Flood Traversal

It turned out traversing flood waters was far easier than Motley might have thought, considering his nature as a being whose continued breathing was vital to not disintegrating in the UV light that even now bombarded his form. For one thing, his ability to use the Ripple allowed him to simply stride over the surface of the liquid as if it were solid. At first, he'd needed to carry Erina on his back, much to her annoyance, but then he'd hit upon the brainwave that perhaps he could simply use his Stand's oily substance, combined with the additional bolstering of his Black Ripple, as a surface for her to walk upon. Though she protested somewhat at the notion of "being transported on the back of a ghost", she ultimately agreed it was better than "on the back of a vampire"; and so it was that the two walked across the fluid via what appeared to be a greasy stain on the water's surface, a few meters wide at the front, yet slowly dissolving like a teardrop at the back as they moved, leaving behind not a stain on the surface.

And on the other hand, that had proved to be the least of their issues.

'I am soooo hungry!' the fox-girl- "kitsune", she'd pointed out the first time he'd mentioned it- complained for what was probably the third time in an hour. 'Motley, we need to stop and find food, and also drinkable water!'

'Why do you think we're walking?' Motley muttered, yet again. 'We need to find a building that has sustenance in it, and these peasant houses have demonstrated no such thing.'

'Well, it feels like you're going to walk me to death at this rate!'

'I can revive you if you do,' Crue uttered, rather coldly considering he'd spared her life. Admittedly, it'd be a last resort rather than anything else, but he was nonetheless inclined to consider it a better option than just letting her die. 'Until then, take your mind off of it. Talk about something else, that is... let's see, what was your past life like?' The content of the question was less important than that it'd stop her complaining about an empty stomach and sore legs. She hadn't started on that yet, but he would not be surprised if he heard it sooner rather than later.

'Ooh, my past!' she exclaimed, apparently joyful to talk about herself so soon. 'Well, you see, in my past life, I was beholden to a cruel tyrant of a teacher! He taught me everything I know, yes, but he also proved himself an utter bastard of a man, willing to beat me, to FLAY bits of my skin off... and WORSE...'

'Like rape?'

'Yeah! I mean- uh-' The question threw Erina off for a moment, but she quickly regained her verbal footing, continuing confidently 'No, yes, he did do that to me, awful person that he was! My saving grace was that he was but human, whilst I, good sir, am an immortal kitsune... heh, and what he didn't realise was that once he was dead, he couldn't stop me from enslaving him to my will. Now he is forced to do what I command, at risk of the geas upon him destroying his very soul.'

'I see,' Motley mused, nodding as if the entire tale wasn't completely absurd. 'And this wouldn't happen to have anything to do with the spirit that possessed you last night, would it?'

'Oh, you can see- I mean WHAT SPIRIT, I don't have anything to do with spirits of that sort,' the kitsune tried to bluff, somewhat poorly given her slip-up. 'No, nothing possessed me, ever. I do NOT allow ghosts to possess me, for that would be counter to my very existence.'

'At this point,' a voice from behind Erina stated quite matter-of-factly, 'it's worth noting that my master is a compulsive liar around anybody who isn't me.'

'Aw, Bend, why would you tell him?' Erina pouted, turning to an ethereal form that, to all eyes, appeared to be a balding man in the beginnings of his decline into old age. 'Now he knows I do that.'

'Master, he's keeping you around as an ally,' the ghost called Bend explained, arms folded over his stomach. 'You'd be caught out sooner or later. You might as well be honest from the offset, about the fact that you lie if not about the topic itself. I'm certain he's perceptive enough to figure it out on his own anyway...' For a moment, the ghost's vision flickered over to Motley before returning to Erina's face, the gaze quite familiar, as if emulating the vampire's own visage in the mirror. 'I can tell from his eyes. He misses very little.'

'Whilst I appreciate the compliment, Bend, I wonder if it's not misplaced,' Motley retorted, quite aware of his own lie when it came to his sensory perception. 'My vision isn't that grand.'

'I imagine all of your senses are better than my own, and not just because you're physically younger than me. Don't think I haven't heard your conversations about your undead nature, or that I didn't notice the energy you emitted as you beat my master unconscious.'

Motley stopped walking at that, giving Erina a moment before she paused. So he had been around for those events... but where, exactly, and why? He didn't seem to be manifested at the time... ah, but he probably had, at least in the latter case - her change in demeanour late in their duel was probably not a mere bipolar disorder if Bend had anything to do with it, and if he'd felt that, he'd likely felt his inhuman strength as well... but what else, what else could he have done to listen on any of the occasions that Motley's undead nature had been mentioned...

'Do you know what a Stand is?'

'No.'

'Obviously I do! I'm not going to explain it if you don't know already, though, since it is REALLY obvious.'

That ruled that out then. Or...

'The basic concept of a Stand is as the manifestation of its user's soul. Typically, this is manifested as a figure representing the person themselves, including a sort of supernatural ability, like a psychic power if you will.'

'That doesn't apply to me.'

'I wasn't done,' Motley continued, a slight hint of malice entering his tone, his hands curling just so, before returning to normal, monotonous cadence. 'I was going to say, though you aren't a Stand, you are perhaps similar in one way... that is, it is sometimes the case that a Stand might be embodied by a physical object carried by a person.'

'Pardon me. That description may apply to me after all.'

'What object?' Even as he asked the question, he could imagine what was most likely - not the embodiment of Erina's spirit, but of Bend's, and since she'd used the sword to attack Motley later on... sure enough, the samurai simply pointed, most gracefully for an old ghost, to the sheathed blade at the kitsune's side.

'Good to know. I'm glad I could teach you something about my world. Perhaps in time, some of my wisdom shall rub off on you both,' Motley uttered, making what he figured was actually quite a clever joke. After all, he was... what was it, a hundred, hundred and twenty years old? Certainly beyond the years of any normal human...

'Pfft, more like the other way round. You know I'm, like, ten thousand years old, right?' Though this was uttered with a slightly superior smirk, as if she were absolutely accurate despite the clear lie, Motley couldn't help but feel this time that perhaps there was a ring of truth there. Just a hint.

'Not quite so many years as that,' Bend explained, his voice surprisingly cold. 'Try centuries, rather than millenia. I am older still than her. You yourself may be old for your world, Motley Crue, but we are not of your world.'

After the unnecessary putdown, the silence stretched out for a bit. At some point during this, Motley began to walk onward again, still considering how to reply, letting himself cool down to maintain his even breathing before any rash decisions were made. It was surprisingly difficult, though.

The eventual decision was to let the perceived insult go, rather than tearing- or at least attempting to tear- the specter a new one, verbally or otherwise. The Book Keeper prided himself on being morally superior to other vampires of his kind, so what good would it do him to try and eviscerate a known ally? Even so, he would probably bring the point up again later on, especially if Bend kept making it clear that he held age over beauty, so to speak. "Pearls before swine" would be the least reply he could expect, if he kept that attitude up. After all, only one of them had died before.

Saria bent down to open the box, and realized that there was no clasp or latch to open it.

Hmph. They know me too well.

She drew her sword and deftly sliced a side of the box away, the wood panel falling away like a flower’s petal. She reached inside, and felt a smooth object. She pulled it out, and held in her hand a silver egg. On its sides, there were numbers. The arrow currently rested on zero. Further examination revealed that the top and bottom half were separated by a seam, the top containing the numbers, and the bottom containing the arrow.

Those college types, whatever they are, have a strange sense for gifts. What am I supposed to do with this?

She ultimately decided to bide her curiosity and slipped the thing inside her pocket, beginning to make her way further down the road. Saria walked through the strange place, every direction she looked was ablaze with color and vibrance. Boats of every size and shape lined the shore, and disappeared behind buildings as she saw the various restaurants and shops along the way down the road.

The entire place was about as alien to her as that city she had previously been in, except this city was a bit more colorful. There were many signs and fliers put up around the walls of the buildings, and miraculously, Saria could understand all of them. She strolled over to a restaurant and stepped inside. An assortment of tables littered the inside, all of them neatly organized, utensils stacked on top of paper.

Saria headed for the back of the restaurant, where there were many strange box-shaped objects, most likely used to prepare food. How, she didn’t know. She came to another silver door, and opened it. A sudden blast of cold chilled her, even in her armor. Inside, several packaged foods lined the shelves. She felt a bit hungry, so she took out some vegetables. Since she had very few pockets, she decided to eat the vegetables right there. The coldness was strange to her, and also refreshing. She wondered how this strange civilization had developed the means of keeping food cold, since such a thing was beyond the wildest dreams of anyone back in her time.

After eating through a few bags of vegetables and downing a bottle of water, she was satisfied. One thing was for sure, and it was that the food here was good, no, excellent. She didn’t find a single bug or a rotting leaf anywhere in the stacks of food. She slipped her helmet back on, hooking the clasps around her neck. The clasps had a double function; One, they kept the helmet from being knocked off in a fight, and second, they protected the neck from attacks. It was a time-consuming process, but she wasn’t in any rush.

She headed outside, feeling refreshed. Now, she had to decide where to go. She looked to her left, the path to the rest of the city, then right, back to the shore. Before she could make a decision, she heard her phylactery crackling, and an unfamiliar voice resounded through the little speakers in the thing.

"Hey Oren, I have to ask you something real quick. I have some information to tell College Staff, and I need to find some to tell this information too. Can you point me in the direction of some staff so I can talk to them about these clowns? I need to get my hands on some relics, and preferably some defensive ones."

Defensive relics? And he’s headed for college staff? Interesting. He’ll be on the defensive, while I focus on the offense. That’s fine, I won’t need much defense if I don’t give him a chance to hit me. Still… Which way do I go?

Saria knew that she could find him by using her phylactery again, but that would use another one of her two remaining assists. Inwardly, she shrugged. To her, it didn’t matter when they fought, since he would most likely find her first anyway. That’s just what she was used to. Really, out of all the duels she fought after the killing of her family, almost all of them were from bounty hunters looking to kill her, and they always found her first.

So, she took some liberty and walked right, back to the shore. She might have surprised herself by this decision, since she hated the water, and probably moreso after killing Rose Cythla, but something else had attracted her attention as she was paddling towards the alien structure, and that was the half-sunken ship near the shore. She could have sworn she had saw someone moving within, and for some reason, the whole thing just seemed to interest her. Maybe the chance to warm up before her actual duel.

Speaking of her duel, Saria wondered who it would be. She didn’t remember hearing any of the competitors talk, but the voice seemed to be male, so she could rule out the female warriors. She suspected the voice may have belonged to that knight, for who else but a heavily armored warrior would use defensive relics?

She made it to the small boat, and once again, began to paddle. Again, it took a while, but the ship finally came into a feasible distance, probably about ten minutes away if she kept paddling the same speed. She began to paddle quietly now, in case anyone actually was on the half-sunk ship.

Once she reached it, she quietly stepped into a breach in the ship’s hull, pulling the tiny boat inside with her, so that it wouldn’t drift away. Unfortunately, the whole ordeal caused a major ruckus, and even though she couldn’t hear anything yet, she wouldn't be surprised if she had a few unwelcome visitors.

Jin sighed at Oren's antics, this was a very serious problem he was having. He couldn't chop off heads if he was suffering from malnutrition. Luckily Oren had some very good advice for Jin, which was basically break into houses and scavenge around. He shrugged and turned on his Tsubaki, time for some more breaking and entering. After rummaging through a few cabins he found some cereal, orange juice, expired milk, rat poison, and a surprising amount of unmelted candy bars. Surprising amount being about 4. The milk he poured out because there was no way he was drinking milk that was vaguely cheese like, so he just ate the cereal dry. Wasn't a big fan of orange juice, but he liked scurvy even less so he chugged that down as fast as he could. The candy bars he kept, opening one of them and covering it in rat poison, then closing back up as best as he could.

Meanwhile the whole time Oren was commenting on how he was impressed he had thought of food at all, most people haven't apparently "Seriously? It's the first thing I think about in the morning, probably because I wake up hungry. What a bunch of retards." He finished up his dry cereal and smiled once Oren hooked him up to his opponent. "Thank you very much my man. In return I'll make sure the next fight is plenty entertaining."



”That depends if they are human. I’d rather not have a xenos screaming in my ear the whole time.”

