.

Rat looked up when they started to play his interview- and a grin slowly grew across his expression. Relishing to the sounds of the booing of the crowd before he looked at his opponent. “Look at that I think I’m really starting to like the dramatics of this.” He laughed a little bit at the thought and he looked away soon after with his hands on his hips.

“Maybe I can get more attention like this, I’m a little deprived you know.” He winked and he looked back to Dimitri as he placed his hands onto his hips, Remy peeking out from the pocket he was kept within with his whiskers quivering.

“Ready for this?” He then asked, stepping out more and letting out a breath, shutting his eyes with a smile as he took it all in- erasing his nerves where he could.

Dimitri returned the smile as he tinkered with his gauntlet. "Looks like I'm a regular fan favorite!" His smile became a grin as the crowd chanted his name, and the announcer knew they wanted action. He raised his arms from the platform as he screamed, "LET'S GET READY FOR SOME ACTION!"

Dyus raised three fingers and said, "Three!" He lowered one of them. "Two!" The crowd wildly screamed. "One! Let the fight, BEGIN!"

Dimitri pressed a button on his glove and metal balls emerged from the top. "All systems check!" He pointed Rat's way and the balls rapidly spun. "Hope your gear isn't limited to offense, otherwise this will be a short fight." The spheres shot forward with blinding speed, aimed directly at Rat's chest.

A quick hand pulled up a small stick that expanded into a staff- twirling it just in time to disperse a heavy shock through the spheres and a quick roll out of the way. A lopsided grin aimed towards the other gear head as he puffed out- twirling the staff within his fingers as he moved forward.

“Come on! Have a little more faith in me would you?” He cackled out a bit, pushing himself forward and bringing up one of his legs to sweep at the other’s feet. It was gear to try and trip him up… If he could just keep the pressure on the other individual he might have been able to land a good blow.

He brought up another hand and grasped onto one of his other devices as he pulled himself back from Dimitri, brown eyes snapped onto his target as he analyzed his moves carefully.

Dimitri collapsed as his feet went out from under him. "Well well, not just a gear head are you?" He touched his familiar and quickly merged with it, granting him claws and a swaying tail. His eyes became cat-like slits as he nimbly stood and lept back, heels scraping the sandy floor. "I see you're quick enough to dodge my scatter shot, but what about this?" He took a small hook from his pouch. It was attached by chain to a metal cylinder. He swung the hook and threw it towards Rat as it hummed with magic energy, following Rat wherever he went.

If it wrapped around the man, he'd be bound in chains and violently pulled towards Dimitri.

Rat smirked as the other bound with his familiar, and he pulled up his staff with a huff escaping him. “Hey- gotta be prepared for anything, right?” He snorted out, and he dashed forward- eyes flickering as the other sent out a chain of some sort. Rat moved quickly- and ran towards Dimitri with the chain following behind.

“Think fast-” The rat sneered- and just as Dimitri tried to slip away, the pest used his staff to push the other man right into his own chain. The boy’s eyes gleamed as he managed to elude the chain and swing out his leg- jutting it right into Dimitri’s back with a large electrical shock exploding from the impact.

His eyes gleamed at the movement, watching the other roll forward and ensnared into his own trap. The boy straightened up, stretching out his arms as Dimitri seemed to curse quietly to himself and the gear head took no time to whip his staff back out and moved forward.

Dimitri just managed to free himself from his own device before sweating as the Rat took no time in getting close again. Rat watched as he tried to create distance between them, before he pulled out one of his tools that was similar to that of a claw.

“Can’t run from me too much! You’ll waste time.” The inventor chirped out, his eyes brightened as he aimed the claw towards Dimitri and it shot out- Dimitri managing to swipe it away before a few explosions were able to create a distance between the two foes.

Rat shook himself off, lifting his head up sharply in time to see claws coming to swipe out at him. He grimaced as he felt the claws crash and strike against the little armor he had. Bringing up his leg and delivering a hard blow right into the other man’s chest with a grin on his expression.

The rat managed to shove his opponent away as he shook himself off, twirling his staff as he moved forward- narrowly avoiding another device Dimitri tried to send out at him and smacking it away with his staff.

The brainiac let out a breath, careful in each step that he took before he managed to get face to face with his fellow gear head. Reaching a hand out to grip onto Dimitri, and with that slap placing a small device onto the other man with a huff.

“Good luck-” Rat sneered before he leapt back away from his opponent just as an electrical blast ripped through the other’s body from the latched on device and the brainiac's eyes gleamed as he moved back, letting himself relax as he watched his opponent crumple.

Sorry, guess it may have been a little too strong. He thought to himself, adjusting his grip onto his staff as he brushed his hair back.

This fight was finished.

Dyus grinned as the crowd chanted,

"RAT!"

"RAT!"

"RAT!"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Dyus gestured at the field. "The cat and mouse game has been flipped on its head! The tables have been turned! The prey has become the predator!"

"If only Dimitri had brought a trap and some cheese eh?" The crowd laughed as a referee approached Dimitri, checking his pulse with a nod.

"He's fine!" The ref shook Dimitri's shoulder until he twitched.

"Did… did I win?" The fighter rubbed his head.

The referee chuckled. "Yeah sure, if getting curb stomped counts that is."

Dimitri slowly stood with a groan. "Well, that's quite unfortunate. I hoped to show more, but alas!" He shuffled to Rat while digging through his bag. "I believe I owe you this." He handed over a metal disc that was several inches wide. It was made of stainless steel and shined in the midday sun. "Give it a squeeze and it'll summon a force field, it's quite useful in a pinch! It can stop almost anything but the bigger the demand, the quicker it drains."

The referee waved them towards the tunnel. "Do your dealings in there, we have fights to run."

The men nodded and walked inside the tunnel, discussing the powerful piece of arcane technology.

 

[Lost Echo]

Anya only didn’t scream because she’d forgotten to breathe back in. The boy’s body was flung in the man’s grip, and Anya…did nothing. She did not move. She did not run over and swing her sword, separating the large man’s hands from the younger’s neck. She just froze. Breaking her promise seconds after it was made.

Mouth agog, she stared as his partner as he spoke to…someone, then them, seeing through the magic Johan had laid upon them, hiding them from even each other. He spoke of condemning thousands--destroying the stands? _____ was in them! She scarcely dared to breathe in relief as the boy was released, not moving to help him when he tumbled to the floor. What if she set them off?

The teen wasn’t held back by his attack, instantly seeing the lack of reason in their threat. Something she should have noticed, even she could only just think! He was just choked and he still thought faster than she did. All she could think about was wanting to go and hide in her room and maybe get an Ava hug. If she looked pathetic enough maybe she’d even convince Mark to give her one.

And then even thoughts of hugs or hiding were gone. Now all that mattered was that glass cube. She knew a compression field when she saw one. Every so often someone would try to test one on Peirama. Usually some idea to make their own, which would fail exploding half the island. Even if she couldn’t tell what strength the white flames had, she knew their threat was true. Though also that the boy was right, they’d use it if they let them go. I should have said murder them not intel. Then again, would killing them have set off the cube?

Turning as Johan spoke, Anya had moments to hope that he was skilled at diplomacy as well as killing. But then he shot the guy’s arm off! Screaming, she jerked forward to catch it, her eagle like eyes catching the other woman’s movement, fast enough to be enhanced. Fast enough to catch it. Trusting the stranger she took over step 2, keeping it away from the pair. Ignoring the sword on her back, feathers sprouted from her arms and she spread them, covering the assassin’s retreat. Her face changed to encompass a beak and she hissed, stamping her feet in warning. Electricity streaked over her wings, causing her hair to lift up in its wake.

 

[ZackStop]

Ren stood there, as the man in charge turned his attention away from him and over to the Centurion, a man named Johan. He didn't know what to do, so instead of acting he waited. "What are these guys really after?" He asked himself. "And who is 'He'?" Ren could only guess that they were referring to someone above them, maybe their leader, but he didn't have much time to internalize it. Tefra detailed his threat accompanied by a cube that illuminated white.

"No way!" Ren said under his breath as he looked on in shock. He had never seen one in person, but his grandfather detailed them in full many years ago as an experienced blacksmith. A compression field once used to forge massive pieces of steel, now obsolete due to their volatile and devastating nature. In the hands of these two however, Ren knew full well what havoc they could produce with such a small cube. "You two would actually blow us all up? You'd die too!" But before they could respond, Johan rashly disarmed the man. His face went pale as Ren could feel a cold sweat appear on his body.

Without thinking, Ren B lined for it. It was risky, but it wouldn't matter how far he ran, the explosion would engulf all of them. He probably could have caught it with a dive, but luckily another hero had appeared. The woman spun a web and yanked the cube towards her. Crisis averted, for now. It was too late for him to stop, and with Tefra injured, Ren threw his shield forward and Rammed into him as hard as he could, but not before reaching deep within himself.

He closed his eyes, and saw a black void. A water droplet fell from above and landed in the black water. 'plink...' The water rippled, before the sound of rushing water could be heard, which then reverberated from within his mind and out of his shield. It began to glow blue as water formed around its rims and swirled to the center, as Ren preformed a water magic feat. "Water Cannon!" He said to himself. He dare not say it out loud. A ball of glowing water the size of a soccer ball formed, and Ren aimed to launch this torrent right into his target, which could force him away. Ren then shouted out, "Phalanx!" as his familiar got ready to lunge at Dancho.

 

[EldridSmith]

Zulan could see the lady (Narzas) was no fan of his or their talking but as far as he was concerned ensuring his way out of Nahzir was the most important thing on his priority, he could get philosophical but in reality he knew he didn't care what she though in this instance... aside from his time as a soldier he was a relaxed guy unbothered by others... just the atrocities he saw on the other hand... those haunted him. As for the lady (Narzas) she decided to head off on her own, foolish considering the situation but he wasn't her boss and didn't wish to be either.

It seemed Anya's eyes were also open to the fact Nye was mostly propoganda, smoke and mirrors, and dark dealings behind closed doors... every place was that way but moving from one where he was forced to kill and one where he was free to live peacefully was a no brainer as far as he was concerned. As for the lady (Narzas) naivety... he'd seen it before, she was like the devils who chose to kill for the thought of country and their own gain, her image in his mind plummeted, she wasn't willing to find out the truth of things and wanted to believe the lie it seemed. Still none of his business, after all the operation was more important. What was strange however was that the spell dropped, ah yes the way of diplomacy... lots of chatting, a bomb was pulled, and threats were exchanged. Zulan's small frame crouched down in waiting, while in reality he fused with his familiar subtly and prepared to lunge forward, his small frame made it so he was often underestimated and paid no mind so it wouldn't be an issue... especially if he acted afraid by hiding behind Anya.

Johan shot the man's arm and He and the lady (Narzas) moved into action, though she got there first by using her familar's spider web and she was closer. There was no hesitation on his part, he'd been a soldier too long to ponder things or philosophy in split second decisions like this... he couldn't say the same for Anya however. She panicked and froze before... stamping her feet? Well it wasn't his concern. "Help the boy we'll get the other." He said to Anya as water and electricity were complimentary while his fire would only conflict. Zulan already right next to the big guy jumped up and aimed an jab straight at the guy's throat.
Jet Lost Echo rozukitsune ZackStop

 

[Jet]

​

Tefra grabbed his partner and pushed him at Ren, using him as a crude human shield. "Quite the move!" He laughed as Dancho took the water cannon's full blast, sending him across the room into a wall. The man screamed in pain and crumpled to the ground, writhing in agony with his hands on his stomach. "Tefra! You bloody whoreson!" he said as Zulan attacked his master, but Tefra was one step ahead. He'd seen the attack far in advance with his careful, watchful eyes.

"How naive." Tefra side-stepped with inhuman speed; a flash of movement faster than eyes could see. Then he grabbed Zulan's arm and threw him against the wall, using his momentum against him. "I've been doing this since before you were born." He looked around the room as blood leaked from his elbow. "But I see I'm all out of options." He raised his hands with a sigh. "So let's talk shall we?"

Dancho slowly stood, "NO!" He stumbled forward. "You cannot betray us!"

"Betray? I would never." Tefra clapped Dancho's shoulder. "You should know me better than that, but there's no point in fighting a lost battle."

"Lost? The only thing lost is your nerve!"

"This isn't a question of nerves. It's a question of survival."

"Cowardice!" Dancho drew a long black dagger. "I'll kill them myself then."

"Oh? How scary!" Tefra drew his dagger and with a smooth, blindingly fast movement, he stabbed Dancho through the neck. The young man stumbled and swayed before collapsing with a thud, twitching as blood pooled below him.

"So, as I was saying." He looked around the room at the angry, confused faces before him. He saw rage and anguish in Anya's eyes; her protective instincts honed years ago. He saw the determination in Narzas' face. Her tight grip on the cube and her skillful moves; she was well trained and dangerous. He saw determination in Ren's young, innocent eyes, and then there was Johan. The variable he couldn't read.

They were ready to pounce and impossible to beat, so Tefra dropped his dagger and sat on the ground, crossing his legs as he said, "You win, so let's talk. What would you like to know?"

rozukitsune Lost Echo EldridSmith ZackStop

 

[rozukitsune]

Narzas noted that everyone else was working toward the same goal with varying reactions when they realized she'd grabbed the cube first. The fact they'd basically all lined up to defend her and the cube instead of playing hot potato with it like Johan had suggested made her sigh but... she had to admit it was actually a move worthy of respect that every one of them stood between her and the enemies especially once one of their number was violently introduced to a wall. She took several steps backward as the others bunched up, then found herself caught off guard when one of the enemies straight up murdered his compatriot.

What... the... fuck?!

Narzas cast Johan an uncertain glance when the man asked his seemingly straightforward question, but after the display of might and power he'd just shown she had no idea what such a person's motives would be. Yes, there were five of them, but based on his prowess probably only Johan could match him being the only Centurion among them. For the first time all day, the assassin felt like the rug had been pulled out from under her.

