=WPC 2022= Final Battlefield

=WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (Full Version)

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Chewy905 -> =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/13/2022 12:31:07)
The Final Battlefield In the beginning, there was nothing. No sights. No sounds. No life, no death, no feeling or color. In this nothingness are the Pawns thrust, alone in the empty void. Yet even in this space, utterly alone, a weight pressed in on them. It peered and considered them from all angles, oppressive and contemplative. They were being watched. A frigid wind howled through the darkness, pulling at the edges of reality and forcing them into two solid pieces. The sky glowed with light and color, while the ground split into neat tiles of stark white and deep black. The cold wind rushed upwards, then thrust straight down with all the force of the weighted presence, 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. Colors of every shade imaginable: fierce crimson and deep blue, metallic gold and silver, violet and emerald and nameless thousands more. They rippled through the sky in an ever-changing, tumultuous display. And yet, they seemed dimmed, slowed, as if a deep chill had gripped their movements. Even still the sky spoke of Formlessness. Fluidity. Disruption. Motion. An unpredictable force that promised change as it called forth its Knights. Knight of Bloodlust. Certain, yet Ever-Seeking. Rise, Suraeko, and chase your hunger. Knight of The Symphony. Talented, yet Obsessive. Rise, Lune, and perform for your audience. Knight of Duality. Diligent, yet Broken. Rise, Zatmeni, and find your harmony. Knight of Machines. Determined, yet Reckless. Rise, Gith, and ride for your people. “Join me.” Called out a cascade of voices, crying with discordance and beauty. “Fight in our name, and we will give you freedom. Fight for Chaos!” Tiles of white and black formed a smooth, mirrored surface. Cool to touch, and pristine in nature, not a crack or stain maring their planes. They spoke of Structure, Duty, Regulation, and Discipline, and seemed to shine with a powerful light. A ceaseless force that promised unity as it called its Knights forward. Knight of The Forge. Creative, yet Sinful. Rise, Unmakyr, and right your wrongs. Knight of The Sky. Free, yet Separated. Rise, Cirra, and dance to your lost love. Knight of Force. Strong, yet Dulled. Rise, Serihl, and fight for your feeling. Knight of The Stars. Wild, yet Empty. Rise, Hydna, and soar to your memories. “Join me.” Called out a single voice, singing with richness and certainty. “Fight in my name, and I will give you purpose. Fight for Order!” The calls quieted, leaving but the dulled roar of twin waterfalls, cascading down from the twin sets of shining linked-disks suspended above. A dragon’s roar echoed across the board, bringing with it the freezing gale, and in an instant the falls ceased, pillars of frigid ice in their place. The ice crept along the floor, layering over the tiles and spreading out and away from the scales overhead before stopping in a perfect ring. The rings overhead stood still, frozen in place, each holding a set of four glowing orbs, pulsing in time to the heartbeats of the Knights. The gale subsided, leaving behind a lingering chill that pricked at flesh and brough light layers of frost to armor. The Knights stood, facing each other across the First Battlefield. Whether rivals or partners, past friends or past foes, they now shared a single goal. Tip those frigid scales. Win this endless war.

GrimmJester -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/15/2022 21:22:17)
An unholy wail echoed across the battlefield, enough to drown out all the other sounds, even the thrumm of the machine for a moment or two. Glass shattered under C.R.A.B’s mechanical feet as it grew louder and louder. Thumm! The weapon fired. It’s heated projectile spinning, hurtling towards the bard at high velocity. Before it could strike it’s mark the shielding around the power core burst and the cockpit flooded with white hot plasma. Gith felt his body burning, his skin ablaze in the all consuming inferno that would claim them both… Except it didn’t. Before the projectile hit its mark, before the explosion reached its apex everything froze, an exact view captured in glass like a display piece at a museum. Caught in that precise moment of lasting torment before the end... He screamed but no voice came, no sound could escape, nor muscles or vocal cords move. Then everything went dark. They say in the beginning there was only darkness. Then light came into the void and life was born. But even before that there was something else. Something that existed outside of the boundaries we as sentient life can comprehend, something beyond the four dimensions that we can hope to perceive. It was into Their realm that he’d been thrust. Now for the second time in his life. Though, one could begin to question at this point what life is, what time is. For in this space none of it truly mattered. Something came into being, but it was naught but agony, searing pain that wracked his body and mind as he existed there, once more thrust into the deep darkness of the void. He could no longer feel his right leg, his right eye felt like it burned constantly, as if the plasma still clung to that side of his face. But of course it couldn’t. Not even fire can live in the vast nothingness that was his current residence. Reflexively his hand moved up to press against it, feeling nothing beneath but a hollow empty socket. Terror gripped his heart and he closed his remaining eye, it did him no good anyways in the infinite blackness. Am I dead? Is this what death is? was the first thought that crossed his mind, the rational logical mind of the engineer moving to the first solution that seemed reasonable. ”Not yet.” Something answered him. Something had answered his request, his wish for meaning, for purpose. They say no man can cheat the grave, but it seemed the powers that be had deemed to let him skirt the inevitable just a little bit longer. I can’t feel my leg. ”That is because you no longer have it.” his thought once more answered by a disembodied voice somewhere within the void. A vision flashed before his eyes, the bard… His leg fell as they struck his knee… Though that wasn’t him, was it? No… It was hers. Cold hard metal clanging into a glass floor. The neural link making sensations of what was his and what was C.R.A.B’s hard to distinguish between. What about my eye? ”Gone as well. Burned to ash.” He’d feared as much… The throbbing pain was making it much harder to think straight, to sift through what was true and what was not. Though, was any of this true? ”Yes. What do you want from me? ”Join me, Knight of Machines. Fight in our name.” How could I? There’s nothing left. ”We will give you what you need.” What is your name? ”Chaos. I accept. Light flooded into the darkness of every visible wavelength, colors overwhelmed Gith’s senses but with the painful light came knowledge. He knew what he needed to do. Reaching out into the void he pulled something from it. Cool metal pressed against his face, wrapped around the stump of his right leg and patched him together in the only way Gith knew how. Through purely mechanical means. He felt the new parts of his body connect to his nervous system with thin cables locking themselves to his spine. Servos whirred as he looked around, his vision once more stereoscopic, a faint red glow radiating from his new eye. Pistons clunked and gears moved as he flexed his new leg... He could... Feel it? It was a strange sensation, to have sensory input from cold unfeeling metal, but it was hardly the first time he'd had this sensation. In a sense, C.R.A.B had been naught but an extension of himself. He was complete once more, and he had been chosen. The engineer selected for his determination would rise once more as a Knight of Chaos. Gravity shifted, or rather existed suddenly as a frigid wind howled, chilling Gith to the bone as reality was rent asunder. Separated into two diametrically opposed forces each manifesting their own traits unto this new battlefield. A brief updraft arrested his fall from the void for but a moment, then suddenly shifted to press downwards. A loud slam as he crashed down, though not onto the black and white tiled floor, but rather onto the back carapace of C.R.A.B’s large lumbering body which had sprung into being just below him. Her body made whole once more just like his own, the damages suffered visible in the fact that the parts lost had been replaced in gleaming pristine steel, shining bright in comparison to the battered matte black pieces that had been there before. She would carry her scars into battle, as would he. His metallic leg clanged against her armored carapace as he was forced down to his knees, his head bowed and his fist resting upon the cold steel below him. C.R.A.B stood in reverence as well, her front legs bowed, claw resting in mirror to Gith’s fist against the dark tile, standing firmly on the line between black and white. The tiles glazed surface marred by the points of her sharp feet. Knight of Machines. Determined, yet Reckless. Rise, Gith, and ride for your people. Called by a force ephemeral and unknowable he rose to his feet, and with a low clunking whirr so too rose C.R.A.B. “Join me.” A cacophony of voices rang out through the windswept battlefield, discordant yet hauntingly beautiful in it's complexity “Fight in our name, and we will give you freedom. Fight for Chaos!” it was an offer he'd already accepted, although he doubted he could have refused even if he had wanted to. Though… Freedom was an awfully tempting prospect. And so he rose, the newly christened Knight of Machines, and so did his steed. His duster flapped in the cool breeze, the old worn leather whipping behind him as he scanned the new battlefield, the red glow of his mechanical eye slowly sweeping from side to side, C.R.A.B's red camera lenses following the motion. The two of them moved as one, connected more now than they ever had been before. Their lives spared by chaos itself to serve as one knight in this final showdown in the cosmic game. He exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the chill air, the metal affixed to his body to make him whole was conducting the cold into his bones… But they were nothing compared to the chill of the void. He would stand firm. He scanned along allies first, to his left stood the half and half minotaur. Zatmeni, Knight of Duality. Her fierce strength had been impressive last they met, having stood strong against the hydraulically powered might of C.R.A.B's assault even while wounded. He'd seen her possess some form of magic, at least that's what he assumed it was, to summon items and flame from nothing, an impressive feat. He could only hope she harbored no ill will towards him. To his right… His stomach lurched. The bard… Lune, Knight of The Symphony. Their broken shattered body remade into its pristine glory much like the rest of them had been. No matter how much he loathed them, how much his every instinct was to turn his weapons to them and end this once and for all, he knew that he could not. The stakes had changed. They were chosen, and would have to fight as one. For his people, to see his kin restored to where they belonged in the galaxy he would suffer this as well. He'd bear any pain, walk through destruction itself and seek meaning. To carve out life where none should exist. Beyond the bard a figure stood that he did not recognize. Suraeko, Knight of Bloodlust. That title did cause some reason for concern, but maybe it would work to their benefit. She was a strange humanoid wearing a lot of black, covered in scales seemingly from various creatures. Armed with a fearsome looking glaive they seemed a formidable combatant, likely a strong asset to their ranks from a first glance, but it was hard to know who could be trusted even now. "Tensha! his voice rang out to his allies to draw their attention, C.R.A.B's speakers amplifying it to overpower the howling wind "I am Gith, Engineer of The Sarissa! I don't know you other than by your actions, and you don't know me. But today we stand as one! We may have crossed blades before but if we are to stand a chance we must work together! Milowda na ányimal!" he spoke with a captains authority, a cadence learned through countless orders barked through intercoms. Though if his last sentiment was known to any he couldn't say. His peace spoken, his intentions made known. He would work with them, all of the chosen knights of Chaos; regardless of their history, for needs must. Shifting his gaze to the other side of the battlefield a familiar figure stood out to him. The smith had also been brought here, made an enemy once more. Sabe… He had hoped to avoid crossing saws with him once more. Fearless, proud, resourceful. A man on a quest to repent for some sin Gith did not know. He respected the man, in a sense they were kindred, both craftsmen who would rather throw themselves unto the crucible of battle than pass silently into the night. If possible he would avoid a confrontation as long as needed. At least now he would know his opponent's name. Unmakyr, Knight of the Forge To the blacksmith's left a tall woman, graceful and strong. Standing in contrast to the pale smith, where his skin was ivory and bleached bone hers was ebony and like the midnight sky. Hair of silver and dressed in colorful fabrics. He knew not what to make of her at a glance but something in the way she carried herself concerned him. Cirra, Knight of The Sky On the smith's other side an even taller woman, though more crude and brutish as opposed to the lithe and slender dark skinned woman. Neither of them seemed particularly well armed or armored, he honestly couldn't tell if that was cause for celebration or concern, though more likely the latter. Serihl, Knight of Force Finally… he froze as he glanced over to the last combatant. A slight figure compared to the rest but to him the most notable. Fury. one descriptor to mark both the name of the squad the markings on her body represented, an insignia burned into the memory of all of his kind, taught as a cautionary tale to children. His blood boiled, his hands curling into fists, nails digging into his palms. Hydna, Knight of The Stars "Xiya na pelésh to, evaxoníseki! I will finish what we started years ago, till every Fury is wiped from the void!" He shouted across the battlefield. No other foe mattered any more. This begins, and ends, now!

Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/15/2022 22:32:28)
A step, a stumble, ankle throbbing in pain. Teeth clenched till they cracked as she stepped forward again. A stagger, a blink, the scene swam before her eyes. Aramyi howling in rage as he rushed gracelessly by. Skirts dragged alongside her, silks smoking and charred. Hands curled to fists - the fall left her disarmed. Her sword - by the mage! Cirra dragged air back into her lungs. She lurched another step forward, a command on her tongue. Tick. To - *BOOM.* ________Lightning fell. Storm swelled. Swallowed her yell. ________Bolts struck. No time to duck. All out of luck. ________The blaze grew. A radiant hue. Became all she knew. Darkness swallowed up her whole, Reverberated across her soul, A heartbeat lost to time… * A song that filled the sky… * Oh can you hear the starlight singing? Its chorus swells with every day. For stars are born, to bells a-ringing, As spirits call them forth to play. They sing of peace. They sing of faith. They sing of stories long forgot. They sing of calm. They sing of strength. They sing of what we must be taught. Oh can you hear the starlight singing? Its melodies will drown your fear. For stars will guide you on your journey, As long as you hold their song dear. They sing for hope. They sing for heart. They sing for all beneath the sky. They sing for love. They sing for joy. They'll sing until the cosmos die. Oh can you hear the starlight singing? The song is soft, but it rings true. None are forgotten where there’s starlight. They sing for me... They sing for you - A howling wind split the song’s final note; Cirra gasped as it ripped the words from her throat. That… was me? I… I’m alive? The void hummed around her, pressed in from all sides. Unseen eyes looked her up, looked her down. Evaluating the worth of this Pawn they had found. Starlight glimmered - in her mind, not her sight - and with the faint sound of laughter a voice declared her a Knight. Cold tore straight through her spirit like a scream incoherent, and Cirra slammed to her knees on a wide checkered field. Three allies beside her, four opponents beyond her, and every wound on her body miraculously healed. She stretched, rose, found her sword in her hand. Its remaining rings jingled, each awaiting her command. To her right, her nearest neighbor glanced her way. Unmakyr… a knight whose sins led her astray. Her hair matched the dancer’s to the exact shade of white. She spoke words of solace; an ally in the new fight. Cirra replied as her mouth curled into a smile, “As I cannot see the stars, I am glad to fight with their child.” The Knight of Force glowered at the hammer-wielding knight. A mountain of a woman, fists poised to strike. Then she turned towards their foes, eyes narrowed in a squint. One caught her attention - and Serhil took off at a sprint. Unmakyr dashed as a rifle appeared in her hand - the weapon an exact copy of that held by the fourth of their band. Hydna herself had paled at the Knight of Machine’s shout, the immense crab turning to single her out. Chill pricked at her fingers as for a moment she lingered, terrified of making a wrong move in this game. You can’t afford hesitation - she turned away from the crustacean. It’s still true; all worlds are the same. ________But that doesn’t mean I can’t change. Listen to the starlight’s song. With its words I will stay strong. And with its gift I fly… A clang rang out, of steel on stone. Ummakyr firing a bolt at Suraeko. A twist, a bound, and Cirra chased after the Knights, racing between the twin pillars of ice. Music, a fiddle, crooned at their approach; a slow, calming aria filled with discordant notes. A single step off the ground to avoid slipping on frost. I must win this battle, no matter the cost. With a word, and a chime, another ring fractured and broke. Dust surrounded her allies in a shimmering dark cloak. A glistening nebula of silver and coal, the same matter that birthed the stars long ago. Just enough cover to shield them from sight as the trio of Order neared the opposing knights. Still, with each step that Cirra took in the air, she felt a strange surge of growing despair…

