Dante's Abyss -- Spectator Thread

[The Future Warrior]

For what felt like a long time, she didn't move from her position, just staring at the place where the old sage had landed when he toppled over. Only when the glimmering white of the isolation verse had completely fallen away did she finally snap herself out of it. The weapon in her hand dropped, clattering to the ground and disappearing back into a wash of golden mist. She trudged forward, retrieving the items of the fallen sage. She picked up the capsule for the main quest item and turned away.

All five of them were tossed down, activated. The components that were revealed were not...all that familiar to her. Computer stuff, of some sort, she knew. Thankfully there were instructions, and she was able to manage, piecing it together with only moderate difficulty. When all was said and done, it was...a small computer, sporting only two buttons, green and red. "Let everyone go...or kill everyone..." she mumbled. It wasn't even a choice. Without even hesitating, she pressed the green button. And it ended.

Much like the others she'd seen, when they got whisked away and teleported to the Colosseum or just like the sage had been minutes ago, she vanished.

And she came to again, in an unfamiliar location. The old, battered mask and glittering hairpiece were gone, but she didn't really miss them. Slowly she sat up, clambering back out and up to freedom. She stretched lightly, before letting out a long, deep sigh. "I guess that's it, then...it's over. Hopefully not many other people died." She tugged at her scarf, adjusting how it fell about her neck, noticing the lack of the collar for the contest, and shrugged with a weary, resigned smile. Probably not all that likely, really...given the type of game, it was more likely the fights still going on had wrapped up however they were going to before letting the participants just get whisked back to safety. "Guess it's time to go, then."

That was when she finally looked around, getting her bearings. The great sleeping oaf, snoring away in the middle of the room, immediately drew her attention. Warily she approached, crouching down next to him. "....her, you okay?" She lightly prodded him in the cheek. Several times. No response, though. Just more snoring, sleeping like a huge, bearded, deathmatch-surviving baby. Well, that should be fine. She stood back up and turned away. "I really gotta get going, though. Lost track of time around here." She squeezed one hand into a fist. "And I gotta be there for when Zedd gets back. He's probably not gonna be happy."

But...she didn't go anywhere just yet. She wandered off to lean against a wall, sliding down into a sitting posture. "But I guess...I can wait here. See who else made it out alive before I go." She nodded slowly, before bringing a hand up and tapping at her scouter, pulling up the dataverse and tuning in to watch the final events of Dante's Abyss while she'd been dealing with the old man unfold.

Not heading out yet. Waiting for the conclusion, and watching everyone else's fights and such.

[Gildarts]

“Oh- oh god,” Cana’s eyes reflected on the screen as Gildarts had gone all out during that battle, tears were shed faster than she could summon words, “Oh… He just… Killed that man like… He was nothing!”

Cassandra rolled her eyes, quipping back logically, she was completely unrelenting, and could have given a flying fuck if Archer’s blood was sprayed like ashes all across the zone of the Megacity. “That’s the game, he likely knew it when he joined.”

“N-no… There must be some mistake, I-I mean, I know he won but… Gildarts would never do that,” Cana remained adamant. "At... Least not intentionally."

“Listen girl, I’m sorry you don’t know your old man like you should, but maybe this is the side that he hides from you, didn’t you say he was always gone? When he stops back into the guild like you're nothing but a pitstop, he's just picking up his next job from the bulletin board. This is likely why he can’t stay in one place for too long, too. His power is out of control. It’s insane. But you have to put yourself in his shoes, at least they’re primes, right? No one actually died. That hot agent guy will be right back at the Nexus if you wanna give him a french kiss and meet him there. Y’know?” Cassandra started to set her ally straight.

“Well... He isn't good at holding back. If Gildarts is alive and the game is over… Where will he be?” Cana asked still fathoming the death at her father's own hand.

“Hm.. Hard to say. It’s times like these I wish I had Karl Jak’s number. We could try the Nexus on a whim, I think that’s where they appeared back last time.” Cassandra spoke, straining her memory.

“So that’s the white room, isn’t it?” Cana questioned, keeping the names and places straight.

“Do you wanna consult your cards before we go? We could be wrong about this, and it would set us back all the time we have invested.” Cassandra wagered.

Cana sighed, her eyes were unwavering. Her gut told her the white room was their best shot, and she was the fortune teller. “No. I don’t need a deck to tell me that that’s where my dad will go. At this point, I just want to see him on something other than a bounty poster or a crappy digital screen.”

“Right then, let’s go meet your dad.”

[Dust]

One moment the two were in the midsts of battle, sun rising over water's edge as if to give the looser one last look at it before brutal death by the claws of the other, the next Hokori Hoshi was straddling Harlan Higgs on a teleporter pad where the fluorescent lights that hummed over them cast a shadow not much different than the one Dust had been attacked by in his trip to the vortex. Instead of a giant were-beast of fur and fight, he found he'd taken a bite out of someone who was arguably less beastly.

If anyone looked in on them, it could easily be misunderstood as something more compromising than two animals fighting it out. Vic's chest was bare behind shreds of a nice suit from the transformation - a hazard that Wolf was more than familiar with and hence not yet putting a shirt on - and deep scarring could be seen across his ash pale skin. The missing piece of flesh was lost to the island, but there was another wicked infliction on his neck. The Dying Star only had a few moments to take in everything from his place on top of the shorter man before Victor came to his senses. Without and clothing to grab he reached up and grabbed the larger man by the broad shoulders and pulled the serial kisser down into a kiss with the gangster himself.

Dust had been so distracted by the guy's new appearance that he had no fight in him when he was grabbed and dragged down onto his lips, which only distracted him more. His eyes went as wide as his face would allow it, and he stared in disbelief as the other male held it for another second. Any longer and Dust could have gone another round with him, but as soon as he felt the pressure let up on his mouth, one-half of a pair of knuckles came right across Dust's face! The momentum of Hendy's punch carried him into the wall and without a doubt gave the kid a matching bruise to the one Yuki gave him.

Dust was in pure shock as he twisted back upon the wall, his face a mixture of confusion and disbelief as he watched the man pick himself up like this wasn't his first rodeo. He went to go pop his collar back into place, only to remember his finely tailored suit was scrap fabric now, a frown crossed his face and he took up to pocketing one hand and running the knuckled fingers through his short hair.

"That Lady Luck sure knows how to flirt with a guy." He snarked, staying just vague enough to keep Dust in the dark about what exactly he felt favored in. He cocked a grin at the other man, twisting back to face the heavily wounded man. Had Harlan not just finished feeding the amount of blood that was pouring out of this poor sap might have bothered him a bit more. But he had places to be, people to meet, and things to do. "If you ever wanna finish this, Pretty Boy, you come find me in Tier 5." He stated, then calmly started to turn around and leave, only the flash him another smirk and give him a wink. "I meant the fight. Not the kiss, but hey, anything can happen in this place."

