"A spoiled brat on a power trip, my least favorite form of civvie."

Teller rubbed at his faceplate in pure frustration, and extended his knife hand further. First directing it at the sassier of the pair, he intoned "You oughta heed the advice of your friend there. After all, unless you can trigger that little safety umbrella of yours faster than I can go from a low ready to shooting, that's a second's time at most by the way, you oughta be just as worried about me as she is. As for helping you, if there is something in it for me then I'm happy to lend an assist, so maybe next time you oughta open with 'there'll be something in it for you' not 'we'll allow you to help' eh? Might give a guy the wrong idea, especially when he just got done gunning down another man for, presumably, your own entertainment. Now, since you're here, I presume you did some recon, have an obj to hit? Or did you hurry to RV with me before you did any recon?"

Finally lowering his knife-hand, Teller raised his face-plate so as to not provide a more intimidating visage than was necessary. Walking up to the pair, he couldn't help the sense of dread welling up inside him. Civvies on an op were always, always a bad sign. They didn't know how to move, they always had their own objective and they were all willing to send good soldiers and Marines to their deaths for some abject scientific curiosity. Now, at least here he could at any point decide to fuck off and leave them high and dry if it looked too likely to get him killed. After all, James had no intention of dying here, of letting some ass-wagon walk off with his soul in a necklace. After all, the implication of them gathering souls from opponents and then receiving a wish at the end was....disturbing, to the say the least. After all, he had no intention of letting his soul be consumed so as to provide some other Schmuckatelli with his wish for eternal booze or something similarly stupid.

ID: Ryan Harper
Location: Great Lake
Time: Error
Opponent ID: Riff

The water had stilled once again, moonlight glinting strangely off its blackened surface. Riff stared at it intently, still barely capable of coherent thought. He was programmed for this. How had he allowed so much damage? His electronics were beginning to regain some sort of balance, but a lot of them were absolutely fried. It wasn’t something he’d been prepared to cope with. It wasn’t something that was supposed to be able to happen to him.

The moon’s reflection rippled suddenly before his gaze. His twitching arms struggled to lift the rifle, yet he did not relent.

Water licked at Ryan’s ankles, rushing through the bullet hole, trickling through various cracks and crannies, dripping its cold and unnerving warnings down her bare back. If it reached the damaged wires she suspected she’d fry on the spot. A thought that didn’t occur to her until she felt the first droplet hit her shoulderblade. She was livid.

The lake churned as a large metal dome began emerging from its depths. The machine rose slowly, with the imminence of an ancient beast awoken from its slumber, slicks of oil and mire trailing past it and dripping down its frame. The Sentinel’s joints screeched and whirred menacingly as it stepped out onto the shore, its feet tracking sludge from the bottom of the lake.

Riff’s finger finally complied and squeezed the trigger. A single shot echoed out. It glanced off the top of her hull. He’d forgotten. He’d forgotten to set it to automatic…

Several tons of metal rammed into him, easily swiping him off his feet. She hadn’t even bothered to shoot. The android didn’t attempt to dodge. A fraction of his conscience registered that he was suffering severe physical damage. Riff felt his back grinding against rock and the immense pressure of what now seemed like a wall of steel pushing at his chest. He vaguely recognized the sound of the waterfall somewhere to his right. The last thought that passed through his mind was how nice it would’ve been if he’d brought his guitar up there.

The second jolt of electricity had finished him. Ryan knew that. She sat there in the cockpit, frozen, for more than half an hour, staring at her display. The man’s visor had cracked from the impact, revealing a single eye, wide open, with a strange look to it. After a while feeling started to return to her limbs. Her grip on the controls relaxed and the mech stepped back, allowing the limp body to fall to the ground with a dull thud. Her trembling hands slowly pulled the singed tank top back on and, after a few moments, she gathered the courage to open the hatch and slip out of the machine for the first time since she’d entered the tournament. The girl made a few timid steps towards her opponent, and carefully crouched down beside him, after making sure the rifle was no longer within his reach. Her aching fingers clumsily slipped under his collar. She pulled out his phylactery, then quickly crawled back into the safety of the mech. She curled up on the still wet floor panel, clutching the heart shaped object to her chest, and concentrated on the feeling of cold metal against her skin. The night was still again.

The Book Keeper VS The Itinerant Exorcist - Round 1

Frankly speaking, this was one of the more bizarre beings he'd ever encountered, and that included the company of, essentially, vampiric demigods. She was female; she was humanoid; but she was certainly not human, for no human smelled of... what was it, what was that animalistic smell? He wasn't certain he'd ever encountered it, which may be why he was having such trouble identifying it. Then again, maybe it was familiar, but just off enough to mask the familiarity? He couldn't say for sure. On the other hand, her intentions were all too clear, and the sound of a drone announcing the match only clarified the truth.

This was his foe, then; "little miss magic tricks", as the announcer had put it, and accordingly the light to his darkness, because there was no reasonable way he'd ever be mistaken as truly good by those who knew what he was. It was a shame, then, what he'd have to do to her in order to win. Not necessarily to end her life, if he could avoid it, but perhaps merely having your soul taken was worse than that anyway. That, and all the injuries she was about to sustain.

A metallic clap sounded out from the drone as it finished broadcasting its thoughts, and like that the fight began. Or ought to have, anyway. Whilst his enigmatic foe summoned forth a few wisps of flame, Motley simply crossed his arms and slowly approached her, content that he could close the distance in a second if he so desired. Whilst his Heavy Fuel remained active within his body, he felt that its sheer lethality ran somewhat counter to the notion of leaving her alive. Or at least not dead; if that was his goal, zombification would be easy enough.

'So, you and I would appear to be foes,' Motley stated bluntly. Unexpectedly, however, he received a rebuttal of sorts: 'Well, actually, I'm just a tourist here. The fire's to keep me warm, and so I can see in this darkness!' The lie was shameless, and apparently intended to throw him off, given that the drone had just announced they were combatants. Maybe it'd have worked on somebody without the will to manifest a Stand... however, despite her earlier approach, she was now backing away from him as quickly as he moved toward her. That told him she didn't want to get into a close range fight, meaning that whatever power she possessed did not extend to her physique, and that meant she would be fodder once he moved in.

'In the interest of fairness, I'm going to tell you that you're utterly outmatched,' the vampire continued, more bold than before now that he knew where his best interests lay. 'However, I've figured out a way of defeating you that will let us avoid the, shall we say, unpleasant notion of death. Doesn't that sound like a good idea?'

'Hah! Bring it on!' the girl responded, smiling to Motley quite bluntly. 'I die all the time, and then come back to life by the end of the day! Besides, I think I saw your fangs, which makes you a vampire!'

'How astute your eyesight is,' Motley responded, running his tongue over the top row of his teeth, the two points of his canines in particular. He knew from experience that it wasn't so easy to focus on someone's mouth long enough to notice their dental structure, especially with how one's lips tended to move whilst talking. 'I reiterate, though: this means you're outmatched. Give up.'

'Or maybe it means I'm in a great position to put you down!' she crowed, flinging her arm wide and sending the wisps of fire out toward Motley, either a deliberate scattershot to trap him- or, he suspected, a wild, even random hurling of magic just to try and hit him. You honed your combat sense by fighting at close range. Simply flinging balls of fire was no way to do that.

On the other hand, Crue mused as he ducked around the motes, she did seem awfully confident that they would do the trick... is there some amount of strength being hidden in their size? Or maybe they have some special feature to them when it comes to slaying the undead? He figured it was worth pinching off a piece of his hand, between his index finger and thumb, to test the theory, since that small bit of flesh would grow back sooner rather than later. Taking aim at one of the will'o'wisps as they changed course back toward him, he flicked the undead meat toward one of them, only to be forced to leap away as an explosion of heat rushed toward him, the once-small flame expanding to quite the size, enough even to consume its fellow sparks before fading, with only the piece of meat engulfed in purple fire as evidence of its existence. So, whichever of his theories held true, that fire was in fact more than capable of harming him.

And that presented its own conundrum: whilst she was still greatly outmatched at close range, it'd only take her a moment at that distance to hit him with a great number of fireballs and set his whole body ablaze, whether or not he had Heavy Fuel available to him. And whilst he knew he could regenerate away the damage of regular fire...

'Kuaa... alright, you may actually be a somewhat challenging foe,' he admitted, to the air a few meters in front of him, as his opponent was already running off, leaving fireballs and exultation in her wake, and leaving him frowning. God damn it. Challenging, but also annoying - there was a phenomenon in many video games that most boss fights, save those where victory was deliberately impossible, ought to actually be defeated the first time they showed up, because if they just ran off, it was no victory for the player at all. This, Motley figured, could well be something along those lines.

Then again, most boss battles in video games didn't have a player more powerful than the boss themselves. And more importantly, a much faster-moving character. Making sure to breath evenly, Motley began running after the strange, oddly-scented pyromancer, ducking and diving around each fireball as it steered towards him, at one point even moving on all fours because it was the best way around the next obstacle; apparently, she had the sense to not just throw them out behind her as landmines- air mines? Either way, she understood that that would be a silly use for them.

Apparently, she also understood the prospect of misdirection, and that despite her best efforts, she was still being gained upon. Out of nowhere, the girl ceased her hollering, split in two, and ran off down two separate forks in the village road - one nearly straight ahead, and the other at an angle to Motley's right. This, for a brief moment, brought Motley to a halt when he reached the fork, somewhat caught up in the notion that maybe she was a Stand user after all. But no, it was more likely that her "magic tricks" were also involved in this... and not very usefully, as it happened. The sound of echoing footsteps was only coming from the one direction, and likewise the strange scent of her unique form only emanated from the right-hand path; and so, Motley chased her down that path, continuing to dodge the fireballs as necessary. As a vampire, he didn't have anything to worry about as far as exhaustion went, whereas the pace she was moving just to stay ahead of him would, unless she was more superhuman than he thought, surely tire her out sooner or later. It was just a matter of pursuit, and evasion. And, of course, time.

It had been well over an hour since Lily and Brucie had built their little bonfire inside the abandoned office. The fire had burned well, spreading light, warmth and - most importantly - dryness to Lily's tails. As nice as they were to have on mere principle, they could often get in the way quite a lot, especially when water was involved. Any person with long hair knew the fundamental truth, of how heavy hair of any kind could be when laden with water. Her nine tails, each as long as she was tall, and extraordinarily voluminous, was no exception.

It was one reason why she and Tsukiko had an entire closet devoted entirely to towels, and why she always started a fire before taking a bath. Because if she did not, it would take an entire day to get dry. She sighed, running a hand over one of her tails, glad to find that it was dry thanks to the fire. The only problem was that the salt in Brucie's water, had made their fur coarse, and a little stiff. It was unfortunately not something she could do anything about right now, as she had neither brush nor the shampoos and conditioners that she used on a regular basis, to keep them soft and pleasant.

Speaking of which. Thinking of water and washing, have reminded Lily of something else. She uncurled one of their tails, revealing the yellow, crystalline flask. It had to have a purpose - had to be more than just a simple container. This place; tournament, College, this city. All of it was shrouded in enigmas, with the answer to one question simply leading to more. A place with so much magic, or Magitech, did not give the contestants of its tournament prizes that were just pieces of junk. She reached the flask, holding it up against the light of the fire.

"What are you?" Lily whispered, tapping the flask with a nail. No reaction.

"It's a bottle of some kind," Brucie answered, though the deadpan look he received told him all he needed to know, of how welcome his reply was. "What? Just look at it!"

"I can see that. But I can't figure out what it does. I don't think the rewards we get for winning a fight in the tournament, are just random pieces of junk. It wouldn't make sense, based on what we know about this College. They have the means to travel between Worlds, after all." She set the flask on the ground - it sounded exactly like glass would - and watched the flames reflect off of its surface. "Might as well ask, do you have any ideas?"

