The masked man did not respond right away as he seemingly turned his attention back to the throne. “What you ask is the ‘scope’? Why the prize of course! I can’t imagine such a weapon being of any interest you to one such as yourself. You don’t strike me as one stupid enough to release such a being as the Lord of Nightmares.”

It was then that the great hall shuddered as the area vibrated with power. The only clear warning that the festivities were about to begin. Edbon sighed, “Well it seems things have come under way. Perhaps we shall finish this conversation another time?”

The man turned to leave, his cape rustling behind him as he left eventually walking through the great doors. He suspected Faoesia and Aquilan had already began settling in. They'd be watching his and the matches of the other contestants from the safety of this pocket dimension. Gathering valuable Intel all the while. The static babble of his inbuilt comm unit alerted him to the coming call.

“Tablurath can you hear me?” Came the stuttering voice of Aquilan.

The man gave a grunt of acknowledgment.

“Good was afraid you had already left, I doubt the quantum link will work very well across dimensions. Get a look at your opposition?”

“I did, no vital signs interestingly enough. He possessed basic Aesr flow reminiscent of a machine, likely a construct of some kind. I’ll know more when I see him again. For now monitor the others fights and learn what you can.”

“Will do, just be sure to come out of this in one piece otherwise I won't hear the end of it from Faoesia.”

The signal disconnected leaving the former Lord Cardinal to his thoughts. The Dreamer had said too merely think of battle and you would be translated to your arena. A strange if vague way to go about things to be sure, but the Dreamers were an odd lot. He closed his eyes and focused, he could recall the last sortie he had taken while in the Empresses Legions. However, those wounds were still fresh and he found he’d rather not dwell on them.

His mind thus inevitably wandered to one of the reasons he had agreed to this incongruous tournament in the first place…

Reappearing as his fight was ended, Raelis opened his eyes and took in a deep breath of the strange air. He glanced around the room, seeing very few of those who had gathered before. It seemed he was the first to return. Glancing at the Skeletal figure momentarily, the Asaran briefly considered talking to it to ask it further questions about this place and why they had been brought here. If there were beings such as him who could summon others at will, then why bother with a tournament at all? Would it not be simpler to figure the objectively strongest being and use them to seal this...being he had spoken of.

Turning away, the Asaran moved to exit the Hall in interest of the chambers he'd been promised. At the thought a floating orb of swirling energies appeared before him. Having seen one earlier he did not falter, continuing on his path. The orb guided him to his room then left him to his own devices.

Closing the door behind him, Raelis then deactivated Maelstrom, letting the armor fall from his wings. Stretching them out after a battle, even one as short as his had been, was a welcome luxury. This done, Raelis glanced about the room, noting a screen on one wall, a couch, a bed, and what may have been some form of food dispenser. Approaching the device he put his gauntlet covered hand upon his hip, wings folding against his back as he did so.

Eventually shaking his head he moved over to the couch and sat himself 'pon it before removing first his hood, then helm to reveal a largely humanoid visage. He possessed sharp, angular features and large piercing eyes that shone with the colors of fire. Rather than hair Raelis, like all Asarae, possessed plumage. His in particular was a patterning of golds and reds that ran backwards from his forehead.

Stretching his neck briefly, Raelis then took to removing his gauntlets in practiced motions till it revealed is wrists and hands. There he stopped, leaving the rest of his armor on. It really was not too great a burden for him to bear and he figured he would not be out of battle for long.

As he sat there, gazing at the screen, Raelis frowned a moment then called upon the orb-shaped servant. Appearing before him, and making him wonder if they were always watching, the orb awaited his request. He made it promptly, his tone merely questioning, if the others had heard him might not appear so...domineering now, "How does one operate this screen?"

The orb bobbed a moment before it activated it on its own, "You may simply think it and it shall be done." Raelis wondered how he would regain the necessary energy for his next fight, particularly without sustenance. The being responded as if he had voiced the question, "As long as you are within the hall your stamina will regenerate via the ambient energies present. Any wounds you receive will also heal at an accelerated rate for the same reason. Unless one possesses an enhanced healing factor of course," the servant mused. Raelis opened his mouth a moment before shutting it, the being could read his mind, how intriguing. It reminded him of technology that was being developed on Asara even as they spoke.

Telthani had mentioned it to him before and the two had spoken of it extensively for a time.

"Should you require anything else, venerable guest, merely think it and it shall be. Of course, within reasonable limits," the orb bobbed, as if bowing to Raelis, then vanished leaving him alone once more. Or at least, that's what he chose to believe.

Nonetheless he responded as if it were there, showing his appreciation in a simple phrase, "Thank you."

Turning his attention to the screen now, he willed it to split in three so as to follow each fight. With his excellent eye sight and superior processing abilities--due entirely to his avian ancestry--Raelis took to watching the battles. He wondered which of them would be his next adversary.

Though he was still seated on the ground next to the woman's corpse, Shin was mystically transported to the hall once more. It seems that he was making a habit out of making very loud entrances, as Shin's manic laughter from the previous incident was still carrying on. It took him a good five seconds to notice that his setting had changed. It was like a switch, the laughter shut off almost instantly. With an awkward little cough and a slight grunt as he pushed himself back up to his feet, Shin looked around the room as quickly as possible. Observing everyone that had stayed behind as well as returned, though he couldn't tell who was and was not a competitor.

The only obvious competitor was the angelic entity that had taken to observing a set of view-screens. With a slight air of exhaustion about him, simply from how he was holding his weight, Shin knew this fellow had finished his fight just as quickly as he had. Obviously a skilled fighter, Shin opted ignore him as he walked off down a hallway with plenty of doorways. Likely the rooms that had been mentioned by Skallagrim, so he followed suit shortly after Raelis had entered his own door.

Tapping his fingers on the wall as he walked down the hallways he finally found a room with his name adorning the door. Pushing it open and stepping inside he noticed a lock on the door, which was peculiar. This place was, as Skallagrim mentioned, deathless. Would-be assassins would have a difficult time killing someone here, especially since Shin had noticed the wound in his jaw was already gone. Deciding to leave the door open and unlocked anyway, he entered the room and looked around slowly.

