The Dreamer stirred, in her fitful slumber a call rang out through the holons, a gathering of champions; a new reality, new sensations, and experiences. Releasing the grasp upon her champion, the Sleeping Queen allowed one to waken, to be summoned to this realm, to this holon of existence.

Through the dream-guarded gateways of slumber, the solitary figure known as Skallagrim the Cughtagh strode until with a deft touch the shadow mount emerged from the dreams, a skeletal charger with a whorl of amethyst illuminating its eye-sockets. Slowly the dream worlds, fell away as the patterns of reality emerged, a strong resonance thrumming through the various holons, calling forth the awakened dreamer, Skallagrim traversed the myriad of existences until finally an archway emerged. Slowing, and finally halting in front of the archway, Skallagrim dismounted and passed through the vast arch and emerged into the holon of the Nexus of Worlds.

Finding the great obsidian throne in the center of the Great Hall, Skallagrim sat upon it and whispered in a haunting voice, “Dreamer I am here at the Nexus of Worlds, I shall begin the games so that all Dreamers may see and observe.”

With that, Skallagrim reached out through the multiverse seeking fighters who showed promise and aptitude. Using the incredible powers of the Dreaming Queen, he emerged before each fighter, seated upon the obsidian Throne of Fates his voice a thunderous hiss that filled the skies around the participants.

“I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.”

With that, the Cughtagh vanished in a shimmering of amethyst lights.

Those accepting the invitation and calling upon Skallagrim, a gate will appear that bridges the worlds of reality with those of the Dreamers. Once through the gate the contestant will find themselves in a great hall of shimmering lights. In the center of the hall upon a raised dais is the Throne of Fates, from which all worlds can be seen. Atop it is Skallagrim.

“Here in the endless void, amidst the eternal star shine of the omnniverse, the Dreamers craft lands of dream and fantasy in which blood is spilled, where the strongest survive and the defeated's names are lost to history.” Skallagrim stands and extends a hand to all, his voice like thunder, “Welcome those who answered the call of the Nexus of Worlds. We, the Dreamers, welcome thee. Your presence will not go unrewarded. The winner of the tournament shall be given a great gift for their battles at the Nexus of Worlds.”

Staring at the warriors who have arrived he continues, “Each of you will be given a fragment of the Forever Key; each win shall grant you more pieces. The ultimate winner shall have the completed key. It will be your choice to loosen the Lord of Nightmares onto the multiverse or become part of the heroes who stand against the eternal dark of the Nightmare.”

Skallagrim extends a hand to the Great Hall around them. Within the hall stands the golden trees Glasir and Læraðr. The hall's ceiling is thatched with golden shields. Various creatures live in the Great Hall such as the stag Eikþyrnir and the goat Heiðrún, both are standing atop wide wooden steps and consuming the foliage of the tree Læraðr. The land around Great Hall is lush, with thick green grasses and shrubs with fruit and nuts. Beyond that flash of green, the dreamed of summer lands, lies the battlefields connected to the Nexus of Worlds.

Turning the Dreamer pointed to the warriors gathered before him,"Here you shall stay until the end of the Tournament. Here you shall be reborn, all wounds healed and death denied. Within the Great Hall, eternal life resides while you fight for the title Guardian of Fate. There are rooms to reside that suit your needs.”

Without mana, we are nothing.

The words, sprayed on the side of an abandoned warehouse, echoed thoughts which had ran through the man’s mind over and over for years. For almost two decades now he had wandered the overgrown wastes of civilisation, seldom interacting with his own kind in the small desperate communities that had dotted up over Felenr. Often he looked out over the sea when his travels took him to the edge of the continent and wondered if any of the far-off islanders suffered better or worse than mainland Felenr when the Departure came. What was once a number of allied and co-operative countries had broken down through repeated war and anarchist revolution into the petty states and lone outposts he was accustomed to for going on ten years. For the first few years of war he had fought, of course, though now he could barely remember what he was even fighting for. His friends and allies had gone mad from Corruption long ago, he had been forced to kill some of them himself. The Order was a ruin, fitting for what Felenr itself had become.

Standing there surrounded by overgrown vines and weeds amongst the ruins he looked a strange sight, this lone survivor, perhaps the only living Torm in miles. Though buildings for their part still stood, they had been abandoned for fear of war and the violence some men had taken into themselves to replace what was lost. It was a dangerous time to be alive, and those not tough enough rarely stayed that way for long, one way or another. Luckily, the man had a history of violence that set him apart from the average man, even before the Departure his skills had been feared by many, now they were almost legend. One could almost be fooled though by his appearance, a pale, thin, wiry man of a solid above average height, with rusty coloured hair tied into a warrior’s tail and a short similarly coloured beard. He scratched his beard now, looking up at the building in front of him, the slight chill in the early morning air hardly permeating the green holey woollen jumper he wore, nor the tough brown trousers and black boots adorning his lower body. If it had just been those clothes visible he would have looked the very definition of average and unassuming, but the vest over the top of his jumper was quite clearly enforcer issue, stab-proof to a knowledgeable eye.

The armour would probably send warning signs to the average bandit on a first glance, but even then they may have tried their luck against such a man if they were armed well enough. Firearms were rare of course, with the Departure seeing many common weapons rendered useless, which is why a more thorough observation of the man’s equipment would find the eyes drawn to the belt at his waist, filled with strange objects, the backpack which could have been filled with any number of valuables, and the knife sheathed across his chest and holster at his hip, which marked him out as a man who could kill. The holster was the real threat, with a Fire-Type 2’s unique loading mechanism sticking out the back. It was an antique pistol, but deadly in a world where anything more recent was almost completely useless.

Still, the man was oblivious to his own appearance as he stood before the building rubbing his own beard. He recognised the building of course, it had been some time since he’d been stationed in the military outpost and he’d never really taken to the discipline, but he still recalled the old facility. The warehouse was a storage site for munitions, likely looted by now as the fence surrounding the base had been little of an obstacle in its worn down state, it would be even less of one to determined looters. As he scratched, his eyes caught the site of his black fingertips in his own periphery and he lowered his hand suddenly, his angular, almost gaunt, face forming into a frown. There wasn’t any particularly reason he had come to the site, other than old memories stirring at the surface guiding his steps as he wandered the continent. His actual destination was about twenty kilometres south of the installation, a fact he was now sure of after discovering such a familiar milestone. However, his work had been ongoing for nigh on twelve years now, what harm was one day off taking a trip down memory lane?

Aimless wandering eventually brought the lone man to a bunker which seemed to be melting into the ground around it. Nestled into solid rock on the far side of the installation, the building had hardly stood out in the overgrown compound. However, it was that very fact that eventually drew the curiosity of the inquisitive interloper. He sauntered over to it, finding the entrance with some difficulty as he cut through particularly thick and bushy plant-life. The steel door was locked shut surprisingly, and a brief walk around the perimeter told him the building had not been breached in any other fashion. It was bizarre, finding an un-looted building in Felenr was like finding a bag of sweets uneaten at a children’s party. Curiosity firmly aroused the man returned to the steel door, looking for some form of opening mechanism. He definitely hadn’t been told about the building when he was at the installation, but since leaving he’d earned far higher clearance so if he’d returned he was sure there wouldn’t have been any mystery for him to unravel here. After a few minutes of intense inspection he found the mechanism he was expecting to find, hand height on the right side of the steel door. Knowing it was pointless he reached out for it, pressing his palm up against the discoloured metal. It sparked, like static electricity, and he pulled his hand away from it with a yelp of surprise.

“How is that possible?” He spoke aloud, his shock significant enough that he voiced his thoughts for no real purpose. “It still has power?” He was excited now, reaching for the metal with an uneasy eagerness, crouching a little to get closer to it. It pulsed in his hand, like something alive, and with a certain clarity he knew what was required even before it made its request.

“State name and clearance.” The mechanical voice that emanated from the device was tinny with age and abandonment, but it was still audible. It was also the first voice he had heard in half a year.

“Metzalaatla Akalikalat, Magi Second Class.” His voice croaked over the familiar words, said hundreds of times in the long gone past. The metal shook, and amazingly the door opened, buffeting him with dust and stale air. He waited a moment… and then stepped inside.

He wasn’t sure how long it took him to reach the bottom of that long metallic staircase, though he was fairly certain he was deep underground by the quality of the air and the almost complete darkness. Somehow the power was still working for a few flickering lights to illuminate the path, or he would have been forced to take more drastic measures, something he would have greatly lamented. Eventually however he stepped onto level ground, with no small amount of relief, and found himself in a large open area with a single flickering matrix and some discarded chairs and equipment. The rest of the building seemed to be taken up by some form of large generator system and other strange machinery he assumed may be used to store information on the matrix. Realising his time was probably short, with the power running out with every second, he quickly hastened to the machine and accessed the most recent files. His eyes widened in amazement as he found what he had expected, the last records made in this place in regards to military scientists and magi’s research into the departure. This wasn’t the first time he had discovered some notes or research of this kind, but it was the first that provided some semblance of an answer. His eyes dragged across the screen with urgency as lights around him began to flicker.

‘Note, as per parallel 4.1 there is sufficient evidence to suggest the Mana Depletionary Event was as a result of sinkage, the drainage point has been identified as an unexplained signature in south Rekan on mainland Felenr. As of yet solutions to the drainage are inconclusive, preliminary reports suggest the drainage point is a source location of possible unknown physical quality, closing this drainage point may allow some restoration of natural Mana Reserves, though levels will still remain permanently depleted.

Team sent to site on 14th 1244, Auran, feedback on drainage point, referred as Alpha site, still awaiting approval. Alpha site is located at 40.2334° S, 22.0339° E, possible identifications for Alpha site are as followed’

As his eyes widened with each revelation, the screen suddenly shut down and the lights around him died. He stood there in the dark, shaking, the answer to a problem he had researched for nearly fifteen years sitting right there in front of him, with no realistic way for him to access it. He slammed his hands down on the desk the monitor sat upon, dropping his head in anger.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He remained there in the dark for at least five minutes, his mind struggling through the question at hand, desperately looking for the answer. “This isn’t fair!” he shouted, his voice echoing in the metallic bunker, reverberating his whining enough so that his own teeth set on edge.

“Alpha site… maybe I can find the answers I’m looking for at the site itself, if I can find the damn place.” He racked his brain for the co-ordinates he had just read, matching it up with a map of South Rekan. “Got you.”

Two weeks later

The journey had not been easy, but it had been surprisingly quick. Haggard and tired, with a few extra bumps and grazes as well, the man who called himself Metz found himself at the nodescript rocky mountainside just outside of the town of Okan in the region once known as Rekan. He’d ended up caught in a two day struggle with some locals of the town, but eventually they’d shown him the way to this place after some of his trademarked ‘negotiating’.

“You’ve done enough Akllat.” He said to the scraggly young man leading him, pointing back down the mountainside the way they’d come. “I’ll be back in a day or two if all goes well, so get your sorry self back down the mountain and tell your mother to be kinder to strangers in future.” He frowned at the boy, and then to take the edge off his remarks he threw him some dried beef in a pouch and winked. The boy caught it gratefully and with a wave started climbing back down the rocky hillside towards town. Metz watched him go, surprising himself with his own emotions.

“Well, better get to work.” The Magi said, turning on his heel and preparing himself for what he couldn’t have possibly known was going to be one of the strangest journeys of his life.

Night drew in quick in winter, and with it a chill that bit at exposed skin. Metz rubbed his hands together for warmth as he huddled in a small cave, wondering how he was supposed to find something when he had no clue what it looked like. Giving up the fight for warmth he huddled in a quiet corner out of the wind and lowered his head. He slept then, and his dreams were vivid and bizarre, there was something wrong with the images but in his state there was no way to escape them. He awoke with the image of a strange skeletal face in his mind, and shook himself, looking down at the vial of black liquid in his belt and the blacks of his fingertips with a scowl.

As he left the cave however there was something different about the rocky expanse around him… it was like the colour was bleeding out of the ground itself. Everything was blurring to the point that Metz felt like he was losing his eyesight and started to panic. It was then that a familiar feeling began to suffuse through his body, and he followed that feeling like a starving dog searching for scraps. He wasn’t sure how long he ran for, at breakneck speed with little regard for his own safety, but when he regained control of himself he found that he was not tired at all. Such exertion causing him no physical discomfort only meant one thing, and he looked around with a fervent hope.

“Is it possible? Did I just catch the dregs of it as it drained, lost forever from this world?” Such a phenomenon was common when he neared a wellspring, as it escaped an area of high concentration and diffused… but that was not the case here, almost the opposite seemed to be true. He was in a narrow ravine, the rock towering on either side of him, an unusual place but not the place he would associate with the destruction of all Felenr. There, in front of him, the rock was ground and worn and the air distorted. He couldn’t comprehend what he was looking at, it was too much.

