There was no time to stop! If Bonesword tried turning around, he and Charlie would die for sure. That's not what he signed up for in this fight. Hell no! The ground was thin and it was time to go!

The skeleton drew his Religious Cutlass along with his Shroomblade before Charlie leaped into the air, Bonesword hopping off and cutting through the ground before hopping back onto Charlie, riding him out of the Big Top and into the sky heading towards the City of Echoes. Bonesword sheathed his blades one by one before grabbing hold of Charlie and beginning to manipulate him into a form more suited for this environment. Large tufts of dandelions appeared along Charlie as they grew to astronomical sizes, allowing for the basil-isk's fall to be slowed. Like dandelions in the wind.

"... this place isn't a tournament. It's a death trap!" Bonesword shouted as he descended, manipulating the dandelions more and more into causing the fall to slow down. Best case scenario on the ground would be to find someone and try and team up for the time being. He had to. There was no hope for him otherwise.

The door to the tower groaned open in quiet complain to those who would intrude in it after its master had left, but for all of that, the pair walked in without fanfare.

Dew walked in first, carrying his signature weapon in his arms. Where that noon he had had trouble lifting it with his right hand after suffering an injury from Pithy’s rapier, the bandages and pain killers had done his arm more good than she had thought possible. Then again, she had learned in her bout with him that Dew himself could not be physically described as an average human.

He paused inside, and after a moment where nothing happened, Pithy joined him inside.

“No traps at the door,” he commented.

“The fireplace is still lit,” she added, nodding at the flame lighting the center of the room.

“Probably didn’t care enough to kill the fire. Or maybe he left in a hurry.”

“Perhaps he hasn't left at all.” Pithy felt the need to voice the possibility, though she felt little confidence in it. What would be the point of hiding from them inside the tower? Their quarry was long gone. “You head upstairs and look for something that might help us. I’ll search this room and see if there is anything in the basement.”

The man gave her a look she could not quite place. He opened his mouth, closed it, then finally turned away. “Fine.”

Pithy watched him ascend the stairs with a slight frown before she turned towards the door. Drawing her rapier from her hip, she pushed the tip against the wood. With a flourish and a flash of the weapon’s runes, she tapped at the frame, above and to the sides. At the last tap, there was a small spark and a breeze of cold air, signaling the boundary’s completion. It was a simple cantrip, similar to the ones she used when sleeping in unfamiliar places, but it would alert her if any crossed the threshold.

Satisfied that she would not be surprised by anyone coming from the outside, she turned to the spiraling steps that hugged the wall to her right.

Not long after she had began her descent, she summoned a wisp of light to hover over her head. Whereas the main entry was lit up by the fireplace’s glow, it seemed the rest of the building was draped in shadows.

When her light finally fell over the contents of the basement, Pithy felt her brow rise. Rows upon rows of barrels spread throughout the room, giving the space a scent of old, damp wood covering over the smell of fruit.

Taking a short glance towards the stairs to ensure this was indeed the tower’s lowest level, she approached one of the lowest barrels. A faucet was affixed to the side facing her, and turning it released a stream of reddish liquid. Pithy shut off the faucet and knelt, dragging a finger across the floor where the liquid had spilt. She sniffed, then licked it, savoring the taste of the wine.

It seemed the tower had a cellar under it. Had Nero been indulging himself while playing the announcer? It would explain his whimsical manner. Pithy ruefully shook her head. That was hopeful thinking. She was fairly certain the man had been completely sober when they had met. What she had seen then was the face he presented to everyone else in the world.

The woman stood, giving the room a searching glance. A quick search around the room turned up no hidden exits or trap doors, nor did the floor show signs that barrels had been moved around to conceal an escape.

Wouldn’t that be convenient? If I found a simple path to follow leading to the College’s doorstep? Alas, she knew the world was not that generous. If Nero had left, he had done it through the front door while she had been cluelessly playing decoy to draw out their target while Dew had been sleeping.

There is nothing for me here.

Wordlessly giving up on the cellar, Pithy began the climb to the tower’s peak, the long walk punctuated by the sound of her heavy footfalls bouncing against the stone walls. She found the trapdoors barring progress unlocked and opened, evidence of her ally’s passage.

She found her ally at the room where they had confronted the Crucible’s announcer, his face illuminated by the light coming from the screen in front of him. He glanced at her as she approached, eyes going to the orb of light following her before returning his attention to her.

“Did you find anything?” she asked. With a gesture, the magelight floated up to the ceiling, fully illuminating the room with its cold, bluish light.

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Thought we might use the computers at least, but when I came up here, the thing was shut off. I got it to turn on again, but it’s password protected.”

Pithy moved closer, looking over his shoulder to see the squarish white message stating “Enter Password:” sitting idly at the top left of a black background. She thought back to the machines she had come across when she had first arrived at the city and felt her meager hope plummeting.

“Have you no way of unlocking it? You are clearly more familiar with this machinery than I am.”

“I’m not a hacker, lady,” he drawled, though the word itself did not tell her much. “I’d rather not be doing this.”

Pithy gave him an irritated glare. “I’d rather not be rummaging through Nero’s things either, Dew, but we lost the chance to follow him out.” Because of you, she wanted to add, but she swallowed down her bitterness.

The man grunted, a conflicted frown on his face. “Unless he wrote the password down somewhere in here, best I can do is guess at it. I tried looking with my lighter, but I didn’t find anything I would call a password. Hell, we don’t even know if the thing is related to Nero at all. Without anything to go on we could sit here guessing at it for days and still not get in. At least it looks like it won’t lock us out entirely even if we keep getting it wrong.”

Pithy drew back, bringing a hand up to massage her temple. What were her options? If there were no clues leading her to Nero’s whereabouts and she could not operate the machinery tracking the contestants, would she be relegated to waiting for her opponents to come for her? Contrary to the message the competitors had received, it had already become painfully clear that no drone would come to guide her, likely the last insult Nero would deliver onto her before he left the stage. That left going on the offensive and searching for her next enemy out of the table.

A long, frustrated sigh escaped her. “Keep guessing. I’ll see if I can find any other clues.”

“Seems like a waste of time to me.”

“Shut up and do it, Dew,” she snapped.

The man gave her a dissatisfied grimace before wordlessly turning to the machine. The sound of sinking keys quickly arose from the workstation.

Pithy let out an irritated huff and marched towards the supply cabinet Nero had used to blockade the room’s door earlier that day. There were clear signs that Dew had rummaged through it recently, but Pithy was not in a state of mind to care. Instead, she began methodically poring over the contents.

She found food and water aplenty for the room’s occupant, along with a small assortment of medicinal supplies. There were also numerous writing utensils, some she recognized and some she did not, along with multiple white sheets of that parchment that was so plentiful in these city’s buildings. A few contained a few notes written over them, and these she passed on to Dew, to little success. She also came across a map of the city, identical to the one she had seen on the machine’s screen earlier that day, but seeing nothing special about it, she returned it to its resting spot.

Nothing for me here…

Searching other cabinets and shelves was similarly fruitless.

Nothing…

Neither did trying to make sense of the tangle of cables coming from Nero’s announcer machinery did her any good.

Nothing at all…

Her eye turned to the lonely cot in the room. Nothing under the mattress. Nothing under the sheets. Nothing under the pillow. She was not even certain what she was looking for anymore.

She had drawn one of her knives, intent on gutting the pillow in her hand when something stopped her. It was the sight of a small, blonde hair, barely visible on the white fabric by the sliver of cold light reflecting from it.

It gave her an idea so simple that she was baffled it had not already crossed her mind.

And yet at the same time, I know exactly why I never considered it and option.

Spells and curses that used a catalyst to bind to a target where as old as the practice of magic itself. Particularly for curses, discarded hair, nails, skin and blood were popular tools when it came to binding curses to a target, but what she had in mind was simpler than that. A tracking spell, using the connection between the residues she could gather from the bed and Nero himself.

Most magic users with her knowledge of the arts would be hard-pressed to botch the spell. That said, the affinity of most magic users would not restrict them to the degree that Pithy's aspect did to her. She had not attempted this kind of spell in years for that very reason.

But what else could she do? At the very least, she had nothing to lose by attempting it.

Taking a slow breath, Pithy shifted her grip on the knife and leaned over the bed, next to a pillow. Instead of using the knife to gouge into it as she had originally intended, she slid the blade along its surface, brushing what hairs she could into her waiting palm.

Once she had enough, she sheathed the knife and produced the badger’s phylactery. She wrapped the hair around the needle, then drew her rapier.

“What are you doing? I’m sure it must be someone’s fetish, but collecting someone’s bed hair is kind of gross.”

Pithy glanced behind her, suddenly realizing that the sound of tapping buttons had been absent for the last few minutes. Dew was leaning on the back of the chair, studying her with a curious look. The mage glanced at what she had been working on, choosing to ignore the man’s latter comment.

“I am working on a spell. If it works, this pendulum should tilt towards Nero, wherever he is, giving us a way to follow him.”

“Really? Should have done that from the start, then.”

I would have if I did not think it will be a waste of time, she wanted to tell him. Rather than admitting as much, she said, “Quiet. I need to concentrate,” instead.

Wrapping the phylactery’s chain around her hand, she brought the heart closer to her rapier’s glowing blade. The spell began to form in her mind, and she began to draw onto the power she needed to mold.

She found resistance almost immediately. The power struggled against the shape she wanted to impose, seeking to twist into the crystalline lattice the came so naturally to it. She imposed her will against it, forcing it to conform to the weave in her mind, and little by little, she felt the power yield to her designs.

A barely audible crack reached her ears. A thin band of ice had replaced the strands of hair wrapped around the phylactery, and as she watched, the ice fractured and dispersed into tiny crystals. Without its focus, the spell lost its cohesion, leaving the power to disperse.

Pithy unwrapped the phylactery and let it dangle from her hand. It simply swung back and forth, tethered only to gravity.

Only a few seconds had passed while she worked her magic, but to Pithy, it felt like it had been minutes. She keenly felt Dew’s eyes on her. He must have realized by then that she had failed, but, uncharacteristically enough, he had remained quiet. For that, at least, she felt a grateful.

Sighing, she returned her attention to the failing spell. She was not so incompatible with the magic that she was completely unable to cast it, of that she was sure, but it seemed the raw materials she had available would not be able to survive the casting. Worse than that, if that was the reaction that the spell brought about, even if she succeeded at first, whatever she used as a focus for the connection would likely be worn down and frozen after a few seconds. Minutes, at best. This meant that the idea of creating a lasting connection to follow was flawed in the first place.

If that was the case, continuously acquiring the relative direction of her target would be useless. If she could acquire more information that the heading in a single instant, however…

Her mind went to the map she had seen on the screen earlier that day, with the dots representing the Crucible’s competitors.

Drawing a sudden gasp, Pithy darted towards the cabinet and pulled the map she had found. She studied it carefully, ensuring it matched with what she knew of the city and and of the map she had seen that afternoon. If she wanted this to work, she would need a proper representation of the space her magic would search.

Nodding to herself, Pithy took a pencil from the cabinet and moved to the center of the room. There, she set the two items down. Next, she pointed her rapier at the ground. A thin sheet of ice began to form around the map, encircling it in a ring. Three outer rings joined the first, followed by a series of interlocking patterns that connected them. Several of the patterns had been taken from magical relics she had studied, and she knew that the power they shaped would serve to remove outside interference and filter out as much of the disruptive influence of her aspect as possible.

Once she was satisfied with the ritual circle, she turned towards the bed and once again gathered the raw materials for her magic. Once she thought she had enough, she walked towards the circle and sat cross-legged at its edge. She set her rapier over her lap. One hand she held against the blade and its faintly glowing runes, while the other, the one which held Nero’s hair, was held palm facing up, the back of the hand resting on the sword.