"Who are you. Why are you here? Who are you working for?" She went with the basics for her questions, wondering vaguely if the answers would even make sense.

 

[ZackStop]

Ren was fully prepared to launch this guy, and was sure it would work. But rather than taking the attack or simply dodging out of the way, Tefra chose to instead throw his young apprentice in the way of his attack. The effect was devastating, shocking Ren even, but more shocking was Tefra's deceitful actions. Now that Dancho had been hit, Phalanx lunged to the side and instead focused on Tefra, letting out a low growl.

"You..." Ren began to utter something as he tightened his fist, but before He could complete a full sentence, Zulan, an ally, rushed in for an attack. Ren and Phalanx hopped away and landed beside each other, practically in sync, as the attack sent for Tefra was stopped in it's tracks. He was just too fast and experienced. "This guy..." He said under his breath and there was a bit of frustration in his voice.

Despite his skill, Tefra was done and willing to surrender. Even thought from Ren's perspective the two could still manage to escape. They were good, maybe good enough to take them all on, but chose to give up. "He must be up to something." Ren thought to himself, but there was no way of knowing for sure. This caused conflict between the two men. they were both clearly working for someone higher, but somehow surrender wasn't an option for them, at least according to Dancho. He apposed the idea to give up and decided to take them all on at once, but this only lead Tefra to act rashly again.

In a complete disregard for life, he jabbed his own comrade through the neck, causing him to quickly bleed out. Even if they were his enemy, and even if he was something a loose cannon, one who attack him from the get go, Ren had enough sympathy for Dancho. Seeing him collapse like that, Ren ran right to him and kneeled, seeing the blood pour out of the wound. It was too late, even Ren knew that. "Why?" He placed a hand on Dancho, before looking back at Tefra. "Why did you do that!? He was your ally!" He got up and kicked his dropped knife into an empty corner, assuring he wouldn't reach for it in some attempt to get away.

 

[Lost Echo]

Anya nodded, not bothering to acknowledge the Nahzir man beyond that. Experiments with Wilhemia had taught her to control the direction of her electricity, so she felt confident stepping up beside the blue-haired boy as he shot forth a cannon of water. She flinched as the leader used his minion as a human shield, then immediately countered the naked man’s attack by throwing him into the wall.

She circled around the crumpled form, blocking his escape while the master seemed to surrender. While she was all for monologuing, she did not trust the man, who’d so recently used his ally. As said ally stood, protesting, she shifted to block the stairway further, hoping to limit both’s escape routes.

She was surprised by the fanaticism of Dancho. What cult was this? She didn’t want to kill him and knew all too well how easily her element could stop a heart. So she watched as the two argued. A choked hiss, her avian throat unable to express her horror, came out when Tefra…dispatched his ally within seconds. What the fuck. Why? Why was he dead? The man was obviously strong enough to subdue him, and thus gain their potential trust, but to just kill him...

She watched Ren fall to his knees, cradling the body, but she could tell that wasn’t something the man could survive. Letting him comfort the dying, she kept her attention on the killer, who seemed to not care about his actions, or how he could be perceived. (Was he fast enough to kill her before the others could stop him? Would the others stop him?) She listened to the other woman ask her questions, matched by the sputtered ones from the blue-haired boy, then added in the immediacy after, “And why should we trust you if you’re so willing to kill those on your side?”

 

[Jet]

​

Adrian stood in the ring with twin swords in hand, confidently staring at a huge, broad chested man named Guadalupe.

​

He looked imposing and stronger than a bull, but there was no malice in his warm, friendly eyes. Only determination. The same determination that burned inside the boy from a small, backwater town, treading water too deep for his fledgling feet.

"You sure about this kid?" Guadalupe rolled his shoulder with a grunt. "There's no reason to throw your life away."

"Really? I've always been told it's worthless."

"There's no such thing as a worthless life!" The giant crossed his arms. "They're all precious! That's why I want to become a Centurion."

"It's cheaper than you think, just look at them." Adrian glanced at the crowd. "What's the average ticket cost? Three coins?"

"Not sure kid, what's your point?"

"They're paying a pittance to see us kill each other; doesn't seem like our lives are precious to them."

"Oh! No no no!" Guadalupe said. "You can't weigh lives in gold! They're weighed in experiences and emotions. A warm fire on cold winter nights. Fresh spring air and wildflowers on the wind! That's what measures a life."

"Would've never taken you for a poet."

"Aye. I write in my spare time."

"Now I understand your love of fantasy." Adrian wryly smiled. "But life isn't measured like that. There's a price on every head, all it takes is a person willing to pay it."'

"Cynical bastard!" The giant laughed with a grin. "You're right. The world's a twisted place, but that doesn't mean we can't make it better."

"You can certainly try."

"Hah!" Guadalupe grinned. "What do you know? You can't be more than what, twenty?"

"I've seen enough to know how things work, otherwise I'd keep my mouth shut."

"Go on then, give me a story!"

"Why not." Adrian chuckled. "I've always loved hearing myself talk."

"As do we all!"

"Fair enough." Adrian thought of Hardtack Village. The houses creaked in the wind like rickety old bones, speaking tongues of dull sadness and suffering. The muddy streets stank of disease and decay, as if the ground was slowly dying from poison. The animals were gaunt and drained like homeless urchins on the street, and the villagers had dark, weary eyes, worn down by plague and famine, raider bands and monster hordes.

"I met a farmer in Hardtack." Adrian tensed his jaw. "He said monsters took his kids. Had nothing more than vague descriptions and a few coins to his name, but we wanted to make the world a better place." His stomach turned at the dark, miserable memory. "But there weren't any witnesses to his claim, and we didn't find any tracks around his house."

"So we scouted the grounds, found a grave covered with branches and leaves." Adrian deeply frowned at the thought. The sight of twisted, gray faces writhing with worms and beetles. The rage inside him as he stormed to the house, bashing down the door with a scream. "That's where we found his kids, heads bashed in with a hammer."

"He said the harvest was bad that year, not enough food to go around, that he killed his daughter to save the others." Adrian laughed and shook his head. "As if he couldn't eat less himself, the fat fuck."

"His eldest found out and told the other kids. They confronted him and he snapped, panicked at the thought of being strung up from a tree. So he took a hammer and killed the rest to keep his secret. The monster was just a cover for the truth, and we were just there to lend it credence." Adrian deeply sighed. "Life is cheap even if it shouldn't be, so I've no bones about risking mine."

"Good grief." Guadalupe frowned and idly scratched his head. His eyes showed sympathy and revulsion in equal measure. "Did you kill him?"

"We turned him in. Vengeance belonged to the town, not wandering hunters."

"Good." Guadalupe slowly smiled. "Seems like you made the world better after all."

"You're a crafty old bastard aren't you?"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Dyus said stopping the conversation in mid stream. "Your pre-fight interviews!"

Adrian looked at the screen as his interview played. It painted him as an arrogant, aggressive bum from the backwoods. The kind of uncultured swine who drank moonshine and wrestled alligators, not to mention sleeping in barns and shitting outside.

It was quite accurate.

"Fuck you too Nye." Adrian sidestepped bottles and cans thrown by the booing crowd. "Hmm?" He glanced at the trash around his feet. "Not bad for a bunch of drunks." He dodged another bottle as the next interview played. It painted Guadalupe as an honorable man with good intentions, drawing cheers and chants from the crowd.

"Guess I'm the donkey of the day then." Adrian scoffed at the huge difference in narratives. It was clear he wasn't supposed to win the fight.

"Quiet quiet!" Dyus waited until the crowd calmed down. "Now that I have your attention! The fight is about to commence! Will Adrian upset the giant and move forward?"

The crowd screamed, "NO!" in unison.

"Will Guadalupe defeat this cynical, petulant boy? Will he bring honor to the arena?"

The crowd answered, "YES!" in the same way.

"Petulant?" Adrian raised a brow. "Makes sense." He stared into space as the announcer rambled on and on, parroting state propaganda and fight predictions. Adrian tuned out every boring, dishonest word. He preferred thoughts of his distant home. The people watching at the small tavern beside the river, clinking drinks and cheering his name. His mother would be there too, but she'd be scowling and cursing up a storm, calling him a foolish brat for traveling across the world. He mischievously smiled at the thought. How she nagged him over every little thing no matter how small, but maybe winning the games would change that?

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Dyus screamed, snapping Adrian from his trance. "THE FIGHT WILL BEGIN IN THREE!"

Adrian took a deep breath and took a fighting stance.

"TWO!"

He thought of why he was here. Of finding his father and learning who he was.

"ONE!"

Adrian narrowed his eyes and stared through Guadalupe, mentally preparing to cut him down.

"BEGIN!"

He merged with his familiar and wings grew from his back. His hands became talons and his eyesight dramatically improved. He closely watched Guadalupe merge with his huge rhinoceros, growing Ivory horns that shone in the spring sun.

"LAST CHANCE KID!" Guadalupe ran forward and conjured stone gauntlets from the ground, wrapping his massive hands in thick armor.

Adrian skittered back and flapped his wings. "I could say the same to you." He took flight and circled overhead like a hawk, spitting fire bullets at his slow, lumbering opponent. They whistled through the air before exploding on a thick stone shield, summoned by the expert mage. Adrian wasn't deterred though. He relentlessly pounded the arena with volley after volley, a machine gun of fire that torched the ground.

Guadalupe covered himself on all sides, summoning spears from the shield's surface. They shot towards Adrian with loud, powerful whooshes of cut air, forcing him to spin and twist, dive below and dodge a torrent of spears.

"Shit." Adrian returned fire but it was pointless. His bullets harmlessly ricocheted from Guadalupe's shield.

"You can't win from up there kid!" The giant clad his entire body in stone, growing even taller as he stepped forward, a walking tank standing ten feet tall. His face was the only exposed part of his body.

"You can't win from down there either." Adrian shot another wave of bullets, but nothing changed, and nothing would change for another five minutes. The two exchanged pointless blows from afar, and the crowd loudly booed the boring exchange.

Adrian however, actually had a plan. "Just a little more you oaf." He fired again and dodged waves of spears; rinse and repeat time and time again. It was a farce, and the crowd hurled trash as they chanted,

"COWARD!"

"COWARD!"

"COWARD!"

"Like children with no attention spans." Adrian scowled and continued firing for another five minutes, and the crowd grew more hostile with each one. They called for a referee decision and some left the stands, but then something curious happened.

The ground below Guadalupe cracked and split, and he looked down with a perplexed, surprised look on his rugged face. "Huh?" The ground suddenly collapsed below his feet, dropping him into a hole filled with sharp stones and embers.

"How many spears have you conjured big man?" Adrian turned towards the ground and dove forward. He condensed fire inside his fist until it violently shook, gritting his teeth as he added more and more.

"Hundreds no doubt! Quite clever of you!" Guadalupe raised his arms and writhing pillars rose from the pit. They lanced at Adrian but the mage spun and twisted around them, barely dodging as they passed by. "Damn!" He looked back and saw the pillars double back, following him as two more sprang from the ground.

"Of all the people I had to fight." Adrian turned and flew from the swirling mass of pillars. "Think of it like a hydra," he whispered. "Get past the heads and I win." He turned back and dove again, but the pillars blocked his path like prison bars.

"The crowd's gonna love this." Adrian turned away and the crowd loudly booed. "Idiots." He angrily stared at the stands. "Don't worry, you'll get your violence." He dove for a third time, carefully looking for an opportunity; there had to be one somewhere. There was no such thing as the perfect defense.

"There you are!" He streaked towards a tiny opening within the pillars; just enough to enter his attack range. He flapped his wings until he was little more than a blur, but as he entered the opening, a pillar exploded into shrapnel. The pieces stabbed his left side and deeply cut his flesh, spattering blood as he fell towards the ground. He landed with a crunch and doubled over, rolling to his stomach as he desperately threw the bomb. It landed inches from the hole and slowly rolled like a golf ball, trickling forward as Adrian said, "Roll you shit!"

It lingered on the edge before slowly, painfully, and hesitantly tipping over, hanging in the air before exploding like a missile.

The arena was filled with a bright flash as stone shot into the air. The hole smoldered as twenty thousand people gasped. Dyus clutched his chest and Adrian rolled to his back, clutching a gash on his ribs. "That did it. That definitely did it; a convincing first round win." He anxiously watched the smoking crater, waiting for the sound of footsteps or cocky laughter.

But there was nothing.

"No shit?" Adrian pushed from the ground and slowly approached the hole. He noticed his leg was dragging a bit; perhaps a muscle was torn? He tried not to think about it too much. Lingering on the pain wouldn't help anyway.

"Hey! You alive down there?" He peered into the hole. "C'mon, you're better than that"

But then Guadalupe burst from the ground and punched his stomach, launching him back several paces. He landed with a crunch and slid back with the sound of scraping sand.

"Nice shot kid!" Guadalupe stood in a dusty cloud of smoke. "You got potential alright." He slowly walked forward and emerged from the cloud. His face was heavily cut and blood covered his bare, unarmored chest. His hand was mangled and broken, arm hanging like a fleshy bag of bones. "Fuck me. I'm not winning this year am I?"

"I'd say." Adrian spat blood and slowly stood. "I'm glad you're still alive though. Never wanted to kill you."

"Kill me?" Guadalupe laughed. "Hardly." He ran forward and shoulder-barged Adrian. The boy flew back and rolled in the dirt once more, groaning as Guadalupe ran over and kicked his stomach. "Hey kid." The giant stomped Adrian's chest. "Think you can win this thing?"

"Naturally." Adrian grabbed Guadalupe's boot. "Bet your house on it." He raised his sword with his other hand, releasing a beam of stored fire. It pierced Guadalupe's stomach and punched out the back, dropping the man to his knees.

"You're tricky eh?" Guadalupe coughed blood and sat on Adrian's chest, swatting away the blade as he laughed like a psycho. "This is a sad scene ain't it." He punched Adrian's face over and over again. The young man desperately blocked with his forearms, but there was no stopping the barrage.

