Lazo

The Crucible - Winner Take All

“It became obvious the moment the door locked behind me and the dishware attacked,” the elf muttered quietly as she walked, too absorbed on her magic to take note of the scolding tone the voice had taken towards her. It also helped her ignore the ever-present sensation of menace that now filled this new enemy’s territory, sinking into her limbs like tiny pinpricks. The effort made it easier to keep herself from trembling.

And when I do tremble? Certainly not in fear. It is simply cold.

The lattice of crystal forming under her robes ceased expanding as the magic ran its course, allowing Pithy to merely hold it in her sorcerous grasp. It hovered as a single object, rigid under her cloak in a way that was sure to give away its presence if she moved carelessly, but she expected such a hidden layer of armor would be of use. The runes on her rapier’s guard continued to glow brilliantly even as the ice formation spell came to an end, her focus still divided between carrying her shields, her one remaining icicle, and in maintaining the freezing magic that even then continued expanding the sheet of ice layering the floor under her.

The voice seemed eager to talk as she moved, readily agreeing to her request. “Of course! Though since this is not a lecture, you'll have to figure things out for yourself. Feel free to think of Kno One as an ordinary ghost, if it helps you understand that you cannot harm or interact with it.”

For a brief moment, Pithy was sorely tempted to correct the speaker on his assumption regarding ghosts. There were entire schools of magic devoted to the study and use of incorporeal entities in her realm, and whether this Kno One was incorporeal at present was debatable, but she was under no obligation to say as much. She was more interested in keeping the voice talking on the off-chance that he might be distracted enough for some kind of opportunity to present itself to her.

What kind of lapse she might be looking for, she did not know. So far, the all too pleased way the voice spoke in only served to grate on her.

As she followed the passageway into the next room, Pithy paused, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. A moment later, her features morphed into an irritated scowl.

Along the walls she could see a variety of tables, one with a pipe running up and down in an arch, which she assumed would deliver water, most others either empty, or laden with kitchen implements and cutting boards. Some of them had ingredients over them, as if placed there by someone and then promptly forgotten.

Alongside these there were also large metallic boxes, reaching almost to her waist. Metal pots simmered over them, bluish flames feeding heat to the bubbling water inside them.

It was cleaner than she was used to, so much so that a part of her had trouble thinking of the room as a kitchen. The fact that half of the room had been fashioned into a wall, starting with the tiled floor and ending with a patchwork of steel and cast iron, had not helped her confusion.

“Now, take a look at this. You've figured out the building itself is invincible, but does that still apply to parts of it I've moved? The tile was part of the floor, after all.”

As the voice receded, movement came from the nearby pots. Pithy started, a vision of boiling oil being poured over her flashing in her mind, but instead of that, she saw strands of what she assumed to be dough beginning to rise from the pots to hover in the air.

Suddenly wary of the rapidly increasing amount of food floating in the air, Pithy allowed more of the cold power to pour out of her and muttered an unintelligible word under her breath.

A frosty breeze suddenly spread out from her position, sweeping over the cooking pots. The flames under them suddenly vanished, as did the sound of bubbling liquid. For the barest of seconds, the dough snakes continued to rise from their burrows until, with a crackling sound echoed from every pot, the water inside froze. The strings at the pot’s mouth still stretched outwards, as though attempting to free themselves.

In that time, the strands of dough that Pithy had originally thought to be a threat simply continued to float lazily through the air, seemingly uncaring of the intruder in their midst.

Pithy shook her head, failing to find a reason for this particular act of levitation. What did the voice expect to do with these? Scald her? Strangle her? Or were they meant to distract her from something else? Perhaps it would have been more apparent had she allowed all of them to rise.

Her eye turned towards the box the pot had been sitting on, noting the ring of holes where the fire had once been. If she listened intently enough, she thought she could pick out a soft, hissing sound over the phantom howl of faraway wind in her mind.

She was not entirely familiar with the cooking apparatus, but she thought she recognized an echo of this technology. The City of the Blue Flame. She recalled a human city, known for its beauty and technological acumen. A city of inventors, it was said, that had been built over a humongous cavern of flammable gas. In that city, massive tunnels had been dug out for the networks of pipes that delivered fuel to the street lamps that lined all the main roads, coloring the city with the blue pallor that had earned the it its title.

I also recall it being funneled to smithies and alchemical labs. I recall stories of great fires caused by carelessness. I recall tales of invading armies besieging the city only to stand down and retreat when the lunatic ruler of the time threatened to send the city and army sky-high if hostilities continued. A popular fable, often accompanied with the jest that it was called a free city for a reason.

A thought occurred to her.

Would a gas explosion have any effect on this place?

Perhaps not, but if the owner of the voice was within the building, it might well air them out. All she needed to do was ignore the leak.

It was a dangerous gambit—one that might quite literally blow up in my face at that—but if she could finish her business inside before the gas became dense enough to be a danger, or at least before an explosion was triggered, something could come out of it. She would have to trust in her magic, otherwise.

Pithy let out a long breath through her nose, looking back to the checkered wall and hoping that if the voice could indeed see her, it had not noticed her gaze lingering on the stove. Or worse, that the voice noticed the leak and used it for its own purposes. Choosing not to block off the gas slowly pumping into the room from the multiple stoves meant she had a time limit, and so she focused on the newest obstacle.

Nero had spoken of a window in the kitchen, but the only opening she could see in that room was the entrance she had used, and there had been no other open passageways before that. If such a window existed, it was on the other side of this wall.

It seemed she would have to play the voice’s game.

Pithy pointed her arm forward. Her remaining icicle sped towards the wall, slamming against the center of a floor tile. Pithy grunted as the ceramic remained intact.

