RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena

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Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (7/26/2020 23:01:00)
Time seemed to slow as Providence fell, pursuing the heretic’s flesh. A lingering trail of violet motes followed its wake, marking the sacred blade’s path. *By Divine Providence, deliver His Truth.* Defiant to the end, the unbeliever dashed to Syn’s right and brought its slender blade to bear, striking at the flat of the arbiter’s blade. Sparks flew in a dazzling display, as blackened crystal glanced off the azure edge. The glowing air froze as the claymore slowed, before contracting and exploding outwards, forcing the wind to rush around the pair. The thrum in her chest quietened to a dull murmur, as the heathen knight lunged back in, jabbing at the arbiter’s knee. It mattered not what the apostate tried. For the Lord watched her, as was evidenced by His Light. And so long as He saw all, there was no doubt that such an a— She was cut off by a shuddering impact that sent a sharp jolt up her leg and into her very core. Simultaneously, the ceaseless harmony of the choir wavered and collapsed, consumed by the sound of splintering ice. The holy knight bit back a gasp behind her metal facade, but faltered nonetheless, as the hollowness took hold of her once again. The hesitation was more than enough for the heretic. With a snarl, the sapphire bladed warrior pulled back and swung their shield, ramming the iron disk into the arbiter’s veil. There was a splintering crack as the fissure marring the Ode deepened and Syn was thrown backwards, crashing to the ground. “Oh heck, you alright? Sorry, didn’t mean to catch you so high. Chest, not chin. And certainly not face.” The young woman groaned and touched her fingers to her forehead, rubbing the spot where she’d caught her opponent’s boot. That was going to leave a nasty mark in the morning. She tried to focus, but the throbbing only intensified. There were stars dancing in her eyes, the room was spinning and she could see a dozen people reaching out to her. But that wasn’t right. There should’ve only been two people in the room currently; herself and the CQC specialist, Eris. “Hmm. Concussion? Hang on a sec—” The new girl blinked, willing everything to still, as her sparring partner—no, partners squatted down beside her. All four of them. Admittedly, her head felt like it’d been kicked four times. “Hmmhmm. Can you talk?” Eris asked, waving a hand in front of her. “Owwww.” “That’s something. Blink thrice?” Blink. Blinkblink. The room stopped spinning and the number of blonde women halved. Two Eris’ gone, but that was still one too many. “Last test. How many fingers am I holding up?” She squinted, focusing on the proffered hands. Six fingers floated in front of her. Divide that by two, and you get... “Uh... three?” “Close,” Eris admitted. “But—” There was a light, two-finger rap on the back of her head, inciting another groan. Bunny ears. Again with the bunny ears. “C’mon, I’ll help you to the med bay,” Eris offered, pulling one of her arms around her neck and standing. “Don’t want our newbie to lose her head before her mission. That’s not scheduled for another week or so.” “I’m fine,” the young girl mumbled, shaking her senior off. The older woman let her go and she swayed dangerously, legs almost giving out from under her. The room threatened to invert itself again, but she shook her head vigorously, rubbed her eyes and blinked. Her eyes focused on a row of swords mounted to the chamber’s left wall, glaring determinedly until the practice hall stopped moving. That was better. Alright then. She took a deep breath and then stepped back, raising her arms slightly. Left foot shot back, her right went to the front. A classic ‘ready’ stance. “Round two?” Her senior tweaked an eyebrow, her smile shrinking slightly. “Very cute, rookie. But you don’t need to prove anything. That was a pretty hard hi—“ “Nonsense! Barely felt a thing,” she laughed, doing her best to ignore the oncoming nausea. “I’ve had doors hit me in the face harder.” “Are… you comparing me with a door?” “Yes ma’am, I sure am.” The smile turned into a toothy grin and the blonde woman chuckled, then settling into a similar stance. “I can see why the commander recruited you. What did you say to him during your induction? Don’t go…?” “Quietly,” she finished, raising her arms higher. “Don’t go quietly.” Her sparring partner gave her an approving nod. “Peppy. I like that. You’re going to have to forgive me, though…” The grin grew wider as Eris pulled back a fist, emerald orbs locked with the girl’s own. “Because I’m not giving you a choice.” And then she lunged. The veteran officer darted towards her and then dove, torquing mid-flip and shooting her leg out, sending a heel at the rookie’s chin. Instinctively, the younger woman shot her left arm up to catch the kick— —only to have a sword crack off it instead. She felt it carve a sharp, ice cold scathe into the side of her neck, a few digits wayward from its intended target. Syn looked up, gazing into the blackened slit of her foe’s visor afore her, where the sparkling eyes of the one called Eris had been before. Who had that lady been? Syn didn’t know an Eris; she didn’t know anyone. There were a few people that constantly reappeared before her from time to time, but she had always ignored them and just done as He instructed. But that name stuck with her, just as the girl whose eyes she’d been viewing the scene from… intrigued her? Yes, ‘intrigued’ was the right word. Who was Eris? Who was that young woman that had been with her? And why had she seen it from her perspective? Who knew, besides Him? Not her, that was for certain. It wasn’t her place to know: after all, her position was that of a lowly disciple, forever tied to the Will of the Lord Himself. A bolt of lightning shot across the side of her neck again, the searing sensation and rattle of armor enough to induce a reaction. Syn’s eyes narrowed as the cobaIt blade retreated, its wielder’s intention all too clear. It would not be given the chance. Her arm shot out to grab the heretic knight, ivory gauntlet seizing its plate-clad wrist. The steady drone stemming from her core rose, growing until it became a throaty growl. With her renewed strength, Syn flipped her arm, twisting the heathen’s arm and blade away from her neck. Something whispered to the arbiter as she slowly rose; a tiny voice from within her that had been muffled and gagged for decades, which had slowly, but steadily grown louder over the last few days. And it told the knight that what she had seen was a memory—her memory—from a forgone age. From a time before Duty, before Faith, and before Guidance. Before Him. Before Him? No, that was impossible. There could never have been a time without Him, as He was the Beginning and the End. And he would be all that remained at the End. Ever since her earliest memories, since she was born— A sharp, jabbing pain flashed across her eyes as she tried to remember, pulling her back to the reality of the darkened pit. Silver blurred from the side, as her opponent made to brain her once more. A powerful blow to its shield hand resolved that, the action doing precious little to stop Syn’s rise to a sitting position. The young woman’s words rang in her head, adding to the spark within her, growing it into the faintest of embers. The hollow void that had once been filled—and then forsaken—by His Presence and Guidance, now held the barest rays of light, a quiet promise of what could come. All she had to do was get up and grasp it. Syn looked at the knight was currently in her hand and stood up, repeating the girl’s words as she pulled back her free arm. “Don’t go quietly,” she whispered, her voice like the rustle of dead leaves in the wind, before thrusting her arm forward, twisting her shoulder into the blow. Her fist rammed into the demonic embellishments on the apostate’s chest with a terrible crash, the blow launching them high into the air. A fuzzy warmth bloomed within her as Syn watched them soar, glistening in His Gaze like a shooting star. It was a good feeling; a nice little commendation of a job… mostly done. The sensation soon flickered and began to wane, but she forced herself to focus on the feeling, to fill her as she slowly stood. Even as the hollow maw within her yawned once more, the desperate knight focused on that momentary happiness and refused to let it snuff out. She couldn’t let the emptiness win. That was why she was here, afterall. To pass His Trials and become worthy of His Guidance. Or to understand her true Purpose. Or maybe, just to regain your sense of self, the familiar little voice suggested meekly. You know what you’ve got to do. The girl was right. Syn knew what she had to do. Whatever her goal was, no matter her path, there was only one way any of them could be fulfilled. She knelt down and grabbed her sword, the claymore’s edges pulsing violet at her touch. Syn brought the blade up in front of her, before uttering a single, hushed word. “Forward.” The glow of the sacred blade vanished, its radiant veins vanishing, winking out like a doused flame. There was a single, simultaneous thrum of affirmation from deep within her breast and the weapon’s guard, before the two began humming in unison. Her darkened sword remained so for another heartbeat, black and motionless at Syn’s fore. And it shone: the Guiding Hand erupted into light, bathing its wielder and the surrounding shadow in lavender glory.

