RE: =EC 2019= Spike Arena (Full Version)

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nield -> RE: =EC 2019= Spike Arena (7/31/2019 12:01:05)

Seems like I had the right of it, not so good against multiple attacks at once Gary thought to himself as the human simply took the spike emanating from his left arm while trying to dodge the right one that was going for their head and not quite succeeding as the water tore through their cheek. Crackle crack crackle What IS that sound? A layer of… something was creeping across the ground towards him and rather than push his advantage against his foe and let the layer close on him he decided to pull back, drawing back the long fingers of water as he did so.

He didn’t quite move fast enough. The left arm spike froze near the midpoint, the water beyond immediately falling prey to gravity as Gary lost control of it. ICE! Another something Gary had heard tales of, but never before encountered in his life. Ice fell to the ground where the water of his spike froze, but steadily it was making its way up, so he decided to cut his losses and stopped affecting that entire spike, water and ice falling to earth with one another, though the water froze before impact.

He was able to withdraw his right arm spike without issue as it was further from the expanding ice on the ground. Then there was a great buffet in front of him, where he himself had stood not a scant second before. He recognised the buffet of course; his foe had sent one not unlike it directly into his face not long ago after all, so while he kept retreating from the encroaching ice he trained his eye on her Her? Are they a- oh, yes, Mammary glands. Definitely a her. That’s embarrassing. Why didn’t I notice those before?

Sufficiently removed from the icy threat he ran his eye over the human he believed to be responsible. The individual was… doing something that was hitting the ground from which the ice was spreading. Definitely the responsible party and definitely bad news for Gary. So he decided that getting further away from that was better so he once more ran at his foe but this time he decided to go all in on offense, shifting all the water from his fur to coat his arms and, once he was a couple feet away he crouched down and leapt at her, simultaneously sending out a couple dozen spikes to pierce her body all over.


Time marched ever onwards, as it is wont to do, but its march was not kind to the Aofeyfetarl. Around one hundred fifty Moons since [Hope for the Future] hatched a great plague swept through the species, affecting all but him. So of course they came and they lobbied insult and accusation, citing him as the cause. He never said one single word to deny it as, so far as he was aware, the first victim had been Prisma, the only Aofeyfetarl who had any real contact with him.

He brought this fear up to Prisma when he was visiting one day and the Ancient Aofeyfetarl— having recently passed the age of 500 moons Prisma was now older than the Aofeyfetarl maximum life expectancy— laughed through a coughing spasm. “Dear boy, this has nothing to do with you. I understand your fears on the matter, but they’re entirely misplaced. We did this to ourselves.” “We?” “Yes. We. I am at fault for teaching you everything the Secret Elder know, so that they would have no choice but to accept you, at least for as long as you lived, until you taught an Aofeyfetarl in turn. That fool Stestarl is at fault, believing you an abomination could not abide that, so he sought to pry the secrets and stories from me. He and the rest of the Elders interrupted me during the Quelling.”

[Hope for the Future] gasped at that and shuddered. Prisma managed a weak, somewhat malicious grin, “I always held a morbid curiosity for what would happen if there was more than one there and now I know. Having failed the duty, I was afflicted with this plague, the other Elders too. Of course, they refuse to admit that their stupidity is why we’re all now doomed to death.” “But, then, why does it not affect me?” “With regards to your genetics, you may not be abominable, but you certainly are aberrant. However this plague targets us, clearly it’s something you don’t share with us.”


“Prisma. What can be done?” “Do you remember everything I’ve told you of the Elemental Lords?” [Hope for the Future] nodded. “Then you’ll remember the Elemental Championships, held in the human city Bren.” The younger Aofeyfetarl frowned. “But… by any time I were to get there and compete… the plague will surely have finished its course.” “Agreed. We’re entirely doomed. However, Starla recently laid a clutch, did she not? Think it through my boy. You’ll come on the answer.”

Prisma would not elaborate further no matter how much he was pestered. Doing some calculations, [Hope for the Future] determined that the next Elemental Championships were six months away. All the other Aofeyfetarl were dead in two. The eggs it seemed, were completely fine, but while he could theoretically get them to hatch, he could not provide the care the younglings would need, he was simply not equipped. So he thought and thought and he came up with an answer, he knew what he would need to wish for. But first, he would need to go to Bren, enter the Elemental championships.

And then he would need to WIN.



TitanDragonLord -> RE: =EC 2019= Spike Arena (7/31/2019 19:15:41)

Chaos. That was what surrounded Aidan. Over the course of the battle the fighters had concentrated towards the centre of the arena, not far from where that deadly spiked orb had once hung so peacefully. Now they were all caught in a frenzied melee where every moment, every heartbeat, every tenth of a second could mean the difference between life and death. To be more specific, Aidan was surrounded by paper origami birds that soared through the air as if a hobbyist’s shed had been caught up in a whirlwind. The resulting gale from their fluttering wings seemed to drop the surrounding temperature by a noticeable margin. But it wasn’t the winds that struck a chill into Aidan’s bones. He had spent years of his life exploring the frozen peaks of Mount Arborridge, first as an overly inquisitive child and later as a defender of his ancestral home; it would take more than a sudden bout of cold at the height of battle to faze a proud Shieldforged warrior like him. This was different. This was an itch under his scales, a crawling of his flesh that wouldn’t be satisfied with a scratch or slap.

He would have to worry about that later.

His prey had dodged out of range of his weapons, hopping backwards and dancing around to fire another shot at him. This time, however, he was prepared. It took no genius to figure out that the weapon she had raised, levelled square between his eyes, was the very same that he had been struck with previously. He didn’t much fancy taking a shot from it for a third time. Thinking fast, he quickly planted his left leg into the floor, pivoting just in time to watch the glowing energy bolt whip past his grin, and to observe his target set off at speed for seemingly safer ground. He considered yelling some taunt after her, but reasoned that the message would be just as well delivered if it were by his fists over his tongue. But he wouldn’t get the chance to deliver a message of either sort.

A few seconds. That was what he’d told himself he needed when setting off in pursuit of his new target. He realised only a moment too late that he’d run out the clock. As his eyes tracked his opponent speeding away from him, a familiar tendril of smoke crawled into his peripheral vision, and within a moment, the gleaming white bones and thick black smog of the Lich had enveloped his vision entirely. He raised his arm to strike, the chain of his poi rattling as he moved to cast its bones to the four winds as he had once before, but it was too late for that now. With fleshless hands it gripped at his skull, tilting his head up to look into its empty eye sockets and the seemingly infinite darkness trapped within.

Peace, now. It is time to reminisce, brave one.

Aidan’s mind had become a canvas of colour and sound. Brief flashes of memories that spanned his entire life whirled by within seconds. He saw himself training at his home, he saw his mother, he saw his triumphs and he saw his failures. But in almost all of them there was one constant that wasn't himself. One figure, one recurring character who he'd been inseparable from ever since he was born.

Nadia.