"Yield already!" Guadalupe grabbed Adrian's collar. "I'm gonna kill you at this rate!"

"I've always been stubborn." Adrian weakly said through bloody lips, pressing his palm against Guadalupe's chest. His hand glowed as dense, powerful flames slammed the giant. It sent him reeling back as smoke rose from his smoldering chest, giving Adrian enough time to slither from the grapple.

"Good lord." Adrian painfully stood on shaky legs. "I haven't been this mangled in years." He grinned as blood ran down his chin. "How're you doing over there?"

"Just fine." Guadalupe slowly stood with a grunt. "Let's wrap this up shall we? I could use a drink."

"Likewise." Adrian raised his other blade, and Guadalupe stepped forward with enough confidence to kill a horse, conjuring a stone hammer from the ground.

"You did good kid." Guadalupe raised his hammer until it blocked out the sun. He screamed a battle cry and put his weight behind a final, brutal, and powerful attack.

Adrian raised his sword and blocked the strike with its broadside, holding the sword's tip with his other hand. His heels dug into the ground as he gradually slid back, gritting his teeth and gasping for air. The sound of scraping metal filled his pounding ears. His heart rapidly pumped and his vision blotched, blackening on the edges. Through the fog he heard the muffled, thunderous sound of chanting spectators, screaming,

"GIANT!"

"GIANT!"

"GIANT!"

But he tuned them all out. He imagined his friends back home cheering him on, their riotous chants echoing through the tavern. He pictured his mother holding her breath as she secretly rooted for him, not to mention his rowdy order of knights. He couldn't lose with them watching, not when they'd bully him for the next fifty years. So he pushed back with all his might. He pushed back for his dream of going west. For his mentor in the stands, his missing father and the boys back home. He pushed for himself and his honor as a knight, forcing him to stand despite his tired, screaming muscles, refusing to fall no matter what.

Finally, he pushed back because he couldn't lose. Not here. Not now. Not when so much was at stake, so with a vicious roar he pushed the hammer aside. Then he drew back his sword and would swing with all his might. He would fell the giant and move one step closer to his dreams. He would win the games and travel to the forbidden, foreboding west. He would find himself in the tattered remnants of the old ones, and it started here, within the arena against Giant Guadalupe. The man he'd kill with a swift, brutal slash across the throat.

But then Guadalupe swayed and stumbled forward, sloppily collapsing on Adrian's chest. "Do me proud kid." He closed his eyes and slipped to the ground, landing on his knees with a powerful, heavy thud.

Adrian's jaw dropped and his heart skipped a beat. He dropped his sword with the sound of clanging metal, gently lowering Guadalupe to the ground. "Hey!" He shook the man's shoulder. "Medic!"

A centurion rushed the field and pushed Adrian to the ground. "Unhand him filth!" He was a man from Nazir. His brown eyes were filled with disgust and rage. "You fight without honor." He crossed his arms like an X before checking Guadalupe's pulse. "But thankfully your antics didn't kill him."

"Good… that's good." Adrian tried to stand but there was no strength in his legs. He'd reached his limit long ago. "Man... I don't feel too good." He leaned sideways and sprawled across the ground, grinning as the crowd cursed and booed him. Then, through the fog he dimly heard the announcer call the match, followed by dozens of footsteps. The sound of medics bringing stretchers for the wounded.

"Thanks for the ride," Adrian said as he was hoisted onto a stretcher, but as the medics carried him out, he pointed to the sky and yelled, "Quiet you shits!"

"The things I'll do for money," he whispered before screaming, "HOWARD GREENFELLOW FOR PRESIDENT! HE'S A MAN OF THE PEOPLE! HIS EAR IS TO THE GRINDSTONE! HE'S THE ANSWER TO YOUR PRAYERS, THE MANUAL FOR YOUR PROBLEMS! VOTE FOR GREENFELLOW AND YOU'LL SEE, THE GRASS CAN INDEED BE GREENER!" He blissfully smiled before passing out on the stretcher, happily dreaming of heavy pockets filled with gold.

 

[Jet]

Collab with Huntertabbysandshark3 and his character Ava!

​

Ava stepped into the arena oversized blade sitting upon her shoulder well oversized for most for her it was essentially a great-sword, a huge grin upon her face as she seemed rather happy with the whole situation spinning the blade around above her head she’d stretch out a bit more after and waved to the crowed. “RIGHT let’s get this party started“ she’d say with a gleeful laugh afterwards. Having already merged with her familiar Ava‘s rippling muscular form was now covered In a layer of glistening scales her fingers ending with hooked claws now.

​

Svea's opponent was big enough to grapple with ice giants, casting a long, imposing shadow across the ring. But she wasn't deterred. She'd taken down bigger and badder over twenty years on the battlefield, and today would be no different. "Why start now? You wish to hasten your defeat?" Svea smiled with enough confidence to kill a horse. It was well earned after a hundred battles and tavern brawls, coastal raids and training sessions — a hard life that made her a hard woman. So her opponent wouldn't shake her with confidence alone; she needed expert skill and equal strength. Only then would Svea kneel.

"The Gods will guide my blade." She raised a black sword made from dragon steel. "They will harden my heart and sharpen my mind, aiding me in the battle to come." Her eyes narrowed as the announcer bit his tongue, giving Ava a moment to respond.

Ava simply smirks at her opponents response she was definitely confident either it was earned or it was arrogance those 2 things where often hard to tell apart always best to never assume lest it backfire on you. Besides not going soft on people was easier then holding back anyway. “well we will have to see then miss, maybe your right” Ava commented her town casual with little care for what was likely an attempt to rile her up.

“Nice sword tho bit small” she’d smirk leveling her massive blade toward her opponent with a devilish grin on her face.

Svea scoffed as she lowered her sword. "When has size determined the strength of a blade?" She looked down at her storied weapon, one of true craftsmanship and strength. It was made from rare metals found in molten lava, mined by geo-mages with nerves of steel. They worked on active volcanoes to gather scraps of dragon ore, supplying the greatest weapon forges on earth.

"I will teach you a lesson, girl." She raised her weapon and took a fighting stance. "You will learn the difference between a real sword and the scrap you proudly swing."

The crowd cheered at the exchange of sharp words, and Svea's interview played soon after. It was cliche as could be; a bland display of sternly reserved confidence, echoed by most fighters from the north.

Ava's interview played immediately after. The interviewer began with a monotone, "Why do you want to join the games?"

“Well it’s a chance to punch someone in the face ya know? Just that simple”

"What would it mean for you to be a Centurion Guard?"

“It would definitely prove a point!"

The interviewer laughed and said, "Well you're firey aren't you?" He paused to read another question. "What would you say to your detractors and doubters, the people cheering against you in the stands?"

“IF I WAS UP THEIR ID RIP YOUR ARM OFF AND FORCE FEED IT TO YOU!"

"Wow what an answer! The crowd will certainly love you!" He boisterously laughed. "Now for the next question; what would you say to your opponents if they were here right now?"

“I’d just knock their heads off maybe bite them or something if I’m gonna be fighting them might as well hit them first ya know? Or throw a rock that usually works well”

"I see. Now are you confident you can win the tournament? What separates you from other contestants?"

“Yeah I think iv got a shot at winning but, as for what sets me apart I suppose I’m just a lot stronger then most people yeah!"

The crowd chanted Ava's name in unison, but Svea was composed and confident; smiling as Dyus said, "Without further adieu, let the fight, BEGIN!"

Ava wasn’t perturbed by what was announced about her she kinda expected her words to be twisted I mean how else do you get good rating anyway if anything she just laughed a bit runing the serious expression that was plastered across her face moments ago, as soon as they where told to begin Ava charged forward intentional moving to produce a dust cloud around herself in an attempt to obscure her large frame that would be a fairly easy target afterall she didn’t know what her opponent was capable of so might as well be smart while hitting them simple as that.

Svea stood her ground and merged with her polar bear, growing fur as claws sprang from her hands. Her mouth widened to fit the big, imposing fangs of her monstrous familiar. "You conceal yourself in vain." Svea conjured ice shards and shot them at Ava. They whistled through the air like bullets from a gun barrel. "Even if I can't see you, I can still smell you."

Internally Ava sighed why did people make it obvious now she knew what to do raising the flat of her blade to act as a shield against the ice shards rock was lifted out of the ground to sort of coat the blade for now as to stop her sword from getting destroyed by the impact, the swirl of dust was the. Launched forward towards the woman nose primary to make her sense of smell go all funky.

Svea squinted as sand swirled around her, stinging her eyes as she ran forward. "Took ya for the swingin type, not a skeevin rat with honor like a cutthroat." She made out the vague silhouette of her massive opponent, skirting the storm's edge like a desert mouse. "I'll take it in me own hands then, give em a show they'll damn well remember." She jumped from the sand with her sword high above, swinging down at Ava's head. It was sure to be blocked but that was only the first step. From there she'd break down the woman piece by piece, demonstrating the famed swordsmanship of her native land.

“I might look like a brute but im not all muscle” Ava yelled back internally rolling her eyes because frankly, it was just as expected, as expected ava blocked the strike with the flat of her blade instead of going for a swing as the woman feel down she’d knee her in gun as she came down before slaming the blade flat edge into her like a baseball bat intent on sending the woman flying

Svea flew backwards and rolled across the ground, gracefully springing to her feet. She blinked a few times and wiped blood from her lips, eyes scorching below loose strands of hair. "Good, you have skill with a blade." She'd clearly underestimated the giant; a small misstep in the grand scheme of things. She'd simply adjust to a less reckless style, one of smart, crafty movements. Not the grandly decisive ones she'd failed with.

"We shall dance then, as equals in the ring." Her circling turned to a sprint as she closed the gap, hammering Ava's blade from the right. She wasn't trying to directly hit the giant. Her goal was to disarm her. With every blow she measured Ava's balance and grip, and when she was ready, she conjured ice shards to pepper the giant's face. If Ava changed her grip or hesitated for a moment, Svea would slice her hand and remove her sword from play.

Ava held firm onto her blade as the strike hit occasionally attempt to get a swing in herself but realistically she wasn’t able to do so in a timely manner managing to deflect the ice shard to the face ava returned the favour with a cloud of dust and earth shards that would more then likely just leave cutting woulds if they hit ava going to swing her heavy blade into the legs of her adversary attempting to somewhat slice through their leg and disable them.

Svea skittered back as Ava swung low, deeply cutting her thigh. The wound generously bled as she slowly circled her enemy, scowling as she pondered her next move. "Trying to take me out for good eh? I'm glad, shows me you belong here." She ran forward and conjured a second sword made of ice, grasping it in her left hand.

"Now let's see if your speed matches your size!" Ice sprang from the ground below Ava's feet, exploding into jagged, sharp balls of sword-like spines.

Svea would conjure them wherever Ava stepped, forcing her to dodge and run, leap and dive across the arena; taxing movements for a giant. It would surely exhaust her and force an opening at some point, giving Svea an opportunity to decisively end things.

“Shit shit shit 2 can play at that game” Ava panicked a bit the scales on her body form merging with her familiar provided her with some level of resistance to the bladed ice exploding at her feet Ava returning the favor with shards of rock being blasted at Svea primarily aiming for her arms and face to blind her or make her drop her weapon while she was basiclaly being forced to dance around

The crowd laughed as the women dodged and danced like novice ballerinas, taking scrapes and small cuts along the way. It was a ridiculous sight, almost like parents avoiding Legos on the floor, but Svea was far from amused. "Now you copy me!" She angrily scoffed. "How clever of you!"

She winced as shrapnel cut her ankles and calves, cursing as she leapt back a dozen paces. "I've had enough of this fight! I'll not lose in the first round like common trash!" She coated herself in ice armor covered with spines. Then she rushed forward and lowered her shoulder at Ava. The spines looked out of reach until, suddenly, they lanced forward at the tall woman.

“Personally i find it pretty fucking funny” Ava said with a hearty chuckle somehow managing that despite being stuck dancing around like an idiot much like her opponet, who had decided to try something completely different charging her with ice armor now considering how she’d used ice before ava wasn’t expecting the spike to simply stay still she’d instead run towards Svea before going into a slide to avoid the spikes that had predictably shot forward ava blade triping Svea up causing her opponent to faceplant into the ground as Ava quickly got back up she didn’t even bother to hold her down and and start punching the other woman in the face repeated hoping to knock her out.

Svea covered her face and desperately tried to stop the punches, but Ava was too damn strong. Her hands were like a smith's hammer striking hot iron, sending painful pangs through her arms and face. "What in heavens name?" Her head snapped as Ava's fist cracked her jaw. "Get off me!" She didn't have any time to formulate a plan. Everything was too fast and jarring.

"Get your hands off me you piss smelling peasant!" Svea covered her arms in ice spines, cutting Ava's hands when she unleashed a punching salvo. "Serves you right!" Svea slithered from the grapple and scurried back, slowly standing on weak, shaky legs. "Bring… bring it on!" She weakly raised her arms and took a fist-fighting stance. "Come on then! Faster will you!"

“Honestly i ask myself the same thing sometimes mutant probs” avan commented as she was punching the poor girl frankly she didn’t even look all too concerned almost as if this was too easy for the mountain of a woman her hands getting sliced up and bleeding as she was knocked away noticing Svea was barely fighting to stay awake ava didn’t even both with anything fancy walking up to her with a sigh “you should have stayed down” she’d say with a mumble before kneeing her in the gut causing the already weak woman to collapse to the ground energy totally spent as ava dusted her hand somewhat the wounds being covered by grit and grim. “And thats a wrap!”

The crowd cheered as Svea collapsed in a writhing, exhausted heap of anger and pain. "I do not yield!" She grabbed Ava's leg and pulled herself forward, panting as she threw a weak, pathetic punch. "You haven't beaten me!"

Her declaration drew laughter from the packed stands, and the referees could tell the fight was done. They jumped onto the field and quickly ran over, kneeling beside the northern girl. "This fight's over," one of them said.