Within his chambers there were a number of homey touches, a bit too homey. It looked almost exactly like the home that he lived in back in the mountains, except it was totally disarmed. Unfortunate, if he could have grabbed a better weapon from the walls he would have. Another feature was a spheroid automaton that brought him a hot cup of green tea with ginseng, his favorite. This made him tremendously uncomfortable, just how much did these 'dreamers' know about him?

The thought was pushed from his mind when he noticed a series of large screens adorning the back of his room. These screens piqued his interest, as there were still fights going on within them.

The first fight was between a man in a black mask and a weird not-entirely-human entity. It kind of irked him how there was someone ripping off his shtick, but there were plenty of people who wear black masks. It seemed that he was a swordsman, and it seemed that they were going pretty evenly. Though maybe the man with the black mask had a slight edge, seemed like he knew more about what he was doing than the other guy.

The other fight was between some weirdo dogman and a soldier-and-or-warrior? There wasn't too much he could discern from somebody who was running from their fight. In fact, he couldn't even glimpse the abilities that he was using. The dogman was fast, and seemed to be exactly what you would expect from a dog. Fast and fierce, though he was clearly armed. A gun and a sword, and if that sword was what he thought it was, then he was about to get unreasonably angry.

Some group of weirdos on the internet also worshiped this sort of thing, but Shin never delves that deeply into research about weird cults.

Watching these screens was tedious, especially with only one eye. Two fights, four fighters, and one eye? Nothing of great importance was conveyed to him, except a few minor details about their movements. Shin sighed and dropped his head, staring down at his feet. "Man, I didn't even know the name of my opponent the first time. I'm an assassin, how am I supposed to deal with this on top of being ill equipped?" These complaints were voiced a little louder than he had intended for them to be. It carried and echoed down the hallways."I really wish I hadn't forgotten my staff."

The mewling of the one called Shin transcended the sanctuary of his room. A thousand Dreamers began debating the words. Names? Had Shin merely asked, most Dreamers agreed that his opponent, Ruchette Vorsalusin in all likelihood would have graced him the answer to that question. Stirrings deep in the Galdhr, Dreamers turned their attention towards the word Assassin. Many mulled it over, studying the various definitions throughout the multitude of space and time, concluding that the word held roughly the same meaning through the multiverse. That seemingly sparked another debate, as the Dreamers contemplated the concept of a killer who struck for political reasons.

Was there or could there be political ramifications for his presence at this event? Could his symbolic killing of his opponents spark some political event that the Dreamers had overlooked? Deep in darkness of the eternal dreams, fragments of reality were pulled forth and assembled in a myriad of combinations, each a spoke radiating out from Shin, being traced through hundreds of thousands of generations with no implicit and observable effect.

The last statement, that the man had forgotten his staff brought amusement from the Dreamers. Clearly the man had left the staff at his place of summoning, had left it where he had waited for LeeRoy in their repetitive struggle where nothing came of it. The fragment of reality where he appeared in the Nexus replayed over and over where each nanosecond was analyzed with great care. In the end the Dreamers agreed the man had left his staff, he had become overzealous in his excitement.

This fact sparked another debate among the Dreamers as the quality of combatant this man might be. To be so distracted that he forgot a weapon spoke of his mindset. He was easily excitable and prone to making errors. Perhaps his opponent might find a way to similarly rattle Shin and extract a victory, perhaps not. Only time would tell.

A knock on Shin’s door, followed by a sultry voice as an attractive cyclops poked her head in, “Sire your next fight is about to begin. Good Luck.”

Both fights turned to their conclusion, he had only been here for what seemed like a few minutes. These dreamers really knew their stuff when it came to finding killers, maybe one of these might actually be fun. The first fight concluded with a storm of swords that materialized from fog, and the second left off on a cliffhanger. Was there a time limit? Maybe the last fight ends when the second to last does. Whatever the case was, he couldn't tell the clear victor of that match. It left him dissatisfied and grumpy, with a little frown crossing his face.

Just before he started pouting, however, Shin heard a knock at the door. With a start, he turned his head rather quickly to spot a woman with just one large eye in the center of her head. Interesting, they send the One-Eyed servant woman to my door. "Cute." It might have been easily misconstrued that Shin was talking about the woman, however, it was sarcasm aimed at the notion that they should send a One-Eyed woman to him. She spoke of the next round and how it was beginning, which was unfortunate, he still didn't know who his next opponent was. Damn shame really, maybe a bit of posturing or asking about how they fight. Seeing their personality and what-not.

Honestly he just hoped he wouldn't have to deal with that Dogman. Going apeshit over a Katana would probably shift the battle in a way that wouldn't be pleasant for anybody involved.

Whatever the case may be, Shin was ready for his fight. "I'm assuming it's just like before? Where I think of battle and head off?" This was, of course, the case. As he closed his eye and thought of battle, immediately he was transported to the battlefield from the room he had been placed in.

It seemed Metz was not to be forced to kill to pass the first round of the tournament, a fact for which he was incredibly grateful, as he was returned to the lobby mid-way through his casting. He took a moment to comprehend his situation, holstering his pistol in bemusement as he left arm hung lifelessly and dripped blood on the stone. His knees almost buckled then, as mana burned out of his system and the pain shot through him and his energy levels flagged dangerously. He wasn’t in great condition for only the first round, and he was down two vials of mana. His right arm clutched his wound, looking around at those who had been lucky enough or strong enough to survive their own conflicts. It was a small bunch, the winged armoured man had unsurprisingly survived, and one of the masked men who was also to be his next enemy. Metz barely comprehended his surroundings as he grew faint headed from blood-loss and his come down from his use of mana. He was led by the arm by one of the Nexus’ staff, taken into some sort of rejuvenating chamber that replicated a spell of his own design. If he had still had any pure mana left he would have been able to heal himself, but only black mana remained to him.

Or so he thought, as inexplicably as his senses returned and his body healed he discovered two pure mana vials at his belt. He had a sneaking suspicion that if he were to look in his pistol he would find it fully loaded, and made a mental note to check before combat. It seemed this tournament indeed followed some unusual rules, and one of those was an element of fair-play that kept combatants like him who burned through their recourses fully stocked. It was an interesting advantage he had gained.

