Forge

Orst — Official Roleplay Starter Thread

My name doesn’t matter. Who I am means nothing. I mean nothing.

Location: The desert outside Port Solt, somewhere to the north.

The ground rumbled with the destruction of Port Solt. It shuddered and shook with the force of destruction wrought upon it. It shook the world to the core - to the foundation. Perhaps not physically but the screams of souls passing beyond the veil shakes the foundation of everything to those attuned to its sound. A slumbering beast awakens in the darkness of those ancient folds of land, buried beneath the sands.

{ Location: Unknown, somewhere far away from Port Solt }

Screams echoed through his bedchamber and his body convulsed against the bonds holding him in place. A constant writhing, twisting of his limbs against the buckled leather straps holding him down. He awoke quickly - sitting up, as much as he could, against the bonds. Sweat beaded down his forehead, covered his neck and chest. His body shivered despite the unnatural heat coming from the fireplace in the corner. He recalled his dreams, the nightmares which fueled those screams of pain and torment which awoke him - screams coming from his own lips, fleeing rapidly.

“Port Solt is gone.” He muttered to himself, his voice hoarse and his breathing ragged and unsteady. Here, so far away, the reverberations of its destruction weren’t felt. Not in the way others might have - even their sages and sensors might not have picked it up yet. He knew, from his nightmare, that it just happened. His hands closed around the buckles at his wrists, one moving to the other to unlatch it - then down to his ankles doing the same. He swung his bare feet onto the marble of the floor - shivering both from the touch of flesh on cold stone and the memory of his nightmare as it faded.

“I don’t even know of any place named Port Solt…” he realized, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his palms. He searched his bedside table for his glasses, pushing them aside once before finding them in the dark. He put them on and stood up, looking around the dark room. Tapping the side of his head with one finger, his sorcery flowed from his fingers and into his eyes - illuminating the darkness to his vision. Stumbling down the hallway to the bathroom, he ran the cold water for a moment - coating his hands in it and splashing it on his face - before taking a handful to drink.

Looking back into the mirror, he jumped back and nearly screamed. The face looking back at him didn’t belong to his body. A monstrous face with pale flesh and black eyes, a gaping maw of a red like fire. The beast’s mouth seemed to scream in pain though, a pain that touched every part of its face. He looked back at it for a moment and breathed.

“What…what are you?” He whispered into the mirror, not expecting it to answer.

“I…am….hurt….” a voice seemed to project into his mind.

“Wh…wha…” he whispered again, his face twisting in confusion.

“I…need…help.” The voice said again - the pain in it growing less, but not disappearing.

“How can I help?”

“Come…to…me…” the mental voice grated against his mind, giving the impression of a gravelled voice.

“I can’t…I don’t know who you are, or what you are. I don’t even know where you are.” He tried to reason with the monster in his mirror, which seemed less monster and more human by the moment.

“Come. To. Me.” The voice screamed - and his vision went black.

{ Location: Outside Port Solt }

The ground still shuddered with aftershocks. A man stood on the sands of the desert looking down over the destroyed port town below. Sighing, he looked down on it with dismay - face twisted in pain at the suffering.

The loss.

He pushed his glasses back up on his face - turning his gaze down on the city. A hundred years ago he predicted this moment in his dreams. Nightmares, really. The memory of that night still haunted him - the disembodied voice, the bloodied face in the mirror. A flash of pain in his mind which blacked him out. He awoke in a chamber that same night. Millions of miles from home. Locked beneath the sands of the desert.
He looked down on the ruined city and tightened his right hand around the wooden haft of his staff, his knuckles turning white with the pressure of his grip. The memory of how he got here, to this moment in his life, flashed in his mind.

I awoke in the darkness of my chamber - the pain of the ruined souls of Solt screaming in the back of my mind. The pain of it. It cut me deeply, wounded me to my core. Of all the scars on my body - of all the blemishes on my flesh - that one hurt the most. I called out to you, Traveller, to come to my aide. I called for your help. And you gave it to me. Not through your own choice, but through the choosing. You were the one I chose.

