This is an archive of Edris Alder Horatio's actions during The Tournament of The Ages.

Also known as the 'Tower of Silence' in Persian, it is a graveyard-cum-feeding ground of cursed earth. Magis believed corpses to be a potent source of pollutant for the wicked force of Druj, and so isolated them to great towers far from all life. Here be only the dead, and the soon to be.

Terrain

General: Raised, circular walls of stone encircle a 50-yard arena in the Yazd mountainside. Six stories high and thick enough to remain upright after having a hole blasted into it, the walls hide within them plain, parched rocky earth. 13 corpses litter the very center, sun and sundry having eroded away everything but the bones. Beyond its walls slopes its middling mountain, cut through with a flight of steps circling towards the base.

What can you find in the stage? 2,678 pieces of human bone. Various pebbles.

Bonus Effects: Three blind, deaf vultures circle high overhead and generally don't care what happens below.

by Jadugar



T: Dragging his feet, he soon made it to the top of the spiral staircase. The man had left his horse at the mountain base. He held a cloth over his nose and mouth, seemingly avoiding the smell of death that reeked from the mountain.

“Of all the places for someone as clean as me…”

The man pulled off his outer garment, tossing his kimono along with his wooden armored pads to the side. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he began to emit golden steam that seemed to cool him off, like an advanced form of sweating.

“Nyo ho~ I should have thought of that earlier.”

He said with a golden-toothed grin, making his way to the center of the battlefield, now only wearing a pair of shorts. At his waist, a handle lay attached at either side, seemingly attaching to a metallic belt-like wrap around his waist.

“Sooooo. Who’s my opponent?”



Hammock-bound at the center of the arena’s long axis, a deep olive-skinned figure rested with his arms folded behind his head, eyes closed. A cluster of black-dark purple Brachetto grapes dangled over his chiseled, clean-shaven jaw from the miniature oasis he had cultivated within the Pulvinar. The eccentric, slicked-back lavender-haired man made himself brazenly comfortable, sticking out like a sore thumb against the desolate charnel grounds surrounding him.

He truly operated as if he had not a care in the world, but a bougie man like Edris Alder Horatio loiters not in such fetid environments without purpose. He was a hitman, after all, though his current mission was far more complex than he would ever disclose

Enormous Blue Puyas with their strong, unique, distinguishable scent, strategically decorated the hood of his cozy emperor’s box in an attempt to lure a beautiful woman in the meantime. It wasn’t until hearing an approaching man’s voice that the eccentric hitman’s dark-brown eyes gently parted. The first thing Edris eyed was the wake of disabled vultures with their distant wet hisses, circling the sky on repeat like an old rickety ceiling fan.

Turning his attention from one unpleasant image to another, he examined a man exuding some weird golden, probably foul-smelling cloud at the center of the arena. It was a match for the description of his intelligence brief. “This is the guy.”

Without haste, Edris’ pearly whites sparkled as he chowed on several grapes falling into his mouth. He swung his legs off the botanical hammock, planting his heeled, cream-leathered wingtip boots firmly on the ground. Uncharacteristic of a man so debonair, he spat, planting several seeds into the cracked, rain-starved soil. Waiting patiently, the seeds’ radicles exploded into a hyper-accelerated network of underground roots, drilling straight toward the man searching for an opponent.

By the time the Nepali man laid eyes on Edris walking towards him in his impeccably tailored off-white tweed suit, it was far too late. A snarl of enormous roots erupted from the ground, launching skeletons aside as they ensnared him. It happened so abruptly that his knees buckled, dislocating with one powerful yank, pulling him below the surface.

Only his head remained exposed. Above him, Edris adjusted the silver Cuban link choker at the collar of his soft, white cashmere turtleneck, watching with a cold, merciless gaze.

“This isn’t personal. I have instructions to join this tournament. Missed the signups, so I’ll be taking your place. I’m sure you understand.”



Every good story began with the unexpected. Nescha woke up, stretching out battle hardened limbs like a starfish. She checked the clock, shocked that she hadn’t slept past the entry deadline. She was also shocked to be given a bed to sleep in in the first place, having grown so used to sleeping on the bank of an abyssal hellscape. Even the cabin where she lived with her wife Madelyn wasn’t enough to jolt her back to the reality of the adjacent world. She was always stunned whenever she pulled herself out of that hell. So many details of the world, warm coffee, soft beds with covers, windows and dry wooden floors, the fireplace chewing on split maple and spitting out orange flecks. Most of all life, the human body is at rested beside her, breathing, present.

That same woman told her about the tournament, a return to the old days. Nescha had to remember first how much of a fiend she was for combat, partaking in tournaments behind her friend’s backs. Interesting conversations followed this passive recall of memory, at which point she eventually realized there probably wasn’t a single secret she could have kept from Madelyn.