Riprose123 -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (7/27/2020 1:12:28)
“You shouldn’t underestimate me Argyll we have barely just met.” Oro said as Argyll sent him moving backwards with the tough end of his shield. “I’m not one to underestimate anyone, child. It comes with age,” Argyll said, frowning slightly as the boy’s hammer disappeared. Argyll’s scowl contoured itself even further as Oro conjured a wall from the rocks that he controlled. Another call by Oro and he was floating above the wall, a considerable height above Argyll. Argyll’s first inclination was to scale the wall and pull Oro down by his collar. He reined in this train of thought, knowing impulsivity could prove his bane if he were to face more than this one opponent today. Instead Argyll planted his feet, swinging his shield out in front of him, angled to be easily moved to ward off any projectile or melee advance. He let the temperature around his return to normal, before welling up as much saliva as he could and letting a glob of fluid loose at Oro’s face. He pointed with his trident and created a bright pocket of explosive heat, creating a spontaneous ball of flaming liquid headed for the younger man’s head. Argyll drew his trident back, spun it once in his hands and held it close to his side, ready to react to any incoming attack.

Chewy905 -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (7/27/2020 22:30:28)
There was naught but calm. In the midst of the great storm, with lights slicing through the dark all around him, fire smoldering at his back, dragons enduring the thunderous cracks of gunshots, knights locking blades of shadow and cold: Mori stood alone. An eye of quiet, a position of relative neutrality in which no blades, no fangs, pointed his way. This… this was a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time. Not since…. Not since he had denounced his siblings beliefs. Not since he had stood before them, in the calm eye of his... their... court, and spoken four words. Since that moment, their gazes had turned from loving to scornful, and Mori was family no more. Blades. Blows. Chills. Flames. Each bringing a deeper understanding. Each allowing him to glimpse the truth, again and again. Mori shut his eyes in the tranquility of his private spotlight, focusing on the sounds of the storm that surrounded him. He latched his senses onto anything he could grab from the present, a desperate reach for any handholds that could prevent his mind from slipping to the past once more. The smell of risen stone. The crackle of fire. The roars of a beast scorned. The hum of a knight’s resolve. None of it pointed at him. Silver did not warm against his cold, dying hands. The peace of his position was deadly. It brought with it not the threat of needles in his chest, of talons raking across his skin, but the threat of choice. An old man, alone. Scarred by and scarring others, but now ignored, alone. And alone he could stay, easing into the peace of a longer life. A young man, loved and feared by all. Ruling over and ruling others, but content on his throne of bone. And a ruler he could stay, easing into the peace of superiority. And with both choices, his ideals would remain chained, locked within himself because a coward refused to pursue them. No. He would speak. He would always speak. His truth would be realized, even if it brought every force above and below to thirst for his neck. His eyes opened, seeing not a knight of cold, not a brother or a sister, but an obstacle. Two words, and twin bone rattled across the gap of shadow to lock and open the obstacle before him. Four words, and his oath to himself, his siblings, and the people they all pretended to rule, was reaffirmed. “We are not gods.”