You are here now. I am part of you. I am given unto you myself, or a portion of it, that you may avenge my fallen city. You may not save it. We do not have those capabilities - my power upon awakening is not that great. With time, perhaps, you may undo what has been done. For now, though, I shall make you my avenging demon.

His eyes snapped open for a second time that day. He didn’t know where he was anymore, what was going on. He remembered the face in the mirror - the pain in it. The voice in his mind. He recalled it all - and he looked about himself quietly. His vision spell was still active, which meant he’d never gone fully unconscious. He looked into the darkness around him - and his grey vision blurred for a moment before clearing again.

The room seemed large. Well, no. It wasn’t a room. It was a cavern. A huge cave system it seemed, one massive cavernous room within it. Looking around he couldn’t begin to understand how he’d come here. He’d heard that, once, travelling was possible through magic - but for his people that talent was long lost. But he knew he wasn’t in his house anymore.

The darkness at the corners of the room seemed to pull back from his gaze. He turned about himself as the color began to return to his vision. He instinctively cut off his spell, as light began to flood the cavern. Brighter and brighter. The darkness seeped into that light - and a small creature stood there on the far corner. His head tilted curiously to the side, as he attuned his magic to enhance his vision.

The face was the same. Gaunt and clearly malnourished - the face of a human unfed.

“Are you…are you the face in my mirror?”

“Yes. I chose you to help me. You must help me.”

“I don’t know what kind of help I can provide. I don’t even know where I am.” He stepped back against the wall behind him - letting his magic flood through his veins. A blue flame appeared around one hand - burning white hot but he seemed unbothered by the heat. He wasn’t sure if this thing was dangerous to him - but he wasn’t going to be undefended.

“I chose you.” The creature in the corner said - turning its gaunt face toward him. Fear paralyzed him for that moment - and the creature lurched. It cleared the distance quickly. It slammed into his chest and the flame went out on his hand.

For many years following that, the voice and his body seemed to merge. Their souls entangled one another. He learned quickly that this creature, this thing, was part of the world itself - the world it referred to as Orst. His knowledge of magic traded with the knowledge of the planet. It taught him so much.

I hope I chose wisely in picking you, Taelion. You have a pure spirit. I need that - I need you to protect me. You are my champion, my Avatar.

Taelion pushed the wire-framed glasses tighter against his face - and began a descent down the sand dunes of the desert on a long trek to what remained of Port Solt - to seek those who needed aid.

His cloak pulled tight around his robes - the hood up and shadowing his face. Each step across the sand seemed unimpeded, as if walking along the loose sand harbored no detriment to his movement.

“I will do my best for you, Mistress.”

Orst — Official Roleplay Starter Thread

Name: Thalen Vaelor
Age: 35
Gender: Male
Species: Human
Native or Interloper: Interloper

Description

Thalen is a tall, broad shouldered man who carries himself with a sense of nobility. Good posture lends itself to his imposing size. Shoulder length black hair is often pulled back in a tail, while his body is most often clad in leather armor, whose color he seems able to change with the environment around him. Throughout the armor resides runes of various shapes and sizes - many of them fashioned in a language he doesn’t comprehend. An imposing figure in many ways, Thalen’s stoic attitude is revealed in the way he stands and carries himself.

Unique Powers/Traits:

Attributes - Thalen’s physical capabilities are well beyond what one might expect of another person his size.

Pyschometry - Through the use of touch and the latent abilities presented in him from birth, Thalen is capable of touching an object or a person and gleaning - from objects - their history, where they come from how they’re made, and how to properly use them. In people, this gives him access to their thoughts and recent memories.

Swordsmanship - Thalen is a swordsman of some renown where he comes from.

