Cyril did not wish to dwell beneath that hollow gaze for long. Muscles slack from the exertion, and flesh burning from the pain his adrenaline had dulled, he rummaged around beneath his gambeson for the heart-shaped device borne by every entrant into this wretched Crucible. After his fingers closed around its familiar shape, he pulled it free and held it in front of his face. With his other hand, sore though it was, he pried open his visor to reveal features stained by sweat and grime. A small chip of wood was stuck in the bridge of his nose, though it fell out when the vanguard went to wipe his eyes. Into his phylactery he spoke.

“Oren, I am ready to make my requests.”

For the first time he became aware of the whir of that mysterious metal device; he assumed that he'd been tuning it out this whole time. Would that he could so easily ignore the grating voice that issued from it. “Hehey, short time no speak, tin can. Looks like ya've done a real number on miss martial arts here, huh? Gotta say, I've never seen such a crazy fight in a market of all places-”

“My first request is that you shut your blasted mouth around me unless I talk to you first, and if I do, you answer me in a completely straightforward manner, with no prevarication or moronic chatter. Understand?”

There was a moment of stung quiet before Oren piped up weakly. “That was three things.”

“That was a three-parter.”

A growling noise issued through the microphone, somewhat muddled by the static. Evidently the announcer had to honor this request. “...'Kay.”

The semblance of a bitter smile formed on Cyril's face. “Number two. How do I take the girl's soul without killing her? Explain fully.”

There came through the drone a creak, followed by a barely-audible whisper: ”called it”. A moment later Oren's voice reappeared loud and clear. “Okay, take your phylactery. Needle on the bottom. Stick it into hers. It'll hurt like hell as the link is undone, but it won't kill her. Good?”

Clonk was Oren's answer—the sound of the butt of Cyril's halberd smacking Juniper in the temple. Aware of her toughness even in defeat, he leveraged enough force to put her out cold. In a matter of a few seconds he recovered her phylactery, but instead of immediately siphoning it he laid it aside. Wishing he had access to fire, he ripped up Juniper's white kimono to tightly bandage her legs, staunching the flow of blood. Only then did he carry out the announcer's instructions. The God Hand's body convulsed every few seconds during the transfer, but she did not otherwise stir, and the task was done before too long.

Cyril stared at the side of the device. At a leisurely pace came three lights interspersed by three little tones. He was about to let the pendant dangle when a fourth alit, this one brighter than the previous for a brief moment. Huh? Oh. Of course, Juniper's phylactery contained an extra soul of its own.

The Knight Sylvestre now owned four. He wasn't an eighth of the way to his wish, and already he felt like death. At the very least there would be no more fighting today, so he had leave to figure some things out.

First and foremost was his opponent. After a brief moment of reflection, Cyril felt sure that he hated her. He hated her for what she did more than what she said: she'd made him doubt himself. Going into the battle, she'd derided his dream as the ravings of a madman, too obsessed with his misguided vision to consider the path he'd have to walk or the consequences of his actions. That's not true. He would have been very, very happy to not have to hurt a fly, and even if they were in pursuit of a noble cause he regretted the bad things he'd done. I feel remorse for ensuring the self-destruction of the inventor from yesterday, though he had been a true lunatic, and surely that means I'm not a monster? Yet who could look at me now and not say what I've done to this girl is monstrous?

To deny that punishing her for standing in his way, full of scorn and mockery, hadn't been a little gratifying would be to lie. It was easy to thrust a blade into the heart of a demon since it was a horrific creature of evil, guaranteed to cause untold suffering if left to run amok. It was only a little harder to put down an unrepentant murderer, who was like a demon in all but form. Cyril had been numbed to cutting down rebels, starving bandits, and petty thieves whose backs were against the wall, but he felt none of the gratification from destroying them. This duel had been the second battle in a war he was fighting for himself, for what he believed in. Was it appropriate to delight in the fair defeat of a foe who opposed his ideals, not those of someone who ordered him around? He'd never done it before.

Cyril stood to his feet. He retrieved his fallen shield and replaced it on his shoulder, then leaned his halberd against the wall. As gingerly as he could, he reached down and lifted Juniper up onto his back. He could spite her by leaving her here to bleed out...or he could spite her by proving that he was no madman. Besides, what would the chivalrous knights of old say if he left a poor maiden, who had only one functional limb, to die of blood loss or thirst on some floor? The vanguard almost chuckled to think of it, though it was as much of an acerbic sob. Wincing with every step, he grabbed his weapon and carried his burden outside.

Parked out in front of the neighborhood market was one of those strange, carriage-like machines, this one being larger than any he'd seen before. Beside it stood a hulking man who kept his face downturned. Stopping a safe distance away, Cyril wondered who he was. There were no civilians in this city. He glanced at the open back of the vehicle and spotted a variety of surgical tools, bandages, and other medical knickknacks, including several bags of what appeared to be blood. “Are you a healer?”

The quiet giant nodded.

“With the College?”

Another nod.

“Then I have someone you ought to look at.”



Sand, littered with beach umbrellas and towels disturbed by the previous night's rain, gave way to a stretch of grass, then street. For one accustomed to nature, the transition from shorefront to storefront was sudden indeed. From there lay a maze of squat, colorful buildings, none more that two stories high, both houses and places of business. So prized was real estate near a beach in the City of Echoes that almost every structure here, well removed of the industrious aesthetic and fishy smell of the port on the Amusement Mile's opposite side, exhibited a high degree of attractiveness. Along those pristine roads the lone skeleton strolled, armed and ready for whatever lay in his way.

The low buildings afforded him a decent glance into the distance, and the much taller edifices that loomed there. Bonesword could make out great towers of steel and glass that stretched skyward, and the rotating disc shapes of clown tents that hovered between them like clouds of cotton candy. At the very least, the freaky creeps were a long way off, affording the undead warrior time to explore and prepare.

Had Bonesword a nose, he might have been able to detect an unpleasant smell wafting from behind an overlarge wall of white stone that ran along one of the widewalks. Along its length were windows that permitted glimpses into a variety of different habitats, some sporting various animals. Following the wall led to the complex's main entrance, where empty ticket booths and rotating metal contraptions lay below a large yellow sign with red letters that spelled Roarke Zoo.



The sound of scratching hair could be heard through the faulty drone's mic before Oren responded. “Cactus? Huh? Well, I couldn't really tell ya who this mission would help, but by the same token it could mean life or death for everyone in the City for all I know. I'll just give ya the run-down...”

Kzzt.

The defunct drone sparked and died, now no more than a pile of scrap. It wasn't a minute, however, before the familiar whir of a second could be heard on the approach, and before long the fresh drone appeared from around a corner. It floated up toward Lily, and Oren directed it to give a salute toward its fallen comrade before it fixated upon the kitsune and projected an image of the announcer for her to see.

Oren hadn't changed much since Lily saw him last, other than he appeared to be wearing a purple cape, and about an inch away from his left hand was what appeared to be a golden arrow. He took a breath before, speaking quickly, he began to deliver all he knew of the situation. “The other duel in the East Side -which is the zone of the City you're in- ended just a few moments ago. Captain James Teller and Smiley the Demon duked it out across a subway station and onto a train, which started rolling. Teller was just about to clinch the match when the train flew shot out of its tunnel into a massive pit—the pit that a couple of grade-A bombs blew into the Commercial District last night. The weight of the thing broke through the last layer of rock holding up all the debris, and down they went into a deep, dark hole. I sent a drone down and...well...”

The screen changed to show a different image. It displayed a city in darkness, rather than a stormy sky or starry night, overhead loomed a ceiling of stone. Purple lights interrupted the gloom—purple lights and a single spotlight of sun, beaming down through a hole in the earthen roof that looked to be, in comparison, rather small.

“Boggles the mind, doesn't it? A hidden city, far below the City of Echoes, with such a strange, old-fashioned architecture. That's not all, though. Ever sine the pit's opened up all the way, some other factions have started to move. The unknown choppers that were already in the area have either landed nearby or descended through the hole. The giant crow sighted above the Park is moving in that general direction. Admins are saying this might be bigger than the tournament...an answer to what happened to this place, which is the reason why the College was founded here in the first place. Search team's in the works, but any info ya get if ya go down would be great.”

Oren's face replaced the subterranean city, and this time he was smiling. “Neheh. Then again, aren't we forgetting something? Right now we can't tell who won the fight, but this much is clear: your next opponent is down there somewhere. So you don't really have much say in the matter. 'Nothing so quaint as volition at play here', I guess!”



Pain, to the likes an immortal vampire who unwound the very fibers of his being to deliver the most visceral of attacks, was nothing; yet, this agony was something altogether new and exquisite. Moments after the blast of Runch's decidedly unhealthy Hellberry surprise, Crue's face was already healing, but by then it was too late. The sensation of tearing filled him, concentrated in his head, and he wasn't alone. Heavy Fuel poured from his mouth, manifesting in its full form amidst a series of terrible spasms. Although seemingly impossible for an ethereal being, cracks began to form across its oily surface, spreading and actually pulling the Stand apart. The breakup worsened quickly until it reached a certain level, at which it grew no worse until the pain subsided. Heavy Fuel's tears closed together as the Stand faded away, and the catacombs were quiet once more.

Ten minutes later the good captain pulled a lever in light of his luminescent berries, and a secret door slid open to admit the sunlight. Floating outside, in a scene very reminiscent of last night, was one of the drones belonging to Oren the Announcer. Beside him stood a newer face: the Bashibozuk, arms crossed and face arranged into a sneer.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the flying machine beat him to it. “Well well well, look who's continuing to expand his posse! How in the name of Zentopia did you survive?” Oren's surprise, odd for such a disingenuous individual, appeared legitimate.

Serhen jumped in when he had the chance. “So you didn't get yourself killed. You know, while you were off fighting I had an interesting conversation with this thing. He told me that those defeated but not killed in this tournament are not, in fact, forced to do whatever the winner says. They are only kept from attacking. 'Aggression suppression', he calls it. The rest, a 'placebo effect'.” His dark eyes were as hard and sharp as glass as he sighed. “With that said, I will be leaving you. I have no interest in joining your 'posse' as the construct puts it.”

“The construct has a name, ya know.”

With a curt inclination of his head, which encapsulated all the respect Runch had managed to earn from him in the short time they'd been allied, Serhan turned to depart. For once Oren was quiet, and the purple optic of his drone was fixated upon the trio before him expectantly.



The flames licking at the grass, trees, and buildings coalesced into a roaring wildfire, the second to rage through the Park. From the area the mists cleared away, leaving the place once shrouded in a remote sort of mystique to go up in smoke. Bit by bit the inferno engulfed the campgrounds, consuming the cabins within half an hour, and the still body of the Seraphim way before that. By that time, however, the victor of Settlement's final deadly bout had vacated the premises, spoils of war in hand.



It was a little while before Oren's drone appeared among the trees, homing in on Jin's location. No doubt the announcer had been busy attending to other matters, and his voice rang with a touch of irritation as he spoke. “Another brutal kill from our assassin. Everyone's been wrong to underestimatecha, huh? Usin' the hole to penetrate Sophia's armor...if I had to wax poetic, I'd say a true killer instinct lies behind that douchey attitude. Neheh...” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. The flying machine was not, at the moment, projecting a holographic image of the Crucible's announcer, but it was still a simple matter to tell that he wasn't all there. In fact, a semblance of fear tinged his tone, but it couldn't be -as his words might imply- for Jin, could it?

“Guess your work's done for the day. If you're hankering for some civilization, heading due east for long enough oughta do it.” He leaned away from the mike, muttering to himself. “Jeez, whole forest's toast. That and we've lost our lead on the crow fortress. Still, shouldn't be much of a problem-” The feed blinked off abruptly, leaving Jin alone in the forest with his loot and his thoughts.

This neck of the woods wasn't, however, devoid of features. In the direction Jin had gone, the trees had yet to be touched by fire, and ahead the terrain grew more wild still. The earth rose before him, though split by a river-carved chasm. On one side of the grassy rise, hidden in the shadows of the canopy, lay a hard-to-spot cabin.



“Uuugh...who knew double crossing could take so much out of ya? I haven't even done anything yet.”

Squish, squish. Once his palms had rubbed his tired, frazzled eyes to a sufficient degree, the young man replaced his glasses and waited for the blurriness to fade. He didn't need to see to know which buttons to press to deactivate the surveillance system, but he didn't feel particularly rushed. Oren stood up from his chair, moved a couple steps away, yanked the window shade off, and began to perform a couple of stretches to work out the stiffness. Once his bones stopped popping, he declared the routine good enough and set to looking out the window while he adjusted his cape. Without a mirror he couldn't know for certain, but Oren was pretty certain he looked mighty fresh. “Soon enough,” he muttered aloud before pulling off the cape and stuffing it in a box beneath his desk. With the air of a salaryman grabbing his keys to head off to work, the Crucible's wisecracking announcer snatched the arrow from the desk and started down the stairs.

It was a long climb down, and a boring one. All the nasties had been eliminated by the College escort that established him here in the first place, after all. Not for the first time, Oren was glad that the cocksure sniper hadn't tried to climb any higher than where he'd spent the night. Without much in the way of dungeonesque traps, he would have had to set Mountain straight himself, and there was just no telling how many problems that would have caused. Once he reached the ground floor, Oren leveraged his measly strength to barge open the heavy wood door, and out into the warm afternoon light he sauntered. “Ah, the outdoors. Truly, I have not missed thee.” He put his hands in his pockets and set off.

A couple of minutes later he stood just inside the automatic glass doors of an office building. From there it was only a few seconds' meandering to the appointed conference room, and with gusto Oren pushed open the door. In an instant nine pairs of eyes were upon him. Oren regarded the mostly-unfriendly stares with a carefree grin as he entered and took his place leaning against the walls. At the far end of the room, the most baleful eyes belonged to a paradoxically friendly face, set in the middle of the well-trimmed red hair and admirable beard of Professor Edward Barnaby.

“What took you so long?”

Oren shrugged, unperturbed. “Gotta say my goodbyes, don't I? Anyone thinks I'm not acting like my usual gregarious self, they might start thinking something's...” With unrepentant dramatization he held a hand in front of his face. “Amiss!”

A roll of Barnaby's eyes greeted this nonsense. “Enough games. Do you have it?”

With a light sigh, Oren produced the arrow and tossed it toward the wooden conference table. Despite the unlikeliness of such an occurrence, it landed point-in and stuck there, quivering. Barnaby nodded, sagacious, and turned to the screen behind him. All eyes were on the television as footage of one of the day's battles appeared. The announcer recognizing it without delay as the brutal match between little Ryan and Tyrant. While those assembled stared at the destruction wrecked upon the amphitheater during the course of the fight, he scrutinized them. Having been given access to the employee database, he could rattle off each of their names. Doctor Howell Hallow. The twins, Davian and Aralynn Thule. Pieter LeGroning...'Noseless', he's called. Professor Margaret Fontain and her nephew Sylvester Baxter, not to be confused with our brave Knight Sylvestre. The big man, Professor Edward Barnaby, and his wife Raleigh. Even little Emilia Redsmith, their granddaughter. He glanced back at the screen, which now showed the Runch-Crue fight. The unhesitating use of their powers awed everyone present, save him and Edward, who froze it on a frame of the vampire electrocuting the pirate.

“What you've seen is only a glimpse of what's out there,” the portly man stated in a low voice. “We were amazed by the artifacts we discovered in this unnatural place, but now you know they were only the tip of the iceberg. Any of the contestants in this tournament could level a town, killing hundreds of people, even trained police forces. Magic, incredible technology, forces beyond our comprehension...we must wonder, how can this exist? How is it happening? But those are answers for another time. Rather, for those not present.”

Barnaby gazed with intense eyes at each attendee, one by one. “We must act before it's too late. Now, more than ever, I am sure that the wishing machine will what we have hypothesized it will. I am terrified to think that one of these lunatics might actually have a wish granted, whatever that may be. Could you imagine? We have no clue as to the extent of a 'wish', but would it be possible for someone to wish for world domination? Unfathomable power? The cessation of existence? No!”

His hands slammed upon the table. “We cannot allow this to happen. Director Wernicke was a shortsighted fool to enact this overgrown 'study', and we were fools for failing to see what it would unleash. We have to end this tournament. We have to destroy the machine.”

Silence filled the room, thicker than pea soup or peanut butter. It was only after fifteen full seconds that, from the back, Emilia piped up in a squeaky voice. “...H-how?”

Standing back up, Barnaby clasped his hands behind his back. “Excellent question, Em! The answer is here.” He turned to the screen, still showing the man known as Motley Crue. “His abilities were a mystery to us, made tougher to discern by their sheer quantity. In the end, we were able to deduce that many of his more natural feats can be attributes to his state of being. As best we can judge, the man is some sort of vampire with an exceptional degree of control over his body. That did not account, however, for his degradation abilities. You all saw how he's able to disintegrate the pirate's projectiles or constructions, and wither his body. This occurred separately from his body, but at a consistent range. Professor Fontain posited some sort of invisible barrier, and using a thermal scanner we turned up this.”

The screen progressed through a series of images, each showing an area of heightened temperature surrounding Motley in different ways. “Thanks to this, we have determined that he is assisted by some sort of entity with its own abilities...not unlike a certain pigeon that we discovered along with this arrow in this district's Art Gallery. To be sure, our conclusion involves some guesswork, but Oren tells me that he's put the nail in the coffin. Oren?”

Smiling the announcer spoke up. “Yeah, I used it to shank this crow I found. Blood everywhere, but the instant the arrow's gone, the wound closes. I let it go, and what does it do? First, when it flies past me, I get punched in the face by nothing. Then it flies right into a billboard screen. But uh, not smack-dab into the glass. Inside it. Like, it became pixels in the screen and disappeared behind a tree in the ad.”

Nobody knew what to think of the news, save Barnaby. “There you have it. The means, alongside what artifacts we have discreetly taken, to bring this calamity-in-the-making to a close.” He navigated around the table to the arrow, which he pulled free from the wood. In the bright daylight it shone as brilliant as a star. Its holder smiled as he turned to his left, then his right. “My friends, in every story, the heroes must accept their mantle in order to save the world. I ask you: are you ready for the power to do what's right?”

The skeleton shrugged as he walked into the zoo, wanting to go to a single exhibit that was separated in it's own house from the rest. The Reptile House... or wherever the zoo kept it's snakes. There was, of course, reason behind Bonesword's actions, mainly that he wanted to see if the place had any basilisks so he could simply look at them. He liked the things, and he carried an ungodly association with their life especially after the battle of Arcadia, where his own died.

"... no basilisks... boo. Another day where I can't see Charlie's smiling fa-... wait a minute..." Bonesword started thinking about how the first Charlie came into existence, which were months of dedicated work to training the snake to have a taste for the blood of only demons and angels... plus, Abigail was still alive when Charlie was a baby, and Bonesword didn't want to grow him up too fast because of that.

But Abigail wasn't here, and nor was another Charlie.

At least, not yet.

Bonesword rushed out of the Roarke Zoo and ran to the most open space he could, which coincidentally, was immediately in front of the zoo. He began throwing off his armor as he prepared to do something. Something risky, and something hopefully awesome.

Bonesword pushed his armor to the side as he got in a specific stance, not trying to block or dodge but rather to raise something from the ground. His eyes flickered on and off as he focused all of his powers into the creation of one certain plant. The skeleton struggled pulling his arms up from the ground as it shook, but his stance remained unchanged. As a purple aura surrounded his hands, a small sprout of a single plant rose from the ground, ever increasing in size while Bonesword's hands continued to raise. The sprout slowly turned into a large bulb extending off of what seemed like a long, snakelike body formed out of roots and vines. As the skeleton's hands reached to the top of his body, the plant creation of his revealed it's large head, whilst currently asleep, anyway.

Bonesword lowered his arms finally as the snakelike plant opened it's large yellow eyes at the skeleton, inspecting him for any ill intent towards the snake. A basil-isk had been created in front of Bonesword, and while it was fresh, it didn't need a ton of training this time. Bonesword only had to make sure it knew to eat meat.

"CHARLIE 2.0! YEAH BO-"

The skeleton's shouts of ecstasy were immediately silenced as he fell backwards onto a bench, momentarily unconscious. The basil-isk next to him slithered to his side and curled up, waiting for it's master to come to.

The small badger muttered under her breath as she moved through the snow, the body of a girl draped bonelessly over her like a puppet with its strings cuts. Were she not able to feel the weak breath flowing in and out of the girl’s lungs, she would have thought she was carrying a corpse. She was certainly cold enough to the touch to be one. Luckily, the girl was so light that Jo suspected there would have been little less difficulty traversing the snow without her at her back.

“Curse…”

A freezing breeze had picked up, snow riding with it to crash on the badger’s frame from all directions. It was almost as if she had walked into a dust devil, and she was forced to keep her head low and eyes half-closed to keep herself from being blinded.

“Curse the Reaper…”

Not that there was much to see in that white wasteland. The landscape looked the same in every direction, something that was not helped by the film of fog that hanged over them, making it difficult to see farther than a few feet away. It even made the light seem to lack a direction, as though the light in this place did not come from the sun but from the snow around them.

“Curse the Reaper, bend your back and cheat your sorry grave…”

Jo sang this under her breath, hummed wordlessly for a few moments, and then repeated the words again. They were lyrics to a sea shanty she had once heard about a sinking ship. That line was the only one she remembered, but the insistence with which she intoned the words made it easy to ignore her trembling limbs. It had not taken long for the biting wind to sink through her fur to steal at the heat of her small body.

Nonetheless, something in her gut told her that this was the direction in which she should be walking. Something was waiting for her in this direction. She knew this with a certainty that she could not put into words, but whether whatever was waiting was good or bad news, she could not tell.