She levitated the icicle back to the air, pondering the problem. She had seen plates and tables break in the first room, so the qualification for this extraordinary durability was clearly not the spook’s control.

I cannot harm it. I cannot interact with it. It is this building. That was what she had been told, and it seemed to hold true. However, the distinction between what was and was not a part of the edifice seemed arbitrary to her.

There is a possibility that the distinction comes entirely from the user’s perception of what is a proper part of this place, she mused. If so, it was not a hypothesis she could voice readily. If it so much as approached the truth, this haunt would become even more dangerous.

Another thing of note was the fact that to bring the tiles up in such a manner, the mortar connecting tiles to the floor would have had to be detached. Did this mean that the mortar connecting the tiles was not considered to be a part of the building?

Her icicle floated forward, parting through the floating dough. Even now it did nothing to deter her, simply floating dumbly through the air, and so she continued to ignore it. Once the bladed ice had come close enough to the wall, Pithy pressed the ice into the gap between two floor tiles. After a few seconds spent mounting on the pressure, she realized the adhesive would not break. She would have heard a crack already had that not been the case.

Pithy recalled her blade, glaring at the obstacle in front of her. It was when she looked up, to the place the makeshift wall connected with the ceiling, that a change became apparent to her. It was slight enough to make her doubt her memory, but she could swear that the wall, once rigidly upright, had taken on an incline. However, the tile and mortar at the bottom, where the floor bent at an incline to raise the wall, remained unharmed regardless of the shift in position. That makes no sense. Had it moved, something should have broken, unless…

The pipes that had attacked her suddenly sprang to mind. “I see. That would allow one to twist metal freely,” Pithy spoke in a low voice mostly aimed at herself. “Then, the way these tiles were moved…”

The mortar indeed seemed to be considered a part of the building. That which had been broken had been broken under the haunt’s own power. The rest, however, had been altered for malleability.

What was more, it seemed like this alteration allowed her to interact with the wall to a certain degree, deviating from what the voice had said earlier.

She glanced back to the two discs hovering behind her, then frowned. Not these. Might need a shield soon. Looking past them, her eye alighted over the pots.

Pithy snapped the fingers of her left hand. The three pots nearest her suddenly trembled before rising in the air, the ice stuck to their interior forcing the metal up with it. The three moved in unison towards the upper end of the wall and turned sideways, their bottoms pressing against the ceramic.

The sorceress breathed, feeling the strands of spellwork drawing their life from the torrent of power at her core. She isolated the spells grasping the ice in the pots and, as if diverting water from a stream, bled the strength of that current into them. The pots pressed against the wall with tremendous force, seeking to push the floor tiles back to their original position.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

At this point, the character’s personality and actions have been dictated almost entirely by you two, in a way that pretty much makes her your own. I’d prefer it if one of you two kept her now, though if anyone insists on me controlling her, I could help out with collabs, or simply supplying information about her backstory’s setting or her powers or physiology as necessary.

Now, ignoring what I just said, I think it would be appropriate if she went with Runch. I’m not sure she would be quite as judgmental about what Crue did as BC wrote, at least as I first envisioned her, but she would most likely follow Runch in the split. She’d like the pirate more as a person and would feel he is in more need of help than Crue is, at the very least because he’s still in the running.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Ice whirled as Pithy made her retreat, shards of ceramic and glass crowding the floor as dishes, drinking glasses and even wall decorations were flung her way.

It seemed the layer of ice covering the floor had left the assailing pipes stuck in place and prevented new ones from rising below her, but her narrowed eye now flicked towards the numerous shards that cluttered her retreat. So far the entity had failed to make use of them, hinting at the possibility that it might have been unable to make use of objects in the building once they had been broken, but if this was simply a mere lapse in judgement, she was not eager to deal with swarms of smaller, sharper projectiles being thrown her way.

Finally, she reached the door she had been aiming for, only for the knob to come to life at the last moment, giving her fingers a chastising slap. Pithy stifled a frustrated snarl, giving her hand a pained shake.

I am being mocked. Again.

Pithy slammed the pommel of her rapier against the lock, more out of anger than any desire to smash it open, but like with the window, the spike on her guard did not so much as scratch the metal.

The sound of the long-shooter echoed from outside. What is it now? she thought, letting out a hissing breath through clenched teeth. She could only hope whatever her ally outside had seen was not related to what she was already dealing with. Her position was precarious enough as it was without bringing in her aggressor’s allies.

A painting flying towards her head interrupted her introspection, and Pithy ducked her head, dashing away from the hostile furniture towards a corridor off to the side.

The respite from the raining projectiles lasted only a moment. A sound like rending metal froze her in her tracks. The appearance of a large turbine suddenly tumbling into the hallway and spinning her way saw her backpedaling back to the previous room. Pithy threw herself bodily to the side as the ceiling fan spun past her, crashing into a group of tables.

Once again, random objects began to fly at her. The sorceress brought her floating ice to bear, but a few objects slipped past. Pithy covered her head just in time for a painting frame to slam against her arm. A sharp impact from a metal candle holder drew a hiss from her lips, and Pithy rose to her knees, twisting as she swept an arm towards the incoming projectiles. An uncontrolled gale swept over the room, throwing the floating cutlery, decorations, and even a few nearby tables aside. Before she had something more painful to look forward to than a new set of angry welts in the morning, the mage took the chance to scramble back into the hallway.

In the silence that followed this latest attempt in her life, a voice she recognized came from the locked room. It seemed Nero was close enough to hear.

“Can't get in that way, window in kitchen! Don't relax for one instant Pithy, Kno One is this entire building!”

