=WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (Full Version)

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Starflame13 -> =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/16/2020 18:57:06)

In the beginning, there was nothing. No sounds. No sights. No stars in the sky, and no life to name them even if there were. And it was to this nothingness that the remaining Pawns were thrust into, alone in the void. Alone, apart from the oppressive weight that pressed in on them from every angle - a weight that carried with it a sense of regard, of consideration. They were being watched.

A rumble shook the core of the world and tore at the fabric of reality itself, bleeding colors across the blank canvas that twisted themselves into disarray, or perhaps simply danced in a pattern beyond comprehension. Light raced in, chased closely by Shadow - or was it the Shadows that paved the way for the Light? Air filled the vacuum, an unpleasant tingling upon the skin even without wind to guide it. The weight of the Presence increased, coalesced, and the Pawns found themselves slammed to their knees upon a new battlefield. A chessboard of black and white, floating in the sea of an unborn nebula. The newest players in the most ancient game.

The Powers had chosen.

Tiles of harsh white and stark black formed a smooth, mirrored surface. Cool to the touch, without a single scratch or speck of dust to mar their perfection. They spoke of Structure. Security. Regulation. Discipline. An unyielding force that promised unity as it called its Knights forward.

Knight of Misery. Life-Taker of Lumen. Bound to the serpent. Rise, Martin Talhmore, and defeat your whispers.

Knight of Crystal. Destroyer of Faith. Thrown from the heavens. Rise, Akordia Truenight, and sate your hunger.

Knight of the Void. Herald of the Abyss. Driven to insanity. Rise, Aleisha, and reclaim your soul.

Knight of Authority. Born of the Flame. Torn from her birthright. Rise, Yura Akabane, and fuel your anger.

“Join me,” called out a single voice, ringing with rich chords and stark harmonies. “Fight in my name, and I will give you purpose. Fight for Order!”

Colors of every shade imaginable: emerald and amber, maroon and marigold, lilac and cerulean and a thousand other shades without name. They rippled across the sky, forming an ever-changing aureole. They spoke of Formlessness. Fluidity. Disruption. Motion. An unpredictable force that promised change as it called forth its Knights.

Knight of Onyx. Wielder of Skyfire. Last of her kind. Rise, Ebriva, Stormcaller, and seek your revenge.

Knight of the River. Chosen by Eythyr. Lost to its waters. Rise, Leaf Which Floats on Raging Currents, and find your answers.

Knight of Hellfire. Disciple of Crizox. Hunted by Demonslayers. Rise, Caeos Essence, and expand your power.

Knight of Steel. Slayer of Spirits. Bereft of her music. Rise, Silence, and earn your peace.

“Join me,” called out a cascade of voices, discordant and beautiful all at once. “Fight in my name, and I will give you freedom. Fight for Chaos!”

The thunder quieted, leaving behind a deafening silence. The Knights stood, facing each other across the First Battlefield. Whether fast friends or reluctant allies, they now shared one common goal, represented by the shining, linked disks - each holding a set of four glowing orbs - that hung suspended high over the battlefield. Tip the Scales. Win the War.



Kellehendros -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/17/2020 23:35:54)

Ebriva panted, hand outflung as the lightning coursed out of her and the right triad went silent. Her vision was patches of roiling color, and her side ached from her sudden landing, but all in all, things could have been worse. Of course, they were going to get worse rather swiftly if she didn’t get back on her feet.

Rolling onto her stomach, the Stormcaller hauled her treacherous rod back into a firm grip and used it as a brace to shove herself back to her feet. Damascus will laugh for a week if I ever tell him about this.. Assuming she survived to do the telling, that is. Blind and running low on mana… The prospects were thin.

Of course, that fact was underlined an instant later as something slammed into Ebriva’s chest, eliciting a gasp of shock as it rocked her back half a step. Arrow? The second hit was a split-second behind it, and then a third, each tracking up and across her chest in an ascending arc. The fourth was a sudden spike of heat that bit into her right shoulder. But it was the fifth that truly scared her. That dart dashed a line of blood and pain across her cheek, drawing a cry from her lips as a sixth whistled by her ear with a malignant whine.

Her staff whipped to the right, a reflexive swing in a fruitless attempt to drive off an attacker the young woman was unable to see. That maneuver only earned her another flash of pain and the uncomfortable sensation of warm blood seeping down her skin beneath the punctured jacket. She was lucky the dart hadn't hit higher.

Had it been Crystal-hair? Dark Hat? She had no way of knowing, only a sense the shots had come - vaguely - from the direction of the melee that had been east of her. Compounding her problem was the fact the hits had obviously consumed what protection her spell of durability had gifted. Which left...

Left triad only. Meaning there was no renewing that protection - not now anyway. The Stormcaller blinked fruitlessly, thoughts churning frantically. None of the others - from what little she had seen - were ranged specialists. That meant the projectiles were only a prelude, the opening salvo. It made sense. She couldn’t see, and a blind mage was a mage ripe for cutting.

There was a dull thud - metal on stone? - to her right, barely audible over the cries that echoed in the battlefield’s distance. Ebriva’s grip on the rod tightened. Whoever it was, they were coming. But was the noise a misstep? A feint? A double-feint? Only the left… Doubt was acid in her throat, dread a chill in her limbs. How could she know what was right when she couldn’t see?

“Right or wrong, you act. That’s what a Stormcaller does. We are agents of change.” Her mother’s voice, steady as the hand she had rested on her daughter’s shoulder when they stood before the fury of the surge. Ebriva had carved those words into her heart as she watched her mother rebuke the storm, turn its rage from the islands and cast it back out to sea. “Right or wrong, you act.”

She swallowed doubt, though its taste was ferrous and vile. She shrugged off dread, though it clawed at her arms as she lifted her staff. She acted, and the last triad went silent.

The Stormcaller dropped the blast of lightning at her own feet. She did not need her eyes to know what her foes would witness: a crackling sphere as large as Ebriva’s doubled fists unraveling into lashing arcs of skyfire. Her ears were unaffected though, and she heard the thunderous crash as the orb detonated, expanding into a cerulean storm four feet across that gathered her up and hurled her away with careless force.

Distantly, disconnectedly, the Stormcaller realized she had lost her staff - again. Her limbs spasmed and jerked as she sailed through the air, trying to process the precise reason not having her rod was such an issue. But it was hard, weightless as she was. And why did everything hurt suddenly? It felt as though her legs had been burned from sitting too long in the sun. Beyond the stench of ozone filling her nostrils was a tingling-numbness in her hands, but there was something else, something important.

Did it have to do with Red Blade? No… That wasn’t it. The chit used a sword, what would she want with Ebriva’s staff? Pushed too hard. Maybe, but it wasn’t exactly like she had been given much choice. The wretch had come at her after all. Come at her again and again. How could the Stormcaller have known the slip of a girl harbored such affection for the Thing? Focus. Need to concentrate.

Or was it Dark Hat? He had a sword too, so he couldn’t use her rod. Besides, it was rude to take someone’s things without asking first. Over-extended… That was true, but Ebriva had cut in on his duel with Crystal-hair. He might object to that. But that didn’t mean he could just help himself to her weapon. She needed that for… Well, she knew that she needed it for something, even if she couldn’t put a finger on exactly what that was right now.

The Stormcaller’s consciousness fractured as she came down hard, crashing to the hardpack and rolling several times. A groan wheezed out of the young woman as she came to a stop, staring blankly up at the bloody moon in the sky. At the edge of her slowly returning vision she could just make out the band of fire describing one of the field’s dividing rings, like some burnt orange aurora.

Father said he would take us, some day… North of north, that was what he had called it. Into the mountains where the dwarves carved the clanhomes and prized gemstones from the deep bones of the earth. North, where winter gripped the peaks tighter than a miser clutched his coin purse, where the aurora danced among the celestial lights. Ebriva knew her mind was wandering, but at the moment her gaze was on the heavens above, on the hazy, twinkling motes set against the backdrop of night.

When was the last time she had stopped to watch the stars?

She tried to think, but her concentration was scattered by a rising wail from the chorus of pained voices. The Stormcaller shivered, feeling a chill sink its teeth into her bones as the aurora-fire went out. Smoke, choking and obscuring, billowed up from the extinguished rings, rising to snuff out the distant lights. She lifted a hand, reaching for the last fading star. “Don’t go…”


“I never left, child.”

Ebriva came up with a gasp, nearly tumbling off the edge of the bed and onto the floor of slate tiles below. She looked around wildly, heart pounding in her chest as her mismatched eyes flicked left and right. The room was empty of other people, but it was filled with memories.

A battered dresser, one of its legs replaced with a wood block after the Stormcaller had been practicing one night, late and unsupervised. Mother had sentenced her to a week of kitchen duty afterward. Father had laughed so hard that mother had said he would be spending the week scrubbing pots too.

A chair assembled from bits of driftwood, surprisingly comfortable in spite of its irregular shape. She and her mother had picked the pieces up as they combed the beach at low tide, while the older Stormcaller had explained the finer points of reading weather patterns in the wind. Later in the evening, father had gathered up the flotsam and announced he would make something of it. Neither mother nor daughter had known what to think of that until the strangle-looking seat had been produced nearly a week later.

A chest of dark wood, polished until it fairly gleamed, bound with new bands of leather and scrolled silver buckles. She had gotten it from her mother when her training had started. The young woman knew without having to open it that inside would be waterproofed compartments for scrolls, herbs, and half a dozen different implements that might prove useful on a sea voyage. Her mother had told her once that all she needed to be a Stormcaller was her will and a view of the sky, but she also allowed that tools came in handy now and then.

There was more. Scattered books, odds and ends, old forgotten toys, even the crib that had once held her - and Damascus in turn - before they had outgrown it. Oh, how she had complained when mother and father had moved it back into her room, but they had only shared a look, a smile, and told her sometimes life wasn’t fair. It was all here, the bric-a-brac of everyday living, of a place that she had not seen since… since...

“In truth, it was you who left.”

Ebriva ignored the voice as she rose, pacing towards the far wall. She reached out, felt the texture of silk between her fingers, and with a slow, considering motion pulled the cloth back. The drapery - a blue as clear and guileless as Forget-Me-Nots - peeled back to expose not stone but open air. The young woman drew in a sharp breath, her eyes roving over the vista of forest, lagoon, and beach that spread out before her, and the distant glimpse of a storm building, black against the horizon. “Whillo. The temple.”

“The Temple Without Walls.” Her unseen companion commented, though when the Stormcaller glanced over her shoulder she was surprised to see that was no longer the case. The man was seated on the bed she had just left, one hand running over the quilt as he examined the faded geometric patterns woven into the counterpane. He looked up, his features regular - handsome even - beneath black hair that was cropped shorter than any style Ebriva had seen before. His skin was dark, nearly chestnut, but his eyes…

His eyes were utterly inhuman, or was it that they were too human? For an instant the Stormcaller had a reeling sense of intense vertigo, as if she was seeing herself through the man’s eyes. But it wasn’t her, it was… it was hers. Not one Ebriva, but a hundred, a thousand, a thousand thousand, and all of them were staring back at her.

The next thing she knew she was on her knees, gripping the edge of the floor and retching out into the open air. He was standing almost solicitously behind her, holding back her hair as everything she had ever possibly considered eating made good its escape from her stomach. “Sorry, sorry,” the man muttered, lightly touching the back of her neck with chill fingers as the young woman shook, “I forget what it’s like sometimes.”

“I wish,” she spat, trying to clear the taste of bile from her mouth, “you would remember.” She slowly sat back on her heels, casting a sidelong glance at her visitor. He was dressed very similarly to her, though his ensemble was all black, but for a pale blue design - a circle of box jellyfish - picked out on his chest. “It hasn’t been that long, Syne.”

“So you do recall.”

“The One Between. The jellyfish. It wasn’t that hard once I thought about it. Besides,” she invested as much scorn into the question as she could manage, “can you forget a god?”

“Yes, you can,” he rejoined, though a faint expression of sadness crossed his face. “I am sorry, Asa’s daughter. Whether or not you believe me, we are all sorry.”

“Is that why you brought me here, to apologize?” Ebriva stood, sweeping a hand out towards the island spreading out below. “Because this is a funny way of doing it.”

“I suppose it is.”

“What in the Tempest does that mean?”

Syne sighed, walking back to the bed and sitting again. He seemed fascinated by the patterns of the young woman’s old bedspread, tracing a finger along them slowly. “Ebriva, and I use that name only because you will hear no other, there are things out there that are older and stronger than dragons.” Looking up, his gaze met hers, though this time - thankfully - it seemed perfectly human; there was no dizzying shatter of perspective and self, “older and stronger, even, than gods.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He shrugged. “You don’t have to. Even I don’t have to, not really. Suffice to say that… There are Greater Powers at play in these matters. Powers who have conscripted you to fight on their behalf.”

The Stormcaller crossed her arms over her chest. “Let’s say I accept that, even if it is insane. What’s your stake in this?”

“You, daughter of Asa.”

She stiffened. “Me. Me? Don’t make me be sick again, Syne. If you’re so interested in me, where were you when my mother died? Where was Cerrai when her ‘chosen’ was stabbed in the back?” The air around her crackled, and Ebriva took a step forward, hands balling into fists as they fell to her sides. “Where were you when Earlon had my father flayed and branded with Kenal’s hammer?”

Syne’s eyes closed for a moment, and the space around him seemed to darkle, as if the light - no, as if reality itself - was condensing around him. But it was only for an instant. He sighed and stood, looking at the young woman with an expression of fathomless compassion. “I loved your father. I loved him as the gift I never thought to find, a pearl of immeasurable price. Cerrai loved your mother no less, and though you grieve us, we love you.”

“For all the good it’s done,” she said bitterly.

“Love, Ebriva, is the strongest thing there is. And though you don’t believe me, I am sorry.”

“You’re right, I don’t.” The Stormcaller turned away, looking back out over the distant horizon, where lightning chained among the coal black thunderheads.

Syne was silent for a while, watching Ebriva as she watched the far-off storm. “Can I give you some advice?”

“Can I stop you?”

He smiled. “It’s time for you to decide what you want.”

She glanced over her shoulder, annoyed. “That’s it? Cosmic wisdom, nigh infinite power. The best you have is ‘decide what you want’?”

His smile was positively radiant, and the young woman felt his laughter in her bones. “Ah, I have missed this…” He shrugged and shook his head. “Love and loss are part of being human, Ebriva.” Syne’s gaze tracked by her, towards the beach below. “This is the part where you tell me that’s a raw deal, that I don’t know the first thing about any of this.”

“Do you?”

“I have missed this.” He looked back at her, his smile touched with sadness. “Love set fire to the stars, daughter of Roshan.”

The Stormcaller inhaled sharply. No one had called her that in a long time. Not since she had become what she was. As a girl she had been Roshan’s daughter, until the power had woken within her. After that, the islanders had only ever seen her as her mother’s child. “Syne, I…”

He lifted a hand, still looking at her with that terrible understanding. “Sometimes, we know just what to say. Sometimes, we don’t. The key, I have found, is to know when it is better to say nothing at all.”

Ebriva bit her lip, turning away. It was easier to look at the storm than the room behind her. She could silence the memories if she couldn't see them. “Say your say, Syne. I know it isn’t over yet.”

He smiled gently at her back, and nodded. “The line between vengeance and justice is perilously thin, child. Watch your step.”

For a long time the Stormcaller was silent, watching the dance of wind and wave as the tempest drew nearer and nearer the temple. “Tell Cerrai,” she started, only to hesitate and begin again. “Tell Cerrai that… I forgive her.”

And she stepped off the edge.


Ebriva fell.

She fell, and the world warped. The wind howled. The ocean roared. The earth rumbled.

Lightning split the sky, blue-white and intense as the heart of a star.

The young woman was blind again; tumbling still, though all logic dictated she should have dashed herself to the ground below by now. Whillo’s temple was only four stories tall, and her childhood room had been on the third floor. Yet still she fell, and the sound around her faded; the light dwindled, until she was the only speck of something in a vast and empty nothing.

And suddenly it was filled with everything.

Light. Color. Sound. Sensation.

Existence came screaming back in an overwhelming rush of everything that was beyond the ability of her mind to process. Ebriva felt like a cup, a vessel overflowing as more and more and more and more poured into her, around her, through her. Above it all, somehow explicable from the madness of the maelstrom was a Voice, the Watcher she had suspected.

-Little Skycaller, you are not enough.-

The Stormcaller screamed, or thought she did. There were too many sounds, a cacophony of birds and beasts, tornadoes and earthquakes, whispers and shouts, a melange of noise swallowing up whatever utterance she might have made.

-Be not afraid. You can be more.-

Light smeared as the young woman felt the Voice like a tuning fork struck against her bones. Her eyes vibrated in their sockets as they were assaulted by alien vistas, landscapes aflame, buildings constructed of impossible geometry. Tears cut her cheeks like blades.

-You will be more.-

Pressure, sudden, crushing and unforgiving. Everything and nothing wailed through her mind in frenetic cycles as the agony of the Watcher’s attention burned through her like the purest stroke of unending lightning.

And then she was free, pinwheeling through psychedelic cosmos of half-glimpsed maybes while knowledge burned like a brand in her skull.

Of course… Of course, it's so simple! Giddy joy crashed through her like breakers on the shore. How could I not have realized it before?

Ebriva slammed to the ground like a meteor from the heavens, feeling the shock of impact up through her knees to the crown of her skull. Her heart hammered in her chest and her lungs struggled to draw breath as the Voices rang around her, cut through her. She heard, but the names meant little in the face of her personal exultation.

Her rod was in her hands, and the Stormcaller used it to push herself to her feet. Beneath her boots the onyx tile returned her reflection flawlessly. To her left was an alabaster tile, to her right was empty void - nothing of consequence. It was the gathering across this Chequered Field that drew her notice.

At her hips, the triads - all three - sang to life, shouting their triumph, their truth. For so long, Ebriva had thought only of lightning, of skyfire and thunder.

But a storm was the confluence of energy and earth, of wind and water. And those elements danced to her will.

She was not a Stormcaller.

She was the Storm.



Chewy905 -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/18/2020 19:30:28)

Silence’s blade crushed through the Serpent’s defense, the water having drowned his spirit and overwhelmed his resolve. She moved to follow through, ready to strike down the flames of Rage within these Hallowed waters, but stopped short. No matter how hard she tried, she could not will her ghostly form into the stream.

And she was out of time.

As the pull on her eye strengthened and overcame her, a cry rang out over the glade. Joy and terror and pain coalescing in a single voice that called out, bringing forth whipping, furious winds that churned the cursed waters. Silence’s phantasmal body was yanked from the ground by her eye, and dragged through the chaotic winds as the stars above fell, plunging her world into blackness.



She stood, alone, in a quiet wooden home. Cool moonlight shone through the open windows, casting an ethereal glow on the wooden floorboards. Beneath the hearth sat a blade. Sonata’s blade. Unsheathed, its silver reflecting the gentle light. Her two eyes looked past it, to the erhu that rested against the wall. Its wooden curves had collected dust, months of loneliness and silence taking its toll on the once gorgeous instrument. Steadily, quietly, she stepped over discarded steel to the neglected erhu, and took it and its bow up in her hands.

She sat before her brother’s blade, propped the instrument up on her leg, and began to play. A song of loss. A song of memory. Beautiful, flowing notes that sang with tales of gold-lit fields and gentle streams. Waters that held terrifying mysteries. Men with serpents that danced along their bodies. Women of wood and grass, commanding the earth. Pirates and demons and fiery birds of prey. The music echoed around the house, filling it with Melody after such a long period of Silence.

As she played, she cried. Tears flowed from her once dead eye, sliding down the left side of her face and curling around her jawline, wiping away the wound that marred her. The water joined together and grew, drawing a shimmering veil up to mask her face once more as her sight faded. The water turned to blackened silk, and the tears stopped flowing. But her song continued. A sonata for the one she had lost.

His blade rose from the ground. It spun through the air, spiraling and turning as a formless spirit danced round the small house to the ongoing tune. The sword stopped before the musician and vanished, leaving behind naught but a shadow and a shimmer in the air. A chill enveloped the girl, a loving arm encircling her as she played the ghost’s instrument. She smiled.

Peace.


But she knew it was not to last. She knew there was still more for her to do. Whatever forces had tossed her to the glade still had a grasp on her. The flames of Rage still burned, and the village still lacked a protector. A protector that she was not yet ready to be. She finished her song and set aside Sonata’s erhu as blackness pressed into her from all sides.



The void, for all the nothingness it should have been, was not peaceful. Silence could feel the eyes. They watched her, out of sight, pushing their infinite weight against her from all sides, all angles. Light split the darkness, bringing with it a gale that cut across Silence’s skin and pulled a gasp from her lungs. The eyes pushed on her harder, and she stared back at them.

I feel you. I see you. Show me why I am here.

Her answer came with a show of force, pushing her to her knees onto a board of black and white amidst an empty sky. A chessboard. She was a piece, then. A pawn in the hands of a greater power.

The tiles below were to be her battlefield, a semblance of order, neat squares in neat rows. Structure. Security. Discipline. Order. Purpose. A purpose Sonata had, that Silence could never take up. To take up his purpose, without him at her side, was to abandon her peace.

A single voice called out, announcing names, titles, and purposes. Only one stood out to the girl.