Don’t matter when you got nowhere else to be.

Jo glanced up once again, as she had been doing periodically to ensure she was not about to walk off the edge of a cliff, and what she saw made her pause. She blinked. There was a light up ahead, shining through the mist.

The badger barked a laugh and redoubled her efforts, thinking that she might have lucked out and managed to find civilization.

A few more minutes of marching into the snow revealed the source of the light, but it had not been quite what the badger had been expecting.

A large brazier rested atop the snow, a flame taller than most humans she had met dancing atop it. Jo grumbled at this strange apparition, and began to approach. Out of place as it was, fire was fire. They needed the warmth.

As she neared, she realized two things. The first was that, despite the sweltering heat radiating from the flame, all the more noticeable in the cold, the snow surrounding the brazier remained without hints of melting. The second was that she could see no coals fueling the fire. The flame simply seemed to exist atop its plate, standing in defiance of the snowstorm, placidly ignoring the wind that threw snow every which way.

She almost failed to notice when the unconscious girl slipped from her shoulders, but that was fine, was it not? They were close to a fire. Out in the snow, she lacked any form of a chance, but now she could regain her strength under the warmth of the pyre.

And what a strange fire it was. It glowed a yellowish orange, as if fed by wood in a hearth, but if she peered closely at it, Jo thought she could see wisps of white, green and pink flashing through it.

And yet… there was something missing… something she…

“No… stop,” the weak voice brought Jo to her senses.

She had one paw outstretched towards the flame, which flickered barely a foot away from the outstretched limb. The heat coming from the fire buffeted at her, and she stepped away, shaking her head and forcing her gaze away from the glow. Trying to keep herself from looking at the strange brazier, she returned to where she had left the girl.

Her eyes remained closed, but her breathing had turned rougher. Stronger for that, but rough. Had she spoken in her dreams?

Irritated, the badger poked at the girl’s cheek, then lifted one of her eyelids. “You playing dead down there, girl?” A familiar blue eye twitched aimlessly, and Jo let the eyelid close, slightly unnerved by the lack of response.

She glanced around herself, careful not to stare into the fire for long as she tried to consider her options.

---

The sound of the engine thrummed softly as the vehicle coursed through the flooded streets, its driver eerily aware of which roads he could take to keep the water from stalling the device. Pithy had rapidly given up her skepticism after a few blocks had gone by without incident, and had instead settled against her seat on the back of the Rover, injured leg extended over the glossy, dark upholstery.

Her mind was on the events of the last hour, going over the words she had exchanged from Oren, and what she had seen from her defeated enemy.

“A pocket dimension?” she said after a long moment of silence. “Is that where you keep that sword and shield?”

She saw the slight nod from the one at the driver’s seat. His brow was set on a frustrated scowl, and blood stained much of his lips and jaw.

Pithy suppressed a pleased smirk. It seemed he was not in a talkative mood after what had happened.

---

“Cut off your tongue.”

Belying the baffled expression on the man’s face, his body was quick to act. His hand gripped the handle of the offered knife and brought it up to his face, where he extended his tongue. Comprehension had dawned by then, and a panicked, protesting whine poured from man’s open mouth—the best he could express with his tongue hanging out like a panting dog’s.

Pithy watched with a cool expression as the tip of her knife reached past his mouth and the blade rested on the side of the pinkish muscle. She noted with an almost scholarly detachment that the man’s arm had begun to tremble, as had the offered tongue. The trembling made the blade sidle against the flesh, drawing some red.

But for a long moment, that was as far as it went.

Pithy scowled. “Stop.”

The hand that held the knife fell to the side, and his tongue receded back past his lips, letting past fitful, gusting breaths.

Pithy held out her hand, making her intentions clear.

The man looked up, his face pale. The moment his green eyes met her, hostility began to radiate from him in waves. He rose, his knuckles white from the strength with which he held the knife.

And he set it on Pithy’s accepting hand. The stunned visage was almost comical in its confusion. Her eye went to the knife in her hand, studying the knife’s blade. A think droplet of blood ran through its length as she looked, the edge tinged red where the man had dug it onto his tongue.

“Well? Was that it?”

Pithy looked up. He spoke clumsily, the small wound clearly causing its own share of irritation, some of the earlier bravado had returned to the man’s features. That cocky smirk filled her with loathing.

“Should’ve known you wouldn’t have the guts t—” The words were cut off when the pommel of the knife, still clutched tightly in Pithy’s hand, crashed against his mouth. The man fell to his back, clutching his face and muttering curses from behind his hand.

The momentum brought Pithy stumbling forward, the pain in her leg flaring like a fire as she tried to steady herself. Her piercing eye found the man’s own as she did.

“That is enough,” she had told him. “I want to think you are worth more to me whole. Do not try to convince me otherwise. Watch your tongue if you wish to keep it.”

---

It had been a difficult, when the man had failed to do the deed, not to drag the man’s tongue out of his mouth and cut it out herself . She had genuinely wished to see the man writhing on the ground, sobbing through the blood pouring from the severed muscle. Part of her still did.

Pithy studied her reflection on the window. Sometimes she wondered if there was anything different between the woman she was now and the envious whelp that had been cast out from her home so long ago.

Truly, I have learned nothing.

What good would that do her? A moment of dark pleasure, earned through the maiming of one she would seek to use. Her satisfaction was not worth the time and energy she would have to spend tending to such a wound, or attempting to communicate with a mute if she wished to use him as a tool. In her current state, she had little choice but to do just that.

It was good then, that following her warning, the man’s lips had tightened considerably. She was not certain if it was due to the phylactery’s influence or her own admonishment, but she welcomed the calm.

She had gotten his name from him, and then proceeded to treat his arm as best she could. There had been small shards of ice stuck inside the wound her rapier had made, stemming the flow of blood but causing no small discomfort. Once those had been melted and removed, red flowed freely. Her robe had been much diminished after she was done with it, looking more like a mantle than a proper cloak.

The pair had then returned to this Mountain Dew’s vehicle, and were currently driving through the streets of the Governance Hub.

“Are there limits to what you can place inside?”

The man shrugged at her query.

Pithy frowned. Did that mean he did not know or that he did not wish to elaborate on the matter?

The woman glanced out the window, looking at the buildings that surrounded the street. Alternate dimensions and spatial manipulation were not unheard of in her realm, but those that could work that kind of magic were far and few inbetween. Moreover, examples that she had seen which resembled what Dew could do were typically tied to enchanted objects, such as pouches and bags that were considerably larger on the inside than they were on the outside. To have such a space available to one at their beck and call without needing a focus to act as a gate was a special skill indeed.

“Are you certain you are not a master wizard?” she asked dryly.

“I’m neither thirty nor a virgin, so no.”

Pithy was about to turn to ask him what that had to do with her question, when a sign caught her eye. “Here.”

The thrumming sound came to a stop as the vehicle halted by the sidewalk. The sign reading Theo’s on the large window was as visible as when Pithy had found it earlier that day. Moments later, bells rang as Pithy pushed the door open, clumsily pushing forward into the building with the use of one leg and her cane.

She glanced behind her to see Dew filing in, eyes roaming over the place suspiciously. ‘Why are we here?’ they seemed to ask. By the way his jaw bunched, she thought he wanted to ask.

“Look around the front. Call me if you find something I should see.” Her gaze wandered over the counter. “And grab some food while you’re at it. I don’t know how long we’ll be staying in this city.”

He frowned in distaste. “Just grab random food to clutter my inventory? I don’t feel like cleaning apple pie from my ammo.”

She looked at him crossly. And what do I care about that? “Then use a table cloth to wrap it. Work it out on your own.” She shrugged and turned, unwilling to put more thought into it. “I will look further inside.”

Grumbling arose from behind her, but she paid no mind, leaving him to his own tasks.

A door behind the counter led her to the diner’s kitchen—or at least what she assumed to be the kitchen. There were more white tiles and metal surfaces than she was used to, but the utensils arrayed on the tables and drawers, as well as the multiple oven-like cubes made the room’s purpose clear. Finding little use for forks and kitchen knives, her inspection took her elsewhere, cane tapping past the door to the pantry and into a small lounging area off in a side room.

She navigated with some difficulty between a large sofa that occupied the majority of the room and a small round table she imagined people would use to rest drinks or plates of food while they sat. Opposite to it was a large box with a glass pane, similar to the ones she had found in the Justice Hub. However, this one lacked the button board she had seen before, so she opted to ignore it, going instead for a closet on the far end of the room.

Inside, she found several aprons, as well as some scattered clothes. It was mostly skirts and puffy, yellowish shirts, the kind a waitress might wear, but she also spied black pants and vests hidden near the back. Pithy glanced down at her leggings, noting the red that covered them as well as the tear in the fabric over her thigh, and took one of the pieces of clothing.

“Elsa!” She heard then.

She swore under her breath, turning to squeeze her way out of the room with her prize in hand.

“Eeeelsaaaa! Hurry and come hereee! Shouting like this hurts like a bitch!”

“Then quit being so loud!” she hissed as she limped her way back to the front of the diner. She found the man sitting at one of the tables near the counter. “And quit calling me that.”

“What do I call you, then?”

“Pithy, if you must call me anything.”

“That’s a dumb name,” he answered petulantly.

Thus spake Mountain Dew the Quickscoper. “We are not having this conversation,” Pithy grunted, bunching her jaw. “Why did you call me?”

The man rapped his knuckles on an object sitting on the table, drawing her attention to it. It was a case, with a symbol of a red cross on it.

Giving him a searching glance, Pithy reached for the case and opened it. Seeing the contents, she sucked a breath and rifled through the contents. Clean bandages and gauze were the things that drew her eyes first, but she took note of the small plastic bottles held within when Dew reached inside and snatched one of the containers.

He put it to his mouth, twisted the cap with his teeth and spat it into the box before throwing it back like a flagon of ale.

Pithy rushed to snatch it away from him, fearing that her thrall was trying to off himself with poison. He relinquished the bottle with no resistance, looking at her with a contented smile.

Pithy eyed him warily for a moment, but when he did not collapse and blood refused to suddenly leak from his orifices, she asked, “What is in this bottle?”

“Painkillers,” he offered dreamily.

Pithy frowned and glanced at the bottle. It read ‘Ibuprofen’ in large letters, with a list of effects and instructions in smaller letters. I don’t imagine ‘muscular pain’ would include cut wounds, she reflected. Not to mention the slew of possible side effects listed. As surprisingly well-documented as this was, the idea of ingesting it felt rather daunting. She would have to wait and see the condition of her thrall after some time. She had not seen the dosage the man had taken just then either, but she suspected it had been more than the one pill recommended every six hours. He had recognized the bottle on sight, but it was possible that the physiology of the ones who used these pills was completely unlike hers.

Grimacing, she closed the bottle and placed it back in the case. The ache in her wound throbbed almost accusingly.

“Bring this with us,” she told Dew. “And go wait by the vehicle—”

“Car.”

“Wait,” Pithy said slowly, “outside.”

The man rose one arm in a gesture of surrender, and turned to leave the building. Pithy’s gaze remained fixed on his back until the bells rang, signaling his exit. Then, she turned to the clothing she had brought.

Over a dozen minutes went by before the elf limped out of the building wearing the dark cloth pants. Small, dark stains were beginning to mat the back of the fabric. At the very least they were harder to see in this attire.

Mountain Dew, who had been leaning against the Rover with his arms crossed roused himself as she came out. “What took you so long?” he asked, impatiently.

The man had grown steadily more vocal in the past hour. Pithy considered making another incision inside his mouth if he proved too irritating.

Pithy gave him an incensed look. “Have a guess,” she said. It was because of him that she was having so much trouble moving her right leg. Fitting those pants on had been nothing short of agony, and she was certain that if the blood had managed to coagulate at all, the cut had opened again mid-stretch. “On second thought, I don’t need to hear it. Just get in.”

The man grunted, then moved to take his place inside the car. Pithy followed moments later. When she sat, she let a cube of ice, about the size of her head, fall on the seat beside her.

Pithy noted the man’s regard from the mirror ahead. “Where’s your phylactery?”

She tapped the large ice cube. It was a thick box, in truth, completely sealing the badger and her phylactery—since Dew’s own had been left behind at the art gallery—while allowing hers to continue beating. If whatever enchantment allowed Oren to hear their conversations from the artifact originated from within it, he would be hard pressed to listen in. If it worked through different means... well, she could do little about it in that case, meaning it did not bear thinking about.

“Have you seen an out of place tower in this part of the city?”

The answer did not take long to come. “Sure did.” Good, that made things simple. “Why? Oren told you to go there?”

“Yes.” Pithy nodded. That was true enough, and it might have been all that she needed to say. However, if she wished to make use of Dew, it could not be all the information she gave him. “Oren is supposed to be overseeing this tournament from there.”

She felt the man’s steady gaze from the mirror hanging from the front of the vehicle. “You’ll have a word with him?”

“We had words.” Pithy found herself scowling. “I did not much like his.”

The man let out a humming sound, seeming to consider this. After a moment, he clapped a hand against the wheel, letting out a chuckle.

Pithy gave him a disgruntled look.

“Now, now,” he said placatingly. “Look here, lady. I’m clearly out of the running for this shit, so if you want to go off the rails and ruin any chance you might have at getting something out of this tournament, I’m not gonna get in the way. Hell, if you plan to screw yourself over, that I wouldn’t mind helping with.”

For some reason, Pithy felt cold creeping up her spine. Irreverent as the words were, they gave her a dark premonition. His acceptance of what he thought to be her plan made her all the more uncomfortable. “It won’t end that way,” she breathed.

“’Course not,” Dew said with blatant sarcasm.

“Just get us there.”

Pithy leaned back against her seat as the man clicked his tongue and started the wheeled contraption.

Aided by the moving vehicle, the trek did not last long even when taking pains to avoid the area’s more flooded streets, and soon enough Pithy knew what Oren had meant when he had told her she couldn’t miss the tower.

Contrasting heavily with the sleek, glass surfaces that seemed to cover many of the nearby buildings, the tower Oren had referred to. The tower, circular and made almost entirely of stone, reminded her heavily of the watchtowers and castle turrets one might see near the human settlements of her realm.

“There it is,” Dew announced. “There’s an Echo if I ever saw one.”

Pithy nodded absently, reaching for the cube still holding her phylactery. The ice disappeared as she waved a hand over it, and she returned the heart mimicries back to their place on her person. Once the task was done, she shimmied her way out of the car.

Dew was already outside, waiting for her. “Behold!” He waved his uninjured arm at the scenery, as though he was a magician presenting the tools for his next magic trick. For all of that, he still looked to her. “So? What now?”

She clicked her tongue. Looking at the tower, she would have been genuinely surprised if Oren was anywhere other than in the top level, but that left a lot of climbing to be done. She could already see a few entrances to the building from their current position on the streets, but she was not particularly eager to start the trek. Rather, there was something she wished to test beforehand.

“I want you to scout the perimeter” she told him. “Tell me about any other entrances, or things you find suspicious. And try not to be seen by college staff.” Which was a moot point either way. They would know they were about if Oren but deigned to listen in now. That was not the point.

The man did not seem to realize this, drooping his shoulders instead. “A stealth mission? Ugh, you suck.”

“Your complaints have been noted,” she said wryly. Then, after another cursory glance at the building, she beckoned him closer.

The man complied, listened for a moment to her whispered words, and retreated, a frown in his face. “Whatever,” he said, turning to walk away. He had only taken a few steps when he suddenly vanished.

Pithy sighed and leaned back against the vehicle, crossing her arms. The tower of the Governance Hub stood before her like a stalwart guardian.

Malveil: Introduction

“Take me to this ‘City of Echoes’, or I’ll ensure that your death is so insufferable that demons weep for your pain.”

The member of the “College” sat bound to a splintered chair, her eyes heavy under the dim lantern that barely lit the walls of the cave which surrounded them. Malveil wasn’t a violent man per se, but the limits of his patience were not to be tested. He let out a sigh of frustration and took a knee so he could talk to her face-to-face. Her garments were torn and bloody after days of interrogation, and she herself was in even worse shape.

“Listen, I’ve only hurt you a tiny bit. Do you remember the pain of a knife digging under your nail?”

By reflex, the bound College member looked to a table on her left, where Malveil’s ornate dagger laid, fresh crimson coating the needle-sharp point. The nail on her ring finger was completely gone, a bloody pulp the only thing remaining.

“Of course you do. You’re a smart woman, I can tell. I’ve only removed one. You have nine more left. After that, I’ll move on to your fingers, then your teeth. After that, your eye. If that doesn’t work, I’ll simply work my way down until you talk.”

As Malveil saw fear creep across her face, he almost couldn’t stop himself from grinning. Of course, he would never do such barbaric things – at least, not for enjoyment. But the mere thought of it would make anyone break, least of all a logical person such as the woman who had the mental capacity of envisioning and imagining the unbearable pain. He gave her a few moments to truly contemplate her situation, and listened intently as she finally gave in and told him about the fighting ‘tournament’ held by the college, and most intriguing, the promise that one’s wish could be fulfilled.

Processing the new information, he pondered his course of action. Obviously, he would have to make his way to this City of Echoes using the captured College member, but he was not familiar with the location. No map showed its destination, and no one he had asked knew even of its name. After a few minutes, he had made his choice. In his mind, he pictured a lone pawn, and in an instant, he felt the summoning magic take its effect.

A Silverlocke soldier appeared out of a spontaneous mist, holding his axe above the captive. Malveil then undid the binds around her wrist, letting the rope fall.

“You will bring me to the City of Echoes, do you understand?”

The captive nodded, and Malveil grabbed a hold of her arm, dragging her out of the cave and into the open woods outside. Once they were in a relatively large clearing, Malveil let go, and waited for her to work her magic; albeit with a dagger to her back.

He began to feel woozy, and for a moment thought that he’d been tricked. However, as his vision faded to black, it was reinvigorated with an explosion of sensory information. Bright colors dazzled his vision, and structures as tall as mountains rose around him, all of them harboring signs which called out to him in strange words and styles. Malveil turned to see the College member standing a few meters away from him.

“I suppose I should thank you for bringing me here and not dropping me into the sea.”

She shook her head, and an inkling of a smile tugged at her lips.

“I didn’t bring you here to help you on your quest. I brought you here so you could die. You’ll see what I mean; Main Street’s a pretty rough place.”

Before Malveil could do anything, the woman ducked behind a stack of boxes on the side of the street, and disappeared.

Well damn, I should start moving.

Calling upon his pawns, all five of them surrounded him, protecting him from all sides. In the distance, Malveil could hear the screams of the damned.

Jin huffed and puffed as he ran away from the raging forest fire. Hopefully this was a one time thing, he didn't like the idea of leaving a scorched battlefield in his wake every single battle. As he caught his breath Oren's drone descended from the sky, likely to give another speech about his shitty battle. Before he could say anything Jin spoke up. "Hey, was I supposed to do something with her body? Like, it feels like a waste to just let the jetpack and shit just burn up. Whatever."

Unexpectedly, Oren actually gave him a compliment. A rather backhanded one, but a compliment nonetheless. Jin noted that there was no hologram this time, whether that was because he was busy or some other reason he didn't know. Nor did he care quite honestly. Oren told him civilization was east, too bad he had no idea where east was. Too much smoke in the sky to see the sun and guess. So jin just continued to walk in the direction he had been going before, chopping his way through tall grass and shrubbery with his katana.

As he made his way through the wild forest he came across a chasm and on the other side was a cabin, for most it would be hard to see but Jin was used to working in the dark. This was nothing. Jin descended to the river, jumping on the rocks to make it to the other side without getting wet. After one minor slip, which he recovered from easily and definitely didn't fall in the water, he made it to the other side. Jin grumbled about inconvenient houses and dumb river and walked up to the house, knocking on the door loudly to see fi anyone was even there. He also made sure to keep his hand close to his sword just in case.

Well, That Just Happened

It had been an extraordinarily long time since Crue had felt anything resembling real pain. He found he greatly detested it now, not least for what it represented, and after the fact, as his face steadily healed over, he found himself simply floating for a time, torn on how to act next.

One side of him, the vampiric beast that he had become for a week before he'd been retempered with somewhat human morals, raged and screamed at the impossibility and injustice of this indignant and inconceivable end to his desires, how dare this old bastard manage to defeat him, but worse yet, what sort of fool allowed such a thing to happen in the first place, and after setting up for such a frenzied assault at that, he ought to have shredded the imbecile to pieces the moment he'd laid eyes on him above ground, drained him dry of every last drop-

Another side, what remained of his humanity- more accurately, that which his Ripple power had revived- was oddly grateful. Perhaps he'd needed some humility to be re-taught to him after all. And the old man wasn't so bad, certainly not deserving of death the way many in New York had been - it was certainly an upset that his dream of endless power was seemingly unattainable for now, but would he not get a renewed chance to achieve this in the future?

As his emotional state rebalanced, Motley further began to consider the implications of what was surely his loss at this stage. There was something new in him... no, something missing from him, something that had been torn out of him and placed into the pirate's phylactery. His soul, or so the folks running this little tournament had suggested, was now in Runch's possession, and what that meant for his Stand, he had no idea. What it meant for him, as well... so many things, not least of which was the prospect of oblivion at the end of it all, since he couldn't help but imagine that Runch's wish might consume the souls that had been bargained to try and attain it.

Erina, by contrast, was not exactly perturbed. She'd already lost to Motley, and it wasn't like the new bearer of her soul was particularly worse than the previous one. Perhaps he was even better, if his innate good temperament was anything to go by. With the light of Runch's equipment restored, she padded over to him lightly, her body still sore from that explosion, and held her hand out, uttering 'Great battle. You actually fight pretty well!'