A trembling sigh escaped Pithy, one she was not certain was borne of relief or frustration. Certainly, a part of her mind screamed out that this could be yet another trap. Some haunts could very easily create sounds or cause hallucinations for people inside their territories. However, the truth of the matter was that it did not matter if this was a trap. The door refusing to open, leaving her with only one choice of direction made it clear that she was being herded. She would not be able to deviate from the voice’s chosen route for her unless she found a way to divide its attention.

As Nero’s voice receded, her captor’s voice returned. The laughter that seeped from the building’s foundations made her features darken, the pleasure in the voice fueling her irritation at this upstart.

He speaks as though I’m unfamiliar with the threat of death. Stay calm. I have had a sword hanging over my head for far longer, that terrifies me far more than anything this fool can concoct. If there is a thought I should latch onto, this is it. “I am aware of my position. It is unsightly for a ‘man of learning’ to be so proud in stating the obvious,” she added contemptuously as she began to walk towards the kitchens.

What would find her there?

Fire and knives, I would expect. Why, the kitchen is just another battlefield, she replied drolly to her own thoughts. The exercise helped steel her nerves.

“Yet I am curious. A good learner’s value is diminished if they cannot teach. If this is truly an experiment, share your observations. From what I’ve seen so far, this understudy of yours behaves much like a particularly violent poltergeist, but there is more to it, is there not?”

For example, a common poltergeist would not be able to make objects harder to destroy. There was also the matter of both the voice’s and Nero’s confusing statements. The voice was the building and so was this ‘Kno One’, which would mean that the voice and the other entity were one and the same, and yet they were treated as separate by the voice. At least if she took all that had been said at face value. The whole mess screamed of possession, but possession could only go in so many directions.

Her rapier glowed, forming yet another disk of ice to follow her as a shield. Surreptitiously under this spell, she began to create smaller, hexagonal sheets of ice beneath her robe.

---

Mountain Dew had barely found a place in a nearby alleyway that had a good view towards the restaurant’s entrance and side, when he caught quite the peculiar sight approaching from one of the adjacent streets. Or rather, two peculiar sights.

The most outlandish of the two, a large, writhing snake following in the wake of a gaunt, skeletal figure wearing domed hat. A look through his rifle as the pair drew nearer only served to confuse Dew further. What he had at first taken to be green scales were in fact a varied assortment of vines and greenery, revealing that the snake was made entirely of plants, and the gaunt man approaching the restaurant was not simply skeletal – he was looking at a proper skeleton man wearing a mushroom over his head. Furthermore, where the snake dutifully followed its master like a trained pet, the skeleton was following one of Nero’s drones.

Dew drew back, smiling ironically at his new boss’s luck. At first, he’d wondered if Nero had been lying about sending drones to the competitors, if only to keep them in place waiting for the machines to come, but it was clear now that only Pithy had been spared the luxury of seeking out her own enemies. It was the price for being a bitch, he supposed. He felt a sudden itch on his trigger finger, and he scowled, taking it off from his weapon.

After waiting for a few moments, Dew chanced another look around the corner.

The spooky scary skeleton had stopped at the side of the building, the snake hovering idly beside it and the drone hovering literally at his side.

Sharp sounds of cracking glass and ceramic had begun to filter from the entrance, evidence of a struggle inside, but he had yet to hear the rapport of Pithy’s revolver. The itch on his finger spread to the rest of his hand as he recalled the instructions he had been left with.

Think she was mostly thinking of people running out of the restaurant without her knowing, but yeah. I suppose this qualifies as ‘something wrong’.

The sound of his rifle firing over his head thundered over the street corner. Belatedly, he realized that he had just announced his presence to everyone in the block, and wondered if Pithy’s actual intention had been for him to play the role of distraction for whatever crept up outside. Something told him that kind of ploy would be right up her alley.

Still got to deal with the skeleton sitting right there, he reminded himself. Dew forced himself to walk out of cover, forcing an easy smile onto his lips. His rifle cradled in a relaxed grip as he walked out of the alley and onto the streets.

“Heeellllo there, Mr. Bones. That little drone back there tells me you’re looking for someone. You the next one up in the Crucible?” he asked cheerily. After a heartbeat, he frowned, smile slipping. “Ehrm, you can speak back, right? I get that might be a bit hard without lungs but I can’t believe the College would manage to get a brainless corpse running for the tourney. I mean, figuratively brainless. I’m not sure if you’d be a skeleton or a zombie if you happened to have only your brain.”

@Gardevoiran

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Either way, it seems like I should have Mountain Dew react to Bonesword's appearance next time I write.

The Crucible - Winner Take All

This place is them? Is that meant literally? Pithy pondered. Then where did this ‘know one’, understudy fit in the scheme of things? Was the voice simply making up lies as she went along? Some part of her still held onto the suspicion that the situation she found herself in had somehow been orchestrated by the announcer, but she could not imagine why he would set up this scenario to toy with her like this. Having another player leap into the stage like this made things complicated, placing her in a position where she would need to take things at face value until she was able to make judgements about what she had seen and heard.

She felt the rumble underneath her before she heard the grinding noise. Pithy stepped back out of reflex, the trained motion all that kept her legs from being entangled as metal pipes suddenly phased through the floorboards below her. Pithy grimaced, uncertain about the strength that twisted the pipes. If it could bend metal like that, having a single one wrap around her could result in broken bones. That was not the kind of wound she was willing to chance.

Pithy drew away as two of the tubes snaked towards her feet. Two of her icicles thrusted downwards, failing to pierce through the metal but banging it off course. Nearby pipes swarmed around the ice, wrapping around it and adding the sound of cracking crystal to the cacophony of groaning metal.