“There is a way for you to understand, maybe even to change things.” The voice seemed to emanate from the distortion, but how that was possible Metz did not know. It was at that moment that he became aware of a greater distortion in the air, between him and Alpha site. To say he was unprepared would be an understatement.

“I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.”

The skeletal figure sat upon its throne disappeared almost as soon as it had come, the image from his dream, the voice echoing along the walls around the Torm Magi. This could be no coincidence, a being from another world, another dimension even, inviting him to some form of tournament? Such a thing to happen all of a sudden almost overcome the mage, and he collapsed to his knees heedless of the rocks digging into his flesh.

“Such power… a gate? A being such as that, could revive my Felenr.” He looked up at the sky far above, peaking out beneath the two walls of rock, images of all he had seen of his ruined land over nearly two decades flashed before his eyes.

“Skallagrim.” He stood and stepped through the gate.

He had not expected to be transported immediately through the gate, hell part of him believed he hadn’t woke up at all from that cave but had drifted off to a more permanent kind of rest. So his surprise was palpable as he arrived in the Halls of the Dreamers, reminiscent of some great Throne Room from Felenr’s ancient past. Still sat atop his throne, but somehow in a greater clarity than before, was the strange creature called Skallagrim. That same voice welcomed him, and to his astonishment a wide assortment of others like and unlike him that had arrived simultaneously, as he entered the hall, stepping forward in astonishment.

At the beckoning of Skallagrim’s hand he observed his surroundings, finding his heart leapt as he saw the wild things around them, seemingly impossible in such a place. So used to the overgrown, almost too natural wilderness of Felenr, which could be found pretty much everywhere taking back what the Torm had stolen from it long ago, Metz was almost overwhelmed. With a significant effort he turned away from the wild things, his head turning slightly as he regarded all before him.

“This place is so strange, so much life in such an unnatural place, and to top it all off it’s overseen by a skeleton.” He shook his head in bemusement, stepping towards the strange skeletal figure imploringly.

“Please, Skallagrim, you must know of the plight of my world if you have this kind of power. What can you tell me of the Departure?”

Skallagrim peered at the man who had made a plea. Even now a hundred, a thousand, tens of thousands of Dreamers studied the man. All reached back into the depths of their dreams. Each pulling parts of the reality recorded for world this man had just come. Deep in the darkest reaches of space, a collective gasp escaped the Dreamers.

The Cughtagh, the Walker between Worlds, the Dreaming champion started from his seat. A nimbus of energy arced and surged around his form, white noise filled the nexus as thousands of Dreamers spoke at once.

“Silence . . . let me show this man. He deserves to understand some of what has happened.”

Another Dreamer, tall and dressed in midnight blue robes shimmered into view, harsh green energy danced around the woman, for that was the impression the figure gave, a woman of power. Casting her gaze upon Metz she spoke in a harsh language, her pitch rising until another form appeared. A woman in deep black, crimson energy surrounded her hands and head. A bone white staff she held tightly. The energy emanating from the woman was immense, humbling, frightening.

Several voices spoke at once in the Nexus as many people slowly dropped to a knee, for the Dreaming Queen had arrived. The woman glared at the Queen, her voice rising again, but it was clear that the Queen was winning the argument until finally the woman shaking her head left. Before she did, she pointed to Metz, eyes blazing, “Be careful what you ask!” Then she vanished.

The Dreaming Queen touched the butt of her staff to the throne and a surge of energy raced outward in a wave of pressure and light. Everyone witnessed a fragment of the Dreamers memories unfolding.

A stirring in the vast darkness that consumed Ghoukas alerted him. Thick rubbery lips split wide as wicked teeth jutted from the massive jaws in a hideous eruption of laughter. A serpentine tongue darted and lashed the air; tasting, no savoring the sweet mixture of Felenr’s pure atmosphere and mana.

Rising swiftly, the Lord of Nightmares snatched his great sword, as he did so he spun around, gathering energy to himself like a dark cloud, then dropped to a knee, thrusting the black blade deep into the earth. The sword shattered and shifted the earth, polluting it with the Dread Lord’s vileness, concentrating a moment before the image of Skallagrim appeared, the Cughtagh riding hard through the strands of the multiverse. Standing slowly as he withdrew the sword, Ghoukas snarled, casting his gaze skyward, “I am coming for you . . .”

Turning, his cloven hooves echoing strangely, the dark bulk yanked the chains that bound the three blind creatures to him, “Sing me a dirge . . . sing for the death of heaven, sing for the death of this world.” Before the three could respond, hellish winds whipped and curled around them, raising a massive howl as across the world in the nightmares of the people, a ripple of fear exploded outward, the hatred that drove the great lord would consume the hope of those who still believed in their Order.

Inhaling, a curl of smoke roiling away from his nostrils, Ghoukas extended his reach through the world, feeding upon the fear and discord his presence had created, “Yes! Give me this energy; this mana, so I may rend open the gates to the Nexus.”

A moment later as He Who Should Not Be felt the tugging at his consciousness, he knew his Forgotten would come and the final battle would begin. Peering at the three fate tellers, the miasma of light in his eyes shifted to a deep crimson, yanking the chain gently. Slowly the three stood, their melodious voices carrying a dour and lonesome tone.

Using his vast powers, Ghoukas wrapped dismal tendrils around the nightmare realm, stabbing through the opening to infuse the opposite side with his presence. As the land of Felenr surged to fend off his powers, He Who Should Not Be, redoubled his efforts until he felt the life leave the land, leave the people. This world was weakening; it would finally succumb to the nightmares and the Forgotten as they prepared for war. In his glee the Lord of Nightmares felt a familiar presence, a malevolent grin spread across the monster’s visage, “Sister . . . Sister . . . I am coming, we have some matters to settle.”

Silence filled the Nexus as the Dreaming Queen looked at Metz, her voice strange, musical; not the hiss that the other Dreamers had. “This is who is draining your world. He is not done though; he cannot consume so much energy, not yet. He seeks to bring back his followers, to feed upon the dying world you call home. To suck the marrow from its bones as he prepares for war against the Dreamers.”

The harsh howl of wind rattled the transporter as the ship blazed through the cold night sky of the icy tundra. Mirba Mhurhtt looked out through the stained view window of the sleek dropship at the seemingly featureless landscape. The realm of Ujeatha was much the same across the entirety of its surface. A frozen near lifeless wasteland of ice and snow that few would willingly go to. Why the man they sought would willingly come to such a place was lost on her. The driving cabin of the transporter was a two-seater, the main controls currently on auto-pilot. Thus Mirba need only operate the acceleration and elevation of the craft. Sitting across from her in the co-driver seat was Aquilan. An old associate of the one they sought.

He was lean on the verge of being scrawny with soft almost effeminate features. Though he was handsome in a sense; possessing flawless features without a hint of age. A trait shared by all his elven brethren. He was currently entirely focused on the 3D map that served as their current guide. His fingers danced across the image projected from the dropships console. Spreading his hands apart to zoom in and waving with subtle gestures to scroll when necessary to insure the ship kept on its correct course.

The man was not much for conversation, but he was an excellent navigator to be sure. He had been assigned as her aid along with a small party for this little expedition. The Angar-Rylla were quite interested in acquiring their wayward asset and given the amount of funding and resources they had poured into him; Mirba was not surprised. It had been a month now since the targets self given exile - a vacation of sorts according to official sources. No word had been heard from the man since he had vanished off the grid.

It had taken weeks to just locate which plane he had traveled off to. The task made extra difficult due to the backward universe he had chosen to conceal himself in. After a while, the storm outside the ship subsided enough to allow some visibility. A much needed reprieve given the terrain they were entering was filled with tall jagged peaks of iced over stone.

“Alright, we’re coming up on the location now.” Aquilan warned, his voice rich and cultured. Speaking in the High Gothic of the Empire. “We should have visual confirmation in a minutes time.”

“About time, let’s hope this guy’s worth the trouble of freezing my ass off.”

Mirba deactivated the auto pilot and deftly maneuvered the ship through a rugged canyon of rocks. It was a difficult task made all the harder by the bad weather, but while Aquilan may be a fine navigator, she was a better pilot. She managed avoid the sharp rocks while crossing through a few narrow cave openings as if the task was as simple to her as breathing. Soon they entered a wide plateau dotted with tall tree like structures which seemed to circle a small bunker of sorts. It seemed like they had found the right place.

The drop-ship hovered several yards before the bunker before setting down. The rear doors unfolded slowly allowing the five legionnaires to exit, followed by Aquilan and Mirba. Shielding her face with an arm as she pulled the heavy wool coat she wore tighter about her with her free hand. She spotted what looked to be a large kennel of sorts attached to the overall structure.

“Doesn't look like anyone's home,” voiced one of her retainers. His voice sounding almost like a mix of mechanical static, as it resonated from his helmets mouthpiece.

Mirba only shook her head, her gut told her otherwise. The group moved forward to the bunker's entrance. Mirba signaled for their escort to remain outside while she and Aquilan entered. The wide metal doors creaking open with only some effort. At least it wasn't locked, but of course why bother with locks out here? Especially for someone as dangerous as the man they wanted to talk to. The halls further in were surprisingly warm, though still bone chilling to anyone without proper protection from the elements.

The first floor was absent of anyone and if not for the obvious signs of life here and there Mirba would have thought the place abandoned after all. They came to a staircase that led to a second floor and another that went down. Deciding on the latter option Mirba opted to go down, breath misting in the cold air as they descended. The stairs leading into a long hallway which ended in a double iron door.

Frost coated the walls and ground, with icicles hanging from the ceiling like a strange form of decoration. The door was old and rusted over, though seemed to still be in working order. Mirba clutched the latch and pulled causing a screeching sound of metal on stone to echo loudly. The door led into a circular chamber with various pieces of furniture littered about.

In the very middle of the room was a man sitting cross legged and in a seeming meditative state. He looked to be stock still, with no shirt or any other kind of clothing aside from a pair of trousers along with an assortment of weights strapped to his body. Across his back and arms Mirba could see countless cuts and old wounds long since healed. It seemed the ‘process’ of which these dream killers were subjected to was as brutal as she had heard. The sight of those wounds gave her shivers that had nothing to do with the cold.

Entering the room the man made no sign of noticing their entrance. Aquilan expression revealed surprise or disbelief. “Can’t still be alive…”

Mirba might agree, she could hardly imagine anyone surviving almost bare naked in these kind of temperatures. She approached, drawing closer, and noticed the telltale sign of breathing. He was alive after all.

“So who might I thank for this most rude of interruptions, Hmm?” Came a deep yet commanding voice. The tone suggesting more interest than annoyance.

Mirba stood a bit straighter before sharing a look with her counterpart. “I've been sent by the Empire. We’re to take you back willingly, they have need of you.”

There was a moment of silence before the man responded. “Ah yes… but of course. I knew they’d eventually send someone to find me.” He breathed in and exhaled slowly. “So just what could this task be they’d waste time finding me? Surely they have other suitable agents to call on?”

Mirba shook her head, though the man probably couldn't see the gesture with his back turned to them. Though from what she had learned of what he was capable of, he just might anyway. “Not for this, the Empire has already deemed you the most capable candidate.”

The man did not respond right away. His features partly hidden within shadows due to the inadequate lighting of the chamber. Of what she could make out was of little use in distinguishing his features. He was strongly built but not in a overtly muscular sort of way, his strength at least obvious from the looks of the those weights securely tied to his body. Each a brick sized metal slab of iron secured by some sort of black cloth. When he did respond Mirba’s attention was snapped back to the matter at hand.

“I fear my answer to such a summons. Will have to be the negative.” Came the simple reply.

Mirba blinked. “You can’t just decline, we-”

“Yet I can and I have.”

Mirba bite her lip in frustration, she should have known this would be a difficult task. Before she could respond a hand rested on her shoulder and Mirba looked to Aquilan inquiringly. He only gave a sage nod before walking in front of her. “Edbon, It's been a long time.”

“Ah… Aquilan. I should have known they’d send you as well on this little errand.”

“Indeed old friend. But we must all play our part.”

“I fear I no longer wish to play mine…”

“You and I both know that’s not quite true.” Aquilan said with a calm air. “I know why you harbor such reluctance… why you have excluded yourself away to living out your days in such a wasteland.”

“It grows on you,”

“It was a tragic accident, it was no fault of your own… you couldn't have known.”

“And yet the blame lays squarely on my shoulders alone. There is no greater sin than ignorance. A saying I have often heard...but only now do I understand it I think…”

“The empire won't go away just because you ignore it, even should you decline us here they will send others more persuasive.”

