*CLING*

*CLANG*

*CLANG*

"Wake up! Wake up!" You were all roused awake by the ringing noise of your prison bars being hit and the loud noise of the guard. "It's breakfast!"

Guards flooded into the area as your cells were unlocked. Leaving your cell was one of the few moments you likely enjoyed. The cells were dreary, barely-lit. It was small, compact and did not have much room to move around. The cold cobblestone floor was practically your bed with only a thin, dirty mat to sit between the floor itself and your resting head.

The guards, in their black and gold armors and helmets, entered your cell and dragged you out and pushed you to the other prisoners. They put cuffs on your wrists and your ankles. Some of you could actually break out of them but you realize that doing so will only invite pain and probably much harsher treatment from those who had subjugated you.

Putting you in a single-file line, you were marched out of the cell blocks and into a hall filled with long wooden tables, the cafeteria hall. Looking around, you also see other lines of prisoners of varying shapes and sizes, no doubt from other universes King Kazzok had conquered. Your line was sat on one of the tables and the gruel was served.

It had been like this for several days now. You probably wondered if this was how you will spend the rest of your life. But you all noticed something different this time. The guards were fewer and more relaxed. During the first days, the guards were almost literally watching you eat. Their oppressive eyes even prevented you from speaking with your fellow imprisoned.

But now, they watched you from a distance. Even chatting amongst themselves and paying little mind to their charges.

Could this be it? An opportunity for escape? An opening to something more? Will you seize it?

Ashton Andrews, the Chosen of Stories

Sixteen years old and my life is basically over, Ashton thought as he allowed the prison guards to drag him out and cuff him as they led him to breakfast. The boy didn't resist, except to observe that they had allowed him to keep his ordinary Earth clothes; was he that unthreatening without his book? Then again, it probably was to make him look more distinct as a trophy should look; Ashton already had several ideas of why he'd be kept alive after all was lost.

The first idea, the boy thought as he sat down on the cafeteria table and submissively ate his gruel, was that they'd be slaves for labor and torture. But as nothing has been done to them beyond the usual humiliating treatment, that possibility was slowly fading.

The second, also obvious idea, was that they'd be kept as trophies, which he had already thought about. Perhaps as part of a victory parade for King Kazzok's forces? Or just for the Dark Lord to look at whenever he wanted to remind himself of past triumphs? Egoes needed massaging, after all.

Or, the third possibility occured to Ashton, they were going to be used as sacrifices at some point, to increase King Kazzok's power. Or just interrogated in due time about how their powers and technology worked. Or maybe they'd be used as power sources for... No, those possibilities are wrong; the prisoners would have gone through that treatment already if that were the case.

A sudden chill went through the boy's body as yet another possibility went through him. Kazzok needed them for something. Something that he wanted them to willingly give. It was possible that the Dark Lord was trying to get them to work for him somehow without using too much mind control; perhaps he's going to tell them that there was a greater threat to the Multiverse than he was and he needed the heroes to act as his 'Suicide Squad'? If so, that will be a hard choice to make; Evil or More Evil. He wasn't prepared to make said choice, especially if it sounded like a betrayal to his fellow prisoners.

Speaking of said fellow prisoners, the redheaded adult male was easy on the eyes; too bad he was too old and probably married to someone also hot (male or female) already. Same for the adventurer in leather with a golden-circled necklace; they were allowed to keep golden items here? Wait, no, the adventurer in leather looked like a bachelor; he can tell. Stop ogling hot guys and the occassional lady, Ashton! His mind said. And he's too old for you anyway!

The boy decided to observe the guards for once this time; what could have driven them to join an Evil Overlord in his conquests; money and power? Neverthelss, he was perceptive enough to know that their watch was laxer than before.

Good; he wanted to talk to someone - break the ice with his fellow prisoners. Turning to the redhead, Ashton whispered, "Hey, what's your name? Mine is Ashton Andrews." A pause. "It's hard, you know, to know that you're spending the rest of your life as a slave or prisoner or whatever. As a sixteen-year old who once had a life ahead of me, I think it'd be even harder than for someone who's at least experienced life."

That and you, Ashton Andrews, accidentally killed your friends, too. All because you couldn't resist trying the Dark Lord's powers for yourself, part of his mind nagged. But Ashton was fast wondering... Did King Kazzok actually tell the truth about that, or was he lying?

Ting Ting

Ting Ting

One of the prisoners seemed to have an odd way of eating. It was the strange one. The one in the mask. The one who never showed his face when he was out of his cell. He was quiet, upright, never showing his hand as he stood at the bars of his cell, quietly observing. The guards never gave them a moments rest. He could never reach out.

Ting Ting

He took a sip of his gruel, his mask hoisted up ever so slightly so he could get the spoon underneath. On the way down, he tapped the side of his bowl twice with his spoon, making a soft little town. It would be subtle at first, it would be something overlooked, but more noticeable the more he'd done it.

Ting Ting

He turned his mask, his beak to his left, to his right slightly, then to the guards, whom were not giving them their due attention. It was a different day, and he had observed. He knew some of them among them were stronger than he. He knew some of them had the physique of warriors, or the oddities of people from strange places. He had marveled at the woman of the air. He had reviled at the undead luminal. But they were all prisoners.

