"Finally! I've got the bloody drop on this asshole, and there's no way he's getting away this time."

Teller listened carefully, his armor's external speakers deactivated to prevent the sound of his breathing from giving him away. He could hear the elf moving about, though the demon's movement was silent, but that was alright. Teller cracked the dresser's door open just slightly and adjusted his head until he could see the elf. Thankfully for Teller, the delta didn't seem to stand between him and the warlock, so he could draw a good shot. Moving slowly to prevent himself from disturbing the air too much, he slowly grabbed the LE-21 from its holster and carefully lined it up with the elf's gut as best he could through the dresser. After a moment of checking the angle of the barrel as compared to the elf's position, Teller was satisfied he had the shot. He squeezed the trigger and, with a loud bang, the shot broke through the dresser door and embedded itself in the elf's sternum.

Teller burst through the dresser door in an open charge, bringing his pistol up and firing four more shots. The elf's demonic bodyguard threw out its arm, catching the bullets, but allowing Teller to throw himself into a low tackle into the elf. This time, he didn't hesitate, jamming his pistol into the ribs of the elf and emptying the magazine. Teller knew a thing or two about wounds, and though he didn't know anything specific about the elves, he knew he probably wasn't gonna live through that. Teller rolled off of him and leaned his back against the wall, watching the demon dissipate. The elf weakly drug himself against another wall and weakly lifted his flask to his lips, saying aloud "One more drink at least. How funny, a lifetime dealing with demons preparing to fight undead, and its a mere man that kills me." The elf chuckled, stopping as he choked on his own blood for a small moment. Then, imploringly, he looked to the Ranger and said "If one such as you has to be the one that kills me, could you at least then make my death meaningful?" Teller lifted his faceplate and turned to look at the elf, and based on the speed with which the color was leaving the elf he didn't have long. As the elf lay dying, he made his final request "Please, I know not what you wanted to spend the wish on, but instead please use it to heal my realm. Millions dead to the plague....please...save..." The elf trailed off as the strength left him, and Teller watched as the elf took his last breath. Now alone with a corpse, Teller said aloud "'Fraid not friend. I've got a war to end...my own war." Teller walked over and grabbed the elf's flask, clipping it to his chest rig, and striding out of the house.

Teller took a glance at the bar and closed his faceplate, frowning at the thought of the men in that bar. Some were dead no doubt, many more mangled, and by the look of the city he may've just cut its remaining population by a tenth. Banishing the thoughts, Teller moved on, crossing the bridge into the city. Collateral damage was just a fact of life when one fought deltas, the kind of weapons it took to fight them before the discovery of blessed ammo had been the kind only the air force could provide. Even afterwards, Deltas were so powerful the explosive principle of P for Plenty was often used, and heaven only knew how many civilians had been killed applying that principle. As he walked into the city, he triggered a hit from his pre-war playlist in honor of himself, and the broken dream of the drunken warlock.

At first, the streets of the Neighborhood did not seem to Cyril like a maze. They were wide-open, the edges formed by unassuming homes, and while fences did span the spaces between the houses they looked neither impenetrable nor imposing. Keeping this in mind, he proceeded through the unfamiliar place at a steady clip, and his armor gave a burst of muted clinks with each step. After a short time, he found himself synchronizing the clatter of his glaive's shaft against the ground, as he used it like a walking stick, with the noise of his armor. He kept aware of his surroundings, however, and did not allow the little game to distract him. In this borough, empty as it was enviable, anything could leap out at him from any direction. For this reason, he walked down the center of the lane, and in doing so avoided the strange metal carriages that dotted its rims with some frequency.

Cyril recognized the suburb as a labyrinth before long, though. A combination of darkness and lack of experience rendered every house close to identical in his eyes, and after a few minutes he could hardly tell one from another. Try as he might to keep abreast of his turns and the overall path he'd taken, the vanguard could not help but feel as though he was wandering in circles. The temptation to break into one of the homes took root within him, but he kept it at bay with the principle that no matter where the people were, stealing was stealing. Still, the look of the sky made him uneasy -as though the heavens would rip apart and send down a torrential flood any moment- and he wondered if the premise of the tournament meant everything inside this city was up for grabs.

A sudden light and noise pierced the night, and Cyril span in an instant to face it. About two horizontal streets away, a plume of flame rose above the horizon of fences, followed by a cloud of smoke. Aftershock pushed into and through him, not too strong but significant for its vicinity. In seconds Cyril's mind was alight with possibilities. Magic. Dynamite. Demons. Fireworks. There were too many questions and not enough answers, but the vanguard couldn't very well ignore what was pretty much his first lead. Like it or not, his opponent was standing less than seven hundred feet away right now. The path to a better world began here.

Not wanting to lose the scent, is it were, the knight elected to take a direct route. After setting off at a brisk trot, he got within 10 feet of the nearest fence before throwing himself forward. His armor dutifully exuded its sheen, and the burst of momentum carried him straight through the wooden barricade in a shower of wood. Cyril skidded to his feet, unscathed, and gazed at the shattered planks with the baleful eyes of a tyrant. “This is a necessary sacrifice,” he told the boards, his voice a touch too low and sinister to be serious. In a matter of moments, the fence opposite suffered the same fate—an example for all fence-kind that this knight wasn't one to hesitate when it came to doing what needed to be done.

On the opposite side lay a pool surrounded by warm-colored stone pavement, but Cyril saved his focus. With ardent determination he plowed on, through one pair of houses' yards and then another, until he stood before the blackened crater where the explosion went off one minute ago. Smoke, embers, and a hole—there was nothing special. As he scanned the vicinity, however, he spotted something that didn't belong.

He approached it, glancing around as he did. The odd object lay in the exact middle of a cul-de-sac, though Cyril didn't know that name, and for the first time he felt penned-in. Whoever set off that explosion, he reasoned, must have encountered something, gotten mad, or otherwise provoked. I haven't seen any monsters, but nobody in their right mind would waste such a potentially powerful weapon. The hairs on the back of Cyril's neck rose, and he paused to look around again. “A trap,” he sighed, looking at the strange, cobbled-together contraption fifteen feet in front of him. It has to be. If there were monsters, the explosion would have drawn them for sure, but instead, all it drew was him.

A click from the thing reached his ears, and the primeval question assailed him: fight or flight? He chose the latter, and turned before executing a roll away from the object. The next second, the device burst, releasing a spray of gluey string in every direction. It splattered across the pavement and hardened in less than five seconds. Cyril got to his feet, but before he could even try to grasp his surroundings, they presented themselves to him. With a series of bangs, the doors of the four nearby houses flew open, and out marched a series of small, colorful golems. Though haphazard in their design, and seemingly crafted from household appliances, all moved with purposeful speed straight for the warrior in their midst. A grim smile came to the vanguard's face, and he clutched his weapon with both hands.

“Oho, what have we here? Another box of toys for me to throw open and play with?”

Cyril glanced up at a nearby streetlight. At the top, sitting on a makeshift chair, was a gangly figure in full-body, tight-fitting white armor. The stranger pushed a lever, and with a protesting groan the chair slid down the streetlight like someone descending a spiral staircase, and at he end the recliner spat out its occupant onto the earth. One of the constructs walked right by him, and with his free hand he gave it a pat on the head; with the other, he was tinkering with some unidentifiable trinket, his long, slender fingers constantly in motion. The maker, mused Cyril, and the stranger tilted his head. “Ah, my mistake! What an interesting sight. Behold, ye knight of old! Thou hast trespassed into the territory of...heheh, well, me! Of course! Aren't my new inventions cool?” The constructs had coalesced into a mob, almost completely surrounding Cyril. He did not seem fazed. “Genius. Absolute genius! I could go on for hours Each one a unique specimen, carved from the finest appliances...oh, nevermind. You don't look the technical type. Hah!” The inventor looked down at the junk in his hand, now a sort of cube shape, and he worked at it with both hands. After a second he pulled something from his belt and inserted it into the device, then chuckled to himself. By now, his minions were dangerously close.

“Well, isn't this a super-cool scenario?” Hovering by the streetlight was that drone again. It projected the image of Oren Erumel, smiling as usual, and the young man declared, “Have fun, you two! And remember, winner get's a li'l something-something for his 'invent'-ory! Start!”

Immediately, Jokaero hurled his device at Cyril. The knight twisted his shoulders to place his shield in front, happy to bat the projectile away, but to his surprise the little machine hit his shield and projected little legs with which it latched on. It then began to emit a loud and annoying beep, but Cyril discovered that the irksome noise wasn't its only effect; the robots, numerous but plodding, abandoned their less-than-threatening walking speed to bolt straight at him.



In the murky, bewildering depths of the undulating, sea-locked dystopia, where noisome vapors wafted from the pale, flabby flesh and protuberant growths of hideous unnamables, the Cthulhean descendant bartered bitter words with the blood-soaked death seeker. Saria, knowing of twisted things from beyond the stars, equated her opponent to an emissary of the cosmos robbed of her enigma and set against her in a manner oddly mortal. When Rose dazed down the bridge of her nose at the intruder, she found only a flea, too inconsequential to even comprehend her worthlessness, but like all bothersome parasites she needed to be crushed sooner or later. Fitfully, as if waking from a dream, the phylacteries belonging to each despicable creature flared to life. “A beautiful face can hide so much darkness. Who can fathom the workings of a woman's mind? I dare not...my drone is still working its way into this place, but time and tide wait for no man. Ladies, I bid you both a good hunt. Begin whenever.” Then the voice and the artificial light from within the hearts vanished. In its place, there existed only the putrescence of the abyss's denizens, the vexing eccentricities of the deep refuge, the weight of the howling dark, and the inexorable call to arms.



Coming out into the cold, moist night air after a brief but furious few minutes of heart-pounding action felt like running face-first into a heavy slap. Behind Teller, the lights of Slow Dancers' dimmed before blinking out altogether, and a look backward would turn up only a dark, empty, and desolate storefront. In pursuit of his desire, the soldier had consigned one more ghost to this dead city—destined to fade away, but not to be forgotten. His phylactery, as though shrugging off the lackadaisical embrace of the bar prior to its destruction, gave a low tone followed by two beeps, each accompanied by a gentle beat of the heart itself.