“I hardly fear the Empire.”

“All the same it would be wisest to accept. You need not agree to anything now… but at least hear us out. If not for your sake then for Mirra’s…”

“What does she have to do with this?” The first time the man's voice had taken on such a serious edge perhaps betraying his emotions.

“She was one of you most promising protégée. Even if you manage to elude the Empire, they’d likely turn to her as their next best option. Archbishop Celotar Chaekaender of the Ninth Legion has already proposed enrolling her into the B2 Process. The new age of the Tribune Project.”

The man's head snapped up turning his head to the side, the lighting revealing the gleam of his right eye. Revealing a storm of Amethyst within them. “What?! When did this happen? I...I made sure they couldn't track her after what happened in Sluarica..”

“Did you think it would take them forever? Without you to run interference they've already caught onto her trail. We found you didn't we?”

The man had no response to that.

“Look, what the Empire is planning, their going to use any and every asset they can. What they hope to do… Mirra is simply not ready for it..”

The man- Edbon- slumped over, seemingly defeated. He sighed heavily before standing slowly. The sound of joints cracking audible in the still room. “Very well then. I will go with you and see for myself if this is worth my time. I can’t promise I’ll agree… and this will in all likelihood be my last time aiding the Angar-Rylla.”

Mirba almost sighed in relief. Having Aquilan come along had turned out to be a well placed stroke by the Ryllain brass. She opened a pack at her waist and retrieved an object from it that looked in many ways like a black mask shaped like that of a skeleton. “Whether or not you decide to aid us isn't really my concern. I was only ordered to escort you back. But I think once you learn what they want from you, you’ll change your tune,” She held up the black mask. “You often boasted you were the greatest swordsmen in the multiverse.” She tossed the mask in his direction, which he caught easily without batting an eye. “You might as well take the chance to prove it no?”

2 weeks later…



The room of the main chamber was was utterly ransacked, tables broken, chairs shattered, bodies cut entwine and blood everywhere. Sitting on a turned over pillar was a single man with a saber coated in crimson resting on his left shoulder. His head was bowed low, as if he was merely a statue fashioned with astonishing detail. He looked about taking in the scene he had created. The room resembling a canvas painted in hues of red. He was draped in a long black cape, another blade similar to the one he held was currently sheathed at his hip. A black skull mask obfuscating his face from view.

Around the sitting figure were the former worshipers of the temple dedicated to the God of Blood and Death. The monks of the Long Death were known across much of the omniverse as some of the greatest warriors there were. They also laid claim to some of the most vile entry rituals one could imagine. Most of the general public saw them as little more than homicidal maniacs with a grudge against seemingly everyone.

That in mind it had not taken much coaxing for the man known by the alias of Edbon to dispatch them from this mortal coil. All part of a much larger plan. The concept of which was a mind boggling simple though effective one. If you wanted to catch the attention of pseudo god like beings interested in only the best or most interesting of creatures. Then you merely need prove yourself worthy of their attention. Of course, the major drawback of such a plan was there would be no way of knowing when you had reached such a status. Perhaps a flawed plan, but Edbon had tried worse.

Still it could be who knew how long before the highly venerated invitation was sent- if at all. That was at least preferable if it meant sparing his student the nightmare he had faced long years ago. The process was an inhuman abomination, and while it had molded him into the weapon he was now… it had come at too great a cost.

He was about to stand then plan his next move before the unthinkable happened. The space several feet in front of him distorted rapidly as if space and time was collapsing then melting in on itself, droplets of blood and pieces of debris floated into the air around the event and spun around violently.

“I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.”

Then just like that the figure vanished in a spiral of shifting amethyst lights that forced Edbon to cover his eyes from the blinding brilliance. When he looked again the figure was gone. In its place a shifting of energy that made up the strands of the multiverse vibrated much like the ripples from a disturbed pool of water. Well that turned out to be easier than first thought...

Now would that have happened anyway without any outside stimuli from the killing of such deadly cultist? Or would he have never witnessed the event? Impossible to calculate, and there would be no duplicating the results so it was a fruitless effort to think about now. The old bones had come-a-calling. So now he was about to take audience with the only creatures in the multiverse that shared his unique eyesight…

He flicked a com signal then waited for the static to clear up before saying, “Well we’re in business. If the two of you plan on coming along, then you best get moving.”

Several hours later a gate of blinding white light shimmered into existence within the throne like room of the Dreamers. In a moment it was gone again, having deposited three figures. Two men and one woman by the look of things.

The man in lead looked about, his uncanny eyesight taking in the scene in a heartbeat. It looked like he was one of the first to arrive. The only other being a man of some unknown species. Intriguing.

Somewhere around noon, in a small town called Redfield, a man in an Iron Mask rode into town. It was an Amish village, and he respected their customs and chose to ride in on a horse drawn cart.

The clatter of hooves and the grinding of wooden wheels on a dirt road were the only noises that graced his ears at this time of day, most people were having lunch with their families or out taking a break after their morning duties. The Amish are simple but admirable folk. He mused to himself, thinking back to when he used to live like this. My how things have changed over the generations.

Dirt roads winding through the village lead to every important building, smaller offshooting roads branching off to the less important houses. Of course at the center of the town was a church, rising high into the sky with a great steeple that cast its glory across the township. Impressive construction was an understatement, these people had spent more than twelve years working with their bare hands to construct this church. It was a monument to their perseverance and religious devotion, it was also the reason he was here."

With no words he rolled to the church, seeing the doors open to release a family of three. Two men and a woman, it was likely a man, his wife, and his son. They regarded his metal clad visage with a sideways glance of confusion but decided better of questioning him, instead chosing to turn their heads and continue walking. The father spared a moment to turn back to the stranger and tip his hat, to which he was replied with a respectful nod.

After the family had passed and his horse had been tied to a nearby post, he stepped to the bottom of the leading staircase. With every step towards the building, a wicked rush of blood rolled through his veins. Burning so hotly with excitement that if someone saw him without his mask, they would see him blushing and smiling from ear to ear. His shoes clicked on the polished wooden stairs, each step hitting his ears a bit louder than the last.

Before him lied the door, a tremendous pair of oaken slabs that required two people at least to open. Effortlessly he pushed them apart and allowed himself inside. It was such a regal church that one could swear that silent Gregorian chorals were echoing through its halls. Obviously there wasn't any music playing, it might just be his imagination playing with him.

Every step was a loud click against the floor, it echoed across the whole building, only one man was visible. This man's face was all too familiar to the man in the Iron Mask, and his singular eye dilated sharply upon seeing him. His breath was short, and his chest heaved with every inhale. Excitement always forced him to breathe heavily, even though he knew that he didn't need to breathe anymore. It was instinctual, even after all this time.

The priest turned towards the stranger with the even stranger fashion sense, raising an eyebrow and spreading his arms in a gesture of welcome. "Come in stranger, come in. I'm preparing for my evening sermon, it is always good to see a new man of faith enter the lord's halls."

"Yes, Father. It is always a wonderful sight to see someone adopting faith, even the most sinful may be saved in the warm embrace of the almighty." With a short pause and a few more steps, he was face to mask with the priest. A scarce few feet separating them as they spoke. "And Father, I have sinned far too many times. I do not seek forgiveness, I know I cannot be forgiven for what I have and will continue to do."

A bit taken aback by the way the man spoke, a slight rasp in his tone and a strange hiss of air every time he spoke letters like F or P. His mask made sense now, this poor soul's visage had been grievously scarred and the mask hides his shame. The singular red eye behind the mask revealed that fact even further, "My child, all who submit themselves to our lord may be saved. If you repent." With that, he placed a hand on the man's shoulder. Trying to comfort the stranger, who he believed was genuinely seeking forgiveness for what he has done.

Placing a hand on top of the Priest's hand on his shoulder, Shin nodded slowly. "You must have misheard me, Father." Without remorse, he wrapped his fingers around the Priest's wrist and crushed it like a bundle of twigs, effortlessly pulling his hand away from his shoulder. It was this exact moment that fear had chosen to bury itself in the priest's heart, screaming with pain for a moment before the stranger's other hand covered his mouth. "I said these exact words; I cannot be forgiven for what I have and will continue to do."

Terror rocked the body of the man of faith, his muffled screams meaningless in such a large building. Not a soul outside would be able to hear him.

"I'm here to kill you, Father. A boy who left on Rumspringa had a certain distaste for you. Something about how you had kept him from the girl that he loved, by convincing her that they should not marry until they are older. The semantics mean nothing to me, my job is simple enough." It was singularly the most frightful moment of the Priest's life. This monstrous stranger spoke so calmly and with such a wicked tone, the priest genuinely believed that the Devil himself had chosen this day to strike him down.

Tears streamed from the priest's face moments before his jaw was snapped. The priest was released from the man's grip, he fell to the floor. The pain was so great that all he could do was try to breathe.

The stranger reached into his pocket and withdrew a small black cylinder. He held it aloft and the priest watched in horror as it grew into a pure black staff. "My name is Shincoco, I am the Mask of Black Iron." He paused and let his head hang backwards as he took in a deep breath, relishing in what he was about to do. The priest began to crawl away from Shin, dragging himself along the floor with his good hand. Shin spoke down to him without looking. "Requiem æternam dona ei, Domine."

A chill of terror ran up the priest's spine, this man was preaching 'Eternal Rest.' "Et lux perpetua luceat ei." The staff grew to a point at the base, Shin hovered his hand above the terrified man of faith. "Requiescat in pace." With that, he plunged the spear into his target's spine, right below the base of his neck. The tremendous weight of the staff and the strength behind it carried enough force to instantly kill him and crack the oaken floorboards in the process. A thunderous boom echoed through the church as the tip struck the floor through his body.

"Amen." The assassin inhaled sharply, throwing his head backwards once again. Sweat had begun to drip from his forehead and down his face. Once again, another target had fallen to his hands. Shin withdrew a small book from his pocket and placed the, now shrunken, black staff back in place. Bowing down slightly, he dipped his finger into the blood that had pooled around the Priest's corpse, and marked a cross on the picture of the Priest.

"Another job completed. Time to collect my pay." Leaving the corpse behind him, Shin left the church behind himself. Instead of riding his horse out, he walked out on foot. Getting a few more strange looks on his way out.

Another month or so passed, Shin had returned to his training once again. Another assassination target was scheduled, and he had eliminated him with haste. Though the man had managed to give him a slight of trouble, it was rather impressive. Though it was just another job, another few thousand dollars in his back pocket.

With the money he had earned went towards another attempted siege on the one man who had managed to survive. A full list of his equipment this time around is as follows; A simple Motorboat, a customized handheld Railgun with fifteen rounds, the black staff, a length of rope, a kusarigama, and a megaphone.

The events unfolded in the same way they had always unfolded, Shin rolled up to the island in the boat. Stopping just short of the barrier that surrounded it, Shin raised his railgun and megaphone. One-handing both of them before pulling the trigger on both. The accelerated spheroid of tungsten and steel slammed into the barrier, exploding on contact and sending a tremendous ripple through the massive dome. The megaphone's static crackled before Shin spoke. "Let me in, or I'll keep shooting! You know I will!"

Inside of the island a scientist who has very little time to deal with this presses a button and speaks into a microphone from halfway across the room. "Go away, Shin. I'm constructing something that is none of your business."

Another three rounds from the railgun, and Shin railed against LeeRoy's ears again. "Let me in you immortal son of a bitch so that I can kill you!"

The banging of the exploding metal was starting to grind on LeeRoy's nerves, and it was the perfect time for this too. He had just finished his last project, and his current project was only just starting. LeeRoy feared that he was going to lose his focus before he even wrote down the schematics, so right now, he's trying his damnedest to ignore Shin. "Not by the hair on your chinny chin chin." The scientist snorted, realizing what he had just said. "Oh, wait, you can't grow facial hair."

Something about LeeRoy's comment really set Shin off, and he emptied the rest of his railgun into the barrier. Not even a slight crack had formed in the energy shielding, and so Shin withdrew the black staff from his vest pocket. "One day, I'm going to tear your soul from your body and keep it as a souvenir!"

Over and over and over again, this asshole constantly shouted at him. At least once a month this same scenario had happened, and it was always repetitive. LeeRoy had grown tired of this encounter and was always surprised that Shin had not.

A few hours passed and they had reached the stalemate they had always reached. Shin had planted himself on a small platform, made from the black staff, and decided to simply sit by the edge of the barrier. Trying to wait out LeeRoy's patience. A guaranteed failure, but an attempt, no less. When suddenly, a voice called out to Shin. “I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.”

