RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield

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Oddball -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/25/2022 9:47:39)
It all happened so quickly. It began like any other day, with all of the workers going about their business and preparing to find the room to accommodate yet another horrific abomination. A Brown-haired woman holding a clipboard nervously waved as she left the Fairy’s enclosure, a trio of tiny, insect-winged humanoids circling above her like a halo. With a long, drawn out sigh, she ticked a box on the paper and for the next few hours? She wasn’t able to interact with anything else in the facility, less she draw the ire of her new fairy companions and lose her life. But, at least she was assigned to something that was, most often than not, completely harmless, and the small amount of recovery gifted to her by the fairy worked wonders for her morale. It was then that the alarms started to blare, an announcement echoing out from the speakers that something below had broken out of its cell. Okay! Not a big problem, the lower floors were home to the more dangerous inhabitants, and therefore, had higher security in place. Surely, she could place her trust in them, right? Right? Screams, flickering lights, and the alarm’s shift in tone would soon prove the employee wrong, who was now sprinting down the hallway as fast as her legs would take her. There was something behind her, but she dared not to slow her pace to sneak a quick glance at it. Not after what had happened to her comrades. “Tir… please, no. I don’t want to have to-” A knife found its way towards the Brunette’s neck, swung by her closest friend in an attempt on her life. Acting on instinct, she would catch the strike before it reached her, stopping the knife just centimeters away from piercing her. Looking up, the figure looked up at her friend, their eyes darting around the room and not looking back at her. Through their crazed look, and wide smile, a single whispered sentence snapped the figure out of their depressive funk. “Serihl… The Clock.” …”Yeah, I got it.” Serihl’s hand found itself slapped against her forehead, the mob boss violently shaking their head as if trying to shake those memories away. “I buried those memories for a damn good reason. You do not get to make me relive them.” Those memories didn’t matter… She would address their resurface some other time. But for now? She had a fight to win. Serihl began to slowly approach the grounded Suraeko, getting ready to strike at her once again, somehow completely unaware of the approaching hulking metal beast before its pilot announced their presence. “This is not a duel, gimbo! Keep your eye on your six!” Gimbo? What the heck was a Gim- That thought was forcefully ended as Serihl turned towards the source of the voice, managing to bring her arms up to block the massive, metal claw heading her way just in the nick of time, the blow sending the woman back several feet, but before she could retaliate? The metal crab-like beast had fled, choosing to engage in combat with one of her allies rather than take a blow or two from the mob boss… Smart move, really. Dishonourable. But Smart. As she brought her arms down, she watched as Suraeko rammed one of her knives into her leg, raising her voice to a near-bellow, screaming at something to get out of her head. Clearly, something had been affecting her just as it had with Serihl herself… But it would seem Suraeko wasn’t used to being mentally screwed with, she appeared to be taking it much worse. A strange sense of both dread, and accomplishment washed over Serihl as a strange announcement rang out across the battlefield, letting all who were present know that two of their comrades were being, as the voice would say, dismissed. Knight of the Stars Knight of the Symphony. Clearly, while first to go, they had both proven themselves to those orchestrating this ordeal, and Serihl took a quiet moment to honour them. They would not be forgotten, Serihl would make sure of that. She looked over at Suraeko, bringing her hand up towards her jacket once again, gripping it tightly. The warrior’s gaze was fixated on her, the two sharing a silent moment before Serihl would break it with a short laugh. “I don’t, particularly, like ruining my clothes, you know?” With one swift motion, Serihl tore her jacket from her body for the second time that day, once again revealing the cascade of colour wrapped around her arms. Dropping the ruined clothing to the floor, she grinned, positioning herself to leap off of her back foot as she spoke her next words. “But I’ll make an exception for you.” And with that, Serihl had pounced, sprinting towards her opponent with her fist raised, lightning arcing off of her fingertips in a way very reminiscent of her first strike. This time. This time she’d show her what she was capable of.

Chewy905 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/26/2022 0:00:38)
A distant clap of thunder shook the board, its echo resounding across the field as the tiles quaked. The scales above shuddered, and tilted, shattering more ice as they tip first towards Chaos, then Order. Two orbs dropped, one a swirling mix of golds and silvers, the other a brilliant violet, 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 weaved along the field. Knight of Duality. Though you show unfaltering tenacity, you fail to move as Chaos ever-does. You are not our Champion. You are Dismissed. Knight of Force. Though you show unstoppable strength, you fail to maintain the cohesion of Order. You are not our Champion. You are Dismissed. Silence returned as the voices faded away alongside the echoing thunder, yet still a current of energy seemed to hang in the air. The Scales shuddered, balanced, then stilled once more.

GrimmJester -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/26/2022 14:05:48)
BOOM!! The explosion rocked the entirety of the mechanical beast, knocking Gith around within the cockpit, body bruised from slamming into various levers and knobs. The pain from the neural link was excruciating, blood starting to drip from his nose and down along his chin as blood vessels inside his head ruptured. Warning klaxons wailed and alarms blared in warning but of course he already knew what systems were shot. He coughed and hacked, the cockpit was starting to fill up with smoke seeping through the vents from the ruined weapon upon C.R.A.B’s back. Sparks shot up around the turret mounted railgun, the metal plate beneath it severely damaged and the weapon itself nothing but a smoking heap of metal and slag. Though the metal behemoth stood unwavering, the machine itself felt no pain and didn’t buckle or bend beneath the might of the explosion. Magnetic Array - Offline Railgun Critically Damaged Hull integrity Compromised Power Core Output - 110% Overheat Imminent He took a moment to get his bearings back, trying to make sense of what had happened… Refocusing on the screens, the handgun he’d previously dismissed as worthless was in Hydna’s hand. She must have managed to fire just as the slug was exiting the barrel, causing a midair collision within the weapon itself. Impressive. She might have delayed the inevitable but he would not let her go. Her visor was cracked where before it had been pristine and untouched, likely some amount of shrapnel from the explosion had nearly taken her life already. The smoke flooding the cockpit made him cough as he tried to speak, his voice raspy and ragged as it came through C.R.A.B’s speakers. “There is a saying among my people, Fury, Detim inim du fo wa ting, im ye sémpere.” the speakers hissed and crackled, electrical systems seemed to be holding for now but the damage to the railgun and it’s connected systems caused some minor amounts of static. ”For your sake, Inya, I hope the legacy you leave behind was worthwhile…” He increased the hydraulic pressure to the claw, crushing the human underneath it’s cold mechanical strength. A final word choked from her lips but never finished. The Knight of Stars extinguished by his grasp. As the fury ebbed from him he felt no joy in his decision, no satisfaction in finally taking care of a hated enemy. She’d been dragged from her place in the world to here just like himself, confused, alone and without even so much as a decent weapon to her name. Worse yet she was barely a woman grown, not used to the hard living fighting for scraps lifestyle that was so common among Gith’s scrapper brethren. He shook his head slowly and exhaled with a sigh. ”You did well, setara mali.” Offering her the respectful name of “Little star” in her final moment, before C.R.A.B’s arm lifted and stretched out, her systems groaned and complained, sparks flying from joints and cracks before she gently released Hydna over the edge and out into the strange space beyond. Some vain part of him perhaps thought that someone might find her body, might tell of her legend. More realistically she would be set adrift in the endless void of space for the rest of eternity. Even if this was part of the same material plane as the greater universe that they were part of, the odds of finding a person sized object drifting in space was so infinitesimally small that it was barely even a factor. To set the bodies of their fallen adrift in the vacuum of space had been his people’s way of venerating the dead for generations, it seemed the most respectful burial he could possibly give. Power Core Output - 110% Heat levels Critical Without missing a beat, as soon as his grim task was done he shut down all systems. C.R.A.B’s body lowered down with a low hiss of hydraulics and her red lenses grew black and dull as he powered off all electricals. He would need to work fast, he hadn’t kept eyes on all else that was going on across the battlefield during all this time but for the moment they were alone in this corner of the battlefield. He had little time; if any. The hatch opened with a pneumatic pressure release and a loud clunk. Gith hopped out and up onto her back to inspect the damage, it wasn’t good news. The Railgun would be of no use at all from this point onwards. The plate it was mounted to was buckled, bent, broken and it’s fasteners seemed shot as well. With a rough shove the entire plate along with the turret mounted weapon slid off of her carapace and bashed into the ground with a clang, exposing all the gears and wiring beneath. Working quickly he patched together the severed connections that had led to the turret mounted heavy weapon, fixing them together to prevent a short but their usefulness was spent. With a little luck one weapon less would help him keep power core levels lower but with this shoddy electrical work it was honestly anyone’s guess. From a spare compartment he pulled out some sheets of metal, hatches and panels, whatever he could grab to patch the giant hole that was now in C.R.A.B’s top armor casing, he flicked his plasma torch on, pulled his goggles down and got to welding. A corona of blue-white light surrounded the engineer as he worked, sparks of molten metal occasionally flying off to the side as impurities in the scrap made for poor bonding. Tch… He would have liked to have a full extra plate but there was only so much stuff he could carry with him on missions, and it’s not exactly like there was much that could be salvaged around here to make for better ones. Reasonably satisfied with the repairs to the armor after a short while he decided to move on. He’d lost one weapon and he wasn’t about to be without the other. He’d only just started considering how to get the large blade out of C.R.A.B’s gears before he looked down onto the damaged shoulder joint where the replica of Zatmeni’s blade… Wasn’t. But that meant… Sabe…!

Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/26/2022 22:10:45)
Soldiers wounded and dying, their children starving and crying, suffering all spawned by the war in which she chose to take part. Yet with each enemy defeated, their foes’ resources depleted, the Princess knew rebuilding could soon start. It felt harder with them driven apart… * “You’re not forgotten, dearest Starlight.”* Silence. Stillness. A moment of respite. A brief breath of peace from within the tumultuous fight. Shoulders sagged with exhaustion. How much more can I take? Blood oozed from her thigh; her fractured ribs ached. Shaking hands tore a strip of lavender skirt. A knot hastily tied as her stomach uneasily churned. Words whirled through her head, a wild tangle of thoughts. How much bloodshed awaited? How much have I wrought? Too - BOOM! Tiles shook as an explosion rocketed forth. Cirra whirled, staggered, spun to the north. Sparks and smoke erupted from the mechanical beast. It shuddered and stumbled; metal groaned and creaked. Clutched in its claws, a figure bloodied and charred. The broken, bleeding body of the Knight of the Stars. Cirra’s eyes widened, her scream tore through the night as the women slipped from its grasp and plunged out of sight. __________“Hydna!!!” A rush of emotion, grief and guilt interwoven, Cirra elsewhere and helpless as the courageous knight fell. She shouldn’t have left her to fend for herself, if she’d been there she could have… she could have… __________Could she have helped? Without a choice, and dragged into war; in a different life, would I still lose her? The village raised to the ground. Cirra safe in the next town. Rumors whispered about as she slipped through the streets. “The Princess -” “Have you heard?” “She can’t be -” “- murdered -” Cirra froze as her heart stopped mid-beat. No, it could not - ___________________________________________________________________Forever lost to her embrace. ____________________________________________________________Shattered, broken, slaughtered in disgrace. __________________________________________________________________And stars fell from the sky… __________“Cirra!” A shout pulled her back to the cool, chequered floor, the tides of battle flowing about her once more. Refractions of rainbows cut across her face as Unmakyr tossed Stardust to her with surprising grace. Rings chimed and rippled with the hues from above; Cirra closed her hand tightly about the last gift from her love. A hum of starlight, an echo of a prayer. A battle to be won before she fell to despair. Uneven footsteps took her feet ‘cross the field. She raced with Unmakyr towards the machine, its pilot finally revealed. A fur-covered figure with white flame in its fist. It clung high on its monster. Impossible to miss. Violet twined through her fingers as she adjusted her grip. Cirra slung her sword outwards like a crack of a whip. Ribs screamed in protest, a curse dropped from her tongue, a ring burst to oblivion as past the beast the blade swung. A broken nebulae of stardust sang forth in a soft gust as the silver-flecked storm swirled through the expanse. Her blade broke free from it, trailing dust like a comet, a black cloud left behind to entangle the Knight of Machine’s stance. __________That should give Unmakyr a chance - An arrow of darkness lanced through the sky, plunged deep into her shoulder with a strangled, pained cry. It tore through her silk, bit into bone with a crack. Flesh burned, stomach churned, vision briefly went black. Knees hit the ground with a shivering thud. Cirra violently wretched, spat up phlegm and blood. She pressed a hand to the arrow, fingers came back slick with blood. A surprisingly light trickle instead of a thick crimson flood. With a wisp, the bolt vanished - flesh scorched by its blaze. Beyond wavered Zatmeni, her bow a fading golden haze. Muted clinks broke her focus, her sword sailing across her sight. It struck the ground between them, remaining rings glinting in the light. Cirra bit her lip hard till rust was all she could taste. Pushed herself back to her feet in a last desperate race. Zatmeni abandoned her own blade, fist now wreathed in smoke. The minotaur charged as the dancer opened her mouth to invoke - Thunder boomed and voices of power and doom once more filled the field with Judgement’s own call. Tiles quaked and Cirra slowed in its wake, Zatmeni and Serihl both dismissed from the brawl. __________ Will they choose to live or to fall? Every life comes with a choice. Through fear, despair - or through hope, rejoice. We’re bound here with destinies entwined… “You can still choose to live, sister-mine.”

Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (2/28/2022 20:54:51)
A terrible thunder echoed across the battlefield. The familiar roar was unmistakable. “The Blasting Glaive!” Suraeko glanced to her left, and a flash of azure light erupted across the titles. Sure enough, there it was, the glaive, held in the pale elf’s hands. You dare take my weapon? I hope it leaves you a husk. Suraeko could only catch a glimpse of her and the death machine. The metallic beast was sparking as something had pierced its shoulder. Sparks met metal as it tried to weld itself back together. But suddenly, both it and the elf were covered in a cloud of dust. I’ll get back to you. Suraeko pushed the thought back as she returned to the warrior. She was standing there, waiting for Suraeko. The two stared at each other for a moment. Before, the two had not truly acknowledged the other. The dark visions had clouded the huntress’s mind, but there was nothing in the two’s ways now. “I don’t, particularly, like ruining my clothes, you know?” Serhil reached for her shoulder. It was an odd statement, but Suraeko gave a dry laugh. She knew what was coming. Once more, the warrior ripped her jacket in one motion, tossing the pieces to the side. And again, Suraeko could not help but notice the warrior’s scars. She wondered if any of her marks remained. “But I’ll make an exception for you.” . . . Yes! History was repeating itself. The two were alone again, left to deal with each other. In their last fight, the two had fought to the death. The specter’s curse had wasted so much time, so much potential. But now, they were at their best, ready to give it their all. No. More. Hesitation. Suraeko took both knives into her hands as the warrior rushed forward, lightning streaking across their form. “I’m going to enjoy this, Serhil.” She hated being manipulated. But if there was one thing she had to thank the specter for, it was for this moment. To find her equal, kill her, then fight her again? The rest didn’t matter. This was a taste of paradise. As the two lunged at each other, another roar echoed across the battlefield. The chorus and the one spoke again. “Knight of Force—” “Knight of Duality—” “Dismissed.” . . . What? As Suraeko readied her knives, she watched as the lightning faded from the warrior’s hands. Serhil stopped mere inches in front of Suraeko’s face, frozen in place. The warrior just shrugged. “Just as it was about to get good. . ." The sight . . . made Suraeko’s blood boil. “Well? What are you waiting for? Come on, do it!” Suraeko pulled the knife back, ready to impale it in the warrior’s flesh, but as she did, she felt a scar trace itself along her chest. The chorus erupted in her mind. “No. She is dismissed. Let her go.” “. . . No.” Suraeko’s arms went limp as she stared at the warrior. It seemed that she, too, was disappointed. With a sigh, Serhil spoke. “You were wonderful, Suraeko... and so, with my leave, I have a simple request. Live. No matter what happens, make sure you see tomorrow.” Suddenly, a flash of gray rippled behind Serhil. The hum of machinery beckoned her home. Trembling, Suraeko continued. “I will. I will see this hunt through. But when will I win? I will find you. We still have a score to settle, Serhil.” With one last wave, Serhil turned to face the portal. She let out one last laugh as she returned to her time and place. “Maykr!. . . You owe me a spear.” And that was it. . . . I let her go. . . . What is this feeling? Left alone, Suraeko could feel the fire burning in her chest. But it was born of more than just anger. No, new feelings rushed through her blood. Sadness. Regret. Longing. Tears fell from her eyes as she turned to the sky and screamed. “So this is how you test us, Specter?!” First, it invaded her mind, drawing up ghosts of the past. Then, it robbed her of her joy. Of her promised battle. Of the only person she could call kindred. Now, it wielded her own weapons against her. Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she saw it. Behind the portal, where Serhil left— —the glaive. She didn’t question it. Like a feral animal, Suraeko leaped forward, clawing at the glaive and taking it into her hands. It was her only companion left. “Let’s finish this! Who’s next?!?” Face flushed red with anger and tears, Suraeko spun around, calling out to her next victim. As she did, the familiar thunder called back. A wave of dust broke from the cloud as the elf fired their blasting glaive again, almost certainly against the death machine. It could use her help. . . . May I return the favor? Suraeko charged forward towards the cloud of dust towards her prey. As the glaive sunk its teeth into her soul, it fed off of her new resolve. Violent sparks of azure swept across its edge. "Let me show you how it's done, thief.”

Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (3/1/2022 21:28:10)
The first weapon the Unmakyr sought belonged to the sovereign of the Ashen Skies, forged within the heart of its most volatile volcano. The sovereign welcomed her into his grand palace, but would not relinquish the blade forged for his ancestor long ago. By the next dawn, the guards found their liege with his skull caved in and his precious Plumerise shattered. The next remained in its original keeper’s hands, buried with them in their cursed crypt. The Unmakyr fought her way in and greeted the once felled champion now risen again with Bloodseeker in their cold grasp. The champion’s tenacity forced the smith to defeat and desecrate body and blade in tandem. The third brought the smith to a hidden cove at the brink of the known world, for shamans had recognized the wickedness of Soulbinder and sealed it away ages ago. The weapon’s guardians refused to unearth its resting place, and so their bodies joined the broken remains of the insidious bow. Three weapons, three sins. And still the Unmakyr’s war had just begun. A body, bloodied and broken, fell over the marble’s edge. And thus Hydna of the Stars met her end. Two of the knights now fallen, five more until the powers that be had their fill. Chaos. Order. Neither would sanction retreat until they cast their judgment on the unworthy. The knights would dance and fight for their unseen masters till they spent their all. Somewhere off in the tumultuous void, the stranger’s laugh echoed in the smith’s ears. Up ahead, the Knight of Machines revealed himself, clambering across the colossus to repair the damage it sustained. So small in the tides of battle. So vulnerable. The smith exhaled softly. One last salvo to bring this conflict to its close. The elf winced as she shouldered the Blasting Glaive , the wound on her arm flaring anew with burning needle pricks. She hissed through clenched teeth and slowed her pace. In her moment of weakness, Cirra of the Sky sped ahead of the smith, flinging Stardust forward on its violet lash. The smith watched as her creation soared through the air, an albatross in flight. At the dancer’s spoken word, a storm of dust erupted from one of the dao’s rings. The cloud swallowed machine and knight alike in its embrace. Obscured from sight, but blind to the world around them - the elf grimly nodded at the reversal of her original plight. The Knight of the Forge dropped to a knee and leveled the glaive, cyan energy crackling at its tip. One heartbeat passed. A second followed. And still the smith did not fire the glaive. The replica trembled in her grip. To strike now with the foe exposed would assure victory…but at what cost? Adding another corpse to the mountain she had slaughtered. Would this be her legacy: rivers of blood spilled not by her weapons, but by her own hand? How could the line between salvation and damnation be so blurred? Twin starbursts broke the elf from her thoughts. The elf grimaced and shielded her eyes as the shimmering orbs crashed into the icy pillars with a violent radiance. From above and below boomed the voices of their captors. The unknown gods declared the Knights of Duality and Force to be lacking. ”-Dismissed." Zatmeni...Serihl... The light faded, and the smith lowered her arm. From within the pillars gleamed two portals of mauve and dueling silvers and golds offering retreat. Escape. Redemption. “Zatmeni! Serihl!” The Knight of the Forge leapt to her feet. She swung the glaive off her shoulder, blade glinting in the pillars’ light. Pushing off her heels, the smith bound forwards into the dust cloud. Specks and motes pelted her eyes and stung at her wound, but nonetheless a grin split across her face. “I have won more wars than you’ve fought battles.” With a flash and cry, the smith dashed around the colossus until she placed herself between it and the battlefield’s edge. A single step separated her from oblivion. But was this not worth it? Was this not making true amends? Fighting to preserve life at the risk of one’s own? This..only this could wipe the slate clean. She pointed the killing tool at the defenseless Knight of Machines clinging to the metal hull. “And still it took me until now to understand-” Concussive force, not lethal explosive power, shot forth from the Blasting Glaive. “-we can challenge our fate!”

