[center][h3][color=138808]Knight Sylvestre[/color][/h3] Location: the Neighborhood [@GreenGoat][/center] “Better than nothing,” Cyril replied, the flatness of his tone indicating he would brook no more of Juniper's postulating after her first question. Her words could not sting him now; he didn't care what she said, how pointed her derision, or how self-righteous her manner. The fact remained that this woman was just like him, believing in something strong enough to risk her life and trample the wish of others. In another life, Cyril mused with regret, they could have been friends. Sadly, it seemed that there would be no peaceful solution to this conflict of interests. Oren sensed it too. He'd listened to one competitor challenge the other's ideals, and her opponent refuse to surrender what little he had. The imminent duel would be no base slobberknocker, with each side powered by rage or greed, no. It would be a battle of worldviews, and the best battles were -of course- personal. A grim grin spread across his features. “Then it's decided. As always, reason and persuasion can only go so far. It's up for fate to decide who's right. Or rather...who's left. Prepare yourselves, combatants.” A heavy, genuine sigh issued from Cyril's lips, and he reached up to flip down his visor. The metal mask clipped into place on his jawguard, replacing his features with stone-gray steel and a shadowy cross. When he spoke, weapons at the ready, his voice rang more hollow than ever. “You are no hero then, to try to squash even the tiniest ray of hope. I am sorry it's come to this...I will try to make it quick.” It didn't bleed into his voice, but for the first time, Cyril felt just a twinge of anticipation. This woman had demonstrated how little she thought of someone who'd risk it all for hope, stomping his resolve into the ground with accusations. It would be fitting, and maybe even fulfilling, to put her in her place instead. His heart began to beat faster, sending blood through his veins, filling him with the energy to do what he must. The pincer of the announcer's drone opened wide. “Dare to believe that you can survive! ….FIGHT!” [center][h3]The Fungal Knight and the Blood Devil[/h3] Location: the Shore [@Banana][@RoughDragon1][/center] From his comfy seat in his tall tower, Oren furrowed his brow. What did Saria just say? He could scarcely believe it. Did bloody rage incarnate just feel a twinge of sadness for the sorrowful tale of Bonesword? He wondered why the story of a skeleton's loss might affect her so. He didn't know anything about the world she hailed from, of course, but her own monstrousness told him that it was a twisted one at the very least. All the same, her words suggested that the living dead were rare indeed, if not nonexistent. Perhaps in her world death was a release from its nightmares. [i]Curious[/i], the bespectacled punmaker thought. As much as he would have wanted to question Saria about it to satiate his wonderment, he suspected she wouldn't have been much for fraternization even without a fight brewing. As it was, it fell to him to orchestrate the fisticuffs' commencement. Bonesword's efforts had transformed a stretch of the beach into a dense, dangerous jungle, and within he waited with patience and respect for his opponent's challenge. Saria stood just outside, more than likely within eyesight of her foe. For his part, Oren wondered what it felt like to come face-to-face like this for the first time, with someone who'd been nothing more than a voice moments ago and could be nothing more than a stain in the stand in a few minutes. Once he felt the pair were close enough, which still allowed a good distance between them, Oren spoke up from the drone that hovered above and between the pair. “A strange encounter...two souls in pain, neither totally averse to their own destruction. It's a bizarre thought that whoever wins, both are still satisfied. Or...maybe I just don't get it. Whatever it is, it's time to begin.” The announcer signed off and readied his drone's pincer hand. “Three...two...one...” With the press of a final confirmation key, the duel of swordsmen began. [i]CLACK[/i] [center][h3]Seraphim[/h3] Location: the Park [@DracoLunaris][/center] The silhouette of the massive, unidentified flying object did not lie. As Sophia ascended higher and higher, it became clearer and clearer than the dark shape that glided over uptown City of Echoes was indeed a bird of mammoth proportions. Still, the clouds masked its exact form. Only once she breached the cloud layer could she see it in all its glory for the first time. Floating among the clouds like a ray sliding across the seabed, the immense avian appeared to be a kind of crow. Its rich black plumage, particularly on its wings, seemed to ripple. Through her binoculars Sophia could see actual heatwaves beneath