It was about this time where Shin got tremendously excited once again, shaking with anticipation. The assassin raised his megaphone and aimed it towards LeeRoy's base. "You hear that you immortal bastard!? It's my turn! I'm the one who gets to deal with the strange extradimensional magic bullshit, not you!"
LeeRoy shot up from his seat and ran out the door, only to see Shin stepping from his platform into some amethyst portal. The dumb bastard had left his black staff, just sitting at the edge of the island. Nothing that LeeRoy could do about it though, it's too heavy for him to lift. He swore at Shin as he left, shouting a few incredibly offensive things that I will not write here, but let's just say they were incredibly vulgar and racist. }

The obscenities fell on deaf ears, however, as Shin entered the gateway with open arms. "Yes! Welcome me, Skallagrim! I don't know who you are, but I relish in the opportunity to kill as many people as you throw at me!"

That all too familiar burning hot excitement washed over him as he passed through the gateway, his singular eye shut tightly as sweat beaded on his face. "Give me everything, so that I may take everything away!"

To whomever might be surrounding him, Shin would look like a maniac. Shouting to the heavens with his hands raised to the side, and Shin was more than prepared for whatever was on the other side of that gate.

Before the alter, hood pulled back, helm removed, and wings laid 'pon the ground in reverence, the Asaran's head was bowed--eyes closed. A fierce glow emanated from his rather heavily armored form, but here it spiraled forth, before being pulled to the dais before him. Before him, where the light glowed most fiercely, was a blade, half its form slipped into a thin shaft, which had clearly been cut to be a perfect fit for the relic.

Yes, before him was the Blade of Rhay, a relic of his people which had not been wielded for hundreds of years...till him. Taking a deep breath into his lungs, the Asaran rose to his feet, armor shifting against itself as he did. He took a single step forwards and his gauntleted hand took hold of the blade's grip. Pulling it from the altar, the knight peered up at its brilliance, his own eyes glowing almost as fiercely as the blade itself. Look over its edge to survey if it had sustained any punishment, the avian humanoid noted none and so sheathed the blade. Turning away, his footsteps echoing through the lofty architecture in which the blade was placed as ceremony every 5 years, the Asaran male exited, pushing the heavy doors open and letting them drift shut behind him.

As he exited the many Asarae, which had gathered for the ceremony bowed their heads and stepped aside. Raising his own hands above his head, palms up, Raelis called out, "The Relic's link is without fault. For another five years our star's slumber is prolonged, but alas go in silent reverence the great flash is yet to settle." He paused, lowering his arms to his sides, lips turning up in a smile, "On the morrow we celebrate." The crowd of Asarae collectively raised their heads, mirroring his smile before they all began to disperse even as he made his way down the marble steps of the Church of Slumber.

The necessary few remained, outlining the path he started down, heading back to his own abode.

It was not to be. There was a disturbance.

Raelis' strides faltered, then stopped altogether before he turned, peering to the center of the square that lay bare just beneath the shadow of the church. He had noticed before the others, but alas there were others who noticed and turned their less luminous eyes to the empty space in confusion. Narrowing his eyes, the warrior lifted his helm and donned it.

As if it were a cue, the air shimmered, then the light was sapped, but the darkness that remained twisted and warped as well. Then came the Skeleton sat upon its throne. His eyes narrowed at the apparition's manifestation, but while his kin retreated, he stepped forth, drawing the Blade of Rhay even as the being's words rang out. “I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.”

Blade already raised as the apparition finished and its form retreated into the wrongness, Raelis slashed downwards, a wave of searing light releasing from the Relic, nearly passing through the gateway only for it to close a milisecond right before. The light instead struck the side of the building and melted the surface it had touched, warping the metals and plastics that made it up, as well as shattering the glass and crystal that it touched. The ground where the wave had touched was white hot, though it cooled unnaturally quick.

"Abomination," the Chosen growled, blade gleaming fiercely in the now returning light. However, he felt compelled to name the strange beast.

As if sensing this, one of his fellow Asaran approached him and put a hand on his shoulder, looking into the slit of his helm and thus directly at his glowing orbs. "Go, its disturbance of our realm and its rituals may have awoken Rhay. Should that happen you know the consequence," the man said. Raelis recognized him as one of the Brother's of Slumber. Telthani had been his name.

Looking away, he turned to the space where the warp had been and exhaled, chin raising slightly. He knew what had to be done. He would slay the infernal thing, even if many stood in his way. He did not know what this tournament was, but he had heard of the Nexus. In fact, he had even traversed it once himself. "Very well, Telthani. Call the brothers," he replied, tone serious.

Telthani nodded and began to turn away, only for Raelis' gauntlet to press down on his shoulder, "Make due haste brother...and tell the others I will return. Ah...and take this," Raelis pulled something from around his neck loose, and held it his palm out. Telthani looked to his helm, but finding his face impossible to read through the metal, he briefly scowled, then took the necklace from the man who was his friend.

With the amulet given, Raelis strode forth and as he neared the center of the square he spoke, enunciating clearly and deeply, "Skallagrim, show yourself!"

Instantly the warp opened before him and just before he stepped into the unknown gateway, he heard Telthani call out, "Walk ever in the light of Rhay!"

The crowd answered the call, "Step not into the dark!"

Raelis' smile, hidden by his helm, fell and he made the final response, voice filled with reverence for that which he spoke. "So to slay the Nightmare's coming!" Then he stepped through the gateway and the crowd's loudest cheer was cut off. It made Raelis' feathers twitch and shudder in his helm.

He pulled his hood up over the helm and so was revealed the Hall.

---

Opened up before and around him there was a great building, its vaulted ceiling and pillars clearly of ancient make. In the center of the room sat the Skallagrim's throne, and upon it sat the being. All around there were people, though none of his own kind.

The feel of the Hall was alien, yet it was familiar in a way. Unsettling. He would be sure to extract what he could from this Skallagrim. With the feeling of this place, he knew that doing so might be his salvation. Insofar as the Light had not been already.

"What is this place," asked the knight to Skallagrim, the glow from his form far fiercer than any natural light shed in or around the space. It was almost as if the light had physical form...or perhaps as if Raelis was its form made physical. A form which could not wholly contain it.

In this way the Champion of Rhay was indeed an intimidating figure. It was hard not to be when one stood at 6'3 and was not only the center of an aura of light, but wore a full suit of armor which extended onto two equally impressive wings.

Yes, he was indeed the picture of the perfect Asaran warrior.

The Cughtagh and the Dreaming Queen paused, both startled by the loud, brash man with iron mask who had appeared, followed closely by the winged being known as Raelis.

The obscenities fell on deaf ears, however, as Shin entered the gateway with open arms. "Yes! Welcome me, Skallagrim! I don't know who you are, but I relish in the opportunity to kill as many people as you throw at me!"

That all too familiar burning hot excitement washed over him as he passed through the gateway, his singular eye shut tightly as sweat beaded on his face. "Give me everything, so that I may take everything away!"

"What is this place," asked the knight to Skallagrim, the glow from his form far fiercer than any natural light shed in or around the space. It was almost as if the light had physical form...or perhaps as if Raelis was its form made physical. A form which could not wholly contain it.

The Dreaming Queen, turned towards the still seated Skallagrim, a thrum echoed through the entirety of the Nexus. A constant static white noise filled the air as both spoke rapidly to one another. Finally, both fell silent for a moment, before the Dreaming Queen simply vanished.

Turning towards the masked man who expressed a desire to slay all, Skallagrim murmured, “You shall have your chance. Defeat your opponents and your desires shall be rewarded.”

As he finished, Skallagrim stood up, amethyst energies blazed brightly around his form. Whorls of light rising as mist from his eye sockets. “This place Asaran is the Nexus of Worlds. This place is everywhere and nowhere at once. Future and the past, every tangent of existence are found through the various entrances and egresses found within these walls. Does that answer your question?”

Turning to the others, he stared for a moment before seating himself again. Another minute passed before he spoke, “Metzalaatla Akalikala. You are to fight here, now because . . . We believe that you seek to restore your world. Your world is at the mercies of the Lord of Nightmares. Understand that while your world dies, it is not dead. The Lord of Nightmares has not touched your world yet. There are those amongst this crowd that may be swayed to release Ghoukas, to succumb to his malevolence. To save your world, to save your people you must win.”

Skallagrim fell silent as shimmering screens appeared showing a cornucopia of battlegrounds, each one holding advantages for those able to discern them. As the fields shifted, dozens of beings hurried fulfilling their duties in order to please the contestants and observers.

A thunderous roar erupted from the thirty foot tall behemoth, the grotesque monster rearing up onto it's hind legs to even greater heights as it clutched futilely at the gapping wound in it's upper torso of sinewy muscles and pitch black fur, splattering gallons of steaming blood onto the grassy plains between it's clawed feet, each one large enough to rend a large man in two in a single blow should they carelessly or powerlessly find itself within it's reach. As it continued to thrash about in it's death throes, a woman with flowing blonde hair stood casually in front of it as if waiting for a train to arrive, her right hand's index finger pointing towards it lazily before dropping limply to her side, her work here done.

How dull. This was the monster threatening to destroy the entire population of this planet? She felt horribly empty and without purpose now more than ever; even helping to kill such a powerful beast that had been hyped to no end bringing her no relief. Was this truly the best she was capable of? Wandering around various planets in search of a reason to apply her talents? Something worth her attention at least? So far very few had met her qualifications despite her search, and the most important of them had vanished from her sight for quite some time now. What to do, she wondered, now that this planet had shown her all it had to offer? Move on to the next one in hope of better results? There had to be better way.

In one last fit of rage, the monster snarled as it charged at the closest adventurer to it who had helped out in the battle, taking him completely off guard. Couldn't he see the warning signs beforehand? She didn't bother to mention it to him beforehand due to this being the predictable outcome, but even knowing now that he hadn't known and had no way of avoiding it in time, that was still very much his own fault and none of her concern. None of the others were of any concern to her. She just needed to stick around until she could retrieve some of her diamond from the thing's corpse. This battle had long lost all interest in her.

Suddenly that all changed when a blur plummeted downward through the sky, far above what could even be described as inhuman. No, this was superhuman ability on a whole different level than what could be found on just any random planet. With a resounding crack the monster's thick skull caved inward, forcing it's head, along with the rest of it's massive frame, to crash deep into the earth in a move that stopped it both literally and figuratively dead in it's tracks, throwing up a mass of displaced earth around it like a volcano eruption.

Everyone stared wide-eyed at the newcomer as she emerged from the rubble, a girl clearly not of this world who had swooped in to take all of the glory. Or was it to help save this random guy? It was hard to say. Perhaps it was a little bit of both, but that was neither here nor there. The girl's appearance was as memorable as her entrance. On her back was a pair of green dragon wings, each one about the size of her torso spread out, making them quite small...and not the only small thing about her either; her height likely not much more than five feet, if any. A dragon tail wagged slowly behind her, and adorning her head was two stubby, white horns. Her hair was not a color found on this world; purple, and quite messily arranged at shoulder length. Besides these features she appeared human. One last thing of note at first glance...she was clothed only in an emerald green armored bikini.

This made her own ensemble; a sleek white trench coat open in front, a black under armour-like nylon bodysuit underneath, leather fingerless gloves, and knee high leather boots (not high heeled), look perfectly normal by comparison, even factoring in her supermodel good looks and long blonde hair. Indeed, it was clearly evident that both of these women were outsiders when the average level of dress on this planet is medieval hobo inspired.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" The woman questioned as she approached the newcomer, the only one in the group who kept her wits about her enough to do so while the rest continued to stand around staring. Upon closer examination, the girl was probably only in her mid teens, helping to explain her shorter stature and nearly flat chest. This was far from the case in either regard for herself. She was a whole head's taller and her proportions were quite a bit more...womanly. Plus she was 29. This wasn't really a fair contest, actually.

"I'm Evvie!" The dragon girl replied enthusiastically. "I came from..the sky?" She finished, looking up at it.

"I meant what planet," the woman said, un-amused.

"Umm..." she thought out loud before making the "I don't know" grunting sound as she shrugged her bare shoulders.

The woman let out a sigh as she brushed past her to make her way down to the beast's badly mangled remains, most of the damage done by drilling into the earth. This girl was interesting, she had to give her that, but was also somewhat infuriatingly stupid at the same time. Most important about her, however, would be if she came from, or knows about, people of importance or power on level of her own, but getting such information out of her might be far more troublesome than it had any right to be. Perhaps it was still worth her time? This "perhaps" was more of a feeling than she had felt for a long while since leaving her home world, so that perhaps was as good of a place to start as any.