Mip.

Mip.

On its front, beneath the glassed-over compartment, two little lights blinked on one after another: one grass green, and the other cobalt blue. Then they blinked off, and Teller was left only with the silence. A couple seconds later, after the somber atmosphere had a chance to sink in, the quiet broke once again with the arrival of Oren's drone. In its arm it clutched an open box, and without putting up a display the machine pronounced, “Both of you were noble, in your own ways. A lot rested on each of your shoulders, and there could be no compromise. His dying words...to supplant your wish with his. An impossibility, yet you could always modify your wish. You need not take up his burden, merely his soul, but...would it not be poetic, to know that a noble spirit achieved his goal in the end?”

The box contained a technological mask, not too far removed in terms of advancement from Teller's own gear, though a little more colorful. The amaranth eye of the announcer's drone betrayed no recognition, but it said, “Ooh, something fun. You'd have to sacrifice the protection and other functions of your helmet to use it, but wouldn't it be worth it?” A moment passed, one that contained intense thinking, but whether due to lack of ability or lack of propriety, no pun came. “Well, so long. There's about an hour before the big storm hits. Your next foe's a long way off, so you'd be better off thinking about food and shelter. Adieu!” Without skipping a beat, the drone rose up and zipped away.

Lily remained quiet and invisible even as her opponent entered what was to be their arena. Even as someone living in a world where demons and fire breathing lizards roamed the land, what she saw come through that door perplexed her. She had seen mechanically augmented people before, but this was something new. This was a hammerhead shark in what amounted to a mecha-like suit, giving him both arms and legs as well as an assortment of weapons.

As Brucie started walking along his walkway in search of Lily, she took her time to think. Orel seemed to have a habit of making puns directed towards whoever he was near, as evident by his endless stream of nicknames referencing her tails. He had done much the same with Brucie, saying "Water" instead of "What are", leading her to believe that maybe Brucie had something to do with water. The question, however, was whether or not it was a reference to him simply being a nautical creature, or if it actually had anything to do with his abilities. On the other hand the rocket launcher on his shoulder was a dead giveaway of at least one type of attack. That left only the contraption on his right arm. She could not immediately determine the nature of it, but given its lack of sharp or blunt edges she assumed it to be another ranged weapon.

Lily squinted, talking a few steps towards the railing separating her from a twenty foot drop, getting a better look at her opponent. So, summed up. Rocket launcher on his left shoulder: Minimum of six rockets, possibly more. Unidentified weapon on his right arm, probably ranged in nature. Mechanical limbs, seemingly powerful and processing claw-like tips. Can they be disabled? And what are those things and his lower jaw? He is a shark on land, and would normally be unable to breathe. Maybe that is how he avoids suffocation? It was worth considering at least, she decided, taking a few more steps along the walkway to avoid losing sight of him.

Now, how to defeat him? She smiled, an idea quickly forming in her mind.

With a small exertion of will, she created a copy of herself stepping out from cover some distance in front of Brucie. Immediately it caught his attention, "There ya are!" He shouted, laughing in his guttural manner. The copy of Lily raised its hand, balls of cobalt fire materializing all around her before firing off towards Brucie, who retaliated with a blast of high-pressure water from his arm mounted cannon, even as he dove out of the way of the fire.

The water jet tore through the illusion, dispelling it and the flames as well. Confusion reigned only for a moment before bolts of very real fire struck him in the back, each exploding with the force of a small rocket. He whirled around aiming his right hand at where the attack had come from - Lily, invisibility gone.

She darted out of the way of the speeding water orb, satisfied that it was slow enough for her to dodge. Barely had the thought finished before water and concussive force struck her, throwing her against the wall at an angle. Ears ringing, she stood up to see a duo of rockets coming her away. She met them with a blast of concussive force, detonating them in midair. The explosion allowed her to run for cover, a copy of herself running the opposite direction.

"Come out an' fight!" She heard the shark shouting, sounding almost playful somehow. Two more rockets were fired and found targets - one some distance behind her and another where her clone would be.

Lily didn't reply, but kept running, tails moving rapidly against each other. She dispelled the clone, jumped out of cover and over the railing, down to the concrete floor from where she sent a barrage of cobalt fire. Brucie met the onslaught with his own, extinguishing most of the fire with blasts of water. The torrents that did not hit fire instead came for Lily, forcing her to dart and weave.

A deep growl came from above her, the sound of something powerful and angry, followed by the sound of metal hitting concrete as he, too, jumped down. Lily only just managed to get into cover before a jet of water put a dent in the machine behind her.

"Don't be a li'l scaredy fish," Brucie growled, something that sounded suspiciously like glee in his voice.

"I'd rather not," Lily replied, stepping out of cover. She threw a hand up sending a lance of invisible force at Brucie and battered his right hand out of the way, sending the water jet wide.

Seeing her chance, she darted in, blinding him with a flash of illusory light. Sparks of electricity danced between her fingers, the electric humming unmistakable. She lashed out, her palm impacting with his torso, unleashing a powerful blast of electricity, enough for his entire body to violently convulse and throw him back several metres.

She righted herself, holding her arm where one of his claws had torn at her, as a result of his involuntary movements - It was shallow, but it still hurt. "You wanted me to fight instead of run?" She smiled grimly, teeth showing and tails whipping about behind her, her hands to her side and fingers crooked in a way that made her nails resemble wicked claws. "Well then, come and fight."

Another shot rang out on the coattails of Oren’s announcement, and had the man not had the wherewithal to put the familiar behind cover, Pithy had little doubt the construct would be sporting a large hole in its center. She was almost disappointed that was not the case.

“Butt out, boy! I don’t need you telling me when to start!”

She found herself echoing the ornery badger’s thoughts. She was tempted to break the toy herself if only to keep the loose-tongued young man from hinting at any more of her capabilities. However, there was no denying they were wasting time.

Pithy glanced to the side without breaking from her cover. She could not see her opponent without peeking around the wall, but she could still see plenty of bat corpses on the ground. Was that one corpse per shot?

Damn close if not, she concluded, thinking back to when she had seen the furry creature shooting at the fluttering monsters.

It was possible that whatever wizard had decided to spend so much effort on giving the thing sapience might also have done something to boost its proficiency with the six-shooters. Walking out unprepared would be a good way to have her head split open. Never mind death, she did not think she could live with the shame of being bested by a hat-wearing weasel.

“I’ve got an idea,” the voice of the badger reached around the corner. Was that metallic rasp that reached her ears the sound of the badger loading ammunition into her shooters? Pithy had to force herself not to peek out to see how she could manage the feat with those little paws. “This is supposed to be a tournament, yeah? So why not make it a duel, like those fools in the mainland. They say it’s the ci-vi-lized way to go about killing.” She spoke as though the word was both unfamiliar and worthy of contempt, but Pithy thought she could detect a hint of wry amusement. “You can even pick the weapon of choice, girl. Gun or Sword? Not a bad deal.”

’Gan’? Is that what they call those shooters in her world? With an effort of will, a large sheet of ice, large enough to hide behind, materialized before her, hovering a few inches before her free hand. “A duel, you say?” she answered, playing along with the badger. “And what would you say if I chose the sword?”

“Perfect. Leaves the gun for me.”

Pithy tried to focus her hearing. Two crystalline spheres roughly the size of her head now hovered over the tip of her rapier. Has she moved from her perch? I don’t think she has yet. Pithy hummed loudly as if weighing the clearly ludicrous idea in her mind, taking the chance to steady herself. Finally, after a moment—

“Deal.”

The crystalline spheres shot out to the open as though she had lobbed them. The rapport of six-shooters instantly rang out cleanly shattering the crystals into multiple shards of ice. Pithy’s rapier slashed down, and as though hearing an unvoiced command, the sharp ice was suddenly redirected in the direction of the hatted badger.

There was a surprised exclamation and the sound of something falling. “Those ain’t swords, bitch!” And Pithy turned the corner, bringing the large sheet of ice before her like portable cover.

Trickshot Jo’ had fallen from the top of the carriage and was standing on the dashboard behind a sheet of glass with multiple shards of ice embedded in it. She aimed her six-shooters at Pithy and fired twice. One destroyed the glass cover. The other one crashed into Pithy’s barrier .

A lance of ice materialized besides Pithy and shot forward like a missile, aimed straight at the small creature, who fell backwards into the vehicle proper. The icicle struck a red barrel loaded at the back of the carriage, which rapidly began leaking its contents.

Pithy continued to move forwards and to the left, conjuring a set of transparent blades behind her. If she could only get a good view of the small creature, she would be able to settle things quickly.

As she moved, there was a sound like loud purring, and the metallic carriage seemed to tremble. Pithy paused in her approach, only to be suddenly blinded when the two crystals at the front of the vehicle lit up. The purring turned into a roar, and Pithy instinctively threw herself to the side. She heard more than saw the vehicle crash into a pillar behind her, making the spotlights fixed atop it shake and wink in and out.

It was in this confusion that she caught sight of the small, dark-furred creature running towards the street’s corner.

Pithy pointed her rapier to one of the ice blades, which had fallen to the ground when she had jumped out of the vehicle’s way, and it shot out towards the badger.

The creature seemed to have an impeccable sense of danger, for even as Pithy had begun pointing her magical focus at her weapon, the badger was turning towards her, bringing the six-shooters to bear. The first shot crashed against the crystal projectile, throwing it off-course.

Pithy brought her barrier up with her free-hand, expecting another bullet to be shot at her, but instead, Trickshot Jo aimed past her.

The second shot found the barrels loaded at the back of the jeep. A sound like thunder echoed throughout the Justice Hub.

Far as the carriage was behind her, the heat wave from the resulting fireball threw Pithy to her knees. She had enough of her wits about her that she could still hold her barrier in front of her, but could do little beyond looking on, wide-eyed, as the badger rounded the corner shouting something she could barely hear through her ringing ears.

