Fantasy The Great Games of Nye

[Lost Echo]

~Esther~

A braying laugh like a donkey woke her from unconsciousness into a world of pain. Was it worse? ‘I’m lacking adrenaline’ a part of her mind realized, while the rest of her tried to figure out how to breathe without hurting. She stayed flat, pressing her palms onto the hard cot she was on. Slowly, she looked down at her body. She scowled realizing then that her clothes were missing. Well the top half, she thought as she bent her knees. Her modesty was protected by wrapped bandages, and what they covered was in her way of seeing what she needed to see. She would have to move. Not much, but at the moment her mind rebelled at even the possibility of more pain. She was regretting requesting no laudanum.

Carefully, gingerly, she levered herself upward. Finally able to see the mess of black and purple her abdomen was made her wish she hadn’t. She remembered the medics snapping at her immediately to separate from her familiar before she passed out. Her fast pulse likely increased the bleeding. Fully upright, she ran her fingers over her skin, the lightest pressure causing pain.

Her head pounded in a way she was quite familiar with. Her blood sugar was low. Dart flitted around for a moment before landing where she assumed her bag was. What she needed, but far too heavy for a hummingbird to carry…if they could carry anything that is. She turned her head to search the room, and a man stood out by not being on a bed. Nor was he a doctor. He did not appear to be someone she wanted to deal with while in pain, but needs must. “Excuse me,” she tried to pull his attention from the two way too young contestants. “Sir.” Her voice grew curter as her patience thinned. “Can you hand me that bag?” She pointed toward the end of her bed, “The one with the bird on it.” She didn’t bother specifying the species. It was rare that anyone recognized a hummingbird, even after her match. Such a loss…

Fred Colon Jet Arcanist

 

[EldridSmith]

Mark had been silently walking with Ava towards their rooms as they had finished their combats on the first day and he would enjoy his rest after getting out of his getup, though he would keep weapons with him at all times just because that was how one lived as an assassin and a mercenary. In fact he was thinking of places to go with Anya once they met back up when suddenly Anya was there next to them, breathing too quickly for her own good. She was clearly distressed before asking... either himself or Ava if they were hug people.

Normally he would say no but it was Anya so without hesitation upon hearing she could use a hug he wrapped his arms around her. She began to sob causing his gut to twist violently, he was angry... this was the most rage he had felt in a long time. Bloodlust began to leak out and the more experienced folk in the crowd quickly left him alone unsure what was going on whether he was killing the girl or wanting to murder someone else. Still Mark held her as Ava covered up the scene with her huge form as best she could.

"What happened... who did this to you?" Mark asked calmly, the rage within him stilled while he talked with her as it festered like a boiling lake. "Let it all out my dear... I'm here for you." He said holding her tightly... she would answer whenever she was ready and able... but it didn't seem like that time was now. It seemed like they would discuss the rest of the details at the hotel but for now he would wait for her to be ready to move or talk.
Lost Echo Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[Lost Echo]

☆Vixie☆

Vixie wanted to follow Nyaall. She wanted to make sure he was alright. In that short amount of time, he felt like a friend. An elbow and violent shove backward brought reality back. The medic took the time to sneer at her before joining the rush of people taking the celebrity away. She stumbled back, her tails flaring to keep her balance. She was too stunned to say a thing, and just watched as he was carried away.

She’d won. She’d even done it for her hero. She had a secret tucked behind her teeth that she couldn’t share. She’d likely never know why he’d asked. Wrapping her arms around herself, she let Philos-o-fur seep from her so she could have something to hug.

A nip at her wrist pulled her out of her angst. Right. She just had to move forward. She was lucky today, even if no one else knew it, she’d keep the knowledge tucked in her heart. Lowering her head to breathe against Phil’s fur, she took a moment, before determinedly walking into the staging area all the non-injured winners were.

It was like standing at the side of a cafeteria. Tray in your hand and everyone is already seated in their groups. She took a deep breath. She could do this. She was sociable. She just had to pick the right group.

"Fuck me!"

The young girl turned toward the curse. A darker redhead was its source. She was sitting on a bench, holding her hand in obvious pain. Vixie’s eyes strayed to the boy standing beside her, some sort of shield in his hand. There's an opening. They were nearly her age too. Walking quickly over, Vixie asked once the girl was finished with what sounded like an analysis, “Are you okay?” She wondered what they were doing. Maybe she could join?

Jet Emphoa

 

[Huntertabbysandshark3]

Ava Marco
interaction: EldridSmith Lost Echo​

Ava was more then happy to basically just blabber on about her own fight exaggerating it a little bit primarily how much she got hurt to make herself sound cooler but realistically it wasn't as flashy as she was expecting still pretty fucking awesome though. "so anyway th-" her overblown ramblings where interrupted by that Anya girl damn she wasn't looking like she was in the best state at all. hell, she was sobbing.. must have gotten seriously roughed up in her fight if anything she felt really bad about her no no there was something else going wrong.. here luckily the combination of Mark reputation and Ava huge form managed to get most people to go away, she really wanted to hug them too but no.. this was a moment.. between them.. and it was better she stayed out of it despite how much she really wanted too.. instead, just gently patting Anya on the back. "yeah just.. take it easy"

 

[Lost Echo]

♡Anya♡

He was hugging her. Like with both arms. She was probably getting snot all over his leather trenchcoat. And he didn’t care. Then again his slime was like snot. Maybe that was why? She felt really safe. And kind of boneless. He was definitely holding her up. Did she have to stand? She heard his words, but merely cried harder at his questions. She was being so stupid. Nothing happened to her. She did nothing. Her help was useless.

She needed to step back. Even with his calm voice, she knew he was angry. He was going to want to kill people and then that would be her fault. She was just being silly. Her throat felt raw as she hiccuped, her tears slowing. But she stayed against him a little longer. Using the time to built back up. Trying to hide from the world just a little bit longer. Trying to push back the feeling of that still body.

Stepping back, she wiped her face with the back of her hand, sniffling loudly. She stared at the shiny surface for a moment before wiping the wetness and snot on her shirt. “I’ve seen too many dead people today.” She muttered, knowing she couldn’t say anything more until…until when? The hotel? Would it be safe? Maybe she would have to wait longer. She hadn’t even had a chance to explain why she was here. Doc’s help would be integral. He may not know Nye’s internal network himself, but he would know who was resentful of Nye. Who could help her.

Reminding herself of why she was doing this helped steady her. She looked down at the pouch of gold clutched in her other hand. “So how did your fights go? Did you hear? I’m inspirational” Her voice dripped with distain, though it was ruined by a small cough.

 

[Fred Colon]

Kilderkin walked a short distance away from the arena, smiling as if elated by her win. A win that had left her, unlike many of her competitors, even the other victors, mostly unscathed. She was lucky she'd been able to grab a hold of the agile Esther, and that Esther had been an archer. If it had been a brawnier opponent, a mere grapple likely wouldn't have done the trick.

She walked back into the locker-rooms and grabbed her things. She put her raincoat back on, and then, hidden by the rain coats long sleeves, attached her item of power to her wrist. Surprise was always useful. Hopefully to everyone that had watched the fight, it had looked like she had no item of power, or perhaps her overly ornate cutlass was it. Thus equipped, she walked the halls of the arena until she found a relatively empty location.

Eventually she found a small, out of the way hallway on one of the basement levels, far enough away from the hustle and bustle that she could find some semblance of calm. She couldn't get away from everyone, of course. Some sort of cleaning woman was mopping the floor nearby, and here and there a few people who looked like arena workers occasionally strode through the hall, not looking at anyone else. But that was ok. She just needed a little quiet. Anyone who saw her would just assume she was taking a breather after her fight. Which was, in all honesty, partly true. Being back in Nye was... more stressful than she thought it would be. She'd imagined she left the trauma and sentiment behind, but that wasn't quite true. Seeing Kwame again had made her feel... agitated.

And that wasn't ok.

It had been years since she'd let emotion touch her features. At least, not an emotion she hadn't decided to feel. In her head she kept metaphorical shelves upon shelves of stored emotions. All she had to do was recall the moment she had felt the emotion, and it would come rushing back to her the moment she needed it. Moments of fear, of joy, of rage, all safely stored away in her head until she needed them. Tame. Controlled. Kilderkin was good at compartmentalizing.

But this anxiety was threatening... not to overwhelm her. Kilderkin was better than that. She was in control of her own mind. Something as silly as emotions wouldn't break her control. But it *was* threatening to spill over into her thoughts. Into her features. Unbidden.

Control started with the self. It was the first step in controlling your surroundings. This anxiety would be cut away and filed, like all her other emotions.

She shut her eyes, and breathed deeply.

She wondered if Kwame would find her here. Or perhaps that odd merchant who seemed to know oh so much about her. That was the other reason she had come here. It was more private. She could act a little less like the idiot sailor, here. She didn't expect anyone to come. They were going to celebrate the contestants of this idiotic bloodsport soon, so there wasn't much time left.

But one never knew. And she'd rather be alone than pretending to be the vapid sailor again.

She let herself drift and began to meditate, like she'd been taught in southern Zuanshi. Let go of the ego. Of the self. Focus on awareness. Awareness of your body. Awareness of everything around you. Blend the distinction between the two.

She could hear the janitor woman muttering to herself from under her breath. Something about an ungrateful brother. She could hear, far away, the rumble of the crowd. Somewhere else she could hear shouting. Conflict. Muffled and farther away. Undiscernible beyond the fact that it was violence. But this arena was a temple to violence. What else would one expect? Kilderkin thought nothing more of it.

So too could she hear the blood coursing through her body. The beat of her heart controlling the flow.

Her heart beating wasn't an involuntary action for her anymore. She forced it to slow. And with it, her anxiety slowed too. Thus tempered, she cut it away from her. She stored it neatly in the recesses of her mind. It might not stay put, but for now everything in her psyche was in order. Her attention shifted back to her physical body.

Kilderkin allowed her awareness to reach out to every part of her. She took stock of every muscle. Every artery and bone. She noted every twinge of pain, and silently named the biological structures the pain originated from.

The dermis above her radial artery was the most damaged. Minor blood vessels had burst during her arial maneuvers. Not serious, but still, it would be better to deal with it rather than leave it.

She willed more blood to the region, kickstarting the angiogenesis that would eventually see the burst vascular structures replaced. The rest of her pains were minor enough that her body would deal with them on its own, in time.

Her eyes flicked open.

Control started with the self.

Kilderkin stood back up. It was time to join the ceremony.

 

[Arcanist]

Faraji Aguta

​

The scent of sweat and rust was an addictive aroma. Another year of entertainment, of money pegged to nobodies with short swords and legends with thunder in their steps. Casimir claimed the crowd’s chants were heard far below the floating city when the Games got underway, for that was how beloved the Viper was. Faraji could almost believe it with the reception that Craxus received.

“VIPER! VIPER!” The sapphire plumed bird perched on the edge of the viewing box squawked, bobbing his body to the rhythm of the crowd’s chants for the people’s champion.

Faraji rubbed a grape between his finger and thumb, sitting with his feet on the edge of the viewing box. The Games were glorified dog fights to be sure. Dog fights with slabs of meat dangling in front of the contestants. Money. Status. Acclaim. Faraji seasoned his words with the same thing when he enlisted fighters. There was always something, rooted deep down in them, that made them want to fight in these Games. He learned what made these people tick.

It was often not what was presented in their interviews. But he did not market them to the masses. He picked the Games’ victims.

“Well, Faraji?”

The man stopped fondling his grape and pushed it past his lips. He chewed as Dyus spewed his piece and glanced at Ophelia, a greying, large woman with soft eyes but a quick wit. Faraji always thought she looked more a schoolteacher than an appraiser. “Ah-ah, not yet. The fight hasn’t even started.”

“So you can choose the most obvious victor before the end of the fight?” Ophelia raised an eyebrow, tutted. “You won’t even vouch for your own contestant?”

“Please,” Faraji waved his hand, “he’s been drafted in as fodder for Craxus. Appropriate given the shoddy performance that pushed him past the line in the first place.” He winked at Ophelia. He was kind to let him through. Kind, because he was sure there was something special there. There were always a few, rough around the edges, hiding a diamond beneath the surface. Perhaps Taust was his diamond this year.

Ophelia scoffed, scratching the head of her white furred fox familiar resting at her feet. “Dickhead.”

Faraji smirked. “I have faith. Perhaps one of mine will win again this year.” For two years now, the contestants he chose won and went on to become Centurions. He would make it third time lucky.

“Not if mine makes it through first,” Ophelia threw back.