"Ah...there we go," the woman muttered out loud, finding bits of diamond glittering in the gore. Un-effected by the scene which would make a normal person vomit out their lunch, she placed her hands on the pieces, which soon vanished back into her body, causing the visceral and fur coating them to slop back down with the rest of the goop.

"What's your name?" Evvie shouted down at her.

"Ruchette Vorsalus," she replied, surprising herself that she bothered answering her so naturally. "...Now that I told you that much, I deserve some better information out of you. Now tell me-"

Suddenly the two's vision was enveloped by an intense light, revealing a majestic, skeletal figure out of nowhere. Just as suddenly as he appeared, he began to speak.

“I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.”

Ruchette stared blankly at the empty rock that the scene turned back into after one last flash of light. What was that? No seriously...what in the bloody hell was that?! Her face gained an expression of wonder and excitement as her brain had time to process this unexpected event. It felt weird to smile like that, even if it might look like a crazed, serial killer smile due to a severe lack of practice. No...this was a genuine thrill, not the feelings of some deranged psychopath. She could tell at first glance that this Skallagrim person was something special, and this tournament would surely be special too. Something big was going on, and she had to be a part of it. She would not settle for a normal life, so she had to keep moving forward, and this was what could be her lucky break. If not the tournament itself, but the people in it. Even the man she was looking for, who surely had enough power to be involved in all of this.

"Skullygram!" Evvie shouted just as Ruchette opened her mouth to speak his name. Ruchette cringed.

"Stop messing around. It's Skallagrim," she corrected, opening the portal back up and sending them both through. Well...that was an anti-climactic way of getting it done.

She didn't have the time or motivation to be angry at this, being in awe at her new surroundings. She managed to return back to her straight face now that the initial surprise had worn off. Grinning like an idiot simply wasn't her thing. Turning to face Evvie, it was no surprise who had that one covered. The dragon girl let out an excited yelp and began running around the hall, footsteps plopping along the expensive looking flooring. Meanwhile, Ruchette casually strolled forward, eyes locking onto Skallagrim sitting on his throne, before giving the other individuals all passing glances to see if anyone else of note was around. For now, at least, she didn't need to bother with Evvie again.

Metz face grew tighter as his frown grew into an expression one could only describe as fearful surprise. The images before him, it would be difficult to personify how devastating it was to see the cause of his world’s decay, every life lost due to the departure, even selfishly his own weakness, all sat at the feet of one monster. His planet and its life-energy were simply a game piece in a battle beyond his comprehension, and it made him angry. What could one man do against those odds? He looked at the Queen with awe and fear, but even still his mind would not allow him to fearfully acquiesce to her words, nor to accept them lying down.

“I cannot thank you for these images.” He said finally, wondering if he’d be struck down for his impudence, but caring not as his body shook with barely supressed fear and rage. He was on the verge of calling out, demanding for the explanation as to how his planet could be caught in a personal war, how it was fair for gods to treat his people as pawns. Then he realised how futile such demands would be.

Metz had strayed to one corner while others had their say, but eventually Skallagrim was finished with his initial greetings, and turned to him once more. His words shook the Torm’s core, and his eyes swept the crowd with barely concealed malevolence. He looked at each newcomer in turn, taking in the two masked figures and wondering if they were somehow linked, observing the winged man with hidden amazement, paying close attention to the more subtly dressed woman, summing up their strengths with a glance. Even the sight of a happily playing animal/human hybrid running around the hall was not enough to quell his anger.

Then, as he processed further, he realised there was a glimmer of hope in the Skeletal creature’s words. He could fight, and in fighting he had the chance to revive his home, to take revenge and to unleash some of the anger he hadn’t realised had been building up for over a decade. His answering smile was terrifying, all too sharp canines visible as the dark veins beneath his eyes pulsed, his hand straying to his side.

“I will do that.”

"Y'know detective, I think there might be somethin' we're missin' here."

"Yeah, ain't that embarrassing."

The police officer stood from the scene and walked off. Red and blue lights bounced and flickered across the paved concrete and polished marble steps of the mansion, in all its forgotten opulence. Its owner, a wealthy oil magnate, was dead, shot twice in the chest as he awoke at night to walk his dog. His corpse cooled on the plush carpeted floor within, a dark crimson pool soaking into the rug that he was sprawled on. Beside him, the dog, also dead, shot once through the top of the skull. A senseless crime, one without motive, without evidence, and most frustratingly, without a suspect.

The detective, knelt on the floor as he already was, observed the whole scene again. The corpse was laid on his back. Most likely he had been shot as he had opened the door. But why was he so far away? He swept his gaze over the rug, and found what he was looking for: depressions in the fabric and fur, from the victim most likely. Impressions would have to be cast, photo comparisons made between the depressions and the victim's fuzzy white slippers, but the connection was quite clear: the poor man had backed up, away from the door, as his assailant raised a gun at him and fired, twice, striking him in the chest. Two dark red holes were punched into his chest, slightly high on the sternum, close together. At this close, it was hard to miss, but such accuracy meant the shooter was trained to use small arms. A former law enforcer? Military man? Or simply a civilian with too much time? There were too many questions with too little answers.

He stood, brushing a speck of dust off his slate grey hoodie. With a sigh, he walked back outside to the front porch, where the majority of the response team was. As he left, he was passed by a medical team, clad in stark white jumpsuits, blue gloves and face masks, they quickly went to work snapping photographs, collecting minuscule pieces of evidence and dropping them into little plastic bags. No doubt later they'd all be processed, examined and handled in the city's forensics lab, shedding more light onto this mysterious case.

The officer that had left him earlier approached him as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Detective, find out anything else?"

He shook his head. A negative.

"Lotta questions, Calhoun. All I know is our shooter was probably trained to handle firearms, he surprised our vic and he has no sympathy for animals. Better get some guys to case upstairs, might have more crap too. Oh, and check the garage as well. Turn over everything, get ID, any payments, papers, bank statements, phone records, everything. Turn out his trash if you have to. We find everything we can on this fella, we'll have a lot to work with on this case."

The other man nodded and gestured to the small group of cops nearby. They proceeded inside the mansion and disappeared up a spiral staircase to the second floor.

The detective sighed. Three AM in the morning for this? It just wasn't worth it. With his luck it'd be a cold case by the first two weeks.

As he walked past the parked squad cars and ambulance to his bike, a small glimmer in the night air caught his eye. That glimmer expanded into a tear, then a full-sized image of an all too familiar skeletal figure.

"I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds."

"Yeah nice to see you again, Skelly. What is this now, an invitation? A tournament? You've gotta be joking. I've got commitments, man, and the last time we fought you kicked my ass anyway."

He scoffed and sighed, his breath escaping as a cloud that dissipated in the early morning air. The detective regarded his old friend carefully, for the words he spoke next would determine if he stayed or left his case.

In the end, after a few minutes of thinking and watching the forensics team leave with bags upon bags of material evidence, he nodded to himself and adjusted the brim of his square cap. Ice blue eyes peered out from underneath his shock of white hair, and the wolf straightened the tie under his hoodie and rolled his shoulders. He shook the light dusting of snow from his jeans and sneakers and adjusted the gloves he wore on his hands, before removing the NYPD badge that was clipped to his belt, stowing it in his back pocket. As he straightened his back and stretched the kinks out of his spine, ice gathered and froze on his torso and waist. A pair of pistols broke from within their icy tombs, seated within holsters of leather, and a sword emerged from its frosty home, sheathed in a scabbard black as night.

The wolf turned and stared at the image of his friend, giving it a little smirk.

"Ah whatever, I was getting bored with all this anyway. They can handle themselves. Take me away, Skallagrim. Whisk me away to this fancy new place."

---

As he stepped into his new surroundings, he observed several others already present; a tall, lean and lanky man with a pack on his back, a larger man, clad in ornate grey armour and carrying a large, curved sword, a seeming maniac with only one eye, an apparent angel, and a dragon girl. A strange assortment, but obviously handpicked with the utmost care. The skeleton he called a friend was one of the smartest men(?) he knew, even better a detective than he was, being able to see into the past and future and all. The gate zipped to a close behind him, prompting him to pull a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with a zippo as he gave the rest of the room a cursory glance. Wooded, nature in balance with civilisation, a nice, calm, relaxing place.

Skallagrim gave his speech. The detective listened attentively, his cigarette glowing slightly as he pulled on it. Obviously not the wisest choice considering this was a place where nature ruled, but nicotine helped him relax.

The whole thing reeked of a higher purpose, as was wont for the Dreamers. They were basically omnipotent, and a simple man- er, wolf like himself didn't quite understand the intricacies of "being in a thousand places at once" or "seeing all possible outcomes and determining the best one". These able men and women, fighting for a key, to what? A heralding nightmare? Some dark, terrible force of judgement to be released upon all of the multiverse, destroying everything in its path?

He took another pull on his cigarette and blew the smoke towards the ceiling, turning his gaze to the skeleton seated upon his throne.

"I've got a question, Skall. If we're all...fighting for this key to stop or aid the Lord of Nightmares, what's preventing you guys from, like, just gathering all of the best fighters in the multiverse and kinda siccing them on this dude if he gets set free? You can see into, like, every friggin' universe for cryin' out loud."

The last of those called arrived at last, the air crackling with power from the bending of reality and time itself. These ripples would go completely unseen by any of his opponents, but they were as plain as day to the eyes of Edbon. His observation of the room soon brought his attention to the being sitting within the throne. So these were the Dreamers the Angar-Rylla were so adamant on seeking out and researching? Well they certainly seemed to possess a great deal of power; he would give them that.

One of the two figures flanking him walked up to stand beside him. A hood and gas-mask obfuscated his face from view, revealing only steel blue eyes and locks of white hair that slipped out the edges of his cowl; which still hide his elfin ears from view. In his left hand he carried a briefcase like object black in color, the same shade of the hood and robes he wore.

Aquilan whistled as he took in the chambers ancient if alien architecture. He flexed his right hand holding it up as flakes of dull white blue dust whirled around the outstretched hand. “Hmm, this place… perhaps not what I expected. Yet there seems to be water vapor present in the environment. Once more the air is breathable.”

The woman, taller than either of her male counterparts, strode forward confidently. Her appearance deceivingly human, with dark caramel skin and jet black hair. If not for her fairly muscular build and faded red eyes one might have thought her normal in comparison to the beings recently taken to this place. Faoesia sighed, “Good to know,” responding to Aquilan’s observations. A purple aura of light fading from around her head. She inhaled sharply. “Ah, the air here is not much different than Joyiolar… but… heavier somehow in a way that I can't quite explain.”

She turned her head to Edbon and with a half smiled asked, “Well Lord. What do you make of your opponents? Any of them look like more trouble than they first appear?”

The man in question folded his arms and took one step forward head low and eyes closed as he said, “You know such formalities are not necessary since I’m not technically a part of the military anymore.” He shrugged, “In any case I already began taking the measure of everyone who’s arrived.”

He opened his eyes again and laid his attention on one of the first to beseech their gracious hosts. He did not know the man’s name, but he sensed a kind of apprehensiveness about him. As if he was used to living in dangerous environments- and as a consequence- was constantly on his guard. A survivor. One not afraid to shed blood when necessary. His aura was the complete opposite of the man, a pale dying blue that seemed at odds with his nature; at least on the surface. A calm beneath a storm of turmoil.

Then there was the loud mouth who peaked the seasoned soldier’s interest for different reasons. He wore a metal mask of some kind that was in some ways not unlike the one he himself wore; though more a mask than a full helmet. How odd. He’d always thought his sense of fashion was rather unique. This one possessed a kind of restless energy about him waiting to burst forth. Something told Edbon that this one was rather dangerous and would need to be watched closely. A killer through and through.

The coming of the angelic looking creature had initially caught Edbon off guard. More so to do with the combination of his appearance and entrance than anything in particular. His bearing bespoke of utter confidence, yes, and a kind of strength of purpose that could not be denied. A warrior to be sure; on the other hand he had a righteous conviction of spirit befitting his seemingly holy stature. Arrogance. Yes Edbon knew it well. Already here no more than a few breaths and out of all those gathered he had displayed his strengths… and weakness without thought more so than the rest.

Then there was the woman. Rather humble in comparison to the rest, although looks were often misleading. Where the others were openly armed in one manner or another. This one seemed to hold a bored confidence, yet he could sense new excitement boiling under the surface. A thrill seeker then? Of course, given the nature of this tournament not surprising. He considered for a moment if perhaps the younger girl was also a contender. Despite the fact she seemed too young for such a thing, she did possess a fiery aura that to Edbon’s eyes would outshine the winged warriors in many respects. The bikini was a strange set of attire to be sure however…

At last there was, what seemed for all intents and purposes, to be a anthropomorphic animal. A wolf by the looks of it. The familiar hues of power that resonated about him revealed a user of mana. The strands of reality set about him revealed his powers plainly to the observant and perceptive veteran. Given his perceived abilities Edbon immediately dismissed him as a threat and moved his attention back to the bearded man, woman in trench coat, and winged warrior.