'Omnomnom! Likewise to the both of you,' Runch uttered, holding out his usable arm to both shake her hand and let her pull him up on to his good leg, albeit with a wince as the knife still lodged in his shoulder shifted. Immediately afterwards, he took hold of the hilt, and perhaps unwisely yanked the weapon out, a spray of blood shooting from the wound as a strangled yell escaped him. After that, he simply said 'I think Motley offered to heal my injuries after our fight was done. My mate, if you're-'

The pirate was interrupted as, all of a sudden, the vampire kicked his legs up, pushed off of his hands, and forward-rolled in the air a dozen or so times as he flew toward Runch, landing neatly and with barely a ripple atop the fluid surrounding him right in front of the Kaptain and the Exorcist, both shocked by his sudden movement. For a moment, he merely stood there menacingly, before pressing a hand to Runch's shoulder and...

The Cereal Killer wasn't exactly sure what happened next, only that it was painful enough to get him yelling all over again, and that for some reason his loss of balance wasn't allowing him to fall away from the effects of Motley's... merging? Absorption? What in blueberry blazes was the vampire doing to him?!

'Relax, pirate,' Motley murmured dispassionately, taking hold of Runch's other shoulder to steady him. 'This isn't going to be fun for you, but it's certainly not lethal.' In fairness, Motley's ability to mould flesh to his liking was probably quite painful for a living being, since it was rather more effective when one could, say, fuse some snakes into a zombie's flesh. Hypothetically speaking, of course. He didn't usually zombify anybody, as the only ones who'd appreciate it were the ones who wouldn't deserve it.

Nonetheless, it would suffice. Over the next few minutes, Motley would perform the same procedure upon Runch's broken bones, cutting open precise holes in his flesh and setting the bones in place before rapidly re-merging the mineral structures together as they had previously been, then healing the fresh wounds and other injuries inflicted earlier in their battle, until eventually, the man was healed to the best of Motley's ability. Which, he had to say, was reasonably good. Not perfect, but that weird blood-smelling cereal the man could create was more than capable of handling anything else that needed dealing with - indeed, he was already scarfing them down, tiny beads of the stuff welling from his hands and falling right into his mouth before seemingly swallowing without chewing.

'...oh, pardon me!' Bartholomew exclaimed as he remembered his company. 'I must seem so rude; do have a bowl of Bloodberry each for yourselves! Erina, you especially must still be exhausted!' Now he produced from one hand a spoon and bowl of white cereal, letting the same red beads fill it before he handed it off to her, the bowl gratefully accepted, then repeating the process for Motley too. The vampire accepted it with a bit more caution, though from the smell, and shortly after the taste, it seemed to be clear of contaminants.

'A shame I can’t create milk out of these hands, too, I suppose,' the pirate mused with mild regret, 'but I’m a Cereal Man, after all, not a Milk Man! If it helps, Motley, I’ve given you a version of the Bloodberry cereal with real blood in it - mine! Omnomnomnom!'

'I can tell,' the vampire murmured, still a bit distracted by what fate now held in store for him, yet admittedly enjoying the stuff more than he thought he should. It had been a while since he’d just straight-up drunk somebody else’s vital fluids, he supposed; was eating them that much different?

As they finished eating, Runch drew Motley and Erina’s attentions by clearing his throat slightly, suddenly seeming a bit more serious than before even as they ate. ’Listen, Motley… if it’s any consolation, I do apologise for having to end your run in this tournament so early. If it were anyone else, I dare wonder if they could have stood up to you. I barely managed as-is!' He chuckled slightly at that, rolling the shoulder that had previously been knifed.

'That in mind,' he continued when neither of his former foes said anything, 'I really do think you’re both quite outstanding folks. And… well...'

'...well?' Motley prompted as Runch paused, the mustachioed pirate scratching the back of his head and pulling off his hat before he continued to speak. 'You see, I’m a bit more used to having a number of people around me. A crew, as it were, like seeds in an apple. And whilst I’m perfectly willing to allow you two to do your own thing if you’d rather… I was quite hoping that perhaps you could both accompany me the rest of the way?'

Silence stretched out for a brief while within the dimly-lit cave, Runch’s bright smile beginning to falter as seconds passed. Erina furrowed her brow in thought, on whether or not to accept the offer, and then again whether to lie or tell the truth about her opinion, whilst Motley’s hand came to rest on his chin as he considered the benefits and downsides of allying with his… he would rather not claim Runch was his “superior”, but he had bested the vampire in a manner that really should have been spotted from a mile away.

'I suppose I ought to congratulate your ingenuity, first and foremost,' Motley admitted, 'alongside your inexplicable humility in victory. I imagine a fight to the death between us might have ended very differently, but that is neither here nor there. That said, I am not quite used to working or fighting alongside others, and my intentions in keeping you both alive were largely based in… pragmatism. Now that my pragmatism is rendered irrelevant…-'

'So does the cereal actually have nutritional value?' Erina interrupted, unwilling to apparently let Motley sign himself away so bluntly. 'Or is it just, you know, sugar and stuff?'

'Omnomnom! I’m glad you asked, Erina!' He promptly refilled her bowl, this time with a bizarre tutti-frutti assortment of grains. 'Why don’t you have a taste of my Rainbow Sor-Berry mix? Incredibly nutritious, and packed with twelve different berry flavours!'

Her first mouthful was a tad inquisitive. The next dozen were rapid and noisy as she ate the entire bowlful in less than a minute. And were those tears in her eyes?

'Alright, that settles it. I’m sticking with Runch,' Erina decided, smiling as if she’d never tasted ice cream before. Or sorbet, if the name- hang on, had she really never tasted that before? Not that he knew what she had available in her world…

'Which just leaves me,' Motley uttered, deadpan in his delivery. As the others polished off what remained of their respective meals, Motley remained practically immobile, giving away no hints as to his thought process until he came to his decision, pacing as he talked.

'As I was saying, my former reasons for keeping my foes alive are somewhat irrelevant. If anything, you would currently stand to gain from my presence, Runch.' In Motley’s mind, this was not arrogance, merely a statement of fact. 'I cannot imagine all foes will be as unwilling to kill for their end goals as I was.

'That said,' he continued, coming to an abrupt halt, 'there are other threats in this city that perhaps you’d be unable to survive alone, something Erina can likely testify to.'

'You mean the tentacle mouths?' she asked after a moment. 'Naaah, I could have taken them all on, easy!' Another brief pause.

'...wait, you don’t mean-'

'You’ll probably die if I leave, the both of you. That’d technically make me liable for your deaths, which I try to avoid inflicting upon those who don’t deserve it as standard. So for now,’ he concluded with a slight roll of his eyes, ‘I’ll do what I can to assist.'

'Omnomnomnom! That’s the spirit, matey!' Runch crowed, smiling practically from ear to ear. 'In that case, I pronounce both of you the newest honorary members of the Crunch Pirates! First order of business: I need my spoonsaber back, so we’re going cave scrumping for it.'

Oh, for pity’s sake. Forced to point out the obvious, Motley muttered with ignominity 'These catacombs are massive, Runch. The weapon is as good as gone.’

'Then what’s that over there?’ Bend asked, cutting Motley’s rant short, and prompting both he and Erina to stare at what seemed to be a pole lodged in the ground, much to the pirate captain’s befuddlement. For a moment, he seemed hopeful, but that faded as he approached with the makeshift spoon-lantern, revealing the pole to be no more than a lever lodged in the ground.

'...well, I guess we’ll never find out what this does if we don’t give it a try,' Runch shrugged, pulling it over before anyone else could object. This, rather unexpectedly, triggered the opening of a doorway next to them, flooding the local caves with natural light that they likely hadn’t seen for centuries, if ever. The sudden burst of light reminded Motley to continue breathing in rhythms that he only now realised had been disrupted ever since the fight, and tournament, were lost to him. Apparently, the drone-bound announcer was already outside, a figure unfamiliar to the vampire standing and sneering beside him. Motley decided he disliked this man immediately. His attitude was… insulting.

At first, the drone spoke, merely expressing surprise at Runch’s victory. Then it was the Bashibozuk’s turn, revealing what Motley had only learned moments before his ill-fated fight with Runch had started… but which it seemed Erina had yet to figure out, judging by her somewhat shocked expression.

'Uh… haha, yeah, OBVIOUSLY! Didn’t you figure that out yet? It was so-'

'I didn’t know either until my fight with Runch began, Erina.'

'Oh. Never mind. I thought… nah, never mind,' she muttered, shaking her head. As they spoke, Serhan continued his speech, explaining that naturally, he wouldn’t be joining Runch in his battles again.

'Well, Serhan, I’m as crestfallen to hear that as a fruit abandoned by its tree to rot on the ground,' Runch said to him, quite genuinely saddened by this turn of events. 'However, I promised I’d respect Motley and Erina’s choice if they chose not to ally with me, and I shall do the same with you. My best wishes and good fruit baskets to you in the future, my friend!' Putting on his best grin, he raised a hand in farewell, to which Serhan responded with a somewhat respectful nod before turning to walk away. After that, it was just Oren, the new Crunch Pirates, and their captain.

'So, apparently Runch won,' Motley said to the drone, only a little bitterly. 'Do I get to keep those questions I never used, or do those come as part and parcel of still having a soul?'

'Motley, I’m sure the folks running the tournament know what they’re doing either way,' Runch assured him jovially. 'And if it’s bothering you that much-’

'Not really.'

’-then I’m certain we can make clear whether or not your soul will be returned to you in mint-leaf condition when all’s said and done! If I’m allowed to ask you that without expending any additional questions, that is, Oren.' The sentence was punctuated with a great, friendly smile, admittedly somewhat of an effort to charm the man behind the machine into giving up an answer as a freebie. They were talking as personally as they were likely to get to one another, after all.

@ProPro@Lugubrious

Though Cyril hadn't intended that he submit himself as a patient to the medical van's unknown, unusually bulky attendant, his own wounds proved so severe that after only ten minutes or so of sitting by the ambulance he could barely keep himself upright. As steely as his resolve had been during his hectic fight a short time ago, the screaming of his muscles and the hideous outcries of his broken and fractures bones agonized him to such a degree that he almost wished for death. He fumed with irritation amid the pain; if he was going to die a pitiful death from internal bleeding or something, why didn't it hurry up? Moreover, even after Cyril removed his helmet, the screw in his head did not appear to be coming loose any time soon. No doubt the sharpened perception it provided also made his hurting more acute. The vanguard barely noticed hitting the ground as he slumped over backward, the sunny sky turning dull, and neither could he quite make out the large shape looming over him as it all faded to black.

Several hours of dreamless sleep later, he awoke with a sharp intake of breath. Around him were the laden walls of the ambulance's interior, and through the little windows Cyril could see that the sun had migrated onto the opposite side of the sky. Out for a while... As a test he attempted to wiggled his fingers and toes. When they gave little protest, he moved on to the rest of his limbs. Though sore and stiff enough to give a rheumatic old man a run for his money, the vanguard's body was free of the terrible pain that plagued him earlier. A sigh of relief escaped his lips. That huge doctor must have done this. Must be the best recovery I've seen in my life. I wonder what I owe him. It was a few moments that he realized the hyper-perceptiveness granted by his screw was also gone. Upon reaching up to his head he was surprised to find the hunk of metal still there, but an experimental turn determined it to be as loose as it had when he first shoved it in. Guess I'm stuck with this.

He glanced toward his left and found Juniper on the gurney opposite his, lying still but for the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest and clad in a plain white hospital gown. Her fresh cuts had been dressed and stitched together, her face and remaining hand in particular. From his current angle Cyril couldn't see her legs, but he imagined that their stumps had been healed as thoroughly. When her face wasn't hardened by resolve, anger, or existential suffering, Juniper didn't look half bad.

The instant he thought that, Cyril wanted to hit himself in the face, hard. How could he think about something like that, not just in such a serious situation is this, but about the person he ruthlessly crippled for life not half a day ago!? He rolled his eyes back and groaned.

“Good...afternoon.”

Under normal circumstances the rather cautious Cyril might have sat both upright, but a combination of his condition and the sudden voice's tactful softness prevented much alarm on his part. He craned his neck to see the doctor standing at the van's back doors, which were wide open. For the first time the armorless knight got a decent look at the stranger's face, and while it could almost be described as orkish in terms of natural brutality, its expression was one of most genuine concern. His obvious concern obligated Cyril to respond. “...Afternoon.”

“Hello again, sir.”

This time Cyril was taken aback. Juniper, who he'd assumed to be asleep, was now reclining against the back wall for a clear view of the doctor. In an instant the situation became awkward beyond belief—or, it would have, were it not for the specific people involved. Cyril's features were dispassionate as he and his former opponent shared a lingering glance. Seeing this, their healer turned away to stare at a couple of blackbirds instead. A drawn-out moment passed before Juniper broke the silence.

“Do you really not feel guilt for what you've done? You do realize I have only one usable limb left, yes?”

Cyril sighed, not out of any sort of angst, but as a parent might when explaining something to a child. “Hum...I'm not proud of it, but I've had to kill people. Thieves, murderers, rapists. Rebels. It had to be done, but I don't regret it. Same for you, I guess.”

Juniper gave a sharp exhalation through her nose. “Hmph. Well, at least you didn't kill me. Might you tell me why?”

It was another few seconds before the vanguard replied. “'Cause I've had enough. Didn't need to happen. And I knew you thought I would. I thought it might prove I'm not the psycho you thought I was. Don't blame you if you don't change your mind, though. What I did instead was still pretty bad. Sorry.” Even as the words left him, Cyril wondered if he meant it. Was it possible to be both sorry and not sorry at the same time? He could scarcely figure out what his own thoughts were. Was he not sorry because it was necessary to reach his goal and because she'd made him hate her, and sorry because he didn't want to have to inflict more violence? At the moment, he didn't feel like he hated her anymore. Weird.

“I'm certain.” Juniper slumped down with an air of finality, lay still for a moment, then lifted a leg to get a better look. Tightly-wrapped bandages, secured with a metal brace, terminated the limb. She produced a groan of her own. Cyril noticed that the doctor, Bill, had turned back around and had taken a jar off the shelf. “So what do you propose to do, brave knight?” she asked, her tone flat.

For a moment Cyril didn't answer. He was staring at the contents of the jar. Inside was a pile of squirming insects The doctor appeared to be considering them in the same way he would a medicine, but Cyril could say with certainty that he wouldn't be subjecting himself to any kind of bug treatment, no matter how medicinal. When the huge man went to put the jar back, the vanguard gave Juniper his response. “The next fight. Then the next, and the next, until I win. Though I assume you're talking about what's next for you.” He'd been mulling things over in the back of his mind, and now seemed as good a time as any to speak it. What had he to lose, after all? “The idiot said we're both heroes. I...I don't suppose you like me much, but I might as well ask. If it's your mission to put an end to evil, or anything like that, the two of us could work together to try and take the tournament, and I can change my wish to cover yours. Something like, 'Fulfill both our wishes.'” After holding his hands wide to signify the breadth of possibilities that awaited them, he scrutinized Juniper's face to see what she thought. Of course, he expected nothing, but a shred of him held out some semblance of hope.

A sound escaped the martial artist that might have been a snort of laughter. She continued to look at the ceiling as she said, “Pff. Work together and get both our wishes? Even if I bought that, just look at me. All I have is one arm. Are you going to carry me around the city, Prince Charming?”

Cyril didn't know what to say to that. Needless to say, he hadn't thought about this idea too much. He pondered the question in silence until a tentative voice issued from the brawny physician. “There's someone...who can help.”

Both contestants glanced his way with curiosity. The looks on their faces were enough to convince Bill to continue. “In Oldtown...a man who can m-make objects out of souls. Not from this world, but not in the...the Crucible. A sword, an axe, prosthetics...he can do what I...can't.”

An annoyed look flashed across Juniper's face. “...Ignoring the news about more people from other worlds, everyone needs the souls in the phylactery to offer to the wishing machine.”

Dr. Bill shook his head. “Doesn't matter where...just huh-have to have them there.”

Cyril studied Bill's face. How did this lowly college employee know all this? It struck him as extremely strange. While Juniper was quietly coming to her own conclusions, the vanguard asked his own question. “How many of these people from other worlds are there?”

For the first time, the doctor gave an expression other than dull worry: a slight smile. “Don't know. ...But I know s-some. The smith in Oldtown...the things in the sky...and him, heheh. He hid it well, but I know...”

As Bill's words became murmurs, he turned away, and Juniper addressed Cyril instead. “I have made up my mind. Because I'm obviously not going anywhere on my own, and I don't want to stay with the college or Bill here, I'll go with you. I don't like it, but I have no choice. We find this smith, get me new legs, and then we'll see if we team up or not. Adversity makes for strange bedfellows.” Her eyebrows furrowed. “So to speak. Understood?”

What are the odds. Accepting the deal instantly, Cyril nodded, sat up, and swung off the gurney. He planted both feet on the floor, noticed that the puncture wound in his foot had been properly taken care of, and stood to his feet. Right away he decided that while he wasn't totally recovered, the doctor must have employed some sort of magic. There was no way bones could heal this fast. Keeping that in mind, he walked over to Bill and tapped him on the shoulder. “Mister, are you able to take us to this smith in this...horseless carriage?”

The giant man shook his head again. “No. Cheating. But I can tell you where the train is.”

Cyril looked over his shoulder at Juniper. Despite himself, he almost laughed at the look of dismay on her face. He had no idea what lay ahead of him, but somehow he'd be walking it a girl who tried to kill him on his back. “Looks like I'm carrying you after all, mademoiselle.”



The amount of pride the Crucible's announcer took in his drones could be gleaned from the complexity and character of each machine, meticulously crammed with technologies and employed as a mechanical extension of Oren's own persona. Any drone's destruction, while not costing him monetarily, severed both a hand and an eye with which he could interface with the City of Echoes, but he had plenty to spare. Not a single one went wasted, except when recharging at the tower, and after the drone dispatched to oversee the Pithy-Dew fight dropped off its precious cargo it returned to its regularly-scheduled programming. Following the GPS tracker in the Lady in White's phylactery, it returned to her to act as an eye in the sky. With more important things to spectate and do, Oren left it in its automatic cycle to watch from a distance in case anything worth recording should occur.

He might have never switched his computer screen to that particular drone's channel had a glance at his display of the city not shown him that Pithy's marker was drawing close to his headquarters. After a second take to confirm that his system wasn't telling tales, he exhaled deeply and rested his head in his hands, staring off into the middle ground. “So she's coming to give me what-for. Not good...not good at all. It shoulda taken her way longer...how'd she know the way?” He scoured his brain for an answer, distracting himself from the problem of a pissed-off Pithy being on his doorstep in minutes. A few seconds passed before he went with the only solution he could think of: she somehow found a working car and followed his drone. “What a world. Chances are she'll really try 'n off me, or at least torture me for info...” Oren spoke aloud to himself without hesitation, formulating his thoughts. He eyed the arrow, sitting pretty on his desk, agleam in the noontime sunlight.

“...No way. I can take care of myself so long as I can take her by surprise. All she needs is one look...” He breathed a heavy sigh, heart pounding. His fingernails rapped against the tabletop in a steady rhythm. “If she starts something I'm gonna hafta act out a little sooner than planned.” He checked the overhead view one final time, confirming that Pithy was alone, before reaching for the drone controls.



A shape, silhouetted in darkness against the sky, slid out of the tower's uppermost window. It descended with mechanical precision, coming to a stop a couple meters from Pithy's head. “Ya came!” Oren's voice issued from the contraption, unaccompanied by a holographic image of any kind. “First person to accept my invitation, and lemme just say, I'm glad it was you and not that giant troll creature. Poor brute, rest his soul. What can I do ya for, dearie?”



A zoo without animals made for a poor visit. Though Bonesword couldn't have guessed it during his exploratory jaunt through the place, the zoo's residents had been for the most part evacuated by help that the College enlisted, for when the city had gone dark, the creatures had remained behind. Now, only squirrels, raccoons, birds, and a few others populated the place, and the dearth of animals left the skeleton a poor selection to scan with his mysterious transformative watch. In the end, he exited Roarke's without scanning a single one, having instead been overtaken by the excitement of a compelling idea. Just a few meters from the zoo's gates Bonesword labored with his magic to bring into being a plant facsimile of a beast far nearer and dearer to his heart. While his endeavor turned up pronounce success, the exertion depleted his life force to send him sprawling against a bench as an inert skeleton. There, in the patient company of his basil-isk, he lay.

Not even a single leaf stirred on that street for some time. The heavy, almost lazy atmosphere that filled the avenue settled like a layer of dust, but the uneventful haze did not last past noon. Just a few minutes before the sun reached the pinnacle of the cloud-rich sky, a disc of immense proportions floated over Port Town. It span, every inch as colorful, noisy, and uncanny as a merry-go-round, as it moved down the road. As the bizarre craft approached it would have become clear to Bonesword -were he awake- that the fanciful saucer was in pursuit of someone: the woman known as Guðrún, an employee of the Inquisitional College. She sprinted at top speed, but the wheeziness of her breath and the sweat of her brow suggested that she was on her last legs. Only fear put the wind in her sails, but her efforts were for naught.

Unable to run any farther, she collapsed, and the ship set down behind her. On the ground, it was indistinguishable from a circus tent, and its entrance disgorged a pair of clowns armed with guns as silly-looking as their owners. Giggling, the pair closed in on Guðrún, their oversized shoes slapping against the pavement with every step. There came a clicking sound as the woman pulled a small pistol from her belt and clicked off its safety. Before the clowns could react, Guðrún opened fire, sending bullet after bullet into their neon-bright costumes. After a moment, however, the exhausted redhead could only utter a groan of despair. Her last-ditch attempt seemed to have barely bothered the clowns, and with a dark chortle the closest one pointed his own gun at his prey and shot a blue bolt at Guðrún that trapped her in a balloon on contact.