"Well I'm no alien, but I'm definitely a predator. An apex predator." Jin chuckled at that line, nice retort. Gonna have to save that one for later, tell somebody about that. Somebody. Damn did he need some friends.

”Also before you go, you mentioned Clotho brought somewhere with her when she was summoned, do all the other monsters you summoned have fortresses full of minions like she did?”

That was likely meant for Oren. Jin would have to puzzle that out later, definitely a weird question though. Who or what was Clotho and how did she bring a place with her when she came here? "I hate to interrupt, but I was wondering where you were. Figured we should get this fight out of the way sooner rather than later ya know?"

On the mouth of the tunnel, where the kaleidoscopic lights threatened to make her vision swim, Pithy finally moved past her up until then host and guide. She did so silently, her furrowed brow twisting her features into a scowl made sharper by the odd light shining upon the room.

She could not hide her disappointment. Where Pithy had hoped to find a treasure that would tip the scales in her favor, all she had found were sand, bones and a jackal beast-man with better manners than most humans she had come across on her travels.

Better than just sand and bones she told herself, but blunting the edge of her irritation was no simple feat. The information she had gathered had barely kept her trek underground from becoming a colossal waste of time, but she still was not certain how much she could trust the word of Actaeon.

Not that the beast had done anything to garner her mistrust. Much the opposite. It had spoken to her earnestly and without reservations, answering her questions with a zeal that made her think he deeply wished to be useful to this random traveler.

It’s maddening.

Her inner cynic whispered in her ear, suggesting that Actaeon had simply pretended at servility so that he might convince her to turn back on the catacombs he called home, but the same could have been accomplished much more simply—not to mention permanently—by killing her. It did not take a discerning eye to know that the creature was well-equipped for violence.

“Actaeon,” Pithy called out before he could retreat into his tunnels. She turned around, narrowing her eye slightly as the light played off the creature’s adornments. She was not sure if it was the effect of the beacon in the center of the room that made the words form in her lips, but she would not have been surprised had it been so. She had not thought the answer important before, after all. “Did you know of the prize offered to this tournament’s winner?”

The hunter regarded Pithy with a look of ambivalence. Though she hadn’t been uncivil with him, he could sense her frustration in the tone of her voice and the hardness of her face. Moreover, he could intuit that some of it was directed at him, yet Actaeon spoke with only a touch less of his former geniality when he replied, “I do not. That, at least, was not mentioned in idle conversation.” Trying not to appear too eager to maintain the attention of a guest on her way out, lest he give off an air of possessiveness, the creature gazed into the floating cube with its undulating amaranth corona. His ear remained Pithy’s though, and he anticipated that she might have more to say to him than a simple ‘farewell’.

And that should have been that. Telling him any more could place her in a dangerous position. “The people of the College claim to have found a machine that grants wishes.” She surprised herself when she continued. “They have promised the winner of this tournament a wish of their choosing.”

The morsel of information picqued Actaeon’s curiosity, causing him to give his species’ equivalent of raised eyebrows. “...Is that so? A shame I did not participate, then. Our chance meeting has reminded me how sorely I long for proper society. Still, such a thing scarcely seems possible.”

“Truly?” Suddenly, the beast’s earnestness made sense to her. It is lonely. How… pathetic. She did not try to hide her contempt. “How foolish. You do not need a wishing machine for such a thing.”

A stiffness entered the hunter’s body abruptly, noticeable before he turned his eyes back on her a moment later. Those pale blue orbs held very little kindness now. When Actaeon replied, a barely-detectable rumble had entered the back of his throat. “Now, now. You needn’t be presumptuous as well as ungrateful. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how monstrous I look. Very few imagine me to be anything but evil and violent, and respond accordingly should I dare step out into the sun.” His explanation, succinct and dispassionate, belied a sudden lack of concern for what Pithy thought. Being looked down on for being a Noctis was something Actaeon was accustomed to; it was an old wound, scabbed over. He’d never yet been looked down upon for wanting something more. Yet, it hurt just the same. Another one who doesn’t understand, he ruminated, unshelving his earlier, hidden misgivings as he looked back into the floating cube’s light. I am foolish—for thinking this woman valued anything but my knowledge.

I may be too close. Should it become violent, will I be able to draw in time?. Pithy found herself tensing, but held her voice steady. A part of her was already thinking of how she might use this knowledge to her benefit.

“What would you have done had you participated, then? Wish to become human? It seems to me you have yet to grasp the possibilities this place has presented you. That there are worlds other than these, with inhabitants much stranger than you or I.” She shook her head, making her hair sweep to the side. For a moment, the changing lights played over a crystalline surface before it was hidden once again. “You may be fortunate, in fact, that you were not given a chance to throw your lot with the rest of us.”

“What I want most is rather personal. Either way, I don’t think I ultimately would have participated. From what I gathered, this tournament has a high chance to end in death for most entrants, so the risks don’t outweigh the reward for me.” He tilted his neck from side to side in a casual manner, working out the stiffness. A predatory species seldom stood still, but having company meant being presentable even at one’s own expense. “Perhaps that is why I was not chosen.”

How wise of him. Unfortunately, I cannot use wise. Her thoughts went to the empty phylactery still tied to her belt, the one she had taken from her first opponent. Actaeon claimed that he had not been chosen. Perhaps this was true, if one thought on the College staff organizing the ritual, but Pithy did not believe he and his home had found their way to this where purely by coincidence.

“A very rational decision.” Pithy nodded, agreeably enough. Neither was it a lie, for she truly envied him the choice. “But I have to wonder if those are merely your thoughts after the fact. What if the choice to participate was actually given to you?” Almost as though discussing an hypothetical scenario, she placed her hook. “If, let us say, I had the means to make you a contestant?”

Actaeon’s eyes held for a moment, locked with Pithy’s. Then, with resolution, he shook his head. “I am not a hypocrite. Besides, why would the College allow a contestant to bring additional contenders into the mix? Seems like it would hurt their structure, and their plans. You must have concluded that they’re planning something, right?”

“Naturally.” The elf smiled bitterly. It seemed this beast would not be so easily blinded by his desire, so she answered honestly. “A wish for the victor? Rubbish. I am inclined to agree that such a machine may have fallen into their hands after seeing this city, but I am not optimistic enough to believe humans would honor that deal. However,” she said, “the tournament itself is a façade. From what I have pieced together, these battles are for the sake of a ritual needed to wake this miracle machine and the tournament merely helps the College guide the procedures to their desired conclusion.

“In the same way, who takes part in this process is not truly up to them. The entrance of a new player may well make the opening the participants need. So I ask once again. Do you truly have no intention of participating?”

Actaeon tilted his head sideways. “My friend, I am a beast of my word. I’m not chasing after some fairy tale. I’m not risking one hair on consecutive fights.” He turned halfway around. “Besides, you speak of ‘the participants’ as though you’re a cohesive group. You’re a couple dozen separate groups dead set on making one another dead. Good luck, though. And good night.”

Pithy watched the creature recede into its tunnels, and for a moment thought she could hear the sound of her teeth grinding over the drone of the extractor machine. “You had best not regret this,” she murmured before she, too, vacated the area.

---

The staccato rhythm of her rapier against the wall breached the silence of the citadel, and was followed by a quiet thrum coming from every direction, as though the very air had grown agitated. Then, the silence returned.

Pithy took the chance to fall on one of the available chairs, starting slightly when the wheels at its bottom carried it slightly backwards with her weight.

As the creature in the tombs had told her, Pithy had retreated to one of the higher floors, choosing one of the available offices to camp in. The mage had walked around the vicinity, tapping her rapier on specific points along the office level as she weaved a threshold around the area.

It was a weak thing, not a barrier that would bar the path of those who approached, but a subtler spell that would alert her should something approach her campsite.

She pulled herself closer to the office desk, and deposited the three items she had gathered that demanded closer inspection. First came the phylactery she had been given, the thing beating rhythmically like a real heart. Then came the one she had taken from the badger. This one was completely inert, as hers had been when it had first been presented to her. Lastly, she placed on the desk the family portrait Oren’s drone had left for her.

Pithy leaned back, looking at the three items. Distractedly, she reached for a small pile of wrapped bars she had found while rifling through the nearby offices. If she had found a bottle of liquor in one of the upstair offices, it was not terribly surprising when in some of the rooms she found small envelopes of what purported to be cereal, chocolate and what she assumed to be candy.

Taking a moment to savor the rare treat, Pithy picked up the badger’s heart with her free hand. Sharpening her focus on the object revealed little she could make sense of.

She frowned slightly as she turned it over in her hand. Was it different than the time she had examined her own? Part of her felt that the enchantments woven over it had weakened. The possibility existed that, had she given it to Actaeon, it would have served as little more than a bauble.

Not that I ever intended to let him wear it, she mentally added. It did her no good if the beast was bound by the same rules as her. That was the reason why she had not alluded directly to the phylacteries, saying only that she had the means to make him a competitor. The beast would have had to keep her alive if he wished to be made a part of the Crucible. It did not matter, in any case. Actaeon had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with her ploys.

She removed her gloves, holding the cereal bar with her mouth, and ran her fingers down the rubbery length of the heart replica, stopping only to tap at the glass surface at its center with a sharp nail.

Setting down her food, she grasped the beating heart. It may have been her imagination, but its surface felt cooler to the touch than the other one.

Having acquired both an active and dormant artefact made this a perfect opportunity for study. A single sample of an alien enchantment told her little, but as she focused her senses on the two objects, she began to see where the threads of energies connected, and where they pooled and flowed. It was a far cry from revealing the entire purpose of this magic, but rather than needing to decypher every single thread in the tapestry, she began to make out the distinct parts that comprised the spellwork.

There was one part of the phylactery which seemed similar to other connections, but in both cases was inactive, and in the physical object seemed to lead off into nothing, as if incomplete. Pithy turned it in her hand, looking at a metal point jutting out of the object.

’If one of you dies, your killer’s phylactery will absorb your soul. There are other ways, but I can sense I’m going on too long already.’ An interesting thing to gloss over. Was it undesirable for the College that the participants found these other ways? If so, why would they mention them at all?

Even then, Pithy angled the empty phylactery over her own, bracing herself.

Then, she pierced the rubbery belly of the beating heart.

“Hah…”

Nothing, not even a tingling down her spine. The heart continued beating, even with the metal stabbed into it. Pithy separated the phylacteries, setting both of them down on the table.

She leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.

Did I guess wrong? Or do both artefacts need to be active for a soul to be collected in this way? Even if it worked, what would it do to the owner of the soul? If her soul had been separated from her body and placed on the device, and indeed she had felt something very much like herself in her own phylactery, she suspected they could survive the transfer as well. The problem with the idea was that such a thing by itself would leave the enemy alive as well.

Unless that was not how it worked.

‘You’re a couple dozen separate groups dead set on making one another dead.’

“Groups…” she mouthed. Not individuals. Why had Actaeon said that? Was there a possibility that he knew more than he had said? What had he overheard during his forays to the city that he had thought was unimportant, or decided not to share with her?

Pithy grunted. In any case, she would not learn more from the phylacteries themselves. She needed a test subject, and the closest one was back in his lair and likely on guard against her. Knowing this, she slipped her own over her neck and once again tied the badger’s heart to her belt.

That left the portrait she had been given after defeating her first opponent.

Pithy had hoped her mind had been playing tricks on her, but under the calm light of the office building, the features of the two adults were unmistakable. The woman forced herself to breathe evenly, trying to soften the tension that had crept onto her shoulders.

She could not remember their names, nor their family name. Like her own, those had been stricken from her memory upon her exile, but those visages had not been taken away.

There had been a time where she had been prepared to never see her parents again outside of her memory, but this city had a way of toying with her expectations.

The crispness of the image was outstanding, beyond that of a painting, making her believe that this might have been achieved by the mysterious technologies of this place. Such a portrait had not existed in her own world, she knew. The couple was facing her, smiles filled with a radiance that felt blinding to her, and the two flanked a smaller figure, arms resting on its shoulders. The child between them was—

Not me.

Pithy closed her eye, then opened it again. The features of the smaller figure were blurry, so that she could not see them properly. It did not matter. There were only two individuals who would pose in such a portrait, and they wore the same face. All she knew was that she would not be the one who should be in such a thing.