GrimmJester -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (3/2/2022 13:20:33)
Gith turned as realization dawned upon him, just in time to see a large cloud of… Dust? Something of the sort enveloped C.R.A.B and his perch upon her. Glad for his goggles to keep the dust out of his eyes he pulled up the cloth around his neck over his nose, it probably wouldn’t do much if this was something that was dangerous to ingest but it was better than nothing at all. His view obscured, he slid down towards the damaged shoulder previously impaled by Zatmeni’s sword. The weapon being gone had reduced the major headache of trying to get it out before attempting to make any repairs. He jammed a prybar down into the joint and forced the gears to interlock once more with a heave and a grunt. That would allow some limited movement, he’d then need to- Another booming voice, another two knights dismissed. Gith was still in the fight, somehow. He’d worry about the others later, for now he couldn’t even see them let alone have much of an idea what was going on with them. Zatmeni’s dismissal however did mean that he had even less protection than he’d had before this moment… Serihl being taken out would free up the Knight of Bloodlust but that was a very unreliable asset at best, and not something he would count on to get him out of a scrape. A voice. A shout coming through the cloud followed by footsteps moving towards the edge of the battlefield, between C.R.A:B and the precipice of the infinite void. The voice called out to Zatmeni and Serihl, the dismissed knights, with some grandstanding pompousness about winning battles and wars. Gith squinted to try and see through the dust, to get an idea of what was facing him. A surge of azure light and then the world went lopsided. The engineer was suddenly thrown off of his feet by a force of energy that sent him flying through the cloud of dust, pushing him out of it’s obscuring embrace and slamming hard into the marble floor. The heavy landing forced the air out of his lungs, a few moments passing before he could manage to gasp for breath once more. He stared up into the sky above, his head swimming as he tried to make sense of what had just happened, his body ached, bruised and battered from the collision. The Scales overhead loomed menacingly, shining it’s bright golden light over the battlefield… For a moment he wondered what the point of it all was. This grand game between two forces so high above that they were hardly even comprehensible to the common people dancing to their tune. His people had lost everything. Their home, their way of life… The few of them that had made it had been thrown into space in a desperate push to keep living, to keep themselves clinging to life, but to those powers orchestrating this… Battle? Game? Whatever it was, his entire people’s history held no meaning, barely a blink of an eye in the existence of something that had been since before the birth of the known universe. Perhaps even before the birth of the first universe. And yet they had picked him out for this. Given him some chance out of all of his kin to make some form of a difference. He couldn’t stop here, he couldn’t just lay down and let the opportunity pass him by. He coughed and hacked, forcing himself to get up on unsteady feet just as a shade made itself known. The creature was walking through the cloud of dust towards him, rounding C.R.A.B’s large dormant frame, they seemed to be in no rush; taking their time to close the distance. He wasn’t sure if this was an effort to intimidate him or if they were simply so confident in their abilities they didn’t expect him to be a problem. His hand moved down and rested on the holster of his pistol. One was forced to wonder if it would do him any good, compared to most of the combatants remaining on this field he was not much of a fighter, especially when caught outside of C.R.A.B’s protective casing. He thought better of it, a plan hatching in his mind, it would be a gamble at best, he did not know how much the others had seen from when he threw Zatmeni at the beginning of this battle, but perhaps they’d missed just how that happened. He released the holster of his weapon and held up his hands. ”All right, chuba, you got me fair n’ square eh?” He said with a slightly humbled tone, making himself as non-threatening as possible. His posture slouched, shoulders rolled forward to make himself seem even smaller than the diminutive stature he already possessed. The knights of order, unlike what could be said for some of his companions, were people of principle, of honor, and to strike down an unarmed foe seemed unlikely. Auxiliary Fuel Pump - Off Manual Controls - Locked Remote Controls - On Out of the dust came the blacksmith, holding a replica of Suraeko’s horrific looking glaive, a brutal weapon made for the art of slaughter. The fact alone that it had been reigned in, to only send him flying rather than something far worse was another glimmer of hope. ”Ah, so it was you again, ever a thorn in my side throughout this whole thing, chuba.” he was talking to buy time, to try and hold the smith up for long enough to do what needed to be done. Directional Gyro - Set. Magnetos - Checked. Power Core Idle - Checked. Hydraulic System - Checked and Set ”We both know I’m no match for you on even footing, fighting alone like this…” Power Core Output - 75% He’d held up the Forge Knight for long enough. “But that’s the thing, isn't it chubasa…? I’m not alone.” His head lifted, corners of his mouth turning upwards into a grin as with a loud thrumming sound C.R.A.B’s dormant body was forced into motion behind the smith through the connection of the neural link. A horrible screech resounding as mechanical limbs scraped over the marble floor. Through the cloud of dust her red lenses shone brightly in mirror to Gith’s own glowing mechanical eye as limbs lashed out towards the smith, large claw arm cleaving the cloud from above in a downward arch, while the saw spun up with a horrifying whirr as it swept in for the Knight of The Forge’s side.

roseleaf320 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (3/2/2022 21:49:02)
An orb of swirling gold and silver dropped to the ice below. Zatmeni’s heart dropped into her stomach, a sinking weight. It felt as if she was surrounded in a tank of syrup; each movement labored, requiring more effort than Zatmeni could ever muster. She was rejected. She waited for the voices to speak. To erupt and argue, as she became consumed by their personalities, comforted by their anger, even as her guilt rose at the knowledge of the facade. But nothing came. She was too low energy even for them. The gods’ will is absolute. Would I leave, if it had been me? Her words echoed like a broken record. She’d asked; Chaos had forced her to answer. There was no answer. Why couldn’t she just, curl into a ball and stop existing? There was no future through that portal for her. She fought for the beliefs of a Sect who didn’t want her. Who thought she was too violent. Perhaps dying here would be a fitting end for someone like that. “We can challenge our fate!” ”You can still choose to live, sister-mine.” Two voices; two who should be enemies. Two who wanted her to live despite that. Zatmeni’s eyes met Cirra’s. They stared grimly at the minotaur. She expects me to stay. To fight and die out of spite. Isn’t an uncertain future better than none? Zatmeni nodded to Cirra and lowered her hands. “I don’t plan to die fighting for powers I don’t understand. I hope when the time comes, you’ll choose the same.” "Love is more dear than the powers found here; and I'll live for her rather than die." I don’t have that. Perhaps I could find it. Zatmeni bowed to Cirra, hands cupped at her chest. Her left fingers made a closed circle; her right cupped a half-moon around it. “Thank you for joining me in this battle.” She meant it to the others, too; even those she’d barely interacted with. Something felt… sacred about it all. These were the people chosen to maintain this cycle, of Chaos and Order, this constant turning. “I hope next we meet on the battlefield, it will be as allies.” Zatmeni turned, ignoring the sounds of battle around her, and strode through the swirling gold and silver portal. I don’t know where to go. Wherever my Cycle takes me.

Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (3/2/2022 22:31:07)
If she had known all along that they were both right and both wrong, could she have convinced Cirra to stay? If she had learned and listened, forfeited just part of her ambition, could they have met each other halfway? Instead the Princess’s words drove her away. She’d give anything to redo that day. * “I’ll always sing my song for you.” * Two strangers tied by fate; two women bound in heartache; the Powers their actions both equally to blame. If I had learned and listened, better understood her position, would my choice have still been the same? Eyes, one blue and one shimmering bronze, met hers once more as the surrounding battles raged on. Despair and doubt and a hint of regret - they spoke of past failures Zatmeni too could not forget. Cirra gripped at her sword, muscles taught and mouth grim. If you insist on attacking, I’m going to win. But - instead Zatmeni nodded as she lowered her hands. “I don’t plan to die fighting for powers I don’t understand.” Tension fled Cirra’s spine in a shuddering wave - at least there’s one life that this fight will not claim. A war beyond measure, of Chaos and Order. How strangely similar to the one she had left at the border. Her survival equally forfeit while trapped within either fray. Yet she no longer felt lost, alone and afraid. Whenever she makes it, the choice will be hers. Thoughts turned to her Princess; blood warmed and heart stirred. "Love is more dear than the Powers found here; and I'll live for her rather than die." I will follow my song, return to where I belong, and ask to remain by her side. A bellowing roar split through their exchange, the Knight of Bloodlust howling in fury and rage. Words vitriolic and bitter split the air like a knife, uncaring of their target so long as they claimed a life. Cirra whirled from the minotaur with no time to respond. Should I find you again, I’ll remember our bond. Before her raved Suraeko, feral and fierce. Sparks danced up her glaive as she charged towards the smith. Don’t you - Argh! Agony burned muscle and bone, shoulder refusing to move to point her sword at Suraeko. Cirra swore, staggered, pushed herself instead to a sprint; legs shaking beneath her in an unsteady limp. Blade wavered as she drew near, one hand loose on its hilt. I can’t take her head on… she’d have to be swift. She strained herself forward, angling in from side, aimed a sweeping stroke towards her neck - then in the last second twisted wide. Cirra dove with a bound, swept her sword low to the ground, breath ripped from her lungs as broken ribs screamed. Choked in just enough air for a single word of prayer - and another ring split at its seams. __________Ice coated the tile in its sheen… A single step into the air, Cirra upon her crumbling stair, Broken wings still can fly… A stumble above the smooth, slippery tiles, momentum carrying her forward as she swallowed down bile. Breath returned in short, sharp bursts - pain stabbing deeper each inhale as she breathed in a curse. Then a flicker of light caught the corner of her eye, shades of cyan and turquoise and the noon-day sky. A pulsating wave of ethereal blue, followed by a dark voice behind her murmuring, “You’ll do…”