Knight of Misery. Life-Taker of Lumen. Bound to the serpent. Rise, Martin Talhmore, and defeat your whispers.

He rose, across the board. The serpent man. The Rage touched. Martin Talhmore. Silence’s blind eye ached beneath her mask. She would pay him back.

A cascade of voices stole her attention from her anger. It was discordant and beautiful, almost making Silence want to burst into song with it. It too, called out names, titles, and purposes.

Ebriva, a slim woman with a crimson sash round her waist.

Leaf Which Floats on Raging Currents, the elven women with purple hair from the glade. Around her feet pooled gentle puddles, perhaps waters from the glades rivers themselves.

Caeos Essence, a man in a long coat and hat, armed with an odd blade.

Knight of Steel. Slayer of Spirits. Bereft of her music. Rise, Silence, and earn your peace.

And rise she did. The sky above seized her, lifting her gently from her knees to her feet. Twisting, beautiful colors and shades shifted and rippled to form sights she could never imagine. Formlessness. Fluidity. Motion. They spoke of music. They spoke of the ever-flowing dance of combat. And they spoke of Silence. Chaos. Freedom. This was why she was here.

Earn your peace, it had said. The peace that would come after she won this war. But, in the bloodshed of the Hallowed Grounds, she had also found peace, if only for a moment. The peace of combat, of fighting for your life with no time to consider anything else. She would find it here, too, and ride its wave to victory or death.

“Leaf which Floats on Raging Currents and Lady Silence.” A voice, in a hissing, penetrating breath. The shadow-garbed, pain-taught caution tinting his words. “Tell me quickly: what are the snake tattooed fellow and the Void Knight capable of?”

Silence considered for a moment, as the elf answered, with no information. After gathering her thoughts, Silence spoke up. “Beware the serpent’s black scales, and do not underestimate his prowess. But…” Her voice hardened into iron resolve. “Leave him to me.”

She turned to the elven woman, who had commanded the very earth.

“Launch me.” Silence said with a whispery, confident voice.

The woman, unperturbed, smiled and nodded. There was a hint of sadness in it, but her eyes shone with respect and determination. Silence returned just a hint of a smile, and the elf drove her staff downwards. As Silence turned back to her foes, the ground beneath instantly responded, driving forwards and up. Silence was hurled through the air with surprising force.

Alien wind rushed past her, chilling her skin and deafening her ears as she held back her elation at the feeling of flight. Her grey eye stayed locked on a single point. Martin Talhmore. At the apex of her arc, she released a hissing whisper. A challenge and a promise, heard only by herself and the chaotic sky above.

“Serpent Bearer. My eye for yours.”



roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/19/2020 0:10:13)

Pinned by the Phoenix at last. Eythyr’s kiss evaporated from her skin in an instant. Her staff was gone, her Pearl was too slow. The water’s chosen would meet her end in flames.

But the earth was stirring. She felt it before it happened- the whispers among the flowers, the rippling of the waters beside them. In one breath, the energy around them pulsed outward, still air becoming a vicious storm. The Phoenix took flight in the rushing winds. Leaf knew she would never find her again. I hope you find your healing, pretty Ariella.

As for Leaf herself… her view of the other combatants was completely obstructed now. It was just her, and Eythyr beside her. Did you save me again? But she heard no response as the waves rocked towards her. They crashed against her body, pulling her from the earth and back into the river’s grasp in one motion. She heard the raging winds of the storm, the splash of the water, and then nothing more, all noise dulled by Eythyr’s cold embrace.

The current’s anger was lessened here, underneath its surface. She opened her eyes to watch as the darkness began to give way to light. It refracted around her in tiny rainbows, coming from below, revealing the secrets of the river’s depths. Not rocks, but trees, rose up to brush against the floating elf. Trees and leaves, at the bottom of the river? She had never sensed anything like that before. Where was she? She watched as the current blew their leaves, and one broke from its branch and drifted towards her. It swam with her for a moment, seemingly floating towards the surface before halting abruptly, and turning back towards the depths to rejoin its brothers. Her eyes followed it, noticing other things beginning to rise from the jungle beneath. Fish, wolves, deer, all sorts of animals floating through the river below her. How did they breathe? She spotted long flowing hair, too, the hair of elves. Her tribe, walking along in the water as if it were air. Leaf was baffled. She could tell this was important. But whatever was going on, she failed to understand any of it.

Quiet laughter, directly in her ear. “Silly elf. The answer is right in front of you.”

Em. She heard the voice as if it was right next to her, whispering in her ear. But when she turned, her eyes found nothing but water. Water water water, when was this stream going to end? She was frustrated now, tired of this useless demonstration. She had better things to be doing than swimming around marveling at an underwater forest. The voice came again, through her other ear this time, and more annoying. “You stupid woman. You cannot search for truth if your eyes are closed.” If her eyes were closed? Her eyes were wide open now! That’s what that battle had been for!

But Leaf’s wide open eyes didn’t see the boulder as it rose from the water and launched itself right into her chest.

She felt herself fading. Right from where the rock hit, she was dissolving, her body becoming droplets of water which flew with the current until they were indistinguishable from it.

No! She wasn’t done here. She still had so much more of her life to give, so much more to learn and explore. She pulled at the river with all of her might, forcing the pieces of her back together until her body shot upwards, out of the sea and onto the hard ground beside her.

She landed on her knees and coughed violently, water spraying from her mouth onto onyx stone as she struggled for breath. Something was choking her, pushing on her airways, forcing water into her lungs. She gagged, and the mass dislodged, a shining white pearl falling from her mouth onto the black floor. Leaf watched, petrified, as the pearl rolled forward, knocking against a familiar wooden staff which sat, completely dry, in front of her. Are you… telling me to fight again?"

”Spheres roll. Maybe that’s all it is.”

Still dazed, Leaf thought she heard a whisper, but its words quickly faded from her mind. Just a delusion. Nothing meant by it. She brought her breathing back down and stood to her feet, Eythyr's waters creating small puddles beneath her. Finally, she could marvel at the world around her. The floors were like that of the mystery city. Midnight alternating with marble, cold hard stone dissolving into nothingness on each side of the board. There were others here, too. Leaf looked around, trying to find each one as a booming voice called their names. Some, she recognized from the flowered battlefield. None she knew from more than a glimpse. And none were Ariella. Leaf couldn’t tell whether that was good or bad.

The voices called her name, too, and in it she heard every human and elf she had ever come across. And so many more. “Knight of the River. Chosen by Eythyr. Lost to its waters. Rise, Leaf Which Floats on Raging Currents, and find your answers.”

So there are answers to be found.

But, she wasn’t lost to its waters. Not yet. Not until she’d finished what Emilia had started.

“Join me,” called out a cascade of voices, discordant and beautiful all at once. “Fight in my name, and I will give you freedom. Fight for Chaos!”

Oh. Well, that answered one of her questions.

Chaos. She’d fought for chaos her whole life. Nature was chaos, uncontrolled, free. Humans tried to impose order, to manipulate the earth and force it to behave. She spent her life protecting the forest’s chaos, pushing away those that wished to change it, to control and use it for their own selfish means. Emilia was the only human who could accept the chaos, and even then, she was lost to it. Perhaps that was the only answer that was needed. But for her love’s sake, she would find understanding.

There was a man clad in black standing near to her- the only man on the side of Chaos, it seemed. This must be Caeos Essence, then. Ironic. He held a rather ugly weapon at his side, a twisted mimic of a corpse. Leaf shuddered, hoping it wasn’t real. His lips formed a harsh whisper. “Leaf Which Floats on Raging Currents and Lady Silence, tell me quickly: what are the snake tattooed fellow and the Void Knight capable of?”

Leaf looked towards the other side of the board, noting the two Caeos must be referring to. She recognized both of them, barely. From the battlefield at the heart of the river. “I don’t know,” Leaf admitted. The words still felt funny on her lips. “I was fighting someone else. But they were on my field.”

“Beware the serpent’s black scales, and do not underestimate his prowess. But, leave him to me.”

A girl’s voice. A voice like hers.

It was darker, flatter. But Leaf could hear hints of life in it. Of a melody unsung, filled with love, filled with pain. A melody forced into silence by its singer. For what? You should let it sing… Emilia was always so beautiful when she sang.

Leaf turned to get a closer look at the speaker, and was met with an echo of the love she had lost. Despite differences, Leaf still saw hints of the human she used to know. Dark hair, turning to gray with age- though, this girl still looked rather young. A cloth mask covered one eye, perhaps the remnants of an injury? But the second eye was striking, a murky gray, darkened by leagues of pain. Perhaps they once held color- a green, like Em’s. But even void of color, they held a spark of determination, and the knowledge and acceptance of an impending death. All emotions Leaf had seen, and never been able to understand.

“Launch me.”

She intended to waste no time, then. Again, Leaf felt a pain in her chest, a wish for them to have met under different circumstances. Leaf gave the woman a smile, praying for her luck (and Leaf's own luck) in the battle to come. And a nod, an understanding of her eagerness. Hopefully, Silence could see the respect and sadness in the gestures. With one swift motion, Leaf drove her staff into the checkered ground below, detaching her Pearl and issuing a request. A pull on the ivory stone below Silence’s feet. It responded instantly, giving in to her call as if already expecting it. Almost like something more sentient was behind the tiles. It was choosing to open the door for her, curious to see what she’d do once she’d entered. She had overexerted her force, expecting to meet more resistance from the land beneath. Leaf stifled a flinch, worrying she would throw Silence off balance, but the girl flew towards their enemies with no sign of being fazed by the thrust. Such a daring move, so early… she had a confidence Leaf had never felt. And Leaf hoped desperately that she had not just sent Silence to her death.

As she watched the girl fly, Leaf found the source of the tug she’d been feeling ever since she landed. Above them flowed a sea of rainbow, colors shining bright and dim twining together in an endless dance. Leaf felt it calling to her, a connection so familiar, and yet utterly strange. Each string of color sounded a different voice, but they flowed together as one. Chaos was… a river.

It was Eythyr.



ChaosRipjaw -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/19/2020 8:40:29)


Location: Battlefield Hell--- no wait, what??
Time: Does the concept of time even have a meaning anymore?
Situation: The absence of pain is a surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.
Phase: 1. Strange


The past few days had been the strangest in his life, and Crizox knew that as Grand Master, he had seen a great many strange things in the ages he had lived. Little did he know, the day was about to become even stranger still.

Chaos Essence had been in the middle of a leap, ready to bring down his Sliiker on the head of the Stormcaller. At that moment, the scales hung in balance --- would she take the bait and fire at the discarded revolver or the sudden mutated monster, or would she recover and blast him out of the sky?

He would probably never know. The first instant, he was swooping down on his prey; the next he landed on the pavement of---

The Chequered City . . . again?

Caeos landed in a kneeling position as easily as though he had planned to all along. Yet behind his calm facade of his white irises, his mind swirled in confusion.

His armor was gone, vanished once again below his familiar shirt and long coat, the space-manipulation spell active once again. His hat rested on his head as though it had never left --- his Sliiker was sheathed although he had clearly been holding it in his right hand. He felt a slight bulge on his side, which meant that the revolver had been returned. Much to his relief --- and shock --- was that his injuries had all seemingly vanished as though he had never suffered them in the first place. Similarly, not a patch of leather was out of place.

Caeos breathed. It felt good to be able to breathe normally again, without the burns and the stab wound throbbing incessantly. Slowly the details came back to him: in the middle of his descent, the fires had suddenly extinguished. Silence had fallen like a heavy curtain, and a chill sliced through the air where there had once been heat. A portal opened up in the air and he had fallen through, concluding in his current destination.

The good news: he had (literally) made it through Hell, and survived.

The bad news: he was back in the Chequered City. Which meant that he could not escape.



Location: The Chequered City Tavern
Time: A few minutes later. Or maybe hours. Possibly days.
Situation: Calm


Once again, Caeos found himself at the bar of the tavern he had uncreatively dubbed “the Chequered City Tavern.” It hardly mattered to him how flowery the description was; he much preferred the tavern’s quiet atmosphere compared to say, Kishlov’s Gambling Palace, which was a raucous cesspool of debauchery and decadence. The same bartender stood nearby, once again ready to attend to all his needs. He’d tried ordering the wildest and most obscure dishes and liquor he could think of; the tavern had served them all, and flawlessly at that.

In this unknown amount of time, aside from the bartender’s company, he had been alone with his thoughts and memories.

The Little Rogue.
Quite the curious fellow; one would have thought it were a familiar similar to the kind the Jadedaomon Nalion or the Blinded Princess would use. One that could speak and was quite intelligent as well --- a more apt comparison would be to the cat-like Ezuoju who he was told followed the Deathking. The monster that had attempted to crush him into the dirt was probably the same creature; he now recalled seeing that it had had its ear burned off in the same way.

He had not recognized its species. The realm that the Chequered City resides does not exist in my own universe . . . Perhaps it came from a different plane of existence.

Yura Akabane.
Formerly referred to as the “Red Girl,” Yura was the only combatant who he knew the name of. He had not gotten a chance to speak to nor fight her directly. Now that he had time to think, he could vaguely recall a phrase that fit the word “Yoros.” His Truthspeaker often said the natives of the Island Nation would say yoroshiku onegaishimasu, a phrase roughly analogous to “pleased to meet you.” The more he thought about it, the more likely this was what she had intended to say.

Still, if he had engaged in a full-blown conversation with her, he would have been totally lost. Once again he mourned the lost opportunity to strike at the Island Nation; he’d heard particularly of one individual, the Argent Wolf, Inari Anbau, of whom rumors claimed to be a spectacular swordswoman. But surely despite Yura’s (apparent) age, he would have come across some news of a fire-resistant swordswoman who could throw flaming, exploding lances.

The idea that they had been drawn from different planes of existence sounded more and more plausible by the moment.

The Stormcaller.
The lightning caster had almost been the death of him at least three times. It was truly a tragedy to have been blocked from the Kyuinshengan; the Eye of Typhon, the Great Horde, the Mind’s Deadly Shadow was anathema to all spellcasters, and would have made short work of her.

If he got back alive, he would have to look into Eveningsong’s archives to discern her origins, though with the theory of alternate realities existing, he doubted he would find anything.

Lightning was always dangerous to play around with. During his battle with Hollow Lake, the Eastern Emperor had masterfully channeled the lightning from the sky down into his [i[Wuchang Dao --- the Impermanence Dao --- and reflected it into his opponent.

Caeos had barely survived the attack if not for his quick thinking; he’d “blocked” with the Sliiker, but had released it at the last second. The lightning strike had hit the sword and blown it into his chest. Nowadays, he’d learned to repel lightning using the Malevolent Aura. Unfortunately, with the Aura only a fraction of its original power, the Stormcaller had held a significant advantage over him.

The Nightcrystal.
She had been a powerful, deadly opponent. Not only did she control crystal as though she were an elemental; she could generate acid and heat as well. Acid that was strong enough to nullify the blood of the Sliiker. Upon closer analysis, he had never really gotten a chance to go toe-to-toe against her. Every time they had traded blows, a third opponent had intervened, separating them.

Briefly, he flashed back to the sight of her citrine gaze and black lips. If he disregarded her killing intent and the needle-sharp crystals she seemed so keen on throwing toward him, she would actually be quite the beauty, albeit a severe, unhappy one. He wondered what had happened in her past. In his experience, his most significant opponent who was based on crystals had been Penemue, the Remain Guardian, Watcher of the Written Word. One of the Armiger Guardian Angels, she had telekinetically wielded crystals, using them both as weapons and as focus points for energy blasts.

Unlike Penemue, the Nightcrystal did not use crystals due to imprisonment.

Thinking about Penemue and the Armiger Guardian Angels brought his thoughts to Sariel Shadowlight, the Relic Guardian, the Xi Wai, the Eagle that Wields a Snake. Also probably his greatest ancient enemy.

Sariel . . .
The mental image of Sariel’s pale face and crimson eyes made his stomach twist. It was Sariel who had spearheaded the rebellion that halted the unstoppable tide that was the Second Campaign. It was Sariel who had faced him multiple times, directly, and lived through all of them.

Thinking of Sariel and being in a tavern made him flash back to one particularly violent encounter. His fist clenched almost unconsciously. Like the others, in that particular duel he had not gone all out. Neither had Sariel. It was almost an unspoken rule for fighters of his and Sariel’s calibre to not use full power, lest one of them perish.

In the current day, Sariel lived still. From the scant news he could receive in the Northern Mountains, he had heard that Sariel was now one of the “Invincible Five” of the mainland, the Xi Wai --- the Western Outsider --- along with Deathking Rukan Shikura, the Northern Ghost; Golden Dragoneye Long Shewang, the Southern Nomad; Lord Osprey Hollow Lake, the Eastern Emperor; and the crazed, strange Qing Liu, the Central Exile.

All five were exceedingly powerful warriors, undoubtedly as strong as he was. However, even though he had fought one-on-one with Hollow Lake, and perhaps exchanged blows with the others, none really pricked his side as much as Sariel.

The few spies left from the Disciples planted within the ranks of the Demonslayers --- as well as sleeper agents hidden within the Shadowed --- told him that although Sariel was quite the recluse, he still maintained contact with the Demonslayer Order. Undoubtedly, the Eagle was still hunting his prey now.

It had been quite the bravado to base the True Disciples in the Northern Mountains, a bare distance away from the concealed Death God Mountain of the Northern Ghost. It was only a matter of time until Sariel discovered the Black Pagoda; and once he did, Caeos had no doubt Sariel would immediately gather forces to strike. Unfortunately if he decided to strike now while the Grand Master was away---

His heart lurched slightly as he thought about his Truthspeaker and the Grand Mistress. The Third Master, the One-Eyed Swordsman, was a very capable commander, but even he would not be able to weather a direct assault by Sariel and his Demonslayers.

I’ll come back for you.

But for now, all he could do was wait.



Location: The Chequered City Tavern
Time: At least a day later.
Situation: Revelation


Caeos sat bolt upright, cursing himself for his stupidity. Why hadn’t he thought of this earlier?
“Bartender,” he ordered. “Find someone in the city who is willing to make six bullets for me.”
“Yes sir,” she answered immediately. “Of course, it would be most helpful if you were to provide the model of your firearm.”
“And you shall have it.” He drew the Demonic Revolver from its holster, flipping it so the handle faced the bartender. She took it with both hands and retreated.

Some time later, she returned. “As ordered, six bullets for your firearm,” she said pleasantly, sliding the Revolver back across the bar.
Caeos took it and flipped the hinge. He pulled out one of the “bullets.”
“What in tarnation are these things?” he asked, seemingly calmly, but there was a noticeable simmering of anger under his tone. He held up what would have looked like a bullet from a distance, but any marksman would have realized from closer inspection that it was just a stone perfectly carved into the shape of one.
“Your bullets sir,” the bartender replied, her tone perfectly reflecting appropriately chastised subservience. “Unfortunately in this city, we were unable to procure proper ammunition and gunpowder.”
“This Revolver doesn’t necessarily require ammo made from cursed steel and daemonic souls,” Caeos said, the shadow of a snarl coloring his tone. “It can fire ordinary bullets just fine.”
“I understand sir,” the bartender answered. “However, we are unable to procure such ammunition.”
Caeos didn’t reply. He grabbed his glass of Gaul scotch and flicked his wrist, sending it sliding down the bar. With his gun hand, he lazily aimed and fired.
There was a terrific thunderclap as the glass shattered.
“Then again,” Caeos said calmly. “I suppose I can make do.”
Without even blinking, he raised the Revolver again and fired.
Right at the bartender’s head.
The force of the bullet knocked her back into the rows of glasses and bottles behind her, sending them all crashing to the floor.

In the blink of an eye, they were all back to normal as though nothing had happened, not a glass out of place.
The bullet had made a considerable dent in her forehead, but that was about it.

Caeos sighed in exasperation, handing the revolver back to the bartender. “Please get this thing filled out again.”
“As ordered,” she said pleasantly, without any sign that she had noticed she had just been shot in the face.

Caeos sat back in his seat. There could only be one reason why he was still trapped in the Chequered City. Soon, he would be called to battle again.



Location: Unknown
Time: Why do I even bother.
Situation: Not again.
Phase: 1


Caeos suddenly woke, but this time he was not taken unaware.

Before the Universe, before Time, before even Void and Chaos, there was only one thing.

He was suspended in a void. There was . . . nothing. No sound, no sight, no light. He could not see any parts of himself. It was like transforming into a manifestation of the darkness . . . if he discounted the strange oppressive weight that rivaled even the Malevolent Aura at its full power.

It was not the weight of silence. He had endured a similar scrutiny before, when trapped in the Blinded Princess’s maze, only this was unimaginably more powerful. It was the feeling of being watched.

The strange silence lasted for an instant, or maybe an eternity. A great rumble shook the universe that was the darkness, and he felt it reverberating through his bones. Colors abruptly filled the black, and light with them. Quite suddenly he could feel air pass over him, making him wonder how he had survived without an atmosphere protecting him in the first place.

The pressure built up, and the next thing he knew, he was slammed down to his knees on---

A chessboard of black and white.

The field was of limited space; beyond the large white and black tiles, there was only blackness. He had no doubt that he would fall off the edge if he slipped. Above this chessboard floated what could be called an aurora borealis, but the number of colors were far too many to count.

He tried to rise but found that he could not. From the depths of his soul, he could hear the voices.