Caststarter -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (7/28/2020 22:22:45)
Momentum diverted. Halted. The hell knight broke out of the blood lust, as the azure sword only scraped the neck of the faceless warrior, whose hand barred the intended path of the thrust. It matters not. Ricarda’s sword hand twitched. She pulled back her arm, yet the voiceless warrior was unwilling to let the cruel knight have her way. Their other hand grasped the knight’s wrist in full force, twisting it even, completely halting all momentum. No. Ricarda threw out the shield once more. Obscenely, the masked warrior swiped it to the side like it was just a plaything with their hand. The knight raised her right foot, in time when her opponent pulled back a fist. You have no weapon. Deflect a shield? Sure. But as if that will do much when-. Crunch. Crackle. The warrior shrunk-, no, the arena flew… air escaped from the lungs and lips. Armor and body crashed into the floor. Flying across it. To the eyes, all there remained was blinding light. --- The sun dipped ever lower and lower, beyond the distant snowy mountains of the north. On top of the marble coated palace balcony stood a red bearded man in a black coat, veiny hands planted on the shoulders of the young soul. Standing beside them was a black bearded man in a green long coat, who hoisted one long spear over the shoulder and planted the butt end on the floor of the other polearm. There was also another, a tanned bald man, rifle slung over the shoulder. The young soul stared starry eyed at the dual spear warrior, whose shoulders were held up high. Below them was a mass of soldiers, banners held high, in the royal plaza, armor and spears reflecting light off from the sinking sun. The man in the center coughed a tad, whereupon he began a speech, his voice mighty, heavy, and persuasive. “Soldiers, I, Walter Von Messo, would like to congratulate you all on a well-deserved victory over Umbris, who threatened our land when our side was exposed. As the army of unity, perseverance, and uniformity, you all have done well to show we are to be seen as a grand influence in the world of Terra. Humankind should dominate over anyone lesser, strip their lands clean when the chance presents itself. Tomorrow, I shall take a trip to neutral ground and settle peace agreements from there.” These are the results of a mighty and obedient army. Is this not what you desire? For all to bow before you just like this? “To honor our victory as well, an esteemed guest has arrived to help symbolize our dominance. Thorwoden, please grace us with your presence as the supreme warrior throughout the land! The very equivalent to Gilgamesh himself. A hero. A legend in the making!” Walter swooped his arm, bowed nobly, allowing Thorwoden to take charge of the ceremony. The champion grinned and addressed the crowd, where his voice echoed out like a commander of the most sophiscated of armies, bolstered by an immaculately suave tone. “Truth be told, fighting off Umbris is a massive feat. An empire of exceptional military might, only beaten by the far off empire to the west Vascole. Yet you all stand to witness a peace treaty, with the deal slanted in your favor! This is what it is like to rise above. Take it to heart, and steamroll a path towards the Sumer capital to the east! It is a weak nation, unworthy to stand any longer! King Herold is a leader that is destined to be struck down. He claims that he is for the people. However! That king is just a face that hides behind his retainers doing trivial politics!” This is the warrior you respect to this day. You wish to become as powerful as him. As long as you obey me, I shall grant you power, equal… no, further beyond him. “Celebrate your victory over Umbris, and your future endeavors against Sumer! Let the disciplined choir of the Messo anthem ring out, empowering you for all obstacles that dare bar your way!” The tanned man unslung his rifle, loaded gun powder into the loading mechanism and barrel, and fired blankly into the air. A cracking boom roared out as smoke flew out. All the soldiers shuffled their weapons in tandem. They all chanted the anthem in unity. In respect. With pride. “Warriors of Old, Carving a path of might, By Father Messo, We stand as champions of men. Warriors of Old, Smiting all who ruined peace, By Father Messo, We were blessed with fertile fields.” A storm brewed overhead, clouds darkening. Yet the army continued to chant, unaware of what is up above. “We fight to prevail. We fight for peace. We fight for prosperity. Plow the lands, so the troops may thrive. Protect the commoners, so the land may thrive. Messo's lands are our love. Messo's pride is our life.” Walter spoke into the ear of his daughterly soul, during the pause of the recitation, as platoons marched in tandem. The soul looked up to him, the father who gave her a great smile. “Ricarda. My time as ruler shall soon come to an end one day. When that time comes, you are to have proven yourself worthy of leading our land. These people need someone forceful, to make sure peace stays.” The storm proceeded, unabated, to mask the sky. Darkness and thunder washed over the land. A flash of lightning carved out a section of the clouds, as the moon poked out. The royal palace did not exist. In its place stood a dark, ominous mountain, whose peak housed the eye of the storm. The burn scarred soul, from adolescence to adulthood, looked down, azure blade glinting from the moon light. An army still presented itself. But no longer did it consist of anything mortal. Rather of various undead, to skeletons, ghouls, with vampire lords as the commanders. Demonic servants lined up throughout, shock troops to the end. Behind her, was a storm-like figure, runed rings surrounding the electrical cloudy body, eyes of lightning, jagged horned helmet. Thunder was its breath, as it hovered behind the soul. Messo is lost. Washed from the rest of history. Yet here stands your new kingdom in due time. A realm of death, of darkness. All of my creation. This is why I am superior to Renadin. It allows petty squabbles to infect the world. That is why they chained me. Forgotten me! They are scared of the true righteous path. However, I, Yentu, shall bring forth a new age. The Vulture of Souls, help create this new age, for it is the only way for mortalkind to be punished. --- Dare not disappoint me, the body ached. The eyes burned. The knight gasped for air, even if the helmet’s airflow was weak. I am Ricarda Von Messo. There is no chance for me to die, Omega. She lifted her head from the wooden floor, spying on the very scarlet-hued dragon, who breathed out miasma over who knows what. Then her gaze drifted to the azure blade beside her, edge only in the light. The cursed Sword of Stygia. Her reward. Not in the hands. Ricarda, as she rose up from the floor, hovered her shield around her vicinity and dove for the weapon. Plate clinked against the wood, fingers grasping around the grip once more. The knight hunkered down to the knee, gaze scouting the arena for any hostiles. Dragon is busy. The masked warrior seemingly blocked by the scaled beast, potentially. Clown in the miasma, perhaps? The husk. Arms out. Towards her. The cruel warrior could not muster even a growl, all that came was a sigh. Do you even learn? Two purple portals came into existence. Chains of bone with a spear-like end came forth from the portals. The knight brought her shield to bear. The metal rung, yet bone scraped to the side right below the shoulder. Yet it did not dink off, nor did it even truly felt substantial. It wrapped. The ghastly chains transformed into dull hands of the mob that would fit only for a ghost. However, plans, adrenaline, and vengeance rushed through the mind. Her shield hand relaxed, shield slipping out and clunking against the floor. She tossed the sword to that very hand, mist already forming around it. Not at the tip, but at the strong of the blade. The knight guided it between restraining false hands. Ice congregated along the flat of the sword, like a wide hook. She contorted the blade with both her shoulder and arm. Ice cracked against the force. Yet so did bone. Both strained from the pressure, as both ice and bone shattered. The ice glistened, whereas the bone melted into shadow, almost as if purged by the light. Ricarda rested her shield hand onto the floor and grasped her sore shoulder with the other hand. Muscles slightly flared in pain. She stared at the husk for a long moment. A second moment. As if her hate was seeping right out from her. Kill-die! The hateful knight swiped the cursed sword to the side, sword hand outstretched, mist once more forming. But it was not three. Four. But five spots of the mist forming ice. Frost coated the air, as frozen discs shined brightly in the light, edges pristine. One at an apex. Two parallel to the shoulders. Two perpendicular to the knees. They all flung forth at the husk. Rotating rapidly, thirsting for pain. She swapped the sword to her strong hand and took hold of her shield once more. Tired, yet still far, far from over.