It took Brucie a moment to reply, his body language indicating deep thought: Leaning forward, scratching what amounted to his chin. When he spoke, he spoke slowly and not without uncertainty. "It's a bottle. Maybe try to put some water in it?" He shrugged, righting himself. "My Water cannon is busted, but I think I can probably make some water come out of it, just nothing that could be used as a weapon."

It was something to consider, Lily decided. The logic was simple, but not wrong. At the end of the day it was a bottle, meant to contain liquids of some kind. The question was whether it's with conjure something, given a passcode, or if it had some other effect. Whatever the case, they might as well start from square one. She handed the flask to Brucie, who took it in his metallic hand and sets it on the ground in front of them.

He then began fiddling with his right arm, pulling out broken pieces of metal, poking at other places, until he finally looked satisfied several moments later. He held his arm above the flask, what would have been the exit point for his water, directly above. "Here we go," he muttered, flexing the fingers on his right hand which cost the mechanism to trigger. Water drippled from the hole - far from the geyser it happened before - about half of it making it into the bottle proper, and the other half spilling on the ground around them.

Brucie finished filling up the bottle, shut off the dribble of water with a twitch of his fingers, and then they waited.

They had only wait a few seconds before something happened. It was sudden, without fanfare or preamble, I'm from one second to the next it changed from simple, clear water to a golden liquid more at home in the story of alchemist, than in reality. If Brucie was surprised he did not make a show of it.

Lily, on the other hand, jumped to her feet and picked up the flask within a second of the colour changing. Out of everything she had expected, this was not one of them. At least, not this specific outcome. Of course transmutation would have been one of the possible results. It was either that or Conjuring, she thought, bring the flask to her nose. It smelled not quite sweet, nor bitter. It was more like the floral scents off some teas, except that one that she could place. "Pleasant scent. That's a good sign," she murmured. "But what does it do?" She didn't start to drink it, having no idea what affects it might cause. She needed something to test it on, but she was hesitant should give it to Brucie. He was sentient like her, after all. A plant, she needed a plant.

She put the flask down and started looking around in the office, searching for a potted plant, and old flower, or anything in that vein. Unfortunately, they weren't anything is the office itself, but upon opening the window and looking outside, she found flowers growing up the wall. She spared no time in grapping one and pulling it off the stem, taking it inside with her again. She spent a short moment shaking off the rainwater from the flower and her arm.

"Give me the flask," she said to Brucie, eyes fixated upon the flower, hand extended towards the mechanised shark. The bottled arrived, carried with surprising gentleness and handed to her. Flower was placed on the desk, its light blue petals brights in the fire light. "Here goes nothing," Lily almost whispered and poured a little bit of the golden liquid on the flower. It spread around it in a small pool, acting much like regular water would, except golden, but otherwise doing nothing. Disappointment had just started set in when, on the count of five, the pool seemed to retract, the flower actually absorbing the liquid and reacting in turn. Where Lily had pulled off the flower, broken it off from the rest of its stem, she noticed, with a gasp, that new plant material was appearing, growing at a rate she had only ever seen dryads being capable of.

"It's healing!" She exclaimed. The flower had even regrown roots. "It's the healing tonic! And it looks like it transmutes water into it, when it is poured into the flask!" Her smile became a grin, and her grin became a laugh. "I didn't think this kind of thing was even possible!"

It took but a little while to calm her breathing.

The voice that emanated from that flying bot didn't seem at all that trustworthy, nor would she truly trust anyone from that place. There was so much she did not understand about this tournament that it was almost a given they would try to pull one over her some time soon.

Turning to the package she was given, she took out the rosary, looking incredulously at the item. If it was some sort of powerful healing item, she did not know how to activate it, nor did she know any sort of spells relating to these sort of items. It was glorified trash for her, but it would be rude to throw it away just like that. Slipping it into her clothes, she turned and looked around.

The first thing she did was take away the old world gun from the anon, as well as any of its bullets that he may still have. It probably wouldn't affect how aggressively it acted, but at least now he wouldn't be running around killing random people, not that easily anyways. Slipping the gun into her clothes, she materialized an exorcising stick. Juniper swished it around for a few moments, making sure it was sturdy, before starting on the ritual.

Wordlessly she searched out for a local kami.

It did not take long before she was positively inundated by several of the local kami. Having no real contact with local priests or shaman, they were doubly surprised — and excited — to see anyone seeking their attention. How long had it been since anyone worshiped them here?

Juniper took a deep breath and tried direct her questions at them, mainly about which path was safest, whether there was another safer path, and if there was some sort of supplies nearer to her that she could use to treat her wound better.

With the initial surprised abating, Lily found herself wondering the extents of this flask. Did it have a limited amount of uses? Was there any side effects to drinking it? And, for that matter, was it possible to overdose?

All things that were important to consider before she started gulping down a substance that, well obviously miraculous, was still somewhat dubious. If the effects if the potion came with side effects, the flower should show what they were, but at the moment there was no reaction from the newly grown plant. One uncertainty eliminated.

That still left the matter of overdosing, and possible limited uses out in the open. Both were simple enough to find out: The plant had absorbed something close to half its weight and seem to none the worse for wear, and there was still some of the Golden liquid left over, indicating that it took what it needed. As for limited number of users, the only way of finding out about that, what to use it.

She turned to Brucie, a few kernels of apprehension still burning in her chest. "Do you think it's safe?" She asked.

Brucie shrugged, seeming far less uncertain than Lily felt. "I don't see why it wouldn't be. The flower healed up well enough, and it's ain't started mutating. I reckon it's safe."

"Well, in that case, bottoms up I suppose." She brought the flask to her lips and drank, slowly and making sure to take only a little. No more than a single mouthful. It tasted much as it had smelled, but much richer and fuller - a very pleasant taste.

She put the flask down and swallowed, standing stiff as a board and looking like she expected, to spontaneously combust. Fortunately no such thing happened. A tingling sensation on her right arm prompted her to look, and revealed to her the powers of the potion. Before her eyes, the clotted wound that Brucie had inflicted upon her, was closing all on its own, leaving nothing but unblemished skin after a few seconds of healing. Eager to see how else it healed her, she turned so that her back was facing the Shark, and pulled up her shirt to inspect the cuts he had left there. They, too, were closing, but at a much slower rate, and within a handful of moments the healing ceased. The wounds were smaller, as were every other scratch and bruise that she had accumulated in the fight, but only the smallest had disappeared entirely.

"It looks like the amount of healing is proportionate to the amount I consume. On the plus side, I felt only a tingling sensation from my wounds healing, and I don't feel any more tired than I was already. That's good. The energy required to heal my injuries, comes from the potion itself, and not from me." She tipped the bottle to her lips again, taking a few mouthfuls this time. The tingling sensation set in immediately, and before her eyes her removing scratches and bruises disappeared, as if they had never been there in the first place. The only evidence of any sort of injury were they patches of dried blood around where the injuries had been.

She pulled her shirt back down and returned to the bonfire, a rare smile on her lips. Brucie followed, sitting down opposite her and through another piece of wood at the fire.

"So, what now?" He asked, staring into the flames.

"It's approaching night time, so I think we should go to sleep," Lily began, fiddling with her bangs, "but we can't both sleep at the same time. We have no idea who might find us, and I don't want to risk being stabbed in my sleep. Tournament or not, I would not put it past some people, to just off a competitor when they are defenceless."

"That's easy," Brucie said. "Sharks like me don't really sleep. I will still be aware are things around us, so you don't have to worry."

That is a relief, Lily thought, curling her tails around herself. "That's great, so yo- wait, what's that?" Her ears stood erect, both pointed towards the door opening. A sound was coming from outside, that of foot falls, like a those of a quadruped. She didn't trust herself to assume that, just because it sounded like a small creature, it was not dangerous. For all she knew every animal in this world might obey the principle of scorpions: The smaller they are, the more venomous and dangerous.

She held her hand indicating to Brucie that he should remain quiet and motionless, even as she rose to her feet with cat-like grace. Nine tails fanned out behind her, moving with gentle motions that brought them in constant contact with each other. Senses straining to their utmost, they waited with bated breath for the would-be embouchure to make his appearance.

The sound of the approaching creature came closer and closer, until finally it reached its zenith and a... dog walked into the room. A small, rotund, black and white dog appeared in the doorway, walking into the room slowly and with obvious hesitation. Its - his? - eyes shifted between the fire and Lily, having stopped halfway between the door and the room's occupants, as if asking permission to approach.

Something of a wave of embarrassment washed over Lily, and though she forced herself to show nothing of it, she still couldn't help but feel foolish for having been so paranoid about as small, fat dog. She forced to self to sit down slowly and adopted a relaxed and un-threatening posture.

Reaching out a hand and giving the dog a smile, she spoke to the dog, hoping to lure it closer. "S'alright. You can come closer," she said gently, using the tone she most often employed around the village's smaller children. When the dog did not seem forthcoming, still uncertain, she weaved a little bit of magic into her hand, producing the smell of a common dog treat from her world. Judging by the sudden reaction from the tail, now wagging, it seemed to have been a success. Her smile widened to become more genuine as the dog slowly approached, tail wagging at the prospect of a treat.

On the other side of the fire, Brucie watched intrigued as the newly arrived critter started sniffing Lily's hand before giving it a tentative lick. And then a few more. "How'd you do that?" He asked.

"Illusions," she explained. "It's much more than simply images. I can also mimic taste, smell, sound, and even physical sensations. Right now, he thinks that my had tastes like a dog treat. It's not as easy as visual illusions, but still some things I can do." With the dog still licking her hand she reached out with the other and, carefully so as to not startle him, ran her hand across his back. When he didn't react aside from more rapid wagging she couldn't help but feel a small sense of accomplishment. In fact, the dog seemed all too happy to lick her hand and get a taste of dog treats, and to be scratched behind the ears the same time.

"You gonna keep him?" Brucie asked, breaking her out of her reverie.

Judging by the continued licking, the dog was still in his reverie. "I think so, yeah," Lily said at length. "He's wet, and probably cold, from the rain. At the very least we could lets him sleep here with us tonight." She removed the illusion on her hand that made it tastes like dog treats, and though the dog seemed momentarily disappointed, he quickly recovered and lay down by near the fire, content to accept Lily's scratches for the time being.

Brucie shrugged. "Alright. You go sleep, I'll go half-sleep. Like a proper shark." He chuckled to himself and turned to the door, leaning sideways up against the wall. "Night, Boss-lady."

"Good night, I s'pose," Lily replied and lay down, wrapping most of her tails around herself like a makeshift bed and blanket. The single one not wrapped around herself, lay next to the dog, curled around him to keep him warm. "Wake me if anything comes."

“If you let him go, he's free to his own devices. He can wander around the city, kill if he wants to, whatever. I don't think the College really made plans for nonwinning survivors. Maybe they'll be returned to their own worlds after the whole thing's over with?”

So they didn't have any fallbacks, no contingencies for survivors? Weren't these college folk supposed to be well educated? Either way, that didn't bode well for a number of these people. Runch closed shut the book after seeing the third entry on the drone, and turned his attention to the unconscious assassin currently stuck in his honeytrap. The man said so himself, he'd be coming after Runch and anybody else with lethal intent. The good captain couldn't let that happen, at least not until the contest was over. There was only one thing to do. Runch outstretched his hands and expelled pellets, orbs, squares, all manner of shapes of cereal. The nutritious goodness cascaded like a waterfall, burying the man until all that remained exposed was his head. An entire ton of cereal would keep Serhan pinned down. This super dense, heavy cereal wasn't good for eating, though, so Runch made sure to leave a nice big pile of his extra-healthy recipe in mouth's reach. Leaving the hitman to starve would have been a horrific method of killing, after all.