With that, Dust was left alone with both fire in his face and helplessly perplexed by the guy. These past couple days were full of a lot of firsts, and for sure even now. His first couple of friends (Takezo/Yuki/Gildarts), first fight, first real kiss he'd stolen from a girl before running away, his first competition, and now his first time being kissed! By an admittedly attractive man no less, who also was the first to challenge him to a rematch!

It was at this point that his bewilderment is replaced by the waking of his other senses, specifically the pain receptors. Each breath only amplified the horrid feeling in his body. He let out a loud groan of suffering as he responds finally to being shot at point blank. That last of his worries were the two badges on his cheeks. As if answering his call, his pack was dropped next to him, opened as if someone had rummaged through it. He remembered the hook he'd gotten out of the bird's nest and suddenly realized it had to have been important enough for Karl Jak to take it back. His sudden burst of personal pride was interrupted again by the throbbing of his guts.

Dust threw his head back, biting his lip and wishing he had Tamsin's help again. Except.. She probably didn't want anything to do with him at this point. She might even let him die with how stupid that line had been. 'Enchanting..' What the hell, was he twelve years old, 75, or twenty?

The half naked man, bleeding from his arm, torso, and back, weakly pawed at his souvenir bag and dug out the last item he'd manifested as a last minute effort to surviving this game. It was almost laughable how little it contained, how dainty the applicator was. How funny would it be to get to the end, only to die because he couldn't unscrew the top gently enough? Dust's fingers were wet with blood and smeared across the plunger like top. He had a harder time holding the amber colored glass but freed it just the same. He applied the Viral Serum the gunshot wounds. Most of the bullets had just passed through him, but he could guarantee not all of them. Shaking his head at the empty bottle and finding it nearly empty he tossed it back in his bag and just let it work.

The holes began to heal. It was hard to tell which puncture wounds were from the gun and which ones were from the ice, but in the end, they slowly began to heal from the inside out. It was a familiar feeling to him. Along with raw power, his inner wolf could lick his wounds and he'd be fine over a reasonable time's rest. This only worked for things like this, had he broken a leg out there he wouldn't be able to walk until it set again. Lycan just leaned back and let the magic work, only when he heard two of the bullets clatter to the ground did he look again.

If it weren't for the metallic sound, he might have fallen asleep and missed his ride.

Just as he was preparing himself to lift up off the ground, less holy now, he heard a large weight fall against the hard ground nearby. Puzzled, he strained to see where it came from, only to hear someone say Gildart's name. The wounded pup sprang to action or would have liked to if the pain in his back wasn't so deep. He slides up the wall, leaving crimson smears across the paint, snagged up his bag, and then left to go find out what the commotion is. Only to find Gildarts has eaten dirt right off the pad of his return. He couldn't remember getting much sleep while he was with the crash mage, and imagines before he came along neither he or Illidan did either.

"Gildarts?" He called out, and pushed past everyone and dropped to his knees beside the older man. His head went down on the most powerful prime's back and his ear fought to hear anything but his own panicked heartbeat. He heard it thump against his eardrum at the same time the man took a breath, and relief washed over him. Dust sighed as he sat up, a grin cutting through his bruised face and satisfaction filled his heart. "There, there buddy. You earned a nap." He teased, patting the man gently on his decloaked back.

He'd stay at the sleeping man's side like the loyal stray he'd become, ready to take the old man home as if he were drunk and needed a ride home. Dust was probably the only guy around big enough and strong enough to hoist the guy up anyways. It, unfortunately, didn't cross his mind to move out of the way of any incoming competitors and left them both there for potential tripping traps.

I used the viral serum as flavor text because the competition is over, but I will use it for real if I need to. (I'll adjust Log and Roster accordingly)

Dust, still batted to hell and back, gets an invite to come see Vic anytime.
Before he can consider his options he finds Gildarts face down in the dirt. Since he's a good guy he is going to be Gildarts' designated driver and get him home. (Apparently were going to Nexus as soon as I get my akward 'next day we see each other' with Tamsin. =P)

[Simon]

This wouldn't be the first time I was eliminated from a competition by a sorcerer with a chainsaw.

"Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Redgrave," said the doctor looking over the redcoat. All things considered, the checkup may have been a bit redundant, considering the wholly accurate nature of Syntech's automated medical bays. It helped to be sure, however, that its patients didn't continue to suffer from any lasting physical damage - or mental scarring, if that could be helped. Not that anyone could sue the corporation for malpractice or anything, but having everyone that was still alive walk out of the competition in one piece turned out be a little better for reputation.

"What a load of crap," Dante mumbled, the frustration over his loss still lingering. There was nothing he could've done - rumors about the wizard using an "ultimate technique" seemed to suggest as such - but it didn't make the pain less apparent. "Can't believe I lost so easily."

"Yes, well, at least you weren't killed outright," the doctor tried vainly to reassure his patient. "Death for Primes is just getting harder to deal with these days- a whole week of disappearance, plus longer to shrug off any 'respawn sickness'... I'd say the fact you survived at all is somewhat miraculous, Mr. Redgrave."

Dante exhaled through his nose. Was he really going to lower himself to such a standard that 'not dying' could be considered an achievement?

The devil hunter stood from the gurney, stretching out his weary limbs. He patted down his hips momentarily, then glanced back over his shoulder to the doctor. "Where are my guns?"

"Stored in the barracks. Your room is number 13," spoke an assistant, without skipping a beat. The doctor was already being summoned for help with the other eliminated contestants, leaving the check-up room with a waiting nurse. With everything seeming to be in order, Tony Redgrave merely nodded and leaving the medical bay himself.

Room number 13. No wonder I lost, ha!

Silly superstitions. I just wasn't strong enough to handle that guy-

There it was again. Vergil's argument, how might controls everything. Dante strictly believed that he would never stoop to Vergil's level, never kill anyone - much less innocent lives - strictly for the sake of more power. The devil hunter would sooner kill for no reason at all than for such a contrived and selfish cause.

Be careful what you wish for.

Right, right. Just take it easy. Here it was, room 13- grab the weapons, put them away, and just walk back home. No challenge involved.

And so he did. The guns and sword were stashed in that carrying case, while the launcher and armor were absorbed back into the half-devil's form. Well, most of the armor- all that remained of the right gauntlet was probably wisps of dissolved Omniliium at this point. Dante had a list of things that needed fixing (besides himself), and those weapons would just be another bullet point. In top priority was the shop, currently in worse shape than it started out since that attack from Nebula's goons. Case in one hand, the automatic door swept open again to allow Dante to exit his room, before closing and then locking automatically behind him.

Fancy stuff.