Ultrapowerpie -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (7/29/2020 21:04:01)
Piper was already digging through her Can for a new bean as she witnessed the effects of her sling. Closer examination revealed that the Iron Bean had indeed done some damage to the dragon, but not as much as she was hoping for. Definitely the bean not going up the nostril was a big disappointment, as that would have been extremely amusing considering the situation. Sadly, a charging dragon was less so. Now what did Uncle Elroy always say about dragons barreling down on you like a broken damn on a log flume? Dang it, I can’t remember… I feel it was really really important… Piper racked her brain as she saw the dragon turning attention to her, causing her first instinct to start retreating. The dragon appeared to rear back and bellow out a breath attack, or at least something nasty was coming. Piper started running to her right, where one of the armored foes had just been launched, the icey one she thought as she pulled up her apron as the miasma went through. The apron helped to reduce the effects of the miasma, though it still stank something awful. Woowee, that dragon’s got a nasty case of gas-itis, and needs a good helpin of beans to help clear out the poor fella’s guts before I string ‘em up Moving slower because of the effects of the Miasma, Piper squared herself so that the more plainly dressed armored foe was between her and the dragon, hoping the dragon would go after someone in between on it’s way to her. Still, Piper wasn’t going to wait for it to get to close range, so she flung the bean she’d been rummaging for directly at the dragon. This time it was a Green Bean, with vines that would restrain the forward legs of the dragon. Hopefully it’d buy enough time for another Iron Bean to come out to play.

Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (7/30/2020 11:19:01)
Energy surged along the sacred blade’s edge, pulsing in harmony with the steady throb of Syn’s false heart. The arbiter stood silent and motionless, her glimmering sword aimed towards her Lord’s domain. Now was the hour of reckoning: the time of Parting and the moment of Truth. And yet, Syn stood idle. Motionless. Silent. The lilac-infused claymore flickered and shone, throwing facets of amethyst light across her coat as it waited for Her Command. But what… was that, exactly? What was she supposed to do; what was she to say? The evocation may have come easily before, when she had simply recited His Orders. However, all that remained now were echoes and ashes. The semblance of self that she had recently ignited still glowed within her, but they were mere embers; vestigial sparks when compared to His Will or Messengers. To perform this feat bereft of any Guidance was far beyond her. But there was no turning back: it was forward or nothing. Syn took in a shallow breath, the action doing nothing to steady the murmur in her chest. But the action was… familiar, at least. Comforting. Human. It was something at least; better than the empty, hollow void she had become horrifically accustomed to. She focused on that thought and steeled herself, staring into Providence’s holy light. Syn breathed in once more, opened her mouth and… There was nothing. No words came to mind, no syllables from her parted lips. Silence. The irony of her earlier motivation almost brought a sad smile to Syn’s face. After all, what alternative was there but to go silently for one who had no words to say? So… that’s it, then. And with just that thought, the small flame of hope that she had so desperately clung to started to ebb as both Providence and her core felt the effect of Syn’s disheartened acceptance. Ahead of her, the heretic knight was being beset by whips of pearl once more. The Bleached Arbiter could only watch blankly as their foe stood their ground, fending off the arcane tongues despite having just been launched through the heavens. It must be nice to have such resolve. Resolve. It came to her in what would have constituted a heartbeat. She was standing in a simple chamber, weapons mounted along the walls. A young girl stood opposite her, blade raised and at the ready, glaring defiantly as Syn lunged forward with a shout. The two swords collided— A man stood opposite her, his expression stern and commanding. His tone was low and moderated, in stark contrast with her own, rising voice, as they argued over a map on a table. He barked a word at her and she froze. A word? No, a… name? Was that… her na— There was a crash as she furiously slammed both hands on the table and the vision shattered. Surrounded. She was completely surrounded. There were five of them circling, leering at her on the marbled plain, but she ignored them and focused her gaze on the fore. Their leader—a tall man clad in intricately wrought sable armour—strode towards her, pitching pleasant words that were at odds with the claymore he wielded. The young woman tightened her grip on her own blade—a sword of the purest quartz—and spat something at him, before angling her weapon at his chest; a blatant rejection, to which he laughed. No sooner had the man thrown his head back than she surged into action, pushing off her right foot and leaping at him. The gap between them closed and she thrust forward, a brillia— So that’s what it was like. To struggle and fight for one’s self, for one’s beliefs. To persevere, no matter what confronted you on your path. Resolve. She was back in the pit, surrounded once more by heretics. She was back to being her; to being Syn. Wooden floors faded to marbled earth, white quartz turned black, and the looming sun above her shrank into a single, heavensent ray that illuminated her in the darkness. The arbiter took a steadying breath, the blazing blade held before her a representation of the flame rekindled within. Magic sprung from its hilt, enveloping the claymore in a shroud of lavender-tinted energy. Questions and doubts floated to her from the shadowed edges of her mind. What was her purpose? And her ideals? Where did her path lead? These and more came and went, like shadows by a flickering hearth. A few minutes ago, the most blessed disciple would've said that He was the answer. Perhaps He would have Given her the answer. The truth was that Syn didn’t know. But maybe... that was okay. Doubts and uncertainties were normal, plus they were all things she could strive towards answering. Her own path may be unclear—maybe more so, without His Guidance—but whose wasn’t? All Syn knew was that she now had something to seek, something to aim for whilst serving under His Name. Now all she had to do was clear the way. And she had the perfect way to do it. ”Sacred Blade, forge me a path,” she commanded quietly, tightening her grip. ”For I herald the Umbral Dawn.” The sword’s hilt winked as it responded to her, filling with a blackened light. The incessant humming in her chest grew, transforming into a dissonant growl, as Providence drew power from the knight’s core. ”Though my mind be clouded, my heart hollow,” Syn chanted, the words coming forth naturally. “My faith will endure forevermore.” Ahead of her, the two heathens clashed. The cobalt sword slashed the air and ice flew, five sparkling plates of frost hurtling at the ancient being. ”Invert the day and cull the stars, for the time of Parting is nigh.” Clouds of black smog vented from her as the blade’s pitch shifted, rising into a penetrating whine. The darklight encasing the holy weapon seemed to grow, swelling with every thrum of within her breast. ”From Your Divine Doctrines,”—Syn lowered it and pulled back her arms, angling the howling blade parallel to the timber floor—”to Your Absolute Authority.“ ”My beloved Lord, hear my plea,” she shouted above the din. Her right foot swept back, while her right remained planted firm, echoing the woman from the vision. Unseen forces tugged at the hem of her coat, pulling it out behind her, as her hair whipped about her mask. A sharp jabbing stung at her neck, where the icesworn heretic had slashed her, but she ignored it. ”Show me the End. As I deliver—” And then pillar of magic encasing the crystal blade burst, splitting into dozens of spiralling bands of blacklight. The magical ribbons coalesced into an opaque cone, claymore and wielder at its heart. ”—Your Providence!” Syn pushed off her right foot and thrust the sword forward. Time seemed to freeze for the arbiter, the world becoming one of absolute calm and quiet. Providence roared, and the silence broke. There was a resounding peal of thunder and the cone took off, as though shot from a cannon, violet streaks trailing in its wake.