The first voice called out, neither male nor female.
Knight of Misery. Life-Taker of Lumen. Bound to the serpent. Rise, Martin Talhmore, and defeat your whispers.
As soon as this statement concluded, Caeos noted movement on the other side of the field. The one who had moved could only be one Martin Tahlmore. He was pale as snow, but unlike Sariel, it looked as though he were stricken by some blood sickness. His entire chest was exposed, and Caeos noted with interest the snake tattoos across his body.

Knight of Crystal. Destroyer of Faith. Thrown from the heavens. Rise, Akordia Truenight, and sate your hunger.
Caeos’s gaze flicked to the second person. So, this was the Nightcrystal, or rather, Akordia Truenight. A name as beautiful as her face, and also as deadly. Once again, they were enemies on the battlefield.
Destroyer of Faith, thrown from the heavens . . . how curious. It looked as though his question about her past had been answered.

Knight of the Void. Herald of the Abyss. Driven to insanity. Rise, Aleisha, and reclaim your soul.
Caeos’ blood turned to ice. A Void Knight.
In his world, there were also Void manifestations, and they were all incredibly deadly. As Grand Master, he could make short work of Voids, but he had never truly engaged one with only the Malevolent Aura and the Hellwind Swordplay. Without the Land Reforming Skill or the Kyuinshengan---
This is bad.

Knight of Authority. Born of the Flame. Torn from her birthright. Rise, Yura Akabane, and fuel your anger.
So his suspicions were not wrong: her name was Yura Akabane and from the sound of her titles, she was indeed very closely linked to fire.

“Join me,” it called out, ringing with rich chords and stark harmonies. “Fight in my name, and I will give you purpose. Fight for Order!”

He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did.
They were the enemy.

The voice, or rather, voices continued, in a chorus.
Knight of Onyx. Wielder of Skyfire. Last of her kind. Rise, Ebriva, Stormcaller, and seek your revenge.
Caeos flinched imperceptibly. First off, he had not expected that the mage he had mentally dubbed the “Stormcaller” actually was referred to as the Stormcaller. Second, this was the same mage he had been about to kill.
The same mage who had taken down practically everyone in Hellfire with ease.
However, this time the situation was different. Once again, he wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did, without doubt.
She was on his side.
A surprise to be sure, but a welcome one.

Knight of the River. Chosen by Eythyr. Lost to its waters. Rise, Leaf Which Floats on Raging Currents, and find your answers.
Leaf Which Floats on Raging Currents was quite the name. Her skin was dark olive, hair with a misty purple tint, and eyes as blue as the clean waters of the Spotted Koi River. She wore a long emerald dress and carried only a wooden staff. Her only other accessory was an intricate choker.
Another spellcaster then. From the looks of her, she seemed to be attuned toward nature type spells, which on this new battlefield, would probably be a disadvantage.

Knight of Hellfire. Disciple of Crizox. Hunted by Demonslayers. Rise, Caeos Essence, and expand your power.
Suddenly, Caeos was able to rise to his feet.
“Expand your power.” Oh, the irony.

Knight of Steel. Slayer of Spirits. Bereft of her music. Rise, Silence, and earn your peace.
Now this was an interesting ally. She was of average height, fading hair tied back in a ponytail. She rose from her knees and stood straight and tall.
Caeos immediately noted two things about her. The first: she carried on her a wakizashi, a sheathed dagger in a style used often and favored by the Island Nation warriors.
The second: a silken mask completely covered the left side of her face from hairline to chin.
If experience had taught him anything, it was that concealed things were never really what they seemed to be.

“Join me,” called out the cascade of voices, discordant and beautiful all at once. “Fight in my name, and I will give you freedom. Fight for Chaos!”

Caeos understood immediately. So, by the machinations of some higher powers, he had been pulled into this place as a pawn --- or rather, he thought with a faint smile, a knight --- to fight on the side of Chaos. Uneasily, he wondered briefly how it had seen into his heart to know that this would be his preferred alignment.

A Grand Master, yet a pawn.
A pawn, yet one that does not obey.
An insubordinate, yet one that was not, could not be punished.
A general of an army, yet had knowingly led his soldiers to their deaths.
A commander, yet expected his subordinates to think independently.

Chaos indeed.

A deafening silence fell abruptly over the entire battlefield.
Like any good general, his mind immediately began assessing his foes and allies alike.

On his side were Silence, the Leaf, and the Stormcaller. On the other side, Truenight, the Void Herald, Akabane, and Talhmore.

Two spellcasters on my side, plus a swordswoman. On the other side, three melee specialists, and one Void Knight.

First, know yourself.

In the dark recesses of his mind where dusty archives would be stored, a piece of the puzzle clicked into place.

“Leaf Which Floats on Raging Currents and Lady Silence,” Caeos whispered in a hissing, penetrating tone that carried to his allies, “tell me quickly: what are the snake tattooed fellow and the Void Knight capable of?”

“I don’t know,” Leaf admitted. “I was fighting someone else. But they were on my field.”

Prediction correct.

Silence spoke, “Beware the serpent’s black scales, and do not underestimate his prowess.” Caeos was about to reply when she continued in a hard tone, “But, leave him to me.”

So much for any planning.

She turned to Leaf, whispering, “Launch me.”

To Caeos’s surprise, Leaf nodded and drove her staff into the ground; the next thing he knew, the floor pulsed and Silence was flying through the air as gracefully as a Dove of Crizox.

To Leaf, Caeos said, calmly but rapidly, “Then that leaves us with only one unknown quantity: the Void Knight named Aleisha. I am not your teacher, nor you my student, so I will not stop you from making your own choice.”

Wait. Simply on, the field, not massacred---?

“The woman called Akordia manipulates crystal at will, and can also imbue them with fire and acid.

“I know not the capabilities of the young girl in red named Akabane, only that she has fire resistance and can deflect lightning with her sword.”

Another piece clicked. He, Caeos Essence, had been so deprived of many of his abilities upon entrance to this realm. Just enough so that he had ended up roughly an even match for all the other combatants. If so, why not the Void Knight as well---?

“Lady Leaf,” Caeos said abruptly, “can you heal?”

In response, she moved her left hand over her choker. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting to happen, but from its core floated a pearl. It followed the movements of her hand, almost as though it were a part of her. “Yes.”

“Then I will recommend you take Akordia or the Void Knight,” he advised. “I’m sure a nature-attuned spellcaster such as yourself will have an aversion to fire.”

Leaf glanced over at her. “I’ll try my best,” she replied calmly, “and assist as needed.”

Caeos shifted slightly. Good. He could feel the weight of the revolver on his side. The difference was miniscule but noticeable --- it was still fully loaded.

War is deception.

The sustaining aura surged. He pointedly rubbed his right shoulder --- the same spot that had been pierced by Truenight --- as though it were still injured.
“Tell Lady Ebriva to target whichever fighter comes for me.” He grasped the hilt of the Sliiker and rushed toward Silence’s target.

Martin Talhmore. Beware the serpent’s black scales, and do not underestimate his prowess.

The strategy: Silence and himself, together probably could make short work of Talhmore, though her warning called this into question. Hopefully, the two-pronged attack would serve as sufficient distraction for the Knights of Order, which would then allow the spellcasters to take them by surprise, and from a safe distance.
If the Knights of Order did attack, then he would be able to fend them off to prevent all of them from piling on top of Silence.
If they did not, he doubted they would reach the spellcasters very easily either.

The predictions: Silence and Leaf had not reacted adversely to a stranger’s questions, which implied they instinctively knew he was their ally. Logic dictated that Ebriva would understand this as well --- despite formerly being enemies with him on a previous battlefield. He didn’t know what else Leaf was capable of other than the terraforming and the pearl, but he did know precisely how deadly the Stormcaller was. He did not know what Silence’s capabilities were either, but simply judging from her posture and grace from the leap, he was certain she was an expert swordswoman.

The unknowns: he was sure Talhmore’s snake tattoos were supernatural marks of some sort, though what form of power they took was a different matter entirely. In addition, he wasn’t entirely sure how Silence would react to his unrequested “aid,” nor how Leaf or Ebriva would react.

Overall, a very risky gamble. He would have liked to converse a bit longer with Leaf and maybe Ebriva as well --- a good battle plan required everyone to be informed. But one player had made her move, and time was of the essence. His eyes flicked back and forth, alert for the slightest movement that would call for a change of plans. The die had been cast, and the knights had moved across the board.

Your move, Knights of Order.



Kellehendros -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/19/2020 21:29:50)

The air was sweet here, or perhaps it was only exultance that flavored it, the rush of knowledge. It certainly didn’t hurt that the triads - left, right, and center - hummed beneath her fingers. For the moment, Ebriva felt invincible.

Mismatched eyes lifted to the shining Scales and their weights for a moment, before dropping back to the Knights below.

Akordia Truenight - Crystal-hair - glinted in the stark light. Yura Akabane, the Red Blade, stood with her. Best watch out for that one this time. And two others: Martin Talhmore - apparently so proud of his physique he could not bear to hide it under a shirt, and Aleisha - rather more conspicuously armored, and exceedingly tall.

At the Stormcaller’s side, Caeos Essence - she preferred Dark Hat - with his sword and remarkably unscorched shirt. And two further newcomers: Silence, who seemed like to fade away should a strong breeze contact her, and Leaf Which Floats on Raging Currents, bearing a staff… and wearing a dress. Leaf. Just Leaf. The Stormcaller couldn’t imagine using such a name, much less fighting in what looked like an elegant evening gown.

A thin line indeed.

She drifted south, pace unhurried as she moved towards the conference between her… allies. Four against four was unfortunate. Fair fights were for suckers - and knights, she supposed with some irony; the young woman was inclined neither to chivalry nor fair play in her own battles. Under different circumstances she would have liked some time to speak with Truenight. That didn’t seem forthcoming, particularly after the pale woman’s rebuke earlier.

But Akordia was on the other side of the field still, and for now the Stormcaller was quiet as the Storm within her grew. In a distant part of herself, she wondered if this was how her mother had always felt. Poised. Perfect. Right. The young woman was somehow certain that description fit Akordia at least; for her own part she had to admit it was... pleasant. Doubt could be such a drag.

Somewhere, Damascus is rolling his eyes. The thought brought a smile to her lips.

As she drew nearer the trio it seemed that their discussion was finished. Especially when Leaf hurled Silence into the air and sent the wraithly woman soaring towards the Knights of Order. Dark Hat was swift to follow, angling towards the gangling Aleisha and leaving Ebriva and the regally garbed Leaf behind.

In some respects, this was a rather nice change of pace. After all, the Stormcaller had someone to stand between her and the blades of her foes again. But that meant she had responsibilities of her own. Supporting swordsmen required focus, aim, and a touch more restraint than she had been given to on the Hellfire Field.

It also meant knowing at least something about the other three Knights she was to work with. Keeping one eye on Dark Hat and the Wraith, the young woman inclined her head politely to her fellow staff-bearer. “I am Ebriva… Storm, and I call upon lightning, wind, water, and earth.” She paused for a long moment, and then couldn’t help but ask. “Has your day been as strange as mine?”



Necro-Knight -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/19/2020 22:45:31)

The internal war having subsided for now, the void-born was prepared to finally be rid of this whelp’s presence, her fingers aching to close around the woman’s throat and feel breaking bones. With a final roar, she kicked off the beautiful earth crushed beneath her claws and once again lunged for her prey, blade sweeping high this time to aim for removing a limb or skull if possible.

As soon as it came, another roar of the world itself burst forth seemingly from reality itself and drowned out her own, winds catching her leap and lifting her up towards the heavens as they fell down towards her in a storm that only a true divine could’ve wrought.

Her claws grasped uselessly at the flowers and grassy field, only managing to pluck a few blooms from the churning earth before she turned her attention to her blade, realizing if it were lost, she would be unable to wield it due to the mental range of the enchantment. Her last hopes were blown out like a candle as the gift from her Master was carried off by the discordant apocalypse that seemed to grip all that was, and drug it into all that was not.

In the end, like any mortal faced with the darkest oblivion, all she could do was scream.



She awoke to the feeling of cold steel biting into her flesh and every muscle she knew aching as if she’d been trampled by some great beast. As she slowly willed her eyes to open, she realized the source of both sensations. Her limbs spread wide, she was suspended above a yawning, crimson maw of teeth and howling souls she did not care to look at too closely. The only thing keeping her from becoming part of the unholy cauldron was a set of blood-hued chains wound tightly around each of her arms and legs, their thorns biting deep into her pale skin and hanging her from the four walls of dark red stone.

Aleisha blinked suddenly at that more than she did over her predicament over all. Pale skin? She hadn’t been this fair-colored since before the Master had gifted her the power of the void. At the edges of her vision, tattered locks of golden hair confirmed her fear as she looked down at the torn peasant robe that hung loose from her thin frame. She’d never been a large woman, even after the void had blessed her. She’d gained height, but there was simply no way to give her mass like other Void Knights had. Without it, she was petite, barely reaching up to five feet and with another wave of pain, her body reminded her how unequipped she had originally been for physical strain.

“My my… to think I was ever born from… you.”

At first, she believed herself to only be hearing voices, the true onset of insanity. As her vision cleared from the last rush of pain, she found that either her mind was now both hearing voices and hallucinating… or she was staring up at her abyss-empowered self. Her other floated a few inches away, arms crossed casually across her narrow chest and a single dark brow rose slightly as she regarded Aleisha with what could only be described as pure pity.

“In the end, it was all me, you know? All our power, all of our strength and ferocity, came from me.”

She gripped Aleisha’s jaw tightly in her claws, tilting her blue eyes up to meet her own and the fallen Queen understood, for a brief moment, the terror others felt moments before she’d ended their frail existences.

“When we were made one, you were less than nothing… Broken, scared and reaching out to anything that could numb you to the loss that nearly consumed you. So I consumed you instead.”

“W-what..?”

Aleisha finally found her voice, but it came out feeble and weak, nearly turning into a cough on the last syllable as her throat dried up that much more.

Her other hissed and released her head in a rough manner, claws scratching at Aleisha’s cheek as she did so and turned away, hovering a few feet away to look down at the churning mist of souls.

“The Master’s power needs some form of sentience to latch on to, to feed off of. Anger, hatred, hunger… but when I was born from the darkness in your soul, I had nothing to feed upon but terror and cold, empty loss.”

She looked at Aleisha then, a single eye glowing brightly and framed by her straight black hair, before her lips curled up into a wry grin.

“So I twisted you. Normally we don’t have to, those who come to us are already monsters and we fuel that, but I made a monster out of you and eventually… You couldn’t tell the difference. I pulled the strings while you simply faded into mindlessness. If the waters of that infernal pool hadn’t weakened me so, you’d still be blissfully lost.”

Wincing again as her body continued to protest with being strung up like a butcher’s slab, Aleisha grit her teeth. It was true, part of it, at least. After the death of her heralds and the coup against her reign, she’d retreated into her own mind and her soul had been easy pickings for beings such as Nulgath. It had never occurred to her broken self that this power could be sentient and could bleed down into her own soul.

She shivered at the thought and looked back to her other, who had turned back to face her fully and was resting her clawed hands on her narrow hips, trying to pierce Aleisha with her gaze.

“Where… are we, if you and I are… apart?” She managed to croak out, flexing her fingers against the chains as they threatened to fall asleep from lack of circulation.

“Oh for the love of… your mind, you pathetic wretch!”

The fallen Queen’s world exploded into stars and her already-bloodied cheek stung sharply as her other back-handed her with enough force to rattle all four lengths of chains. Before the crimson walls could stop spinning, her other grabbed her by the hair and drug her back to lock eyes.

“Weakened as I am, we are still bonded, so how else could we have this adorable little heart-to-heart? In truth, I was just waiting here to regain my strength and bury you back into your own trauma. Eventually, I’ll be all that is left…”

She drifted close to Aleisha now, who was trembling at the realization that this warped, twisted version of herself could ever truly own her body and soul. The void-herald leaned in to her ear and whispered softly, like a mother to a frightened child.

“And do not worry, once I do eventually earn back the right to your heralds’ souls, I will be sure to make true monsters of them…”

If her other’s words before now had struck a chord in her, that final statement strung across her heartstrings like a bard with their lute. Her heralds… her loving, loyal and faithful heralds who had died because she had been too weak to rule and create a kingdom where they could be safe. She would be lost to the abyss while this… this sick mockery of her love-turned-madness for them spawned all-new monsters out of the only thing she had left.

For the first time in nearly a century, Aleisha felt the warmth of pure mortal fury bloom in her chest and permeate every inch of her fatigued form. Slowly, she raised her head to glare back at herself, her own twisted grin her only response from this other.

“Well, if that was your plan… to get my friends and make pets of them, you made one fatal mistake, fiend…”

“And that is?”

“You made a monster of me first.”

Rage fueling her body now over mortal strength, Aleisha gripped the chains binding her arms and with a roar, tore the bindings loose from the stone walls of her mind, leaving a jagged hole that was pouring a tar-like substance into the chamber around them.. Before her other could react, she’d brought the chain around to wind the length around her demonic form. Her other howled as the thorns bit into flesh and armor alike and tried to flee deeper into her mind, but Aleisha refused to release the bindings.

She would not let this filth run free in her soul any longer. If she could not rule her kingdom any longer, she would at least be Queen of her own self, her own power.

Picturing her heralds, alive and well, she tore her other arm free but underestimated the amount of force she had when combined with the writhing and thrashing of her other half, the resulting tearing of the chains shattering the wall in its entirety. She felt parts of her own mind coming apart as the dream depicted, crumbling and tumbling into the obsidian pool that was rapidly forming around the maw beneath them, but she didn’t care. She would conquer this power that wore her flesh even if it cost her the rest of her humanity.

Free from the bonds, Aleisha crashed into her other self, limbs wrapping around her like a feral animal as the chains wrapped around them both as they plummeted now. The fiendish side of her fought with tooth and nail, clawing at any part of vulnerable flesh she could find, but Aleisha fought through it all. She gripped the chains that entangled them both and drew back on them until their teeth bit into them both and made escape impossible.

“You are mine, do you understand, servant?! I am your Queen and you will obey my will!”

Where she expected her other to hiss a curse or response, the voice that echoed through her warring mind was clear, sharp, like an arrow released from a bow.

“Knight of the Void. Herald of the Abyss. Driven to insanity. Rise, Aleisha, and reclaim your soul.”

Whether it was another part of her psyche rooting her on or some external force, she did not wait to try and figure out the source of this inspiration. As the two halves of one soul flipped end over end towards the black abyss churning beneath them, Aleisha wrapped her hands around her others throat and squeezed just as they impacted the black liquid and darkness once again claimed the fallen Queen.



The silence of the chequered battlefield was shattered as an orb of crimson liquid fell from the oblivion of stars and impacted harshly upon one of the white, leaving a splash roughly four feet across in its wake. For a moment, silence returned… before the surface of the bloody pool began to bubble and pop as a long limb erupted from it.

Fingers spread across the smooth surface of the arena, the form pulled herself from the pool as if it were a deep chasm that had always existed in this strange void, standing back to her impressive height once again. Despite its thick drops that trailed behind her exit, the liquid seemed unable to cling to the now-pristine surface of Aleisha’s armor, every plate now as white as fresh winter snow and the runes emblazoned across their surface shining a royal gold in the bright light from above.

She shook the last bit of moisture from her ebony hair and turned her fiery eyes back to the pool behind her, casually. Lifting her right arm, she flicked her wrist in a “come-hither” motion, and the pool exploded with movement one final time. Her void-knife burst from its surface, its hilt being caught mid-air by its owner with ease. Like the void knight, the weapon’s blade was now a pristine white, the fiendish writings across its face reflecting the void all around her.

Among her second rebirth in the dark, Aleisha had heard other names called by that same crystal-clear voice. Martin Tahlmore, Akordia Truenight, Yura Akabane. Her and others, all chosen to fight for Order, the voice had said? At her core, she was anything but orderly, even Nulgath made order from the chaos and madness of the void, so she could as well. After all, she’d just gone to war with the demon within and come out the other side.

She turned her gaze first to her allies, immediately noting the shirtless man she’d taunted in the very beginning. He spoke, and pointed towards their foes, one specifically. His expression itself also spoke of some equally-unpleasant experience, she did not need to be psychic to see that, and the Queen wondered if every “knight” was forced to under-go some mental test before arriving.

“Watch her, the one they call Silence. She wields a magic blade of death that cannot be seen by mortal eyes. Watch for its shadow as the light passes through.”

That should be interesting. Another being who wielded an enchanted weapon. She would never admit it, but she never appreciated the tip.

The other allies around she did not recognize by appearance, but surmised they were the ones called Yura and Akordia. If they were considered on par with the serpent-covered man, who had earned his own place in this final battlefield, she was glad to have them with her instead of across the way.

The league across from her seemed plenty powerful in their own right as it was. One seemed to have caught a storm somewhere among the cosmos around them and brought it to bear, while the one woman she recognized as the one who Martin had noted as Silence now being forced from the arena floor and forward already by another female competitor next to her who seemed to bend the earth itself.

The final knight across from her did not seem to be moving beyond communicating with his team and looking over towards the snake-obsessed mortal. She frowned, returning her foe’s quizzical gaze, but no hiss or snarl came to her lips this time. Her other half had been a beast, but she was a Queen, and strategy was just as useful as ferocity.