She almost didn’t notice the cutlery trembling above the nearby tables until one of its wooden legs bent and it shifted, as if testing its weight. The mage gave a panicked glance around her as the two closest tables suddenly loped – there was hardly a more accurate word to describe their motion – towards her, knives, forks and plates scattering over the floor with the jerking motion.

Pithy made a split-second decision and sucked in a breath before jumping towards one of the tables. Her back hit the flat surface, knocking away the last few knickknacks that remained atop it as she began to roll with the motion. She pulled her robe closer with a panicked flick of her left arm, bringing the cloth above over the edge of the table just before the two crashed into each other. The impact made the table tilt dangerously, the sudden impulse sending her flying out of her roll.

Pithy angled herself to land even as she heard a groaning sound below her, the pipes nearby seeming to rattle with excitement. More tubes suddenly rose out of the ground, raising to catch her. They crashed against the disk of ice she had made instead. Pithy landed atop it, almost slipping as the metal pipes carried her and her platform upwards, and, seeing a chance to escape, she threw herself forwards.

A pained grunt escaped Pithy as she landed, the strain on her shoulders making itself known as she rolled with the fall and brought herself to her feet. The blade of her rapier stroked downwards with the motion, giving life to a bluish spark where the point touched the ground.

Ice spread out from it like a wave, smoothly covering the floorboards and even creeping up the closest wall. It swept over the floor, past the writhing pipes, ice rising and clinging to where it touched them as though to hold them, doing the same to the legs of nearby tables.

So far, the voice had only exerted control over things within the building. Things that did not originally belong had been left untouched, those being herself and her ice. If she was correct in her assessment that those could not be affected by this haunt-like magic directly, barriers of ice could at least prevent the pipes and other objects from moving through walls.

Pithy scowled, air gusting heavily through her nose. She would have to keep her eyes on the ceiling from then on as well.

She had expected more plates, but it was clear that the owner of the voice was less interested in gathering data than they were in flexing their muscles. So much for ‘experiment’.

It was beginning to dawn on her just how precarious the situation she was in was. Had she been only slightly less alert or agile, she would have been smashed between the tables. She had thought at first that the voice’s curiosity would ensure a measure of safety for their perceived guinea pig, but now she began to suspect she was only there to entertain for as long as she lasted. Which meant she either had to find Nero and get out first – and pray to all Lords that this one keeps their word – or to find a way to stop the owner of the voice themselves.

The sorceress recalled the disk of ice and her one remaining icicle before she moved at a brisk pace towards her initial target. The runes of her rapier glowed brightly as she made the ice covering the floor spread below her, and Pithy ignored the low droning of wind she could hear under the screeching noise of writhing metal.

“Nero!” Pithy yelled out as she reached towards the door, hoping against hope that the voice did not decide to use it for their next surprise. “You had best shout back if you’re still alive!”

The Crucible - Winner Take All

Like many other edifices she had entered since she had been summoned to this alien land, the one she entered now appeared to have been abandoned suddenly and recently, as though only a few minutes before her entrance the restaurant’s staff had prepared the tables for a grand feast, and retreated into the kitchen. For all that, no food sat on the plates, nor guests sat at the tables.

The large reception was wasted on the single traveler, and the cloying scent of an unknown sorcery brought her pause as she scanned the utensils on the tables through a narrowed eye.

A soft click alerted her to the fact that the door had closed behind her. The rasping sound of the bolt sliding into was more obvious.

Pithy reached towards it at once, confirming her fears. It refused to move, as though affixed in place.

A curse danced on her lips as she turned, studying her surroundings with renewed intensity. The locked door itself did not upset her as much as what it meant. Her presence was known.

The voice that greeted her as she slowly stepped away from the front entrance turned that into a certainty.

“Welcome, Pithy.”

The voice echoed around her, seeming to bounce off the cutlery.

The woman froze, listening attentively. It was a familiar voice, even through the reverberations, and her first thought was that Nero had lain in wait for her. The longer she heard the voice speak, however, the less convinced she was. Gone were the ill-timed jokes and irreverent tone she had come to associate to the announcer.

Still, they knew her name limiting the possible suspects. Furthermore, while she was not familiar with the word ‘camera’, it was clear that they had left a means to spy into the announcer’s tower, meaning the owner of the voice had been a party to her conversation with Nero, and conceivably her later attempt to locate him. It was possible such a device was being used to observe her at that very moment. Was the owner of the voice even present in the edifice?

The announcer’s drawling voice echoed in her mind. There’s shifty business goin’ on in the College. Some of ‘em ain’t so bad, aside from bein’ willing to sacrifice a lot just to research all the nonsense that’s goin’ on in this place, but some want that wish for themselves.

The magic swelled around her with such intensity that it made her nose itch, disrupting her train of thought. The runes in her rapier shimmered, frost appearing over nearby plates as the blizzard inside her swelled in response. Pithy shivered.

It dawned on her that the voice was trying to intimidate her, and her lips twisted in a spiteful grimace. Her eye went to the shooter in her left hand, mindful of the weight it carried. She needed only pull the trigger to alert Dew to these unexpected developments. Her finger twitched, her hand tensing.

She brought the weapon up, returning it to its holster.

Not yet. It was not the time. She did not have a target. Even if Dew was able to cross the boundary to this territory she had walked into, it was likely that she would simply end up stuck with him as company. After all, if the voice knew to wait for her, it would also know she had her own pawn nearby. She doubted the voice had heard the exchange she had had outside, but revealing her hand too early could cost her dearly.