ChaosRipjaw -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/16/2022 21:13:47)
Even from here, Hydna could see the very tall woman get impaled on the end of the massive glaive. She could see her fall. That could very well be her own fate in the next few seconds. [Warning.] [Temperature levels reaching 150°.] Temperature– what? She wasn’t anywhere near the tree– Hydna looked up. Sizzling schnitzels her brain said, but her mouth opened and closed wordlessly. The branches of the tree were reaching out toward her, looking for all the world like the tentacles of a goddamned pyro-kraken. Sounded like one too, for a great roar overtook the entire battlefield. She’d come too far to die now! She wanted to yell but searing pain lanced through her swollen jaw. Hydna ran– –but the tentacles – branches – were on her. The world became hot as an oven as the wind picked up and a tornado of the burning petals enveloped her. The warmth mutates into an uncomfortable heat, but it is gone as soon as it comes, to be replaced with a biting cold. “Cut it out guys,” she complains, opening her eyes. Everyone is laughing. “That got her,” Telesilla says approvingly. “How do you have time to sneak all these things into her ship?” Messene wonders. Scyllis tuts disapprovingly. “Blatant abuse of shipyard security!” “Awake now, Hydna?” Commander Thyone asks kindly. “Yeah yeah, I’m awake now,” Hydna says, embarrassed. “Sorry for falling asleep again.” “Don’t worry too much about it, Fury Five,” Telesilla says. “Anti-space travel’s way worse than highway hypnosis.” The others murmur agreement. “Come on now,” Thyone says over the chatter. “Wake up Hydna.” Wake up? Wasn’t she already awake? Wait– Hydna opened her eyes to a gray, featureless sky that somehow emanated light. No no no no … Back where she started in this nightmare. Back in the lifeless city of black and white. Only it wasn’t so lifeless this time. Hydna sat bolt upright. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Impossible. “Commander?” she asked in disbelief. Commander Thyone smiled faintly. She sat in a kneeling position, near Hydna who had been lying supine. There was no mistaking it, that unscarred face that had survived so much, the signature Greco-futurist wintery suit that combined bulkiness and skintight in flowing elegance. A fountain of relief swelled in Hydna’s chest and tears came to her eyes. Rescued! Finally– No. The fountain seemed to freeze over, turning her blood to ice. She wanted to deny it, wanted to believe she had been saved. But deep down, even before the suit AI confirmed it, even as the automaton adjusted itself as though in response to her memories of the commander, Hydna knew. [No biometrics detected.] [Unidentified power source.] [Checking material …] [Compositional material: unknown.] “Who are you?” Hydna whispered. Thyone smiled. “I am whatever you need me to be.” “You’re not the commander,” Hydna hissed, then winced and groaned in pain. She fell back on her back, breathing. “Talking with a fractured jaw is ill-advised,” Thyone chastised. Her tone and inflection were exactly as Hydna remembered. Despite the fact that this … this thing was just an illusion, a mirage, a spitting reflection of the commander, hearing her familiar tone set Hydna at ease. “This should help.” Cold fingers that imitated soft, gloved hands but lacked all of the heat and comfort of the living pressed something moist and chilly to Hydna’s skin. Medi-gel. Hydna sighed as the swelling rapidly settled down, the T-nanos in the gel repairing the broken blood vessels and bone fractures. She closed her eyes. For several long moments, she just lay there, soaking in the silence. At least this time instead of plummeting to her death, she got to lie in an empty courtyard. “Where am I?” Hydna asked, without opening her eyes. The automaton didn’t breathe or emit any sound, but Thyone’s reply came, “You are now a resident of the Chequered City.” “You’re really not the commander, are you?” Hydna had to ask, even though she knew the answer. “Well yes, but actually no.” Thyone’s eyes twinkled, giving her mechanical eyes the uncanny illusion of life. “Everything you remember about the commander is given shape and form in me.” Hydna shook her head. The crypticism, the humor, all of it was just like the commander in life. “Come now,” Thyone said. “Don’t be shy. Speak freely.” The words, reverberating from a previous life, cracked something in her. “I’m scared,” Hydna choked out, and the floodgates opened. “I don’t understand what’s going on. There’s no one here, I can’t remember anything–” and she found herself recounting everything that had happened since the crash. Fighting for her life … killing a man. Thyone sat quietly as Hydna spoke. She looked at the starless sky in silence, seemingly deep in thought, as Hydna trailed off. “Do you remember that story I told you,” Thyone said softly, “about the redwood forests?” Hydna shivered. “Yeah.” “You know a redwood doesn’t grow to its height without trials of great hardship,” Thyone said. “Ants, woodpeckers, wind and thunder, earthquakes and lumberjacks … everything is against it. Everything wants to topple it. “The question is,” Thyone asked, “can it endure?” Hydna was silent. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Don’t sell yourself short,” Thyone admonished, wagging her finger. “By your own admission, by your own experience, you’ve gotten quite far, especially on such scant resources.” The words resonated with something deep in Hydna’s subconscious. She remembered her fear when she had first crashed. She remembered fighting with all her might. Even underequipped, she’d never really spared a second thought on what could have happened, except for brief moments when she’d been beaten bloody. Still– “Having my power rifle back would make me feel a lot better,” Hydna muttered. Thyone laughed. “And so it would. But sometimes Fury Five doesn’t have her power rifle, just as those redwoods don’t always have the best weather to stand in.” “Except it’s not always about the weather,” Hydna pointed out. “Sometimes it’s got old guys with axes going at it.” “True, true,” Thyone said. She smiled. “In which case, I have my little Furies on my branches to protect me.” “You’re down a Fury then,” Hydna said. “Last I checked, my ship’s turned into a souffle.” “All a Fury needs are her wings and her talons.” Thyone inclined her chin, gesturing toward Hydna’s holster. “Both of which you definitely have.” Hydna’s fingers brushed against the handle of the Savager, then went up to absentmindedly stroke the cable launcher built into her left forearm guard. Talons. Almost in response to her thoughts, her suit confirmed: [Power levels at 100%.] Wings. “Is that what the commander would have said?” Hydna asked dryly. Thyone’s eyes twinkled. “That’s what you know she would have said.” Hydna snorted. Then she started to laugh, giddy from exhaustion and the post-adrenaline. The commander was right. She wasn’t just a little tree that was growing. She was also one of the Furies. Talons and wings. She had them both, and she knew how to use them. Thyone laughed with her but it quickly faded as she looked toward the sky. “The time is coming,” she said, even though there was no sun with which to gauge. “You’ll be going soon.” Hydna sat up. “It’s not over?” “No,” Thyone said. “You should get some rest, Fury Five. The storm is coming.” “But, what about the rest of the Furies?” Hydna yelped. “They’re still up there–” “Indeed.” Thyone nodded. “The Furies are still up there, fighting for their lives. And maybe, just maybe …” The automaton stood in one smooth motion and turned to leave. It hesitated. “A parting gift–” Thyone extended a hand. Hydna raised her cupped hands and Thyone tipped a cascade of large bullet-shaped stones into them. [9 projectiles acquired.] [Total ammunition: 12.] “That’s it?” Hydna asked. “That is it.” Hydna’s fist closed around the bullets, and quietly she tucked them into her utility pocket. These things would be her key to survival. Thyone nodded and straightened to leave. “You know ‘Commander’,” Hydna said, looking up. “If you’re just an automaton based on my memories of the real commander, then does that mean she would actually be praising me?” Thyone’s eyes twinkled again, but this time Hydna could have sworn she saw a glint of something else in them. Pristine. Old. Powerful. “Am I?” the thing that looked like Thyone asked. “Or are you finally discovering who you really are?” And she was gone. “All wings report in,” the commander calls. The responses begin. “Fury Two, standing by.” “Fury Three, standing by.” “Fury Four, standing by.” It is her turn. “Fury Five, standing by,” Hydna says. “Shields forward, arm weapons, be ready for anything. Can’t be too sure what’s out there,” Thyone warns, as the squadron drops out of anti-space. Instantly the blank, negative whiteness outside the cockpit becomes the familiar, star speckled blackness of real space. “What the–” “There’s nothing out here,” Scyllis says. “Fury One, signal triangulation positive?” “Positive, Fury Three,” Thyone says, and Hydna can practically “hear” the frown through the comms. “That’s weird. Stay sharp everyone.” “Gravity gradient is nonexistent,” Telesilla says. “We’re literally in the middle of nowhere.” “Why would a task force drop out in the middle of nowhere?” Messene wonders. There is a moment of silence. “No other ships on the sensors,” Scyllis reports. “If something’s out here waiting for us,” Telesilla mutters, “we’d literally be Sitting Ducks Squadron.” Their serene surroundings suddenly look ominous. Even with her heater on, Hydna feels goosebumps pop up on her flesh. The whirr of the heater is making her nervous; she turns it off. A warning light flickers on Hydna’s dashboard. She taps it and it goes dark. “Fury One, I’m picking up something,” Hydna calls. “Elaborate, Fury Five.” “Below us. Uhh, 5 o’clock, Z.” Hydna’s ship hums as she turns it around. “It should be right … here.” She taps the map on the HUD and a pointer appears on all the squadron members’ maps. “Uhh, what?” Telesilla asks. “There’s nothing there–ahh!” “Ow!” Hydna yelps at the same moment, as a crackle of static slices into her ear. Suddenly, the warning light from earlier lights up, much brighter than it should be able to. “Fury Five! What’s–” Messene cuts off, gasping in shock. “Holey swiss!” Suddenly, the dead black space is very, very much alive. Unearthly colors that emitted no light, yet were clear as day filled up the void. The voices cried out– –and Hydna realized she wasn’t in space in her memories. And though her surroundings included black and white, she was not in the Chequered City either. The storm is coming. If she thought she was dreaming before, back in the arena with the burning tree, it paled in comparison to this landscape. The sky swirled with color, while the floor lay in stark black and white as though in firm opposition against the chaos overhead. Hydna tried to stand, but found she could not; something was pressing her to her knees. As she watched, twin waterfalls churned down from a pair of linked disks suspended overhead. A mighty roar echoed across the field and before her eyes, the waterfalls froze, forming two massive pillars. The ice didn’t stop at the pillars, they spread into perfect rings around them. [Temperature levels reaching 7°.] This universe really did seem to be playing funny tricks on her with the temperature. She exhaled and it came out in a puff. The voices called out the names. Bloodlust and Symphony, Duality and Machines. Forge and Sky, Force and– Knight of The Stars. Wild, yet Empty. Rise, Hydna, and soar to your memories. Oh haha big funny, Hydna thought, incensed. “Soar to your memories,” more like getting punched in the face to start remembering anything. At least “Knight of the Stars” had a nice ring to it. Yeah, if she ever made it out of this place alive, she’d be keeping that title. “Join me,” called out a single voice, one so very much like the commander’s. “Fight in my name, and I will give you purpose. Fight for Order!” [Multiple adversaries detected.] [Total: 4.] [Calculating distances.] [Square partition lengths: 30 feet each side.] Wait. One, two … Four on her side, four on the other side. So … everyone on her side of the field was … her teammates? In which case, I have my little Furies on my branches to protect me. Hydna recognized the super-tall scarred lady, Serihl – sizzling schnitzels, Hydna swore she saw her dead earlier – and the other shorter armored lady with the giant blade thing on the other side of the field. The Knights of Force and Bloodlust, respectively. Hydna wasn’t sure what creeped her out more, the fact one of them was somehow resurrected, or that the other one was responsible for the death of the first. “But thanks for this,” said one of the women – Unmakyr, Knight of the Forge, Hydna recalled. In her hand, she brandished – Hydna did a double take – also a Savager! Instinctively she reached for her own gun but it was still there, securely in her holster on her right hip. She couldn’t have been pickpocketed anyway; the Unmakyr was standing to her left. “Uhh, sure?” Hydna said but the Unmakyr was already charging for the guys on the other side of the field, the Knights of Chaos. Not just her, both Serihl and the last Knight – Cirra, Knight of the Sky – were all already going straight for the enemy team without preamble. An all female team of the Knights of Order … All wings report in. Hydna shook herself off; that was then and this was now. Speaking of which, of all her opponents, what drew her gaze immediately, aside from Murder Ma’am – Suraeko – was the gigantic crab mech. A crab mech. An actual crab mech. Fragging hell, Hydna swore. How did someone manage to bring in a crab mech while all she had was a damned Savager handgun? [Language detected.] [Database match.] [Caution: old.] [Language detected: Rengru’s Children affiliated race.] [Beginning translation.] That was when she realized the crab – or rather, the crab’s pilot that was standing on it – was talking. Some kind of rat-like alien named Gith. The translation came through– [This is not your place, bzzt planet bzzt!] [[Warning: language database corrupted.] [Firewall activated.]] Oh. Nice. A super old, obscure language combined with that dumb firewall she’d never figured out how to disable. Thanks a lot, Telesilla. That would have been pretty funny, except what he said next that she could understand without the translator was anything but. Did she say “talking”? “Talking” was an understatement. Screaming bloody murder, more like. “I will finish what we started years ago, till every Fury is wiped from the void!” Till every Fury– Hydna’s face lost a few shades of color as the memories came flooding back, though this time from an entirely unanticipated source: Xenohistory 2312. Hydna had never really paid attention then, but here in the middle of a cosmic chessboard, she remembered every detail. Every detail. A few pages from a textbook. A field trip to the Museum of Xenohistory to see an ancient mech of a very particular design. A chiming sound accompanied by a sudden cloud of sparkling dust broke Hydna out of her reverie. Sizzling schnitzels! Hydna yanked out the Savager and began to run. [Approximate distance to first pillar: 84.85 feet.] [Power levels at 100%.] ”Hey guys, wait for me!” she yelled.

Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/16/2022 21:56:44)
”What madness is this, what have you done?” cried the smith, cradling the baker in her arms. Red splatters stained his fair hair, and his breath had stopped long ago. The stranger laughed. He turned with grace, glittering sword singing as it cut through the air. That twisted smile of his stretched to his ears. “What have I done? What have you done, good smith?” “A thousand weapons, each one deadlier than the last. A thousand chances to outperform yourself again and again.” A flick of the blade sent a splash of crimson onto the unmoving form of the butcher. “And look at all the glory your work has done!” The stranger twirled in place with a laugh, sword pointing at the fallen mason, watchman, and cobbler in turn. “Each struck down before they could scream! Why, I daresay half didn’t even realize they were struck until they were dead!” The stranger pranced over to the smith and dropped low to meet her eye to eye. “And to think! A thousand blades all across Lore!” His impossible smile managed to split even wider. “Aren’t you proud of your legacy?” Fire and smoke. Thunder and blood. An inferno tore through him, flame and agony piercing through and shattering their wings deep within his chest. The railgun crashed to the ground with the Unmakyr following a heartbeat after. I have to- Makyr’s jaw quivered as he raised his head to look for the minotaur. I have to… Limbs failed to respond. Vision burned white. ...I… His head fell back against the floor with a soft thud, eyes closed. ...no… The crunching of shifting glass surrounded him. ...please… Tears spilled down his cheeks. ...I can't...not yet... He opened his eyes to a prison of mirrors encompassing him. Through the darkness, the elf’s vision caught the reflection of himself within the jagged and crass surface. And then another. And another. A hundredfold echoes of his burned and bloodied body, and a hundredfold more beyond. Each with pale skin scorched black and white hair dyed red. But with one crucial difference: A different weapon impaled each imitation. An obsidian spearhead with its fathomless depths puncturing through his spine. An ashen sword spouting smoke and dust with every breath as it ran him through. A gleaming rapier of crimson growing ever brighter as it lapped up the crimson seeping from his chest. Dawnwing, Angel’s Cry, the Azure One, Heart’s Crest, and countless others…all forged by his own hand. And each one delivering unto him the punishment they had inflicted to masses immeasurable. Makyr groaned as he held out a hand, sparks of agony igniting from the greatsword lodged in his chest He could see the stranger’s smile, devious and all-knowing. ”Is this who you are?” Pale fingers stretched out for the reflections reaching back towards him. I am... That hideous voice full of mirth and malice filled his ear. ”Is this who you are?” Makyr inched himself closer to the glass, a thunderbolt of agony splintering across his ribs. The elf clenched his teeth until he tasted blood. I am- The scent of ash and fragrance of flame kissed his lips. *”Tell me, good smith. Is this* who you are?”** He climbed back to his hands and knees, each movement triggering an explosion of pins and needles in every bone. Neck screaming in protest, the smith raised back his head and roared. “I AM.” The greatsword impaling the smith burst into flame. Tongues of emerald and sapphire entwined with crimson ones, engulfing the elf. They swarmed over bruised and battered skin. Plunged deep into bleeding wounds. Wherever it touched it left as lustrous silver, a body of steel to be reforged anew. Amelioration, not suffering, followed the inferno’s rapturous embrace. The smith laughed. “Who am I?” Rising up, the elf smiled wide. Muscles dripped in spools of liquid as the smith’s body churned and boiled. “I am the forgemaster, the smith without equal.” All around her, the mirrors reflected her children but in new hands. An orcish champion wielding Plumerise purging an infestation of aberrations. An angelic being quelling a rioting mob with the fathomless spearhead of The Deep’s Calling. A blade of stardust in the hands of a princess warding off an onslaught of ruthless invaders. “I am the maker of a thousand blades.” Steel bubbled within her grasp until a shimmering hammer of starlight bloomed forth. “I am- -Rise, Unmakyr, and right your wrongs. The glass shattered, their pieces dissolving into a checkered field of black and white. Around the Unmakyr rose champions, some familiar and some not, but each dubbed a knight of renown. A glint of silver caught her attention. The dark elf turned to her brethren, eyes falling to the sword hanging at her side. Stardust. The smith’s grip tightened on the hammer. She would have to- No, not anymore. She relaxed her grip as a dragon’s bellow resounded throughout the battlefield. Twin pillars of ice sprung into existence, each casting a fleeting reflection of her form. The Unmakyr stared back at the echo gazing into her. A form she had taken many times throughout the years, but one that felt right now. Is this who I am? Creator, not Unmakyr? Leaving the question unasked, she turned back to the dancer and stowed the forgehammer. That decision could wait until battle’s end. “It has been some time since I’ve fought side by side with a Deep Child. In that I find comfort.” Red eyes strained past the dancer and to the hulking behemoth of a woman behind her. A woman with eyes of violet and milky white. “Serihl.” The smith paused, searching for the words to heal a wounded pride. In the end, silence won out. She swallowed hard. “Good luck out there.” The elf turned to the last knight clad in leathers and metals. “As for you, I have no words.” Light flashed in her hand as a replica of Hydna’s sidearm appeared. “But thanks for this.” Spinning on her heel, the Makyr charged for the center of the battlefield. In part to disrupt her enemies before they could formulate a plan, and another to force her into action before the elf could fall into old habits. She fumbled with the soil in her other hand. Dirt? The smith crammed the debris into the vacant chambers of the Savager. Crude and course, but with a straight-forward simplicity to it. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, I suppose. The Unmakyr smirked. For the first time in a long time it felt…good handling a weapon. Shaking off the thought, the elf refocused on the opposing knights before her. Cool air nipping at her exposed skin, the elf jumped onto the ice coating the center of the battlefield. Her boots caught the frost and she slid between the daunting glacial pillars. Finding the one new face among her enemies, the Unmakyr leveled the sidearm and fired. No sooner had the shot rang out than a cloud of dust rained upon her. The smith’s eye twitched. Cirra of the Sky meant to provide coverage, but she could not deny the revulsion of having her own weapon used on her - whether as her savior or slayer.

Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/16/2022 22:33:09)
The Carnivore’s eyes went wide as she felt the resistance against her glaive. Serhil’s flesh pushed back as Suraeko buried the edge into her chest. With a splatter, the steel pierced through her back. The two met eyes with each other before their gaze slowly shifted down. Suraeko watched as the warrior moved to speak, to do something to contest the moment, but instead of words, she spat up her own blood across Suraeko’s face. It was rapture. Her laughter echoed across the burning fields. She had done it. Suraeko twisted the glaive, tearing further into the mortal wound. She hung on the sensation. The color of blood. The scent of iron. The sound of metal against flesh— as promised, Suraeko would make a work of art out of her. You’re mine! She had all but won, Suraeko believed. But her foe would not go quietly. Blinded by her self-indulgence, Suraeko could not see her foe slowly reaching for one of her knives. In an instant, the warrior slammed the steel through Suraeko’s hand and through the glaive. It was enough to shatter her mania. With a gasp of pain, Suraeko looked to Serhil. She couldn’t believe it. She was still alive. This time, the warrior found her words. “What. In the goddamn Hell. Is so funny?” Her blood went cold. For the second time in what felt like forever, she felt fear. Suraeko reached for the knife, pulling as hard as she could, but she could not pry it from Serhil’s deathgrip. She leaned back, shaking and struggling with what energy she had left. Let go and die already! She watched the warrior slowly raise her hand. The sight was pure existential terror, seeing the inevitable before her. Serhil clutched Suraeko’s collar, and she dragged the huntress close. Her eyes were sparking with violent intent as she spoke to Suraeko. “You fell… Right into my clutches.” Serhil was the one grinning now. Without another word, she threw the huntress forward before tugging, snapping her back as their skulls collided. Then again. And again. Over and over, the warrior whittled away at Suraeko’s skull. Blood gushed from her nose. Her jaw and cheek erupted in pain as it cracked like glass. The world went dark as she closed her eyes. Cries of laughter and of pain gave way to a constant ringing. I. . . Had you. Suraeko went slack as Serhil held her body out. She gave one last gasp as felt something strike her throat before the huntress clattered to the ground. The moment felt like an eternity as Suraeko felt her life fading. The heat of her broken bounds and bleeding flesh gave way to numbness. All that was left was her heart. The sound rose above the ringing noise. As she descended into sleep, each beat wrestled her awake, reminding her that she was still alive. But it was slowing. Each pulse seemed to be farther and farther away. . . . Suddenly, something broke through. One last touch of warmth. Suraeko felt it, something around her hand. It was enough to let the huntress open her eyes. Through her red-stained eyes, she saw Serhil, smiling as she clutched her hands. She was looking right at Suraeko, or rather, past her. Her sight looked distant, out of focus. With a smile still on her face, the warrior closed her eyes. “Heh. . .” Suraeko couldn’t help but give her own smile. “I still won. . .” Catharsis. The Carnivore felt the last of her strength fading. As the boughs of the burning trees grew close, she closed her eyes. She could hear the sound of hushed voices surrounding her. The two were locked together in death as the flames kissed their corpses. “That won’t do.” Within the vast emptiness, the specter looked down at Suraeko’s disfigured corpse. Pale and lifeless, the body floated aimlessly in the dark. A blade was still lodged through her hand. “This is not the sleep you desired, Carnivore. Come with me. There is work to be done.” The living cloak stretched an arm over her body. The cloth moved, enshrouding her form completely. Suddenly, there was a gasp of air, and the corpse began to move. Slowly it righted itself, placing its feet down against nothing, yet it stood nonetheless. The corpse snapped its fingers, and the blasting glaive simply appeared over her shoulders. The figure turned in a direction and began to walk through the darkness, certain of its destination. To the eternal war. To the final battlefield. She was awake. Barely. Her heart resounded in her chest, pushing the warmth through her veins. With each beat, Suraeko felt her being returned to her. At first, her steps were not her own. She felt something beckoning her forward. But soon, it was by her choice, not someone else’s. As her awareness returned, Suraeko rubbed her face, trying to piece everything together. What . . . happened? As if to answer her thoughts, a chorus of discordant voices arose from all directions. “How easy it is for you to take a life, Carnivore.” Immediately, Suraeko knew. The specter. “You—” The chorus laughed. “We have watched you since you were young. It was in your nature from the very beginning.” Immediately, Suraeko felt a spike of pain in her skull as her vision was wrestled from her. A mother, clutching her child. The young girl’s dress was stained crimson as she held a blooded sickle. Before her, a dead wolf, littered with wounds. “You lived up to our expectations. And so, we wish to see you again.” Suddenly, a wave of embers arose as the cloak around Suraeko burst into flames. Yet it did not burn her. Infact, as she looked down to her form, there was not a single wound. She was completely restored, as if the huntress had never fought on that flaming battlefield. But as she looked, he noticed something that made her stop. A dagger. It was not her own, but Serhil’s. It was still lodged in her hands. “Did you enjoy it? Did you enjoy her?” Trembling, Suraeko reached for the dagger. As she pulled, another flash of pain. But it faded as quickly as it came. Blood trickled from her palm, but the wound immediately closed. The carnivore looked at her reflection in the metal. The sight made her heart beat faster as memoriesof the battlefield filled her mind. “I’ve never felt better.” The chorus laughed again. “Good. Let that feeling guide you. The final trial is upon you. Fight to the end, and paradise awaits you.” Suraeko gave a nod as she placed Serhil’s dagger on her belt. “Oh. .” The voices spoke, its tone growing soft. Another spike of pain, another vision. As she clutched her head, Suraeko saw the ignition of the glaive. The pale man flying off towards the curtain of petals. “This time, you will have friends. Partners, if you will? You know what that is like? They will guide you to paradise.” Suraeko fell to her knees as the Specter's visions consumed her. A tanned-skinned elf. Pinned to the ground. His throat slashed and bleeding. A tall human woman. Her plate armor, shattered. Smoke surrounded the gaping hole in her chest. A shorter woman. Magic danced through her veins. But now, her limbs were shattered as she clung to the ceiling. Their names returned to her. Taberith. Cybil. Frei. “Please, do not kill these ones.” Suraeko’s eyes went wide. She snarled as she pushed herself from the ground. “. . . If I must. No promises after I win.” *“Knight of Bloodlust. Certain, yet Ever-Seeking. Rise, Suraeko, and chase your hunger.”* From the sea of colors above, streaks of light rushed down, converging together as reality seemed to tear. They grew thicker and brighter before a glaive pierced through one of the cracks. The light shattered as Suraeko rushed forward, taking her place on the battlefield. The chorus rose up once more as others emerged. *“Knight of The Symphony— Lune”* To her left, a human. Or rather, an imitation of one. A living statue of tanned metal, their form wrapped in silver vines. In their hands, a violin. What are you, a living music box? *“Knight of Duality—Zatmeni”* Further away, an imposing figure, a living creature straight out of a myth. Feminine, bearing features of both a woman and a bull. Their form was split in twain, one half gold, the other silver. They readied their hooked edge, eager for what was to come. *“Knight of Machines— Gith.”* Further still was the strangest sight. A massive, towering hulk of metal, fashioned in the shape of a crab of all things. The death machine whirled with mechanical life as it shifted its buzzing arms. *“Fight in our name, and we will give you freedom. Fight for Chaos!”* So these are my “partners?” Suraeko tried to swallow her doubt. If they made it this far, then they were obviously capable. And yet, she couldn’t help but feel out of place. Strange creatures, obviously inhuman. Do you think you are being subtle, specter? As the others spoke, Suraeko showed them little attention. She instead turned to look at her surroundings. The air felt. . . lifeless. Cold. Behind her, a vast expanse of nothingness, similar to what she had just escaped. Before Suraeko, a vast board of tiles stretched out. It was then that a new voice echoed. Unlike the chorus from before, this was singular. Overwhelming. Prideful. As she peered around the pillars, her foes came forth. *“Knight of The Forge — Unmakyr”* Off in the distance, the first of them emerged. A tall figure, elven. Skin and hair like glass. A snow fey, perhaps? *“Knight of The Sky — Cirra.”* Suraeko watched as the figure rose to her feet, dark skin and long silver hair. Another elf. Drow ancestry. Dangerous. Her garb was a cross between a warrior and an exotic dancer. As she took her sword in hand, she moved with grace. *Knight of Force — Serhil”* Suraeko felt her heart skip a beat as she saw the familiar warrior. She too had been resurrected from death, brought back without a scratch. The huntress rubbed her fingers against the trophy at her belt. Serhil alone was enough to end the huntress. As much as she enjoyed their fight, she needed to be careful. Every mistake of hers would be punished. *Knight of The Stars — Hydna”* Finally, the voice gave a name for another familiar face. Suraeko had seen little of the alien figure. Now, conflict with them was inevitable. Two previous combatants. Two new faces. Less uncertainty, but still dangerous. *“Fight in my name, and I will give you purpose. Fight for Order!”* Suraeko gave a dry laugh in response. “If you need someone else to give you purpose, then you have no right to live.” Suddenly, an unmistakable roar filled her head as two pillars of ice rose into the sky from the center, claiming the surrounding area as their own. Dragon. Was that . . . Bifreet? The stage was set. As the roar faded into silence, another sound took its place. Music. The soft melody of a violin. Perhaps it was from the roar, or the sight of her competitors. But as the other knights rushed forward, Suraeko was frozen in place. The huntress felt an emptiness in her chest as she looked up at the frozen pillars. Just what are you planning? Suddenly, the cold gave way to violent heat as something struck her chest. The huntress growled, fingers tracing the point of impact. A small clump of debris was lodged in her scalemail. She could feel a trickle of blood move against her skin. It had left a dent, but it was nothing to worry about. “Who?!” She lifted her eyes to find that her enemy was already closing in. The snow elf was rising from the ice with a hand-cannon in toe. In her moment of weakness, they must have taken a shot at her. The carnivore bared her teeth as she gripped her glaive. She would not give have a second chance. Let me return the favor! Suraeko raised her glaive forward and pointed it at the Unmakyr. Just behind them, the dancer and ~~Serhil~~ drew close. Suddenly, Suraeko hesitated again. Her brain tried to process the sight before her, unaware of the magic in the air. As she looked towards the trio, their forms seemed to disappear. In their place were corpses. Wrapped in burial shrouds, their faces were bloodied, gaunt. A tanned elf bearing a pistol. A paladin, rushing with her bare arms. A faerie dancing with her sword. *“No. You wouldn’t.”* A wave of sparks erupted from the glaive. As her old friends rushed forward, her arms were trembling. ~~The dancer~~ Frei leapt into the sky, her limbs dancing in a way no living person could. From her form, a cloud of dust covered the trio. “Oh, I am having none of this!” The carnivore shifted her aim, pointing her edge to where she thought ~~the dancer~~ Frei would land. I killed them once. I’ll put them back into the grave! Thunder echoed across the battlefield as the flaming bolt pierced into the cloud.