Chaos. That was what surrounded Aidan. Smoke and ash hung heavy in the night sky, dancing amongst the snowflakes that battered the mountain peaks and the warriors that fought upon it. Bodies littered the ground, from the ones who had fallen early and were nearabout half-buried in snow, to those that had lasted longer and lay upon them as bloody and mangled heaps. As he kneeled there, pulling his hand away from his bleeding gut to see the extent of his injuries, an opposing dwarf began to rush at him with a ferocious scream. He must have thought the wounded Aidan was an easy target, although it would be difficult to pinpoint exactly when this dwarf realised he had made a fatal mistake. It may have been when the dragonkin’s fist struck him in the chest to send him careening over the cliff’s edge, or it may have been during the dwarf’s long fall down the mountain and into the inky abyss below. All that can be said for certain is that the dwarf knew long before he hit the ground and his spine broke into pieces.

Mortality.

Breathing heavily, Aidan rose to his feet, almost choking on the thick air and clearing his lungs with a pained cough. The explosion had thrown him halfway across the battlefield, and many of the scales that made up his armour had been pulled loose and fell to the ground, dotting the snow like delicate shards of glass. His vision was still blurred and his ears were still ringing, but he could still make out the vague shapes of his comrades falling back to the mountain pass, and the order to retreat was still being repeated every few seconds by a new mouth. And yet Aidan walked not with them but instead staggered further into the battlefield, stopping only to retrieve his extinguished weapons from where he had dropped them in his flight.

It is the nature of living things to seek, to persist. It is the nature of dead things to rest eternally.

“What are you doing?! We need to get back!”

Someone was trying to stop him, someone he knew. He recognised the voice at least, but he was paying it no heed. They grabbed his shoulder and were rewarded by being shoved down into the blood, mud and snow as Aidan continued his limp towards death. He wasn’t going home without her, and his fellow dragonkin knew better than to advise the stubborn General's stubborn son on any matter more than once.

What will you do when you seek what you cannot have? What lengths will you go to? You see them, lost to you, and you cannot touch them. They have gone. They will never return.

The further he walked, the more faces he recognised, upturned with a blank, lifeless stare. Dragonkin like him who were caught off-guard by the surprise attack and subsequently slaughtered. One was still standing though, silhouetted against the fire and flames and fighting for dear life. She was injured too, her dance of death more sluggish than what Aidan was used to seeing, though she was still managing to hold her own against wave after wave of dwarven will and steel. Nadia may have been one of their strongest fighters, but even she had a limit. With a hoarse and strained bellow he called out to her, an act which made it feel like his lungs might burst. He wasn't far from her now, close enough to see the crease in her brow, the determination in her eyes, and the thin red lines of blood that ran down her face. All he could do until he got there was pray that it wasn't hers.

Whether it was a lapse in concentration or whether the horde was simply too much for one warrior to handle by herself is still up for debate to this day, but when that spear pierced her chest her mind went suddenly quiet. Too quiet for Aidan, whose link with his sister all too often filled his mind with her own. It was as if there had been a ringing in his ears for his whole life up until that moment, noticeable but ultimately negligible, and all of a sudden Aidan had experienced true silence.

No one had ever told him silence could be so deafening.

It was a roar quite unlike any that had been heard from Aidan before, and unlike any that have been heard from him since. Sorrow, despair and sadness all wrapped into a single bloodcurdling scream that seemed to call forth thunder and lightning from the unforgiving skies. In that moment he had relinquished all hope of making it home, of seeing his family or his friends again. All Aidan wanted to do was seek bloody vengeance to quell the ache of loss in his breast.

With scant care for his well-being Aidan hurled his floating chakram through the air, its sharpened edge slicing the neck of a portly dwarf. He quickly tightened the bond between himself and it to slingshot the warrior onto his sister’s motionless body. Even as he landed he was already fighting, electrifying his poi and lashing out against the seemingly unending dwarven horde. He stood as the final line in the sand for his fallen sibling, standing over her body and bringing a quick death to any who approached.

It began to rain, and for the first time in 20 years Aidan gave himself permission to cry.

Do you see now? The echoes of the lost persist only as far as you do. Their life - their memory - their existence - your fragile mortality, its unsteady rhythm already weakened by the ravages of time and conflict, is the only bearer of the immortal essence of your slain and fallen friends.

The first blow came under his ribs. After Aidan struck one of the dwarves square in the chest, his breastplate folding under the weight of his attack like it were wet paper, a spear not unlike the one that had felled his sister sank its point into flesh. Flesh that had once been protected by the most intricately crafted of armours now sprung a leak not unlike a red fountain. Not long after, a second attack broke through Aidan’s defenses, brought about by a blunt weapon of some sort hitting the bulwark in the back of the leg and forcing him onto his knees. The final strike came seconds later, as a helpless Aidan could do nothing more than look up from his compromised position, seeing only an iron mace swung towards his temple.

He lay there, barely clinging to what life he had left. Blood trailed from open wounds across his body and melted with rainwater in great pools at his back. Despite the pain that enveloped every muscle and bone in his body, he forced himself to open his eyes to look upon his failure. Through the haze, through the blood and water, through the mud and stones, he saw his sister. She seemed peaceful now, less talkative than he’d seen her in a long time.

If only he had been stronger.

Sorrow.

Sadness.

Despair.



Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2019= Spike Arena (8/1/2019 11:53:33)

Apparently, this week was not Theia’s Week. There was no sign atop of the week, decreeing that it belonged to her. Nor was there a small name badge pinned to its chest pocket, with the simple but clear ‘Hello, my name is Theia’s Week’. She’d even have settled for a small, print-out label; the same type that mothers used for their kid’s books, pencils, lunchboxes, and switchblades. Even an illegible, surgeon-esque scrawl in ineffective laundry marker would have done the trick.

Theia could probably have known the next few days were going to be terrible after the incident at her apartment. First, the courier had managed to vanish an entire building with his horrendous counting; something she totally attributed to a lack of proper training by his employer.

Secondly, she’d realised this morning that she hadn’t actually put away the refreshments that she’d poured for the streamlined delivery guy. She could visualise and remember it clearly; the bottle and cup were still sitting there on her benchtop. Open, and very full of cordial. Sweet, sugary cordial.

Ugh! There were going to be ants. Ants!

She could even imagine them now, marching across the counter in single file. So many ants!

Clearly, it was going to be one of those weeks. Weeks were flawed anyway; they were seven days long. Seven. Seven was such a useless number. What was seven the number of anyway? Magicians? Who believed in magicians? And magic, everyone knew that there wasn’t such a thing as ma—

Nevermind.

Unfortunately for her, it seemed that the week was about to get worse. The Astra knew well enough to never say ‘things couldn’t get any worse’, because they always did. Oh boy, did that make them escalate.As a matter of fact, a prime example of ‘Things getting worse’ was heading straight for her, as Theia hurdled away from the Livid Lizard. It took the form of something very round, very spiky, and very lethal.

All of these musings and distractions floated through her head, but there were Four that were rose from among them. Those thoughts were
One.... two.... three.... Ball?


Ball.