Just then, the light that had been illuminating the streets went out, and the pillar holding it fell against one of the nearby buildings. Pithy spared the flaming, wrecked vehicle that had replaced the spotlight as a source of illumination an appraising look before standing. She did so less steadily than she would have liked, but she was not injured as far as she could tell.

Pithy scowled as the realization came to her that the encounter had not been entirely improvised. Alien as they both were to this realm, her enemy had just enough knowledge of the machines of this place over Pithy to take advantage of them.

She grunted and began to run, the rising adrenaline making short-work of her disorientation. Rather than chasing after her enemy directly and risking being shot as she turned the corner, she ducked into one of the alleys between facilities. As absurd as that thing’s aim had been, it was still a honey badger. Pithy had no doubt that she could head it off if she made haste, particularly if it insisted on that ridiculous two-legged gait.

The dark fog continues to cloud the way as the Queen treads towards the center of the settlement. It was eerily quiet. Perhaps, too quiet, other than the occasional sounds of crows, owls, or other various forms of wildlife, even the sound of wind was rather faint. But as she investigates the abyss abroad, made by the thick trees, she suddenly hears a voice echo from god knows where. The sudden voice slightly startled Ghidorah, but with a growl she looks up at where the voice was coming from.

“Evening, ladies!" a male voice echoes through the damp forest, " You might not know it, dragon girl, but a certain someone is only a couple seconds away from having you in her sights. With all the tension in the air, I might as well getcha started now. Looks like it'll be an exciting game of cat and mouse...will the deadeye put enough holes in the Queen of Terror to take her down before the firebreather flushes her out? Let's find out. Ready? Go!”

And as the voice stops silently, the dragon girl's senses began to tingle. Indeed someone was nearby. And from what she heard, this was a sniper. She could literally be anywhere around her, hiding in the trees. With a frustrated growl, without a second thought, she heads into the trees, which should provide her with some cover from the bullets that may be being fired upon her. Then, once she figures out where the bullets are coming from, she raises her arms as her fingers splatter a volley of yellow lightning out into the trees, in an attempt to draw the attacker out and to see where she may be. No fire will be started, but if provided she keeps it up, an eventual spark might be the kicker...

"SHOW YOURSELF YOU SNIPING-COWARD!" she booms as she tries to find Fran.

"Noble? Not the first word I'd use to describe me, but I'll take it."

Staring down at the mask now in his hand, Teller contemplated what to do with it. Of course, it didn't take long to relegate it to a place in his rucksack. It was good for combat obviously, but the perimeter alarm and delta detector in his armor was more useful for everyday operations. So, Teller decided to heed the advice of the announcer and start worrying about his survival for the day. He didn't have any rations on him, the mission hadn't been an extended one, just a rapid raid from FOB Blackhawk. So, he needed to go about finding some food, though shelter seemed to be more or less a non-issue given the massive amount of buildings in the area. That noted, he decided it was best to find a vantage point and get a lay of the land. That way he'd at least have some form of bearing, hearkening back to his survival training as part of his UASD training, Teller scanned his surroundings for a tall enough structure to give him some bearings. Sadly this place seemed a suburb, with the structures being of uniform height and each lawn seeming like the one before. So, selecting the nearest one, he resolved to find a way to get up to the rooftops and survey the land.

First was the interior of the house, he had to make sure the area was clear. Bringing his rifle to a low ready, Teller took a deep breath to steel his nerves before moving in. Breaching a room solo was dangerous at best, but he could at least limit the damage done by pieing off the room. He took a moment to recall the technique as he hadn't used it since before the devil invasion, only as a Marine in the Middle East had he used the technique. "Alright, open the door and step back, clear the room by angles from outside, easy and simple. If Lance Corporal Teller with 2/3 Marines could do it, Captain Teller of the UASD can do it." He opened the door from the side and took a few steps back before slowly sweeping right, getting a sense for every part of the room that could be surveyed from the outside. Satisfied the area was clear as best as he could see, he entered and swept left and right, finding the house to be clear of hostiles.

The house was somber and quite, reminding the Captain of the seriousness of what he had just left behind. Moving to the kitchen area, he didn't bother with the the fridge. He had no idea how consistent power had been to this area, but perishables were useless regardless. Looting cabinets still didn't leave much, but he found a few cans of food that seemed edible. Putting them in his ruck, he continued looting around but didn't find much more. He did, however, find a useful tool in the garage in the form of a short rope, about three feet in length. He placed it in his rucksack before continuing on for, according to his armor, forty five minutes, stopping to loot intermittently. As the time for the 'storm' neared, Teller decided it was time to seek cover. Like every other house before it, he pied off the door before entering. As ever, he looted a few cans of food before, this time, coming to rest in a bedroom. He shut and locked the door behind him and lay down in the bed, comfy it seemed but it creaked angrily beneath the weight of the armor, though it held. Teller set his armor to sound an internal alarm if it detected motion within the house of anything standing taller than 4'10. Teller settled in for a fitful sleep as ever, the same old nightmares of battles fought and Marines lost no longer able to wake him from his slumber.

No matter where they were, thugs were still the same.

With a flick of her wrist, she projected a large bat, and with a swing, sent all four of those charging her flying in all directions. As if a switch had been turned, the rest of those anons swarmed towards her, brandishing weapons and fists. A veritable crowd, one that most martial artists would have been hard pressed to fight.

Juniper was not most martial artist.

For one, she wasn't trained in any recognizable forms of martial arts, but an amalgamation of what her mother taught her and moves she copied from her opponents. And for another, fighting a large group of people was something she did very well.

With a tremendous blow to the first one to come near her, the anon smashed through the crowd like a cannonball, knocking several of them down in the process. In the resulting brief moment of confusion among them, she took down another two anons, before slamming on the floor with her prodigious strength. Debris and dust flew everywhere in the resulting explosion, both blinding and knocking out any unfortunate enough to be hit with a large enough chunk of floor.

Manufacturing an advantage was needed to fight a large group like this. Confusion, fear, and hesitation was as potent a weapon as her own fists would be. If they were hesitating, they weren't fighting. Not all of them would act the same however; there were some that was braver — or more idiotic depending on how one view them — than the rest. Some of them managed to get a blow in, but none really had the strength to really hurt her. The sharper weapons were prioritized first, with her taking advantage of her longer limbs to knock out the users before they can get close.

With just a few minutes of fighting later, most of the group was already knocked out or have fled, leaving only a small handful left. Bodies of those knocked out littered the mostly destroyed floor, with some draped on broken furniture. Juniper had not gone unharmed however, for though she was well versed in fighting a large amount of opponents at the same time, she was still but one, and they were many. There was a cut on her temple and her arm was bloodied, but she was still standing strong, that smile still on her face, daring the anons to come closer. There was certainly a lot of them, but they were hardly the match of even the thugs from her world. They lack the resolve, power and determination of the desperate depraved men who had done battle on each other to merely survive another day.

The anons seemed identical to her, but there was one that had caught her eye ever since the first four anons had tried to attack her. A fellow with a bandana, that had hung back instead of trying to get in on trying to murder her.

"Well? Was that it?" She addressed those still remaining. "It will take more than that to satisfy me."

What on Nexux had just happened? Shelly could barely remember. A golem gave up the ghost and then... She looked up from the floor for clues. Her head was still spinning and just moving her head for a better view was stomach turning. A giant steel barricade stood proudly several meters away. That's what struck her when she was distracted. Shelly had been blown back pretty far by the eruption of the defence, her light frame thrown virtually back to where it came from. Her accordion's landing had been softened by her tender flesh, which was going leave a mark, but was a small mercy compared to having her back broken over the accordion's wooden housing and metal mechanics. Shelly noticed the deep impact the barricade on the ceiling, that could have been her, crushed in twain between the two. Her heart raced in her bosom, there was a little pain but the adrenaline was really pumping, she hadn't felt like this since she'd volunteered to be the "sacrifice" for when the Occult Metaphysical Solutions division wanted to capture a lesser God. Just Buluc-Chabtan was then, the Conductor was still observing carefully and was likely on edge as she was now, but less injured. Her wits were coming back to her, she'd almost through to him. Was he about to agree to a truce? Shelly wondered if she'd jumped the gun a little, trying to snatch an easy victory. He wasn't going be so trusting now, he was already very much on the defensive. Shelly guessed Jiang had been spooked too by the golem and then caught Shelly moving in with her little smile in his periphery and thought the worst. Shelly wondered if he could be convinced he'd simply over-reacted to her being friendly.

"Its ok! Its ok!" Shelly called as she struggled to her feet, "No harm done." As hard as she tried to sound cheery and welcome, it sounded like some harm had been done. Breathing was a little sore still, making her a little raspier than earlier. She must have landed a little on her right knee, not only was it pretty badly scraped but it wasn't happy with her weight put through it. She couldn't see where her opponent was but presumably he was still behind the barricade blasting out that techno beat. It was catchy, dark but the chord progression gave her goosebumps. Adversarial was the word she was looking for, it was fighting music, maybe she really had ruined things between them. Her major concern was that another drop could mean she was hurtling towards the ceiling, she'd have to pay careful attention to the music and make sure she was ready to move the moment it felt it was building up to something.

The wall was a pain, not so much that it block her attacks but it ruined his line of sight and stopped her body language having any effect on him. The safe option was to keep the hands up, when he did see her again the Conductor wasn't going to want to see her hands rummaging in her bag, behind her back or anywhere out of sight. She kept them up and stood still, like she was awaiting his instruction again, there would be much he could do without seeing her. No rushing, no loud noises, no sudden movements.

I wanted to shake your hand, but the golem startled me and I lost my footing on all this debris, it was pretty stupid excuse, but it wasn't exactly going to make him think any less of Garbage than he already did, it was a huge gamble to bring it up again though; much too large, Shelly thought. She'd have to though, leaving it unaddressed would make him increasingly uneasy, like she was still hiding something. Confrontation made this so much harder than it usually is. Think Shelly. Shared experience. Massage his ego. Trust in his good will from earlier.

"That golem gave me such a fright, I couldn't see it behind me and I thought all these spectators had finally turned on us! I just dived for you like I dived for the pillar, I thought you'd protect me. I'm sorry Mr. Conductor."