deathlord45 -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (7/30/2020 14:22:10)
Why do they always run? A quick death would be much better than struggling and suffering. Drageados watched as the human girl bolted from the miasma, face covered, heading behind him on his left. Turning his head to follow her movement off to the other side of the scarlet armored creature who was facing off with the husk now. Looking around and taking a quick stock of the other warriors present. The two still in the distance seemed content with each other but what of the one that clashed with the red one? Let us see. Spinning his head around to look at where the crimson one was before they flew past him. The other appeared to be a pale knight, watching them for a moment where they stood blade out before them as tendrils of darkness began to apparate around the blade. This shall be interesting, and may be less work for me. Hehehehehe Turning about Drageados took a few steps to his right locking eyes with the little human. Licking his lips as the deep hunger fully returned to his gaze, a feast was a foot and he shall have first pickings. Talons once again dug into the floor as the ancient withered muscles began tightening as he lowered himself to a position to launch himself at the human the moment whatever the pale knight was about to do was over.

Riprose123 -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (7/30/2020 16:16:34)
Argyll watch the boy circle around the arena, pushing the wall as he moved. He didn’t know what the boy was planning, but Argyll was sick of this playful banter. The boy had shown himself to be a threat, and Argyll knew that the less opponents he needed to face, the quicker his victory could be achieved. Argyll took his trident and slashed his palm to the hip, covering the front with his own blood. He impaled it headfirst into the wooden floor, never taking his eyes off the boy the entire time. As the wall turned back and made his way towards him, Argyll ran to meet him, jumping and scaling the wall with well-placed footwork and upward momentum. His free hand barely latched the top of it and Argyll flinched as stone dug into his open wound. He pulled himself up and over, drawing his gladius and forcing Oro to the floor with the point of the sword in his chest. Oro opened his mouth to order his rocks but Argyll silenced him with mailed fist, continuing until Oro relented. He grabbed his gladius again, dragging Oro across the floor towards where his trident laid, stuck to the floor. He pulled the gladius from his opponent, pointing quickly to his trident and willing it to ignite. The blood had seeped onto the floor, and when the temperature quickly changed around it, the blood combusted, acting as the perfect tinder to ignite the floor. He unceremoniously picked Oro up by the collar, retrieved his trident and walked him into the roaring flames. He pushed him to the ground with the heel of his boot, and pinned him there with his trident, spearing Oro to through the abdomen. “May you find peace in the flames of war, child.” Argyll watched the boy squirm and shout commands, all for naught as the gold ring he wore on his finger had begun to melt. As it moved away from his hand, the boy began to panic and yell, knowing the futility of it as Argyll kept him pinned to the floor. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the boy ceased movement as the gold that had once been his ring melted into the wood. Argyll felt sadness and grief to have slayed such a young boy, so like his owns, and let a trail of tears flow down his face, which quickly caught fire from the heat, framing his eyes in menacing orange. He shook his face clean, clearing his mind as well, turning his attention to the commotion nearest to him. He retrieved his trident and walked slowly out of the flames as they seeped across the arena floor, weary of the next bout of conflict.

Chewy905 -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (7/30/2020 17:21:14)
He could feel it. The ghostly white bone wrapping tight around the knight’s arm. The grasping, spectral hands that locked it in place, freezing the warrior’s armor in this deadly stage’s spotlight. An ancient wound pulsed within him, echoing through each of his bones. Stones press in from all sides, cracking every inch of ivory within his frail bo- Mori effortlessly pushed the vision aside, caring not for the fragment Death sent to him now. I need no more reminders, old friend. My resolve is set, and I’ve marked every sin they’ve committed to painful, physical, memory. “Shatter.” His chains heard. His chains listened. Loosening ever so slightly so they could rush inwards, desperate to touch one another, regardless of what steel or flesh barred their way. That small breath, that tiny moment of calm in the knight’s own storm, was enough for them to draw their blade through bone, blowing it apart into miniscule fragments of ice and shadow that twinkled or vanished in the ever-seeing light. The chef-garbed figure dashed into view, trying to hide behind the knight of cold. Pursued by Mori’s dragon ally, perhaps? Fine then. Mori thought. Let us begin this dance in earnest. He began to stride forth. Steps taken with care. Loud strikes of his staff against the ground echoing across the blackroom. Watcher’s light stalking forth quietly to light his way. His eyes burned with spite, a deadly calm hiding behind their fiery pits. He would end them. The knights, the “gods”, everything. He would allow them to meet with his ancient companion Death and realize what it means to be one with everything that had ever lived. Maybe then, they would learn as he had. Bloodstained steel swiped across the air, a cruel reminder of his brother lurking before the knight. Mori cared not. Mist coalesced in the space beyond, a cold reminder of his sister lurking before the knight. Mori cared not. Silver warmed against his cold hands, yet he acted with no haste. No fear. No care. Staff cracked against the wooden floor, and a frozen disk exploded into dust as it met the impenetrable gnarl. Head bowed in faux reverence, and a frozen disk soared off into the shadows, its light following the saucer on its own fruitless quest. And the final three struck him, rending flesh, revealing bone. His arms hung by their halves, ivory shoulders peaking out at the blackness. His leg buckled, uneven steps becoming ever more imperfect as his body began to fail him more and more. But his heart beat on, guiding each crack of his staff, each lurch of his dying form. So Mori cared not. A word, and his emotions leapt into a harmonious dance. Anger wrote curses in the runes that flowed from his will. Spite wove those curses to gateways of ancient magic that pulsed in the bright luminescence. Resolve pulled the bone from nothing, coaxing it forth into the Lord’s play. And then silver heated flesh once more. There was no time. No time to lurch back on his trailing leg. No time to turn a chain to block whatever unseen threat rushed for him. No time to do anything but close his eyes and brace himself for the oncoming storm. Something struck him with a mechanical roar that matched even the true dragon that stalked the arena. His body hurtled back, prepared to soar across the arena in a glorious display of flight, but his mind refused to let it. A single word, practically screamed in desperation, and unseen bone wrapped round his waist. The rest of his form peeled back, trying to escape his own magic’s grasp, but it held tight, launching bolts of pain through him as limbs bent beyond their breaking point. Bones creaked and cracked, muscle screamed at his mind, his aches demanded that he release them, that he allow his body to ragdoll away and save his breaking arms and legs. But Mori refused, dismissing the chains only after the force had completely passed, and he was certain he was safe from vanishing into the blackness. A crumpled mess of limbs flopped to the ground, legs too damaged and bent to stand properly, arms too torn to raise his staff from the ground. The watcher stared on, illuminating Mori’s broken form for all to see. He raised his tired head, focusing on the pain that ran through every last inch of flesh, every last crack and break in his tired bones. He blinked the blur from his eyes as he forced his arm up, drawing his staff ‘cross his body to cover his still-beating heart. Mori gazed past the dark, past the pain, past the small twinge of fear he felt. His eyes focused on the blackened knight that had struck him with all the force of a raging bull. And his voice commanded bone to pierce their heart through their back.

