[center][h3]The Lady in White[/h3] Location: Fuel Plant – Amaranth Generator Room [@Lazo][/center] [i]Crack[/i] The distinctive noise, albeit muffled, sounded out from beneath Pithy's heel. A bit of rummaging in the sand, or enough experience with such objects, led to the simple but chilling conclusion that she'd stepped on and broken a bone. Its brittleness came not from some sickness of its former owner, but rather because the bone had been thoroughly gnawed before its abandonment. Furthermore, it wasn't alone. A chance footstep here or there throughout the sand-strewn generator room could easily turn up more of its, kind, including skulls, each of which sported large, fang-toothed bites. Dedicated observation of the generator itself, meanwhile, might lead to the piecing-together of what exactly lay at its core. In the center of the violent, colorful concentric spheres of energy span a [url=http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/streetfighter/images/8/8f/0xxx.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20120520215018]box[/url] etched with various symbols, all aglow in white and purple. The power crackling from the anomaly gave off an odor like ozone, though the reek of carcasses emanating from the tunnels outclassed it in foulness. The only machine in its vicinity that didn't appear to be a part of the siphoning apparatus resembled a table with a tablet on top at an angle, harboring a slew of buttons set within. Pithy might recognize a keyboard from her earlier exploration of the military base, but even had she puzzled out its functionality there it looked quite alien here. Putting the generator aside, however, the tunnels could not be ignored. Though the holes in the walls looked forced, the pathway beyond resembled the manmade corridors of an ancient tomb, completely at odds with the uninteresting general aesthetic of the Justice Hub. The ripped-up edges of the yawning black apertures, lit sometimes by the sporadic glow of the generator, cast jagged, monstrous shadows, and the feeling that she'd stepped into another beast's domain began to take root. [center][h3]The God Hand[/h3] Location: the School's Library [@GreenGoat][/center] Furious but brief, the fight ended. Even the added wild card of the gun-wielding anon didn't possess the power to prolong a conflict between two bruisers. Juniper's forwardness and fortitude won her the match, and Wesley crumpled to the ground she sealed the deal with a witty-one liner. Oren, listening in with a drone only a few meters away, ate it up. “Aww, snap! What a tight way to wrap it up! A tough fight, but you showed him the power of a real 'cavalier' attitude. Neheh..heh.” His merry voice trailed off as he noticed Juniper lying on the ground, clutching her stomach as she writhed in pain. Worry crept into his voice, not at all abated by her attempts at bandaging. “Yeesh...stomach wound, huh? ...That's not good. In my experience, that's a slow and painful way to go. Hmm...” The drone's light blinked out for a second, leaving the maiden alone with the silence and agony. A moment later Oren returned, and in a more strident tone he told her, “The College folks don't want someone to 'waist' away between rounds. I can get a doctor to come by and treatcha if ya get out in front of the School. There's two ways from your current position: ya can either break the library window and go all the way around the perimeter, which'll take a long time and might attract anons, or head back through, across the central pavilion, and out the front door, which'll definitely getcha anons. Yikes, what a pickle...a raw 'dill', if you will. Er, sorry.” The drone made as if to leave, but it stopped just before floating away. “Oh,” Oren added, “This is yours. Maybe it's an amazing healing item?” The flying machine's clasps came loose and dropped its wooden box. It bounced off the edge of a bookcase with a hefty [i]whack[/i] and rolled a few feet across the carpet before coming to a halt. [center]You got: 17. [url=https://lparchive.org/Bayonetta/Update%2025/8-evil_harvest_rosary.jpg]Rosary[/url] [i]How do you shoot the devil in the back? What if you miss?[/i] Rewards a last-second evasion by launching a magical wave-motion counterattack against the wearer's assailant[/center] [center][h3]The Fungal Knight[/h3] Location: Amusement Mile [@Banana][/center] When Bonesword abandoned his cover, three different clowns turned to look at him instantly. Their beady, multicolored eyes, more like predators' than people's, fixated upon him. The staredown broke only a moment later, though, as the clowns -convinced that Bonesword was one of them- went back to their 'business'. For the moment, the skeleton in disguise had free reign to wander around the carnival and try to figure out what had happened. Ludicrous as they looked, with their powder-white skin, pudgy four-digit hands, and larger-than-normal mouths, the clowns did not appear to be bumbling idiots. As Bonesword made his way to a nearby miniature circus tent, he spotted a few holding what looked like oversized plastic ray-guns, and one even led a balloon animal