There were so many holes in the mile. So many damn holes.

Bonesword had been successfully evading Big-Big the entire time while the two were fighting, and it thankfully wouldn't last for much longer. At least that's what the two fighters hoped. Bonesword seemed to be in good standings, though, as he had whittled down Big-Big enough to where one good hit is pretty much it for him. That being said, a pretty good hit would have to be incredibly strong or lucky for Bonesword to finish him off with. That's why the two were at the carousel. Bonesword had lured Big-Big onto the attraction while a small bunch of flowers had moseyed their way to the controls, with the only order that was given to them being to throw the ride into high speeds. After some expert stacking on their part, the ride had begun to spin, going at fairly unsafe speeds. Actually, they were really unsafe speeds.

Big-Big was clearly struggling to keep up with the speed, as the wind kept holding him back from actually getting that hit on Bonesword that would guarantee victory, while Bonesword managed much better than Big. It wasn't a massive surprise, as the skeleton's body was... well... a skeleton. With one last punch, Big tried to grab Bonesword by the ankle and tear off his foot, however the buffoon only managed to fall flat on his face, causing him to be flung off the carousel and into a nearby building, where he managed to break through the wall and fixate himself under a pile of bricks. Bonesword managed to get off the ride, and he quickly rushed over to where Big was situated.

"'ey boss. Looks like we got ourselves anotha' brick in tha' wall," mocked Bonesword as he swiped the phylactery from Big's neck and walked off. As he was leaving the broken building, Bonesword did call back to Big before he made his true exit. "You were a good fight, I'll say that much!" The only word that came out of Big the entire fight was just after that sentence. "Thanks."

As the skeleton was exiting the Amusement Mile from the way he came in, a band of pumpkins was called forth by a Bloody Harvest, and they began to play a song for Bonesword's victory.

"Really guys? Jesus Christ..."

Sophia ignored the pills for now and instead raised a single bolt pistol, aiming it squarely at the Clotho, who had risen from her seat behind the aber screen, drawing her sword and standing at the ready. At the word go she pulled the trigger, the shell hurtling towards the screen propelled by both the powder and by further boosted by a rocket jet on the back. At the same moment the swarm queen took off, her 4 wings buzzing as she hurtled out of the box. The bullet slammed into the screen but was surprisingly reflected by a strange glow covering the material, the shot flying off into room before detonating in mid air like a tiny flak shell.

Sophia had the range advantage and was going to make every advantage of it, saying on the ground so she could have a more stable firing platform she tracked the nimble bug woman as she began to try and get closer to Sophia. She had the xenos in her sights, but right when she was pulling the trigger Clotho suddenly changed direction in an instant but Sophia's arm continued to trace Clotho’s previous movement as she finishes depressing the trigger.

And she missed. So she fired again. And she missed. And then she missed again. And she fired again, and then she missed. And then she fired, then she fired again, she missed both times. And then she fired and she missed. This went on until

click

”You may wish to work on your aiming”

The bolt pistol was empty and Clotho had easily closed the distance between them, in the few moments she had before the swordfighter got in for a stab at her eyes, neck or armpits she drew the falmer, and let of a torrent of flame towards the bug queen. Once again Clotho changed direction in reaction, but this time Sophia could adjust the burning wall of flame and make it close in on Clotho, forcing her to pull out of it’s range, as getting closer would mean her gossamer wings would be caught in the flames.

Clotho pulled back out of the reach of the flame pistol and hovered, for a moment the two women simply stared at each other, considering their options. Sophia was rather relieved that she did not try again, her flamer having half of its tank left remaining from seeing her off the first time and only one spare tank remained.

”I suppose this will be dragging on for a bit then, till you tire or leave an opening”

Clotho let out an audible sigh at this ongoing waste of her time, her voice as ever a practical monotone.

“I shall not rest till you are dead foul insect, for I fight in the name of the Emp””I don’t care what god you're about to join. OPEN THE GATES!”

At their Queens command Myrmidons hidden behind the walls of the arena pulled on the chains connected to the gates around the arena, raising them slowly. Through these gates the innumerable hordes of the Forest King began to swarm, hulking Antlions followed by the lesser Myrmidons entered from 3 sides, while the buzzing Lambents came from behind the walls, hovering near the ceiling and screening Clotho, who was soon lost from sight behind the glowing abdomens of the massive beetles.

Sophia ejected the clip from the spent bolt pistol, the heavy frame that held the bolter shells thudding into the ground next to the pills, and she holstered it before grabbing a fresh clip and pressing it home into the holy weapon. Until she figured out a way of hitting her foe she was going to have to keep the threat of the flamer at the ready to fend of the queen while she dealt with the minions, so she was going to have to fight with one weapon for the time being. That is inconvenient. She takes a deep breath and

”oh and none of that. silence her!”

“...!”

Just before the swarm closes in she sees three Myrmidons up on the sides of the sides, holding gemstones taken from the pile of items that formed the throne, which send soft beams of light that have locked onto Sophia, stealing her voice.
_{oh good, I’ve had more than enough religious drivel for one day}

Two antlions leading the swarm both lunge at her which breaks Sophia from her attempts to wordlessly scream insults at Clotho as she triggers the jetpack she flies up into the buzzing fireflies. The two massive ants crash together as Sophia flies up, the Lambents unable to fire without hitting the ground based troops. Sophia draws a bolt pistol and fires of a trio of shots, punching through the armored bugs carapaces the shells explode inside them, showering their fellows in ichor as Sophia herself flies through the gap in their formation left by the dead bugs. She kicks one of the dead oues into its fellows and uses the momentum along with her jetpack to get clearer, flying out towards the first silencer, the dead bug slamming into another and bringing them both crashing towards the ground below.

”you four pick up an antlion, you lot get over there and be ready to throw, the rest of you get after her”

Now it was Sophia's turn to be the unpredictable flyer, doing barrel rolls and erratic momentum changes she avoided the incoming blasts of napalm shot at her as she approached the first gem bearing bug, whom she landed a blast directly between its more humanoid torso and its ant abdomen, splitting the bug in two its upper half fell to the ground, a second shot smashing the gem it carried. She turns and her eyes go wide at just how fast Clotho closed to the distance, Sophia just barely swerves to the side fast enough, the blade scraping along the outside of her helmet where the slightest delay in her reaction would have sent it directly through the lenses over her eyes.

”Keeping your eyes on me might be wise.”

Clotho spins away from her narrow miss and easily evades Sophia's retaliatory shot, then is immediately hidden from view as the firefly swarm catches up

”not that I’ll make that easy. Antlion carriers, crush her”

Two antlions born by a pair of Lambents each fly straight at her, the massive crushing jaws will probably tear her apart, her power armor can protect her from most of the bugs attacks but she is pretty share that if those get her in their grip she is done for. They are also very resilient to bolter fire. Sophia instead takes aim at the first approaching carriers, two bolts sailing out in quick succession, one popping the head of the leading Lambent, the other smashing through the left wing of the one behind it, causing it and the antlion to plummet to the ground. The second trio adapt quickly, using the antlion itself as a shield as they approach, bolts chipping ineffectual against its armor, so she swaps out the bolt pistol for the melta pistol. The handheld anti tank weapon produces an intense, energetic beam of heat that is tens of thousands of degrees Centigrade, which melts the bugs armor in milliseconds, cooks its insides in an instant and punches through the other side, igniting the Lambents and then causing their napalm stores to spray onto their fellows as it burns. Several of the nearby Lambents also explode as their napalm stores ignite in a chain reaction and they all tumble from the sky in a burning screeching mess, scattering the trailing ground bugs.

Sofia the rockets away from the rest of them, landing next to the relatively safe area next to the throne as she reloads. 4 bolt clips, 1 and a half flame tanks and 1 and a half charge for the melta. Despite her success she needed to find a way to hit the buzzing queen and fast before she was out of ammo and reinforcements from the rest of the forest king arrived to negate her kills. She would have to save ammunition where possible and use her knife more often in order to buy herself more time to solve this conundrum.

Speaking of the problem: Clotho was standing below the blasted in half Myrmidon, a Lambent which has lost one of its wings and the dropped antlion, who are all just barely alive.

”So I thought I might give you a little demonstration of your fate and what I would much rather be doing than participating in this droll fight”

She kneels down and injects the three with a small stinger on her wrist, they all begin convulsing and chittering in a panic as a strange corruption overwhelms them, their flesh twisting and growing impossibly, horrifyingly. Sophia can only stare transfixed as the change overcomes Clotho’s victims

”You see, I have made this mutagenic serum. Never works the same way twice but it makes just the most interesting monsters for me after only a short transformation period. It’s incredibly painful if the screams of my past subjects are any indication but you can't argue with the results.”

She says all this with a flat, almost academic toan, but you can tell with just how intensely she is watching the three bugs that she is taking some enjoyment from her work.

The torsos transformations completes and it has turned into...

Into!

A a squat thing, about the size of a monkey with miss sized arm that grins gormlessly at the pair.

There is a moment of silence(enforced in Sophia's case) and calm in the arena.
_{that is an ugly yet adorable thing. I shall call him Geromory}

”It’s normally a lot better than that”

She didn’t sound embarrassed, just incredibly disappointed with the thing and she proceeds to pointedly ignore it.

At this point the silence was broken by the two other mutations completing
The antlion's shell split in two and a red skittering thing emerged, all that remained of the antlion was its massive snapping jaws on the end of a long snout.
_{that one is Snips}

The firefly’s shell had instead lengthened and segmented, its legs had fallen off and is jaw expanded to contain three sets of razor sharp teeth, overall forming a massive armored worm.
_{and finally Blinky}

”That's a bit better. As you can see, no predictable or consistent results. I have made hundreds of these out of my fallen advisories and not one has been the same as any of the others. Now. go get her.”

