Lazo

Roman Holy Grail War RP (Fate RP with heist themes)

I'm gonna expose myself and say that I don't recall watching or reading of stuff that shut off circuits in Fate (unless we count a certain Shroud in HF), but I've mostly stuck to the original VN, ataraxia and extra. The idea was to have a key component to explain the potency of the Jokers (and explain why they are so 'irreplaceable'), but I didn't have anything specific to this series in mind for the second one.

I was originally working off the idea of Otataral, an ore in a different setting, and the explanation I had planned for that one if asked IC was mostly to reference that as a nod to that series, the use of a rare, poorly understood mineral that had the strange property of negating magic. It is implied that it did this by eating it, as though magical energy just suddenly slipped into a black hole when activated under its area of influence. In that particular setting that ore could have long-term, sometimes permanent effects on people who were exposed to it (such as by rubbing Otataral dust over their bodies), the most typical of which was the person acquiring the same magic-deadening properties as the ore.

Now, because I don't want to permanently cripple all the mages in a setting by blowing dust on them, let's assume this is a made-up version for convenience and say any effects of a device taking advantage of this are only temporary.

Roman Holy Grail War RP (Fate RP with heist themes)

@XmasForJuan No worries. I was actually curious about how people would react to the Jokers. They are supposed to be wild cards that could drastically upset a given situation, but getting them to be useful to that degree without being absurdly busted took some thinking. I am willing to listen if you think they need further adjustments though.

Roman Holy Grail War RP (Fate RP with heist themes)

@Darked13 All g. Also hit us up with your WIP if you've got one.

@Lazo Chuck your master profile in here to find a pal.

@Crimmy

Okay. Here is the character I submitted, a Spaniard mage from a declining noble family.

Ricardo Alcazar

Name: Ricardo Alcazar Gallardo de Segovia (Also goes by Rick, Richard in English speaking countries, or Alcazar depending on the situation)
Gender: Male
Age: 28
Height/Weight: 5’9’’ (1.75m)/ 160lb(72.5kg)
Birthplace: Segovia, Spain.

Appearance

Ricardo has a healthy build with a good amount of muscle and lightly tanned skin. His hair is dark and wavy, of medium length and often pulled back, leaving his forehead and alert brown eyes unobscured. Usually keeps handsome features clean-shaven, but a stubble may show in particularly stressful weeks.

His wardrobe tends to be simple and sharp, largely consisting of dark cloth pants, button-up shirts, and a tan overcoat. He largely foregoes ties. There is a noticeable vanity to his general appearance.

Character

Confident and easy with words, Ricardo’s demeanor tends to come off as wry and vaguely aristocratic. Certainly, he is proud of his lineage.

He prefers wit in humor, along with dry understatement, and admires people that make use of both in speech. However, he finds it difficult to respect those who don’t take care of themselves or their appearance.

Ricardo strives to be perceptive and cunning, and often fancies himself the smartest man in the room, giving him a manipulative streak. ‘Fortune favors the prepared mind,’ and while he enjoys games of chance, he is not fond of losing them.

He also has an interest in foreign curses and superstitions, and enjoys giving explanations as would a lecturing professor. That said, he quickly loses patience when asked to repeat himself.

One should note, however, that no matter how affably he might behave in the day to day, he is a magus born and bred, and his moral choices may not always accommodate to what is ethical so much as what is convenient at the time.

Background

Ricardo’s family can be traced back 500 years ago. During that time, his ancestors had recently acquired a noble title, and the family spread and prospered throughout the years. The introduction of magic to the family itself came 300 years later, in the 1800s, and from then on, as if struck by a curse of misfortune, the family had begun a slow decline. Part of it could perhaps be attributed to the common policy of mage families of keeping only a single successor, but regardless, by the time Ricardo had been born, much of the land and properties owned by the Alcazar family had been lost.

That is not to say he was raised in poverty. Far from it, in fact. Ricardo lived most of his early life in a villa with his mother and a number of servants. His father officially led his tutoring, and would impart several unorthodox skills and interests for mages such as his love of games and his preference for sleight of hand, but it was not uncommon for him to be absent in extended trips outside of the country. This meant that his mother oversaw much of his education.

Eventually, Ricardo matured and, having completed his formational education, was accepted into the London Clocktower, were he continued his studies for several years. During this time, rather than subsist off his family’s money, he took to earning his own using some of the tricks he had learned in casinos. At the time, he saw it as a means to both test himself and to become independent, but earlier attempts typically saw him drawing the eyes of the management for these establishments. He clawed his way out of several ‘problematic’ situations before he learned the value of restraint.

He was eventually forced to return home at the news that his father had taken ill after one of his travels and was at his deathbed. Ricardo returned to Segovia to put his father to rest, and to take care of the Alcazar family’s affairs as the heir.

That should have been the end to that transition, but not long after his father passed, several strangers began approaching his estate, often magi themselves. Many claimed that his father owed them certain debts and promises, and often brought out contracts signed by the man’s own hand. These rarely proved illegitimate after inspection, and he was often forced to pay them in his father’s stead, using the family’s remaining assets. The varied and unpredictable backgrounds of these characters made it difficult to plan for them, and even when going through his father's belongings, for every contract of the sort he caught wind of, another found him by surprise.

The deluge of debts seemed interminable. This was when a line of magi from a neighboring country came to him with a proposition. If he married into their family, giving up his last name, they would take on his debts.

Ricardo did not accept, but neither did he decline the offer, instead urging them for time to think. They agreed, but during that time the wealth and reputation of his family continued to steadily decline.

It was at this point that by unlikely coincidence he became embroiled with a very particular ritual just then beginning to take place in the city of Rome. A Holy Grail War, like the rituals that had once taken place in the Far East.

Not long after, he was approached by another family that had managed to catch wind of his situation. They, too, offered him a deal to solve all his family’s problems, but this one had a surprising twist to it.

If he took their youngest daughter’s hand in marriage, uniting their families as allies, they would help shoulder his burdens while assuring the continuation of his line.

But only if he brought them the Grail.

Magic Circuits

Circuit Quantity: B+
Circuit Quality: B-

Skills

Deft with his hands, Ricardo can do much with simple sleight of hand, from magician card tricks to picking pockets.

Ricardo is trained in basic self-defense techniques and has found use for them throughout his life. Should a fight devolve into a brawl, he would be far from helpless, particularly if aided by strengthening magic. Of course, this only applies to fights against human beings.

Magecraft

A properly trained mage with access to a Magic Crest, Ricardo knows several general purpose spells. Basic strengthening of objects and body parts, repairing damaged objects like shattered glass, and creating lights and sounds to distract or disorient are common cantrips among magi.

Ricardo’s family research had largely been devoted to the study of rituals and curses affecting luck and fortune, but these tend to take a long time to prepare, are unpredictable, and are difficult to quantify, making them largely impractical. Owing to this, it was not rare for the family’s research to branch out into fields that sought to achieve knowledge and control of an environment. There are some notable treatises on precognition authored by previous leaders of his family, for example. ‘Fortune favors the prepared mind,’ after all, and other such ventures were made by generations who sought a more practical way to tip the scales in their favor.

His own abilities lean towards the use of hypnosis and suggestion magic (the control of people, one may say), techniques often used to prevent the detection of magic in modern society, that he instead found useful when acquiring funds. Changing memories, extracting them, implanting them, altering behavior or commanding another. However, the use of these abilities on other magi are rarely practical due to their inherent magical resistance. Lacking explicit permission to work this magecraft on them, it is often necessary to restrain them for a significant amount of time for the spells to take root successfully.

When in direct confrontations, Ricardo often relies on a set of Mystic Codes commissioned from a family of artificers, and previously belonging to his father. This takes the form of a Spanish Deck with 4 suits of 12 cards, and two Jokers, totaling 50 cards.

Each card comes with a specified enchantment determined by their suit:

Swords: Strengthening is applied to the cards themselves, making them as hard as diamond and sharper mundane blades. A levitation enchantment is also activated, making it possible to launch and direct them like guided missiles.

Clubs: They can be used individually or in conjunction to create magical barriers of varying strength. Placing them in key points in the terrain can create a deployable barrier that prevents exit or entry.

Cups: The Cup suit allows for the usage of healing spells. As long as a wound is not instantly fatal, the spells held in these Mystic Codes should be able to repair the damage so long as the mage provides sufficient magical energy. However, healing of the body is not the only thing the cup represents. Some of the cards allow one to cure certain poisons (though poisons belonging to some phantasmal beasts cannot be purified through this method) and simple curses, such as the debilitating disease of the standard Gandr curse.

Coins: The amplifier Mystic Code of this deck. Essentially, these cards are tools which incorporate themselves to an existing Magecraft to regulate the amount of magical energy consumed while maintaining the effect at a weakened or strengthened form. Such a thing is unnecessary when considering casted spells, but it allows him to bend the limitations of specialized Mystic Codes to control the power output of their effects.

Jokers: Ricardo’s deck holds two Jokers, two irreplaceable cards that were meant to be his ace in the hole to open new doors should the worst circumstances come to pass.
-The first features a laughing jester dressed in a vibrant, attention grabbing orange. Brushing the surface of the card allows one to feel a fleecy texture. This card was made using a phoenix’s feather, and will bring the user back from the brink of death. Even should the owner’s head be severed or destroyed, the Phantasmal’s beasts power will prevent them from dying and restore their body. However, the card can only do this once before it crumbles to ashes.
-The second card has a jade-colored frame surrounding it, but its face remains blank. Perhaps the artist forgot to include the jester. In reality, this is tied to the specific enchantment imbued in this card, which connects to an empty white space objects and people can be brought into, taking the place of the jester. Those within can hear and see the world ‘outside’ the card from a ‘window’ in the space looking out through the card’s face, but they cannot be heard from the outside nor seen beyond an image of them at the face of the card. They may only leave with the blessing of the one who placed them there. There are limitations to this, however. Only one person or object can be brought into this space at any given time, though what counts as a single ‘person or object’ can vary slightly depending on the user’s concept of the given ‘thing’. A full suitcase may fit within the space, but a pile of its assorted contents may very well not. Moreover, consent is required from living beings to place them in this space, making it a poor prison. It mainly sees use as a way to smuggle specific objects or people undetected. As a side note, destroying the card will dump out its contents.

The main practical advantage of using such a set of compact Mystic Codes comes from their activation speed, as well as the inherent energy efficiency of the spells housed in the cards. As a side note, the idea of cards being used as weapons appeals to him on a personal level.

Due to the sorcerous nature of this deck, any card or selection of cards can be drawn at will by the owner. Also, should these cards be cut or shredded, they can be restored by Ricardo in a moment of calm, provided he recovers the pieces. Burning them is a sure-fire way of destroying them, however, and Ricardo lacks the knowledge or skill to reproduce them.

Weaknesses

While Ricardo is proficient in the use of magecraft for diversions and manipulation, he typically suffers when it comes to direct, offensive curses. He largely relies on specialized tools for encounters that require violence, such as his deck of cards.

Regarding his Mystic Code, fire. While his deck has been invested with some wards to prevent an easy destruction, the fact that fire remains a way to permanently destroy the cards and their enchantment remains. Particularly so if the flames are sorcerous and intense enough to overwhelm the wards.

It should also be noted that, while the barriers he can make with these artifacts can indeed stop flames from reaching him, they cannot stop heat. In the worst of cases, a particularly intense and continued gout of flame may ruin the card behind the barrier (and him with it).

It looks like Master profiles won't be kept secret like Servant profiles, so go ahead and take a look. From what I understand, Saber (@XmasForJuan), Lancer (@Reflection), Rider (@Burst) or Assassin (@CarbinatedDream) could use a Master. If any of you think your own character could play well off a character like this, let me know.

Roman Holy Grail War RP (Fate RP with heist themes)

I am interested in playing a Master. Humming and hawing because of time constraints, but I've been wanting to play on a Fate RP for so long I'll probably end up going for it. Is there room for more?

The Three Realms War [Act II] [DMC/Bayonetta/Darksiders Crossover]

“Unbelievable. Who do they think they are?”

A woman angrily strode down the city’s streets, occasionally slipping through into the alleyways, pausing occasionally to glance behind her. She blended in with the occasional group of people when she found them – the working members of the hunting organizations and the few locals that remained outside given the recent influx of less than agreeable tourists – but the white labcoat and the knapsack she wore on her back set her apart even before one got close enough to listen to her grouchy muttering.

“Telling me to stay put while all of this is happening. ‘You must stay in the hotel until the labs are set up, ma’am. Wait with the rest of the science crews, ma’am. Don’t try to talk to the angels, ma’am.’ Treating me like I’m some kind of… security risk after all this time.”

Some might say that she was skulking, sneaking where she might not be seen, but such observations would be wrong on all accounts. She strode – proudly at that – not skulked. Skulking was something those of sketchy morals and poor intentions did, and hers was a character as upstanding as any other.

“Doctor Kipper!”

A choking noise left the woman’s throat and she pressed herself against the alley wall. She blew at her black hair annoyedly as a stray lock fell over one of her eyes.

From further ahead, the call repeated itself. “Doctor, we don’t have time for this!” The shout was followed by the telltale murmuring of conversation. Frustrated conversation at that.

“Oh, are they annoyed at me? How rude of them.”

“Did you hear that?”

“Gah.”

The woman sucked a breath and began to retreat back into the alley. Of course, that was when another shout came from the alley mouth she had turned to. “Doctor Kipper! Where the hell did that woman get to this time?”

Cursing her luck, the good doctor glanced at her surroundings, searching for impromptu escape routes. Her eyes happened to alight on the wall she had been pressing herself against. The wall did not belong to a building proper, but rather separated the back-end of a large building from the rest of block, likely fencing off a garden or pool. It was just high enough that she thought she could scale it given the circumstances.
She pulled her knapsack off her back and swung it over the fence wall. The next moment she had jumped and grasped the top of the wall, pulling herself upwards with quickness that either revealed surprising strength or an alarmingly light body. Such was her hurry that she just about bowled over once she reached the top.

The clumsy fall was thankfully cushioned by a soft bed of grass below. The doctor shuffled forward on all fours, grabbing onto her fallen bag before she paused to listen. With satisfaction, she noted the sounds of voices falling farther and farther out of her range of hearing.

Smiling brightly, she adjusted her spectacles, which now dangled loosely on the tip of her nose from the fall, and turned to look for the exit.

Of course, it was only when she turned to face the other way that she came face to face with the secluded garden’s other occupant.

“Gah,” she choked out again at the sight of the hulking, black-scaled monster that stared back at her.

The creature shifted, turning its bulk to face her. The light played over the thick chains wrapped around its arms, jostling something deep in her memory, but her more immediate concerns lied on the canine grin the creature showed her.

She knew what it was, of course. The large, brutish arms capped with clawed hands, its lupine features, and the fur that covered its extremities, wisps of fire flitting over its surface made it plain as day. The skein of scars was typical as well, even if denser than she had seen before. It wasn’t the first time she laid eyes on a Hellhound – she had even spoken to some for crying out loud.

But since when do they grow that large!?

