A discharge of luminosity filled the air around Isaiah as he was whisked away by the shear power of the Dreamers. He had not even thought of battle, but here he was, on his way to a battlefield. Time seemed to tinker away as nothing but light entered his eyes. It kind of hurt. Shutting his eyes, he wondered how'd he came to be in this place, and where he was going. The chill of air seemed to nip at his neck. It was cold. Why was it suddenly so cold? He opened his eyes.

"Where might you be off to, young sir?" An kind eyed older looking man peered over him, his mustache almost too large for his face, but his smile was transparent. Isaiah smiled. He had found himself on a sunken wooden platform of an old train station. The air was cold, and he couldn't see beyond the beams of light escaping the train, and a single lamp hovering from above, singling himself as the only would be passenger on this train to-.

"Felorn" a soft voice fleeing his lips.

The man chuckled, pulling his blue rounded hat from his head, a glint of light reflecting off the seemingly metallic golden 'CONDUCTOR' embroidered into it. "Felorn, you say?" His expression became one of curiosity, as he lowered himself toward the boy. "That's an awfully long way for a boy to travel alone, isn't it?" he inquired.

"I'm gonna [deep breath] see the Ligers and um, the Astra-um- the magic people are there too!" an excitement lining his voice.

The conductor gazed at the starry eyed boy, smiling, then quickly shifted to concern. "You know, Felorn isn't exactly safe these days. I'm sure even a kid like you would know that." Isaiah could feel a sudden sunken feeling in his chest as his head filled with frustration. The conductor must have noticed it as well. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you." he smiled, again. "Where are your parents at?"

"I- I'm alone. How am I suppose to beat his guy? I've have to be meant for something more than this." Isaiah closed his eyes, once again, the memory slipping away.

"You aren't alone. I'll help you."

"You will?"

"Yea, sure. Um. If you help me get home."

"What's your name?"

A feeling of joy swelled up within him. "My name is Daio!"

Isaiah could feel a sudden brush of dust filled hot air breathe against his skin as he entered the battlefield. What seemed like such a long time, had only truly been mere seconds. Perhaps, not even that long. Isaiah found himself standing on the Western side of a long street, stretching through a vacant small town. The sun hovered just above. It had to be somewhere around noon.

His thin frame probably seemed rather small, with a large 10 ft wall at his back. His opponent would be a fool to consider him just another young man way over his head. Isaiah felt like it, but he knew better. Not that it mattered though. His participation in this tournament should prove enough for his opponent to take him seriously. Likewise, He wouldn't make that mistake either.

As his red hair and ragged tan clothes seem to shift and sway with the wind, he took a closer look at his surroundings. A car sat further along the street to his left. Beyond that, a truck. To his right seemed to be a vacant house, though pottery still sat in an open window. If people had left, they had done so in a hurry. At least that's what he hoped had happened. Seeing the walls, structures, and vehicles, he assumed the place had once been a military town or base of some sort.

Isaiah felt a sudden change in his body as a Core lit up within his body. Something he hadn't even realized was there, was now turning on. His eyes seemed to blink momentarily before being filled with much more than he had anticipated.

Scanning...

Temp 97^oF

His eyes suddenly began scanning and giving detail on just about everything he came across. A feeling of fear seemed to rise in him. He hated this. He wanted to turn it off. Why couldn't he just be Human?

"Oh, what irony. He was the same way."

"Huh?" Isaiah muttered out loud. "Who are you?"

No one answered. Assuming he heard something, he went back to scanning and sulking.

"Hey Daio" he finally spoke.

"Yea?"

"Skallagrim said to think about entering the battle to get here, but I didn't. Were you the one thinking about it?"

He scoffed. "No. I wish we never had to. Fighting never ends good. [Deep breath] That's um-a silly thing to think about though."

Isaiah hummed. "Yea, you're right." Then, who was it? Flicking his wrist, a silver orb appeared briefly hovering in his right hand before suddenly opening into a double sided Roman styled sword, and attaching itself to his hand. "Let's get this over with then."