A brief flash of surprise shot through The Astra’s eyes behind the amber lenses. Her left leg shot out instinctively and it’s sibling angled inwards before straightening, drifting her safely away from an abrupt and undignified end. Not that Theia thought any end was dignified. But at least that would probably have been covered by insurance.

Without pause, The Fastest Blade picked up speed again, getting about Four paces before an even deadlier threat appeared.


Monk.


The one thing in the field that Theia did not want to get particularly close to. Dealing with the sometimes-religious-usually-bald warriors was best handled from a safe distance and well-placed shots. Crashing straight into them didn’t exactly abide by those guidelines. In fact, it was more akin to using said guidelines as toilet paper.

This was definitely going to raise her insurance premium.

With a last spin, and a parting crackle, Indus faded from existence. The Astra lowered her right arm to brace for the impact, as the soon-to-be-blood smear shot a palm out to her. Hah, like that was going to stop her.

Stop.

Theia blinked and looked down at the steadfast hand in front of her. Huh.

For a hand belonging to someone who probably punched rocks—and water cats, by the look of the creature— for a living, it didn’t look that bad. Bandages swathed it, with spots of dusky skin showing through them. Could use some moisturiser. Nails probab—no, definitely filthy. A closer inspection wasn’t required; with or without the implications of violence. Scrubbing and sanitization of the point of contact? Definitely required.

And on that note.

“Pardon me.”
The Astra gave a polite nod and tweaked the brim of her hat. She took a single step back, pivoted on the spot, and floored it, jetting away just as quickly as she’d arrived.

By Theia’s reckoning, it wasn’t even noon yet. Far too early to be getting into a fistfight, mhm. Not at this time of day, and most certainly not against someone who had an advantage. It was well known that the only reason why poor people resorted to brawling, martial arts and other forms of close quarters barbarism was due to a lack of disposable income. That was why poor people were so good at fisticuffs; they couldn’t afford ranged weaponry! And don’t even think about getting her started on the educat-


Skeleton.


Well that was alright. It was cheaper than hitting the monk at least. You couldn’t be charged Bodily Injury rates if there was no body to in the first place.



ergotth -> RE: =EC 2019= Spike Arena (8/1/2019 23:26:54)

"Why do I feel... ignored here?" Because of how the contestants were so involved with their fights, grantese felt, in some ways, kinda left out, sure he was always inconspicuous as a person and in a free-for-all killing Arena, not being noticed can be an advantage, but this was getting a bit tedious.

"Well, double or nothing, time to pick someone and go for it!"

Aiming once again at the water creature, Granthese surrounded himself in the paper crows and LUNGED at it, concentrating his frigid magic on his fingertips, one good grasp at his furry arm and the frost would spread like quickfire, slowly stealing mana out of the creature and spreading the most painful frostbite, unfortunately Granthese would feel almost the same pain, but he was used to it.

The pages of the Chronomicon flutterd as it floated alongside Granthese, his hand was white with frost, closing the distance with the watery being, his steps light as snow and without realizing, granthese had a smile of anticipation, an almost sadistic joy when thinking of his outcome if...
everything goes...
according...
to plan.



TitanDragonLord -> RE: =EC 2019= Spike Arena (8/2/2019 21:40:48)

After what felt like an eternity the Lich dropped the dazed and disoriented Aidan from its bony grip. The memory had been so visceral that it had felt like he was there all over again, back on the frozen peaks and staining the snow red in the moments before the rain had come down in a torrential spill. Even his old wounds, now sealed scars that peppered his gargantuan form, felt like they had been reopened and fully healed in the space of seconds.

“Alright, lesson learned” he growled, raising his poi and beginning to spin the burning hammers in a fiery whirl to his left and right. “Next time I break you, it’s gonna be into dust.”

He darted forwards with his flaming poi hurtling towards the lich, although the dark mass of bones had little trouble in pulling its form back out of harm’s way. It was then that Aidan realised that his torment was not yet done, and that the Lich’s hold on him had done more than simply let him relive a particularly bad memory. No, that would have such a limited use in combat beyond shaking the victim that there would be little point in using such an ability in a fight like this.

“Nadia?” he said with a sense of disbelief. He would recognise that visage anywhere, even formed out of smog and mist, and soon enough the rest of his sister’s toned form followed to rush towards her brother. He remembered this, the way she was moving, the way she struck. This was a sparring match in Hearthforge, and a recent one at that. He hesitated for a second, ducking away from her strike and whipping his poi around to cut through his sister’s doppelganger.

Right. Illusions.

Aidan’s attention shifted. Illusions couldn’t hurt him, so all he had to do now was to make good on his promise to the Lich. In the seconds he’d been distracted by his sibling’s body double, the Lich had grown to seemingly impossible dimensions, enveloping the entirety of the arena and all who had once been in it. He turned on the spot to get a bearing on his surroundings and was met only with that image of Nadia once more. Something was different this time, though. It felt so much realer this time around, now that all background noise had been filtered out by the dark magic on display.

No one lives forever.

She was surrounded by dwarven warriors, just like she had been that night. On all sides she was fighting back against a seemingly unending horde of soldiers, and for every one she managed to cut down another three appeared to take their place. It was another illusion, it had to be. There was no way she was here was there, was there? Doubt crept into his mind, and then it overwhelmed him.

He began to rush forwards, calling Nadia’s name as he ran, a lump in his throat forming as the lines between his memories and reality blurred beyond the point where he could tell either apart. His sister was in danger, and he needed to save her.

He hadn’t been prepared to relive Nadia’s fall when he entered the arena. He had readied himself for battle, not for emotional torture, and so when that spear entered her chest for the second time that day, Aidan felt like he was going to break. The way her flesh tore apart, the way her battle grunts gave way to a gasp of shock and pain, the way her blood sprayed from her form to splatter across Aidan’s face.

Aidan let forth a roar of anguish, rushing into the midst of the cheering dwarven soldiers and watching them dissipate back into the smoke from whence they had come. Breathing heavily, he found himself lost amongst the fog, which swirled about him before totally enveloping his body.

I offer immortality. Certainty. Purpose. An end to fear. An end to suffering, came the voice of the Lich, it’s whispers permeating Aidan’s pained thoughts and seeping into his being. No one lives forever, but you can be remembered even when the last star is gone from the sky and the whole world is quiet.

Aidan reached out with his telepathy, hoping to find the comforting presence of his sister somewhere out there. But, predictably, he felt nothing. His sibling wasn’t there, and he was alone.

“Half a sword is still dagger enough to end a life,” came her voice from the innermost depths of his mind, perhaps the only part of his mind that had isolated itself from his enemy’s influence. “We are best together, but we are still warriors in our own right.”

They were best together.

“Finish the memory,” Aidan muttered to himself, letting his eyes fall shut. He couldn’t trust them now. What he could trust was his mind. He could trust the truth.



“That’s two for the price of one! Di’nt know the scaly creatures were so stupid!” guffawed a dwarven general dressed in the most ornate of golden armours, stomping through his forces to poke at Nadia’s seemingly lifeless body with a thick black boot. His laughter soon spread through the ranks, until the only thing that could be heard on the peak was the raucous cheers of the invading army, which only amplified after their leader suddenly kicked the collapsed Aidan in the ribs.