Oddball -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/17/2022 18:40:45)
The air around the pair had grown silent, and although Serihl could make out the sounds of combat still occurring on the opposite side of the plains? They sounded so distant.. So much farther away than they were. Was this it? Had her time finally come? Was it time to go? …There was so much more she wanted to do, wanted to see… She wouldn’t be able to keep her promise to Tir anymore. She’d never be able to experience that new cafe’s menu Man, this sucked. Her eyes slowly glanced over towards Suraeko as she felt a warm sensation envelop her hand, seeing that the warrior had returned her little gesture with a smile of her own. This one wasn’t soaked in a crazed bloodlust, or accompanied with manic laughter. It was just a normal, warm smile… It looked nice, she had a nice smile. “I still won…” Suraeko would manage to whisper out, despite the damage to her head and throat… she was still able to dishonor Serihl with her parting words. The mob bosses’ smile would slowly fade as she watched Suraeko’s eyes close, and the grip around her own hand loosen some. “Stop kidding yourself… you ain’t won until I stop breathing…” And as the flames reached a fever pitch, Serihl could only lay still on the grass, wondering what was going to happen next. But, one thought crossed her mind, the only thought she could possibly have as she waited for, what she presumed was, her end. The feeling was… A lot more pleasant than she would have believed, the extreme heat causing her no discomfort as it worked its way across the pair. And, in a singular moment of blazing glory, her body was taken by the flame. Sorry, Tir… Once again, Serihl awoke to find herself in an unfamiliar place, this one even more barren than the last. An empty, grey, void spread beyond the horizon, and Serihl couldn’t help but notice that she was experiencing that same feeling from before… Like something was watching her… She attempted to move forwards, only to find herself rooted into place, the flaming branches from the battlefield prior were wrapped tightly around her feet. “Struggle all you wish, child. There is no escaping. ” Serihl’s gaze shot upwards, a pale, white outline of a vaguely humanoid figure stood a mere few inches from the woman, but she need not flinch, she believed herself safe for now. “Where-...” “Are you? Well, think of this as the furthest reaches of your mind. We needed a place where we could contact you if you performed well so we took root in the back of your subconscious and, well, here we are.” “...You what?” The figure laughed, a pleasant, relaxing sound beginning to echo across this empty plain. Serihl just placed her hands into her jacket pocket an-Oh. Her jacket was back, neat. “Simply put, you’re here, and not dead, because of your performance." “So, I was-” “No, while resurrecting you would be but a simple task, you were, barely, alive when our flames reached you. The way you managed to cling on to that last spark of yours for so long was… admirable, to say the least." There was a boiling anger deep in the pit of Serihl’s stomach, she had zoned out and was no longer listening to the strange figure. Twice. This figure had interrupted her twice in the span of just a few seconds. “...I really hate being interrupted, you know?” Another soft laugh escaped the mouth? Of the figure. One that would cause Serihl to simply sigh, bringing her hand up to the bridge of her nose. “Look can you just… send me home? I’ve had my fun.” “We cannot do that, Serihl, you have been chosen.” “And what, pray tell, does that mean!?” “What it means, my child, is that your fight is not over yet.” Without warning, the Grey void around them would shine a glistening white, causing Serihl to raise her arm to shield her eyes from the surrounding, blinding light. She felt something, a force, driving her to her knees despite her best attempts at protest. And as she knelt there, dazed and blinded, the figure left her with some, fairly cryptic, parting words. “Four against Four. You have true allies in this final clash, Serihl, see that you keep your want for vengeance in check.” For the third time today, Serihl found herself in an unknown place. All this nonsense was starting to nip the heels of her last nerve, she had been whisked away into an unfamiliar city, pulled into a combat scenario on a crazy battlefield and almost lost her life to a crazed, bloodthirsty predator? This… Was just like working there Serihl pushed off of her knee, rising to her full height as she quickly surveyed the area around her. The ground itself seemed to lay in a chessboard-like pattern of blacks and whites, while the sky was a cacophonous array of every colour imaginable. It was then that Serihl was pulled out of her own little world, and her attention was brought to the others standing on this battlefield, where the final clash would take place. Serihl wouldn’t care much for their titles, or what exactly they were using in terms of weaponry. Though the sight of a large crab-like robot did manage to gain her interest, at least. “Suraeko” A multitude of voices came together in a dissonant roar to call out the names of her opponents, and this one would cause Serihl to double-take. Indeed, one of the figures on the opposite side was undoubtedly the woman she had, until recently, been clashing with. Round two, then? Serihl thought, once again losing herself in her own thoughts, completely missing the names of the opposing side as she began to think of a way she could deal with Suraeko swiftly. It was seeing her, and remembering their fight so vividly, that Serihl would remember the fact there was a small wound in her chest she had yet to address… Or… There was a hole in her chest, at least. Casting her gaze down at herself yielded results that, very plainly, contrasted her memories. Serihl could barely get a word out before the names of those on her side were called, and the first would, without warning, bring that intense feeling of anger buried deep within back to the forefront of her mind. Knight of the Forge. Creative, yet Sinful. Rise, Unmakyr, and right your wrongs. While different to how she remembered, there was no mistaking the blacksmith’s unique pigmentation, the hammer they had once used in an attempt to slow Serihl sat neatly at their hip …They were here. The one she had been looking for had now been placed neatly in her lap, and Serihl was just about ready to finish what she had started on that bridge. However, something inside her stopped her, the woman only able to clench her fists as she remembered that strange figure’s words. Oh, how cruel fate could be sometimes. Knight of the Sky. Free, yet Separated. Rise, Cirra, and dance to your lost love. A dark-skinned, exotically-dressed woman wielding a brilliantly forged weapon. Tall, well toned, and with waist-length Silver hair. Serihl was, quite, interested in seeing how this one would perform. Knight of Force. Strong, yet Dulled. Rise, Serihl, and fight for your feeling. Knight of Force?... She could get used to a title like that… Not that her subordinates would call her that, they refused to call her anything other than “Boss,” even if she had been trying to build a closer relationship with them ever since the incident. Oh well, those were things to reminisce about some other time. Knight of the Stars. Wild, yet Empty. Rise, Hydna, and soar to your memories So that was her name… She had caught glimpses of this one zipping around their previous battlefield, and her being chosen clearly said something about her ability in combat… Truly, it said something about all of them. A loud, piercing roar echoed across the arena, one that was accompanied by an everlasting chill. This same roar would cause something in the middle of their battlefield to freeze, leaving two large pillars of ice in its wake. She didn’t know where it came from, but Serihl had a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to punch through them, no matter how hard she may attempt. “Serihl.” The mob boss would turn to the traitor with a raised brow, finger impatiently tapping against her forearm as her arms crossed across her chest. Serihl waited for the Smith to say something, anything, for what felt like an eternity. Her gaze was locked onto Makyr’s, who was doing her best job to keep their own averted. “Good luck out there.” Was all Serihl would receive before Makyr would turn to their Fourth, replicating a copy of her sidearm that lay at… well, her side. With no hesitation, the Blacksmith had pushed off to lead the charge, Serihl making the split-second decision to follow close behind to provide support. She knew that Makyr was more than capable of handling herself, her little stunt back on the bridge would have worked on anyone else after all. But that need to fulfill the pledge she had made so long ago took precedent, and Serihl would quell that thirst for vengeance for the time being… The ones orchestrating this had deemed them allies, and betrayal was the one thing Serihl could not stand, regardless if she had every right to indulge in the act. As she found the layer of ice between the two pillars in the center, Serihl leapt forwards and placed her feet sideways, skating across the platform just behind Makyr. Suraeko was up ahead, and there was something calling her to the huntress. A strange, glittering, ebony mist fell upon the three who had charged forwards, but Serihl had no time to ponder if it was the work of an ally or not… Her mind was made up, her actions replaying over and over in her mind as she reached the edge of the mist. But first. “Makyr! Do not forget what I am owed. Stay alive out there” In the blanketed protection of the mist, Serihl spoke her first words to the Smith since that day. The idea of allying with one who had betrayed her trust still burned a hole in her, but for now? She would have to swallow her pride and deal with it. Shifting her feet so that they were both in front of her, Serihl coiled her legs before pushing off with a tremendous amount of force, the woman bursting forth from the small section of the mist just after Suraeko had fired the mortar shell towards them. A trail of lightning crackled behind her as she raised her fist behind her, her voice booming across the battlefield, but aimed solely at one combatant. If one were to look in her direction, they would notice the beaming grin shamelessly plastered across her features. “Suraeko! Round 2, you psycho!”

roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/17/2022 22:43:05)
She was going to die. She knew it the moment the metal hit her chest. When the sky cracked open in a deafening boom and the sun itself flashed before her. She had been too focused-- perhaps too exhausted, or vengeful-- to see the gun glistening in the Cloud’s calloused hand. And now she was going to die. Her body flew through the air as effortlessly as the hammer stolen only moments ago. Hooves hit the glass sideways, awkwardly, and it shattered beneath her with ease. And then she was falling. She glanced down to her chest; which first had erupted in agony, but now revealed only nothingness as her nerves failed. The metal of her armor crumpled around a large steel round. Sun and moon, both painstakingly engraved into her chestplate, both reduced to nothing. For a moment, as she stared at the emptiness of her chestplate, she thought she saw a sickly green eye staring back at her. Ever watching; ever wanting; ever hungry for slaughter. The minotaur lay for a while on the ground, eyes closed, breathing slow. Voices quiet. When she finally opened her eyes, she found herself in a field just outside city walls. In front of her, though much too far for them to notice her, was a group of priests covered in gold and silver. They were clear in her vision despite her nearsightedness; and each wore the symbol of sun and moon somewhere on their person. Our Sect! Glori! One priestess in particular stood out, a shorter elven woman with dark skin and a long, flowing silver and gold dress. They weren’t blood sisters-- but it was close enough. Oh, thank Orou. She’s safe. She recalled her time in the City of White and Black; checking each comrade for signs of life, only to find their forms metallic. Let’s follow them. The minotaur began to rise, then froze once more. Wait, something’s wrong. Their faces were streaked with crimson, contorted in resignation and determination and terror. What- The Dionens. Starfire flashed, and the sounds of battle rose up suddenly. Royal guards of Alkan clashed around a city wall against paladins with gray-tinted armor and scythes. The Diurnal Cycle paladins and priests looked over their shoulders, their steps turned away from the fighting. They’re leaving. Follow them; this is our chance to rejoin. To see our friends and family again. The minotaur stood up fully, shoulders centered towards their Sect. But if the Dionens get a hold of the Timepiece-- shoulders shifted as the minotaur stared at the battle before her. Commander Vant said we’ll find a way to fix that. Make a treaty, or a trade. He’d said a bunch of other superfluous things, too. Compromise, compromise, compromise. “A tool more important than any sword.” Commander Vant underestimated what they could do with it! Power enough to halt Day and Night entirely; to bring their god eternal reign. There was a reason the group was regarded as a cult-- and flew under their radar for so long. “You won’t get anywhere like that.” A high pitched, feminine voice called from the minotaur’s left. She turned to see a figure approaching her, bathed in sunlight. She stood taller than the minotaur-- maybe seven feet-- but it was hard to concentrate on her features. A golden headdress hovered behind her; the swirling bronze and gold of a blazing sun. “You did this last time, too, and it didn’t turn out well for you.” A second figure stepped out from the shadows of a building on her right. This one was masculine, clad in midnight-black robes with endless dots that glowed a soft, pale blue and seemed to shift with each step. Behind his head ringed a silver crescent moon. He motioned with his right hand towards the battlefield. A figure stood out against the rest of the soldiers; a lone Cycle paladin. She staggered through the smoke and let out a gut-wrenching cough as she deflected a blow from a Dionen blade. I can’t watch this. “Ah, so you finally agree on something,” Night said, his voice soft and melodic. “Good. It’s a start,” Day responded, with a shrill tone. The two figures stepped to either side of the minotaur. Night rested a hand on her back; Day thrust a hand into her hair and forced her head straight. “But you must watch.” “We are merely filling in the gaps you created.” The Lone Paladin staggered towards her comrades, priest and paladin alike yelling for her to follow. “Zatmeni!” ”Zatmeni, retreat!” ”Come back, Zatmeni!” The minotaur lurched forwards, left arm stretched out to the priests. But strong arms held her in place. The Lone Paladin’s body heaved with each breath as she glanced between her comrades and the battle before her. Dionen scythe lashed out in her moment of distraction and sliced across the side of her head. The minotaur watched, her own head throbbing, as the paladin’s hair fell to the ground and blood began to seep down the side of her face. For a moment, time froze, and the Paladin looked straight at the minotaur. The minotaur grimaced. No. Please don’t… Emerald eyes waned-- one stained bronze, the other faded to silver-- as the Paladin’s left hand fell from her greatsword. She bellowed as it swung, alight with smoke, in a large swath around her to hit Dionen and royal soldier alike. Hair ripped from the minotaur’s head as she yanked herself out of Day’s grasp and squinted her eyes shut. ”STOP!” The sounds of battle-- of dying fighters and yelling priests-- abruptly ceased. “Good.” Day’s voice was barely a whisper, but it hovered right next to the minotaur’s ear. “Do you see what happens, when you fail to make a decision?” “When you use argument as an excuse for inadequacy?” The minotaur opened her eyes to a pure darkness broken only by Night and Day’s silhouettes on either side of her. “Why did you want to fight?” Night stepped in front of her and tilted his head quizzically. Something in his eyes, in the slight smile on his lips, made her think he already knew the answer. “Because they wanted to break the cycle. To control it.” That much she knew. “Control.” Day tilted her head upwards, a pensive look on her face. “I like that word.” “And why did you want to leave?” “Because…” That one was harder. “Because Commander Vant told me to. Because there was too much bloodshed.” “Does bloodshed bother you?” The minotaur thought for a second. ”Yes.” ”No.” “Ah, final answer, please.” The minotaur thought for a second. She’d seen plenty of bloodshed; she’d fought instead of cowering on the glass battlefield with its ever-watching eye. “No.” “Given the choice again, would you continue to fight?” Night’s eyes took on a sinister gleam. “To keep the cycle untouched? Natural; everflowing?” She believed in the cycle and its sanctity, yes. How could she not-- she’d been in the Diurnal Sect almost her whole life. But did she still have the right to fight for the cycle, if she’d left her Sect? “...I’m sure my Sect would find a way to handle it.” “Really? Your actions speak differently. You needed no reason but spite to take the life of the Unmakyr.” Her hand itched to hold Nycthemeron. “Yes. I would fight.” “And what should I call the Champion of the Cycle?” “Nox.” “And Heme.” “Tsk. Really now, child.” “You mortals die so quickly.” “So why are you so slow to learn?” The two figures stepped into each other like ghosts. It was like seeing both, and neither, at the same time, as their colors merged into a pulsing light. The only feature certain-- unblurry-- about them was their headdress. A thick ring of snakescales, slowly cycling behind the being’s head. They spoke with every voice imaginable; woman, man, child, elder; all molded into one. “Tell me the name of my Knight.” The minotaur took a deep breath. *“I am Zatmeni.”* The figure nodded; Zatmeni thought she could feel a smile playing on their lips. Her vision blurred until the figure disappeared and left only darkness once more. It seemed her journey here would start and end the same way. White. Black. The Chequered battlefield stretched before her, its tiles pristine. That shine is almost blinding. She glanced towards the sky, expecting to see a burning sun, or perhaps nothing but the blank, ethereal glow she’d encountered in the City. Instead, spread before her in a giant swath, was a sea of smoke and color that rippled in slow waves. Chaos. And Order. The minotaur shook her head at the dual voices. It… would take a while for her to get used to this. To break a habit. She was on a battlefield of two opposites. Always reaching; fated never to touch. A Cycle. A chilling wind bit at her skin as it blew across the arena. The ever-swirling clouds above her seemed almost to flinch from it. Ah, that’s why you’ve called us - me - here. While the tiles shone bright, the clouds sat dull. Order won. A cacophony of voices bellowed across the field; the same mix of voices Day and Night had used. The same instinct that identified stones and sky guided Zatmeni’s gaze towards each ally as they were announced. First was the farthest from her: Suraeko, Knight of Bloodlust. Zatmeni sighed as, in the way of her glance, stood two familiar figures. Suraeko herself was difficult to see, though Zatmeni could make out a shining, circular glaive and nodded in approval. I kind of want to try swinging that thing around. I look forward to watching her work. Lune; Gith. The insufferable bard and the pilot of the gigantic metal crab that had slashed her side with its whirring blade. So, I guess these are our teammates now. Orou smite me. They could be fine. This could still work; she knew they were both powerful. She closed her eyes and sighed, still focusing on how Chaos had announced her own Knighthood. Knight of Duality. It called me broken. The flaw sat, deep-seated in her chest, pushed aside as Order began to speak. Amongst their enemies was only one familiar figure, dubbed by Order as “Unmakyr, Knight of the Forge. Their silhouette had shifted slightly, features softened. Zatmeni squinted, trying to trace why they looked different; but it was definitely the brilliant white elf she’d faced before. She flinched, remembering the flash of light, the agony in her chest. Will you be angry, seeing me alive? We did kind of throw a flaming sword at him. I wouldn’t say throw. It only left our hands after he shot us. A shake of the head again. The powers had moved on; she’d never be able to if she kept this up. “Cirra, Knight of the Sky.” The elven figure stood like a funhouse mirror next to Unmakyr, The two were almost exact in their height, and while Unmakyr’s hair and skin glowed like noonday clouds, Cirra’s hair flowed like a crescent moon against pitch-black skin. While Unmakyr wore simple dark clothing, Cirra was streaked with all the purples of a newborn night sky. What did you do, beautiful dancer, to end up in a place like this? Next was “Serihl, Knight of Force”; a rather out of place silhouette with bare hands while others held swords and hammers. Wonder how long she’s gonna last. Well if she got here, she likely has tricks up her sleeve we don’t know about. The Unmakyr had summoned weapons from nothing; she herself could summon her own greatsword, should she use it. She would do well not to underestimate an unassuming figure. The last Knight was closest to Zatmeni; “Knight of the Stars.” It was hard to tell whether Hydna was a living being or simply an automaton. It seemed covered head to toe in complicated layers of metal. Perhaps it had a living pilot inside, like the Crab? On cue, the pilot standing atop the Crab yelled out to Zatmeni and her teammates. His accent was thick and strange; Zatmeni could only understand bits of what he said. “Today, we stand as one!” ”We fight as one!” Commander Vant yelled, raising his gleaming spear to lead the charge with Dionen soldiers against raiders. Heh. We’ll see how long that lasts. The bard was next to speak, their cheerful tone as infuriating as it had been under the Eye. “I have to ask, Is one half called Zat and the other Meni? Watching you yell at yourself was kinda funny. Oh! Nevermind that, how have you enjoyed the performance?” Watching me YELL AT MYSELF? Zatmeni’s nose flared. Insufferable bard! ”Frankly, it’s been horrible. We’d have better luck winning this if you used that blade as an actual weapon.” Perhaps we shouldn’t insult our teammates. They were asking for it. “Let us perform!” She purposefully ignored him. I’d rather die. While her teammates were busy talking, Order’s Knights had taken the chance to advance. The first shot was Unmakyr’s, as they brandished yet another gun, smaller than what she’d used against Zatmeni in the Eye’s battlefield. The first charge was Order’s too; three all sped towards Suraeko. The Night Dancer flicked her sword and smoke blanketed her allies as they ran. They’re trying to pick her off. Then let’s get moving! Her ally was so far away; Zatmeni knew her hooves wouldn’t carry her there fast enough. She squinted as light gleamed off of the huge metal crab with its small rider. She had an idea. She called to the pilot, as she began to race forward, visions of the Crab’s large arm flinging Unmakyr fresh on her mind. “Hey, Gith, toss me!” She had been called to fight for a reason. The Cycle must continue. It was Chaos’ turn.