The world heaved and spun simultaneously before reforming again from the perspective of the Cardinal. Some ten meters away from his opponent a ball of electricity appeared in mid-air no larger than a golf ball at first, before it began expanding violently as it discharged sparks of electricity around it until it finally burst apart and dissipated altogether. The dust born from the bending of reality settled slowly-- in its place revealing a single man of average height. A long dark cape enveloped his compact figure. Much like his body the man's face too was obfuscated by a black masked helm shaped vaguely like that of a skeleton.

A light breeze blew from the west clearing much of the dust in the air granting greater clarity of the surrounding terrain. Tablurath breathed in slowly and exhaled, clearing his thoughts and centering his mind. His eyes snapped first to his opponent. A young man by the looks of it, yet he was certainly much more than what his appearance would suggest. He held a rather unusual entropy about him not unlike that found in the living dead. Once more he did not possess one strand of fate...but six intertwining threads with little variations and branching paths. How was that possible?

Armed with sight beyond that of a normal man; Tablurath saw ‘into’ his opponent. The task made simple thanks to the lack of Aesr in his opponent's form. Interestingly enough he saw a number of strange spherical objects within the construct. Their purpose? Currently unknown. A rather peculiar specimen to be sure. Turning his attention to his surroundings he absorbed the information near instantly.

Noting first the truck off to his right just 4 meters away then a utility pole some distance to his left a little further ahead nearer to his opponent. The road seemed no more than 30 feet wide, about twice the length of either the car or truck. He saw the small hints of running current within the power lines above. Tucking it away to the back of his mind for later. His initial observations took in his opponent’s height then choice of weapons. Estimated calculations based on average arm reach gave Tablurath a slight edge in his favor.

It was too soon and rather foolish, however, to believe that weapon his opponents only means of attacking. He would need to test the waters so to speak. His experience with constructs told him that he would be best served not fighting in his usual nonchalant manner. There was too much riding on this anyway, failure was not an option.

For Mirra’s sake he needed to prevail.

First and foremost, he needed to gauge his opponent’s abilities. All the while measuring his strokes least he reveal too much of his own for those who watched. The situation called for a rarity. Two swords.

In a single practiced, yet fluid motion he unsheathed Serenity and Mercy from their respective scabbards. The motion sweeping his cape open to reveal the light compact modern vest he wore beneath as armor, its cloth a mix of dark grey and black. The armor surprisingly light, flexible, but granting a comfortable degree of protection. Should all go well Tablurath wouldn't need its protection. At his belt aside from his sheaths, several cylindrical objects were attached and visible to the observant.

He knew the seriousness of the event yet, a side of him could not help but begin with a simple introduction. One of his many quirks. “Well mystery warrior, so here we are. I feel it amiss if I do not at least give you the name of the one who will defeat you today. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Cardinal Tablurath of the Angar-Rylla’s Ninth Fleet. A pleasure to meet you.”

This was it, Isaiah thought to himself as he watched a man opposite to him flicker into position. Isaiah had many feeling churning within him, but the most noticeable was an raw sense of excitement, that wasn't even his own. His eyes gazed over his enemy's gear and weaponry briefly. This man was obviously very experienced and ready to kill. He was sure that if he wasn't an enemy now, he'd probably had made an excellent comrade. The two men he had met in Minnit came to mind. Camaraderie was more than skill. Regardless of his experience, Isaiah didn't know enough about the man to make that assumption. Not that it mattered now though. No, the only thing he could do now was prepare to fight.

He watched as the man pulled his blades out with a sense of skill. Wielding both? The man was either stupid or extremely skilled. Isaiah didn't take him for the latter, so the man must mostly wield both. Without hesitation, Isaiah released a second orb which formed a brightly golden round shield, with a 2 feet diameter, which then attacked itself to his forearm. Flexing, the mechanical like muscle shifted feeling it's new addition.