Staring intently at the map before her, she began to formulate the spell. Once again, she began to draw the swirling power from its wellspring, and once again she felt resistance. It was stronger than before, her spell more complex, it’s goal more ambitious, but still she set about enforcing her will. The patterns in the circle began crackled in response, and the ice began to spread ever so slowly between them as her magic’s influence steadily distorting the barriers she had created. It was not unexpected. While they remained, she could continue to mold the power to her needs.

Just as the spell was about to reach completion, Pithy felt a lurch in her stomach. That is… a disconnect. Something’s off. Pithy scowled, attempting to stave off her panic. If she dismissed the spell now, the leftover energy would destroy the map, but the same would happen if she tarried too long trying to cast her magic.

Only one ring was left untouched, so she closed her eyes in an attempt to better sense where the mistake had happened. She tuned out unnecessary information, letting the sounds of her breathing and heartbeat recede to the background. Then, one by one she identified the segments of the spell that had already been finalized properly.

It was then that she saw it, clear as day once all distractions had been removed. There was a problem with the representation of the spell’s sphere of influence. It’s the map, she thought. There’s something wrong with the map, like a spike was driven at its center, as though there’s supposed to be a… a hole.

That morning, there had been an explosion powerful enough to send shockwaves to the underground of the Justice Hub. It must have been large enough to significantly alter the terrain in part of the city. The good thing was the discrepancy in her magic told her exactly where.

Pithy opened her eyes. The last ring had been breached, and branches of ice spread over the floor, seeming to stretch like snakes trying to lunge at the map at their center. Pithy murmured a word and a circle of ice formed over the downtown area of the map, and this magic eager to take form at her command.

That was enough.

The ice stopped its spread, and Pithy felt the enchantment snap into place. There was only one step left. The mage looked down at her open palm. The bundle of hair and dead skin remained there, rigid and frozen. She knew the slightest movement would make them crumble. This time, it was as she intended.

Pithy leaned forward and blew over her open hand, and the bundle of residue fell apart like a sand castle. The particles flew out, making circles over the map until, one by one, they all landed over the same place in the map.

Rushing forward so quickly that her rapier clattered off to her side, Pithy took the pencil she had set beside the map and marked the spot with an ‘X’.

The woman paused. She stared at the mark she had drawn for a long time, as though it would disappear if she so much as blinked. Yet she closed and opened her eye, once, twice, thrice, and when the mark continued to stare back at her from the piece of parchment, finally, Pithy sat back.

She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths. She almost wanted to laugh. So much effort for such a simple cantrip. Had she not been certain that Dew knew little to nothing about the inner workings of magic in general, she would have been embarrassed.

That hardly mattered, of course. What mattered was that they had a lead now. One she had fashioned from the ether.

“Must have worked,” Dew said from his perch, a smile smug on his lips. “Never thought I’d see you smile like that.”

The remark made her expression harden, drawing a disappointed “Aw,” from her companion. Ignoring him, she drew forward and took the map. The section she had frozen split away with almost no resistance, remaining stuck on the floor at the center of a disk of crystal.

She handed the map to Dew. “The X loosely marks his current location,” she explained as she picked up her rapier and stood. “As large as this city is, I can’t be sure he is exactly where I marked him, and he might have left by the time we get there.”

The man frowned, considering, then shrugged. “Better than nothing, I guess. Let’s go see what the douchebag’s been up to.”

A Plan to Kill Everyone He Meets

Admittedly, he’d been a bit caught up in the thought process of how he’d try to get his stomach acid to be sufficiently potent in order to function as a weapon, without needing to imbue it with Heavy Fuel’s Anti-Ripple. Though he had come up with an idea, and was already feeling it come into effect, that internal distraction had cost Runch his raft, and the pirate captain was now hurtling through the air, on a potential collision course with the water. The water which he was physically incapable of swimming in.

Lucky for him, then, that Motley’s next trick was easily executed from his current position. The parts of his hand that had been destroyed, mere fingernails and blood vessels, would regrow in seconds given the chance; the volley of three missiles would easily reach him before they did. It mattered not, for Motley promptly slashed his extended hand downward, plunging all four trailing vines into the drink beneath him - giving Heavy Fuel a far point from which to rapidly billow outward into the liquid, instantly charging it with his energy.

A mere moment later, a wall of water blasted itself upward, murky with Heavy Fuel’s oil from the perspective of those with Stand powers, and bestowed an opposite charge to the water around it to cause such repulsion. Not only would this serve as a charged barrier against the missiles aimed toward him, but it and the surface of the water would both serve as relatively malleable landing pads for Runch’s body, cushioning him from the impact and helping to prevent him from actually falling into the water. After that, as long as he stayed within range of Heavy Fuel’s power, he’d be just fine.

And on the other hand, the female Stand user had just blown the top off of a nearby church tower, and promptly redirected it to fall straight towards himself and Runch. Apparently, it was as good an idea to them as simply launching missile volley after missile volley - that is to say, equally as futile considering what they were up against. Far from trying to avoid it, Motley made a very deliberate move upward: the water beneath his feet began repelling the water around it, raising him up on a column of liquid as the tower fell, the remnants of his harpoons still trailing through the lake beneath Runch’s feet, keeping him from falling into the drink.

And then came his first shot. Performing a deliberately-exaggerated aerial twirl, Motley open up a slit in his pupil and fired the ultra-pressurised fluid out of his left eye a second before the makeshift attack would strike him. No need to charge it or its twin with Black Ripple energy; even with his own vampiric abilities, there was enough force behind it to not merely pierce, but slice in twain the stone tower itself as its arc passed through. If all went as intended, the oversized projectile would find itself split in half, falling to either side of both himself and Runch to crash comparatively harmlessly around the two.

That would be when he took his second shot. What he’d been sure to do was launch his attack in a way that would plausibly make it seem as though he’d fired both fluid bursts from his eyes at once, and with any luck, even if the shadowy protector Stand had allowed the brother to see what Motley had done, it’d hopefully be too late for him to tell his sister of the deception from her point of view before, hidden from her sight by the falling stonework itself, he could launch the second burst of ocular fluid through the rock and into her heart and lungs - which would be the prime reason that beam too was uncharged, just in case the shadows could protect against an attack infused with Stand-modified energy better than without. And whilst humans were both surprisingly sturdy and shockingly flimsy, such a burst would ideally be an instant kill; the missiles were deadly serious threats, despite their simplicity, and even if he dealt her a mortal wound, if she maintained consciousness at all, she could likely retaliate.

Lily vs Smiler - Round 1

Wrong.

That was the first word that came to Lily's mind as she gazed upon her opponent. Something about him... it felt universally wrong. She couldn't tell if it was just a general feeling or a quirk of her nature; a sort of sixth sense she had not known she possessed, but she knew without a doubt that the thing in front of her was not natural. It could not be.

And she, a creature of magic and science, both human and inhuman at the same time, felt shivers crawl down her spine as she looked upon this amalgamation. It should not be, she thought to herself, gritting her teeth. She had witnessed demons tear lovely fey creatures apart, seen those of inhuman beauty turn into terrors that could break minds. She was someone who could induce such terror that an untrained mind threatened to rip itself to shreds. And yet, knowing all of this and having witnessed it multiple times before, something about her next opponent struck her as utterly wrong.

"Ugly sunnovabitch."

The words came from beside her, from Brucie who was peeking out at the thing again. He tucked his head back in and looked down at her. She removed her glasses and put them back into the coils of one of her tails, turning them off. She had to agree with Brucie, in one fashion or another. He was ugly in a way. They might've not see it the same way, but nonetheless she found herself nodding at his assessment.

"So whatcha wanna do?" He asked, keeping his voice low.

"I'm not sure," she whispered, placing a hand between Mouse's ears, digging her nails into his fur. For some reason she always felt calmer whenever Mouse was near. He appeared to be a normal dog, if very trusting and quick to bond, but his mere presence seemed to bring tranquility, doubly so when one took the time to touch him. All things considered she suspected that Mouse was no normal dog, but so far had little to go on beyond vague observations and ideas. "But one thing is for certain, he is ranged, so don't try to get close before he is distracted or he'll gun you down."

Brucie nodded, absentmindedly checking his water gun, or what remained of it. "Speaking of range, d'ya think we could find some missiles? Used up all mine against you. Would like to be able to blow people up from a distance."

She gave him a nod but spoke no further, taking this chance to look past the boulder, but briefly masking her own presence.

He was looking straight at them.

"Your souuul...I need it. Give it, sooo tasty. Won't ask nicelyyy... I must feeeeeed"

He was worse than a Bakasura. And - she got the sense - more cruel than a Redcap. And he knew where they were. The drone, she suspected, had given them away. The low whir of its rotors was hard enough to hear from a distance, but whatever this thing was evidently had better than human hearing. Much like Lily herself.

And it only got worse from there. An extra set of arms, a helmet that screeched with awful music, and black blood flowing from the corners of his mouth.

The more she saw of him, the more she was convinced that whatever it was, wasn't natural. It was than that she decided; she wouldn't leave him standing. Brucie might've been unnatural in his own way, but he was more like her, a creature of science and magic. This other thing was not right. And she would burn it to cinders if she had to.

Glancing up she found the drone easily enough, still hovering behind the rock, pointed directly towards the thing on the other side. Now that she thought about it, why hadn't Oren announced the beginning of the fight? They were both here, and were ready to fight. So why hadn't he-

Gunfire interrupted her, making her ears pin themselves against her skull, tails whipping behind her as she instinctively made herself as small as possible, pulling back behind the boulder. Blood dripped down her cheek from where one bullet had punched clear through one of her ears. It hurt, but it wasn't anything new. No, she turned the pain into fuel. As her tails roiled behind her, she brought her hands together in front of her, and started conjuring a ball of intensely blue fire.

"No announcement yet, and he attacks? Fuck it then. Brucie," she muttered through clenched teeth, "take a few steps back."

He nodded and did as told, giving her a few paces of clear space, though he remained in the cover of the boulder.

When she had enough space she stood up, thankfully still covered by the boulder currently being besieged by the things rifle, and spread her arms out. The singular orb of cobalt fire split in two, which then became four. They continued to multiply until more than a score of orbs hovered in the air around Lily.

She took a deep breath, holding it for a few moments, eyes closed and ears strained for any sound.

The firing stopped. Her eyes flew open.

Swinging one arm in an arc in front of her, twenty orbs of blue fire curved around the boulder and rocketed towards the abomination beyond. A remaining few, directed by Lily's other hand, crashed down on the ground around them, throwing up a dust cloud from the ensuing explosion.

Beyond the boulder came an unearthly screech; a roar of anger and pain, as well as several shouted threats. Two things that Lily didn't pay attention to as she ran out of cover using the dust cloud to obscure her whereabouts. Mouse had been left in safety behind the boulder, and Brucie remained there as well, waiting for her to give new orders.

As she ran, more and more orbs of fire formed around her, and every few metres she slammed another into the ground, creating another dust cloud that mixed with the first. Her goal - to create a place where both dust and darkness masked her presence. He had robbed himself of his hearing with that awful music, so she would complete the job and take his sight as well.

She caught glimpses of his form, small burns covering it, but he had avoided the majority of the blasts. One of his gooey arms had been blown clean off, but even that was regrowing as she circled him.

She clenched her jaw and kept running, completing the circle with a last few fire balls sent forward, striking the ground between her and the boulder, and finalizing the dustscreen. A flex of her will sent the light around her curving around her form, hiding her from view.

"Dust wooon't saave yoouu~" the thing in the centre sing-songed in its macabre, disgusting voice; like bubbling tar. It spoke slowly and moved little, all tell-tales of being in pain gone from its voice.

So it can heal... Or it's very durable. She took her x-ray glasses from within her tails, turned them on, and placed them on the bridge of her nose. Immediately the world around her came into clear view - the dust screen not longer a hindrance to her sight.