Her fingers caressed the image, as though tracing the white sleeping gown the child in the center was wearing.

Then, she extended her senses. The moment she touched the portrait, a sob wracked through her. The paper slipped through her fingers, and a hand instinctively went to her chest, as though trying to still her heart.

The feeling that had gripped her when she had graced the enchantment in the image did not leave her mind as she forced her breathing to slow and willed her lips to cease trembling. She reached to her good eye with one hand and found an errant tear streaking down her cheek.

She glanced meekly at the portrait, the image facing down on the ground, and gingerly knelt to pick it up.

The desire to go back. Longing for a better time. Intense and pure, like that of an ailing child. She understood that what was housed in the portrait could not be called spellwork. It was closer to a wish. A desire held so strongly that it had manifested in the world as a kind of miracle. One would not be wrong in saying this scrap of paper is haunted.

Judging by the impression dwelling in the scrap of paper, it would work to preserve something. This much she could tell, though the nature of the phenomenon made the conditions upon which this power would be unveiled unclear.

She also understood that the enchantment would not had had such an effect on her if it there had not been something within herself that echoed the sentiment. She turned the image on her hand, studying the smiling faces of the ones who had raised her.

Thinking back half a century, she could not deny that that had been a time of light and warmth. Her family had coddled her, given her everything in their power even in her weakness. It was more than many could have asked for.

But a gilded cage is still a cage, and tenderness and goodwill are not enough to lift a curse or heal disease. Though she had seen those smiling faces, there had never been pride when that gaze reached her. There had been affection there—she had long become unable to lie to herself about that—but there had also been a sadness that had haunted her since she had first become able to perceive it.

Mayhaps the issue was not in having a noble soul, but a proud one. No matter the warmth it was surrounded by, such an existence could only be miserable if it could not find worth within itself.

In that regard, the latter majority of her cursed life, moving on her own power, had been filled with both greater freedom and satisfaction.

It was much too late for such thoughts, in any case. The rest of her kind may have had eternity to nurse their regrets, but dwelling on them would only rob her of that luxury.

Knowing this, Pithy stowed away the paper and reached for the switch that controlled the room’s lighting. She would need rest if she was to fight at her peak, and felt that this office was as safe a place as she would find in this city.

---

Within the sandy tomb, Actaeon returned to his room. With practice born of habit, he pulled a bone from an urn to gnaw on as he lay upon his chair.

“Gain every soul, child,” he murmured aloud through his chew, “Wake the machine, and I will see you again.”

---

A woman’s body convulses.

Human, though that is not what matters. Despite the pained grimace twisting her pale features, it is clear she is still young. Short, auburn hair plays over her closed eyes as her head shakes. Her clothes are coated with dry blood, torn above the gut, but the flesh under it is whole and healthy. Not too long ago, she had been lying over a small mound of corpses.

A thin, silver blade is poised over her form. It twists, and sigils drawn on the dirt under the woman flash for an instant. A sound like chiming bells is heard.

Eyes fly open. Lungs drag in a ragged, needy breath as though their owner had been moments away from drowning. The woman turns over, coughing, gagging, head hung low so that the evening’s shadows fall over her features.

The one holding the blade, an elven woman of long raven hair donning a blue cloak, merely waits..

Eventually, the coughing ceases, and the woman cranes her neck to look up at her company. As shadows flee, a wry smirk is revealed on the woman’s lips, teeth glinting like white knives.

“Ah, if it isn’t the elf that extended such gracious courtesy to my host. I should thank you.”

“I’m not doing this for you.”

“Nevertheless—”

“The girl isn’t aware of your existence.”

There is a spirit hiding inside this woman. The elf had come across a ruined caravan not too long ago, and had found the creature among the corpses of the guards hired to defend it.

“And yet you knew the moment you laid eyes on us, didn’t you? And to be able to call me out like this… hah. Most impressive.”

“Not as impressive as what you must have done to possess her.”

At this, the thing with a woman’s face cocks its head. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, dear.”

“There was a broken spear besides her. Her armor had a hole going from front to back.”

“And there was blood, bile and piss everywhere, yes?” The thing chuckles. It must have found the thought amusing. “Death is rarely dignified.”

“So you revived her.”

A widening smile answers the elf’s statement. The elf knows it would be useless to ask how such a thing was possible. She knows there was a wound going through the woman’s abdomen, and that there was none now. So she instead probes for a motive.

“Why?”

“You should know better than most.”

The elf’s eyes narrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The thing lets out an uproarious laugh, loud and sudden enough that it makes the elf start. “Ah, you are delightful, but you don’t need to play coy here. Don’t think I can’t tell why you are so interested in us.”

There is anger in her now, and it can be clearly seen in the cast of the elf’s shoulders, and the way the grip on her rapier tightens. Still, she plays along. “Oh, and what would that be?”

The thing tilts its head, ‘is it not obvious?’ written plain on its host’s face. “The soul can be likened to a fire, elf. You have taken something within you, just like this girl. A gate from which a blizzard rages, fanning the flame. Such wonderful opportunities can be born from such an arrangement.”

“This power is my own,” the elf hissed.

“Indeed,” the thing readily agrees. “For now. Until the day it drowns your flame. A Wraith understands, you see. We must! That which binds is bound in return!” it says, and erupts into another round of cackles.

The woman gestures with her rapier. The thing freezes, eyes wide in surprise, before they roll back. The woman slumps, unconscious once more.

The elf maiden glares icily at the unconscious woman before her. A flash of white at the edge of her vision grabs her attention, and she about her surroundings, a pair of blue eyes darting across the forest scenery to ensure there had been no witnesses. There is nothing there to be found.

It is almost night, and there is a nip in the air.

---

A low rumble, and the feeling of small particles falling from above her roused Pithy from her slumber. The woman opened her bleary eye and glanced up, only to spit out a curse as more dust fell from the ceiling.

Pithy stood, fumbling slightly as the office chair wheeled back on the opposite direction. Before she had even steadied herself, the tremor ceased as quickly as it had started.

The elf glanced about warily, deeply conscious of the fact that she was still deep underground, but the building seemed as steady as they had been the night before and there was no indication of another quake starting up.

As her concern began to dissipate and the cobwebs left her mind, her thoughts slowly turned towards the dream she had seen.

It was an old memory, one that came to her more and more often as of late. The dream in and of itself had not been terribly accurate. She had not yet gotten ahold of her rapier at that point in time, for example, but there had indeed come a time where she had found an existence that was similar to her own.

As dreams were wont to do, the gaps in the dialogue she had failed to remember had been filled in, but she could clearly remember what the spirit had said through the woman’s lips.

“A flame, a blizzard, and binds…”

This chance meeting had taken place before side-effects had began to appear. When the woman had awoken the next day, unaware of the conversation Pithy had shared with her passenger, Pithy had agreed to escort her to the next settlement. The pair immediately parted ways once they reached civilization.

Had Pithy found the woman today, she would not have let her out of her sight.

However, this was once again dwelling on things she could not change.

She parted her long hair with one hand, combing it with her fingers, and froze. Slowly, she picked at the flowing hair, revealing white strands hidden within the raven locks. There were more urgent matters afoot.

---

It took her the better part of half an hour to work her way back to the Justice Hub’s surface.

She had entered the citadel before the first drop of water, but the appearance of ponds large enough to block some of the facility’s made it clear that the previous night’s weather had been fierce.

A crackling sound from nearby made her flinch, and her hand went to her weapon.

“Good morning! Your friendly, neighborhood announcer here!” Oren’s voice slipped out from something on her person. Pithy pulled on the chain on her neck, withdrawing the phylactery from its resting place.

“Before you ask, lemme just say: we don't know what the hell that explosion was for sure. Honestly, a lot of weird stuff is going on, and the grand old Inquisitional College has let me know that we're not standing idly by.” Pithy confirmed that the announcer’s voice was not also coming from the phylactery tied to her belt. Perhaps it was seen as unnecessary now that the badger was dead.

However, Oren’s message piqued her interest. An explosion? How large must it have been for me to feel the tremors while underground? It occurred to her that one of the other participants may have had something to do with it, but if the College did not know of its cause, that seemed unlikely. Perhaps it was for the best. Pithy was not particularly enthused by the idea of facing something with such destructive power.

She listened attentively to the contents of the message, some of which she had already learned from the tomb-dweller Actaeon, down to its conclusion, and held the phylactery up in front of her once the message was delivered.

Up until then, the announcer had communicated with her using familiars, so it had not occurred to her that the phylactery would be a means to deliver information to the participants. What was truly worrisome was if, as Oren had implied, the link was two-ways.

She licked her lips, hesitating for a moment, then spoke into the artefact. "Oren, has my enemy left the Governance Hub?"

There was a moment of silence before Oren answered. "Not yet, but he's moving quickly. He asked for something to do, so I sent him after a disturbance in the northeastern end. He'll be there soon if he doesn't hydroplane into a brick wall."

Pithy nodded stiffly, then put the device away. She was not entirely sure what ‘hydroplaning’ was supposed to be, but that hardly seemed relevant. If sounds could be communicated through the phylactery, it was entirely possible that her exchange with Actaeon had been overheard.

But when he spoke of Echoes, he said only locations had appeared. Would that mean Actaeon lied to me and did not come with those tombs, or that Oren is not aware of his existence? She grimaced. It was possible he had simply not mentioned it to make her believe she had not been overheard.

One way or another, she had been naive to think the College would not have means beyond the familiars to keep the participants under surveillance. At the very least, it would pay to keep in mind that Oren had the means to listen in on her. Perhaps more, if the phylactery held other hidden functions.

Pithy began to walk, heading for the direction she knew to be east. She had failed to find anything of note under the citadel, and with a deadline imposed on her, it would no longer do to sit and wait for her opponent to reach her. Perhaps she could make a move on the enemy while they were busy with whatever objective Oren had left for them.

In any case, the announcer had suggested she head that way in the first place. Finding where Oren was housed could open its own set of options.

The pressure set in—the pressure of having limited to to navigate a labyrinth in a city potentially under siege with limited time. Like a constant nagging, it dwelt unwelcomed between Cyril's ears, shortening his temper. Very soon he grew sick and tired of the samey-looking houses, but his steeled himself with the knowledge that he was on the right path this time. As he grew closer and closer to the cluster of unique buildings in the distance, he needed to gain a vantage point less and less, but the dual efforts of jumping and jogging around left him a little short of breath. The vanguard stopped and put his back against one of the brick mailboxes, sliding down until he was seated on the ground. Idly he watched the front of the house he found himself before, for this one sported a unique fountain inside the curved walkway that led to the front door, and before long Cyril breathed as steadily as the fixture babbled. Standing up, however, brought a new and troubling revelation in the form of a hollowness in his belly. Recognizing the sensation in an instant, the knight scowled. “Idiot,” he told himself. More than likely, the abandoned home in which he spent the night contained food that he might have helped himself to. He glanced sideways at the building with the fountain. “Do I really want to waste more time?” he wondered aloud. Of course, he knew the answer. For now, he'd move on, carrying his punishment for the rookie mistake of not scavenging when he had the chance.

His face full of irritation, Cyril continued on his way. To maintain the greatest possible tactical advantage in case of attack, he strode down the center of the street. There were enough rubber-wheeled, metal carriages around to serve as cover in a pinch, but a Knight Sylvestre put unflinching trust in the integrity of his shield. Tap. Tap. Tap. The butt of Cyril's glaive sounded off against the asphalt, its tempo swelling bit by bit along its owner's anticipation as he approached his first destination. Finally, the street opened up into a wide lot that lay alongside the structures he'd been seeking, dotted with more cars. Cyril's eyes were drawn to the cheery-looking pair of buildings, in particular the strange-looking pumps outside the father one, but he ignored them for a moment to sidle up to and kneel by one of the cars. One of its doors was open, despite the night's winds, and on the ground next to it were the saturated remains of a brown paper bag filled with groceries. Though by no means a picky eater, the vanguard hoped that he wouldn't have to resort to eating that garbage, even if there was what appeared to be a protective sleeve around the meat. Pondering for a moment why someone would leave goods laying around on the ground to go bad, he turned his attention to the store in front of him. Polblart Neighborhood Grocer, the giant green-and-red letters above the door told him. Inside, he could see the answer to his hopes. One halberd shaft to the glass door later, the vanguard was inside a place that he expected some might call heaven.