All allies. Ting Ting He tipped his beak left, beak right, the lenses of his eyes quietly observing for whom else noticed that they had a moments chance. It would require a surprise, a bit of cooperation, but he couldnt risk speaking out his plan. He just needed everyone aware. He needed everyone to realize that this was a moment to obtain their freedom. A chance to fight back.

Ting Ting

If he was right, they would seize the moment. And Pox, could provide it.

Lash kept her face mask on whenever she wasn't eating, which meant all the sodding time in the cell. Not something she was happy with, rotting away in some forsaken cell who knows where. The clanging was an irritating way to roust people as well, though from what stories she'd heard from escapees from the jails back home, things were not much worse in terms of housing. Little less room, poorer quality bedding, if one could even call it that, but that was about it really. She got to her feet in time for the cell to be opened, it saved the lot of them time and effort hauling her out of her cell. Made it appear she had accepted her apparent fate, despite the fact she should have been damned well dead. Little things like that, compliance and not struggling, would make it come across as an easy job. She was playing a long game, mentally speaking, get them used to things, fall into a rut, and then she would start looking for a way out of this shit hole of a prison. What was on the outside? No idea, given her 'fellow' prisoners.

Not much fellow about then, Lash had to admit, given there were things and beings that flat out did not exist back home. Not just in terms of style of attire, but outright abominations made manifest, though if they were here in chains, that meant they'd been taken too. Lot of information to process, not a lot of days to do it so far, and it wasn't like the food or environment was conducive to clever, intelligent thought. Part of the point, she mused, as the irons were clapped on her wrists and ankles. Crush their spirits and leave them in a position where it wouldn't recover, always was easier when the spirits were crushed. At least it was for cracking open crypts and tomb complexes, and they guarded things as well, though they were typically less likely to up and try and walk out. Her thoughts were interrupted, as they often were, by being marched to the food area, sat down in front of this sop they called food, and were expected to eat like usual. Something became readily apparent as she tugged down her face mask to eat, glancing briefly around her as usual.

The captors weren't paying close attention, near as she could tell without giving away her gaze as she was seated with her back to the guards today. They were already falling into that habit? Nowhere near as attentive as some of the beasts that had been rampaging Istvargrad. That was an opening, and while she ate, her vision scanned the other prisoners and surroundings, yellow eyes darting carefully, to take in the slightest signs of weakness or means out of this room. Perhaps she could get one of them when they came back to escort? No, too many and they'd be ready for it...

Ting Ting

The noise interrupted Lash's thoughts, and a glance found the one making it. Strange bird masked man, assuming he was a man at least, eating without removing the mask. It had been repeating, and its intent was not lost on Lash once she was made aware to it. Getting attention, sounding out who was paying attention, bird brain here had an idea probably. Smart not talking like someone else a bit down the table seemed to have been doing, no need to attract overt attention. Given their state of apparent mind so far, the guards that is, if this bird brain wanted to make a go for it, she could make that work. After the most recent set of taps, she followed it up with a quieter, though still noticeable, set of taps, heavier sounding due to her gauntlet, to get his attention long enough to wink in his direction. He had her attention, and she could make things up on the fly depending what the bird brain decided to do. She also had a spoon for the gruel, so she could get one of these guards through an eye socket in their helmets if need be. Either way, Lash was on board for the attempt.

After awhile, you get used to the same routine, become set in one's path. For the demi-god, he'd grown accustomed to the treatment rather swiftly, but not to grow slow witted or whatever. Whenever he had a moment, he thought, and pondered. Observing the guards, memorizing patterns, for his own reasons. If they talked, he listened in, gathered information on them. One never knew when it might become helpful. Sure, one could grow tired of the rough treatment, but it was better than being dead.

Gruel. A suitable meal for prisoners that were the result of war. He'd seen the effects before in his books, so at least, this was enough to sustain the body, better than what most prisoners of war went through. He'd noticed the change in the guards this time, not fighting them, but instead moving with their actions, anticipating their actions, to make sure he'd reduce any possible pain or damage. And eventually, when sat down, his expression remained neutral, but his eyes scanned, taking in the information, his body still, to avoid drawing attention. Just incase this was a ruse, meant to break their spirits before their final fate. Some might have consigned themselves to their fates, but for him, he kept going. As far as he knew, his family was safe, so he had to keep sharp, and be careful, to see them again. Heroes don't get second chances often, especially when their foe was some super-massive dark entity threatening, from what he had guessed, dozens of worlds. The idea of a multiverse, or even multiple ones, had occurred to him before, but it became more apparent now.

He'd noticed the tapping, or tinging rather. It was hard to miss it when you're not human, and have superior senses accordingly, unless the human had a disability that benefitted the rest at the expense of one sense, or training. His eyes glanced towards the masked man, reminded of a plague doctor almost. If the two's eyes met, there'd be an almost impercable nod. Then the human spoke, and the Demi-Divine Dragon's gaze shifted to the male, speaking from the corner of his mouth, still cautious, just incase well...this wasn't what it seemed. Such as the guards faking things, or worse, a traitor in their little entourage.