Chewy905 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (3/3/2022 15:07:55)
A battlecry, eerily human, split the air. A storm of icy hail followed, pelting down from the Chaotic sky above and shattering against the Orderly tiles. The scales shuddered as the hail smashed into them, shuddering and tilting to tip first towards Order, then Chaos. Two orbs dropped once more, one of swirling blue and silver, one of flowing crimson, 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 throughout the field. Knight of The Sky. Though you dance with grace, you fail to advance as Order dictates. You are not our Champion. You are Dismissed. Knight of Bloodlust. Though you show peerless talent, you fail to maintain the ever-flowing tide of Chaos. You are not our Champion. You are Dismissed. The storm faded away as the cry died down, leaving small bits of fallen ice along the ground. The Scales shuddered, balanced, then stilled once more.

GrimmJester -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (3/8/2022 16:27:04)
The saw slammed into the smith’s side, colliding hard with the blasting glaive narrowly raised in time. Sparks flying from the colliding weaponry as the smith was sent tumbling across the arena just before the massive claw crashed into the marble floor with a heavy slam, narrowly missing the elf’s body. It felt like flinging people across the field was getting to be something of a habit at this point, a sense of deja vu from the first attack thrown from C.R.A.B in this battle washing over the engineer. History was repeating itself. He stumbled forward, his body bruised and battered; his mind exhausted from the exertion this whole ordeal had taken on him. Reaching out he placed his hand on C.R.A.B’s claw. How many times had she saved his life? How many times had he depended on her protection throughout the years since she’d been built? Red sand whirled around him, the metal underneath his hand cool to the touch despite the radiant sun overhead. The battlefield was still. The mechanical creature was quite badly beaten, around her were many similar creations, hulking beasts of war designed for battle. His kin had always been masters of engineering, forced to rely on machines where their small stature and lack of physical strength fell short. The mastery of machinery had saved their people when their planet no longer supported them. It had kept them alive when the warlike races of the galaxy had turned on them, thinking them easy prey for their rodent-like nature… They’d been proven wrong each and every time, and their race had survived. Not prospered, mind. There was no utopia, no simple relaxed way of life, but they survived. Everything that had come across their path they’d somehow managed. The battle was over. He had survived. Knight of The Sky. Though you dance with grace, you fail to advance as Order dictates. You are not our Champion. You are Dismissed. Knight of Bloodlust. Though you show peerless talent, you fail to maintain the ever-flowing tide of Chaos. You are not our Champion. You are Dismissed. He looked up at C.R.A.B’s camera lenses, the cold winds howling around him on the field of checkered marble. He had survived. Somehow he’d made it this far against all odds. He considered for a moment to return to the safety of the cockpit… But then he decided against it. Clambering up on the claw, the heavy mechanics of C.R.A.B slowly lifted him up onto her back carapace, stepping off of the weapon arm and onto the armor plating. Most other times he would have made his way inside. He would have chosen safety instead of taking the risk of remaining exposed. But right now he couldn’t. He’d been hidden for so much of this event, likely many of the people he’d faced didn’t even know there was a pilot behind the large mechanical beast that had engaged them in battle. No, for the end he needed to be visible. He needed to show them all what the determination of the rat-folk truly looked like. C.R.A.B turned slowly, stardust shaking off of her large frame where it had settled as she moved to face the recovering smith. Gith stood upon her back, arms folded over his chest as they moved as one. Three red mechanical eyes sized up their foe. This was the end, one of them would walk away from this a victor and Gith wasn’t about to let himself be bested. He was ready to take whatever the smith could throw at him, he was ready to spite god if need be! ”Don’t suppose I could persuade you to surrender, Chuba?” he asked, mostly rhetorically as he watched the Unmakyr recover, back on their feet now, blood staining the floor below. She’d taken some serious damage through this fight. That last attack of C.R.A.B’s saw arm alone seemingly having connected better than he’d even anticipated. Comparatively, even if bruised and drained, Gith was in quite decent shape. Though C.R.A.B had seen better days it certainly wasn’t anything that he couldn’t repair given some time and materials, both of which he was currently lacking. ”Ah, didn’t think so… You seem a decent fellow, I’d hate to kill you.” C.R.A.B’s arms lifted once more, the saw whirring, spinning rapidly. The damaged shoulder joint limited it’s maneuverability but it was of little consequence. The claw opened and closed with heavy hydraulic clunks as metal scraped against metal. Power Core Output - 100% In truth, he would like to avoid killing the blacksmith if he could. Though the risk of pulling back now, of reigning in his attacks to subdue was far too much of a gamble. C.R.A.B’s body began to move, ambling towards his foe with the loud clanking steps that had heralded every step of her journey so far. Gith’s duster swayed around him as he rode atop her back, his legs used to the rolling and rocking of unsteady hulls beneath his feet making him feel just as much at home here as within. As she rushed towards Unmakyr the smith summoned another weapon. A ringed blade. An ordinary sword would be of little use against C.R.A.B’s metallic might, but from what he’d seen so far there wasn’t much in terms of what could be considered “ordinary” among the weapons the combatants of this battle had wielded. He couldn’t take the gamble of hesitating for the possibility of it being something that could stop C.R.A.B, or even worse take his life as he’d left himself exposed. As C.R.A.B’s arms raised to strike, the smith hurled the blade towards him. The curved sword sailing through the air towards him, narrowly missing and sailing past. Tch! A miss! His victory was all but assured, unarmed before the weaponry of a massive mechanical being. C.R.A.B’s arms swept down towards the Knight of the Forge, just as she shouted… ”-Varalys!”

Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (3/8/2022 21:39:56)
As decades turned to centuries, the Unmakyr’s name grew in infamy. Some spoke of the woman declaring outlandish claims and challenging the owners of arcanic weapons in honorable duels. Others of a man stealing away in the dark of night, leaving naught but carnage in his wake. With each passing year, fact and fantasy bled together until the legend of the Unmakyr tormented the dreams of every decadent wielder of a half-polished blade. But as time does to all things, so too did the legend decay. The Unmakyr became forgotten, a phantom haunting the space between heartbeats. A ghost left to fulfill an oath sworn long ago. A soul walking alone. Cerulean light slammed into the ratlike figure and launched him up and away from his machine. The smith stumbled, propelled backwards by the force of the Blasting Glaive. She slammed the butt of the polearm onto the marble to steady herself as the attack took its toll upon her. Her skin shivered with cold. Her stomach rumbled with hunger. The elf stood there for a moment, doubled over and panting for breath. A little further. Just a little further. She raised her head, red eyes trailing up the obsidian steel of the Blasting Glaive. As her gaze fell to the malicious blade adorning its top, the glowing spectacle of the suspended scales stole her attention. Splintered light refracted through the gap in the dust; four orbs burning bright. The Knight of the Forge grit her teeth. A little further. Breathing ragged, the smith circled around the colossus and stepped from the cloud. She staggered forward a couple steps before catching herself with the polearm yet again. Gith fared little better, still climbing to his feet after his impromptu flight. His hand fell to the pistol resting at his side, and the elf stiffened her stance. Yield. For both our sakes. Her heart thrummed in her chest. An eternity of silence passed between them. At last Gith’s hand fell away from the sidearm. Putting up his arms, the little man began to beg for his life. The elf only sighed in relief. It was over. She glanced up at the twinkling orbs suspended in the air, their rays of light fragmenting across her vision. Fall. As the Knight of Machines continued his pleading, the spheres only shimmered in response. Your champion has been bested. Dismiss him! A chill ran down her spine as the beacons’ endured in their balance. Curse you, fall! “But that’s the thing, isn't it chubasa…? Red eyes darted to the Knight of Machines, a grin splitting across his face. “I’m not alone.” The whirring of machines and war buzzed to life behind her. The smith spun around, throwing up the Blasting Glaive in a hasty defense. Metal screeched against metal as the colossus’s buzzsaw slammed the polearm against her chest. The sheer force of the blow knocked the breath from her chest and flung the elf through the air. Choking, the knight twisted her body as the harsh marble rose to greet her. Her head and shoulder struck the floor with sharp cracks, each erupting with lances of agony. The smith rolled onto her back and groaned, the whole battlefield around her rotating on some unseen axis. Vomit clawed its way up her throat. Biting it back, the smith rose to her knees. One arm hung useless to her side, a sickening wet sensation oozing across loose space between shoulder and socket. As the smith touched a hand to her head, thunderous voices called out once more. Knight of The Sky. Though you dance with grace, you fail to advance as Order dictates. You are not our Champion. You are Dismissed. Knight of Bloodlust. Though you show peerless talent, you fail to maintain the ever-flowing tide of Chaos. You are not our Champion. You are Dismissed. Light flashed through closed eyelids, and the elf raised her head and squinted. Across the field stood the colossus with the short form of Gith riding tall upon it. And beyond them, the Knights of Sky and Bloodlust carrying their bruised and battered selves to the portals. Cirra turned and offered one last glance to the smith, her eyes as deep and rich as the night sky. The smith’s gaze wandered to the dao dangling loose in her grasp. And as the world’s shifting ceased, Stardust stared back. The elf smiled. She pushed herself to her feet, smearing a handprint of blood on the immaculate ivory. With that same hand, she reached out. I call you back to me. Come now, and be free. Nebulous light weaved between the smith’s fingers in astral chains and burst in a radiant nova of brightest silver. The smith closed her eyes against the illumination as a familiar pommel slipped into her grasp. Even with a weakened arm and bloodied hand, she could not mistake the whimsical touch of Stardust. Welcome back, old friend. From one dark elf to another, the smith flourished the replica and saluted Cirra with a smile flashing across her face. Without a word, she bolted after the colossus, it’s large limbs clacking against the marble floor in its charge. Her gaze shifted from knight to machine and back again. Separating the two had failed. Targeting Gith meant risking his life to win this fool’s game. As the machine shifted in its approach, the answer presented itself to her in the form of an open hatch residing on its back. The smith laughed, her steps faltering but still carrying her forward. It was an insane plan. The methods of a fanatic. And yet… …and yet the smith would not have it any other way. “In the hands with which you were forged,-” The elf stopped short a half dozen paces away from the barreling behemoth. Her timing needed to be perfect. Immaculate. “-I hold you not as Unmakyr but Creator.” She drew back her arm, her grip trembling from the bloodloss. The smith inhaled deep with the tastes of bile and blood dancing across her tongue. “By my own name, I invoke thee-” With a shout she hurled the blade like a javelin. Thrown quick enough to imitate a genuine attack. Hesitating just long enough so Gith could predict its arc. The dao hurtled past the Knight of Machine’s shoulder, nearly severing his ear. A miss. Or at least, a miss if Gith had been the target. The colossus raised its arm, but the smith paid it no heed. Her eyes remained locked on the blade tumbling down, its rings flailing in the frigid air near the exposed hatch. As the machine’s arm came crashing down, the dao emitted a river of fire with her final command. ”-Varalys!”

Chewy905 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (3/10/2022 14:52:30)
The chill faded away, an intense heat flooding in in its place. Warmth flowed through the black and white tiles, cleansing them of filth and blood, mending all cracks and chips, and leaving behind a pristine, shining surface. The aurora above flickered, stars seeming to freeze and hold their colors. And the Battlefield screamed. The sky above shifted, stars spinning into place to form constellations of weapons known across the ages. Though they tried to shake, tried to free themselves to dance away, Order kept its grip. The scales shuddered, and one single orb of metallic sheen plunged off of them, shattering between the steel pillars and splashing liquid metal up to the icy pillars.The liquid flowed along their surfaces, mending every crack and filling every seam. Etchings appeared upon them, decorated with images of stolen stars and forged blades, the words telling the tale of the war fought that day, and its final champion. Between the steel watchers a final portal opened, its destination shrouded by mist and steam. One final orb remained, a chalk-white sphere decorated with lines of rich scarlet, pressing The Scales out of balance. Order spoke alone, its singular voice drowning out the scream of Chaos’ rage. Varalys. Champion of The Forge. Creator of Beauty. Unmaker of Sins. You have brought Me victory on this day, and for this, I acknowledge you. You have tipped the scales of war in My favor - so, too, will I repay you. Return home with the Blessing of Order, and may the scales weigh ever in your favor.