While the shooter occupied himself by grabbing the balloon, the other had shifted his attention to something even more interesting. Very close by was an odd sight indeed: a snake monster and a skeleton, side by side on a sidewalk bench. With a grin, the clown cocked his weapon and moved in.



When Bonesword came to, he found himself trapped in a giant vacuum cleaner.

In fact, both he and Charlie II were within the confines of a large machine tank, about the size of a sports utility vehicle. Through the see-through plastic their surroundings could be made out: the interior of some kind of building, with lots of colorful swirls across the curved purple-green walls and ceiling among the myriad tubes and cables. While this particular spot was new to the skeleton, he'd seen this aesthetic once before—just last night, in fact, in an experience that just as easily could have been a fever dream.



'Pretty rough place' stood as an understatement, given the nigh-apocalyptic scene that confronted the otherwordly man known as Malveil Silverlocke. Around him loomed buildings that rose higher than any his world had to offer, in every direction but straight ahead. Not fifty meters before him yawned a massive, cavernous hole in the ground. With the nonexistence of military-grade bombs in his home world, he was left to assume an earthquake or sinkhole of mammoth proportions, but no matter the cause the reality was clear: in front of him lay an abyss, wreathed in a ring of excessive destruction. Around the seemingly bottomless pit was a tangle of concrete, steel, and asphalt in various states of obliteration. Particularly striking was the flaming wreckage of a formerly-sleek black vehicle of some sort, the long blade on its top twisted like a serpent. Something dire had gone down in this spot, and not long ago, either. That much was crystal clear.

This realization wasn't, however, the half of it. A cloudy sky, with the sun shining through white clouds, gave way to a black shadow. Instead of the moon, the shape of an impossible massive bird eclipsed the sun, not a thousand meters from the ground.

Despite all the calamitous hubbub in the area, it was a minute before something grabbed Malveil's attention. From the general direction of the bird, several figures whose shapes could not quite be discerned from this distance had descended, and now a pair of them were headed his way. As they grew closer it became easier to make out the differences between them; one was a person aside a winged beast that appeared, for all intents and purposes to be nothing less than the mythical griffin, and the other outdid even that by turning out to be a person with wings instead of arms.

The two touched down a couple hundred feet away, allowing Malveil a decent look. For starters, both were women. The griffin-rider was clad in a long, tidy cloak of dark red, but what looked like blue hair framed her hooded face. More details were difficult to make out, particularly compared to her ally. Clad in a in an outfit that resembled a blend between a kunoichi's garb and a dress (with a functional rather than fanciful design despite the red-purple-blue gradient on the front that complimented its predominant white coloration) the winged woman sported feathers as white as her hair, tied back in a spiky ponytail save for a leafy bang over her left eye. As Malveil watched, the feathers shrunk into her arms and the underlying blackness faded, leaving limbs indistinguishable from a human's to cross beneath her chest. With a stoic expression she examined the man and his pawns from head to toe, called across the distance, “Stop. This is now a restricted area. State your name and business.” The other woman, still astride her griffin, regarded the Chessmaster with a suspicious glare from beneath her burgundy raiment.



Oren's genial grin, broadcasted live through the drone's holographic screen, was directed straight at Motley. “You're in luck, my glum chum. With pretty much all of the fights concluded already, I've got nothin' better to do than answer questions for a while, so if ya wanna have a protracted conversation with yours truly, yammer away!”

He turned his attention on Runch before reorienting his drone to face the pirate's way. “You're askin' if a taken soul's gonna come back after the tournament's done?” The image of the announcer scrunched up his eyebrows, then after a moment gave a lackadaisical shrug. “Beats me! Haven't gotten the chance to see what happens when someone says 'hi' to the machine with all thirty-three.”

Without missing a beat, Oren continued. “So anyway, looks like the day is yours. Pal around, explore temples, kill tentacles, whatever tickles your fancy. Your next opponent's in the same zone, so chances of runnin' into him are low. Y'know, between you and you and you and me, it'd be better to wait for what I've got in store for ya tonight. It'll make the search a bunch easier. If ya got any more questions, just call your helpful, obliging pal Oren on your phylactery. Turnin' the drone to automatic...now! Later!” The screen disappeared with a fizzling noise, and the purple light faded from the machine's optic. Now nothing more than a floating camera, the drone whirred upward to gain altitude for a better filming angle, and the trio of Runch, Motley, and Erina were left to their own devices in the heart of the Historical District.



The rap of Jin's knuckles against the cabin's wooden door pierced the odd silence that permeated the forest, and faded just as quickly. Beneath the impact, the door wobbled a fair bit, indicating no deadbolt or padlock of any kind. Twenty seconds passed with no response. In the background a smattering of cicadas among the trees set up a scratchy din, but nothing could be heard inside the cabin. Few options remained to be explored; all Jin could do was enter or leave.

Inside the cabin, the daylight peeked in through boarded-up windows to illuminate gossamer cobwebs stretching between the dusty remnants of furniture smashed by hand long ago. Beer cans, their color faded, lay scattered without a care in a world across the floor, several of them around a louse-ridden, moth-eaten sleeping bag deposited in the corner. Not a single pair of footprints disturbed the carpet of dust; if he entered, Jin would be the first person to set foot in this place since before the people of the City of Echoes vanished.

Only one object stood out among the trash and debris. Barely visible through a hole in the sleeping bag, something glinted like glass. A little rummaging would uncover a crystal of glass several inches thick and hard as diamond. In its center was suspended a shriveled hand, smaller than a human's, with ratty brown hair and two fingers extended.



The stark, one-room cabin offered nothing else, not even a decent place to while away the time until Jin's next match. Dreary, dingy, and poisoned by a heavy atmosphere of malaise, the log building existed to be discarded and forgotten once more.

Outside lay the woodland, particularly vibrant and alive when juxtaposed with the neglected hovel that occupied its shadows. To the left was where the earth split apart into an overgrown cleft and a stream led the way through its canyon. A good eye cast down its length could perceive that it went on for a long way before it began to curve. That same perceptive peeper could also, however, make out the slender neck of a doe against the dark wood of an oak, bent to allow its owner the chance to graze at some grass.

Bonesword slowly awoke from his exhaustion, seeing the aesthetic of the familiar place quite well before he realized where he was. Then he blinked, thinking it was a dream. It wasn't, but it also didn't make sense at the same time. He shot up to his feet, checking his body for his belongings and such before he looked around him, past the enclosure he was in and out into the area.

The Klowns had got him, that was certain.

What wasn't certain, was why they had got him...

Charlie II roared as Bonesword paced in his room, glancing at the watch on his wrist and remembering what he knew about these klowns. It was largely limited, but even then he realized something that made this entire situation a red flag in his book. The klowns were effectively zombies, hungry for brains and body parts and such. While BS was a walking husk himself, he had no meat on him, nor a brain to keep him intact. He was made of bones, mushrooms, and his soul. That's how it was since the day he came into his afterlife, so why would the klowns be interested in him? It didn't make sense.

In any case, Bonesword drew the Shroomblade and patted Charlie II's side, carefully waiting in fear of what was going to happen next. Whatever it was, Bonesword was sure that they could handle it together. Just like before he enlisted with the Machina.

As Oren's drone spittered up, up, and away, Runch beamed a great big smile, waving happily as it lifted itself to a higher point of surveillance. Once he felt the drone was no longer in earrshot, the pirate captain dropped his arm, allowing the aches of the "flesh grafting" to show on his face. Just because he could take an ungodly amount of punishment didn't mean he particularly enjoyed the accompanying pain. Still, he was thankful to Motley Crue for providing such a magnanimous act of generosity. That said, the frown that overtook K. Runch's usually happy and jovial face had nothing to do with the long, hard fought battle that so recently ended.

"Normally I'm one to give trust and respect until you lose it," he spoke lowly, in hopes that the drone's microphone couldn't pick up his words. "But that announcer's statements sound extra suspicious to me. College folk are supposed to be educated and experiment, right? I wouldn't have come if I had known they didn't know what'll happen to the souls when all's said and done. I don't particularly care for this." Runch then rolled his neck, stretched his back, and popped his joints with multiple loud crack sounds that could have been mistaken for small arms fire. In a second his demeanor had completely transformed back into the friendly and chuckling fellow he was known to be.

"Omnomnomnom! That was great fun! I can't wait to see what he's got in store for us tonight, right? Omnomnom! I wonder who's up to cross spoons with me tomorrow? Speaking of which, time to go find my spoonsaber!" Runch, completely ignoring Motley's previous criticism about the sheer size of the catacombs, tossed aside the cereal-formed makeshift swords and headed deeper into the passages. As the light from the exit faded, he formed a new glow-in-the-dark lantern from his left hand. Was he really doing this? What new spore of madness was this?! That sword was lost! The catacombs go for miles, sprawling out in all directions, and his weapon could have ended up anywhere! It was going to be completely, utterly impossible for him to stumble across the right path in this labyrinthine complex of the de-

"Found it!" Or he could have the devil's luck and be right back in less than two minutes. How the hell was that even possible? Runch came running back into the sarcophagus room holding his trusted and beloved spoonsaber in his right hand, guided by the lantern in his left. Wow. He really did find it. The whole situation felt almost... Comical.

"Ah, there we go. I never would have felt complete without it. Naked as a peeled orange, you might say! Omnomnom! Now mates, I say we go exploring! You never know what wonders and treasures may be around! I'd have never found the wishing machine early if I hadn't been poking my mustache every which way in this city, omnomnomnom!"

---

---

Where was this? It had been a night much like any other. Samuel Raven had put on a show for hundreds of fans, spent ten hours avoiding sleep, inevitably gave in, and then... He woke up in a strange place he had never seen before. The magician sat atop of a colorful building surrounded by many others in a city he wasn't familiar with. Had he accidentally crossed over into the Primordial Dream in his sleep? No, he knew the Primordial Dream. That was the source of his power, of his soul. It felt more like home than his own house, even if he'd never admit such a thing aloud. Yet this place felt surreal, almost dreamlike in how absurd the place was. Had he been kidnapped and placed on this rooftop by some idiotic soul thinking he'd get a ransom? If so, that person made the biggest mistake of their life. Samuel Raven was no ordinary celebrity, and he was rarely in a forgiving mood.

Looking up, Samuel could see and smell the telltale signs of a storm, one that had recently passed through. A big one, too. Interesting. It was just like that torrential downpour he had experienced the other night in his hometown of Seattle. That had basically been a hurricane. But this? The city felt like it had gone through something much worse. Samuel stood up, sniffing the air and turning his gaze to the streets. He appeared to be in some sort of shopping district which felt completely abandoned. He closed his eyes and listened. The wind was light, but carried with it the sounds of... Eating. Yes, eating. So somebody was nearby. Well, that somebody would have the honor and privilege of meeting the Stunning Samuel Raven. If they didn't have the answers to his questions... Well, he had ways.

First he needed to get the lay of the land. Many buildings around him were far too tall to properly see over. Hm. Troublesome. Well, there was one surefire way around that problem. Sam concluded that there wasn't anybody in the area that could see it, so the decision, while made with reluctance, was an easy one. Taking a deep breath, Samuel exhaled and shed his humanity. The body of the magician broke apart into dozens of smaller pieces. At the same time flesh bubbled and morphed. Skin grew feathers, bone became beak and talon, hundreds of little eyes formed. In under a second he had become his namesake. A great flock of birds, a murder, had replaced the human figure that had stood up on the roof.

The many crows flew upward into the sky, staying bunched together but facing every which ways. So many eyes took in so much of his surroundings all at once. Shops yes, many many shops of all kinds of sizes, colors, shapes, etc., but in the distance his avian eyes picked up things far beyond. Old historical landmarks, churches, the ocean, metal buildings, a horribly immolated tree of gargantuan size, and curiouser still: a great big hole nearby. The murder flocked to the cobblestone streets below, fusing together into a single being once more. Feathers receded, eyes closed up, and once more the magician known across the USA as Samuel Raven stood alone, no traces of the birds anywhere.

"Almost no life... This entire city... Is abandoned. It's huge, though." He barely spoke at a whisper, contemplating to himself. With so few people here, were the others like him? Did they just... Wake up here? He'd find out soon. Cautiously, but with great purpose, Samuel Raven began the walk toward the nearest life he sensed in the area. It was fine if they moved around. He was a bird of prey, a natural born hunter. Nobody escapes the Murder.

He's most likely exaggerating, but if even a fraction of what he says is true, then... She was loathe to do something that Oren asked her to do, for the simple reason that Oren had asked her. But as much as she disliked the man, she did not want to be the one who doomed everyone in this city to death, just because she was too proud to listen to the announcer. She sighed, resigning herself to accepting the request. Standing up, she unceremoniously dropped the defunct drone and picked up the small box it had held. She would have to inspect the contents later.

Already she could hear the sounds of another drone approaching, her sensitive ears allowing her to pick up the sound much earlier than a normal human would. She turned to where it was coming from, keeping her ears pointing straight forward, hands on her hips as she waited. Nearly a full minute passed before the new drone appeared, giving a mock salute to the pile of scrap at Lily's feet. Her eyebrows rose as the projector turned on, showing Oren in a purple cape and with a golden arrow not far from him. Most people might have assumed the arrow to be nothing but an ornamental piece, but recent events had made the Kitsune more suspicious of seemingly innocent items. Oren did not strike has an impulsive man who would carry random items that were of no use, but to look pretty. Moreover, he was also the one who sent out the prizes for winning a fight. It would be a very logical conclusion that he had a small hoard of enchanted items, some of which he doled out to the victors of the various fights, and others which he might find a personal interest in and keep for himself. That arrow was not just a decoration, she was certain of that. What it was for, however, she hadn't a clue. She wasn't one of the Fae Class capable sensing magic easily.

Her eyes flicked to his image as he began speaking, laying out the details of the task she had begrudgingly accepted. As it turned out, the request was not the only reason she had to go to where he directed her towards, as her next opponent would also be in the very same area. The unveiling of this particular piece of information left her gritting her teeth, and fighting not to let her temper get the better of her. Rather than just tell me where my next opponent would be, he made it into a game of manipulation. She breathed deeply, closing her eyes, and forced herself to relax. She wouldn't let him see her get riled up. Would not give him the satisfaction. He would get what was coming to him. That much was certain. Her thoughts cleared, she opened her eyes again and went about digesting the rest of the information he had provided. There was a city underneath, lit up by purple lights that seemed to her, to be more than just electrical lighting. What's more, however, was that the opening had been caused by the explosion she heard earlier that day, and that whoever triggered it was likely actively searching for something in the city. At least, that was her guess. She could find few other reasons for why someone would blow a giant sinkhole in an abandoned city, than to find something underneath it.

She ler her eyes rise to the sky, the giant shadow of a bird still visible above the clouds. So that thing was moving towards he sinkhole? It would be easy to find, then. Huge and slow-moving as it was, the shadow of its beak was easily distinguisable from the rest of it. Far sleeker than any part of it. But just following it would be one problem solved, out of several potential issues. There were the unknown helicopters, and whoever piloted them. If Oren was to be trusted, there were other factions at play here; factions of which she had no knowledge, or even an inkling of an idea as to what their purpose or intent was. They might be simply scholars, in which case any danger they possessed was negligible. On the other hand, if they were a militaristic organisation then they could prove a significant hindrance. Even if she was fast enough to dodge a bullet, a hail of them would prove about as plausible to avoid as staying drain during a downpour would. It was a situation she would have to assess first, she decided, glancing off towards the east. She couldn't render herself invisible while moving, but she could mask herself, and make it more difficult to spot her while moving. She blinked and eased her thoughtful frown, turning to where Brucie was currently digging a hole in the middle of the road, using something that might have once passed for a shovel.

"You are mistaken, Oren," she said as she took the first, slow, step towards the impromptu funeral. "Volition is very much at play. I am not here, doing what I do, because someone forced me to. I chose to come here." She stopped after her third step, looking over her shoulder at him. "Now, finding yourself a thrall of someone else, because every thought is saturated with them. That would warrant the use of that phrase—" she smiled sweetly at him "—wouldn't you say?" Without missing a beat she faced forward again, walking unhurriedly towards Brucie and Mouse, leaving the drone behind her.

---

Lily sat inside the remains of an old bakery, chewing slowly on bread that, by all rights, should probably have been moldy by now, but wasn't. Everything she found just told her that this city was only recently abandoned. Sure, there were parts that were more decrepit than others, but for the most part she found that everything was in a decent condition. Nature had yet to reclaim the city, as it were, which only reinforced the idea that something had happened just a short time prior to the College discovering this place. But what?

She looked out the window, tearing a piece off of a particularly dry piece of bread and stuffed it in her mouth. The street was cobbeled, and filled with small shops on either side. Clothing stores, bakeries, cafes, and the odd jewellry shop. And, most importantly, it was empty. She had scouted the place for a good half an hour before deciding that it was safe enough to be out in the open. Relatively speaking. Overhead the helicopters still flew to and fro, picking up and dropping off Inari-knew-what, if they did that at all. On the other side of the table sat Brucie, tearing into days-old pas tries that couldn't possibly be healthy. It's his stomach, she mused. On the ground by her feet, lay Mouse and quietly snoozed, resting his head on one of her feet. She dropped what remained of her bread on the plate and sighed, bending down to run a hand along Mouse's back.

"You sounds annoyed," Brucie offered between bites, eyeing her inquisitively.

"I am," she grunted, glancing at him. "It's that Announcer... He grates me with every word."

Brucie swallowed the last of his cinnamon roll whole, clacking his teeth loudly in some form of chewing. "Really?" He stood up and went for another from the counter. "I think he's funny. Hah. Ya know his puns? Gotta love 'em!"

In that moment, the privacy of Lily's mind, she congratulated him for getting his pastry between her baleful gaze and his head, or the intensity of her glare might very well have burned a hole through his skull. "You are allowed your opinion," she said with forced calm, resuming her petting of Mouse, "but I would greatly appreciate it if you didn't try to copy him." She straightned up, her tails moving just a smidgeon quicker than before. "Understood?"

The Shark paused his eating to momentarily look at her. "Alright," he said slowly, drawing out the first syllable for several seconds. "Will remember that." He then went back to gorging himself on sugar-topped bread.

Lily was about to say something more when a distant sound caught her ears, making them unconsciously flick towards the outside. She turned to fully face the window to the outside, ears flicking this way and that, trying to pinpoint the sound. A second later Mouse was at her side, doing much the same thing. He jumped up on his hindlegs, balancing with his front paws against the windowsill, and looked out. Following his gaze, Lily found the sound of the noise: Birds. A murder of crows, she thought, watching the black shapes spread out across the city. From the big one? It was something to be considered. Sometimes size was more than just the obvious, but signified a status and power. It was not impossible that they were scouts sent by the giant one above the clouds.

She waited silently with Mouse as the ravens dissipated, though Brucie continued eating noisily behind her. When they finally did, she allowed herself to breathe again. "It's clear outside," she said. "I'll find a bag and pack some food, then we'll go. And, Brucie?" She extended one of her tails toward him, revealing the empty Flask held in its coils. "Fill this up and put a cork or something in it. I think we might need it."

"Will do," Brucie said and took the flask, already working on starting a flow of water from his broken water cannon. Meanwhile, Lily went about looking for a backpack to put some food in.

---

It was huge. As in, gigantic. Even Draco could fit in this, it was that big. And probably with room to spare.

She had searched for the train track, deciding that following that would be the quickest way to her next fight in the tournament. Whatever else Oren had wanted her to do, it would come as a side effect of her trip down into this underground city.

"Deep," the shark beside her muttered, to which she could only nod.

"It is," she replied. "For the record, I will most likely be the one fighting, so take this." She handed him the small backpack, no more than one for a kid, which they had filled with as much bread and pastries as they could. "We don't know what's down there, so stay close," she added. "And Mouse?" She looked down, meeting the inquisitive eyes of the dog she had accidentally adopted. She knelt down and scooped him up into her arms. "I'll carry you until we're down there. Follow me, Brucie." And then she jumped, hitting the first outcropping of contrete and stone not five metres down. She continued like this, followed closely behind by the sound of metal on stone as Brucie hurried after her.

@kapuchu

Samuel Raven had tracked the sound he had heard to a bakery nearby. Taking shelter behind some rubble he had to assume was leftover from... Whatever caused that giant hole in the ground, he began observing the individuals within the shop through the window, from afar. Quietly and stealthily as the magician could, he remained out of sight, finding a single hole to look through while the rest of the debris kept his body well hidden. Inside he saw a very... Interesting couple. The more obvious one appeared to be a walking hammerhead shark, with robotic limbs attached. Concentrating, he tried to sense the creature's source, but nothing came to him. It wasn't supernatural in origin. That meant that it had to be scientific. Wow. A walking cyborg shark. That's some real comic book sci-fi shit right there.

The second, while not as in-your-face, was still quite noticeable and peculiar, and Sam's senses told him a great deal more about this particular creature. She was tall, and very attractive, but the numerous tails were the real attention grabber. Damn, that'd be a way to get a crowd's attention. He was sure he could use that in a show. Well anyway, he recognized her as a kitsune. Specifically a one, two, three, four... Nine? Nine tailed fox. He had to count the tails to be certain. He'd never seen one of these things before, but Japanese mythology was riddled with kitsune. So that's what the new sensation was! When in the presence of a vampire, Samuel could taste ash. When around a werewolf, he could smell dog fur. Now he knew what to associate with the kitsune, if he would ever see another one again in his lifetime: a very subtle tactile feeling of softness. Interesting.