Caststarter -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (8/1/2020 20:09:44)
The mind of a mortal. So weak. So malleable. Even as one of my agents, I still despise her mortality. No matter. Soon the seed within her mind will take over. In turn, she will be an extension of my will. The false god. The false holy one. She is above them, for she is empowered by the true primordial that is me. If this goes on, the event of false primordials shall be proven to be a mockery. Only I have the power to truly bend reality! Wishes? Boons? All lies in the end. Lords of the eight elements. Yet who needs eight when you have a being that manipulates all of them? Soon they will remember me. If they dare still worship their “gods”, nightmare after nightmare shall come time and time again. I need no palace or shrine of worship. The world shall be my place of worship! --- Ice carved dead flesh, bone revealed inside the worthless body. Yet still it moves. The hell knight bent down, shield forward, sword to the side. Viciously, she bolted at great speed. Boots pressed against the wood, leaving small indents. She dashed to the worthless being’s left, ready to end it all. One charge. One move. One feint. One death. A deafening roar pierced both the spotlighted realm and inside of the helmet. Crude. Monstrous. Fake. Ricarda brought her shield to bear as she continued to dash forward. The spotlight of her previous opponent surged forward at supernatural speed, with violet light at the front. The husk was drilled into first. The knight, bracing for impact, got flung back once more by the forceful energy that encompassed the voiceless warrior’s sword. This time however, the knight did not fall onto her backside, merely down to the legs. She hurried up, shield shoulder sore at the impact. Her gaze stooped down to the lighted floor, breath by breath, heavier and heavier over time. The dragon remains, yet it was not what burrowed into both her or the husk. She observed the aftermath, of which the frail body of the husk was torn apart from the blow, torso and limbs exceptionally damaged. The knight sighed, for glee of who she felt spiteful towards did not come from the heart. Disappointment was in joy’s stead, for it was not her that dealt the final blow. Or was there yet still a chance? Magical rings propagated around the “corpse”, of which there was still light surrounding it. The staff was barely raised. So he lives. Ricarda hesitated for a moment. A kill was a kill. Reckless it may be, it still was her mission to give Omega souls. The masked warrior was barraged by chains. Countless of them. The vulture shall not be last. She steadily raced onward, for the masked warrior was nearby, able to steal the kill. The knight cared not for the rings, for she knew they were not for her. The cruel warrior towered over the body, staff over where the being’s heart should be. She gazed at the head instead, vulnerable. Perish in a mess. That will show the world what your worth to the land was. The knight raised a foot, spikes over the being’s head. She brought it down. And shall do it again. And again. And again, until the wasted life force inside was no more.

Chewy905 -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (8/1/2020 23:58:47)
A vision of their own blade, a forceful blow to the chest, both did little to delay the knight’s advance. Slow, sure, a force that would not be stopped regardless of what was thrown at it. But Mori was out of options. His body broken, his vision blurring, a treacherous cough building up in his throat. He could even hear the crackling of flames from somewhere beyond him. But his heart beat on. It had to, or else… Bone and Chain. Bone and Chain. His moment of peace, his calm in the storm, was over. The blade was approaching, pointed at him, solely at him. No longer could he take his moment of silence, no longer did he have the choice to leave, and go on alone. It was time for the chaos of fury to guide his path. Mori released a breath, opening his mind to Death’s whispers. Memories flooded through him, igniting his wounds, catapulting his consciousness through eons of lives, eons of ends. He embraced them, focused on them, with a mental vision that stayed clear and bright. The flames of spite consumed him, blazing through his bones, devouring his consciousness, and burning away the fog that blurred his vision. Mori set his sight forwards, saw brother, saw sister, and lashed out with all his might. A spear pierces his heart, lifting his flailing body from the tiled floor as fiery eyes locked on his, words of rage spilling from crimson lips. “Restrain.” Bone to halt, wrapping ‘round the foes arm. “Skewer.” Bone to end, piercing plate and mind. A temporary measure: the brute of a knight would not be dissuaded. Pure force shattered Mori’s hold on the arm as steady steps continued their way across the wood. Glowing light from on high crept forth with each deadly footfall that threatened Mori’s final moments. The knight’s blade rose up high, reflecting the glimmer of the Lord’s light. They spouted words of prayer to what was likely yet another false god. Mori would have none of that. A weight tugs at his leg, dragging him down, down, down, as he desperately tries to resist its pull. “Restrain.” Twins leapt forth from behind the pious knight, binding her chest and keeping her arms held high, as if forced to prayer. The masked knight snarled as they failed to push forward. A trapped animal, an executioner whose axe would not fall. Mori stared blankly, his past-bound sight barely seeing either. Water fills his lungs, a soft voice whispers an apology through the abyss, muffled by the waves. “Suffocate.” From arm to neck, his chain slithered. A serpent, tightening, crushing, denying the executioner of her breath and her life, safeguarding Mori’s. But with her arms free, her blade screamed to life, roaring with energy as it shot to an impossible length. Mori’s half-seeing eyes widened. And then he heard the footsteps directly behind him, masked by the crackling of flames, the scream of the blade before him. The sudden inferno of his rings scorched his hand, bringing forth a howl of true, fearful pain. Roaring, glowing, blackened blade from the fore. Foot-bound spikes, a final secret from the forgotten frosted knight, from above. All pointed at his crippled, broken form. Blade swung forth. Spikes plummeted down. And his time was up. The constant, rhythmic beating in his chest had ceased, and for once, it would never start again. Headless, thoughtless, the last wisp of his consciousness floated in an empty void. The feeling of Death was not unfamiliar to him. He could release the thread, blow out the candle, embrace the light, all without fear of the end. No, there was always a different fear that came with his final breaths. Not the fear of the end, but the fear of his beginning again. Over. And over. And over. Bone and Chain. Bone and Chain. The rings against his fingers were cold once more. A chilling grip, an icy rope that tied a fragment of his very soul in place. He thought, he considered, and felt