Dragonknight315 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (12/6/2022 20:45:07)
Hatred gave way to resolve as the Carnivore rushed towards the pretender. Her whole body went numb as the Blasting Glaive demanded everything from Suraeko. It was killing her, ripping the azure light from her soul, but that didn’t matter. She would put an end to the specter’s mockery. Or so she thought. As Suraeko charged forward with glaive in hand, a shadow swept across the corner of her eye. Once glance back, and the hunter saw it, not behind, but above. The Dancer. The skytreader descended like a bird of prey, diving towards Suraeko with a blade poised to strike her neck. “I don’t think so.” The hunter’s words were brimming with venom as she followed her instincts. She dropped down, ducking underneath the blade before pushing back off the ground. Like a feral animal, Suraeko leapt forward at an angle, away from the would-be-predator and her talons. She had only one thing on her mind, and she would not let the Skytreader get in the way. When she landed, however, Suraeko would not find stable ground. The unfeeling apathy that hung in the air turned frigid as a wave of frost swept across the checkered tile. The ice turned her momentum against her. Suraeko could not help but feel it– the raw, primal fear of falling as her feet shuffled against the ice. In that moment, it gripped her mind, and the threads that bound her life to the glaive began to fray. NO! Through sheer force of will, Suraeko reached out for the torn threads . It was like thrusting her arms into a fire. She felt the touch of oblivion in her soul, but Suraeko would not let it go. As she regained her balance, the fading light of the glaive resounded for one last time. The hunter turned to face her assailant directly. The Dancer was in her domain, hovering in the air as though it were solid ground. One of their arm’s clutched the blade; the other was limp– useless. “You know what? Fine! I’m not picky right now! . . . You’ll do.” The pretender and the automaton would have to wait. As the Skytreader moved for another strike, Suraeko . She gave herself to the ice once more. But this time, it served her. She drew close to the Dancer before suddenly– The air shattered. A roar of colors overcame the monochrome tiles like a kaleidoscope. Even here, her will would reign, if only for an instant. Just as quickly as it came, the noise cleared, and Suraeko could feel the powers gaze upon her. The huntress was on her knees, gasping for air as she held herself up by the glaive. She seemed . . . empty. Her flesh, her bones; she couldn’t even feel the very metal in her hands. With each breath, Suraeko gathered herself, pulling her scattered thoughts from oblivion. Her eyes were fixated on one thing– one thing seemed to put all the pieces back together. “Cirra. . .” The Skydancer had fallen. Before Suraeko, her foe was lying on the ground. The last hints of azure fading from her form. She was breathing. She was alive. She was vulnerable. At her very core, Suraeko understood one truth; she lived only for the kill. As though she were possessed, Suraeko slowly rose to her feet. As the huntress drew close, she raised her glaive, ready to end the life before her. “Are you watching, specter?. . . ” With those words, the glaive fell– But the Skydancer had one last response. The air shattered again as a blast of fire erupted between the two. The heat crashed against her like a wave, throwing her back and away from Cirra. Suraeko gasped as she tumbled through the air, crashing a few feet away on her stomach. The flames had roused her tired nerves awake. Every bone, every cut, all of it swept over her at once. Suraeko was alive, and she would suffer for her failure. In that moment of infinite agony, the world began to grow dim. Her vision wobbled as she struggled to keep her eyes open. “. . . Why.” Suraeko gasped to all who could hear. Her voice trembled as she swallowed her own blood. “Why can’t you . . “ In her blurry sight, she could make out a shape in the distance. She felt her body pulse with pain as the huntress pressed against the tile. Suraeko crawled forward. One inch at a time. It was all she did. One inch at a time, she crawled towards the shape, blood dripping in a trail behind her. As she drew closer and closer, the image began to settle before at last– Judgment. “Knight of the Sky–” “Knight of Bloodlust–” “Dismissed.” As Suraeko opened her eyes, Cirra was there– Still alive. The flames seemed to have only grazed Cirra as she propped herself up on her blade. One arm, the working one, was scarred from the detonation. But all in all, she was still upright. Alive. There were no words. As Suraeko looked up at the dancer, she remained silent for some time. Then, she cried– Tears mixed with blood as the huntress broke into a sob. The realization hit her. So close to paradise. On the field of petals, she had a taste of everything she ever wanted. A place where everything made sense. Where she held felt understood. There, she found someone. A rival. A partner. In the end, she felt satisfied. But that was all ripped away from her. Even her perfect death. Brought to her lowest moment, the specter whispered in her ears. “Strength gives way to the strong, Suraeko. And you have been found wanting. What do you choose? Submit or die.” As the voice filled her mind, Suraeko could not tear her eyes away from Cirra. Through all the tears, the huntress could still see her face. She felt the anger swell in her chest. How she wanted to reach out and wrap her hands around her throat. To take the kill that was so rightfully hers. She had nothing left to lose. . . . No, that wasn’t right. Above the raging fires, another voice spoke. A familiar one. “Live. No matter what happens, make sure you see tomorrow.” There was one thing she had left. A promise. As the tears stopped, Suraeko hung her head and whispered. “I. . . You win.” With her resignation, a light flashed in the distance, pulling Suraeko’s gaze up. Just behind Cirra there was fire. A circle of bones wreathed in flames. It called to her. Hope. With newfound focus, Suraeko tried to pull herself up. But the scars of her battle remained, her consequences weighing upon her. So sore, so tired– Her body refused to move. One last act of spite from the specter. Suraeko felt the tears swelling inside her, but then she noticed Cirra again. She was still there. And while the sight brought hatred before, it simply wasn’t there now. Suraeko swallowed her throat as she let the words flow. “I made a promise. I told her. . . that I would find her. I don’t care about anything else. Just. . . I need to get to the portal.” The dancer was silent. Suraeko could see the fear in her eyes. All this time, Cirra had been there, holding onto her sword as she watched the huntress. Suraeko knew nothing about the elf; she couldn’t imagine what was going on in her mind. And yet, she could see the fear melt away as the skytreader rose and approached her. The blade was in her hand; If the dancer wanted, she could have put Suraeko down. But instead Cirra chose to let it hang by her side. That was all Suraeko needed to find her strength. Cirra leaned down, and Suraeko slowly pulled herself up. She climbed the dancer's frame before the two were finally shoulder to shoulder, bearing each other’s weight as they staggered towards the portal. As she stood in front of the rift, Suraeko could not help but chuckle. I may have lost, but I still have the final word, specter. The dancer kept silent as the two walked. But just as Suraeko limped into the portal, the huntress had underestimated Cirra one final time. “Me too.” “Suraeko. Hey, Suraeko!” Her eyes went wide as Suraeko was shaken into existence. Instinct took over as the huntress grasped the hand that touched her. But as the world came back into view, she let go. She was back in camp. Right in front of her was one of the mercenaries. He bore a stern but worried face. But not as worried as the rest of the hired help. Right behind him, their mouths were wide open at their peers. “You got a deathwish, mate?” Suraeko looked over the crowd before dismissing them, turning back to the first one as he spoke. “Are you alright, Suraeko?” The man spoke as if he were talking to a friend. “We saw you standing there staring at your palm. You’ve been doing it for minutes!” “Minutes?” Suraeko seemed aloof, a sight that must have seemed unreal to the mercenaries. The huntress looked around, tracing her thoughts with her eyes. “I was. . . somewhere else.” “Well, glad you came back to Terra. Without you, might as well give up on Bifreet.” The dragon's name echoed in her mind, anchoring her back to reality. “Yes. . . I assume all preparations have been made?” Her voice trailed off as she spoke, seemingly uninterested. The mercenary nodded. “We are all good to set out tomorrow.” “Very well." She seemed to look past the man. "You are dismissed then.” As the men went their ways, Suraeko was left alone with her thoughts again. Suraeko took one hand and rubbed her face, still taking it all in. “Just. . . what was all that?” Flashes of memories ran through her mind. The city, the fire, the chorus. As Suraeko tried to make sense of it all, she looked down, and her heart skipped a beat. A dagger. Pristine, elegant in its simplicity. “Serhil. . .” Suraeko held the blade to her eyes, staring at her own reflection on its surface. “I promise that I will find you.”