"Copy that." The other referee crossed his arms like an X, signaling the fight was over. The announcer subtly nodded and stood from his plush chair, profusely sweating in his thick robes. "What is that horrid smell? Rotten bananas?" He wrinkled his nose before raising his microphone, momentarily clearing his throat. "Ladies and gentlemen!" The crowd cheered in response. "Your winner is Ava the Mountain!"

The crowd chanted, "MOUNTAIN!

"MOUNTAIN!"

"MOUNTAIN!" They threw flowers on the field and clapped for their massive, fiery champion.

The referees helped Svea to her feet and slowly walked to the tunnel. "Alright, let's pack it up." He looked Ava's way. "This way, you're with us."

Together they slowly walked from the field and down the concrete tunnel, leaving behind a ravenous crowd who thirsted for more.

 

[EldridSmith]

Zulan uses his momentum to plant his feet against the wall and he compresses his body like as spring and shoots back towards Zefra. This time instead of going for the man's upper body he instead dashed low to the ground intending on taking out the man's legs... cutting his hamstrings, strikes to the back of the knee, anything to quickly dispatch him... but he stops as the man instead sat on the ground and surrendered...? Zulan planted his feet into the ground and compressed to absorb the energy but stopped dead in his tracks thanks to it.

He didn't know what the man was planning but he knew the man was scheming to survive... but he wasn't one to trust an enemy who was willing to go as far as kill their ally, those like him he had seen before and they were often the most dangerous, humans were but tools to them. However he had no questions for the man and only readied magic and claw. Questions were for Johan and the people who ran Nye, he was an outsider and he was just here to be hired muscle. Still it would be nice to not have to shed blood unnecessarily. However there was one thing he had to say. "Lady keep that cube secure no matter what." He says with eyes like that of a hawk... or viper... no, perhaps like both.

Jet Lost Echo rozukitsune ZackStop (Sorry it's short not much to say on this one.)

 

[Jet]

​

"Oh?" Tefra stared through Ren and mischievously smiled. "I can see the fire inside you. It will guide you through the darkness when you learn how to use it." He glanced at the twitching corpse on the ground. "He was the same way; would've guided a knife through your heart if I hadn't stopped him."

Tefra narrowed his gunmetal eyes. "But that's not why I executed him. He was a mad-dog killer with an overdue sentence; be thankful I passed it. We're only speaking because he's dead." He wiped his bloody hands on his cloak. "Now then. I expect clemency for my cooperation, is that acceptable?"

Johan crossed his arms and grimly said, "Perhaps, but I wonder the same thing as Anya. Why the hell should we trust you?"

"What makes me so untrustworthy?" Tefra looked at Anya. "You're in the stolen land of propaganda and deceit — assassination and blackmail are more common than colds, and nothing's more dangerous than a man you can trust." He snickered below his breath. "Yet I'm untrustworthy for killing one man? Is it the cloak?"

Johan cracked a narrow smile. "Must be, but we can only judge your honesty after you answer the questions." He deeply sighed and approached the cloaked man, standing over him with a glare. "Then we'll talk about clemency."

"How generous of you!" Tefra grinned like a wolf. "But I need assurances."

"You'll get nothing until you talk."

"Hah! Very well." Tefra's smile quickly disappeared. "Seems I have no choice but to explain everything." He looked at Narzas with a cold expression. "I'm with a vile group from the undercity. It's led by a killer with gold eyes and a penchant for speeches." He pictured the man's sheer presence and his gruff, raspy voice. His hateful eyes and the pure menace he exuded. "He holds a grudge against Nye and wants to see the city burn, and he's more powerful than your strongest centurions; that much is certain."

"He sent us here to make a statement; had us plant a bomb in the room you saw us leave." He glanced at Ren. "It's not difficult to disarm, just remove the clock and it won't detonate."

"So, have I met your requirements?" He slowly looked around the room. "Or have I been found wanting?"

GM Note​

The undercity is in a vast cavern below Nye. It's a haven for criminals, exiles and other undesirables. It's controlled by three crime families who control Nye's illicit drug trade, but there are good people too. There are families and schools, hospitals and stores; everything you'd see in a normal city.

Your character could certainly know about the undercity, especially if you're from Nye or the Outland Islands.

Lost Echo rozukitsune EldridSmith ZackStop

​

 

[Lost Echo]

Kilderkin's Fight
A collaboration between Fred Colon and Lost Echo ​

Kilderkin stepped into the arena with a big, dumb smile on her face. She lifted a hand and waved, accepting the roaring of the crowd with good humor. She heard the announcers replaying her interview.

“I’m just an old sailor. They’ve fair reason to doubt me. But I’ll do my best to prove them wrong.” She heard her voice saying.

She had done a good bit of acting for that interview, she thought. She was convincing. They were playing her up positively. Not a favorite, she didn’t seem tough enough for that, but they were making her look good. She didn’t particularly care about the details, and so tuned them out. She was scanning the crowd, making it seem like she was enjoying the attention, her eyes darting from place to place looking for… anyone. Anything.

And she finds what she was looking for. Amongst other notables she recognized, the centurion, Kwame Musungo. She catches his eye and makes sure he knows she sees him. She knew he saw her. Kwame stands and strides away, and sharp-eyed though she was, Kilderkin couldn’t tell what emotions were on his face. That made her nervous, this was the part of the plan that could either reap large benefits if what she had learned of Kwame was right, or end up with her dead. But nervousness was worthless, here. So she boxed up the emotion and stored it for later. Perhaps for when she needed to act flustered after the fight, win or lose. Hopefully, win.

She turned to face her opponent and smiled sheepishly at the other woman. Esther, her name was, apparently. Seemed more like a scientist than a fighter, but then again, Kilderkin of all people knew that it was foolish to judge by appearances.

“Sorry. Got a little distracted. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many people in one building, to be honest! At least in the port cities, they're all scattered across the streets, doing their own things, but here they’re all looking at us!” She said, her eyes wide with dumb wonder. “Makes me feel like I should catch afire from all the attention!”

The announcers had started to discuss Esther, now. The interview played through speakers around the arena, beginning with a simple, heavily loaded question.

"Do you really want to become a Centurion?" The interviewer was cold and clinical, nearly robotic in nature. "Or do you have some other motivation?"

"Being a centurion would give me access to the wildlife that’s possibly survived and adapted in the Americas."

"So you don't really care about helping people? Fighting evil and protecting the world?"

"I would do my job."

The crowd booed at the cold response. They liked selfless heroes instead of selfish, dispassionate ones. The interviewer was equally disturbed, sharply asking, "You seemingly lack the passion of most centurions, are you sure you can become one?"

"My hypotheses have proven correct before; there is no reason this one wouldn’t be."

"Huh… do you even want to be interviewed? You seem very detached and bored."

"Let’s get this done please."

The interviewer coldly laughed. "Fine fine, last question. What makes you stand out from the competition?"

"Dart and I are linked to the most powerful Aztec god. We’ll be fine."

The announcer mumbled, "What the hell?" and the crowd was just as confused. They screamed words like heretic and lunatic, at the young woman, despising her strange beliefs and cold attitude.

The scientist did not acknowledge the accuracy of their summary, uncaring that they painted her unfeeling. Instead, she turned her attention to her opponent, who could not possibly be as dumb as she looked. Still, she spoke cooly, “I doubt you’ll have to worry over flames.” It was possible that was her element, but most sailors were water or wind, and with an eel familiar, Esther felt confident leaning toward the former. Her cool gaze slid over Kilderkin’s form, cataloging her strength. She was unused to fighting in this kind of environment. She would not be able to retreat, using their speed to escape from pirates while in the air.

But she was determined and could adapt. Merging with her familiar, wings appeared behind her, immediately beginning to beat. She lifted off into a hover for a moment before slowing them enough to land once more. Unstrapping her bow from over her shoulder, she announced, “I am ready.”

A referee, clearly marked in black and white, stood between the two contestants, looking them over. “I expect a clean fight. Remember the rules,” Then with an arm slicing down, he announced, “Begin!”

Esther immediately took to the air, pulling her bow out and notching an arrow. Brightly colored wings shone in the sun, like a mirror beneath.

Kilderkin drew her sword. A bright blade in an ornate scabbard. She merged with her familiar as well, a thin film of some sticky substance covering her skin, her teeth lengthening.

“Good luck to you! No hard feelings win or lose, yea?”

Kilderkin rushed forwards, in an apparent bid to get underneath Esther. She pointed her blade and launched a spout of water at the flying figure. When the gout of water was launched, a portion of the water would stay affixed to Kilderkin’s blade, like a translucent cover.

Confused by the strange action, the scientist just barely dodged, her speed an asset. The sudden movement made her shot go awry, the arrow propelled forward with a gust of wind, but not at her opponent.

Now underneath Esther, Kilderkin leapt. She shouldn’t have been able to jump high enough to hit a flying target, but she did. Her blade extended, arcing towards the fluttering scientist.

“I’m pretty good in the air too, miss. Don’t let your guard down!” She said.

Gravity was easily ignored as the scientist flinched away, dodging the swing. She hovered higher, wary of her opponent’s range. She followed the arch of gravity and fired an arrow to land just before Kilderkin landed, creating a vortex.

Kilderkin’s swipe missed, but as she fell towards the vortex she pointed a finger in a direction away from the dangerous landing spot and her body *lurched* in that direction. It wasn’t flying, it wasn’t gliding, it was as if an invisible hand had grabbed Kilderkin and forcefully yanked her away from the windy tornado. Kilderkin winced slightly in pain, but when she landed, it was to the side of the Vortex. She didn’t like doing this, someone might figure out what her skill was, and that would make playing the dumb sailor more difficult. But this opponent was good. She didn’t have a choice.

“Nice move!” Kilderkin said, “But I told you, I’m good in the air, too. Jumping would be real dumb if people could predict where I fell!”

Kilderkin launched another jet of water at her foe. Above, this time, acting as if she was just blasting clumsily away. But she wasn’t trying to hit Esther. Droplets of water would rain down, hopefully soaking the fluttering archer. Hummingbirds in life could fly in the rain, but that was because their bodies were water-resistant. And since Hummingbird wings take up a lot of energy in flight, Kilderkin was hoping that soaking her opponent's clothes and skin would tire her out, or at least slow her down, the water adding weight. Of course, familiars weren’t animals in truth, so perhaps the wings would be too strong to do this too. But adding water to the battlefield was a classic tactic for water users, so either way, it was useful.

Esther was curious. Frustrated, perhaps, but curiosity ruled. Letting her wings catch much of the water, their beauty was highlighted, each droplet magnifying the shine in the bright sun. She shifted, trying to place a spotlight on her opponent as she would a specimen under a microscope. Something was off. Inhuman in she was forced to produce a hypothesis, and suddenly her focus was on figuring that out as much as winning. She ignored the remaining water which soaked into her clothes, even as it chilled her, prepping her bow once more.

This shot was straight at the girl on the ground, though she focused more on the girl’s potential response than any concern of it hitting her opponent--who had already proved wily enough to avoid straight shots. To be honest, Esther wasn’t sure how she would win this fight. And true to her nature, though she’d made sure to eat well before, she knew without something to boost her energy, it was sure to run out faster than her opponent’s.

A shot, straight at her. Kilderkin cocked an eyebrow. Was it a trick? She used some of the water that had been accumulating on the ground thanks to her constant showers and pulled it up into the air, in the path of the arrow, slowing it and directing it off course. Was it just her imagination or was Esther really floating heavier in the air now that she was soaked through? She hoped so. Kilderkin decided to see. She ran towards her floating opponent and leapt. This would hurt more since Esther had gotten higher in an attempt to evade Kilderkin, but Kilderkin could withstand a mere two enhanced jumps even if one was particularly high.

That should be impossible. The previous jump was unlikely to the point that Esther wasn’t sure how it was possible, but this time it was outside the realm of physics. Without wings and air magic, she should not be able to reach these heights. Esther shot at her on her way up, testing how much control the girl had in the air.

Another straight, simple shot, she was testing Kilderkin. Kilderkin didn’t really have a choice, though. She twisted in the air, and if Esther was looking closely she would see Kilderkin’s skin and body writhe as she pointed a finger and twisted out of the way of the arrow, mid-flight. She pointed a finger back towards Esther and twisted back onto her original course, blade swinging. Faint spots of deep black began to bloom in small amounts under Kilderkin's skin. Blood welling up under the skin from thin blood vessels bursting under the strain Kilderkin was putting her body under. But it was only a small amount and only noticeable by the sharp-eyed. Certainly not by anyone in the crowd. She slashed upward at Esther.

A hummingbird needed good vision to be able to not run into things, but they can also see further than humans. The movement, like worms beneath her skin, caught the archer’s eye and she was fascinated to see bruises starting to appear. Whatever the girl was doing was taking a toll on her body. Blocking with the bow’s handle she asked, “What are you doing?”

“Jumping!” Kilderkin laughed, as her sword was blocked, she would attempt to grab onto Esther's leg, hoping she’d slowed down enough, soaked as she was, and hopefully slowed as she was blocking Kilderkin's strike.

Esther automatically kicked out at the extra weight, shocked by her slower movement. Instantly recognizing why she cursed and flicked her wings, but they carried so little water there was no change. Instead, it was her clothes that were drenched. How could she dry those?

Kilderkin had a firm grip, now. “Alright, so, I just want to say sorry for this! I was born with an eel familiar, I didn’t pick it! But you use the skills nature gives you.” She opened her mouth wide, and Esther would be able to see a second set of teeth, wickedly pointed and needle-sharp, inside Kilderkin's mouth. An eel's second set of jaws was used to ensure anything they bit into stayed bit into and didn’t escape. Kilderkin would try to bite onto Esther's leg, though she would keep her grip with her hand. She didn’t want to put all her weight onto just her jaw strength. That could tear a nasty, dangerous hole in Esther's leg.

