To put it bluntly, it was abject chaos. While many students made their way across the bridge, some never even achieved something so basic. Many faces in the crowd succumbed to basic pitfalls such as their own peers shoving, tripping and punching them. For every frustrated cry and scream of, "Watch it, asshole," and similar colorful language, there would be another face in the stampede causing even more mayhem. To what end depended on the person, of course - most out of desperation or panic, some for efficiency, and even further still, some that clearly enjoyed the downfall of others. Who could have possibly foreseen that cramming over three hundred of the most gifted potentials in the world in one place, under threat of expulsion, would lead to this? Surely not the faculty of Wingram, in this moment.

[hr]

[@AThousandCurses][@Sifr]

[b][h3]BRIDGE[/h3][/b]

As a gunshot rang out alongside blinding light, significant parts of the crowd early on by the start of the bridge would duck and take cover on instinct, observing the scene with caution and taking up defensive stances. One scream would ring out in that brief moment of silence delivered by that shot - a boy, screaming, "Aghhh! I think I went deaf, I can't hear, I can't hear! Can't see nothin', neither!"

For the majority who crossed the bridge, life would be hell. Halfway across, pushing and shoving, a handful of students unleashed their abilities and began a battle royale right then and there. It was only a few at first, but a chain reaction quickly spread across the panicked masses - nobody wanted to be the one caught defenseless, and so Ethos after Ethos was called forth, a lightshow on display on the surprisingly sturdy bridge. 

One individual in particular at the very front of the bridge group, a half-elven girl in frilly pink, was preventing the advance of most. Her touch seemed to age people rapidly, almost mummifying them into wheezing heaps on the ground. It was clear she took great joy in this, halting the advances of many even to her own detriment as she slowly made her way across the bridge while keeping trained on those behind. "It's a shame, really," she would spit out with a cruel sneer as yet another unfortunate soul fell feebly to the ground, his transformation from boy to wrinkly bacon-man occurring in mere seconds. "We're all special in our own ways, and yet some are simply... better suited for this."

[hr]

[@ERode][@Estylwen][@Psyker Landshark]

[b][h3]PLAZA[/h3][/b]

Avoiding the majority of the chaos through their respective means of unique travel, the Strigidae, the shadow and the knight had successfully cleared the explosive violence that erupted on the bridge. Otis and Ciara would find themselves on campus grounds, in what seemed to be a plaza complete with a fountain in the center. Directly ahead on the other end of the fountain further down was a cluster of red buildings, and to the left was a circular walkway that seemed to round onto another area of the campus. A crudely drawn cardboard cutout of a smiling stickman was leaned up against a bench by the fountain, its stick arm drawn in black marker pointing towards the walkway, and in its other hand a cardboard sign stapled on that read in red marker, "AUDITORIUM THAT WAY," with a big smiley face drawn at the end.

However, as if in response to the arrival of individuals who had crossed the first threshold, doors from the cluster of red buildings would burst open. From those doors, countless wooden mannequins would sprint out wielding various cooking tools like pots and pans, smacking them eagerly against their hand-crafted limbs like mobsters approaching their mark. All at once they would mindlessly rush at Otis and Ciara, taking swings as soon as they'd get in range - clumsily, slowly, as if toddlers taking their first steps more so than serious threats. "You can't always hire the best help," the unseen, self-assured voice of the woman who had made the earlier auditorium declaration would emanate from somewhere farther within the campus. "But I can definitely say that our Mannekin will be tailored to suit all of your 'make-you-wish-you-were-home' needs. The beatings won't be [i]too[/i] severe, for what it's worth~."

Iraleth would find herself positioned above all this at the same time, of course, witnessing the emergence of mannequin chefs swinging like drunken bums. The direction of the wind near her would feel odd, however, as she'd hear the sound of labored breaths from behind her quickly approaching. Were she to look, she would see a boy spinning around in the air at a rapid pace in her direction with winged boots, picking up speed with each rotation. His eyes seemed fit to bulge out of his head, screaming and crying as he bolted in her direction like a sentient torpedo. "Please, please, Klara a-above," he would blurt out as he closed within speaking range of Iraleth, his mouth agape and his gaze pleading. "Please stop meeeeeeee!"