It stood in the middle, slowly turning with its sabres at the ready and rifle pointed forward and held close to its body. It smiled wider than should be humanly possible, and she couldn't help but imagineits eyes wide and insane. What was most important, however, was that It couldn't see her. The smoke screen worked. Its ruined arm had healed and, while still standing tall, it reached down to pick up the dropped blade, extending like a piece of rubber.

So how to defeat it? She thought. It could evidently heal, was inhumanly quick for having avoided almost all of her fiery orbs, and it seemed capable of extending its limbs. The range was, as of yet, unknown. Proceed carefully.

She directed her gaze to a spot behind it, pulling the image of a bakasura from her mind, conjuring a copy of the black chitined monstrosity; crouched over with blades for its hands. She made it hiss and pounce, causing It to jump to the side, firing a short, concentrated burst of lead at the creature while pulling a grenade from his belt and threw it at the ground. A vague fuzziness clouded Lily's vision in the following seconds, the smoke grenade taking effect but no completely robbing her of her vision thanks to her goggles.

She had the bakasura-illusion mimic the sound of a pained one, adding a series of small bullet holes and black blood oozing from each. Nevertheless, she had it pounce again. This time it was met by a pair of sabres cutting at its exposed belly, the rifle raised to block the bladed arms.

Lily dispelled her own invisibility, focusing now entirely upon the bakasura and, by extention, her opponent. The blades seemed to hit the rifle with the clang of metal striking metal, a little tweak to the perceptions of the Abomination had its arms strain under the force of the blow. Nevertheless, the swords struck true and bit into the carapace of the bakasura, spraying black blood before it slumped to the floor, unmoving.

"No phyyylacteryy," she heard It say. "Not my meal." Underneath the helmet she saw its mouth widen impossibly, its jaw even extending down cartoonishly. It bent down and scooped up the remains of the illusory monster, and deposited in its mouth. It then closed with a horrible, squelching sound. Only now did she dare dispel the illusion, making it vanish as if it had never been there. And it hadn't.

It perked up and looked around, as if something had peaked its interest. "The little meal vanished. Summoned pet. You dismissed it!" He called out. "I know what kind of fighter you are. Coward! Sending pets instead of facing me yourself."

He was trying to get to her. To anger her and make her make mistakes. Too bad, she wasn't some green recruit.

She almost snorted. You're just another monster. And like any other monster, she would break him. Mind or body, it didn't matter which one came first.

The cap'n's eyes shot open cartoonishly wide as his honeytrap shot had been intercepted and destroyed before even reaching the twins by some unseen force. This had to be one of the stands at work. Probably not the brother's, since the journal only mentioned that it countered other stand attacks, which meant it had to be the sister's. She had indeed just pointed directly at him, and that meant he was about to have a very bad time indeed. "Bori bori grapeshot!" he called out, flinging up enough hard cereal pellets in front of his raft to form a thin barrier to intercept any stand-rockets. A number of explosions disturbed the water, tossing his raft to and fro on the newly formed waves. The largest rocket, unseen by Runch, made it through the barrier. What would have been a direct hit on the pirate instead ended up hitting his raft thanks to the rocking waves, so instead of blowing up in a fiery explosion, his only means of transportation was blown apart in a fiery explosion.

"GAH!" he cried out, waving his arms and legs frantically as though he were trying to fly. No, not again. His jet technique could propel him in quick bursts, and flying had proven critical against Motley Crue, but it was incredibly clumsy. This inviso-rocket lady would blow him out of the air in an instant. Instead he would have to stick to his element: the sea. "Bori bori pillar!"

A fraction of a second before making contact with the water's surface, Runch thrust both palms directly downward. Out emerged a large square platform, giving him about 2 meters of solid surface to land on. It extended downward until hitting the ground beneath the flood waters, securing his life. At least that's how he had intended things to go, but it had appeared that his vampiric companion had his own ideas on how to help save Runch's life. That ripple power Motley possessed forced the water to jut upward in a hard cushioned pillar. The two pillars collided, Motley's water pillar having a stronger force behind it, which ultimately sent the pirate captain flying even higher and farther up! "Waaaah! Mister Cruuue! Stop helping meeee!"

At least his situation had tossed him quite clear of the falling church tower! And come to think of it, he was flying-er, falling with style-directly toward the twins! Once he recomposed himself in the air, Runch called upon his powers again, placing the heel of each palm together, hands facing down toward his opponents in a very kamehamehadoken stance. "Bori bori firehose, full nozzel: Hellberry recipe!" As he fell toward his foes, the cap'n did his best to reign fire down upon them with his exploding cereal. The reasoning for this tactic was twofold. Part one, he needed a constant stream of something destructive to intercept any invisible rockets heading his way, and part two because these opponents had already proven to require some measure of more extreme force to be subdued.

---

---

Samuel Raven observed the mage's minions do battle with the strange creatures encountered in the alleyway. Short though the fight was, it had been a brutal affair, resulting in the deaths of many minions. Despite the body count, the mage didn't appear to be bothered at all by the loss of his thralls. Sam surmised this likely meant they were either easily replaceable, or recovered in a short period of time to be resummoned. In any case, he felt this was not yet the time to reveal his presence, for a great many dangers still lurked in the corners of this bizarre cityscape. No, laying low remained the best course of action. Should any more creatures seek to do battle, best to let the mage handle the heavy lifting. If the man struggled, then Sam would jump in. If the man appeared weakened after a skirmish, then Sam could introduce himself with minimal risk of danger from the summoner. Now was not that time.

The stealthy magician tailed his target expertly. He could have marked this man with his Needs Must, but doing so always took some energy. He wouldn't consider it unless he were in danger of losing the summoner, which wasn't a problem thus far. If anything, following his mark had grown easier over time. The roads and streets of the city grew dirtier, trashier, and more dilapidated. This gave him far more hiding places, and so he could close the distance fairly well whilst remaining silent.

Eventually the two came upon a bridge leading to a small island. Samuel remained a safe distance behind whilst the man he followed examined a sign reading, "Welcome to the Village." Well, not exactly the most creative of names, but at least it was a frame of reference. More importantly, Samuel could see how the mage interacted with the natives, and based on that he could gauge danger and threat levels. As long as the area remained safe enough, this could be a prime opportunity to gather information as to his whereabouts. That's when Samuel saw a piece of street art on a fire station nearby. The creature reminded him of a previous adventure in the mountains, before he had told his friends what he really was. A bipedal beast with antlers, it was reminiscent of the wendigo they had faced off against. The severe injuries he had suffered back then returned fresh in his memory. He'd almost died because he refused to use his powers where others could discover him. That had been rather foolish.

Jin's smirk never faded, this guy was turning out to be way more fun than anticipated. His free hand reached into his jacket and pulled out a familiar looking black circle, the Hole that he had been gifted and had put to great use. He tossed it at the encroaching wall of flames as it advanced, praying to whatever deity Sophie had worshipped that this would work. Seconds before the wall reached him and gave him a nice crispy texture, the hole applied itself to the burning wall of leaves, giving Jin a nice big opening to jump through. With the grace of a panther he leaped into the air, diving straight through the flames like a lion at a circus show. Jin rolled in midair and nimbly landed on his feet, smirking at his opponent as he trembled in fear.

That was the plan anyways. While he managed to avoid being barbequed, what actually happened was his billowing jacket touched a little too much fire and was definitely on fire now oh fuck this is why you should button up your jacket kids. Jin face planted on the ground, rolling to the left quickly in a mad attempt to put himself out because holy shit he was on fire and being in fire is not fun. On the plus side, his rolling inadvertently saved him from being sliced and diced by the leaf boomerangs and he was able to put himself out before the fire reached the highly flammable and explosive ammo he kept on him. On the downside, that is a nasty looking cut he has on his arm. In a swift manner he kicked himself up onto his feet from his back, dashing behind another tree to perform some quick first aid. He tossed his jacket off and tore off one of the sleeves of his long sleeve shirt, tying it around his arm to slow the poison that was definitely coursing through his veins now. "Alright, time to stop fucking around now. Get your shit together Jin." He muttered to himself as he quickly threw his jacket back on and took his beam katanas out, activating them both at the same time in a dual bladed stance. He emerged from his cover and cracked his neck, shifting into an interesting stance with one katana held over his shoulder vertically behind his back and the other held vertically near his waist. "All right, I'm in a bit of a hurry here. If you promise to give me the antidote to whatever weird poison you use and break both of your arms, I'll let you off with a warning." Jin called out to his disfigured opponent, if he could end this without violence than that would be dandy. If not, he had one last secret weapon to use.

Lily vs Smiler Round 2
Brucie knelt beside the boulder, looking at where Lily and the gooey guy had covered the entire thing in dust and smoke. How any of them could see in that was a mystery. He knew that Lily had good eyes and ears, but when he could see absolutely nothing through the dust and smoke, how in the blazes was she supposed to, superior vision or not?

He let out a low grumble, glancing at the dog beside him. Mouse, Lily had called him. Or named him? Didn't matter. At the end of the day he was just a dog, neither useful for combat or support. Or maybe a little bit of support. Whenever he was near, she always seemed a little less irritated. A little less stoic. Maybe he did do something for her? Well, didn't do much for Brucie himself, so he didn't care much. Unless the Boss-Lady told him to take care of the dog, then he cared. She had spared his life, and promised him fights if he followed, and so he felt it only reasonable that he do as she asked.

Speaking of...

Lily had yet to call for his help. She had made it clear during their travels, that he wasn't to join the fight outright unless asked, or if he saw a clear opportunity.

"Don't rush in. Don't get yourself killed like an idiot." That is what she had said, and he agreed to a point. He had no intentions of getting himself killed like an idiot, but rushing in was part of the fun! Seeing the opponent panic as he charged in, flesh, metal, and teeth, was some of the best moments when it came to fights! It was like--

He was interrupted by the sound of explosions starting again. Blue lights flared up within the smoke, accompanied by screeches and exclamations of pain or anger. Brucie smiled. Lily had gone on the offensive.

---

Lily conjured another ball of blue flame, sending it rushing towards her opponent. He had dodged the previous three, but this time she came prepared. She had analyzed his movements, and found it remarkably similar to her own. She didn't need to see him in full sprint to know, but this much alone was enough to tell her that he was quick. Faster than a normal human had any right to be. Maybe even as fast as she was. With that knowledge, she sent this fourth orb flying slightly off to the side, making it an easy dodge.

It made a quick jump to the side, avoiding the orb alltogether, only for Lily to flick her wrist causing it to curve around and aim for its back. This it didn't see, already pointing its rifle in her direction, the first word of its taunt halfway out its mouth already. A blast of blue fire hit it in the back, eliciting an inhuman screech of pain and rage.

On a normal person, that blast would have earned her at least a few moments to relocate herself before renewing her assault, but this thing was tougher than that.

"Die, you vixen!" And bullets flew.

Lily was fast and agile. Had been all her life, reaching superhuman levels after she became one of the Shifters. But even she could not dodge bullets already in the air.

The first hit her in the shoulder, another in her thigh, causing her leg to crumble beneath her. She tried to jump aside but the world seemed to tumble, the ground rushing to meet her. She distantly felt a third impact in her abdomen before the firing stopped. Instead she heard the steady footfalls of It moving closer.

Shit. The thought came suddenly and with annoyance more than dread. Not gonna die like this, am I? She snorted and twisted onto her side, moving one of her tails in front of her. She sucked in a breath as the movement brought pain with it. She glanced at the tail in front of her, smiling grimly. Like hell I am.

The tail uncurled and revealed the golden flask, filled by Brucie long before the beginning of their fight. Only, "Fuck." It was empty, or very nearly so. Behind her she could feel a wetness, and it didn't take a genius to realise that her fall her spilled most of the tonic. There was, however, just enough to cover the bottom and a finger's breadth above. She didn't hesitate.