“The woman, the old man...and the Asaran…” Edbon began.

“Asaran? Yes the Dreamer called him such.” Aquilan nodded knowingly, his forefinger curled close to his chin in thought. “Yes, the Empire would likely have some records of his species. If nothing else we know he can fly. What of the woman? Did you sense anything in particular?”

Edbon shrugged letting his hands fall to his sides again, “No, there are too many beings in once place, not to mention the presence of the Dreamers themselves to get an accurate read. I sense that one with the mask may be another to look out for. Too early to decide. For now we shou-”

Suddenly a whirl of power manifested before the three, startling Aquilan and Faoesia back a step. Edbon could see no intent of hostility in the yet kept his guard up all the same. The shape that finally formed was that of an orb of liquid like silver. It rippled like a drop of water for a moment before speaking, “Hail warriors and aids. I have been tasked with escorting you to your chambers where you can refresh yourselves and prepare for the ordeals to come.”

Edbon tilted his head at that, before smiling under his mask and responding, “How quaint, in that case please escort my companions will you?” He turned to the others. “Settle in for now, I think I’ll stay and see what I might glean from the opposition.”

Faoesia frowned at that, eyeing the blob as if its existence was an insult to her. “Is that wise Lord?”

Edbon shrugged. “Well it will be some time before this gets underway I suspect. Valuable time for reconnaissance of sorts. I doubt these Dreamers would bring us here and set us upon each other without warning. That would be rather disappointing.”

Aquilan nodded, trusting his friend's judgment. “Alright. We’ll follow your lead then, don’t tarry too long though. We will need time to plan our first move once we get an idea of your opponent. I fear we won’t know much until after the first rounds. It will still help to have an idea of a plan of action all the same.”

The two followed the strange liquid being leaving Edbon to assess his opponents. His eyes settled on the woman, seeing as she was the greatest current enigma. Her current apparel seemed to lack for armor and weapons. Unlike the Lord himself, who had arrived in dark greenish grey body armor, physically a mesh between kevlar and normal clothing. Giving it a thin disarming air to it. His twin sabers however, were currently out of sight. Hidden beneath his long black fur cape, his face similarly concealed beneath his black skull mask. Though observant individuals would note its peculiar similarity to the alien visage of the Skallagrim.

With light steps he walked toward the woman in question. His cape hiding all but his dark leather boots from view.

“Intriguing,” Edbon said out loud as he came within speaking distance to the one called Ruchette. “Skallagrim-- the proprietor of these games-- has looked and searched throughout all the great multiverse to seek only the most worthy of warriors.” He stopped short looking out toward the throne at the being in question. Before turning his head just so that one eyes observed Ruchette, “So here you are...yet I cannot help but wonder. When you spoke that fabled name- your reasons for coming here. Perhaps you believed the opportunity to great to pass up? Or maybe it was merely false bravado? Then again… you might have stumbled into this game without an inkling of its scope?”

He then waited to see how she would respond if at all. Observing for any reaction and seeking to analysis its meaning.

Two figures clad in black cloaks, pushed through the wind torrent hills of Avelyn. It had taken several days to cut through the perpetual foothills, but they weren't inclined to turn back now. Leading, a man donning the white mask of a fox, marked in red stripes. A Kitsune from the small village of Minnit. The Second, seemed only older due to his scraggly brown beard and distinguished gray soaked eyes. A Scientist from the realm of Nightgale. Both, lost in thought and a paltry nostalgia as they drew near the now ruined village of Minnit.

"It's ironic, don't you think?" The masked man bellowed over the whipping wind. He didn't need to look back to know his partner was listening. "Returning here after all these years." He clenched his cloak tighter as the wind howled and screamed. He wanted to ask the more transparent question, but did not want to express distrust with his partner. Arsto had been researching the Red Sage and the Lost Empire for many years, and the first major clue they had received led them right back to Hadyn's home.

Arsto had no issues distinguishing Hadyn's thoughts, however. "I had my suspicions." He responded vaguely as the wind begin to weary and die. Minnit wasn't far off. "You've heard the stories of the Emerald Dreamers. You've seen the archaic tablets." There was a moment of silence. "All the clues indicate their imperishable connection to The Empire. The Red Sage was a guardian of their secrets and intermediary between The Empire and the Realm of Dreams."

Hadyn's thoughts began to escape. The Realm of Dreams. The Emerald Forest. He'd dreamed of it many times. The emerald veins of root that flowed through a timeless forest of lush green life. The solitary statues of seemingly lifeless beings he couldn't even comprehend. The stone slab that emanate a Crimson dominance. He hadn't told Arsto of his dreams, but that's all they were, right?

"It's said to be on a plane distant and distinct from anything else." Arsto continued. "What kind of creatures do you know that can practically create entire realms distant and unattainable to any insane thing that might roam the Nexus and beyond?"

"A Kitsune." The wind had almost completely died down now. Hadyn could smell the ash and mildew on the horizon. "So, that's what you were doing there that day?" His throat clammed up, even mentioning it. The day his brother died. The day all his people died. The guilt began to creep up on him like an old friend. It was his fault.

As if on cue, Arsto interrupted his thought. "It wasn't your fault. Pau's death was not on your hands. Your brother's endless torments were to blame for that." The memories came rushing back, as Arsto stared ahead at Minnit. He could almost see the clouds of fire that had once suspended over the village in anguished rage. He had rushed to stop what would happen next, but none of them realized the full extent of what was happening. "A Kitsune's reaction..." He paused. "Anyone's reaction to a loss like that would cause that kind of strife. A Kitsune, even more so. Your spirit raging in defiance like that was out of your control."

Hadyn wasn't sure if it was the conversation or something else, but his body felt heavier for it. He strained to ignore the pain as his feet fell begrudgingly against the dirt path.

Arsto continued. "But yes, that's part of the reason I was there." He pulled a tiny emerald from his pocket. The item that had led them back to Minnit. Within it's glow, time seemed to not exist, as the reflections played out. A man, composed with a stature of great power. His face could not be seen, but his demeanor spoke for itself. Strikes that left no creature in it's wake alive as he led an army against dark forces. It was obscure, but lucid once it caught your eye. A man following behind, a rugged banner hanging from his belt. The Ancient mark of an Kitsune.

"Do you think my people were once part of the Empire?" Hadyn abruptly asked.

"I'm not really sure." Arsto replied. "If they were, it seemed like they'd had died off with the rest of the Empire." Arsto regretted the comment. Except for Hadyn, there were dead.

Hadyn didn't seem to mind, even as he stopped abruptly, staring upward and then to the sides. Before Arsto could ask, a sudden surge of energy seemed to spark from Hadyn. Arsto could make out the brief outline of the Kitsune's fox spirit revealing itself as it began to break down wards that were placed around the village.

"It seems our contacts were right." Arsto grimaced, staring into the remains of the village, beyond the wards. "There must be something living up here. And if they are still right, whatever it is, is dangerous and powerful." Arsto instinctively stepped behind Hadyn. "We need to be prepared for anything."



Hadyn's eyes scanned the village as they wandered through, his golden eyes peering through the mask at his birthplace, and what felt to him like a graveyard. A sense of urgency and danger seemed to nudge him. Perhaps it was instead a sense of remorse.

Images plagued his mind as he glanced to and fro, witnessing what had become of the once proud village. To his right, women sat on a porch pressing soaked clothes against washboards and laughing. Children ran irrationally in the streets as a riled merchant pressed slowly through the packed street on his wagon. To his left, crowds of people walked the stone stairs, between beautifully designed houses painted in luminous colors, leading downward towards the lake at the bottom of the hill. From here he could see a giant stone monument, lathered in moss, peeking over the hills, an entry into the once concealed training halls of young Kitsune coming into age. He was surprised they still stood. The humans were relentless in wiping the Kitsune and everything they stood for, from the face of Avelyn.

His senses began to tingle at a novel force, that seemed to drift from the descending stairs. It was slight, but there. His feet seemed to move with an automatic tenacity. An all too familiar stride. Arsto, quietly followed.

A chorus of indistinguishable voices seem to drift up the hill as they got closer. Even Hadyn's quick ears couldn't decipher the noise. It was strange and almost melodic. They almost had a familiarity in them, that caught his attention. He was sure he had never heard sounds quite like it. He rounded a corner, coming face to face with not a creature but a memory.

Two boys stood in the road, their laughter taunting and familiar. He watched as people passed by unaware of the darkness that was just right around the corner. A young boy wandered, his hands out, reaching to grasp anything that would give him a sense of stability. The boys laughed harder, almost becoming an echo in the back of Hadyn's mind replaying over and over again as he watched the events unfold. He forced to hold down tears as the young boy screamed and cried in vain. He didn't deserve this.

The boy's hand reached out touching a wooden fence. The point of a broken fence, the only sign of ground that he could feel. He turned, fighting off the illusions of his mind. He was trying to be brave. To show his brothers he wasn't afraid. However, in an act that Haydn could only describe as horrid, a small single rock, slipped from under the boy's feet. Hadyn screamed. The boy fell. Hadyn propelled forward by an desire fix this. He couldn't stop it before but just maybe. Arsto stood watching Hadyn in a sorrowing silence.

It was too late though, Hadyn fell to his knees as he reached the impaled body of his brother. Sobbing.

"Hadyn." Arsto spoke, a fear filling his voice. "Hadyn." He said more urgently.

The Kitsune sat, knees submerged into the ground, his hands grasping for memories.

"Hadyn." Arsto spoke once more, in a solemn voice as he watched new events.

Hadyn finally looked up, his eyes gazing upon 3 gray figures, their cloaks filled with rips and dust. Their faces distorted in a darkness under their cowls as they seemed to dance in a rhythmic pattern, their words becoming like an unnerving song, that seemed to hold some archaic meaning. Hadyn stared wild eyed at the salient scene before him. He wanted to speak, but his words became like dust on his tongue.

Arsto was filled with a sense of dread. Could this be? He tried to reach back far in his memories. Memories that did not exist anymore, but for faint flashes of clarity. He could not recall their names, or their faces. He could not understand their intentions or the extent of the powers, but one word rang from the depths of his mind, a lost thought from a life long past. He spoke, his voice cold and distant. "Ancients."

As soon as they had seemingly appeared, they faded. Upon the ground where they had stood, a body lay. Immobile. Hadyn's ears twitched as he stared with concern. "I don't sense any life." He pulled himself from the ground. "He doesn't even seem to have an indistinguishable smell." The two moved closer, an almost immediate impression of familiarity falling over Hadyn, causing him to sprint toward the body.

Arsto followed, though more cautiously. Glaring down at the body, he murmured. "You remember when you asked if I found it ironic that we ended up back here?" Hadyn nodded. "A stupid question, Hadyn. You know I've never been a big believer in coincidence." His gray clad eyes reflecting the body of a young man, carrying the resemblance of a boy that has been long dead.

"Pau?" Hadyn managed to whisper, grabbing the foreign red hair of the thin shaped body. "I'm still not sensing any kind of life, Arsto." His dismay was evident.

Arsto bent toward the body, with an attempt to turn it over. It's weight was insane, even for a dead body. Hadyn, curious of his partner's intentions, forced the body over. "That's because I don't think it's alive in that sense." Arsto pondered, his fingers running across a small section of flesh on the body's lower left back. Something seemed almost carved into it's skin. I.M.P.A.Q.T. "I think it's some kind of machine."

"Like an android?" Hadyn mused with a crooked eyebrow behind his mask. He had questions, but even Arsto looked puzzled. With a sudden jerk, Hadyn's arms reached across Arsto's chest, pushing him backwards, as he pulled himself up. His hand finding the hilt of his sword.

"Who- are you?", a soft voice drifted up from open soft blue eyes of the being. It slowly began to prop itself up. Staring around. Suddenly, as it's eyes landed on Arsto, it's eyes changed to a bright yellow. "I- I know you. Don't I?"

Arsto, barely on his feet, stared back into the eyes of the being. Something oddly comforting and familiar. However, before he could say anything a strange energy formed in between the two. Reality seemed to distort within strange reflections of light. Arsto rubbed his eyes, feeling like he was seeing things, only to open them and see a strange skeletal looking figure glaring coldly back at him.

“I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.”

Arsto was baffled. "You must be mistaken. I'm not fighter." Before he could finish his statement, the irregularity was gone.