She couldn't resist crying out, fearing the girl below would dangle from her jaw and rip her foot off. Dare she risk transforming into the smaller but more delicate leg of her familiar? Through the pain, she registered that for now, Kilderkin held on with her hand. What was she waiting on? The threat loomed in her mind. For her to concede? Her funding was not worth the loss of her leg, at best.

Kilderkin, dangling on Esther’s leg, let her jaws loose and swung her body up like an acrobat, using her momentum, natural athletic ability, and just a hint of her powers to try and reposition herself. If she succeeds, she would have wrapped her legs over Esther’s shoulders and perhaps neck, her arms wrapped around Esther's waist, squeezing tight upside down.

Relieved at the safety of her leg, Esther is slow to react to the strange maneuver. With the chest of her opponent against hers and her thighs atop her shoulders, it was all she could do to duck her head back to dodge her calves trapping her neck in place. Hovering backward, she flew onto her stomach, letting gravity pull her opponent’s back. At the same time, she rose higher, knowing every meter of distance causes more danger for Kilderkin.

Latched onto her opponent, Kilderkin did the simple thing. She began to hit her opponent. She smashed the butt of her blade into the back and side of Esther’s stomach, where her kidney was.

Esther wheezed in pain arching against her opponent’s grip. What was this? Wrestling? Knowing she lacked the physical strength to pry her off, the scientist shifted her grip on her bow before pressing its tip down on the base of Kilderkin’s head.

Kilderkin shifted her head to try and get away from the bow but kept striking. Kilderkin was stronger than she should have been, for her size, and the thing about Kidney strikes was that they swiftly became extremely painful the more you hit the same spot. In the nasty street brawls that Kilderkin had seen more than one of, successive kidney shots were enough to down an opponent.

The pain was excruciating. It was more than that, but words and strategies were blacking out with her vision. Each punch brought a wall of blackness, color barely having time to register before another hit. Her bow slipped, sliding down the side of Kilderkin’s neck and into Esther’s thigh. The different pain rallied her, and she squeezed her thighs together, screaming into the wind as she tried to cross them. Not sure what else to do, but desperate to change the status quo, she absorbed her wings, letting herself fall onto Kilderkin.

Kilderkin felt the sudden drop in her stomach as they began to fall. So Kilderkin immediately whirled her blade around and angled the point of it towards Esther’s stomach, not actually piercing or touching her.

“I don’t want to run you through! But if we fall, I promise you’re going to look uglier than me with a sword through your sternum! Even if you fall on top of me gravity will shove this blade right through you!” Kilderkin shouted over the wind.

That was a bad idea. Disoriented, even as the pain was no longer renewed, Esther’s instincts took over as soon as she felt herself fall, her wings returning almost immediately, before Kilderkin’s threat was finished. Her wings ached over the return of the extra weight, her body desperate for the fight to be over. “You’re quite heavy.” She groaned out, belatedly responding to the threat. Her wings were able to carry her weight, but hummingbirds hunted insects, not anything large enough to carry.

Kilderkin grunted but maintained her grip as gravity tugged at her again.

“You could always concede? I’ll buy you a beer afterwards if you do!” Kilderkin said, as if this was an extremely enticing deal, “I’ve got a pretty good grip, and I’m really flexible when I’ve merged with my familiar. There’s no bucking me off! Eels don’t let go once they’ve got a hold of something, and no offense, but this isn’t the best circumstance for using a bow and arrow! Otherwise, it’s kidney punches again!”

In the privacy of her own head, Kilderkin wished she hadn’t chosen the happy sailor persona. It would have been easier to just try and run the hummingbird through with her blade as they grappled, but that wouldn’t have been very ‘nice’. She hoped the presenters made her look good for this.

It wasn’t worth this. She would have to use other means to get her funding. She was just not ruthless enough to win this fight. It wouldn’t surprise her if this Kilderkin did some pirating in her sailing. “No to the drink. My kidneys’ll have enough trouble as it is. An explanation would be worthwhile though.”

Then beginning to lower down, she called out, “I concede.” She used her wind to supplement her wings as she slowly drifted down, the movement difficult to do. She wanted to dive, for that would be natural, but the threat of being skewered still existed. “Tell me what you were doing.”

Kilderkin let go of Esther when they were low enough and somersaulted to the ground. Then she straightened, grinned, and shrugged.
“I’m no fancy pants scientist. I just… do stuff. Not sure myself!” Kilderkin stuck out a hand for Esther to shake. “Get some lie down time and you’ll be right as rain.”

“Stop being idiotic.” The scientist landed gracefully, absorbing her wings and a hummingbird landing on her shoulder. She took Kilderkin’s hand shaking it and adding, “I’ll figure it out.”

Kilderkin hoped she didn’t, but Esther seemed clever enough to do it. People would figure it out eventually, and probably soon. But she hoped she could keep the edge of secrecy for a little while longer.

“If you figure it out, tell me! I’d like to know!” She said as the announcers began to declare her victory. She wasn’t particularly interested in the praise, but the dumb sailor she was pretending to be probably would be, so she grinned at the crowd, waving for a moment. Then she turned to Esther, and said, “The offer of a drink is still open!” And gave Esther a respectful bow.

 

[ZackStop]

Ren didn't know what to do now. Johan was the one with the plan and the ideas, it was only until Tefra managed to misspeak about their distrust that Ren butted in. "You didn't just kill one man, if things went differently you would killed all of us and all the people above us." Ren went to the wall and sat down. "You can't talk yourself out out of that. You were willing to kill all those people!" He took off one of his shield and rubbed his wrist. He wasn't fully prepared for his water attack to have so much kick.

After a moment, he put his shield back on over his arm and walked over to Narzas who was still holding the cube. "That was a good catch, you really saved our skin! We need to find a way to get rid of that thing- somehow." He lost eye contact almost immediately glancing down and to his left. He tried his best, but was just no good at speaking to women.

Luckily, in a twisted kind of way, Ren had a way out of a potentially awkward conversation. Tefra was referring to something they had done much earlier, a bomb that only Ren would have known about. They locked eyes, and Ren listened to the disarming part. He didn't waste time to get out of there and head straight for the bomb. "I know where it is! I'm going disarm it!" Running past Johan, Ren retraced his steps backwards. Phalanx dashed behind, quickly catching up. "Alright, here goes!" The two merged, molten colored spots began to burn into Ren's arms, the same effect going down his cheeks from his tear ducts before becoming a black glossy set of malar stripes.

His speed nearly doubled as Ren blew past, heading right for the room he saw the two men leave from. He leapt over the stairs leading down, tucking in his legs to do a roll through the air. He landed and swung the door open, but was immediately greeted by a horrible sight. A man found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time, stabbed to death and left in a puddle of blood. Ren covered his nose before he and his familiar separated. They glancing around for the bomb to immediately start disarming it.

 

[Jet]

​

"Mischa!" Her father disappointedly shook his head. "You mustn't do these things!" He kneeled down and placed his wide, rough hand on her trembling head. Her eyes shook as tears covered her nine year old face. "You mustn't do these things Mischa." He ruffled her hair and pulled a knife from his pocket, handing it over with a sigh.

"Go on, stab me." He patted his shoulder. "Like you wanted to stab that boy."

Mischa nervously shook her head. "No! I-I can't!" she weakly stammered. "I won't do it papa!"

"Why not? If you can stab a boy you can stab your mean old dad, now come!" He slapped his shoulder. "Do it!"

"No!"

"Come on!" He grabbed her hand and pulled it to his shoulder. The knife cut through his shirt and left a fine, narrow gash on his skin. It barely bled, but even that was enough to drive the point home. "Look! Is this what your hands are for!"

"Why?" Mischa froze and dropped the knife. It clattered on the ground as she fell back on her haunches. "Why! Why would you—

"Silence!" He kneeled down and grabbed the knife. "You aren't a bad kid Mischa! You're hard working and funny! You light up the room when you walk in!" He sat across from her and smirked. "You aren't a killer, just look at your face! One drop of blood and you're paler than a ghost!" He gruffly laughed like a bellowing bear. "You don't need a knife, only a wrench and a good set of bolts!"

"But…" Mischa sniffled and looked down. "I was defending myself."

"Then use these!" He raised his fists. "In my day this is all we needed. We squabbled yes. We fought and bled, teeth were lost and eyes were blackened. We broke bones and sprained ankles, but at the end of the day." He scowled at the knife. "We lived — We lived to fight another day."

Mischa opened her eyes as the memory faded away, and smiling she looked at her hands and punched them together. "We will live to fight another day." She marched from the tunnel as thousands screamed her name. For some reason she was popular, hell if she knew why.

"Heyo!" She waved at the ravenous crowd, blinking several times when they shouted, "HEYO!" in response.

"Well that's bloody weird." Mischa patted her familiar, a dolphin named Napa, before merging with the beast. Her skin leathered as a fin grew from her back, and suddenly she could hear, and feel every person in the stands. It was cacophonous; a deafening sound that grew when a man walked from the tunnel.

​

The first thing she noticed was his chiseled, ridiculously handsome face. He was drop dead gorgeous. "Well ello' there," she whispered below her breath.

"So." The man deeply sighed. "You're the bitch I'm fighting eh?"

"Huh?" Mischa blinked several times. "Oh you're a c*** then. That's fine by me!" She menacingly cracked her knuckles. "I know low blows innae allowed, but I might throw the match just to land one."

"You won't even touch me." He closed his eyes and took a long, frustrated breath. "But I'm not in the mood for chatter; not with you anyway. I so hoped to meet Anya; her refined beauty makes you look like a pig wearing makeup."

"Oh? I know her well," she lied with a grin. "I'll pass on the word that you're an asshole who lasts two minutes."

"What?" he angrily barked. "What are you? We've never even met!"

"Is that so? I could've sworn we hooked up once or twice. I'll have plenty of stories for her." Mischa laughed like a madman. "I'll let her know about your performance anxiety."

"Good luck! You'll be eating through a straw when we're done here." He merged with his familiar, a small falcon on his shoulder, and grew brown wings and sharp talons. "Or maybe I'll just kill you — shut your lying mouth for good. "

"Yeah yeah, whatever mate. You get what ya give." Mischa looked at the announcer and yelled, "Start the match will ya?"

"Wait a second!" The man screamed. "You think you're funny? You think lying about me is a joke?"

"Lying?" Mischa dryly said. "I'm just reminiscing about our tryst."

"God you're insufferable." The man rubbed his temple. "Okay look, I'm sorry for insulting you. You're just not my type okay?"

"Does this look like a tavern to you?" Mischa arched her brow. "We came here to be centurions, not to plough the bloody fighters."

"You're right. I need to get my priorities straight." He deeply sighed and met her gaze. He slowly approached her and cocked his head sideways, tossing his hair back with a smile. "So uh… could you find it in your heart to forgive me? Maybe I can buy you a drink to make it up to you?"

Mischa blankly stared in response.

"I could show you around on my airship. Got a Hemmingway 38; top of the line with the performance package."

Micha crossed her arms. "Listen uhh… what's your name?"

"Logan. It's good to meet you."

"Hey Logan." Mischa dumbly smiled. "That sure sounds like fun, but there's a problem."

"Yes, Mischa?" He leaned forward just a little. "That's your name right?"

"The one and only." Her smile widened. "I'd rather date my own bloody hand for the next fifty years."

"Oh? Well that's..." Logan deeply sighed. "That's harsh but I understand." He slowly shook his head. "I was rude and disrespectful. I've had a long day and the stress got to me, but I totally get it." He deeply met her gaze. "But even if there's no chance for us anymore, could you leave Anya out of this? I'd really like to talk to her."

She leaned forward and devilishly smiled. "No chance mister two minutes!"

"You damnable whore!" He raised his hand and was about to strike, but then a referee blew his whistle from the sidelines.

"No pre-match fighting!" the referee yelled. "One more warning and you're gone."

"Fine, fine." Logan turned and slowly walked away. "I can wait."

Mischa watched with a satisfied smile, chuckling below her breath as the announcer said, "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"

"YOUR PRE FIGHT INTERVIEWS!"

Mischa didn't pay attention to the interviews. It was all boring drudgery. Boring boring boring. She just wanted to whoop Logan's ass and eat dinner already, so she tuned out the noise. She only paid attention when the announcer said, "The fight is about to begin! I hope you're ready for a good one folks! This is gonna be a fight for the ages!"

Mischa looked across the field and yelled, "Hey two minutes!"

Logan seethed but said nothing.

"I can't wait to tell Anya the details mister two minutes!"

He crossed his arms and cursed below his breath.

Mischa mischievously smiled. "Is that why you have performance anxiety? Actually I have a question, does it count as anxiety if it's true? Have you ever talked to a doctor—

"SHUT UP!" He rushed forward as the announcer said, "THE MATCH WILL BEGIN IN THREE!"

Logan roared as he charged Mischa. "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!"

"TWO," the announcer said.

Logan lept forward and summoned an ice spike to impale her. "Take this you bitch!"

"ONE!"

He screamed and went to stab the chuckling girl, but as the spike neared her, a stone hit his side and launched him across the ring. He rolled across the ground and slowly stopped near the wall. "What the hell?" He weakly stood as the crowd laughed at his pain. "What's so funny! What the hell are you people laughing at?" He turned to the stands as three centurions stormed the field, including the earth mage who'd cracked his ribs.

"Wait no?" He faced them with a weak smile. "I thought the fight started already, I thought—

The earth mage punched his chest and sent him flying into the wall. "Pack it up, you're done. The games are no place for rule breakers." He crossed his arms like an X.

The announcer howled with laughter in response. "Well well! I've never seen this before!" He pointed at Mischa. "Your winner, by the power of her silver tongue, Mischa!"

The crowd cheered as she smiled and belly laughed, but within she thought, "You've got to be kidding me," as she split with Napa.

"That really was a fight for the ages eh?" She patted her familiar and waved at her fuming opponent, winking as she chimed, "Bye bye!"