"Long Live the King." spoke a tenebrous voice filled with a sadness. Isaiah stood over a massive bed, a crimson silk blanket sitting neatly over it. A frail looking old man stared back from under the covers. Although apparently sick, the man's features struck a strong chord within himself. Soft blue eyes peered beyond a veil of hardened expression and strong cheekbones. His long white hair lay neatly at his back. A man on his deathbed, and the only signs were a tenacious sweat pouring down a slightly receded hair line.

The man laughed upon hearing the line his subordinate spoke. "King or not, death comes for us all." He forced a smile. "Speak boy, tell me what's on your mind. You have been my confidant for years. Allow me to be yours." The man tried to pull himself upwards, but only managed a cough and a sudden clamor of worry from Isaiah. "And skip the foolish pleasantries."

"Sir-I mean-I-" His thoughts felt more scattered than they had ever been. Quickly pulling himself together he finally spoke, "There is no one to take the throne after you. I've served your family for many years. How am I supposed to serve another?" The old King studied the look of worry on his subordinate's face. "And-and- How can you expect me to agree to the evils of the council? You know as well as I, that they are nothing but traitorous leaches after their own gain."

The old King chuckled, holding back another cough. "My dear Aiso, you will serve and act as I have taught you to since you were a lad. Uphold honor, respect, and dignity. Fight for what's right." The man reached his hand out, to receive that of his subordinate. "And if that puts you at odds with the throne, so be it. A King is but a man. A man's worth is limited only by his honor. Keep yours."

Isaiah tossed away all thoughts of ignoring his opponent's remarks, as he spoke within his mind. "Nice to meet you Aiso."

"You as well, sir."

Isiah began walking slowly toward his opponent, his bare feet pressing through the sand like dust, his weapons simply at his sides. "Greetings, Lord Cardinal Tablurath of the Angar-Rylla’s Ninth Fleet. You may simply call me Isaiah Core. I may be no man, but I have the honor of one. I hope that I am fighting a man of honor, as well. " Isaiah kept walking, with intend of being face to face with his opponent. "Let's begin, shall we? And may the best man win."

Dark wings shadowed the sun above as a single raven flew overhead while the two opponents below prepared to square off. Tablurath could feel the tension in the very air as he observed his opponent. The Lord Cardinal noted a strange pulse of power from one of the six threads that made up this one constructs strand of fate. Then came the appearance of something that instantly changed the face of the coming fight significantly. His opponent possessed a shield? He knew already that this would affect how he could approach the situation. Adjusting his strategies to compensate.

An aggressive approach however, may still be preferred, he’d just need to get...creative.

The wind blowing in from the west was picking up slowly but surely- something not lost on Tablurath. His opponent started walking toward him then at a steady pace. His posture rather neutral for someone who was about to engage in a life and death battle. Perhaps this suggested a lack of self-perseverance that existed in many similar constructs?

His opponent chose that moment to introduce themselves, which Tablurath accepted with a single nod of the head. “Isaiah Core...” Khanza breathed under his breath. A name could speak volumes of a man; especially self-given ones. Tablurath had never been given a name when he was but a simple trainee in the Project Tribune program. He had been a number. Nothing more nothing less. Stripped of mercy, humanity -- guilt. Left with only hatred and a will to survive. The Angar-Rylla had sought nothing less than the creation of the perfect weapon. In him they had succeeded in that much at least.

As always remembering those cold lonely years before he had been reborn were painful. He had gone on to fight for the honor and glory of the Empire. Honor? What did his opponent know of honor? It was but a word used to enslave men to the cause their sovereign deemed just. What could a mere machine know of the implications and struggles brought on by that simple word? It lead to death more oft than justice. This was his truth.

Tablurath cleared such distracting thoughts from his mind as he exhaled, focusing on the task at hand. He could feel the slow increase of the drumming of his heart as anticipation began to swell within him. Very well then, let the dance begin.