She peeled open her suitcase and pulled out her old tournament outfit, once a disguise to help conceal her identity from the public, and therefore her friends. Now it was yet another piece of her, another parcel recalled from oblivion. She slipped into the light brown sweater and linen shorts, pulling the old white baseball cap over her head as she looked in the mirror. “Alright Akari,” she said, an old pseudonym. The same one she used to disguise herself, obsolete, but the memory remained intact. She slipped on the pair of sneakers and made her way over to the closet. Where her Estoc and codex rested. She spoke the incantation, and threads began to form, sewing both scabbard and outer case to her shorts on either side. Of the two, the codex was far more important, allowing her to quick-summon any weapon within her private armory as needed, and because it sourced directly from leylines, the number of summons available might as well have been infinite, limited only by the speed of materialization.

She made her way through to the colosseum as the crowd erupted with jeers. It took her a moment to realize they were spectating some of the other ongoing fights and not hurling insults at her. Still, a tough crowd, she was glad she wouldn’t have to hear them during her fights. She decided then was as good a time as any to summon the castle breaker, a massive greatsword that would make anyone question how someone as small as her managed to wield it. The truth of it was simple, strength and technique. The mana skeleton would find more use as well. If anyone was paying attention they would notice several cracks in the ground forming as if a sudden weight had just been transferred there, beyond what came with the weapon summoned. The more mundane detail was the burst of mana around the two meters of a wide double edged blade, which vanished after the materialization, as was typical for permanent constructs. It was likely not the heaviest greatsword imaginable, but what it did possess was its immense antistructural power, hence its name.

She arrived at the platform, thankful for its sturdiness. The coliseum blended together with her destination, an expected result of connecting to disparate elements together. It was odd, she couldn’t sense the presence of Nimae, the material normally responsible for connecting worlds. Perhaps it was a third element. It certainly didn’t feel like Aumury, though she was open to surprises at that point. She came to the arena grounded. After all, she hadn’t left the ground when she stood on the platform, a sprawl of bones lay before her, at its center was a man in a white suit about twenty paces away. Already the details of the area piqued her interest, bones of this quantity, as randomized as they were, suggested a mass burial and possible multiple instances of resurfacing. Still, whoever constructed such a sight certainly didn’t have a conventional way of showing respect for the dead. Open air for a grave was present in some cultures, not many. Peering closer she noticed a head popping up from the ground, far too fleshy to fit in with the other skulls. No, this one appeared to be alive, and the absence of blood staining the soil below indicated that more than likely he had been submerged.

But in a place where only two people were supposed to fight, three showed up instead, and the man in the fancy suit was likely responsible. Every good story, they say. She forgot who it was that said that.



A woman entered, and her previously slated opponent, mouth constricted by vines, flailed muffled pleas toward her. The hitman turned, boots knocking up a cloud of dust, utterly ignoring him. Did Edris’ eyes deceive him? It wasn’t quite the schmancy woman he’d hoped to attract, but at second glance, her niche beauty fancied his regard.

It didn’t take much.

Desires in full bloom, Edris straightened his cuffs, brandishing his canary diamond-embedded rose gold cufflinks as he prepared to pronounce his love. Graceful sleight of hand presented a rose. Not just any rose, but a Black Baccara for the new flower of his heart before him. Its oxblood and velvety petals resembled the beating flows within his veins, powered by his vigorous spirit overflowing with radiant chlorophyll. The dandy hitman’s one-of-one gold timepiece jangled as he raised his palm, guiding the dark, razor-thorned stem as it slid between his parting fingers. The rare flower, imbued with his spirit, elegantly s-curved towards the woman like a charmed snake, body like a flexible steel rope, head double the size of probably the largest rose she had ever laid eyes on.

“Your name, beloved?”

His deep voice spoke with the utmost sincerity rooted in his heart.

“I’d rather make love, not war, but like lovers of rival kingdoms, we are fated to duel. God is cruel, but I am no lady killer by choice. Only figuratively.”

Whether his words of white-hot passion ensnared her heart or not, Edris was sure her winsome gaze would fan his. Hopefully, she was deeply smitten, peony pink as she blushed. He envisioned her dropping her greatsword, petite figure running into his open arms with tears of joy as her visage finally bloomed into a smile.

Sakura petals already spontaneously spawned, raining from above in reflection of his emotions and his connection to The Root, the primordial network of all botanical life and energy, from which his prowess hailed. The petals spun in a mesmerizing vortex close to his absurdly proper-postured figure, each oversaturated with the energy of nature that the woman could certainly feel.