Dante paced back through the halls of Station 17, trying to keep his mind devoid of any thinking. He passed the entrance to the food court and bar, tempting scents failing to coax him in. He passed the training room, the brief sight of a familiar red robot showing in his peripheral vision. When Dante was about to step past the medical bays and towards the teleporters, the image of something else familiar caught his eye.

Actually, it happened to be two familiar somethings, upon further inspection. The battlemage that Tony Redgrave had been pitted against appeared out cold on the otherwise immaculate floor- from the sounds of his breathing, the sleep was a willing one, not necessarily from the result of his copious new wounds. Meanwhile, off to the side, a blue taffy alien sat blankly, tapping the digital implement over the left side of her face.

Dante couldn't resist stepping gingerly over the wizard and his apparent caretaker to enter the room. The majin had been absent from Dante nearly the entire competition, only keeping in touch within the earliest stages before everything went wrong. It was worth seeing how she had managed since she had found that first item.

Not leaving yet, want to get some interaction in with Graw and perhaps Gil if I can. Will be going to Coruscant when I do leave.

[Jak Mar]

Daxter blinked "I looked at the stations.. Looks like Jak's hurt . He's wearing some sort of stylin' suit that Red suited man dragged him to a store to get a makeover.

Kind of cheesy but Jak's like that.

"Looks like DA's almost over, yet Jak's still there fightin' that green bug dude. A major three on one."

"Come on, Desman, I'll show you the screens."

[The Future Warrior]

It didn't seem to take long. In short order, most of the remaining fights had run their course. The results were...not great. Archer and Batman had...they hadn't made it. Even God Enel had lost. Cell was still doing his best, in the last fight on that island, putting up as much of a fight as he could in his outnumbered situation. Graowr had a sinking feeling, though...that he wouldn't last much longer. She let her attention waver, only half paying attention to the stream as she noticed someone approaching. A blink of her eyes to refocus and...

"Oh, hey! Redcoat!" she said, surprise evident in her tone and expression in equal parts."You made it!"

The redcoat-wearing man in question just offered a light sigh, not even correcting her this time. "Yeah, yeah...'made it' might be a little generous. Didn't do too hot out there. How 'bout you?"

"Ahaha, well...you made it out alive. That's better than a lot of others that entered this thing can say!" She was trying to be optimistic, but it was weighing on her mind a little heavily. She hadn't had time to watch any more footage of the other deaths, so who knew how many of them might have been due to the collars going off? It wasn't a pleasant thought. "But, uh...as for me?" She made to stand up, hopping up to her feet. "Well, I...kinda had it rough. Ended up in the Colosseum, against a weird guy and a pretty bad guy from my world. But it kinda...worked out in the end. We made a good team. Then there were a bunch of other folks and we kinda worked together for a while and..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"It was awful," she said by way of finishing. "But in the end, I guess...I guess I won!" She laughed faintly, a little sheepishly. "I got all of the main quest items we were supposed to grab, and put them together..." She shrugged. "And now we're all here. I guess it's over now."

[Enel]

Let me tell ya – getting punched so hard you lose half your jaw and ear sucks. Not as bad as being killed, but it still sucks.

I add Tearen Wover to the list of people I need to end. To torture via the most painful means until his permanent expiration. Which brings up a good question for when I’m well enough to operate my Dataverse device once more.

Right now? I’m floating in some kind of liquid. The pain is far-off and numb, but I can feel it there. I must have spent a good while unconscious, because many of my cuts and wounds have already healed. I don’t remember this being a power of mine, but then, I’ve never been injured this badly. Just another aspect of my Godliness, I suppose. Part of the paradox – if God has limitless power, and limitless wisdom, can even he see the extent of his abilities? That’s a rhetorical question – he can’t, clearly, or I’d have known about this regeneration business.

I can hear a nurse speaking to me through some kind of communications device hooked up to my ears. My mouth is also covered by some kind of breathing apparatus.

“You need to wait until you’re fully healed before coming out of the bacta tank. If you don’t …”

Ah, shut up, bitch.

I kick my way through the front of the tank, eliciting a shriek from the nurse. I may have kicked her, too. Oops. After stepping free of the glass, I pick her up to her feet.

“Sorry about that, doll.”

That’s what I try to say. My jaw shoots with the most excruciating pain imaginable. I double over, grasping my face. Fuck!

“I told you!” screeches the nurse. She doesn’t sound pleased.

A second later, the pain redoubles itself and I fall to the ground, clutching my bloodied jaw. Fucking hell, she socked me! That lowly nurse punched God!

“Put me back in the tube,” I moan. At least, that’s what I’m trying to say. I’m glad only the nurse can hear this, because I sound fucking retarded with half my jaw still regenerating.

The nurse harrumphs, hands on her hips. “You’d better not break another one. You know I could have you banished for assaulting a member of staff.”

The fuck does she mean, ‘banished’? Like I care if I get thrown out. Except for like … right now. Because I could do with a few more hours in that nice anaesthetic pod to let myself regenerate.

While she sets me up in the pod next to the one I destroyed, I notice her figure. Buxom as all hell – a little short, but that’s no bad thing. Her blonde hair’s tied back in a rigid ponytail, and she’s wearing specs, but all that does is make her into a stereotypical ‘hidden’ beauty. What I wouldn’t do to tear off the Syntech uniform and let God see what he gave her.

She makes a disgusted sound and covers her eyes. “Try and contain yourself.”

Ahhh hahaha! God, pod is good.

It’s boring as hell but I let myself regenerate, thinking nice things about the nurse lady. Some time passes. Not sure how long, honestly. I may have drifted off once or twice. But after a while, I hear that sultry-sweet voice in my earlobes again.

“Alright, your most grievous wounds are healed. If you’d like to stretch your legs, you can step out for a bit, but we warned, you’re still—oh God damn it!” she says, jumping backwards out of the way as I kick through this pod.

“Good reflexes,” I note as I step through the broken glass. “Got any clothes?”

She lets out a hot breath, apparently too struck by my majestic and Godlike figure for words. David, eat your heart out. I bump the pecs for effect. She covers her eyes.

“Your clothes are in the locker, but they’re pretty … tattered. You’ll have to summon new ones.”

I look towards the door. “Can do.” I look back to her. “In … fifteen minutes?”

She looks at me through those glasses, blinks, and then covers her face again. “I hate myself for doing this.”

I’m hanging around, waiting for Graowr and Harlan.

[Tearen Wover]

The noises that were coming from the adjacent room of bacta tanks indicated that God Enel was doing relatively well after their last bout in the Colosseum.