“Martin, I presume? You seem to have the ire of many if my eyes aren’t deceiving me. Can you draw their attention for me to strike at the man towards the far corner? He has yet to truly move and I assume he is a weak link...”

As she spoke, she sheathed her regal blade and whipped her arms, her blood-steel chains forming from the eyes in her palms. Unlike before, where the eyes had frantically glanced around with no direction, the eyes now moved as one whenever they wished to redirect their gaze and she could feel the difference in her magic as well. The voices still bit at her psyche, but the words were recognizable now, praising her glory and her evolution in eldritch languages. As tempting as it was to lose herself in the love of the abyss all around her, she let out a breath and refocused her eyes on the male to the far right of her foes.

“Come into my embrace, mortal… my kingdom welcomes your soul as sacrifice...”



Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/19/2020 23:06:31)

Was it here?

Warmth flowed from Martin’s veins, and time seemed to change as a glimmer of clarity surfaced. At first, it repeated. The witch’s curse, the mercenary’s smile, the water beneath his feet. The serpents demanded his obedience as was his destiny.

Then, it was if his soul was sheared in twain. Soon after, so was his flesh. It hissed as blood and acid fused together with burning fervor.

Gone was the scales of the serpents. Gone was the warmth of His grace.

It was clear to him now— he was dying.

And now, seconds before his last, it all seemed to crawl so slowly. The soldier gave one last smile before kissing its handle. He could see the steel trace through the air, its terminal path aimed straight for his neck. As his last moments drew near, time crawled to a stop as to torture Martin.

But then, in the blink of an eye, a voice cried out from the heavens and swept over the battlefield— It cried with pride and misery, with hunger and with regret, with all mortal suffering and desires, with a voice that echoed it all. In its wake, his eyes went wide, and the world shook around Martin. The still waters turned ravenous, sweeping Martin’s legs and pulling him to the ground. He gasped for air, and the winds denied him, buffeting his face with the river’s cold touch.

At last, he turned to the sky, but the guardians in the sky that Martin cherished so dearly grew had all but disappeared. The black expanse rushed into the horizon like black ink on skin, and it descended upon them all.

But Martin saw none of these things. As the apocalypse surged around him, his mind collapsed with a single whisper.

Did I do this? Did I fail?—

As the darkness draped his eyes, Martin fell limply into the water below and remained there, the pure river streaking with his blood.

As life returned to the corpse of Martin Talhmore, he did not awake. In some sense, he wasn’t even conscious. He certainly had not noticed that his wounds had vanished without a trace. His robe and belongings were returned to him, but the gesture was lost on him. Warmth pulsed through his now beating heart, but the shambling figure thought nothing of it. He merely arose from the water and walked into the light. To where? Martin didn’t know, but he felt it— Something faint, distant, waiting for him at the end of the river. And so with a singular purpose, Martin made his way towards the horizon.

Soon, the golden meadows were long gone, its heavenly reds and purples turned to a pitch black. To his left, there was nothing. To his right, nothing— The world gave way to a thin corridor with a river that seemed to stretch for an eternity. But this too came to an end, and eventually, the river gave way to chequered walls and cobblestone. His steps left the water, and the veil was lifted from Martin’s eyes.

The City had guided their knight home— both of them.

The Serpent was standing in the alleyway, clothed in Martin’s younger self. His face grew into a crooked smile upon seeing his other half.

“Well, Misery. How rude to keep us waiting. Did you miss us?—”

Without hesitation, Martin pressed his knuckles against the child’s cheek, pushing him into the blackened wall.

His pale skin flash red as the emerald light burned in Martin’s eyes. “I. . . I thought I was done with you! I thought it was free!”

“And yet, you spent all that time searching for us, Misery. Were you lonely?—”

The Serpent flashed another fanged grin. With a scream, Martin reached for the other’s collar and bashed him into the wall. Blow after blow, the Life-Taker pummeled his double, fists aching from the sheer force, but the Serpent was unmoved, undamaged; if anything, he grew more jubilant from Martin’s display.

“There’s no shame in admitting it. . . no one wants to die alone.”

Just as Martin was to strike him again, he paused. “What did you say?—”

“We can know the truth, Misery, of your ‘failure.’ Don’t try to hide it. . . we are together again, and your thoughts are our thoughts.”

Another blow was dealt, and warmth rushed through Martin’s fist. “Keep your being to yourself. I want no part of you. I would give everything I have to end you myself.”

“And so you got your wish. Tell me, how well did that fair in the meadows, hmm?” Silence. Martin held his breath, much to the Serpent’s delight. “Now you understand. . . Face it, Misery. You are not being honest with yourself. You need me. Now and forever.”

“Lies!” He shrieked, the words tearing his throat as he spoke. “You are trying to trick me. All I ever need is His light!—”

“Not once have we ever told you a lie, Misery. And yet, you have told us thousands. . . ever since you met him.”

Whereas the Serpent remained stable, Martin’s voice grew louder and faster. “Father Aster showed me. He gave me hope. He showed me all that I could become.”

“And yet, you forgot everything made you who you were.”

“What? And go back to being locked in a room? To steal bread to sate my starving bones? To kill everyone that so much as glimpsed me? That was your doing!”

The Serpent peered into Martin’s eyes. For once, he spoke plainly with no joy in his voice. “We taught you how to survive.”

“No. You taught me to be a monster.” Martin lowered his head to the floor with a final sigh. “And you taught me that I wasn’t the only one.”

“Ah. There’s the truth.”

As the words left the Serpent’s lips, Martin could feel the weight disappear from his grasp as his younger self vanished, the cloak falling into itself.

“Wha- WHERE ARE YOU?!” The Life-Taker screamed with all of his soul into the chequered city, and it answered back.

“Here.”

It was unmistakable. The voice crept upon him like a whisper in his shadow, and when Martin turned, they were there in their full majesty. The boy was gone; in his place, a towering leviathan of blackened smoke stood. Scales of eldritch green fire burned along its presence.

From his shadow, the leviathan rose high into the city and unleashed a mighty roar, with grace and glory for all to see. It would no longer be contained.

In its true form, the Serpent looked down to the city below, to the Life-Taker. It looked at him with its burning eyes and spoke directly into his mind.

“So now, you speak the truth, Misery.”

The servant of lumen clutched his necklace as he looked at the world-ender. This is what he sought to contain. His voice trembled with both fear and anger as he replied. “What do you mean? What truth?”

“Why do you fight?”

“For the glory of His majesty, the One above All. I fight to enact his will as a living servant.”

“No.” The serpent bellowed with a roar. ”Why do you fight, Misery?!”

His voice rose to meet the world-ender. He closed his eyes and shouted as loud as his lungs could bear. “I fight to rid the world of monsters like you!”

“And we would teach you how!”

All grew quiet as the boy and his shadow grew closer.

“Don’t you see it now? It is not your pitiful god that guides your vengeful hand, but it is the misery that you have endured. You fight for the mother you never had—

“For the scars for father had wrought—

“For the idol who touched you most—

“Do you not understand now, oh Harbinger of Misery? You threw yourself unto the mercy of another, all so you can forget that pain. You fight against the very core of your strength.”

For a time, Martin looked down at the cobblestone below. all these years, Martin had followed the scriptures; he felt the very light quench him with peace. Even now he could feel Him tugging on his soul. But now, Martin couldn’t deny it.

But one question was left in his mind, one final thought to be said out loud.

“Why? Why should you care? Don’t you want to just end the world?”

“All those who live are monsters, but some of us choose not to hide. Nothing would give us more joy than to see you fall. If you die now, then we would be forced to choose another. . . We have never met one as worthy as you.”

“So that’s it?” The silver-haired man crossed his arms and forced a smile. “You believe that I will choose you in the end? Because in this single moment, you would promise the world another day of peace?”

“Yes.” The Serpent hissed with satisfaction as the pair came to an understanding. “Such is our bargain.”

His eyes narrowed as Martin’s mind grew heavy. Every fiber of his being told him that this was a trap, that this was the doom of his world.

“You cannot ignore those whispers in the dark, but you can use them for good.”


For years, he had kept the serpents locked away. They were a tool seldom used, never to be fully embraced. But as he faced his final trial, what options did he have?

“Focus their malice into those who deserve it, but never let them cloud your heart.”


Was their truth in the Serpent’s words after all? Would Lumen forgive him? He was a Life-Taker— The one to give mercy, the one to take it. He was the one who would walk the path between saint and sinner. Would He have mercy on him for straying too far?

“Only in darkness can one appreciate the light, Martin.”


Would He forgive him if he failed?

As the Chequered City echoed once more, Martin would have his answer.

“We will have words again, world-ender. On that day, I will rend you with my own hands for the suffering that you have caused but now is not that time. We march forth together, but we shall do this my way.”

“Very well.” The leviathan bowed its head. And then, it ceased. The skies cleared and the fires faded, but the chorus of whispers remained. The Harbinger and the Serpent were whole again.

“The bargain is struck. Let us go then, Misery. We have a future to destroy.”

“Theirs, not ours—”

His name was the first.

“Knight of Misery. Life-Taker of Lumen. Bound to the serpent. Rise, Martin Talhmore, and defeat your whispers.”

Martin could feel the cosmos tug his soul once more as eldritch fire erupted on the battlefield. Amidst a boundary of black and white, his twinned steel pierced through the veil of green hues and pressed onto the surrounding tile. Martin pulled himself through the border of his summoning as the others were called.

“Knight of Crystal. Destroyer of Faith. Thrown from the heavens. Rise, Akordia Truenight, and sate your hunger.”

“Knight of the Void. Herald of the Abyss. Driven to insanity. Rise, Aleisha, and reclaim your soul.”

Knight of Authority. Born of the Flame. Torn from her birthright. Rise, Yura Akabane, and fuel your anger.

One by one, the Knights of Order appeared upon the chequered battlefield. The serpents moved with anticipation as he judged them.

A pale and scared figure with crystalline hair, clothed in ebon armor. This would be Akordia. Upon immediate inspection, Martin could not glean much from the ghostly figure. Then, there was the Twisted from before. Clothed head to toe in the flesh and blood of an abomination, but their bloody orange armor was turned to bone white. Martin’s nerves grew hot at the mere thought of standing side by side with this monster called Aleisha. The cold look in its eyes assured him that the feeling was mutual, but the last few hours had been hours full of spirit and desperation for Martin. If it took monsters to save the world, then so be it. Their time would come. Lastly, there was the foreign one. A fury of mismatched colors and clothing, and yet her purpose was one. She too was armed for war with her sword of glass. Compared to the other two, the one called Yura had a sense of warmth to her.

“Join me. Fight in my name, and I will give you purpose. Fight for Order!”

But then, as the voice from above had finished, a thousand more took its place.

“Knight of Onyx. Wielder of Skyfire. Last of her kind. Rise, Ebriva, Stormcaller, and seek your revenge.”

Like a shooting star, the first knight of Chaos descended upon the battlefield. Lightning crackled in their wake as the distant figure took their place on the farthest side. Soon, the others rose as the discordance grew.

“Knight of the River. Chosen by Eythyr. Lost to its waters. Rise, Leaf Which Floats on Raging Currents, and find your answers.”

“Knight of Hellfire. Disciple of Crizox. Hunted by Demonslayers. Rise, Caeos Essence, and expand your power.”

Though they were far, one figure caught his emerald eyes. It was unmistakable.

“Knight of Steel. Slayer of Spirits. Bereft of her music. Rise, Silence, and earn your peace.”

The witch had returned.

“Silence? A fitting name, don’t you think, Misery? Give the witch the peace she desires—”

“Fight in my name, and I will give you freedom. Fight for Chaos!”

And then, nothing. The voices had died, and the thunder had ceased.

Now was the time for war.

As was his custom, Martin moved his cold steel— One cut was all that he needed, and the warmth trickled in his palm. But as Martin voiced his prayer, he would not repeat the same one as he did for thousands of

No, he spoke these words for the first time, from his heart—

“Oh Lumen, the One above all, Hear your vengeful servant. I give my life for the destruction of my enemies. Smile upon me as I bless them in death, for I have turned the world-ender against them. Today, I sew the seeds for a brighter tomorrow. Let the dark fall upon them, for only then will the day come.”

With his final words, Martin clutched the emerald sun at his chest and anointed it with his blood. His sacrifice would not be in vain.

The bargain would be fulfilled— starting with the witch.

He outstretched his gloved hand and pointed towards the woman in the distance. “Watch her, the one they call Silence. She wields a magic blade of death that cannot be seen by mortal eyes. Watch for its shadow as the light passes through.” The ink moved across his forearms as he glanced between Akordia and the Twisted. In his lack of armor, they were in abundance, the perfect shields against the unknown chaos. “I will follow your lead. If you need aid, my serpents will cleanse you. If you need strength, their fangs shall supply.”

“Let your curse be used for good.”


With his word given, Martin turned to face his enemies. Just then, the first move was made. The revenant witch was sent flying through the air like a bird of prey, her cyclopean eye fixed upon the silver-haired boy. The others soon followed. They needed a plan.

The Twisted one rose her voice with crackling fire and gestured towards him. “Martin, I presume? You seem to have the ire of many if my eyes aren’t deceiving me. Can you draw their attention for me to strike at the man towards the far corner? He has yet to truly move and I assume he is a weak link...”

Whatever malice she had before, it was clear to Martin that they were together now. Perhaps she could find redemption after all. He gave a nod and moved to her side.

“No more mercy, Misery?”

“No more mercy.” The Life-Taker held his axes forward in defense for what was to come.



Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/20/2020 23:15:03)

Needles vanished into the haze obscuring the brilhado’s target. Akordia held no delusion that her strike had been a certain one. Perhaps the storm mage lay slain on the bleeding earth, stricken down while blinded and gasping for air. Perhaps even now she was reciting the words of some ancient incantation to call the fires of heaven down upon the Pale Priestess. Despite their...amicable...prelude, the battlefield called for their struggle and strife. As there was one moon looming in the sky, there could be but one sovereign ruling over the people.

Muscles burning, Akordia took a step forward only to fall upon a knee as her leg buckled beneath her. A shuddering breath escaped her as pain wracked her body. I am naught but a vessel of the mother. The brilhado sought to stand but her legs quivered beneath her. She fell once again onto her hands and knees. A wretch brought the taste of iron and bile to her lips. I am naught but a vessel… Akorida turned her gaze upwards, catching the nimble form of Caeos cutting through the air towards the last known location of the storm mage. She willed her body to move but it refused to obey. Her arms shook as they held her from collapsing upon the blood-stained clay. I am naught… Akordia coughed and grimaced as another wave of spasms shot up all along her throat. Flaxen eyes closed as the brilhado fought the urge to vomit.

I am naught.

Under The’galin she had traversed the stars to worlds unknown; seen them crumble as they were Devoured to sate his hunger. She had crossed the Veil and yet had returned to walk the realm of the living. The dead had served the Ravenous Seeker in numbers untold. Her allies feared her, her foes respected her. She had feasted on flesh, bathed in blood, and burned the bone in her servitude only to be branded a traitor. Akordia was hunted by those who once called her comrade. Forgiven by a Mother she had abandoned. Rebuking those who served the Dark, purging those who twisted the Light, the brilhado had fought her personal crusade to bring the Mother’s true teaching to worlds unending.

And here on this field of fire the Pale Priestess would die on her knees.

A howl pierced the air, and had it not been for its score of voices Akordia would have mistaken it for her own. Her iron gaze rose to the battlefield as a chill swept through her. Firelight was snuffed out as tendrils of vapory mist spiraled their way over the clay earth. The mass enveloped pawn after pawn until it came to swallow the Truenight. Her eyes rose to the moon above, crimson and hateful. Perhaps she was naught but a pawn after all, reaching only far enough to see the end in sight but never to seize the crown herself. One last shuddering breath escaped the brilhado as the mists gave her one final embrace. Her body tingled as she choked on the invasive vapors. It was not pleasant, but not painful either. Her own personal purgatory, stripping away all sensation piece by insignificant piece.

Her heart beat in the darkness, a lone drum on a stage for none.

Ba-dum.

Ba-dum.

Ivory lights plumed into vision, burning upon still torches perched upon the walls. They did not flicker and dance, but oscillated to a rhythmic beat that was all their own. Each one mirrored the others, perfectly mimicking even the slightest shimmers of the others’ flames. The shadows they cast could not be of a different cloth, ebony beyond measure and crawling across the chamber to their own designs. A pulse began to pound in Akordia’s head as her mind attempted to rationalize the way flames and shade should act with what she perceived.

“Kraven.”

He had not been there a moment ago. Akordia swore he had not. But a shadow had washed over the barren apse to leave the preacher of the Emberlight upon its steps. His robes did not flutter, his face did not twitch; no spark of life glinted in his eyes. The holy man was made of flesh but his visage was a mask unread. The brilhado clambered to a knee, her body aching with every movement. She raised her chin high before speaking. Her next words were broken by labored breaths. “That. Is. Not. My. Name.”

“You do not belong to the sky.”

The priest was on her in an instant, crossing the space between them as shadows swept over his form. He did not seem to run so much as step in and out of darkness as the shades rolled across stone. Akordia hissed in a breath just before his open palm slammed into her chin. Redhot pain flashed along her jaw as she was thrown backwards onto the floor. Her vision doubled as ivory and ebony layered over one another in a collision of parallel worlds. Seeking sanity amidst the madness, she willed a crystal spear to form from her forearm. No such creation sprang to her as she attempted to stand, her vision stolen in the intervals where shadows passed over her eyes.

“No longer will the sun bring you warmth.”

His foot hammered down upon her body, crunching scale with each slam. Akordia curled up out of reflex but it made no difference - the preacher’s speed and precision allowed him to exploit every flaw in her pitiful defense. Body beaten and disobedient, the Pale Priestess let out a cry as blow after blow fell upon her. It reverberated throughout the chamber amidst flowing shadows as crystal cracked and bone broke, only dying when the preacher planted his foot upon her neck, crushing her larynx with impossible strength. He gazed down at the Fallen with those eyes lacking any spark of life. His heel ground down harder, forcing a choking gasp from her throat.

“Nor the veil of night, comfort.”

Akordia made no effort to resist. No crystal merged to thwart her assassination, her body did not give in to the last desperate throes of one staring into the Veil. Only a rasp that grew louder and louder until it reached a harsh laugh that filled the holy chamber. Citrine eyes turned to the holy man. Coal lips mouthed a single phrase.

The preacher stared down upon her, flashing in and out of existence as the shadow flew across the disgraced form of the brilhado. His expression was ever an enigma, but Akordia caught the slightest of head tilts before a wave darkness stole her vision. In the grasp of oblivion, one final word cut through to the Fallen.

“Good.”



From a tile of ivory underneath a chromatic sky rose a sculpture of finest crystal. It was of a woman, white as snow, kneeling upon the ground with her gaze to the heavens above. Long locks of hair carved from obsidian flowed down her back until it touched the lowcut of the golden dress carved about her. It rippled and flowed, simple yet elegant beyond measure. On any other sculpture it would have been the pinnacle of the entire design. But any other sculpture this was not. Wings of amethyst protruded from the woman’s back, its span at least twice as she was tall. They glittered even in the strange light of this field, traces of ruby and emerald caught within its carved feathers. One could imagine plucking a crystal from her wings as easily as one could pluck a flower from the dirt. One could imagine, if they had no qualms taking from such a beautiful creature with such a forlorn and forgotten gaze expression set upon face. Perhaps she would not even notice...but did that make the crime all the much more taboo?

With a violent crack, twin tears split down from eyes of sapphire. Jagged fissures ruptured down the face and neck until they threatened to shatter the angel in three. Beauty was both torn and magnified in the sculpture’s last moments - for to see something so wondrous reach a sudden end was its own marvel. Crystals shattered in a vibrant array upon the ground as the angel wept gems. One last roll of thunder shook its form as the sculpture splintered apart, scattering its majesty to the empty winds.

When the fragments cleared, in its stead kneeled not an angel but a demon. The beauty remained but where there once had been grace was now a primal ferocity. A heartbeat passed before the entity rose to its full height. Ebony scale caught flints of light from the many hues of the sky above, striking an even deeper contrast with the ivory skin it coated. Hairs like sharpened needles rattled in the void of this new desolate dimension.

“Join me. Fight in my name, and I will give you purpose. Fight for Order!”

Flaxen eyes flicked open.

Snow and coal tiles marked the battlefield below as an aurora loomed overheard. Akordia glanced to either side to her newfound “allies” in this war. A pale man, a gilded knight...and the flamecaller. As the brilhado’s gaze crossed her once adversary, her sable lips curved into the ghost of a smile. From the back of her shoulder sprouted a cindering tip that grew into a short spear. A look of confusion crossed Yura Akabane’s face before the Pale Priestess gave a slight nod.

Take it.

Claim it.

Let my power fuel your rage.