For what felt like a lifetime hope seemed to be lost. His body was broken, his spirit was crushed. All that awaited Aidan now was a reunion with his sister in the Hall of Champions where they would feast until the end of the world. It was a comforting thought that he would be with her again soon, that they were together in life and that they would be together in death.

And then her eyes fluttered.

It was brief, brief enough for Aidan to think it a hallucination, but there was something far too familiar about the sight for it to be some dream or imagined thing. Her eyes had moved in the same way they had in their youth, back when they had shared a room before puberty demanded that Nadia get her own. First she would flutter of her eyelids, and then she would practically leap out of bed to begin her daily training. For the first time in 27 years of watching his sister she didn’t leap.

Aidan’s fingers curled around into a weak fist. As long as she drew breath, no matter how shallow, hope was alive. As long as hope was alive he had reason to fight. With a grunt he rolled himself over onto his front, his teeth clenched as pain oozed from every inch of his body. The laughter and victory cheers of the dwarven forces slowly began to quell and eventually silence as they watched with awe as the dragonkin struggled to his knees and onto his feet with rasping breaths.

“Lookit this boys, por guy doesn’t know when to quit!” laughed the leader of the pack, after a few seconds of stunned silence. With a grin full of menace the warrior hoisted his mace into the air before ramming the end into Aidan’s stomach, who doubled over and coughed up a waterfall of blood. Another round of cheers erupted from the surrounding dwarven forces.

Not dignifying his foe with a response, the dragonkin simply paused for a few seconds to catch his breath before rising to full height on shaky legs. He’d never truly appreciated before how much he towered over his foes in the past, but now he was stood at almost twice the height of the dwarven army, dozens of bearded faces looking up at him with a vast array of expressions. Fear from the cowardly and a handful of those within arm's reach, murderous glee from the sadistic revellers of the giant warrior’s pain, admiration from the honourable and those who still carried a moral compass despite associating themselves with monsters.

“I’m going to make you pay for this,” Aidan muttered between deep breaths.

“Say sumthin’ lad? Least speak up ‘fore I kill ya!”

“I said,” he began, levelling his eyeline squarely at the dwarven commander, his tone and gaze each as frozen as a glacier, “I’m going to make you pay for this.”

Aidan’s poi had begun to tremble on the ground at his feet as he spoke, and now were slowly rising into the air. Each weapon hovered by his hips for a few short seconds before gently sliding into his tight grasp.

Sorrow had given way to anger.

Sadness had given way to rage.

Despair had given way way to fury.

There are moments throughout history that historians, bards and leaders like to focus on. Moments of extraordinary courage, of incredible strength, and sometimes of impossible chance. This was to be a moment which historians, bards and leaders would particularly focus on for years into the future, particularly among the Shieldforged clan. In time it would become exaggerated, the tale of two siblings single-handedly defending their home against thousands of dwarves, ogres and even dragons. A story of heroism and good triumphing over evil to send young children with lofty dreams of being heroes themselves to sleep. But Aidan would always know the truth. He was there, after all.

It was a mother’s instinct to protect her children, and whilst Astra hadn’t always been the most present of parents her maternal instincts were just as strong as anyone’s. She hadn’t yet had time to mourn the deaths of her only two children, determined to stay composed and professional until she had returned to the privacy of her own home. What she had insisted, however, was that she lead a squadron of her strongest soldiers to retrieve their bodies, before those heathenous dwarves desecrated the corpses of the two most powerful warriors the Shieldforged clan had ever known. And so, whilst watching from the close cover of darkness, Astra saw her son struggle to his feet. It was no surprise that it needed no less than three of her comrades to hold her back from immediately rushing to save her baby. Their timing had to be perfect, lest she lost her children all over again.

Aidan had raised his weapon, finally ready to embrace his fate head on, and chaos erupted around him. The elite dragonkin had thrown themselves at the dwarven front line, who were woefully unprepared for a full frontal assault from Astra’s squadron, felling dozens of the short soldiers within seconds and putting the entire force on the backfoot. Aidan, meanwhile, was fighting like he’d never fought before, his arms seeming to move of their own volition even through the pain of his broken body.

At his feet, Nadia smiled.

Even a single line of organised dragonkin forces were a force to be reckoned with, and unprepared as they were, it would have been a fool’s errand for the dwarves to continue fighting. Had they stood their ground the dwarves would eventually have defeated Astra and her soldiers, but the casualties they would have suffered in the process would have been astronomical. The fighting had barely lasted a few minutes before the dwarves had began to route, fleeing for safer ground.

Most of them made it.

Golden armour was great for ceremony. When clad in gold people would celebrate you as if you were a god, or if a single touch from those wrapped in the priceless metal would cure any and all ailments. It was good at drawing the eye, and that was why it was so easy for Aidan to lock his focus onto the stumbling form of the dwarven general. His chakram flew without his touch, slicing the back of the commander’s leg and sending him careening down onto the mountaintop. He pulled himself towards the dwarf, striking him across the face as he soared past, now able to almost entirely ignore the agony that enveloped his form. He had one focus. One desire.

Make him pay.

His allies had abandoned him, and none of them would see the brutal beatdown that Aidan delivered unto him. None of them would see that, at some point during the proceedings, the dragonkin had begun to float. The dwarf, bruised and bloodied, scrambled on his back away from the mountain of a man.

“What the hell are you?”

Aidan stayed quiet for a moment, casting a glance towards his mother and the spectating dragonkin, before letting his gaze rest on his sister.

“We are the Shieldforged,” he said with a voice that distinctly was and distinctly wasn’t his own, before swinging his weapon and bringing an end to his foe.

Nadia went back to sleep, and Aidan collapsed in a heap.



Aidan awoke from his brief trance to the sounds of metal on bone, and screaming. Something had struck the Lich, something that didn’t exist in this world of shapes and shadows, and the dragonkin took hold of the golden opportunity with both hands. He rushed into the collapsing darkness, attempting to orient himself with the vague shapes of the arena that could be seen through cracks in the Lich’s spell. The creature now seemed to be at war with itself, the whispers in Aidan’s mind now at odds with another unseen voice. There was a different quality to this new voice however, and being able to tell the difference could mean the difference between life and death.

Aidan bellowed, letting loose a war cry that only lungs of his capacity could muster. He wasn’t going to wait for the spell to dissipate entirely, there wasn’t the seconds to spare. All he had to do was follow the screams. The real screams. Not some whisper of madness from the corners of his mind.

He closed his eyes. He didn’t need them anymore.

Aidan leapt into the air and swung his poi into nothingness, electricity surging through his weapon and melding with the fiery oil that burned within it’s hammer.

Crack.