Good. That was good. Tearen had been very concerned that he may have accidentally killed the lightning Prime at the very end of that sordid match, mostly out of a moment of panic and emotional disparity. But, safety begat clarity, and as soon as he was satisfied that his own corpus was in functional order, the elder Prime allowed himself to be bathed and monitored by the Syntech nurses. Certainly, he could have easily mended himself and seen to his own vitals, but these employees had a job to do, and to presume them as useless would only injure their fragile sanity. At least...fragile by Tearen's standards.

Once he had adorned himself with a freshly summoned suit, the rejuvenated elder Prime flicked his glasses on to his face and exited into the lobby area. Various contestants came and went, and this hackles shivered slightly as he caught a fleeting glimpse of Victor Hendy's form vanishing into a teleporter. That was okay. Patience would bear fruit, and he would only act at cusp. His attention was drawn into the middle of the room, where a small crowd of secondaries was huddled around a ragged and, to be quite honest, slightly smelly heap. Seriously, did most Primes just eschew bathing from their daily lives? Tearen dismissed the fascination with a slight jarring of his head, and advanced towards Gildarts.

Dust looked up at the encroaching Shadow with glinting, protective eyes. Tearen met the shifter's gaze with his own, stolid viridian hues.

"Yeah?" the shirtless man growled. Tearen narrowed his gaze.

"I will ask you politely, once, to please move so I can heal Gildarts." the Shadow said in a low tone. Dust quirked his head to the side for a moment, but conceded some breathing room to the eldritch human as he bent low and placed a hand on Gildarts' forehead. The manipulation of time would expedite the healing of Gildarts' flesh, but that was just the surface function that Tearen could keep automated while he did his real work. So, taking a deep breath, Tearen dove into the strongest Prime's mind through the flat of his palm.

Darkness, was the first thing that greeted him. Not uncommon for someone who was asleep, but this was more than just the absence of light. It was tangible, sticky, and cloying. Though he had no literal form, Tearen felt mired knee-deep in black muck that hungered for him.

"So nice of you to stop by. Maybe now we can really get to know one another..." Malefactor cooed, trying to poke and prod at Tearen's mental fortitude. The parasite would find no purchase; as much as she was a figment in Gildarts' mind, she had no capacity to rebuke his psychic intrusion, and more importantly, was incapable of contaminating Tearen himself. Whether or not the Malefactor knew this was unknown.

Tearen pressed through the stifling murk, and emerged in the ruins of a quaint little hamlet. There sat Gildarts, surrounded by corpses and destruction, staring at his hands. Fires burned, indistinct and displaced all around him, and the whispers of the dead clawed at his breaking mind. The pain and guilt were immense, pressing down like a suffocating weight, and everywhere in the seams and cracks of the scene, black ooze quivered and bounced with jovial sadism.

The look in Gildarts' eyes was blank and grey. His face was emotionless and staunch; he was skilled in displaying this affectation to the world. Inside his mind, however, he could not hide from his horror. The Malefactor was pervasive in every nook and cranny of his mind...had she been here too long? Was it too late? Tearen had to try.

"Poor, poor Gildarts. The strongest Prime, a weakling before his own power."

The scene of destruction looped over and over. Flash of white. The screams. The dead. Flash of white. The screams. The dead. This was where Gildarts' thoughts dwelt. This was his default reality. It was no wonder that the parasite had found such easy purchase in his mind. Invasive as she was, her ubiquitous presence betrayed her nature; a predator who feasted on the darkness of man. Shame. Guilt. Sadness. Anger. An ebony panacea to these all, and more, was the Malefactor. Too late was the cost made plain. Tearen had to go deeper.

He advanced towards the wizard's mental construct of himself, and intruded upon that mind as well. A tangle of black webbing surrounded them. Flashes of color and indistinct memories danced and loomed at the fringes of the cobweb horizon. The most recent memories were the brightest; an explosion of gold. A dead Archer. Power. Overwhelming power. Simultaneously never enough and too much. Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me-

A face. A young face. Follow the thread. Yes, there it was. Molly. A joy. Guu. Molly and Guu. Tearen could use these two to his advantage. It was here that the black tendrils could not reach.

"Don't you understand?! He needs me! You know what can happen if he doesn't have control!"

Such was the logic of a placebo. Control never came from without, it came from within. All this raw strength, and Gildarts had never learned that. Always focusing on amassing his power, but never fully mastering it. Impractical for most; deadly in his case. Tearen shook his head. The scene shifted, he was being taken into a dream. A bordello. A room of red and marble.

Lithe young bodies draped themselves across chaise couches, covered in shawls of fleeting silk. There sat Gildarts, pampered and doted upon by practically naked nubiles. Tearen remained unfazed. These things were normal for a human, but the eldritch man could not help but notice how...old...Gildarts looked next to all this supple flesh. He thought he recognized one of the fawning women. A curtain of crimson hair. What had her name been? No matter. Focus. Figure this out.

Gildarts on his throne, yet his expression remained the same. Vacant. Stolid. Unflinching. Uncompromising. Safe. Safe in his detachment. And there was his constant companion, Malefactor, spilling across his lap in the form of a sultry maiden constructed of black pigment. She traced a flirtatious hand along the wizard's weathered jaw. This was her first mistake.

Tearen advanced towards the ostentatious seat, and the Malefactor looked up at him peevishly.

"Can't go much deeper than this, lover."

Tearen dove into the Malefactor.

Shrieking. Shrieking. Violation. Unheard of. Error. Error. Etc. Tearen didn't care. He plunged into the core of her being, this rogue mind, one amongst this crowded skull. Again, the blackened morass sought to consume him, but he would not allow it. Vexed and hateful it tried to churn him out of its presence, but the elder Prime would not relent. What was this, a tyrannosaurus rex? Survival.

Survival, yes. That was the key. The Malefactor was a survivor, and only the strongest could ensure this black perpetuation. How foolish then, Malefactor. You found your strongest Prime, and you serve to degrade and break him down. Brute strength, perhaps, but a survivor requires clarity. They cannot be distracted and you distract. They cannot be restless and yet you harry.

Furthermore...this...figmentation you have implanted in the wizard's mind.

SHUT UP!!

SHUUUT UPP!!

...figmentation you have implanted in the wizard's mind. What purpose does it serve? Honestly, such amateur gestures. Why do you even do this? Where did you come from?

I DON'T KNOW!

You don't?

...I don't.

...

Tearen sat down with the Malefactor. Here in this black void sat a lonely soul, reaching out for purpose and finding only that it could guarantee its own perpetuation. There there, little monster, it's going to be okay. Let's work this out...

Will let Sam resolve this how she wants.

[Simon]

Huh. So after all this, taffy girl actually somehow won the competition. Whether it was from sheer dumb luck, or an actual layer of strategy, it was probably worth commending. "You won, huh? Well, congrats. Shame I wasn't there to it," Tony applauded, giving a few golf claps over Graowr's achievement.