It was clear. Without question, his love was bona fide, genuine with every breath taken, but a tinge of darkness tainted his hopeless romantic spirit. It was no facade, but beneath his flamboyant gestures of devotion lay undoubtedly the heart of a stone-cold killer. He still had a mission to complete after all…



She stared as her new foe extended a flower towards her and began to ramble. It was impressive in its size but the man was too far away for Nescha to be able to appreciate it, given the visual reference. Even a metropolis could fit into the palm of a hand at a high enough altitude.

She also couldn’t figure out why he was talking instead of fighting, and thus grew confused. His attempt at romance was lost on the married lesbian, though not for the obvious reasons. She had simply forgotten how to socialize beyond carrying out crucial conversations, and small talk was never her forte. If she could guess, she was also many years his senior, though how many she couldn’t name. She stopped counting her own years in age once she made it past two hundred and thirty four.

Still, she hadn’t forgotten the manners to wait for him to finish, awkward as her silence must have been. She tilted her head and tapped her foot, already itching for the battle. Maybe he just needed a little jolt, a proper attempt at his life to get him into the action. She knew just the thing.

Two runes projected on the ground at her feet, interposed over one another and enclosed by a circle. A subtle pulse of mana was the only indication of their activating, beyond the result that followed. The circle completed the rune, and because it was projected along with the interposition, activation occurred simultaneously.

Within the circle, the persuasion took on an archaic form of Chavla, her native tongue, which also made it difficult to conventionally read for most, but its effect was made clear soon enough.

Hardened rock burst forth from the earth and narrowed into a spire, aimed squarely at the nicely dressed man’s lower torso at high velocity. With no regard to how he reacted, it would push through his position and rotate upward, then veering to his left. This would occur unless he had some means of stopping the tremendous mass that ultimately proved more a bludgeon than a skewer. He’d probably need more than roses.

Still, the question of the second rune remained unanswered, for a brief window of time. From that same projection of rock at its base, a second would form, aimed at the man’s head (presuming he remained still). It came at a delay and followed a similar pattern to the first, but mirrored, rotating downward, to his right. The two formations were both connected and rotationally symmetrical, covering an area with a spherical radius of five meters. Both ends had a sizable amount of force behind them, amplified in part by their combinative effect. Any mage would have identified two runes and hence interpreted two quick spells, but in fact these were two runes that combined to produce a singular complex spell.

Nescha launched herself forward at the same time, as though she was immediately going in for a follow-up attack, now with two hands on the handle of the castle breaker. In a flurry of speed she had cut the distance between them in half. She didn’t move so fast as to be impossible for the man to see coming, but he had two angry looking rock formations to worry about instead.

She noted the petals sent up into the air, but wasn’t worried about them. The darkness hidden behind his tone was also lost on her, though in the matter-of-fact sense, he was here in the place where she was supposed to be fighting, and hadn’t indicated in any way that he had mistaken where he was and would promptly be on his way. He was not here by fate, but by his own choice. Still, the attack wasn’t intended to be lethal— to the man in the ground anyway. It launched out at an angle such that its lower part went over his head, instead of decapitating him on the spot.

As for Edris, this was Nescha’s way of introducing herself. Wait, introductions? She just remembered. He did ask for a name. Oh well. If he survived the next few seconds he’d learn it eventually. If not, presuming the rose survived, she might have something pretty to give to her wife.



There was a saying. He who dares not grasp the thorn should never crave the rose. The seasoned hitman bachelor understood this very well. Still, her rejection pained him, even if he saw it only as a test. For his potential paramour to accept his rose, she first had to grasp his thorns, now fully bared. She reached for them without hesitation with her assault.

Motivated, Edris could not bear to look away from his love, and he needed not, for the extension of his senses, the Black Baccara infused with his spirit surveyed. Sentient, acting on his behalf, the rose deeply attuned to Edris’ yearning heart, readied for this bout for love.

The spring buds accompanying the erect thorns along the shaft of the stem, hard as a steel rope, twitched, rattling at the formation of magical runes upon the ground. Alarmed, the once docile oversized rose-head jolted into aggression at the incoming pointed rock construct. It struck like a venomous snake, landing with a heavy, knocking thump as it intercepted the advancing pike of hardened soil early in its pursuit of Edris, sprawling to its base in little time.

Its many thorns dug in like iron fangs. Inconceivably fast overgrowth crawled like ivy, interweaving into a dense lattice swollen with power drawn from The Root. The growing network of branches hardened as it spread, fibers multiplying up the Janka scale as ends shanked the earth for leverage.