She jumped to her feet, holding her knapsack before her in a futile warding gesture. Stay calm, stay calm. Oh, would those officers hear me if I scream bloody murder right now? Ah, but that might upset the friendly dog here. See, he hasn’t pounced yet. He’s just curious, curious is all. No need to panic.

The hound let out a low snarl, taking a step forward. She matched it with a nervous smile and a step backwards.

“W-Why, uhm, greetings, friend!” she said, putting on her brightest smile while wide eyes scanned the surroundings for an escape. “I assure you it wasn’t my intention to disturb your sunbathing, o-or whatever you might have been doing out here.” There was the back door into the building itself, but that would require her to run past the hound. Beyond that, she could try scaling the wall again, but that choice was…

Another growl-like grunt and another step closer interrupted her train of thought. “Please don’t eat me. That would be a problem,” she said lamely.

The hound ceased its approach. Its head rose, nose wrinkling as though something offensive reached its nose. She could not find it in herself to be offended by that. Then it spoke in a deep rumble, a sound like crumbling stone.

“You would not make for a filling meal.”

“Ah,” she gasped, the relief almost making her drop her makeshift shield. She barely caught herself, hugging her bag tightly. “I am certainly glad I’m not up to your standards.”

The hound grunted. “Yet you would not flee.”

“Would you have let me?”

The beast rolled its shoulders in a ponderous shrug. “It is bad form to take another’s quarry.”

She frowned. “A-another? But…” She wondered where that statement had come from. Ah, though I suppose I am being ‘pursued’. Is that how it sounded to him? That would mean the answer was a simple no.

He could have just said that.

In the moment it took her to make the connection, the hound had already stepped away, returning to where it had been lounging. She was more than glad to have some distance between her and the beast’s looming presence. Even when lying down, the hound’s head could meet her at eye-level. “Take your flight somewhere else, then,” it said.

Well that was that then. How fortunate was it that the one towering monster she had disturbed wanted nothing to do with her? On hindsight, perhaps she had taken too many liberties in her latest foray away from her working quarters. It would certainly be in her best interests to return before anything else happened.

This had been a good reality check, in a way.

Yet… now that her heartrate had slowed, she found curiosity overwhelming her concern. This is a very rare opportunity, after all.

“If I may ask… what clan did you come from?”

The hound’s gaze immediately focused on her, slitted eyes holding hers with a coldness that made her limbs shiver. Its gaze bore down on her with nary a sound, yet this kind of attention scared her, yet the gesture scared her more than the previous, snarling approach. She was all too aware of the reason. A beast’s growls and barks were warning signs, a message to trespassers and threats to leave or heel. It was a form of communication.

Yet there is no need to communicate with prey. A lone predator will stalk and kill in utter silence.

She found her lips curling into a disarming smile. “Ah, apologies,” she said past a parched throat. “I let my curiosity get the better of me. It’s simply that ever since Belial of the Fire Hell was dispatched you barely see any other Hellhounds. I imagine you came with Gomory?”

The hound continued to stare at her searchingly for a few more moments before the edge began to bleed from his eyes – and, she noted, the tension from his body. Finally, he grunted. “Hell’s recruiter and I have not had the misfortune of crossing paths.”

“No?” She hugged her bag tighter, thinking. “It would be amazing if you came with the Angels, but that’s more than unlikely, and I would have heard if there was a Hellhound working with Gilgamesh or the Demon Hunters. Which leaves—”

“—the Charred Council,” he finished for her. The dog scowled, as if displeased. “Accurate enough.”

Once again, she found herself mildly puzzled over his wording. Accurate enough, but not entirely? “What does that mean?”

“Enough.” He grunted wearily. “What do you seek from me, cadger? You may know of my kind, but I have no interest in discussing how I came to be here.”

“Cadger? I’m not a beggar.”

“You have yet to prove otherwise.”

He’s not wrong there, is he? “Right, where are my manners. I’m Samantha. Doctor Samantha Kipper, a researcher with Gilgamesh.”

“Humans take in your ilk?” The hound asked slowly.

Good nose. Her smile wavered before it reaffirmed itself over her features. The dog was poking at her. “Apparently!” she said happily, before she added. “Knowledge can open doors wherever you go. Now, you see, my work is one thing, but I have also taken to recording the events since the destruction of the first seal. Considering how this may well lead to the end of this realm, it felt important to have an account of what led to it.”

The hound let out a slow breath. “Why do you think this worthwhile?”

Samantha was thrilled to hear him ask. The hound may have been affecting disinterest, but the fact that he had not shooed her away spoke volumes.

“It’s an amazing chance to learn of, course! Already we have data on a mystery Demon with powers we don’t comprehend, and new Nephilim have been appearing left and right! They were supposed to be extinct! Well, expect for you know who…” she coughed lightly against her knapsack, recomposing herself. “There is also the historical value of such an account. Perhaps it will prevent certain world-ending mistakes if someone reads them later on.”

“You must know, cadger. Those who should read such accounts, never do.”

Samantha frowned. There had been a surprising bitterness to that remark. Also, that nickname is not going away, is it. “Perhaps. Still, there is value in history. In a world’s memory.”

The hound’s reply was silence. Not the kind of murderous quiet he had exhibited earlier, but rather the kind that made her feel the hound had held back another comment. It unsettled her. This was not the behavior she had come to expect from this one’s brutish ilk.

“In any case,” she said. “Even though I’ve been trying to record what is happening, my responsibilities tend to keep me away so I only learn what happened after the fact. Even today I had to stay behind at the lab while the meeting was conducted. Even though I helped make those graphs,” she added with some annoyance. “So a lot of what I write down is things I have been told by others.”

“You wish to ask me about what happened today?” The hound scoffed. “Find another. I am not needed for such a thing.”

“Oh, no need to worry about that. I got the details about what happened from my co-workers.” She gave him a conspirational smile. “That said, you are with the Council, aren’t you? You could have insights I couldn’t get from anywhere else. I want to ask about your take on this alliance um…” she trailed off. “What should I call you?”

The hound scowled. He lifted an arm from the ground, looking down at his clawed hand as though searching for something. “Fenn.”

What, did he write it on his paw or something? Still, there it was again, that niggling sense of recognition at the back of her mind. Where had she heard that name before? “Fenn,” she repeated. “Your collaboration would be invaluable. If you speak with me, I’ll be sure to make it up to you somehow.”

“You are vague,” the hound rumbled. “Yet fortunate. Aye. If you truly wish to preserve this moment, I would speak.”

“Perfect!” she exclaimed, elated. Trying to keep calm so she would not startle the beast, she reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook and a pen. “I assume you don’t mind if I take notes?”

“So be it.”

“Good,” she said as she lowered her bag to the ground to free her hands. “We have an interview going, then. Let’s start from the top. What are your thoughts on this alliance?”

“Alliance,” the hound spat with displeasure, “is too generous a word for this convergence. Expedience governs the joining of forces. By that same token, expedience will govern their parting. It shall be… violent.”

“It is true that Heaven and Hell have been at odds for eons, with this realm caught in the middle. Still, the forces here have expressed a desire to protect the seals.”

“Truly? That begs the question, then. Why have they not cooperated from the beginning?”

Samantha blinked at the odd question. “Why, it would be an issue of trust, would it not?”

“Yet such issues were put aside when unexpected forces joined the conflict. The snake and”—the hound’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly—“the False Riders. It occurs to me, that this is not a matter of protecting the seals, but rather controlling them. A war waged with these places as the key territories. However, the designs of this new enemy run counter to that.”

“You think trust was never the issue, but rather that they have been waging their own war since the beginning?” Even as she said that, Samantha felt that she had said something idiotic. She was speaking of Heaven and Hell. Of course they were warring between each other.

Fenn, however, did not call her out on it. Rather, he frowned, as though the words were in fact worth contemplating. “Would it not be convenient,” he said slowly, “to keep this realm in this state? Such that it may be interfered with directly?”

Her hand paused from its dance over the paper. It was a concerning thought. Concerning in its deviousness, which could be easily attributed to Mundus and the like. Would the commander of the heavenly host also think in such terms, however? She had not been expecting conspiracy theories when she had asked to speak with this Hellhound.

“I see,” she said. “Let’s be more specific now. What are your thoughts on the parties involved in this agreement? Let’s start with Gomory.”

“I have only seen Hell’s Recruiter from afar, cadger. It is difficult to say.” Fenn huffed. “She appears loyal to the Prince of the Underworld, however. It may be safe to assume her intentions are his intentions.” He narrowed his eyes. “However, intentions change.”

“What do you mean?”

“Bringing about the End War had never been the demon prince’s intention, preoccupied as he was the domination of the realm of man over its destruction. I am inclined to agree, given what I have seen and heard thus far. However, whatever initial plans he had in store were likely scattered by the destruction of the first two seals.

“Though the most well-known to this realm, he is not the only power within Hell. The ancient call of a burgeoning apocalypse has brought forth many of the Underworld’s inhabitants, ones he does not truly hold authority over. With the forces of Heaven responding to these incursions, it is not an option for him to abstain from this conflict.”

Samantha nodded. “You feel he has been dragged into this unwillingly.”

“Does the Prince seek to salvage the situation by preventing the destruction of the last seals? If more seals are lost, will he choose to destroy the last barriers between this world and calamity, to eke out Hell’s ultimate victory over Heaven? Does the Prince hold secret designs to bring about his desired end, or has he fallen to reactionary tactics, struggling merely to wrap his mind around the new players that have entered the battlefield?

“This sham of a truce makes me lean towards the latter.” A grunt. “I feel… ambivalence. We shall see if the Prince’s Hand is to be trusted.”

“What about the Angels that joined us? What about Kushiel?”

Fenn bared his teeth in something halfway between a smile and a snarl. “That one I have crossed path with twice. Twice we have tried to kill each other, though I believe he only recalls the latter. The little prince knows the face of his true enemy, cadger, and it is not the one we came to defeat. He has already sought to kill Council agents to claim a seal for his lord. The blame for the previous seal’s destruction lays at his feet.”

Fenn was supposedly working with the Council, so perhaps it should have been expected that he had a firsthand account of what had happened at the site of the last seal to be destroyed, but she still found herself surprised by the news. Surely there was more to be said about the bold claim the hound had given her, but she did not want the discussion to go on a tangent.

“He did say he would continue his task on this realm once this partnership was finished,” she pointed out.

“Task.” The hound let out a slow, venomous laugh. “I fear that in his zeal, that one may attempt to do as his lord wills before the task is given. With the assumption, of course, that the will of his lord and the will he expects from his lord are one and the same. Which begs the question, would he assume correctly?”

“You hope he betrays Him on accident.”

“No. I wish to see the choice of the soldiers who follow him, should such a thing happen. Would they awaken to the distinction in the end? Follow blindly, or turn against him? I wish to see the answer they present.”

“But why?”

The hound shook his head. “One should not justify desires, Cadger. You only draw eyes to the reasons’ obvious absence.”

Which she supposed was a convoluted way of saying he had no real reason to wish misfortune upon them, he simply did.

She hummed in quiet acceptance, deciding to move on. “How about the human organizations gathered here? Any thoughts regarding them?”

“None. You shall find it a common stance. Those they have agreed to work with care nothing for humanity’s fate.” He sniffed. “Ah, but I will amend myself. If they do, they care not for its freedom. If you wish to ask me of the groups in this island, I suspect you would know more. All I have seen of them have been the weaklings sent after me in the city of the second seal.”

Samantha made a note of that. Demon Hunters after demons in Barlour City. She would have to corroborate that piece of information with their liaison.

“What do you know about the demon, Vega? He is the one destroying the seals, so he must be the main focus of the Council.”

The hound shrugged. “It is as you say. It is all there is to say. The snake’s ultimate goal is irrelevant to all gathered here, but his methods have marked him as the enemy.” He scowled. “I shall face him yet.”

“The false Riders must have also triggered alarm bells for the Council? Do you have any ideas what they seek?”

“No.”

“None at all?”

Fenn’s brows furrowed. “Twice have they been sighted. Twice was I among the party that met them.”

The sound of scribbling intensified. It struck her again how fortunate she had been to find this resource.

“It is… unclear, whether they act with a single purpose, or if separate factions exist among them. The first allowed the seal to be taken. The second enabled its destruction” He gave her a sidelong glance. “I failed to take the second’s life. I shall not fail again.”

He went as far as to battle one of them? “What makes you so sure you’ll succeed the next time?” she asked.

“I was at death’s door when the battle started, cadger.”

“Ah.” She replied simply, her eyes flitting to the numerous scars covering his body. “You look all better now.”

He grunted.

“There is only one group left to discuss, then. What can you tell me about the Council’s involvement?” she finally asked, holding her pen expectantly.

Fenn, however, merely stared at her. Where before he had eagerly gone into a tirade for each question, now he simply eyed her silently.

“Um, can you tel—”

“The Council presents its own conundrum.” The hound interrupted, an oddly neutral cast to his tone. “Do you know when the Council gained the agents you see gathered here?”

“What?” she said, taken aback by the initiative being wrested from her so suddenly. “No! Shouldn’t I be asking that to y—”

“Do you know how many Seals of the Apocalypse they have come across? Where they have found them? Who sent for their recovery?”

“N-no, but—”

“Do you know where the true Riders of the Apocalypse are? Why it is us here, and not them?”

Mutely, she shook her head.

“Then you must bring these questions to others. Those who bear the mark of the Council.” The hound’s head drooped, resting it over his arms. “Begone now,” he rumbled.

Dimly, Samantha realized she had been dismissed. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Then opened it again, hummed, and bent to pick up her bag. Silently, she stuffed her writing material inside and brought it over her shoulder.

A hop and a wiggle over the wall later and she was back on the streets. One of the Gilgamesh employees noticed her then, and she looked on as the man rushed towards her.

Her mind was still going over the last few moments she had spent with Fenn. He gave me homework. Homework! Below that thought was another, more unsettling one. The hound could have given an answer to those questions, yet he insisted the questions be brought to others.

Had she been tasked with delivering a message? This she wondered as the security staff led her back to her quarters.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

Sand sat at one of the terminals at the CCT center, off at a slightly more isolated corner among the rows and rows of communication stations. When the screen fizzled to life, a secretary greeted her, thanking her for being there in such short notice.

“Sand Vespa, is that right?” she said, reading out her name from a screen just out of view.

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Give me a moment to forward you.”

Sand nodded, and the CCT standby screen appeared.

Hiding a small grimace, she looked down at herself. After the repeated workouts from that day, she had taken the chance to return to the team’s room for a shower. She had replaced her usual clothes with a more casual attire consisting of blue jeans still fastened by her thick belt, a short-sleeved yellow blouse, and sneakers. Short in time as she had been, she had foregone drying her hair and had simply pulled it up into a messy tail.

Maybe too casual.

Her fingers tapped restlessly against her leg, trying to work some of the nerves out of her system.

“There you are, Vespa.”

She straightened her posture.

The moment the face appeared on her screen, the words came out from the speakers. The man behind the screen must have been in his mid-forties, sporting a trimmed beard and short, dark hair that framed his sharp features. A pair of squarish spectacles sat on the bridge of his nose, reflecting the light of the monitor in such a way that it was difficult to make out his eyes.