"Heh, yeah..." The future warrior replied, her voice faking her trademark enthusiasm. The brutality of the competition seemed to have done a number on the majin- if Dante knew how to comfort her over that, he might consider doing so now. Still, what was there to say that she didn't already know? They were all Primes, everyone knew they would revive eventually- but from the sounds of it, death still proved to be terribly costly and debilitating. Dante had not experienced such symptoms yet, but perhaps he was fortunate he had not.

Count your blessings, as the saying went. Maybe just not dying on death island really could be considering an achievement. But in Dante's case, he had only been spared by virtue of good will- from the man currently snoring his nose out in a heap on the floor. The redcoat looked over, finding a tall dark man in a suit pouring over the prone figure of the battlemage.

A few seconds passed before the burning question clicked into place. The figure seemed familiar, but why? Another few seconds, and Dante realized the answer: that same imposing presence of mind over matter. The shadow he had met so distantly in the first stage of the competition.

He had also been using a chainsaw. Had this man lent it to Gildarts? Was he some sort of mastermind? And that suit- was the shadow actually an agent of this Syntech corporation?

Bah, too many questions.

Tony shook himself, trying to empty his mind once again. He turned to Graowr, and spoke in small talk, "So, what are you planning after this? Gonna go home and find a nice spot to put that winning trophy?"

[Ash]

Ash watched the girl go through a lot of emotions, her blind looking eyes studied her but looked for not particular thing other than what she was doing. She couldn't relate. She hasn't ever been in a situation like that outside the games, and even then she was just playing a game. Just like she was playing this one. Slowly the girl at the bar came to the conclusion that she should stop drinking on her own, and it was a little saddening. But she looked away regardless at the screens. She watched as several members of the game were being pulled out by the magic of Karl Jak. Leaving only a few people in the fights they had started. She noticed the man who'd made out with the blonde and then stole a kiss from a silver haired girl was fighting a werebeast that she recognized as Vic Hendy. She didn't know him personally, she just caught his name and face at some point or another. They were fighting off the mainland in Zone D.

It was hard to tell who had the upper hand in most of the fight, but just as it looked like the tides turned in the half naked man's favor they vanished. There was a startle in her heart but she kept it hidden well as she turned casually to her phone and switched channels until she found where they had popped up at in the building. A grin flowed over on her face when she watched Harlan grab the other man and give a big old kiss. Her smiled turned into a soft chuckle when Vic punched the poor guy into the wall. 'Tier 5..'

That was enough, it seems the games were over. She pocketed her commlink and stood up. "Sorry to hear about that, miss." She said to Amber, lying of course. She had all but forgotten the topic. She stood to her feet and moved with expertise back towards the fan-club in the viewing room. She slipped next to Daxter, putting her hands on her hips and giving him a smile as she caught the end of the fight. She was caught off guard a bit, by the wardrobe change, but with a quiet smirk to herself she moved back to the e-mail she's been slowly tapping away at, changing a 7 into a 10 and then pocketing the phone after hitting send. She leaned over the arm of the chair to get at Daxter. "You think I can come congratulate him with you? Maybe even get an interview with your side-kick?" She ran her fingers along his chin. "Think you can convince him to talk to me, Orange Lightening?" She teased, pressing all the right buttons.

[Gamzee Makara]

Gamzee yawned. Or he tried to yawn, rather. Instead, the clown succeeded only in creating a gap between his oxygen mask and the healing goo that he was currently encased in, causing a cascade of medi-goo to rapidly fill his face holes. Lights started blinking and chiming on the outside of his tank and the nurse in attendance tsked and rushed to the boy, fiddling with the console of the machine and draining it of goop.

The clown coughed up globs of medical rejuvenation juice, the slimy resin leaving a strange taste in his mouth. Being stuck in that thing kinda reminded him of sleeping in his husk pod back home, his body enveloped by the warm cozy feeling of slime. It was a little disturbing, actually. Still, he felt good as new - or should he say nude. He was wearing nothing but the air, and boy did that feel amazing.

The nurse rolled his eyes, muttering "Summon up some clothes, you stupid git," before exiting the clown's field of vision, probably off to tend to more nursey business.

Huh. Weird accent on this guy. Gamzee shrugged and went about the process of turning miracles into miracles. His phone beepled. Beepled so hard it caught the troll's attention, in fact. While the High-Blood went about focusing up some new threads, he also took the time to answer he phone for the first time in ages, it felt like.

Gonna hang out for a second and tend to some bidness on the dataverse, but my next post will probably have Gam exiting to the frozen fields unless I dictate otherwise in said post.

[Gildarts]

[spoiler] A verse was that of a room in this Omni mansion, a room at Syntech headquarters, within the room of plenty within his mind. That was were Gildarts slept. That was where Tearen trespassed purposefully. Reality fell away, compiled by the perception of pure sense and mind over time.

Plunging, falling, it was all the same when surrounded by deserted and spider webbing veins, intricacies, snippets of life, trails of death. All leading to the core, where gravity continued to pull the God-mind.

The forgotten was a large section of Gildarts’ mind. The prime had to mediate more than a monk just to be sure his magic wouldn’t explode in any of his waking days. When looking at a woman for her beauty, he could allot the time to seek the beauty in her soul, forced to settle for physical, Gildarts found himself only admiring skin deep features. Never what dwelled truly behind it. Beautiful women were for men who lacked imagination and this Fairy Tail mage could never allow that section within him to thrive. And instead, his imagination was restrained, repressed, and eternally suffocating but never fully pardoned to die. Always there. Always drowning. Always screaming. Never soundless. Never dead.

True tragedy that could never sing its mournful dirge.

…

From the black, perpetual ceiling, three chairs fell together, surrounding an empty table made of cherry-red wood. The table looked like it could’ve been stolen out of a post-modern coffee shop, sans the music, sans the bustle, sans the scent of French Roast. Falling next in alignment to their chairs were three empty mugs, plain, white, with some intricate etchings around the rims of the glass, still white, barely noticeable unless by touch. These etchings each held a different name. Gildarts’ name was carved in Japanese characters, twirling together with a nearly invisible cracking design. Gildarts had yet to arrive and meanwhile, the Malefactor blinked as she appraised her new surroundings, the meeting arranged by the God-mind and the setting by Gil’s own simple subconscious.

The Malefactor was a woman of remarkable beauty, bold red lipstick was painted smear-free upon her expressionless lips. Her hair lay in waves of ginger sprawling past her shoulders, a deeper and richer tone than Gil’s own. Her eyes were a different color depending on what angle they were caught, generally they flashed with pale blue or forest green. Her attire was a plain black dress that was tightly stitched around her body and only allowed for a modest inch of cleavage around her breasts. Far from a distraction, but more of a cut to amplify her subtle, promiscuous edge of style. The succubus was not quite so… Tempting now.