"Christian. Christian Selphia. Human and dragon name side by side." That was all he said for a moment, under his breath, only loud enough for the other to hear. "Life throws us curve balls, so long as you have something driving you, you'll make it through." Strange advice, perhaps, but having a goal, or end in mind helped to keep one going. That could be taken good or ill, such as wanting to protect others, desiring revenge, or what have you. His eyes flickered around, his head turning just a tad to the human male, then inclined ever so slightly towards the guards, his eyes calm, yet with their own sense of steel. A hint to what was on his mind, as he'd guessed the boy was either extremely chatty, or was trying to test the waters, see how the guards reacted. Either worked in their favor. There was potential to the lad, that was for sure. He couldn't place his finger on why, but there was something there. For now, it was a matter of seeing if the other prisoners had noticed, and what would happen next. If the guards would do something, a joint action by the prisoners would occur, or if one loose cannon would start things prematurely...

Nale the Fate-Seeker

Nale wasn't sitting at the table with others. Instead the guards forced him to sit all by himself at a lonely stool, holding his gruel in his lap. It wasn't like the gruel was hot or anything, but it was still rather uncomfortable to shovel it down where he stood.

Nale knew exactly why he was sitting away from the others. Once, he was the greatest hider on Metamundus. No matter the hiding place, once Nale got there he might as well been invisible. But first he needed a hiding place to hide. In an open space, like on this lonely stool, he was always visible. He was also close to a guarding position so that he would always be within sight.

Though, as of late, the guards had become lazier, chatting away with each other when they were supposed to be watching. Nale remembered when he first got here. Back then the guards make cruel japes to Nale about trying to hide from them now. There were no jokes anymore, though. Nale could understand it. It must have been quite boring doing nothing but staring at a lonely guy eating. Not that it mattered much. The guards would notice Nale moving out from his chair before feeding time was over and punish him in whatever way they could come up with.

Ting ting

A noise awakened Nale from his thoughts. He looked around, not seeing anything particular. It was then that he noticed a man, or something he thought was a man, making the noises, intentionally.

The other prisoners seemed to be reacting as well, observing, measuring, messaging. They were preparing to escape. Although Nale couldn't say anything from the distance he was in, he could help. He may not be able to hide, but he could still sneak attack. If the guard was distracted, which he no doubt would be after whatever the other prisoners were planning, Nale would make his move.

River really had come to look forward to meals. With the cells being so small, there was little she could do to stave off boredom or keep herself from going mad. The chill and lack of bedding were not so different from when she slept under the stars as she travelled. Even if her wings hadn’t been bound in such a way that she couldn’t reach the clasp no matter how she stretched, there wouldn’t be enough space in her cell to move them properly. Despite the cuffs on her wrists and ankles, the restricted movement felt less so; she could still walk, although probably not run, and she could move her arms surprisingly freely despite the chains. Being escorted to the cafeteria was the only chance she had to test these ranges, and even then, she had to be careful not to catch a guard’s eye.

Food was food, and while her body craved the fresh meat that she’d gotten it used to, anything to keep her going would have to do, even if that meant eating watery porridge for days on end. The most she would allow herself was to silently say that their captors could at least spare some vegetable scraps. Otherwise, she would just sit there eating what she could, while she could, until the guards decided that they’d had long enough and they were forced back into their cells.

Normally, River didn’t have much reason, or chance, to observe the other prisoners. The room was large enough to suit a large platoon, and their captors filled it with all types of people that she’d never seen or even heard of before. Her line looked mostly Human, with the exception of the Corpse. However, today, their guards seemed more inattentive than normal. When she was first brought here, the guards were almost constantly breathing down her neck as she ate her meals. Today, prisoners on one side of her were able to whisper to each other. Prisoners on her other side had started tapping out some sort of code. If they were planning something, she would have to act quickly. Mimicking the masked-man’s rhythm, she started tapping her foot on the leg of her stool. She took glances at the guards as she did so, willing them to maintain their lack of focus.

Ashton Andrews, the Chosen of Stories

Ashton was not a would-be hero for nothing; he saw after a few moments that the other prisoners were already regaining hope, or never lost it in the first place. C. Selphia was a nice guy, too, trying to reassure a kid whose words could be mistaken for attention-seeking. And Plague Mask Guy? The kid had to admire his moxy in signalling the others to prepare an escape bid. So he met the 'Dragon's' smile with his own, faint one, a signal that despair had left him. They were all heroes and the occassional anti-heroes here, weren't they? That hadn't changed yet and quite frankly, the Chosen of Stories was not willing to let it.

So he whispered back to C. Selphia, his voice as low as possible, "I was wrong to break."

A signal that the boy had in fact, broken, and was merely being chatty when taking to C. Selphia. While giving the latter time to recognize this truth, Ashton waited for the other currently stronger prisoners to make their move; without his powers, he had no choice but to follow their lead. Glancing with the edge of his eye at C. Selphia, the boy whispered once more, "Shake my left hand under the table while we wait. Don't ask why. No longer broken."

Sixteen years old and facing life as a prisoner or slave of an evil overlord, not granted the mercy of death? Seal Team Ten would be more ashamed of me if I just take this lying down. Finally, Ashton's thoughts were making sense.

The boy had another theory, by the way: 'Cold King Kazzok' was a narrative being whose power was over stories itself like he, Ashton, technically was. That's how the Dark Lord was able to beat so many heroes from many other 'genres' of Universe. If true, then it means that 1.) Kazzok can only defeat them if it made for an interesting story or a setup to a story, 2.) They can only defeat King Kazzok if it made for an interesting story or setup to a story, and 3.) Kazzok must have a source of power that ties into narrative, like a.) A special artifact like the book his Uncle bequeathed to him, or b.) Being a creature made of narrative.