The two creations were about 3 times the size of their creator and quickly adapted to their new strange shapes. Sophia was doubtful of their threat compared to the other ground based bugs until they started moving, both exhibiting an ungodly speed, though one that did not compare to that of their mistress, weaving back and forth to avoid the panicked shots Sophia sent flying in their direction before they both leaped at her. Sophia blasted into the air again and Blinky smashed into the wall behind her, dazing itself briefly. Snips however landed somewhat gracefully and then leaped again, launching itself after the flying Seraphim and, clamping its jaws around her waist, brought both her and itself crashing to the ground. Blinky, having recovered, launched itself at her once more but this time she had drawn the chain knife and stabbed it into the bottom of the worm's mouth, the whirring blade going in between its two jaws and slicing through the beast's underside, splitting it’s belly in two. She hauled the bloody carcass off of herself and then stabbed Snips in its two bobbing hes that it was ineffectual smacking her with, before sawing off one of his pincer jaws to free herself.

The thing had not damaged the armor, but she could feel the bruises beneath from its clamping jaw, which had unfortunately lost some of the antlions strength, and from the subsequent fall. They hurt. Alot. She was going to need those painkillers after this.

”I suppose I will have to use more mutagen next time”

Due to Clotho’s comment Sophia managed to react just in time to deflect the follow up attack with her chain knife, using her weight and the rapid buzzing teeth of the blade forcefully knock the attacks out of the way. One blow parried away from her neck, and a second follow up jab narrowly guided away from her knee before she could draw the flamer again, the inferno once again forcing Clotho to retreat, as well as dealing with the Myrmidons that had been clambering up the barricade towards the throne. She ignited her jetpack, soaring away from the hordes, passing over the center of the arena she put the last tank of promethium into the flamer.

Clotho gave chase and it was in this way, with most of the bugs over near the throne, that they both saw the gormless mutant pick up and eat the red pill from the small bag that had earlier been thrown to the floor.

”Guess we are about to find out what that does”
_{Geromory Nooooooo}

A familiar white fog had enveloped Tyrant once again, the first time this happened it resulted in him being transported into another world by his guess which made him curious about this soon-to-be new location. However, first thing was first, beyond fighting to the death for a "wish" he wondered what this new world would provide him in both entertainment for his fighting spirit and taste buds. The contestants, all in all, looked like they could handle themselves within a fight for their lives but what Tyrant really wanted to learn is the foreign objects within this new world. The leader of this organization talked about various treasures and beasts scattered throughout this dangerous land, treasure was something always on an ogre's mind since everyone in the Old World could speak through money and lots of money provided lots of meat! Monsters on the other hand didn't say much, depending on this world the most ferocious monsters might as well be chew toys for the Mournfang. The Old World is a very dangerous place that Tyrant had been accustomed to, not many can survive a place that knows no peace which is then constantly torn through wars of the various races that has known only to survive through violence. So, within this new world, Tyrant could only expect that by sending in the strongest warriors meant that everything will provide him a good fight and a good eat which excited him as this new land shall be explored and subsequently conquered single handily by the Tyrant of the All-Maw tribe!

Eager in anticipation as the fog started to dissipate, Tyrant pulled out Giant Eater in the case of any surprise attacks once he exits the fog, but before his eyes could adjust to the scene his other senses could almost instantly detect its familiarity. Tyrant was confused, wasn't he supposed to go to a new world? This place smelt and felt exactly like the old grounds, the Maw-Pit, but that place was all the way back at his campsite which was worlds away! Did they manage to trick him somehow? Slightly angry at the fact of this probable bamboozle, the ogre soon swatted away the remaining fog to discover that he was right in a certain senses about the scene. By all accounts it was the same except for two facts, the first one was a giant hole in the middle of the grounds to the surface and another giant hole on the side of the pit with only darkness filling up the void. Scratching his chest, Tyrant was still just a bit confused about his surroundings, but with his Giant Eater still in hand he slowly walked over to the seemingly bottomless pit. He looked down to the ceaseless darkness, this sight reminded him heavily of the tunnels across the Mountains of Mourn built long ago by the once prosperous dawi, and even in the distance his eyes could recognize a glowing city. Skaven? Those rat bastards always did like building cities under cities but the glowing was quite abnormal... Warpstone? The veteran warrior looked at the glowing city for a few more seconds before shrugging his shoulders at the sight, there was no possible way to reach that city without climbing the ninety degree cliff that would most likely result in his death. So, with sightseeing done, Tyrant decided to leave by the rather incredibly large vertical tunnel which would provide him an escape from this familiar setting. However, before all of this could be executed, the ogre's ears managed to detect something within the dark pit.

A subtle noise of sorts fell within his ears, the ogre gripped his Giant Eater just a bit more before eyeing his dark surroundings of any nearby threats. Tyrant was subtly cursing the fact that his eyes couldn't adjust to the darkness as well as some of the other races, the filthy rat-men, the ugly goblins, and the stubborn dawi have always had superior night vision which are constantly used to their advantage once entering their dark tunnels and cities. Still, the ogre could see from a fair enough distance to fight, but he needed to be cautious as something was lurking in the darkness with him. Taking a few steps away from the bottomless cliff, Tyrant continued to scan the area with the giant bone club tightly gripped within his grubby hands, "Come out and fight, the Maw-Pit dictates that once two people enter only one can leave with the other in their belly, do you dare refuse this challenge?"

The two stared at each other, pure rage emanating off the slime. Mountain simply smirked and challenged her with a motion of his hand. "Yeah, bitch, come at me!" Having lost all sense of self-control, the slime obliged, dashing towards the quickscoper in a blur of pink. Seeing it coming from miles away, Mountain simply spun to the side, the corrosive slime missing him by inches. Unable to stop herself, the slime collided with the wreckage of a car. The fluid instantly melted its plastic and metal body, reducing it to a smoking heap of ash and liquid. The slime shook her head to clear away any remaining foreign particles.

Not wasting any time, Mountain quickly took aim at the disoriented slime and fired, each Dorito round finding their mark and exploding. The slime gave inhuman shrieks of pain as the fire consumed her. Then the fire ignited the petrol leaking out of the wrecked car, immediately causing it to explode into a massive fireball, complete with mushroom cloud and everything. The explosion lit up the streets, and Mountain raised his free hand to shield his eyes. Strange, considering he played games in complete darkness half the time.

Unfortunately, as Mountain's hand was blocking most of his view, he missed the flaming tentacle shoot out from the flames and slam into his torso. He felt the air leave his lungs, followed by a burning sensation in his abdomen as he was sent flying backwards. He smashed into the ground and slid a few metres, yet his hoodie somehow remained intact. Groaning and shakily standing up using his AWP as a support, he checked for damages. His clothes were fine, but when he raised his shirt, he found a red patch on his skin, which burned and stung like a bitch. That was going to leave a mark. He'd have to regen his health later. Suddenly catching a glimpse of pink in his peripheral vision, Mountain flash-teleported to the side just in time for a tentacle to set the ground he had previously been alight.

Okay, that was it. No more games. It was time to fite her IRL.

As the tentacle retracted to the slime, who had now fully revealed herself once again, Mountain stashed away his AWP and summoned his sword. Then, he charged. He sprinted forwards, his speed much faster than a normal human thanks to his running shows which gave him a +20 bonus to agility. Several thin tentacles shot towards him, but Mountain used his mastery of Parkour that he learnt from Monsieur Baguette, a Frenchman who was a master of the French art of running away, to quickly twist and turn and dodge each one. When he was just a few metres away, he stuck out his left hand, and a green triangular shield appeared. Placing it in front of him, he suddenly rolled forwards and bashed the slime with all his might.

The obviously wasn't expecting that, as she gave a small shriek of surprise as she was knocked backwards. Perfect. Mountain had broken her concentration. Shifting his foot back, Mountain then proceeded to perform a series of extremely rapid teleports, appearing and disappearing just inches away from his opponent and making a single slash faster than the eye could see. This process only lasted a few seconds, and once he was done, Mountain finished his teleport two metres away, sliding back a bit from the energy released. The slime simply stood there, before it looked like she exploded, spraying corrosive slime everywhere.

Mountain smirked; he had clearly won. As a final measure, he took out a pair of Dew grenades, yanked off the pins, and rolled them towards his opponent. They detonated, sending the combined voltage of the two grenades coursing through her body once more. When the energy finally dissipated, she melted like before. Feeling good about himself, Mountain turned and began to walk away, when he noticed that the bits of loose slime appeared to be flowing back towards the slime. Groaning, he turned around, his suspicions confirmed when the slime started to reform and rise once again.

Mountain was having none of that.

"I'm having none of that!" He yelled, raising his shield in front of him. He dropped to a crouching position as he held the shield with both hands. All of a sudden, the tips of his shield suddenly seemed to unlock, extending and curving towards the slime. It somewhat resembled a triangular satellite dish. Then, the All-Seeing Eye opened, before it started to glow red as a massive amount of energy began to build up. After several seconds, a massive laser beam of conspiracy theories and inside jobs suddenly shot out. The beam was so hot, it could melt steel beams. Nothing short of pure Nokium could survive.

Predictably, the slime woman didn't stand a chance. The laser all but consumed her and vaporised her slimy body, leaving nothing left. The beam didn't stop there, however, as it kept going and obliterated several cars and random objects, blasting its way through the wall of a building and melting its steel supports. The beam eventually faded out of existence a second later, disappearing like it wasn't there in the first place, though it left a shallow trench where it had contacted the road.

Mountain smiled. Now he was certain that he was victorious. He desummoned his sword and shield, before taking out his AWP and resting it over his shoulder like a badass. Mountain took a second to part his hair to the left, before turning around and uttering a single phrase in honour of the fallen.

“Git gud.”

With that, he walked off, the area behind him exploding for no rhyme or reason as ‘Cool Guys Don’t Look at Explosions’ by The Lonely Island played in the background. Seconds later, a pair of letters appeared behind him, followed by a voice and a multitude of air horns.