Because of this, the now-faltering earth spire fell short of its intended journey, superwood arresting it, forcing it well off to the left of its initial target in Edris. The beautiful woman’s impressive opening attack appeared thwarted, but that was by her design. However, the aware overgrowth sniffed out the rock formation’s second act. Branches quickly subdued the secondary earth construct mirroring the first’s movement, pile-driving it into a crumble, locking it in place with overlaps of growing roots.

The commotion gave the man trapped in the soil a headache. Nervously, he watched petals ripe with energy swirl near the off-white-suited hitman. Nausea settling in, he was certain he swallowed a seed or two, having no idea what that meant in the near future. Helplessly watching the woman close half the distance between them, it appeared this plant freak was more than ready.

In his impeccably tailored attire, it was hard to tell how ripped Edris’ physique was. Massaging his shins felt like chiseled wood. Pushing him felt like trying to uproot a tall Oak. Flexed, his whole body felt like feeling up an Australian Buloke. It was no surprise that his reflexes matched his sensory skills, and given that he never took his eyes off his fated lover, her speed did not take him aback. In fact, he readied his guard for their thunderous clash, broken stem in his hand, blossoming into his Un-prettier Lance. A manifestation of nature's power, it took the form of a blade with an immeasurable Janka rating, but that was the least of Nescha’s problems.

She advanced maybe too quickly. The vortex of petals likely dismissed as flower-petal bullshit had a purpose beyond romantic theatrics. Feeding off of Edris' spirit tethering The Root,the amount of peculiar, blue-chromed Jewelweed pods manifesting in place of the Sakura petals rang alarms.

These were certainly not the typical touch-me-nots of perhaps Nescha’s springtime childhood memories, however long ago that may have apparently been. The only resembling fact would be that you should not touch them, but for an entirely different reason. Unfortunately for her, she did not need to. Merely her intent to step into Edris’ proximity, wielding a sword, especially at that speed, was enough to set them off.

In response to hostile intent, the pods in front of Edris detonated outward, not with flame, but in scattering seed bursts streaking through the air at varying angles like razor-thin beams of white light. To even get within striking range, Nescha had to contend with the dozens of pods, each firing several seeds more akin to bullets with their armor-penetrating force. Any failure threatened to render her a bloody, not-for-long walking, trypophobia‑inducing nightmare.

Despite all this, he still awaited her name…



The events that followed did not stray far from Nescha’s expectations, with some exceptions. The rose by itself could not have hoped to stand in the way of her attack, but the thorns that dug into it were a different story. It seemed to possess a great degree of autonomy as well, intercepting the second prong of her opening, slowed and deflected to his right side. However, while it could deflect the hard rock formation, it could not stop it, not truly. The thorns dug into the rock for leverage enough to shift both ends off course, such that they instead crossed his position on either side before further curving outward, forming two coil shapes.

It was a defensive resource that proved effective, with a small caveat. Autonomous systems trained over reliance, which could be exploited. Moreover, the man’s approach to thwarting the two spires revealed perhaps more than he should have. Still, it was far too early for her to attempt to read habits. She expected this information to be useful in the long term, but at the moment, she had one problem to deal with.

The pods manifested near him released their seeds at high velocities. This was expected, within reason. Nescha had spent enough time in different worlds to understand that flowers could carry all sorts of nasty poisonous, flammable corrosive materials. Shooting out seeds at high velocities was actually closer to the convention than any of the numerous effects she had seen before. Furthermore, the seeds scattered out from his position. Surely some of them would have inadvertently struck him at such a range, especially given all the other material in place to deflect those that came out at too sharp an angle. Still this was no concern to Nescha, as even a self destruct spell still posed danger. It was why she hadn’t positioned herself closer.

What seemed like an aggressive swordsman closing the distance was actually an experienced battlemage practicing caution and applying pressure. Her approach was aggressive, but flexible. Every action taken served multiple purposes, as he would soon find out. The earth spire spell didn’t need to contact the man to serve its purpose. It needed only to get reasonably close, and the hardened wood that ensnared it wouldn’t fare any better with what followed.

The main problem was him assuming Nescha wasn’t already in striking range. Her left foot landed against the ground with enough force and intensity to bind her in place for an incredibly brief moment. Esse Tenaci was the name of the technique, and it could be used to accomplish a great deal more than footwork. Here it served the purpose of leverage, as the Castlebreaker lifted from her right shoulder, and across her body. It did not stop her momentum outright, but allowed for much greater friction than would be considered normal. Her mana skeleton was in full effect through the motion, as she took her massive greatsword and flung it straight towards the well dressed man. It flew out at a low angle, and curved upwards horizontal with his torso, crashing through rock and thorns alike with no resistance. A magic shield came into effect during this motion, covering her front side as she then darted backwards and to her left.