Creatures made of narrative could exist naturally, like Faerie Creatures from certain worlds (coughExaltedcough), but they can also be created by authors in worlds where authors had reality-warping powers. Was 'Cold King Kazzok' such a creation? Or simply a very powerful being/entity able to operate in multiple worlds?

There was no way to know. And Ashton also knew that if he settled on a theory right now, with inadequate evidence, then he'd be overthinking and guessing instead of, you know, analyzing. But gods, it was so frustrating to not have anything even when he had decided to fight!

The boy side-glanced at C. Selphia once more, hoping that 1.) the latter had agreed to do as he had asked, and 2.) that he had not missed said agreement while he was theorizing and guessing.

Gangraena

It sure was nice of them to let her out of that box. She kinda had to stitch herself back together again but at least she had the time.

There she stood, staring out of her cell like always. She never slept, she never sat down. She just stood, looking out from her cell and trying to strike up a conversation with anyone in earshot of her. Such as it was always, such as it was when they came to take her down to the breakfast hall. It sure was nice of them to let her sit down with the others even though she didn't even eat.

Lined up with all the rest her wrists and ankles were manacled and she was led along like all the rest. Much like every other time she was sat alongside the inmates of her row at the same table. She noticed something different almost immediately however. The guard's presence here was much more relaxed than prior. She knew this because ordinarily they'd strike her upside the head for talking like she was about to, just like every other time.

_
"Hiii Eeverryy boodyy!" She gave a cheerful wave to all her new 'Friends', her chains clanking about with her excitable waving about.

"Heeyyy, Youu knoww whaat's funnyy?" She leaned over and spoke to the bird masked friend she was sat next to, just like always. Unlike the others she wasn't whispering either, just yammering in her normal somewhat-above-indoor-voice volume.

"The guaarrds arre beeing laazyy toodaayy!" She chimed merrily. "Theeyy aren't eeven staanding by to hit us liiike nooormaal!" By us she pretty much meant her since she had a way of drawing most of the ire with her happy carefree nature. Despite the abuse it never really sank in, especially since she couldn't feel pain. It wasn't like she was inciting a mass escape either so they were reluctant to cut her head off over the matter of her exuberance for the time being.

_
"Laaazy laaazy guaarrdss~! But thaaat's oookaaay!" She rocked from left to right as she sang, each word drawn out in her undead drawl which held a hollow ring as though her voice was echoing forth from the bottom of a fathomless abyss. Her somewhat tall and lithe body bumped into the masked friend and her friend with the big floofy wings as she sang her little jab at the guards.

Floofy? She briefly considered her phrasing on her mental description of her other bird friend's wings. Aren't they feathery though? What would that make them? Floofery? Featherloofy?

"Saayy," She turned to the bird friend with the big wings, dropping her arms back down on the table with a rattling thud, the rattling coming from the bowls of gruel that shook from the impact.

"Hooww woouuld yooouuu descriibe yoouurr wiinngs? Fllooffyy? Feeaatherryy? Flloooferry? Feeaatheerlooffy?" She was distracted by her white and black motley colored wings, more specifically with how soft they looked. She didn't have much of a sense of touch but that didn't stop her from instinctively reaching out to touch them with her stitch laden bluish-grey fingers.

The constant taps and tings were soon heard by the present guards and they halted their idle activities. Gangraena's loud remarks about them summoned their full attention and some of them began to head over to the table of commotion.

"Th' names Kedvin..." one of the nearby tablemates muttered in response to Ashton in between bites, making the motion look fluid enough that it was almost difficult to tell he was the was speaking. He was a lean type in their late twenties, early thirties at a guess, with a swimmer's tone, a widow's peak of black hair ran tightly wavy in a quaff over the right side of his face almost to the point of touching his brow. Dark hazel eyes peered out from under a strong brow, moving constantly as to never give the impression of actual attention, though strongly implying they were scarcely missing a single detail. A scar ran up their right nostril to a healed gash which took out a bit of their brow with the scar of it healing, an unfortunate clip keying into a profession that was hardly a stranger to violence, but one that seldom saw a helmet, at least one of proper design.

As soon as the nearest guard approached, Kedvin drew what appeared to be a shortsword; an amalgam of spoon-shaped imprints and seams bent and honed into an edge and tip, likely crafted from two dozen or so spoons. How they were shaped was anyone's guess, though.

"Ah hey! Hold 'is for me!" Kedvin said, grabbing the guard's arm and pulled them down enough to run the blade between their breastplate and helmet, just between where their collarbone and throat would be. From the depth, it seemed like it was a serviceable blow, and it was reflected by how the guard spewed an inky cloud of tendrillic wisps that curled and grasped at the mass that quickly left their body before the suit of armor heavily toppled back with a crash against the table.

Two others followed suit with similar knives they tore from their clothes, likely loosely sewn against the inside of their prison garb, quickly ganging up on another two nearby guards. One had short black hair to a nearly faint fog of hair against their otherwise bare scalp. With hazel eyes much like Kedvin, theirs were accented with an outer ring of a gold-ish hue.

The third man, however, was an Adonis of ebony endeavor, standing over seven feet tall with long dreads tied into a bun of sorts. Cold chocolate eyes blinked out of the shadow of their own brow as they looked up and moreso grappled with a guard to render them free of their footing and punch them to the ground with a small dagger of meshed spoons.