That chore done, it was time to find a new place to rest. Bartholomew would have loved to stay in the cathedral, but making his would-be killer a temporary roommate, coupled with the weight of blowing up half the place had on his conscience, guaranteed a very uncomfortable stay. The pirate strolled out the front door, whistling as he had not a care in the world. Then the horizon lit up like a great big fireball. Runch stopped right in his tracks, both the jaunt and the tune. His head cocked to the side and he commented, "Wow. Whatever caused that, I'll have to fight... Or something powerful enough to beat that." He paused, staring into the red-orange glow off in the distance. His slack-jaw tightened up into a grin. "Omnomnomnom! That's really exciting! I hope I don't get burned! Only thing worse than an undercooked meal is an overcooked one! Omnomnom!"

After another twenty minutes of journeying, Runch stopped. The environment had changed. No longer was he surrounded on all sides by churches, mosques, cathedrals, and holy buildings. Now the structures appeared to be ancient. Well, not that some of those holy buildings weren't, but all of these landmarks looked positively archaic. Columns, bathhouses, grand monoliths, and the like. He approached a large coliseum, then turned it away. No, such a thing was not his preferred place of rest. There was no telling what kinds of battle-mad creatures may jump him in his sleep. Something else, something more fitting. Blast, it would have been so much nicer to have his crew accompanying him. Sometimes it felt like Smith never slept at all. Must be a ninja thing.

Ah, here was something beautiful! Runch came across an old vineyard, small in size but otherwise perfect! The old berry bushes still produced a small number of their little fruits, and the ancient technologies used to press the juice into wine shined with the light of a star. Or that was just how Runch saw them, as they were old and dilapidated, but not everything needs to shine on the outside to burn bright on the inside! The pirate rushed to the bushes and picked a few berries, opening up the journal to see what information it recorded on them. Beautiful, he didn't even have to experiment, he knew their chemical makeup and nutritional content! Well after sampling their taste, Runch produced some of his special "bloodberry" recipe, designed to give extra energy, stamina, and nutrition for healing wounds, ate his fill of dinner, and decided it was time to turn in for the night. He would find his next opponent, whomever that was, come the morning light.

Fittingly, rain began to fall only moments after Cyril left the burning building behind. Though it didn't really matter to him either way, since nobody lived in this place anymore, it seemed that the fire would be drenched by the coming downpour. Using his glaive as a walking stick, he limped across the cul-de-sac and bashed his shoulder against the front door of another house. He found the lock uncooperative, and rather than risking further injury to try and destroy the door, he sidled around to a window and smashed it in with his polearm. The clouds burst just as he clambered inside, and Cyril plopped into a couch where he could watch the rain quench the flames that Jokaero began. “What a shame...” he murmured, thinking of the inventor. Yet, that statement didn't quite do his feeling justice. There was a gnawing in the back of Cyril's skull. This wasn't the first time he'd killed a person, but the others had been both very few and exceptionally loathsome scumbags. All Jokaero had been was a quirky if volatile man seeking a wish. Who knew what he had hoped to gain? Perhaps his wish had been nobler than the knight's, yet Cyril had decided in those heart-pounding moments that his wants were greater. As his hands moved around to strip off his armor, piece by piece, they shook; no matter how much he tried to relax, Cyril couldn't keep the choppiness out of his breath.

His time alone with his thoughts didn't last. Into the house, through the entry broken open by Cyril, flew the camera-drone of the announcer. The vanguard, holding his helmet in his hands, narrowed his eyes. In his eyes, the grisly proceedings -of which there were no doubt many among the other participants- made for a freakish combination with this fellow's upbeat attitude. Yet, when Oren's projector came online, his smile was barely visible and his eyebrows betrayed some kind of second-hand sorrow. “Ya did good, buddy. For all his doohickeys and traps, poor Jokaero couldn't quite match you in inventiveness. Even if he was a total wacko, it ain't good to see him go.” Oren reached out and pressed a button, hidden from Cyril's perception by the confines of the screen. The clasps on the drone's underside snapped open and dropped a wooden box onto the carpeted floor. “This is yours.”

Cyril breathed a heavy sigh and stood up, wincing from the renewed pain in his foot. After making a mental note to check the house for bandages in a few minutes, he made his way over to and grabbed the loot crate. With a resigned casualness he activated his saw shield, cut one end of the box off, and tossed the toothy metal disc aside. The sound of rolling metal came from within as Cyril upended the box, and into his waiting hand dropped a giant screw.



A moment of quiet, except of course for the riotous rainfall, passed while Cyril stared at the screw. “...What? How is this supposed to help me?” He turned the item this way and that, but couldn't discern anything unusual except for its size. A sort of square zig-zag pattern ran down its length, and he reached for the bottom of the screw to get a better hold of it so he could bring it closer to his face. Instead, the screw's end pushed straight through his hand. “Wagh!” Panicked by the shifting sensation, which was freakish and bizarre but painless, he tried to drop the screw only to find it stuck in his hand. After a few seconds of flailing, he grabbed the screw's head with his other hand and yanked it out. With a muffled clunk the screw hit the ground. “Yeesh. What a lovely little piece of crap.” He examined his hand and found it unaltered. “So...it just...uh, goes through flesh? Great. I couldn't ask for better.” A glance at the drone confirmed that Oren was snickering. “You have any idea what it's good for, genius?”

The announcer shrugged, his revitalized grin unwavering. “Not really. I was just thinking that you'd look like Frankenstein's Monster if you stuck it in your head. Guess you got 'screwed' on this one!” He laughed his irritating laugh. “Well, see ya in the morning! Your next opponent...ah, forget it. Just wait for my announcement tomorrow.”

As the drone left, Cyril muttered something dark and unintelligible before scooping up all his gear -screw included- and wandering around the house until he found a bedroom. Once there he stacked up his things, removed the rest of his gear, and threw himself into the empty bed. With the storm to sing him to sleep, he passed out in seconds.



Wreathed in magic for protection and illumination, Pithy braved the festering dark. In mere moments the ancient-looking passage opened up with corridors on either side, marking the hole as less of a hallway and more of a maze. Vile though it was, the odor of rancid meat guided her through, and though at times the shadows seemed thick and almost animate in their movements, the cryomancer's magelight beat them back. After many sandy but trap-devoid twists and turns, and a good few ups and downs, she found herself on the brink of two larger chambers lit by torchlight.

On the left was the source of the foul stench: a room littered with the corpses of large, weirdly-shaped creatures, with bulbous black hide and all sorts of growths, including enough legs to make mockery of a millipede and enough fungal and plant life to shame a sloth. In the dim light, making out all of their details was night impossible, save for spearlike proboscises, but none gave a single hint of life. Furthermore, a sharp eye could tell how these oversized abominations had managed to fit through the narrow passages: great gashes all across them indicated that they had been carved up, carried through this maze, and reassembled—all some time ago. The floor was stained an odd bluish-green with their vital fluids.

The right room, meanwhile, could not have contrasted more. At complete odds with the barbaric, gory scene next door was a chamber arranged like an ancient study. Furniture littered it, and books and scrolls covered them. In the center was a fire pit, and on an intricately-painted stone bench beside it sat a beast with piercing blue eyes affixed to Pithy before her magelight even grew close enough to reveal him.

“Good evening,” the terrifying monster said in a polite tone.

After a moment for the swallowing of surprise and the ascertainment of his nonhostile nature, he continued. “I mean you no harm, I assure you. I thought I detected a new aroma on the breeze, one far more refined than the malodorous repugnance of those bloated spindlelegs. Welcome to the humble lair of Actaeon. You must be here for the tournament. Is there anything I can do to help you?”



Exited for an ear that could listen and an eye that could see, the kami swarmed Juniper. They brushed up against her, their whispers combining into an unintelligible babble, until the initial rush faded and a sense of unity was reached. Outside, they agreed. Go around the perimeter. The faceless ones have gone inside to escape the rain. A man has arrived in front of the school. One of the scholars. He brings medicine, food, and warmth. Look not upon his face, but upon his heart. Other than that, they had a lot to say, but little of it pertinent or even logical.



A bank of fog rolled through the School's parking strip, where cars would once caravan to pick up and drop off children. After it passed, the rain fell upon a new shape, and the strip was empty no longer. A vehicle the size and shape of an ice-cream truck, with a hooded lantern hanging from each mirror, rolled to a stop by the curb. The driver's-side door popped open, and from the van a bulky, bent-backed man extracted himself. Covered in a dark-green poncho, the huge man plodded toward the vehicle's rear and opened it to sort through the items within. In the lantern's light, his hidden features were illuminated, though it might have been better had they not. His was a hideous, misshapen face that appeared to droop to one side, with a bulbous nose twisted the opposite direction, a neck as thick as his head, and only a few teeth in his wide mouth. The doctor, having been informed of his soon-to-be patient's injuries, prepared his things as he waited for Juniper to arrive.



Though he turned around when spoken to, the clown looked more surprised than anything else. For a moment he stood still, staring at Bo-Bonesword unblinkingly, but after a moment it gave out a reverberating chortle. It then spoke in an unknown, garbled language as it put its hands on its hips and stared up at the ceiling. After a few moments of nonsensical murmuring, he looked back to the newcomer and said in a distorted, singsong tone, “How is this? Is the good language? Am doing the work for it. Hard, but...um, good for plan. If not talk prey language, not help Klowns catch prey. Though, good joke! Tough understand, but I like.” The clown bobbed its head, laughing again. After a moment, it composed itself to try and talk again, gesticulating as it did. “You should...” he pointed toward the exit. “Go with Klowns. Soon to leave. The prepare is...not done, but soon done. Then we fly into prey city, find strong prey, catch. Big fun, big fun! There, is good language!” Still giggling, the clown waved before turning back to his console. A few pressed buttons and pushed levers later, the clown nodded, grabbed the plastic gun, and span around once more to make his exit.



Two soft but distinctive beeps disturbed Ryan's silence, each punctuating a light on the surface of her own phylactery. The bottommost one came up stodgy green, and above it a white dot appeared. Then they both faded out, and for a while, Ryan was alone with her thoughts and the patter of falling rain.

A wet but tranquil half-hour slipped by before a familiar, tentative voice reached out to Ryan through her own phylactery. “Er, hello? Is this on? I...well, I'm sorry. Didn't want to disturb you. But it has been a while, and I got kind of worried you mighta died from hyperthermia or something. I have something for you.” Outside her mech, laying on the ground, was a wooden box.



The drone floated in the air, shredding drops of rain with its propellers. Clearly, it wasn't faring the best in this deluge, but the announcer seemed loathe to leave just yet. “Er,” his voice brimmed with unsureness. “There isn't much shelter out here. There's a place southwest of here that might work, but there's a couple people there that might be dangerous. I could try to convince them to leave you alone until tomorrow. Or, you might be able to find a cave in the waterfall mountain on the north shore?”



Not far from Sophia's current position, two dark forms began to take shape through the veil of heavy rain. One, spindly and indistinct, floated above and to the side of the other, a far larger and darker mass. For a short time it appeared that they were headed for the the angelic warrior, but they stopped around the spot in the mud where Clotho had fallen. The huge, round one landed with a tremendous splash in the moist earth, but its companion merely hung nearby like a marionette. Were Sophia to inch closer, she would be able to make them out in the rain. More easily visible war the brute, who closely resembled a gigantic, anthropomorphic shield bug. He could have been a heavy man in heavy armor, dark green trimmed with light green and bronze, if not for the disproportionate size and hunch of his back. When lightning flashed, it glimmered in the steel of that shell. His head, meanwhile, was tiny enough to easily fit inside his bicep, and its eyes held an unabashed sadness.

His companion could best be described as a forest sprite. In a loose sense, it looked like an angel made of twisting wooden branches and roots. Instead of arms, it had wispy fans of twigs for wings, knotted together in a rough approximation of feathers. All across the wings, tender shoots hung down as strings to hold windchimes and the effigies of hanged men. Little greenish-yellow lights, the sparks of fireflies, danced within its split husk of a chest, and its head was a thick clump of roots radiating outward as a crown. Torn into the left side of the face was a single hole, and from within it radiated a soothing light.