Here, the sword’s design was revealed. Its potent antristructural properties didn’t merely allow it to carve a clean path to her opponent’s midsection. No, rock and wood alike would evaporate upon contact, shattering outwards with nothing but high speed shards and shrapnel across the entire distance before the sword even made it to him. The technique behind this mechanism ultimately came down to amplified kinetic energy. The force of the weapon resonated with hard material structures in a way that reduced them to their simplest immediate constituents upon impact while ejecting all those constituents outwards at high speeds. Naturally the pace of destruction far outscaled the velocity of the sword, which was why it arrived first. However, the Castlebreaker was still a significant threat on its own. One hit from that thing would shatter every bone in the man’s body, something which was now self evident.

Her shield didn’t stay up for long, occupying only a brief window of time, covering her attack and subsequent retreat. The purpose was to conserve mana. It was still sufficient to block any seeds that happened to cross the distance in such a short amount of time. Anything that took longer would be caught in the debris and blown off course.

In leaping back, Nescha took full advantage of the removal of the sword’s carry load to reposition herself, kicking off with greater speed than her initial approach, to her left side, giving her foe an additional five meters of distance. It was also a precaution against her own follow up. The process by which hardened crystallized rock turned into pebbles and coarse sand was not peaceful. Shards of rock and wood alike intercepted each other at speeds to produce ignition through friction alone, producing a series of sparks that lit up the entire area covered, the man who had not moved was now in a precarious position, the thorns meant to protect him would only now hinder his escape, and the radius of the area of the blast was between ten and fifteen meters. The sword that immediately followed would also be difficult to see coming, as he had zero visual reference with the cloud of dust that immediately formed in its wake.

If time allowed, Nescha drew her Estoc into her right hand, while frost began to accumulate around her left hand. While she did so, she figured then was the time to get the introductions out of the way.

“Right then, the name’s Nescha” she spoke, her voice light but clear. Her breath remained steady, owed to her conditioning over the years. She was now only curious what he would do next. As for the poor fellow in the ground, well, he had a lot of nasty things to contend with. Hopefully that thick skull of his would be enough to save him.



The vicious tug of war of flora against terra ended, but the sprawling lattice of roots claiming the surface of Nescha’s rock constructs proved unfinished, blooming further until they completely covered her once raging spires. Its lush greenery started to emanate a vigorous neon glow, signaling a rise in strength, fortifying it.

Her spell was powerful, more stubborn than Edris had anticipated, but no boulders were immovable to Mother Nature. His connection to the shrubbery tracked just how far the rocks inched forward to cut off his lateral escape routes. It was quite blatant. As a trained killer, he deduced she was probably launching a widespread attack that simply backing up would prove a tactical error on his part.

Nescha’s refusal to submit echoed his own fiery passion. She fought with conviction born of a heart that he could tell yearned deeply for companionship, but not just anyone’s, his. Edris would not disappoint her.

Answering the call, the hitman’s power surged, concentrated further by his lance acting as an antenna, directly concentrating The Root’s presence. At this point, the underlying hardened network of woody stems were so overabundant with natural energy it was a small feat for the overlapping limbs to rip open the right wall. It was like two massive Jolly Green Giant hands with a magically enhanced woody endoskeleton parting garden hedges. They waited for the perfect moment, as timing was integral.

The woman stamped her foot into the ground, ceasing her rush for just a moment. She couldn’t possibly hit him from that distance with her melee weapon. It supported his earlier thoughts. In response, the imprints of Edris’s boots already left a trail away from the Nepalese man’s exposed head in his rightward escape toward the prepared exit.

Earth, dried corpses, wood, everything in her path was caught in the widespread ruin, igniting off each other, surely making it difficult to see directly through, but Edris did not need to, regardless. His mind already locked onto the opening in the right walland the Blue Puyas atop the pulvinar he had initially staked out under kept elevated eyes on the scene.

Nescha's arms swung the lumbersome sword she wielded quite gracefully upwards. In that split frame of her entering the zone, Edris’ pin-needle storm erupted, light-speed seeds firing from the Jewelweed pods spiraling away from him at jagged, sometimes intersecting angles. Each bullet-like projectile followed an un-uniform trajectory, some just glancing off the hitman’s suit, others snapping toward Nescha’s head, shoulders, abdomen, and legs. Luckily for her, a byproduct of her attack and spell was temporary coverage via a magical shield.

It was an effective defense, even if done without much focus, stopping a significant portion of the lethal seeds in their tracks. Many, even with their armor-penetrating coatings, failed, while others hissed wide of her shoulders, at the feet of her shield, even far right and left.

It appeared as if she was in the clear, watching her flung sword and the destruction that came with its very appropriate name, but one seed, lodged just far enough into her magical shield, began germinating on its inner surface. It introduced her to a terrifying revelation.