its wings and body—somehow the creature was using its body heat to help generate additional lift by warming the air. The curvature of its wings, tailfeathers, and even torso gave the impression of parachutes designed to catch air and stay aloft rather than acquire significant speed. All of this physiology, though, did not matter so much as what sat atop the colossal carrion bird. On the giant's head and back lay a sprawling citadel. It was a large fortress, not too sturdily built to avoid overtaxing its carrier, but imposing nonetheless in its intricacy. Everything was designed to be streamlined from the front, and to offer as much strength as possible without using an excessive amount of material. Dark gray and slate blue dominated its constitution, with more than a little wood. With her enhanced sight, Sophia could see a great many narrow horizontal slits in the roofs, allowing air to flow through so as to not pressure the buildings themselves. At the center of the bird's back was the largest structure, a domed atrium of sorts. The neck sported more stairs and platforms than anything, and on the head was an odd building shaped rather like a helmet, not actually inclosed but open to the air with construction to block the wind, and complete with an extension across the top of the crow's beak. It was on the head that Sophia could spy movement. The sounds of gunfire could be heard, though, faint, from where on the helm two figures whirled in the dance of battle. One, a poncho-wearing gunslinger with a wide-brimmed hat, sported bandage wrappings all across his body. White designs of flowers and bones dotted his brown and yellow clothing, as well as pieces of antiquated armor made to look like bones, spiced up his attire. All in all, he resembled a mummified cowboy. His opponent was a woman in an outfit that resembled a blend between a kunoichi's garb and a dress. Though more functional than fanciful, its pristine white theme complemented a gradient pattern on the front that went from red to purple to blue going down. It went well with her white hair, kept back in a spiky ponytail except for a leafy bang on the left side. From the intensity of their movements, they were sparring, but still going at it with tenacity. Wielding knives not unlike ink pens, the woman darted around constantly to avoid the brutally fast and accurate shots of the gunslinger. After a few moments of observation, a third figure could be made out nearby, watching. Clad in a high-collared gray coat, black sash, and a crested helmet that obscured his features, he leaned against the wall with a casual manner that contradicted his appearance completely. [url=http://orig14.deviantart.net/0dac/f/2015/195/b/b/raziel__angel_of_mysteries_by_petemohrbacher-d919sdx.jpg]This man[/url] -unarmed and without wings- watched the practice fight, interjecting on occasion to point something out or give advice, though his words were lost on the breeze. Less visible but still present were sentries, stationed all around the citadel's exterior. There were two types: winged, armored humanoids that resembled angels, and four-legged humanoid insects bearing spears and shields. The latter Sophia would surely recognize as Myrmidons, the minions of Clotho. None of them appeared to have noticed her for the time being, distant as she was and hidden by clouds herself. [center][h3]The Cereal Killer and the Book Keeper[/h3] Location: Oldtown Colosseum [@ProPro][@BCTheEntity][/center] As tense as the atmosphere was, it was wasted on the flying machine that cruised in to hover with just a touch of ominousness above and behind Motley Crue. “Looks like the gang's all here,” Oren's voice resounded through the drone, its volume increased only a little to echo across the ancient arena. “And I do mean 'gang.' Good on the both of you for buddying up with your first-round opponents, eh? The phylacteries' D.A.S. must be workin' like a treat. For those keeping notes at home, that's Directed Aggression Suppression, an effect exercised on the holder of a defeated phylactery that dampens negative intent against the holder of the one that beat it...now that's a miracle of technology! If the College can reverse-engineer that, man...I sure hope they don't! And taking advantage of D.A.S. To convince Erina that she's under your control, Crue...you sure you aren't a mad genius? Laughter resounded from the contraption, and its projected image of Oren's face could barely contain his smile. “Oh, but listen to me prattle on,” he reprimanded himself, faking sorriness. “We're not here to listen to me spill the beans on College discoveries. We're here to prove who has what it takes to win his one wish. I hope you're ready, gentlemen; you're live in three, two, one!” The drone's pincer snapped together with brutal force, nearly as loud as a starting pistol. “GO!”