Starflame13 -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (12/15/2022 21:30:25)
I think I hear the starlight singing. Their words from me; their song from you. *** She howled in pain, burning, blinding and blue. It slammed through her senses, became all that she knew. Mana, magic, it ate at her mind - leaving her deafened, defenseless, and blind. A scream, or a whimper, both trapped in her throat, unable to give voice to her song’s final note. Is this how it ends? To bloodlusts own blade? Her dance finally lost, its rhythm fully decayed. She slammed to the floor, the tiles scorched and yet chilled. Cirra lay gasping as the last sparks grew still. Vision wavered and wobbled, ears hissed with sound. The Knight of the Sky shivered, trapped on the cold ground. A step, then another, shook her down to her bones. She lifted her head, watched Surakeo approach. A single ring shimmered, caught by Chaos’s glimmer, one last gift from the starlight to find her own way. A last soft exhale, as her foe’s glaive rose and fell, and flames erupted from her fallen blade. ________Her lover, her last chance to save. Flames burned, sunk their teeth into her skin - but fingers closed about the hilt before they did more than singe. She curled around it and choked back a sob. Her vision still spun, her head and heart throbbed. It’s over. She shuddered. I’ve no magic left. Just her body, now broken, and her soul, now bereft. A cry, eerie and outraged, pierced the fog in her head. It spoke absolutenesss, and with one word it said - ________Dismissed - ________________Dismissed - ________________________Dismissed. I am not your Champion. But I am hers. She dug the blade into tile, pushed herself to her knees. Glanced around to Surako, thrown just out of reach. Tears stained the knight's cheeks, green eyes filled to the brim. A whisper wove its way towards her, a defeated, “You win.” Ribs cracked and lungs burning, thigh throbbing in pain. One arm still hanging useless - but it wasn’t in vain. Against odds, against reason, she had a chance to escape. A last, final chance to fix her heartache. Then… “I made a promise.” Words ground her thoughts to a halt. She turned her eyes to the woman, jaw clenched, muscles taught. ‘I made a promise.’ Once, so had she. And they could maybe both keep it, if they both could walk free. A stagger, a stumble, Cirra swayed as she rose. She kept her eyes on the woman, and slowly approached. Sword hung loosely in her hand at her side - Cirra could push past her fear. Surako had swallowed her pride. One drained and one limping, both exhausted and bleeding, the two made it together to portals different in hue. Cirra took one last look over the field, watched the last knights refusing to yield, and whispered her own quiet admission. “Me too.” Always remember and never forget how her eyes shone like stars when she danced along. Her hands are your timbrel, her heartbeat your drum - and it's time you return to the beat of her song. Listen to the music flow. Let its chorus guide you home. The world may be wide. But we’ll face it side by side. *** “There’s truth in it, Papa? The Legend of the Skydancer?” “So there must be, child, or we wouldn’t have her song!” "Will you sing it one more time, Papa?" "Oh, all right child! One more time, and then to bed. Now, listen close…" Oh let me tell a story, About a maiden fair! She wore the night sky in her eyes - And starlight in her hair. As graceful as the twilight, As gorgeous as the dawn! She captivated all who saw her, But left them all forlorn! Oh, li li li, li li li li, li li li li li li! Oh the offers there were plenty, But all of them she fled Instead she traveled 'bout the skies Wherever her whims lead She danced for royals and rulers, And thieves and paupers too! And maybe if you stumble 'cross her She'll choose to dance for you! Oh, yi li li, li li li li, li li li li li li! Old age n'er dimmed her eyes, Nor slowed her twirling feet And yes she's out there, singing still Her happiness complete - So let this be a lesson From her, to you, through me. The best of joys you find in life Come when your soul flies free! Oh, yi li li, li li li li, li li li li li li! Yes, yi li li, li li li li, li li li li li li!

Apocalypse -> RE: =WPC 2022= Final Battlefield (1/17/2023 23:11:16)
Varalys. Champion of The Forge. Creator of Beauty. Unmaker of Sins. You have brought Me victory on this day, and for this, I acknowledge you. You have tipped the scales of war in My favor - so, too, will I repay you. Return home with the Blessing of Order, and may the scales weigh ever in your favor. Hot tears cut through visions of monochromatic ground and nebulous skies. The stench of burning ozone and cacophony of grinding metal fell a thousand miles away. Her head spun as the aches and pains held back by adrenaline crashed into her full force. It was finished. Varalys let out a laugh only to be sent reeling to her hands and knees by a wave of nausea. She wretched, the taste of bile burning her throat. But through all that she could not hide the sheer elation blooming in her chest, a rapturous bird bursting from its cage. For so long her path had been etched in stone, a harsh and bitter road walked by her alone. And yet… ….and yet even stone could be eroded with time. The smith blinked away the tears before raising her gaze to where her once-adversary scurried across the bulk of the metal behemoth, hands working in a frenzy across valves and ports and a thousand other mechanical intricacies. A beautiful invention composed of thousands, each interlocked and woven within one another into a single work of mastery. A work now laying in ruin. The smith had worked countless lifetimes to craft her many works - how long had the Knight of Machines spent weaving his masterpiece? Could he afford to begin again? Would he even want to? Varalys wiped the spittle from her lips as her chest shuddered.“Gith-” Words of reconciliation died to a nova ripping itself from the colossus’s core. Steel bent and screamed as tongues of fire lashed out in every direction. A thunderous boom and wave of unyielding heat slammed into Varalys’s chest with all the force of a sledgehammer. Breath driven from her lungs, the smith gave a silent cry as she tumbled across the marbled floor. A thousand pinpricks of torture tore at the drow’s mind as each bounce flared injuries both old and new alike with renewed vigor. Her vision blurred and, as she landed with a sickening crack, faded into darkness… When she returned to consciousness, her body lay still on the cold and barren battlefield. Pain ebbed and seeped deep into her bones as the acrid smell of her own burnt hair filled her nostrils. But she was alive. Alive and victorious. Varalys shuddered and inhaled through the protests of her body demanding her to stop. The ground tilted back and forth, but just at the cusp of her vision, before the chaotic skies swam with their infinite colors…there. Three claws protruding from just beyond the edge of the marbled floor. The smith dragged herself towards Gith.. No longer Unmakyr… Her pale fingers touched his rough claws. Creator. Varalys grasped his wrist and with her other hand pulled herself to the battlefield’s edge. “No quarrel remains between us,” she said as she peeked over the abyss. “Take my-” Her voice cut short as she found herself staring down the barrel of his plasma pistol. Sickly green energy pooled within its chambers. Its low hum filled the air as the Knight of Machines hung ever so precariously over the ravenous void. Varalys had hardly the strength to stand, much less pull up an unwilling participant no matter how small. The smith’s gaze ironed. She had made her choice. Now it was his turn. “Gith. It is over. You may have lost today, but there still remains the promise of tomorrow.” His words fell harsh and dripping with malice. ”I can promise you, planet dweller, there’s no tomorrow left.” The pistol’s hum grew to a climax. “Is this the fate you choose?” Eyes of hatred bore into those of steel. ”Im ta pashanga, milowda.” And Gith pulled the trigger. Pure and unadulterated energy flashed from the pistol. Varalys threw her head back and cried out as lightning devoured her neck and ear. She crashed to the floor, a searing heat trapped within her skin. With eyes shut and teeth clenched tight, the smith pressed her hands to already blistering skin. Her chest rose and fell in violent heaves. Slow. Like sap from the spigot. Each shaking breath became steadier than the last until the drow regained her composure. She gave one final exhale before opening her eyes once more. The smith touched where her ear once had been, finding only a smoldering nub in its place. It flared with new agony at the slight provocation. She winced - one more scar to join the others. Varalys lifted her head. No sign of Gith remained. Whatever he once had been, her last memory of him would be a legacy of war and hate. A legacy that once had been hers. But no more. Varalys stood. One leg threatened to buckle beneath her, yet she grit her teeth and staggered on. Before her were scores upon scores of shrapnel and metallic fragments. As she pressed forward, a glint by her foot caught her eye. Gritting her teeth at the exertion, Varalys bent down and picked up the curious object. The piece of glass sat in her hand, some sort of lens not even half the size of her hand. A large crack split it just to the right of center. She held it up to the portal, its dazzling light refracted through its shape. A promise of a new day. A new age. A new dawn. Broken and battered but not beaten, the Creator stepped forward. Whispers roamed with the sun’s rising in the East to its setting in the West of a wanderer. A wanderer in pursuit of the arsenal of a legendary smith from ages untold. With unparalleled knowledge and ease, she sought these mythic weapons through tundra and desert, mountain and jungle, claiming them from their masters, whether living or deceased. And granted them to new ones. To those brave of spirit and pure of heart. To those who could turn the tides against evils both familiar and unknown. To those willing to right the sins written in stone by the twisted souls of yesterday. She was a Maker of Heroes. A Creator of Legends.

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