The seeds were not destroyed...

Had they been bullets, blocking them would be the end of it, hot rounds ringing off the ground to eventually cool off, but these were seeds. Seeds want to meet soil. Seeds are meant to grow, and grow these did. Witnessing the hitman’s rapid Phytokinesis in action should have terrified Nescha of the idea of him launching seeds her way, yet she prioritized her assault.

Small brocade explosions of wild gardens came from each projectile, beautiful like the rich fabric pattern. At her feet, to her right and left, along her path as she repositioned and even from the seed lodged inside her shield, clingy vines, all intent to ensnare and wrap, latched onto her from the seeds. Many broke as they were too early in their development, as she maneuvered laterally leftward, but their fragility was short-lived.

They didn’t stop, continuing their pursuit, thorny tendrils enlarging, growing more powerful with each passing second.

The seed previously lodged inside her shield was the exception to their initial ineffectiveness. It was the most needy in terms of her attention, wrapping around her right wrist with a narrowing vine no thicker than a garden hose. It did more than inch, hardening to the point where it felt like a looped steel shaft attempting to yank her shoulder downwards, out the socket and into the emaciated soil. This was so the trailing limbs not far behind in pursuit could catch up.

Around this time, there was a chance Nescha’s layred attack, like a large portion of the arena’s stage, had blown Edris away into mulch or shattered his mighty woody membrane into splinters. The only thing her Castlebreaker connected with, however, was her originally slated opponent, who looked much different this time around.

He was green, not just out of nausea, or his envy of Edris' blur of an escape out of harm's way, but as a result of the seeds accidentally swallowed earlier. Now chlorophyll-filled, his skin was visibly green, incapable of handling the influence of The Root radiating from the Un-prettier Lance. Propped up by burning branches in the place Edris had previously stood, his body maintained sturdiness despite every bone within it being shattered. Seeds hijacking his nervous system forced out his remaining life energy, creating a faux skeleton of empowered wood. It clenched tightly onto the sword with whatever remained of his body.

Originally, Edris had planned to use Tokugawa’s body to analyze his opponent’s attack, but the opportunity to disarm her of her greatsword reared its ass. It would serve her well to adopt a similar strat and disarm Edris given how much the lance amplified the plants’ prowess on top of his. Holding the handle tight, fingers covering the tiny rosettes and knots worked into gold lace, the hitman held it as the jousting weapon it surely was. However, during the engagement so far, the handsome hitman utilized it like a wand. All because of her reluctance to give in and embrace him.

At this point, it was probably clear to her that the debonair assassin managed to escape several meters outside the destruction she had attempted to funnel the hitman into. If it were still in question, voila, his off-white suit remained pure enough on display on the far right of the arena. He was fast, but astute situational analysis allowed him to begin his route much earlier than his opponent probably assumed he would.

He somewhat mirrored Nescha’s path but with a ton of extra steps, bringing them once again face-to-face at a distance as he finally heard her beautiful name. It was only her first name, but her surname would be irrelevant soon enough.

It was time to strike and take her heart. He longed for her touch, and she could not play hard to get forever. His relentless vines, currently harassing her like rabid, metal-tendriled tumbleweeds, aimed to funnel her straight into his clutches. If nothing changed, Nescha would soon succumb to their momentum-gaining tangles, constricting their thorny embrace.

If she didn’t have enough to deal with, Edris’ sword tip began to radiate warmth, shimmering along its glossy point like a rising morning sun.

“No need to lower the temperature. My passion is red hot.”



It seemed her foe was far more of a schemer than he put on. Seed projectiles converted to vines and spread out, threatening to ensnare her, or at least surround her, all the while he seemed to grow only stronger after taking the Castlebreaker to the body. One seed planted into the shield now spread towards her wrist, an attempt that would have proven troublesome if it functioned like a normal shield that needed to be held onto in the first place. Nescha had never grabbed it. Moreover, she was at a distance from it enough to react, especially given that the shield was made with her own mana.

There was no other maneuver that would have been simpler to respond to for someone like herself. She distanced herself from it the moment it acted, darting back another several motions as she continued to duck and weave through the vines that popped up from the ground. The first order of business was to determine what remained of her opponent. For Nescha the best means of articulation came through changes in humidity, namely the water in the vines, as they led back to him. However their continued assault determined that they either extended beyond him independently, or that he was still alive. Barring that, the presence of essence in such high concentrations around him was the main dead giveaway, and only the seventh sense was needed to distinguish it.

A burst of mana from her left side changed her angle as she cut past the vines and circled around, now moving counterclockwise around the array of destruction. Her weight dramatically lessened, as she activated spiralis, the movement technique allowing her to change her directionality mid air. The approach shifted as she wrapped around with incredible speed, accelerating through the air with very little frictional resistance, again owed to her small size.