For all her beauty, for her long pale legs adorned with modish heels, for her nails painted glossy crimson scarlet to charm and allure any lusting sinner, the right side of her head, just behind the ebbing frame of her face was the completely carved out. Missing half of her skull.

One half looked natural, normal, flawless. The other half was a mishmash of perturbing gore. First a layer of dried blood stained the spiky broken plate of skull, layers of membrane accented with thin chicken wire stretches of tangled pink flesh. In place where the brain should have been bulging out, was a putrid organ of pulsing midnight green. It had a glossy sheen and a few veins cradling around the three dimensional sphere. A few wisps of copper hair fell over the repulsive view but did nothing but amplify the emboldened contrast of green and fleshy red.

She was part monster and all woman. There was no shame written on the flawless lines of her face, in fact, the Malefactor’s cheekbones were raised in a welcoming expression a hostess might wear when welcoming an important guest to an affair. Her long lashes batted a few times as she grabbed her mug, when she did, the pristine white was painted in viney lines of black, making her name written in her original language indistinguishable within the streaks of pitch black paint.

She pulled the cup up to her lips and her beverage of choice filled it. Red wine. The ruby gleam closely matched her lips, but didn’t stain the lipstick away. “So. You’re my new guest. Care for a drink? The glass fills itself, you know.”

I’m not here to drink. Nealaphh’s suited form finally fell into the seat across from the woman who had only a portion of her head remaining. The symbolism on multiple levels was a little amusing, but now was no time for play. The God-mind declined, though, he was curious about what design would become of the glass that seemed to reveal much more than one’s favorite beverage.

“Hmph. Suit yourself. Our third guest is a little late, but that shouldn’t surprise you,” Miss Malefactor said with ample dissatisfaction as she crossed her legs.

Their third guest.

Nothing else fell from the ceiling for a while, the waiting was perpetual, yet also timeless for this room had no light of sun, nor a clock to tick into the void of nothingness.

Plopping out of one reality and as though falling into another, Gildarts slammed into the ground beside his empty chair back-first. Pain crackled through his being and shook the black room with a thunderous rumble. The tangible black ground didn’t break on the collision, a good sign, Tearen noted, for the Prime was likely not coming apart at the seams… Yet. The God-mind couldn’t be too hopeful.

The mage stood up, his cloak was gone from his shoulders as it had been for the last week, however the blood and layers of gore and disgusting smulch he’d accumulated were gone from his skin. Emblazoned on his pectoral was the dark tattooed Fairy Tail insignia, appearing like a fire with two tails.

“Glad you could finally make it,” the woman spoke with an eager smile, her eyes staying long on the powerful man who’d stood up, let his eyes wander around the nothingness for a moment, before they fell back on Tearen, who was donning a dashing suit… But also, behind his surface, a veil of shadow seemed to flicker, sourced within his radiant viridian eyes.

Tearen showed no glimmer of joy when Gildarts had arrived, no expression of kinship nor rivalry. His purpose was not to comfort, but to solve. To trash with the niceties. She was outnumbered now. This was they only place where they could take her down. However, so much lay in limbo, undefined, striking now would be completely premature. Calculation. Precise measurement. That was what this moment’s purpose served. All for the next moment’s survival.

“Please, take a seat.” She invited him, looking at the glossy, elegant chair. He sensed nothing magical about it. No traps. Yet there was some hesitation when the prime sat down, as though he thought it would break at his touch. He did as he was told and set his arms on the table, he seemed at ease enough. Both arms were organic, as he was born and as was natural to him. Gildarts did not seem to notice this natural startling difference, though he could feel the table’s flat sheen with the skin of both of his arms.

Mal blinked again, holding her wicked black cup in her hand, “Beverage? Just pick up the glass and your favorite will appear.”

Gildarts looked over to Tearen as though waiting, who remained saying nothing, observing, collecting, memorizing the simple intricacies of dinner with Gildarts’ inner devil. Feeling pressured into it, the unsuspecting mage picked up his to-be drink by its handle. Light and magic began to crackle within the ceramic in netted marks around the Japanese characters before it exploded in his hand, shattering it to bits before leaving only a broken chunk of the scooped handle dangling in his hand.

Tearen’s eyes had glided from the erupting mug and back to the human personification of the Malefactor. Danger lined the room, the moment, and within every breath they didn’t need to take. She seemed to smile. Impressed at Tearen's skillful maneuver and the underlying point of his protest. Get to the point. she sensed, but to her, time was nothing, so what was the hurry? His mug-splosion showed her that could change the room, if he dared. Theory confirmed. Knowledge absorbed. To be executed at a later time.

As if manning up to his challenge, following the break of polished ceramic clattering to bits upon the table, the Malefactor took her turn. Meddling in the middle-aged mage’s mind.

Screams surrounded them now from sourceless echoes. The familiar ones from the massacre at Camelot first, then many layers that followed, all stolen from a different place in Gildarts’ timeline. All stolen from moments of horror he’d lived in his life. Horror he’d felt for himself and for the tragedies he had caused.

The woman flashed her eyes at Tearen, and allowed him to read, We both know we can do better than this, but… You lack one thing. You don’t know how much of this will break him, and I do. Can you extract me, without me completely shattering his mind, God? She toyed seductively with her lips, waiting.

Gildarts felt like the third wheel. The Malefactor’s attention was always, first and foremost assigned to her host, however, trespassers had to be dealt with accordingly. This was her turf. Gildarts was her property. She could practically wrap a leash around his throat then and there and humble the mage to his knees in a bow of submission.

You have one warning. Release him now. Or face the consequences, pest. Nealaphh’s mind-voice boomed so all three could hear.

“Don’t you see? I’m not the one keeping him here. Ever since this began, he chose to sit at my beckon. He chose to take a drink when commanded. Everyone wants a little control in their lives. Everyone wants an order to follow. Especially the weak. He’s my pet and will remain that way. You expect a loyal dog to run away from its home? No, see, I’ve beaten him into complete submission. He belongs here, believes abuse is the only way for he has known it for too long. Every word woven, every thought I've challenged. You let me nest in here for too long, you should have extracted me when you had the chance, Wover. But you had different priorities then, didn't you? He’s been tainted, corrupted, corroded, stained. He’s mine. I won’t release him so easily. Even if you do manage to extract me, he’ll come back when he is in need of power. I’m in a vault now, yet he allows me to linger within the edges of his feeble mind because he looks at me to compensate for the strength he doesn’t have. He’ll never be free. And he knows it. So he chooses this life. A life of enslavement because it is all he’s ever known. Bound by fear. He wants this. A life under my domain.” She spoke calmly.