Hadyn stood wide eyed and concerned. "Obviously, I'll fight in your place if it comes down to it, Arsto. I'm not letting some jackass who thinks he knows it all get you killed."

Arsto stared at Hadyn for a minute then back at the boy. "What's your name?"

"Isaiah.", he spoke, his eyes returning to it's original blue.

Arsto, standing fully to his feet, walked over, extending his hand to Isaiah. "The name is Arsto. My partner here is Hadyn." He said, nodding toward the Kitsune. Isaiah hesitated, then grabbed the man's hand. Arsto attempted to help pull him up, forgetting his weight. Isaiah seemed to let off a grin, finally standing himself. "I think that 'jackass' might know more than he's letting on. It's not me per say entering this tournament." He stared comfortingly at Hadyn, then turning back toward Isaiah. "It's you."

Isaiah nodded with a certainty. Within each of them, they felt an odd connection. Perhaps it was more than that. Hadyn stared even more confused.

"So, what now?" Hadyn asked.

"Well, Isaiah isn't going alone, that's for sure." Arsto grinned.

"Hell yea!" Hadyn laughed. He was still extremely confused, but he'd never turn down the chance for some action.

Isiah turned toward an open space, the two following behind him. With an sudden clamor of excitement, he spoke out, his voice ringing across the emptiness of Minnit. There was something else in his voice. He wasn't the only one speaking.

"Skallagrim! We're ready to fight!"



In a flash of light, the three found themselves standing amongst some of the greatest warriors across the multiverse. A Kitsune, A human scientist, and an A.I. of unknown proportions.

They seemed to stand in silence, as events unfolded around them. Arsto stared at Isaiah, taking in his facial features. He was unsure still what to make of this. "Hadyn. Keep your eyes open. We may have just stepped into our most dangerous mission yet." The Kitsune nodded, the aura of the fox spirit burning like a fire around him.

Hearing all the conversations going on, Arsto turned his eyes back to Isaiah.

I wonder. If he does win, what will he do with the key?

Ruchette didn't turn for a matter of seconds after the concealed man approached her and began to speak, not even bothering to feign interest in the conversation...at least not at first. However, she did find it unusual that, with all the powerful people around, he chose to approach her. Why? She was used to being approached by men, but as far as she could tell this was different in a couple of ways. Perhaps he was trying to gleam vital information about her in the off chance that they would become opponents, but the questions seemed more personal than that. He was an unusual one, forcing her to ponder about him while most didn't get a second glance, or even a first glance for that matter. She turned her head lazily towards him, at least giving him that much for his efforts, although certainly not for his benefit, her face taking on a slightly dour expression as if he was interrupting something important.

"This tournament may or may not be deserving of attention, but the possibility does exist. Tell me more about this "scope" that you speak of," she commanded in a calm manner. If she was annoyed by his intrusion, she didn't reveal it in her voice.

Her left hand rested on her hip, her right one hanging loosely at her side. Her gaze only acknowledged him for the second or two of her reply before shifting back elsewhere, her long hair flicking over her shoulder as she turned her head away. One would think that she wasn't even paying attention to whatever answers came to her own inquiry, just like how she was acting when he first approached her. However, he had at least some of her attention for the time being while she simultaneously observed other potential points of interest. There was the obvious skeletal being and the other dreamers, who she didn't know of as such but could tell of their importance. Not only them, but here eyes fell on many other people in turn. Yes, the scope here may be very interesting indeed.

* * * * *

Some people eyed Evvie with questioning or un-approving stares as she darted past them. How could a kid such as herself get access to such a high end tournament? She was not, and could not, be any match of an adult. At least that was the prevailing thought, but those with vision greater than them were able to see past their superficial reasoning. Inside her small body held a massive amount of potential, which even now gave her physical abilities far outclassing what most were capable of, a level that of the famed dragons which many worlds revered. Perhaps the dreamers wanted to see how much of that potential would be brought out here, or perhaps she was just a pawn to bring out someone else's potential should they manage to defeat her. Or perhaps, either way that went, they would just be glad with the massive ratings that her fight would bring out when the audience realized the scope of her power. They did care about tv ratings...right? Or actually, the other options weighed more heavily on their minds then such superficial things, it could be assumed.

As Evvie messed around within the great hall, daydreaming about her awesome her battle might look, her feet suddenly both planted themselves in front of her as she came to an abrupt stop, the cause of this change in behavior being a group of newcomers advancing into the area just off to her right. The young man with fox ears...what were they called again? How nostalgic. But where was this thought coming from? The memories felt like they were on the tip of her brain, yet she couldn't quite find access to them. A rivalry? A friendship? Or was it something else...

The cliffs were lush with trees and greenery, fat, heavy branches drooping in the humid air and silhouettes if bushes peering through the thick, warm fog. It was a serene place, untouched and pure; a small lake hidden in the crevice of a giant mountain, where only a few dim rays of sunlight peered in through the dense foliage. There, at the trees' roots, almost invisible in the darkness save for a faint orange glow emanating from his chest, sat the Grand Master of the Aether Storm Monks, Gartenga Nanka Ijok.

He was immersed in contemplation, entering an almost meditative state as he cut himself off the present and turned to the past. Whenever he felt his mind was ripe enough for it again, filled with fresh food for thought, he would halt his nomadic travels across the multiverse and settle down a in a place where he could spend his time in peace and solitude, relishing the new experiences; savoring the knowledge. He had been under the skies of thousands of planets and witnessed the lives of the civilizations they birthed, imprinting them into his memory. If one were lucky, they could ask him, and Ijok would them tell a long, rich story, stitched together from his countless journeys; one filled with epic battles, in which entire nations were born and defeated, tales of dreadful beasts, walking in the skin of both man and animal alike, and the kind of lessons only life itself can tell.

But this story has reached the ears of very few, the Grand Master being very reluctant to share his knowledge: when not even a century old, he was still glad and eager to share his wisdom, but it always fell on deaf ears, history taking its toll, and the cycle of life turning round despite the best of his efforts. Even when Ijok managed to make himself more than just a grain of sand stuck on the multiverse’s cogwheels, any rise he brought was always followed by a plummeting downfall. Since then, it became a rare privilege to receive guidance from him.

And then, there is fighting. Gartenga loves it with a burning passion, putting his skills to good use by beating the crap out of anybody he doesn’t like. Instead of resolving conflicts with words, he most often does so with violence, thoroughly enjoying the process; for a monk, his gross indulgence in bloodshed is indeed surprising...

---

Ijok's muscles bulged from underneath his torn garb, a thin film of blood spread across his body. "You're not the first, and you're not the last, Hanuman. Need i say more?" - he growled, posture conveying all: a shouldered axe, his free arm slightly bent and fist clenched, back slightly hunched and chin tucked in. Hanuman laughed, ripping off a battered, bent pauldron of his shoulder, and brought his sword's tip in line with Ijok's conduit. "I know your kin well enough not to fall for any cheap tricks. If i were you, i wouldn't be so certain i'd survive this fight." Taking a step closer, the warrior pressed his blade into the Grand Master's chest.

Ijok twisted his hips around, bringing the sword parallel to his body, and slid past its tip, slinging his axe down at his opponent's neck - but Hanuman evaded just as deftly, drawing the blade and cutting deep into his armpit. Ijok ignored what would've been a grievous wound for any human warrior and grabbed the weapon with his hand, pulling it's wielder closer. His axe rammed into the armor, liquifying upon contact and slipping in through the gaps, wrapping itself around Hanuman's chest.

The fool was arrogant, thinking too much, too much of himself. Maybe his conquest had been successful so far, but soon enough, his army would loose their leader. No matter how strong it was on its own, what had driven this force had been this man, and without him, it would scatter, falling easy prey to numerous enemies. Yes, Ijok always knew how to be at the right place and at the right time. What once had been his axe - now a complete extension of his body - solidified into a band of muscles, ready to crush Hanuman's ribs and drive them through his heart and lungs. Pulling his enemy even closer, he spoke, staring him in the eyes with his blank, featureless face: "Before seeking power, temper your mind for it. I'm sick of seeing buffoonish twats that have no other goals but their inane glory fantasies."

---

Suddenly, his attention went elsewhere, the Grand Master sensing a disturbance in the aether, a concentration of power so intense it seemed to rip apart the fabric of time itself. This sort of intrusion was certainly unexpected, but nonetheless intriguing. Standing up, he observed as from the rift, a skeletal being emerged, its amethyst energy seeming vaguely familiar.

“I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.”

The being spoke, and Ijok finally recognized a Dreamer in him. Folding his arms behind his back, the Grand Master gave him a respectful bow.

“I am ready now, Skallagrim. Please open the gates for me.”

Chaos, unbridled chaos, however within the madness Skallagrim sat, watching and observing. A hundred million voices echoed in his consciousness as Dreamers spoke and debated the merits of each fighter. Some questioned the choices of Skallagrim, but in the end all seemed pleased.

A warning claxon rings, and the screens appear with battlefields and names attached to them. Skallagrim bows to the crowd, “When ready merely think of battle and you shall appear at your field. Good Luck”

With that, a huge surge of aesr filled the Nexus of Worlds as Skallagrim called upon the myriad of dreams to establish links between each fighter and their battlegrounds. The power surge would not go unnoticed by the participants.

Metz had plenty of time to sum up every strange and new individual that milled around the throne room as he awaited the beginning of events. He was unsure what to expect of course, fighting in a tournament for the amusement of others was not something he would usually be willing to utilize his skills for. Still, with the fate of his home world perhaps caught in the balance there was really no choice for him, and if he had to fight to bring life back to all he had ever known, he would. He had killed for far less in the past.

Dark thoughts that were not his own ran through his mind, drowning out the compassionate man had the capacity to be and replacing them with the cold efficiency he knew he needed. It was not a pleasant process, knowing that he had to sully himself in order to preserve life, holding onto the heroic idealism that was his ultimate motivation was not enough to completely come to terms with what he had to do. He sighed, looking down at himself, equipped for war without even being aware he was going into it. Who was he really kidding? The war hadn’t ended for him, not in twenty years, but there was a small chance that a few more acts of violence could see it done with. Now that… that was worth fighting for.

His head shot up as the first rounds were announced, the general hubbub resulting in him piecing together who he faced. It was not someone he had picked up on at first, but quite clearly there was some kind of furred humanoid creature in Torm apparel standing among the others, and he was his first opponent. He was armed, firearms by the look of the holsters and the metal on show, two of them. From an initial glance he could already tell they had a more efficient design than his own weapon, potentially valuable equipment if he was allowed to take arms from the fallen. There was however an overall feel about the creature that Metz recognised, so attuned to magic himself (almost painfully so, if he were to be honest, as his body yearned desperately for magical energy) he could feel something similar in the creature. However that assumption was only from a cursory glance, and the effect of the condensed magic all around him as Skallagrim manipulated the webs of the Nexus prevented him from any precise investigation, such an act would require a subtle change to his sight.

“Let’s get on with this.” He said to himself, staring across the throne-room at his enemy of circumstance. With the all too familiar thought of battle in mind, he disappeared.

2nd RANGER BATTALION, 75th RANGER REGIMENT
2100(Z) 30-August-2015
FOB Andrew, Syria

In spite of recent conflicts in the area, the Summer night sky in Syria was quite and peaceful. Save for the wind which blew through the mountains and the fluttering of nocturnal creatures, all was silent. FOB Andrew was established by the US and used by American troops alone. Those which were stationed there wore the army MultiCam uniform, PT belt slung over their right shoulder. The FOB was relatively small, featuring several tents for the junior enlisted, and several separate tents for the other personnel. Civilians on the FOB were locals, used solely to act as translators and given their own place to stay within the FOB as well as PT belts for safety reasons. Though the night was peaceful, it would not stay that way for long.

Three knocks were heard on the door of the Executive Officer's tent. “Come in” the Lieutenant answered. It was a mail-specialist, ranked specialist, who stood at attention upon entering. “At ease soldier” said the Lieutenant. “Sir, we've received a OPORD. There is an unknown amount of enemies carrying small arms. We will receive no assistance in this task. No attachments. 1930, a MEDEVAC was called in by corporal Strickland, saying his team was attacked by an assailant wielding a pistol; the FOB is to be put on FPCON Delta. Troops should be woken and prepared to engage the target immediately. First platoon, and second platoon are to guard the two entry ways. Third and fourth are to send convoys out in either direction. Effective now. Take any precautions necessary. That is the end of the OPORD.” briefed the Specialist.

“Very well. AttenTION” the Lieutenant commanded. The executive saluted the mail-man. “Rangers lead the way” they droned to each other, before the specialist ran off, rifle in the low-ready.