Knowing that the Mibs still coated both his blades Tablurath raised his right hand sword so that it pointed directly at his opponent. Then without blinking an eye he underhand tossed it directly into the air, measuring the exact strength and effort needed. Already he had calculated the probability of success and the time of its flight. No sooner had his saber been sent up did Tablurath suddenly bend his knees and raced forward. Closing the gap between them currently in moments.

At the distance of five feet, unless his opponent drastically changed his position suddenly before then, Tablurath whipped his left hand sword up then forward in a tight swing from lower left to upper right apparently aimed for the young mans head. His left foot leading and right foot braced, ready to shift position; not forward but in the exact opposite direction. Combat had officially began.

Thoughts unbegotten to Isaiah began streaming into his mind instantly, as his opponent crouched with aim. "He's trying to predetermine your attack. Don't let him." the strange gruff voice he heard heard before was back. It seemed like an obvious thing to do, but was the voice was seeing something else? He got it.

In one swift move, Isaiah shifted. He could feel the sudden shift of cores in his body acting to his bodies will like the cells of a human. The concrete under him seemed to erupt, a large 64 inch spike bursting from the ground before him, at an angle. At the speed at which the man was coming, it would impale him through the stomach. Even his swing, arched at an angle, swinging for Isaiah's head, was already at a momentum that his enemy couldn't be able to attempt to cut away the rock, add it struck to low for the sword's blow.

With an instantaneous flash, Isaiah found himself 5 feet away from his previous position. He had transported to the right of his previous position, his shield propped up in front of him, his left knee bent, and right leg back. His sword overhead, coming down from behind him at an angle and from the right, to possibly make a low strike, his sword seemingly bubbling as another core began to stir.

As Tablurath moved forward his sensitive preternatural sight noted the telltale shifting of the strands of fate that made up his opponent's body. Another thread, different from before, pulsing with power in harmony with the movements of one of the spherical objects in his opponent. Fascinating.

Khazna noted the pulsing of power that seemed to pool near the young mans feet, his only warning before the concrete shifted then burst forth suddenly. Tablurath’s own sword sailing well above the spear. The tip of stone impacting into his lower abdomen, splitting a ceramic plate and causing the lower segment of the vest to push inward as the net fibers spread the kinetic energy. Even as he attacked Tablerauth realized he couldn't avoid the obstruction as he tucked in his stomach. Thinking quickly, he instead aimed his swing slightly lower to sever the thread of power feeding into the construct. The collision compressing into his stomach and sending him stumbling back as pain shot through his abdomen.

His vestments had prevented him from being skewered, but the blunt trauma had effectively knocked the air from his lungs and left him with the taste of bile giving evidence to some internal damage. It seemed the attack had been aimed at his stomach, thankfully avoiding his spleen or smaller intestines.

It was at that moment that his opponent reappeared suddenly at Tabluraths 11 O'clock. The construct apparently aiming low. ‘Fast,’ Tablurath thought, but he was right where the Cardinal wanted him.

Still moving at a leisurely pace when compared to the blinding speed he was capable of. Tablurath sent his left handed into a blur of motion as he weaved his sword back and forth with just his wrist; keeping his arm forward. This had the consequence of knocking loose the mibs still coating the sword, thus leaving trails of looked like ash in the air, creating temporary opaque walls to obscure line of sight to him. Taking the time to evaluate the space between himself and his opponent.

Now thirteen feet from his opponent, Tablurath shifted his right foot behind him as he extended his right arm up and behind palm open. Cleanly catching Mercy in one motion as it ended its fall exactly at the position he had predicted. At that moment another blade looking exactly like Mercy fell blade down impaling itself at the base of the stone spike where the young man had stood moments ago. The fall earlier having shaken loose the mibs coating that sword and thus activating the mibs prime directive whenever a sword passed through their space. The sound of metal striking and cutting through stone cracked through the air suddenly. Something that could very well distract his opponent if but for a second.