”Frolic, if you would.”

A soft rumble issued from the behemoth, and the sprite descended until it was essentially kneeling over Clotho's body. As if from an overflowing vessel, light poured from the cavities in its eye and chest onto the fallen queen. Her wounds closed, and her skin disappeared beneath her regenerating carapace. In only a few moments, Clotho was restored. A gasp of shock, drowned by the cacophony of falling rain, escaped her mouth, and she sat upright. Slowly, she blinked her eyes before looking back and forth between the two around her.

”IO,” she whispered, her voice weak.

”Take it easy, my lady. You don't need to say anything.” The giant bug's eyes were bright with quiet happiness.

Clotho shook her head, sending droplets flying from her hair. ”No. I must apologize for my actions. I betrayed him, and all of you. Stupidity, spitefulness, whatever. I had given up on Air Rave. I should have died here for the foolishness of thinking I could restore our pride alone, and again to have imagined I could wish all my problems away. I am sorry.”

A great mitt descended to gingerly fall on Clotho's shoulder. ”Forget it. We're all made of greed and pride. Failure or not, you're still one of us. You should know we all forgive you. Even the Master you detest so much.”

Another moment of quiet passed between the two. The forest spirit Frolic, having risen back to float like a flower petal on the breeze, watched with tangible gladness. Clotho stared at the mud, the gears turning in her head. ”...Is he here?”

IO pointed upward. A flash of lightning revealed a colossal black shape, not unlike the silhouette of a bird, high up in the sky.

Shakily, Clotho stood to her feet and looked around. She could not find the one she sought. ”...You should know that in all likelihood I've lost my soul. A very irritating woman took it from me.” Her companions said nothing, though IO used his hand to help steady her. The shadow of a smile passed across the stolid swarm queen's face. ”Perhaps I should thank her for bringing me back down to earth. Though I'd rather like to gut her.” She experimentally flapped her wings, and a sharp grimace hinted at the result. ”It seems I am too weak to fly. IO, would you...?” Without a word the behemoth picked the queen up and deposited her on his back. Frolic, meanwhile, was a little apart from the pair, and staring out into the rain in curiosity. It could feel a life nearby.



The pair of College girls remained quiet during Teller's speech. Guðrún wore an irate look, but even she said nothing. For her part, Amelia looked downright nervous. When the soldier said that he could prepare to fire in a single second, she believed him. After he said his piece, the lack of conversation remained for a moment through the rain until Amelia found the courage to pipe up. “Your wish.” She raised her head to look Teller in the eye—or at least, about where his eye should be judging by his helmet. As luck would have it, he raised his face plate enough to reveal his hardened features, which Amelia couldn't say were more or less intimidating than his visor. All the same, she added on, “Not entertainment. You're fighting for your wish. The thing you want the most in the world. People like us don't even watch the footage, and I wouldn't if I could. I don't like killing.” She steadied herself with a deep breath.

In a more subdued tone, Guðrún responded, “We didn't come here to rendezvous with you. Meetin' you was just coincidence. We're headed to Blythe Towers, a condo just up the road near the top of the Village. That's where the surveillance drone picked up the disturbances. As for reward, we don't have it on us, or whoever we run into could just take it, but it's an artifact that completely hides anyone who uses it. We can get Oren to bring it out in the morning, 'cause rain damages it. And we are the recon; all we're doin' is checkin' out the place, recordin' what we can, and runnin' at the first sign of trouble. Happy?”

Bo-Bonesword : Change of Plans

Yep. These were zombie clowns that ate people.

And Bo-Bonesword just gave them the idea that if they speak the language of their prey, they will succeed.

This wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. The once-skeleton almost began to panic before he realized something that would make the situation... well... better for the people in the city. It would be riskier than all hell, but it'd hopefully work. Bo-Bonesword spoke up to the exiting Klown, who he shall dub 'Simon' for the time being, and he tried to wordsmith his way through this situation. If all else fails, there was still another potential way that Bo-Bonesword could save the residents of the city.

"You speak the language pretty well, but I'd hate to tell you that it isn't good enough," the purple and green clown started. "Our prey won't be as willing to be lured in like that. Everyone needs to make jokes. Jokes and puns. We have to make these jokes if we want to be punny! Ahahaha~!" The once-skeleton was afraid of what was going to happen next, but he was ready to cut through the tent in any case and beeline towards the entrance to the mile.

"Right hand, left hand. Right hand, left had." Tyrant mumbled to himself, those big tough hands of his tightly gripping onto each step of the moaning ladder. The big oaf grumbled for each time the ladder seemed to groan under his weight which was actually quite often for his stature and size. In the end, Tyrant had to put his fate in the sturdiness of the lone ladder and the great leader didn't put too much faith which only made his ascent to the surface as fast as possible. Though as he steadily climbed this ramshackle ladder, the music that accompanied his ascent didn't seem to be some bad joke from the College as it steadily grew with more force and volume with each passing moment. Tyrant was quite intrigued at the noise, it wasn't mere coincidence that this music packed so much power in each note, and the most logical conclusion in this magical death tournament was that someone up above was fighting with another contestant or some mighty beast. Either which way, the ogre would be glad to fight the champion of the fight and feast upon both the winner and loser to fill his endless belly.

As the ogre continued this endless climbing, the dust from the forceful music was shoving a storm of dust in his face, the ladder was screaming in pain from his weight, and the dim sunlight was suggesting that his ascent onto the surface would take a bit more than he thought. However, the thought of more risky climbing was soon extinguished from his mind as a once familiar light was shone on his face the Tyrant soon realized that one of his hands missed a step on the ladder. "Aw shit." That was all Tyrant could say before his hefty body made a descent that would end in a bloody paste of meat, blood, and fat. The Tyrant, in all his glory, was quite sad that he didn't get to taste any of the new textures and meat within his mouth before meeting a violent fate.

However, before even a sorrowful sigh could escape his lungs, his mass smashed into something that didn't result into a bloody mess. This new sensation of not dying combined with his vision blurring from the sudden jump made him quietly question if he was in some sort of afterlife. However, that possibility was soon thrown from the window as his vision started to come back from blinding dust into some large brightly lit building. Tyrant was heavily confused for a bit, his mind was being boggled at the moment before his sight manged to latch upon a familiar figure which would be the person betting on him winning this tournament. "You... What are you?" The confused ogre managed to slur out, his eyes drifting onto another figure within the room which was a... Contestant! The Tyrant instantly went on the defensive from the armored figure, his great mass shifting onto his feet with a strange amount of dexterity before the Titan Eater was comfortable in his hands ready to smack someone across the building before something else interrupted the fight which only met with another groan from both warriors. The great ogre didn't really listen to the floating strange thing, it had a voice which was called Oren, but the contestant named Dante seemed to shift himself into a battle stance as Oren spoke to the two silent warriors. The two only managed to listen in on the last part of his ramblings, while both were glaring at each other, the loud speaker from the strange thing boosted its vocal range that the two should fight!


With a large battle cry, Tyrant with all his might sloshed forward towards Dante, the towering size of the ogre smashing through the bright red seats with Titan Eater raised above his head. Dante simply saw this as a overhead strike, a simple parry and strike should teach the monster to not underestimate the centuries old knight. As the vampire stood still, waiting for the strike, Tyrant soon defied expectations with a horrifying grin on his pudgy face. The ogre's stance soon shifted, his feet grinded into the floor, seats were flying in almost every direction as Titan Eater's overhead strike transformed into a lower swing down but not towards Dante... But towards the bright red seats! Dante squinted, his sword twitching with Tyrant's movements a bit too late as the club of bone smashed through dozens of seats with the resulting force making those plush chairs pierce through the air as high-speed projectiles! Dante's eyebrow raised, "This thing might have more than just fat in his head." The vampire knight with superior reflexes easily sliced through the projectiles, the chairs splintering into pieces from the might of Dante, but his ears twitched at the noise of something else behind the impromptu projectiles... Chains? It was too late for the vampire to react, a giant metal beast of blood and iron snarled at the armored vampire with its viscous teeth violently clamping onto Dante. The Tyrant laughed as his prey was caught by this trick, the captured Dante trapped between the teeth of one of the Beast Eaters before the mechanisms of the contraptions violently dragged the Angel towards the greedy hands of the ogre.

"Easy pickings! I'll have you in my belly in no time!" The ogre said, Dante bouncing on the ground getting closer towards the Tyrant with a... seemingly bright light surrounding himself? "What's that?" Tyrant said, well, the words he managed to get out anyway before the holy magic of Dante blasted into his face. The towering giant screamed, his eyes were blinded for just enough time for Dante's vampire strength to break free of the viscous bite of the Beast Eater. The slightly bewildered knight soon using the same holy magic to grow wings to soar into the enclosed cage of the amphitheater.

"Die." Dante muttered, a holy infused spear of light soon crackling on the gauntlets, pointed directly at the still blinded Tyrant. Without another thought, Dante soon unleashed hell upon the ogre with his holy spear of thunder. It whizzed through the air before exploding right next to Tyrant, throwing the giant across the room and slamming harshly upon the floor. Another started to form around his hands, forming at a slightly reduced speed to produce an even bigger more concentrated form of magic death. All the while Tyrant was gasping for breath, his muscles making light spasms from the concussive and electric blast of the thunderous holy lighting spear and his hands barely managing to steadily support himself on the hardwood floor. "Worm." Dante muttered once again, the greasy smell of charred open skin of Tyrant expunging into through the room.

"Sog it all to hell, Great Maw... Give me strength," Tyrant gasped, his hands pushing himself to his feet, his knees wobbling as his head tilted upwards towards his enemy. "Aw fuck," Tyrant mumbled, his beady eyes seeing that this second holy infused light spear was bigger than the last and growing with size and most likely destructive power. With his blurry eyes and aching muscles, the great ogre had an idea as his arms began to reach for another very heavy object holstered on his back. This was concerning to Dante, the vampiric knight didn't last this long from endlessly monologuing while his opponents found some way to foil his plans of their death. The winged knight glanced over towards his holy weapon, a lightning spear nearly twice his size fizzling and scorching the air with its concentrated magic. Should he wait for a bit more? A few more seconds and he can create something that will wipe out everything on the ground floor into ashes but it could lead into more time for his opponent to counter act... Lets kill him now. Dante raised his arm, the unstable holy spear of destruction grew just a few more inches before being released by the armored gauntlets of the vampire. The destructive spear scorched the surrounding air, it was flying towards Tyrant with great speed, but it didn't matter much as the Tyrant had already won at this point.

"SUCK ON ITTTTT" Tyrant bellowed, a familiar weapon in his hands, the terror of destruction known as the Sound Eater was within his grasp as the thunderous spear was halfway towards blasting away his existence. The ogre smashed his fist on the Sound Eater, it hummed in fury as the cannon started to glow in a red violent mist. "FASTE-" Tyrant managed to get out, the lightning spear ending whatever was left of the ogre as a violent light spread throughout the amphitheater cleansing the city of one evil son of a bitch... Or that would have happened if luck wasn't on Tyrant's side.

The Sound Eater with a violent screech started, the magical infused cannon screaming with a cataclysmic explosion igniting within the barrel, the resulting force of fire and mayhem blasting Tyrant backwards through the amphitheater as his stance wasn't the best to fire a city breaking weapon. However, it managed to fire which is all that mattered as a human sized cannon ball was soon ejected from the screaming Tyrant and Sound Eater. Though, no one could hear this screaming anymore, actually, nothing could be heard at all. Everything was silent, it was almost as if they were transported towards another world for a second time with this insanely silent amphitheater. And even though the cannon ball didn't even come remotely close to hitting the magically destructive electro-holy spear, the simple fact of the magical discharge from Sound Eater easily overpowered the weapon to now be completely gone with the wind. And to the wind to everywhere as a matter a fact, the cannon ball simply vanished from the theater from its force as the resulting blow back instantly destroyed anything within its path and the pressure that it brought blew everything away... Even the flying magical vampire knight... Especially, the magical flying vampire knight.