There was knocking on doors all throughout the FOB. The soldiers were quickly briefed on their mission before being told to immediately execute. There was an audible chorus of grumbles, before the troops removed their PT belts and prepared for contact.

It took a mere ten minutes for the mission to be executed. The humvees were fired up and were sent in both directions outside the FOB. Meanwhile, there were armed guards standing before either side of the base ready to defend. Rifles were locked and loaded.

Before long, a signal was sent from the humvees. “Contact, contact, contact. 6 o'clock, small arms.” said the man in the front humvee. By the time they could fire back, the gunner on the .50 cal was already dead. The convoy stopped, soldiers drawing rifles and stepping out of the vehicles. Alpha team mobilized from the first humvee- without a gunner.

Soon, the night sky was illuminated by M4s firing rounds of 5.56. The team moved in a wedge formation as they pressed forward, though did not seem to hit any target. “LOA! LOA! LOA!” the men screamed. This signaled Bravo team to move in a similar fashion, flanking from the 12' o clock.

The sound of screams turned rapidly into gurgling, as a man on Alpha team had a stab wound manifest in his neck. Then another, and another, and another; as all five men of the team were found dead. Bravo team was in a panic, as the men scanned about with their NODs on, attempting to find something, only to catch small flashes of green occasionally flash by.

These men were soon decapitated.
Those who were still in their vehicles were quick to break contact, sending in the report back to the FOB. The men that did not stand fully on guard, raised their weapons pointed straight out as the two humvees quickly rushed toward the gate, blocking the entrance. The other convoy was soon called back as reinforcements.

Meanwhile, the first humvee was taken, following the other two back to the camp, driving quickly and aggressively. As the hijacked vehicle neared the FOB, the troops were quick to fire back.

The humvee swerved out of control as a dark figure appeared in the gunner position, firing 50 caliber rounds at the soldiers below. The sound of heavy gunfire were accompanied only by a just barely audible cackling laughter.

BAM! The hijacked vehicle crashed into the walls of the FOB, the figure leaping from the vehicle before it exploded in a dramatic fireball. The soldiers did not hesitate to fire in its direction, surrounding the humvee.

Without a sound, a soldier was decapitated on the spot. The others turned in that direction, and the other platoons quickly rushed to support. Even the medics did not touch the corpse.

The lights of the FOB turned on, the soldiers lifting up and turning off their night vision and quickly surrounded the target.

Standing in a slightly hunched position at the center of the FOB was a slender, pale, “man”. His look was unkempt with his hair worn long and messy, his clothes worn loose. Even the epaulets of his trench coat were undone. In each of his hands, the man held a katana. The swords were mastercraft from the pommel of the blade to the very tip. Their only apparent flaw was that each blade had a cutting edge on the side which curved inward. On the man's face, a simple, silver, thespian mask. As the man opened his mouth to smile, he revealed a pair of elongated fangs.

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT BALLS, I'M FEELIN' IT!” he screamed, crouching down, then running off again. The soldiers were quick to fire and history was quick to repeat itself. One man was cut down, and another dragged aside.

Jordan Prentice was a vampire aged 92, and very recently, he was tasked on several missions each involving one the killing of something or oftentimes somethings.

The vampire hurriedly tore through the still living soldier's FLC, apparently looking for something. Soon, the vampire's hands laid themselves on a reflective belt. He turned the soldier over on his stomach, and wrapped the belt around the soldier's neck, pulling tightly from near the center, crossing his arms over. Jordan watched as the belt stretched and the soldier choked to death. Before being able to bite his target, however, rifles were already trained on the vampire. A single round was fired, Jordan maneuvering quickly, deflecting the blade on his mask.

“Weak fuck sauce” Jordan blurted, before grabbing the dead soldier's M4 and switching to fire. He pulled and left his finger on the trigger, running back before the soldiers. To the vampire's surprise, the rifle did not fire another round. That was until Jordan pulled the trigger. Again, and again, and again, until the magazine was empty.

“Man, your guns are fucking lame” the vampire said.
He pulled out his own firearm- a pistol which had earned a name for itself. This pistol was called Rain Shadow, a Deagle brand Eagle; otherwise known as a Desert Eagle. Jordan Prentice reached into his pocket for a magazine and slid it into the handle. Then, he pulled back the slide.

“FUCKIN' BANG BANG FUCKERS!” Jordan announced, pulling the trigger. Square in the nose, a soldier was shot. Jordan rushed back to where he was, sheathing his first katana. In his left hand, he held his other katana.

The soldiers did not worry. They only shot again. Jordan returned fire while evading their onslaught. “Come on you SEAL Team Six fucks! You can fucking do better than that!” Jordan threw a string of insults following as he fired another five rounds, before ejecting his magazine, kicking it into the open mouth of a soldier. Jordan rushed forward once more, grabbing the soldier's face and choking him on the magazine.

Jordan ran around the FOB, away from the curtain of bullets which followed him. As he ran, a hazy, skeletal figure appeared before him.

“I am...”

“Fucking shit, this shit again? Man, you sure fuckin' do know how to blue-ball a guy.” Jordan whined, before looking back to see it was a different shadowy figure than usual. This was a skeleton. “Heh. Spooky motherfucker” Jordan remarked.

“...Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds.”

A grayish figure stood just behind Jordan Prentice. “Say it” the figure said.

“God fucking dammit! You again?” Jordan asked.

The figure twirled his fingers at Skallagrim, as it seemed to moved backwards like a rewinding cassette tape.

"I am Skallagrim, and you are a skilled and worthy warrior, you are invited to attend the Nexus of Worlds Tournament. When you are ready merely call my name and I shall open the gate to the Nexus of Worlds."

“Fuck that.” Jordan pouted, as he continued to run.

Time stopped before Jordan, the gray man, and the skeleton.

The skeleton's voice rewinded again. “Alright! Fuck! Fine!” Jordan shouted. “...fucker...” he mumbled slightly following.

Taking in a deep breath, Jordan breathed “Fuckin'… Skallagrim”. The figure folded its arms and nodded.

---

“I'm here, fuckers!” Jordan announced, as his voice echoed through the halls. The vampire looked around at his surroundings, stretching about. Although he had traveled to many worlds before, the place was a completely new experience to the vampire.

He could have introduced himself normally. He could have inquired about the tournament that he did not know he was a participant in. Instead, the vampire said this. “Alright you fucks. Which one of you fuckers is Skallagrim, and who's asses do I have to kick before I kick your ass?” Jordan asked.

“This place Asaran is the Nexus of Worlds. This place is everywhere and nowhere at once. Future and the past, every tangent of existence are found through the various entrances and egresses found within these walls. Does that answer your question?” The skeletal being responded and as the words reached him, Raelis nodded. "That will suffice for now," he stated simply before glancing about at the newcomer and those who had already arrived. His fiercely glowing orbs and exceptional visual capabilities allowed him to pick up a great many details.

However, the most offensive of these details were those that appeared as a crass human arrived. 'No...not human,' he corrected internally as he took in the scents of those present, 'Something far less pleasant.' With this in mind he made his way towards the edge of the hall, at which point he sheathed his blade in its place, and gazed out at the scenery. It was strange really, seeing such a large variety in one place. Then again, given where he was it was perhaps not so bizarre.

Taking in a deep breath and composing himself, the Asaran let all the annoyance and unnecessary aggression leave his system. He would need to be focused if these fighters had all been called under the same premise as he had. 'Worthy combatants, all chosen by this...Skallagrim,' he puzzled internally, thinking the skeletal figure some form of transcendent figure despite its unorthodox appearance.

Then, as he finished refocusing himself, Skallagrim spoke once more. “When ready merely think of battle and you shall appear at your field. Good Luck.” At this, the Asaran turned towards the other participants, giving each a once over, before he closed his eyes, thought of battle, and then promptly vanished. This would surely be a challenge.

Arsto bit his lip bitterly as Isaiah seemed to vanish just as fast as Skallagrim opened up the battlegrounds. Something was entirely unnerving about their current predicament. How could he be so ignorant? Just jumping into something like this so carelessly. He always took the time to think before he acted, but not this time. This time, it was like he had no control. Something about Isaiah messed with him, and he just couldn't put a finger on it.

The scientist seemed to shrug it off as he took a seat in front of a large screen. There was no shaking the feeling though. His eyes gazed in Hadyn's direction, who seemed to be almost frozen in place. It wasn't like Hadyn. Arsto began to wish he had the capabilities of some of these beings. Maybe then he wouldn't feel so uncomfortable, but then again, maybe that was a false security. "Hadyn?" he whispered toward the kitsune. "What's wrong?"

"What? No goodbyes?" Hadyn forced a laugh. Isaiah did seem to vanish off to his battle quickly. Arsto also noticed that too, but didn't want to comment on it. Hadyn's expression seemed almost grim, even behind his mask. The Kistsune sighed trying to find words to his obvious uneasiness. "You humans need better senses." He seemed to almost snarl, as he moved toward Arsto.

If the scientist didn't know better, he'd think the Kitsune was almost shaking. What had him so spooked? "What is it? What's going on?"

Hadyn's eyes peered across the large room, toward a young looking feminine warrior. He'd hoped that she was one of the fighters and would be gone, but there she was. There was no mistaking the scent. "A Dragon." He seemed to peer down at his Okari etched across his flesh as he said the words. The imagine of Ryuu, elder dragon, firmly imprinted on his chest.

Arsto closed his eyes in understanding, and with a sigh, opened them again. "You'll be fine, Hadyn. Just keep your wits about you." The kitsune nodded in agreement, as he sat hesitantly beside his partner. Arsto peered into the screen. "Now, let's see what our new friend is up to."

Time seemed to stand still as Terra and Nihl converged their minds to recap the last tidbits of information the Resistance required. They entered the world of heat and strings that was their shared spirit world, and spoke in hushed tones. It had been long since they had actually been one body, and Nihl could feel the strange tug of freedom that encompassed it. Admittedly, it was intoxicating.

"Nihl... Nihl..."

His attentioned snapped back to Terra, his should twitching to the left, answering with body language.

"When do you return? Pasert is worried that about you. We all are."

Nihl's hand gripped the hilt of his blade, a negative response. Not for a while. He could hear the sigh coming from Terra, the man was saddened by the apparent news. An apologetic gesture, a slight decline in head position.

"No, it's fine. There must be something out there that keeps you away."

Nihl twisted his head upward, and then back to Terra, his other half, quite literally. "Answers."

As the word passed his lips, a formless figure formed at the edge of his peripheral. Terra couldn't see it, but Nihl could feel the coldness that accompanied it. He twitched slightly, indicating he needed to go.

"Wait... answers to what?"

But it was too late, Nihl had turned.. what was once a formed humaniod broke into what seemed to be a million lines of string. A faint eight legged shadow dissipating behind him.

That was twenty minutes ago.

For once, a smile grazed his face behind his silken mask.

The slow passing of the tattered rags; the near debilitating smell of fresh death; and the ragged piece of paper that now flapped in his right hand, it all led to one thing - another contract. Unlike the rest of the contracts that the Resistance recieved, this one was specialized for Nihl, and had come from a time long passed. The messengeer passed himself off as a long dead deliverer, and that this had been his last assignment.

"Protect the I.M.P.A.Q.T. The future weaves in a odd pattern, but all things lead to the Nexus of Worlds, he shall be there, a participant.

-
The Red Sage."

Protect the I.M.P.A.Q.T. obviously this creature had some connection to his ancestor, one that had waged war with the other side of his family for as long as any could remember. Seraphics vs the Tsh'Rael's. Supposedly, though, the Sage and the Sacred of Creation were long dead.

Nihl looked out across the small room his body was situated in, at the white haired youth that he had once been at war with. An Uncle.

"Long live the Queen." A voice echoed, pretending that the ghost had not just been there. Joseph was speaking, but not in his voice. Rarely in his voice.

The youth eyed the paper, and smiled. "Another contract, nephew?" An affirmative nod.

"Well, you clearly must accept it. After all, it'll lead you to your answers."

Nihl rose from his seat, and placed his hand on his mask. It was secured on his face. Strangely, a part of him hoped for forgiveness. But why?

He looked towards Joseph, and then, as the youth spoke to the wind, a sharp dressed man appeared.

'I cannot condone this, but a favor for a favor." Liaison tapped his cane, and a portal opened.

Nihl, without hestitation, stepped through the portal to the Nexus of World's tournament. He appeared several feet away from I.M.P.A.Q.T and his entourage. Words echoed as his appeared, and one of those he landed near vanished almost immediately. It approached from the front, extending the contract towards the group, before speaking.

"The Red Sage sends his regards from a time long past. I am here to protect Isaiah."

He shifted to the left, a single string - unimportant - trailing behind him.