It did not particularly matter, in any case. She had seen enough of Doctor Richard Gamboge while she had been doing work as his research assistant in Atlas to know that the scientist was not pleased.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Professor?” Sand asked, affecting cordiality even if she herself was not particularly thrilled to be holding this meeting. “I already sent all the data from my last outing to you. I assumed a debriefing wouldn’t be necessary.”

“I did receive your data,” he scoffed. “What little there is of it. I expected a lot more from you, Vespa. Do you not understand that we had a chance to examine technology that could affect Grimm movements throughout Remnant? The findings could have completely changed the way we interact with these creatures. Now that it’s in the hands of Vale, the results of the research conducted in Fort Jaeger may well be buried forever.”

Sand recalled the Grimm that still prowled the grounds of the fort, long after the experiments performed there had called horde upon horde of monsters until the whole structure had been overrun, the vast majority of its inhabitants and defenders slaughtered. “That might be for the best,” she commented.

The man shook his head grimly. “I truly hope that is not what the people in charge of studying what remained in the fort come to think. Such is the kind of short-sighted thinking that prevents us from learning from our past mistakes.”

Sand leaned back, sighing. Even if she had her doubts that the doctor’s intentions were as pure as he purported, he was not wrong. From what she had gleaned from his explanations and from what she had seen at the fort, the main goal of the research had been to draw Grimm away from settled areas. Had it worked as intended, the world might have been a very different place.

Nonetheless, she could not give him the last word. “I thought I would just let this lie, but seeing as we’re having this conversation, I might as well. Professor, there were a lot more Grimm in that fort than your briefing suggested.”

“That is not a question. If you simply want to give me excuses, I believe there are enough of those in your report.”

Sand ignored him. “It’s rather suspicious when you consider I also happened to run into a team of Huntsmen while I was there. You told me you were sending me to the fort because the Grimm population had dwindled to a manageable level, but that was a half-truth at best, wasn’t it? The real reason you sent me there with the place still swarming was because you caught wind that plans to retake Fort Jaeger were being put in place and you realized you wouldn’t get a better shot at the tech inside.”

The man grunted. “Watch your tone, Vespa. I have better things to do than gambling with a student’s life. I certainly was not the one who insisted you go alone.”

Sand bit her tongue. Turning it into a solo mission had indeed been her idea, something she had justified to the Professor after the fact by claiming she could move undetected more easily that way. Now, she was not certain she would have been able to do much within the fortress had she not ran into Robert and his team.

“In any case, that is not why I am contacting you,” the man continued.

Sand blinked, surprised and a little wary. What else is there to talk about?

“There is another Atlas transfer that should have arrived at Beacon the same day you did. He goes by the name of Jericho Dylan Piper.”

Ah, right. That was that oddball’s name.

Sand nodded along, already well-aware of this. She had thought his appearance at Beacon a funny coincidence, but having the Professor bring it up quickly roused her suspicion.

“What does that have to do with me?” she asked. “Heart-warming as it would be, I don’t imagine you’re pointing it out because you’re worried I’d feel lonely without familiar faces around.”

The man’s brows knitted over his spectacles. “Where do you even get these ideas? No, of course not. The student in question is in possession of experimental Atlas assets—”

“—and you want me to keep tabs on him?” Sand finished his sentence.

“Precisely.”

She leaned forward, massaging her forehead with a hand. This all sounded extremely shady. More than that, things like these are precisely the reason why I transferred out of Atlas. That made another thought occur to her, one she did not much want to consider. Nonetheless, she had to ask.

“Professor… is this the reason why my transfer was approved?”

The man waved a hand. “Nonsense. That paranoia of yours is really quite something, Vespa, but as much as I would like to claim otherwise, I assure you the timing of your transfer was nothing but a fortunate coincidence.”

Sand allowed herself a breath of relief. Of course, just a coincidence. When you look too deep into anything you start seeing conspiracies everywhere. “And the fact that I was suddenly named team leader had nothing to do with this, then.”

“Ozpin took that suggestion? Interesting.”

Sand felt like an ice cube had been dropped down her neckline. “What?”

“Either way, your transfer was well underway by the time I put your name forth for this role.”

“Wait.” Sand held a hand up, trying to keep the man from moving away from the subject entirely. “How much does Beacon’s Headmaster know about this?”

“Yes, well.” He cleared his throat, clearly irritated by the interruption. “As far as I have been given to understand, Ozpin is fully cognizant of this Piper’s… peculiarities. As for the true purpose of your transfer, there should not be anything linking you directly to the other student, but I imagine he has come to his own conclusions after seeing you.”

Sand had to keep herself from gaping at the screen, so amazed was she by what she had just heard. She felt her teeth begin to grind despite herself. “’The true purpose of my transfer?’ I had no hidden motives for coming here, and I’d prefer you didn’t imply as much. What did you just get me into? That last mission was supposed to be my last task as your assistant. There’s no reason for me to go along with this.”

“That much is true,” the man nodded with some reluctance. “This is not coming from me, but from people higher in the chain of command. You should therefore believe me when I say you would be insane to pass this up. You would be remunerated for your service, not to mention it would be the perfect chance to get your name out to some influential people here at Atlas. If you refuse, someone else will simply be sent in your place.”

“I don’t even remember seeing Jericho in your lab. If you are not involved, why are you trying so hard to force me into this?”

“You were my recommendation, so naturally, if you accept—”

“How much money is involved?”

“I could get my research subsidized for years.”

Sand sighed, falling silent. The man was frustratingly predictable, sometimes. She rested her elbows over the desk and brought her hands together, covering her mouth in an obvious thinking gesture.

This was suspicious. Extremely suspicious, in fact, thanks in no small part to how absurdly shady her former boss was. However, she could not deny that the proposal was interesting. In a way, it would be no more than a part time job she took while she studied, with the potential to net her some important connections later down the line. That was before one considered how curious the whole situation made her. What was so special about Jericho that they needed someone to oversee him?

Her voice was slightly muffled when she spoke again.

“I beg your pardon?”

She lowered her hands. “What would be expected of me if I agreed?”

A smile pulled at the researcher’s lips. “It could not be a simpler job. Largely, your duties would involve keeping watch over the subject. The people in charge seem to want another student’s observations on the Piper’s progress, so yours should prove to be an adequate point of view. Naturally, you are not expected to shadow him every moment of your waking life, as it would likely impair both his, your, and dare I say your new team’s training. It would have been simpler if you could have been assigned to the same team, but that would have been too much of a coincidence, would it not?”

Sand nodded. It was already suspicious enough that the both of them had arrived and began their instruction the same day. “Do my duties end at watching him?”

“No. The subject’s safety is paramount. Atlas has invested a lot on Piper, and it would be one of your duties to defend that investment’s wellbeing.”

“Jericho is a Huntsman-in-training,” Sand drawled. “It’s his job to be in danger.”

The doctor shrugged. “How you perform that duty is up to you. With luck, he will take care of himself on his own and you will never need to step in.”

Sand sighed. “Is there anything else?”

“Yes. Make sure he does not overuse his glove and keeps it in good condition.”

Glove? Are those the assets he mentioned? “Does he know someone will be watching him?”

“I would not be surprised. That said, I would not tell him it is you were I in your shoes, unless you want to trade a relationship between classmates with the relationship of a felon and their parole officer.”

“Is it that kind of relationship?”

The man grew silent at that, clearly understanding what she was truly asking. Just as Sand opened her mouth to repeat the question, the doctor spoke. “A lot of his files are confidential. I can get you what the people in charge deem you need to know if you accept their proposal, but not through these channels.”

Just who the hell is this guy? Sand wondered. “Fine. Tell them I’ll do it.”

“Perfect. I’ll be sure to share the good news.”

“But I have some conditions.”

“Conditions?” he repeated, suddenly wary.

“Right. First, I want a paper trail. A proper contract I can sign. Also, I want to speak with someone actually in charge for this. If I find out this is another legally gray plan to try and steal someone else’s research I swear I will fly back to Atlas to personally punt you off the highest cliff I can find.”

“Another!?” he sputtered. “How dare you suggest I have ever been involved in such schemes?”

“Also, quit stalling and deposit the payment for my last month as your assistant. I know you’re hoping I’ll forget.”

The man’s face was so red for a moment it occurred to her he might pop a blood vessel. “I am not—“

“You hired me to get out of an argument about out-of-place budget expenditures in your laboratory, Professor. People in Atlas still think I was the highest-paid teacher assistant in the school. I’ll continue checking my balance in the meantime. Good night.”

With that, the image of the red-faced scientist froze and fizzled away, replaced by the CCT’s standby display.

Sand let out a long breath. She closed her eyes, resting her head in her hands.

Perhaps… I spoke too loosely there. She may have been irritated, but the professor would not forget the way she had acted. Maybe if she called again, she could smooth it over.

No… no. He won’t forgive me, and I’ll simply look like an idiot.

She detested speaking with Dr. Gamboge. To that day she had trouble deciding whether meeting him had been a stroke of luck, or the worst thing that had happened to her since beginning her training as a Huntress. On the one hand, her ties to the man had allowed her to meet some of the key players in the Atlas research labs and had given her experience in the field to put in her resume, but on the other, this was not the first time one of the Professor’s ‘assignments’ had clashed against her sensibilities. It didn’t help that she utterly detested the man’s character.

She still had to decide what she would do about Jericho. If this job required her to keep an eye on him, the first logical thing to do would be to figure out his schedule. Things would be simpler if she befriended him. She could ask directly about things she should know about if that was the case. If she so wished, she could even approach him directly with her given task and deal with it openly. She had been cautioned not to reveal what she was doing to him, but ultimately that decision rested with her.

Sand grimaced. She hated how manipulative the whole thing felt. For her, picking someone with the intent of befriending them was not something that happened often, or easily for that matter. She preferred when those bonds formed naturally, with little extra effort on her part. Thinking of the alternative often filled her with either trepidation, or a pervasive feeling of lethargy, but never before had the prospect of socializing made her feel disgusted with herself.

It seemed circumstance insisted on pushing her out of her comfort zone.

Perhaps I should just put a bug in his room or clothes. Because that is not highly illegal. Not that she knew where she would get that kind of equipment in Beacon in the first place.

In any case, she would need to make some room in her schedule for this. With a grimace, she recalled what she had told Robert before the two had parted ways. Sparring everyday after practice may not be the greatest idea after all.

She produced her Scroll, thumbing through her newest contacts. She had managed to get ahold of her teammates’ numbers the day before, and soon enough she had brought up Robert’s to the front. She paused, thinking over what she needed to say, before she started typing.

”Hi Robert. Was thinking of a proper schedule for our sparring session. I said everyday after practice, but that is excessive. Fridays are for missions and weekends are for resting. I may not be available other Mondays like today, so we’ll play it by ear. Tuesday, Wednesdays and Thursdays I expect to see you at the Gym after class.”

She eyed what she had written for a few seconds, hesitated, then continued typing.

”You got an assignment this week. You have to find someone and ask them to help you better some aspect of yourself. You need to find yourself some mentors. Next week I’ll ask you if you did it, and if you have no stories for me, we’re training without our auras.”

Send.

Sand closed her eyes and leaned back on her chair. Part of her wondered what had possessed her to make that last demand. She certainly would have found it extremely irritating if someone else randomly decided to dump homework on her.

Case in point, in fact.

Then again, this and that were hardly the same.

Maybe the idea of being in a leadership role was getting to her, but now that she had been named team leader, wanting to do it right was a given. Pushing Robert to better himself was for his and the team’s benefit, she was confident in that. Her eyes opened a sliver. I just hope the others don’t think I’m playing favorites.

The thought struck a sour chord within her, and she looked down at the Scroll still in her hand. She pulled up the addresses of all her teammates and wrote an additional message.

“Heading out to Vale for dinner a bit later. Maybe the team can go together. Join me?”

Satisfied, she sent the text and finally stood to leave.

@Guess Who@Awesomoman64@Plank Sinatra

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

As the class finally came to an end and winded students began to leave the training field, a blonde head glided through the crowd. It moved without aim at first, exploring the throng of bobbing heads until it came close to a red one, then promptly made a beeline towards it.

There were many thoughts and budding worries Sand had been stewing on for the better part of that day, and near half of those were related to the red-headed boy.

“Hmm… What to do, what to do, what to do?” Robert asked himself aloud as he thought about his after school plans. Those plans including: Nothing and jack squat. He’d been in such a grumpy mood all morning that, now that he had gotten over all that boiled up angst, the redhead had realized that at no point had he considered how he would spend his free time. “Definitely don’t feel like being alone right now. Kinda want to hang out with someone. But who’d want to to do that on such short notice?”

“Robert.” Sand’s hand fell on the his shoulder, drawing him to the side so that they could talk. “Are you done for the day?”

Almost as if she had been reading his thoughts, one of his teammates suddenly appeared to grab his attention. Robert almost jumped as he felt a hand suddenly rest on his shoulder, bringing him out of his head and back to the real world. “Oh, hey Sand.”

“Are you done for the day?”

“Yeah, I don’t have anything planned. What’s up?”

“Good. I’m glad I caught you before you ran off,” she said, then hesitated. The girl took a glance at her surroundings, her eyes resting on the other students with a hint of displeasure, before seeming to come to a decision. Tugging on the duffel bag strapped over her shoulder, she said, “I wanted to talk about something, but I’d rather do it somewhere else. Follow me?”

“Uh, sure I guess. But can I get a hint as to what it is you want to tell me?” Robert agreed, though he would follow after Sand whether he received an answer or not. He trusted his team leader and whatever she had planned for him. If she thought it was important that it was discussed in a private setting, she’d hear no argument from him.

“A hint?” she echoed as she led him away from the practice grounds. “I guess. Do you consider yourself a good fighter?”

Robert gave the question a few seconds of consideration as the two casually walked through the halls. He couldn’t recall if he had ever even considered the topic since he was accepted into Beacon. At the time, he thought that if they thought he was good enough to join, he must have met their requirements. Now that Sand had asked though? “Hmm. I guess I do think I have room for improvement. I mean I could probably hold my own against a normal person. Compared to our classmates though? Not so much.”

She hummed an affirmative. That was in essence her own assessment of the redhead, and it saved the both of them time if he saw it as well. “That needs to change,” she said simply.

“How are you going to do that?” the boy asked, most naively.

“How indeed,” she mused, refusing to elaborate.

The girl lead the boy through academy’s halls until she reached the room where her school day had essentially started. Opening the door, she peeked inside the gymnasium, gaze hovering over the few people still inside. Most of those who used the facilities outside of class during week days likely did so during the morning, leaving plenty of room to play with.

Sand nodded and pushed her way inside, leading the pair to a relatively open space. She left her bag near a bench and turned to consider Robert. She had thought about what she would say if they got that far, rehearsed the conversation in her head, but getting down to it was a somewhat different matter. “Before settling on anything,” she started, “I’d like to know what we’re working with. What’s your Semblance? We could probably work our way out from there.”