“Thanks.” Metz said to his guide who had helped him.

“Hopefully I’ll be back, and I’ll be able to get more information from Skallagrim.”

He disappeared in a flash, his mind on thoughts of battle.

In the well lit room of his personal chambers given by the Dreamers. Khanza sighed as he allowed himself to relax after a fairly quick and surprisingly easy match. A 3D holo screen projected before him by a portable computer device Aquilan had carried with him. Upon it the collected information of the other contests who had managed to win their own matches. He cracked the knuckles of one hand as he leaned back in his long chair. It seemed Faoesia and Aquilan had managed to obtain quite a bit of information on his possible future opponents.

“As far as I can see you next opponent is that Angel fellow.” Aquilan pointed out as he enjoyed a cup of tea.

Tablurath sighed as he nodded. “So it would seem, hopefully they will be more interesting than my last opponent.” He waved a hand before him to the dossier of the warrior in question. It seemed his next opponent had been decided.

Watching as each fight finished and having gathered the necessary data, Raelis rose from his place and donned his armor once more. It did not take long for him to finish and then promptly exit his room. His energies had replenished surprisingly fast and he was once more ready to deal with an opponent.

Walking out into the Hall of Dreamers he glanced about briefly, watched as some people utilized mere thought to activate the spatial magic, or perhaps technology, which appeared to warp them between the Hall and their chosen arena. Perhaps he would ask this Skallagrim about it should he come from his next battle victorious. Closing his eyes and drawing in a deep breath, the Champion of Rhay steeled his nerves and focused his mind after which point he thought of battle and was swiftly swallowed by the warping space he had looked upon just moments before.

It was time for the second round.

Deep in the dark reaches of nothing they stirred, lost, forgotten beings. Followers of the Lord of Nightmares felt a niggling of energy. At first they debated the meaning of that, only to be silenced as another faint surge of energy sluiced through space, spiraling to them.

Elements of the key called to them. Elements assembled to form a key made of fragmented dreams. Great wings flapped as the Forgotten rose from their slumber, seeking the key that held the Lord of Nightmares bound.

Kavi the Aeryn of the Seventh Station stirred as the sudden surge of Galdhr from the deeps of space woke her from her dreams. Reaching out into the vast, hoary dark, she felt the Forgotten as they moved with purpose. Standing, the Aeryn gripped her great sword, staring with brilliant turquoise energy in the direction of the enemies of the Dreamers. Studying the energy whorls, she started as she traced the line they followed to the Nexus of Worlds.

Uttering a curse in a language that few would ever know, the Aeryn summoned her destrier from the gloom. She would have to ride fast to arrive at the Nexus before them. Glancing one last time at the Seventh Station, with its stark walls and basalt throne, the station was the only edifice floating in a sea of darkness.



Before the great throne of the Nexus, a surging of energy began draining energy from everything, only blunted after a moment by Skallagrim’s intervention. The area before the throne shimmered as a deep rumble of energy escaped from some when as a giant skeletal destrier, with a woman dressed in white and black robes, gripping a two-handed sword appeared.

For a moment, an eternity no sound carried as the two stared at one another, then without warning tendrils of energy from each lashed forward, intersecting in a dance of energy, as the tendrils lashed together, wove themselves around one another before slipping away.

“Skallagrim . . . the Forgotten rise. They feel the call of the Key and seek it. They will breech the Seventh Station, they will be again in the world of light.”

For a moment the Cughtagh stared, then a static filled the air, slowly modulating until a hissing voice echoed. “I feel them. They will be here before this tournament ends I fear.” Skallagrim rose, taking slow measured steps down towards the Aeryn.

“You must go to the Dreaming Queen, gather your sisters. I fear before this day is out, the Queen shall need your protection.”

Nodding Kavi reached down, her hand touching the face of Skallagrim, “And you Cughtagh? What shall the Walker between Worlds do?”

Touching her hand, he felt more than the structure, he felt her energy, and then slowly released it. “I shall do what I have to. Go. They will come and remember how their lord was beaten. They will remember the power of a Cughtagh and they will fall like chaff to the scythe.”

Kavi lingered a moment longer then urged her great mount forward, becoming a shadow then vanishing through the throne. Skallagrim stood alone for a moment before he summoned a tall, lanky humanoid to him.

“Prepare to evacuate the contestants and their seconds. Send away those who have served here, they must be allowed to escape.”

The humanoid nodded before hurrying away to do as he was told.

Many stories to frighten children and adult as the fearsome tales of the nightmarish creature known as Ghoukas have spread across the myriad cultures of the multiverse.

Shadows moving in the night and sounds carrying on the wind, the odd and mysterious traces of animals crossing the lands…all attributed to the power of Ghoukas.

Deep in his hoary realm of dank ruins and darkened halls, Ghoukas waited it was said, for the day the gates would open again. The Lord of Nightmares waited for the day when he would burst, free to reclaim the lands of life . . . to reclaim what he had lost.

Seated upon a vast throne of roiling shadow stuff, the creature known as Ghoukas reached forth with a massive taloned hand. Brilliant yellow lights emanated from where eyes should be, hidden under a billowing wrap, sliced through the gloom and landed upon the great cudgel that waited for blood to course along its form, for it hungered to taste pain and suffering again. A deep, echoing voice echoed in the shadowed chambers, "Soon we shall feed both of our hunger . . . soon we shall walk the among the light again . . . soon"

Slowly the grim lord stood. The great figure stretched, as it did so, the hood fell back, exposing long, thick horns pointing forward. The dark coloration blended from a deep crimson to the darkest black. One massive hoofed foot touched the floor, as it did so wisps of smoke swirled around the hoof, the weight of the nightmare caused even the solid stone to groan as it protested the movements that proceeded across its surface.

With a sudden swiftness that belied the size of the nightmare come to life, Ghoukas lifted his war club, as a great exhale of breath escaped him, filling the air with curls of smoke. Narrowing his eyes, Ghoukas began the long walk to the gates. A wicked smile crossed his lips, this time he would escape. Woe unto the Dreamers that had locked him away.