markthematey -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/17/2022 23:36:00)
Lune was alone. They were floating in a pitch-black abyss once more. There were no stars to gaze at, no chance to escape. Lune’s broken body was left in a timeless vault but there was something else. A feeling of being watched, subtle but ever-present. The more Lune focused on the presence the more it grew and grew. It quickly became overwhelming, It wasn’t simply watching Lune, it enveloped everything around them. This being peered into Lune’s soul and asked a simple question, “Why do you perform?” The words weren’t spoken but Lune felt it reverberate in their body. Lune opened their mouth and no words came, but the question lingered in their mind. They had answered this for themself many years ago. What compelled them to keep playing and gave them hope when thrown to the edges of time and space. The audience, everything is for the audience. I get satisfaction when I play for them but none of it matters if they don’t care. They show they care in so many ways! Simple applause, standing ovation, cries of pain, maddening screams, the list goes on. Each person is so unique in that way! I love my audience. I create music to give them a chance to express the feelings they lock deep down within themselves. Isn’t that in itself truly beautiful? There is no bad response to music as long as they do respond. It means the music made them feel something. That they adore it. If a song makes them feel nothing then it means I have failed. I failed myself and them. That is the reason why I play. Silence… The presence pondered the answer, if just for a moment. The being's satisfaction washed over Lune and it responded. “Knight of The Symphony, continue your concert once more” Immediately, Lune’s fractured body began to reform. The cracks and fissures that spiraled deeply throughout them melded together. Lune slowly became whole once more. Their arm reconstructed itself, a perfect replica of its former beauty. In near seconds they were fully reassembled. Lune gripped their instrument and the void around them shifted. Lune was forced to their knees. A checkered board and 8 pawns, each kneeled while they awaited their call. One by one, each stood. “Knight of The Symphony. Talented, yet Obsessive. Rise, Lune, and perform for your audience.” Lune rose, compelled by whatever force called to them. Lune didn’t know who they were but if they offered a stage, who was Lune to decline it? The familiar figure rose, Zatmeni. Lune had a name for the face, they always remember the names of the most interesting audience members. Soon after, the crab-like machine and Gith, a small rat-like person, stood as well. Lune was perplexed, He isn't a robot?! I gotta ask how they made it! Their thoughts were smothered as the voice spoke once more. “Join me. Fight in our name, and we will give you freedom. Fight for Chaos!” Freedom, if Lune could play freely, they would gladly fight in their name. Opposite of them, a group of fascinating opponents stood. Lune only recognized the pale skinned-elf, Unmakyr. I’d love to meet each of them soon, Lune grinned to themselves, I wonder if they’ll enjoy my music as well. A dragon's roar echoed over the checkerboard. An icy arena formed around their view. Lune exhaled, a small puff of cool breath floated in front of them. The chill didn’t bother them, they had too much on their mind to notice. Large pillars grew between them and the opposing force. A small yet commanding voice reached Lune’s ears, “Today, we stand as one!” His words seemed inspiring yet strange to Lune, He has such a theatrical tone! It’s like a play! Then why has he had a mechanical crab? Maybe he’s an actor! If so, then this must be a stage and every great stage play needs accompanying music! Lune rose their arms to play but something gnawed at the back of their head. They had to ask one question, just once before their concert began once more. Lune turned quickly towards the half-and-half minotaur, "Zatmeni!” Lune called over and gave a quizzical look, “Is one half called Zat and the other Meni? Watching you yell at yourself was kinda funny.” They shook their head, “Oh! Never mind that, how have you enjoyed the performance?” Lune was brimming with anticipation and gleefully awaited an answer. Zatmeni's face contorted with anger and spat back, ”Frankly, it’s been horrible. We’d have better luck winning this if you used that blade as an actual blade.” Lune beamed brightly, brimming with excitement, "I'm glad you've been enjoying it! As they say, the show must go on and it seems that the audience is coming to us.” From the corner of their view, the troop of order began to charge across the frozen battlefield, “Let us perform!" Bounding forward, Lune’s arms rose to position, the bow rested on the strings. A sonata, the perfect tune before the dramatic ending soon to come. With a smooth movement, the first note rang out across the battlefield.

GrimmJester -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/19/2022 16:22:13)
Time is a curious thing. In its purest form it’s a linear constant, moving at the same pace throughout space from a start towards an end. And yet as Gith looked upon this battlefield while it sprung into motion time seemed to slow down, stretching and flowing like syrup. He watched as all of the opponents on the other side started moving towards the ice pillars one after the other. The blacksmith… Unmakyr… Moved first, the others following suit shortly after. They were seemingly locked in towards the one he did not know, the knight of bloodlust. He wasn’t sure if they had history or not but something drove all three of them to seek out one target. Perhaps it was simply a tactical choice, to pick one off before the others… Whichever the case he wasn’t sure. On his right the accursed bard, Lune, began to play a somber melody, he grit his teeth. They would not get the better of him, not now. The battlefield seemed to change around him, black and white tile exchanged with the red dust of a planet he knew all too well beneath C.R.A.B’s feet. A memory from a long time ago coming to his mind unbidden. His goggles shielded him from the worst of the sand, a mask over his mouth allowing him to breathe in this hostile environment. Around him squadrons of steel moved across the battlefield, large lumbering mechanical beasts much more adapted for war than C.R.A.B had ever been passed on either side of him. He’d seen this scene many times before, the last stand in the great war. He shook his head, now was not the time for remembrance, now was not the time to get sentimental. Order’s fighters were already on the move, he snapped back to the task at hand. A Fury, alive and well stood before him… It was Chaos’s turn. From his left he heard the minotaur, Zatmeni, speak. “Hey Gith, toss me!” He smirked , this he could do. Raising his hand slowly, so too did C.R.A.B’s claw, the whirring clunk of metal shifting as she mirrored his movement. Her claw spun on its axis as he controlled her from without through the neural link embedded in his skull. "Will be a one way flight, chubasa!" of course, she knew that already. His arm extending out towards the minotaur and C.R.A.B's followed suit as far as it could reach, claw opening with a hiss and closing around one of the minotaurs ankles and waiting until she had braced her other foot onto the frame of the weapon arm. His gaze shifting over towards their foes, the charge obscured by a cloud of dust. Tch, why did there always have to be something blocking his line of sight? Ah well, it was much too late to have second thoughts now, each moment he delayed was another second the Fury could get away. "Break their ranks!" he shouted, this time his voice unamplified and unaltered by the tinny speakers of the large mechanical creature. His arm sweeping in a wide arch across, his duster swaying behind him as C.R.A.B's hydraulic limb clunked, shifting off of the ground and pulling the minotaur along with it, starting slow but rapidly picking up speed as it swept across it's range, driving through the motion, just as it came to the end of it's reach the claw opened, releasing Zatmeni just before the hydraulic arm came to an abrupt stop at the maximum extension of it's pistons, launching the minotaur towards Order's charge. He could only hope that he'd aimed true, humanoids made for bad projectiles and calculating the arch was not an exact science by any measure. He'd delayed long enough, now it was his turn. He skipped across C.R.A.B's carapace, skidded into the cockpit and slammed the hatch shut, his body hidden within the safety of her large metal frame. The power core giving it's comforting thrumm as he quickly scanned through systems and readouts. From outside he heard a resounding boom, an explosion of ordinance somewhere near the pillars of ice. The battle was truly starting now. Auxiliary Fuel Pump - Off. Manual controls - Locked. Instruments - Checked. Directional Gyro - Set. Magnetos - Checked. Power Core Idle - Checked. Shoulder Harness - Fastened. Hydraulic System - Checked and Set. C.R.A.B’s full array of systems powered up. He didn’t delay even for a moment before spooling up the railgun atop her carapace, the magnetic coils spinning into action while she began to lumber forward. Pistons hissed as pointed metal feet clanked over the hard tile, his target was already on the move, following her teammates towards the ice pillars that made up the center of the battlefield. Tch He had wasted too much time, taking a half second to consider. Move at intercept course. He would have to move quickly, interpose himself between Order and their target to get a clean shot. C.R.A.B’s legs began to move as rapidly as she could, the heavy clanking of her massive body in motion ringing out over the battlefield along with the bard's music. Power Core Output - 50% Magnetic Array at 33% The whine of the rail gun coils growing louder, the telltale glow of the array heating up while she moved as the turret swiveled, trying to get a bead on it’s target. C.R.A.B’s lumbering frame passing by Lune, trying his best to ignore their accursed music but it seemed to worm it’s way into his head regardless. Do they have no respect for allies?! He really couldn’t tell what their deal was, they seemed utterly detached from reality. As if this was simply some grand stage for them to perform. The more he listened to that music the more he was pulled back to that battlefield, the red sand underfoot as the mechanical beast lumbered forward. Around him his allies morphed and altered, growing more familiar, small furry creatures like himself fighting upon a battlefield of red sand under a fading sun. Before him the forces of humanity, savages wanting to drive the last vestiges of his kin from their lands. Magnetic Array at 76% The railgun continued to spool up, it’s glow going from red to a shining, brilliant blue as heatwaves distorted the chilled air above. Even still in this altered battlefield one target stood out to him, he had eyes for none other than the Fury. A name that would live in infamy so long as any of his people drew breath, architects of one of the greatest calamities in recent memory. One of them would not walk away from this battlefield, he would make sure of it. The old battle and the current one seemed juxtaposed atop one another as events of the past and the present tried to amalgamate themselves into some form of solid singular entity. He tried to shake it as best he could. Tried to hone in on the rage, the frustration to keep himself sharp and his wits about him. As C.R.A.B made her way towards the pillars the hallucinations of things ages past faded and he saw his opportunity. The Fury had overextended, unknowingly lining herself up with Gith’s aim. The turret swiveled towards her. Magnetic Array at 100% Target Locked. The weapon glowed white hot before suddenly Thumm! The weapon fired, the shot hurtling it’s way through the chilled air towards its mark at terrifying speeds. Just let it run her through and this’ll be over with He found himself thinking. It would be so simple, so easy to just end her right then and there and then he could focus on helping his allies, on helping win whatever this thing was and get back to his people. He could tell the tale at the mess hall of how he ended one of the last Furies… At least… He hoped she was one of the last.

Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/19/2022 16:36:18)
War spread faster than fire, the death count grew higher, yet the promise of victory grew greater each dawn. And from her perch on the tower the Princess regarded her power, her expression pinched and withdrawn. A soft sigh, heartbroken and forlorn… * “Oh can you hear the song I’m singing?” * A flicker, a pulse, and Cirra spun in the sky - in time for a pulsating ball of bright light to fly by. Too low, she smirked, as she continued to soar, her capering feet carrying her towards the bolt’s source. A thunderous boom rang out as it struck with a crash. She flinched but kept moving though her ears rang with the blast. Wind burst from the impact, ripped her dust cloud away, but her momentum carried her forward, away from the blaze. At her side, Serhil bellowed as she sprang at their foe, a trail of lightning marking her charge at Suraeko. Emerald eyes glared in a mix of fury and pain as the Knight of Bloodlust hefted her still-sparking glaive. With a side-step, a pivot, Cirra circled opposite Serhil. Blade gleamed before her as she twirled the hilt. A lilting crescendo, music swelled at her back. Suraeko’s form rippled before her as Cirra moved to attack - A mother, a martyr, a farmer, a father, each replacing the other as life drained from their eyes. Blood fell from their lips in trickles and drips as they died and they died and they died and they died… __________________Let them die. In another world, another life, a different choice, a different price… Cirra held to her course, stepped over another corpse, spite in her eyes and a sneer on her face. At her Princess’s command, she took her sword in her hand, and killed all around her with barbaric grace. Gave her love a blood-stained embrace - __________No. Let my music guide my way. ___________All here have been cast astray. _____________We all kill just to survive. A stutter, a falter, the music stumbled one note. Suraeko wavered back into focus, Cirra’s sword nearing her throat. Blade spun in an arc, the strike perfectly timed - when a heavy weight slammed into her from behind. Breath fled from her lungs as she pitched towards the ground, steps losing their beat as she plummeted down. Hand clenched on her hilt to avoid losing her hold. She curled tight to turn wild momentum into a controlled roll. Black. White. The tiles passed from below. The dancer spun with her landing, caught herself by the tips of her toes. Behind, the ground shook as the minotaur slammed to the floor. The bovine toppled with an undignified snort. Cirra sprang forward at the Knight of Duality, flat of her blade singing out as the bull struggled to her knees. A grunt, a glare, from eyes bronze and light blue. A shield burst forth between them in luminous hues - Argh!Cirra twisted too slow to avoid the blow as a lance of pure shadows pierced forth from the light. Cloth ripped up her side as pain lanced along her thigh, blood blossoming from the tip of the spike. Steel clanged dully as the shield caught her sword - crimson sluggishly oozing to stain the ivory floor. Zatmeni rose, bearing forth all of her weight - a relentless force Cirra could not abate. Leg buckled beneath her, and she snarled in rage. A ring shattered with her word into a curtain of flame. The minotaur howled; shield shattered to crystals of gold. Cirra stumbled a step backward, warmth subsuming the cold.

roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/20/2022 19:20:39)
One way trip, ay? As long as he doesn’t throw me off the battlefield, I’m fine with that. “That was the plan!” Zatmeni yelled to Gith, her voice raised over Lune’s music as they began to play. This time, the tune was less intrusive than before; a soft, melancholy melody that annoyed Zatmeni slightly less than their previous tunes. You’re still on your own, bard. It’s fine. Most of Order is by Suraeko anyway. Zatmeni swung her other hoof onto the Crab’s arm as it grasped her left ankle and began to swing. An explosion filled her ears, coming from Suraeko’s direction. She hoped desperately that she wasn’t flying to the aid of someone who’d just died; she didn’t have time to check. Here goes nothing. Both hands gripped firmly on Nycthemeron, Zatmeni pushed with its tip and her hooves as Crab let go. The momentum sent her flying across the battlefield. Her eyes struggled to focus on-- Samsara and Diurnal paladins fighting shoulder-to-shoulder against siege, their feet retreating onto cold steps of black and white marble. A full-fledged minotaur fought among them-- her weapon a gleaming dao, her armor painted with swirling black and white. *No, that’s not real--* Zatmeni’s sight cut off as she slammed into someone— the Sky elf, she realized, as her vision flashed violet. The scent of roses filled her nose. Is she wearing perfume? In a war? Zatmeni fell to the ground; her armor clanged against the white and black stone. She laid, elbows down, trying to catch her breath. We shouldn’t even have those memories. She tried desperately to push the image out of her mind. That minotaur… A slight smell of roses-- She’s up! A jingle of rings, and Cirra was upon her, baring down with her sword while Zatmeni struggled to rise. By Orou, she’s quick! She reversed her grip on Nycthemeron and brought her right arm over to brace her left. She took a quick breath. I’ve done this before. I can force them to work together. Magic surged through her, and bronze sunlight and bluish moonlight eyes both flicked alight as a circular shield erupted from her wrist to catch the dao. While under the Eye, the shield had been the bright yellow of a blazing sun; now, its light was muted, wispy streaks radiating from a pitch-black spike. Zatmeni breathed a sigh of relief. An Eclipse. She pushed all of her weight towards the Sky Knight, sliding against her dao and driving the spike into her thigh. She heard fabric rip and watched as crimson erupted to stain the indigo of Cirra’s dress. ”Does bloodshed bother you?” I’d be a pretty lousy paladin if it did. Cirra snarled as Zatmeni bared down upon her. A ring on her dao shattered, its high-pitched note almost quiet enough to feel a part of Lune’s elegy. Fire! Zatmeni howled as her shield fell and flames seared her skin. Burn, Zatmeni. Burn for your brokenness. Let the flames consume you like they should have before. It would have been better that way. *Shut UP!* Zatmeni screamed and shoved her way forward. She slammed her shoulder into the Sky Elf, who crumpled like a ragdoll underneath Zatmeni’s weight. Serves you right. You might think you’re clever, but I’ve faced fire and come out JUST FINE! She flipped her greatsword forward and gripped it with both hands as she prepped it squarely against her side. She could use magic on this, but it likely wouldn’t do anything; as tempting as it was, she needed to conserve energy if this was going to be as intensive as her last fight. She looked down and snarled at Cirra as she struggled to rise. “You’ll have to do more than that to kill me!” She swung the gleaming blade towards the elf with two strong, locked arms. Its curved blade hooked easily behind Cirra’s waist and sent her flying into the air. I hope she falls off the arena. Stop that. I can’t lose my cool anymore than I have. But what if I do? ... just breathe, Zatmeni.