Robert looked a bit embarrassed by this question, scratching the back of his neck as his cheeks turned to a redder tone. “Well you see… I don’t actually know myself. In fact, part of me has wondered if maybe I don’t even have one,” he admitted. Nobody usually asked him outright and it wasn’t something that you’d just go about your day bragging about, so the boy wasn’t completely comfortable admitting his lack of knowledge about his own abilities.

“No Semblance?” she repeated, eyes widening imperceptibly. Why, that was only half her plans out the window. “Are you serious? Not even a clue about it?”

“Yeah, I’m serious. I really, really haven’t got a clue. For all I know, it’s something stupid like ‘the ability to have bad vision so I must wear glasses’ or ‘the ability to be born a ginger and not have a soul.’ That would be just my luck.”

Her first instinct was to ask how he had even been accepted to the academy in such conditions, but she forced herself to swallow that impulse. Even she realized that would only serve to demoralize her teammate.

“You know that’s not how it works.” Still, she needed to know more. “But now I have to ask. Did you have any formal combat training before Beacon?”

“... Define the word ‘formal,’” he replied.

“I see.” And that was all the answer she needed, was it not?

Things were worse than she had suspected, and she had not prepared for him being so far behind the rest of the competition. What did that leave her in this pitch?

After a few moments, Sand sighed exasperatedly, her lips twisting into a grimace.

The truth, she supposed.

“This is a problem.” She brought a hand up to her hair, brushing it back in an effort to put her thoughts in order. “I’m going to be honest with you, Robert. You’re sloppy. I thought so when you threw yourself at an exploding Creeper at the fort, when I saw you fight, and even today in practice. When Ozpin had us switch places, the first thing I realized was that I would have to take you aside to talk about it.”

Robert decided to not say anything about the incident with the Creeper. In all honesty, he had done it less because he was sloppy and more so because he believed that he was holding the others back. At the time, he believed that their lives were worth more than his own. There was nothing good that could come out of telling the truth about that though, especially when he was actually feeling better since then and now would most likely run away than use his body as a shield. The rest of Sand’s evaluation was accurate though. “Yeah, you’re right. I want to be able to carry my own weight on this team too, so it really is probably for the best.”

“What bothers me...” she continued after his interjection, only to trail off.

This was the point she needed to drive home, she realized, but the silliness of what she was doing caught up to her then. What was she doing, acting like a lecturing mother? She found it hard to finish her thought, but at the same time, she was already too committed to the act to back off. “W-what bothers me is that you are not looking to keep up with the rest of the students. If I understand what you’re telling me, you’re looking to catch up! Which means that if I come to you after the first class session of the week asking you if you have time after it, the last thing I want to hear is that you’re free! If you want to start pulling your weight, you’re going to have to start working harder than everyone else, do you understand that?”

“Yeah, I see what you’re saying… But where would I even begin? It sort of feels overwhelming to look at the gap between me and, say, you,” Robert admitted. This wasn’t the first time he had compared himself to his fellow classmates and realized he fell short, but every time in the past his motivation was even closer to the ground than his ability. With Sand now confronting him though, he had no more excuses. He had to try harder or he would never progress.

“Look. You kept up with me at a dead run through dense jungle, while injured, with a pack of howling Grimm on our tail. You can do this, but, like then—” She held up her index finger. “—you need someone to light a fire under your ass.” At that, she pointed at herself with her thumb, struggling to keep the awkwardness out of her voice. “Seeing as I’m riding you about this, I guess that’s my job now. So come on and hit me.”

After hearing that metaphor, Robert looked down behind himself as if searching for something he thought he had dropped earlier. Then the realization hit. “Oh you mean figuratively.” Then as if his mind had only just caught up to what she’d said, he did a double-take. “Wait, you want me to do what?”

“You heard me. From now on you’re my official sparring partner, so act like it.” She tilted her head even as she lowered herself into a relaxed stance. “Don’t look at me like that, I’m team leader now. I get to make unreasonable calls like that.”

“You’re starting to sound more like me,” Robert replied before begrudgingly entering into a defensive stance to protect himself from Sand.

“Then you should know the drill,” she answered dryly to her teammate’s lip. He seemed to prefer letting his opponents have the first strike for some odd reason, but that would not do for what she had in mind. She made a beckoning gesture. “And turtling up is not what I asked you to do either, Robert. I want to see you move.”

“Uh… Alright, I guess,” the boy said, lowering his defenses and walking up to his team leader. Curling back his fist, Robert sent a weak punch to his opponent’s shoulder. The impact, if it could even be called that, most likely wouldn’t even phase Sand. It did not have a chance to connect either way.

Sand stepped into the half-hearted punch, throwing it off with one arm in the same motion as she pushed hard against Robert’s chest with an open palm. The blow sent him stumbling back.

“What was that?” she asked quickly.

“Er… a punch?” Robert questioned as he quickly recovered from Sand’s palm strike.

“Is that what you’d call it if I was a mugger trying to rob you? No. That’s an embarrassment.” She shook her head and a step back, resuming positions. “Again.”

Robert pulled back his fist again, aiming for the same spot as he had before. By comparison with the last punch, it was an improvement. However, at best it would make her flinch and that would only be if she let herself take the hit. It had the speed, but not the strength behind it.

It showed, as Sand deflected it as simply as the first one. She gave the boy another shove. “Again.”

His frustration showed as Robert ground his teeth. Making another fist, he threw his punch right toward Sand’s stomach, now with all of his strength and speed behind it.

Sand pushed it aside with a shove of her left hand, stepping in closer with the motion. Her right hand flashed upwards, catching Robert’s chin in her grip, and slid her leg behind his leading step. This time, her push tripped the redhead and made him crash forcefully onto his back.

The woman kept walking with the momentum of the motion, bringing her now free hands together in a slow clap. When she looked down at Robert, rather than disappointment, a pleased smile played on her lips.

“Better. Now, can you do that with a cool head?” As she spoke, she offered his hand to him.

“I can definitely give it a try,” Robert returned with his usual friendly smile, reaching out and taking his team leader’s hand to get back up on his feet.

“That’s the spirit.” Simpler than she had expected, too. She had thought she would need to be harsher to get him in the right mindset.

Honestly, it made her wonder if he was simply acting for her benefit.

---

A long, painful hour later, the two students were a sweaty, bruised mess. Well, only one of the two, for the most part.

After Robert had gotten over his false start, the pair had settled into sparring in earnest, with short breaks in the action whenever Sand felt she had to explain something or correct her partner, or Robert took a particularly nasty fall.

“I don’t think I’ve felt this sore since… Okay well, our last mission, but before that… I think the Practice class the day before that.”

Sand pulled her lips away from her water bottle, offering it to the boy lying on the floor. “You’ll have to get used to it. We’ll be doing this every day after practice from now on.”

The boy happily accepted the water bottle, hovering it above his mouth so it fell into his mouth like a waterfall. Once he’d had his fill, Robert replied, “Yeah, that seems reasonable. It’s not like I go the gym ever either, so this and Survival will hopefully keep me in shape as well.”

She hummed a half-hearted affirmative. She would have hoped the school curriculum in itself would deal with that concern, but pointing that out made little difference.

“So, got any other plans for today?” the boy decided to ask, still lying there on the floor and not bothering to even try and sit up.

“Yeah. Something like that. I’ll head out for that soon.” Sand glanced at her Scroll. She did not seem particularly excited by the prospect, though that was not in and of itself strange for her.

Noticing Sand’s expression, Robert asked, “Something you don’t want to do?”

She shrugged. “Meeting with a professor. It’s fine. Just inconvenient.”

“Ah okay. Well if you need anything, I’m still free for the rest of the afternoon. Just gimme a call.”

“Sure.” Silence settled for a moment after that agreement, interrupted only by the slight shuffle of clothes as Sand leaned forward to take her bottle back. “Robert, where did you learn to fight? You said you had no formal training, but I can tell you’re not really new to it. Did you learn all of it here at Beacon?”

Robert was silent for several moments, long enough that Sand might have mistaken the lack of response to mean he didn’t hear her. Before she could repeat her inquiry though, he finally spoke up. “Well, let’s say that mugger comment from earlier was a bit personal. People can sometimes be really mean, even when you don’t have anything. I had to learn to fight for what little I had or end up losing that too.”

Sand studied him from the corner of her eyes, then nodded slowly, simply taking the information in. “A rough childhood. I’m sorry to hear that,” she told him, and that acknowledgement was as much as she could give on the matter. She had been meaning to broach the subject, but brining undue attention to the matter was the last thing in her mind. “I assume you’ve never had a chance to train with a partner, then. Would explain all your bad habits.”

“Yeah, that’s pretty accurate. What about you? You kicked my butt pretty good. Better than most people at this school probably.”

“There’s not much to say there. Standard combat school fare.” No sooner had she said that did her eyelids droop and the corner of her mouth take a wry turn. “Except I got thrashed often and I’m a sore loser. You could say that’s what lit a fire under me.”

“Who was the one doing the thrashing to you though?” Robert decided to ask, wanting to make sure there wasn’t more to that comment before it was dismissed.

“Most other students during sparring practice, of course. And some I asked for help after-hours. You’d be surprised how many people are willing to teach you if you learn to ask… even if they might still thrash you while they’re at it.” She took a swig from the bottle, the motion almost sheepish. “You need to put blood and sweat into things like these if you want to improve, though.”

She blinked slowly as a thought crossed her mind. “It can be difficult, but if you don’t know how to catch up, you could always ask others. I don’t need to be the only one. If you need help with your marksmanship, or aura control, or geography lessons or what have you, find someone who knows about it. Even if you don’t think they would put the time, you could always ask them about their Semblance. People love to talk about themselves, and maybe that could give you an idea about yours.”

“Hmm. Maybe. It just feels… strange to ask others for help. I’m so used to having to do everything on my own, even trying to push away people who offered me their support because I didn’t want them to get involved with some of the things I was doing. It wasn’t anything too terrible, just pickpocketing and thieving”—Sand’s eyebrows rose at that, but she kept quiet, and Robert was not looking at her in any case, staring off into space instead—“but I still didn’t want to get other people in trouble at the time. Now here I am, back on the straight and narrow, I still have trouble actually gathering the courage to ask others for assistance,” Robert began to ramble, finally sitting up despite still being on the floor of the gym.

“That’s a shame,” she said after a moment, then sighed at her own non-committal response. “I don’t think that’s a bad habit I can fix with a bruising, but I could give it a go. You don’t need a troubled past to be shy about bothering others,” Sand drawled as she rose, pulling her bag from under the bench. “Not today, though. I should be heading out.”

“Alright. Be seeing you then.”

“Right.” Sand rose a hand in a lazy farewell before striding out of the gym, leaving the boy to his own devices.

Robert gave his own wave goodbye, though there was much more energy behind the goodbye than Sand’s, despite how exhausted he felt. With no other plans, the redhead gathered his belongings and began making his way to the cafeteria, looking for a snack to replenish himeself.

The Three Realms War [Act II] [DMC/Bayonetta/Darksiders Crossover]

Fenn

Theme Song: Iron

Name: Fenn ("Chained Hound")
Gender: Male
Age: He lost track in the arena, and that was centuries ago.
Race: Demon (Hellhound)

Appearance: Fenn’s species hails from the hotter, fiery areas of the underworld, and bears a striking physical resemblance to the Stalkers native to the Forge Lands, with a large torso, broad shoulders, and long, thick arms with four-fingered hands ending in razor sharp claws. Their lower bodies tend to be smaller, with a thinner waist, comparatively sleek and short back legs, and a reptilian tail. As with Stalkers, most of their bodies are covered in hardened scales that armor the beasts against most kinds of cutting weapons.

This is where the similarities end, however. Unlike with Stalkers, fur covers their forearms, lower legs, and upper head and back, forming a kind of mane. Moreover, their heads have a distinct canine look, with an elongated muzzle, short, triangular ears, and maws full of sharp teeth.

Fenn is a particularly large specimen, near doubling the height of most humans when on all fours and easily tripling it when standing upright. His body is covered in dull, soot-colored scales and black fur. His amber, slitted eyes have a sharp, cunning gleam belied by his bestial appearance. Several scars crisscross his whole body, clearly visible among his fur and scales by their whitish coloration.

The only thing in terms of clothing or adornment worn by Fenn are two sets of thick, heavy chains stemming from manacles on his wrists. The lengths of chain are typically wrapped around his forearms.

Faction: Lily

Personality: While at first glance Fenn seems like little more than a mindless beast, he is perfectly capable of speech, and possesses an intellect on par with most sapient creatures of the three realms.

Like many demons, Fenn has long resigned himself to the idea that might makes right in all worlds, but has lived long enough to reach the contradicting conclusion that one day any who chooses to wield such power will be crushed under its weight.

This has left Fenn with an ill-tempered, sardonic demeanor that seems to be characterized by three moods: Boredom, varying degrees of anger and irritation, and a form of caustic amusement levelled at anything and everything around him like a burr’s thorns.

Nonetheless, he derives much enjoyment from combat, and sees it as his sole reason for being. It is the one thing he can fully devote himself to.

Fenn tends to be distrustful of most other beings. He shares other demons’ dislike of heaven’s forces, seeing them as uptight, self-righteous, hypocritical bastards, sees many demons as deceitful cowards, and considers humanity to be largely inconsequential, their lifespans too short for them to amount to anything. One of the few ways of earning his respect is to stand up to him in battle.

Bio: Tribes of Hellhounds typically choose their leader through trials in combat meant to find the finest warrior among them. Once such a warrior is chosen, challenges can be issued forth by other warriors in the tribe to contest this position if they believed such a one to be unworthy. Should a leader turn away from such a challenge, tradition dictated they would be killed on the spot as a matter of honor.

In his younger days, this is how Fenn rose to become his tribe’s leader, slaying his predecessor and slaughtering all that tried to contest his rule. Under his leadership, other tribes were eradicated or absorbed into theirs, their borders within the realm were settled for the first time, and his tribe saw a kind of prosperity and growth that had been previously unheard of.

All in all, a land ripe for rebellion.

Once the tribes had been unified, many of the younger warriors sought to expand into other territories of the underworld, fighting the demons there. Such was the warlike nature of their culture. Up until then, this incessant battle had been confined to spats between the tribes, but now the warriors found themselves without an enemy. Fenn refused to send them out, however, completely preoccupied with consolidating his power among the remaining tribes.

It was then that a nascent Demon Lord approached some of the younger warriors with a proposition. Should the Hellhound tribes become a part of his army, they would gain power, see riches as never before, and would never run out of enemies. The young warriors brought this proposition to Fenn, but at the time he was proud and ambitious, and failed to recognize the dissatisfaction spreading amongst his followers. He refused to fight under someone else’s banner.

Angered by this rejection, the finest warriors under his command gathered in secret, and made the choice to depose him. However, many had seen their leader fight, and none of them thought to be his equal, so they sought the help of the Demon Lord. Amused by their desire to join him, the Lord acquiesced to their request, and granted them a debilitating poison, with the instructions that they should mix it into Fenn’s food, and the condition that, once he was defeated, he was brought to him alive.