The resulting force had blown back the Tyrant out of the amphitheater, but since the force wasn't directly applied to the skin, Dante got it less but it still hurt like hell. The sheer pressure made Dante fly... Even more, he lost balance completely being thrown in the air to the mercy of the winds, but the winds weren't on his side. Dante, completely disoriented, confused, was sent towards a certain object in the air with an abundant supply of electricity, the dozens of stage lights which haven't been completely torn off yet from Sound Eater. Dante's metal suit clashed directly into the stage lights, the resulting electric charges coursed directly into the metal suit electrocuting anything within the inside of the metal. The vampire screamed in complete agony as several electric currents coursed through his entire body yet his screams fell upon deaf ears. The pressure still stood, pushing himself further into more stage lights, and when it was over... When Sound Eater stopped being the terror of the building, Dante's vampire body fell from the heavens and into hell. After that, nothing happened, pieces fell from the sky and giant gaping hole in the amphitheater was apparent from the Sound Eater but neither contender seemed to stand up from their wounds. The Angel was electrocuted several times over while a charred Tyrant was blasted out of the amphitheater alone from the concussive blast. For a few minutes it seemed that everything was over for the two, a tie with both dead, until a crunching noise filled the completely destroyed theater. A familiar sixteen foot tall giant, stumbling onto the field, bloodied and bruised but alive. Silent... Tyrant slogged over to the dying Dante, his brain and muscles fried beyond belief, and through an act of dominance or mercy picked up vampire knight from the head. "Crispy, just how I like them," Tyrant muttered, before crushing the plated head between his fingers as bones, blood, and brain matter seeped down his hand. And with that over, Tyrant breathed in a large gulp of air before bellowing a mighty roar in the ruined amphitheater.

The rain was pouring down around them, rapidly turning the ash coated ground into a thick quagmire of black sludge. The forest itself was a shell of it’s former splendor and mystery, consisting of stumps and fallen trunks all cracked and blackened by their fiery torment. Most of the animals had either fled or perished, leaving what would have been an eerie silence were it not for the pouring rain. It was as if nature was weeping for this atrocity committed against it and was now trying to wipe away the ash with her tears. In the years to come the forest would no doubt be green once more, the fallen trees making the ground incredibly fertile for the next generation, but it would be eons till the woods where ever the same again.

By the time Geromory spotted the arrival of the massive bird thing sophia had re-donned her armor, her body now in a far better state. Well apart from the hiddiose arm she was sporting, she retched every time it came into her frame of view or she was forced to use it to navigate the burnt woods. At this point she had somewhat dismissed the voice she had heard earlier as a delusion induced by blood loss first and afterwards painkillers, for she had not heard it since she recovered a little and the drugs wore off.

She and the grinning fool (why was she putting up with it?) took cover behind the burn hasuk of a particular large tree as she watched the two xenos arriving, one insectile like the dead Clotho and the other a wooden mockery of the Emperor's angels. There was no way she was getting closer, so she used a combination of the night/thermal visions and the binocular function in her helmet to get a better view of what they were doing. She wanted to go there and kill whatever they where but for the moment she was effectively unarmed. She had dropped both the knives back in the pool somewhere and had expended all her ammo previously in the forest king.

She watched in horror as Clotho was brought back to life, and though she did not hear what was said she knew there would be no kind words for her. Damn it. There was a brief period of quietly muttered curses and damnations of her enemies and the college for allowing this xenos scum so many allies where she had none. Fortunately it looked like they were leaving, the big one giving Clotho a lift, though the plant thing was staring of into the distance. Damn it. Had it seen her?

She ducked back behind the tree. She was sure that her armor’s ash coating was good camouflage and that she was much to far away to be spotted without some kind of vision enhancement. She certainly hoped that was the case.

She kept watch on the hovering bird while hopefully staying out of sight of the wooden angel. It if it left shortly then she was safe, and if not then she was going to have to run away again and she did not like her chances if Clotho’s companions where anywhere as near as fast as her.

The Book Keeper VS The Itinerant Exorcist - Rounds 2 & 3

Whilst Motley enjoyed the thrill of the chase, it did start getting old after a while. Especially when the weather was getting less than tolerable, and the individual he was chasing was starting to tire. In fact, it seemed like she was barely throwing any of those orbs of fire in his direction now - in a seemingly last-ditch effort, she flung about four at him in a tight cluster, an eye-rollingly poor effort considering her initial assault. Bored and wanting to finish her off- or at least get his hands on her phylactery, that soul container of hers- Motley promptly leapt diagonally sideways, into the wall of the still-medieval building she was just passing, then bounced off of that to land deftly in front of the mage, bringing her to an abrupt, gasping halt just a meter or two before him.

'Not to press the point, but this is getting old,' Motley drawled, glaring at her with only minor malice in his eyes. 'Cry uncle, or I'll make you.' And cliché aside, that was a promise, not a threat.

'Hahaha... I'm just... getting started...' the girl claimed, despite clearly being worn out. As if to prove a point, she promptly threw another grouping of four fireballs toward Motley, though to her credit, she did at least try to curve them in toward him from the four diagonals. Alas, she had left very obvious gaps in the formation, and so the vampire simply leapt over the upper two wisps, forming an arc toward the girl. What he had in mind was simple enough: with the nerve endings on his hands, shock her skull until she passed out, or at least keep her paralysed long enough to plug his phylactery into hers and steal her soul away.

What he hadn't expected was for her to rummage through her bag immediately after flinging the flames, and then to flick it in his direction as he jumped, like it would provide some form of protection. Almost insulted, Motley flicked the paper out of his path, only to suddenly grow weak, to land oddly and almost stumble before her, as the air pressure kept the note clinging to his hand for longer than desired.

Damn it, I forgot she was a magician for a moment, Motley cursed himself, even as he registered the spell's effects on him being notably lesser than they ought to - perhaps his innate willpower provided him some resistance to its effects, or maybe some other possibility was messing with its functionality. Of course she's trickier than she looks! And speaking of which, his preoccupation with the note and his sudden loss of strength had given her ample opportunity to further reveal this side of herself: with a yell of triumph, she brought forth the wisps she had fired at him earlier, apparently hidden behind her until this moment, curving them round her body and towards Motley again. With as much strength as he could muster, he leapt backward whilst tearing the note away from his palm, only to shriek in sudden agony as the four fireballs behind him slammed into his back, detonating on impact and setting him well and truly on fire, inciting a searing, seemingly-supernatural pain that he certainly wasn't used to experiencing.

'Ugh... I'm such a fool!' he lambasted himself in mid-air, stripping all of his articles of clothing away in one smooth motion of all his limbs now that his usual grace was restored, just to give himself a second longer to consider his next move. 'Of course she wasn't tired out. It was a ruse to make me lower my guard! HEAVY FUEL!' At the calling of his Stand's name, his body began to spew a flood of black gas from every pore and orifice other than his eye sockets, catching the fire on his body and forcing it away from his skin and flesh (and, since it was relevant, his clothing too, the fluid parting rapidly to allow the clothes to fall to the ground mostly unscathed), though the sensation and effect of being burned alive continued to manifest there, for now it was the Stand itself that burned, perhaps even faster than he himself would have.

Even so, he landed in a position of what he considered to be mostly advantage. Yes, his very soul was on fire, in a way that potentially threatened his life for its enhanced effect on both the undead and his Stand's natural weakness to flames of this sort, but it would maintain its form and substance for a while yet simply for how much of it he continued to emit; plus, he now had a lot more information about the girl, namely that she had greater stamina and was more cunning than he'd given her credit for.

But it seemed she was not immune to confusion, or embarrassment, the latter in particular an emotion he'd abandoned a long time ago. 'Uuuuh... w-why are you naked?' the girl asked, now unwilling to look at him for his exposed form, and in turn leaving herself open to attack. Had he just given her credit for being more cunning than expected?

'So my clothes aren't set on fire. I only have the one set,' Motley explained, already planning his next move and mastering the pain of melting and remelting muscle in his mind, for a sensation as base as pain should ultimately be meaningless to the undead, even if it was supernaturally-inflicted. And this time, he'd make sure she didn't ruin his attack with one of those... talismans, were they? Whatever they were, he couldn't touch them without losing strength, and he suspected touching them with Heavy Fuel would have the same result.

'Um... okay... w-well anyway, it seems I underestimated you,' the girl responded, echoing his own thoughts back at him in a shy, but still overconfident tone, 'for not only are you a filthy murderous vampire, but a vampire who has been possessed! By some form of, uh... smog ghost. And it burns just as freely as you, at that!'

'On the one hand, true. On the other hand, you can't burn something twice,' Motley responded, matter-of-factly. In the next moment, he sent Heavy Fuel out toward her, still burning with that unnatural fire, and now ready to punish her for her inattention, for clearly she was focused on not glimpsing his nudity.

And yet something else clearly had noticed. A humanoid figure, indistinct through the purplish haze, called for her to "Look out, master!", and though she spied the oncoming mass of darkness, her immediate reaction of "more wisps of fire" was a woefully inadequate response. They certainly detonated against the Stand, but barely affected its charge at all for the firewall it already presented; in the next second, Heavy Fuel had engulfed her, setting her ablaze in turn and drawing out a feminine yell of pain, before a portion of its form pooled into a mass of oil and wrapped round her ankle, flinging her over the head of its master to smack against the cobbles of the street with a thud that, for any other being, would be sickening to hear. A hard full-body blow, but non-lethal, just enough to wind and daze the girl rather than crack her bones, for though the Stand's physical strength was no more than Motley's own without enhancement, that was certainly sufficient to kill a normal human being with one hit.

And after that, he simply desummoned Heavy Fuel. The Stand vanished, and the flames boiling both his form and that of his foe with it once deprived of fuel. Yes, it had hurt like nothing else, but he'd recover rapidly. She, however, likely would not, and at that was quite singed - he guessed, however inaccurately, first-degree burns across her body, an evidently painful experience at best. Blisters everywhere, an experience he'd once been intimately privy to. Just now, as it happened, though perhaps "broiling flesh" was a bit more extreme than that.

Still, he couldn't sympathise with her. He still had a fight to win, and so strolled over to the groaning body, nabbing his own soul container from within his shirt and jacket as he passed that pile, and lifting the woman by the nape of her neck, her hood falling away as- wait, were those animal ears?

'Oh, that's what I'm smelling...' the vampire muttered, understanding the source of his foe's strange scent at last. Or at least guessed so, judging by the ears emerging from the top of her skull. Not lupine or feline, so from the shape and size, they were presumably vulpine - in other words, she was part fox. He supposed he really hadn't smelt any foxes around before, so that explained why he didn't recognise the musk. Interesting.

He'd ask about it later, if she gave any straight answers. Right now, he had a phylactery to recover. Espying the chain round her neck, he tactlessly dug his hand between her cleavage, drawing the item proper forth with little struggle for her state. Simple enough. He brought his own phylactery up from where it lay, ready to place them together.

The slight sound of a blade being drawn from its sheath, much quieter than many television shows would pretend, was the only warning he had, but it was enough for him to lean back, losing only his hand at the wrist to the sudden swipe of a katana aimed at his neck. Whilst he'd intended to curse her for concealing the weapon until now, he didn't get a chance before a reverse-swipe came back toward him, this time far more on the mark - though he stepped backward, it caught his throat and sliced it open, spilling the blood from the artery in his neck, silencing his voice, and most importantly disrupting his breathing somewhat. He'd barely processed that suddenly, she was showing skill beyond what her initial cowardice suggested, before she lunged at him, a third sword strike finishing the job and decapitating him entirely, again despite his superior speed. And now he was confused, a mild 'Wryy?' escaping his mouth in spite of its separation from his lungs.