Downing what was, she felt the magic in it take effect immediately. The pain lessened and the bleeding stopped. The bullets in her leg and shoulder were pushed out but left still open wounds behind, but the one in her abdomen remained lodged in her body, still bleeding. But it was enough.

She got her feet under her and struggled to stand up, facing the monstrosity as it stood just a short distance from her, grinning arrogantly down at her, rifle pointed between her eyes.

"Made a mistake, ya did. I saw were the fire came frooom." He chuckled. It was a wet, disgusting sound. But she never moved her gaze; never looked anywhere but at the gun pointed at her. "Now, say your prayers, little girl."

Lily tensed.

Its finger twitched.

The report of the rifle cracked through the air. A short burst of three bullets from three paces away. None hit.

Lily had twisted to the side the second It made to fire, removing herself from the line of fire. The look of surprise on her opponents face might have been one to savour, but she didn't have the time. She closed the distance in a leap, ignoring the pain that came with it. She ducked under one blade, but but was hit by the other. The metal bit into her left arm, hitting the bone.

She couldn't suppress the scream of pain, but she refused to let the pain stop her. Near bull-rushing it, she placed her right hand over where the heart of a human would be, and, with a defiant shout, unleashed a blast of raw, kinetic energy.

She heard the bones underneath crack and break before she heard its scream of pain, and the thud of it as it landed several metres away.

"That," she said, breathing heavily, "should have killed it." She summoned a small ball of fire in her palm, bringing it to her injured arm cauterizing that wound, then her abdomen. The pain made her hiss and her eyes water, but she didn't look away from the monstrosity. An attack like that would shatter a skull. Why, then, hadn't his entire ripcage folded in on itself?

The answer came a few moments later with wheezing laughter. "Kitty's got claws," it gasped and sat up.

It was still smiling.

Few words were spoken as the three, battered and exhausted, filed through the bar & grill's door one by one. With nobody around to seat them, they piled whatever equipment they carried on the welcome desk before installing themselves at a fully-furnished table. Souta mentioned drinks, which Cyril approved of, but for now a few moments to just sit and give their aches some relief seemed good enough. He sat there for some time in silence, looking around the building while the others stewed over their inconceivable fight. This restaurant had all the personal touches he might expect from a city tavern back home, from knickknacks gathered far and wide to portraits of what he supposed were this world's famous people. The whole place featured a theme he didn't quite understand; all along the shelves were various balls and pieces of equipment that vaguely resembled weapons and armor, but did not at all seem suitable for warfare. Several of the strange, rectangular devices that resembled solid tapestries of glass and plastic littered the joint, newer and sleeker—looking than the one he found in the house last night. Cyril craned his neck a little too far to try to figure out what was scrawled in a loopy hand on one of the portraits, and the resulting pain made him grimace. He settled down to stay as still as possible, leaving him with either conversation or boredom as his only options.

Five minutes passed before Souta, the least injured of the trio, rose from the table. He said nothing, but the direction he took indicated that he'd be returning with something to eat or drink in a moment. As the smith went, Cyril wondered if he'd burden himself trying to get victuals for him and Juniper. Though the man might have just as well been family after the ordeal they went through together, his rather surly manner indicated that he might not. These thoughts slid into contemplation about Souta himself, then Juniper. Who were they really? How much of their depth did this tournament demand quashed, for the sake of its bloody competition? Cyril couldn't count himself as a gregarious man, but he wanted to get to know them better. It seemed the human thing to do, and as far as he could tell, everyone in this accursed place needed a reminder that they were human.

Although, if I remember correctly, there's a few nonhumans among the tournament roster. A wonder I haven't found any yet.

He didn't realize that Souta had returned until a tray plopped down on the table. Taken by surprise but too rattled already to be startled, Cyril silently chided himself for his assumptions about Souta's character as he surveyed the tray's contents. Three bottles, undoubtedly full of alcohol, and three plates of simple, unprepared food lay before them. “Thank you,” the vanguard told Souta, his politeness a trained reflex. Juniper echoed the remark of gratitude, and after the smith sat down the three began to pick at their portions. I should have expected that we would all be more civil than our battle manner would imply. He sampled the food, a cold, triangular length of hard bread topped with cheese and some sort of tomato sauce, but decided against eating. Instead, he took a swig of the beer before glancing at the others. Neither Juniper nor Souta displayed much interest in eating, either. “So...” he began in a low, serious tone, “Tournament's over, College is after us. We didn't have a choice, but now that we've killed one of 'em...” He let the statement hang in the air, its implication clear. Things would only get harder from here.

“Bet the Wishing Machine hasn't moved.”

Cyril stared at Juniper for a moment. He hadn't suspected that the urge to fight might remain in her heart. A pointed look entered his eyes...did she want him to continue? And if so, why? “...Maybe.”

For a moment, the martial artist didn't continue. It was Souta who filled the gap. “If you're thinking of fighting on, and trying to get your wish, there is something you should know. You're not the first tournament people I've met. Yesterday night, there was a creepy guy who approached me. Dressed all in black, with black hair. I sized him up best I could without getting nosy. He had fangs, and this weird spirit aura coming off him. He might be the guy you gotta fight next.”

Without much in the way of surprise, Cyril mulled over the information. He realized before long that the others were looking at him expectantly, which made him frown. Though neither had voiced a question, the choice had been laid out for him. He could back out of the tournament and survive, returning to his world via cooperation with the College, or he could press on and find out of the Wishing Machine really did exist. He ruminated about the possibility of College duplicity, but after a few second he closed his eyes and bowed his head. What am I thinking? No matter the foe, his mission was most important. For even the possibility of ending all evil -all suffering- he should be unafraid to put his life on the line. That, said the stories, was what a knight should do. Cyril opened his eyes. “Yeah. Good to know. I'll keep an eye out as I look for my next opponent, though I don't know where I'll find him.” A strange question occurred to him, given the circumstances. In a way he'd been taking something for granted, but he needed to know for sure. Clasping his hands and putting his elbows on the table, he asked the others, “Either of you coming with me?”

Juniper's solemn face did not change, but the vanguard could see the spark of resolution in her eyes. “I will not forget what you did to me, Cyril. But...I am used to pain, and losing things. Today was the first time I got back something I lost, and I will not lose my chance to get my wish. I am also concerned about it falling into the wrong hands. The annoying man said we were both heroes, and that us fighting did not make sense. I will come with you.”

After he swallowed the bit of pizza he'd been chewing, Souta shook his head. “I'd like to help, but I serve...er, let's say a 'higher authority.' I'm looking for a way out of this mess, and it isn't my fight to begin with. You need anything made or mended, you come back to me, but I'm not gonna risk my neck.”

Cyril gave a nod. “So be it. I hate to put you to work, but my armor needs drastic repairs. Do you know how long it might take?”

“Even for a whiz like me, a couple hours. I saw the state it was in,” Souta shrugged.

A few more words were exchanged, and all was settled. It was at that time that a drone appeared, and Nero's announcement came to them. The next match would occur when one contestant's drone led the way to his or her opponent. Though somewhat alarming, the news assured Juniper and Cyril that they had some time to recover, and to prepare for the next battle.



Even with the reassurance of dandelion parachutes, the fall for Bonesword and his basil-isk was a long and frightening one. Down, down, down they plummeted, away from the colorful confines of the clowns' tent-shaped ship. Without much room to maneuver, they landed at a nonlethal speed on the flat, gray-black roof of an office building. Overhead the Big Top sailed blithely onward, unaware of its skeletal discharge. None of its occupants popped out of the gash Bonesword carved, indicating that they were unwilling to risk the fall themselves. Strange and mysterious as a UFO, the Big Top hovered away into the distance, its bearing north-by-northeast.

Around Bonesword stood a well-developed, clean, organized portion of city. Everything sported a certain air of grandeur and officialism, indicating that this bloc might be used for administrative purposes. Only one thing marred this impression: an appalling trail of destruction clear across a nearby business park, as though a fiery sphere had rolled across the ground, leaving a distinct trail of char, and punched clean through several cars and a few other objects. More remarkable than this, though, was the group of individuals situated in that spot.

There were two of them, whose unique bodies befouled initial inspection. One could be described as a forest sprite, though in truth, it looked more like an angel made of twisting wooden branches and roots. Instead of arms, it had wispy fans of twigs for wings, knotted together in a rough approximation of feathers. All across the wings, tender shoots hung down as strings to hold windchimes and the effigies of hanged men. Little greenish-yellow lights, diluted as they were by the daylight, danced within its split husk of a chest, and its head was a thick clump of roots radiating outward as a crown. Torn into the left side of the face was a single hole, and from within it radiated a soothing light dimmed by the sun's glare.

The other fit the succinct summation of a mummified cowboy. With a poncho, a wide-brimmed hat, bandage wrappings all across his body, and pieces of antiquated armor made to look like bones, he cut quite the figure. This rustic undead appeared to be squatting over a smear in the pavement, staring at it intently. “'Ey, Frolic. Ah think this is 'er. Resurrection, if ya don' mind. Ah reckon 'er sisters'll be glad t'see 'er agin.”

Perking up, the sprite drifted over, and knelt over the smear. From the cavities in its head and body a stream of gentle light poured as though from a fountain. It suffused the smear entirely, and when it faded a minute later, a puddle of a rosy pink substance lay where the smear had been. The gunslinger stood up, saying, “That'll do 'er. Just a li'l while 'til she's right as rain.”

Meanwhile, a drone zoomed in from the distance to stop beside Bonesword. Quiet enough so that those below didn't hear, it relayed the message to the skeleton that all contestants heard a short time ago, telling him that the drone would point in the direction of his next opponent.



Any self-satisfaction Aralynn might have been feeling when she thought of the plan to drop a tower on Motley evaporated when she watched him, bug-eyed, as a tiny beam blasted from the vampire's eye to slice the chunk of building in half with almost laughable precision. The pieces splashed into the water to Motley's left and his right, sending a spray of droplets into the air along with loose masonry, and from that haze of water and rubble a second beam burst forth. So surprised was the woman that the sight of the liquid laser forced her to instinctively flinch, throwing up her arms and turning her face away in a useless attempt to protect herself. In an instant the beam pierced her, traveling through skin, flesh, and inner organs and out the other side, directly into one of the figments of her brother's stand.

When the laser struck the Boys of Summer, it froze in time, as though paused. Without delay it began to turn gray, become more distorted in the manner of the image on a faulty TV set. In less than two seconds the beam faded into static alongside the wounds it made and the entity it struck, as though it had never existed.

Aralynn blinked, shocked that -from her perspective- nothing had happened. She hadn't long to be thankful, however, for there appeared to be a pirate plummeting straight toward her. From Runch's outstretched hands a torrent of flaming cereal rained down, threatening to blow them to smithereens. The twins, overwhelmed at the moment, scattered. Davian dashed backward, shouldering his way through the door he'd come through a short time before just too slow to avoid the first barrage of Hellberries, but to Runch's perspective the resulting blasts seemed to just flicker and disappear. The other twin, meanwhile, jumped off the side of the balcony down into the water; she did not think to stand there and rely on Boys of Summer to take the hit for her. Behind her, the remainder of the bombardment obliterated the balcony, and the remaining Boys of Summer in the area were nowhere to be found.

Davian's voice sounded out from inside the hotel. “Our 'invincible strategy' does not appear to be working out, dear sister!” he yelled. “Backup plan, now!” Hoping that his twin could hear him, he rushed through the room and toward the upstairs hallway, headed for the back of the building.

By that time, Aralynn had submerged herself, and a new idea occurred to her. Remaining underwater, she unleashed volley after volley of medium missiles to travel through the water like torpedoes, totally unhindered by water resistance. Unseen thanks to the murk but able to seek thanks to their size, they split into two groups to target both enemies, beneath whom they would burst up from the depths to explode from below.