Faraji laughed, leaning on one hand as Craxus demanded the fight begin. He settled in for a short one, watching Craxus erect the stone bars, jagged spears aimed directly at Taust. ‘Such a shame,’ he thought ruefully, taking a few more grapes and chewing. His employers wouldn’t even give Taust the time of day to show his talents having been pit against the Viper. He would have to hold out for his other contestants instead.

“He’s just standing there,” Ophelia remarked, bored. “I suppose when you’re faced with the reality with facing the Viper, you would stand there too.”

“I’d try and take Craxus at least.”

“You would not.”

“Would t—”

The structures vanished.

Faraji blinked, pulling his feet onto the floor. “What on—”

Craxus raised his sword, face whiter than milk, then bloodied and bruised as the ground cracked underneath his head. Faraji leapt from his seat, Ophelia with him, both gripping the edge of the box and squinting at the scene.

“DOWN! DOWN!”

“Hush, Lapis,” Faraji scolded as his familiar stopped his bopping, tilting his head at Taust and Craxus.

“What did…did you…” Ophelia looked at Faraji as the crowd gave their mixed reactions, some boos, some raucous cheers, before Taust’s name replaced Craxus’s title completely.

Faraji did not look at Ophelia, transfixed on the victor as he swiftly left the arena. “No. I did not know.” To his surprise, he laughed. He did not give him enough credit. But he knew, he knew deep down he must have been holding back. That was the delusion he gifted himself. His diamond. His key for one of his chosen contestants to win this year’s Great Game.

“Cut your bullshit,” Ophelia whirled on him, “you did know. I see it in your eyes!”

Faraji wished he did. But rather than revel in it, he only began to wonder just how powerful Taust could prove to be.

That familiar high-pitched chirruping echoed in his ear again. Faraji held up a finger to Ophelia, tapping the headpiece nestled in his ear as he began walking outside of the box.

Lapis followed, landing on his shoulder, squawking, “TAUST, TAUST!”

“Aguta. They want you up here, now.”

He recognised the voice. Dull and blunt, and yet, her voice could cut through anyone like a hot steel sword. One of the officials’ aids.

“Not even a congratulat—”

“Now, Aguta. Do not keep them waiting. I’ve sent for escorts to guide you there.”

“Oh, yes,” Faraji’s voice was still warm, walking to meet two members of security muscle their way towards him. “How lovely of you to ensure I don’t get lost.” His fingers grew cold. Three chirrups, then silence. He held his hands up as security approached. “I come willingly,” he smiled, as much as he wanted to spit in their face and tell them to tell officials not to huff about his victory.

He walked past and he heard their footsteps fall in close behind as he listened to the crowd continuing to chant their new victor’s name.

Did the ones far below hear the great change Taust’s name brought sweeping the arena?

 

[ZackStop]

Ren sat there as a cold sweat escaped his pours. He watched as the clock popped off and bounced off the ground, thinking that the bomb would certainly detonate, so he just sat there, completely petrified. But it was true, with the clock removed the explosive was successfully disarmed.

Ren slowly looked up at the group who had entered just as the clock fell from the cube, it looked like Anya shared the same panic that, luckily for them, was quickly dispelled hence the lack of explosions. Tefra walked up and picked up the clock, going on to call him gullible. "Like hell I believed you! It was a complete accident!" His face got alittle red from the nerve of this guy. He was really starting to get annoying, which was only amplified further when Tefra began to pat himself on the back for his honesty.

Ren let out a deep breath before getting up, nearly dropping the cube on the process, but was able to catch it. He very nervously walked over to a crate in the room before gently placing the compression field ontop of it. That's when Ren notices a paper bag just sitting there, and upon looking inside it, a ham sandwich was found wrapped in plastic. His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten all day and with all the near death experiences he's experienced in such a short time, he was getting pretty hungry. He didn't want to take some strangers food, but with everything going on it may be the only chance he'll get to eat. It did look pretty good for such a simple sandwich and he definitely deserved it.

Crushed black pepper topped the slices of ham, complementing well with the subtle sweetness of the meat, and there was a perfectly balanced blend of mustard and mayonnaise that moved the flavor across his tastebuds. This blend was even given a bit of a kick with cayenne pepper which was about as much as Ren could handle. And then there was the texture, a satisfying crunch from a nice crisp cut of green leaf lettuce, and perfectly toasted sourdough that added its own fantastic flavor notes.

As Ren guiltily enjoyed the sandwich, he could practically invision the master chef assembling this sandwich akin to a sculpter, chiseling away at his magnum opus. Meticulously finding the perfect ingredients that complimented eachother as though it was meant to be together. Like true love, these flavors married each other to become what could have been the best sandwich in the world, and overall, Ren thought it was pretty good.

His day dreams ended with his sandwich, and when something started to go horribly wrong. Ren wasn't paying the back and forth much of any mind, but he could tell that it was a crucial moment in the interrogation that Tefra began to fall terribly ill. Infact terribly ill was an understatement. They watched in horror as he fell over and began to die. Some tried to bring him back, or see what they could do to save him, but all Ren managed to do was hop off the crate and watch. It was the second death he had seen today, the only death he had witnessed ever. His emotions were mixed, he didn't particularly like Tefra and knew nothing about him besides his tendency to do terrible things, but he didn't want him to die. He didn't want anyone to die, but yet it was completely out of his control.

The room fell silent, Tefra was dead and no one was able to bring him back from the poison. Phalanx crept up beside Ren as he just stood there staring at the body. The boy slowly looked down at Phalanx who seemed as uhshaken as he always was. All Ren could think now was what would happen now that their only source of information was gone. Whatever mystery this group he had stumbled into was trying to solve is now lost without a lead. All they know was the most vague idea of where they might find Tefra's leader.

It wasn't long after that when police had arrived, as well as people Johan alluded to being government. Things were quiet and everyone was separated in the room to be questioned. Ren answered all the questions he was given with honesty, but he was al bit distracted by all the workers investigating the crime scene. The conductors of the interview also made Ren kind of nervous. He had never been questioned by the law before. He usually stayed out of serious trouble almost entirely, but he managed to get through it pretty easily. He and the others were soon taken back to the staging room where they were finally left alone, but not without a warning. Ren found it odd that they would be so adamant. They worked along side a Centurion for a fight for the truth, and even managed to find and disarm a bomb that most certainly would have taken lives. Maybe that's just how things work in Nye Ren thought.

"Hey you're the Shimamoto kid, Ren right?" A random contestant said from the side of the room he was standing in. He had gruff look to him and an eyepatch that matched hi gravelly voice. Ren immediately looked over, confused why this stranger was asking. "Oh! Um, yeah that's me." He pointed to himself in a bit of a daze as he had responded. The man laughed before continuing. "Well where have you been? You were up to fight earlier." Ren paused, taking a second to register what he had said. "You got DQed for not showing up. You must be lucky, your opponent was a big guy. You probably wouldn't have lasted long." Ren stood there completely still, but he was internally screaming. His mind shattered and he slumped over. "No... No way I can't believe it! What are the odds!?" He thought to himself as he fell to his knees. "How am I gonna get Cage Viper's autograph now?!"

 

[Goliath]

Elriel looked up at the speaker, a slight smile creeping onto his face as he listened to the loud words — the simple instructions and encouragements. After waiting for what felt like forever it was finally time for the Great Games to start. He could feel the nerves bubbling further inside his stomach but nothing he couldn’t handle. Nor was it a new experience. This was no different than his performances. He was accustomed to large crowds more than most. And once the lights came on, or in this case, the countdown, a feeling of peace would wash over him like a calm wave. Or so he hoped.

He put his hand over the weapons attached to his hips concealed by his robe; a sense of security. Custom made and only ever wielded by his hands. An extension of his very being. He had faith in his training. Long days of martial arts. Of his instructor, a former centurion hired by his father, and her crazy strict regiment. Yes, he may have never had to fight a person or a monster like some of his competitors. But he had trained hard all the same. His familiar stood from the noise, watching him intently. Alert. “I’m fine Pardus,” he spoke his voice calm.

He walked down the hallway next to Adamaris. His long lost friend. The only person who he could call such. Their meeting had been..less than ideal. But once this was over they could actually catch up without the cameras and microphones turning it into a reality television series. The next season of Ultimate Arena Warriors. He chuckled under his breath at the thought. When the fights started he wouldn’t have to wait much longer. They may even make dinner if everything went well.

He gave them a reassuring smile regardless of if his friend seemed fine or not. Elriel was confident Adamaris would make it through just fine. So he couldn’t let himself worry about if they got injured. That would just lead to Elriel being distracted, which was dangerous. But if Ada was his opponent..well he’d ultimately throw the match. Though he hoped if it came to that it was further in the tournament than the first round. He reached over rubbing his finger against Nueto’s head, his way of saying ‘keep them safe for me.’

Elriel stood in the middle of the crowd, thankful he was as tall as he was. Ada probably couldn’t see much of anything past the backs of the competitors in front of them. The gruff man called them all over and started giving instructions. He wondered if the first one about peeping into the women’s bathroom was a joke. Regardless, it didn’t pertain to him. He saw the badge, but Elriel had already assumed the man was a centurion. It was only fitting. This obviously wasn’t his first time seeing one, but it felt much more real here, with the title being the reward of this very competition.

Elriel scanned the bracket, looking for his name followed by Adamaris and then those who he’d had the pleasure of sharing a locker room with. They had all gotten lucky, not getting the big hitters from last year or the individuals who enjoyed ruining the hopes of new competitors. Or ‘rookie crushers,’ as the media liked to call them. But that was all he could say regarding the large number of people surrounding him in this room.

Elriel watched as the poor boy, clearly nervous, started getting picked on by the group of hardened individuals. He felt bad for him truly, but not enough to say anything. Ultimately it wasn’t his place and would bring dishonor to them both. He probably wasn’t the only one who felt that way either. The only thing that would prove them wrong was a win, not his wavering words.

He saw the Viper step forward. Everyone should know who he was at least. Probably the worst of the competitors in the room in terms of attitude and grace. It was appalling. Elriel’s stood a little straighter, emotionless as the male tried to intimidate them with insults. But only one thought was on his mind. ‘Who are you to criticize the group when you are on your second attempt yourself.’ Of course, Elriel would never say that though, relaxing as the centurion cut it off.

As for the rest of the rules, most felt like a formality. Everyone here should know about the high amounts of deaths every year. How many waivers had they signed to be here? The only ones that felt relevant were the ones directed to not harm the referees and to not aim attacks at the crowd. Referees because they were staff and the crowd because..well this was to make money.

Elriel heard the dismissal, looking over at the warm-up area before making his way to an open seat in a more secluded area. He chose a spot near a tv that would broadcast the fights. Elriel had been ‘lucky’ to get the last fight of the day, so there was no reason to warm-up this early. Plus it would only let people prematurely know his abilities. It was more beneficial to watch the fights as they progressed, though his father was recording them all for his later review as well. He would be next to Adamaris until his friend was up.

Some were good. Some were boring. He was especially interested in Viper losing, as the masked man was supposed to be a quick win for the returner. And yet no one thought Bean would win last year either. Regardless, that guy was dangerous and he was happy there was no way for them to meet until the end..if Elriel got there. He was more invested in the fights with those from his locker room, cheering mentally as they each advanced one by one. Though Adrian had taken a significant amount of injury and Brynwyr as well. But then..it was time for Adamaris to compete. He was on the edge of his seat, chewing the inside of his cheek. ‘Just be okay. You can win this Ada.’ He thought to himself.

Elriel raised his fist in excitement as the match was called, his friend thankfully winning without taking too much damage. He knew Ada would be happy; excited to congratulate them later. He took his first deep breath in what felt like an eternity. Much calmer. Until finally, two fights before his own, Elriel stood, moving into the warm-up area. He didn’t summon his element or fuse or even unsheathe his weapons though. Instead, he ran, trying to get his blood pumping. As his name was called only he and his opponent, along with the centurion proctor, stood in the waiting room. The male was giving him a look of hate, making Elriel raise an eyebrow. But he wasn’t one to speak more than necessary so he didn’t ask.

He walked out into the arena, hearing a lot of cheers of his name. Which was to be expected. He wasn’t the most famous competitor here, but he was well-known. And not only that, his status also helped. All of those who had traveled from Valencia knew him as well. He stood on the stage, reaching up to tighten his ponytail so it didn’t slip mid-fight. He knew he had a moment before it started, watching enough fights today and over his life to know how these things worked.