As the flamecaller took her prize, Akordia surveyed the opposing “knights”. Among their ranks stood the storm mage - Ebrivia - as well as Caeos of Essence. Neither seemed to carry any of their wounds from their previous encounter amidst the hellfire. A pity. Joining them were an elf and a whisper of woman with half her face hidden behind a mask. Not particularly fearsome in appearance, but each one had to be as strong and deadly as their compatriots. Removing the unknowns would put Akordia at ease before she moved on to her loose ends. The brilhado only half-listened to the chatter of allies as the latter duo made the first move in this twisted game. The one known as Leaf pulled upon the magic of the air, launching the silent one across the arena. One who seeks to control the battlefield from far... The pale man seemed to be the target of the Slayer of Spirits. Akordia ignored her flight, instead sauntering forward as blades just over a half foot in length burgeoned from the back of either hand and curled forwards. She would trust the Life-Taker to do as his namesake suggested - anything else, and he would deserve the fate hounding him on wind's own fury. Akordia broke into a sprint at the Leaf who Floats on Raging currents, talons clacking and acid hissing against the ivory ground as the brilhado closed the gap between them. One blade gleamed with crimson under the heavenly light; the other with sickly jade. Akordia charged with an iron gaze locked on the elf. Keeping one's head above water was not enough in worlds shaped by war - the Leaf would either prove to be one who masters the currents or fall prey to them. There would be no middle-ground; Akordia would make sure of that.




Kooroo -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/21/2020 11:55:47)

Over a day had come and gone since Akabane had disappeared, and Jiugun leader Seigi Masayoshi was starting to get worried. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, then poured himself a cup of tea.

The Resistance leader hadn’t really cared much when he’d heard that Yura had vanished after her little secret escapade. After all, it wasn’t like she’d gotten captured or anything. She’d just vanished after escaping.

Honestly, a teenage girl that threatened to beat up someone every other day sounded like the type to vanish without warning. And there’d been many a time where he thought she’d finally had enough and left, only to find her skulking around in some corner of the camp a couple of days later. For her to blink off the map for a day or two wasn’t entirely out of the question. Seigi knew that he’d been a problem child, but Akabane took the grand prize. He seriously hoped that she was either an only child, or her parents had done better with their other children.

But then the second night had swung around and Seigi had checked in on her friends. It was then he’d realised what was wrong. As bullheaded as she was, Yura wouldn’t have vanished on them like this. Poor Aoi had been curled up in a corner and desperately trying not to cry at the first mention of the girl’s name. Hiroki had seemed… distant, at best. Honestly, he hadn’t seen Hiroki sit at the desk in the two years he’d known the boy.

Akabane would probably never admit it, but anyone could tell she cared dearly for both of them. A diligent, hard-working Hiroki might garner a raised eyebrow or some sharp words, but to see young Aoi like this would definitely break her heart. The two of them and her retainer, Toyama, were like family to her. As the saying went, even the most evil of hearts had loved ones. Calling her evil wasn’t right, though; she was a bit rough around the edges and a walking parental nightmare, but Seigi wouldn’t call her a bad person.

He took a sip of tea and leaned back, scratching his stubble. It would’ve been nice if she were a bit less fierce, though. The last two years had mellowed her, but the complaints were still flowing through. Seigi was pretty sure that over half the army had complained about her by now. It was usually considered a quiet day by Akabane’s standards if she hadn’t managed to get into an argument with someone. The end result was always the same; she’d threaten the poor person, they’d complain to him, and Seigi would tiredly pretend to make a note of it. It was practically routine now and a bothersome one at that. Hearing them out took too much time and it never amounted to much. The girl had yet to make good on any of her threats since they’d met, after all.

He was considering writing up a flowchart. If she threatened you, then you were probably safe as long as you didn’t kick the hornet’s nest. If you were in any actual danger, though, then you’d probably already be on the floor.

The few times her temper had peaked were memorable, but she’d never gone further than tossing a young lad into the garbage because of… something. Seigi hadn’t inquired too deeply—the incident was relatively minor, after all—but after speaking with the boy and some witnesses, he was certain he had the jist of it. Tch, teenagers and their hormones. The outcome of the ordeal had resulted in a sprained arm and a bruised ego for the boy, and two months of mess duty for Akabane.

Seigi emptied his cup. He’d better get going. If Akabane was still missing come dawn, then he intended to go out and search for her himself. The Jiugun leader stood up and left the mess, trudging up the hill to his quarters.


Her foe twisted, spinning into Yura’s lunge. Metal struck metal as the mage’s staff turned Kimizan’s blade from her chest. The flameborn braced herself, turning her head for the anticipated blow—

That never came. Something else whooshed past her shoulder instead; something small and round.

... Eh?

And then it exploded.

A penetrating, blinding light flooded her vision, searing itself into her retinas. Yura swore and stumbled, screwing her eyes shut and almost losing her blade. She threw herself forward, in an attempt to gain some distance, but misjudged the angle and crashed into the ground. Her left shoulder struck the earth, drawing out a curse and agitating her jarred arm. The flameborn creaked an eye open, and was greeted by a teary, indecipherable crimson haze.

This… This wasn’t good. She couldn’t fight like this. How? How could she fight if she couldn’t see who she was fighting? By sound? Was she supposed to listen and retaliate based off her enemy’s telltale sounds? Like a monk? A blind and clueless monk?

There was a loud snap, followed by the familiar crackle of thunder, as though answering the girl’s question. Yes, it seemed to say, face the unknown. Struggle against that which you cannot see. Profanity spilled from her lips as Yura rolled across her back, coming up on her hands and knees, clutching Kimizan uncertainly.

The lightning hadn’t come her way. For that, she could be thankful. But it probably wasn’t long before one of the other combatants took notice of her and brought her into the fray. There wasn’t much choice. She’d just have to try and hold out long enough for her vision to clear.

A scream rang out as soon as she’d raised her blade, making Yura jump backwards. She tripped over her feet and stumbled, landing squarely on her backside, just as the heat drained from the field.

It was as though someone had nailed her with a warhammer. Yura gasped and choked as her breath caught, the unnatural chill biting deeply into her bones. Her arms, her face, her neck, and her stomach; any part of exposed skin instantly became cold and numb. She tried to stand, but couldn’t; it was as though someone had chained her limbs to the floor.

Even the air had become heavy and thick; far too thick to breath. The girl gagged and spluttered, Kimizan clattering to the ground as she fell onto her side. Darkness edged into the sides of her blurry vision, as the flameborn tried her hardest to stand.

This wasn’t right. No, she had to get up... She had to stand. She had to—


There was the wrench of buckling metal and then a colossal boom as something struck the Spire, killing the tower’s lights. Yura yelped and stumbled, clutching desperately on to the railing as she lost her footing. She looked back down the spiral staircase as the shaking subsided, trying not to think about how close she’d been to tumbling down to a slow and messy end.

Gritting her teeth, the flameborn powered on, pushing herself until she had finally cleared the last step. Yura immediately dropped to knees on to the landing, sweating and panting heavily. Her heart felt like it was going to burst! Going up the stairs at a sprint had been difficult enough, but that close call with death might have been the tipping point. Yura wondered if it was possible for a fourteen-year old to have a heart attack. If the physicians said it wasn’t, well they’d probably want to come and see this.

A few seconds passed and her breathing eventually calmed. She picked herself off the landing and looked up, ice running down her spine when she saw the open doors leading to the Pinnacle. Moonlight shone through the gateway leading to the Pinnacle, allowing its soft glow to pervade the stairwell’s darkness. A pair of wrecked doors lay on the ground, their surface ruined by a single, jagged slash

She gritted her teeth and steeled herself, then moved into the silver rays.

Yura’s heart froze and her breath caught in her throat.

A large, gaping chunk of the chamber’s roof was missing, torn away with both of the walls. Glass and splinters littered the floor, lying on top of the ruined carpet. It was as though every piece of furniture in the room had been used to tear the place apart; not a single object had been left intact.

There were two figures amongst the wreckage of the Pinnacle, their silhouettes contrasting against the clear, night sky.

The first figure was a tall girl. Her hair—long and straight—fell past her waist, its underside sparkling in the moonlight. She held two swords; a sheathed katana—Ryokuzan—in her left, and a long, guardless blade in her right. Yura could tell that it was Shion. Shion Kurouji stood amongst the wrecked Pinnacle of Tengamine Castle.

As for the second figure. The second figure was lying…


The second figure was…



The second figure…




Yura stopped walking and looked down, staring at the man slumped against the remnants of the wall.

She blinked.

This wasn’t right. This couldn’t possibly be right.

She blinked again and kept staring, kept looking at the unchanging, unmoving figure. She took a deep breath, and then turned away, facing Shion instead. The taller girl stared back at her, expressionless. Meanwhile, the unsheathed blade in her hand dripped more blood onto the carpet.

Why? Why had she done this? What was she going to do?

She didn’t care. She couldn’t look at the girl.

Yura gazed back at the ground, at the body. At her father. At what had been her father.

This wasn’t right. This couldn’t be right. Her father couldn’t die. Not now. Not yet.

This wasn’t possible. He couldn’t be dead. Yura wanted to grumble, to shout, to argue as she always had. And then he’d sigh, and shake his head, or stare at her with that disapproving look in his eye.

The girl took a breath; a deep, shuddering breath.

She had so many things left to say to him, so many things she hadn’t said. Why would she have? She had time. She always had time. He had always been around, so what was the rush? There hadn’t been any. Why would there have been a rush? How silly. What a dumb thought.

Yura swallowed. Something hot was rising to her eyes, so she blinked. She wasn’t going to cry, not now.

The flameborn heir dropped to her knees, feeling something soak from the carpet into her skirt and leggings. Yura reached out and took his right hand in hers both of hers. There was still a lingering heat in it, the last traces of life left in the man.

He couldn’t leave. He couldn’t have left. Not before she had apologised. Apologised for being gone, for running away. Apologised for arguing, for shouting, for saying she hated him, a failure of a father. It was Yura that had been wrong. He’d been right. He’d always been She didn’t hate him, not really. Not ever. He wasn’t—hadn’t been worthless. She was worthless, for never saying any of the things she’d waited to say.

A worthless daughter, a failure and a disappointment. A disappointment. She remembered him saying that. That had been the last thing she had heard him say before she’d run off last week. The look of regret that had shot through his eyes as he’d said it. But it’d been too late; the words had already sunk in and Yura had run, fleeing the castle in a cold fury.

But he’d been right after all. She was a disappointment. A disappointment of a daughter and a failure, the most worthless of his heirs.

And a liar.

The tears started flowing and Yura burst into wracking sobs. The girl howled into the night sky, letting out all of her pain, and regret, and loss. She cried and kept crying, letting her frustration mix with the pain, and her anger fuse with her regret.

She let it mix and swirl, then drew it all back in, letting it fill her and power her. Her crying became a roar, and then she turned and lunged, tackling her father’s murderer.

The pair fell backwards, out of the chamber and on to the balcony, where they separated. Yura roared again, swinging and tearing at Kurouji, who held her back with the flat of her blades.

She was saying something. Kurouji was shouting something at her, trying to get her to listen. But Yura couldn’t hear the girl, nor did she care about what she had to say.

One of her swings got through; her fist glanced off of Ryokuzan’s sheathe, and got Kurouji in the ribs. The kingslayer hissed and whirled, lashing out with a sharp kick that caught Yura in the thigh. Her leg buckled and she slipped, tumbling off the balcony with a bellow.

Time seemed to slow. She should’ve felt fear. She was falling almost certainly to her death, after all. Fear seemed like a pretty reasonable feeling.

Instead, all she felt was anger. Her magic flared and her ear spiked with a sharp pain. A brilliant, blazing lance appeared in her hand, and Yura instinctively threw it up, with a final shout.

Zensen shot from her hand with a howl, rocketing skywards and propelling her sideways.

She never got to see if the lance struck anything. The castle wall came up to meet her, and the darkness closed in.


That dream again.

Of course, neither of them had died. Maybe that was for the best. Who knew? It’s possible that it would’ve been better if only she’d died, or if Kurouji had caught Zensen with her face. It sure would have saved her a lot of trouble.

Geez, what was she thinking? What would her parents say?

She’d never spent much time together with them when they were both around. Only when she’d been a kid. If she were to hazard a guess, her father would have reprimanded her and her mother would probably be… comforting. Warm. Gentle. Probably?

She didn’t know. She couldn’t remember.

Yura stirred, the water rippling around her as she moved. She sluggishly opened her eyes, enjoying the heat and steam that filled the air.

The flameborn was back again. Back in the public hot spring, minus the ‘public’ part. Thank the Lords.

The battle was over. She could finally relax…

Something was off, though. Yura couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but what did it matter? The fight was over. Surely she could rest a bit. Maybe she’d go back to sleep. Just for a bit longer; a few more minutes at m—

She paled and bolted upright, splashing water everywhere. A few more minutes? A few more minutes???

Just how long had she been out for?

This wasn’t right. She had to go. Realms above, maybe she hadn’t been gone for too long? Hopefully Aoi wasn’t too worried. Hopefully Hiroki would be able to distract her? Maybe? He’d probably be a bit annoyed, though.

Or maybe they’d both be asleep by now? What time was it? Did they have clocks here? She needed to check the time.

Why in the hells was she just standing there, wondering if this place had clocks?

Yura leapt up and out of the water, and ran for the changing room. Her clothes were piled on top of each other like before, sitting there in an open locker door. Freshly laundered and mended, by the looks of it. She distinctly remembered having a lot less... shirt to work with, after her fire accident. Good thing there hadn’t been any spectators. She shuddered at the thought.

The flameborn pulled on her clothes, tied up her hair and was getting ready to leave when she noticed one last item; a red, scarlet rod.

Zensen. Right. She’d gone and left it back in the battlefield, hadn’t she? How nice of… them to return it to her.

Yura hesitated. She had a feeling that leaving this place wasn’t going to be that simple. Something else was waiting for her. She picked up the rod, fastened it to her ear, and rushed out the door, into the foyer.

There wasn’t anyone in the lobby this time. No Hanabi nor anyone else to guide her to… wherever she was meant to go. She stepped into the center of the waiting area and took a quick look around. The desk that she’d punched the Western King into had been mended flawlessly, just like her shirt. There wasn’t any sign of damage or disturbance along the span of the room.

As for doorways, there were a total of three. One to the male changing rooms, the one to the ladies that Yura had just come from, and another leading out. The same one that had led to that insanely long overpass. Which had led to—

She sighed with exasperation. This probably wasn’t going to end well.

The journey across the walkway was much faster this time. Yura didn’t bother looking over the railing or admiring the views. She simply raced across the bridge, running as fast as her legs would carry her.

It was only when she had reached the building with the spire that the flameborn slowed. Yura gritted her teeth as she stared at the complex. It looked way too similar to the center part of Tengamine Castle to be a coincidence. A bit less refined than the real thing, but it was just as big. Just as… foreboding. The imitation’s version of the Spire reached upwards to the sky, though the Pinnacle at top appeared to be intact.

The flameborn walked through the door, shutting it behind her. The room filled with darkness as it had before and then lit up in its entirety, revealing its slate gray walls and chequered, monochrome tiles.

The scene before her was almost the same as before. Her family was before her, frozen in time like a full-sized photograph. However, unlike before, the scene wasn’t shrouded by shadow and flame. This time it was far more lifelike.

Yura felt numb. She walked over stiffly, taking deep breaths as she approached her family. The girl stopped when she saw the sheen; a clear, magical barrier stopped her from going any further. She reached out and her hand stopped at the invisible wall.

Damn it.

Her father was smiling; a rarity, but he did have a brilliant smile. His hair color was vaguely similar to hers; a shinier silver, but with a reddish tinge.Her mother looked back at her from his left, her dark, blue-black hair tied up in a long ponytail.

She looked downwards, down at the three girls. They were huddled together, two of them posing for the occasion. What a strange set of hair colors they were. Green, silver and purple. None of them were particularly common around the mountain.

The eldest girl, Taiyane, had her arms around the younger pair, beaming a cheery smile at the photographer. Yura secretly wondered how Taiyane and her father managed it. Smiling… Smiling was hard.

Yura knelt down lower and inspected her younger self, then grinned. The little version of her was covered from head to toe in bruises, like she’d remembered. That had probably been her first fight. Just before the family photo as well, huh? At least smiling hadn’t been beyond her by that stage. If only she could say the same for that one, she thought, her eyes flickering to the last girl. A small, sad-looking child with mid-length purple hair.

She stared for a moment and grunted. Her eyes turned upwards, looking away from the image and towards the grey ceiling. Were they watching? They must’ve been watching.

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing,” she shouted, “but I’ve got better things to do than star in your twisted little game.”

Her voice echoed through the massive hallway. There was no response.

Yura cursed and turned back to the still of her family.

Except her family wasn’t there anymore. An image of Shion Kurouji stood behind the barrier, her sheathed katana planted at her feet. Yura glared at her, then looked around towards the tiled floor. Her mother wasn’t here. This was slightly different to the image that had greeted her before the first fight.

And then the image blinked. Kurouji’s argent eyes narrowed and Yura started. She jumped away from the barrier as the despot drew her blade and slashed, creating an incision that cut through the wall and through space. Shards of glass rained down on the flameborn as the room flooded with a golden light and the chamber faded away.

Clouds replaced walls. The roof split and opened, revealing the sky and midday sun high above them. The tiles below her boots became transparent, their color draining until they became clear and tinted panes. Far below them, there was nothing; an empty void that was lacking both purpose and existence.

The silence was broken by the screech of metal against metal as Kurouji sheathed her blade. She planted Ryokuzan at her feet and returned Yura’s rapidly darkening expression with a scowl of her own.

“Akabane Yura. Quite frankly, I’m amazed that you’re still here,” Kurouji said disdainfully, looking down her nose. “To think that you, of all people, now stand before me. One of the chosen four to partake in this grand, decisive, battle. How does it feel, Akabane Yura?”

Yura growled out something unsanitary and drew out Kimizan. The dictator’s frown deepened.

“Eloquent as ever. You’re wasting your time here,” Kurouji’s lip curled. “You’ve brought nothing but pain to all you care about. You’ve done nothing but break the peace with your continued existence. I don’t know how or why you were chosen, but it was a mistake.”

“You’re saying that I’m the problem?!” Yura countered furiously. ”You think that I’m at fault, when all you’ve done is brought war to Tengamine.”

“I’ve brought peace and order. When all of Tengamine and the surrounding states are brought to heel, there will be no conflict in a nation under my rule. However, you continue to remain a thorn in my side.”

There was a crackle and the roar of thunder. The clouds darkened and shifted, changing into a hazy facsimile of Tengamine Castle. Dark shadows formed behind Kurouji, shifting and changing into innumerable, armored soldiers in formation. Another four shadows gathered beside the despot, solidifying into four distinct, bowing figures.

Yura ignored the imitation soldiers and Kings. She kept her silver eyes locked on to Kurouji’s, her teeth bared.

The tyrant continued. “The strong rule and the weak are ruled. That is how it was supposed to be and that is how it will be, so long as I, Kurouji Shion, am in command. That will be the law of my empire, as decreed by my Authority.”

At that last syllable, the soldiers all drew their swords and the Kings stood up out of their bows, their glowing eyes locking on to Yura. The sky behind the false castle rumbled, hinting of an oncoming storm.

But she didn’t back down. Yura raised her blade and pointed it at Kurouji.

“I don’t care who or what I have to go through,” Yura spat, “but I’ll take out anyone or anything that gets in my way. Mark my words, Kurouji.”

The flameborn heir could sense something from the shadows now; an open hostility. Anger. It was like an army of angry hounds, waiting to be unleashed by their master.

But Yura didn’t back down. She continued on, letting her hatred fill her. “I’ll take down every single last one of your men if I have to. I’ll crush each and every single one of your ambitions and dreams. I’ll destroy your kingdom, no matter how long it takes, even if it costs me my life. And then—”

The shadows had enough. They leapt and attacked as one.

Kimizan extended to its full length, catching the sun’s rays as Yura swung it. There was a burst of crimson light and a massive blast of wind. The shadows collapsed and dispersed, leaving Kurouji standing alone in front of the castle.

Yura charged forward. Like she had done to the energy magus before, she angled the blade forward, aiming it for Kurouji’s chest.

“And then I’ll kill you!” She roared, lunging at her father’s killer.

Kurouji merely smirked.

She drew Ryokuzan in a single, swift motion, swiping the blade towards the floor. The tiles on her left shattered, and an unearthly howl filled the air. The despot swung her blade across her body, knocking Kimizan to the side. A swift boot to the stomach knocked Yura down.

“How interesting,” Kurouji remarked. “But tell me, Akabane Yura. What would come after?”

The despot leered down at Yura, Ryokuzan’s tip pointed at her throat. The flameborn didn’t move, resigned to glaring at her foe’s sword.

“Even if you do somehow manage to usurp me, what will you do? Will you tear down everything I have created and reduce it to its basest, most primal parts? Will you rule a shattered kingdom, or will you let total anarchy take over?”

Yura didn’t answer. The sword’s tip hovered by her neck; a small movement would have meant death.

But then the blade lowered. What… What in the realms? She looked up at Kurouji to see a mocking smile.

“Or will you rule as your father did?” she asked, smirking once again.
That did it.

Yura leapt up, screaming at Kurouji. The despot laughed once, grabbed her by the throat and threw her back down. Countless tiles cracked and split, threatening to give.

Tengamine’s ruler made one more final, mighty slash. The tiles under Yura shattered and she fell deep into the abyss, roaring with rage.


She landed, hard, crashing down in the midst of a solid pillar of flame and concentrated sunlight. A most fitting arrival for the flameborn heir of the Kingdom of Light.

The glowing particles of her entrance faded, leaving the scent of smoke and ozone. Yura tried to stand, tried to get off her knees and raise her head, but found she couldn’t. Something was keeping her locked there, in a bow. There wasn't any explanation for it, except that it wasn’t time to stand yet.