Instead, she drew her rapier from the hoop at her belt, the blades of ice she had summoned fanning out around her, wary of unseen danger.

“To rescue Nero...” The irony of the task the voice had left her with was not lost on her. She was reticent to take any promises this mysterious addition to her worries gave her at face-value, but at the same time she was unwilling to leave empty-handed after she had tracked down the announcer’s location.

Is that the arrogance of newborn power I hear? How vexing to listen to it myself is. Just what had the foolish boy done after he’d slipped away from her?

The plates in the nearest tables trembled, eight of them slowly rising in the air.

The first two spun towards her head. Pithy ducked, the plates crashing against the door as she spun to the side to keep all the floating discs in front of her. She brought up her rapier.

The next two were turned away by her ice, two blades batting away the projectiles before they reached her.

The third set met the same fate. The last two plates crashed against a solid surface, a thin disk of ice that now levitated before her, its rapid formation aided by the cold she was still bleeding to the surroundings.

As an afterthought, one of her blades spun around her and lanced towards a nearby window. The glass shuddered in its frame against the impact, but for all that, it bounced off, leaving not so much as a mark.

Pithy frowned as she reeled the ice back towards her. That was hardly a threat, but if I’ve been truly sealed off, for how long will that last? I do not believe it is my limits that are being tested.

The avenue of assault the voice had chosen bore thinking about. Levitation, at first glance. That could prove problematic if the power was able to touch her or her ice directly. She would need to be watchful of that, until she knew if the voice had not yet bothered to do so because it was unable to, or because it felt it unnecessary. Considering the objects moving as if of their own will, combined with the fact that she seemed to have been sealed inside the building, along with the roiling power suffusing her surroundings and the allusion to an entity other than the voice, her first guess was a haunting. Had a poltergeist been bound to this place?

Pithy walked towards the nearest wall, hesitant to wade between the tables, and followed to march towards the back of the establishment, wary of more sudden projectiles even with her own conjured weapons trailing behind her. She quickly caught sight of an array of doors, some featuring the images she now knew signaled the restrooms, and moved towards the unmarked ones.

“Does my voice reach you?” she asked out loud as she walked. She wanted to keep the voice talking for whatever information it might betray. Ought I to play to their expectations, then? “How did you get to Nero? I admit to feeling as though the chance to properly humiliate him has been stolen from me.”

The Three Realms War [A DMC, Bayonetta and Darksiders RP]

Fenn’s low, disdainful laughter echoed in the clearing. “You chose the harshest path. Let us see if you have the strength to make it the right one,” he pronounced, before throwing himself at the angels’ commander. The tremor of his first blow crushing the ground where the angel had stood moments before heralded the true beginning of their battle.

Akoni wished he could say he was surprised by this turn of events, but in all honesty it hadn’t been the least bit surprising at all. Demons usually sought to destroy, but angels usually sought to rule, feeling their judgment to be righteous regardless as to the thoughts of others. As tension rose in the air, so did his own conflict. He wouldn’t have cared about killing angels, after all he’d killed about as many of them as he had demons in his time. It just had to be this angel, and the nephilim Wrath seemed to be taking their side. Such a pity. Akoni had actually liked Wrath.

The mage readied himself for battle with the angels, and possibly Wrath himself. Blue aura flickered around his eyes and hands, concentrating into hardened battle magics. Zuriel and the angelic soldiers attacked without missing a beat, the archangel headed straight for Fenn while the small fries went after the others. Souta managed to hold his own quite well, Akoni noted. Well enough for a man mostly devoted to his art, and not live combat. An angel swooped straight for the old man, but he was having none of it. A gate opened directly in front of his attacker, and the angel emerged sixty feet away in the opposite direction. It took a moment for him to reorient himself, but in that time Akoni would be able to do what he wanted.

“Wrath. When we all met, before being branded by the Council, you saved my life in those caves. If you dare attack any of us, then it’ll be me. Take responsibility for the life that you held in your hands!” The mystic aura flared up as it became infected with blacks and greens overtaking the blue. He uttered two words incomprehensible, and hundreds of tiny portals opened surrounding his body. Reptilian green scales emerged from the countless portals, affixing to Akoni’s skin. His Squamous Armor would make him more durable if he needed to take a few hits.

Wrath was still trying to figure out what exactly was going on when all Hell, and he mentally slapped himself for the unintended pun, broke loose. Drawing Rage Bringer, he adopted a more defensive stance as the angels attacked, Zarrath being intercepted by a demon who must have been waiting and forced to engage her.

He kept an eye on each of the remaining opponents, letting them go after others while he tried to think of a way to defuse this before there were too many dead Army of Light. Think there’s a way to stop this, before Sevrin shows his slimy face, but how… Kushiel was well known for his pride and, where demons were concerned, ruthlessness, but he was also considered a traitor by many in the Army of Light, the AT-Field he’d been given a clear mark. Still… Before he could think any further in, Akoni’s voice cut through his thoughts, calling the Nephilim to action, though if he was honest, Wrath couldn’t think of a time he wanted to fight less.

”I won’t take my blade to you unless you attack me first, Akoni. But neither can I stand with the Council as I once was able. You didn’t see the Undersky, a place that ignored the laws of the Charred Council, that had, without help, kept them and their agents out. They aren’t what they seem.” He turned to look at the battle between Kushiel and Fenn and frowned slightly. ”But neither can this continue. Bah, had Uriel only given me some form of command!” The Nephilim knew he needed to get between the two, but didn’t know how without ending up worse for wear.