Tearen remained quiet, her words were rich and yet not entirely baseless. The Malefactor turned her head on a swivel, revealing her grotesque ‘brain’ to the mage. He did not jump back in disgust. He had seen this form before. How many times had they shared a conversation in this room? How many times had he partaken in the fruits of her temptation? None? Or every time he was invite? It wasn’t a bad business deal, except for the fact that Gildarts never had to give up his rights to some creature who offered him only a placebo in return.

“Isn’t that right, Gildarts?” her expression bore into his soul.

Don’t answer that. Tearen commanded, seizing her bait, another web woven by the spider. She has offered you nothing but the control you already harbor within yourself. Her promise is false.

“Oh? How can you be certain?” she sneered from behind her wicked mug.

Tearen needn’t an explanation. Control is a choice. You chose her to control you. But you had the power of that choice all along. That's how you got here. It is also how you can leave. He hoped simplifying it for the mage made the truth evident in one concise slice.

Gildarts remained voiceless. His amber eyes appeared dampened as though he were bound by contract or governing law. Tearen stood up, she’d taken his voice from the beginning. This conversation was naught. He should have seen this. “You’ve stolen his voice, free him at once!” he spoke with his lips in a rasp, a tinge of emotion was evident: Frustration.

The Malefactor winked, “Make me.”

The room rumbled again. Tearen felt a flicker of his shadow surpass his ebony skin, she was calling him out. Gildarts caught a glimpse of Nealaphh’s familiar three eyed form and recognition sparked in his eyes. His lips remained mute. The God-mind thrust the choice to Gildarts lap one final time. Choose. He glared, next came the threat, Or I will.

It was extremely hard to say if Gildarts had any idea what was going on at this point. If she had so easily muted his lips, nothing was stopping the Malefactor from muting his ears. Meaning he could only respond to gestures, or perhaps only hear her commands. Only what she willed the tormented mage to do.

Tch. Tearen should’ve seen tactic this sooner. Gildarts had likely already signed his soul with his own blood on the dotted line. It was worth one more shot, Tearen gave Gildarts the opportunity to read his lips as the scratchy word came out, “Choose.”

Gildarts stood. He had heard that. Or read his lips. The God-mind sighed in relief, this might save him from doing much more… Damaging actions. The Malefactor remained perfectly content in her chair, which she continued to treat as her iron throne. Her expression commanded they both bow as did her now uncrossed legs. However, they’d been united by the revolutionary idea that free will could change not only this moment, but the rest of the Fairy Tail wizard's life.

“Oh Gilly, don’t you succumb to his evil tricks, remember, you remember that he’s the bad guy, don’t you?” She offered a crimson pout, her lips wobbled. "You've drawn his black blood on more than one occasion."

“It is time this fight cease. It has been waged within me far too long,” Gildarts spoke, his voice noble, proud.

Tearen approved.

“What’ll you boys do to me? Hm? I committed no crime of breaking and entering, I was let in here, knocked and the door was open,” she spoke of the vague law known to some vampiric lore.

We will expel you. Not I alone. Not he alone. But together. Tearen announced confidently, certain the Prime could hear him now.

Having a friend by Gildarts’ side offered comfort. Nealaphh, a friend. They had a common enemy, and well, you know the saying.

“Get out, or I will destroy you,” Gildarts threatened, malice in his voice was tangible, pulsing with newly awakened life drenched in anger.

“Oh, Gildarts, don’t you know if you destroy me, you destroy yourself?” the Malefactor flirted with the last truth up her sleeve. “But then again, you always were a martyr, funny though, self-preservation is quite… A bitch.”

“I’ll die a free man,” he was convinced.

“Even Omni can’t save you from that fate,” she reposted.

“So be it.”

She challenged, “What? You’re going to blast me off into oblivion now? I’ll break this entire mind palace apart, you’ll be nothing but a drooling vegetable, unable to be healed. Respawning every time a hollow mess of nothing, or maybe a dripping drooling time-bomb. That’s why Goddy over there hasn’t made any moves on me. He knows one wrong one in this place and it’ll allll falll downn..”

“No, there are better ways to fight someone like you than with violence,” Gildarts growled.

“Ridiculous, that is the only way to fight me. I won’t surrender otherwise.” Mal provoked him, fear sparkled in her eyes. Even the oaf of a mage was onto her weakness.

“You aren’t needed anymore,” Gildarts solidified his choice. “I am in control. And if I tumble out of that control, the man beside me will strike me down with everything he has. He won’t just kill me, he will break me into oblivion. It may be necessary. But he would do it for me, for the greater good, because that would be my choice. He would respect it. Something you never would be willing to do, for your greed for power defines you, and makes you so very readable.”

And pathetic.

“Nealaphh, er, Tearen. I am aware I’m still slumbering in a room full of Primes. See to it I kill none of them with this choice.” Gildarts spoke and then offered his hand out in a respectful shake. Tearen wasn’t sure he had faith in the mage to do this alone. However, it was now he who had no choice. Gildarts banished Wover from his mind.

The God-mind woke up, blinking in his body. Thrilling doubt prepared the God-mind to contain the blast somehow. The surge of power that could destroy this room, or split Karl’s entire pocket verse in half. Worry wove into his expression, for he could no longer observe. But, faith was restored. For if Gildarts could press the God-mind out of his thoughts, he could certainly rid himself of that disgusting villain with half a head.

The Malefactor and Gildarts were in the room alone. It was time to end this the way it had started. This time it was not Gildarts, but the Malefactor who would be sacrificed.
[/spoiler]

A line of my post was inspired by ATTICUS’s quote! I’m in love with his writing. There’s also another quote too that I didn’t even know existed that is VERY similar here.

[Gildarts]

Gildarts gasped and his eyes bulged open, he’d been suffocating in his own darkness for so long, it felt good to take a breath of fresh air. Sensations flooded him. Sounds. The taste of stagnant air mingling with swamp and blood abruptly confounded him. His hand had shot upright and latched itself on Tearen’s human shoulder. Gildarts felt the putty of flesh and fabric and after inhaling a few breaths, he appraised the room. Fatigue that had once worn so heavily on his shoulders had evaporated, the wounds were still bloody, and eventually would make new scars for his skin.

Nealaphh looked at the strongest prime with a glare, he was trying to decipher friend or foe? A swirl of dark energy surrounded Tearen and his mind readied, prepared to smite the prime who could have succumbed to the Malefactor’s submission once more.

“What are you doing!?” Dust exclaimed, outraged. “Hey, creepy guy, stay back!”

Tearen was quite frankly preparing to kill Gildarts. Or worse. However, there was a glimmer of something that the Malefactor would never have in Gildarts’ eyes. Friendship? Maybe that was the word. Could the god-mind fathom it? Freedom was there too, he’d been emancipated by the chains that had bound him, Gil had thought and assumed, forever.

