[center][img]http://i.imgur.com/ZtKtHcj.jpg[/img]
[sub][sub][sub][h3]Y  T  O  N  E[/h3][/sub][/sub][/sub][img]http://i.imgur.com/NESiC7M.png[/img]
[sup][color=d7d7d7]"Help they who know not their own lives; their deaths; their lives. Let them know their own depths of Fate and despair, allow them to fall into death."[/color][/sup][/center]
[sub][sub][sub][h2][color=d7d7d7][indent][indent]Unknown Location — [i]Test of the Faceless[/i] — 250 — [i]6 / 8[/i][/indent][/indent][/color][/h2][/sub][/sub][/sub][color=#0d0c0c][img]http://i.imgur.com/RPEg47T.png[/img][/color][color=958c88][indent][indent][i][sup]And so my dearest. . .[/sup][/i][/indent][/indent]
[indent][i]L[/i]ittle resistance felled her blade, the double—edged alloy seduced and plied flesh apart, and betwixt the plies of flesh obsidian malady oozed and festered, thickening and inviting into the whorl of ebony that began to conglomerate. Sudden regret and realization dawned on her consciousness, spurring leather twined soles to withdraw, scuffling over parched soil as silver—coined eyes widened and gathered the specs of the viscous black that swarmed into a mass. Her grasp flexed, wringing Raksha's hilt with pallid bone burning beneath taut skin in her perplexity and subject of witness. The magic was pure and suffocating and betrayed the constitution of traditional spell casting, it bypassed the law of equivalency all were sired under when daring to partake of the cancerous mana from a cursed energy source. The betrayal of the summons made her flesh thrum and quiver, the paleness of her skin nearly translucent as the black of her own taint boiled and rose to fruition, shuddering beneath and across her arms disciplined and tense from the flex of muscle and venom that afflicted it. Ytone was absolute and rigid, fixated into place and forsaken by wonder and morbid fascination as the foiled opposition ascended and deformed into the arisen monstrosity of blackened magical inclination.

She would almost configure her station as admiration and into being seduced by the presentation of a worthier foe, but Ytone couldn't configure or deduce why her legs refused to respond to basic commands. Whilst her fingers and palms burned with a notion to strike retribution and gather penance from the obsidian wraith, her thighs and calves clamped tight and she could [i]feel[/i] the poison of her own magic ooze and fester in her capillaries broadening to the surface of her skin; akin to macabre braille. Ytone pondered, briefly, if this was in juncture and response to the potency of such to this unknown realm, that the venom of her cancerous wealth was being drawn and pumped forcefully into reality by the shades of her former vision and their blasphemous inquisitors. Her silver eyes flew heavenward suddenly, prematurely sanctioned from thought, witnessing with withdrawn lips and reservation as the misled initiate of a burning order summoned flame and might; shedding the battle field in her righteous intent and her mouth fell and bowed in disappointment — [i]she's going to die young.[/i]

However, no amount of holy fire could slay to the massive swath of darkness and festering shadow that bordered the mortal aesthetic of Man, much to Ytone's increasing fascination. The result was a guttural call, a mockery of a voice that was penetrating in the reprimand, disappointed just as she was in deeper, bass intonations. Faceless and daunting, the flames ceased and fell, snuffed by whatever mana animated the creature and bequeathed both a voice and considerable fortitude despite the lack of any personal shell. Her arms coiled up, gathering the chain of her Tessen and looping the links through the slither of palm and spindly digits, each caressing metal and nails scraping the conjoined alloy as the weight distributed through her grasp. Studying; careful, deliberate processors of oculi aide, and metal—laced ears pinged with the voice of the Faceless. Ytone disregarded most banter, combat would not be achieved and victorious by sly tongue and cheek — she sniffed at that — and the conduit of simmering rage and bygone sanity was acknowledged as too careless by her slicing gaze. 

No, this would require some consideration: careful, delicate theory and debasement. Magic was thus an immunity, and the oppressive bank of nefarious, inklike silt of the fallen would not grant them much reprieve. Almost against her will, Ytone's resplendent gaze slid sidelong to the one man who summoned offense to her in the wagons, she almost sneered and seethed at his visage and propelled her focus to the opponent whom he foiled against. It was barbaric, a bestial sort of madness that swung its' limbs and offense into a frenzy, a berserker to the Warrior—agenda, Ytone hedged and rose a brow curiously at the assistance of sword and shield by another — one who did not gain favour in her eyes by his cheek — and felt the sensation of a ping in her limbs. 

[i]Mayhap they are related. . .[/i]

Ytone muttered a quiet prayer, a careful wish laden in [i]Goro[/i] tongue to see his strike true as she swept focus onto others, close enough to witness the duo charge of their gargantuan companion — a God Eater, she amends — and the woman whom brandished daggers after him. Her brow folded, acknowledging and implementing their pattern into mind, and by reflex her muscles began to wind, summoned alone by the instinct of long nights of torture. Chain fell and sounded together, links flowing apart into the lax hold as her arm churned, spun, whirling the Tessen into a similar sequence that surrendered her former target. The bladed, iron fan sung, cresting higher into pitch the faster Ytone wound up her chain and swept behind them in a follow up offense; feathering out into swift flashes of ebony, her arachnid hold then relinquished. Much like the preceding action where the chain looped around the neck of the Faceless, this too looped thrice around the sable enemy, and she grasped hold of the chain and pulled taut, hoping to increase the injury of the dual punctures of kin—daggers. Planting foot into soil and feeling the burning wrath of her muscles beneath her quivering skin, Ytone drew back, hoping to bring the gargantuan foe down further, beyond the surrendering of knees where the God Eater had struck. 

Fine ebony pooled over her shoulder the further she attempted to draw back, palms aflame in the pressure of her chain weighted around the humanoid creature and inside she felt the exhilaration of something, forgetting — for a moment — that this was a test of some forlorn nature. 

[right][sup][i]. . . will you then ask for my name when the world has gone.[/i][/sup][/right][/indent][/color]