With that she walked off the field and down the dimly lit tunnel, happily whistling as the crowd chanted her name.

 

[Jet]

​

Mischa walked down the tunnel with a warm smile. Her heart rapidly pounded from pure excitement alone, happy and calm like a warm summer breeze. "Damn." She felt her beating chest. "I see why people do this every year!" She laughed and slowly leaned against the wall, smile fading as seconds turned to minutes. "What a fight eh?"

Mischa rubbed her temples as she thought about her fight. Sure it was a win, but it meant nothing, showed nothing and proved even less. Her doubts were still strong and she didn't even belong there; a bloody mechanic surrounded by mercenaries and knights, killers and assassins. What the hell was she doing?

"Nope!" She firmly slapped herself. "Not doin it! Not fuckin' doin it!" She winked at her familiar. "I'm the best; everyone else sucks and I'll be a centurion next month! Got it?"

Napa looked back and blankly stared.

"What?"

Her dolphin clicked once and floated down the hallway, happily whistling as Mischa yelled, "What! Who's lying? Not me ya little shit!" She laughed and followed her slowly drifting familiar, growing close to the staging room's distant light. It called like an air-beacon on a cold stormy night, reminding her that she was safe and secure. Not a bum going home in the first bloody round, but a real competitor with a good chance of winning.

"No more bad thoughts Em." Mischa deeply exhaled and closed her eyes. "You got this," she said before entering the room, chest puffed and strutting like a peacock. Eyes burning with competitive fire and fresh determination, but to her surprise, nobody cared when she walked in. They were too busy warming up or praying to god, talking shit and napping on benches. They weren't concerned with first round wins against random nobodies, not when big names were already eliminated.

"Well that's underwhelming." Mischa awkwardly wandered until she found an empty bench, and there she sat as minutes passed.

In her boredom she withdrew a sketchbook and worked on a design. It was her pet project and personal pride, a new airship with wide swept wings and a narrow hull, using a new idea called lift to move through the sky. She was convinced it would revolutionize air travel — if she could work out the kinks that was.

"Hmm…" She stroked her chin. "How to control the angle of attack? Think of it like water. How would I go up and down?" She sketched a horizontal fin on the tail. With a cord it could be angled up or down, changing the airship's pitch. "Maybe that could work?"

"What do you think?" She curiously looked at Napa, but then she noticed a familiar face in the background. "Oy!" Mischa suddenly stood. "Rat!" She waved high above her head. "You crafty bastard! I knew you'd win!"

Interacts with
Emphoa

Join us ZackStop .... one of us (slams table) one of us (slams table) one of us.

 

[Emphoa]

Rat, after the fact, was relieved to not have to worry about his match now that he had been able to officially win. Couple scratches and bruises, maybe, but he came out on top- and with a new piece of technology graciously given to him from Dimitri for his win. Remy was sniffing at the boy's hair while he sat and listened to the bustle around him and his eyes didn't pry away from his gear until he could hear the familiar sound of Mischa and he gave the young woman a lopsided grin at her greeting. "The one and only." He snorted out, giving her a wave before he pushed himself to his feet and Remy gave a disapproving squeak from the sudden movement.

The gear head stepped forward, placing his hands onto his hips with his eyes gleaming as he looked to his newfound friend. "Hey hey- a rat has to have some tricks up his sleeves right?" He gave a little wink before placing his hands onto his hips and his grin only widening. "Look at you though! You did great, I'm glad you won, now we can be winners together." He chirped out in a sing song tone before he looked back around and let out a hum.

"I was wondering about Ivan, really, I wasn't paying attention enough to know whether he's gone or not- or if he won in his match." He didn't doubt that the older man would have, but he supposed he still would have liked to know the results anyway, before he looked back to his fellow engineer and he grinned again. "And I even got a new thing to play with, it gives me some ideas- maybe I'll have to take some more time to tinker away, right?" He cocked his head to the side soon after, looking back to everyone around them with a deeper sigh, his brown eyes grazing over each individual before he fixated back on the woman beside him.

"How are you feeling? It's different actually being out there, huh?" He sounded a little less playful, and more sincere as he spoke, offering a friendly smile as he waited for her response.

Jet

 

[Arcanist]

Collab with Fred Colon ​

Bracken didn’t pay attention to the Dalton man. He didn’t particularly care what he had to say. He removed his whet stone from a pouch at his waist, sat down on the ground amidst the forest of legs whose owners watched the circus, and began sharpening his arrows. Ten of them. Each pristine, impeccably made works of art. More beautiful than a simple arrow had any right to be. Especially in comparison to the gaunt, older man clad in animal skin, with greasy, unwashed hair tied into a tail with a strip of fabric, his beard allowed to grow unimpeded.

Eventually the Dalton man finished, but Bracken hadn’t finished with his arrows. So as people began to move on and out, he slowly, meticulously, finished his work before standing and looking at the bracket. Brynwyr. Bracken wondered how many arrows it would take to bring her down.

Bracken was the name she found against hers when she looked at the bracket. She took in the features on display on the screen - animal skins, beard, greasy hair. His portrait gave no indication as to what kind of fighter he was, something she was keen to find out. Stretching her leg out straight to stretch, she kept her eyes out for Bracken. Eventually she would find him, or who looked most like him, and took calculated glances at the arrows he sharpened.

Brynwyr sucked her teeth. Ranged. Already a disadvantage for her close quarter combat style. She brought one arm across her chest, her other hand on her arm to aid her shoulder stretch. All was not lost. She needed to get close enough to him, that was all. She stretched her other shoulder. ‘Quick as lightning,’ she thought. That was what she needed to be.

After more extensions of her arms, her legs, whatever parts of her body needed it, Brynwyr straightened up and approached the man. “Bracken,” she greeted, “it seems we’re each others’ opponents for this round. I wished to come over and wish you the best in our fight against one another.” Most would have chosen not to do so, but there was no harm in wishing a contender luck in these competitions.

And it had its own perks too.

Bracken looked up at Brynwyr. To him, who had lived alone, in the wilds for so long she was…. Stately. Imposing. Bracken tried to find something to say, but he had never been good with words.

“I am… not good at...” Bracken tried to come up with something to say, but couldn’t find the words. So he motioned to his mouth with the hand holding the wet stone.

“Talking.” He said after a moment, remembering the word. Feeling awkward at being addressed, he felt something more was required of him, so she showed her his quiver. In it, nine pristine arrows glittered in the light, the tenth in his hand.

“Ten arrows. Only. I will… not fire an…” He tried to think of the next number, and found it after a moment. “Eleven. Ten only. Eleven and you win.”

Warning her was only fair. The hunt was sacred. It was a contest. A hunter that had to fire arrow after arrow to bring down their prey was no hunter. Ten arrows. No more.

Bracken never needed more.

Brynwyr waited. She exercised a patience that most knights needed when dealing with serfs. And nobles. At first, she wondered if the man’s difficulty with speaking was a sign of nervousness, though she was more naive than she thought.

Bracken could convey his intentions through gestures and a few words at least. She watched as he brought his quiver up and presented the arrow in his other hand. They were finely made with a craftsmanship that ammunition made enmasse did not possess. Dare she say, she was impressed with it.

Then came the warning. Ten arrows. A threat - no, a warning. There was no malice or arrogance behind it, only a fact. He had proven this before and was assured he would prove it again.

She hummed. Nodded. “Eleven,” she repeated and smiled. “I’ll be sure to keep count, Bracken.”

Bracken nodded at her, and stood up, placing the arrow in his hand back in the quiver, completing the set.

“See you… for the hunt.” And left to wait for their fight to start.


Bracken stood in the Arena, waiting as the Interviews were played. His was… monosyllabic. The reporters mocked him for being a savage out of the No Man’s Land. It made him uncomfortable. But everything in Nye did, so it was nothing new. He just shut his eyes and tried to breathe. Waiting for it to be over. His familiar, though, was agitated, sensing his master's discomfort. Ursha, the small, ephemeral Cicada began making his high, whirring chirp, as if trying to drown out the announcers.

"In your opinion, are you the strongest competitor?"

"I can be one of the greatest. I have the discipline and patience, and plenty of skills."

“Why do you want to become a Centurion?"

"It would be a great honor for me."

"How will your knightly vows affect your performance? Fights aren't always honorable you know?"

"Expect the unexpected. You'll all just have to wait and see what I bring to the field."

"The Cage Viper is a heavy favorite this year. What are your chances against him?"

"It'll be one of the greatest tests of my skills, but perhaps I can show a different angle that they haven’t quite expected."

Brynwyr tried to rub off irritation with a nose wrinkle. She was warned by her uncle that those in Nye were not as honourable and honest as they made out to be, twisting the narrative as they saw fit. She was not so naive as to think it wouldn’t extend to silly little interviews, though, she preferred not to have a mirror put right in front of her. She still had an image to maintain in all of this.

Brynwyr felt a nudge at her hand. It brought her back to the fore. She did not need to look - she could recognise Cleonard's rough snout anywhere. A large and beautiful snowy lion, he had been stalking by her side, proud and cautious ever since he emerged from her pouch. But he was ready as she was. All he needed to do was wait for her command, and he would do as ordered, as loyalty commanded him to.

She heard the announcer, but did not take heed of his words as he hyped up the crowd. Brynwyr inhaled. As a klaxon sounded, signaling for the fight to begin, it did not seem as if she even exhaled as she moved right and Cleonard moved left. Brynwyr kept her shield up - a buckler - and kept light on her feet as she went to flank one side, and Cleonard the other.

Bracken lifted his bow and knocked an arrow. He pointed the arrow into the sky and shot it straight up, before launching himself to the side. He and his familiar merged, and a pair of Diaphanous insectile wings blossomed from Brackens back, propelling him to the side in a great gust of air, making a high pitched ‘whirrr’ sound that nearly drowned out the crowd. As he dashed to the side, he drew another arrow in a swift, smooth motion and launched it at Brynwyr.

One. And the first went straight up into the air. Brynwyr already felt her blood pumping as Bracken sprouted wings and moved off to the side. Brynwyr had no choice but to back off on her offensive strike, trying to put enough distance between herself and the first arrow where it was aimed originally. Keeping her buckler up, she just about managed to block the second arrow, though it was too close for comfort near her shoulder.

‘Not yet.’ She didn’t want to merge, not yet anyway. Feeling a warm, crackling dance along her left fingertips, she formed a bolt and launched it toward Bracken, with Cleonard leaping to swipe at him.

Bracken grunted as the second arrow was blocked. He saw the crackling energy coalesce around Brynywr’s hand, as her familiar leapt to strike. She was fast. He couldn’t escape both attacks and launch one of his own. He couldn’t let himself be struck by the lightning, so he would hurl himself towards the familiar, turning his shoulder towards it. It would likely strike him, but it would be a blow he would need to take. He turned his shoulders towards it, an an attempt to prevent it from hitting anything vital. As he did, his cicada wings would ‘whirrr’ and a gust of wind would blow from behind Brynwyr, catching the falling first arrow and angling it back towards her.

The bolt missed, though Cleonard had caught Bracken’s shoulder, tearing as far past his garments to reach flesh. It was hardly a victory, not when Brynwyr could only move fast enough for the previously falling arrow to rip through her blouse and slice past her shoulder. Brynwyr grunted, acknowledging the sting from the open wound, but alas, she still had more arrows to deal with. Gritting her teeth, she pounced once again, sword swinging straight for Bracken’s back. The wings had to go.

Bracken grunted as the familiar ripped through his leather armor and tore though the flesh on his shoulder, before elbowing the creature and using his cicada wings to launch himself as far away as he could. As he did, wincing, he launched another two arrows at Brynwyr, his wings making that same ‘whirrrr’ sound, slowly getting louder and louder under it was near deafening. He followed with another arrow straight into the air, like the first one had been.

She couldn’t block the sound out, try as she might. It was almost painful to listen to, and she wanted nothing more than to stop and cover her ears, but she pushed through. She zig-zagged, never running straight, missing both arrows as they landed in the ground. With another crackle between her fingertips, she threw another bolt from her hand at Bracken. Her familiar ran and leapt at her before they merged. Brynwyr’s eyes blackened in a blink and her feet pounded off the ground. She dropped her sword, leapt, claws extending from her hand to swipe at Bracken’s bow hand.

Bracken once again used his wings to slide to the side of the bolt of electricity. He was a hunter. He didn’t mind accepting pain in the course of the hunt, but lightning was too much. He wouldn’t be able to simply walk that off. Like before, the bolt was accompanied by a physical attack. However, this time it wasn’t just Brynwrys familiar, it was both of them combined. Bracken grunted. More pain. A deadlier attack. Perhaps he would go down here, perhaps not. But he would gamble that he would not. He drew another arrow, but instead of knocking it, he would bring it down on Brynwyrs back with his hand as she lunged for him. He would be struck by her dangerous claws, but it would increase his chance of landing a felling blow on his opponent.

She had caught Bracken, but at a cost. Even as her claws caught flesh, she felt his arrow skewer through her own. She yelled, and she went down, dirt and dust rising in a wave around her. For a brief moment, she did not rise until she channeled that adrenaline through her. Brynwyr could not hide the groans she felt in the right side of her back, but she chose to endure it. She felt the crackling at her feet. It would not do to throw her elements at him when he was fast as he was. She just had to be faster. She just had to survive long enough. She bided her time, waiting for just the right moment before she felt the electricity propelled her forward and away from Bracken.

“Five.” Bracken grunted, as the force of Brynwys blow pushed him backwards. His arrow had landed, but it was not enough. On the bright side, she was wounded, more wounded than he was, he thought. Bracken's armor had absorbed much of the damage from the knight's claws. Leather armor was good at absorbing slashes, like the damage a claw might deal. The leather was rent and torn across his chest, now, effectively useless. Lacerations, fortunately not too deep, would need tending to later. But that was what armor was for. Even if it turned only a single blow from a devastating one to a glancing one before becoming useless, it had done its job. But an arrow? Plunged into the body from close range? Not much beyond Platemail could stop that.

