[center][h3][color=138808]Knight Sylvestre[/color][/h3] Location: the Neighborhood [@GreenGoat][/center] Of all the responses to his calm yet provoking question, a smile had not been one of them. Still, the odd expression answered the second, unspoken inquiry Cyril harbored: what kind of person was this well-built woman? His conclusion: that something was off about her, though really he shouldn't have been surprised. Her ensuing behavior told him all he needed. As she approached, he reflexively lowered his weapon so that its tip pointed at her guts, and shifted his grip to both hands, but he did not attack. To be sure, he considered it, but the way she practically strutted forward invited him to think twice. [i]She's kooky but not insane. Trying to goad me into a preemptive strike. With no arms...er, that, is, no weapons and one arm, she must be a martial artist or sorceress.[/i] The vanguard let his warning stand, saying, “No need to prevaricate. This city is barren but for competitors.” Juniper advanced, and Cyril stood his ground. If she continued moving toward him, it would be he who would be justified in self-defense, not she. For now, he kept his face-plate up, staring her down as a human rather than a soldier. “We do not have to fight, but I'm afraid I need something of yours in order to continue. My wish isn't much—just to sweep away all the universe's evil. But I'll do whatever it takes.” His tone remained low and monotone, communicating his intent well enough. A refugee of a world accustomed to the weariness and desperation of souls like Juniper could not miss their hollowness in his dark eyes. “Well, well, wellwellwellwellwell! What do we have here?” A familiar voices resounded through the grocery store. The door gave its chime once again, with the broken glass sliding open to admit a dark gray flying machine with a single purple eye. From just above that lens, the projector flickered on to reveal the smile of Oren Erumel. His arrival, Cyril felt, could only mean one thing. If the announcer started the fight, the vanguard could still ignore him of this woman's surrender seemed likely, but she hardly looked the type to concede something as vital as her soul. Besides, he still didn't know any way to acquire a soul other than killing its owner, which filled him with venom. He watched Oren turn between the two potential opponents before saying, “Looks like our first Round Two battle is brewing! Juniper the 'Junipersistent' versus the Knight Sylvestre, Cyril 'Brawniface'. I mean, you are gonna fight, right? Just because you're both 'heroes' doesn't mean one of ya isn't gonna be worm food in a half hour. If that makes sense. You two ready to scrap?” [center][h3]The Fungal Knight[/h3] Location: Amusement Mile – Echoed Dead Man's Rock [@Banana][/center] If a drone had been present to broadcast a live view of Oren's face, the furrow of his brow would have been evident to Bonesword. “What? Have things changed? When we went through that place, it was more like an elaborate playhouse than a museum.” The idea of echoes being linked to the various competitors found and entered into the tournament did not seem to provoke as much of a response as the skeleton thought it might. It didn't take supernatural intuition to infer that the announcer knew something that he wouldn't be telling, something that made Bonesword's report less of a surprise. “Duly noted. Class dismissed!” Oren signed off, and the morning was peaceful once again. Some time slipped by, giving Bonesword room to roam, even to leave the Amusement Mile behind. This period was far from silent, however. Horrifying, chilling noises sounded out through the chloromancer's phylactery, shattering the morning's serenity. A cacophonous, repulsive rasp...the nauseating sounds of blood and gore...the roar of flame and sizzling of foul flesh...such bone-chilling horror bled from the device's implanted mic to drown out the soft ambiance of seabird and shore. If Bonesword cast his eyes out toward the ocean, he could easily spot several shapes reaching out of the sea. One, which appeared to be a ship, sporting something most unusual. From this distance the details were hazy, but there was some kind of unnatural mass thrashing around on the deck, and during the obvious struggle there appeared something else, bloody and terrifying. The action, synced up exactly with the noise coming through the skeleton's phylactery, though delayed booms and bangs did reach him from across the water as well. As he watched, the ship began to burn. Eventually the hellish concert faded away, but in the quiet that followed there came a growl through the line. [quote][color=red]“Whoever you are, wherever you are, you bastard, I’m coming for you. And I will not stop until one of us is dead.”[/color][/quote] In the sky, a small shape could be seen, moving with the telltale speed and whir of one of Oren's drones. [center][h3]The Blood Devil[/h3] Location: Offshore Shipwreck [@RoughDragon1][/center] Fear? Such a banality suited mundane organisms. The Writhing Worm was something beyond, but then again, so was its prey. Two singularities of hatred and hunger faced off in a gruesome melee. One moved and struck like a swarm of despicable things, moving in perfect yet loathsome harmony with its many vile parts, and the other fought back with a bloodlust even more intense. Empowered by flame and drunk with blood, the hunter carved up her assailant, reducing it to a living pulp still rasping its fury as it splattered overboard. In a rather short amount of time, Saria eviscerated her foe and left the blazing ship behind. She cast off not a moment too soon; from the bowels of the ship, there came the roar of rending metal, and two more worms burst from the boat's hull like parasites from an afflicted animal's guts. With weeping scars from the in-fight that had distracted them while the third attacked Saria, they stretched out toward the escaping huntress, only to recede as the shipwreck began to list dangerously. They slid back into the shadows of the smoldering wreck, disappearing as all abominable things should into the welcoming dark. Yet, they weren't the only monsters here. Saria, shivering in the rowboat, remained the Blood Devil still. Having stimulated her soul into a dire transformation for survival, the phylactery struggled to suppress the awakened power. Flames from her aura licked at the wooden rowboat, promising to incinerate it before long. Only a taken soul, after all, could fully quell the Frenzy. That of Saria's first opponent soothed the festering, but she wouldn't be cured unless she took her next opponent down. Furthermore, something else lurked beneath Saria's skin. A burning, a bubbling—the noisome liquor of the Writhing Worm's fangs had not been purged. It felt awful but, for now, subtle. Anger, pain, and even a sort of dark eagerness compelled her to row on, on to the next battle.