The warriors agreed, and poisoned their leader. The following day, the strongest among them issued forth a challenge. Weakened by the poison, Fenn was brought low by the chosen warrior, and brought forth to the Demon Lord.

As punishment for denying him, the Demon Lord sentenced Fenn to fighting for his amusement, and was pitted against various other criminals and dissenters in that realm in an arena built at the Demon Lord’s castle.

Meanwhile, the Hellhound tribes came into the Demon Lord’s service to work as the front lines of his forces.

In time, the Demon Lord fell, defeated by other demons and their own armies, and Fenn managed his escape. He found that, in the time of his imprisonment, the Hellhound tribes had suffered horrible loses and became fractured. With no Demon Lord to battle under, they had turned against each other again, the tribes brought even lower than the depths from which he had lifted them.

Fenn was disgusted by this, and chose to wash his hands off the whole mess. Vengeance meant little at that point. He had learned that the ones who had betrayed him had long since died in battle, and the Demon Lord had his head stuck in a pike clearly visible from the castle’s entrance. Instead, he became the demonic equivalent of a mercenary, uncaring of his employers’ aims as long as he was allowed to fight.

In time, he came into the service of several other Demons and monsters seeking to assert dominion in whatever areas of hell were not under the direct control of Mundus or Sheba. So far, he has managed to outlive all of his masters.

[Combat]

Powers and Abilities:
-Physical strength: Fenn is strong even among others of his kind, capable of lifting beings and objects that far surpass him in size.
-Keen senses: Fenn’s sense of smell and hearing are like those of a predator, able to pick up and distinguish the quietest of noises and of tracking subtle scents when focused.
-Armored skin: The scales that cover a Hellhound’s body are hard as armor, and can easily deflect all but the sharpest of blades. This defense can be circumvented by attacking exposed areas such as articulations or his throat. Crushing weapons tend to have better results in general.
-Fire Manipulation: All Hellhounds are born with the ability to create fire and manipulate it to some extent. When agitated, or when making direct use of this power, Fenn’s fur turns into wreathing, orange flames. As one may surmise, Hellhounds themselves are completely impervious to all but the strongest infernos.
-Devil Trigger: Fire completely envelops Fenn’s body, making it difficult for enemies to approach him. As an expression of a Hellhound’s spirit and power, this cloak also serves to revitalize him, healing wounds and increasing his speed and strength. It also serves as a shield against magical (or otherwise not entirely physical) threats, dampening their effects or blocking them out entirely should they be weak enough.

Style:
Roaring Furnace [Lvl-1]: “Hellhounds are hulking beasts that seem to take their most recognizable traits from wolves and drakes, with large, sturdy arms similar to those of Stalkers, which make their hind legs seem small in comparison. While capable of speech and reasoning, their ability for aggression seems to have been drawn from all three of these monsters, with the non-insignificant addition of being perpetually set aflame. A battle-lust will descend on these beasts when in conflict, leading them to pummel and tear into their pray with no reservations, trusting on their thick hides and hardened scales to mitigate any resistance. As creatures whose station in life is tied to their combat prowess, decisive victories through overwhelming force are often preferred. Whichever the case, few things are as terrifying as having a direwolf-dragon hybrid bearing down on you while on fire.”

[Lvl-2]: “In a manner similar to ectothermic reptiles of the Third Kingdom, Hellhounds have been observed to move and behave sluggishly in colder climates, while displaying enhanced reactions, strength, and even improved healing in hotter climates. The reason for the creatures’ predilection for the volcanic areas of Hell is made obvious due to this fact. However, this choice is made largely due to convenience. Unlike common reptiles, Hellhounds have the ability to generate heat within their bodies at will, and an excited hound will often raise its temperature by hundreds of degrees in the face of a hunt. If there is a difference between the hound who hunts in the cold and the one who hunts in the heat is that the former shall be all the more ravenous due to excess energy consumed. The upper temperature bound tends to vary from individual to individual but there exist those hounds that may bring the heat of their bodies, and thus their natural vigor, beyond that of the hellish landscape they populate.

“Ever enhancing their deadliness, a Hound’s reflexes, strength, and the intensity of their flame continue to grow throughout their life. Relying on animalistic aggression, the haze over the hounds’ minds seems to prevent the use of abilities other than the more innate fire breathing and flame cloaks.”

Flash Fire [Lvl-1]: “Where a Hellhound’s innate ability to control flame are rarely of use against the denizens of their fiery domain, clanless Strays who have left their fiery domain often find practical use for this power. While it may take decades for hounds to master this poorly practiced skill, it often opens new avenues for them to cause mayhem. Hounds seeking to maintain the focus to use these abilities, typically against creatures who proved resistant to their brute strength or capable of piercing their hide, may choose to fight with flames, even going as far as to stand upright and make use of tools and weapons.

“Those who practice with these skills may see their proficiency at handling flames steadily improve, but even among Strays, it is rare for them to put effort into such a pursuit.”

Equipment:
-Fangs and Claws [Lvl-1]: The fangs and claws of a Hellhound. Harder than steel and able to be heated up to ludicrous temperatures.

-Chains[Lvl-1]: The same chains used to imprison him by the Demon Lord. These are attached to manacles on his wrists, and are typically wrapped around his forearms. Made to be resistant to heat and nigh unbreakable, and enchanted to be impossible to remove. The chains were not particularly effective at restraining Fenn (the chains were made for him, but the walls of the dungeon they were attached to were not nearly as sturdy), but they were the clearest symbol of the Demon Lord’s power over him.
[Lvl-2]: Fenn’s control over the chains is such that he can move them solely through will. The chains can be used in their normal state, or woven into simple shapes.
[Lvl-3]: If the chains can move as though of their own volition, any objects fashioned from the metal links may do so as well. Limbs may be fashioned and moved as though they were flesh and blood appendages. Other constructs may be fashioned as well depending on the user’s creativity and ability to deal with the added complexity.

With time, these chains seem to have become just another aspect of the demon, seeming to change lengths at will, able to channel flames as easily as any other part of Fenn’s body, and able to be moved with a precision almost impossible to achieve by a wielder’s hands alone.

These chains have become synonymous with the demon, earning Fenn the moniker “Chained Hound.”

Techniques:

Fangs and Claws:
-Claw [Lvl-1]: He will swipe his claws at the enemy. They can be super-heated for extra damage.
-Hell’s Maw [Lvl-1]: He will bite at his opponent with white-hot teeth.
-Pummel [Lvl-1]: Being hit by one of Fenn’s arms is like being struck with a tree trunk.
-Grapple [Lvl-1]: Fenn is large and strong enough to grab and lift most opponents single handedly. Should he succeed, he will then proceed to throw them, crush them, or use them as impromptu weapons to club other enemies with.
-Tempest Blows [Lvl-1]: A monster among his kind, Fenn’s blows can cause noticeable disturbances in the air around them as the wind rushes to fill the void left behind by his tree-trunk arms. An unwary opponent confident in their ability to evade the beast’s arms may find their organs crushed by a near-miss, and enemies standing at a distance may still find themselves being knocked off their footing by the wind rushing from the hound’s motions.

Chains:
-Sweep [Lvl-1]: Fenn swings his chains in a low, wide arc in front of him, aiming to knock enemies off their feet. This move is best used at a certain range.
-Pull [Lvl-1]: Fenn is able to use his chains as a kind of lasso, wrapping them around opponents and swinging them to bash enemies against walls or, if particularly heavy, simply knock them off balance.
-Scourge [Lvl-1]: He will bring his chain down in wide, overhead swings like a whip. The chains are heavy enough to break bones if struck by them.
-Choke [Lvl-1]: Against beings his size, the chains can be used in close-combat to restrain enemies, choke them by wrapping the chain around their throats, or as leverage to throw them.
-Shield [Lvl-1]: Fenn’s chains can be woven into a circular shield over an arm, which can be used to block attacks or bash opponents over the head.
-Club [Lvl-1]: Fenn’s chains can be woven into a large, cylindrical club that widens slowly widens until it reaches its end. The simple weapon is intended for equally simpleminded brutality.
-Flail [Lvl-1]: The ends of his chains can be wrapped up into large spheres and used as flails. The chains’ links make the surface of the spheres anything but even, capable of delivering crumpling blows that wreak havoc on bone and armor.
-Asura [Lvl-1]: The chains wrap around Fenn’s torso, forming a harness and a pair of arms that protrude over his shoulders, mimicking his real limbs. These arms aid the hound in pummeling and holding down prey.
-Bandersnatch [Lvl-1]: Being able to form moving constructs from the chains affixed to him means Fenn can perform relatively delicate tasks without needing to be near a given target with the use of his chains. That said, the hound is anything but delicate, and may well use this ability launch a facsimile of a hand to grasp and pull targets closer.

Hellfire:
-Fire Breath [Lvl-1]: Fenn is able to breathe out a stream of flames. One can tell when he is preparing to do so as his scars and the space between the scales in his chest will begin to emit an orange glow.
-Fire Ball [Lvl-1]: Flaming spheres that can be formed and lobbed at enemies. Basic fire magic.
[Lvl - 2]: These flaming spheres can be detonated at the whim of the caster, and the blast of the explosion funneled in a specific direction.
-Fire Pillar [Lvl-1]: Placing an arm on the ground, Fenn can direct energy under his opponent until it explodes in a pillar of fire. The ground glowing under one is a simple way of telling this is about to happen.
[Lvl - 2]: Practice and affinity with the element allows the caster to create and maintain multiple pillars of fire at a time. A more potent application of this magic requires Fenn to slam his fist to the earth to cause multiple spouts to erupt at once. Given the forcefulness of the spell, the one visible warning before the firestorm erupts is the winding back of the hound's arm.
-Heat Haze [Lvl-1]: A hellhound’s ability to raise their bodily temperature. Fenn takes advantage of this during encounters to generate an aura of overbearing heat around him. This is visible even from a distance by the haze of the air shimmering around the dog’s black scales. Touching the hound at these temperatures may set the offending limb aflame, and weapons without special protection may quickly become blunted and fragile as the heat of his hide begins to soften the metal.

Picker

Theme Song: Cheshire Kitten

Name: Picker/Samantha Kipper
Gender: Female
Age: 358, but who’s counting?
Race: Demon
Appearance: When blending in with humans, Picker takes on the guise of Samantha Kipper, an unassuming woman pushing her forties. Samantha stands at the petite height of 4’11’’ (1.50m), and combined with a modest bust and a thin frame that pushes the limits of what can be considered healthy and an exceedingly pale skin tone, she gives off the delicate appearance of one that tends to stay inside and forget her meals.

She is possessed of back-length, straight, black hair which she parts at the center. Bright gray eyes that brim with curiosity peer from behind a pair of thick, square, black glasses. Her pale features have a hint of mixed European descent, and are often softened by an easy smile.

Her demonic form shares a few themes with her human disguise, but the creature is far too different from humans for one to draw connections without actively looking for them.

Picker shares a similar height to Samantha when standing with her usual posture, but this takes into account a slight forward hunch, and digitigrade legs finishing in reptilian claws that are often kept at a slight bend. While as Samantha she dons pale skin, Picker is covered from head to toe in moss green scales which occasionally darken to form a striped pattern.

While her thin build remains relatively unchanged from her disguise, Picker has four, delicate looking arms rather than the usual two. That said, all end in hands with claw-tipped digits. A long, prehensile tail also sways behind her.

Her smiles come just as easily as in her human disguise, but rather than pearly whites, Picker’s long smiles are threaded with a multitude of needle-like teeth, tending to give any reassuring expression much the opposite effect. Her face is flat, similar in a sense to a human’s, but rather than a full nose, she has two small gashes that work as nostrils. Similarly, her ears are divots at the sides of her head, though these often remain covered. Her eyes, in turn, are larger and rounder than a human’s, consisting of two, completely white spheres with no discernible iris or pupil which seem to glow even in the dark. Perhaps fortunately, her features are typically obscured by a swath of black hair, which retains the length from her disguise, but takes on a drab, slightly frayed appearance. A number of small, horn-like protrusions peek out from between the dark strands, forming a ring around her head in the vague shape of a crown.

The most distinguishable article of clothing she wears is the brown, cloth knapsack she often keeps fastened to her back. She also tends to wear a simple silver ring on her left hand’s middle finger when disguised as a human. Dresses feel too restrictive for her, and often get in the way of her pursuits, so more often than not she will wear plain polo shirts and cloth pants. She is also a fan of lab coats, but she only wears them when she isn’t afraid of drawing funny looks. These clothes change to fit her undisguised form when she changes, even if they tend to look severely out of place on the demon.

Faction: Gilgamesh

Personality: Any who has met Picker can attest to her voracious curiosity, and her—some would say excessive—talkativeness. A self-taught, self-proclaimed scholar and researcher of the realms, rare are the times when a question is not dancing on her lips, or failing that an excuse to make herself scarce when she senses she’s overstayed her welcome. She is ever eager to jot down any new knowledge she comes across in one of her scrolls.

Picker is hardly a fighter, being lighter and weaker than your average human, and where her natural weapons may give her some purchase where she to be accosted by men, the same cannot be said when facing the creatures native to the other realms. Keenly aware of this and cowardly at heart, it still does little to quench her inquisitive nature, often leading to all manner of trouble for the demon.

When asked how she handles her fear, Picker glibly answers that the more she smiles and the more she talks, the less she time she can spend thinking about it. Considering her usual mannerisms, it would not be odd to conclude that Picker must live in a constant state of terror.

Bio: The demon that came to be known as Picker has no recollection of any time she may have spent as an infant. Rather, her memories begin from the single point of her waking one day, confused and alone. With none other to guide her, yet with no place where she belonged, the small demon took to roaming.

Time taught her of the realm she inhabited, of the dangers inherent to its landscape, and the viciousness of its inhabitants. Many a time she fled with her tail between her legs, but rarely without collecting something of note from the experience. A shiny pebble, a leaf. A large insect, a dropped scale. For days she would cling to these baubles, fascinated… at least until the novelty wore off or, if the opportunity presented itself, she could offer them as a token of peace.

It was such encounters that awakened language in her, as though the talent had been forgotten and was merely waiting for the time she would recall it.

In time she began to trade these baubles she collected for others, and for her habit for collecting random objects, she earned herself the name Picker.

Trades like these brought her word of what happened in other corners of Hell. She learned more of the powers that ruled her world, of the vast territories held by those such as the Prince of Darkness, and their bid to extend their control. She also learned of demons who were praised not only for their power, but for their knowledge. The demon Buer served as an inspiration for the inexperienced Picker, and soon she had begun trading her baubles for books and scrolls, rare as those were in a realm of demons. Those she pored over with a voracious appetite.

Soon enough, specific interests arose within her. There were an uncountable number of questions to be asked about the realms, but there were two she had held since the moment of her awakening.

“What am I?” and “Where did I come from?”

Simple questions in and of themselves—she did not dare pursue the ‘why’ of the matter given the lack of concrete answers she expected from such a query—but difficult to answer, given the lack of demons with her appearance and drive. She continued collecting baubles and books, but since then she also armed herself with paper and ink and, she took to studying her fellow inhabitants of Hell as her primary avenue of research.