Jin's disfigured opponent smirked. “Got stung, did you?” He taunted from his hiding spot, ignoring the assassin's ultimatum. “Don't worry, that stuff's not poison. Woulda thought you'd figure out what it did already, genius. If not, just wait. It'll take soon enough.” For a few seconds, the swirling clouds of leaves hung in the air, as though in anticipation.

The skin on Jin's arm began to change. It turned white and dead at an alarming rate, then started to flake off. In a matter of seconds the epidermis on his entire arm, right to the top of his bicep, fell away in a shower of grayish-white slivers. Instead of landing on the ground, the flakes gained lives of their own, dancing through the air to join Pieter's swarm. Exposed to the air, the dermis gave him a steady, burning pain.

Still behind cover, Pieter called out, “Feeling it now? Get used to it, dickweed! Weird Autumn's gonna take you apart, layer by layer!” Large portions of the leaf storm began to separate from the main reservoir, condensing into giant lances poised to thrust down at Jin any second.

Bonesword rested on the building's roof for a few good seconds before patting around his body and checking if everything was still on his person and if anything was damaged. Surprisingly, it was all intact, and everything was there to boot. Still, he needed a few minutes after that quick thinking and heated combat situation. His life was really on the line right there. While death was bad in the Nexus, it was permanent here, so that was a bit of a discrepancy.

One of the college drones came roaring over to Bonesword before pointing him in the general direction of his next 'enemy'. Fuck calling them an enemy right now, they were more akin to being a friend than anything else. If Bonesword was gonna survive this deathtrap, he'd have to get on good terms with his enemy. That's definitely easier said than done.

A noise from afar caught the skeleton's attention as he looked over the building to see... a cowboy? No, not just any cowboy. He looked undead, and he was near... a plant person? What a coincidental area to be in. Maybe he should go talk to them, since he could definitely associate with them much easier than he could with the clowns. Plus, might register a few new beings into the watch Bonesword wore.

The skeleton snapped twice, calling Charlie over to his aid, and calmly said the word "I'll meet you down there." With that, the basilisk leapt off the building and utilized the gliding dandelions to fly down to the ground, landing there without much trouble.

Bonesword, on the other hand, pulled out his Egg Timer and turned it diagonally so it faced down the building, but at a slope. The idea was to slide down the side of the building using the adjusted gravity. Bonesword stepped off the edge as he began to slide down, slowly accelerating before his own set of dandelions flew out of his back, enabling him to slow his descent as well. After about twenty seconds of sliding, the skeleton was on the ground once more, where the timer stopped and let Bonesword readjust to normal gravity.

Charlie, with a loud roar, slithered underneath Bonesword and began to carry him towards the cowboy at a quicker pace, but one that wasn't threatening.

Runch felt somewhat disturbed by how his pellets had turned into some kind of static, then faded from existence. It wasn't the girl doing anything, that would mean they were blowing up. Then it must have been the guy, yet the journal indicated that his stand could nullify stand attacks. Did his devil fruit qualify as a stand in this world? Then why couldn't he see other stands? Bah, it was too much to think about, and he was still hurtling toward the ground! But at least the two college representatives got out of the way! "Let's try this again... Bori bori pillar! Crumbleberry!"

The pirate extended both hands and out emerged another pillar, much like the one he had used when the water launched him through the air. This time he modified which recipe he used to better suit his landing: a soft crumbly cereal for the hard, unforgiving ground. The pillar collided with stone and pirate collided with cereal, and that blew apart in every direction like a big dust cloud. Amidst the center of it lay K. Runch on his belly, butt sticking straight up in a comical fashion, but none the worse for wear. "OMNOMNOMNOM!" he cheerfully laughed, jumping back up to his feet. Now what to do? Both of those College kids split. The girl jumped in the water, so best to leave that one to Motley and go after her brother. That was the original plan anyway, right?

"Bori bori wall!" The pirate took off after Davian into the building he had run, blocking himself off from a sneak attack in the back. Having to fight these invisible powers had a way of making one quite paranoid. Justifiably, as it turned out, as his wall didn't last more than three seconds before it had been blown to smithereens. Well now that I'm out of sight, hopefully those seeking missiles won't get a bead on me. The boy shouldn't be too much trouble once I find him, but landing a blow could be very hard. The cap'n unsheathed his spoonsaber as well as his flintlock pistol in his offhand, taking care to reload it with another honeytrap shot. With both weapons primed in front of him, he was ready to defend himself in case Davian jumped around the corner for a sneak attack.

His considered that he was completely blind, while his opponent would have any number of invisible eyes to see him through. That gave Davian the edge in this hotel, with so many corners and blind spots. He'd just have to hurry along to find the kid, and weather out any attacks. At least that stand couldn't directly attack him... "Listen up!" he called out as he rounded another corner. "This is Cap'n Bartholomew K. Runch! I don't pretend to know why you've suddenly attacked us, but if you stop right now, I'll be happy to let this all go and finish the tournament in peace! If you keep on attacking us, well... I won't let you get in the way of the perfect ship of freedom!"

Lily vs Smiler Round 3
Still smiling, and not very hurt.

Her attack would have caved in the ribcage of any human, crushing the lungs and heart. And this thing was still going? Still able to stand up in spite of such a grievous injury.

She was more angry than shocked. Why couldn't it just stay down? Leave this world, give its soul to her, and bring her one step closer to getting her wish? She struggled to stand, the pain in her thigh intense even after the healing draught, and wiped the tears from her eyes, bringing the rising monstrosity back into clear view. That smile infuriated her. It was wicked, malignant, and reminded her all too much of the bastard Endolans. So sure of themselves. So self-righteous and arrogant. She grit her teeth and snarled, their eyes meeting through the falling dust- and smokecloud.

It ground Its swords together, creating a loud, grating noise. His other pair of hands were blessedly empty, his rifle lost when Lily blasted him back. "So, Kitty... Your best shot, was it?" He chuckled. A wet, ugly sound. "Not enough. Gonna stick your tail between your legs, now?"

Lily dared not look away. She could see the other gun in his belt, and knew that he was almost as fast as she was. If she gave him the chance, he could shoot her again. "I have no intentions of running," she muttered to herself and flicked one of her tails. An orb of fire was flung seemingly from the tip, rocketing towards her enemy. He sidestepped and it blew up a cloud of dust beside him where it landed.

"Come now, little girl. You have done better. Show me your fiiire!"

If that is what he wants. Her tails started moving behind her; a slow ebb and flow, and with it appeared several orbs of cobalt flame around her. Her tails whipped forward and sent the orbs on their way, like a deadly wall of fire.

It danced to the side again, avoiding most and- Lily's eyes widened. His maw opened to fill his entire face, and swallowed what few flames would have hit him, leaving no damage or injury on him. The rest exploded beside him, throwing up more dust which was starting to obscure him and his surroundings.

She hadn't the time to contemplate how or what, when his maw opened and regurgitated flame, throwing the same blue fire back at her. Fast as it was, it was no bullet. She sidestepped deftly, which turned into a stumble as she put weight on her injured leg. The report of a gun followed, and she felt the whoosh of air as it passed by where her head had been a fraction of a second ago. She wasted no time and turned her stumble into a roll, then bit her tongue and pushed through the pain, bursting into a run towards cover.

Two more gunshots followed her, both missing by mere inches, before being interrupted by the sound of metal against flesh, and the stomping feet of a giant, mechanized shark.

---

"Thanks for the dust-cover, boss!" Brucie shouted, already following up on his initial strike. The creep lay sprawled not far from him, jaw broken from where he had hit him first. Creeper scrambled to his feet and lashed out with the swords, which went ignored as Brucie threw another haymaker. It only graced him—damn guy was as quick as Fox-Boss!—but it was enough to force him back, out of immediate range. Nevertheless, Brucie grinned, feeling the thrill of the fight.

Lily's dustcloud and explosions had given him the perfect opportunity to approach both unseen and unheard, timing his steps with the sounds of her explosions, and finally with the gunfire of the creep. And now he was finally part of the fight. He didn't even feel the two cuts in his chest, and didn't care if it was from his unique alterations or just the sheer excitement of getting to punch someone again.

He let out a sound somewhere between a roar and a laugh and jumped forward, bringing down both clawed hands in a hammerblow. Creeper tried to divert it, but the weight and power behind it was too much. The blow clipped him on the bead and forced one of the swords out of his hand.

"Sooo. Brought a big friiend, did shee?" The dude commented, dancing around Brucie's next punch.

"Shut up and fight!" Brucie exclaims, continuing his assault with increasing ferocity. Most swings are dodged, but some scored glancing blows and left cuts bleeding blood far darker than it should be.

Behind him, he dimly heard the sound of footsteps. The annoyingly fast thing before him seemed to have noticed as well, as his head briefly jerked that way, the huge grin on his face widening. This gave Brucie the opportunity he needed. So he lunged, biting down on the Creeper's shoulder, fangs sinking deep and eliciting a loud screech of pain. Brucie wrenched at his shoulder and arm, feeling the flesh give under his jaws.

He added his claws, tearing at the thing's body, scoring hit after hit even as he received such in return. He even felt the gunshots that went into his abdomen but didn't let up. He had his prey in his jaws, and he was not letting go.

"Leet goo!" The Creeper screamed, slashing at Brucie's arms with his remaining sword but achieving nothing but scratching the metal. He thrashed and hit again and again, pummelling Brucie with everything he had. "Leet go or she'll kill us both!"

She? Kill us? That must mean Lily. The mention of her brought to his attention the crackle of fire, and the new source of blue-ish light tinting the area around them. He grinned around the mouthful of shoulder. He knew Lily better than that. She may act grouchy and sour all the time, but he had seen her when she wasn't fighting, when she thought no one looked. He had seen her care, had seen her smile. She had treated an enemy like him with respect, and even shown him mercy when he would have shown her none.

So he grinned, and let out a muffled laught, and then he pulled. He could hear the sound of flesh tearing, bone splitting and being pulled apart, as easily as he could taste the rancid blood.

She spit the lumb of flesh in the face of his prey, then grabbed the sword-arm mid-swing and brought his face right down to his. "She won't," he growled.

And just as he did, the voice of Lily came from behind. "Brucie, MOVE!" And he did. He jumped backwards, just in time for the first orb of fiery death to streak forward, hitting the prone creep. It was followed by another, and then another.

Like an elemental of fire itself, dozens upon dozens of blue flames surrounded her, coating both her tails and hair and and nearly forming a corona around her. Each orb a wound in and of itself, but together they were a death sentence. Every orb that she sent forward, the writhing sea of blue that were her tails conjured a replacement.

And this power... This rage and ruthlessness was new. Brucie had seen her Mercy when they fought. He had seen her kindness when the dog came to them. He had even seen her regret when she faced off against the musician. There was none of this now. Only a relentless onslaught and a determination to destroy.

It was as if the revelation brought with it a sense of fatigue. He slumped and fell backwards into a sitting position, metallic arms keeping him up.

---

Lily took a deep breath, and then let it out thereby extinguishing the remaining orbs of fire surrounding her. Her tails returned to their white colour, as did her hair turn black again. Off to the side she saw Brucie sitting, looking at her. And in front of her... A blackened husk, or what remained of it. Though the explosive power of her individual Wisp was low, add a few hundred and even a durable body would be blown apart.

She slowly stepped over to it, keeping herself straight in spite of her exhaustion, caused in equal parts by bloodloss and exertion. Much as she expected, there was little left but burnt flesh and charred pieces of plastic and metal. She couldn't even identify the phylactery. Not that it mattered. Her opponent was dead, and that was the important part.