There were a few simple facts of note here, the dull thud of a crude blade against a body came with a sound different than when it cleaved rock, telling her right away that her strike landed true, which also meant that for the time being, the main mode of attack would have to be through the vines and any seeds remaining, as the Castlebreaker ensured his mechanical disability on contact. One could not just move a limb without a skeleton for the muscles to anchor onto.

It was true that she wasn’t aware of the development of a faux skeleton, but it also did not matter as it still ensured she had a window of time to work with. Regeneration took time. Replacing a skeleton took time. If growth could override standard physical conventions she need only turn to the elements. Through the cloud of dust erupted in her previous attack, her Estoc thrusted, five meters from its mark, her foe, its essence projecting from its length twenty meters more, well past his position. But the effect he would find landing against his body would not be the cold around her hand he was expecting, but its cause. A searing hot blast of fire shot across the distance and fragmented, charring the ground below at several points, only to shift, as it painted its surroundings through vicious heat.

Her main weapon was her Estoc, trusted across numerous battles. The loss of her mass allowed her to follow up with such astonishing speed it would seem more to her foe like she just appeared in place. She continued to move beyond the initial thrust, continuing her way right, as a trail of vena latched onto the ground from her feet. It was transparent lettering without an effect, dormant wiring, trailing right back to the mana that burst out from her shape and propelled her in that direction in the first place. Yes, that mana remained in the air too, and the area around its vicinity began to chill to its extremes. All the while her Estoc glowed bright orange, bristling with violent intent like the quills of a porcupine.

All that heat needed to go somewhere after all.

If it was any evidence of how she managed to move right instead of left, or continue her otherwise unimpeded path, her Estoc proved to be the main factor, that and her size. He now had to deal with the main thrust of an immediate follow up attack which pierced just as well as it burned, aimed at his heart, the center of his chest, or whatever remained of it. Then there were its fragments, three split into nine which covered a fifteen meter radius of weakened but accumulating destruction. Vines caught in its path charred to a crisp nearly instantly, as it charred odd shapes into the ground. She continued her movement around the distance between them, as if circling her prey. Her feet never touched the ground, as she appeared to float midair, chilling the air around her, all but her Estoc.

At some point Edris became a target for elimination, she couldn’t tell at what point that happened. She was deep within a trance now, possessed not by love but by an unrelenting urge to eradicate power.



Engarde!

Edris, in his readied stance, left arm behind his back, posture as straight as an arrow, pointed his lance, gleaming like the morning sun towards…nothing. His beautiful Nescha failed to meet him at the rendezvous point he etched out in his mind. And here he planned so far ahead. This was the time he imagined she wanted to make peace, not war, and finally cast off her battle-seeking façade.

Instead, she was locked in a trance, wailing away at his body double, force-fed with the power of The Root. There was only one reason for this, possibly.

The epitome of extravagance that was his natural cologne began to affect Nescha’s mind in ways she might not have been aware of. Subconsciously, her senses were tickled with nature’s invitation—jasmine, cardamom, ylang-ylang, practically every natural aroma she had ever found pleasing, all in one. Even in the heat of battle, it caressed each cheek with its invisible, wispy finger. It was well beyond enough to distract her, perhaps unveiling suppressed feelings she was too ashamed to admit. Nescha was drawn to the solar cadence of his presence, the warmth his heart radiated, the scent of a king whelming her nostrils. She had to be utterly infatuated with him now.

It explained why, for a moment, when Tokugawa’s body exceeded its threshold of The Root’s presence, she mistook him for the suave hitman. After connecting with the Castlebreaker, it set off a reaction, unleashing some of the mystical nature energy force-fed to him. It was like a bomb, tipping the scales. Nescha had to have not believed what her eyes were telling her, only her heart, which can be easily swayed with emotion.

To Edris, it was clear. She was actively trying to fight it, wailing away with violent elemental spells where his seductive force felt the most intense and present. Estoc blazing, she stabbed the remaining body and its now-bioluminescent skeleton, the heat contained within a bubble surrounded by a dangerous frost. Edris made sure to stay clear of that zone, watching away from the safety of the pulvinar he had made his way back to. This time, however, he laid atop with the enormous Blue Puyas, left knuckles snug into his left cheek, right hand pointing his lance directly at his hovering bae in the arena. One eye closed, he lined up a shot.

“What are you doing? Don’t forget your assignment.”