But still she struggled. Still she tried to rise. The names rang out one by one, called by a voice that was neither woman, nor man; Martin Tahlmore, Akordia Truenight, and Aleisha. The flameborn took note of the names, but she struggled and ground her teeth in frustration as she did.

And then it was her turn. Her name was called and she leapt to her feet, furious. Knight of Authority?! What sort of a joke—

Kurouji’s flash of teeth immediately came to mind.

Yura bristled. It was a joke, huh?

The resigned Knight of Authority rolled her eyes and sighed. Fine. It couldn’t be helped then.

She paid the other announcement little mind, the names and titles barely sinking in. Yura wasn’t especially good with names on a short-term basis. It probably came with her habit of nicknaming everything.

For example, the man in the coat from before. Caeos Essence. A man who was fighting for his own name by the sound of it, though the spelling was probably different in its normal language. Seriously, though, Caeos... Chaos? ‘CC-chan’?

Yeah, no. Not happening. Emo Goth Man. It was much simpler to just call them as she saw them.

She looked over to her allies and grimaced when she saw who was among them. Maybe it’d be better if she remembered some names. It was the least she could do, especially after trying to kill one of them.

Namely, Truenight. The armored goth lady looked as friendly as ever, but better than she’d last seen her.

A tall, blackened knight. Aleisha. What… what was it with all of these tall, darkened women?

And last, but not least, Tahlmore. A pallid, brutish looking man with plenty of skin art. While the ink was pretty cool, Yura was a bit disappointed. Snakes? Snakes weren’t fluffy. But at least they weren’t black snakes.

She sighed. Well, this was going to be interesting. She wondered if—

And then Tahlmore said something in that blasted tongue; Standard Common.

Yura groaned. The answer was no. No, they would not be communicating with each other on this day.

Well, it was a good thing that she was used to working alone. She probably wouldn’t need to worry too much about—

Truenight was looking at her. Oh hells. The delinquent grimaced slightly, thinking back to her attempt to flambe the woman. She wondered if there was a way of signing ‘no hard feelings’ as she walked up to her. Both statement or question forms worked.

Lord, she was tall. Maybe just as tall as the other blackened one. A small, crystalline spear sprouting from the black-lipped woman’s shoulder blade. Yura just stared back dumbly.

Patiently, Truenight gestured. Take it, she seemed to say.

Yura grinned. Kimizan grew and then flashed once, easily claiming the smouldering lance. Maybe there was something to gain from working together after all. The heir nodded her thanks and then looked up as something was launched towards the aurora in the sky.

Something? No, someone.

Not for much longer.

Yura moved. With Truenight’s gift in her left, the delinquent dashed forward, towards the airborne enemy. She looked up and, with a shout, let the crystalline spear fly.



Chewy905 -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/21/2020 23:16:54)

Silence’s eye caught sight of the movement while her ears took in the shout of defiance, a figure reacting to her flight in a way the others weren’t. It drew back it’s arm and threw a small spear at Silence’s path. Sheath moved as quill approached, steel meeting white hot steel with a loud clang as the spear was knocked aside. A shower of sparks erupted from the impact, scattering across Silence and biting at her skin like shards of glass. She averted her eye from the flash and gritted her teeth through the pain, focused on landing properly.

Silence hit the ground and rolled to her feet. Maintaining her momentum, she shot forward, her steps quick. Each stride rocketed her across the tiles of onyx and ivory, her body gracefully floating forwards at breakneck speed. Her eye flicked across the four before her, measuring their worth as she approached.

Knight of Authority, Yura Akabane. Fuel your anger, the voice had said. Was there yet another Rage-touched on this board? Her weapon was a familiar sight, if a bit strangely constructed. Was it… glass? Based on Yura’s position, she had been the one to throw the spear, but she didn’t seem to have any more. Silence’s mind registered her location and prepared to predict any further surprises. An annoyance, but not one to worry about until she comes closer.

Knight of Crystal, Akordia Truenight. Certainly not human. A large creature of crystal armor and blackened hair that moved just a tad unnaturally. The thing was charging for the mages Silence had left behind. Stay safe, it would be difficult for me to handle all of these foes alone if you fell.

Knight of the Void, Aleisha. Demon. That’s all this was. A monster of pale bone with a dancing blade akin to Silence’s own. Silence hissed as she continued her approach, even as crimson chains clattered from the hands of the beast. Be as terrifying as you want. You are not the Flames of Rage. You are not what haunts my nightmares.

The creature’s eyes were not on Silence, but past her. Her mind’s sight raced, drawing out the unseen around her. An army of four, two mages, two warriors. One warrior, her, had advanced far quicker than normally possible. It would only be natural for the other to advance behind. Caeos Essence must be following her trail, and Aleisha had picked him as her prey.

And at the demon’s side stood Silence’s mark. Martin Talhmore. Serpent Bearer. His chest once more anointed with blood, his emerald necklace swinging from it’s chain with a crimson stain that reflected the eerie light of this checkered plane. A token she could remember him by once she removed the neck it swung from.

One step.


She was close, now. Close enough to see Martin’s green eyes, reflecting a newfound fury that had been dulled in the glades before. Have you already succumbed? Have you forgotten mercy? Respect?

Two steps.


Now she could see the demon in all of it’s horrific glory. It’s palms held eyes. Horrifying eyes of orange fire that moved as one, sweeping across the board as the hook tipped chains rattled from their iris’. The chill of fear gripped Silence’s heart. Perhaps it is more like the Flames than I thought.

Three steps.


Serpent Bearer? Or Demon?

Now.


Thumb flicked sheathed hilt, revealing a glint of false steel. Though her eye remained locked on Martin before her, her mind reached for the foe beyond. From Silence’s very being, she saw a new form leap. A hazy outline of a man in the blue robes, charging at the demon with a joyous smile on his face. Like a mirage, he drifted in and out of her sight as he drew his blade at her mind’s command. The shimmer of her Ghostblade made itself known, its thin shadow contrasting the pristine tile below.

“Sonata.” She whispered. The final breaths of your soul, to defend me and heed my commands.

Though she knew he was no more than an extension of herself, that in truth she was fighting these two foes by her lonesome, the glimpse of her brother thawed away her icy fear. This would not be like that night. He would not fight, would not die, alone. Silence drew her sheath forth, her mind and her body moving in unison as brother and sister drove blade and sheath towards their foes throats.



roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/22/2020 14:07:48)

When Leaf had first entered the flowered battlefield, she’d wondered if the pool in its center was the center of Eythyr: the heart of the flowing waters that gave her strength. But here, on the chequered ground so foreign and unfamiliar, she realized her mistake. She’d been looking in the wrong place all along. Eythyr didn’t have banks nor shores. It didn’t end with the water of the river she’d always known. It seemed impossible. But the pull she felt towards the clouds above her was unmistakable. Like a friend she’d always known, beckoning for her to come and play.

Hey there, Eyth. Excited for me to finally meet you?

When she heard a voice in response, Leaf felt overjoyed. Finally, she would hear the voice of the one who had saved her life, given her unimaginable powers. But her excitement was quickly squandered as she realized the voice was from the dark-cloaked man once again. “Then that leaves us with only one unknown quantity: the Void Knight named Aleisha. I am not your teacher, nor you my student, so I will not stop you from making your own choice.” Ha. Student? She was probably a hundred years older than him. He better not stop her from making her own choice. And what was that choice to be? He kept speaking, even as Leaf watched a spear fly through the air, and Silence land perfectly on her feet. He mentioned Akordia, and Akabane. Perhaps it would be good to gather more information on their opponents, as he seemed to be doing. But the battle had already begun- and Leaf was more of a feeler than a thinker, anyways. She would deal with things as they came.

“Lady Leaf, can you heal?” Yes, of course, she had her Pearl. Sometime after her arrival, she had lost her focus on it, and it had returned to the choker she had fashioned for it long ago. She called it from its home, and it answered, rising from her necklace and expanding to float above her cupped hand. “Yes.” The river’s droplets scattering beneath her feet held everything she needed for that.

He gave a recommendation, next. Akordia or the Void Knight? What had drawn him to that conclusion just because she could heal? Leaf was hoping she could save the healing for others, anyways, not herself. She still wasn’t a fan of fighting, or pain for that matter. A single battle with a single opponent couldn’t change that. But… she had fought pretty well. She spoke a quick word to show she’d heard his request, and was willing to help. It would be pretty stupid of me to refuse to aid someone who’s on my side.., I’ll see how the battle plays out, and help out where it’ll be useful. He had one last response: “Tell Lady Ebriva to target whichever fighter comes for me.” With that, he gripped his ugly sheath and took off towards the fight brewing around Silence. Lady Ebriva: their last ally. Allies… other people chosen to fight for Chaos. Leaf fought the doubt that arose in her mind. Did that mean she wasn’t the only chosen one?... it was almost as if things made less sense now than before she’d taken up Emilia’s quest.

Another voice, still not Eythyr’s, coming from the opposite direction of the man. “I am Ebriva… Storm, and I call upon lightning, wind, water, and earth.” A quick glance revealed an incredibly slender woman, with sun-tanned skin and stunning eyes. One the blue of Eythyr, the other a green like the great oak’s leaves. Ebriva… a pretty name, though it didn’t flow from the tongue as nicely as others. Leaf paused, unable to ready a quick answer. How could Leaf explain her abilities as simply as this woman had? In the end, Ebriva was the first to break the silence. “Has your day been as strange as mine?”

Strange. Does seeing my dead girlfriend and fighting a flaming woman-cat-bird count as strange? Probably. If that was the case, then yes, her day had definitely been strange. And now, she’d found the true heart of Eythyr. Not a simple river, flowing through a forest. But a river of chaos that ran through everything. Was it possible for things to make total sense while still not making any sense at all? If Eythyr was the river of Chaos, then they were all just strings of color in its storm. Trees, leaves, elves, and animals, all part of the river, just as she had seen earlier. But how far did that stretch? What did that mean for the origin of her powers? And… did that also include humans, who instrumented order? Did that include Emilia?

She really, really hoped it did.

“Yeah, I’d say so.” She gave the woman a hint of a smile, a quick glance before training her eyes back to the battlefield. “Call me Leaf. I… specialize in the water and earth portion of that.” She was acutely aware of the rising puddle beneath her feet. Was she embarrassed? “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Shall we take care of our shimmering friend over there?” She nodded with her head to the one Caeos had called Akordia. She seemed to have neglected the main fight in favor of charging towards the backline. Her features reminded Leaf of Ariella, the body of a beautiful woman with various, nonhuman traits splashed in. This time, it was crystals- the light of the candelabra fracturing through her hair and down her body. Leaf tightened her grip on her staff, holding it still, as she pulled the Pearl through the air. As it brushed the ground, it grew defensive, metal enfolding from its center to surround the outer layer. In one motion, the metal exploded outwards, creating the sharp spikes that, hours before, had ripped through Jicella’s hand. The sky is Chaos, and the floor is Order. Unnatural. Human-touched. Just as it should be. Those who seek to enforce order, to control nature, only create a twisted form of the beauty they seek to control. Like the shell of Eythyr’s Pearl. Like Jicella Ariella, an amalgam neither living nor dead. But… if the floor was Order, why had it responded so eagerly to Leaf’s touch?

It was probably just hoping for her to mess up. But she wouldn’t give it that satisfaction.




ChaosRipjaw -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/22/2020 14:45:28)


Location: The Giant Chessboard
Time: A minute or two after arrival.
Situation: Moving
Phase: 1


The plan went wrong almost immediately.

. . . is what he was expecting to say. But surprisingly, things were playing out more or less according to his predictions.

There was a shout and a spear came flying directly towards Silence. She sliced it out of the air, landed on her feet, and without breaking stride, rolled to her feet and charged toward the mismatched pair of Talhmore of the Serpents and the Void Herald Aleisha. Impressive.

The Gravity Shift pulsed steadily as Caeos took great bounding leaps to quickly cover the distance. To an observer, it would have seemed like he were floating across the ground, with a step every now and then. In reality, his moving center of gravity was keeping him from keeling over and falling flat on his face.

As he moved to cover Silence, his gaze swept the battlefield, taking in everything with all of the old experience of the Grand Master.

He immediately noted the conversation that passed between Talhmore and Aleisha. He was too far away to make out what words were spoken, but not so far that he would miss the fact that Aleisha had targeted him.

All according to plan.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yura with her glass katana drawn and Akordia brandishing her familiar acid and burning blades. The latter ignored him --- much to his amusement --- and instead headed for the two spellcasters. Ah. So she had also recognized the danger posed by two mages at a distance. Momentarily, he regretted not sticking around to observe the effects of lightning on her, but the fact that she had not immediately come after him back in the Hellfire arena was telling.

The thought of the two spellcasters, made him briefly wonder what Leaf would make of his instructions. Now that he thought of it, he’d been quite distracted --- too much information, so little time. His resulting “advice” had probably sounded like the incoherent ramblings of a fraudulent oracle. Too late for that.

Caeos muttered a curse. What a pretty pickle; the path to Aleisha was blocked by the line of charge between Silence and Talhmore. Under other circumstances, he would have aimed for Talhmore without hesitation. However, Silence’s mannerisms hinted that she would not take kindly to having her kill taken or even “helped.” He shifted direction slightly so that he now trailing behind Silence, rather than running parallel to her.

Unfortunately this meant Yura would be out of reach.

Priorities.

Chains sprouted from the palms of the Void Knight’s hands. Talhmore brandished dual tomahawks.

Silence drew her wakizashi, yet interestingly it was still sheathed.

He would have liked to say that few things could surprise him anymore. In multiple lifetimes of dealing with allies and enemies of all types, from daemons to cultists to mechanical monstrosities to angels that pretended to be human, he had seen weapons and abilities of all shapes and sizes. He had fought against a fisherman who could summon a dragon composed of the jing of the land. He had dueled a noble who could turn into a monster that rivaled the horror of the Chao’sri’p’jaw. He had faced a warrior armed with supernatural marks that let him bend the laws of physics. Yet, the sense of astonishment from actually seeing things in action would never really fade.

While he was expecting Silence to brandish another hidden weapon, inwardly he still jumped at the sight of the invisible blade --- or rather, the warping of space that hinted of its existence --- materializing next to her. It floated alongside her as though it were alive.

Perhaps it was because they were now on the same side. But for whatever reason, in her posture or something, somehow Caeos thought he felt a flicker of fear from Silence. For a moment, the impending skirmish felt like another battle from the Second Campaign. In particular, the times when he would personally train apprentices by taking them out to the battlefield. Though it had not really registered before, he now realized that Silence really was quite young --- especially in comparison to his age.

This was something the rest of the Five Tigers never understood, the reason why he alone stood out from them. What monsters like Zjur and Akuyuru derisively dismissed as weakness---

Have no fear, girl. You are not alone.

With a last burst of speed, he was finally in striking range. Once again, the Sliiker wetly slid from its sheath, coated in the noxious blood of the Chao’sri’p’jaw, shades of daemons within the mist howling voicelessly.

The unnatural sight of a Void manifestation never failed to send chills up his spine. Skin darker than the night, with a lanky frame and the familiar burning slits that passed for eyes, and armor that looked as though it had grown along with her body like the plating of a reptile. Combined with teeth like an anglerfish and hair like an onryo’s, she made for a terrifying sight. Fleetingly, but surely, he noticed eyes on her palms.

He drifted slightly to the right. His left arm hovered seemingly aimlessly.

The parry, the gun, or the armor.

Choose.

Silence delivered a thrust with each blade aimed at her targets’ necks.

Caeos closed in. If Aleisha struck at Silence, he would try to defend the latter. If instead, she tried to strike him, she --- both of them, he thought darkly --- would be in for some unpleasant surprises.

How will you move, Knights of Order?



Kellehendros -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/22/2020 20:38:39)

There was water pooling at Leaf’s feet.

Ebriva blinked, eyes flicking from the elegantly dressed woman before her, down to the tile, and back up again. Was she… making the water? That seemed a bit underwhelming compared to the things the young woman had seen Crystal-hair and Red Blade do. Then again, the River Knight had made it this far. Earth and water were not to be disrespected; each played a role in the dance of the Storm.

And the Storm was rising.

She almost missed Leaf’s motion, that slight inclination of her head westward, as the heart stone activated. Her fellow staff-bearer’s lips moved, but the Stormcaller only distantly heard the words.

A sort of full-body shock ran through Ebriva as she inhaled deeply. Her eyes dilated, mismatched irises dwindling to thin rings around massive pupils. In her chest, her heart kicked and bucked, pounding a rapid tattoo as a flush spread over her skin. Surely Leaf can hear that? The idea was so ridiculous as to draw laughter from the Stormcaller, a bubbling giggle that tumbled from her lips as the air around her crackled with static. She felt… swollen, gravid, like her skin was nothing more than a fiber-thin cloth wrapped around a core of hissing plasma. Each beat of her heart sent that energy coursing through her veins, leaping between her nerve endings like lightning itself. The Storm surged within. What could the Crystal Knight hope to do against her?

Ebriva glanced toward the charging crystal bearer. Even the simple movement left her giddy, and turning to face Akordia felt as portentous as the rumble of distant thunder. "She told me to become a Queen." Something about that fact was riotously funny… “Then again, how could she have known Earlon had me attainted?” That was it.

Of course, the real joke was on Kenal’s Hammer, or it would be. Yes, once she got back, she was going to demonstrate first-hand for him just what she had learned here. After all, if Menlo could be an artist with stone and clay, why couldn’t the Stormcaller turn Earlon into her own project of self-expression?

But first… First there was Truenight. Ebriva’s rod whistled as she spun it - the motion was entirely unnecessary, but every hair on her limbs was standing at static-attention and it just felt so good to move - and leveled on a course intersecting Crystal-hair’s charge.

“I am no child!” Lightning surged down the staff, rippling in blue-white courses along its graven designs until the bolt thundered out at Akordia.



Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/23/2020 2:04:27)

One voice rose above the rest as Martin’s gaze was fixed to the banshee above. The one called Akabane mustered her strength and sent a spear of brilliant crystal flying to pierce the witch’s heart. Certainly, her aim was a gift from above for it flew straight and true. It was something to be praised, but Silence pushed through with unyielding resolve. Sparks danced in the sky as the crystal slid against steel. It was nothing to the witch.

There was no hesitation as Silence landed, pushing toward the prey in her sight. Behind her, another ally drew close. This time, it was a man clothed in a coat of black leather with hints of gold. His face was mostly obscured with his raven-hair and wide hat, and his thick coat made any inference hazy. But as Martin caught a glimpse of the one called Caeos Essense, he saw all he needed. The figure moved with purpose just like his allies and with pristine form. And he was fast. Like a blur of wind and lightning, the hatted figure drew a razor-thin blade from the bandages at his side, and it dripped with some foul liquid. He was ready for war. But what of the others? As he scanned, the woman who fell from the sky was closer to the back. Not too far off, another figure was present, the fourth member of chaos, the one called Leaf. Charging in their direction was Akordia, her crystalline form shimmering in the chequered light. It made sense now, how the foreign one brandished that spear. A parting gift before running off to deal with Leaf and the stormcaller. As he watched, there was a crash as several spikes arose from the chequered plates. Then the earth gave way to echoing thunder as the sunburnt mage unleashed a bolt of raw destruction.

It was just enough to make Martin flinch.

“Your allies and your foes have killing intent, Misery. Do not disappoint them—”

As the whispers spoke, Martin pulled his thoughts together and simply nodded. It was clear that all of the chosen in attendance wielded powerful gifts that made ordinary mortals shudder. Even now, they were almost upon him, the witch and the warlock bearing their full might. The skills of the hatted one were unknown, but the gifts of Silence were more familiar to Martin. Swift, clever, always prepared for both offense and defense, yet not without flaw. A flash of pain crossed his shoulder as the memory rushed to mind. He had taken her eye and her life with a feint, but would the witch fall for the same trick twice? Surely not. No, he had to crack through the witch’s defense somehow without losing another arm.

Curse that witch and her sheathe—

The moment echoed in Martin’s head once more, how he rendered the killing blow. The veil and sheathe, two mysteries still left unknown to the Life-Taker. When he tore that black mask from the witch, life had left her, dead before she ever touched the ground. And yet, her magic still lingered. And what of the sheathe? Not once had Silence ever roused the full blade from the metal.

A sheathe without a sword, a magic blade with no wielder—

Finally, the thought struck Martin. What if the sheathe was a focus for the blade? Indeed, the heretics of his homeland often used tools to channel dark magic through them. However, their work was often slow, methodical. This woman called upon the blade as if it were a part of her own soul, much akin to the Serpent’s power.. But the possibility was too great for Martin to ignore. At worst, the woman would be without any means to block with. But if his thoughts were correct. . .

What was a witch without their magic? Nothing but a fool on borrowed time, Martin knew. He understood what it was like to be separated from his power. He would have happily relinquished it had the right moment ever arose, but in this war? It had cost him his life. Now, it would cost Silence hers. She would feel that same pain—

Cracking the woman’s guard would be difficult on his own, but Martin was not alone. Not now, not ever.