This research further extended to those of the human realm and Heaven after learning of their existence, until, near 50 years from the present time, she managed to properly cross over to the realm of man.

Little of note happened immediately after that crossing, beyond an increase in the reported sightings of ‘Chupacabras’ in alternating countries in the Americas for a few years afterwards. SInce then, none have seen hide nor hair of the lesser demon, Picker.

However, only a few decades ago an eccentric scholar with unparalleled knowledge about hellish creatures going by the name Samantha Kipper was hired on to Gilgamesh Incorporated as an expert.

[Combat]

Powers and Abilities:
-Invisibility: The main reason for her early successes at staying alive. Picker can vanish from sight on a whim, clothing included, and should the need for it arise, she can extend this to someone else, provided they are near her size. It is unclear if this also masks her presence to Demon sensitive to others’ auras, or if she simply packs too little innate power for her to be sensed. Sound carries through just fine, however, and while practice has made her good at slithering away quietly, creatures with keener ears may not be fooled quite as easily.
-Medicinal knowledge: Anatomical knowledge of hundreds of creatures, as well as of flora of the realms makes her particularly qualified to tend wounds of creatures humanoid or otherwise, and she can always be counted to carry medicinal herbs and salves with her. Poisons and acids as well. Just in case, you understand.
-Language Mastery: With an extraordinary affinity for other tongues, Picker has mastered dozens, perhaps hundreds of languages both alive and dead, to the point where she seems capable of strained communication with some hellish creatures commonly thought to be entirely mindless. She is a capable translator, and has on occasion deciphered old manuscripts and transcribed them into more contemporary contexts.
-Learned Magic: A skill she picked up from her studies. A kind of sorcery that makes use of energy sources outside of the caster, typically to compensate for a caster with small reserves. Often takes the form of rituals and sacrifices which gather power for a given effect. Picker’s particular brand of magic is akin to an enchantment, using rituals and ingredients she has collected in order to give items special properties. These tend to take the form of spatial tricks, such as connected amulets that echo the voice of the wearer on their twin, or small trinkets which, when broken, allow one to transport themselves to the spot they broke at. Or, say, rings which, when worn, alter the appearance of the wearer.

Equipment:
Scholar’s Baggage[LV1]: A brown knapsack that Picker carries at all times. Rather than traveling light, this object is, in fact, enchanted with her magic. It is far larger on the inside, having been turned into an object much like a bag of holding. Remarkably, there is no limit to what it can hold, given that it can fit through the bag’s mouth, and the weight of stored objects has a lessened effect on the weight of the bag itself, making it possible for her to carry heavier burdens than she would normally be capable of bearing. She uses this to store her books, travel supplies, ingredients for her enchantments and, notably, vasts amounts of paper and ink.

Several of her scrolls of parchment and inkpots have been enchanted to make them more resistant to wear and tear, and to move them seemingly telekinetically. While this was done largely for convenience, one would be surprised by how useful floating rolls of parchment and gallons of ink can be when it comes to distracting disgruntled monstrosities. It is unfortunate that without time to make preparations, most enemies can tear their way out in seconds.

Style:
-Blank Sheet[LVL1]:It is essentially what she uses when confronted with something that means her harm. In order to defend herself, she will use the floating parchment she has enchanted to bind others or form protective walls. Sadly, even if enchanted to be made somewhat more durable, parchment is still parchment, and cannot take much abuse before it breaks. Combined with the liberal and sadly wasteful use of ink to blind and disorient hostile creatures, this is a combat style only useful for purchasing breathing room to flee.

Techniques:
-Octopus Coils[LVL1]: Use the parchment from multiple scrolls to bind others. The paper can handle some strain, but will yield rather easily to sharp implements.
-Octopus Gunk[LVL1]: Throwing ink at others from her inkwells. Try to aim for the eyes. Or simply pelt them with the whole bottle.
-Octopus… Turtle[LVL1]: Bar the way with sheets upon sheets of paper. Good for obscuring someone’s view or as a momentary delay.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

The group had gone through a few doors on the first floor before finding a suitable room, the keys they had taken from the reception giving them what amounted to unrestricted access to the apartments. The first few they had tried had not been furnished, and at Dew’s insistence that they could do better, they had continued searching. The first fully-stocked apartment they had found had been discarded by Pithy since it faced outwards towards the street, and the lighting would announce their presence to any who bothered to look at the building.

Eventually they had found one fully furnished apartment with windows facing towards an interior garden someone would only be able to see if they entered the building, earning the approval of the two squatters.

The living space itself was spacious by Pithy’s standards, with an entry area immediately after the door that spread out to the side to make room for a seating area and a desk with yet another machine like those of the offices at the Justice Hub and Nero’s tower. Deeper in, there was the kitchen, stocked with appliances similar to those she had seen during her encounter with Kno One. A counter sectioned it off from the main living room, furnished with a low, rectangular table surrounded by thin, wooden chairs and a long couch wrapped in a black, comfortable fabric. All seemed to be arrayed before a large rectangular screen hanging from the side wall.

The random paraphernalia littered around the room in haphazard decorations gave some clues as to the previous inhabitant’s interests. These ranged from pictures of white, sleek sailboats, to stacks of hats arrayed atop a long table situated under the windows (Dew had snickered at the sight of those and called them ‘Fedoor-ah’s’), to machines that looked like bulkier versions of the boards with buttons so common to the machinery she had been coming across, to a prop sword with the word “Lionheart” engraved on the blade.

Dew had taken an interest on the decorations, eyes lighting up like those of a collector at a curio shop while Pithy continued to inspect their surroundings.

Directly opposite to the screen was a sliding door that led to a bedroom occupied by a single, queen-sized bed, situated in such a manner that Pithy suspected the room had been arranged in such manner that someone could look at the rectangular screen while lying down. Dew gave suspiciously little resistance when she claimed it for herself, merely glancing to the couch and the nearby screen and giving her a shrug.

Finally, a short corridor framed on both sides by wardrobes led from the bedroom to a large restroom.

While Dew broke away from his fascination to continue his tour, Pithy returned to the kitchen, walking stiffly. She had left the cutlass she had taken from her previous opponent on the counter, and then begun rifling through the drawers, quickly locating the utensils, pots, and dishes that would be used in preparing a meal. Even if the materials were different from what she was used to, the practical, utilitarian aspect of the tools served to center her.

She let out a long breath, bleeding the excess tension that had been accumulating since she had entered the apartment. No matter the realm, some things stay the same where humans are concerned.

She felt… anxious. The feeling was not related to their relative safety in the building, or to any threat she had perceived within the apartment, but she could not shake off a feeling of wrongness. As much as she hated to admit it, she suspected her unease was simply borne of the disconnect between what she expected of human dwellings in her realm, and what she saw in front of her eyes.

The space itself was not terribly impressive. It could not match the estates and manors of the wealthier denizens of human settlements. It was the smaller details.

Clean water circulating directly to each living area. Compact containers that refrigerated food without the need of stockpiles of ice. Light from lamps feeding from wires sinking into the walls instead of lantern oil and candles. Heating units that regulated the temperature of rooms. Complex machinery simply sitting where any could see it. Worst of all perhaps, was the sense of dull normalcy that permeated the whole of it. Magic as she knew it had no place within these walls, and that thought terrified her most of all.

She had managed to take the strangeness of this realm in stride before, but this was not a mysterious place whose purpose she could only guess at, nor some long-abandoned ruins of a previous age, nor was her mind occupied by the presence of an immediate threat. These were someone’s dwellings, and felt recently lived in at that.

She kept trying to picture what kind of position the one who lived here held to afford such luxuries. Not just this one. There are many rooms in this building with the same amenities, and this is only the first floor. If there are any similarities between this realm and mine, the cost for purchasing the space must increase as one moves upwards. Are there that many people who could afford to live in such comfort?

“We got hot water!” came a muffled shout from deeper inside the apartment.

Pithy glanced up from her inspection of the kitchen area towards the sound of Dew’s voice, the motion mirrored by the coiled snake resting nearby. The snake and the woman shared a look, and Pithy wondered if the beast could sense her distress.

Enough. Unexpected luxuries are still luxuries. We should count ourselves lucky.

Pithy turned, pushing the unease away, and walked to the living room.

“Come here, Dew.”

“What?” A moment later, Dew appeared at the bedroom entrance. “You didn’t like this one either?”

“It will do.” She shook her head. “Show me your arm. The bandaged one,” she added as Dew began to move his left arm.

His face scrunched as he presented the correct limb. “Fine, but don’t go poking into it.”

Have I the look of yon village cutter? she wondered as she took the offered limb, beginning to work on the knot holding the bandages in place. A damp line was visible along the side, proof of the wound that rested under the covers.

After a moment of unwrapping the fabric, she broke the silence. “You are more familiar with the peculiarities of this realm than I am. Do you come from a similar place?”

“No, mine is way better,” he answered flippantly. Then he added, “Though if you’re talking about the technology, I guess it’s the same for the most part.”

“So living standards such as these are common in your where?”

“Well… this is a very nice apartment. Wouldn’t be surprised if it was on the costly side, even with the meh view. The apartments on the other side of the street probably have smaller, cheaper places.”

“Would those also have clean water and power for these devices?”

“You’re in the middle of the city, so sure. What kind of hovel would it be if you couldn’t get running water or electricity?”

Pithy paused in her unwrapping, giving Dew a long look.

Dew blinked. “Ah. Medieval Fantasy girl. Right. Well, as long as you pay your utility bill, you’d get those. Shouldn’t be a problem if you got a full-time job and you get an apartment that matches your pay. Why? You looking to move?”

Pithy blew a gust of air through her nose, tickled by the thought. Staying in this realm? It was the first time the possibility crossed her mind. There was unfinished business for her back home, but a part of her had long begun to think that it would long remain unfinished. Beyond that, there was precious little to return to. Alas, there is little point to thinking about the future when you have none. This train of thought may well only decide my final resting place. So easily did the thought lose its charm.

Refocusing on her task, Pithy gently pulled at the now loose bandages, pulling the fabric away from Dew’s arm. The insides were coated in red, as was the arm they had been wrapped around. However, there was something immediately out of place. Pithy blinked her good eye and drew the arm closer to her face, eliciting a pained grunt from Dew in the process.

While the forearm was indeed caked in blood, the wound itself was barely there. Brushing off some congealed red from the surface, Pithy realized that all that was left of the long slash she had inflicted was a thin, pinkish line, occasionally marred by tiny scabs—a cut days in the mending.

“Dang, not all healed yet. It’s taking its time.”

Pithy scowled at the words. “Humans do not normally heal this fast,” she observed tightly.

Dew laughed. “It really depends, though. I thought for sure that with painkillers and bandages it would heal in a flash. I once had a zombie bite a chunk out of me, but after some pills and a cloth I was right as rain!”

A dubious story, did I not have evidence right before me. It is more likely to be an extension of Dew’s abilities, however. The painkillers did not advertise this side effect, nor do I believe these bandages are more than simple cloth. She shook her head, still glaring at the offending limb. “I find that difficult to believe, but then again, humans do not normally wield powers such as yours.”

“Makes sense, since I’m so special. Perks of being Chosen,” he said smugly. “Looks like you’re starting to realize how lucky you were when we met—Ow, quit it!” the man yelped as Pithy pressed a sharp nail against the tender cut, drawing a droplet of blood.

“Mind your tongue, Dew. I do not need to be gentle,” she said as she withdrew the finger. Blood pooled in the small divot for a moment before the flow ceased. Healed well indeed. “Furthermore, had I been lucky, our encounter would not have been a battle at all. Luck had little to do with it.”

The man grunted, his lips forming a thin line. “Sure, whatever.”

“Granted,” she continued, as her hand went to her belt. “Your physical ability is exceptional. Were you to polish your offensive technique, few could match you in a swordfight. Your defense is exemplary in comparison, as if nothing could reach through its front.” As much as it pained her to admit it, some allowances had to be made if she intended to continue using the man.

“O-Oh…” Dew blinked, as if shocked into a stupor by the sudden praise. “Well, yeah. I was holding back. To block, I mean. And honestly,” he said, recovering his usual boldness, “In the other sense too! I’m supposed to be much stronger, but I got nerfed when I got here. One of the College people told me it would, and I get the point of it, but man, screw balance patches. They always ruin my builds. Now I have a cooldown between teleports and shit.”

Pithy merely frowned and nodded along with the rant, trying to decipher the strange language he was using. She thought she understood the general idea. It was likely that Dew had taken to exaggerating once again, but the annoyance in his voice was real enough. More than that, if he spoke the truth, it raised another concern. “This… seal, on your powers. Was it placed by the College?”

“No. Maybe? I don’t know.” He snorted. “Honestly, it would be real convenient for them. They wouldn’t be able to get in my way if I had my usual strength.”

And so he touches on the heart of the matter. The thought was far from amusing for her. They would do well to dwell on it, for the implications were far from pleasant. Had other competitors also had their strength adjusted in such a way? Was the purpose of such a thing to make them manageable?

“Did it also happen with you?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

No, she answered in her mind, before speaking. “It matters not. We do what we must with what is available to us. Straighten your arm.”

As Dew complied, Pithy grabbed the watch she had taken from Bonesword and wrapped it around his wrist. The clasps grabbed onto each other, tightening around Dew’s wrist with a whirring sound. “Woah, what are you doing?”

The man rapidly withdrew his arm, clutching at the straps with his other hand. The latch was released with little trouble, and much of the tension that had crept into Dew’s expression bled away as he held out the device.

Pithy stepped back, smoothly sidling back to a position that conveniently placed the counter between the two of them. “Is it not obvious? I need you to test it. I suspect you will have an easier time of it, seeing as you claimed you were familiar with it.”

“I said it felt familiar. That’s a world of difference. What if it blows my hand out?”

“We have pills and bandages.”

Dew gave her a sober look and held out the wristband. “You aren’t nearly as funny as you think you are. You do it.”

Pithy tilted her head. Funny? Ah. He thought I spoke in jest. “Do you feel yourself incapable?”

“Hell no I’m no—”

“Then you must be a coward to shy away from this.”

“Fuck off.” The man turned a baleful glare to the stoic woman. “I’m none of those things, and I’m not stupid either. I don’t have to take this shit.”

Pithy was quick to douse the flicker of dread that rose up her spine. Dew’s words fed into suspicions she had nursed ever since Dew had failed to cut off his tongue after her impulsive command, and had only continued to grow with every exchange she had had with him so far.

Did I misunderstand the strength of my hold over him? Or has it weakened since this morning?

Pithy hid her misgivings beyond an impassive expression. “Very well,” she said coolly. “Perhaps I am being unreasonable. I shall test it myself.”

Relief evident in the smile that came to his features, Dew made to pass the item along.

“Of course, since you refused to operate the device yourself, should its function happen to affect the wearer’s surroundings, I will not hesitate to use on you.”

His hand froze, and he stared at her owlishly.

Pithy continued to eye him steadily, voice level and calm. “Given that I expect to face other opponents, experiments on a living human would be the fastest way to determine its effects. How fortunate of me to have one in this very room.”

