[center][color=yellow][h3]Mad World[/h3][/color]
[@zarkun][@lazo][@kapuchu][/center]

The vast emptiness that stretched in every direction from the cliff face did not, predictably, deter Panoptos.  The emerald-eyed Watcher drifted out into the air, moving parallel to one of the steely strands and running a black, hooked claw along it as he did.  However, its shriek was lost in the constant wind against which the Hanging Jungle offered no shelter.  As they danced through the tangle, the gusts whistled oddly along the vine-like structures' contours.  An observant eye might find with little difficulty that, here and there, the strands sported various damages, differing in style and extent.  Some of them appeared crushed, a few cut into, and a couple, contorted bizarrely, even exhibited signs of melting.  Against them, the wind practically sang.  There existed no shortage of strands hanging straight down, obviously freed from a former purchase higher above.  His eyes fixated upon one such draped cable, Uhelei took a running start and leaped from the cliff.  Like clamps his hands snagged the vine, and his momentum carried him across the void.  The next instant, he let go, and slammed into a thick strange torso-first.  Before there could be any doubt of his safety, however, he clambered up.  A certain gleam shone in his eyes as he turned back, arms crossed, to face the group.

A question sailed from the cliff to meet him, surviving the rushing air.  For a moment the guide stood silent, but he replied soon enough.  “I can divide them into three that I know of.  First are the climbing things.  Vicious, armored, and armed with various natural weapons.  Very agile.  Some big, some small.  Second are the evil spirits.  Shapeshifters of shadow.  Some control the climbing things.  Some attack on their own.”  A momentary silence filled the air.  When Uhelei spoke again, his voice contained tones of trepidation, as one might use when confessing to have seen a local legend.  “Last are the old things.  Giant, dangerous nightmares.  I pray that we do not see them.”

Panoptos, floating somewhere in the middle of the conversation, waved his arms.  [color=50C878]”Yes, yes, yes.  Big scary monsters.  I'm sure the peons are up for whatever.  We've got a schedule to keep, remember?”[/color]  Eight brilliant eyes aligned themselves into an octagon to stare at the Charred Council's agents.  [color=50C878]”Enough dithering.  Time to play on the jungle gym!”[/color]

He began to move, but before Uhelei could join him, he heard Wrath's question.  “It was easy when we had flying beasts to ride.  Though still hard.  Aside from that, we climb, or ride aerofoils.”  He did not offer anything else; after all, even were he in a chatting mood, bringing up the conveniences of the past would not do anything to ensure their future.  

On Wrath's left side, Souta lashed out with one of his Trawlers, having already replaced his Escre with them.  Despite his visions of Tarzan, he could not help but resort to a less flashy method: the smith, unable to puncture one of the strands with his hooks, had to wind both around a target and snare them together just so he wouldn't lose his grip.  Following that, the chains would retract, pulling him toward the strand so that he could heave himself up.  Luckily, larger and more horizontal strands could be walked on -albeit carefully- and very small ones could be latched onto with a Trawler, but regardless Souta's heart beat wildly in his throat the whole time.  He gave a good account of himself in this perilous situation, but a single momentary slip-up could send him hurtling into the infinite sky below.  Some small hope comforted him that, with all of the strands below as well, he could save himself by grabbing another one as he fell, but he had no intent to test that theory.

About five minutes passed, though they could hardly be said to have been uneventful.  Navigation alone provided enough stress without thinking of fighting monsters as well.  As luck would have it, the agents would not have to wonder for long.

[color=50C878]”Say...hear that?”[/color]  Everyone drew still.  For the entire trip thus far, every movement sent vibrations down the vines grabbed, pulled, or stepped on, creating melodic twanging sounds.  Now, though, even as everyone was still, the resonance could still be heard—something was vibrating back.  Among the strands, movement aside from the regular ripples in the wind could be seen.  Souta watched expectantly, knowing that any second now the fight would begin.  He strained his ears to hear, but he picked up no sound aside from a steady [i]click-click-click[/i].  Closing his eyes, he attempted to determine the direction only to come to a startling realization.  [i]Every direction.[/i]

As one, the unknown assailants abandoned subtlety.  A cacophony of clicking and skittering filled the air; from every direction vile [url=http://pre12.deviantart.net/2bce/th/pre/i/2015/140/2/a/nerscylla__the_shadow_spider_by_halycon450-d8u2u6b.jpg]spiders with bodies the size of cars[/url] swarmed towards the agents of the Charred Council.  Individually they did not hold a candle to the size of Fenn, but they came in droves.  “Mygaloth!” came the cry of Uhelei.  Souta, standing on a junction between several nearly-horizontal strands that provided reasonably firm footing, intertwined his Trawlers' chains to make a heavy flail with which to batter the bugs into the abyss.  Quite unexpectedly, the arachnid he had his eyes on vanished in a greenish flutter, only to reappear mere feet await right in front of him.  Souta yelled in surprise, and his power responded.  A forceful blast of water exploded out of his hoodie, throwing the monstrous creature back and stunning it long enough for Souta to swing.  The power behind his double chain threw the disoriented spider off into space, but to the smith's dismay it warped into another vine farther down.  [color=teal]”They teleport!?”[/color]  Forgoing his original plan, he banished his Trawlers and resummoned Escre.  Two more spiders materialized next to him.  On instinct, he manifested a skeleton to body-block for him, and the other received a wild overhead swing before it could bite him.  Realizing that this new prey had a bite of its own, the spider moved back a step and raised its sickles to attack.  Unable to pause for even a moment, Souta whirled his hammer into the head of the spider grappling with his ghostly skeleton.  This time, the monster disappeared, reappearing and staying at a respectable distance away.  Souta refocused his attention on his original target, teeth gritted and ready to make paste.