After a few moments, his opponent’s interview played. Elriel looked at the screen in curiosity. It took approximately one and a half seconds before the male, Griffin, went into Anti-Valencia propaganda. How he would become a centurion to stop the disgusting ways of Obra. The crowd was a mixture of boos and cheers. Some people from the more conservative countries agreeing with the statements being made. Elriel simply shook his head before his own video played.

At first, it was normal. What Elriel expected. Him talking about his family name and how he was here to win to bring honor to his family. Along with their long-running tradition with the games. But then it started to turn. Segments were cut together and there were even clips from the locker room. For one purpose..they were trying to paint him and Ada as star-crossed lovers. It almost got his demeanor to break. His heart thumping in his chest faster than it probably should have. Since it..wasn’t true. But he shook it off as best as he could. Taking a deep breath and waving to the crowd, finding his father up above in the guest boxes. Wearing a proud smile.

“Looks like is my lucky day. I get to fight Valencia’s trash first round.” Griffin smiled. Elriel turned slowly to face him, finding his voice.

“Trash? Do I know you? If not you seem like a man harboring a lot of negative emotions,” he responded back calmly. Making his opponent grit his teeth.

“Who are you to think you’re so much better than me?! Coming here in fancy clothes and flashing your wealth just because you’re from Valencia. As if that matters here! I will be the one to ruin your outfit. I will stain it red with your blood!” The man yelled making Elriel sigh.

“I have never thought I was better than anyone. I was born into my family such as you were yours. Aren’t you the one unfairly judging me based on the actions of others?” He asked. Not a hint of anger in his voice only making Griffin more furious.

“Shut up! Let us decide this as the games intended.” Griffin stared at the referee waiting for him to say to begin. Whereas Elriel began to fuse with his familiar. There were no rules about doing so before the countdown finished. Most notably he had a long white tail and cat ears. But along with that, his nails turned into claws. It made the crowd erupt in cheers which sounded even louder now to his highly tuned hearing.

“Three” the referee started. Elriel’s eyes were shut.

“You’re should have just stayed home pretty boy,” Griffin chuckled taking his stance.

“Two” Elriel opened his eyes, his pupils now cat-like.

“One”

“Begin!!”

Elriel didn’t hesitate, pulling the dual tennsen fans from his hips in one fluid motion as what could be described as ice needles formed on the tips. He took a wide step, swinging his arms forward and hurling them across the stage at his target.

Only a few made it through though as his opponent summoned a wall of fire. Letting out a loud laugh.

‘Great. My lucky day. I get my natural enemy.’ He tsked to himself. All ice users knew the risk of meeting a fire user in battle. They were way more common. But Elriel had prepared for that fact as well.

His speed made him hard to hit, using ice to slow the mirage of fireball attacks that exploded on contact. He had trained in martial arts since he was a child. The flowing movements allowing him to dodge with grace. All while using his needles any time he saw an opening. “Stop running you coward!!” His opponent screeched. Managing to hit Elriel with a fireball that knocked him off his feet, his nose bleeding.

But he got up, continuing the same tactic. He knew better, any big attack would be melted by Griffin’s flames and leave himself exhausted. He was patient. He could play the long game. Choosing to chip away at him until his opponent was unable to continue like a cat stalking its prey.

Elriel launched another swift attack using his ice to jump between positions leaving a construct of ice around them — resembling a dome. He used these segments of ice to get behind his opponent, flipping gracefully. It was flashy no doubt, befitting as the air twinkled around him. Another storm of ice shards rained down on the male who was unable to defend from himself Elriel’s speed.

But that wasn’t all, he had been aiming for pressure points. The move did a lot of damage deep in the muscles, not that it was visible. He watched the small amount of blood drip as his opponent reached back to pull out the shards.

Elriel continued to move around the dome with his speed and cat-like agility, Griffin stumbling from the repeated attacks. Leading to confusion as he shot blindly. If he melted one of the constructs Elriel would conjure it again. A trap that was hard to get out of.

Elriel heard the male yell again. The air heating up around them. He watched as Griffon started to manifest all of his remaining power, clearly planning to risk it all on a final attack. The increase in temperature made Elriel lose his footing as he jumped, the ice melting below him.

Down on his knee, he did his best to defend, his metal fans covered in thick ice as he attempted to block the attack. He succeeded at first, the beam of fire dispersing around him. But his opponent wasn’t done, surpassing his limits.

This increase in force shoved Elriel’s hands back. The attack hit him straight on with such heat he thought this was it. His life flashed before his eyes. But then the flames..stopped. He looked at his opponent now passed out on the ground face down. Elriel was panting, his eyes wide.

“The fight is DONE!! Elriel Whitlock takes the first round!!”

He looked down at the outfit that had been crafted with heat-resistant fabric, the only reason he hadn’t been burnt badly by Griffin’s flames. Now it had a giant hole in the chest, but the skin below only had a minor injury. Elriel had known the chances, his weakness, so he and his father had taken the precaution when they had the replica made. And that paid off.

Elriel pulled his arms out, dropping the top section of the robe so it fell around his hips. His upper body now on display. He looked to the box above one last time, bowing to his father who was clapping before walking off stage. As soon as he entered the tunnel he reverted back to human, breathing heavily as his lungs shrunk in size. But that subsided quickly. He leaned down scratching Pardus’s back before they walked off to find Adamaris.

 

[EldridSmith]

While Ava covered for the pair Mark listened to Anya as he held her. He patiently waited for her as his anger roiled his care for her was unwavering against the wall of fury... should there be a culprit they would not see the next day however. She then moved to step back and he reluctantly let go of her. She was concerned about... seeing dead people? Was that all? He was admittedly confused as this development as his fury was quenched into befuddlement. He had seen mountains of corpses from certain attacks in places in the Crag... so this was something he grew up numb to.

Anya on the other hand grew up in a mildly softer environment... at least one that made an effort to hide their dead. It was strange to see someone so distraught by this but he was more interested in being with Anya than being befuddled at her sorrow. As for the snot... eh, no matter, the slide would just push it out of the clothes next time he used them anyways. Considering the acid and poison they were sterile so long as he kept applying the acid and poison every so often. And the construction and pores only really let things out... though of course it wasn't perfect so it did let a small fraction of things in. Regardless of his coat, snot, or tears he would be fine.

He blinked as she suddenly changed her tone and asked around the games and her tone was filled with negative emotions as she talked about her own fight. However he nodded in response. She was in fact inspirational as far as he was concerned. "But you are." He says bluntly before thinking back to his own fight. "It went. So did hers. You'll see eventually... but let us discuss further in the inn." He whispered to her as he wanted to get somewhere he could act normal. He did have concerns about her cough but he could address that at the hotel... aside he wanted to do an examination just in case she was hurt. At this he turned to Ava. "Ava... make way for us to head to the hotel."
Lost Echo Huntertabbysandshark3

 

[Jet]

​

Adrian knew a saying that went, "When two armies collide, it's actually one army committing suicide." He loved how brutally honest it was. How it exposed the lies about war and violence, ascribing honor to mass murder and suffering. The smell of rotten bodies in shallow mass graves; begging orphans on the road as cities burned in the distance. Their fields barren as famine killed countless more, all for the profit of a few old men.

That was the truth he'd faced many times in his short, all too eventful life, so her confession made him sick. "No, I don't understand at all." He warily eyed the young woman. "Don't you know how lucky you are?"

"You could live in Byzantine where civil war tears through the country, Zuanshi where the government treats people like cattle, and what about the west? Let alone my country; every year there's another war between rival cities. The losses have been so bad, there are almost two women for every man."

"Everyone has seen war at one point or another, unless you take the brand." He turned his head and folded his ear forward, revealing a small circular mark. "It shows I'm a hunter; free from entanglement in lordly wars, but I'm one of the lucky ones." He thought of men he'd met on the road, empty eyes peering at the bottom of a bottle, concealing broken hearts with loud, scripted bravado. Convincing themselves that war made them better men. That killing made them warriors.

"So don't take boring for granted. Hold your safety tight, never let it go no matter how bland it tastes." His eyes grew wide as fire swelled within him. "Pray you never have to—

"Adrian!" Howard said from behind.

"Hmm?" Adrian turned and curiously cocked his head, wondering how the man was freely walking around the arena, nary a credential to his name. "Yes?" He said before Howard lauded them with cheerful, almost patronizing praise, capped off with an atrocious suggestion.

"I'd rather crawl." Adrian chortled and shook his head. "How about you walk beside me eh? I'll pretend that you're sponsoring me, a poor kid from the slums with nothing to his name, raised from poverty by the honorable Greenfellow."

"Or you can push me around, but I'll be silent as the grave — your choice."

Arcanist Fred Colon

 

[Jet]

​

"Books connect us to the past like a time machine, and your own writing connects you to the future! All you need is good parchment and a pen." Father raised his arms and looked around the tower, a zealous smile on his face. "That's what makes this place special!"

Acacius took an old leather book from a shelf. "How old is this one papa?"

"Let me see?" His dad kneeled and touched its cover. "Ah! I see you've inherited my good taste!" He squeezed his son's shoulder. "The Myth of King Aegeus! The original was penned over two thousand years ago! Reading this is like stepping into a time capsule."

"Is this the oldest one?"

"Oldest? No no, not remotely close! There are countless works from three, or even four thousand years ago!"

"Where!! I wanna see Dad!"

"Well you see." Father cleared his throat. "Those stories are on stone tablets, written in cuniform we can barely understand. They won't be displayed until we fully translate them."

"But! But dad you're the king!"

"Good kings follow the rules too. Theseus stressed that in his famous works, some of the first I discovered years ago." He looked around the vast library. "That's when I decided to build the tower of Aerides.

The burned man opened his eyes as the memory faded, staring into the ashen sky. He fondly remembered his dad's passion for learning. His dream of a more enlightened future, where people didn't live in fear and ignorance. He was a king among kings, fair and just, ruling with the consideration of a kind parent. Treating his subjects like members of his extended family, no matter how low-born they might be.

But in the end it didn't matter. Not in a world where power was taken with a sword. Where righteous men were crushed by monsters in human form, taking his father's warmth for weakness. His gentle heart for one of a simple fool's, leaving his kingdom in ruins.

The only remnant was the tower itself, crumbling apart with the sound of cracking stone. Leaning sideways as supports caved and shattered into countless fragments — before finally, after three decades she collapsed to the ground. Lost in a sea of flames and billowing smoke, embers rising from burning books and paintings.

Acacius felt his stomach twist and turn, a growing pit like the mouth of a smiling demon. "It's all gone," he whispered as tears rolled down his face, silently weeping from sadness and regret. The guilty feeling that he could've done something — anything to change what'd happened, no matter how impossible it seemed.

"If I had trained more." He punched the ground as the stranger walked towards him, slowly clapping with a smile.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The stranger deeply bowed. "What auspicious circumstances we find ourselves in, where one chapter closes and another opens. A meteoric fall leading to what I wonder?" His eyes shone in the glow of burning bodies. "Will it be the sad, whimpering death of its predecessors?"

"Or the rise of something great?"

"Be gone." Acacius clawed at the ground. "Let me die in peace." His voice was raspy and low, ragged like his red and blackened limbs. Whispered through bloodstained lips of cracked skin.

"Hmm?" The stranger cocked his head. "But you've so much to live for."

Acacius blankly stared in response. "I've nothing anymore."

"Come now?" The stranger sat beside him with a smile. "What would you do if given a second chance? You must want something."

"What do I want?" Acacius thought of wine and women, endless fame and fortune. The dreams of a young man who was innocent before the fires destroyed him. Molding him into a beast with one goal, one dream that consumed his mind like a virus.

"Vengeance," he growled through tightly clenched teeth. "I would make them pay for every life they took."

The stranger chuckled below his breath. "Indeed, but you're in no shape for grandiose dreams of revenge, and even if you miraculously survived your wounds, how would you bring these criminals to justice?"

"Precisely, so let me die in peace."

"I could certainly do that. Leave you to the carrions and writhing worms, picking at your bones as you decompose in the muck — but I see potential."

"In what?"

"In what you can become."

"Stop mincing words."

"Touchy are we?" the stranger said. "But you've not much time so I'll be frank. I offer you a second chance at life, and the power needed to crush your foes."

"What?" Acacius looked up with cautious hunger in his eyes. "How?"

"With this." The stranger took a small metal sphere from his pocket. It was covered with dull script from a distant age, barely glowing in the darkness. "But know that extraordinary gifts demand extraordinary payment, and your request is extraordinary as they come. To save your life and destroy the most powerful civilization in a thousand years."

"Your sacrifice will be immense. You will suffer and curse the day you were born. You will grow to hate me — and yourself for accepting my deal. But in the end you will get exactly what I promise."