It wasn't that she'd gotten faster, either... no, she was simply moving more efficiently, spending energy to attack instead of flailing her limbs around like a child manhandling a ragdoll. Could the entity he'd seen before have something to do with that? Perhaps she did have a Stand after all, or at least something similar. And now that Motley was aware of that... well, there wasn't much he could do to stop her from stabbing him through the heart, apparently a form of staking irrelevant to a vampire of his sort, but only because he'd taken the split-second opportunity to extend his blood vessels out of his neck to reattach to the body in the right places, and to then do the same again from his wrist stump to meet his hand. But by then, she'd raised a hand overhead and called forth... well, probably as many wisps of fire as she could, all destined to meet with Motley's face if he didn't act fast.

And what luck, for fast was the speed at which he acted best. Head and body communicating once again despite the continued disconnect of his spinal cord, his right arm moved, connecting a solid punch to the sudden assassin's jaw to stun her, and disrupt her casting entirely. That in turn gave him to time to reel his body parts in, neck and hand meeting and merging with their respective stumps again just two seconds after they'd first left it. And that allowed him to breath effectively once more - his body might have been able to use the Ripple sans head, but he figured the risk wasn't worth it, if Heavy Fuel's effect only remained in one part or the other of his person.

And so, he finally allowed his annoyance to flow free. Whether or not he maintained some of his humanity from his Stand, he was still a vampire at the end of the day. And she had, after all, done some notable damage to his person. A rapid flurry of punches, crackling with what seemed like black electricity, struck her torso over and over again, accompanied by a war cry of 'Soul Breaker Overdrive! WRYYYYYYY!' The attack ended with a much harder cross punch, flinging her sideways into the building they had stopped by, hard enough to crack the outer layer of the wall of the house itself. Naturally, the girl was unconscious before she slumped to the ground, defeated outright by the attack. Still not dead - he'd limited his Dead Ripple to a smaller fraction of its full strength, and even then her own energy had seemingly been substantial enough to absorb the hit and then some - but she'd probably be out for a while, and she'd certainly be too bruised and enervated to use any more magic even if she were up on her feet.

At last relieved of the spell of combat, and regenerating nicely thanks to the life energy he had stolen, Motley sighed deeply, content that he was finally safe to deal with himself and his first foe as he saw fit. The first step of that: getting her soul. Striding over to her figure, he grabbed her phylactery from where it lay over her shirt in one hand, bringing his own soul container to hers with the other, and... the smith had said the "nozzle" of the receiving container should be used to draw forth the soul from the giving container, so he pressed the spike of his own phylactery into the hole at the center of hers.

...well, that seemed to do the trick, anyway. Step two: return his clothes to his body. He could walk around the city nude, but that would just be inconvenient for, amongst other reasons, keeping his phylactery hidden and maintaining an element of surprise. Thus, he gathered the items he had shedded and pulled them back on, noting where each article of clothing had taken damage from that cursed magical fire. Honestly, that was just rude of her.

As for step three... well, if he intended to make a combat ally of her, he supposed he ought to make sure she didn't get eaten whilst she couldn't defend herself. Grabbing and lifting the fox-girl over one shoulder, he brought her into the house he'd just flung her against, looking round to ensure nobody was home, before taking her to what seemed like a nice enough bed- that is, it was the most modern alternative to the literal beds of straw elsewhere in the building- and laying her down upon it. As it happened, there were few rooms in the building, old and peasant-built as it was, and if he sat next to the girl's torso, he could see both the entrance door and most of the plasma-screen television on the far wall that drew its power from who knew where. It was no book, but it'd do for keeping himself entertained. Leaving his charge's side for just long enough to recover the remote control, he turned the TV on, and began to flick through the channels. He supposed he'd be doing that a lot over the next few hours.

Once Garbage stopped sliding on the hard floor, she immediately jumped up and scrambled to find another hiding spot as fire exploded around her, shielding herself from the dust and shockwaves with her arms in front of her face. The blasts stopped for a few seconds as another cascade of guitar strings rumbled her eardrums, just barely letting her hear the concrete crackle above her. She threw herself forwards. Behind her, a large, strangely flaming chunk of reinforced concrete crashed into the ground as another trumpet pierced the air as if to herald the end of the world. She landed with a combat roll, then dived behind a giant chunk of more rubble, and waited out the next three stings of brass. They were rather short, but the bangs they brought with them had quite the same power as the last few. A fourth one, a rather elongated one, came immediately after them. Its power was a single bang, and then a flurry of pops, similar to a firecracker.

Garbage found herself curled up in a fetal position behind the rubble. She was thoroughly scared off her mind and shaking with fear as she looked through what she had done in the past few hours.

[color=gold]Writing my name onto the Ledger was quite possibly the biggest mistake I've ever made in recent time. Trying to sweet talk my way out of a fight with this fussy old man with powerful magic abilities is a close runner-up, but actually joining this tournament was just...By Golgotha, how stupid am I? I feel stupid as hell! I need to think something quick but all these...frickin' firecrackers are louder than my thoughts! What should I do? Run? Do I run? Is he gonna chase after me? I bet he'll do that. He will fucking do that. I don't wanna die, god dammit, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna-[/color=gold]

Her thoughts were interrupted when one last powerful brass sting caused the pile of rubble to blow up in a ball of fire, completely destroying her cover. At the same time, out of desperation, screamed:

"WAAAIT!"

Luckily for her, the next few tabs after the trumpet would be calm. Fast-paced, but calm. All they summoned unto the world were just slightly threatening sparks scattered all over the area around Jiang, who had, additionally, heard her cry for help. He set this guitar tab to be continuous - her power was working on him again.

The dust settled, and there she was, once again with her arms raised up in surrender.

Jiang tried to speak, but his attempt was cut short by a simple statement:

"You win!"

Jiang raised his eyebrow in confusion. Could this be another ruse?, he thought. She seemed like a very stubborn person so far, seeing as she had attempted to trick the man with quite possibly the least amount of trust for people who were different than him into letting her steal a necklace that was quite literally holding his soul - two times, at that. This was surprising, he was expecting much more gusto from her.

"I give up.", she continued with a slightly shaky voice, then took out a peapod-shaped device from her fanny pack. "Take this. It's called a Vessel. It stores souls." She lightly lobbed it towards Jiang. It bounced off the floor a few times and stopped at about a meter's distance in front of the Dragon, who was even more surprised. He didn't notice himself stop with the guitar sounds. He looked at the Vessel, then at Garbage, then back at the Vessel.

"I am not falling for your ruse a third time, laowai., he said, coldly.

"I swear to whatever the hell kind of deity you worship, I am not trying to trick you into anything this time. Just take the Vessel, please.", she insisted.

He kneeled down and very cautiously picked up the device to examine it for a few seconds, contemplating over whether she had set up yet another ruse or she really was giving up. She did, after all, get very close to tricking him twice, he had to give her that. A few moments of silence ensued as he tried to think of something to say.

"...You're...Pretty good at playing the accordion for a beginner.", Jiang finally broke his silence, "If you keep practicing, I'm sure you will become a maestro like me, heh." There was an awkward smirk on his face.

He did not know what to think of this. How could this bold girl give up so easily to an old git like him? After two tries? He genuinely couldn't tell whether he won or not. He gestured her to put her hands down, then began peering around, searching for the drone.

She opened her eyes, ending the ritual and dismissing the gathered kami.

A safe way through the perimeter, where the rain had driven those anons into the buildings for shelter. A welcome bit of luck; she had no idea if she could fight for very long with a gut wound. Had she been at home, there were supplies there she could at least use to treat herself. It won't be perfect, but she won't be in any danger of bleeding out or having infections either.

Hiding the Cavalier behind a desk, and piling his weapons there so the anons don't steal them, she exited the building, following the instructions of the local kami.

Juniper stopped at the exit, staring up into the rainy sky. It was a very rare sight, for water to just fall out of the sky like this. She stretched out her hand, feeling the raindrops upon it, before finally stepping out into the rain. So much water, just falling out of the sky, and no one was fighting over it. It felt refreshing, and it soothed her bruises, but she wasn't sure if it was doing her wounds any good. But still, she lingered a bit more, enjoying the feeling of rain upon her skin.

Sighing, she materialized an umbrella, and opened it up.

It was a bit late, considering she was already soaked to her skin, but still, it was a projection she rarely ever made, and the sound of rain pattering on the umbrella was quite pleasant to her ears. Almost enough to make her forget about the pain in her abdomen.

It didn't take her too long to spot the vehicle, being the only one there in the rather conspicuously empty space. Dropping the umbrella by her feet, she knocked on the vehicle, waiting for any answer.

The music faded out when the first drops of rain started falling. Mountain held his hand out, which immediately caught several droplets. "Hm?" He questioned, slowing down as he stared up towards the sky. He was so focused on racking up those skill combos he didn't even notice that dark clouds had gathered overhead. "Aww, man!" Mountain complained as he brought the board to a complete stop, letting himself hover a foot in the air. "I was just starting to have fun, too." By this time, the rain had started to get heavier, and there wasn't any forms of shelter as far as Mountain could see, with all the doors apparently locked by... well, locks. He presumed that there was nothing behind those doors. There was the sound of splashing up ahead, and seconds later, a thin coat of water rushed down the street, unable to go anywhere due to its lack of drainage ducts.

Seriously, who the fuck even designed this city?

The board shook under Mountain's feet, and Mountain swung his arms around to regain his balance. "Whoa! Okay..." He figured the board couldn't perform as well on water as it did on land, and he quickly steered around the rapidly rushing water in an attempt to find some dry land. Unfortunately, there was none. Mountain hopped off the board, thankful that he had followed the instructions on the one lifehack video of YouTube and waterproofed his shoes with some wax. By now, the water level was only slightly lower than his ankles. Mountain grumbled as he reached into his pocket dimension and pulled out an umbrella (which looked suspiciously like the one which had exploded earlier) and opened it. The rain made loud pitter-patters as droplets slid off its waterproof skin. Mountain looked around once again, now wanting to get washed away by a sudden unexpected tidal wave of water like he had seen in so many movies before.

Then, he found it.

Standing there like a lit lighthouse, was what appeared to be a medieval guard tower, its distinctive shape visible even in the white curtain of water. Deciding that he had no other choice now that the rain had gotten heavier and made the gentle stream flowing down the street into an actual gushing rapid, he hopped back on the board. The sudden weight on the board immediately made its nose tip into the water surface. The board immediately flipped, throwing him into the water, which was now the depth of an inflatable swimming pool. Mountain muffled a curse as he landed face-first into the freezing water and tumbled towards the avenue's centre. Standing up and dripping wet, he threw a glare at the board, which was gently bobbing above the water, almost taunting him. The quickscoper took a deep breath, before grabbing the board and angrily shoving it into his pocket.

Shaking some water out of his hair, he trudged towards a conveniently-placed four-wheel drive car, which was also unlocked, for some reason. Getting in and slamming the door shut, he pulled out a Zorbeez Super Absorbent Reusable Towel and began to dry himself. He then took out a screwdriver and shoved it into the ignition, twisting it several times before the engine started up with a growl. He took a second to warm up, turning the car's heated up to maximum, before stepping on the accelerator pedal. The car lurched forwards and effortlessly traversed its way through the flooded streets; it was made for offroad adventures, after all.

The car drove forwards as it neared the tower. Mountain could make out its solid stonework construction, and noticed a large wooden door right in the middle of it. Drying the last bits of water out of his clothes and hair (miraculously completely dry now), he took out a reverse umbrella and stepped out of the car onto dry sidewalk. Or at least land that wasn't a foot underwater. He took a moment to scrutnise the structure. It looked pretty menacing, if he was being honest, and the lighting that flashed every few seconds that lit up the building didn't help, either. Shrugging, he put his hand on the door.

But before he could push it open, a cry came from behind him, garbled and distorted. "Don't go into the tower! Please! You have to help me!" Mountain spun around, head darting between it and the tower. He adopted a thinking pose as he was faced with one of those choices that probably affected the events of the story. It took him roughly 2.7127 seconds to decide.