the telltale sliver of a crack formed in the winking black eye that gazed up at a figure that could not gaze back. He could release, allow that crack to grow, and shatter his fragment free, open the way for his next beginning. Bone and Chain could scream forth once more, all would fall before his might. And then he’d wish for godhood above godhood. His brothers and sisters would embrace him. His companion Death would never visit, ever again. And he would rule forever. No aging. No mercy. No pain. No compassion. His homeless mind tried to grit teeth it no longer had in a rage that could no longer fuel action. Whatever it would be like to die, permanently, and never return… Would be better than a fist of bone closed over the hearts of thousands of mortal lives for eternity. The ever-seeing watcher, his faithful follower in this play of the Lords, closed its weary eye. A single truth, embraced by all who could set their gaze on the flamelit inky blackness that held his motionless corpse. Mori is.... He is... He is a soldier, shouting loud with steel in hand. He is determined, he is resolute, even as red exits his back when the enemy enters his chest. His last words are an oath to his kingdom, may it live on. He is a woman, asleep in his beloved's arms. His skin is as pale and wrinkled as the man’s beside him. He pulls himself closer to them, and the two take their final, content breath together. He is a scholar, already at the edge of consciousness. Fire and lava bubble around him as his mind is filled with knowledge he does not want. He is cold, so cold, so cold. He is a deer, running through a luscious forest. An arrowhead pierces his flank and he topples. A hungry family will feast on his flesh, will survive the cruel winter, because he has fallen for them. He is nothing. He sighs, for his brothers will never know, will never let their last threads escape their grasp. He is everything. He sighs, for his sisters will never know, will never let their flickering candles wink out. He is Mori. He is Mori.

Kooroo -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (8/1/2020 23:59:19)
The shining cone of spiraling blacklight howled towards the arbiter’s heading, trailing a procession of violet helixes. Syn’s two targets approached one another, their intentions far too clear. But The Parting cared not for their quarrel. Just as the two foes came to a head, the vortex was upon them, in all its righteous fury. Silver-clad heretic and world-worn heathen were knocked aside decisively, blood-trimmed steel and hoary cloth banished by lilac judgment. The armour-bound warrior was sent spiralling away once again, yet some form of devilry kept the world-worn elder on the ground. And with those brutal displays of obeisance, Syn’s path was clear. There was nothing ahead of her now, save the shadows and what lurked within them. The heresy she had set her sights on was now behind her, an ironic change from her ideology. The Bleached Arbiter twisted and pulled on Providence, drawing the blade from the storm’s eye. She swiped it as soon as it was free, pulling its glowing edge across the breadth of the tempest. Empowered quartz sliced through whirling blacklight and the roaring ceased. The silence brought on was brief, only to be replaced with the sound of splintering glass once more. Sparks flew from Syn’s boots as she slowed to the halt, the fountain of light matched only by the darkness gushing from her plate. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the scorching heat radiating from her center and resisting the temptation to sag against her sword. Weariness was unusual for her, just as the extent to which the heat bothered her. Armour, sword, and flesh; everything burned. It was rare for infidels to put up a lasting fight, but if this was His Trial, then of course it was bound to be challenging. But her task was not complete; she had yet to judge a single one of them. Even without His Guidance, the arbiter knew that no matter the path she sought, it would require arduous amounts of bloodshed; either hers or theirs. The din emanating from the crux of her being had halted, dying down to that low, familiar murmur. All was quiet around Syn; silence prevailed, save her breath, the hiss of smoke, and a rattling from behin— Her grip tightened on her sword as something caught her in the back; a light prod, like a child might do to a parent. The arbiter whirled just in time to catch a sword to her chest. Syn’s eyes widened as the claymore surged forward, through the opening of her coat. THRACK! She stumbled, the blow strong enough to send her back a half a unit. But while the strike was powerful, it was what she saw that had made her pause. A claymore; its golden blade shimmering with the lights of the heavens, the singularity in its hilt shining like an aurora. Providence. The blade was Providence, in everything but material and nature. A lustrous facsimile of the darkened sword, graciously given by her absent Lord. But… how? As though res her thoughts, the false blade vanished, dissolving into dust. She’d seen that happen before: it was the fate that had befallen the pearl whips summoned by— The knight’s eyes found the old man, his ruined form illuminated for all by her Lord’s Gaze. A pulse of coldness swept through her as Syn’s eyes sought the heretic’s gaze, boring deeply into those dark, sunken orbs. This heathen… this impious cretin dared to imitate her sacred blade? He, a faded shell of a man, sought to taunt her, to provoke His arbiter’s wrath? A dying man’s unwitting invitation, to welcome judgment with proffered sacrilege and a mocking smile? Perhaps a trap, then. The sorcerous infidel wished to fell her, using deceit and devilry. Syn narrowed her eyes and stalked forward, both hands on Providence before her. So be it. As was Decreed: If there was no faith in life, then there would be repentance in death. Her quarry’s lips moved, speaking a command only to himself. Alabaster chain shot forth from arcane disk once again, honing in on her neck. Syn freed her right hand and swatted at it, punching outwards as she had the other knight’s shield. The cable of bone had other plans, however, and it bound itself tightly along her arm, locking it in place. She pulled on the imprisoned limb, testing it, but the chain refused to yield any quarter. No matter, a swing of h— Another murmur came from up ahead and another ivory rope launched itself at her, shooting straight for her chest. Syn swung upwards as it neared, but its sibling denied her the correct angle, and Providence went too wide. The second chain slowed as it approached, and then flitted forward, poking her once more. All Syn had time to do was glare before it faded, shifting into a pure white blade. It was the very same blade the girl—perhaps she—had wielded in the memory. The moment of hesitation was all that the bonecraft needed. Providence swung around again, coming down to intercept, but Syn was too slow. The snow white sword thrust forward and stabbed through her worn coat, cutting straight through the lapel. Another vision flashed behind her