Slowly the footfalls slowed, finally ceasing to echo around the ruined realm. The great Ghoukas stood a moment as the gleaming eyes studied the massively constructed gates that had held him for eons; time slowed to a crawl as he only grew in hatred. The power that coursed through his veins laced with that black hatred and the desire to avenge itself upon the Dreamers and the worlds they protected.

Ghoukas smiled cruelly, a wisp of smoke escaped his lips, and it curled and blew away when he snorted. The vast cudgel that the Lord of Nightmares gripped reached forward and tapped the mighty gates that held him. Eyes narrowing slightly he licked his lips, the blackened tongue, almost serpent-like as it traced the outline of the twisted mouth.

His power slowly extending as the Nightmare That Lives realized the time was nigh on hand, he reached forward, his siren call of power flowing slowly through the grand gates and seeking his minions, "Prepare for the Devourer of Worlds is coming."

That sentence filled the great hall of the Nexus of Worlds. Many members of the staff redoubled their efforts to finish their business and leave. Some of the patrons hesitated, their attention turned from the viewing screens of the matches underway. Some hastily excused themselves and scurried away, finding a gate to their home world.

The Forgotten swarmed over the ruins of the Seventh Station, as the dark horde spiraled upward towards the flicker of light that beckoned them, a streamer of energy leading to the Key that would free the Lord of Nightmares. The advanced guard pushed their immense shadowy wings, propelling themselves with reckless abandon. They would reach the Nexus of Worlds shortly; each of them relished the thought of killing the Cughtagh. The dying of a dream and the advent of the eternal nightmare would begin.

The fight had been intense, but eventually they'd run out of time. His opponent had won. He had lost.

Daniel sat in his room, contemplating his defeat. Metz and he had been evenly matched up until the constraints of time had given the victory to the former. He never did understand what constituted a "victory" in things like this anyway. Spending his time sparring with (and constantly losing to) Skallagrim sure had improved his fighting capabilities, but here he had much to learn. But still, it felt like the skeleton had called all of them here for something bigger than just some lousy tournament. It didn't add up. One of the most powerful beings in the multiverse didn't just organise a fighting competition for no good reason unless he had something to gain from it.

Or something to lose.

Restless and uneasy, he stood.

Something was up, and he knew the person to ask.

As he opened the door to his room to leave, he caught sight of several of the other random beings that had shown up to watch fleeing away from the Great Hall. The wolf quickened his pace and near ran into the hall, catching a glimpse of a pale, glowing female figure vanishing into the crown astride a spectral steed. Scowling, he strode forward, a hand resting on the hilt of his sword-staff as he fixed his gaze on his old friend and spoke.

"Skall! What's going on? Why're all these poor folk running away? Or, rather, what are they running from?"

Skallagrim glanced at the wolfman, a blaze of light emanated from his eyesockets, “War has come to the Nexus. The staff will open portals to home worlds . . . “

Before the Cughtagh could finish a loud explosion rocked the building, followed by screams of pain. Drawing the energies around him, the skeletal being begin to hum as a surge of energy rippled across the room. The body of an aide rocketed through a doorway into the room, where the crumpled body, landed with a heavy thud.

Shadows loomed in the doorway, followed by deep and throaty laughter. A tall creature, nearly seven feet in height, stepped into the room, others flooded in behind him. Wicked, inky black weapons oozing with energy crackled. Massive wings flexed and folded against the backs of these creatures.

“The Key! Where is the Key?”

Skallagrim chuckled as he glanced at each of the seven beings that faced off against him, “This is not your fight Daniel, you should go.” Tapping the sword that nestled in the sheath, he spoke again, “You are a fool N’Katya. You have always been a fool who lusted for power. You have been locked in the gloom for so long you cannot see the truth before you.”

“Silence!” roared the one called N’Katya. “You have grown soft, weak while I have grown strong in the Galdhr. Give me the Key and I shall spare you witnessing the execution of the Queen.”

Beyond the great room, screams and howls continued as some of the staff valiantly fought back, trying to ensure the safety of the guests. Another explosion rocked the Hall, followed by the sounds of heavy energy weapons being discharged.

“Your minions do not have the weapons to harm us.” N’Katya stated as she moved forward slowly, the glaive held low with the blade brushing the ground, “Skallagrim you don’t believe that you can hold this place from us do you?” Glancing at her companions then back at the Cughtagh, “The Lord of Nightmares will be free this day.”

Chuckling, Skallagrim raised a hand, swarming amethyst energies raced around it, cascading down his arm and swirling rapidly around his body. “You are not master here, I am. Lay down your weapons and I shall speak on your behalf, I shall plead mercy for you and your rebellious companions.”

Snarling, N’Katya moved her left hand so quickly that Skallagrim was caught off guard as gravity shifted and nearly one ton of weight pressed down on the Cughtagh, who dropped to a knee. The swirling tendrils of energy lashed out, lightning fast, striking the winged being in the chest, lifting her off her feet and casting her back into a few of her companions and out the hall.

The two other Forgotten rushed forward, their fluid black weapons ready to strike the skeletal from slowly raising to his feet, struggling against the very increasing pressure of gravity. With great effort Skallagrim tried to draw his sword, however he was a late.

The two maces hammered Skallagrim with such force that he emitted a howl of pain as the Galdhr flared around the skeletal form. Again amethyst energies flared and exploded around Skallagrim as the two Forgotten were knocked to the ground and across the floor into a wall.

In the doorway, N’Katya loomed, the glaive pointing at Skallagrim, “Today you die Cughtagh. Today you shall feel the power of the Nightmares!”

With great effort, the war sword sprang free and into the hands of Skallagrim, still on one knee as he focused on repelling the Galdhr that increasing the gravity around him. He had to buy time to create a portal and send the winners of this round to a place where they might fight without the presence of the Forgotten.

“N’Katya, you have always been a braggart. Yet for ever boast you have made, I have bested you. Today shall be no different!”