The six remaining guards guards in the hall all rushed towards Kedvin and his company, their sticks of hard steel at the ready. They would probably overwhelm the three-man revolt. Unless others were to join them and give them a helping hand and a fighting chance.

But looking at the other tables, the other prisoners only looked in shock and horror as Kedvin engaged the other guards and had no intention of joining in. Could there be a reason?

The woman with the mask tapped back.

The small one, no claim but he did notice.

The human err dragon. He knew whisper on the wind. Hes in.

The woman of air. Tinged back. She's in.

The chatty one, not exactly subtle but he spoke to the dragon. Pox wanted to whisper back, but he needed to be discreet. Annoy them when the guards got closer so they would focus on him. Dont piss of the guards. He could take it. He hoped no one else got.

"The guaarrds arre beeing laazyy toodaayy!"

Pox nearly gagged and sputtered as the Luminal, the Death Knight, the Anathema beside him didn't get the hint. He coughed at the sudden outburst of her merriment and glee. And she would not. Shut. Up. Good.

"Hooww woouuld yooouuu descriibe yoouurr ***SNAP*** wiinngs? Fllooffyy? Feeaatherryy? Flloooferry? Feeaatheerlooffy?"

Pox used her words to cover his movements. The ceramic bowl, he used his metal spoon to crack a piece of the bowl, snapping it off, a little shard.

Then things got a little less manageable. Discretion is not the forte of his allies. Its fine, he'd adapt.

---

Three others took the opportunity, grabbing at the stragglers of guards. The commotion allowed Pox to stand up, his shackles and shape did not take precedence over the three that had the gall and guts to take the fight, each in turn using magics, gifts, things that Pox wanted to research in time. But it was a start. Three down. It was true, they were all warriors, all here for a reason, cause they all fought. And could fight again.

Six more entered the room. They would split up! Pox couldn't let that happen! One could die, get over run... and it was time to act. The robed masked man jumped onto the table, his robs and feet knocking off bowls of gruel as he ran at the approaching guards, he managed to clear much more distance than his ratty lean frame would suggest, clearing over the head of Selphia as he landed on the stone floor.

Pox felt it, the essence boiling and bubbling over in his lungs. There was essence here, he could breath it, feel it, even in this strange place. He had forgotten the powers of before, mind so muddled with his 'death' and failure, but he could remember this. Appearing before the crowd like a raiton, beak of the crow pointing at them he threw his head back and yelled... the exhale coalesced as a steaming geyser of venomous green gas, spraying at them as if pipe burst. The choking, noxious fumes hurt the eyes, hurt the lungs more. He was hoping to break their charge, get them to panic, disperse. The cloud threatening to cover the portal to the room, keep others out. Thankfully the mess hall was big enough that he couldnt fill the room.

He hoped it was enough, it was for the guard in front. Gasping and sputtering, his defenses lowered, Pox ran forward and attempted to take the ceramic shard and slice at the guard's throat. The only weapon Pox had, but his aim towards the jugular was, disturbingly accurate.

Still, he only realized all too late that it was just the armor and not flesh underneath. Still sharp cuts between plates, maybe it would do something.

Lash couldn't help but silently glare at the...thing singing about the lazy guards and swaying back and forth. One, the undead did not exist, not even to the degree as a story or horror tale, so that was certainly something worth noting. Two, her behavior indicated both a childlike mentality, and lack of situational awareness. Given her size, however, brute force could make for a good tool to distract from other activities. Of course, any further planning was disrupted by the sudden revolt by a handful of men of varying sizes, armed with weapons forged from spoons it looked like. She grinned under her mask, that was taking prison shanks to a whole new level, prison swords? They'd clearly been here longer, but as the fighting started and the masked fellow who had been signalling jumped onto the table, Lash grabbed the chain shackling her hands together with her left hand, metal gauntlet cinching tight around the links. This was gonna hurt, but hell, when didn't it?

As the toxic gas spewing bird masked thing went about its business, the sound of hissing machinery emitted from the gauntlet on her left arm, and a clenched jaw was apparent beneath the face mask. Whatever the device was doing, it was painful, but then a blue white flame started hissing from the gauntlet, heating the links of the chains to the point that a swift, hard pull was able to split them, the half slagged metal dripping. Quickly doing the same to her ankle shackles, now that the device was restarted, having not let any hints that the thing was anything other than grafted metal, she poked her head up to survey the situation. A normal human should have been light headed from blood loss at this point, but she was used to the cycle of blood usage, and a few days in a cell wasn't going to break that habit so quickly. The cloud was not going to stop all the guards, even if it seemed to have left one open to the mask wearing gas spewer's attack up close. Accurate, but she could deal with that later, she chose to keep low and stay out of sight as she closed in on the nearest guard to her that wasn't consumed in fumes, grabbing a bowl as she crouch ran towards the nearest guard free of the fumes.

Metal armor, looked metal enough at any rate, good enough for any sort of improvised weapon that wasn't well aimed. Hell, proper weapons would probably have trouble with it. A thought shifted the mechanisms in the gauntlet, and she went to grab the nearest guard's arm before discharging the capacitors in her fingers. It would be more than enough lethal current, and she was insulated against it as a precaution after nearly dying from some smart sod trying to grab her while getting shocked. As that discharged, she shattered the bowl and grabbed a handful of sharp, broken bits, lacerating her hand before she lobbed the bloody porcelain shards at the guards still in the cloud of toxic fumes. Gas like that, least back in Istvargrad, was all sorts of flammable, no one took torches down to the sewers for a reason, and as the shards left her hand, they combusted, though those flames were an orange/red in coloration. Her hand also burst into flames briefly, the lacerations being seared shut by the burning blood on the surface, though curiously her glove was not even remotely singed by the action.