Wherever Samuel was, these creatures had absolutely no compunction in being out in the open. Was this weird, large city some sort of refuge for supernatural beings to gather, away from humanity? No, that didn't make any sense. The place was giant and largely abandoned. If that were the case, it'd have been constructed thousands of years ago, yet so much of it looked new. So then what were these two doing? He couldn't hear them from inside the bakery, not unless he decided to transform, but that took far too much energy to maintain. For now, he could only observe.

The magician tried to read their lips to get an idea of what they were talking about, but it was fruitless. The kitsune wasn't facing his direction often enough to get more than the odd syllable, and the cyborg shark thing... Well, it was a shark. Who in the world would be familiar enough with intelligent, cyborg, anthropomorphic sharks to understand their lip movements? Frustrated, but not without determination, Samuel waited.

After a bit, Sam's patience was rewarded. The kitsune and shark-bot left the bakery, though not without packing a bag full of bread and pastries first. As they exited, Samuel noticed a third member of their little entourage--a dog. Hopefully it didn't smell his presence. He couldn't take the risk that they were antagonistic. There was no telling what the kitsune could do, and that shark-bot had a very large cannon. He did not want to mess with them unless absolutely necessary. Thankfully the dog didn't seem to notice the lurking presence of the beast. Good. Excellent. Melt into the darkness and disappear like the illusionist that you are, Samuel.

Carefully, methodically, Raven followed behind, but not too closely. He made sure to stay downwind just in case the dog could pick up his scent, and he didn't want to risk getting close enough to be heard. He was stealthy to be certain, but he couldn't eliminate sound altogether. Maybe if he learned how to fly without physically transforming his body, then he'd have a better time with such things. For now... Slowly and carefully it was. He made sure to time his steps with those of the robo-shark. Surely its massive bionic limbs and great stomping would overpower any sound he could make, even in the event he misstepped. So far so good, but damn if it wasn't bothersome he couldn't hear their conversation. If they were even having a conversation. This wasn't helpful in the least!

Inwardly sighing in frustration, the beast witnessed his quarry come to a halt before the enormous hole. They seemed to be passing a few words between one another. Samuel risked it, and moved in a bit closer. "-until we're down there. Follow me, Brucie." Ah, so Sharktron 5000 had a name. Brucie? That felt so ordinary. So mundane. Did this creature have no comprehension of how amazing it was? The complete lack of style was somewhat befuddling to the showman. Maybe... Maybe it wanted a normal life? Like someone else you know, maybe? Sam grunted to himself. Well they were about to descend into the giant hole. Would he follow? Excellent question. Climbing down, even if there was enough of a path to walk, would leave him completely exposed. There was no way in Hell they couldn't see him coming if they spared so much as a single glance back, which of course they would at some point. Though it pained him, though it went against every survival instinct he had, Samuel made the executive decision to reveal himself, though not before calling upon his Needs Must atavism to mark the kitsune.

"E-excuse me?" he sheepishly called out, taking on the role of a confused refugee type. Ah, acting. His calling before magic. Time for a convincing performance. "Excuse me, ma'am? Uh... Big... Shark... Guy?" Big shark guy? Are you kidding Sam? You're confused and lost, not a plebeian! Speak like the educated man that you are, no matter how many times you need to add a nervous stutter! "I'm uh, I'm, you see, oh wow you're big and scary. Um, do you know where we are? Like, how I got here?"

Pithy’s mind churned as she examined the tower where the Crucible’s announcer was supposed to reside.

She had told Oren that she would kill him if she went to him. After the slight she had suffered at his hands, not to mention the wound she would not have sustained had he not intervened in her bout, the idea was deeply attractive. There would be consequences to such a brash act, however, and she was not certain she wished to deal with them at that point. Openly opposing the College would mean showing her hand much too soon, when she knew little of the other players and had no reliable ace up her sleeve.

That said, she could not simply continue to dance to another’s tune. She could not bring herself to trust the College to keep their end of the bargain once the Crucible was done. Even if he claimed ignorance, Oren was the most obvious lead she had to the answers she sought. At the very least, breaking into the room used to monitor the state of the tournament would give her much needed information on her competition.

She turned this dilemma again and again in her head, until a small shadow flew from one of the tower’s upper windows.

He knows I’m here. She uncrossed her arms, one of them resting on her rapier’s handle. This was not unexpected. Rather, she had deliberately stayed in the open to gauge the man’s reaction.

She had thought she might be ignored until she made a move. Perhaps he might take the chance to barricade the entrance. Hopeful optimism on his part that she might leave if he waited long enough, or she was unable to use the front door. Perhaps he would take the chance to escape, but that was partly the reason why she had sent Mountain Dew to scout around the building. He would tell her if he saw Oren leaving. Alternatively, her purpose in reaching the tower had been stated clearly enough that she would not have been surprised had College agents been brought to send her away, or another competitor was diverted to deal with her.

To have another of the announcer’s drones swoop down to greet her made her confident that Oren had decided to stay in his post. Perhaps he felt he could talk her out of this course of action.

“Ya came!” Oren's voice was gratingly jovial, as though he was greeting a guest of honor instead of the one who had threatened to murder him only a few hours before. “First person to accept my invitation, and lemme just say, I'm glad it was you and not that giant troll creature. Poor brute, rest his soul. What can I do ya for, dearie?”

There have been others, then. If the invitation had carried the same menace as it had in her case, the fact was worrisome in and of itself. Pithy did not want to think that such confidence was well-founded, but neither could she believe that Oren would be gleefully confronting the competitors of this tournament with no way to assure his safety.

“Do not ‘dearie’ me, Oren. We are hardly on familiar terms,” she said bluntly. “I am impressed, nonetheless. I did not think you would contact me again after our last conversation.”

A slight huff preceded the announcer’s reply. “Pff, what kind of host invites a guest, then gives ‘em the cold shoulder? I ain’t that mean.” There came a brief pause, and in that moment the drone’s arm reached up and brushed across its underside below the eye, as if scratching its chin. “Or didja think I’d be scared?” His flippant tone evidenced how foreign the idea was to him.

Pithy’s eye tracked the motion. A memory came back to her, of one of her previous encounters with the machines. They held a storage area in their undercarriage, did they not? Yes, I did. I think you are, in fact.

Her grip on her rapier tautened. “It seems you are braver than that. Did you bring this thing out to lead me to you, then?”

“Well, unless you can fly, no. But the tower’s a straight shot up, minus the two locked hatches in the stairwell. They’ve got...uh, padlocks? Sounds about right.” Oren breathed a long sigh, then leaned closer to the microphone. “Not in much of a jokin’ mood, are ya? If ya really wanna do this, climb on up, but you’re not gonna like what comes next.”

“Took the words out of my mouth.” The crystal cane that until then had been leaning against the vehicle suddenly lanced upwards, crashing into the drone. Sparks sputtered from the impact, and the machine wobbled dangerously as it tried to correct its position. The cane, held aloft in the air with magic, swept into it again, crushing one of its engines. As the machine fell to the asphalt, the rod fell over it again and again until the rotors’ whirring noise ceased.

Pithy’s onslaught, aimed for the most part at the rotors and exterior, did not fully disable the drone’s onboard comm system. When it came through again, Oren’s voice was very distorted, but not so much as to make him unintelligible. “Any time ya wanna stop provin’ how tough ‘n mature ya, I’m waitin’ at the top.” After that, what little power remained was shut off.

A last strike of the rod sent the machine flying off to the side street.

The drone had not made a move against her, in the end. Perhaps she was paranoid. Pithy recalled the cane, the chips and cracks that had appeared from the strength of the impact filling and smoothing out of existence the moment the crystal touched her glove.

She began limping towards the tower’s entrance, silently wishing her accomplice would hurry. She had blinded one of Oren’s eyes, but that would not help her for long. Stars, if the man is truly in that tower, all he needs to do is lean out a window to see me.

As she walked, she untied the badger’s phylactery from her belt and pulled her own over her neck, summoning a sphere of ice to shield them from the outside. She tucked it under her left arm.

The trek to the thick wooden door at the tower’s base was short, but left beads of sweat forming on her brow. Her right leg ached with every motion, but there was little the elf could do for it. With neither a healer or a chance to rest, all Pithy could do was endure and carry on. Instead, she leaned against the doorframe, glancing upwards.

The window she had seen the drone come out of was a fair distance off to her left. If Oren was in that room as well, he would need to field another one to see her from this angle. Even if he was in the room straight above her, he would need to poke his head out of the window to look at her. Pithy took a deep breath and looked around her, her eyes going to the top of some of the nearby buildings in search for Mountain Dew’s figure.

After a minute of scanning with no results, Pithy grunted and turned towards the entrance. The orb of ice slid out from under her arm, levitating behind her, and her hand reached for the six-shooter at her breast. She pushed the door open with some effort, keeping the weapon trained on the widening crack. Eventually, the rest of the tower’s base was revealed to her.

The only occupant was a fireplace at the room’s center, the chimney rising upwards and through the ceiling to diffuse the heat into the other floors of the tower. As she had expected, a staircase lined the inside wall, rising upwards to her right and down to her left, forming a spiral. The latch leading to the upper room, proof that Oren had not fed her complete falsehoods, was also immediately visible. Her eye, however, fell on the steps.

Steep and narrow. As I feared. The pain in her leg pulsed. She would not be able to weather the climb in her state.

“Saw what you did to the drone.” The sphere of ice seemed to hum as Pithy turned, hinting at her first reflex at hearing Dew’s voice. “You gonna do that to him, too?”

“Depends on him.” Pithy shrugged, hiding her start under a cool voice. “Will that be a problem?”

“Not sure yet. I mean, dude’s kind of a dick. Kept saying my car was bullshit.”

The woman sighed. She was not certain she wanted to touch that topic of conversation. “Tell me what you saw.”

“Well, the drone was pretty messed up. Did you get a baseball bat while I wasn’t loo—”

“What you saw around the tower, Dew.”

There was a hint of a smirk in the man’s face as he straightened. “No other entrances that I could see, if you don’t count the windows. As for something suspicious… nothing much. ‘Cept for the room that drone came out of.”

That got the woman’s attention. “You saw inside?”

“Well, it was pretty far away.”

“I know what the tube atop your weapon is,” Pithy told him, patience beginning to fray. “Tell me what you saw.”

Dew did not withhold his smirk. “Had a feeling you’d pester me about it when I got back, so I saved myself the trouble. There’s a pretty impressive looking set-up in there, but I also saw a cot from my perch. Didn’t see Oren, but I think he was off to the side where I couldn’t see him. Place looked lived in.”

Pithy took a steadying breath, closing her eye. That was the confirmation she had been hoping for. “I want you to climb the tower from here.” She looked at him. “Oren said there were two locked latches on the way to the top. Can you deal with that?”

“Of course.” The man preened, as though insulted that Pithy had so much as hinted that such a thing would be an obstacle to him. “But what about you? Will you sit here while I do all the work?”

“Do you want to carry me to the top?” she asked dryly.

“No.”

“Then don’t ask pointless questions,” she snapped. “Get going, and don’t waste time. When you get to the top, restrain Oren.”

Dew let out a puff of air through his mouth, rolling his eyes. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”

Pithy ignored the shiver she felt at the words.

As he moved past her in his way towards the stairs, Pithy retreated out of the building. A glance to the skies revealed no new drones, but she could not know if Oren had released a new one and hidden it while she was speaking with Dew. She limped around the building, throwing searching glances at her surroundings every few seconds, until she was directly under the correct window. She holstered her shooter and took the sphere with the phylacteries under her arm once again before setting down her cane.

Pithy drew her rapier with her free hand, and as she pointed it to the space between the ground and the tower, crystal began to form. A sheet of ice grew against the wall, hugging its surface at the same time as thick ice formed on the floor below. There was a crack, and the ‘L’ shaped crystal separated from the surfaces she had used to mold it. Another gesture with her rapier formed a vertical handle at chest height. The mage approached it, hooking her arm, blade and all, around it, and leaned against the wall. With another flash of the runes on her weapon, a sheet of ice covered the boot of her good foot, securing her in place.

This solution was hardly elegant, but she did not intend to wait below while Dew confronted Oren. The two men were similar in certain respects, similar enough that Pithy did not wish for the two to meet out of her sight if she could help it.

She took a deep breath, her mind conjuring images of the elevator she had used when she had first arrived at the Justice Hub. With a flash of her runes, the crystal carrying Pithy began to rise upwards at a sedate pace, sliding against the stone walls with unnatural smoothness. Perhaps Oren was right when he assumed she could not fly, but levitating a platform was certainly within her capabilities.

Pithy looked at the receding landscape for a moment before she focused on what lay above her, making sure Oren had not leaned out to drop something on her. Frustratingly enough, the announcer was ready to take a stand against her. Whatever drove him had long since gone past bravado, and it would be dangerous of her to assume otherwise. She was certain that, were she to attempt his front door, she would have fallen into a trap, which was why she had sent Dew that way. It was entirely possible that Oren had other eyes and ears inside the building, which was why she had not shared the rest of her plan with the man.

Ideally, the two would arrive at the same time and corner Oren together, but with no way to coordinate, it would not be strange if one arrived before the other. Even if she kept to her slow pace, the trajectory of her ascent and the lack of obstacles made it likely that she would be the one to reach the top first.

Which left her with a need to plan her final approach. She could simply throw herself into the room as she was and hope that Oren did not see her coming, but that relied too heavily on her luck even before considering her injury. She would much prefer to have eyes on the room first.

The elevator slowed ever so slightly as Pithy drew her focus inwards, then channeled a spell through her rapier. A crystal disc began to form besides her, the surface reflective like a mirror. It continued to grow until it was larger than her head. With a whispered word, the surface of the ice sphere under her arm took on the same mirror sheen.

Pithy looked behind her for a moment, taking in the distance that she had traveled. She was close to her entry point now, and she knew that a fall from this height would certainly kill her. Swallowing, she sent the first mirror upwards, letting it reflect the inside of the room.

The sound of hurried footsteps coming from above, and between Brucie’s jumps, stopped Lily from taking her third jump before the awkward voice did. Above her, Brucie was seconds from taking his second leap when someone called out to them, prompting him to turn and come nearly face-to-face with a… man.

In the time it took Brucie to tilt his head in mild confusion the air had become balls of fire, each cobalt orb as dangerous as the next. “Who are you?” Lily said with dangerous calm. “James Teller, or Smiley?” The blue, inhuman eyes of Lily met the green of the newcomer. Behind her, covering for Mouse who was now on the ground, her tails moved rapidly; twisting and churning.

Samuel stopped in his tracks, though he made sure to keep trembling. He had to sell the act. It certainly helped that there were glowing orbs in the air now, ones which probably threatened his life for real if he pissed this woman off. Threatening someone unprovoked. Punish her. Terrorize. His soul called out in hunger, demanding action. No, he would resist. Even if the horror within him could justify the action, he had no intention of starting a fight. As fulfilling as it would be to terrify the bizarre duo below, it would be just as wrong. Not wrong. Teach her a lesson. Knock her into the hole. Sweet, delicious fear. No.

“T-teller? Smiley? W-who?” he stuttered out, looking between the energy orbs, forcing himself to sweat. “I don’t understand. Who are they? And who are you? M-my name is Justin. I just want to know how I got here. Why do you have tails? Why are you a robot shark? Please don’t hurt me!”

Lily’s eyes narrowed, suspicion clear as day on her face. “Justin, then,” she said, speaking slowly, and making it clear just how little she believed him with just those words. “Let me be clear that the only reason I am not in the process of burning you to cinders, is because that prick of an announcer has not signalled the beginning of yet another round.” The tension in her body loosened, and she adopted a less threatening posture, though her tails still moved behind her like the currents of an ocean. Her fire, however, remained. “That means that you are not a contestant. Or, at the very least, not my current opponent.” Her eyes didn’t move from Justin as she added, “Brucie, would you kindly see if he has a phylactery?”

The shark in question grinned as only a shark could, rows of razor teeth suddenly becoming much more prominent. “Aye sir,” he said and reached out with one, large claw. While not gentle, he was definitely not rough either, as he grabbed hold of an apprehensive Justin and pulled him down beside him, holding him fast with a hand around his shoulders and neck. With the other he poked around his torso, pulled open pockets and the like.

After a few minutes, Brucie was left with nothing, and Justin had acquired a few new pricks and bruises, where the metallic fingers had accidentally broken his skin.

“Nothing?” Lily asked, one eyebrow raised.

“Nothing,” Brucie echoed, then hesitated. “Well, except for a bunch of random junk. And playing cards. No rubber-heart.”

Lips pressed together in thought, Lily looked over this Justin as he nervously stood before them. “So you’re not a contestant,” she finally said, the number of flaming orbs gradually decreasing as the movement of her tails lessened. A dozen, however, still remained afloat around them. “Then how did you arrive here?” She added, even as a thought occurred to her. He’s not a contestant, nor a college member. Is he from the third faction? If he is, then he must know of the things happening in and around the city. Her eyes narrowed imperceptibly, one ear flicking in irritation. It doesn’t make sense for one of them to act so afraid at the sight of Brucie and I, not with the level of backup he must have. Let’s try to see what’s behind the facade. “And for the love of Inari, drop the act. I’ve seen proper fear. Yours is not it.”

Samuel trembled and recoiled as Brucie reached out for him, but he allowed the shark man to grab him and search his person. He put up only the minimal struggle one should expect from a frightened man being restrained by a hulking creature from the depths, confident that his more dangerous items were well enough hidden. After a couple minutes of being poked and prodded, Samuel was proven correct, though he found himself highly agitated that half a deck of cards had spilled out onto the rocky outcropping. Phylactery, huh? That’s an object liches use to trap and feed on souls. Do these two hunt liches?

Samuel listened to the kitsune’s questions, hiding behind wide eyes and a slack jaw. He had fully committed himself to the act. That’s when she brought his behavior into question, and a fire lit within his mind. Seen fear? You have seen fear? I am fear! No, keep it in. Do not act on impulse. Just act.

“I don’t-I don’t know where I a-a-aaaam!” Samuel forced himself to cry. This woman was sly, so he’d have to make this an experience unforgettable to sell it. Show business required sacrifices, so that is what he’d have to do for this particular piece of art. The magician moved his body around, struggling against Brucie’s grip until he got what he wanted. Samuel’s movements caused one of his many hidden knives to stab lightly into his side, piercing the skin and coming to a rest against a rib. He was thankful for the thick clothing he always wore.

“P-p-pleeease! Don’t hurt meeee! I j-just w-want to know w-w-what’s happening!” Use that pain. Force it through your emotions. He winced as the blade scraped along the bone, and used that to express a large sob.

Something… changed. Lily couldn’t quite tell what it was, but something had definitely changed. He was still acting, of that she was certain—nothing else made sense—but parts of it had taken on a more realistic quality. Can’t see well enough from here, she thought, then gave Mouse a quick command to stay where he was. Five metres was a tall order for a normal human. Most could hardly jump two. However, Lily was no normal human. Running at the speeds she could required, not only fast reaction speeds, but stronger muscles than normal. And though she could not jump five metres straight, she could take the less impressive approach of jumping from foothold to foothold, never staying in the same place for more than a moment before jumping for the next.

She landed in front of Justin seconds later, finding that though he looked small compared to Brucie, he was ever so slightly taller than she was, if one did not count the few centimetres her ears added to her. “Provided that you are telling the truth,” she said slowly, eyes never leaving his, “then I can tell you this: You are in the city of Echoes. You do not have a phylactery, so you are not a contestant in the tournament.” She clicked her tongue, and started slowly circling him, her movements sleek and graceful like a predator stalking its prey. “And if you are not a contestant, that means that you are with them—” with one hand she points towards the sky, and the black helicopters occasionally passing by “—and that is why I don’t believe that you are this wimpy little pile of tears and snot.”

City of Echoes. That sounded rather ominous. Ok, so something supernatural was definitely happening, then. Some kind of tournament was going on, and the contestants had phylacteries. So this was a tournament for liches? He could believe the kitsune was a lich, but doubted the cybernetic shark could possibly be one. Perhaps her thrall? Fascinating. So it was likely a tournament that involved taking the souls of your opponents, Sam concluded. Such an event was ripe with sin to punish. His soul cried out in legion, hundreds of individual and distinct voices singing in a choir of the hungry. She had committed this crime. He could see it within her, see the sin of soul stealing. Maybe this kitsune was worth the effort then. Still, he’d have to be certain. Just because the Murder within saw her as punishable, didn’t mean that he couldn’t justify her actions rationally. That thought aside, he didn’t care for how she was circling around him. Raven was predator. Ugallu are the ultimate predators. Maybe she’ll learn that. Time would tell.

“I h-have no idea who th-they are, I swear! I don’t know how I got here! I had a show last night in New York, went to bed, and then I I I woke up in this place!” Samuel took a moment to open the blazer jacket of his suit and produced a deck of playing cards, then held it up for the other two to see. “I’m a magician, not a… Soldier or someone that’d be in a helicopter! Let me show you.”

He spread the cards out, showing off the different suits and numbers of the full deck. Grabbing one at random, he made sure that he never saw which card it was, showing off the six of clubs to Brucie and his fox-like companion. Then Samuel crumpled the card in his hand, making sure to ball it up real good. Next he tossed it aside, into the massive hole. It clearly fell beyond line of sight. A moment later and the magician placed his hand behind Brucie’s back, then pulled from it a single playing card. The six of clubs. He held it up for Lily to inspect, and sure enough it was folded and creased randomly, as though it had been crumpled.