"Why should I trust you?"

"You don't have to." The stranger smiled like a wolf. "But what choice do you have?"

"Hmmf." Acacius painfully laughed as blood dripped down his chin. "I suppose you're right, but what do you want in return? I've nothing to my name."

"You will know soon enough." The stranger gently handed him the sphere. "Follow the path Acacius; stray and you'll never find the vengeance you seek."

Acacius tightly gripped the sphere as dark, whispering thoughts entered his mind, worming through his brain like a parasite.

And suddenly, he knew exactly what needed to be done.

​

Twenty years later he clutched the same metal sphere, striding onto the field with the other fighters. He took his place in a line of other winners, positioned across from the beaten, bloody losers on the other side. His black armor shone in the evening sun, sucking light from the sky like an eldritch worm. His gold eyes were dull and tired, but fire dwelled within them, searching the crowd for undercover men in dark cloaks — twelve pairs with important tasks to complete.

But one was missing.

"Tefra," he growled below his breath. "What have you done?"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" The announcer screamed from the podium, snapping Acacius from his trance. "The final ceremonies are about to begin! But first, the fight of the day!" He pointed at the big screen high above. "Taust's incredible win against the Cage Viper!"

Acacius winced as a spotlight focused on him, ignoring the many chants and cheers from the crowd; a teeming mass of rabid men without souls in their hearts, celebrating bloodshed and murder. Worshiping centurions who dealt in the blood of innocent men and women, hiding red stains below chivalry and a flag.

The crowd celebrated them nonetheless, and the fighters were guilty too. Each hoped to become a centurion for one reason or another, feeding into a system of violent oppression and death. The same one that doomed his homeland and killed his family. The same one he would snap like twig in his hands.

"Wow!" The announcer screamed again. "What an amazing fight! It goes to show that anything — and I mean anything — can happen in the great games!"

"But enough about the fights for today! We've all had our fill like me at a buffet!" The announcer slapped his round stomach, drawing a wave of laughter from the crowd. "So now we must honor their courage and tenacity in the ring. We must honor the five hundredth anniversary of our momentous founding! We must honor our brave centurions, fighting in the west to defend our freedom! We honor them with song, dance and drink!"

The crowd cheered in response.

"That's what I like to hear! So without further adieu, I present Renn!" The arena shook as sliding doors opened on the ground, revealing a stage that rose above the ring. In the center was a singer known by everyone in attendance, a famous star whose beauty was only matched by her voice.

—
Collab entry by rozukitsune

​

The lights in the stadium dimmed and somewhere overhead a spotlight flared that was usually used for the interviews of the various contestants. Out in the center of the ring where dried blood and deep scratches would never fully be cleansed stood Renn. The light danced off her tastefully appointed red sequined dress and her carefully styled mane of long amber curls. “Hey hey, everyboday!” She called out to the crowd, her voice easily carrying to the upper stands as she struck a pose, her presence easily masking the gore and violence of the moments prior. An easy way for the audience to forget that everything they saw was real, forget that real deaths were dealt in this place every day - if any of them still cared about that anymore; and focus on something that wet their appetites in an entirely different way.

“Let’s give it up for our winners, huh?” She preened, waving a hand once more to the folks standing up in the podium and turning to blow them a kiss. “Muah!” She giggled, a warm, tinkling, teasing sound meant to give those illustrious victors a sense of accomplishment. People loved getting attention from a beautiful woman, after all… no doubt a few would be asking after her status among the nobles or lack thereof. She wasn’t really here for the victors, but it was important to let them dream. It was all about the spectacle after all.

After an appropriate amount of more applause, interrupted here and there by those choosing to use the moment to throw cat-calls and wolf-whistles that barely reached into the expanse of the arena from the stands, Renn threw her arms out and cheered. “Alright, that’s enough of that! Let’s boogie!” Her phoenix companion suddenly burst up off her shoulder and into the open air, almost invisible thanks to the bright light that had been directly upon it moments before. As she began to sway her hips and sing her little victory song, it wheeled about in the air as every so often the songstress stretched a finger into the air and fired small controlled blasts of flame straight up into the air to explode dazzling around its feathers. Somewhere in the crowd, or perhaps the special boxes for nobility - they were discussing her future. Whom she would marry and why and so forth. It was all so droll… Renn just wanted to have fun for as long as she could before she became a trophy wife to some fat slob of a man. She smiled honest, brilliant smiles and sang her heart out until the song came to its inevitable conclusion. She spread her hands out for one last burst of sparkling fire and her Phoenix cawed out, flaring brightly in response before returning to her perch on her shoulder.

Once the lights came back up she swept into a prim curtsey and thanked the audience for being such a great crowd, then headed back up into the box with the announcer to help him hand out whatever prizes needed to be pinned or handed to the brave warriors who had won this day.

—​

The announcer squeezed Renn's shoulder for a moment too long. His eyes danced on her curves and lust burned within them, and he did nothing to hide his lechery. After all, he was Dyus the Younger. He owed nothing to anyone, especially a powerless singer without brains in her head. Just like the fighters killing themselves for honor and glory in the arena, dancing like monkeys at a sideshow.

Even the winners became pawns for better men; slaves in a golden cage without any freedom.

Not that Dyus was any different. He was a small cog in the machine that controlled him. Forced to organize fights and do press conferences year round, playing the fool for public consumption. He was supposed to be so much more; highborn and nobler than a king. Working in parliament or the high council itself, not entertaining commoners like a clown. He'd see them all burn if he had the opportunity, but for now he'd play his part.

"Quite the performance, and quite the form fitting dress!" He wryly smiled and raised his microphone. "Let's give it up for Renn! A fantastic performance indeed! She really knows how to excite a crowd. To rouse men from their seats, no matter how limp they might be!"

The crowd laughed and whistled, applauding as Dyus walked from his platform to the field. He was accompanied by a number of centurions in golden white armor, an elite group called praetorians. He walked past the winners and congratulated them for winning the first round, before striding to the ring's empty center. "Five hundred years ago, we were besieged by savage barbarians from the west!"

"They roamed the streets killing who they pleased, taking women and children as slaves! They destroyed great works of art and culture, burned books holding secrets of the past. They marched to the citadel and pushed their way up the stairs, before the mighty Roen Arzhur entered the fray. He cut through the enemy with the swiftness of an eagle, dauntless and unstoppable!"

"His courage rallied the garrison, and from the palace they pushed forward like a tidal wave, breaking the barbarian horde! Their bodies were so numerous and plentiful, not a step could be made on solid ground! Their blood turned the rivers red and if, by chance any of them escaped, Arzhur chased them down and punished them for their crimes!"

"He saved the city and became the first centurion, paving the way for fifty generations to come! Today we pay homage to the legend of all legends, and the ones who follow his example. We honor these gifted fighters from all across the world, one of which will become—

He coughed and adjusted his collar. "Excuse me! I must've caught a cold." He laughed and said, "As I was saying, one of these fighters will become—

He coughed again as sweat pooled on his forehead. His cheeks redenned and his heart loudly throbbed in his chest. "These fighters will become—

He dropped to a knee as Acacius watched with a grim smile, closing his eyes as he entered the laughing God's realm. He was surrounded by a million threads of potential fates to come, different futures of flowing red cloth. But there was a certain one he needed now. "Where is it?" he thought while sifting through the scarlet sea, picturing the exact future he needed.

"Reveal it to me, lord of entropy. Reveal the fate I seek." He pushed forward until there, within the swirling mass he spotted a golden thread.

"A swifter death than you deserve, Dyus the glutton." He grabbed the thread and slowly opened his eyes, quietly chuckling as Dyus collapsed to the ground. His praetorians kneeled beside him and checked his pulse, calling attendants as the crowd gasped.

"Medic! We need a medic!" A praetorian yelled over the crowd.

"What is that smell?" another said. "Is something burning?"

"Don't worry about it! Just get him stable, quick, someone with medical training now damnit!"

Finally a medic arrived and rolled Dyus on his back. His skin was slick with a waxy, foul smelling liquid of some kind, sticky and acidic to the touch. "What the hell is this stuff?" The doctor smelled the substance. "Bananas? That can't be right. What the hell is wrong with him?"

Acacius watched with a grim smile, heart racing as he slowly raised his arm and snapped. "The die is cast," he said as ten million people watched the announcer explode like a missile. The blast knocked contestants to the wall with a wave of superheated air. Limbs fell from the sky with the moist pitter-patter of red rain; noxious smoke reached from the explosion like a demon's claw, and the man in black strode forward with the confidence of a king.

He was surrounded by a shimmering sphere of swirling, malicious energy that warped natural light, protecting him from the explosion. He loosely held an old corroded longsword, tip scraping sand as he reached the epicenter. In his other hand was the metal orb from long ago, etched with scripture that glowed dull orange.

He looked down at the carnage and skewered Dyus' head, raising the trophy as spectators screamed and ran up the stairs, trampling the weak until corpses littered the stands. They pushed towards twelve exit gates placed around the arena, but as they approached them, eleven of them violently shook, rumbled and exploded with showering stone and metal scrap.

"TEFRA!" Acacius screamed as hundreds escaped through the remaining gate. "Damn you! We must be quick." He raised his hand and his men rushed the field, forming a circle around him. "Keep them at bay!"

He pointed at a dozen centurions rushing the field, merging with mythic familiars and casting spells. His underlings ran forward and fought valiantly against the guardsmen, giving Acacius just enough time to say, "Kruvata razda krŭv, zasha nastev, udovista imat, nastev iseli." His voice was low and raspy, burning with five hundred years of hate, and with a shaking, wrathful voice he growled, "Wake from your restless sleep."

"And kill them all."

He raised the orb as its letters shone like the sun. It hummed a deep, hellish note before metallic screeching filled the arena. The crowd stopped in their tracks and held their pounding ears. The centurions fell back as their bodies rebelled against them, forcing them to their knees, and the fighters could only watch, unable to move after taking the explosion.

And then it abruptly stopped.

The arena was dead silent. Nobody dared speak until a woman said, "What? What happened? What was that noise?"

Then, like a rug pulled out from under them, twenty thousand familiars were ripped from their hosts, dragged into the glowing sphere like beasts on a chain.

There were no screams, only the dull thud of dropping bodies.

Acacius looked around the field. Strangely enough there were survivors, but he'd accomplished his mission for now. "Return!" His men rushed back and surrounded him. "Well done my friends, we are one step closer." He grabbed the very fabric of space and time, ripping it open like a wound. The men stepped through the rip and disappeared from view, leaving only a few dozen survivors in the arena.

Your character is among them. For some reason you're able to survive the mysterious device. Perhaps it is luck, perhaps your spirit is stronger than most, or perhaps there's something unknown behind the scenes, protecting you from harm. The same cannot be said for your retinues, many are dead, if not all. You may keep them alive if you so choose (perhaps they escaped or are immune like you), or you can dive into this story of revenge, and the cycle of hatred that drives it.

In the pockets of some people are glowing ice crystals, given by mysterious fighters from the north. If their owners were attentive, they would've noticed them buzzing during the final ceremony. Perhaps they give some kind of warning, or a resistance against the device, but who knows for now?

There are a few surviving centurions; Dalton Lewis, Johan Koch, Darius Ruger and Bean, but the rest are among the dead.

To give some direction, you may scour the crowd for survivors, find your retinue in the guest section high above, or tend to the wounded. This won't be a long scene, but it's an important moment, so I'll let you all take the reigns.

—​

Meanwhile, the valiant efforts to stop Tefra have allowed one thousand, four hundred people to escape. Perhaps that will serve as a small, hollow consolation in the chaos.

And finally, the order has been given to secure the arena. Reinforcements are on the way, including Lord Vincent's lead investigator. They will certainly detain and debrief the survivors, and give them an offer they likely won't refuse, drawing them into a game of power and revenge, five hundred years in the making.

Welcome friends, to the Great Games of Nye.

Arcanist Fred Colon Emphoa ZackStop Lost Echo rozukitsune EldridSmith Goliath Anne Boolean Huntertabbysandshark3 ManofManyRoles

 

[Emphoa]

Rat one moment knew he was able to goof off and be silly alongside Mischa- the games going on as usual and the victors relatively finished here and now. Even with their goofing off of testing his shield, he still of course wished to be able to pay attention to what was going on, and when they were lined up he had been half listening to the announcer and the on goings. Standing beside Mischa, he looked over as another seemed to approach and he gave a gentle chuckle. "Sorry- we're just testing something out- guess it's a big stronger than we would have imagined." He stated, his eyes twinkling as he looked back to his red headed friend, giving her a little nudge. "Hope it didn't break your hand too badly there!" He teased, before he perked up as the announcements started and he paid closer attention. He was still chuckling and goofing off, just a little bit, but it died as... his eyebrows furrowed and he finally turned his full attention to what was happening now.