Faced with a pack of pouncing robots, Cyril did what he did best: he swung with all his strength. His glaive slammed into the attackers from the right side, but its blade, not meant for foes of metal, did not cleave straight through. It got about two-thirds of the way through the first chassis with a mixture of cutting and crushing, then caught on all the internal wires and support structures. This did not ultimately stymie the killer arc of the vanguard's polearm, for as his armor radiated inner light, the momentum of his swing amplified and carried on through. His halberd, lodged as it was in the still-sputtering machine, became a club, and with brutal force it smacked the other rapid robots six ways to Sunday. They flew through the air in various directions, some shedding components, but Cyril wasn't finished. Moving with improbable coordination and balance, he continued to spin, the sheen of his enchanted armor turning him into a whirling blade of death. The force of the spin threw the weaponized robot husk straight at the inventor, who ducked to the side just too late and took a glancing blow to the shoulder. For his part, Cyril didn't pause to see what his makeshift projectile had accomplished. Like a top across a table he slid across the road straight for Jokaero, prepared to cleave that overlarge head from its shoulders.

“Whoa, nelly!” Never without a couple tricks up his sleeve, the inventor produced what appeared to be a modified takeout container and threw it at his feet. Like a grenade it erupted, but instead of fire and shrapnel, it blew apart into a ball of rice that swelled faster than an inflatable circus. Jokaero bounced off its surface and out of harm's way a moment before Cyril's glaive cut into the the oversized glob. Were it not for the knight's ability, the dulled blade might have stuck there, but the force of the spin pushed the axehead all the way through the squishy mass and out the other side. The gleam of Cyril's armor faded, and in the second that he took to bring his weapon back into its usual position, he took stock of the situation. Without a moment's hesitation he leaped up, wincing as he did due to the surge of pain through his foot, and used the mound of experimental rice as a springboard to pursue Jokaero into the air.

The insufferable genius, having underestimated the bounciness of his little takeout experiment and been flung high into the air as a result, spotted the vanguard heading up to intercept him as he fell. Unable to change his direction in the air, he was a sitting duck as Cyril rose up to meet him, the point of the human's weapon extended. “Tsk, tsk. You think you've cornered me?” Giving a gleeful chortle through his helmet, Jokaero tugged on a cord, and on his back a makeshift wingsuit made from a porch umbrella deployed. In an instant the stiff breeze caught the wings and yanked him off to the side. For the second time, Cyril's strike missed, consigning him to an inglorious descent back to earth.

But Cyril refused. Frustrated by the slippery tinkerer's inventiveness and uncanny amount of preparation, he grit his teeth and twisted mid-air. His armor poured forth its steely gleam, and with startling abruptness he shot to the left like a fired cannonball. The impossible maneuver shocked Jokaero, who'd been so assured of an easy escape, and before the egghead could think up another gambit Cyril's glaive struck home. Under normal circumstances Jokaero's upper and lower torso might have parted ways there and then, but in midair the cutting force of the vanguard's edge translated into pushing force, and the inventor hurtled toward the ground to land in a heap. Cyril, retaining the momentum from his air dash, carried on past him a short ways and landed next to a mailbox on the far side of the cul-de-sec. It took a moment for him to regain his balance and avoid an unceremonious stumble, but Jokaero recovered slower than he did. “Aha...perhaps you're not quite the dark-ages galoot I supposed,” the resourceful creature mused. “I'll have to be more careful. Battle bots, attack!”

The machines didn't need the prompting. Battered by the robot attached for a moment to Cyril's glaive, they had been scattered and roughed up, but not destroyed. One machine leveled what looked like an amped-up coffee machine at the knight and let loose a stream of ultra-hot liquid right at him. Cyril knelt behind his shield, allowing the stream to glance off it with an angry but harmless hiss, only to jolt in surprise as a spinning blade dinged off his faceplate. Another machine, having been crafted from a blender, had launched the makeshift saw straight at him, and if not for the puny size of the blade and the craft of his armor, he expected he would have been a goner. Cyril growled, “That's it. I've had enough of your toys.”

His voice disappeared behind the crystalline roar of his own sawblade. He lurched forward, detaching the shield as he did, and ripped straight through the coffee-machine robot. Its halves fell away, sparking weakly, and without missing a beat Cyril turned and hurled his shield at the blending machine. Its top half slumped off, and deprived of its power source, the rest of its spider-like body collapsed. With that out of the way, the vanguard turned back to face Jokaero, and found him to be both flanked by three robots and holding a new makeshift weapon. Despite lasting for only a few moments, the battle had been furious. Cyril felt as though he was gaining ground, but as always he needed to be on his guard.



Chaos erupted on the School's ground floor. Every anon present, wild with hype and gang mentality, threw itself at the one-armed intruder, but all had their asses handed to them in short order. Agility and strength, magnified through the lens of martial discipline and poise, triumphed over disorganized brawling any day of the week. Neither could the beings who lacked any individuality or standout characteristics rival her in terms of physical ability. Before long, the mob realized this, and those who hadn't already been beaten into unconsciousness backed off, all save one.

The bandana-wearing anon had watched the whole scene impassively. If it was some kind of boss, it neither led its fellows nor cut a more ominous figure than them; even its one distinguishing feature was so muted in terms of color that it only passed for a standard variance, like attached earlobes in humans. Some had them, and some didn't. This one had a bandana, but it was nothing special in itself. With a dispassionate gaze, however, it removed something special from its pocket, cocked it, and pointed it at Juniper. It held in its hand a gun, a simple and unremarkable piece of metal that did not hold a candle to the magnificence of martial arts, and yet with the easiest of motions it could extinguish that glory in a heartbeat. The human body, even one more remarkable than usual, could not dodge a bullet. The power of the gun -the power of life or death- in the palm of some nobody, able to annihilate in an instant someone whose steadfast training and incredible ability made them extraordinary...it simply wasn't fair. Without a word, or so much as a though for the significance of the life it was cutting down, the anon pulled the trigger. A deafening bang ensued, and in an instant, it was over.

Behind Juniper, an emergency fire extinguisher burst with a loud pop, discharging its contents. The anon had missed by a hair. As taciturn as ever, it compensated for the recoil and adjusted its aim, ready to snuff out the light once again. Before it could, however, a ray of golden light slammed into it from the side, and the gunshot flew off at a harmless angle. From its left, in the direction of the school library, approached another stranger, but with one look Juniper could tell he was no anon. His beam did not, however, take out the gun-holding anon; the creature merely backed up, its pointed red eyes scrutinizing the newcomer as a threat. Whether or not Juniper understood the moral of the gun, it seemed as though this man had helped her.

“You're not a bad fighter,” the somber man mused, “For a human.” His dark eyes shifted between Juniper and the remaining anon. They held neither pity nor hatred, but his every word oozed self-assurance. His hands held a staff in the right, its odd surface and coloration not of this world, and a tome in the left. “These creatures are pathetic, without any kind of soul, but you lot aren't much better. I'm going to enjoy taking yours.” He flourished his staff, causing a spiral portal to warp into existence in the air above him. From it materialized a disk-shaped floating thing of metal. From there, he banished his staff, and replaced it with a black one tinged in blood. “Won't be five minutes.”

“I'll see about that.” A larger, less futuristic flying machine appeared from a hallway leading off to the left. Its purple eye scrutinized the two competitors and the anon that stood warily by. “Looks like this fight is gonna have an extra factor!” That merry voice came from the contraption again, its chipper tone discordant with its violent surroundings. “The God Hand versus the Crimson Cavalier versus some guy with a gun. Our first wild card! It's 'gun'-na be good. Engage!” The drone's mechanical arm clapped its pincers together to make an impact as sudden as it was loud.



The instant the competitors burst from the now-dilapidated House of Mirrors, Oren's drone was at rapt attention. Its optic observed the action with hawklike focus, and though neither Big Big nor Bonesword could hear it, on the other side the announcer was keeping up a steady stream of pun-riddled live commentary. When the battle shifted toward the carousel, which was by any metric a bizarre and inane place for a fight to resolve, the drone's automated control algorithm placed it at a perilously close distance to get a couple intense angles. In the end, the mobster took to the skies, flung by centripetal force into a nearby building. As improbably as having a brick building on a wooden boardwalk was, this structure did somehow make sense; it reached up from the sea on its own, situated on a rock beneath the pier. In an older time it might have been a lighthouse, but now it was nothing more than a historical quirk in the center of the amusement park—and a convenient obstacle for Big Big to be buried alive in.

Bonesword nabbed the dazed giant's phylactery and headed the way he came in, though he did not get far, as he'd come in via lantern teleportation. As the skeleton pondered how best to actually leave, the noisy drone whirred toward him once more, and like clockwork Oren's visage appeared on its projected screen. In his trademark cheery voice, he remarked, “Well, that fight took a weird turn! What the hell prompted you to get on the merry-go-round?” He did not pause long enough to allow the fight's winner to answer his rhetorical question. “Well! Good work, I guess. Though it's worth noting that you don't actually possess his soul yet. Ever heard the expression 'they can crush my body, but they can never crush my spirit'? Take another look at that phylactery!”

The little tricket was beating quickly, its light shining. Not far away, the pile of rubble began to shift, and that same huge, imposing shape began to rise from it. Oren gave a bright laugh, though not one without a mocking undertone. “Neheheh! You haven't won yet. His soul's still bound to that little heart. You don't have a skele-'ton' of options here, bonehead. As long as it's still his, it'll call to him. He'll be able to hunt you.” Dust streamed down from the big man's body, and with one hand to his head he began to turn toward the Fungal Knight. “So what'll it be?” Nero wheedled, his tone an octave lower. “Have him hound you for the rest of the tournament...kill him to claim his soul...or find another way? I'd think fast if I were you.”



There had been a murder on Main Street. Not a word had been offered by the unseen watcher, but it had captured a good portion of the fight. This operation had been hands-off; Oren, finding nothing to add and no interest in watching the police officer be hunted down and messily demolished, set the nearest drone to auto-spectate and switched feeds to take care of other matters. Throughout the city, contestants had been meeting at an increasing rate, and most if not all needed their announcer to officiate. Some sacrifices had to be made, woeful though they were.

Outside the scene of the grisly demise lay an open box, dropped from the sky. Within sat a round, metal ball, its surface grooved in complex patterns. No caption accompanied it, but in the moment Oren spent considering the outcome of the fight if Smiley won, he reasoned that no matter what the loot was, the demon would probably devour it too.