His attack had struck true, and Aidan was lost in the dark no longer. He was now midair in the arena, and the Lich’s skull was caving beneath the weight of his weapon. The monster let out one last scream, a death rattle, before Aidan’s second poi hurtled through the air to shatter the bones of the monster’s skeleton into pieces. The dragonkin landed, dropping onto one knee to soften his impact with the ground. He took a moment to steady himself, and to marvel at the spectacle of the Lich’s apparent death. Its bones falling to earth as shards, and its obsidian orb rolled away of its own volition. In that brief moment of peace he caught a glimpse of a shining shortsword, jutting out of the ground not far from where Aidan had made his leap of faith. Then he caught a glimpse of his previous target, and her smirk was all too telling.

“Did… Did you shoot it… With a sword?” Aidan half-laughed and half-gasped.

Sorrow had given way to anger.

Sadness had given way to rage.

Despair had given way way to fury.



Starstruck -> RE: =EC 2019= Spike Arena (8/2/2019 22:43:23)

Liquid fire races down each of his bones. He looks at his fingers, flesh blackening and rotting and peeling as tongues of black fire lick the ground at his feet. White bone flashes in the gloom. He raises his hands experimentally and watches as the shadows obey, whispering things not meant for mortal men to know.

They’re standing before the altar, heads bowed, ready to receive their new purpose in life. It is shrouded to avoid scaring anyone, unsure of popular reaction to its grinning visage. One by one, they are handing their lives to the Lich. The ritual is compelling. It has turned the oasis into a dark paradise, free from the scorching heat of the sun and the sand. Some give their minds for peace, others for purpose. They all dissolve into the gathering dark.

Mortals live in a world of many distractions. The Lich feels nothing. Mortals move at the speed of their emotions. The Lich is timeless. She is running towards it, quickly, hastily. Its smoke whispered at Aidan's feet, promising life unending. The brave die young. Their heroism is remembered in stories, but what of their lives? How much do you know of your heroes? The Shield-Forged? How will you be remembered a hundred years from now, if not for me?

Its hand jerked upwards sharply, body akimbo, dancing to the left, fingers loose. Its touch onto the gunslinger’s face was delicate and almost loving, bare bone sliding in hushed whispers over smooth skin. It pulled her gaze gently to its own, filling her field of vision with its own empty smile. Shattered images entered its eternal mind, fragments of thought and emotion. Excitement. Distraction. Speed. Euphoria. Elation.

She is standing at the door to an ornate mansion. Puke green, like someone ate a bunch of kiwifruits and then threw up everywhere. She doesn’t feel good about going in. Something is wrong here.

There are pictures hanging on the walls. Outside? Why outside? They depict Theia in her various...performances. Fighting. Showboating. Smiling ear to ear. Mask on and off. The windows are heavily shuttered. It beckons her, and she follows despite herself. They walk towards the door and she can see that it’s a twisted abomination. The entire house, crushed by some invisible hand and turned, pulled into a tight, impenetrable spiral. She asks some flippant question, and it dismisses her frivolous nonsense with a wave of its skeletal fingers. They approach the house.

I cannot enter. You must make this journey alone.

What am I looking at?

Pain is a curious thing. To a mortal mind, pain is the precursor to death. Pain is the signal that something has become wrong and must be righted. You cannot bear pain as I do. You have locked your pain behind a wall of your own design, and you alone must confront it.

...Can I do it later?

No.

All at once, the knotted, splintered wood of the house began to unravel and split further. Planks knitted together and broke cleanly, peeling outwards like petals of a blooming flower. The woman known as Theia paused, once, at the aperture to her darkest secrets. With a look behind her at the menacing skeletal figure, she stepped cautiously into the darkness and onto the battlefield once more, gasping for breath as the Lich’s dark caress slid delicately over her features like wet seaweed kissing a swimmer’s ankle.

It could not penetrate the darkest recesses of her mind, for she would not allow any to enter. It must wait. It knew how to wait. It was made of nothing but time.

Its attention returned to the dragonkin warrior before it. Aidan’s weapons were raised, his shoulders hunched, his limbs set in a fighting stance. His throaty growl could not pierce the dark haze of unfeeling emptiness that consumed the Lich, nor could his rushing charge penetrate the dark cloud that surrounded it. It simply threw its bones back, weapons cleaving through empty air, and wove its mind into newly acquired forms.

Nadia’s grinning countenance erupted from the mist, followed swiftly by the rest of her. Her chakram materialized in her hands, familiar and strong, and she whipped it at her brother’s head with all the charm of a rip-roaring sibling rivalry. Aidan ducked. At once, the Lich could feel the boyish excitement return to his gaze, the color returning to his dull red cheeks. She dipped, dodged, danced. He struck her down, but another rose to meet his burning poi. Another time. Another place. Another fight. Another Nadia.

As the warrior landed a fierce kick to one of its illusory shades, the Lich spread its arms out wider than the bones would allow, taking on nightmarish dimension in the chaotic arena and blotting out the blazing sun above. She exploded into a burgeoning cloud of black smoke, forging itself into bodies drawn from deep, painful memories.

No one lives forever.

She was surrounded, a crowd of dwarven spearmen thrusting and leaping about. He let out a hoarse yell, the scene stabbing his heart as he knew it would hers. The spear entered her chest in exquisite detail, the Lich’s macabre dance replicating the memory exactly, and Aidan roared with the same pain that he had on that fateful night.

I offer immortality. Certainty. Purpose. An end to fear. An end to suffering. Dark smoke washed over the dragonkin warrior, building in thickness and intensity as its whispers invaded his mind. No one lives forever, but you can be remembered even when the last star is gone from the sky and the whole world is quiet. You and your kin will last eternally, treasured in boundless memory.

“FOUR!”

Pain. Splitting pain. Searing agony in every square inch of bleach-white bone. It fell, hands clutched to skull in mocking pantomime of a headache, and pulled itself apart. Fingers curled around shards of bone, teeth floating free, cracks in the very fabric of reality.

Shadows ripped themselves to pieces as the Lich howled.

”Why do I feel this pain?” The words forced themselves from its decaying lips.

Life cannot be taken. Only given. That is our price.

“I didn’t take it! Everyone gave it freely! I don’t understand-” It stared into the dark glass and met the hollow stare of its reflection.

We have taken life. This is our penance.

“WHOSE life? TELL ME! WHAT DID I DO?”

There was no answer but its own horrific scream.

Bones rattled. Nadia’s voice. Nadia’s smile. Shield-Forged. We have taken life. Smoke swirled. Shapes, indistinct and chaotic. She was stabbed. Time re-wound. She was stabbed. She was stabbed. She stopped breathing. She stood up. She was stabbed. Silence. Dark flames, faces in the gloom, exploding and reforming.

Its orb was falling. Catch it. Howling, screaming, the consequence of our choice. This is our fault. Its soul-sphere landed hard but did not crack. Its fading breath pushed its crystal ball to safety as its bones shattered and split into a thousand burning raindrops of pure distilled torment. It gasped out in the fading remnants of its hollow telepathic speech:

It is the nature of dead things to find rest. It is the nature of living things to seek life. And it is my nature...to remember.

But no one could hear it.



Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2019= Spike Arena (8/2/2019 23:58:47)

One near miss and two collisions within the span of a few seconds. That had to be a record in and of itself. Not the best entry to have in your resume, but she could just omit that. At least she had a spot in the History of the Games; she’d often heard that word of mouth was the best marketing for sole traders after all. In terms of effectiveness, maybe not quite the top. But value-wise? Definitely the best.

A large, bony hand reached out for her and The Astra grinned under her mask. Slow, far too slow. Who’d ever heard of a speedy skelly before, anyway? It made sense from a scientific perspective though; moving quickly was really difficult when you had arthritis in every single cartilage-free joint. Though then again, she couldn’t really imagine a walking, talking, and murdering skeleton losing all the fleshy bits but keeping just the joints. It must’ve been a style thing. Theia could respect that.

Doctor Bon—

The Astra’s next thought had barely started to form when the Lich’s hand shot forward and smacked her in the face. Theia’s vision shot to black.

Darkness. A voice in the void. Everything was black. A sickly, bright green house slid into view, as though a stagehand had pushed it onto the stage. Professor Skulls was there, talking as though to a lecture hall. Theia didn’t really care though, and looked back to the house.

No, not a house. A mansion. An extravagant but twisted mansion.

Theia frowned. What was that shade of green? It was like something a poor person had thrown up on. The owner had better have a good explanation for this.

She walked up to the door and knocked on it, wood and paint flaking off at the touch. Quality workmanship.

A moment passed and it opened, the entire building unravelling to welcome her. The Astra smiled, and prepared her best impression of a salesperson, thinking of her pitch as she strode through. What would she say?

Hello, you look like a person that could really use—




Lightning shot overhead, as the chilling rain drenched Eris’ hair. She pulled up the scarf around her face and looked to the rest of her squad, their weapons out and at the ready. A crackling singularity lay ahead of them; a roiling, raging wall of clouds, reaching from the earth into the heavens. Amber moonlight illuminated their surroundings, revealing splintered trees, scattered cargo, and the bodies that carpeted the ground. The wrecked airship lay behind them, its broken and twisted halves leaking sparks, light and magic into the air.

The squad picked their way through the field of corpses, though the feat was far harder than it sounded. The blackened, smouldering dead practically blanketed the floor, leaving precious little ground for them to work with. Eris gave each one a cursory check as she moved towards the wall of clouds, noting three similarities. The first was that all the soldiers had died the same way; an overload of energy or magic by the look—and smell—of it. The scarf that covered nose was normally enough to filter out the smoke, gases and any detriment they could find themselves in, but the smell of toasting flesh had managed to penetrate through it.

The second thing that Eris noticed was that all of the bodies were intact. None bore any signs of physical trauma, or none that the commando could see. They weren’t mangled or twisted from the crash, nor did any seem to bear slashes, punctures or dismemberments of any kind.

And the last thing was the identities of the deceased. All of the soldiers were their allies. Not a single one appeared to be from another faction; they bore the uniforms, insignias, badges and weaponry of the Army. Whatever force had caused this had apparently suffered no casualties, hinting at either an overwhelming force or far superior magicks. Either would be worrying, though at least the solution for the former was simple.

The squad drew close together as they stopped, barely an arm’s reach from the wall. Howling winds tore at them and warped the air, a brilliant light from within making the gale visible. One of her squad mates—Umber—drew a glowing blade and drove it into the winds. A tear appeared in the shield of air, splitting along the angle of the blade to form a gap in the wall. Warm light shone from the wound, a stark contrast with the carnage around them.

Satisfied, Umber nodded and turned to a woman with emerald hair and glasses. “Anything?” he asked the woman, raising her voice over the gale. She cocked her head, as though listening intently, but then sighed and slowly shook it.

“Nothing. Still can’t get through. It’s just static and… echoes,” she replied, tweaking an eyebrow slightly. They all knew what that meant. With more than half of your face covered, it was as close as you could get to a frown.

Umber nodded again, and drew another blade from the air. In a single, swift motion, he plunged the blade down next to its twin, and let it stay there. Both blades hung in the air, carving a small portal into the heart of the vortex. Angry, golden sparks buzzed around their anchors points, but the runeblades held fast.

A voice rumbled from behind them. Deep. Husky. Impatient. Santon. Of course it was Santon. “We’ll go ahead, then. The Commander should be right behind us. Business as usual.”

“No. We should hold and wait for reinforcements. This is a first for me, even in all my years.” Another male voice, but this one lighter. Moderated. Julius.

“What’s the point of us being here, then? The Commander said to scout ahead, not pitch a tent and wait,” Santon scoffed. Typical Santon.

“We can’t go ahead without comms, even an idiot like you know that. And besides,” Julius bent down, and patted their tagalong’s shoulder, “we can’t really bring Tabs in with us.”

The young girl looked away, hunched and soaked to the core. Unlike the Commandos, their attaché hadn’t been given much in the way of armaments. Or combat training. Or even height, for that matter. All she seemed to have on her was one of their supposedly-waterproof coats, a gravity-forged staff, and a snarky attitude when wasn’t practically hypothermic. Oh, and magic. A fair amount of it from what Eris had seen, but even she hadn’t been able to pierce through the magical disruption in the air.

The green-haired woman, Taiya, brushed back a dripping lock, and slowly inched a hand through the opening. “It feels… warm inside,” she noted, pushing it through up to her elbow. Tabitha nodded, and bolted up straight.

“Good enough for me, let’s go,” she said through chattering teeth, and made as though to move. A heavy sigh and an even heavier hand from Julius immediately stopped her. Always the babysitter, that one. Still, he was the most rational of the squad, albeit the worst with timing and numbers.

The others erupted into discussion, but Umber stepped away from the swords and up to Eris. “It’s your call. The commander gave you the lead on this one.”

“Don’t understand why he didn’t just give it to Julius. Or you, for that matter,” she grumbled.

He laughed. “Me? I’m the looks of the squad. I can’t be handsome and get to boss you people around.” Eris snorted, slightly amused. Was he still ‘the handsome one’, even with half of his face covered?... Oh, that was probably the joke, wasn’t it?

“And Julius,” Umber continued, pointing at the baldest one of the group, “can’t count higher than four. We’re all cooked if he tries to do a roll call.”

She tittered slightly, then looked back at the wall of wind. The phenomenon really did seem to stretch to the heavens. Though Eris knew that the heavens didn’t actually exist on this plane. A more appropriate phrase would have been ‘stretched to space’ but there was hardly enough time for a lesson on metaphors, nevermind planar theories and physics.

The squad leader frowned, looking upwards at a spot on the wall. Or rather, in the wall. She could feel something in the storm; an alien presence. It was watching them as it waited, biding its time. Gathering its strength.

As though in response to her thoughts, the winds around them picked up in speed, rattling the pair of runeblades profusely. All eyes were fixated on the swords as they violently shook, and then they settled again. Eris looked to Julius.

“You’ve got spares?” she asked him. He gave a nod. Satisfied, she gave her orders. “Santon, Umber and Taiya, gather yourselves. The four of us are heading in. Julius, wait here for Commander Vox.”