Food, and various packages of food, occupied every surface. Giant crates of produce dominated one area, and he made a beeline for them. Many sat on shelves that he found, to his surprise, to be chilled, and outfitted with miniature sprinklers to prevent the vegetables from going bad. Cyril laid down his weapon and reached into the mist, washed his hands, and then grabbed a carrot the size of a gladius. It was gone in mere moments, despite its size, and out of sheer wonderment the man paused before moving on. No wonder there were so many houses; a place like this could feed an entire city from his world, if it were restocked regularly. It was nothing less than a smorgasbord, and he realized that if he could figure out some of these technologies, he might be able to make life back home a lot better. Coming here might have been the best thing that ever happened to me, or my world, he mused, wide-eyed, before his expression turned sour. If I survive. He could not afford to let his amazement distract him. Someone out there -many someones, actually- wanted him dead. With renewed speed, Cyril hurried around the market to assemble and devour a healthy, not-too-large meal, and to stock up on provisions in his sack. He kept his weapon close at hand, a feeling of dread having settled upon him.



When the priestess reached out for guidance, the spirits came again in earnest. This time, more kami answered her call, though not all of them quite as helpful or appreciative as those who communicated with Juniper prior. Word had, it seemed, spread quickly in the spirit world. Lurking just out of sight, in the shadows afforded to them by the east's rising sun, more nebulous eidolons watched and listened. The more benevolent kami kept an eye on the intruders and provided what help they could, but when asked for a 'destination' required a little more specificity. Inquiries about the Wishing Machine were met with collective befuddlement. If such a thing did exist, they led Juniper to conclude, it wasn't within their territories. They could, however, tell of a strange energy coming from the south.

Given the current status of the tournament, however, investigating paranormal activity wasn't exactly on Juniper's checklist. Finding her next opponent was more pertinent. Under normal circumstances finding a single human in even a few city blocks would have been a long and arduous task, but the remarkable rarity of life within the City of Echoes allowed the kami to point Juniper in the general direction of her imminent foe: a cluster of neighborhood shops. Unfamiliar names were used, like 'gas station' and 'convenience store', but her guides guaranteed her that following their advice would mean a quick rendezvous with someone who meant her serious harm.



A moment's stunned silence answered Bonesword's request, though he could tell that the line hadn't given out because he could still hear Oren breathing. The Crucible's announcer, it seemed, suffered from slight congestion. A few moments passed before a snide chuckle, barely suppressed at all, reached him through the link. On that noise's heels, Oren's voice came in a low, flat tone. “Yeah, alright buddy. I'll help you out. Calling one now.”

“Ring, ring,” said he.

“Hello?” came his swift response.

“Hey, I got a guy who wants to talk to College staff,” Oren inquired. “Ya know anyone who might fit the bill?”

“Well, sure,” he laughed. “I'm College staff; they're paying me to oversee all communication, after all.”

Pleasant surprise rang out through his voice as he exclaimed, “Gee willikers! In that case, Bonesword here has something to tell you. Why doncha talk to him direct?”

“No problem,” he agreed. There was a brief pause, and Oren addressed the skeleton once again. “Good morning, my calcium-enriched friend! I'm with the College. What's all this about clowns?”



The repeated impact of wooden rowboat on metal sent a sudden and reverberating clamor through the derelict ship, shattering the serenity made of little waves washing against the shore, the breeze whistling through the hull, and a low, steady hum of electricity from within. In the first couple of minutes, however, nothing jumped out at Saria, and neither did any suspicious movements filter through the edge of the swordswoman's vision. With any immediate danger out of the way for now, and the shipwreck's ambient eeriness not a problem for a hardened slaughterer, Saria could explore.

Only a few minutes' inquisition into the wreck would be enough to determine that there was more to it than met the eye. Above a certain point in the interior, there were visible additions. The floors, slanted like the entire ship, had been converted into a staircase. Rooms on the staircase sported platforms that lay at such an angle on the slant as to make a nearly-level surface, and on these platforms were a variety of furnishings far too clean and industrial to have been a part of the vessel originally. Several of these converted chambers appeared to be laboratories, recognizable to Saria even if far more modern than she might be used to. One was botanical in nature, containing various plants in hanging boxes arranged like shelves, each one basking in a different amount of light courtesy of the hooded bulbs implanted in the bottom of the shelf above. Another lab bore walls lined with terrariums, each containing a small animal or two, ranging from lizards to hamsters to tarantulas. Most striking of these was a large, cylindrical glass tube in the middle of the room, floored with soil and containing a tall thorny brown bush illuminated by brilliant spotlights from all angles. One cable led from their hub into a hole in the ceiling, and the other to the window, where a miniature solar array was attached. Visible in the profuse light of the exhibit were several garden snakes, each about eight inches long and a half-inch thick. They did not react to Saria's entrance whatsoever, and slithered around without a care.

Other cabins included a mechanical workshop, a bedroom, and a bathroom. One appeared to be a pool, but featured telltale clues of having been lived in. Designated by the sign, a metal ladder led up to the deck. Up there, everything was remarkably shipshape save the lifeboats, which were missing. One thing stood out: a flag tied to the railing, with a capsule wrapped up in the cords. Inside the capsule was a piece of paper.

Final log of Dr. Francesca Marini, former genetic and cybernetic specialist of Talon.

Though they all have abandoned us, one by one, I have endeavored to finish my work, but in the end I have selfishly chosen life. The fuel has run out; by tomorrow morning, the power will shut off, and Specimens 1, 2, and 3 will escape containment. Given the results of my testing, there's no better place for them to escape than a shipwreck where they'll be marooned, but I cannot say if this place will hold them forever. If you're reading this, I urge to you to call an airstrike and destroy this ship ASAP. I have already taken everything of value; there's nothing here among my research but a fate worse than death. I don't know what lies on the shore of this strange City, but my niece and I will take our chances. We picked up the tracking signal for subject T-030 “Brucie” last night, and will attempt to rendezvous. Dio sia con voi.

End log.

From the main deck, the soothing sounds of wind and sea could be enjoyed easily, but the hum of power was nowhere to be found.



About two hundred and fifty meters removed from where the myriad structures of the Holy Grounds formed a crowd, and on a slight incline next to the single river that lay downstream of the Mosque that stood atop the trio's convergence point, the Old Basilica stood--an old man rising to greet the day. Hewn of rough, dark gray stone, and roofed in tiles of a rich, rusty color, it possessed a single, unadorned steeple and ashy brown doors thrown open. It gave the impression of a well-used outskirts church visited by soldiers on their way to or from war, praying for victory or offering thanks for surviving the conflict. Curiously, unlike any other building in the region, it showed signs of outside interference. Like an aged establishment undergoing renovation it sported some scaffolding, plastic veils over the life-size statues to either side of the entrance, a sort of foam walkway leading in, and posts embedded in the earth around the perimeter with solar-powered lights on their tops and lengths of cord connecting them. Even without entering, the church's visitors could catch a glimpse of something inside that didn't belong.

Through the entryway, down the central aisle, and on top of the dias that once held the communion altar, a bizarre machine sat like a resting beast. In terms of approximate size and shape, it wasn't too different from a steam locomotive. Pipes, compartments, fins, ribbing, and a whole host of other doodads and shapes adorned its cylindrical surface, most of it sporting the metallic black-blue of obsidian. In the front, where the engine's chimney might be, a circular portal four feet across contained a recess that poured the same inner light that shone from other parts of the contraption more faintly. On thought, this hole appeared to be sucking light in, and intensifying it into particles just as they entered the eye. If Runch took the time to count, he'd number thirty-three pits the size of his palm surrounding the recess in a circle, all dark. At waist height, there extended from the machine a little podium that bore a dial very much like the face of a clock tower.

Everything about this huge, unnatural device screamed 'other'. Yet, its purpose wasn't hard to identify. Before the pirate stood nothing more and nothing less than the Wishing Machine, the purported miracle engine that would grant anyone's innermost desires had they thirty-three souls to spare.



With very little difficulty, Oren flat-out ignored Jin's interruption, and addressed Sophia's question instead. “I very, very much doubt it. Call Clotho an outstanding case of bad luck. As I mentioned in my announcement, things are moving and shaking in the 'oh-so-quiet' City of Echoes, but nothing else really suggests much of a connection to any other competitor. I'll look forward to your reply, 'Centi'-phim!”

The announcer swiveled in his chair to check the computer screen that showed a map of the entire city, with colored dots representing each of the contestants according to the GPS trackers hidden in their phylacteries. Jin and Sophia were close, given their starting locations, but some distance separated them still. As much as he wanted one of the fights to get underway, he felt that figuring out what the giant bird-thing was took precedence. Taking off his glasses, Oren groaned and rubbed his eyes with his palms. Just a little more than a half-hour in, and already his retinas were buzzing from overexposure to screens. There's just too much to manage. When ya gonna get me outta this dump, Barnaby? He stood up, plodded over to the window, and threw it open. Light streamed in over his pale hair and skin, and jokingly Oren gave a hissing noise before glancing out over the City. From his vantage point in the echoed tower, he could see a huge chunk of the Governance Hub -flooded as it was- and a little beyond. For a few quiet moments he stood there, until he could ignore his setup no longer. The Crucible's announcer plopped back into his chair, took a sip of coffee, and waited for the next event.



A few moments passed before the com channel with the announcer came online. When the phylactery let loose, it wasn't with a helpful reply but with the telltale sound of someone gulping down a drink. A distinctive clink told the perceptive captain that the drinker's teeth had hit ceramic in the course of the consumption, and it didn't take a genius to put together material and time to assume that Oren was polishing off the last of his morning coffee. When he did answer, it wasn't in any way related to Teller's request. “Y'know, in terms of breakfast we're very much alike, you and I. Scavengers, doing the best we can with what we find. No complacent citizens, we've seen enough of the world to know how to survive. Of course, I don't know much about you, and you know very little about me. Well, any good relationship starts with getting to know the guy. As such, here's a tidbit for you: for me, today started with a tub of yogurt, a banana, and jam slathered on nontoasted bread. I drank some nice juice straight from the bottle, and I opened the coffee bag I've been saving for today. Your friendly operator needs all the energy he can get!”

Oren chuckled. “Of course, I'm not the one ya wanna get to know better. I'll honor your request,but I'm tellin' ya all this to make up for how much of a waste what you're askin' is. Lemme just say your next opponent ain't exactly the chatty type. Without further ado, allow me to present: Smiley!”

Click. The demon's phylactery mic switched on, but without the depths of the gluttonous monster's stomach, vocalization would be nigh-impossible even on the nonexistent chance that Smiley was aware of his prospective enemy's attempt at communication. Oren's line, meanwhile, vanished without a trace, leaving Teller to enjoy the fruits of his first call for help.

Bonesword took a minute to remember what he could before he spoke about the clowns he had encountered the day before. "Yesterday I had a run-in with a group that I think fits the bill of being anomalies within this city. I may be some kind of undead, but these guys were zombie clowns. They act just as silly as any old clown at a first glance, even defying basic physics to do so by fitting into those small cars, which is probably to give some kind of false sense of safety to lure in any humans as prey, then I believe they eat them. It's hard to say, mainly because I didn't actually witness them eating people..." Bonesword took a pause before continuing. "The clowns also do not naturally speak any kind of intelligent language, at least from what I could tell. I made a few puns to introduce myself when this Watch cloaked me, and the 'head honcho' from what I could tell thought I was acting to propose an idea for better prey. I don't think they really cared enough to speak intelligently for long, though."

Bonesword paused again, thinking if that was any sufficient amount of information to tell the college before he continued. "I also have some info about these... 'echoes', although it's just speculation. Mind if I speak about what I'm thinking?

@Roughdragon1@Lugubrious

The reference in Jin’s comment about being a predator went completely over Sophia’s head as she and the announcer finished their business. While it was good that she wasn’t having to attack a fortress every round it still pissed her off that had happened in the first place.

She let out a snarl at the centipede based butchering of the name of her holy profession. There was a loud thud, followed by cracking and then a considerably louder crash as the referenced limb brought down one of the smaller fire weakened trees. She hated that this clown was her line to the collage, but finding out what the xeno’s where up to was important, so she would tolerate his awful sense of humor for now. She could deliver her righteous fury upon him later. They would all pay for their part in this.