The region's first fight now over with, the remainder of the colorful, somewhat zombie-infested Main Street remained open to Smiley. Countless different shops and offices awaited an exploratory visit, but beyond them, the city stretched out in every direction. Downtown's innermost area resembled no less the labyrinth as it had when it was alive with humanity.

Yet, putting aside the zombies, Smiley wasn't alone. The pop of gunfire pierced the silence—a single precision shot. About a half-mile feet to the southwest, down one side of the famous avenue where it split off into a 'Y' shape, a number humanoid figures were moving about. Their composed gait and coordination set them quite apart from zombies, and the weapons they held were like nothing the demon had seen before. Some, wearing light armor and obviously female, seemed to be in control of little round drones that marched a set distance away from the group of people. The one who'd fired and downed an undead was one of the other sort, more of a mainline soldier than a scout. Among their gray garb and drab tactical gear, only an enigmatic, red eye symbol identified them. For the most part they were silent, but occasionally they communicated in an unknown language.





In the aftermath of the laser, a single object skittered away from the impact zone. Its distinctive heart-shape marked it as a phylactery, but unlike Mountain's own, this one looked to be inert. No soft light poured from its center, its little compartment had shattered, and it did not beat. Mountain's own beeped twice, a rosy pink light illuminating just above the bristling orange one on its front.

While the announcer did not speak a word, his promised package lay untouched on the rim of the fountain where Squishy had left it. Inside was a decidedly retro piece of technology, difficult by any measure to make heads or tails of.





“Brilliant! Staggering intellect!”

The noteworthy noise of the drone's fans, obscured by distance until now, became apparent as it hovered through a little window at the cathedral's pinnacle and began its descent. Oren's face preceded it, projected on a little screen, and he looked especially smug. “Not you, of course. Talking about the assassin with all his traps. Your curiosity got the better of you, captain. Ya t-'oats' ignored the sneaky man getting ready to jump ya. Being the helpful guy I am, I thought I'd let ya know the fight's officially on. Good luck to ya 'bowl'-th!”

The live feed vanished with a snicker, leaving the machine to watch how well the pirate fared against the traps. A riveting battle of guile versus power lay before it, ready to explode, and nothing would escape its watchful gaze.



Not for the first time, a choking swath of smoke enveloped Crue, but no sooner had the veil surrounded him than the world around him faded away. A moment later his vision returned, the fumes that inundated him running off like water, and they revealed a place unknown to him. The smooth, well-kept tile of the Inquisitional College's atrium floor had given way to the rough cobblestone of antiquity, and in even in the lackluster light, the extrasensory vampire could make out that the buildings belonged to a previous age as well. Primarily medieval in nature, they worked together to give the image of a quaint medieval hamlet, but here and there hints of modern technologies and sensibilities hinted at the fact that this entire peaceful street existed within the confines of the expansive and enigmatic City of Echoes.

This late at night, the streets would have been quiet even if there had been people to hole up within those inns and shops. Far overhead, the sky tossed and turned like a sleepless child, its fitful textures and colors betraying the coming rain. Over the centuries, Oldtown had seen its share of oddities, but none quite like Motley Crue had ever visited it before. All was still, and remained as though in suspended animation until the whir of fans overcame the soft breeze blowing against hanging sides and window-shutters. Before long, the monster and the machine spotted one another, and the drone closed in. For a moment, its eye locked with Crue's, sizing him up. Then an image appeared, projected from a device in the flying machine's forehead, to give Crue a view of a twenty-something man with slicked-back blonde hair, purple-rimmed glasses over closed-looking eyes, and a smile too large and unprovoked to be genuine. “Welcome to Oldtown!” the young man said. “I'm working as the tourney's announcer. We've got our eyes on ya in this upcoming fight—guess you could say a lot of people are sure you'll 'suck'-ceed. Beat little miss magic tricks and whatever's in this box...” the drone tilted to show off the wooden case on its underside, “...is yours. Good luck out there, Fangs.”

The drone began to fly backward, keeping its eye on Crue, but it paused after only a moment. “Oh, and if you find the smith guy, he's not an enemy. No killy-killy. Capiche?” With that out of the way, it departed, disappearing over the row of old buildings. All that remained to Crue was the street. To the north, the buildings grew in number and sophistication, marking it as the more touristy area of Oldtown. If he honed his already-extraordinary hearing, Crue might pick up the wound of whacking metal. South of the stand user's current position, the middle-ages buildings gave way to a row of ruins far more ancient, and on a nearby hill overlooking the town, the half-light gave away the silhouette of a castle.

Pithy’s chase led her through a small maze in the spaces between each building and facility as she attempted to head off her small enemy. A rapport sounded out occasionally, the sound she had come to associate with the honeybadger’s shooters telling her she was on the right track, but the frequency of the sound was unsettling her.

She had little doubt in her mind that her foe was trying to lead her somewhere, but she was stuck giving pursuit.

Rounding another corner, Pithy finally sighted the hatted honeybadger racing through the streets. Its gaze had not yet found the mouth of the dark alley Pithy stood at, fixed as they were on a group of stacked crates by the street. Pithy’s own position had little cover to speak of, but the light of the poles did not reach her, leaving her shrouded in darkness, and she could see the outline of a side-door to one of the buildings besides her.

She readied her rapier, materializing another host of crystalline blades.

However, before she could launch them at her target, one of the black-winged creatures infesting the Justice Hub let out a screech from above before swooping down at the intruder. One of the blades swept up, immediately silencing it, but the Trickshot’s eyes had already settled on the dark pathway.

The badger began to turn, her paws going to her six-shooters. Pithy saw this and launched her projectiles.

In a surprising display of agility, the badger leapt towards the boxes. Pithy’s first blade swept under the animal. The next few exploded into fine mist against the thunder of the badger’s shooters, and just like that the creature had ducked behind cover. The rest of Pithy’s projectiles either sailed uselessly over the crates or impaled themselves on the boxes.

She swore under her breath, cursing the local wildlife. Her eyes fell on the door next to her, and she reached out just as her enemy’s voice reached her.

“Not good enough, girl! Not fast enough, and not plenty enough! In fact—”

Pithy didn’t bother to check if the door was open. She waved a hand at the handle as she moved and ice sprouted around and within the mechanism with a grinding sound. She slammed her shoulder onto it and the door flew inwards, the ice giving way for her and releasing the destroyed lock.

“—I’ll show you how it’s done.”

She barely had the chance to see the badger step away from the crates, two box-like shooters on its paws, before she was inside the room.

From a pair of large windows at the building’s front, the poles’ light streamed in, illuminating rows of beds with unique personal effects lying atop each.

She could also immediately tell that the room’s walls were much thinner than those of the citadel she had been dropped at.

This she knew because the moment she stepped inside, a hole appeared in it and something whizzed past her. It was followed by multiple others as she threw herself to the floor, hearing the small projectiles whizz overhead.

The windows burst open and sent glass flying everywhere. Bullets crashed against the furniture, chipping the wood and denting the metal, making the contents of the mattresses and pillows explode outwards. As Pithy stayed prone, one hand over her head in what was likely a vain gesture, the room was turned inside-out by the badger’s shooters.

It only lasted for three seconds, but it left the interior in ruins.

When the thunder paused, Pithy glanced upwards, blood thumping against her ears. Part of her marveled at the weapons’ execution. She had to wonder what such a weapon would make of a cavalry charge. It would seem the people of this where have perfected the art of killing other people. These shooters seem uniquely suited for murder, and, without an ounce of magic in them, any might wield them.

However, academic or philosophical concerns were best left aside for the moment. The larger part of her was more concerned about waiting for another barrage.

When seconds passed without pandemonium breaking out again, Pithy realized the badger must have been waiting for signs of movement. That said, there was no telling how long that would last, and it would be best not to be laid out on the floor when that happened.

She glanced at the window, and a thought struck her.

With a practiced ease, she undid the clasp on her robe and removed the article of clothing. She pulled it over her rapier, hiding the glow of the runes as she conjured a hunk of crystal to fill up its contents. Once she was satisfied, she grasped the ice with her magic.

From outside the building, it was immediately visible when a blue-cowled figure stood, clearly illuminated by the pale light of the streets.

The thunder of a six-shooter came almost as immediately, and Pithy let the dummy crumple to the ground. There had been a spark of pale blue when the projectile had struck the robes, but Pithy had no time to investigate.

She quickly got on her knees, leaving the cloak where it was, and hastily crawled deeper into the building. A makeshift barracks, she guessed. Temporary? It doesn’t matter.

She opened the door, but the lack of windows within made it too dark to see its contents. As long as bats did not suddenly screech and come hurtling towards her this, too, did not matter. Once within, she took the chance to summon another thick sheet of ice to use as protection.

She left the door slightly ajar so that she could spy into the other room. There was no doubt in her mind that the badger would be coming into the building soon, looking to confirm Pithy’s death.

She was not disappointed. After a half a minute of waiting the barrack’s side door cracked open, slowly at first, and then fully, admitting the furred shooter into the room. It had its six-shooters in its paws as its eyes scanned its surroundings, checking for the dark corners of the room. As the badger’s gaze swept over the door she was hiding behind, Pithy tensed, expecting the shooting to resume, but the animal’s eyes carried on, fixing instead on a piece of blue and golden fabric peeking from behind a bed. It began to approach.

The badger’s words earlier words crossed her mind, and Pithy found her free hand slowly withdrawing the six-shooter she had found from its sheath. She did not think the creature would be able to shoot down projectiles fired from this machine. She leaned slightly on the door, letting it open slightly to improve her view on her target. The barrel of her weapon peeked out.

The hatted badger rounded the bed, shooters high, but all it saw was Pithy’s cloak over a mound too small and angular to be a body.

Pithy fired.

And instantly realized she had made a mistake.

The projectile went wide, slamming against one of the beds with a muffled thump, and the unexpected kickback tore the weapon from her hand.

The badger turned to look at her at once, aiming one of the six-shooters at the door, and had Pithy not prepared a barrier before-hand, the sudden rapport of the weapon would have been accompanied by a gush of blood from her center.