on a leash, which padded and sniffed around as though alive. At one point, the circus tent disgorged a tiny car fast enough to run Bonesword over if he did not evade it. A moment later is came to a stop so that its doors could open and no fewer than five clowns could get out, though none should have been able to fit in the first place. Before entering the tent, it became obvious that the clowns were not just ambling around eerily, but actively grouping up in preparation for some unknown undertaking. Inside, an even more bizarre scene awaited him. In the very center of the tent stood a brightly-colored circular console, with various plastic tubes stretching off of it to snake across the floor and through the walls. The ceiling supports held several guided rails, and dangling from hooks held in them were two garish pink cocoon-like bags, each as big as a hay bale, that appeared soft to the touch. Spatters of a reddish-pink liquid lay on the floor around each bag, and the surface of the console featured several straws strewn about among the comically large buttons and levers. Bonesword did not have the pleasure of being the only clown inside, however. A tall, gangly one with three tufts of yellow and purple hair and bulging cheeks stood with his back turned toward the entrance, a toy pistol on the console in arm's reach but otherwise undefended. [center][h3]Smiley[/h3] Location: Parking Garage near Main Street [@ScreenAcne][/center] The otherworldly howl of the demon not only startled the two scouts, but recovered the attention of the rest of the squad, though at the moment the others were too far away to act. With their military-grade sternness broken, even for a fraction of a moment, the scouts were slow on the draw while staring at the oil-black monster's freakish dance. Before they could fire, Smiley's slung tire hit one in the chest at full force, tearing a guttural “ugh!” from her lungs as she fell backward. By that time, however, the second opened fire, and while her initial barrage missed the demon's whiplike shape, he had to enlarge in order to swallow her. In the scant seconds he'd grown, she riddled him with bullets, but his inexorable hunger cannoned him forward. All at once the woman, her weapon, and her attached pod drones were devoured. Smiley's jaws closed around her armored chins, crushing but not quite cutting through. At the same moment, the other soldiers came into view. Several raised their machine guns to open fire, but one held up his fist in a decisive manner, and his fellows held their fire. Inside Smiley's maw, the dying woman had activated her drones' self-destruct, and was a split second away from detonating. [center][h3]Gaben's Chosen[/h3] Location: Awash Governance Hub [@Hostile][/center] Though a human might hesitate, inclement weather did not. Before Mountain Dew made up his mind about what to do about the sudden deluge, the rain had so thoroughly drenched the lower portion of the street through which he now flew that the nose of his hoverboard hit the water's surface. Instantly the board flipped, throwing the major league gamer end over end toward a basin that had formed in the avenue's center, deep as an inflatable backyard swimming pool. His hoverboard, meanwhile, merely tipped over to float face-down on the water's surface. Around six hundred feet ahead, medieval stone tower reached into the sky. Its solid-looking construction made it the most distinct thing Mountain could see through the immense downpour, and at this distance he could even spot a great wooden door at its base where masonry met sidewalk. The abruptness with which it arose from the streetside, including the cracked and turned-up concrete, made it appear as if it had risen from the earth like a beanstalk from a fairy tale. Behind him, however, there came the sound of a harrowed cry above the heavy rain. [i]”Don't go into the tower! Please! You have to help me!”[/i] It was garbled, and not just by the storm, but rather as though it had been distorted through a throat never meant to speak. A choice lay before Mountain, neither especially appealing, but he couldn't afford to remain where he was any longer. [center][h3]Inari[/h3] Location: Fuel Plant – Bottom Floor Bonfire [@Kapuchu][/center] As critical as they were for humans -and those like humans-, light and heat did not interest a great many members of the animal kingdom. Cold-blooded reptiles, of course, needed their time in the sun to fill with energy so that they might go about their business, but insects did not care so much, and even warm-blooded creatures like birds and animals typically sported a coat of feathers, fur, or fat as insulation, depending on their habitats. Only humans treasured the warm, comforting glow of the fire, for aside from providing heat it, at the very core, perhaps reminded them of their dominance over nature. Then again, some creatures were heatseekers not because they needed heat, but because they needed love. Secure as the lobby area of the fuel plant was, it was not impervious, and a beast with a nose full of a strange smell found its way inside. Ordinary