Something wasn't right.

Dyus was coughing- collapsing? Something was wrong and he felt his smile fade more into a frown, and he glanced back towards Mischa and the stranger with them. "Something..." He faltered, and instinctively he moved quickly, placing the shield onto Mischa and activating it. Perhaps it came from his time on his own- a time where he spent trying to survive. "I have a bad-" He started and then the explosion came and they were knocked back. He felt himself winded, grimacing a bit as he looked back to whatever was happening- limbs- blood. He sucked in a shaky breath at the sight of it all, and everything was happening so quickly. There was a man on the stage he was speaking- the drumming of panic rang within his ears as he listened to the crowds' screams and their desperation to find an exit. He winced, shakily pushing himself up and his mind trying to fixate on his new found friend beside him.

"Mischa- are you alright? Remy?" He rasped out carefully, and he looked to the little pouch that hid his friend before he looked back and he felt his heart drop at the sight. Familiars, Familiars were being ripped away from their people and he watched as they simply dropped dead. A hand instinctively went over the pouch, as though to keep Remy safe from such a thing and he grimaced a little bit soon after, and as quickly as it all happened...

They left- the one responsible had taken his leave and left whoever died and whoever had remained here with nothing left. He let out a shuddering breath before he shook his head. If he let the shock overtake him now, he would be useless to help. Instead, he looked back to Mischa and decided he'd put his focus there- and perhaps Ivan would still be up too. "Are you okay? Are you hurt?" He asked, grimacing a bit as he probably should have used such a shield on himself, but he knew she didn't have armor- not like he did. His eyes gazed around, overwhelmed with all that he should do- could do. His eyes also flitted to the unfamiliar person who had joined them so briefly before the chaos had erupted. "Hey- Hey are you alright?"

"We- We should see who's survived, we need to get people out of here and tend to any wounded." He finally stated half to himself and half to who would listen, pushing himself back to his feet and grimacing from the state of himself after the initial blast as he eyed the current area. Children- the children here that survived. He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to compose himself as Remy hesitantly finally poked his head out from his pouch, and Rat was more than grateful he still had his friend here.

Jet Lost Echo

 

[Emphoa]

Adamaris was anxious to see how their friend would have done during the fight that was laid out for him. They knew Elriel would be fine, they had faith in his capabilities and they did not let their faith waver now after all this time. They sucked in a breath as they watched the fight with careful eyes and could feel their chest tighten when they realized Elriel had been paired against someone who used fire of all the elements to start with. But- like they knew, Elriel pulled through, even if they were worried about the burn that had scorched through their friend's clothes, they were just glad that the injuries were minor.

When Elriel would have returned, it was met with a more than enthusiastic Adamaris to greet him, their eyes shining as they clasped arms with their friend, not caring whether the cameras watched or not. "You did so well my friend." They spoke up, brightening a little bit as they spoke and their eyes searching their friend's face. "Not that I am surprised, but I am proud, and glad I got to witness it myself." They chuckled lightly at the thought, before they glanced over towards the big celebrations starting with a puff escaping them, their eyes glancing back to their old friend. "I know your family is just beaming for you now, you did good." They spoke softly, and took that moment to celebrate their victory together before they let go of Elriel, and pulled out the odd crystal they had been given.

"I even got a sort of gift from my competitor- although I'm not quiet certain what it is." They spoke up, showing their friend with a small smile on their expression and their head tilted with slight confusion as they glanced back to the ice user. "What do you make..." They faltered, the ice crystal seemingly starting to... buzz? It was what brought their attention to the ceremony at all and they felt themselves falter as Dyus collapsed and they felt their heart skip a beat at the realization that something was wrong, very wrong. Their hand tightened around the crystal, taking a slight step back and sticking beside Elriel as they eyed the scene in front of them. "What's going on-"

Then came the explosion.

They were knocked back- gasping from the sudden blast and the damage that followed after- they mustered up a rock wall after they had fallen for themselves- and for Elriel who had been beside them. Nueto had found himself clinging on for dear life onto poor Adamaris and they wheezed out. "Elriel- are you alright?" They rasped out, wincing as they pushed themselves to sit up, blinking away the shock of everything from their gaze as they now eyed what they could see from behind their wall of 'safety'.

What they could see, however, made their heart sink as they watched as thousands- hundreds of bodies were dropping with their familiars being ripped away towards the center. They could feel their heart beat heavy within their chest as their eyes widened and they looked to their friend. No- no- anything but this- no. But there was nothing that they could do, because as quickly as it all seemed to have started...

It was done. Surrounded by bodies, by survivors, and those still desperate in trying to get out. Adamaris winced as they pushed themselves to their feet and they rasped out. "This... can't be real." They breathed out, trying to process everything as their hand still tightly gripped onto the crystal that they had been given.


Goliath

 

[rozukitsune]

Narzas had spoken with security personnel until she had run out of breath. Hashing and rehashing the events leading up to Tefra (and unnamed companion... had he had a name? Well he'd been dead before it became important so Narzas hadn't bothered filing it away in her impressive memory)'s discovery, capture and death. She had thoroughly run out of ways to describe the way she'd seen the pair of men running down the hallway. How the group of Johan, herself, Anya and Zulan had given chase. How they'd run into Ren and the subsequent deaths, bomb defusing and so forth that had happened while everyone else was distracted with the fights down in the arena proper. She was tired and cranky and more than a little annoyed at having her time wasted when it was clear to her that Tefra had not been acting alone and any moment now more of his associates could be - or already were - succeeding where he had failed. She was just some Zuanshin nobody assassin here to pass or fail her stay as a bodyguard for the games and at this point if the entire stadium didn't just spontaneously combust she'd count herself victorious.



So, naturally... that is exactly what had to happen next. The woman was perched as near to the box of dignitaries and nobles as possible while also being on the top-most row of stadium seats - watching every single individual like a hawk when Sara wriggled on her ear, followed by the announcer suddenly stammering and collapsing to the ground. It was sheer intuition that told her to fuse and fuse now that saved her as some power ripped through the arena killing so many that it was impossible to say at first if any at all had survived, the partial-spider girl clinging to the back of the large board upon which images of the fights were usually displayed via magic for those not seated close enough to see firsthand. She had just finished making herself a web when the whole damn thing rumbled and ripped itself to shreds. Debris flew in just about every damn direction, but Narzas's safe haven was mostly untouched thanks to her not being at the epicenter of the blast beneath her own feet.

Like an avenging angel, she swung through the air and flung out bits of webbing here and there where she saw a child or person flying through space and sequestered them safe in her web - spending every spare second she had reinforcing the web when lower floors she'd been using as foundational posts gave way. There was truly nothing she could do about the unattached limbs and such that ended up landing in the open strands of webbing, but she most assuredly saved the lives of at least half a dozen or so individuals.

Not enough... not nearly. By the numbers there were magnitudes more individuals that were dead, in pieces, or otherwise mortally maimed lying about in the aftermath than she'd managed to save, but the whimpers and cries of those she had managed to save were still the impossibly precious sounds of someone who had not died today. Narzas hung perched in her orderly web amidst the chaos, listening helplessly to the soul-tearing sobs of the surviving children in her web whose parents or guardians were most assuredly amidst the bodies littered about like so much trash and did the only thing she could. She drew them to herself and held them close as they wailed and shrieked at the senseless madness, serving as a rock amidst the storm for them to cling to - which they did gladly and without hesitation. While they dug their small fingers into her body and tore out their throats with their terror and loss, she calmly pondered what this meant for her. Would her homeland receive word of this disaster? Would they presume her among the dead if she were not to return home? Could she be free? Truly free for the first time in her life? If so... what would she do with that freedom?

The answer would come hours later when the children around her had finally cried themselves to sleep and one of the surviving higher ups found her in her web. It didn't matter right now what Zuanshi felt about her continued existence. What mattered is that the man who had caused all of this was still alive, still moving... still plotting. Someone needed to chase him. To stop him. To do something before every innocent life was erased across the countries of the world for some yet unknown cause that was surely not going to simply end here in Nye. It wasn't really what they'd offered her that made her move, though the offer itself did help the wheels in her mind to turn at last after just blankly staring at all the destruction she could survey.

Narzas was not going to take her existence for granted anymore. If she wanted to keep on living, to help others to do the same... she was going to have to stop that man before he destroyed everything. With a resigned sigh, the assassin picked herself up - extracted herself from the pile of children she'd rescued, and went on the hunt for others who had also survived and themselves intended to give chase. She was only one woman after all. To stop the end of the world... she was going to need some help.

 

[rozukitsune]

Renn blithely ignored the hand on her shoulder and the lecherous stares directed at her body. That was basically par for the course when dealing with higher nobles in Nye. She honestly did not understand why her parents were so obsessed with trying to marry themselves into a higher status... wasn't it hard enough being a Branch noble? Still, far as she knew it would be Dyus himself who ended up purchasing her even if he already had a wife and children. She shuddered at the thought, but smiled and ignored it all the same. She passed on accolades to the victors, not giving any one of them in particular a second glance then waited off to one side as Dyus went to address the fans.

Then... all of the sudden... everything went weird. Dyus began choking and dying for no reason, one of the contestants walked up and chanted some kind of weird words and the guards heading into the arena as the announcer straight-up had a heart attack or something on the ground keeled over as their familiars all got dragged into some metal sphere. Renn was a very sheltered girl, having only ever dealt with the usual trials and tribulations a noble faced being a cog in the greater machine that was Nye. She wasn't meant to have thoughts or feelings beyond the ones that she was told to, and she played the part with every bit energy she had in the same way Dyus had surely done.

So people suddenly dying... trampling over one another in the stands to get away... Renn for a moment was just as dumb as she'd been accused of by her "betters" as she frantically swept her eyes through the arena to find the one person here for whom she would always care about his whereabouts.

Gareth, her tutor, mentor, teacher and ally when her parents were too busy to care - stood in his seat some ways off as the people scrambled over one another, doing his best not to get trampled in the chaos. The old man was stately - as all butlers were, thin and dark haired with flecks of grey liberally spread throughout his fading hairline and upon his carefully trimmed bearded chin. She'd recognize his figure among millions, but she only had a moment's relief when she spotted him artfully side-stepping the unfolding disaster before there were several loud crashes all around her... and her world was enveloped in a blinding flash of light as the benches where he stood became little more than splinters of tinder flinging themselves through the other pieces of the stadium.

The young woman screamed his name, dropping to her knees as chaos and noise were suddenly all there was. And then, there was silence. A deadly, final silence that swept through the destroyed remains of the Stadium. Renn couldn't tell if her eardrums had been blown out or she had simply gone insane with her grief. She could certainly see others with their mouths open wide as her own, screaming into the apathetic void in the absence of their own friends, allies, lovers, and guardians. She could have been there hours, days, weeks, crying and rocking back and forth - utterly shaken to her core by the loss of the one and only person she'd ever considered her friend. Maybe more in some of her lonelier, more desperate moments - though he'd never reciprocated her feelings being far far too old for her to reasonably entertain a romance with even if she weren't completely out of his league.

She would stay there like that until someone found her, asking her if she wanted revenge on the man who had caused her so much pain. Normally, her answer to that would have been to coyly laugh and say it was better to turn the other cheek. The games of the nobles of Nye had to be played delicately, and no one was truly allowed to be incensed when they lost. This though... this wasn't just some diplomatic incident. Someone had declared war on her home. Murdered hundreds of thousands... she wasn't sure exactly what she could do - she was not a combatant after all, but dammit if she wasn't going to try her best. Renn felt a deep, dark pit of anger and despair in her chest - and those feelings needed an outlet. Revenge on the stranger who had taken away something so precious seemed like as good a direction to point them in as any.

 

[Lost Echo]

♡Anya♡

Anya blinked, then decided to ignore Doc’s blunt statement. Being inspirational would keep her alive for the next few fights, which would give her time to accomplish her goal. Nothing else mattered. Even those dead people. She might wait to try and locate that sect if they so easily killed their members though.

His summary was…succinct. To be honest, she had no idea if they won or lost. Probably won as they both appeared unharmed. She doubted their fights were as easy as hers. She doubted anyone had an easier fight than her. Still, there would be time for that later, Doc probably wouldn’t go to the medics here even if he was injured, but hopefully, he was okay to wait. “We can’t.” She grabbed his upper arm, to stop them both. “We have to wait for the award ceremony. Hopefully, they won’t make a big deal out of me.” She grimaced at the thought, wiping her face again. Hopefully, it wouldn’t look like she cried. She was such an ugly crier. She brushed her hair in front of her face instead, hoping the shadow would keep it hidden well enough.