ChaosRipjaw -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/20/2022 20:02:46)
Hydna breathed, cloudy breath puffing around her. The cold nipped none too gently at her exposed cheeks, lips, and nose. Huff, huff. Her boots clicked against the cold marble floor. Her allies for this battle were already charging into the fray. Huff, huff. The weight of the Savager, once depressing, now exuded some comfort. It would get the job done. Hydna flicked the gun to its side and its chamber slid out in response– Huff, huff. A shiver of deja vu as she heard the sound of her own gun firing; the Unmakyr lady definitely. Hydna’s left hand grabbed three bullets from her pocket, and with practiced movements she thrust them into their places– Huff, huff. [Fully loaded: 6/6 remaining.] [6 shots in reserve.] Overhead, the Knight of the Sky, Cirra danced gracefully into the air, as though there were an invisible staircase beneath her feet. Hydna mouthed a silent “wow”, wishing she could do that too. But oh well, she had the second best thing. Three– A roar of what sounded like fragging artillery– Two– An eerie tune floated through the battlefield, somehow both obfuscated yet cutting through the din– Now! Hydna stepped, bringing her heels together– – and slipped. “Whoaaa!!” she yelled. Too late Hydna remembered the ice around the pillars wasn’t there for show; there was practically no traction. She’d been too distracted by the fragging dust cloud. Her feet shot out from under her and Hydna fell squarely on her butt! “Ow!!” she cried. Blood rushed into her cheeks, both from the sudden fall and from embarrassment. No, I can do this! Come on, Hydna– Even as Hydna slid across the ice, she bent her right knee, bringing her foot back in. With her left leg as a rudder, she twisted her upper body and spun in a solid 180 so she faced the other way– she brought her left leg back in and abruptly straightened. Her feet slipped under the ice again, as predicted, but she clicked her heels and– FWOOSH! Hydna shot into the air backwards, spinning clockwise in a semi-pirouette, firing the cable launcher into the icy pillar at the same moment. A flawless recovery! [Rocket boots activated.] [Power levels at 75%.] At that exact moment, something flew past her, so close that the little hairs on her skin stood up. In the next beat she realized it was one of the Knights of Chaos, the black and white one called Zatmeni– The crab mech had thrown her! The realization was like a shock of ice water in her veins, which said a lot given the already chilly atmosphere. With such strength and speed, one wrong move up close and the crab would smash her into a pulp. [Distance sensors recalibrating.] [Estimated distance from crab: medium.] Uh oh. That meant she was well in the crab’s firing range. Her pilot’s eye took in the crab’s full inventory: buzz saw, claw arm, mounted rail guns, plated armor. Most notably, the turret that glowed white, ready to fire. By comparison, her own loadout looked absolutely pitiful. Oh, she’d gotten lucky before. But would she again? Doesn’t matter. Hydna fired. CLANG! But at the same instant, the crab fired! Thumm. The sheer force of the blast completely overwhelmed the report of the Savager. Gotta– Hydna released the cable and twisted– “Ahhh!!” The metal bolt that served as the railgun’s shell zipped by her chest, barely missing hitting her full in the back. That would have saved her from a broken spine, but not before it caught an edge in her armor. Huge force on a small area equaled massive pressure, and that much torque wrenched her out of her flight path, sending her spinning, spinning– Nothing to break her fall. Releasing the cable was a bad idea. Sizzling schnitzels. Hydna slammed hard into the marble floor, the breast monitor crushing into her chest– --and a horrific chill sweeps through her cockpit, one that has nothing to do with temperature. The keening … moan? Roar? Cry? She doesn’t know what to call it. She doesn’t even know if it can be considered a sound at all, given those things were out there in a vacuum. “Get out of here!” Thyone roars. The Furies know better than to force the commander to give an order twice. Their engines power up, but it is too late. Those things were on them. “Ahhh!” The cry comes in through the comms. “Messene!” someone shouts, it may have been Scyllis, Hydna isn’t sure, but she yanks the controls and punches up a maximum burn– –and her fist smacked solid marble, jerking her awake. [Consciousness regained.] [Time elapsed: approximately 1.239 seconds.] A little over a second of unconsciousness? That fall might have given her a concussion. But that wasn’t what brought her back, what was–? Hydna’s stomach lurched as she saw the source of the cry that penetrated her dreamscape. Cirra! Without a second thought, Hydna thrust her left arm out and the cable launcher engaged, panning over the void– [Distance exceeding 20 feet.] She wasn’t gonna make it. With a yell, Hydna threw herself forward so she was leaning out more than halfway off the floating chessboard, and the cable strained, reaching for the falling Knight of the Sky like a futile hand, and Hydna could imagine each prong of the tractor claw struggling to– –reach Fury Two’s ship. Too far. No choice. She squeezed the trigger and twin bolts lanced through the darkness. The fear is extreme. For several eternities the outcomes hung in balance; would the– –cable went taut. Caught. Hydna drew a ragged breath; she’d nearly forgotten to breathe. Adrenaline washed through her system, both real and remembered. Not the best wake up gift. It wasn’t over yet, Hydna knew. Liquid cable wouldn’t break except under the most extreme of conditions. Unfortunately, that meant if she didn’t find a way to reel her catch back in– The weight on the cable’s end abruptly lightened. Hydna’s eyes widened as the Knight of the Sky began her dancing steps through the empty void. If it wasn’t for her shining silver hair and beautifully dyed dress, her jet black skin would have blended in perfectly with the black space around her. Step … step … step … A hand, dark as the night, reached out and Hydna grasped it. The cable retracted. For the second time since Hydna had set foot into this strange world of trial by fire and combat, her eyes met those of another living, breathing person. So this was Cirra. A fitting name indeed. She could almost see her own reflection in Cirra’s storm-gray eyes. “Wow,” Hydna breathed. “You really are the Knight of the Sky.” As soon as the words left her lips, Hydna’s cheeks flushed. Indeed, Captain Obvious. But Cirra answered, “A sky is only as bright as its stars.” Knight of the Sky, Knight of the Stars. Hydna’s blush deepened. “There wouldn’t be stars without a sky to hold them in,” Hydna replied, winking. Now that definitely sounded a lot cooler. Her left arm flexed as she tightened her grip and she could feel Cirra’s arm respond in kind. With a grunt, she yanked Cirra upwards with all her might, a feat that she’d never have been able to pull off in normal circumstances. But Cirra stepped into the air once more– Once– Twice– –and Hydna swung her right arm out, still gripping the Savager, hitting the sole of Cirra’s boot. With the added boost, the Sky Dancer pushed off into the air, back into the fray. The exertion nearly caused Hydna to tumble off the edge of the board, but she used her momentum to spin counterclockwise and grasp the ledge with her left hand. Grunting, she planted her feet flat against the floor and with a sharp thrust with both her arms, swung herself upright. [Power levels recharging.] [Power levels at 78%.] “Thanks for the save, Fury Five,” Messene says shakily. Hydna releases a shuddering breath. “That was way too close.” “Thyone, we’re in heaps of trouble here,” Telesilla yells. “We’re totally surrounded. Nowhere to go for an anti-space jump!” “Then we’ll have to fight our way out,” Thyone answers grimly. The Furies assent. “Ready to roll,” Hydna whispers. She blinked, shaking her head slightly. She slapped her left cheek; the sting told her she was definitely awake. Weird, had the impact from earlier really been bad enough to make her hallucinate every few seconds? The clash of battle rang around her, but through it all– Hydna cocked her head. That tune. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but it was there. In fact, as she concentrated, the world around her seemed to shift so that she was back– --in the void, one of the things dashed toward Fury Three’s ship, but she zipped under it– There. One Knight of Chaos stood out from the others. Amongst a mecha crab, Suraeko the Murder Ma’am, and the two-faced Zatmeni stood a – guy? girl? it was hard to tell – holding a violin. They might have seemed almost ordinary, except for two things. 1) They appeared to be forged out of metal. 2) Simply looking at them sent chills crawling along Hydna’s spine. Hydna flicked her gaze down at her chest monitor. Her visor glowed blue as her helmet came online. [Helmet activated.] [Power levels at 77%.] [5/6 remaining.]

Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/20/2022 21:36:50)
With the stranger’s laugh still echoing in her ear, the smith laid waste to her forge. First perished the tools, melted down into argent puddles and hardened into grotesque masses. Second crumbled the anvil, cracked and shattered piece by piece. Third succumbed the fuel: wood, coal, and ignitable fluids. They were set alight, and their blaze allowed to consume the workshop whole. Last died the works of the forge, trapped inside to feed the ravenous inferno. Her penance complete, the smith tossed the hammer into the conflagration. All day and night the fire burned until bit by bit the forge collapsed in on itself, the flames’ lust at last becoming its demise. When the last ember finally burned out, all that remained was stone and ash...and the glittering of stolen starlight. Motes of dust pelted the elf’s form as she tore through the haze. The ashen cloud provided cover but cost the smith her sight - blinding both her foes and herself to each other. Red eyes flicked back to where she had last seen Cirra of the Sky. Did she know the truth of the Unmakyr? Pale fingers brushed against the grip of the hammer before the smith banished the thought. Trust now, ascertain later. Four Knights of Chaos obstructed her path to redemption. Four obstacles to overcome. Her hand fell away from the hammer as boots slid from frost to hardened marble. She stumbled with a hiss and emerged from the fog in a stagger. In her fight to regain balance, her gaze caught sight of the uncanny bard playing away at their vicious violin. The Unmakyr leveled the Savager and fired. A thunderous explosion consumed the crack of the shot. Concussive force slammed into the elf’s back and hurled her to the ground. She threw out her hands, sidearm flying wide. Twin spikes of pain lanced up each arm as she caught herself against the chequered floor. The smith remained frozen for a heartbeat, gasping for air with a shrill peal ringing in her ears. The battlefield with its various cries and shouts and clangs slipped away, leaving the Unmakyr alone with her thoughts. Cirra meant well - it was Stardust who cursed you. Half-believing the excuse, the elf raised her head- -and saw the steel colossus barreling towards her. The smith cursed her fortune - between the cloud and the explosion, she had not sensed Gith of the Machines’ approach. Without hesitation she hurled herself forwards and rolled under the belly of the beast. Its gargantuan leg crashed down with dreamlike surrealness, making not a sound as it struck the marble floor. The smith tumbled, rolling to a halt on her back. A surge of panic caught her breath in her throat - the colossus only needed to sit down to crush her. Time stilled as life and death weighed in the balance above her. After an eternity, the Knight of Machines moved on, having spared no attention to the elf. Twice the colossus had held the smith’s life in her hands, and twice it spared her not out of mercy but because it did not even realize it controlled her fate. A seething rage stoked inside the Unmakyr. An engine of war so methodical, so inhuman that it could claim lives without being any the wiser. How many lives met their end at its hands, how many of them a result of mere collateral damage? This was no weapon; it was a tool of devastation. From the corner of her vision, the smith caught sight of the Knight of Duality. Bands of red fled up the elf’s arms and coiled around her chest. “And to you, Nychthermeron, I grant life anew.” In a burst of starlight, a greatsword appeared in her grasp. Heavy, blunt, and bearing a curved tip, the blade shone with barbarity and beauty coalesced in one. Duality made manifest. The Unmakyr jumped to her feet and swung, Nychthermeron cleaving through the air and into the joint where the crustacean’s arm met its body. She heard no crunch of steel but felt the reverberations of the axelike head burying into the steel. The colossus moved forward and jerked the handle free of her grip. She made no effort to save it - it had taken all her might to sink it into the behemoth. There was no hope of wrenching it free. Serve me well, sword of twin souls. Harrow your foe and stifle their ploys. With that, she turned and raced after the only combatant not yet engaged in the fray. The ringing in her head slowly subsided, replaced instead by a haunting melody. The bard played on with their twisted song, growing a mane of fire with a face twice as beautiful. A familiar laugh echoed in her ears. Blood boiled in her veins. The Unmakyr leapt into the air and roared, hammer in hand to crush the skull of the stranger she knew all too well.

Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/20/2022 21:56:37)
Suraeko scowled as the lightning rippled across her arms. As the glaive had sated itself on her essence, its teeth were as sharp as ever. But it simply did not hurt as much as before. Maybe she had readjusted to its demands. Perhaps her death had some part in it. No, the Carnivore’s ire was aimed at the ones before her. The glowing, whistling orb slipped through the cloud. Hints of blue light scattered across the dust, fading for a second before violently reappearing. A cerulean detonation rippled through the front of the cloud, vaporizing some of the dust and pushing more to the edges. The black tile beneath had lost some of its luster, merely scratched by the mortar. Unfortunately for the huntress, it seemed that little else was damaged. ~~The dancer~~ Frei had soared higher into the air, completely evading the blast. Off to the side, ~~the warrior~~ the paladin emerged unscathed. Serhil’s Cybil’s fist seemed to glow with blackened light as the two closed in. Both at once. . . Suraeko gritted her teeth, muscles burning as she forced them to move. But as ~~the dancer~~ the faerie descended, her sword hissing through the air, Suraeko braced for the worst. Come on. I hope you enjoy it. Before the strike could land, however, a flash of color swept across the air, crashing into ~~the dancer~~ the faerie. Out of nowhere, the bull had taken to the air, carrying the corpse away from the action. Suraeko couldn’t help but let out a dry laugh. “One of you lot is being useful. But I could use another hand!” With one down, the Carnivore shifted her gaze to the other threat. “Suraeko! Round 2, you psycho!” ~~The warrior~~ the paladin’s voice seemed to echo unnaturally. It brimmed with what could only be described as joy. She had spent years in the grave; Suraeko could only imagine how eager she was to have her vengeance. “You were the first to die then, Cybil. You’ll be the first to die now!” As ~~Serhil’s~~ Cybil’s fist hissed through the air, Suraeko brought her glaive up, barely catching their glowing fist. As it crashed against the steel, Suraeko pressed against the ground and pushed back, barely holding herself in place. As the two clashed, small flickers of golden lightning coursed across the staff and through Suraeko’s veins. Her whole body felt like it was on fire as ~~the warrior~~ the paladin pushed harder, forcing Suraeko to take a few steps back. Her breath went heavy as the Carnivore struggled to hold back the unstoppable force. Out of the corner of her eye, Suraeko could see the edge. Only a few more feet until oblivion. She didn’t have any more time to spare. . . A paladin’s strength comes from their resolve. Fear and doubt are their greatest enemy. At that moment, Suraeko could hear the beast. She could feel it in her blood, guiding her mind to the perfect kill. Suddenly, Suraeko smiled, leaning in with a whisper. Her eyes were full of scorn. “Haven’t you learned your lesson, old friend.” Once again, the Carnivore focused on the glaive. As the teeth sunk into her soul, a wave of lightning rushed across its runes. An omen of death. Years ago, it had claimed the paladin. Now, it could claim her again. But Suraeko knew that it would not be ready in time. As the glaive tugged at her life force, she pushed back the teeth with her will alone. Just as soon as the spark ignited, it faded away like a blown out candle. Suraeko could feel her soul bleeding from the act, her mana wasting away. It made her want to vomit. But the Carnivore hoped that that one moment of hesitation would be enough. The huntress leaned to the left and let go of her glaive. As the warrior the paladin staggered forward, Suraeko fainted to the left and reached for the closest knife on her belt. It was Serhil’s knife. The carnivore pulled the blade up, rushing to meet her enemy’s throat. You are not worthy.