Tabitha, who’d been apparently forgotten, started to speak until Julius cut over her. “We shouldn’t split. You don’t know what’s in there, or how long he’ll take to get here. We can’t even get in contact with Vox.” he argued, as the girl started to sulk.

“It’s fine. How could this get any worse? ” Eris insisted, glancing around at the bodies. A thunderbolt crackled and more droplets rained down on them. She looked back at Julius and shot him a smile he couldn’t see. He was still worried, she could tell.

She dropped her trump card. “And when was the last time the Commander let us down?”

“Last week, when he lost the movie tickets,” he replied, deadpan, before letting out a laugh.

Eris chuckled, and moved in front of the portal. A pulse shot through the air around them, further agitating the leaves. She gave a last glance and a nod to the omitted pair, and then stepped through with the rest of the team.


>~<*>~<


It was warm inside the storm. Warm, and very very bright. A shimmering, golden plane lay open before them, its surface smooth like a single piece of marble. Her glasses tinted several degrees, automatically adjusting to the glare. Something brilliant blazed overhead, lighting up the land like a sun. Like a sun? Not a sun?

No, not a sun. That’s a… crown? A circlet?

Eris squinted, but found that she couldn’t make it out, even with the aid of her spectacles.

Three motes of light floated down, forming a triangle around the group. They touched the ground and pulsed once before bursting, sending glimmering fractals across the hard stone-like earth. The figures that had been inside the lights stood, each being bearing pale, alabaster skin. Each of the figures wore a shimmering cloak; each wearing a different primary color. Yellow, Blue and Red.

“Hostiles?” Eris heard someone ask. A female’s voice. Taiya.

Each of the beings drew a blade, the shimmering metal matching its wielders cape. And eyes.

“Hostiles,” the lead commando confirmed. “Stay close, and keep each other in sight.”




The touch ended and Theia’s vision snapped back to grand old Theia-ness as she collided with the floor. Ow. The Astra had no idea what she’d just seen, but there was a time for introspection. And that time was later. Or Soon(™).

Talk about a violation of personal space, though. Such a thing wouldn’t do at all. That definitely called for an injunction of sorts, but firstFourthly—

She listened for the other two, but there wasn’t a peep. Either they were watching contemptuously, or having alone time. Either or. The Fastest Blade raised herself up, and turned her fall into a roll, coming up from it with Indus in hand. Theia swung her right arm up and around, twisting to look back at who was behind her. Lord Scale and General Phalanges. One target was particularly tempting, but the other had been very rude.

Completely inexcusable.

”FOUR!” she roared, and Indus obeyed her command.

There was an explosion, a scream, and the General fell, looking in desperate need of an aspirin. Something spun through the air—the blazing flails—and hit the officer, smashing it, and then the skeleton completely came apart.

Glue. The boney fellow looked like it also needed some glue.

“Did… Did you shoot it… With a sword?”

Well no. Of course not. She shot it with a gun. How did you shoot something with a sword anyway? That sounded completely impractical. It would mean someone would have to make some sort of gun-sword hybrid. A sword-gun. Gun-sword.

The Astra spun on the spot and bowed, snapping open the now-silent Indus as she straightened. She rotated the cylinder once, pressed its center, and a vibrant hum soon filled the air. The gun clicked close, and her sharp, pointy-ended calling card vanished.

“Want a replay?” Theia asked him eagerly, spinning the weapon in her hand.



Starflame13 -> RE: =EC 2019= Spike Arena (8/3/2019 22:01:46)

The baying of the crowds grew, if possible, even louder. Roars of fury, cries of bloodlust, noise upon noise until the Martyrs shook with their hunger and fury. The great mace swung downwards to the center, screaming, shrieking, clamoring for the kill. With a groan, the chain snapped and the Martyrs tipped towards the competitors themselves. For a single, menacing instant, all other thoughts and feelings fled.

Then a flash - of light so bright that it hid the room from sight, or perhaps of shadow so deep that no eyes could pierce it. It cut through the cacophony, leaving behind a deafening silence. A disturbing stillness.

By the time the combatants recovered, the Martyrs lay broken across the parched ground. Their fall had fractured the arena, a spider web of cracks climbing Spike’s walls. Yet the gateways stood strong - an escape path for those who chose to seek sanctuary from the trench they stood within. But such a release was not for everyone, as only a handful of competitors remained.

The Paragons had been chosen, and the fight for Champion was soon to begin.



Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2019= Spike Arena (1/16/2020 19:22:48)

There was a flash; a brilliance so bright it muted the Arena momentarily. Even suns weren’t bright enough to halt sound in its tracks. Just how many lumens were required for that anyway? Probably wasn’t very efficient; she didn’t want to imagine the power bill.

A good number of her targets were missing when she opened her eyes. Figures that they’d bail while she was distracted. Theia’s grin flipped into a slight frown,when she realised that her wallet was among the missing. The oversized accessory must’ve dashed while she’d been preoccupied.

Rude.

If it’d wanted to leave, then the least it could’ve done was offed itself or left behind a nice, big patch of hide. A forty-Four by forty-Four square would’ve been good. But wow, manners were in short supply these days. And courtesy, courtesy! Courtesy might as well have been completely worthless. She couldn’t remember the last time a banker had accepted courtesy as a deposit without being persuaded at gunpoint.

Theia had half a mind to give chase, but she wasn’t sure how well that’d go outside of the Arena, in the middle of the city. Guards would probably pop out from each and every nook, looking to reach their quota. It probably wouldn’t be worth the effort when she could just head back cross realm and buy something just as good (or better) at an outlet without any legal issues. If she was fast enough (heh) she could probably make the sales and there was usually 30 days change-of-mind depending on the retailer. Plus, she had a job to do.

With a graceful bow and a sweep of her hat, the Astra spun on her heel, and marched out of the Arena complex. According to the sun, it should’ve been noon, roughly. High noon, to be exact. The best time of day for showdowns, if you went by ‘Western’ genres. Honestly, a bit too cliche for her liking. Theia wasn’t much of a fan of ‘Western’ things. Her business card did make her out to be ‘crackshot gunslinger in all cardinal directions [sic]’, but she secretly favored ‘North-East’ the most. Speaking of which, she wondered if the sun set in the west in this realm. Was that how ‘noon’ was determined in this realm? Was ‘noon’ a thing? Were ‘Western’ things a thing? Something to follow up on later.

After The Job.

Retracting her mask and swapping her music to a ‘waiting’ track, The Astra paced in a circle, waiting for her contractor to show. They hadn’t decided on a meeting place, but Theia was certain that Vox was one of those mysterious ‘appear out of nowhere’ guys. Those types always seemed to know where to show up and when to show up, even if they were completely uninvited. She assumed it was just a premonition or some other supernatural sense; maybe they had a membership card. Or maybe they were all just stalkers? Yeah, that was probably it. They were all stalkers.

Theia frowned. Stalkers were a dangerous lot. She was (self-)qualified to handle dangerous things, but it was probably a better idea to call the police. Probably.

“Enjoyed yourself in there?”

Definitely a stalker.