Unimpressed was about the only word to describe the expression on Lily’s face. To Samuel’s credit, however, Brucie did seem somewhat impressed. Even then, he was the only one. “A card trick?” She asked, stopping in her track in front of him, watching him with as deadpan a stare as she could.

She sighed and turned her back to him, ears still twisted backwards to hear him. “I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t believe you for a second. You don’t arrive here without a reason. But in the off chance that you’re telling the truth, then I have no need for you.” She took a step towards the edge of the small platform, “let’s go, Brucie,” she added and let herself fall down to where Mouse waited.

“I, uh, heh, I admit it’s not my best trick, but I don’t, uh, you know, have much prepared since I just sorta appeared here…” Sam feigned sheepishness at the criticism. It was something he could expect. A kitsune should be, according to the legends, a very powerful magical creature. If she were also a lich participating in a tournament to steal souls, then it was only natural that she’d be unimpressed by simple sleight of hand and basic tricks. He briefly wondered how she’d react if she knew the full extent of his real magic, but focused on the task at hand.

The kitsune deigned to release him and carry forward with Brucie, down into the hole. That, he thought, was probably that. Following would be pointless and make no sense if he wanted to keep up the charade, and there was no way in hell he’d be revealing his true nature. “Oh, ok. Uh, well then I uh… I hope someone can tell me what’s going on…” he trailed off, mumbling the last few words. With both Brucie and the fox woman gone, he shed the persona of cold, scared, confused Justin. His entire body language shifted into a more comfortable, contemplative one.

You don’t arrive here without a reason. Those were her words. Then something chooses to take people here. Interesting. He spared a glance upward at the helicopters. And these people are apparently uninvited, meaning they are not part of this contest. A separate group with a stake in this city. But what is the goal? A contest has a prize, so what does that lich want?

Samuel Raven grinned to himself, adjusted his top hat, and began to slowly walk away from the massive hole. He held a single lump of bread up to his face, nicked from Brucie’s backpack while he was performing that simple card trick, and ate it. He would have preferred something more enlightening, but it’d do. If I choose, we will meet again, kitsune. For now, I had better see if there are any other “contestants” out there. I’m getting… Hungry.

---

Below, Lily had stopped briefly when she knew a normal human could not pierce the darkness. She looked up, watching the man that had claimed to be named Justin. She did not need supernatural senses to see the change in his posture and expression; to see the lie unravel at the seams, whether intentional or not.

A slow, self-satisfied smile spread across her lips. Never try to trick a Trickster, “Justin”. The piece of bread he’d snatched, she decided, was inconsequential. His primary trick she had seen through.

There was no answer from the door, only the chirping cicadas from the forest. Jin shrugged and opened the door. "Don't say I didn't knock! The door was unlocked surprisingly and there was nobody inside. Beer cans lay strewn around the floor, making Jin wish he had grabbed some of that apple juice before all the cabins had burnt down. Jin stepped inside and began coughing as dust attempted to force it's way into his lungs. "Goddamn, somebody needs to vacuum around here!" He waved a hand in front of his face and fanned away the dust, just long enough for him to stop coughing and take a look at the one useful looking thing in here.

A shitty sleeping bag. Well it was better than nothing, Jin walked over and picked it up, only for it to fall apart at his touch. He frowned and kicked it, grunting in surprise when he felt something solid. He ripped it open and his eyes widened. Jackpot.



Jin stuffed the creepy paw in his pocket and grinned, this would be perfect for braining someone's skull in. Otherwise it was useless though, Jin watched movies and knew all about Monkey's Paws. Cursed motherfuckers. Though he could probably trick someone into using it and cursing themselves into a horrible pile of flesh or something. With that in mind Jin left the cabin and headed back down to the stream. If he followed it far enough he was bound to go somewhere. A doe frightened as he approached it, running away before he got the chance to get close. Whatever, not like he knew how to cook a deer for food.

Malveil was in a bind. If these two were the only ones he had to fight, they would have gone down easily. A run-through with a lance, a shot from a gun, and it would all be over. But judging by the shambling figures behind them, they were definitely not alone. The fact that all of them could fly was a problem as well. Still, he noticed that in order to fly, the bird-woman had to transform her arms into wings, and vice versa if she wanted to land. He didn’t know how tough their wings were, but he’d assume that they were about the same density and weight as a normal bird’s, or else flying would be a bit of a problem. Even so, avoiding confrontation seemed to be the best course of action.

“Ah, I am merely a man trying to make sense of my surroundings. As you can see, me and my men aren’t particularly familiar with this strange land. But if you must know, my name is Malveil, of the Silverlocke blood, and I’ve come here to find someone. You wouldn’t have happened to see a raging, armor-clad woman swinging around a red sword, have you?”

Still, these woman-bird hybrids might prove useful to him if they knew anything about Saria, or more importantly, the Red Blade. If he did find her, he’d prefer to find a corpse. Fighting her was the last thing he wanted to do; not because of some familial love or trivial reasons like that, but because he genuinely feared her.

The one riding the griffon was particularly interesting, however. As far as he could tell, she was the only one riding such a beast. Thus, she was most likely their leader. Good for him, since that Griffon was a massive target for Craven, should the need arise. Maybe cutting the head off the serpent would be a good idea, but he decided to wait and see where this went.

Suspicion

...on his part, Motley wouldn’t have cared so much about what exactly happened to the souls of the participants during the wish-making process, if his own hadn’t been at risk. But as Runch said, it was surprisingly suspicious that the so-called professors hadn’t so much as attempted to test the device yet; the phrase “do not attribute to malice what could be attributed to stupidity” was sometimes relevant, but when the targets were supposedly adherents to proper research, and intelligence in general at that, there was clearly something wrong with the situation.

Which then had him questioning whatever scenario might present itself in the latter portion of the day. Would it be similar to the events of The Hunger Games, wherein participants were forcibly herded toward their foes lest they risk death at the hands of the individuals running the game? Or perhaps everybody would be marked in some way, drawing each foe closer together by dint of their own curiosity, and the insistence that not defeating one’s opponent would mean a loss by default.

Not that Runch seemed upset about the idea, as he wandered off into the catacombs again. Nor, for that matter, did Erina, grinning as she grabbed up one of Runch’s discarded weapons as a lightsource of her own, and only prevented from wandering after the errant pirate by Motley’s hand on her shoulder.

'...aren’t we going to follow him?' Erina asked with a frown, rather puzzled, perhaps even annoyed by Motley’s hand on her shoulder. 'We DID both agree to stick with him.'

'And as I already explained to him, we cannot simply wander off into that underground maze. Not without a strategy, at least,' Motley pointed out once again, beginning to mark off points on his fingers. 'If we’re going to get his spoonsaber back, we need to consider a means of marking our route; we ideally need a brighter source of light than these spoons; we need sustenance for you in particular, since Runch is as good as lost if he keeps going-'

'Found it!'

'...or that could happen, and we need never enter those tombs again,' Motley murmured with slight disbelief as he watched Runch return, mostly to fill his mouth with words so that he didn’t accidentally mutter “That’s impossible,” or anything like it. Past experience had shown that practically nothing was impossible under the right circumstances, and that ever thinking otherwise would lead to injury or worse, but the situation was nonetheless exceptionally improbable.

'Are you religious, by any chance? Is there a god giving you a ton of luck?' Erina asked once Runch had finished his latest speech, by far more genuinely shocked than Motley if her expression was anything to go by. 'Because I really want to worship that god if they exist.'

'And what was that about the wishing machine?' Motley echoed, more practically-minded than Erina in this case. 'Because I think that’s rather significant as far as finds go. Maybe not specifically useful, so far, but certainly a late-game advantage if you can figure out how to exercise it.' To himself alone, he admitted that, of course, it may also be completely worthless, depending on whether the folks running the game were the sort of be honest or not. That remained to be seen… and if they weren’t, they’d need to be harshly reprimanded.

@ProPro

The ingenius use of Pithy’s silvery surface provided a full view of the room at the tower’s top. Just as Dew reported, it contained a couple desks stacked with unknown technological devices, their tangle of cables and assortment of random objects not unlike a snake pit. A pair of flat screens, very much like the projections of Oren’s drones, sat in the mechanical mess’s middle, but the chair in front of it contained nobody. Seeking her aggravating adversary with intentful haste, Pithy continued her search, and on the other side of the room spotted the man in question by the door. A cabinet, filled with supplies judging by the packages and bags spilled on the floor, had been upended to serve as a barricade, and the perpetrator of that barrier leaned with his back to the wall right beside it.

In a single instant, it became clear to Oren that he was being watched by the face reflected in the mirror, and to Pithy it became clear he’d positioned himself to be hidden from whoever might break through the stairway door and to keep an eye on the window.

Faster! Before he moves! She loosened the grip on the sphere holding her phylactery, and, as if taken by an invisible hand, it floated after her mirror.

This marked the first time that the Lady in White could get a full view of the detestable individual who to her embodied the nebulous designs of the College in this tournament. Skinny as a rail, pale and with blonde hair platinum enough to almost be considered albino, he dressed in oddly antiquated clothes: the fanciful garb of a mage, with a gray halfrobe over a dark blue turtleneck and long johns, and a zigzag purple cloak. A slight but noticeable jolt passed through the strange man’s body as he stared back at Pithy through the mirror, but it wasn’t a moment before his face developed a sinisterly jovial grin.

The details whispered a grim premonition at the back of her mind, but she understood she had no time to dwell on them. The sphere reached the opening, and with a sudden burst of speed lanced towards the man’s face.

In a clear voice he spoke the words, “Law of Retrogression.”

He is a mage, came the dull realization. There was little time to dwell on her surprise, as circles of gray-white energy appeared to either side of his head. There was just enough time for Pithy to see their shine—a bizarre, unnatural glow that seemed to sear itself into her eyes—and sense a sudden surge of impossibly yet undeniably magic power, before her body began to steam. At the same time, Oren twisted sideways and threw up his arms, unable to devise any better way of protecting himself with the split second left for him. There came a sickening crack, followed by a scream of pain.

The sound of breaking bone barely registered in Pithy’s mind, the detail buried under the alarm that filled her head at the pressure that bored down on her body. More alarming still was the sensation of compression.

Interrupt him.

She pulled on her magic without reserves—Not as much as I wanted—now, the platform she was on lifting her towards the window. As she did, her left hand reached for the large shooter—Larger than it should be—at her chest and pulled it out. The ice wall dissipated—It broke like glass—as she leaned forward, throwing herself bodily into the room. What she had aimed as a forward roll turned into a messy sprawl that scattered shards of ice into the room—and why not? How could she move properly when it felt as though she was being buried alive?

Growling at the burning feeling in the arms that had cushioned the fall—barely had she avoided falling over her injured leg—she relinquished control of the platform and mirror, leaving them to fall. Her sight was on the man in front of her, and the crystalline sphere slowly rolling towards her. Pithy pointed her rapier at Oren, drawing on power to bludgeon the man once again.

The crystal refused to move as she willed and instead, the weapon fell from her hand, pulling with it a too large glove for a child’s hand. Pithy stared at the the small digits and the large, baggy sleeve that drooped back with growing horror, noting for the first time that the pressure had disappeared.

The six-shooter, now too heavy in her hands, pulled the other glove away and clattered to the ground. Her gaze fixed on the weapon, and the woman, now no older than a girl in her sixth year of life, dove for it.

“Blackneedle!”

A series of small, dark objects flew toward the gun. Several embedded themselves into the floor like arrows into a target’s backstop, and a couple struck the gun with enough force to send it spinning away. The child froze, and when she looked toward the source she could see him standing with one bloodied arm clutched against his chest and his remaining hand extended outward making a finger-gun. His smile was grim. “Don’t try it! I’m not much of a fighter, but I could beat the snot outta a kid like you.” The pain afflicting him could be heard in his voice, but the spark in his eyes said that he felt assured of victory.

Pithy’s lips set on a tight line as she froze. She tried to draw power from her inner wellspring, but the cold wind slipped out of her grasp. Her good eye roamed the interior of the room for any other tool that might give her a chance to gain an advantage, but it was difficult to halt the bitterly familiar feeling of hopelessness that rose from her chest. Searchingly, she brought a hand to her face, the motion awkward and unsteady in a body that felt too small for her. Cold crystal met her fingers, and the feeling served to steady her. Even without her magic, she was not as she had been near a century ago. There had been a time when she had truly been helpless, but as long as she bore the mark of her rebellion, she could not accept defeat.

So think. You don’t need a healthy body for that, do you? Think!

She was confident that the nature of the curse was not a permanent one, mainly due to the fact that it had succeeded. Further than that, even after reducing her to such a pitiful state, Oren still had his wits about him. The energy required to steal the last seventy years of life from an elf with no previous preparation would have been unfeasible even with the seemingly endless torrent of power she had taken into herself.

No, this curse is not that. A complex suppression spell is more likely, designed to make the target harmless. He must be sustaining it himself. If so, Oren was no inexperienced mage, with enough focus to both hold the curse in place and cast simpler offensive magic at the same time. But that need not be a surprise. There had been many a human talent her own realm.

She was not equipped to dispel such magic, however. If a direct confrontation was not feasible, she would need to surprise him. Mountain Dew was still unaccounted for, and she had not been completely disarmed yet, a fact she hoped her tattered robe would conceal. She had options. What she really needed was an opportunity to use them.

Her hand slowly drooped, and Pithy, still lying on the floor propped on her hip and hands, slowly drew her limbs back to herself. The child gave the man a cautious stare.

“This is quite the curse.” Pithy scowled at the soft, thin voice that left her throat, but forced herself to continue. “It’s not the work of an amateur.”

Her words evoked no response on the announcer’s face, though he proved as quick as ever to reply. “I should hope not. And it’s not the only one, either. I could slap ya with a couple curses far worse than Retrogression, or even layer them. If I really wanted to, little miss In White, I could change ya so thoroughly that… er…” For a moment he struggled to find a suitable turn of phrase. He gave up in very short order. “Well, let’s just say I can change ya beyond any recognition or return.”

Pithy frowned. Unless the man’s magic operated under completely different principles than those of her own world, she was certain he was exaggerating. If she could feel the flare of power as clearly as she had coming from him, the difference could not be that great. However, under her current circumstances, neither could she take it as a bluff.

“—Or just stab ya to death with Blackneedles; I’m not a great shot, but I’d hit an eye or throat sooner or later. But I don’t want to do any of that, ‘cause I’m not your real enemy. I mean, I do kinda want to curse ya to hell ‘n back ‘cause you’re an uppity pain in the ass, and ya broke my damn arm, but I’m not as petty as some people I can name.” He cast a baleful glare at Pithy. “And there are more important things at stake. I’d explain if I didn’t think ya’d try to interrupt my monologue.”

“Oh?” She saw her chance to buy time. “Do test me. If I did not wish to have you speak, I would not have used a blunt projectile.”

The wizard’s eyelid twitched, interrupting his squint for a fraction of a second and revealing a trace of the black eye beneath. “Right. That ‘blunt projectile’ woulda cracked my skull.”

“You are alive, no?” The child gave him a smile much too cruel for her angelic features. “It is difficult to balance power and speed when you need haste.”

“Uhuh. Sorry, but I’m treatin’ ya as hostile. And don’t think I don’t know what you’re thinkin’.’ He extended his still-workable hand, the index and middle fingers pointed straight at Pithy. “You’re awful composed for the situation you’re in. Means you’re plottin’. Your magic’s compromised and your body’s too weak for sword-fighting, so you’re goin’ for the pistol again.” His voice descended into an unintelligible mutter, and magic circles of red light appeared beside him with a sound like an ethereal snarl.

Another wave of compression enveloped the young Pithy, whose eye burned from the circles’ harsh glare before she could twist her head away. Pithy cried out in protest as she began to shrink once again, smaller and smaller until she sunk into her clothes. Dark fuzz seemed to sprout from her visible skin before she vanished under the fabric. A few moments later, a fluffy, grayish ball dragged itself from under the robes. The owlet, fuzzy and small enough to fit in the palm of a hand, shook itself, then paused to look down.

It shivered, and closed its eye. Pithy’s child voice droned past the bird’s beak. “Do you expect me to bow and beg, then?” As if she would give him the satisfaction. “Careful, Oren. You are rapidly approaching the limit of what I can forgive.”

She poured ice down on her thoughts. The only part of this situation she could directly control was her state of mind. Panic was strictly forbidden. So instead, she analyzed the circumstances. Oren’s magic worked too quickly, overcoming her natural resistances as though they were not there. He must be bypassing them somehow. Is it an illusion? No. Reasserting my form in my mind would allow me to contest it. Is seeing those lights the trigger for it to take hold, then? The usefulness of that information was dubious at this point, true or not. One way or another, she had been left without her daggers—quite literally disarmed, in fact. She still had one card under her metaphorical sleeve, but it was not a reliable one, and it was no longer up to her if it came into play. The fact that Oren thought she would go for a weapon suggested he somehow did not know about her accomplice yet. That gave her hope, but she could not assume Oren had not left traps on the way up the tower. Dew might never reach them, but what else could she rely on now?

The bird spread its tiny wings, as though presenting itself. “Well, then. Do you feel safe in your superiority now, or are you as scared of a bird as you are of a child?”

A sagacious nod greeted her barb. “Yeah, I think so.  All that’s left is figurin’ out whatcha meant by ‘limit of what I can forgive’.  Are ya so full of yourself that not just lettin’ ya kill me is some kind of unforgiveable crime?  Pff.”

“Do ask the owlet sitting on her pile of discarded clothing.”

He shook his head, and winced at the fresh shot of pain from his arm.  “Aagh...jeez.  Well, I’ll give it to ya plain.  My name is Nero, and I’m not whatcha might call ‘from around here.’  I was here before the College, and when they set up, I saw my chance.  If I’m guessin’ right, your beef with me ain’t much deeper than the crap I’m talkin’, but instead ya want to try and get at the College through me.  I can tell ya this, in the one place my own drones ain’t recordin’: there’s shifty business goin’ on in the College.  Some of ‘em ain’t so bad, aside from bein’ willing to sacrifice a lot just to research all the nonsense that’s goin’ on in this place, but some want that wish for themselves.”  The traveler called Nero breathed a heavy sigh.  “I’m not...disillusioned ‘bout how much my life is worth.  A while ago, all I wanted was to make people happy usin’ my Curse Laws, but it was all to feel wanted myself. But now I know what I gotta do: stop the power-seekers from gettin’ what they want.  And I won’t letcha stop me.”  He pulled back his free hand to adjust his glasses, which had slid a short way down his nose from the sweat.

She wanted to punch him. Heavens she wished she could knee him in the crotch right then. This man had made her go through all this trouble to make him talk, only for his tongue to loosen when just about all the cards were on his side of the table. The little owl took a breath, it’s plumage flaring irritably. “Ore—Nero,” she corrected herself. “Such creativity. Is there a particular reason you did not tell me this over the drone?” She thought she knew the answer, but wished to hear it from his own mouth.

Nero narrowed his eyebrows, as though the answer was obvious.  “All drone footage has to be submitted to my bosses.  This ain’t public knowledge, and it’s gonna stay that way.”

“I thought as much. You also said you had ‘invited’ others to your tower. Were you hoping to enlist their help with whatever you wish to do?”

“Nah, it was mostly a show of bravado for people pissin’ me off.  If that ogre came by, I woulda tried to turn him into something squishable, but I banked on him stayin’ on the total opposite side of the city.  And he did, right up until he got killed by a little girl.”

The bird made a disgusted sound. “Nero?”

“Hm?”

“I hate your guts. I thought you should know.”

A snort escaped the dark mage as he placed his hand over his heart.  “Aww!  I hate you too, Pithy.  Wanna hear a pun about owls?”

“Not today, douchebag!”  A sudden cry came from behind the door, followed shortly by a bullet’s explosion.  The wood about a foot to Nero’s right blasted apart and a stone brick across the room cracked apart in a spray of powder and a web of cracks.  Panicked, Nero dove to his left, only to release a howl of pain as his arm his the ground.  Without delay Pithy’s down began to steam, just as her skin had a moment before, and a powerful sense of fullness surged through her.  Meanwhile Mountain Dew was forcing his foot, bit by bit, through the aperture his rifle’s blast had created.

“Careful, he’s a mage!” Pithy warned.  

Otherwise occupied, Nero could spare her nary a glance.  “No I’m not!”  Squinting, he hurried to make out who his new acquaintance might be, and managed to snag a look through the rapidly-widening hole in the door.  “How’d you get here!?”  With teeth gritted he attempted to leverage himself into a position both less painful for his arm and more advantageous for spellcasting at the intruder. Just as he turned himself to have a better view, agony struck like lightning. A choked squeak left his throat.

A moment later, Dew appeared inside the room, teleporting through the space he had opened. He scanned the area with his weapon high before lowering it in confusion.

A large, snowy owl sat in front of the window. A thin man he took to be Oren was curled on the ground, one arm held tightly between his legs, and a reflective sphere was slowly rolling away from his lower body.

Mountain Dew stared at the scene for a moment, then turned and teleported outside of the room. A few seconds later, he reappeared inside. The owl blinked at him slowly.

He massaged his jaw with one hand, as though trying to puzzle out the scene he had found. “Nope. Still makes no sense.”

“It does not have to.” The owl blinked again. “That was impressive timing.”

The man stared at her in confusion. “Wait. Pithy? Why the fuck are you an owl? And why can you speak?”

The bird’s plumage flared, the black spots at the ends of its white feathers almost making it look like a spreading pinecone, then smoothed again. Dumbly, he realized it had shrugged. “He’s a mage.”