Dew grimaced, then sighed. He grudgingly brought the device back to his left wrist and wrapped it around it. It whirred as it adjusted to fit him. “Right, on second thought, I guess I could try it out. Who knows? It might do something cool.”

Pithy closed her eye, hoping her relief at his acquiescence was not immediately apparent. “If it will put your fears to rest, know that I would not suggest this if I believed you would come to harm. You are of no use to me crippled, Dew.”

“Yeah, well. Might want to start with that next time,” he groused, but Pithy ignored the quip in favor of following the movement of his fingers over the small buttons surrounding the dial at the center of the apparatus.

The motion set off the device, and with a small whirr, the centerpiece smoothly rose from its indent. From her position, Pithy could barely see the green and gray symbol atop it shift to make space for a black silhouette. Frowning, Dew grabbed the jutting piece and spun it, prompting the image to change. After a few turns, he held his hand over it for a moment, seemingly intent on pushing it down, but hesitated.

Pithy frowned, fighting down her impatience. “Is something the matter?”

“No. Just wishing we had a quicksave feature.”

More nonsense. “You are wasting time.”

Dew shot her a disgruntled look before finally pressing down the button.

The sudden flash of light all but blinded her. Pithy hissed out a curse, the tone all but mimicked by the plant snake sitting nearby, and she reflexively ducked behind the counter. She was about to prompt Dew to say something, when a voice reached her ears.

“That… don’t… feel right.” The sound was high pitched and oddly laborious, as though the person had difficulty stringing the words together. “Pi…thy? What happened?”

She furiously blinked her eyes to drive away the remnants of the flash before swinging her gaze over the counter to see what had become of her companion. She recoiled at the sight that met her.

The creature standing before her was similar enough to a human at first glance. Its build was similar, and the clothing it wore no doubt belonged to Mountain Dew. His appearance, however, particularly his facial features, had changed drastically. The creature’s skin, had a deathly, ashen pallor, and the hair on its head had turned a vivid crimson. It grew only from the sides of his head into a bramble of curls, leaving the thing’s pate and forehead exposed. What she had first thought to be a red splotch of makeup surrounding the creature’s mouth was in fact the proper color of the flesh around the lips, and a red, rubbery globe had replaced the man’s nose.

More subtly, she noted that the creature’s exposed skin along its neck seemed wiry and taut, hinting at powerful muscles. Looking into its eyes gave her an oddly reptilian impression—she half expected a membrane to fall over them whenever it blinked—but the confused cast of its gaze left little doubt as to the creature’s actual identity.

Dew brought a hand to his nose, tentatively touching the red circumference, “What is… this? …ugh, I actually feel it… when I… touch it.” The sound, reedy and off pitch as it was, still carried some similarities to the man’s original voice.

An angry hissing sound interrupted his examination.

Pithy whirled to see the snake monster rise, sinuous body coiling and angling itself menacingly towards Dew. The man made an alarmed sound somewhere between a yelp and a burp as his eyes fell on the snake.

Seeing its intent reflected on its stance, Pithy sucked in a breath. “Stop that!” she shouted.

The creature’s hissing grew at that, almost turning into a growl. Realizing it would not simply listen to her commands, Pithy blanched. Dew’s hand was already fumbling inside his pocket, and she knew that in the next moment a fight would erupt.

I need him alive! came the urgent thought, power rising within before she restrained herself. Casting a rushed spell in such confined quarters was foolish at best. There was no telling who would gain the advantage should she do it, and if the snake became hostile towards her, there would be no choice but to kill it.

Her eye fell over the cutlass on top of the counter, and an image of her interposing herself between Dew and the snake crossed her mind. She balked at the thought.

That hesitation costed her the initiative.

The large snake lunged forward. Dew fell to the side, narrowly avoiding thorn-like fangs, but the fall was less than graceful, and it left him sprawled over the floor. His hands had left his pockets, and were instead clutching something close to his chest.

The snake let out another hiss, turning from its missed attempt and slithering closer to the man, coils drawing closer as it prepared to lunge again.

Letting out a curse, Pithy grasped the cutlass and raced forward, the weapon’s sheath falling away with the motion. “That is enough!” she commanded, a frigid light playing sinisterly over the fingers of her left hand.

The snake let out another hiss, turning to look at the approaching threat. What passed for its eyes appeared to focus on the weapon she was holding in front of her. It hesitated.

Pithy allowed some of her tension to bleed away. Yes, that’s it. Stay calm…

On the floor, Dew shifted ever-so-slightly.

The creature tensed instantly at the motion, and Pithy knew she had lost its attention. The snake closed in on the prone man.

A spell danced on her lips, moments from being unleashed.

The snake froze.

Pithy held her breath, rushing wind at her ears, the magic pressing against her rapidly erected mental barrier like a river against a dam. The creature had not reached Dew, instead pausing to stare transfixed at the object he held in his hands. Bonesword’s skull stared back at its former pet.

After a dozen seconds held in utter silence, where neither party so much as twitched, Pithy released her breath. The wind in her mind ebbed and died as she slowly approached the frozen pair. Dew’s unsettling eyes quickly glanced her way before returning to watching the monster all but sitting over his lap. There was a pleading note to them, and his red lips twitched, as though he wished to speak, but thought the sound would only set the snake off again.

Pithy bent down slowly, placing the cutlass on the ground, before approaching the creature.

The elves of her realm, particularly those that made forests their homes, had a reputation in human lands for their closeness with nature. It was not unearned. There were many a tale that claimed they were born with the knowledge to speak the language of animals, and could speak to them as easily as they could to each other.

Pithy knew this to be an exaggeration. Whatever affinity elves might have had with the creatures of their woodland home, the ability to communicate with beasts—at least without arcane means—was borne largely out of observation and dedication, perhaps even an obsession, to develop such talent.

Alas, I hardly had the time or interest for such a pursuit. Whether it would even matter when it comes to a creature created through magic that seems capable of understanding the common tongue is another matter entirely.

Pithy knelt beside the pair and tentatively placed a hand near the base of the creature’s head. The snake tensed, but otherwise did not react, and Pithy was surprised to find the vines warm to the touch. She began to sedately rub her hand along its body, making soothing noises as she did. After a few moments of this, the tension seemed to bleed away from what passed for muscles, and was instead replaced by a light shivering along the tendrils that formed its mass.

Is it… afraid? she wondered, before bringing her head closer to its own. Off the corner of her eye she caught Dew’s impatient eyes flitting between her and the monster. She ignored him, instead murmuring softly at the creature. “Come. Get off him. You are safe.”

The snake remained still, making Pithy wonder if it had not understood, but a moment later its coils began to shift. The man turned monster let out a long, wheezing breath as the creature clambered off him.

Pithy watched cautiously as the snake slithered away into the kitchen and out of their sight. She looked down at Dew, noting that even with his bizarre features, his relief was palpable. Anger tinged his face a moment later. “Next time… I kill it.”

Pithy looked in the direction the snake had gone. She could not muster an answer to Dew’s comment. “I must commend you for your quick thinking,” she said instead. However, before either of them could dwell on what she had said, she rose. “Now put that away and find yourself a mirror.”

“Wait. Say… that again.”

“You are hardly deaf, Dew. Go.”

Dew grunted and clumsily clambered to his feet, the skull vanishing in the process. He hobbled towards the bedchamber, making for the restroom.

From her position, Pithy glanced over the kitchen counter. The snake creature was resting near what she guessed was the oven, coiled into itself, its head turned downwards. Had it not tried to attack one of them moments ago, she would have found its exaggeratedly dejected posture almost comical.

“HOLY, NO—NONE OF THAT!” A flash from the bedroom brought her gaze back just in time to see the man storm back into the room, his features returned to normal. Before she could so much as question him, he tossed the armband at her.

Pithy caught it in the air and gave him a pointed look.

“I did what you asked, it’s NOT my problem any longer, YOU deal with it!” with a huff, he stormed past her, and sat on the couch, eyes glaring down at the center table. A part of her saw some similarities between this and what the snake had been doing last time she had seen it. She quickly dismissed the thought.

Rather than inquire as to his outburst, she asked, “How did you reverse the transformation?”

Dew grunted and shrugged. “I dunno. I just saw myself, thought I was done seeing that, and it flashed. Almost fell on the freaking tub.”

It obeys one’s will, then? Pithy studied the device in her hand for a moment before wrapping it around her left wrist as Dew had done. As it had done for him, it adjusted to her size.

The man looked up at the sound. “You’re gonna do it too? Fine. Up to you if you want to turn into a horrible freakazoid.”

Pithy ignored him, instead repeating the motions she had observed him do to operate the device. When the dial rose, Pithy stared at the figure that formed over it. Humanoid in shape, with odd shadows along the side of its head that must have been the creature’s hair. As she had seen before, turning the dial changed the silhouette displayed. She saw another humanoid figure, this one with no outstanding features, another with a strangely shaped head and a tail, and another, much smaller than the rest with small wings that almost obscured the body itself. Another twist brought up the first inhuman figure, with its long body coiling along the display space.

Pithy frowned and glanced over the counter at the snake creature. Could it be… she wondered. It was already clear that the device possessed the ability to transform the user into a different creature, but what determined the options available? Seeing a snake-like creature on the display, and thinking on the snake’s reaction when she had seen Dew transform, she thought she knew the reason. It records the creatures it comes near to, then? Perhaps Bonesword came across these creatures, and the snake remembered them.

Giving the device another turn, a black splotch appeared on the display, as if someone had dropped ink over it. Pithy frowned. She could skip this figure and choose an aspect closer to her current self. However, Dew had already done that, and while he may not have been satisfied with the transformation itself, the device seemed to have performed perfectly.

By that token, a more radical transformation would make for a more thorough test. Taking a deep breath, Pithy closed her eyes and pressed the dial down into place.

The sensation was similar to what she had felt when forcibly transformed into an owl by Nero, except compacted into a single, dizzying instant. So quick was it that any specific sensation of stretching, shortening, or loosening that her nerves fed her could only be described as ‘uncomfortable’ and only mildly so, at that. Whoever had designed this mechanism had accounted for the toll the forceful restructuring of flesh took on its target.

This much she had seen from the transformation Dew had endured. However, when it came time for her to open her eyes, only darkness greeted her. More than that, she felt… compacted. Restricted. She tried moving her limbs, but all she managed was a slight shiver.

What is this? she thought, ignoring the dreadful images of a soul displaced and her own, vacant body staring off into space in a room in an alien realm. Was this what it felt for a living soul to be affixed to a phylactery?

“Pithy? Yo, Pithy? Uh… don’t tell me that thing just dissolved her…”

I can still hear him. Which meant she was still in the same room. However, the sound came from all around her, as if passing through a membrane, and she could swear the vibration of the sound was making her skin tremble.

My skin? Blast it, if I could only see my surroundings—

Almost as if in response to that thought, light streamed into her vision. It was brilliant at first, as if seeing it for the first time, but she quickly acclimated to it. However, what she saw was anything but calming, overlapping images of numerous sides of the room reaching her at once, as if she had a dozen eyes but none of them could see straight. Remarkably, the disorientation she expected from the alien sensory input was not present. Another gift from the device’s maker, she suspected.

Moreover, what she saw gave her an idea as to what she had become.

She focused on the result she wished for, and with instincts that had not been there moments prior, her new body acted. The goo that comprised her form began to stretch out, rising from the ground. Tendrils separated from the slime, taking on the aspect of limbs. Her vision focused in one direction.

Dew, which even then she could see peering down at her—it seemed he had risen from his seat when he had not seen her standing there after the flash—stepped away from her, his expression twisting into a disgusted grimace.

“Oh no. Not another one of these. Dammit Pithy, you look like you came out of a… you look like…”

As Pithy’s form resolved, Dew paused, frowning.

“You look like a freaking Gumby.”

The slime creature looked down once it reached its usual height. The material her body was made of was see-through, and had an off-white, blue-tinged coloration. Parts of her apparel remained, almost as if glued to her body, including the phylactery, the strap for the six-shooter and the belt with her rapier and knives. The face of the armband she had used to transform rested over her featureless, almost flat torso, within which swam a small sphere of jagged ice. The arms she had formed were similar in shape, bending where she expected them to bend when she sent the nonexistent muscles the familiar commands, but the hands had no fingers beyond a thumb and a slab of goo. Her legs followed the theme, except that rather than feet they sunk into a puddle of… well, myself, I suppose. Perhaps I could use some practice.

“Ehrm.” Pithy looked up to see Dew still staring at her. “Just out of curiosity, do you happen to have humanoid slimes where you’re from?”

Pithy made to speak, but quickly realized she had nothing to serve as a mouth. Her brow scrunched with focus—or at least she thought it did—and she sent the mental command. A depression formed in what passed for her face, quickly taking on the shape of lips and a mouth, complete with a facsimile of teeth and a tongue.

“No,” she said, and was surprised to hear no difference to her usual voice. It was as if her body remembered the shape of her normal vocal chords and had managed to recreate them. “No, there are not.” She reiterated, marveling at the way her constructed throat managed to recreate the sounds. “Slimes exist, though they are largely mindless and live only to feed and multiply. They are considered a pest most everywhere, but their ooze is a popular reagent for alchemists, and so slime farms are maintained in some laboratories. There have been some reported cases of slimes finding unused sets of full-plate and donning them as a protective shell, however.”

There were some other shapes they could take on, but they were far from human-like in any case. Pithy focused on her hands, and the sheet of slime separated into four more fingers. Another command had them lengthening and losing their recreated joints, moving like an octopus’s tentacles. The degree of control she had over them surprised the former elf.

Pithy looked up at the man, and found him staring at the appendages with a queasy grimace. “Why?”

The man blinked after a moment, only then seeming to realize she had spoken. He looked away from her, oddly bashful. “You know.” He said, noncommittally. “Just wanted to know what kind of world you were from is all.”

And that is the question upon which you shall base your judgement? Pithy stared at the man for another moment before she gave up on making sense of his thoughts.

Her attention returned to the tendrils sprouting from her hands, and she brought one close to her eyes—Ah, what an odd time to recover depth perception—for inspection. With a mental command, the tendril straightened, its point becoming more defined and losing its transparency as it became denser. With such limbs, smaller slimes could kill faster pray that ventured too close, like mice and birds.

Of course, if they ventured farther than that, what such a creature could do might be far, far worse. With another thought, the tendrils reformed as the fingers of her hand.

“You said ‘another of these’, Dew. Am I not the first slime you have encountered in this realm?”

“Ugh. No. My first opponent was a slime girl.” He glanced away. “It wriggled and jiggled… everywhere.”

Pithy tilted her head. “Have you a slime phobia?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Some do.”

“Well, I don’t,” he retorted, stubbornly crossing his arms.

The slime frowned at looked down at herself again. Dew’s first opponent had been a slime in the shape of a woman. Moreover, there had been a slime recorded into the armband. Is there some significance there?

“What happened to this slime?” Pithy asked.

“I vaporized her. What else? Wasn’t going to let that thing have its way with me.”