Leadership - Thalen is a natural leader, born to it one might say. As the descendent of kings, overthrown before his time, he’s a natural leader and people tend to pull themselves (willingly or otherwise) beneath his banner.

-- As an aside note, Thalen's armor is extremely magical in nature, enchanted by his late wife with various runes of magic and spell effects activatable by touch for some, thought for others.

Orst Relevant History

After the death of his wife, Thalen wandered. Hearing rumors of a woman on a distant world with his last name, calling herself Ouran and a description that tugs at his heart. He determines to investigate.

The Bureaucracy of Ig

The oddity of light dissipating around nothing, locked in an eternal struggle with the darkness of night. Shadows danced upon the ground like entranced people whose bodies seemed to move of their own accord. Sun blocked by spiraling masses of stone reaching for the light as if to escape their darkened fate, imprisoned deep within the stygian tunnels and cave systems. Rumor brought footfalls along the softened ground, each one carefully picked and each movement well thought. The sound of shifting leather, creaking softly in the darkness, barely seemed a whisper compared to the ever-present sounds of tiny claws on the stone.

Thalen held the hilt of his sword over his shoulder, prepared to draw in defense of a monster which may or may not lurk within the darkness. He’d tracked the path for days, following it up through the ravine and into the depths of the cave systems. Rumor brought him here, and now in the darkness the low light seemed nearly impenetrable darkness. The soft, amber glow of his eyes – a magic pouring into them which enhanced his vision in the dim light of the cavernous pathway. His ears reached out to latch to any sound, any noise in the distance. Any kind of foreboding or hope of finding the subject of his search.

He kept his movements slow, careful – methodical. He tracked beings he knew little about, and rumors only gave so much information before they faded into myth. His hand eased his sword, the metal-backed leather gauntlet tightening on the hilt. Dark brown armor, nearly black (especially in the dimness of the caverns pathway). The ultimate destination of this foray into the cave seems far away. The pathway opens into a cavern of nothing, and from that point the trail ends. Sighing, his hand released the hilt of his sword. “Nothing again.” His voice seems solemn, quiet.

It took him twenty minutes of retracing his steps before he stepped out into the brightened morning, the sun shining its blazing rays down on the mirror-like lake nearby. He set about himself, casting out to find another trail, another pathway. It took him another twenty minutes to find it, footsteps leading away from his current position. He took up the trail and began again, walking cautiously – his eyes and ears always seeking sound of threat.

He happened upon a thin slit in the rock and peered inside – his vision adjusted to the lower level of light immediately. A star engraved upon a rock caught his attention, and the scattering light seemed to make it shine brightly before him. ‘Bingo’, he thought to himself – and pushed through the thin slit, barley fitting his body – and in fact having to remove his sword to press between the two pieces of stone properly.

Reattaching the longsword to his back, he reached to his side and pulled up something from his pouch – fingering the eyeholes in his mask, he slid it on. Yet more leather seemed to be his motif, the blank-faced mask a solid piece of darkened, worked leather which he saw through with his magical vision.

Inside he saw the remains of what they were, the burned sacrifices of many. His fingers tightened into a ball, fists clenched against themselves – covered nails barely held back by the material of his gauntlets. He stepped further in through the shadowed vault – his body melding as one with the shadows, his footsteps quieter than should be possible on the stone – and the darkness surrounding him like an old friend. “Port Solt lies in ruins,” he heard the voice of a woman say, and his anger flared beneath the surface – boiling like water on a campfire in his blood. His hands clenched as he sneaked further inside, looking for the source of the voice.

There she stood – her gown flowing down her body, and her hair dancing. He listened to the sound of her movement, the tinkling of her gown with each step. Who was she? What was her goal? He wasn’t sure, but rumor brought him here. He sought only to find out what was going on, and so he settled into the recesses of the room, hidden among the shadows and listened.

Battle Toyale — Christmas Rumble!