Bracken took a deep breath, and stared at the retreating knight. She was wounded. And wounded prey was more easily taken down. He stood up straight, and blood trickled down his bare forearms. He knocked an arrow and fired it, straight at Brynwyr, and, for good measure, knocked another arrow after that, and waited to see which way she tried to dodge. She would not escape. It would be fired the moment she tried to dodge the first one.

Five more. That was all she needed to dodge. The wound told her otherwise, but she refused to listen to it and register the pain. She had enough strength from Cleonard to endure. As both arrows flew towards her, she let the sparks kickstart at her heels again, and she zipped left, faster than she had ran up until now that it was hard to even keep track of her. She would not stop. She would keep on her feet. She still had her buckler should the worst come at her.

Somehow, despite the wound, the Knight had managed to evade Bracken’s arrow. He fired the next one, but the Knight had lifted her buckler, just in time, for it to be deflected from its path. Had Bracken been that predictable? He supposed he had. He had been relying too much on the wound to do the job for him instead of aiming properly. That was his mistake. He knocked another arrow, aware he was running low. Would this be the prey that alluded him?

But she had distanced herself from him. That was to his advantage. He readied an arrow. He would loose it the moment she stopped to take any aggressive action.

Seven. Adrenaline coursed through her like a current, lightning licking at her heels as she ran. She grabbed the sword she abandoned on her run, stopping then to toss her buckler, which spun towards Bracken. Though, true to his form, Bracken loosed another arrow, and Brynwyr growled as another arrow grazed past her side.

Another miss. Bracken felt a flash of frustration. His shots were perfect, they always were, which meant that this Knight was simply getting out of the way quicker than Bracken could fire an arrow. But underneath that frustration he felt a thrill of excitement. He could lose, here. He hadn’t missed his quarry in a long time.

Perhaps it was foolish, but he launched another two arrows at Brynwyr, straight on, no nuance. If they hit, they hit. But he didn’t think he would. He wanted this to finish with the last arrow. One way or the other.

Brynwyr, with the growing pain and how the fight felt so much longer than it was, faced down two more of Bracken's arrows. She stopped counting. Two arrows, both straight on, and she dodged left, effortlessly. It seemed so, but even afterwards, she was brought to one knee. Her tank was running on empty. She stuck her sword in ground to help herself onto her feet, before she launched herself forward. She held it close to her then, meager sparks popping along her blade. Would she have enough for a final blow? Was this it for her?

Or had she just barely made it?

“One more arrow.” Bracken said, eyes wide, staring at the knight rushing towards him. No more dodging, no more games, the end of the fight was here. Bracken was not sure whether or not he would win. He felt more excited than he had in a long time. He loosed his arrow.

Another one made its way towards Brynwyr. As she ran, the sparks grew furious along her blade. With a final swing, she yelled as the sparks leapt from her blade and towards the arrow. The sheer force of it was enough to splinter the shaft into pieces.

A hand went to her shoulder and she was brought down to her knees again, panting.

Bracken held his stance for a moment, bow up, hand beside his face where it had released the arrow. Then he let his arms fall. There was nothing left in his quiver.

“I…” He looked for the right word, and then found it. ”...concede.” He said. He looked at the panting knight, and touched two fingers to his brow in salute. Then he walked out of the arena.

Brynwyr stilled as she realized what Bracken meant. Ten. She faced ten arrows. As he saluted, Brynwyr gave a single nod. She watched as he left, and if there were raucous cheers or the echoing of the host around the arena, she was deaf to it with the blood rushing in her ears. Even with the ever worsening pain in her shoulder, she smiled. Victorious.

 

[Jet]

In a distant place​

Before him stood a hundred seers. They wore the colors of different clans and tribes, lost cities and small towns. Each a powerful man with dense mana inside his blood, deeply blessed by spirits within the trees. Yet today they humbled themselves. They bowed to the blind man and awaited his words, paying homage with their absolute silence.

The man deeply breathed and listened to the forest. It quietly sang to those willing to listen; a symphony of rustling trees and chirping birds, swaying grass and lurking beasts. It brought him peace for the words to come.

"I have seen that in this great undertaking, it is not enough for a man to depend simply upon himself." He slowly sat on the grass. His back cracked and popped, knees aching as he addressed the group. "You are the tower that guards us. The shield that defends us. The weapon that destroys our foes — and today I must call upon you."

"For you are our most important men." He deeply sighed with resignation. "And the Laughing God knows this."

"He demands a sacrifice for what I require, and he will only accept what hurts most to lose."

"Ten of you." His heart squeezed like a vice. "I will not force any of you—

The entire group kneeled at once. There was no hesitation within them; no fear or doubt clouding their judgement, only determination and righteous fury.

The man cried in the silence. His tears rolled down worn, familiar roads of sadness and regret, slowly dripping from his chin. "Then it is settled," he said. "I will bear the burden of this sin. The horror of what's to come. The things that must be done." He weakly stood and chose ten people from the crowd, gently squeezing their shoulders. For their sacrifice was immense. The highest price one could pay, yet they did so willingly and without question. So deep was their trust in the high priest of Kratoria.

@Goliath EldridSmith Emphoa @Anne Boolean Fred Colon Arcanist Lost Echo @Monbon rozukitsune Huntertabbysandshark3 ZackStop @ManofManyRoles

 

[Jet]

​

"Well… about that." Mischa blushed and awkwardly chuckled. "It was great yeah, but it wasn't much of a fight. The guy went mad and rushed me before the bell." She anxiously glanced at the arena's tunnel. "Might've pummeled me if he wasn't such a dolt, but oh well, I'm here and he's not!" She happily shrugged and looked around for Ivan, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was no surprise given how large the place was; like an airship hanger with different sections and darting attendants, fighters and medics.

Through the crowd she noticed a few people on stretchers. Two of them were around her age or younger — one a ginger and the other a blonde knight. Mischa hurt just looking at them. They were covered in cuts and medics buzzed around like carrion birds, hastily patching and sowing their skin. "I'd probably be over there if lady luck didn't love me, but that's enough about me fight!"

"How'd yours go? You give em a proper beatin?" Her eyes suddenly widened like a child's. "And what's this about a new toy! Can I see? Promise I won't steal it." Mischa crossed her fingers and winked. "Not yet anyway, but maybe I can learn a thing or two from checkin' out your gear!"

interacts with Emphoa

Mentions Arcanist

 

[Jet]

​

"Wrong." Detleaf paced around the room. "How many times must I repeat myself?" He looked down at a much smaller, much younger Adrian. "How do you resist the song of an Alkonost?"

Adrian grinned and said, "Kick its shin!"

"Wring its neck?"

"Play the bongo?"

"Get naked?" He loudly laughed and banged the table, but his mentor wasn't amused.

"This is serious." Detleaf sighed and sat across from Adrian, folding his hands on the table between them. "Alkonosts are physically weak, but they kill powerful knights who don't take them seriously. That remind you of someone?"

Adrian sheepishly smiled. "Okay I get it already. How do I—

"No you don't get it!" Detleaf slapped the table. "This isn't a game!" He reached in his pocket and withdrew a pouch of clinking medallions, pouring them out like gold coins. "Do you know what these are?"

Adrian nervously swallowed. "Are those from… dead knights?"

"Aye," Detleaf whispered. His glossy eyes saw something that wasn't there; perhaps it was their dead faces. Bloody and twisted from pain and terror, writhing with worms and black, glistening beetles. "They were like my children, and now they're all dead." He tossed a medallion across the table. "Threshers killed her."

He threw another one. "Doogans killed him," and with each name he threw a medallion.

"Stalkers."

"Webfoots."

"Longnecks."

"Croning Willows."

"Alkonosts!"

He grabbed the pile and squeezed it together. "The biggest threat isn't Hydras or Wyverns! It's the common beast you kill every day. The one you stop respecting in your arrogance!" His eyes manically widened. "That's what killed these knights!"

Detleaf stood and paced the room, saying nothing for three minutes straight. He noticed Adrian squirming in his seat like an anxious worm, but he needed to calm down. He needed to relax and take a few breaths; in through the nose and out through the mouth, flushing out the bad memories. And when they finally returned to the back of his mind, he deeply sighed and whispered, "I'm sorry."

"I shouldn't have yelled, but I can't lose you too." He sat across from Adrian and intently leaned forward. "Now that it's settled... how do you tune out an Alkonost?"

Adrian gently felt one of the medallions. He sensed deep sadness and regret on its cold surface, but that wasn't all. He could feel the fear of dying. The pain of claws through his stomach. The sound of screaming men and crying kids. He could feel their souls warning him from the grave, whispering, "The path is fraught with danger, do not add your own."

He suddenly grew serious and somber; no longer was this a game. "To tune out an Alkonost." He clutched the worn, heavily scratched medallion. "I'll sing a different song."

Adrian gasped as his dream suddenly ended. Within his hand was the medallion from years ago, tightly held as blood seeped through his fingers. "Fuck!" he said as a medic stitched his chest. "Fucking needles!" He gripped the side of his stretcher. "Fucking hate needles!" He suppressed a scream as the doctor finished the stitch, tying the end as sweat poured down his face.

"You just had to wake up huh?" The doctor laughed and removed his white gloves. "You'll be wheeled outside for the ending ceremonies, but after that? Bed rest and more bed rest. No moving unless your room is on fire, got it?"

"Wheeled?" Adrian blinked several times. "Did you say wheeled?" He incredulously laughed. "You're going to roll me around like a cripple?"

"Yes. It's my job to get you healthy for the second round, so don't fuck with me. If you stand I'll strap you down myself." The doctor turned and slowly walked away, waving as he said, "I've got others to attend to; so try to get some sleep."

Adrian weakly nodded and looked up at the ceiling, groaning as pain shot through his side. It was deeply bruised and cut in many places, and his head rang like a bell. His stomach was black and mottled blue from Guadalupe's impressive uppercut, and nauseous waves wracked his shaking body.

To make matters even worse, as if that was even possible, he was half naked and freezing cold. "Where's my damn shirt." He looked around but couldn't spot his gear. "Fucking badgers," he whispered as his eyes slowly fluttered, dragging him to sleep as another person was laid beside him.

"Who?" he mumbled as medics buzzed around like bees. "Is that? What's her name?" He saw flashes of blonde hair through the many doctors and nurses, and when they finally stopped treating her, he painfully said, "Brynwyr? That you?"

Arcanist

 

[Emphoa]

Rat followed her gaze over towards the individuals on the stretchers, and he was silently glad that he wasn't one of them. A fight could have very well ended up like that for the brainiac if he wasn't careful, he knew that very well- thus, he just needed to end everything quickly and as carefully as he could manage. He looked back to Mischa, his eyebrows furruwoed briefly as she spoke up, and he finally gave her a little grin. "Hey- we gotta take what we can get, right? Can't believe the guy rushed at you before you were even supposed to start- dumbass." He rolled his eyes a little bit at the thought, straightening up his posture and placing his hands onto his hips while he looked at her.

"Sounds like the guy was bound to lose anyway with that sort of attitude- good to know the better of you two came out on top." He gave a little grin at the thought, his eyes twinkling lightly as he looked back to his new found friend. He gave a little wave of his hand anyway, dismissing the thought of her opponent and focusing on their conversation instead and being able to really know the woman a little more than he did.

His eyes followed her gaze, and he puffed out at the thought. "Yeah, no kidding, anyone could end up like that- but hey, we're here right now, right?" He murmured quietly, looking back to the woman and giving a little grin when she asked about his own fight. "Hey, I'm not too cruel you know! Me and Remy try to keep things relatively harmless." He chuckled out and Remy seemed to let out some sort of a squeak in response, sitting up on the top of Rat's head now and looking at Mischa with his head somewhat tilted, before he looked back down at Rat.

"Got the upper hand on him, and with a good ol shock- that'll put anyone down if you hit them in the right places, and I know how to hit them right where it hurts." Rat finally, then, pulled out the metal disc he had been given and handed it over towards Mischa to let her take a good look at it. "We made a deal before the fight, we'd trade one another some sort of gadget if the other won- and well, I won of course." He chuckled a bit and sat down, sitting back on his hands. "It's a shield to protect yourself with, good to have honestly and he told me a bit more of how to use it. He's a good guy."

Jet

 

[Jet]

Mark vs Russel
Collab with EldridSmith
​

Russel drunkenly swayed in the breeze. "Well I'll be smacked by a lass with no hands. You're that Macragge boy who killed a man last year." He flashed a creepy smile. "Won't be as easy against me boy. I was raiding and raving before your mom threw you in a dumpster." He looked around the vast, booming arena. The cheers sent shivers through his old spine, reminding him why he loved prize fighting. It was his one true calling. His only passion and the only thing he excelled at.

Back home he was a famous pit fighter. He'd won championships and made a fortune with his hands, but he'd grown bored with petty matches. He needed higher stakes, and this was the only place to find them. "Right then ya lump of useless flesh." He glared at the announcer. "Can we start this before I die of old age, been chompin at the bit like a feral fuckin dog!"

​

Mark madly grinned behind his mask, the madness was upon him and it was time to start the match. His gun was loaded, each shot filled with acid and poison to be delivered upon impact… due to the small size of the darts there was no way to stop them from delivering their lethal payload once it breached the skin. He nodded at the old man and the ref, clearly prepared to start the fight. He fused with Spicy as the match began, the man if he was a grappler would find Mark especially difficult to deal with… all it took was one open wound. At that Mark, or Plague in this instance perhaps, waited for the signal that the match would begin… ready to unload his shots onto the enemy in a pattern making them difficult to dodge.

Russel didn't like being ignored. His nostrils flared as he puffed out his chest, waving his weapon like a maniac. "You'll regret ignoring me boy. I'll have you crying for daddy when I'm through with you."