It was almost impossible to notice unless close range, but the ways his lips quirked up in the faintest smile, indicated his awareness of the shift in the situation with the boy. Unlike another self, billions of worlds away, who might have known why the boy wanted to shake hands exactly, he didn't know for sure, but he had a suspicion of what it could be. Sometimes, risks had to be taken. But Chris mouthed to wait, and he seemed to be timing things. It didn't help the devil may care attitude of the undead like lifeform, but it also helped in a sense. Even as he noticed the guards starting to approach, his expression tightened ever so slightly, his hand moving just a tad closer to the boy.

The reason for waiting would soon become clear, as all hell broke loose in the form of the trio launching an assault on the guards. Chris's expression shifted, growing faintly concerned at the sight. If this was part of a trap or a suberfuge by the one behind it all, it was a good performance. But at the same time, his eyes flickered towards the people around, who did nothing to go on, taking the information in. Not good, they were either cowed, in on something he didn't know yet for sure was the case, or they had seen this before, and their reactions meant they feared reprisal. He needed more information. But in the commotion, he had his window. Even as Pox flew over his head, if he glanced down, he'd see Chris looking up for a moment, offering another flick of the eyes to indicate he'd have help. This help wouldn't the son of Ventuswill, at least not right away. Instead, his hand grabbed Ashton's. If this boy was the mole, the traitor, then he'd just taken a grave risk, but sometimes, great risks are required. Leaps of faith. Besides, he had a feeling the lad had some sort of power that required direct contact. Perhaps power share? Who knew... "Whatever you're about to do, be careful. If it involves the energy in my blood, don't use it too long, or at least, be careful." He said no more, but it was clear why he was saying it, Rune was incredibly dangerous, its intoxicating like effect on the unprepared, especially in too great a dosage for their body and mind to handle, could turn lethal for a user. But that was a matter for another time.

His gaze remained locked on Ashton's until whatever the boy had to do was complete, then Chris turned his head, looking towards the boy who sat by himself. If the two locked eyes, he'd make a head gesture. Towards the still cowed people. He needed intelligence. If any of the horrified people were nearby, Chris would lean over, and just give them a look meant to calm, the kind of trusting aura one might expect from a healer or a diplomat. His words would be whisper soft, meant to reassure, but also extract the information he needed while Ashton presumably joined the fray. For the moment, he was going to play support, even as his hands began to move slowly, performing a ritual he knew by heart. Nothing fancy, just something to heat the cuffs, and perhaps weaken them, as he began to talk to the other. "Mind filling me in on why you're looking so pale? Seen this before?" As for the fire magic he was using, Chris would keep it up, heating the cuffs more and more, while his other hand stopped using fire magic, and switched to water magic, using the coolness, to in essence, slowly expand and contract the metal, and hopefully weaken them enough to do the rest himself. Simple physics really. Hopefully the stunned person would fill him in, while Chris considered his next course of action...

Ashton Andrews, the Chosen of Stories and Flame Brooks, Operator

"Thank you," Ashton whispered as C. Selphia took his hand. A surge of warmth spread from the point of contact, affecting both him and the Professor as they were linked together from now on. Then as the older man left the table, Ashton would lift up his cuffed hands, and conjure up a Book; the first new one he had since everything was taken away from him. The pages flipped open to show a summary of C. Selphia's biography, a biography that would allow Ashton to understand the nature of the guy's powers better. Dragon in Human form cross-trained with Elemental Magic from another Universe. Has a wife and daugther whom he believes had escaped.

Ashton doubted that last part, but viewed the pages relating to powers. Apparently, he has a strange affinity to Light even though he sees himself as a Wind Dragon. And Dragoncraft will be useful eventually, too. Very well; time to use Librarium Heart.

A flicker of willpower as the boy channeled power from Selphia's book onto himself, changing his nature and heritage and bloodline with just a thought; at this point, only his psyche and his apperance were his' own - his species and body were the same as Selphia's now. And yes, the laws of the Multiverse had been changed so that he was a second 'Drake of Light' for as long as he imitated Selphia's powers.

Not that he'd steal his benefactor's metaphorical thunder; Ashton would not take away a Chosen One's rightful place. What he would do, however, was confound those who were so sure of their own position in the narrative by distracting them from said Chosen One's actions.

Concentrating, Ashton tapped into the Rune power his new body was generating, and with a flash of golden light, the cuffs on his wrists and ankles were blasted off by glowing force. Then, more confident in his ability to handle the intoxicating effect of Runic energy, Ashton pointed to another of the Guards, blasting it head-on with a lightning bolt. He then looked at those who decided to fight.

"All right, people!" he said in a loud voice, modulated by a tiny use of his imitated wind powers. "From what we've been shown, these suits of armor are inhabited by dark spirits and not creatues of flesh, so toxic gas won't work against them!" Yes, he had seen what Kedvin's blades had done to the guards and how one of them had 'died'. "So if you guys have something that damages the armor itself, attack them with it!"