A few moments later she commenced walking towards the supply cache and once she had calmed down, spoke with the human on the other end of the connection. Maybe this one would be less of an asshole.

”Sit tight. I’m coming to you. I have some business to attend to first though, so it’ll be” She made a rough guess of how long it would take to resupply and then get the drone up to get some better readings of the bird thing ”about an hour or so”

There was a moment of silence as she considered what to do with this communication line, the only sound her trudging through the muck on her way through the forest she had torched. In the distance however, she could see where the burnt shafts ended and untouched woodland began, the edge of where the fire had reached before the colossal downpour from the previous night had quenched the flames. Whoever had been put in charge of the starting positions had clearly not considered the consequences of putting a flamer wielding nun in the middle of a tone of firewood. Or maybe they had and considered it preferable to having her burning down the town.

”So”

Perhaps she could reach this human, to have him join her in ending this heretical tournament before more human souls were stolen.

”Have you accepted the God Emperor of Mankind as your lord and savior?”

Unseen to everyone Geromory, the mutant currently being puppeted by a fragment of that Emperor's soul, performed a double facepalmed combo in response to her introduction.

She breathed out, and opened her eyes, ending the ritual.

A gas station, and a convenient store. Juniper had never heard of a gas station before of course, but she had heard of gas. And of gas refineries, gas forts, and even of those gas outposts. Gas was something valuable in her world, and those who had the fortune of having the means to produce them tended to have the heaviest fortifications. Gas moves vehicles and machines, and hence those who controls gas, often controls a lot of thugs. A convenient store was something she assumed to be what it was called. A store that was convenient, though she had no idea what would be convenient to store in such a place, considering what would be convenient to store in one place could be different depending on what the owner wants.

So that would mean a store of something, and a gas 'station' she could only assume to be heavily fortified. Probably have one or two old world guns to guard it too. Hopefully the store had something edible in it, and that it wasn't inside that gas station. She haven't had anything to eat the last day, and all she had to drink was some of the rainwater.

Giving one last goodbye and thanks towards the doctor, she started walking towards the gas station, feeling her recently stitched up stomach. Juniper could probably take on an entire gang, at least if they were of the same caliber as those anons she fought. It would be those rare few who could actually fight in this world that she had to watch out for. Like that huge demon she saw in that room.

She cannot let anyone win, but at the same time, she was loathe to win this tournament.

Using up souls to fulfill her wish was something a demon would do. Not that she was willing to just lie down and die; should she be attacked, she was more than willing to engage in self defense.

Her stomach grumbled, taking her out of her line of thought. Sighing, Juniper continued on her way, feeling slightly disappointed she couldn't get much more information about that wish machine.

Runch and his newly enthralled associate, or "mate" as he called Serhan, stood before the Old Basilica. Even compared to the rest of the structures around this building was a testament to the burden of time, and the perseverance of a strong will standing against that time. The pirate's eyes opened wide in wonder. It did not matter that it didn't have the same mystique as the Cold Monastery, or the splendor of the Three Rivers Mosque. This building, this basilica, held a quality uniqur to itself. Something he couldn't quite identify or put into words. It was just... It. The Old Basilica.

The two approached, and Runch caught sight of the additions. The lights, the added walkway, etcetera. He furrowed his brow a bit, thinking. "Someone has great interest in this place. The College must have setup shop here, methinks."

"Or whatever group caused that massive explosion earlier today," Serhan added in a neutral, somewhat spiteful tone. He spoke as though talking down to an idiot.

"What makes you say that, mate?" Runch inquired, tilting his head, either completely missing or completely ignoring the assassin's condescension.

"Whoever had the resources to affect this city on such a foundational level surely has the manpower and resources to extend their reach in other manners."

"I hadn't thought of that. You'll be of great use to me yet! Omnomnomnom!" Runch laughed deep, the joy practically bouncing from his belly. "Come to think of it, Oren did mention some new 'factions' that have been showing up. I suppose I shouldn't take anything for granted."

Serhan did not respond, but the two of them caught sight of... Something inside the Old Basilica, through the open doorway. Some sort of strange, large machine. Without acknowledging one another, they took off toward the thing in question. Up the stairs, through the doorway, and up to the dais that the monolith-like technology. Runch stopped in front of it, while Serhan strafed about the whole machine, taking in all of its details. The captain placed his open palm on the circle, rubbing his fingers into a small recess that seemed to serve the purpose of containing something. But what would one put into it?

"So many pipes and pieces and doodads. And all these little bowls on this circle. I wonder how many there are?" Runch spoke mostly to himself, so he was surprised when a voice answered him. He nearly jumped, but mentally reminded himself of his current companion.

"Thirty-three," Serhan answered simply. Thirty-three. Curious. That was how many fighters were in this contest the College sponsored. That's how many souls the machine was supposed to ta-"Oh. My. Gooseberry." Realization set in, and the captain slowly turned to face Serhan, who had taken place near Runch's right. The assassin was looking over the strange light illuminating throughout the machine.

"This is it. We've... We've found the machine!" His words started as barely a whisper, overtaken by shock, but his natural joy and excitability soon bled through and his voice became a shout. "We found the wishing machine! Omnomnomnomnom! We found it! Omnom!" Serhan was taken by surprise as he found himself victim to a large bear hug. Unable to fight back, he protested with the face of disdain. A few seconds later, the pirate captain released him, clapping a hand onto the Turk's shoulder.

"This means we're ahead of the game, mate! Omnomnom!"

Serhan fought back the urge to spit in his "master's" face, rationalizing that he couldn't fight back against anything the pirate did to him in response. "What do you mean 'we?' My soul hangs by your neck, my body follows your will against my own. I am a tool in your arsenal to victory, infidel."

Runch shook his head, never once dropping his grin. "Don't get the wrong idea, you're my mate now! Once this whole tournament business is done, I'll be returning your soul and everyone elses to boot! You can go about your way from there, but until then we're one more step toward victory! Omnomnom!"

Serhan sighed a mixture of irritation and relief. He wasn't sure what to make of this old fool. For now it would be best just to move things along. "Yes, well, at the very least we won't have to waste time locating the machine in the future. Assuming the College staff were not simply going to tell the winner where it sat."

"That's the spirit, mate! Omnomnom!" The captain clapped his hand on Serhan's shoulder one more time, but then brought his tone and volume down a bit. He was still jolly, but spoke with a more serious edge. "Now, the additions here are probably from the College, but there's no guarantee that nobody else is here. I say we scout around a bit, see if we can find anybody else. Well, by 'we' I mean 'you.' I may be an honorable man, but I see the merit in preparation, aye?"

He gave a knowing wink to the Turkish hitman, who could not help but shake his head. "You are not as much a fool as you make yourself out to be. Maybe a little." Serhan turned to scout the rest of the building.

"Omnomnom, I thought you found that out when I beat ya!" the Cereal Killer called out. Laughing a moment longer, he turned back toward the Wishing Machine. All glee dropped from his face, replaced entirely by a steely stare. His eyes could pierce brick, his mustache could cut diamond. The machine was here. He had found it first. With any luck, and a little preparation, it would stay that way until he came back for it later. Extending both hands toward the machine, he began to pour on his powers. Hardened wheat and grain streamed forth like liquid slurry from twin firehoses. The cereal kept coming and coming and coming, splattering around the machine, but never touching it. The moment it made contact with a solid surface it solidified. Cereal, denser than steel, harder than most quartz. He poured it on and on into a protective dome, covering the machine from every side and angle, then recoating every side again and again. By the time he was done, the Wishing Machine was kept inside a dome six feet thick in all spots of ultra dense, incredibly hard cereal.

Wiping his brow, Runch took a look at his work. It wasn't the most pretty, but by golly it was efficient. It'd get the job done.

"What in Sam Hill is a 'Smiley'? Well, either way, Oren made it sound like I won't get much outta it."

Ceasing his work on his trap, Teller sighed and mumbled to himself "Course, it ain't ever easy, is it?". It took Teller the better part of an hour to finish his work, though at least his armor kept him musically entertained as ever. With his work done, he climbed to the top of the structure, a few stories tall, and sat down for a moment as he thought of how he was gonna play this. Of all the folks he'd seen, there weren't many that would seem to qualify as non-vocal. The demon, probably that damn ogre, maybe a couple who weren't so obvious. Either way, he figured he'd plan on it being the demon or the huge ass ogre thing, both of which fell right into his plan. As he mounted his observation post, he opened his helmet visor and allowed some music, courtesy of Yumiko, to blast out at full volume for all to hear, playing from the same speakers his voice would be projected from if the helmet were closed.

His 'auditory beacon' now active, he shouted again for Oren to hear "Alright then, point in the right direction eh? Or if you wouldn't mind, send the other guy my way, either one works for me." After the chaos of the first day, Teller now had at least a game plan, and a fairly acceptable idea of who he may be fighting. Not to mention he now had more tools, in the form of the stealth box and...well whatever that mask did. Having only lost a trivial amount of ammo and one fragmentation grenade so far, it looked like he could go into his next fight strong. As he waited for Oren to answer, he scanned the surrounding streets for any sign of his foe, his trained eyes also picking out places to dart to and potential escape routes if the battle went south. Yessir, things were finally looking up for the commando, and he intended to keep them that way.

The sound of the Range Rover's engine and the rushing of water were the only sounds in the surrounding area, if one were do ignore the commotion in the distance. "Well, yeah," Mountain replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world with a hint of annoyance in his voice. "This is a Range Rover, man! It was built for this kind of thing." He stepped on the gas, the car accelerating at a rapid rate and creating Kelvin wake patterns as it pushed through the water. Mountain took one hand off the wheel to adopt a thinking position. "Hmm, artefact, huh?" He smirked. "And a reward? Heh, you have my attention."

Nearing the intersection, Mountain suddenly pulled on the handbrake and twisted the wheel to the left. Immediately, the car lurched to the side as Mountain performed an impressive powerslide; a perfect ninety-degree turn. Waves generated by the sudden turn crashed into sides of buildings lining the road as he stepped on the gas, the car speeding off without a hitch as its Maxxis Buckshot MT754 offroad tyres easily gripped the submerged road surface. Mountain pulled out his HTC and attached it to a convenient phone holder on the windscreen. He switched it on and opened up Google Maps. There was a location ping somewhere up ahead, a quest marker. Location plotted, he returned to the announcer.

"Alrighty! I got the location plotted up ahead. You mind telling me what the place and artefact look like, though?"

Eyes Tentacles Without A Face Body

In due course, Motley and Erina came across a building that did contain food and potable water, and wasn't practically drowned under a layer of water. Since he didn't need the sustenance, the vampire allowed the kitsune to have her fill, remaining outside as she ate in order to keep watch. As it happened, they'd been travelling due south for a time, and were starting to draw near to a set of ruins just shy of the historical village, visible now somewhere down the road they were travelling... over. Most of the area was still extremely flooded, and things only looked to get worse as they entered the ruins in question, and what seemed to be the religious district beyond them. He imagined it wouldn't take more than a few minutes to get there at the rate they were moving.

Assuming they didn't experience any setbacks, of course. Naturally, reality didn't want to be so kind: one moment, he was still, pacing toward the water's edge, and the next, something had lashed itself round his right ankle and begun to drag him toward the depths with significant force. Surprised for but a moment, Motley promptly smashed his left foot into the ground beneath him, anchoring himself in place even as the lash- a tentacle, from the look of things- continued to try and pull him away, hard enough to force him into a split, and then to break his shin in half over the anchor point.

'Okay, then,' Motley muttered to himself, gripping the tentacle back, 'A tug of war it is.' He yanked hard, pulling up a lot of extra tentacle, before grabbing another handful and pulling again, only to find himself experiencing a lot of resistance. Shortly followed by none at all, and then a lot more of the tentacle than he'd expected. Had he pulled it off of whatever sea beast he was trying to outpull? It did continue to move and coil round him, which was perhaps usual for a tentacle, considering how many nerves they had in them compared to the rest of any given mollusc's body. Or was that specifically octopodes? He'd never tried to find out if it applied to squids as well...