With a howl of rage, the tall winged Xindhi thrust the glaive at Skallagrim, and energy rocketed the skeletal being through the wall into the great foyer where several of the staff, hunkered down behind overturned tables struggled to keep the Forgotten from getting to the portals where guests were fleeing.

Every moment of time, some believed, was etched out in the great fabric of time and space - threaded into the Strings of Creation, written into the Manifesto of Existence. Others, believed, that each moment in time was another chance to make a change - affect their own fate and destiny, and change their personal reality.

Nihl wavered for a moment, an occurrence that took place so rarely that it often shocked those near him at the time of the event. Which would he fall into? Was he always destined to be here at this moment, his fate written into the stars, or had he chosen at every moment to take the path that would eventually lead him here.

His eyes darted around the grand room, the one that Skallagrim had assigned him as a second, and noted that every string thus far burned into existence had been placed, with excruciating precision into the proper place. From a bird's eye view, the strings formed a complex system of runes, that in their position created a larger rune.

The Grim Reaper, as he fancies himself, had told him there were several of these being made a potential access points for the King of Nightmares. There was no way of knowing which, if any, he would use to enter the fray.

A commotion outside of the doors to his room threatened to draw his attention. A single misplaced string, tethered to the upper-left corner of the door, glowed as words flowed through it. A messenger string, an invention of his, lay thread through the major areas of the Lobby. The one called Daniel spoke with Skallagrim, and then the assault began in earnest.

NIhl turned his attention away from the string, it was unimportant at the moment. His fingers moved deftly through the air, the nimble digits swimming as power poured through them and produced the rest of the rune. The city of circles and triangles came to completion. NIhl didn't sit to admire his work, instead he reached to his left and gripped the Nuibari and used it to rise to his feet. There was one more piece to the puzzle he needed to complete, piercing the middle.

---

It had been a long time since the Grim Reaper could properly access the world, his time in the Headquarters, where he first had to observe the other half of Nihl, Terra, was one of borrowed time. Skallagrim had tried to speak to him then, the arrogant Cughtagh, favored of the bitch Queen. Now, he could feel the swill of power, like an ocean of ethereal magic washing over him. Made whole was the goal he had in mind, in service to the unlawfully imprisoned King.

The attack on the Lobby had been planned without him, but the Reaper was not one to sit and be... Forgotten. A small chuckle. The Irony.

The massive double ended scythe swam lackadaisically end of end at his side, the masterful fingers that guided them barely touching them. The void between the prison of the King and the world which many thrived was one he called home, as it allows him to properly converse with his King, as well as send apparitions of himself into the world.

He looked above his head, as the web of runes was created above him. Then, with an inhale and its following exhale, the masterpiece was shattered and his world was open.

---

What came first was not the hooded apparition that called himself the Grim Reaper, instead it was the monstrous scythe that prevented damage from being inflicted on him, and he from inflicting damage, until the scythe cut through someone of power, allowing it to mimic it in a way.

No Nightmare King was he, but he was still a terrifying visage.

"The Nightmare King, brother to the Dreaming Queens, slowly makes his march. Already his soliders have arrived."

Nihl said nothing, yet stared at the upper right corner of the once great runic structure. He had made a plan. He would forever split from Terra, his other half. They could communicate on a small scale, but no longer intrude on each others thoughts as easily as before. An implanted rune there had done it, when broken, it completed the harsh magic. No doubt Terra felt the side splitting pain he felt at that very moment.

He retrieved his sword and looked towards the Grim Reaper, who had already begun to flow away. "I shall see you soon, sire."

The Reaper barely nodded his head, and vanished out into the chaotic world of the Lobby. Not long, he came upon Skallagrim verbally battered N'Katya. He was right, the female Xindhi was a braggart. He would not interfere, but he would watch to see if she could defeated the fabled Cughtagh.

Or had the King thrown his lot in with a weak Dreamer.

“Well now.” Metz grinned, the dark veins around his eyes pulsing as the chaos in the lobby raged around him. It seemed he had been favoured with another victory, though this time he was disappointed, it would have been entertaining to rip out the man’s entrails. His sharp teeth showed as he was targeted by some creature of darkness with wings and a dreadful visage. Whatever it was seemed awfully perturbed by the bolt of lightning he rocked through it, even more so by his knife entering up and into its skull. It was one of many, but he still took his time ramming his blade into its fleshy body where it was unprotected, his ferocity such that it was perforated a dozen times before it could hit the ground, weapon falling from its lifeless grip, dark blood staining the crazed Mage.

The battle raged on in the lobby, and Metz was happy to take part in it, standing off to one side as many of the previous defeated competitors fled towards the foyer and through the portals. He sighted the Wolf who had been his first foe, caught up in the greater battle between the skeletal being known as Skallagrim and some winged warrior wielding a polearm of some form, and with their aid it seemed they were getting the best of the tournament host. Metz eyes narrowed as he tried to remember why he should care if Skallagrim fell, but he was lost to the moment, the violence of it all alluring him to release his magic with reckless abandon. Whatever strange magic replaced the vials at his belt had taken a turn for him on entering the Arena, apparently able to replicate or somehow acquire mana, it steadily fed the Mage with Black Mana as he consumed it, keeping him fully charged. In the throes of madness, Metz was unable to rationalise his incredibly long period under its effect, nor question the permanent damage it could be doing.

Sheathing his knife, he raised both hands and began to weave, twin circles appearing beneath two winged figures as they fought with the staff. They erupted with flame that consumed the invaders, their screams piercing the cacophony of noise and confusion as Metz smile broadened. As he fought he saw Skallagrim being launched from the room through the wall, leading into the portal room, and stopped for a moment. Not entirely rational, Metz still doubted he could engage the figure that had thrown the host through the wall, but he might be able to do something about its closest and presumably most powerful allies. Relatively ignored as the melee raged around him, Metz sped towards one of the winged mace wielding warriors as it stood, his hands weaving a dark curse that called to him as Black Mana raged through his body. The Forgotten was powerful, but whatever had previously struck it made it sluggish, and with the Corruption pulsing through his body Metz was faster than any man had a right to be. The creature raised its free arm to bat him away and he slipped low to thrust his right hand into its chest, even as he was slammed backwards forcibly the spell left him, the mark of the Death Hand shining on the Forgotten. He laughed as he flew through the air and crashed into the ground, sliding across the slick stone floor. The Forgotten was strong, but its own power would turn against it as the mark raged, and it would know defeat at the hands of a mortal. How delightful.