people might not have noticed the intrusion for a while, but even in a semi-relaxed state, a fox determined to win the Crucible always retained some alertness. After a while, convinced that despite the alarming appearance of a shark there was no preeminent threat, a standard-sized dog with white and black fur, soaking wet from the rain, trotted toward the bonfire. She stopped a respectful distance away, wariness in her eyes as the [url=https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/260142075020836864/296777580055494657/522BC8E183A8B907D8225F398EBDC8C422E7736BCB3CBFA015pimgpsh_fullsize_distr.jpg]dog[/url] looked between Brucie and Lily, her little mustache flapped with each turn of her neck. [center][h3]Captain K. Runch[/h3] Location: Holy Ground [@Propro][/center] Before Runch slammed shut the journal he'd received, one more page writ itself into existence before him. Titled 'surveillance drone', it gave the capabilities and behavior of the machine Oren used to communicate, which did not amount to much. [i]No combat ability. Set to autopilot unless its action algorithm detects something interesting afoot, at which point an automatic alert is sent to the operator. Can hold 10 lbs of cargo, project a holographic screen without the use of a surface, and communicate via microphone.[/i] A more valuable lesson, perhaps, was that the journal seemed to operate on proximity alone. If Runch wanted the scoop on the tournament's mysterious, pun-loving announcer, he'd have to visit the man in person. For now, though, Oren himself did not prevaricate when asked about the Bashibozuk's fate. “If you let him go, he's free to his own devices. He can wander around the city, kill if he wants to, whatever. I don't think the College really made plans for nonwinning survivors. Maybe they'll be returned to their own worlds after the whole thing's over with?” He shrugged, still smiling. Outside the cathedral, rain began to fall. More buildings, wreathed in nighttime, stretched in every direction, but something altogether different lay on the horizon. In the far, far distance, a brilliant orange glow split the sky, a fiery blaze that rose above any building. [center][h3]Seraphim[/h3] Location: Scorched Forest Depths [@DracoLunaris][/center] Beneath the airborne angel, a raging inferno gripped the forest. The giant tree that harbored Clotho's lair, in particular, had transformed from a massive but quiet bastion of solemn fortitude into a cataclysmic bonfire that cast such a gargantuan, ferocious glow as to make it seem like night's darkness had given birth to a new sun. Virtually anyone in the entire Uptown area could cast a glance at the horizon and see the brilliant beacon alight. As the wildfire threatened to engulf the forest, the clouds burst, and a torrent of rain drowned the flames in a matter of moments—except for those that consumed the vast pillar of tinder formerly known as the Forest King, which for all intents and purposes appeared inextinguishable. As for Sophia: her phylactery's surface gave forth two lights in sequence, one salmon and one maroon, before going dark once again. Dark still was the phylactery of Clotho, which after relinquishing its 'soul' went completely inert. It couldn't rot, being an object of metal and mesh rather than blood and tissue, but the brown blackness of its shriveled surface made it pathetic enough. With the achievement of victory, however, her adrenaline ebbed, and in its wake came the rising pain within her left arm. The skin's tingling sensation became a crawl, and in only a few moments, her flesh began to move. Beneath her black armor and red raiment what was happening couldn't be seen, but she could feel the sudden surge. Very quickly she became unable to figure out what was happening in the limb based on feeling alone, but its gear was shifting around worryingly, and in an even more disturbing tone none of it hurt at all. It was actually quite pleasant up until her armor could contain the mutation no longer. The black plate burst from her right arm as some thing long and dark exploded outward from where her left arm had been. At first glance, it resembled a centipede, long and bendy but with a chitinous shell. In a row across its tops and bottom were little protrusions that resembled legs, but on its end were three jointed digits that ended in sharp talons. The [url=http://vignette2.wikia.nocookie.net/residentevil/images/2/27/Cg_javo2_%281%29.