“Save your self-pity for another day, Wrath!” Lily barked from across the room, throwing an unfortunate angel into one of his allies. She gave Wrath a glance. “Either you honor the deal you made, or I will consider you an enemy.” The previously thrown angel attempted a flanking maneuver with the one he had hit, both advancing form either side. Lily impaled one with her spear before he even came within his own reach, and the other found itself facing her bullwhip-like tail, sending him sprawling backwards. She yanked the spear free and made a wide swipe with it, slashing its throat. “So choose, now.”

“To hell with absolutes, Lily! Where has that gotten us except the mercy of those who would see the will of none but themselves done?” Some part of him realized what he’d said and mentally apologized for it, but the greater majority of his awareness was on the situation at hand. “We’re owed answers, damnit! Like why the Horsemen weren’t sent to the Undersky when that was clearly somewhere the Seals had no power!” An Angel was flung in Wrath’s direction and he caught him before setting him on the ground. ”This is a lost cause and the wrong one. Gather our forces and set them to finding the snake who destroyed the second seal.”

There was the briefest hesitation on the angel’s face before he remembered the fate of his friends and he nodded, flying away speedily. Wrath then did something incredibly rash, which wasn’t uncommon to him, his voice booming out across the arena. “Stop, Kushiel! This battle serves no purpose other than to serve your inflated ego!”

The angel jumped over Fenn’s swipes, his wings flaring and leaving him out of reach. Nonetheless, his attention was no longer on the hound below him. “‘Inflated ego’? Perhaps that is you, remember even with your special status as an agent, you serve heaven. I saw something in you I could relate, a free spirit, after all I hold a similar status. We serve the will of god, and this, is His will”, Kushiel’s voice in all his condescending manner, was calm and collected, it was chilling, his polite demeanor with the dark look in his eyes, did not befit the traditional notion of what an angel should be. It was a terrifying charisma, backed with the strength he wielded.

“I will forgive your outburst, but the moment you side with them, you will no longer be considered an ally to the Army of Light. Fight with me, or stay out of it”, was the demand out of generosity? Or arrogance that he was enough? It was unclear, for he did hold the power to contest them, even alone to some extent. Regardless, Kushiel’s attention was quickly diverted by a glint of metal. He clicked his tongue in irritation, diving under the whip of chains towards his chosen foe.

Still Wrath tried to sway him. “I side with the Balance, Kushiel, as Heaven always has! Attacking the agents of the Council is far from the wisest decision you’ve ever made, and my status as an ally to the Army of Light has never been your decision. That rests with Uriel and the Hellguard, as I am formally assigned to them, as is Zarrath.” He kept his eyes unmoving. “Sevrin is here, Kushiel. The man...creature perhaps, who destroyed the second seal. And you would waste time and energy on THIS?”

Akoni meanwhile had spent his time evading numerous angels that had brought their attacks toward what was perceived as the weakest enemy. After all, he was still just an old man, by all appearances. Yet he did not kill any of them, preferring to dodge, evade, and trick them away with his use of the Gatewalk. He would have to conserve his strength for the battle with Sevrin. Thankfully Wrath had enough sense not to attack, for which the old mage was thankful. A house divided, and all that.

“You’re a fool if you believe that this is God’s will, Kushiel! And even more foolish if you believe you can stand up to whatever has taken residence within Sevrin’s body. It is not anything that I believe any of us could defeat alone. It is not anything that I believe the Horsemen could defeat alone! I could not even pierce the veil enough to get a name with my magics!” An angel got lucky and managed to land a cut on Akoni’s arm with a sword. The scale-like armor blocked most of the attack, shaving scales off like a razor taken to hair. The old man morphed his Lammasu gauntlet into a hammer fist, then slid it up along the angel’s blade to strike his foe in the face. Bloodied, the angel fell back through a gate Akoni manifested, and exited further still from the skirmish.

“I stand with humanity’s survival above all else! Demons, angels, the Council, and anything else in these cosmos, I trust none of them to respect humans autonomy! Kushiel, either be our ally against a common foe, or be another divine monster crushed beneath the heels of the ultimate survivors!”

Kushiel’s cherubic expression twitched, his lips twisting into a smirk for the smallest of moments, before his focus was brought back to task by the large arm streaking his way. He dodged under it, the rush of wind following the blow whipping at his hair. His lance streaked upwards, seeking the beast’s exposed sides, but the monster shifted almost imperceptibly and the spearhead skittered along the hardened scales, failing to find purchase. The angel’s brows knitted together. He had not thought possible that a lumbering mutt would offer him trouble, but the beast’s hide was harder than he had anticipated. Out of the numerous blows he had landed since the short time the fight had begun, most had been turned away in a similar fashion, leaving only a few, thin trickles of blood as proof that his spear had so much as nicked the beast.

As he processed this, the hound reversed its swing, tree-trunk arm sweeping back from the angel’s right. He jumped over it wish a flap of his wings, but before he could retaliate, the demon’s other arm swept upwards with the momentum, claws outstretched. Kushiel twisted in the air, using his wings to spin himself back, but as he did, the tip of one of his feathered appendages touched the sweeping claw. Red stained the feathers at the wing’s end, and the limb was swept back with the force, throwing his spin into an uncontrolled tumble.

Kushiel rolled back into the fall, coming to his feet just in time to catch the hellhound looming over him, arms stretched upwards.

Kushiel raised his hands just as the hammer blow rocked down. A barrier of energy sparkled between them, and Kushiel was brought to his knees, the earth cracking below him. He looked up past the dog’s fists to the its amber orbs with undisguised hatred. “You damned mutt.”