"Nah, fuck that!" With that, he kicked open the door of the watchtower. There was probably some epic loot in there, and whoever was screaming was probably an evil monster or something. He pulled out his AWP and walked in.

A sudden noise from the back of the van came in response to Juniper's knock. Through the poor light and the veil of falling rain, the movement of a dark shape behind the vehicle could be glimpsed. A moment later, a hulking shape emerged from its hiding spot. In the meager orange glow of a nearby lot lightpole, the maiden beheld a huge, hunched-over man wearing a hood large enough to keep the rain out of his eyes but too small to hide his hideous, disfigured face. For a split second the two locked eyes, but then the man turned them to the ground, staring straight down as he gave a polite bow totally at odds with his monstrous features. In his left hand was a first-aid kit with a suitcase's handle, and he clasped his right hand over his left's knuckles while holding them both before him. His position was one of contrition, as though he'd done something wrong merely by letting Juniper see his face.

“G-good evening...” he murmured, his voice deep and strong as thunder but tinted by a certain dullness, as well as a slight nervous stutter. “My n-name is Dr. Bill. I'm here t-to...treat you, if that's okay.” With deliberate slowness, he reached up to the side of the van, grabbed a tiny beaded string, and pulled it. In one neat motion the van's side opened up like a storefront, presenting a gurney for the patient to lie upon if she was so inclined. Bright light poured from inside, illuminating shelves of different tools, bandages, containers, and vials of either liquid or multicolored pills. Its shine also revealed Bill's's attire, an old-fashioned suit perhaps from the Victorian era, with muted earth tones, a black ascot instead of a tie, and a huge raincoat instead of a jacket. He did not turn up his eyes, and in silence awaited Juniper's response.



An odd look flew Bonesword's way—that is, odder than usual, given the bulbous, comic face of insanity that wore it. Evidently understanding his companion's derision and not liking it, the clown deigned to give no response, and shook his head before proceeding on his way. After exiting the cocoon tent, it became apparent to the former skeleton that the clowns had collectively pulled themselves out of their stupor, gotten organized, and packed everything back into the various tents. The tumult of noises from within them gained the sounds of many large zippers being closed, and one by one, the circus tents began to rise into the air like giant balloons. Blinking their multicolored lights at a frenetic pace, they floated up and began to scoot away through the sky toward the city with all the strange serenity and aloofness of flying saucers. Their departure left the Amusement Mile far less populated by structures than it once had been, but far from empty. Before a few minutes passed by, every clown in every tent was gone, leaving only the rain behind to wash away the red stains.

Once more, the pierbound fair was Bonesword's oyster. With the tents out of the way, a clear path to the entrance of the Mile stood out, and beyond that lay ordinary shoreside buildings ranging from shops to storehouses. A quick visit and a little snooping would elucidate the fact that at least this region of the City of Echoes seemed abandoned. If the place lacked its everyday citizens, the clowns' plans to abduct people became puzzling, but no less ominous. Closest to the Amusement Mile was a seafood cafe called Ebb's Fish Tank, and next to it was a plain, square building with a door like a garage's, sealed and inaccessible, but with a forklift sitting just outside among some crates.



For the second time in less than two hours, Mountain Dew hijacked a car to take him less than a quarter mile, and despite hydroplaning severe enough to be lethal to any ordinary person out on a rainy joyride, he encounter no problems upon pulling up to the curb from which his towering objective seemed to have risen. That nagging, cautionary voice vied for his attention, but after a moment's contemplation the quickscoper shut it out, literally and metaphorically, and the next moment he alone was inside the miraculously unlocked tower.

Outside, the a crow flapped a few feet away from the door, struggling to stay in the air in the pounding rain. “Dammit!” it squawked, its voice an inhuman croak. “That guy doesn't know what he's getting into!” It dropped onto the roof of the car Mountain stole, soaked and bedraggled all the way through. With its black, beady eyes it glared at the top of the tower, its breath coarse. “Agh, calm down, calm down. He's a competitor, he's got to be strong enough to take that bastard down. I've gotta focus on surviving...can't tell Wernicke if I drown out here...” With that, it pulled itself up and threw itself toward a nearby bus stop, where it began its miserable wait.

Meanwhile, the inside of the tower confronted Mountain with surprising bareness. He found himself in a cylindrical room about ten feet tall, with a stone floor above and below, and a staircase running along the opposite wall leading both up and down. Floor one appeared to contain nothing more than a few tables and chairs, a couple empty racks that might have once held weapons, and makeshift fire pit in the center. Beside it stood a modern cot and backpack, which plainly didn't belong with everything else, but finding a potential place to spend the night was a lucky break. If Mountain neared the staircase, he would detect the sharp smell of wine coming from the cellar, along with another, harder to discern smell. A locked hatch blocked the top of the staircase, preventing anyone from climbing to the second floor, but should Mountain decide to forgo the cot and fire pit, the likelihood of the hatch standing up against modern weapons wasn't high.



The loud, rapid thrum of great wings pierced the thunderous rainfall as IO's beetle shell unfurled and he took to the air, Clotho clinging to his back. Without any hesitation he ascended through the deluge, slow but steady, becoming an indistinct black mass once again and then disappearing completely. The path of his flight might lead an astute observer to gawk at the gargantuan black shape far, far above, but such a watcher could be forgiven for keeping her eyes on the being that remained. With the soft glow of its eye piercing the dark like a lantern, Frolic fixated upon Sophia's position, for it did not look with sight but with spirit. It sensed the state of her physiology—mutated and mutilated, fixed up as best the warrior could but still in bad shape. A faint, worried croon escaped the forest spirit's body, and from the vertical crack in its chest a thick wisp of radiant green emerged to float, light as a mote of dust, above the sodden earth. After a few seconds, the effigy turned away, lifted its wings, and soared upward to follow its allies. It left behind a glowing trail in the manner of a firefly, but it lingered for but a moment, and then all that was left to Sophia was the curative orb.

Several minutes passed before a cry split the night, drowning out the song of the storm. Shrill as a crow's caw but impossible loud and resonant, it heralded the movement and disappearance of the vast sky shadow. Into the clouds it vanished, and for the first time, Sophia was truly alone in the forest she'd desecrated.



Appropriate for the sunken look etched on Michelle's face, the clouds opened up. It began to scattered pat-pats of individual droplets hitting the dirt, but in no time at all the trickle developed into a full-on cascade. The robots camped out in the ruined building hurried indoors as fast as their oil-thirsty joints and rusty pistons could take them, and sat or leaned against the walls. Most stared at the newcomers from a respectful distance, their uniquely-designed eyes hinting at a mix of curious and wary. Oren's drone, too, zipped inside to escape the downpour, shedding water from its rotors as it did. Its bright purple optic looked squarely at the battle's loser. “Shame your big scheme didn't pan out, Michelle. I got here so late I didn't get to know you very well, but sabotaging the Crucible to try and get a wish? And to do it nonviolently? Nyahahahahahahahah!” So complete was the announcer's fit of laughter that his hand shook on the drone's controls, causing it to veer sideways and tap against a wall. A robot, seated just beneath the impact sight, stared upward in a manner remarkably puzzled for someone who did not possess eyebrows. “What a total moron! I'd soooo pay to see what goes down when Wernicke brings you in.”

The aura of sullen defeat surrounded Michelle completely. If any spark remained she might have run, but now she gave no indication of any inclination to fight back. With her sorted, Oren turned the drone toward the one who defeated her. “As for you: amazing performance. That one's going down in history for sure. Your next opponent isn't far off, but the rain's gonna make the whole area muddy, so waiting 'til morning is your best bet. In the mean time, enjoy your prize. What is it? Beats me! After all, it's a sur-'prize'!”



Oren looked away from Jiang's extraction of the loot to keep tabs on one of the robots, which had been standing around just like the others until now. It walked forward, arms held in a rather awkward position by its sides, and stopped just close enough to be safe from and involved with the newcomers at the same time. A mechanical sound came from its head, and in quick succession it changed speeds and pitches until it could be understood, albeit through a heavy static filter. “Why are you fighting? What is going on? What happened to everyone else?” Its unchanging face spit out a barrage of questions directed at Oren, or more specifically, his drone.

Despite not projecting a view of the announcer's face, his voice conveyed his surprise quite well. “Uh? Er, sorry. I didn't know ya could talk. This is a fighting tournament. If you're talking about the City's people, they disappeared a while ago. Nobody knows why. Who are you?”

The robot stared at the flying contraption, the gears in its head literally turning. An odd, creaking groan issued from its voicebox, and it said, “We are people. We are here. What is a tournament?” Invisible to those present, Oren rolled his eyes. When he didn't answer, the robot's gaze shifted to Jiang. “What is the sound you make? Why do you make sound?”

A sigh came from the drone. “Ya know what, Dragon? I'm so generous, I'll letcha have this too. Toodles.” He cut the feed, and the drone went silent, leaving the rain to help Jiang mull over his response.



Whatever Oren had been expecting, this wasn't it. The fight between Tyrant and the Angel, two competitors who commanded power enough to warrant being set against one another to avoid dominating the competition, started with a bang. It proceeded furiously, each combatant discovering one another's abilities in quick succession and ramping up the effort by the second. Then, it happened. Oren couldn't figure out exactly what went down, because the pressure wave from the explosion combined with stray magic sent his drone, among other things, flying as fast as if it had been caught in a tornado. Unable to control its flight, the machine smashed against the side of the amphitheater and promptly burst in a shower of metal parts. Most impressive were its rotors which, bent and twisted by the impact, whizzed through the air with enough force to lodge in the nearby stonework. The drone's item box also ripped apart into splinters, allowing its contents to spill out and roll across the floor.



Considering the macabre feast that transpired after the furious but brief bout's bombastic conclusion, perhaps the destruction of the announcer's camera was a hidden blessing. Either way, a few minutes of scrunching and slurping passed before the microphone in the chip embedded within Tyrant's phylactery came online. “Is...is this thing on? Well, pfft. Holy moly. What a blowout! Another drone's coming by shortly, but I don't imagine there'll be much to look at. Just you standing on some rubble, I bet. I tried the other mic, but as far as I can tell it doesn't exist anymore, so I guess you're the big winner. My drone went kaput, so your prize is somewhere around you.”

A few moments of rummaging couldn't be heard, not that Oren really expected Tyrant to listen to him much anyway. For the sake of fairness, though, he added a couple seconds later, “Hate to 'rain' on your parade, but there's bad weather coming up. If ya don't wanna get soaked, better find a place to bunker down. Your next fight is tomorrow morning. Talk to ya then!” The announcer's voice blinked out, leaving Tyrant to his own devices



“Well, well, well!”

A digital voice echoed through the room commandeered by Motley Crue, and not from his television, but from just outside the door.

“We interrupt this program to bring you the spoils of war!”

The door's knob turned and it was pushed open to admit Oren's drone, its claw arm retracting into standby position. From the machine's dome a holographic image of the announcer shone, and a cheery gleefulness lit his face. Squinted as they were behind his purple-rimmed glasses, Oren's eyes seemed to twinkle. He made finger-guns, pointed them straight at Motley, and clicked his tongue. “Super cool fight, man. Tricky magician versus overconfident powerhouse, proves herself and looks to be in a good spot to win it, then gets absolutely wrecked! And good work ending it non-lethally. Looks like Souta gave you a good tip after all. Not tearing him to 'smith'-ereens was the right choice. For that matter, I have something to give, too. You've earned it!”

Whack The box attached to the underside of Oren's drone hit the floor, and the contraption jolted upward thanks to the loss of weight. Once stabilized, it hovered out of the way so that Motley might collect his prize.