Struggling against the onslaught of the Forgotten, Skallagrim rose to his feet slowly, a nimbus of amethyst energies surrounding him as he faced N’Katya, who had entered the portal room.

“You have always been a fool.” The Forgotten murmured, raising the glaive again, the gleaming blade pointed at Skallagrim.

“And you have always acted before you understood the situation completely.” Skallagrim said as he stepped around the hastily erected barricade. His sword shimmered as silver-blue lights raced up and down the length of it with such speed; it appeared to be made of the energy.

“You have lost Cughtagh, now give me the Key.”

“It is too late N’Katya, the tendrils of fate are already pulling the two with the key halves away from this place. You cannot traverse any of these portals, they are attuned to my Aesr, you must kill me to get to them.”

A howl of rage erupted from the winged horror as she rushed forward towards the skeletal being, who simply waited to engage her in combat.

Daniel instinctively covered his face as an explosion rocked the hall. A corpse flew their way as beings made of shadow and whose weapons were dark and glistening with blood approached them.

Skallagrim gave him a glance as he readied his weapon.

"This is not your fight, Daniel. You should go."

He merely scoffed and drew his sword, holding it askance from his head in his right hand, blade outward as he held up his left hand in a "come hither" position, assuming his sword fighting stance as the winged shadow beings towered over them.

"Like hell I'm leaving."

As the Forgotten swarmed towards him, his black blade glistened with oncoming frost, and as he swung it shards of ice shot from his sword, burying themselves into those that came towards him even as his blade met that of a Forgotten. His left hand shot forward, grabbing the Forgotten's wrist and pulling it towards himself, even as his sword hand released the blade lock, twisting his black blade round to the left to chop its head off as he yanked it past him. The beast's black corpse fell past him even as another charged him, and he met its downward swing with his raised sword. With the clash of metal ringing in his ears, he shot his left hand forward again, grabbing its weapon hand to pull it forward as he chopped his blade down, severing its hand from its wrist. As it screeched in pain, he flipped the hand around so its blade was facing it and drove it straight through its skull.

Daniel fell back a step as that corpse fell to the ground, and was immediately buffeted by the winds that echoed past him as Skallagrim flew by, crashing through a wall that separated the hall from a main lobby where more innocents ran around in a panic, trying to get through escape portals on the other side.

"Skall!"

Abandoning the fight for now, he ran towards the lobby area, where his skeletal friend was engaging in combat with a bigger shadow fiend, one armed with a huge glaive that was on a collision course with his pal. He coated his feet in ice and speed skated towards the conflict, reaching the barricade just in time. With his momentum he took a step onto the barricade and leaped into the air, twisting around to his left while his left hand drew his pistol and fired all the bullets in his magazine into the fiend's face.

His momentum led him on a path straight down in front of Skall, and as he landed he ejected the magazine from his pistol and slapped in a fresh one from his belt, the racking of the slide louder in the sudden silence. With a backward glance, he grinned as he raised and readied his sword, his right hand holding the blade so it rested gently on his shoulders behind his head, left hand holding his pistol pointed straight at the dark terror that stood before them.

"You're the one that brought me here, Skall, and I'd rather be dead than miss a chance to fight with you instead of against you this time!"

At some point in time Aquilan could not remember all too well, the entire pocket plane the tournament lobby had been housed within exploded into chaos. As complete pandemonium spread he and Faoesia barely managed to avoid the numerous skirmishes that had started sprouting across the lobby. He and Faoesia had been lucky thus far, fighting off the uncommon straggler now and again. Neither had been chosen for an escort lightly after all.

However it seemed their luck had been drawn short as a group of Forgotten had cut them off during their beeline for the Grand Hall where the fighting was fiercest. Aquilan stood with his back against Faoesia, a stream of blue liquid flowing before him, while violet energy pulsed and glowed around Faoesia’s hands. Both had a few bruises from the fighting, Aquilan sporting a large gash across his chest where a black blade of energy had cut through his light armored chest plate. Forgotten surrounded the two with bodies of both staff and Forgotten littered around them.

Faoesia spat out a mix of blood and saliva then said, “Damn if I’m going to die in a place like this.”

Aquilan gurnted, a smile on his face. “Come now princess, you can’t be giving up that easily.”

Faoesia, “Like hell.”

One of the Forgotten laughed as he edged forward from the circle of beasts surrounding the two. His ebony black horns sweeping back over his skull as a equally black tongue licked his lips before saying, “Fool mortals, there is nowhere to run now! You will be the first sacrifices to the rise of the great Lord of Nightmares!”

Suddenly there was the sound of an explosion from above, causing some among the horde to flinch or covering their heads with their wings fearing some attack from above. None was forthcoming, however, only a peculiar rain of black ashes falling like petals of a dead flower from on high. The Forgotten were confused for only a moment, some shrugging as they brought their attention back to the pair before them. Both now had a wide smile of new found confidence.

The Forgotten who had spoken before growled in annoyance. “And just what is so damn funny?”

Aquilan only shrugged a shoulder in response and said, “Oh, nothing, a good day to die don’t you agree?”

The Forgotten hissed in anger and charged forward. Or tried to as only a moment later he stopped in place suddenly and shuddered as he cough up blood. A cloaked figure was crouched before him where there had been no one before. Khanza slowly stood to his feet brushing off dust from his cape with his free left hand.

“Who are you?!” One of the now dead forgotten creature’s comrades demanded.

“I believe that’s my line.” Tablurath responded calmly.

Enraged the two more charged forward seeking to rend this man's flesh from his bones. The crackling black blades of melting shadow seeming to grow in power and size menacingly. A sharp flick from Tablurath right arm sent his sword up in an arch. Meeting with a cluster of black mist which swept upward as it formed into a duplicate of his sword. The blade swept upwards in a spinning circle into the cloud of black mist above them.