And as an example, Ashton began gathering another lightning bolt in order to blast the suits of armor. But as he was doing so, someone tapped him on the shoulder and he turned around... To find the most beautiful person he had ever met.

------

Flame Brooks had seen the other boy in previous weeks and days; despite his imprisonment here, it was clear to Flame that he was not a fellow soldier. No, his fellow kid was someone who, despite having fought and even killed before, had not been forced into anything he didn't want to until now. And considering the sheer amount of power Ashton Andrews was slinging around, it was clear why.

He had been on the other side of the table from the other boy, close enough to hear him whispering his name. Now he had climbed up said table, tipping over bowls of gruel, to cross over to him and tap his shoulder. Satisfied at Ashton's look of surprise, Flame said, "I've read enough fiction to know you should save your energy."

The redhead then held up his cuffed wrists, continuing, "I don't have powers of my own, but I can fight. Please trust me."

The other young man blushed a little and smiled, before gesturing at Flame's restraints and blasting them off. Then, focusing those enchanting green eyes on him, Ashton said, "All right, but tell me your name first."

This, Flame was happy to give. "Flame. Flame Brooks. I heard your name while you were whispering and I've read enough fiction to know that magical energy can be replenished by food. So eat as much as you want from the others' bowls; I'll hold back the guards while you build up enough for another blast of power. Oh, and check said guards for keys."

And with that, the child soldier - wearing only ordinary clothes as his power armor had been taken away - dived in, taking a baton dropped by a 'dead' guard and swinging it at an 'alive' one with enough force to dent a car door...

------

Ashton did as Flame said, taking a few spoonfuls of gruel, and then blowing any remaining un-engaged guard or guards off their feet with a gust of wind!

River just glared at the corpse and pulled her wings away from her. Sure enough, her noisy singing was going to bring the whole place down on their heads. Whatever plan the masked-man had, they would have to them out, but they would never get another chance if they didn’t make a break for it now. The others clearly had the same thought. They were joined by a trio of men who’d somehow fashioned their spoons into short-swords. The others in her line had clearly powerful magic, enough to break their chains and blast away the nearby guards. River couldn’t allow herself to be dead weight. She’d agreed to the prison break in the first place. The masked man had the right idea. River hoisted the stool over her shoulders as she jumped up onto the table, using her wings to maintain her balance as best as she could despite the restricted movement.

If the guards were just empty armour, would non-magical techniques even be effective? She couldn’t dwell on it. This was all she had right now. She smashed her stool over the head of the nearest guard. Glancing at the armour as it the collapsed to the ground, she grabbed another abandoned stool. Leave the guard’s sword; you don’t know how to use it. Remember what Uncle Flint told you: “A weapon in a fool’s hand will hurt the fool more than his enemies.” They needed to find a way out of this room before more guards arrived. The others’ magic couldn’t last forever, and they wouldn’t have any chance for rest until they were long away from their prison.

Nale the Fate-Seeker

Nale kept eating his food, while observing the happenings at the other tables. The bird-mask kept messaging, until he suddenly released gas of some kind at the guard. Soon enough the other prisoners started taking down the other guards as well.

It was time to act. As the other guards were distracted, Nale took his chance and threw the guard near to him to the ground. But the guard continued moving like he felt no pain. Nale opened the helmet's visor, discovering that there was nothing inside. An animated armor, faking being human through conversation. It was then that he heard the young man's words.

"If only I had my Mercury Dagger! That would take care of these spirits like that! But don't worry, I can keep this one in place until one of you can help me destroy the armor!" Nale notified the other prisoners as he kept grappling the armor. The guard was strong, he had to admit, for someone without a body, but it wasn't the first possessed armor he had faced in his life. It was simply a matter of taking the pieces out one by one and throw them at a distance to prevent or slow down reconstitution. Nale hoped that this armor wasn't one of those that had parts that flew right back after removal.

Gangraena

Before she was able to attempt to cuddle the winged lady's wings havoc broke out as three prisoners started shanking the guards. She spun around, face alight with excitement as she bolted up from her stool and towards the incoming guards without hesitation.

"PRIISOON BRREEAAK! WOOOOOO!" Her bellow was simultaneous a celebratory cheer and a war cry which could be heard across the dining hall over the din of combat and yelling. At this point the only thing slowing her down were the chains around her ankles which threatened to trip her more than a couple times as she threw herself into the fray.

Wading into the miasma expelled by the wingless birdman she rushed in and did the first thing that came naturally to her: She reached down, grabbed a prone guard by his foot and hoisted him up by it. Being six feet tall she was just barely able to hold the guard high enough so that his head wasn't dragging against the ground. The weight of the guard was of little issue to her though. Her anchor weighted an easy one hundred and ten pounds and she was strong enough to wield it one handed with the same grace one might wield a longsword. Well, maybe not quite the same since she had to account for the fact that she only weighed a hundred and ninety pounds, adjusting her stance to account for the weight of her weapon.

In this case it wasn't an anchor but despite the guard's floppiness and struggling to escape her grip they were roughly approximate. This wasn't the first time she had picked up an opponent and used them like a flail either which was what was informing her following attack.

With gleeful abandon she took a wide swing with her hand-held guard, smashing him into the largest grouping of guards she could find. If any guards were left standing she'd knock 'em down next. If they all fell she'd go about the downed ones and punish them with a brutal overhead beat down.

She really missed this.