Everyone still actively involved have already discussed it and agreed to it. If you want to continue, continue - if not, don't. If you don't write your character out, or make a post, on your next turn. I'll just crit you out and be done with it. Your incessant whining is annoying, stop doing it.

Anshin vs Lysander VII: How the Cookie Crumbles...

As they fell, he searched for any sign of a place to take hold – to grasp onto and hold himself from the turmoil of landing roughly on the candy grass he knew was below. His sword lay, teetering on the precipice of falling from the courtyard above, out of his reach – and he had nothing but the strength and power in his hands and arms to try and mitigate his fall. As Unaru broke away from him, speeding toward the ground at a much faster rate than Lysander intended – which meant it was exactly the speed Unaru intended. He stabbed a knife-hand at the wall, letting his fingers dig into the rock and concrete and stone – slowing his descent further until finally, barely clinging at the edge of a broken pipe, feet dangling over the edge.

“Goddamn, that was close.” He said to himself, looking down just in time to see a pair of emerald hands rising from the dim light below, grabbing and twisting. The force of it pulled his grip from the metal pipe and flung him across the room – his body slammed into the wall, even as the shadows of the dimly lit wall moved to soften his blow. The dust spewed out from impact, a cloud of it covering the area around him – and he fell onto his side on the floor. Grunting, he tried to push himself back up – but pain wretched his stomach into a knot, and his vision went white for a moment.

Shaking his head, he coughed and sputtered for a second, before rolling over onto his back. “We almost done?” He asked. “I’m…not giving up, but I could really use a drink. This is starting to hurt a little bit, you know.” He said out loud to Unaru, who was somewhere off to his left. Pushing again, he forced his body up from the ground until he stood on his feet – face bunched up from the pain and the effort. “I mean, we both got some good hits in. I think we just call this one a draw, and go on about our way, yeah?” He didn’t expect the other to agree to that. Unaru wasn’t one to take a draw when he saw a sign of victory. Lysander knew it, and in some ways, he counted on it. His injured right arm twisted, shadows curling around it to provide something akin to buffering against further harm, healing – and if it came down to it, an immense burst of power. His legs bending, he brought his arms up and clasped his hands into fists before him.

“Or we can keep this going, because momma Kaie didn’t raise no bitch.”

Anshin vs Lysander VII: How the Cookie Crumbles...

As Unaru flew backward from the force of his blow, Lysander thought himself having done something. Immediately he felt something off – something wrong happening around him. The electricity reached out beyond him and then snapped back – lashing around his extremities like chains around a slave. His mouth curled into a snarl as anger raged through him, boiled his blood. The sudden trapping of his body, being pulled into the prison designed for him – it made the already growing anger crescendo. Then, he saw it – the blur of motion that was Unaru careening directly for him.

“The only help I need…” he began but stopped immediately as the ether-laced fingertips began slamming into his body, hitting the point of internal power those who channeled chi would understand – but the only thing he felt from it was pain. The pain rocketed through him, stinging like bees casually tearing into his flesh, what was only a hundred strikes felt like a thousand – the pain wrecked him for a moment, even his intense healing factor could barely keep up with the damage being done to him. Then the final strike came, palms slamming into his core – drilling him directly through the golden letter and the mortar, the brick gave way, and he flew through into the inner depths of the factory.

“You want me to unleash myself, then I will. You want my full might, then I’ll bring it to you,” the shadows pulsed throughout the factory – darkening beyond their normal measure – they flowed along the ground and the walls, flying like snakes slithering across grass. They flowed from their homes. They swirled around him, tightening along his body – laying over him like cloth for a moment, swirling at him as they rent his flesh from his bone. The pain from it wracked his body, tearing blood and bone. Their swirling mass intensified, growing quicker by the minute.