Not that it mattered, because it turned out the tentacle belonged to neither of those things. There was a lump attached to the opposite end, but the lump was undamaged and smooth... and had teeth instead of a beak, arranged within what seemed like a gurgling vertical mouth with no eyes... wait, no, the creature did have eyes, only they were up at the gripping end of the tentacle, and that did make sense when he thought about it, since it needed to see what it was dragging down to consume...

Is any of this theorising important? he mused, returning to standing and grabbing the tentacle thing below its head as the mouth lunged toward him. Idly, he took a controlled breath to send his Black Ripple through its form, drawing a shrill scream out of it as it shrivelled and died, before concluding that it probably was not important after all, since this creature was essentially irrelevant to his distant future. Perhaps it was unique to the city he was in? In any case, he didn't expect to see any others like it again.

He pirouetted off of one hand as another three tentacles lunged toward him from the murky depths, flipping back toward the house and taking stock of what was being presented to him: rather more of those creatures than he'd expected, and though he could probably take them all out himself, he did have an ally who might be somewhat more threatened by them if they realised she was alone in the house. Which was a shame, because he was about to draw them to her anyway.

The sight he came across as he entered the house's kitchen was a tad messy. Just a few smatters of food here and there, nothing much, but Erina appeared to be chewing a mouthful of some sort of dry cereal. He felt as if what she tried to say next was 'Hey, Mot! You should have some of this, it's really good!' but since she was talking through a mouthful, the words were lost to him. Just in case it was that, though...

'Never call me "Mot" again. I don't appreciate the nickname. Also, swallow your mouthful. Tentacles are about to attack you.'

She seemed confused for a moment. She stopped being confused as a couple of the tentacles barged into the room behind Motley, whose contribution to stopping them was mostly physical chops in this case, and just diverting enough that his ally could safely swallow her mouthful, then take on... yes, that was it. The same aspect she'd taken at the end of their fight, that of the old ghost by her side. The warrior of the two, he noted to himself, as she drew the blade at her hip. Immediately, she'd sliced a tentacle in twain, and then another, and another...

'Could you help out here?' she asked as she fought the tendrils off. 'These are pretty fast for their length.'

Well, another one had just tried to curl round his leg, he supposed... stamping it down, he began fighting the creatures again, beating them to make a path out of the house, beckoning for the fox-girl to follow. He supposed he could probably use his Ripple here, but... well, he rather wanted the physical challenge against these animals, more than the generic success of just wilting them all away like so much dead grass.

There was a Shadow.

For all intents and purposes it was a normal shadow - an area on which the sun did not shine directly, due to the rays being intercepted by something physical. The very same applied here, which would have made the shadowy ordinary, had it not been for where it was.

Eclipses were not unheard of. In fact, where Lily came from, there existed beings who could create en eclipse if they so desired. But eclipses were the product of the moon blocking the sun, and covered enormous swathes of land. This, however, was smaller. And the shadow was not so much on the ground.

It was on the clouds.

Above even the clouds, was something so large that it cast an enormous shadow upon the clouds, shrouding the city of Echoes in near-perpetual twilight. It was as large as Draco - a nickname the dragon had grown fond of - when he unveiled his true form, perhaps even larger still. And it just hovered there. Silent. Looming. From this distance it was difficult to decide exactly where exactly it hovered. It was not directly above, that much she could tell, but even then only a general direction could be ascertained. North, she thought. She didn't know what was that way, except more of this city that posed as their arena. What even was there in this city? Oren had alluded to more treasures, like the enchanted flask she had received, being spread around the city, and even possibly obtainable should they help out some of the College staff, should she encounter them. It was a risk, seeing as she could never know exactly what she'd end up getting, but it was also an opportunity.

If all artifacts were of a similar level of power as the one she had received, then hoarding them might become a very valid tactic in the coming battles. If her estimations, based on what she had witnessed from it up until now, the Flask could severed limbs, and perhaps even otherwise mortal wounds. It was not an estimation she wanted to test, but if it ever came to it, at least she would have a solution. Moreover, it was an incredible trump card, being able to fully, or partially, heal her own wounds. If done stealthily, it could trick her opponent into believing her possessing innate regeneration, which would damage their morale seeing as they could not harm her - as seen from their perspective. At worst, they would know that she had a means to restore her vitality, and either seek to remove it from her, or beat her into submission with such force that she could not even muster consuming the elixir.

Enemies like those were her favourite. The easiest to outmanoeuvre.

Those were thoughts for later, however, as Lily, Brucie, and Mouse were outside. For the first time since their arrival in the case of the former two. The 'Drone' that Lily had spotted earlier had departed, allowing them to move without worrying about being spotted by some alien machine, of which they knew nothing. They now stood in the shade between two large warehouses, looking up at the sky; Brucie to Lily's left, Mouse to her right. The elixir she held carefully in a tail, letting the others form a cocoon around it even as she, and they, moved, preparing for the coming confrontation. She had expended all of her lightning yesterday, and so needed to store up as much as possible. She also still wasn't sure why Mouse had decided to stay. She had given him some food and a warm place to sleep, as well as company. But aside from that she had done very little for him. It certainly wasn't enough to earn the respect of most animals, but this one... It spoke of previous interaction with humans, or those similar to humans. Question was, who had he been with until then? At the end of the day it was an unimportant question, but still a small curiousity she wanted to quench at some point, if the chance revealed itself.

She brought her attention back to her surroundings, looking up the narrow alley they were in. It led to a wider road and the main entrances to the buildings themselves. She had a good idea of what was up there, even without a lot of prior knowledge of the area. All she had seen so far had been a bird's eye view of the surrounding lands when she first arrived, and though that told her little of the specifics, it gave her an idea. Disregarding the obvious entrances and more warehouses, it would lead to something of a main street in the district. But not one to take chances, Lily motioned for Brucie and Mouse to stay. "Stay here," she said and moved forward, her steps making nary a sound as she moved - just one of the perks of becoming what she was. Graceful movement had become second nature.

She reached the end of the alley in short order, having kept her tails up off the earthy ground so as to not kick up a dust cloud. Peeking around the corner, weaving a simple illusion around herself to make her less noticeable, she looked around. It was pretty much as anticipated with multiple doors to huge hangars, most closed and some opened, but nothing in the way of movement or signs of any recent activity. She glanced up, towards the roofs, and saw only a helicopter fly by, easily audible even from so high up. Other than that, however, there were no immediate threats so she waved at Brucie and Mouse to follow. The dog, surprisingly, moved even before Brucie did. And also moved with significantly less noise. I suppose that is what I get for teaming up with a guy like him, she mused.

"So what now?" Brucie asked, having the foresight to keep his tone of voice low, even if the gruff and somewhat grinding quality of his voice made it split the quiet easily.

"I'm not sure. The main road, so to speak, is here. And I'm sure it will lead somewhere, but I don't know exactly." She cast a glance at Mouse who had begun sniffing the immediate area around them, either out of curiousity or because he had found something. For now, he simply seemed curious. "I also don't want to just walk out there. Far too many angles of attack. Even with my hearing, I won't discount the fact that there are contestants in the tournament who can sneak up on me. And even if I were to be dumb and risk it, there's still my next opponent. I don't know where they are, so I could risk walking in the wrong direction."

Brucie seemed unconcerned, speaking as Lily had come to expect of him: Bluntly and informally. "Why don't ya just use one of those questions that pun-guy offered everyone?" She had spoken of the message to him during their dinner, and the question brought made her consider. Why, indeed, hadn't she?

"I don't want to waste it," she lied. "Not only that, but the guy's an ass. Don't want to deal with him." Last one wasn't a lie. But I can't just say that I had already forgotten about it.

Brucie, however, did not seem to catch the lie. He simply shrugged. "Up to you. Do whatcha wanna do."

Of course. Of course he'd say that. Sometimes he was like a slave, bound to share only her opinions unless ordered otherwise. But then again, it fit, didn't it? She had his soul, the thing most precious to him. Why would he not do as she pleased? ...Why indeed? She glanced at Brucie out the corner of her eye, keeping most of her attention on the mouth of the alley. He had been very enthusiastic about killing her when first they met, but now he was like a loyal friend, following her wherever she went. He even acted like a friend around her - albeit a rowdy one - something which she had never expected. Was this a common thing when you took someone's soul here? Did their allignment, so to speak, change? Did they actually become akin to friends to whoever defeated them? And if so, would they actually fight for them? Brucie had expressed interest in getting into fights, but was that for his own enjoyment alone, or would he actually be willing to fight alongside her, for her sake? And on top of that, would that mean that the more opponens someone took alive, the largr a fighting force they could have? It was something to consider. A question to ask. But later.

Now she had to decide what to do. Brucie had given her a good idea: To call upon Oren and ask for the direction to her opponent. It would be the easy thing to do, but she only got to do it three times. First, she wanted to rule out other options. That meant trying to find out if her opponent was nearby without the help of that... person.

She crouched down and put a hand on Mouse, getting his attention. "Do you smell anything?" She asked, not quite sure if she expected an answer or anything. He had been sniffing around quite a bit in the last few minutes, but he didn't see to have caught any interesting scents. The slight tilt of his head and flopping of his ears, however, told her about what she expected: He understood exactly nothing of what she had said.

Well then, she thought, forcing her ears to lay down across her skull, putting her hands over them to block out as much sound as she could. She then closed her eyes and, hoping against hope that she could smell anything herself.

The result was expected. Nothing. She could smell maybe a little bit of dog, and possibly sea water, because of Mouse and Brucie, but aside from that there was nothing. She removed her hands from over her ears and stood up again, earning a questioning look from Brucie which she pointedly ignored. Of course. Sense of smell increased just enough for cheese to get even more disgusting, but not enough to be actually useful. Joy. She eventually sighed and resigned herself to the fact that she would have to seek help from the single most obnoxious individual she had ever come across.

How someone can ever be more annoying than Sindri. Granted, he was at least interesting, Lily mused, and absently tapped the phylactery with a nail. She eventually mustered enough willpower to summon Oren. "But there's no button," she muttered out loud.

Brucie, having remained silent up until this point, looked over her shoulder and down at the phylactery - Lily to put a hand over her cleavage. He, however, paid no mind to it. "Why don'tcha just talk to it? Figure if there's no buttons, it's voice activated?" He blinked at the look she gave him, prompting him to continue. "Ya looked like you wanted to contact the guy like I said, and then mentioned no buttons. I figured it's cause you didn't know how to contact him." She shrugged his mechanical shoulders. "Just talk to it - him."

A part of her wanted to whine that he was irritating, but another - stronger - part of her wanted to just get it over with. That, at least, wouldn't make her appear petulant. So she grabbed the Phylactery by one of its syringes, pulling it up so that she could see it. "Oren," she began, "I need to speak with you."

Peppy as ever, the announcer's voice came in response only a few moments later. "Hello again, fluffer! Fraternizing with the enemy, are we? Then again, I really liked ol' Brucie, so in a way you're doing me -hell, even the world- a favor. I mean, the dude's like a mech shark! Or shark mech. AND he likes my puns. Could you ask for better?" He chuckled. "I guess you're asking for yourself, though. What can the great and powerful Oren do for you?"

I pity his parents. "You said that you could point us in the direction of our next opponent," Lily said tersely. "So tell me, where is he in relation to me?"

"I did say that, didn't I? Well, if I had to hazard a guess based on the tracking chips implanted in his phylactery, I'd say he's roughly in the realm of exactly half a mile west-northwest of your position. To be frank, I fear he's grown complacent in his recent victory. It'll be up to you to set him straight."

Obnoxious or not, Oren had given her tangible information to go on. No vague statements, only poor attempts at humour and wittyness. She ignored his last comment and instead looked to Brucie, who had overheard the conversation and was currently wearing a broad smile. Whether at the compliments toward him, or the ever-dry "fluff" jokes. She quickly decided that seeing a shark smile was even more off-putting than hearing a fomorian laugh.

"We head out," Lily said, craning her neck past the corner of the building. There still weren't anything of interest out there. "West-northwest he said. That means it's roughly-" she looked to her right where the main road lead to what she assumed was to more populated areas, then to the left where it seemed to lead to little but a junkyard. Granted, there were still buildings, but they were more run-down than functional. The ground was sand instead of dirt, too, and in the distance she swore she could see tiny shapes moving. Whatever, or whoever, these shapes were, they were brazen and unafraid. And there were more then one of them, which mean that it was either a potentially safe place to move in the open, or it an unsafe place: It all depended on how they treated newcomers and intruders.