Oren's gaze shifted steadily between Motley and Erina, more than a little dubiousness writ on his features. “Hm.” For a short while it seemed as if he might intervene, but ultimately, he gave a sigh. “...I'm sure that after your civility to Souta that your intentions aren't ill as they might be, even if she did try to kill you. Neheh...” With nothing funny about the current situation, his laugh betrayed nervousness. “With...with the storm at all, waiting 'til tomorrow morning might be the best bet for your second fight. Until then?” The projection died, and the drone began to hover back the way it came.



There came the chime of a bell, loud as a ceremonial gong and clear as crystal, and with a crash the lantern exploded at Jin's feet. Instead of fire, it burst apart into smoke, and the thick haze enveloped him completely. In an instant the hubbub of the College's atrium slipped away, and in its wake came oppressive silence.

Before long, the smoke fell away, the shell of an egg birthing the assassin into a new world. White mist replaced the dark gray smoke, but not so much that he couldn't see where he ended up. He stood in a clearing in some kind of great, dark forest, and he wasn't alone. Piles of timber, various pieces of sawing and shearing equipment, and other such paraphernalia told him that he'd been sent to a logging station in the middle of a dreary, even spooky woodland. In fact, the entire place gave off an unnatural vibe, enough to make one's skin crawl.
Not a soul was in sight, but a little exploring would doubtlessly turn up the headless corpse of a woman with horrible, twisted arms, vile and cruel enough to be called demonic. The cadaver sagged against a log pile, and a notch in the trimmed trunk behind it indicated the chop of an axe of some sort, more than likely the very weapon that did this freak in. Nothing else stood out to Jin, though, until an angry shout in the distance hinted at a more impatient, extravagant individual nearby.

"I know you're out there, foolish opponent! Come out and give me a good challenge!"

Before Jin could oblige -or otherwise respond-, however, a voice came from above and behind him. “Psst!” A quick look revealed a steely, four-rotor flying drone with a single purple optic, and a wooden box suspended from its underside. A light flashed in the drone's center, and from its front was projected the image of a thin, bespectacled man with platinum blonde hair slicked back. Wearing an upbeat grin, he addressed the assassin seemingly without opening his eyes. “Welcome to the Crucible, buddy! 'Knife' to meet you! Name's Oren, and I'm the announcer for this here shindig. I'm sure ya heard the lady yelling? Well, your first opponent's eager to get the party started. You can probably skirt around her for a while, but she just can't wait to show why she's called the 'Queen of Terror', so I betcha she starts torching the forest before long. Best hop to it! Gonna start raining before you know it. Beat her and you get the lovely item box attached to my drone. Happy hunting!”

Happy enough with his succinct explanation, the drone lifted once more into the air, its automatic flight algorithm steering it into the most cinematic position possible.

Jin emerged from the egg of smoke with a cocky grin on his face and his hands holding the Rose Nasty Beam Katanas, ready to turn them on at a moment's notice. He relaxed after observing his surroundings, a wide open clearing surrounded by forest. Lots of wood and logging equipment, he could use this during the battle. He turned on the Beam Katanas and used the heat from one of the blades to light a pile of timber on fire, hopefully this would attract the attention of his opponent. It would also help him find his way back after he was done exploring. This would make a good battleground, now he just needed to find the person he was fighting or be found. Jin turned off the Beam Katanas and hooked them to his belt, wandering the forest in search of his opponent.

It wasn't long before he found a vaguely feminine corpse, the only reason he could tell was because it had a pair of tits. No head, fucked up arms, looked like something out of a horror videogame. Hell, the whole place could've easily passed as the setting for RE. The body was leaning on a pile of logs and there was an a bit of messed up wood in the tree behind it. Considering the nearby logging equipment, the murder weapon was probably an axe.

"I know you're out there, foolish opponent! Come out and give me a good challenge!"

And that was probably the person who wanted to kill him. Angry sounding bitch with a penchant for long words. Lovely. Suddenly a voice rang out from behind him and Jin immediately drew the Tsubaki, ready to cut down whatever was descending upon him. And it was… a drone carrying a box. Jim stayed on guard just in case it was a bomb, but there was no way he was prepared for what happened next.

“Welcome to the Crucible, buddy! 'Knife' to meet you! Name's Oren, and I'm the announcer for this here shindig. I'm sure ya heard the lady yelling? Well, your first opponent's eager to get the party started. You can probably skirt around her for a while, but she just can't wait to show why she's called the 'Queen of Terror', so I betcha she starts torching the forest before long. Best hop to it! Gonna start raining before you know it. Beat her and you get the lovely item box attached to my drone. Happy hunting!”

The box was projecting a hologram of some dick with greasy hair and an inability to open his eyes. Why even have glasses if you weren't gonna use them, pompous prick. After watching the drone fly away he sighed and started heading back to the clearing, figuring that this “Queen of Terror” was likely on her way there now.

Lo and behold, there she was sniffing around like an animal to try and find Jin. He took the moment to watch her from a distance to try and discern her fighting style. First off, she was actually sniffing. She was animalistic. But at the same time she was being very thorough, so she was probably careful like him. Secondly, she has wings that were quite large. Those may be for aesthetic purposes, but if they're not they will definitely come into play during battle. Finally, she was really big, definitely someone he didn't want to get close to for periods longer than a few seconds.

As Jin inched closer to try and get a better look at her, a twig snapped underneath his foot and he cringed. Ghidorah’s head snapped towards his location and she fired off a bolt of lightning from her fingertips. ”Shit!” Jin drew the Tsubaki and turned it on just as he was about to be fried, absorbing the bolt of electricity and overcharging the Beam Katana. A bright green glow emanated from it as Jin stared at the Queen of Terror. Just what had he gotten himself into?

He stepped out of the forest and into the clearing, putting up a cocky facade as he stared down his opponent. ”I gotta say, if I wasn't about to cut your head off I would probably be asking you on a date. You're one hot piece of ass.” He cracked his neck and got into a battle ready position, getting himself into battle mode.

”You dare mock me! I will tear you in half and feast on your entrails!”

”You know what, I change my mind. I never would've asked out a bitch like you.” With that being said they began to inch towards each other for battle, waiting to see who would make the first move. It would be Jin as he dashed towards Ghidorah for a slash at her midsection, scoring a shallow cut and subsequently first blood. Ghidorah grabbed for him to try and pull him in close, but it was too little too late as he ducked under the grab and slashed her left leg before backing off.

She snarled at him as they began to circle around each other once more, this time Ghidorah initiated as she swept her tail underneath him to try and trip him up. Jin jumped over the tail, but left himself with no way to dodge in midair as Ghidorah swung at him with a haymaker. Jim raised his arms in a crossguard as a hasty defense, but it still hurt as he was sent flying backwards into a tree. He slammed into it hard, falling on the ground moaning in pain.

”Anyone get the license plate on that truck?” Jin asked nobody as he got back to his feet and shook his head to get the fuzzies out. Ghidorah was on the offensive as she dashed towards Jin to pound him into the ground. This time Jin was ready as he had scooped up some dirt and threw it in her face as she rushed him. Ghidorah cried out in pain as she tried to get the dirt out of her eyes, meanwhile Jin was going for a heavy strike with his overcharged blade, dashing past her and scoring a large gash along her side.

Ghidorah took flight to get away from Him, but it was unnecessary as he had already moved away from her. She turned to him angrily as shot a blast of electricity, he dodged to the left and then to the right as she followed up with another blast. Jin finally used up his overcharge as he swung the Tsubaki and a blade of energy came flying out of the Beam Katana and towards her. A golden shield covered her and the blade crashed against her, doing nothing except create a pretty little explosion.

Ghidorah touched down on the ground and the dance began once again, with the two circling each other looking for an opening. Suddenly Jin dashed backwards and kicked a piece of timber towards her, this piece of timber coming from the fire that he had made earlier. She punched it, shattering it into a million pieces, but that distraction was all he had needed as Jin moved under the arm that was punching and lobbed it off at the elbow. She screamed in pain as he fell to the ground, passing out on the ground facing towards the sky.

Jin let out a breath of relief as he walked towards the corpse for a sweet victory pose. ”Feels good to be the ki-” As he was saying this and putting his foot on the disgraced kaiju, her other arm shot out and grabbed his leg, pulling it out from underneath him and dropping him to the ground. She quickly got up and grabbed his neck, pulling him into the air and choking him out.

”You were a worthy foe, but none can withstand the might of I, Queen Ghidorah, ruler of all I see!”

Jin’s vision was going spotty as he struggled to reach for his gun that was RIGHT THERE COME THE FUCK ON! He grabbed it and fired at her head, the bullet embedding itself in her head but not killing her. Ghidorah let go, grabbing at her head to try and stifle the pain. That would be the last mistake she ever made as Jin swung for the killing blow. ”FUCK HEAD!” He cried out with rage as the blade flashed through her.

A few seconds passed and Jin turned off the Tsubaki, turning away from her and smiling at the camera. ”Killer is dead.” Ghidorah’s head slid off her body as both fell to the ground, permanently.

Bonesword - The Cereal Captain's Castle

Well, that solved things, didn't it?

After a few beeps, the clown that was Bo-Bonesword had reverted into the normal Bonesword within a flash of light, and the skeleton took a sigh of relief for a moment. The transformations were only for a short amount of time, and he was glad that it happened after the Klowns had ran the fuck off into the sky. If they were still around... one could only hope they'd play nice.

Bonesword started slowly walking out of the Amusement Mile before realizing that this would be a long walk, and that the skeleton needed the energy if he was going to fight again in a short amount of time. With this new information brought to light, Bonesword called upon a single entity to be brought up from the planks of the boardwalk with a Bloody Harvest, and low and behold, a tree stump rose from the planks that made the walkway. How it got there, not even Bonesword knew, but it was there, and that was good enough for the skeleton.

Bonesword climbed atop the stump's flat head as it began to gallop through the empty boardwalk wistfully, aloof to anything around it that wasn't an obstacle. It was only after a few moments, though, that the skeleton managed to spot something that looked... important. The amusement mile had an attraction that was dedicated to a pirate, who used a custom spoon-sword as a weapon. It was the mascot from earlier, for sure, and the area had caused the skeleton's interest to pique. After a hasty turn by the stump, who was told to wait outside the attraction, the skeleton walked into the halls of this castle, wondering what he'd find.

"Aw shit, now they're feedin me lines about how gentle they are after heading into a warzone."
The suit ticked over to the next entry, this one from James's own playlist. With a grin, he said "Run recon with two unarmed civvies in tow through a structure in a hotzone? Sounds fun." Of course, this was mostly to inspire confidence in the pair, as in all reality this was kind of a nightmare. No squad to cover all the angles, no marksmen, no air support, no UAV, and the damn civvies couldn't even get patched into his SQUADCOM. Of course, he COULD give one of them his sidearm, but that was likely to lead someone getting shot who didn't need to. Yeah, he remembered the LAST time they'd been forced to arm a civilian, and Teller wasn't eager to see a repeat. "Not that a LE-21 equals a damn Heavy Assault suit. I never did find out which dumbass suit tech forgot to disable the wrist guns."

Closing his faceplate, the Captain naturally attempted to assume command and he sternly uttered "Alright then, since this is a reecee, we'll need to move fast. If I had SQUADCOM earpieces I'd give them to you, but I don't, so you two will need to stay in shouting range. Stealth in this city doesn't seem to be worth jack shit, so I'll keep an auditory beacon online so you guys can hear where I am. You see something you don't agree with, shout and I'll come give it a two-step goodbye. Let's get it moving at a single time, 'rah?" Teller loved this part, and only this part, of talking to civilians. Subjecting them to his military jargon was always fun, watching as they tried to understand everything, from the commonly understood "'rah" to the unit specific jargon of "two-step goodbye", they always took a guess at what these things meant, whether they were right or wrong their guesses were always funny. He turned to take point and lead the group out, and with a few blinks turned on the external speakers and began blasting his "auditory beacon" as he began walking the direction they had indicated, moving at a casual saunter.

@Lugubrious

Edited little bit.