Tablurath reavulated. His opponent could manipulate stone and rock? At a rather quick rate at that while also simultaneously performing teleportation? Operating such abilities at once clearly made him a powerful foe to be sure. Things were certainly going to get interesting then. His injury made a direct approach unwise at best. Feet spaced and standing in a minor crouch Tablurath allowing him to quickly move left or right, then waited as he watched his opponent.

Twin spirals of mist expelled themselves from his scabbards that hung from his belt as he held his left hand sword angled pointing in the direction of his opponent and the other angled across his chest.

Tablurath watched his opponent carefully as the twin jets of black mist circled around him again and again. He was surprised his opponent had not made a move at this point. Perhaps the opaque wall of ash had given the construct pause? Caution was not an attribute often possessed by such machines. Tablurath took the time to collect his thoughts, he could feel the adrenaline rushing through his body, and the steady climb of his heartbeat as another strong gust of wind caused his dark cape to bellow to his right.

Tablurath had not thought his foe would be so passive and given his apparent abilities he had expected this Isaiah Core to go on the offensive. Given the constructs apparent power to manipulate the very stones at their feet such a prediction seemed most logical. However, it seemed either his opponent was playing it safe or had some type of unknown restriction on their abilities. If the latter was the cause Tablurath would need to gain the initiative again.

The weaving pattern of black mist had circled him in a tight sphere at this point made up of a cobweb of crisscrossing ash lines as the mibs settled into a simple defense pattern. Tablurath would not repeat his past mistakes a second time. He would the first to admit he was not flawless… but given the opportunity to learn he always strived to adapt. So adapt he would-- his mind flashing to a simple lesson years ago…



The black mist had now spread all around Tablurath, his sight spotting and counting every throbbing string of power between the space of him and his opponent. There were more ways than one to attack his opponent.

“Ten percent potential...” he exhaled.

His arms became a blur of motion then, moving so quickly no mortal eye could hope to follow the intricate pattern of flashing metal. The ground at his feet split as the concert was cut in several places lacerating the ground severely while simultaneously and carefully weaving his sword through the ash before him. A sword clone began to form in the mist, however, Tablurath had cut through it so fast the mibs had moved forward radically to compensate. Thus constructing the sword in mid-flight sending it speeding forward dangerously fast.

Outside of the black mist it only formed the simplest parts of the sword-- only the blade thus leaving it lacking any notable hilt or handle. The blade spun through the air flying toward Isaiah Core, specifically aimed directly at the left arms attached shield. Tablurath weaved another blade in the same manner with his left hand sword, this one aimed to cut through his opponent’s midsection at a slight angle. This one two only had the edged blade and no handle. Even ‘shooting’ in this manner was second nature to Tablurath--his sight and calculations compensating perfectly to everything from wind and distance.

There was only a little over thirteen feet between him and his opponent. Not enough room for the entire sword to fully form, but Tablurath only needed the blade to cause serious damage.

Creativity was his hallmark after all.

His opponent had bear witness to his Blade Storm. He should feel honored.

In the blink of an eye the hail of spinning blades tore through Isaiah, the first taking his left arm off before the second effectively bisected him. Two more waves cut away until the construct was hardly recognizable. In a few heartbeats it was all over before it even began.

As the ash cloud settled reforming around the Cardinal the sun peaked from behind the clouds as sunlight shone down once more. Tablurath sighed as he spun and sheathed his right hand blade effortlessly. Well that had been anti-climactic. He had expected… more.

Tablurath walked toward the downed lacerated and badly disfigured construct. Eyes looking down on the machine with an unreadable expression. He shifted his left hand blade into an underhand grip then carefully carved the beings chest open. Retrieving the six cores hidden within. That done he turned and walked away, a swirling portal of miasma spiraling into existence. At least these Dreamers wasted little time Khanza mused. He walked through the portal without hesitance. Likely the first to return back to the lobby given how quickly his bout had ended.