eyes, more fleeting than the rest. She was looking at a tall man, who was holding up an almost identical coat to her. The girl looked at the proffered garment, then back at the man and said something, eyebrow raised. In response, the man jerked his head, and made as though to take it back, before the girl protested, spouting apologies. Induction day. A treasured memento of a lost age, worn in respect of… of… Syn didn't know. It was a guess, an educated one at best, but it was still conjecture. Another question that needed answers, another inquest that could wait. Following its ancestor, the startlingly white sword vanished into the air, turning back into the darkness from which it had spawned. Barely a mark was left on her plate, easily mistakable for a pup’s teeth. But the same could not be said for the arbiter’s coat, which was left with a rather sizable hole through its lapel and breast. The cold determination within her grew stronger and Syn let out a growl: a most uncanny sound for the usually stoic arbiter. A similar sound echoed from the depths of her chest plate, and strength flooded the faithful’s limbs. She tugged on her bound wrist again and pulled, twisting across her body. There was a moment of hushed anticipation, broken only by the sound of straining, splitting bone... And then Syn was free. Bleached links failed, shattering, and fading into air as the holy warrior broke free, resuming her slow and steady march. A satisfied grin breached her lips, unbeknownst to her former captor, who could only watch helplessly as she neared. It was time. The holy sword which had been subject to the ancient heathen’s travesty glowed, its edge glimmering menacingly. Providence rose up high and above Syn’s head, a beacon of faith, an icon of piety to her omniscient Lord. “With this strike, I cast thee—“ A rattle of bone interrupted her, the sound coming from behind the steadfast warrior. She glanced to the side, just in time to see a restraining tongue of bone surge forth and lash tightly around her chest. Another length of chain wrapped around her arms, essentially trapping the arbiter mid-motion. So close. She was so close, barely out of range. Snarling, Syn tried to lunge forward, pushing off her right foot. The action did little to worry the chains and their master, however, rewarding her with a jangle and a vacant stare for her efforts. ”So when do you leave?” A man’s calm voice, as smooth as velvet. The sound evoked a sense of calm within her, a strange reassurance. Different to the empowering clarity that His Presence provided her, but perhaps just as pleasant. ”You’ll be rid of me in three days.” A woman’s contralto, cheerful and jesting, in contrast with her counterpart’s. This one was familiar. Far too familiar. This one was hers. “And… what’s this?” he asked, tweaking an eyebrow and gesturing at the presented sword. “Won’t be needing this, will I?” “That doesn’t matter. It’s your blade. It was made for you,” The man shook his head. “Keep it.” “I… You know that they provide us with swords, right, father?” she asked, doubtfully. “No ‘bring your own’ shenanigans. Can’t have cadets accidentally killing themselves with homemade weaponry, afterall.” “Did I forget to teach you how to hold a sword?” “Jokes really don’t become you.” He gave her a small smile.”It was worth a try.” Her father moved closer and took her hand in his, the marble sword clasped in between them. “Keep it,” he insisted again. “Keep it by your side and I’ll be content knowing that my daughter is safe. Hold it close and you will never truly lose your sense of self.” Syn laughed. “Lords, father. I’ll be fiiiiine. Do you really need to try and make everything so dramatic?” “How long did you say you’ll be gone for?” “Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to write!” “You’ve been avoiding this. Everyone’s asked, but you haven’t given anyone a straight answer. So tell me, daughter… how long will you b—” So she told him. In a hushed voice, she told him and he sighed, closing his eyes, as Syn’s heart dropped. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes and her throat tightened up, but she forced herself to remain strong. Deep breaths, tha— “We’ll miss you.” Another woman’s voice: her mother’s. Her mother had been listening all along. Syn made to turn, to face her, but a pair of arms wrapped around her before she had the chance. Her father moved forward to join them, hugging both of them, their daughter at the heart of their embrace. She was struggling now, trying desperately not to break down. It wouldn’t do for her to collapse into a blubbering mess now, especially if— More footsteps. The girl knew exactly who they belonged to. Oh Lords, please. No… Another pair of arms joined the hug. And then… surprisingly, yet another. That was the final straw. The floodgates opened and the tears started, flowing freely down her cheeks. Her sword dropped, forgotten, as her sobs grew, until she was howling into her father’s shoulder. Her family’s embrace faded with the memory, just as the arbiter felt the chain embracing her arms and torso ripple. The latter slid along her chest, curling around her neck and began to squeeze, attempting to crush her through her collar’s guard. Its sibling loosened slightly, leaving it up to its twin to finish their master’s task. That would be their final mistake. The glowing sword being aimed at the heavens glowed and glimmered, then shone, as its blade blazed with lilac power once more. Then, in a blast of violet light, its screams reached a new pitch, as Providence erupted with purple flame. Energy crackled and spat around her gauntlets, as The Guiding Hand ripped and tore at its wielder’s hands. Syn focused back on the memory, back on that last, finite embrace. She focused on her family’s warmth and let it fill her, adding to the venerable heat coursing within her. Her heart and her sword roared, blazing with power and purpose. Syn added her own voice to the din, before bringing her blade crashing down.

Starflame13 -> RE: =EC 2020= Twilight Arena (8/2/2020 12:41:47)
Amidst the crackling of newly born flame, motion slowed. The spotlights, once nimble observers, ground to a halt as they captured the final moments of the melee. Their beams held a microcosm of the carnage contained within the arena on full display. And then luminescence flared. Radiance of such an intensity that it may well have been a physical force washed over the competitors. It blinded them entirely, stifling their breaths, stifling their minds until naught could be seen, could be sensed, could be known but the unyielding glare. With a last surge of brilliance, the harshness faded, leaving those in the arena staggering at the sudden lack of resistance. The sigil returned to the center of the floor, bathing the walls and exits in a gentle multi-hued glow. But such an escape was not for everyone, as several competitors had vanished from Twilight during the delirium. Vanished to be taken to their final battle. The Paragons were chosen. The fight for Champion was at hand.

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