Now however, the prime stood. No crackling of energy, no chaotic power below the surface of his skin. Gildarts stood tall, wobbled a bit and leaned on Tearen’s shoulder again with his steely grip. Then, the mage smiled, patting Tearen on the back and loosening the god-mind’s suspicion. Still, Gildarts had yet to speak, and since Tearen had been blocked from his mind, he had to go on phrasing, calculating and remembering how the old Gildarts had spoken, and how or whether or not he had evolved.

“You saved my life,” the disheveled man smiled, smacking Tearen without the fear of hurting him… And still with enough force that would leave a bruise there tomorrow. “Thank you.”

The two men shared a moment. Tearen’s eyes glimmered into Gildarts’ and then the God-mind nodded in acceptance, still suspicious, however he would keep tabs on the powerful prime. It was hard to appraise after just a moment, just how much Gildarts had truly been “freed.” Hard to, but not impossible.

Tearen allowed a small smile to crack his stony expression before striding off.

Dust looked at Gildarts, “What the… I thought he was going to kill you and you thanked him?”

“Oh ha, about that, I told him to,” Gildarts admitted, a hand finding itself behind his head and pressing down on his mud-caked hair.

“You told him to?” Dust’s jaw dropped.

“Yeah,” Gildarts blinked as though it were common knowledge, “Hey did you see Illidan?” It seemed his once jumbled thoughts were more coherent than ever and it was quite remarkable. “This is where the entrants are sent when the leave, though I guess Illidan could’ve died, I didn’t see it on the Dataverse…”

“No, you’re right…” Dust looked at Gil like he was more insane than usual. “Yeah Illidan passed by, I suspect everyone is going home now.”

Home. What a hell of a word.

“Well, why haven’t you left yet?” Gildarts asked the youth.

Dust’s face flushed, “I uh… Don’t really have a place to go back to.”

The Ace nodded, recruitment time. He’d encountered homeless and lost younglings before. He’d invited them to Fairy Tail.. And Ambrosia. Yes.. That was where they’d go next. “Alright then,” Gil said with confidence, “You can stick by me, you’ve got a lot of potential, kid. And I think I’d make a pretty good teacher.”

A teacher. He couldn’t do it before, however now… Now he had no fear. Dust was a prime. And Gildarts had control once more.

[The Humble Sage]

The Sage awoke as the rejuvenation liquid seeped from the tank. He felt surprisingly hale given his condition during the end of the fight. His jaw had been worked back into place, though his throat felt exceedingly dry. He stepped from the tank, and found to his dismay that the rejuvenation effects were also anesthetic in nature. The Sage clutched at a nearby hand rail, barely noting his surroundings as he fought against the pain in his head.

A figure appeared on the outskirts of his blurred vision, and a ringing voice intruded upon his hazy thoughts.

“Yeah, you’ll want to take it easy there for a notch or two, pal. People your age shouldn’t be signing up for death tournaments, even if you are immortal.” There was a pause before the voice added, “Uh… that’s my opinion, not Syntech’s of course.”

The Sage broke through his infirmity enough to catch hold of the speaker. A small figure that he could probably place as a gnome… or perhaps a halfling? Their outfit clearly marking them as a  low-ranking Syntech Technician. The neon pink hair was pulled into pigtails, a style that looked feminine, but the Sage had made the mistake of inferring too much about the little folk from their appearance before, and was loathe to repeat the experience.

“I thank you for your concern, burrower. However I shall be fine in a moment.” the Sage said with a brusque tone. His head was a maelstrom of opposition he did not need right now. Though the event itself was now over, the Sage’s goals were in no way completed. Karl had been more difficult to speak to than reports of last year’s event would have suggested, but there were several others with whom he wished to speak before they scattered to Omni’s whims.

The Technician just shrugged and jerked a thumb towards the nearby door. A pink balloon of gum appeared in the Syntech employee’s mouth before snapping in a way that made the unsteady nerves of the Sage strain. “Suit yourself Gramps. No skin of my foot.”

Ah. Halfling then.

With a serious effort, the aging scholar exited the room with the rejuvenation vat, entering a smaller room for changing and neatening of one’s personal appearance. The Sage looked about the room for some semblance of clothing, but there seemed to be nothing besides the minimal garment Syntech had seen fit to give him for his time in the tank. He cast a quizzical glance back towards the technician, who simply fixed him with a sour look.

“What? You’re the one with the power to create anything you imagine. Did you want Karl to give you more than free healing of that hole in your chest?”

The Sage’s eyes darted to a mirror as she said that. The blackened scar of a cylindrical gap had been filled in. His skin seemed to have formed in and around a spider web of dried ink, giving the injury an unpleasantly tessellated look. The Sage was simply glad that his now somewhat untamed beard hid the similar scarring from his fractured jaw. As he looked he noted the scars from his time on Cinnabar remained stained by the ink as well. Whatever this is, the simple healing of Karl Jak’s machines will not be sufficient…

“Whenever you finish priming and propping, you just go through that way,” the technician pointed, “and down the hallway. Look for the door labelled teleporters. Karl says to have a wonderful time and to see you next year.” The last sentence came out with such disdain that the Sage almost laughed, but in his current condition he could manage little more than a smile. The Syntech employee sauntered off without waiting for a response, leaving the Sage alone with his thoughts and his ailing body.

The Sage spent some time in the room, summoning a more professional set of attire than traveler’s clothes he had been wearing during the event. A more traditional robe, a soft red-tinted brown, with bright red sigils imbraided on the trim. The Sage noted in passing that the sigils were those of the language he could not decipher, though by now the appearance of those runes was no longer alarming to him. At least on the short-term scale.

Within minutes the Sage exited the prep room into the main chamber itself. A variety of primes were arrayed about the room. Tearen Wover watched from a corner as the crash mage Gildarts stood in the middle of the room, laughing with a carefree joviality that the Sage had not experienced from him during the event. He must have been distancing himself from the competition? No, he chose not to attack me during the event, even with allies to help him. That is not the action of one who is seeking victory at any price… There was information here the Sage had missed, and he made a mental note to take a better judgement of the Omniverse’s strongest wanderer.
The Sage spotted his quarry amidst the scattered array of primes, and made his way over to the still sullen form of Graowr. Considering she had won the event, the…girl?... seemed among the least contented of the room. A survivor’s guilt? The Sage wondered as he drew near, Perhaps I was a tad over blunt with our exchange…

The blue-skinned warrior was making small talk, or at least engaging in the conversation just enough not to be considered rude. The red coated man she conversed with had a youth that his silver-white hair belied, and his stance was a dead giveaway of an experience warrior. The Sage approached the majin champion.

“A well fought match, I must congratulate you. In less stringent circumstances I would hope to count you as an ally instead of a foe. You have my sincerest apologies for any injuries you may have accrued during our bout, physical or otherwise.”