Ignoring the odd choice of words, Pithy’s hand brushed the armband’s insignia over her chest. Perhaps some creatures had been recorded beforehand, then. Unless Bonesword had come across one since he had received the device, but then there must have been slimes other than this one.

If that was the case, it mattered not. Her brand of magic was convenient against such opponents, if they were even large enough to warrant concerning herself with them. That did, however, bring up another point.

Pithy brought her hands together a simple spell in her mind. A small magelight appeared in the space between them, and Pithy held it out for a few moments.

Good, my magic is not affected by— No sooner had she began that thought that she had an odd feeling of displacement.

Then her right hand fell off from her arm. The spell died as she flinched at the dull thump congealed goo plopping onto the ground.

Dew let out a chortle, but Pithy was too shocked to chastise him.

She fell to her knees, holding the stump close to her chest for the few seconds it took her to realize there was no pain coming from the wound. “This is… ah.”

Looking down, she saw the solidified slime slowly begin to regain its normal consistency. Bringing her left hand down on it, she saw the goo sink into her palm, quickly being sucked back into her body. With another effort of will, her right hand reformed as if nothing had happened.

What a convenient body, she found herself thinking. She would certainly find uses for it. However, the way her magic had interacted with it was hardly promising, if perhaps predictable.

A thought prompted another flash, and Pithy looked down at her familiar body, finding her apparel where she had left it, and thankfully not coated in a layer of goo. She glanced at the armband, noting that it seemed to have returned to its deactivated state.

“Such a frighteningly effective device,” she commented. “Some of the arcane scholars I’m acquainted with would have given their souls to study it.”

“You just gave someone else's," Dew commented. "So? You’re going to keep it?”

Pithy considered the object resting on her wrist, then nodded. She had collected a fair array of strange objects since she had arrived in this realm. What was one more, never mind one so potentially useful?

“There are some things I must take care of,” she told him after a moment. “Will you handle preparing our meal in the meantime?”

Dew smiled. “Actually, I saw a neat little food place outside and I’m really hankering for what they got.”

Pithy nodded. “Very well. You take the key, in that case, and bring what you must back here. This may take me some time, so be sure to be back by the time I return.”

“Aye aye, ma’am” he said, obnoxiously cheerfully from his place behind the couch.

Pithy grimaced and turned to leave. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the snake beast stirring, turning to follow her. She stopped to study it, debating whether she should instruct it to stay, and if it would even listen, she merely sighed and stepped out of the apartment, the creature slithering close behind her.

She would have to keep an eye on it, but doubted she would see another incident like the one before on this outing.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

While Pithy had suggested they find a place to rest, actually settling on a specific choice was difficult for her. While the see-through glass on the first floor of a good portion of the surrounding edifices, paired with the signs with names for the nearby establishments gave her some clue as to their purpose, she was not familiar enough with this otherworldly city’s infrastructure to decide on the best place to set camp.

If by shelter one meant walls and a ceiling over one’s head, she was surrounded by an abandoned landscape worth of such spaces. However, the dull ache from the many bruises she had accumulated that day pleaded for her not to relax her standards to such a degree.

One building in particular caught her attention, its unusual façade setting it apart from the more utilitarian buildings surrounding it. The exterior walls were composed of a multitude of erratically aligned blocks and cylinders of different colors and sizes, resulting in a dizzying collage readily drew one’s attention.

Peering into the windows, Pithy’s visible eye widened. Numerous books rested over display cases aimed at passerby’s, but the amount paled in comparison to the shelves upon shelves of tomes lining the walls of the building’s interior. Her eyes narrowed as she began skimming the titles of the closest tomes.

No, that is not so strange. I already had a chance to see how plentiful this kind of parchment is in this realm. Yet… Seeing all those books in one place, for sale of all things, if the signs for offers and discounts on the display could be trusted, still managed to stun her.

“Hey! Pithy!”

The sorceress blinked, Dew’s voice breaking through the spell. She turned at his call and saw him standing on the opposite side of the street where the mysterious Kno One had taken on the appearance of a long-gone building.

“What is it?” She called back as she strode towards him.

He pointed his thumb over his shoulder towards a nearby building. “We got some apartment buildings over here…” He paused. “You got those where you’re from, or do I have to explain?”

Pithy shook her head.

“Well, if we’re looking to rest for a while, the place looks nice. I’m guessing there must be some rooms that are already furnished too and since no one’s really here to stop us…”

“We can make ourselves at home?” she completed. She glanced at his face, searching his expression. The fact that he seemed to be looking for her permission given the way he had behaved towards her throughout the day felt mildly disquieting, but the prospect of a proper bed was terribly attractive. “Fine, let us search through these. There is something we should do first, that said.”

“What?”

With a tilt of her head, Pithy gestured towards the lazily humming drone hovering nearby.

---

In a white, snow-strewn landscape, a small, furred creature continued to trudge over the white. The blue cloak it wore dragged over the ground, much too large for its petite stature, but the warmth it provided was invaluable. Whenever a gust of wind swept over the featureless plain, pulling away at the cover, the creature immediately began to shiver.

Those’re getting more’n more common too, Jo found herself thinking. She was not sure for how long she had been in the snow. Neither was she certain if it was truly the weather that had taken a turn for the worst, or it was simply her disposition. The foggy landscape around her drained at her enthusiasm with its monotony.

However, even as she prepared for the next thousand steps forward into nothingness, something came into her field of vision. It was a silhouette at first, large, but little more than a dark splotch in the distance, faint enough through the mist that she wondered if she was merely hallucinating.

But as she approached, the figure darkened, and gathered a shape. Large, cylindrical, with shapes sprouting off from its top like frozen tentacles. As she approached, Jo realized that she was looking at a tree and its bare branches, the trunk bizarrely wide for its stature, which did not go higher than a two-storied house. In fact, she quickly made out a dim light coming out from a hole in the trunk—a window—and grooves that indicated a presence of a door.

If I weren’t seeing things a’fore now I sure am. Yet it was not the strangest thing she had seen in this place—or in her previous life at that—and the fact that it was the only thing she had seen in what must have been days filled her with relief.

As she moved closer, the snow thinned under her feet, revealing a dirt path. Another detail she had missed due to her fixation with the tree-house also became apparent then. Small mounds of snow littered surroundings of the house, flanking the road. There were enough that she did not bother counting them.

What she did count, was the single hole that remained empty even while exposed to the elements. It was the farthest out, nearest to the path, and it did much to elucidate the meaning behind the surrounding mounds. It killed what budding enthusiasm she had mustered.

She had almost reached the doorway when her feet tapped against something. Unexpected discomfort and jingling drew her gaze downwards, to a diminutive silver bell. Jo frowned and bent to pick it up. It was simple and unadorned, small enough to fit in her paw—perhaps a child’s toy. Without putting much thought into the action, she gave it a small shake.

A wave of dizziness suddenly assaulted her, threatening to knock her off her feet.

Then it was gone, as quickly as it had come. She shook her head and glared at her surroundings, but the tree and mounds remained as they had been. After a moment’s consideration, she stepped towards the door. The moment she touched its handle, she froze.

Voices were coming from within. She instinctively pressed an ear against the wood.

There were two voices. One was light and higher pitched, bringing a young woman to mind, while the other was steadier and deeper, the voice of a man. The two spoke in a strange, sing-song language she could swear she had never heard before, and yet she found she could understand every word that seeped through the door.

“Is that truly for the best?” asked the woman’s voice.

“I do not know” answered the man, “but it is all we can do. Last time I spoke to the sage, she said she would not be coming again.”

“What? Why? She always seems better after a session.”

“‘Seems’ is the right word,” the tone took a cast of despairing humor. “According to her, the tonics and enchantments she prepares are no longer having an effect. Just a placebo. She said that if all that could be done was to keep a girl company—“

“Her family would be better suited.” The younger voice finished somberly. “This must be more difficult for her than I realized.”

“You speak of the sage? It is very like you to take her reservations into account.” The man sighed. “But I would not fault you for being angry.”

“How could I be? She has failed. The shame burns her, and thus she cannot bear to look upon those who depended on her. Why cast judgment when her own cuts deepest?”

There was a long pause, heavy with the sense that the man had held back an instinctive response. “Yes,” he said eventually. “You are right, of course, ■■■■■.”

The one behind the door frowned. The hell was that?

“I'm glad you think so. It's hard to tell, as of late.”

“Indeed.” Another pause. “She cannot be a part of the ceremony.”

It should have meant little to her, but something in the eavesdropper’s chest twisted. Shock, mixed with a foreign sense of outrage began to fill her, rooting her on her spot.

“...does Mother agree?”

“Yes. The Circle would not stand for it either.”

“But...” the voice struggled for the first time. “This is all she has been looking forward. She has worked harder than anyone else even in her state!”

“She is in no position to assume the duties required, not anymore.”

“You know that isn’t the point!”

There was a sound of footsteps as one of the room’s occupants began to pace. She knew from the weig—from the familiar footfalls—that it was the ma—the father.

“We have a responsibility we cannot turn away from. Our duties cannot be twisted for our convenience. Should we allow her to become a part of the rite, it will destroy the one that will bond with her when the time comes. And it shall come soon. Do you understand?”

The other voice was quiet.

“■■■■■?”

“I understand.”

“Good.” The man sighed. “She lasted for longer than we thought. That must be worth something.”

“Five winters more. A pittance.”

“Yes...”

At that, the pair fell silent. Confusion at the contents of the conversation whirled within the eavesdropper’s mind, but another, deeper part of her wailed in grief she could not understand, tinging her every questioning thought. Who were they talking about? What was this tightness in her chest, this pressure behind her eyes as though she might burst to tears?

It was the sound of footfalls that brought her out of her reverie. With a start of panic, she realized that one of the room’s occupants was heading for the door she was hiding behind. She did not know why, but her heart quivered at the thought of facing those inside. She needed to leave, return to her bed as fast as possible.

Except, there was no bed to return to—and that thought belonged to someone else in the first place. The white expanse remained behind her, an invitation to oblivion was all she needed to realize that. The encroaching thoughts belonged to a different person, in a different place and different time. So she quashed the fearful impulse—the phantom of memory urging her to follow its script—and she finally twisted the door handle.

---

With the drone safely stashed inside Dew’s pocket dimension where it could not get in the way, the duo, with the large snake creature trailing behind them, made their way into the building.

The entrance was lit warmly, the sources of illumination affixed to the ceiling and of the same kind as Pithy had seen in most other establishments she had seen since coming to this city. The walls were smooth stone, either marble or polished granite, and had an orangish hue that matched the vibrant red carpet that led past the reception’s desk.

Dew had quickly moved behind it when the group pushed through the glass doors.

“Lower floors only?” he asked as he ducked under the counter. Almost immediately she heard the sound of drawers opening, then quickly being closed.

“Yes. It will make leaving this place easier should the need arise.” Pithy leaned over the short barrier, getting a glimpse of the top of Dew’s head. “You’re certain they’ll have spare keys back there?”

“Yeah, just need to see which drawer is locked… aha!” Something out of sight rattled as whatever handle the man had pulled on resisted his efforts. “Gimme a second, I can get it open.”

Pithy let out an unconvinced grunt and stepped away from the counter, leaving Dew to his work. Swinging herself around, she found herself tensing as her gaze fell on the plant monster that had taken to following them.

The tight flowerbuds that passed for its eyes seemed to be angled squarely at her, though Pithy herself suspected those to be a simple mimicry and the creature was aware of its surroundings through other, likely arcane methods.

Frowning, she lifted the sheathed cutlass she had taken from Bonesword, then slowly waved it before the creature, prompting it to follow the motion in an undulating dance. Do you focus on the movement, as a normal snake would? Or does this catch your attention because the blade belonged to your master?

“Say,” came Dew’s voice from under the desk. “I almost forgot, what with you accidentally killing the skeleton warrior, but I wanted to ask why you let Nero go.”

The snake’s dance slowed, a sibilant sound escaping its facsimile mouth. Pithy stilled her arm, suddenly acutely aware of the fact that there were no guarantees that this creature’s freedom had been affected by the taking of its master’s soul. A moment later however, the beast seemed to lose interest, turning and slithering off towards one of the lobby’s corners.

“I… see,” she finally answered, warily eyeing the plant monster.

After the pause that followed, where only a soft sound like clicking metal could be heard from behind the reception’s desk, Dew prompted, “So?”

“So?”

“I’m asking a question here.”

“Were you not making a statement?”

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he groused, a touch of annoyance seeping into his tone. After he had so tactlessly baited the snake, Pithy was not exactly sympathetic. “Fine. Why did you let him go? You didn’t believe him when he said he was going to go home, did you? He did say he planned to stop the Crucible, so he’ll probably get in your way later anyway.”

Pithy did not answer immediately. She debated whether it was worthwhile giving an answer at all, in fact, but after a moment, she found herself speaking regardless, turning back towards the counter.

“I am not so certain. As much as I hate to admit it, he had a chance to kill us when we were at his tower, but he did not attempt to do so. Did he not have it in him to bloody his hands?” She sighed wearily. “If there are indeed other College members at large attacking the other participants, he does not need to. This situation is a mess, Dew. I left him to his own devices in the hopes that he would interfere with whatever the College has planned.”

“Huh… I kind of see what you’re doing.” Dew tilted his head up from his work just high enough that he could make out his curious eyes looking up at her. “Sounds like it will come back to bite you in the ass later, though.”

“Yes,” Pithy agreed, softly.

She knew that there was no guarantee that Nero would not eventually stand in her way again. Even Dew could see through to that fact, but that hole in her reasoning was only natural. After all, the truth of the matter was that these were simply justifications she had fashioned after the fact.

The truth is that, while I was contemplating that my wish may have been already taken from me, the idea of cutting short yet another life for no reason at all felt like driving a knife through my chest.

It seemed that Dew’s thoughts had turned to a similar direction, for after a moment he looked back down and off-handedly asked, “So what happens if it turns out the College staff actually managed to kill another competitor?”

Pithy gathered herself. “It is my place to worry about that. Until we know for certain, we simply carry on as we have today.”

“Honestly, I’m more afraid of how you’ll react if that happens.”

Pithy let out an unladylike grunt. She chose to ignore that comment. “Are you done with that lock?”

“Almost. In fact—” There was a cracking sound. “—uh… never mind. I guess I didn’t level that skill as much as I could’ve.” He rose and brought his hands to his pocket. Where there had been nothing before, an iron crow suddenly came into existence. “Left my gravity gun at home, but I guess this will do.”

With a practiced motion, Dew slid the bar into place and pushed, a crack and a sound of sliding metal revealing his success. Pithy gave him a half-lidded look, half convinced that the man had been delaying the matter simply to hold that conversation with her while there was a barrier between them.

“And you only want the keys for the first floor…” Dew’s eyes had begun to glaze over even before the sentence had come out of his mouth. He grunted. “Know what? I’m just bringing the whole drawer with.”

Pithy shrugged as the box disappeared into Dew’s pockets and he vaulted over the counter. Still full of energy, this one.

“Come,” she said, turning towards the door with the ‘Stairs’ sign attached to it. The snake lying nearby rose its head at the command, then followed the pair as they continued up into the apartments.