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20120621183844]mutation[/url] was not pretty, but it could have been worse. As the neurons and nerves settled down, feeling returned to the limb, and in addition to being completely flexible, its claws worked much like fingers. In the very center of the 'palm', a little barb could extend to inject a liquid that shone as bright as a holy elixir. Although, this functionality more than likely presented little solace to an individual whose hatred of vile otherness was absolute. Oren, courtesy of a newly-arrived drone, caught it all—everything as soon as the battle had left the Forest King up until this point. He even captured Clotho, lying among the discarded, defeated flesh of her mutation along the ground. The fact that the overwhelming, hideous transformation somehow preserved most of her original body was miracle in itself, but even more incredible, she appeared to retain a tiny shred of the spark of life. After all, her soul would have instantly gone to the victor had she been killed. Perhaps the fact that she generated the mutagen within her own glands gave her some sort of greater control over it. Though the last of the mutagen had somewhat closed up her stab wound, Clotho did not appear in any condition to fight, or even to move. Her wings were completely destroyed, and her forearms as well as her legs below the knees were essentially gone. She lay motionless amidst the juices, staring upward into the rain that washed her shame away, and whispered, [color=826644]”Stupid...stupid. Ugh. How could I be so...disappointing. Carreau...you fool...you were right after all. I thought I...thought I could do it alone, and now...I'll die alone. Stupid...stupid...IO, I'm sorry, really.”[/color] Blood trickled down from the side of her mouth, and her eyes grew dark. [center][h3]Blackjack[/h3] Location: Upper Village [@Deadnaut][/center] When Teller addressed them, wielding stern words and a hand in the shade of a blade, the women fell silent. That said, it didn't take a genius to tell that Guðrún took his curt response less than cordially. Her impetuousness propelled her into speaking first while Amelia, confronted by an attitude she hadn;t expected, was still mulling over her options. Respect for the military, it seemed, was something the headstrong redhead lacked. “Well, you're not exactly swimming in a lot of help either, Captain Boozer. You might be a force to be reckoned with where you come from, but if you think you're a top seed in this competition, think again. Woulda thought any of you wanted to win so badly you'd take whatever help you can get, 'specially from the College itself. We were gonna offer you some intelligence about your next opponent, and whatever spoils we get from the hunt, but maybe you'd better return to your nap instead? Ghosts can smell cantankerousness.” A keen mind could intuit the source of her impertinence—outside of her own nature, at least. Though better than nothing, the light given off by the streetlamp nearby wasn't perfect, but Guðrún herself was brightly illuminated. A closer look at her umbrella revealed a lantern stashed in its top, integrated with the rest of the device so as to shed light in a shrouded manner. If by now Teller had put two and two together about how those artifacts worked, it'd be obvious that she could whisk herself away in the heavy, obscuring rain now falling in sheets throughout the City of Echoes. Of course, safety net aside, Amelia proved far less eager to get on the nerves of a hardened soldier, and less patient than Guðrún's previous handler. “Would you shut up? Being in a position of power in this tournament doesn't mean we should lord it over the competitors, especially if they're in a position to take it out on us.” Her face bore her nervousness plainly as she turned her attention back to Teller. “Again, I'm sorry. I mistakenly assumed that cooperation would be a given. If you're not interested, we'll just be in our way.” Amelia took a preemptive step back, giving a slight bow of her head to enunciate her apology. [center][h3]The Book Keeper[/h3] Location: Oldtown Plaza [@BctheEntity][/center] The smith shrugged. “Well, I'm sorta just doing it for me at this point.” He fell silent as Motley's attention slipped elsewhere, wondering what the stranger might have heard that he himself didn't. Evidently it demanded his focus, for Motley bid the smith adieu, promising to return if he found anything that might make for a passable weapon. With a forlorn sigh, he returned to his work. Motley couldn't quite get a handle on the newcomer, not because he couldn't sense her, but because of several qualities he'd never encountered before. For the most part this took the form of a unique smell lingered around her, faint and aromatic, on the opposite end of the scale from a beastly musk but still on that scale. There was something else about her, though, that set her apart. Of course, Motley could tell that the approaching figure belonged to a woman despite the poor light and her modest traveling garb in the first place due to the scent of estrogen, far too faint for a normal human to pick up on but present nonetheless. All in all, she seemed unremarkable, but the confidence with which she entered Oldtown Plaza told the vampire all he needed to know about why she was here. From the sidelines, the purple optic of Oren's drone gave it away, where the night would have otherwise enveloped it. “If only a storm wasn't brewing; there would be some badass moonlight to shine down upon the classic battle of darkness versus light. Who will come out on top? I'm anxious to see. You're live in three...two...one...now.” A loud, metallic [i]clap[/i] punctuated the announcer's last word, and the last duel of the evening began.