The pressure of the crowded room was suddenly released and competitors filtered out onto the arena, winners on one side, losers on the other. At least that answered the question of whether they’d won. Her eyes scanned over the contestants, terrified. She was damn lucky. Most of them looked like they were barely restrained violence. How were the rules of a game enough to keep them under control?

Swallowing, she turned her attention behind her, looking over the stands. Where was it they’d put that compression cube? It looked so different down here that she wasn’t sure. The time after her fight was a blur of cement, each hallway looking the same.

The announcer gained her attention, rambling about a fight. Evidently, some guy defeated the pontificating man from just before her match. Yay. Wow. He must be even crazier. She turned away from the fight, not wanting to see the man die. Thankfully they only reviewed one fight. Anya gave a big yawn, covering her mouth, as the crowd cheered for--oh, there’s music? She stepped closer as a stage rose from the center of the ring. “It’s Renn!” She yelled to Mark with a grin. Admittedly she would have preferred Nyaall, but maybe the rumor that he’d joined the games was true. With that thought, she tried to look through the contestants again. He’d have to be on the winner’s side. They must have done for him what they did for her. Probably an even easier fight.

Then Renn started. Her phoenix roared up in a wreath of flame and Anya’s attention was caught. Immediately she started dancing, uncaring that she was making a fool of herself or that no one else was. She finally felt the stress fall off her. This was what she needed. She laughed with glee, spinning in place as well as her legs let her. Nothing else existed but her body and the music.

Reality came back nonetheless. Panting a little, Anya wiped her forehead off with the back of her hand. Her bangs were messed up, but at that moment, she couldn’t care less. “They should have let her play more than one song!” She yelled to both Ava and Mark. The announcer made a crude comment as he walked forward with a bunch of white armored men. Then he fell into a history lesson? It was the second one of the day. She felt surreal as he spoke of the other side’s point of view. But then he coughed. Just like the dead man had. Immediately Anya brought electricity to her fingertips. It may do nothing, but it made her feel better. “Be careful. I don’t know where it comes from.” Anya hurriedly told Mark and Ava. Mark was used to poison. He’d probably be able to fight it off.

The man was dying while those around him tried to revive him. What had he done wrong? Had he gone off script as the cloaked man had? Though even then, he was only killed when giving vital information. Could they do it from a distance? With a bat familiar, shouldn’t Johan have caught that then? She turned to scan the stands, absorbing Kallos to see each face. Who looked like they--

She heard a snap and then felt it, almost in the same second. She flew forward, the blast knocking her out of her legs. She tumbled, leaving the heavier limbs behind as she rolled head over stumps ending upside down against the wall. Her shoulders were on the ground, but the rest of her body leaned against the wall. She had to crane her neck to see the ring.

She watched through the rain of blood as the man--wait, wasn’t he the spotlit winner?--walked forward. His light magic was working like a shield. He picked up the announcer’s head with his sword and she felt the stands she was leaning against shudder with explosions. Fuck. Of course, there was more than one. Tefra--at least now she knew his name?--had two to start off with. ‘Damn, Johan was a terrible head of security.’ The thought drifted through her head as she watched, stunned as his cult held back the centurions.

Nonsense words came from his mouth, nonsense that scared the shit out of her. He raised his hand, a glowing sphere hurting her eyes to look at. It shrieked, causing her to squint and cover her ears. When it stopped, she lay panting, unable to get her breath with the curve of her neck. She had long enough to wonder what next when animals, no they were familiars drawn to the man’s orb. And then the thud of tens of thousands of bodies falling at once. A sob, strangled by her position broke free.

And then somehow, he reached up, ripped reality, and disappeared. She stayed where she was for a few moments, grateful for the feeling of Kallos still within her. What had he done? How could that orb have so much power? Swallowing, she pushed her panic and questions back. Now, she had to see who survived.

With a grunt, she pushed herself off the wall, flipping forward she caught herself before faceplanting. Lifting herself in a pushup, she grew thick bird's feet from her stumps, groaning as they lengthened. She walked forward toward her hands until she was up enough to rise, taller than before. She stared at the cement wall for just a moment, centering herself before she turned, calling out, “MAR--DOC, AVA!”

She made a list of who she had to find. Mark and Ava would be the closest. Blake was in the stands. East section if she remembered right. Her gaze popped up, scanning those moving in the stands. Children. Holy hell. Young enough they wouldn’t have had familiars yet. She looked back, spotting first Ava and then Mark’s lean form. Both of them were moving. They couldn’t be more hurt than her. They’d understand. They wouldn’t like it, well Mark wouldn’t like it. But she felt the children needed her more.

“I’ll be back!” She screamed, waving to both their figures, then pointing upward. With that little amount of communication, she turned, taking a moment to let Kallos’s features out further. Feathers sprouted along her body as wings grew from her back. With great beats, the huge black and white wings lifted her up. She zeroed in on the closest child. A boy of perhaps five, sitting on the steps. Beside him was a man, who seemed to have been running up them. Every few seconds, the boy would nudge the body, as if this time he’d wake.

Landing a few rows down, she carefully made her way up through the bodies. God so many bodies. Focusing on the child, she stayed below him, though almost at eye level as she spoke, “Hey there. I’m Anya. What’s your name?”

 

[Jet]

​

Johan walked through the stands with an empty expression on his face, stepping over corpses strewn around like broken toys. He slowly sat on an empty seat and looked over the ring, alone with his thoughts in the silence. He reached into his pocket and took out a pack of cigarettes, one was left and slightly bent at the tip. "It's so quiet," he said before sparking the cig, staring at the ground as his vision blurred. He could hear his pounding heart as it squeezed in his chest, and his throat felt tight. Parched and scratchy like he'd caught a nasty cold.

"I wish it was always this quiet." He tasted cigarette smoke on his tongue, crows circled overhead and children cried in the distance. The stands were littered with bodies and most were innocent civilians, but he felt absolutely nothing. The deepest form of emptiness like a chasm in his soul; a corpse who hadn't died yet, only living because he was too scared to die.

"Johan!" A man said from behind. "You son of a bitch!"

​

The assassin looked back as Dalton stormed down the stairs. His fists were shaking and his eyes burned like bonfires; there would be no stopping him now. "Hello Dalton." Johan stood and faced him, deeply inhaling from his cigarette. "I'm glad you survived. You've always been good to me."

"Shut up!" Dalton gained speed with every step. "Shut up, shut up, shut up!"

"Shut the fuck up!" He suddenly ran forward and tackled the assassin, choking him with one hand. "What did you do! What the fuck did you do!" Dalton throttled him as spit flew from his mouth. "They're all dead, all of them, dead because of you!"

Johan vacantly looked back. "I know," he said without a shred of emotion.

Dalton loosened his grip and blinked several times. "You know?" He manically laughed like a madman. "What the hell do you know?"

"You'd kill yourself if you really knew." He leaned forward and punched Johan over and over, pummeling him until his knuckles turned red. "Maybe I'll save you the trouble!"

Johan gurgled as blood trickled from his mouth. "Do it." He turned his head and found himself face to face with a corpse. It was a woman no older than twenty five, and she looked strikingly similar to Narzas. He thought, for a moment, of what he'd feel if she was there instead. The sadness of losing a friend. The feeling of loss shared by thousands across the world, all because of him.

For the first time he felt something. The crushing weight of his massive failure, pressing on him like a mountain. "Do it," he said as his lips trembled, voice cracking as he screamed, "DO IT!"

"No." Dalton leaned back and released Johan's neck. "I won't save you from the guilt of your actions. I won't give you that."

Then another voice floated in from behind; the chipper sound of a singing boy, putting his spin on Pop Goes the Weasel. "The announcer choked and fell to the ground, pop goes the faaatman!"

​

"Bean!" Dalton said without looking back. "Show some respect you little c***."

"I've nothing but respect me-lord!" Bean stopped beside him. "On me heart and hopes to die!"

"Shut it. What're the numbers."

"Nineteen grand will be feedin worms; bout a thousand scurried out though."

"Good." Dalton breathed a sigh of relief. "There are survivors, guess your incompetence didn't kill everyone," he said to the assassin.

Johan didn't answer. He felt very small and very alone, cornered in a dark place within his mind. There he sat as a young boy in training, playing with stones he'd taken from the yard. The officers would beat him when they found out tomorrow, but for now he could pretend they were two ordinary people, out for a stroll in the sun.

Mentions rozukitsune

 

[Lost Echo]

☆Vixie☆

Vixie couldn’t help but return the smile of the boy, grateful for his welcome. “Testing what?” she asked, listening carefully as the girl explained. “Wow, and he just gave it to you?” It was almost as cool as her autograph. With a small gasp, she unwrapped the white scarf, quickly scanning it for the ink, and sighed in relief that the To Viv and Philos-o-fur Nyaall was still clear. She tucked it around Phil’s neck, with a smile.

She ended up staying with her agemates as the contestants lined up, standing beside the silly boy. She didn’t pay attention either at first, instead laughing at his antics. That is until Renn came on. She was no Nyaall, not nearly as inspirational, but her music was still good and Vixie was pleased to see any concert. Especially as close as she was. The girl pressed forward with her fox until she was against the stage, able to see the light shining off of the sequined dress. She laughed when the beautiful lady sent a kiss to the victors, which included her(!), and joined the cheers of the crowd. Then her phoenix, such an inspiration to Phil and her, burst up into the air. Vixie wanted to add to the fire display, so plopping Philos-o-fur onto her head, she lifted her arms. Holding flames in both hands she swayed to the music.

Flushed with glee once the song was over, she returned to her new friends. “That was amazing! I’ve never had a chance to be so close! Do you think Nyaall will be one of the later acts?” Returning Philos-o-fur to her arms, she didn’t notice anything wrong until her boisterous friend’s grin seemed to falter. “What’s wr-?” Her eyes widened when he activated the shield on their friend. Something was really wrong. Curling her body around Phil in lieu of any defense, she felt the blast knock her over then back. She was dizzy when she raised her head, her mind not cooperating in identifying what was raining down on them.

Someone stepped onto the stage, glowing in a sphere, as antithetical to Nyaall’s light as possible. The scrape of his sword along the sand sent shivers down her spine. Had he set the explosion? Why? She could hear the chaos around her, but couldn’t pull her eyes away as he lifted a head with his sword. Then there were more explosions, distant, but still far too close.

The evil man started chanting gibberish, but Vixie still squeezed her eyes shut, scared of what could be next. His very tone was scary, like a smoldering hate that was eager for you to suffer. Phil whimpered and she covered his ears at the expense of her own as a high-pitched screech filled the air. Her heart pounded in the following silence, making her wonder if she’d just gone deaf. “Phil?” she whined, burrowing her face in his fur.

A loud mass of sounds, like the same one multiplied by millions happened seconds after, but Vixie did not lift her head. She did not want to know what horror was next. In fact, she stayed that way, only moving when she heard the boy’s voice. So different without the amusement filling it.

"Hey- Hey are you alright?"

Lifting her head, her face red with tears, she croaked, “Yeah,” in a tiny voice. Uncurling slowly, she couldn’t help but wonder, “What was that?” She looked over at the redheaded girl, wincing and grabbing her head at the movement. “Ugh…” Her head hurt, but she knew better than to complain. There were others likely more hurt than she was.

"We- We should see who's survived, we need to get people out of here and tend to any wounded."

Right. Following the boy’s lead, she stood with only the barest of stumbles. Merging with Philos-o-fur, she regained her balance with the help of her tails. Taking a breath, she paled, then turned around, emptying her stomach. Oh god. The smell of blood was everywhere. And the addition of vomit was not helping. It took her a moment to focus enough to return to her normal sense of smell. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she looked back over at the duo. “Sorry about that, I wasn’t expecting the smell.” She warned the two, trying for a smile.

When it failed, she just moved on, “Right, helping people. We can do that. We can use the infirmary to keep those who are injured.” That was obvious, but right now, Vixie needed to voice the obvious things. “Um, where should we start?”

Emphoa Jet

 

[Fred Colon]

Kilderkin had been close enough to the blast that killed Dyas that she had been bodily thrown backwards. The blast so unexpected that she hadn't the time to brace herself. She hit the ground a few feet away, her ears ringing, her vision blurry. So it was, that when the black cloaked individuals began to fight with the guards, she could barely stand up straight.