The dog’s expression seemed almost crazed, his irises wide and lined with red, fury in his eyes. The change to his disposition had come as soon as he had launched himself at the angel, as though slipping into a mask, so perhaps it should not have come as a shock that it still found it in itself to speak. “Enough talk, little lord. I am your enemy. The rest do not matter.”

Gritting his teeth, Kushiel spun to the side, using his AT-field to finally parry the two hammers. Fenn sunk down at the absence of resistance, and Kushiel jumped upwards with his motion. He spun in the air, the zenith of his jump leaving him hanging for a weightless moment above the beast’s back. If his spear could not pierce his body normally, he would have to find the monster’s weak points.

He could spy the hellhound’s muzzle turning, one eye staring back at the angel poised behind him, but it did not matter. The beast was too large and lumbering to avoid him. With a pained flap of his wings, the spearman streaked downwards, aiming at the base of the demon’s skull. He felt the give of softer flesh against steel.

Kushiel widened his eyes as he kept moving. Somehow, the dog had shifted at the last moment. His fall continued, earthbound, but he caught a glint of metal below, a hoop held in the large demon’s hand. Almost as if he had predicted the angel’s trajectory, the spear fell inside the ring of metal.

Fenn twisted his body, pulling Kushiel by the length of his spear, and swung his arm backwards. The force of the movement freed the lance from its sudden prison, sending it and its owner flying towards the edge of the clearing. Kushiel’s flight was halted when he crashed against a tree, the trunk cracking and falling under the impact.

The hound fell back to all fours, showing his teeth at the treeline. Blood flowed profusely from the side of his neck, the usual smoke that accompanied his wounds never appearing. But for all that, and for all his objections to the battle itself, the hound’s expression was that of one extremely pleased by the proceedings, at least to any who knew how to read it.

Beside Fenn landed the large form of Lily, black spear in hand. She bore a few scrapes and cuts, but nothing major, as opposed to the several dead angels behind her. She had her eyes trained on where Kushiel had fallen, body tense and ready to act. From within her chest and up to her throat, an orange light started to shine, like a flashlight viewed through one’s hand.

“Give him no quarter,” she murmured, half to herself, half to the Hellhound beside her. She leaned forward and unleashed a narrow cone of hellish fire, directly at where Kushiel landed, engulfing him and the immediate area around him.

“Enough you damnable fools!” Wrath coalesced a portion of his own energy into his blade before slamming the tip of the blade into the ground. After a moment of rumbling that shook any but Wrath that were standing on the ground, a line between the two demons and the fallen Angel Lord fell open, the Earth Render technique unique to the Nephilim creating a sizable gorge, all things considered, before slamming shut. No one was harmed, but it had the desired effect, and it was gaining the attention of those around him.

“I’ll say it again. Sevrin is HERE. What we’re doing now? It’s giving him a free pass into the fourth seal if we all wear each other out trying to kill each other.” Pausing, Wrath took a deep calming breath, the battle lust inside him dying down some with it. Being Nephilim, he lived for each battle, every exchange of blade on blade, fist to flesh and blood for blood, but he had to know when to choose his battles, and now wasn’t the time. “This is sad, the Nephilim, bred and born for battle, trying to talk down beings far more capable of talking this shit out. Use your fucking heads.”

It was already too late to put a stop to Lily’s flames, but hopefully he’d convinced them to stop attacking further. A sense of unease had seized him, but he doubted it came from the battle that had just occurred around him.

Heroes of Beacon - the Next Chapter

The moment that the words left Sand’s lips, she knew they somehow would be turned around to her. It did not stop her from stammering when the girl next to her, the one who’d shed her clothes first, poked her on the side, urging her to follow her own advice.

“E-Eh… nay,” she rapidly improvised. “such is the nature of my thankless task.”

And where did this low fantasy movie accent came from? She’d affected it without putting much thought into it, and now it stuck as she rebuffed the other girl’s objection. “Peer pressure shan’t stand in the way of my duty.”

Except it would, if the rest of the team happened to be as ready to cast their worries away as these two. She couldn’t poke fun of something as strange when it happened to be the most normal thing in the world to another. The best she could do was try not to get dragged into it despite herself.

Hearing her name being called, she cast out her gaze to the other team, hoping to find some inspiration.

She found more than that.

Oh.

“Indeed, look over yonder, to the one with the dyed blonde hair—”

That was a thing he could do.

“And the top—”

Dammit, Jer.

“That almost profiles the abs she works so hard to maintain—”

Jer.

“And the chest that looks a bit tighter than it actually should be—”

Jer, you massive weirdo.

“Would you not say this is the best time for misdir—Okay, I can’t. Give me a minute.”

Abruptly breaking out of the silly character she had adopted on a whim, Sand broke from her team’s huddle and moved closer to the other, staring intently at the face of her new twin. She paused when she was close enough to stretch a hand and touch her clone, casting out for words to express what she felt at the moment.

Did she truly look so irritable all the time? She’d had a similar feeling for some time whenever she looked into a mirror, but perhaps she truly needed to work more sleep into her schedule. Those were words, to be sure, but not for the boy wearing her skin. The specific wording of that musing gave her a shudder, along with a thought better left unexplored.

“What am I looking at?” she started with a resigned tone, trying to ignore the other eyes looking at the bizarre pair. “Don’t say ‘Sand Vespa’. I know we’re both from Atlas but this…”

Then again, this was a very peculiar situation. Don’t make things weirder, girl.

“I’m not really okay with…”

It would be a waste if she did not ascertain all the facts of the matter. Don’t bring that up. You don’t actually want an answer.

“Huh.” She coughed, glancing down meaningfully for a split-second. “Does—Hm. Does that change what’s down there too?”

