Amidst the shallow howl of an ice biting gale passing over the dunes and littered remains of a time now forgotten, the roar of an engine could be heard in the backdrop of this desolate place, beckoning to the harsh clouds high above. Standing out from the snowy terrain rode a raven painted motorcycle traversing what used to be a road now tattered and partially covered in freezing ash. The rider was bundled up in multiple layers, dressed in black attire fitting for such a deathly dystopia. 

Then again, the color was also traditional wear for attending a funeral... But we're getting ahead of ourselves.

This tournament had proven to be one hell of a ride. From wheat fields to an old pyramid and a literal ride to hell on Mars. And now it all culminates in this final chapter. The last challenge. Mitsu Mazono was a name he knew well enough, recalling vague moments together during their time aboard the Aethera State ship. He had briefly encountered the man in passing prior to all this. The reason for joining the infamous TZDL. Truthfully, though, most of his memories of that time were still fragmented, a result of him being trapped for so long in Daemonium. Aside from his name and general appearance, Dias couldn't really remember much of what happened before the battle at Del Ciello.

Mitsu was not a man to be taken lightly. His reputation as some sort of Grim Reaper was known to many in the underworld of society. An assassin who left his targets dead without any open wounds, like a ghost, there one moment then gone the next. Even a number of notable fighters who had crossed blades with the Narrian in the past were said to have been killed off by "Serpent Eye Mazono."

Despite this, such thoughts gradually faded to white just as the snow bounding in every direction as far as the eye could see. None of that seemed to matter now. Gloved hands gripped tighter at the prospect of their upcoming duel. Two enter. One leaves.

Upon reaching the outer perimeter of the target area, the bike pulled up to one of the hollowed out ruins in the urban graveyard and parked underneath a crude overhang. He would need to continue on foot from here. Leaving the motorcycle behind, the man passed through the structure's interior, figuring it best to stay hidden under cover. There was no telling if his opponent had already arrived. He had seen the massive landmark standing at the center of what used to be Vorka City. Apparently the once sprawling metropolis had been the scene of a terrible disaster which devastated the surroundings. It would explain all the restless spirits roaming about.

Peering through the shadows of his jacket's hood, the pair of vibrant red eyes watched the phantasmal silhouettes of those lost during the incident as they played out their daily routines. This must have been a shopping mall back then. He gave pause and took notice of the child nearby begging their parent to go into a toy store with them. Moments later, the two apparitions faded away and showed up further back the way he had just come from, as if having been reset as they proceeded to act out the display once again. Forever trapped in a memory with no end...

A trail of foot prints left behind as he carried onward, he couldn't afford to be caught up by these distractions. Heavy footfalls were the only solace offered to this heartfelt sadness.

Finding a hole in the wall lead him out to a small alleyway, encountering more of the same. Focusing his crimson stare like adjusting a lens, his sight pierced the obstacles standing in his way, the ether present in the surroundings providing an outline of solid objects he could discern. Finding a way forward, he began the long hike through the maze of steel and concrete, making for the looming colossus of a tower at the center square.

[b][u]THEME[/u]:[/b]
[youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hWn2z4OjOaA[/youtube]

As he grew closer, he could feel the sensation washing over him. The calm before the storm. Having just entered a large warehouse which sat at the left hand corner of the southern road feeding into the center square, Dias came to an abrupt halt with sword in hand. The metal sheath was allowed to freely slip off of the glistening blade held out to his side, sparking along the razor sharp edge as the symbology depicted in his iris locked into their completed sequence. The Nihilus Paradox gave him such a demonic portrayal brimming brightly in that ruby gaze like a knife cutting through the darkness.

Manipulating the latent energy within his own body, muscle fibers were woven tighter and given added support to enhance strength, bones reinforced to withstand the intense physical strain for such levels of combat he had come to expect. Taking a deep breath, he could see the warm air exhaled through his nose, calming the mind. The world around him began to slow down to a crawl, frame by frame, becoming detached as his thoughts accelerated and awareness expanded to encompass the immediate area beyond the confines of this building serving as cover. Blocking out the emotional feedback from the wandering shades, it didn't take long to register the murderous presence of another coming from the tower. 

That must be him...

In that instant, the space surrounding the Narrian gradually became distorted, saturated by raw ether from the Krydesa to manifest a ninety foot radius field. Azure flames abruptly wreathed his figure in a burst from the weapon, the outer layers being burned off as his hood was seared to reveal long flowing locks of radiant blue hair, the bulky clothing torn away and converted into the metaphysical energy now surging about the warrior.

Clenching onto the hilt of the legendary SoulLink with his mouth, Dias brought both hands out to either side, a sphere of light conjuring in the open palms. Taking hold, the radiance spread out from between his fingers, giving shape to several katana in each hand. Meanwhile, the ether reacted to his imaginative artistry, twenty longswords appearing behind him with the blades pointed down and staying in a uniform line up as they floated in the air; a cape made of pristine steel.

At the same moment, his arsenal of eight, seven foot long zweihanders were drawn forth, the ether around him forged together to craft the imposing adamantite weapons with their fourteen inch broadsides doubling as both sword and shield. They remained hovering just above the cold, dusty surface of the floor beneath them ten feet out from where Dias stood to form a protective ring around their master.

With a killer mentality, the old war veteran fell silent, having kept from telegraphing his position to the enemy. The boarded up windows would serve well to hide the visual cues caused by his various weapons manifesting. It was anyone's guess how things were going to go down here.

[i]Game time...[/i]

[b](OOC: P2.B)[/b]