The strange maneuver caught the first Forgotten off guard, stalling his forward charge momentarily. A moment was all the Cardinal needed.

“Look toward heaven,”

He sent his sword through the creature's throat, its path slicing through the creature's own weapon as well with ease as it ceased to exist. The being's head flew from its body hitting the ground some feet behind it to roll away before the body fell to its knees.

“And I strike from earth.”

Another Forgotten flew toward him from the left, it swept its black blade into a horizontal swing. Cutting through open air where the Cardinal had been moments ago. His eyes widened in shock and confusion.

“Look to earth.”

High above his attacker Tablurath held his cloned blade from earlier now high above his opponents. He then accelerated down once more, effectively cutting that Forgotten in half cleanly.

“And I strike from Heaven.”

The remaining Forgotten had become more wary suddenly as they began to realize they faced no normal mortal. Landing on one knee Tablurath placed his open left palm on the ground. More swords fell from above as mibs began constructing more of them from an earlier series of arching spins.

“Ash Slayer Art, Dead Zone.”

Tablurath’s form became blurred suddenly before he vanished all together. The Forgotten in the rain of ash and swords began to jerk widely as jets of blood erupted from their bodies in every direction. A blur barely visibly among the carnage, the falling ash slowly thinning as more swords began forming from every new swing. Effectively creating a killing zone without par. Only Faoesia and Aquilan remained unfazed in the eye of the storm of flashing steel.

When the last of the ash had vanished Tablurath reappeared in a crouch. He slowly stood to his feet as he swept Serenity to one side to clear some of the black blood that had collected on it; before sheathing it at his hip. The Forgotten slowly slide to pieces around him as they literally fell apart.

He turned to his two comrades as he tried to brush some offal off his shoulder plate. “Well… that was hardly the reception I was expecting when I returned.”

Aquilan straightened up as the blue liquid he had formed slowly receded into the ground. “Can’t say it was planned. Seems our host has a few unwanted guests. When things went south I sent out a signal to HQ,”

The Cardinal was surprised at this news. “I had believed this place beyond their reach?”

“Not precisely true, we had no idea where this place was, now that we have a signal and coordinates I expect the Angar-Rylla will soon be making their move, once both parties here had beaten each other halfway into the grave.”

“Then the plan is proceeding apace, things are about to get even more interesting.” Tablurath nodded as he closed his eyes. “Any word of my next matc-”

Before the Cardinal could finish he suddenly was swept up into a pillar of light before he vanished.

Faoesia frowned, “Well that was annoying. I guess that skeleton wants things to continue after all.”

Aquilan sighed, “Yes...still scares me how spot on Tablurath’s predictions are though…”

Suddenly? Normalcy.

Or at least as normal as pan-dimensional travel can really ever get. A panic through the hallways just outside of his chambers, the sounds of combat and clatter through the building. Bloodshed and a coming war crept upon his ears as Shin lay there on the mattress at the back of the chamber.

And you know what Shin was thinking about?

It wasn't about the evacuation, about the war of dreamers, it wasn't even about rushing about and killing everyone outside.

Shin's thoughts were on Skallagrim.

The one known as Metz was nothing to him, a coward who chose not to fight. Instead pretending to be god and waving his wrath around like a child with a magnifying glass. No, Shin hadn't lost to Metz. The moment that the two would have engaged in hand to hand combat, he would have beat him to death. And it seemed like the fates favored fools once again, as Metz had been judged the winner.

The assassin mused these thoughts as he stood slowly from his bedding. "I'm certain you knew the outcome."

Warriors, evidently known as The Fallen, stormed his chambers. Armed with strange weapons as dark as his own they menaced at him, lashing forward in perfect unison. Well trained, obviously enhanced with magic. Generally, fun to play with. Even more fun to kill. However, today had not gone the way he had hoped, and killing someone whose face meant nothing to him was no way to vent.

With his right hand, Shin grappled the one on the right's left hand, the one wielding it's weapon. The assassin twisted and jerked his body away from the weapons being thrust at his midriff. Spinning on his heel with the confused creature in tow, the crunch of broken bones rang out as Shin crushed its wrist in his hand.

Even as he moved, Shin spoke solemnly to himself. "You can see things that I cannot."

Midway through the spin he brought his left hand upwards and struck the side of the middle one's head, just before slamming the right one into its shoulder. With those two propelled forward and away by the spin, the last one on the left was toppled over by the weight of its companions. With the trio laid prone on the ground, confused and embarrassed, Shincoco walked from the room and into the hallway.

The quiet tapping of his shoes was drowned out by the clamber and clatter, as were his words. "I'm certain that you knew I would best him."

Another beast railed against him, wielding two weapons and lunging towards him with both raised high above its head. Shin stepped into its chest and brought his palm upwards into the nape of its neck, taking another step forwards and clenching his hand around its throat. Another step and Shin threw the beast's weight downwards and to the ground, crushing its windpipe as it reached the floor. Again, he moved on from the defeated creature. He heard its last choked breaths as he pushed open another door to where he had first entered.

Reaching the main hall, Shin scanned the room with a slow head turn. All of the other competitors, defeated or otherwise, were fighting against these beasts.

As was Skallagrim.

Though certainly one to hold a grudge, Shin was not one to take the coward's route and attack someone while they're fighting. "Strange, isn't it? I'm an assassin, but I've only ever killed someone after I've looked them in the eye." Whether or not he was talking to himself at this point was questionable, though any dreamer observing him would head his words.

This battle wasn't his, the war of the Dreamers and the Fallen was none of his concern. They, however, disagreed. Another Fallen warrior lashed out at him, striking him in the face with a club-like weapon. Its arms locked up from the shock, it had expected Shin's head to move backwards from the force. Instead, Shin had held his ground and maintained his composure. There was no pain from being struck through his mask, that's why he wore it. Idiots love to attack the face.

With a forceful extension of his right arm, hand, and fingers; Shin forced his fingers into the creature's mouth. The assassin put his left palm on its forehead. Shoving with his left hand and pulling downwards with his right, Shin tore its jaw clean from its body. Letting the now disconnected body-part fall to the ground, shortly followed by the Fallen. Now unconscious, soon dead.