The badger laughed when she realized what had happened. "Girl you ain't even know howta pop, quit makin' yourself look like a damned dumb bitch!"

Pithy fumed and pushed forward into the room, making a gesture with her now free hand. The hunk of crystal hidden under her cloak rose with it, crashing against the animal’s unprotected side.

The impact sent it tumbling to crash against the leg of a nearby bed.

Pithy couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction at the creature’s pained gasp. “This is not my style, but I’ll bludgeon you to death if I have to,” she said as she made another gesture. The chunk of ice launched itself against the badger once more.

The critter bared its teeth and raised its second shooter. It was not aimed anywhere near Pithy, but when thunder cracked, she felt a sudden swell of pain on her right leg. Surprise robbed her of her control over the projectile, and the badger took the chance to roll to the side, letting the hunk of crystal crash against the leg of the bed hard enough to break it.

“You gettin’ ahead of yourself, sugar,” the badger mocked. Before Pithy could launch another projectile, the creature had jumped on one of the beds and leapt out of the front window. “Show’s not over yet!”

Pithy moved forward into the room with a fearsome scowl, but found herself limping slightly. She glanced down at her leg, and saw some red where her enemy’s projectile had torn the thin fabric and broken skin. Barely, at that, but it felt as though someone had taken a whip to her thigh. There was some relief to the fact that there was not a bloody hole there. Perhaps a trade-off for the feat of reaching her without aiming at her?

She grunted. If it was just pain, she could ignore it. She would, however, have to keep in mind that blocking line of sight would not stop every projectile the badger threw at her.

She picked up her cloak from the floor, dusting off some of the detritus of the room from it and then, after some consideration, found her six-shooter and placed it back in its holster.

Outside, she heard the sound of gunshots, telling her the chase was on again.

"You could've explained that before! Excuse me for a quick second, everyone who is watching at home!"

Bonesword rushed backwards through the boardwalk, ran into the crumbling building, and he lifted bricks on bricks off of Big until the man was freed out from under the rubble. Once the two were face to face, Bonesword began speaking to Big.

"Hey man can I have this? The only other way I can really take your soul is by killing you, and I don't wanna do that."

Big opened his mouth like he was going to speak, but instead he tried to go for a punch onto Bonesword, who hastily dodged the attack and rebounded with a sword to Big's neck, severing his head. He was dead, no question about it, and that was an unfortunate turn of events. He wanted to spare Big, but he couldn't find out how just yet. Eh, he'll hopefully find a way soon.

Bonesword rushed back out to the drone flying overhead, and he began to speak back to the crowds that were watching at home.

"Sorry folks, had to get the soul. As for why I chose the merry-go-round... I actually don't know why. I'm gonna say it was instincts and to go with that. I wanted to spare him in the long run, but unfortunately he wouldn't listen to reason, so I had to bring my blade down onto his neck."

Bonesword had actually won the battle now.

Much as he'd rather have had access to information on this city prior to entering, Motley had been rather disappointed to discover that no such information existed. Or, at least, that it refused to present itself to him, no matter where he'd looked. Eventually, he'd entered the City of Echoes proper, yet not five minutes had passed before he found himself spirited away by somebody who at the time seemed somewhat important, to a location very much like the inside of an educational building. Intent on examining it as he had been, he'd only paid the minimum of attention needed to parse the general rules of the tournament he was now part of - defeat whichever opponents you come across, either by death or other means, and in doing so take the soul of the victim into your phylactery. Gather all the souls in the city, find the wishing machine, and make your wish. And Crue certainly knew what he had in mind.

And now he found himself... here. He had no idea what the location was called, but it was certainly not very noisy as far as towns went. He'd argue "somewhat bizarre", given the strange combination of mostly-medieval architecture- straw roofs, clay brick buildings, cobbled road beneath his feet, and a largely open aesthetic revealing a dark sky threatening to storm (so no big deal if Heavy Fuel was somehow disabled)- with just a few modern oddities here and there to indicate otherwise, namely the panels of glass fitted well into at least one out-of-place windowframe, and the very obviously modern taps sticking out from every other building. Now what did the online folk call that sort of conflict... "schizo-tech" or something? Still, compared to some of the things he'd encountered in his time, it was nothing overly crazy.

As far as temporally-dislodged objects went, however, the hovering drone heading toward him was a tad more obvious. It didn't take long for the machine to examine him, before projecting a hologram of a man's head, his appearance and persona a dead ringer for a TV show host, or perhaps...

'Welcome to Oldtown! I'm working as the tourney's announcer.' There it was, both the name of his current location and the job this fellow was taking on.

'We've got our eyes on ya in this upcoming fight,' the man continued, oblivious it seemed to Crue's observation of him and his pet robot. If he noticed Motley's disgust after uttering 'Guess you could say a lot of people are sure you'll 'suck'-ceed,' he didn't say anything about it - Crue was an undead creature whose powers made him a semi-living nightmare for the vast majority of those who could oppose him, and the man's best shot at him was a bad pun? Then again, it wasn't like the vampire could do anything to an image...

And besides, if he tried, he imagined he'd not get anything relating to whatever was in the box on the underside of the drone. For half a second, he imagined snatching the thing before the drone could react, then decided against it. The machine was probably keyed to the powers of the contestants, and even with his substantial speed, a miss was more likely than not. It sounded like "little miss magic tricks" would be the one to deal with, then. Another bad pun saw the machine off, though after half a second it stopped, and the announcer informed Motley about the local smithy's non-participant status - in other words, let the man be. He could manage that. He'd managed it daily in New York for many decades. After a slight nod to indicate understanding, the flyer finally buzzed off, eventually moving out of sight behind a nearby row of buildings.

And like that, he was alone. At least, alone within visible bounds. Not that he knew who his opponent was, but he imagined she was both female and a mage of some form - if "magic tricks" was any indication, not a strong one either. Then again, given the announcer's bad sense of humor... he set the thought aside, and considered his options for where to go. Somehow, he imagined the direction might not matter so much as far as encountering his imminent foe went, so instead he focused on what the locations might provide him upon exploration: the tourist area northward was least promising, as anything of value would be safely sequestered away. More promising were the ruins to the south, though not desperately so - by standard logic, an old location like that contained relics that were either decayed beyond usability, or had already been stolen by archaeologists, explorers if you will. Sadly, the logic didn't necessarily hold up when considering the nature of this location's... eccentricities, he supposed. Perhaps a location of note, then. Less so, however, than the castle - not only was that rather likely to contain something extremely useful, said object would probably be both obvious and well-maintained, for in the real world, castles rarely contain hidden passages to hidden treasures... again, by standard logic, but again, he could be completely wrong.

And then there was the smith. If he paid attention, he could hear somebody smashing metal against metal, obviously a sign of the man himself at work. Reaching the smith would be as simple as following the noise, and that would put him in contact with somebody of potential worth. "Potential", not for what he was doing, but for what he might know - of course nobody had been told how the phylacteries might win a fight non-lethally, because of course there hadn't been time to explain that after bringing it up in the first place, but if this non-participant knew how to do it, it'd give Motley an immediate edge in the competition. True, he could zombify anybody he killed anyway, and that might or might not amplify their physical power beyond what they already possessed at the cost of their positive personality traits... but wouldn't that just be ever-so-inconvenient when it came to protecting them from harsher light than this? The Sun was merciless to beings of his sort, and whilst Heavy Fuel could guarantee him a good ten seconds of activity before he really started suffering from UV light's effects even without maintaining his breathing, any zombie who moved out of his Stand's range would disintegrate practically instantly, seriously limiting their mobility in those situations.

For now, though, it was a non-issue: the night was deep, allies were thin on the ground, and there was no obvious danger of Heavy Fuel or his steady breathing being disrupted for now. So, he decided, best to gather what information he could whilst he had the chance. Artifacts could wait; the fight might not give him a chance, And even if the smithy knew nothing of the phylactery round Motley's neck, he might still know something worth discussing about the tournament. Orienting himself to travel in roughly the direction of the smith's hammering, as the paths between buildings would allow of course, the undead humanoid began to walk toward the sound of metalwork.

@Lugubrious

"Tch."

An old world gun? Here? The gangs that had access to gunpowder and guns — rare as they were — were formidable, but those who had access to old world guns usually ruled. Ruled until either the ammunition ran out, or until they get cocky and try to go up against demons. She had never actually fought any groups wielding one, considering how rare even the new guns were, but she was familiar with what they were and what they were capable of. For that thing to be carrying one was certainly surprising, but nothing she can't handle. But with her next opponent on the other side, the situation didn't seem to be stacked to her favor.

Quick as lightning, she exerted enormous pressure on the floor beneath her with her foot. With a large explosion, dust and fast moving debris again filled the air around her. The gunner was the more obvious target, thus the first one she dashed towards, keeping her body low to avoid any blind shots in the cloud of dust. However, after a sliding kick aimed to unbalance the gunner anon, she simply continued to use her prodigious agility to run into the large library filled with rows upon rows of shelves filled with books.

As her mother used to say, running was not simply used to get close to the enemy.

Fighting two skilled opponents at the same time was not her idea of a good time. The small gun was a problem precisely because its small. Had it been a much larger gun, the shells would be much more easier for her to deal with. Combine that with what seemed like a skilled close ranged fighter, and it was something she could not see herself walking out unscathed.

A fight with her life on the line, and maybe something worse if she did die. That machine, the one wish granting machine that ate souls in exchange, there will be no one to stop it. As it was now, she was quite torn between wanting to destroy it, and using it to find the other God Hand, even at the cost of the other participants' souls. While the rest was inhuman and not something she cared about, the rest of the contestants were. Having their souls eaten by a demonic machine wasn't something she could just stand by and watch.

Juniper had sought safety in the large library, where in her mind there would be several of possible outcomes. Most probable was the gunner and fighter would turn against each other and fight until only one of them was left, upon which she could swoop in and defeat them. The second outcome would be that they join together and either separate to cover more ground, leaving her able to take them down one by one, or group up closely, that she may have a chance to take them both down simultaneously. The worst, would be that both of them have a way of somehow exploding things, and explode the entire room with her in it.