“Not really,” she replied, pinching her nose. “No one died and that’s already knocked a star off my review. I didn’t even get a t-shirt—”

“You wouldn’t wear it anyway,” Vox said, walking into the center of her pacing.

“The meals were cheap and greasy—”

“You didn’t eat anything.”

“And I didn’t even get paid.”

“You haven’t done anything yet.”

Theia stopped circling and held out a hand. “I like money. What’s your point?”

Her employer’s face was half hidden behind his scarf, but she could practically feel his frown on her. Instead of being upfront about it, all she saw was a slight wrinkling of his brow as he gave back her realm watch and wallet. It would’ve been far easier—not to mention dumber/fitting—if he’d just said ‘I’m frowning at you now’, but he would probably dispute that. Such a disagreeable fellow..

Theia accepted the items and inspected them for any telltale knicks or scratches.They’d probably need a good clean. Germs. She pocketed the goods and leant back on the side of the bridge. ”Rightio, so. What’s next? How am I getting paid?”

Vox scratched his chin, thinking or pretending to think. “Well, now that you’re done, we can get back on track. Originally, I’d planned to scout the city while the Championships were going on, but that plan’s gone over and off the edge.”
Just like that David fellow.

A gust of wind picked up from down the street, ruffling their hair and clothes. Theia held her arm cape down whilst Vox ignored the breeze. She could practically see the unlit lightbulb above his head, though it was probably fused. That meant they would probably be here for a while. One, two, three, Four, one, two, three, Fo—

The man cocked his head and looked to Theia’s side. She followed his gaze to the opposite edge of the bridge, where a glowing figure leant, mirroring The Astra. With their glimmering, amethyst cloak, and their shimmering, alabaster skin, Theia couldn’t help but wonder what light effect you’d get if you pushed them into a spotlight. Probably blindness. Blindness was a pretty startling visual effect. Worked wonders on the big stage.

“Hi!” Theia said brightly, giving a little wave.

The human-shaped strobe light pulled off their hood, revealing sharp, feminine features and bone-white skin topped off with a gentle smile. She opened her mouth to respond, which was right when Theia shot her. The woman flew backwards, clipping the handrail and flipping into the water, flooding the air with rivlets of light.

Theia cocked an eyebrow. That was... quite the reaction. She shrugged and turned back to Vox. The two stood in complete silence. Another draft swept from the buildings gaps between the buildings, ruffling the trees. All they needed now was a tumbleweed.

“Alright, now to be fair,” Theia said eventually, ”she was asking for it.”

“You shot her.”

“I didn’t think you’d notice.”

“You’re supposed to capture her.”

“I know what my contract is! I’m a professional!” she protested, adjusting her hat.

Vox gestured, both hands held out wide. “‘Capturing’ isn’t the same thing as ‘collecting the body’. We’ve had this discussion before.”

“No, no, no, no we haven’t. I remember you saying that ‘capturing’ is different from ‘collecting what remains of the body’, but I—”

“Now see here—” Vox began, but was a crackle and a flash interrupted him. Fractals of light coalesced into a single, pearl-colored form behind him. The pearl-cloaked woman rose from the light, bearing an expression that could’ve been described as bemused, annoyed, or….. burnt. Indus had left quite the beauty mark.

Vox turned to her and she addressed them. “I—“

“Two!” Theia shot her again. The lady flew backwards, crashing into the ground and shattering violently, her pieces spiraling off the Arena complex’s wall. What a drama queen.

Her employer looked at her. “Stop that.”

“Just finishing the job. If you make a mistake, you might as well make it properly.” The Astra said wisely. Vox sighed and shook his head.

They walked over to the remnants of the pale-woman’s rapidly disintegrating body. Fragments and prisms of light broke off from the whole and vanished, fading into the sun’s warm rays. Shame. That cloak had looked expensive. It probably wasn’t worth nearly as much atomised.

“I guess we’re skipping the pleasantries then. Right on to the main event.”

A melodious voice drifted from behind, causing both of them to whirl around. The bleached-woman stood before them, on the far side of the bridge. She didn’t look particularly happy, what with the glare and the burn marks plastered across her face. The glittering sword in her right hand was a possible giveaway, but then again, you never knew.Some cultures used white flags as symbols of truce or surrender. Others used olive branches to indicate peace or victory/superiority. Swords could just be another way of pleading for her life.

“I don’t suppose we could rewind a little? Back to the prologue, before this… mistake happened?” Vox asked, adjusting his glasses. He didn’t sound very worried, but it was hard to get a read on such a boring guy.

“Perhaps,” the woman replied, in her beautiful, canorous voice. It had a certain…. charisma to it, but there was more than a hint of a malevolent undertone. Maybe she used to host a cooking show or somesuch. “But it would be a shame if you came quietly. I was looking forward to this part.”

The man shook his head. “You don’t really want to fight us, do you? I don’t want to fight you. I’m technically on leave.”

Lucky guy, he got leave. Theia never got leave. She should really take that up with herself. Maybe after this she’d go and speak to the union, argue that she was never giving herself enough time off.

“Oh, I believe me, I do. I was told to avoid fighting you, but if you’re going to give me such an opportunity,” the lady sighed, ”I guess I’ll oblige you.”

There was a crackle and Theia’s goggles snapped over her eyes as the area filled with a blinding light. Her first thought was that Vox had shot the woman into a strobe light. Once her vision cleared, she was disappointed to find that Laura—Theia thought the woman looked like a Laura—was still standing on the bridge and had not been shot into a conveniently placed nightclub. Three colorful motes of light lazily descended from the sky, giving Theia a strange sense of deja vu. Vox seemed unperturbed by all of this, simply adjusting his glasses as the lights touched down and burst, revealing three more color-coded beings. Red, blue and green cloaks. Probably to differentiate between the sizes.

”Hostiles. Stay close and keep each other in sight.”

Again with the deja vu. Speaking of which.

Theia reached back and changed the audio track to the aforenamed song. The Astra counted out the number of cloaks and smiled, a sneering visage clicking over her face as she looked to her contractor. “So, is it a bit late to ask for a commission rate?”

“Probably,” Vox admitted, pulling a magitech rifle out of thin air. “I’ll let you take the first shot.”

“Tch.” Theia clicked her tongue disapprovingly. Figures that he’d skimp out.

The Four cloaked beings stalked forward they were in the crest of the bridge, effectively blocking it off. Side-by-side they stood motionless, their blades drawn.

Them having the high ground would normally be an issue just by principal, but Laura and her friends seemed to only have swords. And everyone knew that only idiots brought swords to gunfights. Which effectively netted them off. She and Vox were outnumbered though. That wouldn’t normally be a problem, but there were Four of them. That fact alone would probably give them the advantage. Why couldn’t there have been five instead?

To be completely honest, if she’d known that there was going to be a second fight for the death right outside the spectator stands, she might as well have chased the Salamander. Those glittery capes were nice, but reptile skin. Reptile skin!

The Astra smiled to herself just as the music picked up. Raising Indus in her right hand and tipping her hat with her left, The Astra sauntered forward with all eyes on her. There was a bang, and the world exploded with movement.

“Three!”



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