Her muddled mind races. Who could this have been? Certainly not anyone of the rebel groups she affiliated with. None of them had the clout to pull this off, and even if they'd had, they would have told *her*, or at least she would have found out about it. But perhaps she had missed something. Perhaps she had been clumsy, and missed a faction in Byzantine, or perhaps Zuanshi.

And then came the terrible inhalation. And she knew that this was something else. As familiars were ripped from thousands, as Kilderkin anticipated her oncoming death, she almost marveled at the capacity for devastation these players possessed.

But she didn't die. When it was done, and she was able to push herself to her feet, she felt a flash of rage. What sort of indescriminate, callous butchery was this? But she immediatly isolated and excised it. The rage would not help and it was hypocritical besides. She had little confidence that if presented with a weapon like this Taust fellow employed, she wouldn't use it in a similar way if she thought it was her only choice.

Kilderkin shut her eyes and took stock of herself. She had a hairline fracture across her left ulna, her shoulders and neck, just next to her tattoo, where she hit the ground, were filled with damaged cappilaries and would form a colourful, massive bruise by tomorrow, and she was bleeding profusely from a gash above her eye. She unconsciously stopped the blood from flowing out of her, and with a flick of her wrist flung the blood that was threatening to leak into her eye onto the ground, leaving just a gash on her head that did not bleed. Those nearby Kilderkin, if they were bleeding, would suddenly find that their wounds no longer flowed.

She opened her eyes, and looked around at the other survivors. They were all standing around, dazed. A few enterprising souls were running about, helping those who seemed to need help. She had other things to worry about.

She walked, slowly, towards the stands. Towards where she, Medium Hao Yu and Milek had agreed they would be sitting. She had wanted to meet them after the ceremony as soon as possible, to brief them. She had asked them to be nearby in the stands.

She found them with little trouble. They weren't exactly where they had agreed. Milek had apparently gotten up for some reason, perhaps to run, perhaps trying to return to Medium. He had fallen, it seemed, as he was ascending or descending the stairs. She found his body crumpled and broken at the base of the steps. Farther up in the stands, Medium Hao Yu had simply slumped over in his seat. He had never been one to run from danger, the blast had probably excited him, rather than scared him. More spectacle. He probably thought he'd seen worse while a pirate on The Tianglong.

As she stared at the young mans body, Kilderkin's hand drifted to her blade, and she gripped it tight enough that her knuckles turned white.

On Medium's still, cold chest, was a package of food. Ramen, to be precise.

Rage sprang to life again, but this was even more swiftly cut away. It was easy to do this time, because she knew the moment she could let herself feel it. It would be the moment she slit O'Gardener's throat. It would be followed by a moment of intense satisfaction that she would, she decided, unusually allow herself to feel. Because whatever people pretended, sometimes revenge felt *good*. It wouldn't even be just about revenge, now. This was an insult. An insult, on top of knowing far too much about her. It couldn't stand. He needed to be dealt with.

"I'm sorry, Medium." She said to the boys cold form. Stupid. He was dead. He couldn't hear her. Who were those words even for? Herself? So she could pretend like she wasn't an utter bastard? She was a good liar, but it wouldn't do to be so wrapped up in the lie that she fooled even herself. Whatever her motivations, as good as they seemed on paper, she had to remember that she was a villain. A necessary evil.

She took the ramen. It would be a waste not to. It would, supposedly, be the best Ramen she'd ever tasted.


When she made it back to the arena floor, she let her face slip into that of a dumb, shell shocked sailor. She wasn't sure what this ruse would accomplish, now. But she was never one to overplay her hand just because circumstances changed. Besides, in circumstances like this, it would be odd if her personality did a complete 180. She began tending to the wounded. She realized that she was unconsciously stopping people from bleeding, and considered just letting their blood flow. But she had already given hints as to how her power worked. Being too secretive could backfire just as much as being too open, so she began consciously staunching the flow of the worst wounds, while letting small harmless ones flow. The singer during the ceremony, Renn Kilderkin remembered, was sitting shell shocked nearby. Kilderkin gently guided the other woman to a spot nearby her, so she could keep an eye on her. It was impossible to truly glimpse into someone else's mind, but Kilderkin saw a rage behind Renn's shell shocked face. A fire that was slowly growing in her eyes.

"Store that anger. Lock it up for a more opportune moment." Kilderkin said to her quietly. "Anger makes you stupid. Don't let it get in the way. Then, when you've got your prey right where you want it, unleash it all at once and let them feel your rage. Make them regret the moment they wronged you for the rest of their short lives."

Stupid. Why give advice to a vapid little songbird? Slave to the fickle fashions and vulgaries of Nye culture. What could she do? Why break character for such an idiotic reason? Kilderkin supposed she was still pretending to sympathy. Trying to convince herself she wouldnt be just as bad as these people if given the chance.

Kilderkin turned from the singer and busied herself with the wounded again. There would likely be authorities coming soon. It was best to appear helpful when they did.

rozukitsune

 

[Lost Echo]

~Esther~


Esther did not want to be here. She hurt. It was as basic as that. She felt it was foolish to wait for the awards to other people when she could be home recovering. The inane physicians in the infirmary did not understand. She felt they were holding her denial of laudanum against her. But she’d rather the pain than the fog over her mind the drug gave her.

With the pain, she could almost use it as a focus. Feeling as if the mindset was just out of reach, she gritted her teeth. Besides what was there to focus on? The bloody fight or its spotlit victor? The fellow idiots surrounding her who joined these games? Nothing was worth her attention. She shouldn’t have come. Physical strength and fighting were meaningless to her brain. If Nye didn’t see the value of searching for American animals, this wasn’t going to manage to get her funding. She was a desperate fool for taking up the suggestion.

Suddenly there was music. Celebrating this bloodshed. Perhaps celebrating those out here at least survived? She gave into the pain for a second, curling into herself and wrapping an arm around her waist. This was going to last entirely too long. Dart chirped in her ear from his stand on her shoulder in concern, but she couldn’t respond beyond a generalized, I’m fine through their bond. The song could have lasted forever or mere seconds, Esther wasn’t sure, but eventually, it was over. Hoping they weren’t planning to speak to every winner was the best she could do. She didn’t even bother looking up at the announcer, even as he coughed until chaos sprung out with his collapse.

Raising her head, she watched the white armored guards panic. Confusion crossed her stern features as she tried to understand what was wrong. Her eyes widened, as she saw the oncoming explosion heartbeats before it hit. Cursing like a sailor, she and Dart were thrown backward, only stopping at the outer wall. When her back hit her vision whited out, and she fell to her knees.

When she got her breath back, her eyes were wet, and she was missing something. Reaching up she covered the shoulder Dart always flew back to. Where was he? A frantic look to her sides brought the iridescent bird, laying on its wing, lightly flapping the other. Her lips parted in sorrow as she scooped the injured bird into her palm. “This has been a mess all over, hasn’t it Dart?” She whispered, running a finger down his wing. Lime green energy shone through his feathers, a sign of his healing, but a sign of his pain.

She cradled the hummingbird in her hand, covering him when the second set of explosions came. Raising her head, she saw a man, a monster, standing out amongst beasts, in the center of the ring. He held an orb aloft that shone with an ancient script she did not recognize. She did not try to aid those trying to stop him, knowing with both of their injuries would make them merely fodder.

Then he did something impossible. He summoned, ripped, familiars from their people. She could not tell much about them. Merely that it was as eclectic assortment as any slice of the population would have. And there were so many. Tens of thousands. Enough to include everyone. Young and old. Healthy and weak. What was this evil? He continued his impossibility by ripping what seemed like the very fabric of space and time and walking through.

It must have been an illusion. His distorted light shield showed his element. So illusions were readily available. But he definitely was there and then gone. Or was he? Was the entire group an illusion? No, her mind provided evidence otherwise, him lifting the head with his sword, his men fighting with the centurions. But if it wasn’t an illusion, what was it? How did it happen? Maybe it was just a laudanum dream. she thought mirthlessly.

She sat there. Aware of time passing, but unable to mark it. Just trying to catch her breath. Trying to process and remember everything she saw. She came back to focus slowly. “We should look for other survivors, huh Dart?” she asked the tiny creature in her palm. Standing, careful to keep her palm relaxed, she looked around the arena. The amount of dead was horrifying. But with each breath, she hurt, enough to keep her from zoning out on them.

Reaching into her pack with one hand, she pulled up a vial of sugar water. Pulling the cork out with her teeth, she offered it to the injured bird, pleased to see its breathing evening after he finished it. Returning it to her pack, she made a small nest out of handkerchiefs inside the bag at her hip. Then gingerly, she placed the hummingbird into the cushioned area. “Take time to heal. I’ll figure out what to do next.” She promised him, letting him rest.

With that, she looked over those who were standing. She was surprised at the relief that blossomed when she saw the “sailor” from her fight standing. She seemed to be tending to some of the wounded. Esther could do that. Carrying people was out of the question with her wounds, but wrapping bandages wouldn’t be hard.

She headed her way silently, scanning over those she passed and making a note of who lived. As she neared the woman, she noticed something different. The wounds were not bleeding. Those that should be life-threatening that is. Small trickles here and there, but no more. “Blood is water.” She murmured to herself as she made her way to Kilderkin’s side. “I get it now.” She said in greeting, before nodding at the patients. “We should see if we can get them to the infirmary. Maybe whatever that was didn’t reach that far and some doc survived. How close do you have to be?” It would be difficult to move her and multiple patients at once. If she couldn't leave them, then it'd be best to staunch the bleeding her. And just bring bandages from the infirmary.

Looking over at the singer who'd been so confident before, she asked Kilderkin, "Is she injured or just shell-shocked?" Maybe she could run to the infirmary and get the bandages. Work always took the mind off trauma, Esther had found.

Fred Colon rozukitsune

---

---

♡Anya♡

The little boy stared at her with big blue eyes for a long moment. “Brian” he mumbled, before looking back down at the man and nudging him again.

Anya let her smile go, and asked, “Is he your special someone?”

Brian nodded, not looking at her but replying, “Daddy.”

Nodding sagely, she took a second to ponder. Could she move that man? Wouldn’t that give closure to the kid? Rather than leaving him as it was? Would it be worse if she dropped his father? “Do you want help flipping him over?” That she could do. Hopefully without dropping him down the steps.

“Would that wake him up?” This time he was staring at her as if she had all the answers.

That one at least, she could answer, “No. He’s gone. We’re all we got now.” She repeated the refrain she'd heard since childhood.

The boy nodded and replied, “It’s ‘cuz Sandy’s gone.”

Sandy? “Who’s Sandy?” She asked before mentally wincing. Maybe that wasn’t the best question. Maybe agreeing would have been better. Shit, kids she didn’t know were much harder.

“She’s his doggy.”

And she got it, his familiar. Of course. “Yeah. That’s why almost everyone is gone.”

“Why are you still here? Are you a centurion?”

Anya forced a laugh, shaking her head and answering the second question first. “No, though I was trying to be one.” That was simple enough, “Or at least befriend one.” Honesty, just in case she made a comment later. “As for why I’m still here. I don’t know.” She was trying not to think about it. She was trying to just focus on this kid. Then the next one, then the next. No thinking allowed. “Do you know why you’re still here?”

The question made the child look up surprised. After a few blinks, he started to ponder the question, utterly distracted from anything else. The frown of thought on his little face smoothed into a smile with the answer, “No Sandy.”

Returning the smile was easy, “I think that’s right. No familiar.” She took the opportunity to sit on a step. “Do you think you can help me?” When his blue eyes caught hers again, she bit her lip, suppressing her desire to worry about Blake. “There are a bunch of kids who have lost their mom and dad. Some of them aren’t going to be as brave as you. Do you think you can help me get them together? We’re all we got now.”

She stood, offering her hand, but he did not take it. “What about Daddy?”

At this point, she walked up to his step, then knelt before him, “I understand. I’m worried about my special someone too. But your daddy’s gone and we have to take care of those who aren’t.” His eyes watered and she drew him into a hug, letting him sob.

 

[rozukitsune]

Renn was sluggish at first, entirely too shocked by the death of her only friend on top of the deaths of the hundreds of thousands that now lay in pieces all over the place to really take note of the fact some sailor or other had taken her by the shoulder and coaxed her into a group of survivors. All of them needed more aid than her, but Renn could not have cared less at this particular moment as it felt as though the world itself had ended. Her ears rang from the noise of the explosions and her throat was raw from her screaming Gareth's name... nevertheless she didn't resist the friendly guiding hand.

