[img]http://i1111.photobucket.com/albums/h461/kathichan1/ariacastshot.png[/img]

[b][u]Aliquam: Academy of the Arts: Northern Sector: Theatre Hall[/u][/b]

“Back off, you!” A scream echoed throughout the gigantic theatre hall, and it was with wide surprised eyes that Francesca quickly backed away in time to avoid the two knives stabbing the ground in front of her. She spun on the spot to see Aria approaching in her direction, but keeping a safe distance away, knives held ready in her hand. She had seen what Francesca had done to both Tobias and Trixie. And whilst she couldn’t necessarily complain about what the thief had done to the noble braggart, what she had done to Trixie, and what she had tried to do to Xandra and Angel, burned her. She was as encouraged as the rest of the Pride thanks to Dalia and Dylan’s actions and words, and she wouldn’t be left behind in this fight either! 

“Try picking on someone your own size!” Aria flung another knife. 

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Performance Hall, sprawled out in-between a row of seats, Xandra and Angel slowly began to rise to their feet, as Jay continued to sidestep to and fro out of the way of incoming missiles. He glanced up into the air and glared at the blackbird flapping above him. Were they… were they serious? They had to be joking, right? What on Ddaear was it about himself that made people not take him seriously?!

[img]http://i.imgur.com/KfQDBLF.png[/img]

And further down the centre of the Hall, in-between both of the developing fracases either side of the Hall’s central aisle, Dylan and Marcus (alongside Lucien’s prone body) stood opposed against the Masked Phantom, whom was slowly recovering and rising to his feet again, after being savagely blown back by Marcus’ attack. This time, the thief was enraptured with anger and venom. After everything that had happened so far, everything that had developed in this fight… for it to turn out like this… it simply would not do. 

If they wanted to see him mad…

Gusts of wind formed outwards from his feet, billowing harder and faster, his long blonde locks waving behind his face, the edges of his coat flapping behind him. Scattered pieces of wooden debris from the stage were picked up and flung into the air around him, along with the rest of the stage itself, the wooden panelling being ripped and sucked into the vortex surrounding him. 

If they wanted to see him mad, well… [i]they got it.[/i]

[img]http://i.imgur.com/AIt9B3l.png[/img]
[img]http://i.imgur.com/8mPMSWF.png[/img]

“You did good, Dylan,” Marcus patted the Matter Artist’s shoulder as he slowly walked down the aisle towards the stage. “Don’t give up now.”

Dylan grinned. “Of course not, Marcus. We haven’t even started! We’re going to rain crap all over their parade!”

“That’s not what I meant.” Marcus said, glancing to the chalk held in Dylan’s hand. His eyes then flicked to Dylan’s, as he emphasised very clearly what he meant. “Don’t give up. Just because your slate’s gone… doesn’t mean you can’t use your magic, does it?”

He then jogged away from Dylan, wind whipping around his own body. He raised his staff in the air, and one by one the Pride and students of the Aliquam Academy were engulfed by a bright green glow, their agility greatly enhanced for a short duration. At the same time, the splintered wooden planks spiralling around the Masked Phantom began to fire outwards one at a time, aimed directly at the approaching Marcus. Each were repelled and sent flying away to crash and shatter against the far walls by Marcus’ own wind shield. 

His body then disappeared after his crouching knees pushed off from the ground. He reappeared in front of the Masked Phantom, standing to face him. The Masked Phantom growled. 

“So!” He shouted. “You think you’re some sort of master of wind magic?!” The thief angrily declared. “You’ve seen nothing yet!”

The wind whipped even more angrily outwards from the thief, to encapsulate the entire theatre hall and disrupting the battles of everyone else inside. Lucien’s blackbird struggled to stay aloft in the chaotic wind streams, as more and more chairs were ripped off from their bearings to circle about the Masked Phantom. The chandeliers hanging from the ceilings above were torn from their fixtures, and they too began to spiral about the Masked Phantom ever developing vortex. Within seconds, the Pride was gripped within an indoor hurricane. A hurricane that caused cracks to form along all of the room’s walls, and small crevices and chinks to chip free. 

“Rarrrghhhh!” The Masked Phantom’s body pulsed with emerald energy, and as if by random, but actually with acute accuracy, these dangerous weapons that were once a part of the room shot outwards – a chair, chandelier, part of the stage or anything else – all aimed at members of the Pride. 

And as all of this happened, Dylan crouched low to Lucien, holding the summoner’s prone bodies close to his body with one arm wrapped around him to shield him. The other held onto his chalk… a small white stick that Dylan intensely focused upon and stared at. 

He then looked down at the ground, and began to draw.