Leaving behind the corpse, she approached Brucie, her expression softening somewhat. "Thank you," she said slowly, tasting the words. She wasn't used to them. "You saw the cover I made and used it to your benefit. I... I'm not sure how I would've fared without your help."

Brucie just grinned. "I'm not as big an idiot as you think I am. May be a shark, but they did make him as smart as a human." He cleared his throat. "Though... Think you could bring that flask? You look pretty bummed up and, I—uuh—I could use a bit of help myself," he said and looked down at himself, indicating the three, bleeding, gunshots in his lower abdomen, and tail, as well as the half dozen or so cuts across his body.

She nodded and pushed herself upright, ignoring the pain that seemed to permeate her entire body. She, too, wouldn't mind a drink of liquid gold. It was a good thing that she had chosen to leave the flask behind, otherwise it would probably have melted in the inferno she had created.

She returned with it moments later, finding that Brucie had already opened the faucet that had once been his water cannon. Bad as she felt, the bleeding from his wounds was severe, so she offered him the first drink. When he refused she stuffed it in his mouth instead, threatening with another electrocution should he so much as try to spit any of it out. Only when she saw his wounds start to close did she fill it again, this time draining it herself.

"So... Creepy guy done for. What next?"

Lily sighed, then grimaced as she felt the bullet that had lodged itself in her stomach be pushed out, and finally looked up towards the ceiling of the cavern, to where the drone hovered. "Now," she said, "we wait for the pompous prick to bring me my prize for winning this round. Then we continue."

Now possessing a concrete goal, the odd pair of Mountain Dew and Pithy moved through the Government Hub at a brisk pace. Having for the most part evaporated over the course of the day, the flooding from the previous night presented insignificant obstruction, allowing the two to zero in on the place marked on the sorceress's map. Their path took them north, toward the skyscrapers of the towering Commercial District, though not as far as it could have been; judging by the amount of ground he'd covered from the tower, their target did not appear to be on the run. Nothing jumped out at them on their trek in the manner of the bat creatures Pithy first encountered, but one anomaly did not try to disguise itself: the surreal sight of a circus tent floating high in the air, its colors and constant spin giving it clear distinction against the rather cloudy sky. Were Mountain's vision exceptionally trained, perhaps through the lens of a long-distance firearm, he might even be able to spot the strange shape that dropped like an oblong rock through the Big Top's bottom toward the unremarkable office buildings and accompanying lots far below. Yet, the unusual occurrence constituted for the pair little more than a distraction as they grew close to the building overlaid by their map's X. The edifice in question seemed to be a high-brow corner restaurant, and its sign read “Moscow Caliber.”



Scarcely had the Basil-isk begun to advance before the blasts of three warning shots broke the crisp air, their payloads ricocheting off the concrete in bursts of stone shards. None of the bullets hit Bonesword, but were he to look behind him, he could see that the ricocheted projectiles had embedded themselves in the building behind him in a perfect line. However absurd, such a feat spoke great lengths to the skill of the marksman, who now held his strange pistol at his side, his stance casual. Not far away, the forest sprite gave every indication of being spooked by the roar of the skeleton's mount, and like a fly darting away from a rolled-up newspaper it had already dashed behind a parked car to hide.

Despite his lackadaisical manner, which contrasted so thoroughly with the killer ability displayed by his warning shots, the mummified gunslinger kept his mushy ochre eyes fixed on Bonesword. “Hol' up jus' a moment there, pardner. Ya migh' not-a realized, but we're smack dab in the middle of a...delicate medicinal operation. Any closer an' that nice skull o' yers gets a new 'ole.” Without changing his gaze, he motioned toward the rosy-pink puddle, which appeared to have doubled in size and thickness in the short time since Bonesword saw it last. As he watched, the goo began to coalesce into the shape of a body. First identifiably humanoid, then identifiably female, it continued to gather until it took on the appearance of a long-haired, stocky woman. The moment they formed, her eyes flew open, and she gasped. “No!” she cried, before sitting upright. The effort brought forth another wave of pain, and the slime woman clutched her head, wincing. ”Aaah! Why does it hurt so much!?”

The gunslinger knelt, steadying her with a hand on her shoulder while averting his eyes. “Ya got killed. Hell, not even jus' killed, ya got evaporated.” Eyes wide, the slime woman tried to stand, only to fall apart. Her lower half melted back into a puddle, leaving only her torso, head, and arms. Sensing that his hand wouldn't do much good, the cowboy wiped it off and spoke again. “C'mon now, listen 'ere. D'ya know yer name?”

A moment passed, a look of consternation on the woman's face. “...Ss...Squ....no, uh, it's...uh...Ver...Very...”

“Verrine,” the undead finished. “Means 'window' in another language. Same language yer creator's name comes from. D'ya rem-”

This time, recognition came as quick as a bolt of lightning, interrupting the gunslinger's question. ”Carreau.”

The gunslinger gave a laugh. “Figures ya remember 'im better'n yerself. How 'bout us, now?”

One by one, Verrine looked between everyone present. ”Skreeh...Screed?,” she asked the mummy, who gave a slight nod. The forest sprite, who'd risen up from his hiding spot, came to her next. ”Frolic...the doctor. We're friends. I g-guess you brought me back? Eheh...thank you.” Each memory seemed to restore her confidence as well as her body, returning her to full form, but her face became uncertain when she looked at Bonesword. ”You...uh, I don't really...remember. I'm really trying, but I just can't! I'm sorry for being so useless...”

At that, Screed stepped in. “No, no, yer fine. He ain't one of us, ya see.” Crossing his arms, the gunslinger faced Bonesword with narrowed eyes. A guarded look crossed Verrine's features as she stood, her hands balling into fists. “Ah think it's 'bout time he gave an account o' 'imself. Who are ya, pardner, and whatcha doin' in a place where two of our friends were murdered?”



Runch's shout met silence, the atmosphere of the abandoned hotel all the more grim, dreary, and haunting because of the invisible, indescribable entities that infested it. Though the pirate couldn't see it, he was surrounded by shadowy figures, some mere inches away from his body and always on the move to avoid being touched. Their master could not be seen either, but after a few moments, a call from down the dimly-lit corridor heralded Davian's presence. “Fine by me,” the voice conceded from its owner's hiding spot. “Even if our powers were good together, we were too inexperienced to stick it to monsters like Crue. Told her, but she wouldn't listen. I'm going, but don't try following me, Mr. Runch. And though I'm going, I'm afraid I can't make any promises. I hate fighting, especially when it's as dangerous as this, but I can't bear the thought of a monster getting his one wish. Even though you beat Crue, someone worse might beat you, and the machine needs every soul.”

Davian appeared from a doorway near the stairwell entrance, his hands above his head as he rushed over to the escape route. “You don't seem like a bad guy, but you could just as easily be one's stepping stone,” he called. Into the open door he slipped, his last words echoing up the stairwell. “That's why we have to stop this tournament, sooner or later! We're not heroes, but as long as there's even the slightest chance of an awful wish threatening the world, we have to intervene!” Then, the man was gone, though continued pursuit was by no means out of the question.



As if on cue, the drone approached the two battered but surviving combatants, hovering nearby. A voice played from it without delay, though one that identified itself as a pre-recorded message just as quickly. “If you're hearing this, one of the GPS tracking signals in your vicinity has been snuffed out, which means that a Phylactery is compromised, a soul taken, and the battle won. Good on you for making it one step closer to your ultimate desire! Feel free to help yourself to any artifacts or other equipment belonging to the defeated party, or even ally yourself with an enemy you spared. You'll need everything you can get for the next round. When your next opponent is ready, this drone's tracking will reengage, which you can tell by the eyelight blinking. Good luck out there!” As the drone's speech ended, its eyelight retained its constant glow, indicating that the immediate future held no more duress for either the fox or the shark.

With the incredible violence the battle out of the way, the cool, calm atmosphere of the great cavern could sweep back in. Robbed of its potential threat, the darkness seemed as gentle as the glow of the bioluminescent fungi. By now the enormous crow appeared to have landed at the foreboding city in the distance, so not even its heavy wingbeats disturbed the quiet. Only the soft echoes of dripping water and the whistling of breezes that spiraled down from the surface reached Lily's ears.

Bonesword watched the medicinal process go underway from a distance as he raised his hands in the air as an act of peace, his iconic sword still remaining in his blackened right arm. This was quite the medicinal process, magical enough to the point where Charlie emitted a low growl as if it really annoyed him on some level, but a snap from Bonesword quelled the mighty beasts unrest.

The man called 'Screed' spoke directly to Bonesword first. Well, he technically didn't, but Bonesword was able to actually respond to what he said. “No, no, yer fine. He ain't one of us, ya see. Ah think it's 'bout time he gave an account o' 'imself. Who are ya, pardner, and whatcha doin' in a place where two of our friends were murdered?”

Bonesword's voice echoed from his skull as he calmly spoke, showing no signs of hostility in his actions or his voice. "I am Brock Sinclair, or more appropriately just 'Bonesword'. There was a tournament hosted here and I was invited to participate," Bonesword pointed his sword towards the Big Top before he continued. "I came from that clown-infested nightmare."

“One thing at a time.” Pithy said, before resuming her walk.

The pair had set out from the announcer’s tower not too long ago, deciding that their destination was too close and their vehicle too loud to be practical when they were supposedly tracking someone. It had not stopped Dew from swallowing the entire thing into his personal extradimensional space, making Pithy question his supposed ignorance of the arts once again.

Halfway to their destination, the pair had seen fit to look over the buildings to see a decidedly out of place apparition.

Dew brought the scope of his rifle away from his eye, having just told Pithy about the shape falling from under it. ‘Like an anchor?’ she had asked. ‘No rope. Maybe garbage,’ he had suggested, but the elf had only one thing in mind for the time being.

“One thing. Right.” Dew paused as he began to follow, as though chewing on his words. “What’s the plan if we do find Nero out here? Last time we sat down for a chat didn’t exactly go well.”

Pithy grimaced. The question had been on her mind for much of the trek, after all. When it came down to it, she had no way of coming to an understanding with the otherworldly mage. She had nothing to offer him for his cooperation, and the young man had not responded well to her threats. Worse, it seemed that their goals were diametrically opposed. She wished to make use of the Crucible’s wish machine. Nero wished to prevent the machine’s use.

Perhaps it would have been different if she could reach those ‘friends’ he had referenced in their earlier conversation, but coercion had earned her little when Nero’s continued health had been the only thing at stake.

The man was distorted at his core. That was how she felt about him, now that she had had time to process their encounter. A kind of fearlessness had been born from such a schism.

“Frankly, part of me hopes he will have moved on by the time we arrive. He is not afraid of what I could do to him, which means I cannot control him,” she allowed, trying to keep the frustration from her voice. The best case scenario would be one where the place Nero had led them to in and of itself held the answers she sought, or if Nero somehow led them to a more pliable collaborator to his scheme.

“Is there no way to hold him down? Tie him up until he answers our questions?”

Pithy huffed at the interruption to her musings. “You saw how his magic works. Physical restraints will not work. That includes my ice. The truth is that we cannot touch him, look at him, or for that matter stand near him without being vulnerable to his curses.”

“If his magic is what’s giving us trouble, can’t you just keep him from casting?”

“As I am now? No.” Pithy frowned, looking down at the asphalt. The streets had dried considerably, meaning that they could march straight for their objective with no detours. The glass panes of the buildings and businesses surrounding them receded quietly in their march, revealing no new threats, much to the elf’s continued relief. She wondered if, had this been a city she was familiar with, she would have been able to feel at ease, as though this was merely a nighttime walk with a colleague. That was a useless thought. “I could cut his hands off so he could not gesture. Poke his eyes out so he could not choose a target. Cut his tongue off. Would he still be able to cast then? I can’t be certain. He certainly would not be able to answer my questions, however.”

“Would you do that? Cripple him if it would get him to cooperate, I mean.”