Hopefully well.

She walked out on the main street and looked around her, and when no one sprung out to attack her she waved for Brucie and Mouse to follow. The road steadily transitioned from packed dirt to packed sand, and occasionally a mix of both dirt and sand. As they approached more and more of the metallic constructs in the distance became visible, and soon they were able to see a great collection of just about nothing. There were machines seemingly all over the place, spread haphazardly around with no clear pattern. She walked between two multi-armed contraptions each several times her height, uncertain what even this thing was supposed to accomplish.

"Looks like some junk yard for failed omnics," Brucie mused from behind her, drawing Lily's attention. She glanced at him over her shoulder, receiving a shrug. "Thinking robots where I come from. Went rogue some years ago and resulted in a war. Still trouble to this day."

Self-aware robots? That was something. Even where Lily came from they didn't have that kind of sophisticated software. Granted, they did have the ability to create pseudo-aware life, in the form of golems and the like. This did, of course, require someone capable of infusing the empty shell that was the golem with pseudo-life. Their respective worlds aside, what stood silently and lifelessly around them were metal giants, good for nothing but scrap or serving as a source of spare parts. By the looks of it, there had already been some parts stripped off of some of them. A smell of oil and dust permeated the area, much like an old workshop from Lily's world. It wasn't entirely unpleasant, but certainly not entirely pleasant either.

A quiet whimper came from somewhere close behind her. Turning around she saw Mouse backing away from a bipedal mesh of metal and wires - back towards her. It stood looking at them near soundlessly, only a series of muted clicks and sounds of spinning parts gave away its functionality. Its single, large, mechanical eye blinked at them like a camera shutter once before it turned and walked away, its movements stiff and purposeful. As one would expect of a robot, Lily mused. At least it hadn't shown itself as being a threat, even if Mouse had been frightened by it. She knelt down and ran a calming hand over his neck and back, straining her ears to listen for any other movement in the vicinity. Perhaps luckily, that one robot was the only one near, and had just let them pass.

"No other robots nearby," she muttered, only loud enough that Brucie could hear. Straightening, she turned her back to where the robot had been, once more facing the towering piles of discarded metal junk and alien machinery. "Oren said my next opponent would be about half a mile this direction. If I'm not mistaken that probably means almost one kilometre, give or take a few. And that was well over ten minutes ago. So I would guess that he's somewhere in a radius of three hundred metres of us right now."

As she spoke, mostly to herself more than Brucie and Mouse, the former of the two stood and half-listened, his thoughts going somewhere else. Once Lily had finished her contemplations, Brucie cleared his throat to get her attention. "Say, fl-Lily, you mentioned fighting and such. I was wondering... would ya mind if I tagged along in 'em? I mean, you're strong and such yourself, but it can't hurt to have me on board. And I also noticed yesterday, when I asked about your tactics, that you never even mentioned me. I just... lemme be honest. I wanna fight. It's boring if I don't."

Lily met his honest - could sharks look honest? - gaze with a lifted eyebrow. One more so out of surprise than disdain. He had mentioned that he'd rather stick with her and find some ruckus to cause than just go back to normalcy, hadn't he? Not only that but he'd made it pretty clear that he would have just gone around, trying to find trouble on his own if she hadn't accepted his offer of staying with her as an ally. But he was right, she hadn't considered him when she planned how she would approach her next battle. She had always been a soldier, never an officer. She had received orders and fulfilled them, and sometimes when her orders were as simple as to just cause havoc, she had relied on her own capabilities more so than her fellow fighters. It had just been the way Demon-Class shifters like her fought. I suppose that's why I never became an officer. I'm not a very good teamplayer. She grimaced, looking past Brucie.

Thing is, he was right. He would be an asset, not a liability. He had the brawn and durability that she did not, and even with most of his ranged equipment destroyed, he was still a force to be reckoned with. He hadn't ever actually seemed to be in pain whenever she attacked him, and a soldier that wasn't deterred by pain was a terrifying to behold. So long as they knew their limits and didn't take hits for no reason, they were a force to be reckoned with.

In the end, Lily gave Brucie a nod. "Alright. You do cover for some of my weaknesses. I don't have any solid plans, but most likely you would be most useful to me as a distraction and front-line fighter. I may be fast enough to outrun a car, but I don't have the durability that you do, so if I suffer a solid hit, that might be the end of me. Having you on the front-line, however, will help at great deal. Sounds good?"

A broad smile stretched across Brucie's visage, his rows of teeth being as eerie as ever. He let out a hearty chuckle and, still grinning broadly, banged his chest. "Of course it sounds good! I get to pummel some sod into the ground? Couldn't be better. But now we only need to find him."

Despite herself, Lily couldn't quite help the smile that tugged at her own lips, the shadow of crow's feet appearing at the corners of her eyes. "Good to hear. He'll be relatively nearby. Look for someone who's human - I don't think I saw any robots when the rules were announced - that will most likely be our guy."

"Will do, Boss-Lady!"

Brucie's eagerness was infectious, and Lily felt her smile broaden, showcasing her long canines. "And you, Mouse," she whispered, scratching him behind one ear. "You make sure to stay near. Got it?"

Mouse sat down on his haunches, mouth opening and tongue lolling out. She chose to interpret his doggy grin as acknowledgement.

Jin kinda just shrugged off the fact that both of them ignored him and he sat down to look at the sky. Weird as fuck. They talked some more about Clotho then Oren signed out after making some sort of pun. A pun which his opponent didn't seem to like judging by the loud crack he heard coming from her side of things. "I don't think I caught your name. I'm in, shit was I supposed to give my real name or the one they gave me at the start of this thing? Sunspot, let's say my name is Sunspot I guess."

”Sit tight. I’m coming to you. I have some business to attend to first though, so it’ll be about an hour or so.”

Jin shrugged and yawned a bit. One hour to do prep work on the battlefield. He had no problems with that whatsoever. To start with he gathered various sticks and dry crackly stuff and layed it all over, that way she couldn't sneak up on him without making noise. Next thing he did was make sure his gun was fully loaded, 6 shots. As he prepared his battle ground her voice came through again, sounding exceptionally awkward.

”So... Have you accepted the God Emperor of Mankind as your lord and savior?”

Jin didn't really know how to respond to that so he stopped for a few seconds to think over his answer. "Well I kill people for money. And fun. I think whatever religion exists I'm going to hell. So unless your religion is cool with pointless murder than no."

Saria waited, and waited, the sound of water lapping onto the half-sunken ship the only thing she heard. She took a quick look around the ship, an eerie quiet hanging over the air like a thick carpet. She tensed up, ready for something to jump out of her.

After a few minutes of silence, she relaxed and began to casually stroll around the interior of the ship.

Hmm, I was expecting something to attack. I guess this ship is less dangerous than I thought.

Strange instruments and glass containers dotted the room, and plants hung onto bowls that were suspended on the ceiling, each with its own light source. What they were meant to do, she didn’t know. Some puny snakes were also visible behind the glass, harmless.
Saria took a ladder up to the deck of the ship, where everything seemed relatively normal, despite the deserted-ness of it all. A red flag was tied to the side of the railing, with a small capsule blowing in the wind along with it. She quickly took the flag and untied the capsule, opening it and retrieving a rolled-up piece of paper.


Final log of Dr. Francesca Marini, former genetic and cybernetic specialist of Talon.

Though they all have abandoned us, one by one, I have endeavored to finish my work, but in the end I have selfishly chosen life. The fuel has run out; by tomorrow morning, the power will shut off, and Specimens 1, 2, and 3 will escape containment. Given the results of my testing, there's no better place for them to escape than a shipwreck where they'll be marooned, but I cannot say if this place will hold them forever. If you're reading this, I urge to you to call an airstrike and destroy this ship ASAP. I have already taken everything of value; there's nothing here among my research but a fate worse than death. I don't know what lies on the shore of this strange City, but my niece and I will take our chances. We picked up the tracking signal for subject T-030 “Brucie” last night, and will attempt to rendezvous. Dio sia con voi.

End log.


Shite, the Specimens!

She heard a creak coming from the inside of the ship where she had just emerged. Whether the noise was simply a random noise, or a deliberate one, she did not know. Startled, she looked back down the ladder, the yawning darkness creeping up to embrace her in its deadly grasp.

While rummaging in his little sack to make sure his provisions were secure, Cyril happened to touch the overlarge screw again. Even glancing off its surface with his knuckle sent a shiver down his arm and into his spine, not of cold but of something more akin to queasiness. It just felt off. Leaning against a crate of melons, he pulled the freaky object from the bag and stared at it with tired eyes. “What the hell are you?” he questioned in a whisper, turning it over in his hands. It wouldn't phase into his skin if he touched its column with a part of his body that wasn't big enough. Cyril got the distinct impression that the object didn't just slide into the body as a form of hands-free safekeeping. There must be some sort of trick; his experiences back home convinced him. In their efforts to manipulate, oppress, and destroy humanity by whatever means necessary, some of the cleverer and more magical demons created talismans or other enchanted objects infested with all manner of hexes and curses. He knew that another squad in the army had found and sacrificed itself to destroy a mirror that, when used by a human to view his or her reflection, corrupted the human into a demon monstrosity based on his or her own sinfulness. Was this screw a cursed object? The announcer had said to stick it in his head. Knowing him, Oren had been joking, mocking, or both, but maybe he had been telling him how to use it.

The screw felt heavy in Cyril's hands. Something new had occurred to him. The tournament's organizers wouldn't just hand him something to kill himself with. Even if it did something horrible to him, if it helped him win and fulfill his wish, wouldn't he take it anyway? The scope of his dream lay far beyond his own life, sanity, or dignity. Was there anything he really wouldn't do to bring about an end to all evil? Such thoughts troubled him. After all, he couldn't even be sure that the Crucible would really grant a wish, and that was just the start. Breathing deeply, the vanguard tightened his hand around the head of the screw. “God, don't let this hero's journey turn me into a monster. Please.”

Ding-dong

The tone—the sound that played when he walked through the Grocer's automatic doors. Someone was here. After tying his sack and pushing it beneath a produce shelf, Cyril grabbed his glaive and with a flourish brought it into running position. He moved, quick and quiet as his armor allowed, toward the building's front entrance. If not for the clamor of his gear, he might have tried to stay quiet and observe the newcomer, but he knew that after being taken unaware like this there was nothing to do but to face the unknown head-on. Halberd in his left and screw in his right, he rounded the corner of an aisle and slid to a stop on the polished brownstone floor.

Before him stood a woman with black hair, clad in flowing white and red and bearing eye-catching musculature in the one arm she appeared to have. Her right bicep, her fingers, and both of her bare hips featured an astonishing amount of scarring. One word flashed through Cyril's mind: tough. The ruggedness of her physique made for a serious contrast with her stark, somewhat ceremonial clothing, and to the vanguard it warned of dangerous latent power. He didn't imagine a threatening attitude would get him far with her, but he felt compelled to represent as well as he could a resolute knight, weary and detached perhaps but not lacking in fortitude. Raising his halberd up, he slammed its butt on the shiny floor, and from beneath his bristling mustache asked in a loud voice, “Have you come for my soul?”



In contemplative quiet Oren heard the skeleton out. Ranting about clowns typically did not bode well for one's sanity, but the announcer treated Bonesword's report as though it contained the murmurings of a saint. After every pause he interjected an insightful yet somewhat patronizing, “Hm!” but before long Bonesword had nothing left to tell. “Magic cannibal clowns, huh...? Well, that might explain the other things our radar has been picking up beside the choppers and the big one, if they're also evil aliens with flying saucers. Even for the Crucible, that's pretty in-'tents'. Circus tents, that is. Not past tents, but future tents.” Oren did not care so much for specific aspects of clown physiology or psychology as he did their abilities, movements through the city, and implications. If all these clowns wanted to do was to eat people, they'd starve to death in a city populated solely by powerful fighters, if they didn't die trying to snag a snack or two. In that case they stood as little more than another wave of mooks, but Oren couldn't help but figure that there might be something more to these clowns than met the eye.