The RealMark, the signature badge all BUREAU ZERØ operatives carried in his inner breast pocket, streamed the message of an agent into Edris' thoughts. The unfairness of Agent Nygaard’s beauty shot into his mind. Her malt shop bob, with its elusive cabernet sheen, so deep it looked black until she moved. He imagined her swinging it with her nod of dismissal. The hitman had feelings for her, but here Nescha was in front of him, fighting so valiantly for his love. Heart conflicted, he went forward despite the impossible decision.

Sunlight pulled in unnaturally fast, almost as if the afternoon started early. In a blink, the sun's rays tightened into a yellow spear aimed straight at her heart.

Through photosynthesis, plants sometimes absorb solar radiation far beyond their metabolic needs, and his sword was no different. In fact, it was a glutton, rearing up to perform such a dramatic feat, and had plenty of time to as Nescha continued her assault, unaware. In the end, he couldn't bear to aim for her heart, so he shot at her gut, a concentrated solar beam as tick as a pike on a picket fence exploding upon her as fast as a flash from an unexpected camera shot.

It transferred a blazing, destructive heat and radiation, unaffected by the surrounding frost, rendering even her Estoc’s flames pale and almost tame by comparison.

Undoubtedly, leaving an indelible mark on her, whether it hit its mark or not, Nescha could feel Edris' pain, having to have gone through with it. His agonizing heart was writhing with despair.



Odd, certain she had killed him, in that singular burst only to see that her foe still did not move, he was a dummy. A glare of light shone, then a blast of radiation and heat. It landed, but didn’t land center. In fact it barely landed at all, for no other reason than the fact that Edris had fired it at a moving target, circling his dummy with greater speed than when she initially approached him with her Castlebreaker. She had not slowed down in that moment, and he hesitated, redirecting his aim. She was unknowingly moving out of the way while the beam fired at her.

But there was more to her response than this detail. Perhaps her foe had not accounted for her speed through the air, though at the same time her own visual reference point had vanished within the haze of ice that formed around her weapon. He aimed first for her chest, but adjusted it last minute, hesitation that cost in accuracy. While she wasn’t moving fast enough to avoid it entirely, she had managed to shift out of the way enough for it to punch through at her side, enough to miss vitals, but still potent enough to produce a gaping wound, one that would risk severe bleeding if not for the fact that the entire area of contact had also been charred.

The real question was what happened with the heat and radiation that came along with it. The plasma might have torn through her, but the effect of its heat and radiation remained at an incredibly localized area. One look at her Estoc would have revealed why this was the case.

Normally it would not be possible, to take a foe’s attack and channel its energy into a weapon, and this was true, except by the simple coincidence by which Nescha was already channeling heat from her surroundings into her Estoc in the first place. This ultimately meant that a part of his attack, a solid amount of its power had now been repurposed within her sword, which now teemed with light, searing hot and blistering. It traveled from her right hand to float midair above its own destruction, inverting, a Vena trailing from its shape.

This did not undo the damage to her body in that moment, but it did minimize the harm, at which point it should have been clear enough to Edris. She had taken the hit in exchange for more power. While she didn’t anticipate the attack coming from his position, she did not go in without the expectation of a counter strike. The fire attack, powerful as it was, was merely consequential, a removal of heat to produce much of the impetus of her follow-up. It was there to draw out a response, and succeeded even if in the most backhanded way possible.

What Nescha remained possessed by was more than mere herbs and hallucinogenics. Edris likely didn’t know of the hellscape she had become a part of. That did not mean he couldn’t take advantage of it. However, there was one part of his attack which betrayed him, his yearning for connection with her and his despair at having to carry out his responsibilities. All the same, channeled into her Estoc, which was special for the simple reason that it was a learning weapon. She projected in that moment another rune over the markings charred into the ground. The Estoc plunged into the earth where it centered, filled to its limit as its edges began to melt and produce molten glass. Nescha had prepared to complete the circle through Vena, but was interrupted by Edris when he attacked her. Without closure in this way a spell could not manifest. It came in handy, allowing her to transpose over it the second rune, with a circle of its own to complete them in tandem. The chilled air within the area now condensed within its spell, a pressure spell combined with Magna Glacies.

The air around its circumference thinned as gaseous molecules pulled inward, and Nescha stopped moving. The mist surrounding her had been sucked in with it, as the image of Edris now clarified. The pain of her wound did not lessen her trance nor offer her clarity. In most circumstances it would have deepened her trance but in that moment, another element of Edris struck her, his romantics found within her something to resonate with. She remembered her wife, an undying love which transcended even beyond the pull of the fathomless hellscape she had drowned herself in repeatedly. Yes, where pain only strengthened her trance, love had pulled her out of it, ironically.

Perhaps he was authentic, perhaps not. It didn’t matter. The effect of something often escaped the designs of its artist. She held her shield in her right hand now, the last piece of weaponry available.

Conclusion

Lest is judged the winner.