“He would not cooperate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It is not,” she agreed. Then, after a moment, she added, “I have trouble imagining a scenario where killing him is not my best option.”

“Don’t worry,” Dew smirked. “A lack of creativity is only one of your many flaws.”

“Remind me why I did not cut off your tongue again?” she asked, the irritation mixing into her tone partly directed at the man for trying to get a rise from her, and partly at herself for knowing it would be a waste to harm him at this point.

“I have to wonder myself. It’s almost as if you thought I’d have anything good to say about you after you cheated me out of the competition.”

“Unreasonable expectations,” the woman droned dryly. “Another flaw of mine, it would seem.”

She stopped then, looking down at the map she had taken from the tower. Looking up again, she studied the building before her. It reminded her slightly of some of the wealthier establishments in certain human cities of her world, with an open terrace fitted with a multitude of fine, wooden tables, and a set of stairs rising along its length to the main building. The large panes of glass that separated the interior from the terrace would normally give onlookers a clear sight of the first floor, but heavy, maroon drapes blocked the view. A large sign with the words ‘Moscow Caliber’ told of the business’s name.

Dew snorted. “Call it a hunch, but I’d feel disappointed if we didn’t get into a shootout in this place.”

Pithy took a slow breath, ignoring that forecast, and stuffed the map back into her pocket. “I want you to wait outside.”

The man glanced at her, expression betraying some surprise. “You sure? Last time you went up against Nero on your own, you weren’t doing particularly well.”

I appreciate the reminder, Dew. Truly, I do.

“I’ll take the front door,” she continued, drawing the shooter from the holster at her breast. “If you hear me fire, I want you to come looking for me. If I’m in there for too long, I want you to come looking for me.”

“How long’s too long?” he asked, and Pithy could see a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Long enough to make one think I might not walk out on my own.” As the smile only grew brighter, Pithy’s brows only knitted closer together. “I’m aware I’m being vague, Dew, but I will not take that as an excuse if you leave me in there for dead.”

The man waved his arm dismissively. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Come on, what else? We’re wasting time out here.”

“I want you to check for other entrances, and to make sure nobody gets out of the building. If something is wrong, or if you see someone that’s not me leave the building, I want you to fire your weapon in the air.” She paused for a moment, then added. “If you see Nero walk out alone, I want you to kill him.”

Dew grimaced for a moment, then nodded.

Pithy could not help but to feel relieved by the gesture. She took another steadying breath, then turned towards the steps. Her free hand went to her rapier as she walked, the runes beginning to glow as three shards of ice the length of her blade separated from the silvery surface, as though her sword was multiplying, then trailed behind her.

Soon enough she stood before the front entrance, her armament at the ready. Taking one last pause, she nudged the door open.

Their wounds healed, Lily and Brucie sat by side side backs against the boulder they had used as cover. Mouse was resting nearby, keeping a weary eye on Lily. Were she to guess, she would think him anxious after her display of power. Most likely the repeated explosions had shocked him. A part of her felt bad for that, almost shameful at having scared such an innocent creature. Would he forgive her for it? He hadn't left yet, and still kept relatively near. That told her he hadn't been pushed away entirely, and was only a little cautious around her. Or at least she hoped so.

She turned to the pack Brucie had set between them, fishing out a piece of bread. She hadn't had much experience with dogs as pets, but she knew from her urchin lifestyle, that stray dogs were more than willing to eat anything offered. Waving the bread slightly from side to side seemed to get Mouse's attention, and he slowly waddled closer, sniffing the bread, before he started to gnaw on it. The sight of him eating enthusiastically, his worry forgotten with a food bribe, eased the frown on Lily's face, the corners of her lips tugging upwards ever so slightly. Brucie, on the other hand, grunted, and then rummaged through the bag himself, fishing out some pastry or other for himself. Whose manners were worst, the kitsune couldn't quite decide.

She directed her attention forward, to where the gooey remains of her opponent remained. The charred corpse had reverted to some sort of black goo, and in doing so had erupted into a small hoard of items. Curiously enough, a rabbit and a cat had also appeared from amidst the gunk, and promptly run off in the dark. She had decided not to question the whys and hows, though Brucie had expressed interest in some of the guns. He had even, by some weird stroke of luck, found a small handful of rockets that fit in his shoulder-mounted launcher. Though only two thirds full, it was still enough that he would prove a danger at range once more, much as when they had first met.

She had also given him the rifle that had nearly taken her life, and found about another magazine-and-a-half full of bullets that fit. He had insisted that she also take one of the guns that lay in the puddle, and it had taken her pointing out, that the length of her nails kept her from getting her finger on the trigger, with any reliable speed. She had instead chosen a long, slender sword, complete with a belt and sheath to keep it in. Brucie had also managed to find a few, still usable, grenades. Two fragmentation, and a single smoke grenade, best she could tell.

The last thing that they had found was a strange, brass sphere, covered in strange etchings that made it seem almost like a stellar map. She was not quite so hesitant with this item as the previous ones, now that the track record of harmless prizes was three for three. She stuffed it in a side pocket of Brucie's backpack, deciding to figure out how to use it later.

For now, they had an ancient city to investigate. And so they set out, Lily in the front, Brucie and Mouse right behind her.

Well that was a little anticlimactic, Runch had thought. He sincerely hadn't expected his opponent to take his words at face value and conduct a proper retreat like that. It was... Surprising. All for the better for certain, but surprising none the less. Even though the pirate captain lacked the necessary supernatural senses to see the stand's nigh infinite forms lurking about, nonetheless a wave of ease washed over him as they departed with their master. Still, the entire situation felt highly uncomfortable. Was the College now attacking the other contestants as well? Did that mean the tournament was considered to be over? Not judging by the boy's words, no. He had already put some thought into this before but had been distracted with the fight. Now things had a bit more clarity. If the tournament was still on but they were attacking contestants, did that mean the College wasn't as unified as they portrayed? And if there was such a fracture, what side would Oren be on, if Runch had decided to report the situation to the "referee?"

Yet another thought entered K. Runch's mind. These twins displayed stands, that much was verified by the journal he had carried, but did they come from the same world as Motley? He found it possible, but pretty unlikely. That meant those stands had to come from somewhere, right? An idea hatched in the cap'n's head and he charged toward the last place he had heard the young man speaking from. "Hey! Hey! Wait up!" he cried out, hoping to get the kid's attention. "I have no intention of losing, and you know I won't pose a danger with my wish! But I'm startin' to get real tired of these invisible stand things! How'd you two get them? How can I get one? I just want to be able to see what I'm fighting, and maybe get a little extra firepower in this crazy city! I refuse to lose to the monsters, to the gentlemen, and to the College itself! But as long as I'm aiming to make happiness spread, doesn't it make sense to help me out?"

Inside the restaurant called Moscow Caliber was an interior in pristine condition. With a moody, dark, foreign atmosphere and walls adorned by all sorts of Russian knickknacks and collectibles, it seemed to embrace as best its designers could the culture of the country of the city from which its name was derived. Each formidable wood table appeared laden with empty dishes and cups, utensils, napkins, and so forth, as though for a great crowd soon to arrive. To the intruder, to whom magic served as second nature, a slight but strange aura wafted through the place, quite unlike anything she encountered before.

A few steps after Pithy cleared the doorway, the door closed behind her. It moved in a gentle, quiet fashion, but entirely without any kind of visible impetus, and after the soft click of the latch its deadbolt slid in as well. If subjected to physical examination, it would prove quite impervious to movement, be it fiddling or forcing. A few seconds later a bass male voice echoed through the facility, familiar yet unplaceable both in identity and in position due to its reverberation. It could not in any sense, however, be attributed to Nero LeMure.

“Welcome, Pithy,” it greeted. “As I thought, Oren's new 'friend' shows her face again. Or should I say 'Nero'? We learned a lot today, through the secret cameras implanted in his tower. It's been an exceptionally interesting afternoon, but please don't think of me as his friend or avenger. Whatever went between you two doesn't matter. Just allow me to reassure you that his charade is done.”

The voice filled the place, resonating from every surface and object. It, and the unknown aura she felt before, surrounded Pithy completely, bombarding her sense of security.

“I must admit I do not have all the facts, but despite his bravado he is neither strong nor clever. I smelt a rat from the moment he appeared wanting to join the College, telling lies with a smile on his face. I humored him, observing the whole time, though it was only recently that he started throwing around magic so freely. Fascinating, really, but now that he has helped us achieve great things under the impression he was fooling us all, he is no longer useful to us.”

The voice took on a sharper tone. “You must be wondering about me, so let me give you a hint. There's one thing you should understand about me, Pithy, and it's that I pride myself on being a man of learning. With that in mind, I have a sort of test for you. If you can retrieve your foolish friend from where I'm holding him in this building and bring him to the front door, I will let you go. From there, feel free to do whatever you please with him—if you were to kill him, as I am sure you're longing to do after what he did to you, I would not begrudge it. I am positive that trying to escape or fight me has crossed your mind, but I assure you it is quite impossible. Just try to survive, and accomplish this task. You see, I would be happy to relieve you of your phylactery, but I am even more interested in seeing what my new understudy, Kno One, can do. Let's start with something simple.”

From the two nearest tables, eight plates each levitated a foot upward, began to spin, then shot toward Pithy like discuses in volleys of two.



“Huh. 'Kay.” Screed abruptly holstered his revolver, no more convincing needed. Either he believed Bonesword with absolute sincerity, or he simply did not care enough to keep up the standoff and felt confident enough in his quick-draw to be able to put down any threat the skeleton presented. Putting his hands halfway inside his pockets, the mummified gunslinger examined the new arrival through rheumy eyes, then followed his pointed sword to the gaudy UFO spinning off into the sky. “Yep, Ah seen it before. Clotho told us after 'er last scoutin' trip there were giant tent ships flyin' 'round. Also told us 'bout the tournament. Ol' Frolic here 'ad t'revive 'er too.” He gave a wry chuckle—a raspy, unpleasant noise. “Looks like Air Rave ain't doin' so hot.”

As her comrade spoke, Verrine had continued to be wary of Bonesword, but she did not interrupt. The manner in which she seemed to be trying to conduct herself suggested that Screed held a position as her superior of some sort, but the cowboy's rather laidback manner made any sort of chain of command difficult to discern. When Screed finished, she clasped her hands and addressed Bonesword directly. ”If Mr. Screed trusts you...I suppose I will too. If that's the case, maybe you can help us out. Can you tell us anything about this city? It looks like human civilization, but I haven't seen any, and it's pretty strange compared to what we're used to.”

Another chuckle issued from Screed. “Huhuh! Not a minute back from the dead and yer down to business, huh, Verrine? Ah wager it'd be best if we 'ightailed it back to base. Yer sisters're worried sick, and Carreau would be mighty pleased t'know yer safe.”

If the slime woman's face could have turned more rosy-pink, it did in the following moments. She clutched at her hair, stammering, ”Y-you think? H-has he been, uh, b-been waiting for me?”

Letting out a few more guttural chortles, Screed removed a ring from his pocket and presented it to Verrine, who took it without hesitation. As he did, the matching ring on Screed's own finger could be glimpsed for an instant: a signet ring with the insignia of feathered wings arranged to form a whirlwind. The forest sprite floated nearer, prompting Screed to nod before he turned toward Bonesword. “Well pardner, it's been a quick but fine encounter. If ya 'ave anythin' t'say, Mister Sin-clair, spit it out 'fore we disappear.”



A faint, derisive laugh could be heard from the first floor through the stairwell. “Mind your own business, pirate! Even if I was in the mood to spill the beans, you're strong enough, and you probably wouldn't have the potential to begin with!” The sound of rushed footsteps went quiet, allowing a brief moment of clarity through the building. Then Davian's voice came again. “By the way, asking me for help was a bad idea.” Then came the sound of the first floor door slamming, and the young man was gone.