Oddball -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/20/2022 22:32:35)
As Serihl neared Suraeko with fist poised to strike, she took note of Cirra flanking to her left, making a mental note to try and not get her caught in the radius of her swing. Though, as her focus remained on her opponent, a loud thud next to her caused her to falter slightly. In her peripheral, she saw that her backup was gone, replaced momentarily by a figure soaring through the sky. Judging from the noise, and the following gasp of combined pain and loss of air? Serihl and Suraeko were alone once again… The two had been allowed another confrontation so soon after the previous one had ended, and Serihl would have to thank whatever brought her here for the opportunity. Once she had finished beating it into a bloody pulp for whisking her away from her home, that is. “You were the first to die then, Cybil. You’ll be the first to die now!” …Cybil? Who? Was she being confused for someone else by the person she had just shared a mutual kill with? Was the person who had, so matter of factly, stated that she would never forget Serihl’s name mistaking her for someone else? How rude. How so VERY rude of her. Serihl felt a growl escape her throat, a weird mix of sadness and rage began to stir within her as Suraeko brought her glaive up to block the strike. This time, however, Serihl’s blow had more force behind it than anything she had used in the battle previous, and Suraeko could only attempt to root herself in place as she was faced with the near-impossible task of trying to push the mob boss back. At this point, most of that lingering feeling of sadness had boiled over into anger, and Serihl was a hairs’ breadth away from tipping over the edge. She had felt like this periodically throughout her life, and she could clearly remember the last time… The scene of Makyr slowly nearing her vision as she approached the bridge was still fresh in her memories. Serihl brought herself back to the present, noticing that she had forced Suraeko back a few steps, and was now teetering close to the edge of the arena, an infinite void awaiting any unfortunate enough to fall. What came next, would be that final push that Serihl needed, as Suraeko leaned in with that same smile she had seen during their clash…Her bloodlust had returned in full force, and Serihl could tell from the look in her eyes that something wasn’t right… “Haven’t you learned your lesson, old friend” Old friend? So this “Cybil” was someone from her past? No doubt one of the warrior’s many victims… Bah. It mattered not who Suraeko perceived her as anymore. She wasn’t about to let her get away with breaking her spoken oath. “I won’t forget you. I couldn’t” Those words that Suraeko had spoken, echoes of their fight previous, were repeating in Serihl’s brain. A bold-faced lie, it would appear. Caught in her own thoughts, Serihl wouldn’t notice the small shift to Suraeko’s posture, who had ducked down to the left and was in the process of letting go of her glaive. Serihl wasn’t able to react accordingly, and the mob boss felt herself stumble a few steps forwards, as a flash of light from her side caught her attention. She… She had been in a situation like this before. Back… Back in that place Alarms blared as the figure sprinted through the stretched corridors of the compound, desperately trying to find a safe location away from the Hive’s influence. Things were going so well! How did it all go wrong in such a small amount of time!? In one moment, three of her closest friends were dead… and two had been twisted into one of those horrible, horrible things. The figure ducked into the containment of a harmless creature, it staring up at the figure with wide, scared eyes as the alarm continued to echo through the halls. … It had been several hours at this point, and the alarms had been a persistent background noise the entire time. Yet, the figure remained with that creature, sat in the corner with their knees tucked against their body, silent sobs shaking their form as the creature lay next to their feet. Unfortunately, the spot wouldn’t remain safe for much longer, as the sound of footsteps had periodically pierced through the sound of the alarm, and recently? They had been getting louder. With a loud creak, the door slid open, a darkened figure stepping into the room with a quick scan, noticing the person hiding in the corner. A flash of light came from their side as the new figure pulled out a knife, beginning to slowly approach the one in the corner, who could only choke out three words in a feeble attempt to stop them. “Tir… Please, no.” Was… Was that? No time to think about that now, there were more pressing matters at hand. As the knife, just about, pierced through her skin, Serihl’s hand was already on the move, gripping Suraeko’s wrist and forcing it to stop advancing any further. She looked down It was her knife. Almost as if on autopilot, Serihl free hand quickly grabbed Suraeko’s collar once again, the once expressive and emotion-driven mob boss was now showing… nothing. When she spoke, it was soft and calm, but there was something lingering underneath, something dangerous. She would simultaneously sound like she was on the verge of exploding with rage… and like she was trying to lull someone to sleep. “My knife. You make an attempt on my life with MY knife!? Yet you dare to forget who wields it?” With relative ease, Serihl lifts Suraeko off of the ground, holding her several feet upwards as her gaze drilled holes through Suraeko’s head. Struggle as she may, there was no escaping Serihl’s iron grip. With no more words left, Serihl twisted her body, swinging Suraeko like a ragdoll before she let out a mighty, hate fueled roar, driving Suraeko into the ground hard enough to cause the marble flooring beneath to crack. She would be unrelenting in her assault, attempting to strike Suraeko while she was still reeling from the previous injury, but the Warrior would once again prove her tenaciousness, rolling out of the way before the blow could connect. “To your feet, Suraeko. I’m not done with you.”

markthematey -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/21/2022 2:08:56)
Lune’s sonata filled the air around them. Their violin, its sleek silver frame, had no blemishes. Thousands of hours of practice and years of tireless routine to memorize each motion. This time and effort showed through all of Lune’s music. Their passion exuded from each note. They could play without hesitation or thought. It was burned into their body. Lune observed the wonderful sight in front of them as an epic unfolded. The two sides clashed and chaos immediately spread across the frozen arena. An explosion crashed into the group of Order, the shockwave blew past Lune. The Knight of Duality crashed into a foe. A spectacle to behold, Lune cheerfully watched. “What a beautiful stage! An incredible drama!” Lune exclaimed to themselves, unable to keep their excitement in. They continued to play their sonata, gladly being a spectator in this conflict. A drama without the appropriate music is a shadow of what it could be! As Lune continued the bow’s stroke, a metal ball ricocheted off of Lune’s arm. A small crack formed where it impacted. The crack of gunfire came a split second after. Lune recoiled slightly, their arm being pushed by the force of impact. Their music stopped for a brief moment as they re-adjusted. It seems they’d like me to join the performance. Lune wrested with the idea for a moment. Watching as the show progressed in front of them, the Knight of the Forge quickly danced with Gith then came darted towards Lune. As the elf ran, Lune frowned, I’m a musician, a performer, but I’m yet to try acting. Leaping through the air, Unmakyr brought her hammer down on Lune. The melody climbed to a moment of silence as Lune rose the violin. They collided with a sharp clang. Pushing the hammer aside using the violin, they gazed at the performer in front of them. I don’t want to mess with the actors but... Lune moved through their guard, “What’s to say a musician can’t act as well?” They attacked as the spoke, Lune took the motion of their bow and transitioned it into two swift strikes towards Unmakyrs chest and another towards their arm. The first slashed across their vest but the second bit through their arm. Red dripped from the wound. Gracefully Lune danced past Unmakyr, resuming their song. Unmakyr, another name to remember, another fantastic audience member. “Let us act together!”

Chewy905 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/21/2022 10:11:14)
Howling wind tore through the field, a faint snowfall carried in its wake as it played through chequered board and colored sky. The scales above shuddered, and tilted, shattering bits of ice to tip first towards Order, then towards Chaos. Two orbs dropped, one of stark white and one of pristine silver, sinking into the pillars and filling them with their light to create two paths, their destinations shrouded in fog. The Powers spoke, their distinct tones overlapping as their calls resounded through the field. Knight of The Stars. Though you show boundless courage, you fail to read Orders perfection. You are not our champion. You are Dismissed. Knight of The Symphony. Though you show great passion, you fail to match the ever-changing flow of Chaos. You are not our champion. You are Dismissed. Silence fell as the voices faded and the wind slipped away, but the chill remained. The Scales shuddered, balanced, then stilled once more.

GrimmJester -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/22/2022 17:07:56)
The sound of gunfire was overwhelmed by the report of the railgun; its shot struck the Fury, sending her spinning through the air. It must have been a glancing blow. Something clanged against C.R.A.B’s armor… Was that a rock? What kind of a useless weapon was the woman wielding? Had she truly been thrust in here with nothing but a non lethal handgun? He couldn’t spend too much time thinking about it as something else was close. In his determined focus towards the Fury he’d missed the approach of The Unmakyr, the elf having rolled into the blind spot beneath her large lumbering metal body. With a resounding clang something struck into the joint between shoulder and weapon arm. Tch! The blade jammed the arm’s metal gears, the phantom pain blooming within Gith’s mind as the feedback from the warning systems wracked his brain. He grit his teeth as one camera swiveled to see the elven smith simply moving on, the blade remaining stuck inside of the arm’s joint. He tried to move it, gear teeth skipped, pistons whirred but it was no use, the heavy steel of the blade seizing the joint and leaving it immobile. No time for repairs now, leave it. He thought, the saw arm was by far his deadliest weapon up close but he’d have to do without it for now. The claw was more than powerful enough to take on organic creatures. ”I’ll come back for you, chuba! You’re currently at the bottom of my list.” He spat at the smith in frustration. He’d love to pursue him… Her? Honestly he’d never been too sure. It was so very hard to tell those sorts of things at a glance when it came to aliens. Especially the human-like ones without fur always seemed so very similar to one another. The large warmachine lumbered onwards, before him now between him and his prey stood the Knight of Force and the Knight of Bloodlust seemingly locked in single combat. The former looked to be at an advantage over the latter, his ally on the ground beneath the superhumanly strong Serihl. The Knight of Bloodlust managing to roll out of the way of a heavy hit barreling into the floor. Power Core Output - 75% ”This is not a duel, gimbo! Keep an eye on your six!” he quipped at the suit wearing human. Who wears a suit to a battlefield anyways? No matter, C.R.A.B’s claw was already moving, side-swiping towards the Knight of Force with thunderous hydraulic might. Slamming into the center of their body as metal clashed with flesh. The warning, or perhaps the heavy clanking sound of C.R.A.B’s approach had given the mob boss enough time to raise her arms in protection. The massive claw slamming into the woman’s forearms and sending her skidding backwards across the glossy marble floor, creating some distance between the two combatants. He would not linger long though, just enough to offer Suraeko a brief reprieve. C.R.A.B’s red lenses turning to the Knight of Bloodlust for a moment. ”On your feet, chuba! To mowsh ando natet! This is not your end.” Another moment taken, another opportunity lost. C.R.A.B’s eyes swiveled back towards the dancer and the minotaur. The Knight of Sky had been thrown off of the side of the battlefield, the Fury throwing out a cable to catch her and recovering her from what would certainly have been her doom. C.R.A.B followed; clanking over the floor towards the edge that had so nearly cost the life of both of those knights of Order. With Zatmeni by his side it seemed they were at least on a level playing field, if not better. He listened to their exchange, a tinny hollow laugh echoed out from C.R.A.B’s speakers. ”Cute. But tell me, inya. What did your kind ever bring to the stars?” the large weapon atop C.R.A.B’s back carapace started to spool up once more, power core humming as red lenses blazed with cold mechanical indifference. Power Core Output - 85% Magnetic Array at 10% “Your kin brought nothin’ to the void but death and destruction, conquering planet after planet for what? To sell to the highest bidder?! Humans have no place within the void, Fury, except as cosmic debris.” The Machine Knight’s voice modulated by the echoing reverberation of rudimentary speakers, making it ring that much more cold, cruel and hateful. C.R.A.B’s claw spun around its axis, he tried to move the saw arm but it wouldn’t budge. Sparks shooting from the joint locked by the sword pierced through her shoulder at the attempt. The railgun’s coils moved faster, the thrumming of the weapon growing louder as it started building charge once more, growing hotter with every passing moment. Magnetic Array at 50% The announcement came of the dismissal of the knights. C.R.A.B’s claw lashed out before the human could fully recover, clamping down around Hydna's chest and slowly hoisting her into the air. The hydraulic pistons hissed, gear teeth clunked as she was brought up to eye level with those glowing red camera lenses. Pressure slowly increased, crumpling the nominal amount of defense the pilot suit offered without too much effort exerted by the hydraulic system. Power Core Output - 100% Magnetic Array at 80% …90% The weapon’s glow climbing from red to blue, up to radiant white hot as the coils spun up to full speed. His target was caught within his grasp, unable to move, unable to skirt around the weapon this time. There would be no second chances, no more would she slip through his fingers. Once more the battlefield seemed replaced with the red sands of a far too distant planet, around him the smoking wrecks of lumbering metal behemoths. Blood seeped into the sand, it’s hue unchanged as if the planet itself had been bleeding all along. Bodies littered the ground, burnt husks of human and ratfolk alike. This day would forever live in infamy… ”Sounds like it’s the end of the road for you, inya.” he said coldly, the metallic twang of C.R.A.B’s speakers leaving his tone hollow. Man and machine spoke as one. Magnetic Array at 100% Target Locked Thum-BOOM!!

ChaosRipjaw -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/22/2022 17:29:26)
*“Knight of the Stars–”* “Fury Five–” *“–though you show boundless courage–”* *“–you fail to read Order’s perfection.”* “–your results are less than apt.” With finality, it announced: *“You are Dismissed.”* The moment she took to survey her surroundings was one moment too many. She never even had time to scream. The crab mech was on her in an instant, and before she could even think about cabling or rocket boosting out of the way, it had her in its claw. Hydna twisted and pushed but it was useless. The crab’s red eyes glowed, watching her struggle. The hydraulic dactylus seemed to hiss in pleasure, laughing at its helpless prey. [Pressure on suit exceeding rated limitations.] Instantly, all her previous confidence vanished as an icy fear stabbed at her heart. It was one thing to take an injury in the heat of battle. It was quite another to be a hooked fish under a predator’s gaze. Even as she watched, the mounted railgun began to whine as its coils powered up. Hydna gasped as the claw squeezed her abdomen. [Suit integrity compromised.] The crab’s pilot was tightening its grip to ensure there would be no escape. He was going to execute her with the railgun. From within, Gith spoke, his voice distorted by the amplifiers. “Sounds like it’s the end of the road for you, inya.” No … have to– “Help me,” Hydna whispered. [Understood.] [Railgun heat signatures reaching critical limits.] [Railgun—] Just as the railgun’s whine reached its climax, Hydna raised the Savager and fired. *Thum–BOOM!* Just as the railgun fired, the Savager’s bullet hit home. Hydna couldn’t see where; it didn’t matter. The explosion lit up her helmet’s visual feed in a brilliant field of white. Something jabbed hard into her visor, snapping her head back. [Visor damaged.] [Disabling helmet.] [Power levels at 74%.] Hydna cracked open her eyes. Her heart sank. A smoking ruin sat mounted on the crab’s back, but the crab itself stood firm. Her luck had finally run out. There would be no last second recovery this time. The crab brought her close to its mechanical eyes. “There is a saying among my people, Fury,” the mechanical, hollow voice hissed. “Detim inim du fo wa ting, im ye sémpere.” Even through the terrible pain and chilling numbness that was overtaking her, a memory floated to Hydna’s consciousness. The ancient saying of the long thought lost rat-folk civilization. Once a thing is made, it is forever. “For your sake, inya, I hope the legacy you leave behind was worthwhile.” The pressure at her waist spiked and blood spurted from Hydna’s mouth before she could even think of a response. [Vital signs critical.] [Medical treatment required.] [Alternative avenue for survival recommended.] If she hadn’t known better, she would’ve sworn the suit’s voice sounded strained. “I can’t–” Hydna choked. [Please.] Her head bowed and the Savager slipped from her fingers, clattering on the marble floor. [...] [Understood.] [It has been an honor, Fury Five.] It was over. Hydna raised her eyes toward the sky, which churned with vibrant, chaotic colors. She felt a pang as she thought of her squadmates, still stuck in space above who knew where. She wondered if anyone would even know what had happened to her. I hope the legacy you leave behind was worthwhile … A little over twenty years of life, she thought. Less than a flicker of an eyelash in all of the galaxy’s history. For a moment, she thought she could hear the commander’s voice. “You’re a small tree growing in the shadow of the big ones, but you’re strong, resilient, and unfettered by the mold that touches all of us. And in this era, a new, strong big tree is just what we need.” Sorry commander, Hydna thought. But it looks like this tree’s done for. She wondered– … … … [Fury down.]

Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/22/2022 23:00:05)
Salt stung at her eyes as she watched the night skies, yet not a single tear did she allow to escape. Triumph near at hand, peace across her new land - surely her heart was a small price to pay? It got harder to believe that each day… * “My words are soft, but they ring true.” * A bellow, a shove, and Cirra’s strength gave out. Burnt hide deluged her senses as she stifled a shout. Don’t fall, not here! She rolled away to break free. A hiss of pain escaped her as she climbed to her knees. A slight spasm, a dull throb, blood seeped out from her thigh. The minotaur reared up before her as Cirra listed aside. Blade swung, blunt and curved; Zatmeni howled her distaste. Ribs cracked in lances of agony as it caught Cirra’s waist. A jerk, a heave, a grunt of effort and strain - they all barely registered as Cirra screamed from the pain. Sword slipped from her fingers, sparks burned in her eyes; nothing solid to anchor her as she careened through the skies. Black, white, crimson, silver, and blue - the colors blended together in a whirling coalescence of hue. No pattern of stars to guide her steps in their dance. Ragged breath echoed in her ears as fingers scrabbled at empty expanse. A sudden wrench at her waist, coils tightening their embrace, air shoved from her lungs in a near-silent gasp. A single moment suspended, an inverted world upended, and Cirra managed to find her footing at last. __________Looked back as cascading notes clashed - Her Princess, there to stop her flight. A hand held out to save her life. With terror in her eyes… Cirra turned and raced, her steps light and swift, carrying her to her love over the unfathomable rift. Don’t slow, don’t stop. Every muscle strained, injuries all forgotten as she flew past the pain. Slim, pale fingers, seldom-kissed by the sun, closed tight around her wrist as the dancer started to plunge. Warm golden eyes raked over her face - just one step further, let me feel your embrace - In a different past, a different time, another’s choice, might change in kind… The Princess abandoned her post, they ran away to the coast, left the fires of war to run their course. But never look in her eyes, or listen to her sighs, so filled with sorrow and regret and remorse… And Cirra knew that she was their source - A glove of storm-gray held her tight in its hold. Cirra blinked, found herself staring into blue eyes flecked with gold. Hydna, she exhaled, shoving the illusion away. She had chosen to run, the Princess, to stay. And here, an ally appeared when she needed one most. To keep fighting together, no matter the cost. Yet who would have thought, a connection like ours? Cirra smiled, responded; “A sky is only as bright as its stars.” With a final reply, Hydna tightened her hand. A nod, and Cirra let herself leap away from the land. One step, then two, each with a throb from her thigh. The Knight of Stars swung out below her, launched her into the sky. She shut her mind to the music, danced to her own tempo. Her side ached with each inhale, kept her breath short and shallow. Eyes drew nearly level with the shimmering scales - which shuddered as the wind let out a blood-curdling wail. Snow swirled through the air, tones filled her with terror, as twin voices spoke to pass down a decree. Symphony and Starlight, each dismissed from their side’s fight, what happens if next time it’s me? Before Cirra had time to truly process the event, the lilting song from before shifted to a stilted cadence. It swelled, discordant, yet hauntingly divine. Singing summons of horrors that sent chills down her spine. Fangs of war threatened, made manifest by its notes. A monster greedily eager to swallow her love and world both. No - no, you won’t! Cirra whirled towards the song, found the Knight of the Symphony resolutely playing along. Blue lightning crackled, shot straight for the bard - leaving the tile in its wake fractured and charred. A booming explosion engulfed them, though they continued to play. Beyond snow-white locks twisted as Unmakyr tumbled away. Shimmers of heat wavered from the remnants of the blast, Lune emerging amongst them, their form pitted and cracked. Purple flashed ‘cross her vision as the dancer streaked towards her foe; Zatmeni hurling Cirra’s own sword to halt to Lune’s mad throes. Enmity set aside as all three of them tried to prevent the massacre promised by the crescendoing refrain. Sword drew even with the bard, their figure smoking and shard, and Cirra seized as the chance that it gave. __________A single word woke the magic of her blade. ____________________“NO!” A peal, a toll, the sixth ring ruptured forth, its wave of cold bursting with bone-chilling force. Frost engulfed the dismissed knight as their music finally slowed; the air still reverberating with their last wavering tone. Cirra’s dance reached its end, carried her gracelessly down. An exhale, a wince, as she stepped to solid ground. She stumbled as her leg refused to take all of her weight. Still, she smiled in relief as silence finally reigned.

markthematey -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/23/2022 0:07:47)
“Knight of The Symphony. Though you show great passion, you fail to match the ever-changing flow of Chaos. You are not our champion. You are Dismissed.” The voice shook Lune to their core, each word etching itself within them. A simple decision, to stay and play one more song or to return to the aether from which they came. They stood quiet for a moment, as grim resolution washed over Lune, My performance is coming to an end… They turned, ready to leave. Ending a performance was always the hardest for Lune. But even for the most devoted of audience members, they can’t listen forever. Despite this, the concert was missing something, the closing act. Lune smiled brightly to themselves, One more song, for my beloved listeners. Whipping back around the called out, “Thank you all, my wonderful audience, it seems my show must come to an end. But just for you, a farewell gift.” One last time, Lune prepared their violin. With perfect posture, they closed their eyes. All their focus was on their instrument, the finale to their grand performance. The dramatic finish in their playset. A true performer, that's what they wanted to be and as a true performer, they played.

Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/23/2022 22:00:08)
The knife pierced through the ~~warrior’s~~ paladin’s dead flesh. Inches away from her throat, the figure brought her hand up, catching the edge in her palm. The Carnivore could smell the fresh blood in the air. So, a corpse can bleed? I’m sure you are amused with yourself, paladin. All went quiet as the music faded for a moment. Suraeko suddenly felt the ~~warrior’s~~ paladin’s grasp on her collar. As the ~~warrior~~ paladin spoke, it was if the world was drawn to her by sheer force of will. “My knife. You make an attempt on my life with MY KNIFE?” From the corner of her eye, Suraeko looked to the bleeding wound, to the steel in her foe’s palm. That’s Serhil’s— “Yet you dare forget who wields it?!” As Suraeko looked at the paladin’s eyes, a flash of violet erupted across their form, overtaking the unholy light. Armor gave way to cloth, dead flesh to living. What?! Serhil? But Cybil was— Speechless, Suraeko was hoisted into the air as Serhil held her over her head. Like an animal, she shook and snarled, desperately trying to wrestle herself free. What is going on?! Just what are you doing, Specter?! The Carnivore tried to reach for one of her knives, her skin rubbing against the sharp edge as it frantically swung. Just as she had touched the handle, the dark sky gave way to white tile as the ground rushed to meet her. Bits of metal and scales and stone scattered across the tile. The very ground seemed to buckle, cracking from the sheer force, but it held at the end. Ringing filled the huntress’s ears as pushed her chest of the cold tile. Bits of broken scales were pressed into her flesh. The world was rocking back and forth, but the pain grasped her mind. It gave her clarity, if only for a moment. One thought rose to the surface of her fractured mind. Get away. I need to get away. With her chest still aching, Suraeko gasped for air as she rolled away. Not a second later, the ground shuttered again as her aggressor slammed into the floor. “To your feet, Suraeko. I’m not done with you.” It was unmistakably Serhil’s voice. But as Suraeko rose to her knees, she looked towards her. It was Cybil. Deathy, but not yet dead. Alive, but not living. She blinked. It was Serhil. Breathing. Fuming. The huntress clutched her head as she tried to make sense of the madness before her. Cybil. Serhil. Cybil? No, it’s Serhil!— “Something. . . Something’s in my head!” Regardless of who it was, the two held the same intent. She raised her arm, ready to destroy the huntress. But then suddenly, a voice rose above the noise. ”This is not a duel, gimbo! Keep an eye on your six!” From nowhere, the titanic death machine rushed towards the shifting foe. A sword was buried into its frame. Sparks of electricity rushed from its mechanical wounds. It had made a costly effort to save the huntress. Suraeko watched as the metal crab swiped with its lumbering arms against her shifting foe. “To your feet— This is not your end!” As Suraeko rose up, she pulled one of the knives off of her belt. She needed to focus. She needed clarity. Control. As she buried the steel into her thigh, the Carnivore’s scream became a roar. “GET. OUT. OF. MY. HEAD!” She let out all of her hate, all of her frustration. She felt the pain wash over her mind as she gave herself to the bloodlust. “This. This is my life, and I control it. This is the way worth living! Bathed in blood! Every life I take is for my own sake and nothing else. I will show you!” As her resolve echoed, the arena answered in return. “Knight of the Stars—” “Knight of the Symphony—” “Dismissed.” There was a moment of silence. Then, a warm melody took its place. The first test was over. As Suraeko looked towards her foe, the paladin was gone, hopefully for good. Serhil and the crab were locked together. The two seemed to be a near match. In all of its absurdity, the death machine could only push her back a few feet before it fled. But it had given Suraeko the space she needed. You actually listened. Good. Now, stay out of my way. I have some business to sort out. . .

roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/24/2022 17:40:14)
A clatter filled her ears to cover Lune’s mournful tune for a moment; the Sky Knight’s sword. Its flawless metal reflected Chaos’ storm above, countless colors that oscillated and flowed across its surface. Zatmeni felt drawn to it, fascinated by it. She bent down, as Lune’s bow held a somber note; her hand wrapped around its hilt, the metal shimmered as it moved-- and shattered in her hands; her fingers grasped desperately at the sharp pieces scattered across the floor. “A broken weapon is useless, child. Leave it.” The Diurnal paladin towered above her small frame. “But… it was Momma’s.” She dared a glance at the reflection in the sword’s largest piece. Her dress, a swirled black and white, was stained with dirt and tears. One side of her face was caked with blood that had flowed from her now-broken left horn. Emerald eyes returned to blue and bronze as Lune played the next note in his elegy and the memory faded. The music left her feeling… hollow. She hadn’t thought about her mother in a long time. She let her hand-- and the dao it held-- drop to hang at her side. I don’t want to look at my reflection anymore. As the dao’s rings jingled from the movement, Order’s stern voice rose up across the battlefield. It delivered not instructions or introduction, but condemnation. The center scales tipped; a white orb slipped and shattered onto the ice beneath. One from Order. The voices rang again, layered, and a silver orb shattered beside the white. One from Chaos. It seems the scales must stay even. The bard; the Star Knight. Portals erupted for each of them; Zatmeni watched, distanced from the other fighters, and waited for each to leave their field. The gods’ will is absolute. Would I leave, if it had been me? To her dismay, it seemed both Lune and Hydna had other plans. An explosion, a gunshot; the field in front of her erupted into chaos. But above it all, seeming to carry and echo as if the battlefield itself was singing, was Lune’s discordant music. A finale. No! Each bow stroke felt like it drove deeper and deeper into Lune’s strings as they played. This was the end-- all of Lune’s power radiated across the battlefield. It was a bomb. You’ll ruin us all; destroy everything! If you stop the cycle in its tracks you could rip the very fabric of everything! The minotaur stood, frozen. Would that be so bad? YES, Nox! My mother and her sect are long gone. My Sect left. I’ve already lost everything, become nothing-- why would it be so bad if everyone else did, too? Lune’s strings rang hauntingly in her ears. *Stop! What am I thinking, why am I like this? Just stop!* Zatmeni raised the dao with her left hand and flung it towards the bard. She watched through tear-stained eyes as it flew through the air. The elf cried out, and frost burst from the dao. Lune’s body froze over; their concerto finally stopped. Both rejected Knights had been silenced; the field was even once more. Would you fight again, if given the chance? *I am Zatmeni. I may be broken, but I will STILL fight for what I believe in!* With a huff, she thrust Nycthemeron to the ground, its heavy metal clanging against the white stone. Now was not the time for sentiments. I’ll have a better opening if I lead with range. Blue and bronze flashed; it felt slightly easier this time, to channel Night and Day. In her hands formed a bow of pure light, its glowing string drawn back. Her right hand held steady a dark, smoking arrow notched in the bow’s string. To the Sky Elf. Zatmeni took a slow breath in, her arrow aimed towards the woman’s chest. Order must make way for Chaos, lest imbalance disrupt our world. So too must you yield, Knight; whether by choice or by force. She let the string slip through her fingers and sent Night’s arrow flying towards its mark.

Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/24/2022 21:34:41)
For the next decade the smith accomplished nothing but failure. Molten rock could not scorch the Forgehammer. The deepest recesses of the oceans spit it back out. Acid left no blemish, frost failed to make it brittle, and lightning simply coursed through it. Time and time again, the smith’s efforts proved futile: the Forgehammer endured. “So be it,” said the smith. She held the hammer of stolen starlight up high. “As I am their creator, then so too shall I be their Unmakyr.” The stranger’s laugh resounded throughout the chequered battlefield. “Whatever is the matter, good smith?” One flash of the weapon above all others parried the Unmakyr's hammer blow. The second cut across her armored vest in the blink of an eye. The third caught her arm, steel ripping open chalkwhite skin asunder in a spray of scarlet. The smith hissed under her breath, breaking away from the duel as the wound stung and burned. She opened her mouth to answer but found her heart caught in her throat. The stranger smiled. “Come now, good smith.” He flicked the sword, blemishing the white marble with a splatter of red. “A thousand blades claiming a thousandfold more lives.” Blood poured forth from the weapon in an endless cascade. It consumed ebony and ivory alike until a sea of crimson formed under their feet. “Look at all you’ve wrought,” said the stranger, his smile splitting even wider. “Come drink from the fountain of your glory!” The Unmakyr remained still, frozen by the growing pool before her - each drop a life taken. Her heart pounded impossibly loud within her chest. She could feel the vibrations thrum in her ears. Would this be her legacy? No, her sins would be redeemed! One by one and age through age, the Unmakyr vowed to hunt down and destroy each and every one of her creations. A millenia spent at the task, and countless more until she fulfilled her oath. The endless red pool rippled. From its depths swam familiar faces from a life she could scarcely remember. A baker. A watchman. A butcher. A cobbler. A mason. No. The smith fell to her knees, eyes clenched shut and hands clutching her head. Fulfilling her oath would not, could not bring back the dead. All her years of trials and torments… …a mere fantasy. Knight of The Stars. Though you show boundless courage, you fail to read Order's perfection. You are not our champion. You are Dismissed. Knight of The Symphony. Though you show great passion, you fail to match the ever-changing flow of Chaos. You are not our champion. You are Dismissed. The smith opened her eyes with a start. No pool of blood resided below her, no stranger laughed in her ear. Abandoned in the howling winds, with only the bard and their music for company. Fingers scratched against marble as her hands coiled into fists. Craven! The Unmakyr looked to the Knight of Chaos Suraeko; to the glaive she carried. Let me borrow some of your Bloodlust. Starlight shimmered and amalgamated in her grasp. The Blasting Glaive. Simple. Direct. Cold. The smith’s designs were an art, but this? This was a tool for killing. Perfect. The Unmakyr aimed the glaive at the bard, the crescendo building around their inhuman form. A last desperate act to insert their will upon this plane. Already the elf’s stomach churned and hair stood on end. She breathed in, and azure energy crackled along the replica’s tip. Surrounded in illusions, your life was naught but lies. Lune of the Symphony’s stance remained immaculate, showing no sign of wavering in the face of annihilation. The hum of the glaive joined the bard’s symphony. The Unmakyr breathed out- -and fired. A sphere of raw magical energy lobbed through the air and detonated in a burst of radiant light. The smith allowed the recoil to carry her, forcing her into a roll away from the malevolent musician. A second explosion - sharper and clearer - rang out as the elf tumbled to a halt. She shivered, one part to the cold and another to the effort of fueling the glaive. Terrible power for terrible ends. Steadying her breath, the Unmakyr lifted her head. Silence enveloped the battlefield. There stood Lune of the Symphony, their uncanny form glinting and covered in frost. Frozen in the middle of their grande finale, the musician carried a hint of a smile across their unmoving lips. Once more… The smith dropped the Blasting Glaive in favor of her hammer. With a shout, she threw herself towards the still form of the musician. And stopped. Hammer poised a breadth away from shattering the bard’s vulnerable skull. Their eyes remained closed in spite of the looming threat. No breath spilled from smiling lips. Death already claimed the musician, their final notes unsounded in the battlefield. In the glassy reflection of their face resided the elf’s own visage, brimming with crystalline tears. Hammer of starlight clattered to the marble floor. The smith fell a moment after, the echo of the stranger’s words reverberating loud in her ears. ”Is this who you are?” The abandoned Stardust lay inches from her grasp. A few hammer strikes would shatter it. Pale fingers coiled around its handle. I am- The smith rose to her feet. -the Unmakyr no more. “Cirra!” With a grunt, the Knight of the Forge heaved the dao through the air. Prismatic hues from the tumultuous skies above refracted off the waves residing in its depths. Cirra of the Sky. Stardust. Prove we are more than what we were made to be. Her final prayer uttered, the smith grabbed hold of the Blasting Glaive and charged the colossus once more, leaving the hammer of stolen starlight behind.

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