Bonesword asked if he could give his thoughts on the 'echoes', and Oren punctuated his reflexive shrug with a sigh of exasperation. “It's your time, buddy. Do what you want with it. I don't know if you'll have figured out any more in a night than the College Researches did in a hundred or so, but who knows. It might even be kinda 'humerus' to hear you try! Neheheheh...”



'Slithering' wasn't quite right to describe the noise that grew louder and louder, more and more intense, homing in on Saria's position. It sounded more like ripping: the indiscriminate, heedlessly brutal tearing of everything in the path of an unstoppable force. The ship itself shook, moaning and rocking like a diseased animal, until from its guts the infestation surged forth. A black mass, far too large for the passage it took, exploded out of the boat's main deck. It shot skyward, a dizzyingly fast tree sprouting from steel, and as a tree would it branched outward. In the light of day the shape became apparent. Evocative of a snake, it far more closely resembled a living nightmare, for from its main body dozens of other trunks split off in different directions to become fanged heads. The aberration's maws -and there were many- did not adhere to the typical hinge-like arrangement most mouths followed, and instead opened in myriad directions often too stuffed with fangs and smaller snakes to even come close to closing. Heads, it seemed, were not necessary for mouths to exist, and many split the mottled, corrupted scales themselves. Venom-drenched fangs stuck at random from the hideous thing's armored exterior, causing toxins to drip down its body to be flicked at by the countless forked tongues.

The air became filled with a bowel-churning, hair-raising rasp, a chorus of tortured, hateful hisses and noises simply unidentifiable. Steam rose from the wretched hide of the Writhing Worm, exposed as it was to the pacifying light, but any reprieve would be a long time coming. With agonizing slowness, the abominable serpent bent toward Saria, its howl low and full of raw, bestial fury. The ship continued to shake, heavy vibrations coming from down below. A half-dozen heads cracked wide to issue forth razor-sharp, predatory shrieks before shooting forward to bury themselves in Saria's body.



Mountain's explanation of his vehicle's make earned a scoffing noise from his artificial heart. “Yeah, well, sounds like nonsense to me, pal. Water's got to be a foot deep on some of those streets. If I didn't know better I'd say you're cheating...or maybe your power is reality bending to make things as convenient as possible? Gotta add that to my list...” A few minutes passed.

When he made the request for additional information, Oren's voice turned smug. “Why, no, friend! I don't mind at all if you want to spend your second call to get some additional info. Here's the scoop: the place looks like a parliament building, Classical-style, but it's actually an art gallery. Big, weird statues out front. They're all moderny. As for the artifact, well...we haven't recovered it yet, or really gotten a good look, but we know it's in a sculpture just inside the gallery's main entrance. Happy hunting!” The line went dead, leaving Mountain alone with the sounds of a high-strung motor and splashing water.



More than a little annoyed at the audacious music being blasted by Teller, and at being obliged to shout through it in reply, the announcer offered the soldier a succinct response. “Leave the Village! Head toward the tallest buildings! He's near what's left of Main Street, having fun with the new residents!” As soon as possible, Oren cut the line, leaving Teller to find his opponent more or less on his own.

The Fungal Knight - Echoes

"Sweet deal." Bonesword didn't know if any of it would help, but he figured that they may be able to use it. Maybe not, doesn't necessarily matter to him. "I spent the night in this museum, but that's the unimportant bit. What's important is that I think it was some sort of 'Echo' as you guys call it. The museum was basically a retelling of a pirate who has manipulation over varying forms of cereal, leading me to believe that it has ties to that one pirate contestant that I may or may not have to fight in the long run." Not that he was complaining about that hopeful matchup. "I think that the echoes are places that tie into the lives of the competitors, but that's just my hunch about it."

The skeleton stopped rambling as he looked back towards the museum. It was now in the distance, as he had been walking into the town while he called. "I'm sorry if that was just a big waste of time, telling you guys."

@Lugubrious@Roughdragon1

She hadn’t actually thought about the alias situation while she had been here. Far more pressing issues at hand she supposed. Considering they had given her the name of her rank/occupation sunspot was an odd alias in comparison. She wondered if it meant something somewhere.

”Sophia or Seraphim. Up to you”

She continued her steady trudging through the woods towards her destination as she listened to Jin

"Well I kill people for money. And fun. I think whatever religion exists I'm going to hell. So unless your religion is cool with pointless murder than no."

Ah, so he was an assassin, or perhaps a mercenary. His phrasing suggested the former. Useful information if this did come to blows. However she thought that maybe it might not, seeing as her religion wasn’t one of those soft ones that preached mercy and compassion. The Ecclesiarchy was very fond of fire and brimstone approach, she imagined Jin might fit in more than he expected.

”with pointless murder? No. But murder with a purpose? The destruction of the enemies of mankind, the purging of the corrupt and the inhuman from this world? From all worlds! ”

The woman's voice rose with a fiery passion through her speech

"Jin, there is no greater service to the Emperor than to destroy his enemies. From the battlefield to their most private sanctums: no-mater where they die every dead foe is one step closer to glory! Join me, turn your skills to a holy purpose and you shall be rewarded. In this life you shall reap the gains of humanity and when you die in his service you shall ascend to the Emperor's table to live eternal."

In the background Geromory become increasingly disgusted with Sophia's preaching.

”Join us Jin and save your mortal soul from damnation! Join me and we can end this charade of a tournament together. With out forces combined we can destroy the xenos filth and heretical technology that infests these ruins. Think to yourself, is what you desire truly worth trusting a machine that devours souls? How could such a device possibly not be evil? It will inevitably betray you and do something awful instead! After all, this used to be a thriving city, the most advanced in the world. Yet you must have seen it, seen the empty streets, the ruins. What if that device is responsible? What might it do if fed again? Tell me your desire Jin, tell me what you crave so greatly that it is worth this risk?”

She finished, panting slightly. By the time she had finished her raving she was almost halfway to the supply cache.

What. The. Bloody. Hell. Is. That.

Saria barely had time to answer her own question before the horrid thing rushed towards her like a wave. She dodged out of the way, the black mass missing her by less than an inch, its black appendages grasping for her legs as she hit the railing, stopping her from falling overboard.

Now on full alert, Saria drew her blade and tried to slice the heads apart, but her blade simply chinked the monster’s rough hide; minimal damage being inflicted, if at all. It was too late to try and dodge this time, and the nightmarish creature slammed into her full-force, bending the railing behind her.

She felt something in her torso give, and a sharp pain shot its way through her body. Blood found a way up her throat. The heads were all over her, grinding their multitudes of teeth onto her armor, the groan and shrill of razorlike teeth upon steel bored into her ears. Luckily, sharpness meant nothing when dealing with armor.

What wasn’t protected from the assault however, were the gaps in her armor, the tiny spaces that allowed Saria to move her arms and legs freely. Those tiny spaces were all the teeth needed, and so they began to gnaw at her flesh. Great ripples of pain radiated all throughout her limbs, and she forced herself to move, to do something.

I will not be consumed by this… monstrosity.

Saria felt an urge rise up from the bottom of her soul. A bestial ferocity, a feral rage, the insatiable impulse to kill. She wanted to let go, she wanted to give in, to let the blade control her. In vain, she tried again and again to cut the nightmare’s rock-hard scales, but to no avail. Over and over, her Red Blade simply bounced off of the creature’s hide, and eventually, more heads erupted from the nightmare’s skin and took a hold of Saria’s wrist. She felt something in her arm crack. If she hadn’t been wearing as much armor, her limb would have been entirely crushed. Even so, she refused to let go of her blade.

Pinned against the railing, Saria could do nothing, the heads chewing through her flesh, the tendrils pinning her sword arm, and her entire body slowly being crushed by the nightmare, which wrapped itself around her like a constrictor. An inner voice whispered to her.

Give in. Give in. Just let yourself go.

Saria resisted for a good while, but many more fractured bones later, her mind surrendered and the blade took over.

For a second, Saria felt nothing. Everything was in slow-motion, and she wondered if this was what death was like: The victim reliving their last moments, eternally.

But then a spark ignited within her, and a blazing inferno was born.
The worm retreated, scorched by the erupting fire that now surrounded the Blood Devil. The Red Blade now fused to her hands, she felt her blood forcibly siphoned into the blade, sharpening it, but such a small thing only made her angrier. She wanted violence, death, gore, bloodshed; She wanted to rip the world open by the belly and yank out its entrails.

The Blood Devil awakened, and let out a scream; not a human scream, not even an animal’s scream, but a shriek of something… otherworldly. Some say that such a raw, violent noise would make both angels and demons cower within their own realms.

The Blood Devil charged forward, as animalistic as the worm itself. Her only instinct was bloodshed, and her sword was her tool. With a single swing, the sword collided with the worm’s armor, cracking the previously thought impenetrable shell and throwing the thing across the ship, which was now on fire due to her flames. She walked over to the stunned thing, and swung her blade down, breaking its scales and causing the worm to shriek in both pain and fear.

Saria brought her blade down onto the worm, slicing it in half. It screamed and hissed at her, but she simply didn’t care. Its cries for help were music to her ears. Successfully incapacitated, Saria cut the worm again, then again, and again, and again, and again, and again, eventually reducing the beast to a pulpy mass of sludge and unrecognizable flesh. She grabbed it by the handful and began throwing chunks of it overboard in a fit of rage, though her frenzy was settling down now that her enemy was obliterated.

After all traces of the thing were gone, Saria lit a burning torch and forcibly cauterized her wounds, gritting her teeth so hard she could’ve cracked a tooth. Limping back down to her rowboat, she pushed it back out and climbed in, her body sore and shaking. She remembered her phylactery, how she was connected to her opponent. Suddenly, everything; the tournament, the contestants, all of it came back to her. Back there, on the ship, she forgot everything about who she was, and cared for nothing but primal rage. It was not a feeling she liked.

She coughed, chuckled, then spoke into her phylactery, her voice raspy and hoarse, but still carrying a certain force along with it.

“Whoever you are, wherever you are, you bastard, I’m coming for you. And I will not stop until one of us is dead.”

It was odd.

She passed several abandoned hulks of metal on wheels, most of them seemingly in very good condition. Juniper wasn't a mechanic, nor was she familiar at all with machines, but she was sure most thugs on her world would have dismantled or repaired then repurposed those machines for something else.

Even the gas station, once she arrived, was bare of anything or anyone. There was no mistaking it for what it was, some of the runes around it were easily deciphered to read GAS. It was Gas for sure, an extremely valuable material for practically everyone on her world; it was disconcerting to see the gas station empty and untouched. Unless it was empty, that was. Perhaps no one had thought to fill it up and fortify this place yet. Satisfied with her conclusion, she inspected the gas station but for a few minutes, before deciding to go to the store. She had little use for gas at the moment, but a store could possibly be useful, depending on what it stored of course.

The store, not too far away, was more like a display than any store she had ever seen or was familiar with. Her own store was a simple windowless store, with a sturdy wooden door. This store... Well, perhaps it was a convenient store by virtue of having everything visible and easily reached. But... The glass door appeared to have been broken, probably recently due to the lack of dust upon the shards. Even should she wish to stay hidden, simply walking through the door betrayed her presence, as the door gave off an odd sound.

Almost immediately, a large armored figure appeared, no doubt alerted by the noise the door made. These sort of armored men were an uncommon sight in her world, but every single one of them she had met, all four, were stark raving mad in one way or another. Even if he wasn't, it did not seem as if he was about to invite her to some tea. Juniper was feeling hungry, but that didn't mean she could not fight.

“Have you come for my soul?”

"Oh?" She grinned. "Was that a challenge I hear?"

"Surely you are one of those contestants." Walking nonchalantly and confidently towards the man, she spread out her arm, as if inviting him to attack her with her seemingly reduced guard with several openings. "Perhaps we can talk it over a meal. A drink? Or perhaps even a game?"

Another potential combatant, and another one she had to check. A murderous cur — or anyone who meant to harm or fight her from the beginning — would jump at the chance of a first strike, and those who wouldn't fight, wouldn't. It was a move that made her seem overconfident, or just someone who underestimated her opponent, while the reverse was actually true. Confidence in her style of fighting, was essential; having too much self doubts was as dangerous as a well trained opponent. Even from her position, she was confident she could possibly deflect that weapon should he charge at her.