The crowd cheered and chanted Russel's name. They wanted him to crush Mark as soon as possible, and Dyus aimed to please. "Ladies and gentlemen, words from both fighters before the match!"

Russel's interview played first. It was filled with drunken boasts and battlefield stories, arena tales and grand declarations. Exactly what you'd expect from the brash fighter.

Mark's interview played immediately after, drawing a round of boos from the rabid crowd.

The interviewer spoke first. "Why do you want to join the games?"

"Vacation." Mark ominously cackled.

"What would it mean for you to be a Centurion Guard?"

"More research." Mark laughed like a mad scientist, drawing more boos from the crowd.

"What would you say to your detractors and doubters, the people cheering against you in the stands?"

"They can fuckin stick my wins up their asses and enjoy the fights the damn prudes."

"What would you say to your opponent if they were standing here in front of you?"

"Surrender or die."

"Are you confident you can win the tournament, and why do you think you can? What separates you from other contestants?"

"I am, cuz a few nasty tricks... fire isn't the only thing that burns." Mark madly cackled. "Experience... nobody fucks with the craggy's ‘cept us craggy's."

Dyus slowly spun and raised his hands like a preacher. "There you have it! Two mad men from Macragge, but only one will advance! Will it be Mark or Russel entering the second round?"

The crowd chanted Russel's name, and then the announcer said, "The crowd has made its prediction! The seats are packed and I'm ready to watch a fight! So without further delay." He held up his arms and screamed, "LET THE FIGHT, BEGIN!"

As Mark had prepared he immediately unloaded a volley of poison and acid laced rounds at the man’s exposed head and arms in various points angled up, down, and to the sides ensuring the man was hit unless he put a wall between them. The man wold now have to decide if he wanted to risk taking the hits to quickly end Mark or to drop on the ground putting himself in a vulnerable position. As long as he got a hit in it would just be a waiting game, and Mark was fast, considering the man’s bulk he would have a hard time in an endurance race as the man was likely a charging type with little flexibility in their movement. Should the man drop to the ground or use magic to block he would be in a disadvantageous position in regards to vision or mobility giving him a chance to take advantage of them.

Russel was quicker than Mark thought, and the key was his strong perception. He saw the strange weapon and its steel trigger; the green darts and their deadly path through the air. It gave him enough time to summon water armor, almost two inches thick, just enough to stop the darts from piercing his skin. "Fuckin close one mate." He laughed as water sloughed from his body, leaving his skin slightly agitated — courtesy of defused acid in his armor.

"Right then." He pulled a short-beaked echidna from his pocket. "Hop in ya little bastard." Russel grinned as his familiar fused with him, granting him sharp spines and furry skin, a narrow snout and deadly claws. "Don't ya cheap shot me again mate." He glared at Mark. "Otherwise I'll plough your sister and your mom." He raised his weapon and gathered moisture from the air, covering himself in a fresh coat of liquid armor. "So next time you come at me, do it like a man with stones between your legs." He pounded his chest and stood firm, waiting for the next attack to come.

Mark snorts at the sight of the echidna and his threats towards his mother and sister… which he didn’t have. “My mother’d snap your four pronged weenie in half like the limp hot dog it is.” Mark cackles. Seeing the water armor Mark grinned and summoned a solid bullet of powder which he shot at the man, hoping he would block it with his water armor as he backed away. “Water’s a fuckin pain of all the elements… time for some experiments.” *He loudly proclaims as he takes time to form his acid, his conjuration wasn’t nearly as good as his control. As far as he was concerned, if it only took a few well controlled shots, it was far more important than summoning a large quantity.

Russel waved his hand and a wall of water rose from the ground, blocking the powder bullet with a grin. "Cut the shit will ya!" He suddenly rushed through his wall and screamed like a psycho, raising his club as he barreled towards Mark. "Let's give em a fight to remember!" Water slowly bubbled from the ground below his feet, making a muddy paste of sand, water and blood. It seemed to expedite his steps with small pops of bursting water, giving him the speed of a much younger man. "CALL ME DADDY ECHIDNA!" He raised his club and swung it down like a hammer, looking to thoroughly bludgeon, or even kill the younger man.

“It sees the doctor is going to have to perform a castration today.” He cackles as he shoots acid towards Russel’s vital points while keeping his distance.

"Son of a whore!" Russel darted away from his corrupted water, dodging acid shots as they whizzed by. "Close but not close enough eh?" He launched himself into the air with a liquid pillar. With a grin he pointed down and fired pressurized water beams at his masked opponent, cracking the ground as Mark dodged the attack.

As Mark evades he pulls out his darts and swiftly reloads and sends another salvo towards Russel’s vital points while keeping his distance, he had been getting Russel’s attack pattern down but it left him no openings thus far.

Russel fired a salvo of water bullets in response. Their sheer number was enough to intercept the acid bullets before they hit his chest. "This is boring the piss out of me boy, how bout we settle this like men?" He dropped to the ground and cracked his knuckles. "A bare knuckle brawl like the tavern boys back home."

Mad nods in response, though he was much skinnier and weaker than his opponent, he wasn’t about to fight fair… and considering what some of the tavern boys did back home this wasn’t out of line either.

Russel slowly grinned like a wolf. "Right then; seems you got hair on your chest." He walked forward and raised his massive, blocky fists. "I think I'll make a necklace outta your teeth."

Mark cackles. "This doctor will be sure to make sure you're studied *properly*." He remarks as he advances forward, he wasn't going to get into melee but dance around it while slowly setting off the gas inside the grenade in his arms and let it vent out his gloves toward his opponent... but he knew his opponent was also quick and aggressive so he had a needle prepared just in case in one glove.

Russel circled Mark like a boxer, bouncing on his feet before jabbing three times. Mark bobbed and weaved to avoid the punches, but when he showed a small sign of imbalance, Russel threw a heavy, bludgeoning hook at his head.

Mark used the extreme flexibility granted to him by his familiar and bent over 90 degrees backwards to let the punch fly straight over his head, while he himself through his own ‘punch’ and shoved his syringe into his opponents arm and released his poison and acid. The fight was over all he had to do was wait.

Russel shook his arm and glared like a demon. "You bag sucking coward!" He skittered back and raised both arms, surrounding the men in a swirling cloud of misty rain.

Mark cackles and shoots a pressurized acid jet at Russel, hitting his neck to try and grant his opponent the only mercy he knew at this point: A swift death.

Russell was simply too slow to dodge the attack. It pierced his neck and shot from the back like an arrow, but he refused to fall. Instead he stumbled back and regained his balance, deeply focusing to maintain his spell. And soon the misty rain condensed into spheres of solid water, slamming into Mark like heavy pieces of hail.

The pellets of water slam into mark leaving welts underneath his protective leather outfit, it was painful but not the worst experience he’d lived through… still wasn’t fun.

Russel pressed his palms against his pierced neck, covering the holes with patches of dense water. They didn't completely stop the bleeding, but they would keep him alive for now. "You got me good lad, but I've been down worse before." He slowly stood and spat blood on the sand. "Right then, let's finish this."

Mark skitters back and prepares to attack but mostly waits for Russel to start feeling the effects of the acid and poison coursing through his veins.

Russel raised his hands and summoned balls of dense water, almost like marbles floating in the air. With a scowl he shot them forward to pierce through Mark's armor, but the acid mage effortlessly dodged them. "No matter," he said as the marbles wheeled around for another pass, and then another and another, chasing Mark like heat seeking missiles.

Mark weaves through the attacks, dodges, ducks, and dives his way through. He eventually closes the gap and goes to hit Russel's eyes with acid, but the old man blocks with his hand. His hand takes a ton of damage as flesh burns away.

Russel barely felt pain anymore. His tired body was covered with severe wounds that dully throbbed like tired muscles. "Blasted — fucking acid!" He grabbed Mark's collar and drove a knee into his stomach, blindly raging to overcome his weary, unwilling body.

But then Mark sprayed acid into Russel's eyes.

The pain was too intense to bear. The old man screamed and fell to his knees, rinsing his face with water. "You fight without a lick of honor; not a chance you win like that." He gruffly chuckled and leaned back on his haunches. "There are men stronger than you or I, who test themselves time and time again. They have true strength — strength your bloody tricks can't match."

Mark dropped a gas grenade on the ground. Then he withdrew a syringe and was about to stab Russel through the head, when a Centurion suddenly appeared beside him. "It's over!" He shoved Mark away and said, "Stand down savage, you've done enough."

He looked to the announcer and crossed his arm like an X, summoning medics as Russel finally passed out. "He's right about you," the centurion said. "Your kind never wins in the arena. There's always someone you can't overcome with trickery alone." He snidely grinned at the winner. "Hopefully they kill you when they have the chance. Then I'll be spared your disgusting presence."

The crowd seemingly agreed. They booed and threw trash as medics rushed the veteran inside, leaving Mark alone as he walked into the tunnel.

 

[rozukitsune]

Narzas, quiet and attentive as was proper for an assassin listened to the man as he answered the questions he'd been asked, only struggling verbally briefly to try and gain his freedom from death. She had to admire his effort, though ultimately whether he lived or died would be judged on whether or not he met the criteria for assassination. She held fast to the cube stuck to her fingers and considered his explanation. It was unfortunate that he was basically admitting to being exactly the sort of person she'd been instructed to eliminate by the security heads. From the Undercity... on the word of a man with a grudge, evidently. Still, he had given up everything including the location of another bomb and how to diffuse it, thusly eliminating his own personal threat which the younger Ren was now racing back to as fast as he could. That was well and good, she wasn't a bomb-specialist.

Her instincts to kill him though had more or less ebbed with every word out of his mouth. He was like her. Just doing his job, and when doing his job had become impossible he had immediately surrendered as anyone in a similar position might do. It was suspicious... but as he'd said himself, what was more trustworthy than a person that could not be trusted in a place like this? She met his cold gaze with one of her own, "You know that it isn't possible for you to be safe now with your fellows, telling us all of this, don't you? Neither would you be safe here in Nye if we gave you over to them." She glanced at Johan then, looking to gage his reaction to what she was going to say next. "But if you're willing to commit yourself to us and oppose the others of your kind, perhaps clemency can be arranged. After all, there's not much point to the removal of a single cog when the whole of the larger machine continues to function. Will you aid us in ruining your master's plans?" It was a gamble to say such words, Tefra could very well agree and then stab each and every one of them in the back... or he could refuse and she'd still feel uneasy about ending him. It was a rare situation that made her question what she would do were she in his situation. Would she have given up her secrets to save her own life? Would she put herself in a spotlight surrounded by blades in the hope of survival? She'd like to think she would not... but it was a fool who chose death when there were other options. Also a fool who was just willing to accept death as a natural consequence of doing their job. Was she Tefra? Or was she the man spilling his blood on the floor, loyal to her cause to the end?

She was not so sure she knew the answer, and so she could not kill this man - though she would not stop the more experienced Centurion from doing so if he found such a death warranted. Johan was a strange, incomprehensible warrior of great power, intelligence, and wisdom. He would know what the right thing to do here was.

Jet , ZackStop , EldridSmith , Lost Echo

 

[Arcanist]

Brynwyr Protheroe



Mentions: Jet ​

After the victory, Brynwyr recalled pieces. She got on her knees, and she remembered the medics remarking how they thought she was going to pray or give thanks, as knights were wont to do. But she knew her reason, and anyone with sense would too. The exhaustion overcame her and yet, the pain shooting across her shoulder and the sting of lashes over her body still kept her conscious. That fight had not been a breeze.

Brynwyr was sure the medics asked her questions about her state and kept note of any symptoms, and she probably answered them, but she had not kept any particular note of the conversations that were had. Instead, when she was finally being carried off, she squinted off into the roaring crowds, excitement buzzing through the stands for the next fight. She could not see those supporting her from the stretcher. She could imagine Rhys’s and Jeston’s concern from the stands.

“Will she pull through? Will she heal?”

“Too soon to tell, but we are doing everything we can for her, Ser.”

“This tourney was too soon. She should have never signed up - sixteen, and she’s throwing her life away for service and glory! Sixteen…”

The words, a day also where she had been carried away by medics stung as fiercely as her body in the present moment did. She brought a hand to her left shoulder, to trace the scar left behind. “Aagh!” She cried, pulling her hand back. She saw the medic carrying the stretcher from the back look down at her.

“Don’t move your arm,” he instructed. “We’ll assess the further damage once we get you inside.” Direct, detached, clinical.

Brynwyr did not argue, but she let slip a smile on her lips. She had been tempted to reach for her shoulder again, but resisted.

She did not mind the swarm of medics around her, and did not protest their handling of her. Brynwyr groaned at the moving of her arm and shoulder out of her blouse, though, that pain was placated with a brief, sharp pain in her arm. She kept note of the mapping of the medics’ deft fingers over her shoulder, arms, sides, their treatment firm yet gentle. They came with an onslaught of questions about the pain, any nauseousness or dizziness, any injuries to her legs or back or sides that they should be worried about. Brynwyr answered each with as much detail as her exhaustion would allow.

They bound up her arm and shoulder, gave strict instructions not to strain or pull it, and to rest for now, until the ending ceremonies for the day came around. Perhaps she would be able to walk out, unlike a few who were unlucky enough to sustain worse injuries than her.

Brynwyr was close to letting her eyes flutter shut, for sleep to take her. She deserved it, she resolved. She would fix her dishevelled half-dressed appearance and ensure her equipment was all in order too later. But she was wide awake when called for. She paused, recognising the voice, though struggled to remember from where at first. The knight glanced over to her side, and she could not mask surprise as she looked at the man, mouth agape.

The fiery haired man from her locker room. Brynwyr did not rise from her position, though, shifted enough so that she could face him. “Adrian,” she remembered, hissing as she adjusted. She caught the bruises that bloomed over his stomach, though she knew that hadn’t been the extent of the harm done to him. “What are the odds of us both being in here?” She weakly chuckled. She didn’t expect him to be here, never mind alongside her. “Though, you seem to have more cause for being here than I.”