The Life-Taker turned and beckoned to the alabaster abomination, emerald eyes fixed to burning red. “Follow my lead and strike. Watch the shadows.” As the two knights of chaos drew near, the ink spiraled around his right arm as he dashed to the side to draw their gaze away from Aleisha. As Martin circled around, the witch took a quick glance towards the abomination before shifting back. Then, she reached for her sheathe and pulled—

“Watch out!”

Immediately from the corner of his eye, the faintest shimmer came into view as it raced towards where he pictured the Twisted. Before, the heavenly rays of the meadows were turned by the witch’s magic, their discordance gifting Martin a means of tracing it. But now in this battlefield’s muted glow, it moved like a ghost with only the dimmest outline. Martin could only hope that Aleisha was not so far gone as to ignore his warning.

But the witch’s eye had never left Martin. It was devoid of color, devoid of all purpose beyond what Silence saw before her. She lashed out with her sheathe of steel towards his throat. He answered in turn with his own steel, twisting the two tomahawks around to catch the strike as before. The witch had made the same mistake.

“A lesson learned before it is hopefully too late.”


The sheathe was locked between his steel once more, but the edges pointed inwards instead of outwards. There would be no sliding this time. The blood boiled in Martin as the bargain was struck and the serpent moved into his heart. His pale skin turned crimson and then a sickly green as otherworldly strength coursed through his right arm.

It could have been different; their wounds, the fighting— everything up to this moment could have been different.

’“Where does your heart lie? We need not be enemies in this war, but the choice is yours.”


If only she had listened to him, if she had only taken a different choice. But the witch had made her decision; now, she must suffer for it.

The Life-Taker looked directly into Silence’s eye, into her very soul. Then, the two became one as they spoke.

“Enough of this facade! Why do you fight?! Where does your heart lie?!”

As a flash of emerald fire flickered in his eyes, Martin roared with the fury of the world-ender, his own challenge failing on his ears. Through light or darkness, Martin sought nothing but order and the greater good. For every act of kindness, he would reward. For every sin, he would repay threefold. Such was the role of a Life-Taker. But what of Silence? Did she not stand in opposition against everything he stood for? When he offered mercy, did she not answer with her discordant blade? It was with these burning questions that Life-Taker and World-Ender were reconciled, and the two unleashed all they had to bear. He pivoted, pulling to the left with all of his newfound might. If Silence cherished her life, she would let go, removing the witch of her foul tool. But if she clung to it, then Martin would pull her with it, aiming to sweep her off of the ground and towards the side— right where his new ally waited.

“Answer me, Silence. I will not hold any of them back.



Necro-Knight -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/23/2020 17:58:10)

She hadn’t expected the opposition to close in on them so quickly. Thinking back to the announcements she’d caught as she found her bearings, these were the knights of chaos, and surely their behavior was lining up with that fact. Two had stayed in the back, while others rushed head-long into the bloodbath. Even the weaker-appearing man had followed up the one named Silence. Caeos, if she wasn’t mistaken.

Aleisha had hoped her opponents would close in slowly and cautiously, and her victims could be kept at a healthy distance with her chains, perhaps even maneuver them into better striking positions for her allies. As a solid crack of thunder made her ears ring and Martin called out to her in warning, the reborn queen realized she wasn’t going to have that luxury.

Up until now, she’d been keeping a tight grip around the throat of her other half, the bestial ferocity that still growled just beneath the surface of her skin. As the spectral edge sliced through the cosmic air towards her throat, she loosened that grip just a few inches and let the void-fueled instincts take over. Her knees bent in unison with her spine, bending her torso forward at an angle that should’ve been anatomically-impossible for any other being, but was a simple stretch for the void herald.

A sharp tug on a few obsidian hairs told her she had only breaths between the blade as it passed and grit her teeth as the sword shortened a few strands. It’d all nearly come to an end right there, and if it hadn’t been for this shirtless fool next to her, it could’ve very well been her end. Perhaps he wasn’t just a distraction. After all, he’d been selected just as she had, she could respect that, at least.

Dismissing her chains due to both the close proximity of friend and foe alike, Aleisha instead bent forward further and rested her claws spread wide on the smooth, granite-like tiles. Her position spoke of a spring, a feline-esque pounce onto the nearest foe, but it paid to keep one's enemy guessing in this little game.

With a mental flick, her void-knife answered and launched itself from her sheath with a hungry fury. Even with Silence so close, Martin seemed to have the situation under control as she’d seen in the short glance she spared the pair before refocusing on the this Caeos individual. His eagerness would be his downfall as well as Silence’s.

Instead of her blade simply launching in a straight path towards the long-coated man, she curved its trajectory and sent it hilt-first towards Silence’s ribs, hoping to side-swipe her left side as the blade went by and continued on to swipe with a horizontal motion towards Caeos’ chest, whether it made contact on the way or not. If nothing else, it could throw Silence off balance and give Martin another opportunity to strike in, just as he’d given her this chance by removing her physical sheath from the path of attack.

“So chivalrous to come to the aid of a woman in need…” She purred at Caeos, her tone burning deep in her throat, “ Unfortunately, I believe you will be the one in need of saving if you choose to interfere...”



Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/24/2020 21:27:22)

Eight radiant eyes bore in the brilhado as she passed beneath the towering scale illuminating the field. Its watchful gaze held an orb for each combatant, a living reminder of the ebb and flow of battle. Akordia wondered which one was hers...and how much longer before its brilliance was snuffed out. I am Her Herald, Her Witness. The quick prayer was all the Pale Priestess had to offer as she charged onwards to her fate.

The whisper of the woman ignored Akordia, instead hounding after the Life-Taker with Caeos of Essence nipping at her heels. A bold tactic to mount a direct assault with inferior numbers, but it left the ranged specialists to cast their punishment across the field. Even now, her other comrades were converging on Silence and the disciple with no regard for the spellslingers. Akordia’s skin tingled at the thought of the fulgarmantic power at Ebrivia’s fingertips; a single bolt from her could leave entire ranks of soldiers burned alive within their metal armor. Leaving not one but two such enemies unattended would seal the battle’s conclusion before it began. Such was the fragility of victory.

It was with that burden that the brilhado drew the ire of her enemies. Leaf prepared some weapon in her hands, but it was Ebrivia who commanded Akordia’s attention. The once-noble’s staff whirled through the air. Electric arcs poured across its length in a demonstration of power that only served to give away the oncoming assault. Such arrogance. Such ignorance. The mage had survived a single battle and thought herself already crowned. A queen led with bravery, not brazenness. A lesson in humility seemed to be in order. Akordia steeled her gaze at the mage. Prove yourself.

Dodging lightning was a laughable thought. Evading a forecast attack less so. Akordia acted even as Ebrivia was leveling her staff to unleash storm’s fury. The brilhado kicked her feet ahead of her and allowed gravity to pull her down. Talons screeched as they scratched the marble surface. She fell, throwing an arm down to catch herself. Akordia fought the urge to wince as her crystal blade shattered on impact. Jagged remains bit into her skin as lightning streaked overhead and into the void beyond. Akordia scrambled to her feet, hand slick with blood. A small price to pay for eluding the torment of the storm.

But not the only price as a sphere hurtled through the air towards the Pale Priestess. Her arm rose too late, the gemlike stone soaring past her outstretched fingers and slamming into her shoulder. Fiery hot pain flooded across her skin as the spikes bit into her flesh. With a gesture, the weapon was pulled back towards the elf. Akordia clenched her teeth as spasms like scalding water poured down the nerves of her damaged muscles. Black and violet crystals burgeoned to stem the blood loss, exchanging mobility for sturdiness. She could not let them dictate the terms of battle, but how did one contest with those who controlled the wrath and rage of nature it-

Rage.

Akordia hissed in a breath as she tossed her head back. “Yura!” Her voice boomed but found no echo as it was swallowed by the endless reach of the abyss. ”Lend me your rage!” She whipped her hair forward, unleashing a volley of sharpened crystals at Leaf. The needles scattered out not only to target her torso but in the empty space to the left of the elf. A simple sidestep towards her compatriot would be the most instinctual and straightforward way to mitigate the threat of the assault. With ease, the elf would likely avoid most, if not all, of the hued darts.

Akordia was counting on it.



Kooroo -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/24/2020 22:39:16)

Being thrown from the heavens by her most loathed person in the Six Realms hadn’t been Yura’s ideal way to start off the grand finale between Order and Chaos. The trip down hadn’t been fun, but the fact that Kurouji had used it as an excuse to play ‘admission officer to hell’ was beyond aggravating. Just seeing that girl again was enough to turn a good day into a bad one and that day had been plenty garbage already.

But that last smirk had been the worst part; that little parting gift she’d thrown Yura before casting her down. After all this time, that Lord-damned, conceited grin still pissed her off.

In the fourteen years they’d known, the flameborn had rarely seen Kurouji smile. It was always that scowl; probably as bitter as the limes in Mother’s garden. But if it wasn’t the scowl, then it had always been that condescending sneer instead. Whenever they’d clashed—either on the sports field or the delinquent’s ‘precious’ few years in school—the outcome had always been the same: the older girl would strike a decisive win and Yura would come a close second.

Kurouji’s contemptuous manner of speech just added to her indignation. That girl was definitely gifted alright; she somehow managed to make being pretentious into an art form. Just thinking about it was enough to make Yura’s blood boil. To merely call it ‘irritating’ would be an injustice; akin to describing a fisherman’s haul as ‘big’ when they’d manage to reel in an adult oni shark.

And fortunately—or perhaps unfortunately—for those around her, they were about to experience a taste of the flameborn’s fury.

Moments after Yura had thrown the Truenight’s spear, her target blocked it. What little joy she had gained from throwing her ally’s entrusted gift was immediately dashed with a flick of the woman’s sheath. Despite her drab and frail appearance, the woman had landed and moved on to engage Tahlmore, the two had locking into a grapple as Yura approached.

That hadn’t made quite the impact she was hoping for. It might not have been as powerful or large as the Scarlet Lance, but it should’ve been more than enough to take down a normal person. However, the drab cosplayer had deflected Truenight’s javelin as easily as Kurouji had knocked Yura down onto her rear.

The nature of that comparison made the flameborn hesitate.

All of the combatants on this chequered plane were supposedly incomparably skilled. The paragons of their various realms, the Knights of Order and Chaos. The… cream and... uh... hm.

The cream and the… more cream. Or… something.

Yura couldn’t remember the wording of the funny Common phrase, but she knew that it tied in with her first point. Ignoring the failed idiom, the fact remained that they were all tough opponents. Not incomparably so—as that lightning witch had affably demonstrated earlier—but taking them down alone wouldn’t be that easy.

Which meant that, ideally, she wouldn’t need to. That’s what her allies were for, after all. To showcase the idea, Tahlmore and the blackened Aleisha moved in tandem. Their polar pair, the cosplayer and CC-chan, both looked prepared to cover their partner if the time came.

But what did that mean for her? What was she supposed to do? She couldn’t coordinate with any of them if she couldn’t understand them. Hells, what had they been saying earlier? Had they just exchanged greetings? Apologised for prior murder attempts? Friendly Banter? Comments about the chromatic weather?

They could’ve been poking fun at Yura’s hair for all she knew. Who could possibly know what they’d all been sayin—

Oh, right. That was the point.

Literally everyone except her.

There was also the matter of not wanting to… well, get anyone killed. Not the Chaos Knights; Yura wouldn’t have hesitated to gut each and every one of them in ascending height order or vice versa. It was more that she didn’t want to ruin any of her allies’ plans. She wasn’t… she wasn’t exactly the most versed in working with others. In fact, she’d almost never done it on an individual level. These people might have been strangers, but they weren’t enemies. Yura didn’t have any quarrel with any of them. She didn’t want to make a mistake and get one of them killed because of a single wayward action.

The flameborn had drawn incredibly close to Tahlmore and the drab lady by now and plenty of uncertainty had risen within her. It was practically an inverse of the distance left between her and the grapplers. She couldn’t quite see all of him, but the gothic overdresser was on his ally’s other side, ready to fend off the blackened Aleisha.

Tahlmore roared something at his foe. Something she couldn’t understand.

That was enough to stop her.

Just over a couple of paces away, the flameborn’s resolve wavered. Her left foot faltered, slowing and shortening her next step by half. Kimizan’s tip lowered, angling a few degrees downward.

Maybe it wasn’t right to rush in like this. Perhaps it’d be better just to let them duke it out and support the pair when neces—

And then she heard it. A snippet from ages past; a memory of an especially painful practice session. The scorn in Kurouji’s voice had been as clear as the derision in the elder girl’s smile and the bruises on Yura’s limbs. ”Ho? Is that all, Akabane Yura? If this is the extent of your resolve, then my time would be better spent practicing against our store of firewood. I have no further need of you, just as a conquering nation has little need of a vanquished leader. You may leave.”

Of course, the younger girl hadn’t left it at that. Yura had taken up her bokken again and struck back with a vengeance. It hadn’t amounted to much more than a few extra bruises, but a fire had been ignited in the flameborn that day.

That blasted smile. That accursed, arrogant tone. And those narrowed, argent eyes.

There was no way she was going to back down again now. Not when her blood, her heart, and her very being burned; reignited with a murderous, demonic wrath.

Eyes flashing and magic surging into her spear, Yura pushed off her stalled left and lunged, roaring as Kimizan plunged towards the dull woman’s torso. The crimson blade shifted and morphed as she leaped, extending to its full length. With a single, decisive thrust, the rageborn intended to halve the number of Chaos Knights on the field.


The Hiroki back in the Resistance camp stirred, and then slowly creaked open an eye. When he was certain that there wasn’t anyone watching, he dropped all pretense of sleep and bolted upright, frowning.

No one around? That was odd. Where had that girl gone this early?

He stood up and walked over to Aoi’s empty bedroll, clicking his tongue with disapproval. He’d need to remind her to make her bed once she came back.

Of course, that was assuming that Lady Shion hadn’t already put an end to this affront by then.



ChaosRipjaw -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/24/2020 22:54:33)


Location: Unknown
Time: The past. Further details unknown.
Situation: ???


“Oof!”

He hit the ground squarely on his backside.

“Get up boy,” said a voice gruffly.

He scrambled back to his feet, training staff in hand. The much older man also held a training staff. In the past hour he had been trying to land a blow on the man, but his guard was far too powerful.

“You can do it!” called a girl. She and another woman were both watching.

He shook his head. It was embarrassing enough to be knocked around like a harmless toy. It was even more so with her watching.

“Focus, boy,” the man said sternly. “In a real battle, you wouldn’t have this many chances to get back up.”

“In a real battle, I wouldn’t have gone up against someone far stronger than me in the first place,” he shot back.

For a moment, he feared he had crossed a line. But then she called again. “He’s right! This one on one duel is unfair!”

“Well then,” the man replied to her, “perhaps you would like to join him in this training bout.”

She faltered. He saw this, and called, “Don’t worry. Together, we can take him!”

The hesitation in her eyes immediately turned into determination. “Yeah!”

She picked up another training staff and leapt into the training arena.

“Go!”

Before he could react, she struck first.

“No!” he yelled. She had struck too soon; the man parried easily and swung his staff.

There was a dull thud as he lunged and successfully parried the blow. Without hesitation, he grabbed her and spun them away from the reach of the man’s staff.

“You need to wait!” he said to her angrily. “It’s stupid to attack without knowing what you’re up against!”

Her face turned red and tears welled up in her eyes.

“Boy,” said the man, though his tone was noticeably less harsh. “Mind that temper of yours. She’s younger than you. When teaching others, it is important to not let your anger rule your head.

“And you, girl,” he said, patting her head, “he’s right. It can be tempting to strike first when surprise is on your side. But when you do it without knowing your enemy, and you might be the one who gets surprised.”

“I get it now!” she said, her shame vanishing instantly. She turned to him. “Thanks, Caeos!”

He chuckled. “You’re welcome, ---”



Location: The Giant Chessboard
Time: In the blink of an eye---
Situation: Danger
Phase: 1


Hope is a sad thing.

In the blink of an eye, the situation had turned on its heels.

He had been prepared for any of the Knights of Order to come after him. He was prepared to fend off any assailants who could have interrupted Silence’s attack. He was even prepared for Ebriva to not come to his aid.

And yet it hadn’t occurred to him that Silence would be so swiftly countered. It had been a foolish move to trust in Silence’s hypothesized abilities so much. Young ones always acted rashly and usually ended up paying the price for it. Just like that memory---

Caeos dismissed it. Now was not the time for reminiscence.
In a maneuver so quick that Caeos suspected he had done it before, Talhmore had locked Silence’s wakizashi between his two tomahawks and immediately swung her toward Aleisha, like a beast tamer throwing food for his starving hounds. All of this happened in an instant, but even without the Kyuinshengan, the tactician in him had not missed a single detail of what had just transpired.

He had noticed the black tattoo of the serpent move across Talhmore’s arm. Immediately afterwards, the Knight of Misery’s right arm had flashed crimson and then glowed green. Two more pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

So, his tattoos give him some kind of power in his arm. One limb at a time, perhaps? And if the snake tattoo can move --- ink magic---?

While the tactician speculated, the warrior did not miss a beat. His keen eyes caught the sword as it left the Void Knight’s side. It swung in an arc, hilt pointed at Silence, with the blade intended for his ribs. Fortunately, he had had the foresight to skirt right, otherwise his momentum would have carried him directly into the blade’s path.

The parry.

The sustaining aura pulsed, shifting to the oppressive aura for a split second. Despite the extra strength it afforded him, the force of the blow was incredible. Use yin to counter yang. Instead of fighting against it, Caeos stepped back slightly, tilting his body so that the blade slid against the Mindweaver Gauntlet. He felt the wind of the blow as it passed by his arm. That had been an extremely dangerous move; mentally controlled swords were not limited by the physics of the body. Without the Gravity Shift, even the glancing blow would have sent him flying.

“How chivalrous of you to come to the aid of a woman in need,” Aleisha purred. Combined with her crouching pose, she looked and sounded for all the world like a twisted, demented cat. “Unfortunately, I believe you will be the one in need of saving if you choose to interfere . . .”

The tactician noted her posture. So, as a Void Knight, she bent her body in angles that even the Circus’s contortionists would be hard-pressed to imitate. As for her speech, no Void manifestation ever talked so much---

Ah.

“An honor,” Caeos replied conversationally, as though they were having a friendly chat at the bar. “Though I must admit, I am surprised a former human who shed her humanity would remember the concept of chivalry.”

He heard a shout behind him. Not Akordia, so that must be Yura. Unpleasant memories of another battle surfaced.

I have already been tag-teamed too many times now.

Hesitation is defeat.

Without hesitation, he shrugged out of his longcoat. The Eldritch armor materialized once more as the boundaries of the space-manipulation spell vanished. The blow from the sword had sliced a shallow groove into the stone/metal material of the Mindweaver Gauntlet. In the previous battle, his leather longcoat had not fared well against Akordia’s crystal blade. Although moving in the armor would be slightly more awkward, it was a suitable price to pay for the protection --- especially considering his diminished state in this world.

Phase 2.

Even as he brought out his armor, his feet moved and brought him back to an upright position. He fixed his gaze on her dispassionately through his helmet as he went into a slight crouch and pounced.

The Sliiker slashed the air with the wild abandon of the Hellwind style, the evil mist billowing with it.

“Tell me, my dear Aleisha,” he said, lacing his voice with a cruel mockery of concern, “do you fear hearing the abyss whispering to you?”



Chewy905 -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/24/2020 23:52:16)

I was careless.

Silence knew what Martin was doing even before he began moving. In her haste and impatience, she had failed to consider the man’s speed once again. Just as in the glade, his axes crossed her steel, locking it snugly between the blades. She tugged slightly, and felt it give a bit.

Before she could try again, the Serpent-Bearer’s arm erupted with a violent shade of red before shifting to a sickly green. His emerald eyes locked on hers. They were filled with fury, glowing with malice, and revealed just a hint of sadness.

“Enough of this facade!” He shouted. “Why do you fight?! Where does your heart lie?!”

Martin released an animalistic roar, the vicious call of a predator that had caught its prey. His foot pivoted and his axes followed, desperate to rip the weapon from her grasp and leave her defenseless. But this blade was her trial. She would not lose it. Not until she could draw her brothers for herself. Not until she could wield them side by side, like she had as a spirit, to fight the Rageborn that plagued her village because he no longer could. The same Rageborn that was trying to strip her of her promise to Sonata right on this chessboard. Her grip on the hilt tightened as her body began to follow it aside.

Directly towards the Demon’s flying sword.

“I… I’m sorry, Sonata.”

Tears flowed from her eye as the whisper escaped her lips. Her grip loosened, letting the hilt slip away from her grasp. It left willingly, staying with the Serpent-Bearer’s steel embrace and abandoning the hands that had held it for so very long. Silence shifted to avoid the hilt of the Demon’s passing blade as it sailed onwards towards Caeos, praying that the man could handle it.

By stripping Silence of her defense, Martin wanted her to back up. A trick to cease the relentless assault that had almost removed his arm in the glade. But if she did, she’d leave herself open to his second ally, the approaching Yura and her blade of glass.

Why do you fight?

So Silence slipped forwards, directly up to him. Too close for the warrior to use his axes with ease. Too close for Yura to swing wide without hitting Martin as well. The image of her brother's spirit flashed in Silence’s mind as she began to call her ghostblade back. He had been smiling, an expression of pure joy. He had almost seemed… alive.

Her foot pivoted, her body shifting its weight towards her back.