Stepping around it, Shin moved to the exit portal. Turning around to glance at Skallagrim, not bothering to ensure that he heard him.
"You've made a powerful enemy, Skallagrim. Humiliating me by giving victory to a coward. If you survive this battle, Skallagrim, I will come for you." Those words dripped with hatred and spite, literally dripped, as saliva rolled past his lips. Shin's singular eye trained on the skeletal figure, shuddering in its socket.

With his threat spoken, and his interest in these events lost, Shin turned towards the exit. The portal opened before him and Shin stepped through, falling slightly as he found himself back at the island. His feet met sand, and his hand met the ground as he caught himself. The black staff had shrunken back to its normal size, and was no longer a platform that he could stand on. It had nearly caught him off guard.

Still nowhere in sight, LeeRoy was likely still inside of his laboratory. Didn't matter, Shin would get back to pursuing LeeRoy another day. The assassin mounted the boat that was still on the isle's edge, and shoved off. Setting sail for his homeland.

LeeRoy's death would have to wait.

For now, another target.

With the final battle over in the tournament, the power of a god held tightly in the hands of Metz as the last pieces of the key merged together. Beyond the gates of dreams and nightmares, a great howl erupted as the Lord of Nightmares gnashed his teeth, railing with all his might in hopelessness as the seal snapped shut.

In the grand foyer of the Nexus of Worlds, N’Katya felt the surge of power, as did all Forgotten. The great seal had been closed again. The giant creature hurled balls of dark energy at Skallagrim, each one intensifying as they struck the Walker between Worlds. The heft and weight of her glaive had pushed Skallagrim to a knee. Every tendril of energy he had expanding from him in a concentric circle, followed by a deep, thrum felt in the bones rather than heard.

“You have managed to cloud the minds of another, but it shall not avail you Cughtagh! Today you have come at the crossroads of your existence, and it shall end here.”

With that, the Forgotten intensified their attacks. Tendrils of dark energy snaking through those still facing the invaders, bursts of energy, focused slammed into the skeletal figure struggling to rise. Shadowy, misshapen beings began to turn away from their individual fights, focusing every ounce of their hatred on the Dreamer.

In a sudden move, N’Katya whirled, the glaive drawing back in a flash of movement, followed by a tremendous boot to the head of Skallagrim. The blow knocked him to the ground, as a chaotic, whirlwind of dark energies hammered him.

Grasping his sword, Skallagrim rose to a knee. A nimbus of amethyst energies swirled around him, expanding slowly. “I have been patient N’Katya. You have felt the sealing of the gate, you know your master shall not be free. Return to the gloom.”

“You are a fool Dreamer. We have broken free. You cannot contain us all, Ghoukas’ influence shall be felt once more in this incarnation of worlds.” With that, the winged creature charged towards Skallagrim, the glaive glowing in a whorl of darkness, similar to that which surrounded Skallagrim’s dagger. “Today Dreamer you shall witness your last day.”

Rising to meet her, Skallagrim thrust, sliced and cut with great care. N’Katya parried, turned aside and sought her own openings. A certain beauty was contained in their movements. Each a master of their craft, each looking moves ahead to secure a victory.

The fight may have lasted had it not been for the intervention of the armoured woman who shimmered into existence a scant 20 feet from the two. Raising a wicked looking rifle, the woman dropped to a knee, aimed carefully and unleashed a pulse of energy slamming into the back of the Dreamer. It was followed by another, and another as each pulse caused Skallagrim to stagger. Dropping to his knees, the woman moved with deadly precision behind him and fired one last time.

“About time you made your appearance.” Huffed N’Katya.

“I wanted to make sure he was completely focused on you. You looked good, I almost believed he was beating you.”

“He was. His power has not diminished through lack of practice.” N’Katya toed the fallen Dreamer, “He will remain in stasis for how long?”

“Not long. We must hurry if we are to effect an escape. Release your Legions, and I shall administer the Coup de Grace.”

N’Katya nodded, turning she hurried to her companions, a static-filled screech filled the air as the Forgotten began to drift away, vanishing into the greater Multiverse. One look back before she left, the war chief of the Forgotten watched with satisfaction as the shadowy assassin raised her rifle to fire point blank into the crumpled form of Skallagrim.

The Grim Reaper watched the occuring actions as they occured, paying particular attention to the battle between the one who turned on Skallagrim and his ilk. Beneath the shadows, the pulsing yellow irises of the Forgotten watched his brethern take the fight to perhaps the most skilled Cughtagh to ever hold the title.

Pathetic.

Sleeved hands clutched the twirling double ended, inverted scythe, halting it in its motion. The fight that would decide the fate of Ghoukas was rapidly coming to an end, and the one they had potentially pinned their hopes on had made a careless mistake. In setting up the one who held a grudge against Ghoukas, Metz, he had fallen into a basic trap.

Patheic.

With the man now skewered, Metz had been declared the winner, and now held the all important key.

Scowl.

He had chosen the path most proper to him, sealing the gate that Ghoukas would need to escape from, stemming the tide of Nightmare that would have surely triggered chaos in the world. He gripped his weapon tighter, the thought of entering the fray becoming an increasing obsession in his mind.

Step.

Blast.

Halt.

Blast.
Blast.
Blast.
Blast.

The Cughtagh was down, at least they had won something.

The Forgotten stayed a moment longer, watching the rest of his kind scatter to the wind. He would follow that path, having proven that he was Forgotten in this skirmish. Not a soul noticed him.

His scythe cleaved a path, or attempted too. Something interceded him, crossing his would be trail nand leaving him disorientated. He examined it, storing the knowledge. Whatever path had chosen then to wink into existence, burned hot with Potential, and more than that with the unyielding power of a SuperNova.

Grim peered through the veil and immediately shot his head back, vanishing on his way.

What had he seen? What the Angar-Rylla verse would, the large nosed man with a bucket for a helmet, an oversized writing implement and an equally sized paintbrush. None should have seen the Reaper, but the aforementioned man seemed to stare right at him.