Pox, Lashiel, Ashton, Flame, River, Nale and Gangraena battled the dark-filled guards in their own ways. In a matter of seconds, the revolt had the upper hand and the guards were left in tatters, helpless against the powers of the prisoner heroes.

Kedvin produced a single key, also seemingly made up from multiple materials, and used it to unlock the cuffs on him. He then goes over to the two prisoners who started the revolt with him and also freed them from their shackles. It appeared he had made some sort of skeleton key that worked on all of the steel cuffs. Or perhaps there was simply one key design for all the cuffs.

He then went over to those who joined him in the revolt, unlocking their cuffs and allowing them full movement to continue the fight and revolt without hindrance.

"Mind filling me in on why you're looking so pale? Seen this before?"

The other prisoners, now huddled closely under the tables, only stared at Chris with fear-filled eyes.

Before anything else could happen, the doors into the mess hall swing open and caught everyone's attention. Into the mess hall formed an army of guards. Once they were assembled, a figure walked to the center, a figure who stood out from the rest. He was leaner than the guards but still appeared strong, gold painted most of his armor save for the sash and the mane on his helmet which were purple. "What's going on here?" He asked in an annoyed tone.

The Adonis-built prisoner charged the golden man but the latter unsheathed a normal-looking sword and with one quick dash with sword at the fore, the prisoner was instantly bisected, his two separated parts falling to the floor. With that, the guards behind the golden man charged and the remaining two of Kedvin's company charged as well.

"Damn it! The cav's 'ere!" Kedvin cursed as he finished freeing the last of the prisoner heroes. "We'll probably die but we'll die tryin'! Am I right?!" He told Gangraena as he joined the fight.

Kedvin's company were quickly and promptly overwhelmed by the guard army. The black-haired prisoner had his face bashed in by the steel rods of the guards while the other had his arms torn off from his body and left for dead. Kedvin himself fought bravely and valiantly but with one, mailed punch to his face, he was sent to the floor where the guards immediately surrounded him and started beating the life out of him.

The rest of the guards went for the prisoner heroes. Their numbers were beyond count and more poured in from the entrances. The golden man stood at the back and watched the scene unfold. He appeared vulnerable. Appeared.

Ashton Andrews, the Chosen of Stories and Flame Brooks, Operator

Ashton grit his teeth at the apperance of overwhelming forces, but a plan was forming in his mind as he said, "All right, everyone - Hold them off! Hold the enemy army off - I have a plan!"

Quite a big thing for a kid to ask, even if said kid had great power and responsibility. But Ashton's voice was sure as he began gathering the Rune energy he was generating, willing himself to muster enough for what he wanted to do. Out of the corner of his eye, he can already see Flame in a defensive posture, parrying a blow from an enemy with his own weapon. This firmed up the boy's courage as he made his move.

A stomp of his foot, and two support columns of stone and earth rose up from the floor, reaching the ceiling to brace it for what Ashton was going to do next - Blast a hole through said ceiling in order to get up and evacuate the prisoners to a higher floor.

Another few moments to breathe; another few moments to generate more Rune. Then, concentrating on his control of the 'Earth' Element, Ashton thrust his hand up at the ceiling, and the stone - if things went well - split apart and broke away. Hopefully, this would form a small tunnel that would lead to another floor of the building where the group can then flee to and get their bearings.

"Winged lady!" Ashton shouted, "You and I and the older redhead can lift us up through the tunnel I made through the cieling - Assuming I managed to carve out a tunnel!"

He then looked at where Flame was with the others, who were no doubt being pressed back by the literal army of Kazzok soldiers. Glaring at the golden-armored commander, a commander who was truly of flesh and blood, Ashton waited for the others to follow his instructions and retreat towards the hole he had made above - assuming that the castle didn't have the ability to magically regenerate rock or was magically stronger than it looked.

Small fingers ran, unfeelingly, through a plume of black feathers before the tips clicked against the solid material of the mask's beak. It was beginning again, and they could feel it even the dim cage; routine was broken and the void beyond the bars swelled and then ebbed as their friend was compelled to fill the vacancy that a likely rebellion was inflicting.
Lock up countless heroes, and such losses should be expected...but their friend was young, behaving at least in such an implicit manner in some vain anticipation of wills merely abiding by their transgressions.

The face in the small, metal-tipped hands crackled with each tap of a fingertip before it was turned for the darkness within to yield to its new owner. Eyes engulfed by the hollow shell, ears bent to horns, snow blackened to soot, and teeth flattened to a beak, The Stranger stood from their bedding. Whatever name this face had, it likely no longer mattered, as it was made their possession and bestowed a new purpose and name. A stronger one, or at least as intention would have it.

A few buttons in a coat and a scarf around their neck and The Stranger reluctantly collected themselves to resume work. In execution, it was a simple matter of reaching through the bars to unhook the small latch on the outside of the door. The difficulty was present in how the cage floated through the void, now truly empty, though not for long.
The fleeting form of their friend rushed to meet themselves in a stream reaching deep into the void, and The Stranger bid their new face's name farewell, drawing out its memories to etch a door into the dark. Chains sailed from its frame into the abyss, certainly making their intentions known, though it was too late for subtleties if opportunity was so richly on the wind. The door closed behind them, the chains went slack and the door promptly tumbled off into oblivion, leaving the modest but lonely accommodations to dim after the light from wherever the door had opened to swiftly cut out.