“I fight because he can’t.”

What was peace? Why was she so set on achieving it? She thought of the quiet blackness within the Chequered City, the cool mist that she had felt on her skin. She thought of the hallowed grounds. The gentle wind that rustled the grasses, the warm sun shining on her paleness, the feeling of happiness that came with it. She thought of playing Sonata’s erhu, his spirit dancing round the room. The feeling of calm that it invoked. She thought of sparring with him. Of fighting with Martin in the glade. Of sailing through the air on this chessboard. The tension in her nerves, the feeling that there was nothing but the now.

She thought of her time before all this chaos, right after she had lost him. She had been a ghost, drifting her way through every day. She had no purpose, but she wasn’t seeking one either. She had no want to take her brother’s place as a protector, only the weight of his heritage pressing down on her. She had been nothing. She had felt nothing.

Yura lunged with a furious battlecry, her blade extending further than Silence had expected. By moving forward Silence had avoided the brunt of the blow, but the glasslike blade still slid across her back, cutting through her shirt and splitting skin. Silence gasped at the sharp pain as hot blood sprayed from her back to splash on the tiles below. The pain punctuated her words further, emboldening her as she spoke.

“I fight so I can feel.”

Her voice was growing louder with each statement. Louder than she had ever spoken before. These words were coming from deep within her, bursting forth from somewhere she had never looked. For but a moment, her eye glowed with lost emerald light, matching the man’s before hers. For but a moment, the spirit of her brother flickered, reflecting a girl with green eyes and long raven-black hair, smiling as she danced across the battlefield.

Silence’s foot pivoted again, shifting her body weight forward. Her fist drove forwards, directly at the Serpent Bearer’s nose, with the desperate speed and force of one with everything lost, and everything to lose. He turned his cheek, and her fist slammed into it, forcing him back with staggered steps. Silence kept up her advance, throwing short, fast punches aimed wherever she could reach. Without waiting to see if they even landed, she would pull them back to swing again and again. She screamed her soul out, answering his question with a roar that shook her to her very core.

“I fight because it proves that I’m alive!”




roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/26/2020 0:05:06)

Before today, the Pearl had never been used to harm. Jicella was the first- but even then, she had not bled. The crystalline woman, the one called Akordia, definitely bled.

Ebriva had taken the first shot, a bolt of lighting which burst from her staff towards Akordia. So she, too, used a staff to channel the elements… but Ebriva’s staff was much different from Leaf’s. It was thin and metal, clearly manufactured for her unique talents. It was not a natural tool. Ebriva had created a weapon, and used her creation to force control over the air and energy around her. Leaf kept her focus on her enemy, sending the spiked Pearl flying in Akordia’s direction, but she could not help turning up her nose at such unnatural methods. Leaf could manipulate the earth, but only because it was willfully listening to her. All she was doing was asking it to move, and it decided to listen. With such a staff, that clearly wasn’t what Ebriva was doing. Had Eythyr really chosen such a dictator to fight on the side of Chaos? Ebriva’s control didn’t belong here, just as the blood of living things did not belong on Leaf’s Pearl.

And yet both of these situations had come to be. The crystalline woman hadn’t recovered in time, and though she’d successfully dodged Ebriva’s lightning, she had no such luck with the Pearl. Its quills slammed into her shoulder, blood splattering across its surface and the porcelain ground beneath her. Leaf felt the dark warmth as if she was the Pearl itself. And she felt it pulsing, pushing against the scarlet liquid now sticking to its shell. She called it back to her, and it transformed as it flew, water gushing from its center and washing away the tough metal surrounding it. I guess it’s an easy way to clean yourself off.

And now Akordia was mad. She let out a yell, calling out to one of her teammates. Could Leaf handle two enemies at once? The idea was overwhelming, but she did have the Stormcaller by her side. Leaf watched as Akordia brandished her hand and threw out a series of sharp crystals directed straight at Leaf.

They didn’t look deadly, but definitely painful. And what if they exploded or spit poison on impact? Dodging by itself might not be enough. But… what if Eythyr could protect her? The river of colors would have quite a way to move to reach her, and she didn’t have much time. But this was Eythyr. This was the very essence that had protected her all of her life. If the tiles of Order had been so eager to respond to her, what could she do with Eythyr’s own chaos above her? She gave it a quick tug with the tip of her staff. Want to come and play?

She thought she felt a slight hiccup, but only slight. No excitement, no joy, no response. Eythyr was as silent and stubborn as it had been on the flowered battlefield. And the needles were getting closer. She couldn’t wait any longer. Emilia’s body flashed through her mind, lifeless, sinking deep into the water’s depths. She still had something to fight for, she couldn’t die here!

”Eyth!”

Leaf slammed her staff into the ground, throwing herself closer to Ebriva as the needles shot past her. She felt two hit their mark, opening wounds on her arm and the side of her ribs. But she barely even noticed them. She was more focused on the screaming that echoed inside her head. A woman’s, but Leaf couldn’t tell if it was Emilia’s or her own. All she knew was that Eythyr had moved. Not to any degree that mattered- it was still too high above her. And it had already returned to its normal shape. But its currents had shifted for a brief moment, the colors being pulled towards Leaf as she moved. But not because she’d asked. She’d forced it to come. She had grabbed Eythyr and strangled it, demanding it to follow her. Leaf felt Eythyr’s anguish deep in her stomach. And she realized it was a pain she’d felt before.

She knew Akordia was continuing towards her. She saw the movement, but the detail of her crystals had become blurry. She couldn’t focus. A flick of her staff, her fingers numb, and the tiles were once again dancing. A wall of white, ready to thrust Akordia up and sideways through the air. Perhaps if Leaf got her far enough, she could push her off the board and into the nothingness beyond. Maybe Leaf would follow her. It would be an end she deserved.

She was just like Ebriva.





Kellehendros -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/26/2020 0:26:57)

Truenight threw herself aside, evading the bolt; crystal clashed as she went down, shattering against stone.

“You scare me sometimes, sis.”

At her back the heart stone was silent, but Ebriva’s grin hardly wavered. The Crystal Knight had dodged one bolt. What was one bolt?

“When you… The look you get sometimes, before a fight.”

One bolt was nothing. It was only the opening salvo, a taste of the coming storm. Her staff rose, threads of lightning gathering about its tip, weaving into a knot of surging power. “Can’t dodge them all.”

Akordia was up in an instant, bawling a cry for help as amethyst and onyx sprouted up from the shoulder Leaf’s curious projectile had scourged. But there was no one to come to her aid.

“It’s like you don’t remember what we’re doing, like you don’t remember why I agreed to this.”

Even Red Blade was too far away to support Crystal-hair, and if she had been closer, so what? The Stormcaller had power enough for all of them. All she had to do was let the Storm out, let the lightning dance through her fingers and scorch them all to soot and cinder.

So why did she suddenly feel… unsettled?

“We’re doing this to protect our people, Ebriva. I… I just need you to remember that.”

And what in the Tempest had convinced her that Truenight needed help?

The Stormcaller winced as the heart stone came alive again. Salt and iron filled her mouth as she bit into her own tongue. It’s too much. Every nerve ending in her body was aflame. She was suffocating; her lungs were filled with lightning. I can’t hold it, Damascus. It’s too much… It felt like she was collapsing in on herself, or else growing - pressing against the limitation of flesh and bone as the Storm built into a death-black thunderhead.

“We’re counting on you, Ebriva.”

Akordia whipped her glimmering hair forward, casting a spray of needles at the River Knight. Leaf jinked closer to Ebriva, one dart tearing a bloody furrow along the gown-clad woman’s arm. For an instant, the younger woman could almost hear her mother. “A Stormcaller’s duty is to protect.”

“If that’s what it takes,” the Stormcaller replied to the memory. The young woman dashed towards the center of the board, opening the space between herself and the River Knight in a bid to flank Truenight. Beneath Akordia’s feet the tile lurched and Ebriva’s free hand flashed, fingers snapping as static leapt between her digits. But it was water she called upon, not electricity. The heart stone stilled and mist billowed up from the tip of Leaf’s staff in answer, swirling tendrils of water-logged air that drifted down about her. From a distance the fog would obscure the River Knight somewhat; it might also serve to protect the elegantly dressed woman from the searing shards the Crystal Knight had used on the last field.

Those were concerns for Leaf. The Stormcaller’s interest was otherwise directed. Her ally’s maneuver had launched Truenight, throwing her into the air. The air, where she would be hard-pressed to avoid another attack. Protect the others. Remove her from the field.

It was wind that answered her call this time, and the center triad went silent. Watch the level… Don’t use it all. A screaming gale howled from the tip of her leveled rod. The cone of air spread, riffling the edge of the misty cloud around Leaf. If Ebriva was lucky, then the Crystal Knight was in for the tumble of her life. After all, what went up had to come down eventually. Should that send her wailing into the abyss, all the better.

“Maybe, sis, just maybe, we can do more than take revenge.”



Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/26/2020 20:55:48)

At first, the witch was determined. Steel grinded against steel, but try as she did, Silence could not pull it from Martin’s hold. Her eye went wide as Silence came to an understanding. She was trapped.

A wave of satisfaction rolled across the Life-Taker as he glimpsed it in her eye. The fear and rage. She hated him. The witch hated Martin with all of her heart, and in her hatred, she had thrown herself against Martin. Nothing mattered beyond his death at any cost. It was almost pitiable.

Hatred was a sword that crossed both ways, its scars going beyond flesh and blood. Often, it brought more harm to the world than good. It was only in the Chequered City that he understood. In Martin were two extremes, the Serpent and the Sun, the light and the dark. In birth, he was despised by all, and he returned in kind. At Lumen’s alter, he turned his pain inward, earning mercy and repentance with the blood of sinners. Both had consumed his every waking moment. In the witch, he could see that same pain clouding her eyes and judgment.

But the Chequered City had changed him. For the first time, Martin Talhmore was in control. Not the serpent, not his guilt; no, the Life-Taker took his pain and fashioned it into a weapon that would sever the hatred from the living world.

And so, the moment of truth had arrived. With Life-Taker twisted his body and pulled his axes, but the woman held on for dear life. His mortal arms filled with godly strength, the burden was nothing as he dragged the woman, feet skidding across the chequered floor. In the corner of Martin’s eye, he saw his allies at work. The Twisted had commanded her own blade to contest the witch. In tandem, the foreign one rushed in with her blade of burning glass. It didn’t matter who the two were before; for now, they would serve as his scourge to end the witch.

But just as the judgment was at hand, there was a whisper.

“I’m sorry, Sonata—”

It was hardly a whimper, but the words carried like a storm to Martin’s heart. An expression of pure anguish.

She let the blade go—

He felt the burden disappear as his swing drew to a close. Releasing his axes, the steathe flew off into the distance, skipping across the tile before coming to a stop just at the edge. But he would not see this. As the steel left her touch, she swept to the side, and the twisted’s blade passed by without leaving a mark. With no hesitation, she rushed forward to meet the Life-Taker, her face wet with tears.

She had found her answer.

“I fight because he can’t.”

Martin gasped as he tried to recover, but she was too fast. Even Yura’s aid did nothing to impede the witch. The one born of flame drew the edge of glass across her back, but the pain seemed to only embolden her.

“I fight so I can feel.”

There was no way to avoid it. Martin knew it. He couldn’t even bring up his steel to block her assault; too much distance to cover in such a small time. At that moment, he saw her pale, soulless eye grow into a faint green. His sight in one eye was torn away as her knuckle crashed into his upper cheek. She had found a way to turn her failure into her opportunity.

The boy bared his bloody teeth as he was sent staggering back, but just as he turned, the witch struck again against his other cheek. The pain coursed through his jaw with blood running forth. Instincts took over as the witch demanded Martin’s attention.

She unleashed two more strikes, but Martin brought his arms up just in time, her fists bashing against the guarding plate. The green faded from his right arm as the serpent’s power faded, but the ink still remained on his left. It moved with haste as the witch gave her final reply.

“I fight because it proves that I’m alive!”

Her voice echoed with determination as she rushed forward with one final punch, but Martin leaned forward and spat out his blood at Silence’s eye as he grasped her arm with both his hands. The witch had declared her intent, her desire to live and exist above all else. But Martin would not give up his life so easily.

The bargain was struck, but Martin gave no sacrifice. Instead, the witch’s blood would be their prize as a coil of black scales erupted from Martin’s wrist. The ink seemed to turn to flesh and blood as the serpent moved off of his skin. Wasting no time, the eyeless snake coiled around Silence’s right arm and opened wide. It pressed its fangs into the pit of her elbow, releasing its liquid death into her veins before disappearing and leaving only its cruel fangs. For so long as they remained, the witch would be made to feel pain in its purest.

It would be a battle of wills now. Perhaps in his action, Martin would allow Yura or Aleisha to make the final blow, but Martin was no fool. Silence would not go down so easily, not after all of this. No, this would be a battle of willpower. But which sinner would see another day? The chorus hummed with resolve as Martin pulled one leg up and sent it down towards the woman’s knee.

“Give her what she wants, Misery. Remind her what it’s like to live and die—”



Kooroo -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/26/2020 23:54:46)

Four days had gone by. Four long days since that raid on the castle, all of which Toyama had spent fretting about how his charge was fairing. He and Hiroki had been treated surprisingly well for captives, but the elderly retainer couldn’t help but worry about what Lady Yura was getting herself into, especially in regards to this… second Hiroki. If the real one was here, then what was the young man’s double up to?

The aforenamed boy gave an exasperated sigh and finally spun around on his bedroll to back towards him. He’d been muttering something loudly ever since they’d arrived at Lady Shion’s outpost a couple of days ago. Toyama looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to speak. The two looked at each other for a good minute or so before Hiroki finally broke the silence.

“Old man, I think it’s about time you and Yura came clean. I didn’t care enough to ask before, but now that we’re in this mess, I think it’s time you told me the truth.”

Toyama was honestly surprised that he hadn’t asked ages ago, but it probably had something to do with Aoi. That girl would have followed Yura through a lake full of kappas if it came to it.
He peeked out the tent and looked around for any eavesdroppers, but Mitsurashi wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The guards looked at him suspiciously, but didn’t raise the issue as he ducked back in. Toyama sat back down and then considered the young man before letting out a resigned sigh.

There wasn’t any helping it. Even before this mess, he’d felt bad about keeping him in the dark. Lady Yura had been adamant, though, but it wasn’t the right thing to do. He hoped that the fiery girl would forgive him.

Toyama cleared his throat. “Very well, I’ll tell you what I know. But it’s a long story.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got time,” Hiroki replied dryly. ”Give me the goods.”

“Right, well... Tell me, Hiroki, how much do you know about Lady Kurouji’s rise to power?”


It’d apparently only been four days since Yura had vanished, but Aoi doubted that. It had felt like so much longer to her. Mr. Seigi’s investigation hadn’t turned up anything about her friend, but the man didn’t seem very reliable to her. And Aoi judged herself to be a good judge of character. It was true because Yura had said so.

The young girl wandered along the river bank, spotting and passing the melted stone that marked where they’d arrived back from their adventure.

There was something further ahead though. A figure, standing up near the lake. Aoi remembered Hiroki’s many warnings about stranger danger, but Yura had never said anything about that.

Which meant that it was fine. Maybe they knew something about her missing friend.


In Yura’s opinion, the ‘one stone, two birds’ proverb was in contention for the most overused adage on Tengamine. The flameborn’s lunge had taken that and put a more literal spin on the old saying. ‘One thrust, two foes’ was more like it. Or would have been more like it, had both targets not managed to avoid her sword. For all her anger and resolve, the rageborn’s thrust hadn’t been anywhere near as decisive as she’d thought it would be.

The dull-colored lady had laid into Tahlmore at the last moment, saving her from a messy, but colorful end. Kimizan had passed by her unhindered, claiming nothing more than some threads and flesh. Aleisha’s adversary had avoided impalement by shimmying out of his coat. Yura’s gaze narrowed as the jacket came off, her fleeting confusion quickly replaced by wide-eyed shock as her blade struck and then glanced off whatever had been underneath. That ‘whatever’ was metallic, gray—what an adventurous guy, dressing in nothing but black and gray—and bulky. Far too bulky to have been there a moment ago.

One thrust, no foes. What in the actual h—

Teeth gritted, Yura’s right foot shot out in front of her, halting the girl’s momentum. The enraged heir drew her blade up and twisted, prepari—

“Yura!” A sharp, carrying voice cut through the air, breaking her concentration and narrowing her eyes once more.

It took about half a heartbeat before the name clicked. ‘Yura’ it had called. That meant that they were asking for her. She was Yura; the only Yura for miles around… or probably in the realm she was currently in. Why in the hells would anyone call for her, she wondered, bristling.

What the heck do you want?!, the rageborn had intended to roar back, whilst twisting and decapitating the bishounen.

She managed about a quarter of that.

“Eh!? What thhhhgggoooff!—” was all Yura got out before she caught a boot to the chest. The kick struck her right in the sternum, sending her stumbling backwards and then to the floor. Apparently, the emo pretty boy hadn’t appreciated her attempt to turn him into yakitori.

She landed hard on her rump for the zenith time that day, then pivoted off it and on to her knees. Lords, these tiles were hard. Yura leapt up and froze, the flameborn stopping as soon as she realized who the call had come from.

Truenight.

There it was. A glaring mistake, just as red and clear as her sword. If the three of them—Yura, Tahlmore, and Aleisha—were fighting off two enemies, then that had left Truenight to deal with the leftovers by herself.

She spat a curse and glanced back, making sure that the two Chao Knights were still preoccupied, and then set her focus to the crystal woman’s foes. She’d gone and left the blackened woman to fight two by herself. Two mages at range, by the looks of it. She’d never met the girl with the ridiculously long name, but she wielded and waved around a staff like that two-toned witch on her flank.

Maths had never been Yura’s strong suit, but this was ridiculous. How in the realms did you miss or forget about half of the opposing group less than a minute after a fight started? And maths wasn’t her strong suit, but come on! Seriously, there were only four of them! Four! If someone ever insulted her memory or arithmetic after this, then she’d probably have to lie down and take it. Maybe she’d try and make it up to Truenight, if the ebon woman didn’t pay for Yura’s mistake with her life.

The flameborn glanced over her shoulder uneasily again. It’d barely been a second since she’d last checked, but she wanted to make sure that Tahlmore and Aleisha had her covered. Yup, all four of them were still engaged.

How?

How in the Six Realms had it come to this? Yura asked herself that question as she steeled herself and then immediately came up with an answer; it was because she was an idiot. The number of rhetorics she’d gone through today indicated that, but this… This was tough.

How?

How could these strangers fight together so recklessly? The flameborn hadn’t gotten along with people at the best of times, so how was she expected to now? Even before Father’s death, she’d always been the ‘difficult’ child in the family. She’d never had any friends before Aoi and Hiroki, and now this? She was meant to just... work with these people? To just... trust them? Under normal circumstances, Yura wouldn’t have trusted them to give her directions, nevermind watch her back in a cosmic deathmatch.

And yet, here she was about to do the latter. The delinquent grimaced. Well, if Aleisha or Tahlmore failed her, she could hardly be mad without being called a hypocrite. She just really, really hoped they were up to snuff compared to any of the Jiugun’s soldiers.

Her instincts screaming about the combatants right at her rear, Yura dug in and ignored them, forcing out her last dregs of magic as Truenight was launched airborne. She struck Kimizan into floor, chipping the tile but not managing to stick the blade. The odachi fell, clattering in front of her boots, but she ignored it and fell into her stance.

There was a vicious pain in her left ear as Zensen awakened and she winced, baring her teeth as a brilliant light blanketed the field. The crackle of shattering glass sliced through the air and the weight of the Scarlet Lance’s shaft dropped into her left. A burning surged through her skin and flesh, the energy attempting to scar itself into her very being, but she persisted and refused to let go.

With no more time to spare, Yura took careful aim at the thunder caller and hurled Zensen with all her might, the rageborn and Sacred Lance screaming in tandem.

A string of profanity dropped from her lips and she clutched her arm, just as that familiar scarlet light filled the plane. Was every relic that bad to use? One day she was going to mess up and just drop it, right there at her feet. She had initially considered doing that on one of the two enemies behind her, but that probably would have written off Tahlmore or Aleisha as well.

There was an eruption, followed by a pillar of crimson flame.

Her arm still throbbed, but she couldn’t rest any longer. Truenight still probably needed her. Yura grabbed Kimizan off the floor and prepared to greet the other two Knights of Chaos.



Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2020= Final Battlefield (2/27/2020 0:52:39)

Thunder rumbled, causing the faintest of vibrations across the chequered floor - matched by the slightest of shivers in the prismatic mist above. The Scales tilted, first towards Order, then towards Chaos, as two orbs fell from grace. One of vibrant emerald, the other deepest crimson, they struck the ground with deep chimes - splintering outwards to form a pair of shimmering portals, clouded to hide what lay beyond. The Powers spoke, their distinct tones overlapping as their calls echoed out across the void.

Knight of Hellfire. Chaos is naught without passion. Yours has not shown through. You are not our champion. You are Dismissed.

Knight of Misery. Your intent wavers. Without intent, there is no Order. You are not our champion. You are Dismissed.

Silence fell as the last echoes of the voices faded, but a slight tension remained in the air. The Scales shuddered, balanced, then stilled once more.



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