“Sage Mode: Sage Form III; Godhand,” a voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere. The shadows broke down around him, falling away in layers to reveal him. His body became larger and spryer. Still lithe, he no longer seemed desiccated. Grey eyes seemed more intense than before, his white hair falling around his shoulders, echoing with blackened energy flashing around his body. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Unaru.” Lifting his arms, he pulled from the shadows once more his oversized sword.

“Here I come.” A single step carried him across the distance instantly, back through the crumbling remains of the many holes he’d been forced through by the palm strike. Hard to track, but not impossible, he brought himself before Unaru – and then quickly lashed out. His body dropped slightly, leaning back even as his right-hand touched palm-first on the ground, swinging his legs around to kick Unaru’s out from beneath him. As soon as his back hit the ground, he flung himself around into a flip – bringing his once swinging leg up, slinging it from above and directly down to crash into Unaru’s skull – the force of it enough to crater the concrete beneath him.

Anshin vs Lysander VII: How the Cookie Crumbles...

“Fine, have it your way then.”

The drills touched, their rotational forces spinning rapidly against one another – trying to find purchase and some form of weakness where none could be found. Thank God they were magic, or the sound of them would be deafening. Even still, there was the hint of a shrill sound of metal-on-metal ringing through the madness of the fight. The factory, now fully alerted, shut down operations and many machines ground to a halt as the little orange men filed out and ran to emergency exits. Many died in the rush of them trying to escape, many more died from the explosion of power happening in the courtyard. He felt a change, a shift – and he knew the other was coming for him, even as his own feet were carrying him forward.

The drills disintegrated, and as the final black shape disappeared under the force of pressure from the other side. The storm broke apart, and his eyes caught sight of an overhand right. He tried to avoid it but only succeeded in lessening the blow as the massive-feeling fist slammed into the side of his head, roughly around his cheek. The force the punch nearly took him off his feet, rocking him slightly to the side – his right hand flung out, shadows pushing against the ground to keep his footing. Quick as lightning, his right hand moved from that position – destined to land an uppercut with enough force to send the man flying back to where he came from.

“You want the real fight, you’re about to get it.”

Anshin vs Lysander VII: How the Cookie Crumbles...

Lysander Telos Korvein
Alias: The Archetype, The Soul Sage, Shadowlord
Apparent Age: 27
Actual Age: Unknown
Gender: Male
Race: Humanoid, Soul Hivan
Classification: Mercenary
Height: 6’3”
Weight: 210 lbs
Hair Color: Varies
Eye Color: Varies
Character Tier: High
Affiliation: The Mystic Dominion
Character Type: Critical

Appearance
Visual Reference

A man of modest size and weight, Lysander is often underestimated by those who judge him by appearance alone. His lithe, athletic frame conceals a power far greater than it seems. Long, flowing hair—typically tied back in a neat ponytail—frames a face marked by the elven traits of the Soul Hive: sharply pointed ears and a down-turned nose. His eyes constantly shift in color, reflecting both his mood and the energies coursing through him.

Lysander’s usual attire consists of loose pantaloons and a dark, sleeveless shirt revealing lean, well-defined arms. Over this, he wears a curved metal breastplate ending just below the waist, with a long coat draped over it. Ancient vambraces inscribed with the runes of the Soul Hive encase his forearms, each a relic of his origin and allegiance.

---

Personality

A warrior forged by eons of combat, Lysander has spent millions of years honing his skill against the strongest beings across the Multiverse. Obsessed with the pursuit of a true equal, he continues to wander in search of the one opponent capable of unlocking his full potential.

Despite his endless battles, Lysander retains compassion and generosity. He often protects those unable to defend themselves, even at great personal cost. However, he despises cowardice in any form, viewing it as the greatest weakness. Tactical retreats are the only exception, as he recognizes the strategic value of regrouping in warfare.

---

Abilities and Powers

The Soul Hive
The Soul Hive exists beyond time and space, a dimension unto itself. Those born within it—Hivans—wield a unique bond with its infinite energy. Lysander is the last of his kind, the sole survivor after slaying the other three members of the Hive. Within him lies the entire essence of this otherworldly power.