When it lay on her shoulder later, the young songstress shivering from the cold of the congealed blood that drenched her and made the color of her dress more ironic than eye catching, she startled. Blinking as though up through deep waters up into the sun high above, she squinted at Kilderkin as the "sailor" offered her some words of comfort... or, well they weren't exactly meant to be comforting - she realized as her ears finally focused on the words and her brain translated them properly into thoughts. It was advice. She looked up at the woman helplessly, new tears beading at the corners of her eyes. "T-that's..." She sniffled, wiping her arm across her nose in a way she hadn't done since she was a child. "T-thanks..." She murmured brokenly, curling into her knees and clinging to them for all she was worth. She stared off into the pile of destruction that marked the grave of her mentor and hiccupped - wondering if she was really ready to cry some more or if this was just aftershocks.

"I don't even know what to aim this at, though." She admitted hollowly. "I'm no fighter." The firebird who'd up until now been cowering beneath her mane of amber curls took that moment to hop up onto her shoulder and chirp a mournful sound as Renn deflated, then she peered up at Esther curiously - unable to help the desire to know the faces of the other survivers. "Oh... hey." She greeted lamely.

Lost Echo Fred Colon

 

[Jet]

​

Mischa banged her forehead on an old wooden desk, crumpling papers as she deeply sighed. "It's impossible," she said through loose strands of red hair, defeated and alone in her small, scattered room of trinkets and metal scrap. Like a window into her scattered mind of dumb pointless designs; ships that wouldn't fly no matter how much she dreamed.

"Hey kiddo." Sasha said as she opened the door. "You okay?"

"Go awaaaay," Mischa groaned before tossing away the sheets. "I'm working."

"Working?" Sasha walked over and nudged a paper with her foot. "This looks like quitting to me."

"Quitting my ass!" Mischa slapped the table. "I've been working for seven hours straight, but nothing works — nothing! I'm just a fucking hack!"

"So what?" Sasha walked over and kneeled beside her. "Everyone starts out that way; don't beat yourself up."

"Shut up."

"It's true." Sasha took a crumpled paper from the floor, unfurling wrinkles until a plane's rough, scattered outline appeared. It was marred with cross-outs and redraws, scribbled notes and equations. The frenetic work of a very frustrated, very angry mind. "What do we have here?" She carefully analyzed the page. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It's stupid is what it is."

"No, it looks possible from an aerodynamic perspective, but where's the power coming from?"

"The stupid propellers." Mischa pointed at the design. "They spin and generate thrust."

"Well duh? But what powers them?"

"I've tried everything." Mischa furiously rubbed her temples. "It doesn't matter what I do; steam engines are just too heavy!"

"Then don't use one."

"What the hell am I supposed to use then?" Mischa snatched the paper and crumpled it again. "There's nothing else! My whole idea is ruined! I've been wasting my time for what? To hit a stupid brick wall I can't break through? And you think I can fix it with what? The power of friendship?"

"Just leave me alone!" She tossed the paper and sheepishly covered her face, curling up as Sasha walked away and retrieved the page. In the silence she read equations and examined the design like a hawk, slowly walking back to her sister.

"If no existing engine can make your bird fly, build a new one." She placed the wrinkled paper on the desk, walking to the door as Mischa said, "Wait!"

"Hmm?" Sasha looked back. "What? You gonna cry some more?

"You want me to build a new type of engine… from scratch?"

"Well you're an inventor aren't you?"

Mischa shook her head and laughed in disbelief, truly amazed at how Sasha asked for the impossible — but she actually had a point. If technology wasn't good enough to support her idea, there was only one way to fix it. "You better hope this works, if not I'm blaming you."

"I'm sure you'll figure something out," Sasha chimed. "Just make her fly Mischa, no matter what."

Mischa opened her eyes as the memory faded away, breathing against the sandy arena floor. Her ears were ringing and blood trickled down her cheeks, but she didn't know why. She didn't know what was happening or where she was. Her head was pounding and she was so very dizzy, almost falling when she stood from the ground. In a daze she looked around and saw familiar faces, the handsome boy with a fun little familiar. The girl she'd met with fiery red hair. The arena she'd entered once before, right?

"Where am… I?" She rubbed her head and then, like a wave the memories returned. "What!? What the hell happened to us?" She stumbled back and fell to her haunches, picturing the explosion that ripped through the ring. And with wide eyes she looked at Rat and said, "You protected me? Thanks but—

"I don't even know what to say," she said before looking at the stands. There were thousands of corpses strewn around like parts on the floor, and children were among the dead. The horrible sight made her sick to her stomach, and the dead fighters nearby weren't helping. She recognized most of them from before the ceremony began, walking around with smiles on their faces, hopes of a better future and long careers fighting bad guys. Now replaced by cold, unmoving expressions of fear and resignation, eyes blankly staring at the sky.

Mischa didn't say anything as she numbly processed the scene, brain sparking like bad wires in a ship. "There are so many dead people," she vacantly said, picking herself up as she looked at Rat. "But I'm okay… I think."

Her gaze slowly shifted to Vixie, almost like it was trapped in glue. "Don't worry about it, I would've thrown up too, but I didn't really eat this morning. I only had a sandwich with Sash—

Mischa suddenly went pale and stared at the stands, heart skipping as her stomach twisted like a knife. "Sasha, no please no…" She ran forward and instinctively used her wind magic, propelling her towards Sasha's seat in the stands.

"Sasha!" she screamed as adrenaline coursed through her veins, holding onto the small, pathetic hope she was still alive.

"Sasha!" She swiveled her head and ran up the stairs in a panic, mindlessly searching for dark red hair and a gray jacket. Running on instinct as she screamed, "Sasha!"

"Where are—

Mischa stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of her collapsed sister, curled in a ball on the stairs. "Hey—

The word caught in her throat as she tepidly approached.

"H-Heyo!" She forced a weak smile, surely her sister had been knocked out by flying debris or the stampede. Nothing a little rest couldn’t fix.

"Wake up sleepy head!" She kneeled and shook her sister. "Cmon! Mom will be mad if we don't get back for supper."

"Cmon wake up!" Her forced smile slowly faded. "Wake up Sasha!"

"Cmon! We have to go!"

"Please wake up," she quietly squeaked.

Tears dripped on her hands as she shook her sister again, "It's raining big head, you'll catch a cold if you don't cover up." She rolled Sasha over and pulled up her hood, cradling the corpse as she finally realized, with an emptiness she couldn't even describe, that Sasha was dead.

In the silence she hummed an old northern song, rocking her sister as she quietly cried to herself. But there weren't enough tears for the sadness she felt, and in that moment, in the darkness of her loss, Mischa truly wanted to die. Then a blood curdling scream escaped her tear covered lips, almost like the sound of a dying beast in the wild. For Sasha was dead, and she'd never had a better friend in the world.

Emphoa Lost Echo

 

[Emphoa]

Rat could feel the way his heart thumped hard within his chest and the adrenaline pumped through his body from the aftermath. His head felt like it was ringing and a straight, solid thought wouldn't stick to the surface of his mind. He shook his head a little bit, trying to focus on the two girls he was with in order to help them. Not yourself ? The thought briefly came, and then went, as he blinked back into reality when he heard Vixie and he let out a breath. "It's- It's okay, it's... reasonable." He spoke up, trying not to focus on the sight of all the bodies surrounding them and his stomach flipped. To hear her ask where they should start- hell he didn't even know as he blinked slowly again. "In the stands, there's still people here." He stated, finally, partially stammered as his attention soon turned back to Mischa and he had stepped forward to offer his help in getting her up.

"There's nothing you have to say- I'm just glad you're in one piece- that we all three are." He grimaced, not daring to glance at what could have been as he wiped away some trickling blood- from what or how he got such an injury was lost on him. Everything was so much, and he shook his head- trying to focus up his mind as he thought about the amount of damage that had taken place surrounding them. "We... should try and get people out of here, there could still be dangers- more bombs, if we're not careful." He stated, and his eyes snapped back to Mischa when she seemed to make a realization and was off in a second.

The boy sucked in a breath, and he could only follow her on foot, making sure to tuck Remy back into his pouch for safety as he made his way into the stands, unsure whether or not Vixie would have followed behind but he didn't think it best to leave any of the three alone. Not when everything was so uncertain and such a tragedy had taken place. Brown eyes flitted among the stands- so many dead. His eyes didn't settle until he found Mischa again, but he stayed rooted in his spot as he watched her mourn her loss. He wasn't even certain whether it would be appropriate to approach her- or if he really could understand such a loss. He was sure, one of his teachers could have been here in the stands, but it wouldn't be the same. They were not what most people called family, nor did he have such close ties for them.

Flinching back into reality from the scream he could hear from Mischa, and he covered his ears, briefly, before he looked back toward Vixie and let out a breath. "... Let her- mourn." He finally stated, swallowing back the bile that wanted to come back up within his throat as he looked back over the stands, letting out a wavering breath at how much loss there truly was. Not just for her- but he could imagine for a lot of the families here today, before looking at his hands. Dirtied from his blood- the dirt they had fallen on- he felt sick.

He pressed his hands against his head, before he made his way into the stands, a hesitant hand came to Mischa, before all he could offer was a gentle squeeze to her shoulder and his eyes flitted elsewhere. Hurrying over to help some of the few injured that had managed to survive the devastation that had been wrought and he fell quiet. It felt appropriate to have some silence, nothing more really needed to be said. Only Actions, could speak louder.

Jet Lost Echo

 

[Lost Echo]

☆Vixie☆
There were people alive in the stands? Vixie brought forth her vulpine vision, her eyes changing in turn. It took way too long before she saw any movement. She turned at the female’s voice, grateful to see her moving.

Vixie took a step forward as the redhead stumbled, but couldn’t make it to her over a wave of dizziness. Thankfully, she managed to pick herself up on her own, even confirming she was okay. Or as okay as any of them. But then suddenly she was worse. Her face drained of color and then in the next blink, she was gone.

The boy tucked his rat familiar into his pouch and took off after her, and Vixie followed her instinct to chase without any thought. It was difficult. Her head swam and it was only by copying his path that she made it up into the stands, leaving claw marks in the cement for grip. Then he was running up the stairs. The stairs with so many dead people. And these hadn’t just keeled over like those in their seats. No, these were bloody and smashed. She slipped trying to get around them, trying not to touch any of them. Instead, she fell onto an older man, his bald head red. She let out a scream, scrambling away, and took a second to stop shaking. To stop looking at him.

The girl. She had to help her. Standing once more, she had to use her tails for balance but she spotted the boy, frozen on the steps. Catching up, she covered her mouth to muffle her panting. She whined at the mourning girl’s scream but nodded at the boy. It was immediately obvious that this Sasha was her sister. The two could possibly be twins. It hurt to think about it, and tears gathered in Vixie’s eyes. She tried not to let them fall. This wasn’t about her. This was about the redheaded girl whose world collapsed.

Vixie’s parents were at home. By now, they’d have heard of the attack, though who knows what information they had. It couldn’t be much more than she did. But they wouldn’t know Vixie had gone and competed. Her friends did, but they had school to attend, so were hoping to meet up afterward. Were classes over? Did they know now? As assume she was dead? At least all of her loved ones were safe. She didn’t know anyone else here except, “Nyaall.” Her tails bristled at the thought. Could he have survived? Surely some on the other side survived. Where was he? She tried to look down at the open arena, specifically on the ‘losers’ side, but while she could see individuals, she couldn’t make out any features. Another whine escaped her. What if something happened to him? He’d, he’d almost felt like a friend. Was he okay? Could he be looking for her too?

She brushed off that silly thought, but couldn’t help but want to find him. Just in case. Her eyes flicked back to the crying girl. She couldn’t leave her. That would just be cruel. What to do? Her head swam and she wanted to cry just from the frustration of not knowing what to do. Then it came to her. A message. She could leave a message and let Nyaall know she was okay....as long as he was. Not that he was likely to care, but maybe?

With a slow breath, she lifted a hand and shot out a fairly large blast of fire. Catching it, she began to shape it into a fox's head. It lacked detail, but the ears and pointed chin were obvious at least. She swayed, surprised at how much that took out of her, but answered the boy’s unasked question, “It’s so that if anyone’s looking for me, they can recognize that. I might not be the only fire fox, but maybe they’ll know.” She shrugged. It felt like a stupid idea now that she’d done it.

Anyway, now she could put all her attention on the girl. Walking around the boy, she carefully made her way to her side. Saying nothing, she sat beside her. Then she wrapped an arm around her, offering her support, but prepared to be snapped at if she wanted to be alone.

Jet Emphoa Anne Boolean ??