“No… I’m… not...” came the wheeze from the prone Nero.

“Men.” Pithy grunted, giving the man an irritated look. “You break their arm, and they keep going without a care. You touch their pride, and they fold. Bring out the painkillers, Dew.”



“You were somehow brought here too? Hmm.” The woman in white narrowed her eyes, thinking. “In that case, we have no quarrel with you, so long as you watch yourself, Malveil of the Silverlocke Blood. I am Penning.” She glanced over her shoulder at the cloaked griffon-rider.

“Margot.”

Moving her arms and twisting herself to the side a touch, the harpy performed some sort of pose. “Humble servants of the Skydiving Prince, Carreau. As for what you seek, M̴ar͜ơt͢te̢ told us of a an ogre, a musician, a kitsune, and a shark with limbs of metal, but no armored swordswoman.” Penning resumed her normal stance, arms crossed once more. “Since you are new to this place, I can only assume that you haven't seen a slime woman? Rosy-pink color, ridiculous bust? No?” She shook her head, as if it were foolish to hope.

From behind, the blue-haired woman spoke up in a low voice. “There's a tournament going on right now. My sister was 'otherwise engaged' when our ally Clotho, who was brought her to compete, told us all she remembered.” A pointed look flew from Penning, though Margot ignored it while continuing to speak to Malveil. “She described a woman in dark armor, with some kind of sword, at the college off this City's southwestern shore. She won't be there, but there'll be someone who knows where she is.” Margot signaled her griffon to take off by pulling the reins, putting an abrupt end to the conversation.

Still sporting a sour expression, Penning produced her wings and flapped upward. “You have indeed come to a strange land, where it would appear worlds have collided. Farewell, Malveil.” With that, she was off, in pursuit of her 'sister' and headed back toward the huge crow floating overhead.

---

---

Not a word had been exchanged between Juniper and Cyril after the two left Dr. Bill's medical van behind them, the former clinging to the latter's back. Were there anyone to see, they would have made for a bizarre silhouette. To his halberd, which he had utilized as a walking stick, the vanguard had fastened the remnants of his layered plate cuirass on the off chance the smith could mend it., and as he trudged down the streets in the direction of what the brutish doctor had called a 'train station', he'd leaned forward enough so that his former opponent wouldn't have to worry about sliding off as long as she held firm. For more social or self-conscious people, the trek and ensuing train ride might have been awkward, but neither Cyril nor Juniper minded the silence. Their mutual silence persisted until their automated, rail-bound mode of transportation came to a halt in Oldtown.

When Cyril turned his back to his new ally and knelt so she could grab hold, he found himself waiting for longer than he should have. An inquisitive glance backward made visible to him the look of anguish on Juniper's face as she sat, motionless. He wondered if reality was setting in for her, and if so, why it took so long. Either way, he could practically feel the woe radiating from her, and it was a stark contrast compared to the impenetrable confidence that filled her before their fight. A pang of discomfort lanced through Cyril's heart; he'd expected before and during that battle that knocking the chip off this boisterous, derisive girl's shoulder would be good for the both of them, but seeing her a shadow of her former self like this told him that he'd been wrong to think of her solely as an enemy deserving of punishment. He didn't know what to think or do, and the meddlesome influence of the screw in his head wasn't helping. The vanguard took a deep breath to try and clear his mind. In a low, gentle voice, he murmured, “He shouldn't be far. Let's go.”

Juniper did not reply, or even nod her head, but she reached up and wrapped her arm around Cyril's neck. He stood, retrieved his weapon from where it leaned in a corner, and plodded toward the nearest exit door.

From the first moment he stood on the platform of Oldtown's station, he could tell that even though he was still in the same city, this area might have just as well been from a different era. Rather, it would be more accurate to say it was from numerous eras, for the only constant between the buildings that ringed this big, square, cobblestone plaza was the inconsistency of their style. It made no sense, save perhaps as a sort of homage to antiquity. It was here that Bill had told the two that they'd find a smith who could forge them what they needed to survive.



In the wide-open halls of the clowns' curiously quiet ship, the angry roar of Bonesword's new pet resounded well—too well. Only a few moments of pacing passed by before one of the wacky spiral doors slid open to admit two clowns. One, a bulbous creature with a giant rainbow afro, took tiny steps while holding his hands out in front of him. The other, moving ahead, stood comically short and bore a nasty expression on his wrinkled face. Sharing strange, garbled intonations unintelligible to Bonesword, they approached the giant machine.

”What's that noise? The only fodder we caught was that woman.”

”Not so. Bobo found a skeleton and a strange plant nearby. Took them for the fun of it, then forgot to clean out the holding tank.”

Through the tinted plastic, their dull yellow eyes stared at Bonesword and his Basil-lisk.

”Instead of hanging it on the wall, they can both go in the funhouse, then.”

”Do it quickly before we leave, then. This area's empty except for the woman, and we couldn't even eat her. Tickles found a school toward the other side of the city with lots of people.”

Already having turned to walk away, the short clown disappeared through the spiral door. His companion plodded to the vacuum-thing's console, where he proceeded to yank one oversized lever after another. Ten feet straight above Bonesword, a plastic hatch popped open. Above loomed what appeared to be a giant claw machine, its bladed digits perfect for digging into and holding dense cotton-candy cocoons but doubtlessly deadly for something without such fibrous protection.

While wide enough to facilitate a quick getaway from the claw, the hatch appeared to be far out of reach. With no soil in which to grow plants, and only the smoothest walls one could imagine available to climb, Bonesword would be hard-pressed to escape the claw's grip unless he could engineer himself a way out of the situation.



Even taking Lily's exceptional mobility into account, darkness and unknown footing for hundreds of meters straight down made for one arduous descent. Seeking the train track expedited the journey's initial stage, but it hadn't taken long to find the point at which the subway tunnel abruptly ended and empty space began. Way, way below, the daylight shone upon the wreckage of a subway train, splayed upon a dark rock face like a dead snake swung against stone. Though its lights had gone out a while ago, its steel reflected the sun well enough to give a pretty approximate view of its location. With the track cut off, all that remained to the kitsune and the hammer head was a steep and perilous climb down the vaguely cylinder-shaped hole.

Brucie's mechanical limbs worked well when it came to grabbing hold of a purchase, but agile he was not. His accompaniment made for slow going, but having assured Lily that she could proceed without him, he was left to make his way down at his own pace. So haphazard were the walls' layout that manifold places to catch a break existed, but the going was unpredictably and treacherous. At any moment, a loose chunk of rock or debris might slide loose to plummet downward. During the course of the climb, the shift in perspective made Lily's surroundings more clear. About an hour into the trek, and a third of the way down, half of the hole' opened up into a gargantuan cavern, while the opposite followed the cavern wall until it eventually began to slope toward the floor. Numerous cliff-like outcroppings extended from the rough curve, and it was upon one such that the train lay. To her misfortune, however, Lily could see precious little of the cavern. She could perceive a strange purple radiance in the distance, but it was thoroughly obstructed by countless cave columns, the product of stalactites and stalagmites growing toward one another and merging over the course of eons. Together they made a sort of lattice, picturesque but frustrating. It was a short time before she was due to reach the beginning of the slope that the way was made clear.

The sunlight all but blinked out as an enormous shape appeared overhead. Black and inscrutable from below, it plummeted downward through the pit. As it passed into the open air it curved suddenly to level off, and Lily got her first good look at it. Before her swooped a colossal crow, upon whose back rested what appeared to be a fortress complex. It spread its wings and barreled into the cave columns head-on, plowing straight through. As it moved onward, its path allowed the kitsune to see what had laid hidden. At least a mile of cave floor away, across expanses of water, boulders, and iridescent fungi amid the trunks of the shattered columns, there stood a great town of black iron, red brick, and brilliant purple fumes.

Bearing its citadel, the giant crow floated toward it, but for Lily it seemed her search was almost done. Compared to the exhausting and dangerous task that had occupied her for a hefty portion of the day already, the final descent down the slope could be walked in a leisurely if alert fashion.



Following the stream through the forested canyon proved to be a dependable if monotonous route. In some places the clef widened into a gulch, the brook in its bed deepening into a river. Never, however, did the terrain become unmanageable. Aside from some steps here and there, a few guard railings, and a handful of bridges, this region of the City of Echoes appeared to be in almost pristine natural condition. Of course, such a thing in and of itself was odd; what kind of metropolis set a fraction of itself aside for so extravagant a nature preserve? Yet, navigating it felt remarkably like a voyage through a real jungle, and sightings of other animals every now and then reinforced the feeling.

Throughout the journey, however, Jin couldn't help but get the feeling that he wasn't the only one looking. Time after time, the sensation of being watched would creep over him, but never did he spy anything out of the ordinary. Once in a while he could see other tree-shadowed cabins perched on the top of one of the canyon walls, very similar to the one he'd visited, but he could glimpse nobody inside or nearby.

After a long time the walls of the canyon began to creep downward, leveling out with the stream. They came together right in front of where the river dropped away into a waterfall, splashing into a giant lake a ways below. Ringed in gloomy mist, the water's surface was so still that it reflected the sky and surrounding plain like a mirror. Even the city, clearly visible in its enormity beyond the Park's grassy expansive, had the peaks of its skyscrapers upended in the lake from Jin's point of view.



In the orange hours of fading day, when late afternoon became early evening, and when bellies were beginning to hunger for dinner, a tone rang out from every competitor's phylactery. It echoed from the top of a beautiful waterfall in the Park; it chirped through the still air of the behemoth cave beneath Downtown; it could be heard in the Historical District and a little too close to the announcer's tower; its cry pierced the silence in the brutalized amphitheater and received an annoyed look from a clown in a floating tent on its way to the School.

Thereafter came the following announcement.

“Well hey there, lucky man slash woman slash hell-demon, maybe! Congrats on makin' it to the second round, once again. And congrats to me for makin' all this stuff work again after a certain someone summoned a tornado in my room! I'll confess, the effort left me a little 'winded.' Ahem. I'll keep it brief: as ya mighta guessed, we've been trackin' ya this whole time. Now, however, the drones are getting' a little update. Simply put, the drone keepin' an eye on each of ya will automatically orient itself to point toward the trackin' signal of your next opponent. Just follow it, and wham! One step closer to fulfillin' that big wish! So protect your drone, 'cause ain't any more where they come from. Round 3 begins when the update rolls out in ten minutes. Then semifinals once all four winners are decided, then the grand finals. Good luck to each one of ya, and watch out! Some smart cookies have been busy amassin' allies and artifacts. Later!”

Pithy drummed her fingers absentmindedly on the new cane she had summoned, eyeing the objects sitting atop the table belonging to the Crucible’s announcer.

Crunching sounds periodically interrupted the silence. Moments ago, after she had explained the basics of their situation, Dew had distributed a few orange packages to the rest of them at her request, and the contents had proved to be hard, flat biscuits that tasted thickly of cheese and spice. For the most part, the other two occupants of the room seemed content with focusing on their meal rather than breaking the awkward silence that had descended over the room ever since the man who called himself Nero had been convinced to return Pithy to her natural form. Naturally, she had not grown back into her clothes.

She had made nothing of it, using it instead as a chance to apply new bandages, since her own had grown loose and fallen during her transformation, but she felt a flare of irritation every time she recalled the way Dew’s gaze had lingered on her until she had dressed. The man in question was sitting against a nearby wall, digging into his meal. A white bandage adorned his wounded arm, the rags of Pithy’s robe now discarded. His smaller shooter was resting by his leg, within easy reach, and his gaze frequently roamed towards the other man in the room.

Nero had been made to sit on his cot. An improvised sling had been fashioned for him from some of the supplies that had been stored in the cabinet and the bandages Dew had found in the diner. He occasionally looked up from his snack to toss the others looks of annoyance, but he had ceased his resistance when it became apparent that Pithy did not intend to pursue her feud with him.

Pithy studied the displays atop the table. One of them showed various vistas of what she assumed to be the various locations within City of Echoes, likely seen from the eyes of the drones spread throughout the area. Another contained a map of the whole city, with several conspicuous dots slowly moving throughout its surface. A moment later, she caught sight of one of these dots where she imagined the tower to stand. Only one, however. Pithy frowned, bringing a hand to her chest, where her beating phylactery rested. The mess of cables behind the screens told her little about how the machines worked, but she knew of one thing that every competitor held and could be used to keep track of them. It served to confirm her suspicions that the College could keep tabs on her even without the use of the drones.

“Which of these is my next opponent?” she asked.

Suppressing his irritation for himself for not thinking ahead to shut down or at least lock his system, Nero replied, “The purple dot.” The point in question appeared to be moving through the port district, which lay northwest of the Governance Hub, in a straight line and with a intriguing disregard for the buildings in its path.

Pithy merely nodded, her eye tracing the movement with a distracted interest. It was useful knowing the locations of the other competitors, but that was not the true reason why she had climbed the announcer’s tower. She could have such a thing as her next foe’s location of one of the drones, and Nero would have happily answered from the other end in accordance to his role as supervisor. She simply was not certain how to approach the topics she wanted to discuss. Her sister had had a way with words, and a caring disposition that had made others fall in love with her, but that had never been Pithy’s strength. She’d had precious few of those, in fact.

Sighing, the elf turned, spinning the chair in front of the table to face the two men. She sat on it, the trio forming a triangle inside the room.

“There are things I’d like to know about this ‘Crucible’ I’m a part of, Nero. Will you answer if I ask?”

A dazzling smile shone upon Pithy as the dark mage told her, “But of course. Consider me a captive audience.”

Pithy considered that expression in his face, and decided it promised a headache. “True. I don't intend to leave before I am satisfied. But you won't do me much good as just an audience.” She frowned, then closed her eyes.

How would she have played this? Chances are she would not have gone as far as breaking the arm of the one she wished to speak with.

“I would not be surprised if your first concern was getting me out of here. You might not care about me or my intentions beyond that, but I am willing to answer any questions you have for me. I will be as forthright as possible, if you promise me the same from you.”

Nero’s demeanor did not falter as he scratched his jaw in a quizzical manner. “Ya don’t have much I’m interested in. I’ll answer what I feel like. Regardless, it might shock ya to know, but uh, I don’t have all the answers either.”

There was a beat of silence, where Pithy’s head drooped slightly. It was as she had expected, but that olive branch had taken more effort to extend than she cared to admit. “Very well.” The woman opened her eye, giving the man an even look. “I’ll take what I can get. You have already told me some reasons why the College is conducting this tournament—”

“He did?” Dew perked up. “How come I didn't hear about that?”

“Quiet,” she admonished. “We’ll go over that in a moment.” Turning to Nero, she continued. “For now, I want to hear about some details that have been bothering me. For example, why were we chosen to participate? My recruiters knew too much about me to have been a coincidence.”

“I believe the idea was gettin’ people who wanted something bad enough to not just risk their lives, but also be willing to gamble on a wishing machine existing in the first place.”

“That doesn’t explain how they knew to reach us specifically. We do not even come from this world.”

Nero offered another shrug. “Dunno how they did it. My guess is some kind of...help. Like, someone pulling strings and making stuff happen in the background. A driving intelligence, somewhere in the city...or beneath it, judging by the massive hole in the Commercial District.”

“A hole?” Even as she asked the question, she recalled the tremor she had felt that morning. Regardless, that hardly bore thinking on when she considered the rest of what Nero had told her. An intelligence aware of the inner details of the life of beings outside its own realm. Such a thing would be clairvoyance of the highest order, capable not only of accessing all information, but filter it for relevance. Would this be limited to present and past information, or to future as well? The distinction grew blurry when one considered separate universes. Of course, the information regarding the contestants could not have been uncovered by the college through conventional means, but the idea that such a thing might have been involved was so outlandish that Pithy had a hard time not rejecting it out of hand. If such an intelligence had a direct stake on the proceedings of this ritual, outmaneuvering its designs would be nigh impossible.

That said, Nero had framed this as a guess, and any information she derived from it would be pure conjecture. There was no reason for her to believe that the tremors were at all related to the source of the College’s source of information either. “What happened this morning? And what makes you think it is related to this supposed ‘intelligence’?”

“I thought I told all ya in my announcement this morning?” Nero glanced upward, as if to better remember by searching the ceiling. “Big boom in downtown. Probably set by one of the factions, most likely the military-looking people in the choppers. The whole City was supposed to be a no-fly zone, designated by Continent United and to be investigated by the College, but it looks like someone’s gettin’ in on the action. It’s the most normal thing that’s happened, really, so I don’t think it’s related to the ‘intelligence’ but instead a way for the outsiders to get at it. Someone knows more than we do about what’s goin’ on here.”

She did not know enough about the politics of this world to call Nero’s words into question. All she could tell was that one mysterious organization was already enough to contend with. However, for all she knew, she might not have to. Pithy frowned. That is an interesting thought. If their goals are in opposition, they might take care of certain obstacles for me. Alas, she knew that was mere optimism on her part. One way or another, she had not ran into any such groups as of yet, and so had no way to verify Nero’s claims.

“I suppose time will tell.” She sighed, leaning back against the chair, and gave the other man in the room a sidelong glance. “Let’s leave that aside for now. Repeat what you told me about the goal of this Crucible. What does the College hope to get out of this?”

Were Nero’s eyes open, he might have rolled them as he exhaled through his nose. “...Some of ‘em want the wish for themselves, some just wanna learn and discover for the sake of science. This place is so full of magic and technology you can hardly tell the two apart, and there’s potential for great good or great evil if humanity can figure out how it works. And, obviously, what happened here in the first place.”

“Sounds about right,” said Dew, crumpling the bag in his hand and throwing it across the room. It bounced atop the overburdened trash can and fell to the floor. “You got the power-hungry crazies trying to get their share of the pie, and then you got the nerds who think this is an experiment and want to see what happens. Gotta wonder which one’s the crazier of the two, though.”

How uncharacteristically perceptive of him. The latter, of course. Anyone capable of seeing a battle for what is thought to be a wish-granting machine as an experiment would either be insane, or know something no one else is privy to. Otherwise, what they have orchestrated is closer to a disaster in the making. But where does that leave us who would participate in such an exercise?

“Don’t stop there, Nero. I want to hear what you want in all this.”

“Told ya that too.” The dark mage’s patience was beginning to wear thin. Of course, it was dubious if the spirit of cooperation had ever taken root in him. “Gonna stop ‘em from the inside.”

“Stop them,” Pithy repeated. Her dispassionate gaze seemed either unaware or uncaring of her prisoner’s mounting irritation. “You place me in an awkward position, Nero. Who do you wish to stop? Those who wish to take the wish for themselves? Or all of them?”

“Whoever I can. They’re all either psychotic, in one way or another, or ignorant of the powers they’re messin’ with. I mean, just take the lanterns. Simplest, most common artifact we got, but in a world without magic can ya imagine how they can be abused? Take a look at the giant fortress bird and tell me these people oughta be toolin’ around with Echoes and wishes.”

Could a sense of moral responsibility truly be what moved this one? Perhaps, perhaps not. However, she knew that if it was the whole College he had taken issue with, his meddling could well cost her her wish. But why would he lie about this? He must have known I would not like this answer. She studied his face, and then prodded, “Do your ‘bosses’ agree with this?”

It was a shot in the dark. Nero might have been a mage, but any design of his would be exponentially more difficult to accomplish if he lacked any kind of help on the other side. And for a moment, his expression took a confused cast. Is that…?

It faded just as quickly as it came. His voice developed more of a point as he told Pithy, “You’re not as clever as ya think.” He paused momentarily to think. “My only friends are a long, long way from here. If I do this, I’m hopin’ there won’t be any more disturbances across worlds. Tournament hasn’t lasted a day and the anomalies are gettin’ worse. The way I see it, nobody anywhere’s safe until the College’s done meddling.”

Pithy glanced away and tapped her fingers on her cane, digesting the warning. It did not do her much good. Her hands had been tied from the start. “Have you been told what I want to do with the prize? The recruiters seemed to know.”

Nero shook his head. “Nope. I figure it’s none of my business, though. Still, if you’re inclined to tell, I’ll lend an ear. Sometimes it feels better just to get stuff out there.”

“What a gracious favor,” she said, wryly. “You are right when you say it is none of your business. Still, you will make it your business one way or another if you move against the College before this ‘Crucible’ is finished. If it is after, may the Eight favor your endeavors. If not...” Tap, tap, tap went her nails against the crystal.

She needed to decide then, how much she wished to tell, and how much of it had to be truth. “I am sick, Nero. I was born sick. When I was younger, I had trouble even walking outside. I would occasionally lose my breath for no reason at all. I sickened often and deeply. Small cuts would bleed for days without closing properly. My kind live longer than humans, but it would not have been strange if I’d perished at a young age even for your standards.”

“Don’t look so sick right now,” commented the other occupant of the room.

“Thank you, Dew. That is very perceptive of you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Nero said nothing, but his face had changed. First the corners of his mouth began to twitch, and as Pithy continued, his characteristic grin fell apart. When he gazed at her now, it was with sorrow and regret, as if he could imagine the suffering that she’d gone through.

“I do not know how common the talent for magic is for humans in your world. In mine, it is rare, but present among them. However, all among elvenkind have the potential. That said, much like my physical growth, my magical growth was… stunted. I often had difficulty harnessing the power I possessed, but I could read the tomes, and understand the lessons, so I pored over them.” She tapped the side of her head for emphasis. “One day, I came by a very particular kind of magic, and realized that it could be used to halt the spread of the disease and remove its symptoms. Imagine my surprise when it actually worked.” She pursed her lips, fighting a nostalgic smile. “For a long time, I thought that was that. My magic took on the aspect of the spell used to sustain my body, but that was a small price to pay for being able to move and reliably use my power.