Runch was not, however, alone.

The Boys of Summer summoned to protect Davian had disappeared along with him, but now more shadow-people were appearing around the captain. They climbed in through the windows, opening doors that to Runch seemed to open themselves, and en masse they surrounded the cereal-attuned corsair. Davian's voice came again, but this time it sounded as though it were being whispered by twenty voices all at once. ”We didn't get much time to test this afternoon, but even so, we learned a few things. Boys of Summer has no offensive ability, but these 'stands' as you call them have a few constants. They can't be touched or hurt by non-stands, but they can interact with real things, like fictional poltergeists. And obviously, they can be used to communicate, like psychic projections. Since I'm not a scumbag, I won't try to make them attack you, but they will remain with you as long as I'm separated from my sister in order to prevent you attacking her. Convince her to retreat, and Crue to let her, and we can forget this whole thing ever happened.”



Still wary of the mushroom forest, with as many unknowns as it had hiding spots, the trio of fox, shark, and dog skirted around its edge through the dark. The detour took some time, and though the forest thinned as it mingled with the slope ramping up into the cavern wall, the footing became trickier. All the same, Lily and her cohorts made their trek north toward the ancient city. Bereft of any sort of road, their path took them across or around small pools of water, clusters of stone fallen from the ceiling, pillars knocked down by the great crow, and unnatural stone formations that could only have been erected or chiseled out by intelligent beings.

As Lily got closer, it became apparent that a wall surrounded the city, but the twenty-foot barrier did not present a problem comparable to the gargantuan black bird crouched down on the cave floor, close to the city as it could get. Except for the flicker of its dark eyes, the crow remained still, yet movement could still be glimpsed across its back. Difficult-to-discern figures scurried about on the citadel's bridges and behind its windows, and the purple light that flooded the city silhouetted a small number of winged figures on the move. Hidden by the shadows, Lily's party continued its slow advance.

“Evening.”

The unremarkable voice came from a stone pillar to the group's right. In one of its alcoves, a figure easily mistaken for a carved relief -thanks to his dark gray longcoat- leaned against the rock with arms crossed. There came a clicking noise, and a lantern attached to the strangers' sash belt lit up. It revealed little about him, for his face was hidden by a crested visor-helmet combination, but the man kept his posture nonthreatening as he crouched down and took a casual seated position. “Sorry for surprising you. I come...in peace.”

He glanced off to the side, the lenses of his visor narrowing as he scratched the back of his head. “Agh, was that too cheesy? It's tough to figure out what to say. Do I try and be genuine? Mysterious to match my getup? Now I bet I sound like a lunatic, so I'll move on.” Reaching up with both hands, he removed the helmet to reveal the face of an owl. “If you were wondering how I found you, that's why. That plus the zoom lens in my visor.” He smiled—a bizarre and unsettling expression, given that he had a beak, because he smiled not with the beak but with a hidden, disturbingly human mouth just beneath it. “Your fight with that monster was pretty amazing! I wouldn't want to tangle with any of you. Especially someone as cool as a mech shark. 'Brucie', right? Like the big guy from Finding Nemo.” His golden eyes landed on Mouse. “Aww.” he gushed. “What a cute little guy. Dangerous taking him to a place like this, though.” Sensing that his jabbering might be overwhelming, he adopted a concerned expression, clasping his hands. “Er, I don't mean to monologue. Maybe I oughta start over. Hello! My name is Emile.”

"I don't know much about this place, but my best guess was that those clowns in that UFO were a factor in the disappearance of any life," Bonesword said before he approached the two, keeping his sword down and his hands raised to not show any aggression. "The feeling is mutual. I'm not used to the city here either. Everything where I'm from is more... technological."

Maybe these guys were what Bonesword has been looking for as teammates, actually. They were two fitting people in an entourage of his if he had made one, and it didn't seem to out of the question to ask for a bit of assistance, even if it was only temporary. He still had a tournament to... not win. Winning was in the past. Hell, if there was any time to try and get an alliance together to end the tournament, now was that time. Although, he did figure that whoever he had to face next he should be better prepared for. These guys were the ticket to that, it would seem.

"If ya 'ave anythin' t'say, Mister Sin-clair, spit it out 'fore we disappear,” Screed told the Fungal Knight. There was one real answer that Bonesword wanted to respond with, so he did.

"You guys want a ride? Charlie has room for two more." An affectionate roar from Charlie soon followed.

Like many other edifices she had entered since she had been summoned to this alien land, the one she entered now appeared to have been abandoned suddenly and recently, as though only a few minutes before her entrance the restaurant’s staff had prepared the tables for a grand feast, and retreated into the kitchen. For all that, no food sat on the plates, nor guests sat at the tables.

The large reception was wasted on the single traveler, and the cloying scent of an unknown sorcery brought her pause as she scanned the utensils on the tables through a narrowed eye.

A soft click alerted her to the fact that the door had closed behind her. The rasping sound of the bolt sliding into was more obvious.

Pithy reached towards it at once, confirming her fears. It refused to move, as though affixed in place.

A curse danced on her lips as she turned, studying her surroundings with renewed intensity. The locked door itself did not upset her as much as what it meant. Her presence was known.

The voice that greeted her as she slowly stepped away from the front entrance turned that into a certainty.

“Welcome, Pithy.”

The voice echoed around her, seeming to bounce off the cutlery.

The woman froze, listening attentively. It was a familiar voice, even through the reverberations, and her first thought was that Nero had lain in wait for her. The longer she heard the voice speak, however, the less convinced she was. Gone were the ill-timed jokes and irreverent tone she had come to associate to the announcer.

Still, they knew her name limiting the possible suspects. Furthermore, while she was not familiar with the word ‘camera’, it was clear that they had left a means to spy into the announcer’s tower, meaning the owner of the voice had been a party to her conversation with Nero, and conceivably her later attempt to locate him. It was possible such a device was being used to observe her at that very moment. Was the owner of the voice even present in the edifice?

The announcer’s drawling voice echoed in her mind. 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 magic swelled around her with such intensity that it made her nose itch, disrupting her train of thought. The runes in her rapier shimmered, frost appearing over nearby plates as the blizzard inside her swelled in response. Pithy shivered.

It dawned on her that the voice was trying to intimidate her, and her lips twisted in a spiteful grimace. Her eye went to the shooter in her left hand, mindful of the weight it carried. She needed only pull the trigger to alert Dew to these unexpected developments. Her finger twitched, her hand tensing.

She brought the weapon up, returning it to its holster.

Not yet. It was not the time. She did not have a target. Even if Dew was able to cross the boundary to this territory she had walked into, it was likely that she would simply end up stuck with him as company. After all, if the voice knew to wait for her, it would also know she had her own pawn nearby. She doubted the voice had heard the exchange she had had outside, but revealing her hand too early could cost her dearly.

Instead, she drew her rapier from the hoop at her belt, the blades of ice she had summoned fanning out around her, wary of unseen danger.

“To rescue Nero...” The irony of the task the voice had left her with was not lost on her. She was reticent to take any promises this mysterious addition to her worries gave her at face-value, but at the same time she was unwilling to leave empty-handed after she had tracked down the announcer’s location.

Is that the arrogance of newborn power I hear? How vexing to listen to it myself is. Just what had the foolish boy done after he’d slipped away from her?

The plates in the nearest tables trembled, eight of them slowly rising in the air.

The first two spun towards her head. Pithy ducked, the plates crashing against the door as she spun to the side to keep all the floating discs in front of her. She brought up her rapier.

The next two were turned away by her ice, two blades batting away the projectiles before they reached her.

The third set met the same fate. The last two plates crashed against a solid surface, a thin disk of ice that now levitated before her, its rapid formation aided by the cold she was still bleeding to the surroundings.

As an afterthought, one of her blades spun around her and lanced towards a nearby window. The glass shuddered in its frame against the impact, but for all that, it bounced off, leaving not so much as a mark.

Pithy frowned as she reeled the ice back towards her. That was hardly a threat, but if I’ve been truly sealed off, for how long will that last? I do not believe it is my limits that are being tested.

The avenue of assault the voice had chosen bore thinking about. Levitation, at first glance. That could prove problematic if the power was able to touch her or her ice directly. She would need to be watchful of that, until she knew if the voice had not yet bothered to do so because it was unable to, or because it felt it unnecessary. Considering the objects moving as if of their own will, combined with the fact that she seemed to have been sealed inside the building, along with the roiling power suffusing her surroundings and the allusion to an entity other than the voice, her first guess was a haunting. Had a poltergeist been bound to this place?

Pithy walked towards the nearest wall, hesitant to wade between the tables, and followed to march towards the back of the establishment, wary of more sudden projectiles even with her own conjured weapons trailing behind her. She quickly caught sight of an array of doors, some featuring the images she now knew signaled the restrooms, and moved towards the unmarked ones.

“Does my voice reach you?” she asked out loud as she walked. She wanted to keep the voice talking for whatever information it might betray. Ought I to play to their expectations, then? “How did you get to Nero? I admit to feeling as though the chance to properly humiliate him has been stolen from me.”

Annoyance: A Treatise on Making Progress

Well, that was clearly Runch’s fault. Still, the pirate made the best he could of his newfound aerial vantage point - that is, he destroyed the balcony and nothing else, as that blasted many-bodied Stand absorbed every hit he fired out, plus Motley’s own strike against the user’s sister, who was now underwater. Alas.

'Pardon me, Runch,' Motley offered quietly, more out of courtesy than any real sense of guilt. The pirate had launched himself, after all. That said, he’d also safely landed himself in an utterly ridiculous position, only to pick himself up and ran into the building, chasing after Davian and blocking the way in- or out- with a wall of cereal.

Which left the last few instances of the brother’s Stand, and then the sister... and it seemed she’d failed to surface yet. Which meant she had something in mind... what could she do underwater? Launch more missiles? Well, naturally, but that meant contending with Heavy Fuel’s water saturation again - well, a reduced amount of it whilst he stood on the water column beneath him, but as the veins of his fingers continued to trail through the liquid, its presence was still noteworthy. Or, perhaps she meant for them to rise out before they hit that critical point, in which case they’d be easily observed?

...either way, it wasn’t worth taking the risk. Best to figure out a secondary way of stopping them before then… and what better way to do that than to litter the entire lake with debris? Not that that’d necessarily have a notable effect, given how Stands worked, but it might make things a touch more difficult for the girl anyway. Besides, he had another idea in mind that worked out well for this circumstance, and helped him gain some ground in the process.

With an abrupt surge of Ripple energy, the entire pillar Motley was standing upon violently gave way beneath him, clinging to his toetips as it collapsed straight downward. More for dramatic effect than anything else, he raised his hands as he was pulled downward, then slammed his palms full-force into the surface of the water, that double-slap combining with the force of the pillar’s collapse to crater the water momentarily, like a ball bearing impacting a rubber sheet before it bounced back. The same shockwave, with just a touch of encouragement from Heavy Fuel, promptly blasted through the lake around Motley, smashing the two halves of the tower to either side of him into tiny fragments, more well-suited to floating in the lake briefly than the two halves they had been before.

The rubber sheet of the water’s surface rebounded a moment after that, now hurling Motley into the air and towards the building. He also chose now to finally retract his harpoons back into his fingers, forcibly dragging Heavy Fuel behind them, a fair mass of the water with that, and the debris from the smashed tower pieces in the water towards the epicentre, ultimately leaving behind a virtual minefield, if only for a short while, that he figured may hinder the rockets as they made their path toward Motley’s former position.

If that even mattered. He still had his next trick churning inside him, once he reached more solid ground. And unless he was mistaken about how her Stand worked or any distinctly inhuman powers of hers that he’d missed, Aralynn couldn’t remain submerged forever.