@Plank Sinatra@Norschtalen

The Crucible - Winner Take All

“One thing at a time.” Pithy said, before resuming her walk.

The pair had set out from the announcer’s tower not too long ago, deciding that their destination was too close and their vehicle too loud to be practical when they were supposedly tracking someone. It had not stopped Dew from swallowing the entire thing into his personal extradimensional space, making Pithy question his supposed ignorance of the arts once again.

Halfway to their destination, the pair had seen fit to look over the buildings to see a decidedly out of place apparition.

Dew brought the scope of his rifle away from his eye, having just told Pithy about the shape falling from under it. ‘Like an anchor?’ she had asked. ‘No rope. Maybe garbage,’ he had suggested, but the elf had only one thing in mind for the time being.

“One thing. Right.” Dew paused as he began to follow, as though chewing on his words. “What’s the plan if we do find Nero out here? Last time we sat down for a chat didn’t exactly go well.”

Pithy grimaced. The question had been on her mind for much of the trek, after all. When it came down to it, she had no way of coming to an understanding with the otherworldly mage. She had nothing to offer him for his cooperation, and the young man had not responded well to her threats. Worse, it seemed that their goals were diametrically opposed. She wished to make use of the Crucible’s wish machine. Nero wished to prevent the machine’s use.

Perhaps it would have been different if she could reach those ‘friends’ he had referenced in their earlier conversation, but coercion had earned her little when Nero’s continued health had been the only thing at stake.

The man was distorted at his core. That was how she felt about him, now that she had had time to process their encounter. A kind of fearlessness had been born from such a schism.

“Frankly, part of me hopes he will have moved on by the time we arrive. He is not afraid of what I could do to him, which means I cannot control him,” she allowed, trying to keep the frustration from her voice. The best case scenario would be one where the place Nero had led them to in and of itself held the answers she sought, or if Nero somehow led them to a more pliable collaborator to his scheme.

“Is there no way to hold him down? Tie him up until he answers our questions?”

Pithy huffed at the interruption to her musings. “You saw how his magic works. Physical restraints will not work. That includes my ice. The truth is that we cannot touch him, look at him, or for that matter stand near him without being vulnerable to his curses.”

“If his magic is what’s giving us trouble, can’t you just keep him from casting?”

“As I am now? No.” Pithy frowned, looking down at the asphalt. The streets had dried considerably, meaning that they could march straight for their objective with no detours. The glass panes of the buildings and businesses surrounding them receded quietly in their march, revealing no new threats, much to the elf’s continued relief. She wondered if, had this been a city she was familiar with, she would have been able to feel at ease, as though this was merely a nighttime walk with a colleague. That was a useless thought. “I could cut his hands off so he could not gesture. Poke his eyes out so he could not choose a target. Cut his tongue off. Would he still be able to cast then? I can’t be certain. He certainly would not be able to answer my questions, however.”

“Would you do that? Cripple him if it would get him to cooperate, I mean.”

“He would not cooperate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“It is not,” she agreed. Then, after a moment, she added, “I have trouble imagining a scenario where killing him is not my best option.”

“Don’t worry,” Dew smirked. “A lack of creativity is only one of your many flaws.”

“Remind me why I did not cut off your tongue again?” she asked, the irritation mixing into her tone partly directed at the man for trying to get a rise from her, and partly at herself for knowing it would be a waste to harm him at this point.

“I have to wonder myself. It’s almost as if you thought I’d have anything good to say about you after you cheated me out of the competition.”

“Unreasonable expectations,” the woman droned dryly. “Another flaw of mine, it would seem.”

She stopped then, looking down at the map she had taken from the tower. Looking up again, she studied the building before her. It reminded her slightly of some of the wealthier establishments in certain human cities of her world, with an open terrace fitted with a multitude of fine, wooden tables, and a set of stairs rising along its length to the main building. The large panes of glass that separated the interior from the terrace would normally give onlookers a clear sight of the first floor, but heavy, maroon drapes blocked the view. A large sign with the words ‘Moscow Caliber’ told of the business’s name.

Dew snorted. “Call it a hunch, but I’d feel disappointed if we didn’t get into a shootout in this place.”

Pithy took a slow breath, ignoring that forecast, and stuffed the map back into her pocket. “I want you to wait outside.”

The man glanced at her, expression betraying some surprise. “You sure? Last time you went up against Nero on your own, you weren’t doing particularly well.”

I appreciate the reminder, Dew. Truly, I do.

“I’ll take the front door,” she continued, drawing the shooter from the holster at her breast. “If you hear me fire, I want you to come looking for me. If I’m in there for too long, I want you to come looking for me.”

“How long’s too long?” he asked, and Pithy could see a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Long enough to make one think I might not walk out on my own.” As the smile only grew brighter, Pithy’s brows only knitted closer together. “I’m aware I’m being vague, Dew, but I will not take that as an excuse if you leave me in there for dead.”

The man waved his arm dismissively. “Wouldn’t dream of it. Come on, what else? We’re wasting time out here.”

“I want you to check for other entrances, and to make sure nobody gets out of the building. If something is wrong, or if you see someone that’s not me leave the building, I want you to fire your weapon in the air.” She paused for a moment, then added. “If you see Nero walk out alone, I want you to kill him.”

Dew grimaced for a moment, then nodded.

Pithy could not help but to feel relieved by the gesture. She took another steadying breath, then turned towards the steps. Her free hand went to her rapier as she walked, the runes beginning to glow as three shards of ice the length of her blade separated from the silvery surface, as though her sword was multiplying, then trailed behind her.

Soon enough she stood before the front entrance, her armament at the ready. Taking one last pause, she nudged the door open.