The Hive’s energy serves as the wellspring for his magic and physical might, allowing him to channel nearly limitless energy for combat and creation.

Sage Modes
Hivans possess the ability to ascend into powerful Sage forms, each representing a deeper understanding of magic and existence. Lysander uniquely commands all three.

• Transcending Light (Sage Form I): A force of radiant purity, this form grants mastery over all “good” magic, allowing Lysander to purge evil as he defines it.
• Descending Darkness (Sage Form II): The embodiment of pain and torment, this form grants dominion over dark and destructive energies, channeling suffering into strength.
• Godhand (Sage Form III): The ultimate evolution, combining light and darkness in perfect harmony. As a Godhand, Lysander transcends mortality, mimics energies around him, and enhances all other abilities beyond their natural limits.

Shadow Lord
Once the wielder of the legendary sword Gekimetsu, Lysander absorbed the essence of the Shadow Lord, gaining dominion over darkness itself. He manipulates shadows for travel through the infernal realm of Jigoku and can harm enemies by striking their shadows directly.

Jigoku – The Shadow Hell
A realm of living darkness where shadows are born and converge. Only powerful shadow manipulators can enter safely. Lysander wields Jigoku as his personal hell, imprisoning the souls of the unworthy in eternal torment.

Cosmic Magic
Centuries of study have granted Lysander mastery over the raw forces of the cosmos. He channels celestial power for vast, complex spells that can reshape the Multiverse itself.

The Twelve Souls of Vengeance
Over centuries, Lysander defeated and absorbed the twelve strongest members of the Korvein bloodline. Their souls are bound within him, granting immense power, regeneration, and adaptive evolution. The full extent of these abilities remains unknown.

Magiweaves
A personal school of magic developed by Lysander, Magiweaves utilize interwoven threads of visible energy to create spells of nearly limitless scope. Unlike traditional elemental magic, his system incorporates not only Fire, Water, Earth, Air, and Spirit but also Light, Gravity, and Darkness.

---

Weapons and Equipment

Gekimetsu: Lysander's first rival, whose soul became entrapped within this buster-style sword. The sword is as long as him, and twice as wide - held within a string of souls at his back. The sword's soul allows him to control the shadows in an area around him, which he uses primarily for defensive measures. It also allows him to hurt the people he's fighting by attacking their shadows. The sword is mostly ornamental now as he's absorbed the soul within it, but he uses it as his primary attacking weapon. Due to the sentient nature of the blade, the sword is nearly, if not, impossible for anyone else to pick up - as it lashes out at anyone who tries to wield it by the handle.

Shadow Queen Armor
Visual Reference

Designed by magister Vincent Fiorelli, the Shadow Queen Set is a personalized suit of armor encoded to Lysander’s DNA. It is lethally self-protective, crushing unauthorized wearers into pulp.

• Skinsuit of the Shadow Queen: Originating from a polished opal known as Fiorellite, the armor forms around Lysander’s body when activated. It is impervious to physical and energy attacks, dispersing all incoming force.
• Spines of the Shadow Queen: Energy-forged weapons that manifest according to the wearer’s will. Lysander’s preferred form is a massive buster sword reminiscent of Gekimetsu.
• Stealth Capabilities: The suit cloaks its wearer’s energy signature, rendering him invisible to metaphysical detection.
• Energy Absorption: Absorbs nearly all forms of energy and redirects it to enhance Lysander’s own power or maintain his physical vitality.
• Cloning Systems: When overloaded, the armor forms “Soul Jars”—near-perfect physical clones of Lysander, each nearly as powerful as the original.

---

History
Work in Progress.

Anshin vs Lysander VII: How the Cookie Crumbles...