“But I only managed to buy time. The disease is still there, and my body is dying. My magic may try to treat the afflicted parts, but it will eventually reach a point where the best it can do is patch the blemishes over.” At this, she brought a hand to her hair, and parted the swath that usually covered her right eye. The crystal mask that covered the eye, the brow and most of her cheek glittered in the light. “I do not know how much time I have left, but it is not long. I have tried everything, Nero. I even tried to get a god to notice my plight and help me.” She smiled bitterly. Self-deprecatingly, and that was not something she could fake. “This is my last chance, and if I have to step on thirty-two other wishes to take it, so be it. It is far less than I’m willing to pay.”

“...I see.” The bespectacled fellow glanced down at the floor, his voice low. “I wish I could help you, but my magic… it can’t do that. No matter what I learn, it seems there’s always someone I can’t help. Some wish I can’t grant. I’m sorry that this has happened to you.” He took a long breath. “In my world, ten percent of all people have the gift of magic. All kinds of stuff. If there was a way to get you there, maybe someone’d be able to help. But the Crucible’s all we got right now.”

Sympathy. That was not something she received often, for few were the ones she told of her plight. Receiving it from someone she held under threat of death made her all the more uncomfortable. What she had sought had been for the man to understand where she stood, not to evoke pity in him. Pithy nodded soberly, gaze fixed far away, at some point beyond the corner of the room. “If I’d come to interrogate you and found that you were willing and able to fix all of my problems, I’d be terribly embarrassed indeed. If you truly wish to help me, or any of the other desperate fools still fighting, let the Crucible reach its conclusion unobstructed.”

Though Nero opened his mouth to reply, no sound came out. He shut it soon after, his frown persisting. Several moments passed by in quiet.

“There was something else,” Pithy said, absentmindedly. “What happens tonight?”

“That’s my business.”

Her gaze snapped to him, regaining its focus. “Nero,” she warned. Do not become the thirty-third.

In an instant the dark mage’s empathy evaporated. He offered a smile as sweet as the one she’d given earlier—or rather, as hers had meant to be. The end result appeared less creepy, as his face was more suited for it. “Nero who?”

Dew whistled and turned his head to look at her expression. She hated him for it. Pithy realized that for the first time since she had started questioning Nero, all the other gazes in the room were fixed on her. “You had best give me something,” she told the man in the cot, “or it will not be your business for much longer.”

For a reply Pithy received a giant yawn. “Aaaaah! Man, who knew that havin’ guests was so exhausting?” Using a knuckle, Nero wiped a bit of wetness from the corner of his eye in an excessively flippant manner. “C’mon, I’ve played nice and given you tons of info, but a man’s gotta have his secrets. Our little meeting’s over, you two.” Without any apparent difficulty he crossed both his arms across his chest, still smiling while he looked between Pithy and Mountain. “If you’re not outta my hair in less’n ten seconds, I’ll give ya something all right.”

Pithy stared at the man silently. After a moment, she made to stand.

Dew gave her a surprised look. “Don’t tell me you’re just gonna leave it at that?”

“I told you to be quiet,” she said. With a grunt of effort, she pulled herself to her feet, but rather than heading for the door, Pithy moved closer to the cot. She looked down at the man as her hand went to the six-shooter’s holster.

Like a fox pouncing on a vole Nero sprang forward, shouting, “Law of Escalation!” with as much speed as he could muster. Three interlocked magic circles of brilliant green appeared in the air behind him with a chime, and he reached forward with both hands. His broken arm didn’t appear to be troubling him at all as one shot for Pithy’s head and the other toward the hand headed for her pistol. Her hand never reached the weapon.

There was a sound of snapping fingers, and a wall of wind crashed against him. His hands swiped at empty air as the sudden gale threw him back, tumbling over the cot and into the wall a handful of feet beyond it. He had only a split second to see that Pithy had looked away from the transformative glare of his magic circles before impact. “Nnuh!” Hitting with his back to the wall proved to be a stroke of luck, but the force pinned him against the unforgiving stone.

Mountain Dew, meanwhile, took the brunt of the curse. Without any delay whatsoever he sprang upward, not in a jump but in height. Before he could even figure out what was happening, he’d grown tall enough to clock his dome against the roof and slump back to the floor in an elongated, unconscious heap.

The gale raged inside the building for a few moments, hair and paper fluttering about and the miscellaneous objects and mechanical gadgets that had supplied the announcer’s tower tottering and falling from their places of rest. Just as suddenly as it had sprang, the roaring sound of wind finally receded, leaving in its place a shaken silence. Nero tumbled to the wooden floor, but before he could move again, he felt a cold, prickling sensation under his chin. Eyes rolling down, he caught sight of a small, crystal blade pressed against his throat.

“That is enough. I left you unbound as a courtesy against my better judgement, not so you could give me another excuse to kill you.” Pithy stepped back from the sprawled figure, even as she held the floating dagger to her captive’s throat, and took the chance to glance back at Dew’s distended, unconscious figure. She clicked her tongue.

With some effort, Nero planted his hands on the ground, righted himself, and rose with a series of muttered oaths. In his hand he held the dagger, no longer made of ice, but of inert cloth. Pithy scowled, even as the dark mage chuckled. “Neheh...kill me?” His wild grin showed his pearly white teeth. “You’re still thinkin’ too much of yourself, ice queen, when ya should be afraid of whatcha don’t understand.”

For the second time, the sound of snapped fingers resounded through the otherwise-quiet chamber. An odious yellow-green sheen filled the place, radiating from below instead of from behind Nero. A quick look down could confirm the presence of a vast magic circle that covered the entire floor. Its luster, more powerful than that of the circles that preceded it, reflected off Nero’s glasses and the monitors of his computer system from where they’d fallen.

“I am Nero the Genie. My Curse Laws have taken down combat mages who can level castles. Lemme give ya a demonstration.”

It occurred to the elf that she might have found a rare treasure in this human. Truly, were talents such as this common in his where? Her heartbeat felt like a drum on her chest, and there was nowhere she could look to escape the glow. The surge of power was almost oppressive in its scale. Had she known the man would escalate things to such a degree, she would have killed him outright. But now that it had happened?

Two alternatives occurred to her. Kill the man before the curse took hold, or draw enough power to destroy the floor the circle was inscribed on. Collapse the tower if needed.

The first one was unlikely to succeed. Nero had the initiative, and she did not know how this new magic might take root. Even if that was not the case, it would have deprived her from a valuable source of information. Which left the other option. There were hurdles involved in that one too. First, Dew was still unconscious, and there was no telling what would become of him if she tried to destroy the place. Still, that was largely inconsequential compared to her second concern. Can I draw on enough power to act on it? For a moment, she found herself staring at the whirling white gale inside. She might. The roaring wind drowned her ears, hinting at vast potential. Further than that, she might have been able to draw power enough to overwhelm Nero, but there was no telling what she might pull with it. The sound of chiming bells echoed in her mind, and Pithy shuddered. If she tried to escalate, any victory she could eke out would be overshadowed by a deeper loss. However, it had become apparent to her that Nero, like her, was not yet ready to cross the line and kill the other. Pithy let out a trembling breath, realizing that further confrontation would only end poorly.

Reluctantly, the woman closed her eyes and raised her arms in surrender, accepting of what might follow. The crystal she had used for support clattered against the ground. She had raised too high. Now it was time to fold, and wait for a better hand.

By the time Pithy’s arms had gone up, the curse’s effect was already taking hold. A sudden ache wrenched her stomach, and the next moment she began to grow. Her belly extended outward, straining against her tunic, followed by more and more mass accumulating all over her body over the course of seconds. Her black belt became tight, then agonizing, until it couldn’t hold against the pressure any longer. When it snapped, her gut surged outward to flop down against her now-massive thighs. The fat built up beneath her head, forming a second and then a third chin, while her arms thickened into drumsticks. Rolls piled up on either side of her torso, and her belly continued to swell until it hung close to her knees. While not in the best of shape, Pithy’s robe now covered a lot more than her clothes did in their sorry state. In fifteen seconds, Nero’s curse had bloated her to around six hundred pounds and struggling to stay standing. All the while, he watched intently, his fist over his mouth in the manner of a scholar reviewing an essay.

When the pain finally passed, Pithy allowed herself to open her eye. She immediately closed it again, making a repulsed noise.

“You are a pig,” she said, disgusted both at him and the feeling of fat jostling as she moved her jaw. Her tone almost seemed hurt under its anger. “At least being an owl had some dignity to it.”

“That’s the point.” Nero’s own tone expressed his anger unrestrained. Pithy’s ice cane shot at his head, levitated and sent flying by the remnants of her magic, only to trigger another curse on contact. It, too, turned to cloth and fell to the floor, though not before its force had beaned the dark mage in the nose and knocked his glasses off. Grimacing, he knelt down to feel for them. “Ya hurt me. Ya shattered my poor arm, and me healin’ it doesn’t take away the pain. Blast me into a solid stone wall, try ‘n smash my face in with a stick. Ya slammed me in the nuts, then stood over me gloatin’ about how easy it is to wound men’s pride. Assert yourself over me, will ya? Humiliate me? Well, excuse me if I return the favor. I hate people who are full of themselves. Only fair to knock ‘em down a peg.” His fingers closed around his spectacles, but he remained crouched behind the cot for some cover after putting them on. Though his eyes remained squinted, their gaze on Pithy conveyed a notable interest.

“So you are just a victim here? I am the one with the overinflated ego?” Pithy’s eye flared open, blazing with indignation. She was deeply thankful that Mountain Dew was unconscious on the other end of the room. “Your interference got me crippled! You took away my magic! Turned me into a child! Turned me into an owlet after that! I tried to make this a civil exchange, and you threw the offer at my face. I at least had the decency to treat your arm! You had best be able to fix my clothes!”

“Maybe if ya asked me for healin’ or something instead of sayin’ ya’d kill me, and not trashed some expensive hardware in a tempter tantrum, I wouldn’t have been so quick with the spells. Those curses were mostly in self-defense, lady.” Nero rubbed his bruised nose. “I can actually fix your clothes, though. Or make you new ones. Handy little hex called Law of Raiment. Though with that said, I only have two more curses you don’t know about.”

“Are you so unaware of how you come off through those familiars? You goaded me into coming here, challenged me when I warned you, and now you have the gall to suggest the fault lies entirely with me?” Pithy bit her lip, struggling to contain her temper. The man had excuses for everything. He would never admit to any fault no matter how much she yelled. “Turn me back. I’ve had enough of this.”

“Thirty seconds of standing still is enough?” Nero seemed incredulous. “Ya haven’t even gotten the chance to feel it all sloshin’ around yet. What’s the use of teachin’ someone a lesson if the penalty vanished right away, hmm?” Standing to his full height, the announcer crossed his arms again. “Let’s make this a learning experience. I’ll fix your clothes and dispel enough of the enchantment so that it wears off by tomorrow morning. A little reminder that ol’ Nero ain’t someone to be trifled with, and your ego ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

He murmured, “Law of Raiment,” and a multicolored circle appeared behind him. This one sported a modest shine, but under its glow Pithy’s clothes began to change. Staring with her robes, they repaired themselves, changing to suit her excessive frame with one exception: her tunic ended shortly beneath her bust, leaving her enormous, blubbery belly and all her rolls hanging free, though the robe obscured them well enough.

“Do you expect me to roll down the stairs? I’m not certain if I can even fit through the door, never mind the window.” She complained, even as her clothes were mended. She had a new appreciation for the plight of wealthy lords in times of peace. “I have already had three chances to kill you since we met. One at the window. One when Dew came in. One thirty seconds ago when you jumped at me and found a knife at your throat. That is not a lesson you wish to teach me, unless you want me to take the next chance I get. Turn me back, and I’ll see to it that this business concludes peacefully.”

A look of mild exasperation factored into Nero’s smile. “Then I guess we’re startin’ back at square one. Neheheh, we haven’t learned a thing!” He sauntered over to Dew, who was just beginning to stir. A wiggling of his fingers undid the Law of Escalation that had elongated him, but the quickscoper could only blearily mutter, “Huhwha?” before Nero’s palm made contact with his chest.

A weak mutter of protest could be heard as Dew shrunk down, becoming a cloth doll of himself that the dark mage unceremoniously chucked out the window. “No mass, no painful impact with the ground. In ten seconds that curse will wear off and he’ll be good as new, not that he deserves it.” He’d kept his eyes on Pithy during his little demonstration. “Ready to fly, Lady in Weight?”

Pithy tried to back away, found her wounded leg even less willing to support her weight than it had been when she was her normal size, and instead fell on her ample backside. Her cloak ruffled, betraying the movements of her flabby arms under it, but there was too much mass for them to get anywhere truly useful. “Blast it,” she snarled, the pain and humiliation breaking through what remained of her composure. “‘Lady’ this, ‘Lady’ that. That Howell man used that title too. What is it supposed to mean?”

Nero raised an eyebrow. “Er...it’s just a semi-formal way of referrin’ to a woman. Sometimes it’s a title. Like, if you call someone a ‘lord’, his wife is a ‘lady.’ Any noblewoman, really.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Ya don’t know your own epithet? I received the list for everyone’s right at the start.” For a second or so, the wheels turned in his head. Then, making his decision, he added, “Lemme heal your leg before I send ya packin’. That plus all that poundage sounds pretty painful, and I’m more the mental-trauma guy than the physical-trauma guy.”

“If you can even find it.” Pithy gave him a resentful look as he approached. Unlike last time, the the curse’s hold on her magic was a tenuous thing. Continuing to pressure Nero with physical punishment had only made him push back harder, but even if she would not have considered it in normal circumstances, she had other tools available to her. This was not something she would suffer, even if she had to harm herself in exchange. “Nero, I will break this curse myself if I have to, but it will be a lot more dangerous and I will be much more inclined to hurt you again if you do not lift it yourself. So let us do each other a favor.”

Her enemy stopped cold, uncertain. “Break…? No way. It’s...it’s too specialized! If expert healers can go their entire lives without drummin’ up an anticurse strong enough for me, no way in Zantopia you can just belt one out.” As before, he seemed inclined to believe whatever she said, balanced out with what he knew to be true.

“I am an elf. I might be a whelp to my elders, but I would not be surprised to learn your grandmother is younger than me. I have spent years studying methods to heal diseases and remove curses. Do you really want to test me now of all times? Because I am of a mind to be tested!”

Distress polluted Nero’s smile as he recalled Pithy’s story from earlier. After a moment of gears racing in his head, his expression turned bitter. “Not fair…” he growled in a whisper. In a flash, he raised both hands toward her, making finger-guns. Minuscule black circles appeared on his finger tips, and in a voice as cold as glacier in midwinter he said, “Dammit. Fine. Get up, go to the window, I’ll undo the curse, and you leave. Not gonna heal ya, not gonna change your clothes again. Just go. Any funny business...” He trailed off, unable to finish the ultimatum, though the implication was there.

Not good enough. Putting her back against the window was the last thing she intended to do. There was no guarantee that he would not simply turn her into a puppet and fling her away before she could react. “Do I look like I can move?” She only looked at him irritatedly. “Remove the curse, heal me, and I’ll leave on my own. I swear on my power that if you do this I will retreat peacefully.” The vow came out evenly, but only as she spoke it did she realize that there was no guarantee that this otherworldly mage knew the weight to such a promise in her own realm. Indeed, as she saw the suspicion in his eyes, he realized those were simply words to him.

This time, Nero didn’t believe her. In the end he trusted his power alone. Yet, it was obvious Pithy wouldn’t even try to move unless he obliged her. He felt manipulated and afraid. Who the hell was this woman to have such power? If this was average for the Crucible’s competitors… the dark mage shivered before curling the fingers on his right hand. The black magic circles dissipated, and he swiped away from the Lady in White to remove the curse. Without delay she began to shrink, steam billowing from her skin as she closed in on her former size. Next, he held out his palm, and a stream of rosy-red energy transferred from him to his target. It lasted only a moment before he cut it off, however, and he resummoned the black circles after. “It’s healed enough to get you out of here.”

Under her cloak, now much too large for her, she gingerly pressed her hand against her thigh. There was some irritation, but the distressing pain she would have felt moments ago had all but vanished. Slowly, she rose, experimentally using it to hold her weight.

“You kept your end of the bargain.” Her tone held a mixture of surprise, gratefulness and frustration. She could not have healed such a wound herself. She wondered if Nero knew how vexing it could be to have the knowledge to act on something but the inability to do so properly.

“Mostly do. Go away and don’t come back.”

Pithy grimaced and looked around the trashed room one last time. Her gaze lingered on the mage’s hands for a moment, then nodded. No matter how much she detested the man, she had given him her word.

This time, she used the stairs.

---

Dew was waiting for her downstairs, sitting under the shade of the tower with his legs crossed. He glanced at her when she noticed her approach. “Yo. I expected to see another puppet fly out the window any second now.” He frowned at the oversized boots and gloves she was carrying in her arms, shrugged, then looked down at her leg. “You managed to make him heal you?”

“We struck a deal,” she admitted. “He healed me in return for my leaving peacefully.” In the end, it was not a conclusion she was particularly displeased by. If she forced herself to think critically and did not account for the indignities she had suffered, she had come out of the encounter with more than she had had coming in.

Mountain Dew clearly did not share in that assessment. “You mean that fucker’s still up there as if nothing happened?” He scowled, rising to his feet. “Give me a minute. I’ma go find a place to snipe him from.”

“Hold it.”

Dew froze, then gave the woman an annoyed glare. “Come on, you saw what happened in there. He made us look like a pair of dumbasses.”

Us? You were hardly touched by that sorcery. I have to live with the memory of this humiliation. Pithy had to stop herself from correcting him. “I am well aware. Nonetheless, there was one question he refused to answer. It worries me.”

“The thing about tonight? So... what? You gonna head up there again and hope he’s in a better mood this time?” He scoffed. “Just shoot the guy if he’s planning something.”

“No,” she sighed, dissatisfied. “I fear he may be working with others. If we kill our one lead now, we may not be able to see what is happening until it's too late. We’ll have to wait and keep an eye out for anything that happens. Nero will know where I am, but he does not have a bead on you. We’ll have to take advantage of that.” Pithy glanced at her surroundings. “But that can wait for now. Let’s find a place to rest.”

Bonesword watched the two clowns waltz into the room conversing. They mentioned something about a girl and a place called "the funhouse" (or at least, he guessed it was something like that. He was a clown for like... eleven minutes). That did NOT sound pleasant, not by a longshot, and Bonesword was having nothing of that. No way, no how. He had to get out of here.

Problem was, while he could still grow plants here theoretically, the surfaces were... odd. They didn't allow for plant growth. for any easy way to climb out. Above him was a feasible escape route, but the walls were too slick for him to climb out with his hands only. He'd risk breaking the glass, but then that'd put the place on high alert. He was stumped.

That was, until he was reminded that he had a way.

Charlie II. A plant snake.

Bonesword climbed onto Charlie II's back as his eyes glowed, stretching the snake's body as it slowly coiled around itself, quickly rising out of the tank. Bonesword leapt out of the hatch, dodging the claw, and he landed on the ground facing towards the clown working the controls. Charlie II's body soon followed, shrinking as it was able to slither out, reuniting with Bonesword at his side.

"You've made a mistake."

Runch awkwardly scratched the back of his head as Erina questioned him on matters of religion. Apparently the chances of him locating his spoonsaber within these catacombs was so astronomically diminutive that she attributed it to divine intervention. Well, she communicates with ghosts, so such a leap in logic shouldn't be unexpected for one such as her, right? "Well lass, you know impossible may be impossible, but if there's anything I've learned on the high seas, it's that a million to one shot is practically a guarantee! Omnomnomnom!" Then Motley cut in with further inquiry about the Wishing Machine. Runch took to leaning on his spoonsaber like a walking stick while he addressed the vampire. "Well I mean yes, I found it, but Oren pointed the way so I can't take full credit." He gave a cheery smile, stroking the left side of his mustache. "It's in the district I was dropped off in when we were first spirited to the City, full of a bunch of churches and religious buildings. The home of the machine is called the Old Basilica. I took the liberty of encasing it in an extra thick dome of cereal for protection, packed so dense it's nearly as hard as diamond, omnomnomnom! I asked Serhan to guard it while I finished up the tournament, but uh... Well you saw how that turned out, eh?"

The pirate appeared to be sad, but only for a split second, for his morose was interrupted by the sudden announcement from Oren's drone. Another fight so soon? But they had just finished! Crud, was this because of how he spent some time knocked out in this dank dungeon? Darn, so little time to rest. At least most of his injuries were lessened by Motley's flesh-molding abilities, but it wasn't the most comfortable he'd ever been. Runch would just have to hope that this new opponent would be just as banged up as he was. Wait, but then would it even be a fair fight? Aw shuckleberries.

"Well, I guess that's that," the cap'n spoke, rolling his shoulders and stepping out of the tomb. "Trust or not, they'll know something is up if we don't participate from here. Well, at least if I don't participate from here." He gave pause at the time, then immediately brightened up as though a lightbulb went off in his head. Yes! Inspiration! Spinning quickly, he near-carelessly brandished his blade toward Motley as a pointing gesture. "Mr. Crue, you've been released from this competition, but if I don't find the next man on the brackets, no doubt the institution running this event will find fault with that. So cap'n's orders are to sneak about and find out more about our hosts and what secrets lie behind the veil. Aye? Miss Erina, if you would please join me to find our next opponent, I would be quite happy with your company!"

The captain gave a wide grin, then turned so that his coat billowed in a fresh gust of wind. Even his long, pointed mustache got in on hte action! "Onward then! To victory! To adventure!"