“I can smell you…” the words of his adversary permeated the air, and Lysander couldn’t help but laugh. Of course, the chocolate was a dead giveaway. He should have thought of that, honestly. This was no ordinary foe, but one who knew his opponent very well. Of course, Lysander knew Unaru rather well himself. He could feel the shadows being shorn by the ether blade surrounding the golden M, which was actually just one of the W’s turned upside down honestly. Like Mario and Wario, similar beings of opposite dispositions. Poetic as that may be, the deadly precision with which the sign cut through the air was the opposite. The shadows coalesced around him once again, his own energy flowing through them as he listened to the whistling of the blade in the air.

As it drew near, and he could begin to see the gleam of gold in the dim light cast by the flames around him, his body reacted on its own accord. Bending slightly at the knees, then ducking backward at the waist – it all seemed to happen in slow motion, like some weird bullet time in a movie where his upper body bent back just in time for the W/M to fly over him horizontally and slam into the wall behind him, embedding itself through the brick and mortar to be nearly buried within.

Standing back up straight, the shadows edged down him like a knife – laying perfectly against his flesh and pulling the fresh coating of chocolate off his body before it had a chance to fully harden. Even as this happened, the shadow wall pulled back to reveal him – tunneling between the two like a road. As Unaru’s vision of Lysander returned, he’d find the man leaning against the wall, carefully not touching the ether-shrouded letter, munching on a Wonka’s Wondrous Willy Bar. “You know, that could have seriously killed me. Not really sure how I feel about that one, to be honest.” He said pushing himself off the wall – even as the tunnel of shadows collapsed down into a massive drill bit shaped monstrosity. His own ether shrouded around it, and disappeared against it, black on black as it were. The rotating mass of shadow pushed forward quickly – tip aimed for the man’s midsection.

Anshin vs Lysander VII: How the Cookie Crumbles...

Lysander’s fingertips clenched tighter as his hand stopped inches from touching the other’s outstretched hand. His jaw clenched. He’d known the punch wouldn’t land, but still something always irked him at how easily his friend seemed able to meet him blow for blow. Not many could withstand the force of pure energy radiating from his shadow-clad body. Adjusting almost instinctively, even as Unaru did the same, his battle-hardened mind reacted on its own. The shadows lurched from behind him, the well lashing out like a thousand tendrils of malice – a flattened surface which met the wave of chocolate bursting from the ground mid-strike, curling around it to redirect it harmlessly back toward the ground – even as the fisted pressure wave struck him, flinging him backwards as quickly as he’d flown forward.

“You know – somehow I knew this was going to happen.”

He said while laughing, his voice was booming louder than should be possible. The echo of it rebounding and growing, louder and louder until it was almost mind-numbing. Not even sure how that happened. The dust settled around him, his back pressed into the wall leaving the impression of his arms flung out to his side. Taking the opportunity, he shifted his arms and legs back and forth, making a nice little stone angel in the middle of the fist-print.

“These aren’t even people, my friend. They’re subhuman, animals at best, monkeys with some minor level of intelligence. Besides, they get paid – it’s not like they’re slaves.”

Pushing himself away from the wall, crumbling stone falling around him as a large section of the building began to settle from the impact. He rolled his head, cracking his neck before moving on to his knuckles.

”That was some punch you got there, Dragon. Let me show you mine.”

Without moving, he refocused his mind and the shadows welled around him before launching from his chest – a huge chunk of darkness blasting across the space between them almost imperceptibly fast – the force of power surrounding it enough to level the section of building behind Unaru. Should it land, much like his own, it would fling him back against the wall – forcing a massive impression of an M on the wall behind him before slamming him dead-center into the stone.

Once the blackness faded from the other’s vision, from the sheer size of it if nothing else, Lysander was no longer standing on the air where he’d been last seen. In fact, he wasn’t anywhere to be seen at all – but he was sure Unaru could sense his presence in the space between shadows. Except, there’d be many more than just one sensation of his power. Lysander was definitely up to something.