Spectator Thread

[Karl Jak]

This thread is to be used to write:

Spectators watching DA in other verses
Spectators watching DA from the preshow facility
Eliminated contestants who want to hang around at the facility while their friends/allies/enemies continue to fight.

If you need anything clarified, please let me know in the Discussion thread.

[Gin Yatreg]

"Wow, I didn't see that one coming." Jeff said to his friends next to him.

"I know right? I could've sworn that masked dude was dead already!" Jake said back.

"Man whatever, can we just cut back to Gilgamesh already? That dudes kickass with his golden armor!" John said, leaning back in his chair.

"Seriously? You're rooting for Gilgamesh?" Jeff asked, staring at his friend in surprise.

"Yeah, what's wrong with that? He's better than Deadpool!" John retorted, making his friends gasp in surprise.

"Dude, what the hell is wrong with you?" Jeff asked.

"Yeah seriously man." Jake said in agreement.

"Yeah! What's your problem man? I'm awesome!" Deadpool yelled.

"See! Even Deadpool thinks you're crazy!" Jake said.

"Wait...Deadpool?" Jeff said curiously. The three looked at each other in confusion, wondering where that voice had come from. "Yeah, I'm over here!" he said in response. The trio turned their eyes towards the TV they were viewing Dante's Abyss on. The picture showed the diner just as they saw it before their conversation began, only now a red figure was taking up most of the screen.

"Hi!"

"AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH" The trio shouted in unison, fleeing the room in terror.

"What? Is there something on my face?"

[Tearen Wover]

As Nealaphh slowly approached the viewing area for the games, several other patrons began to complain.

"Did they turn down the AC?"

"Where did you put my jacket?"

"Why's it so cold?"

Nealaphh smirked inwardly towards itself, somewhat pleased with the idea that it was feeding on the thermal energy emitted by these mortal simpletons. It was almost reminiscent of its role back in its old Multiverse...the slow encroachment of death, harbinger of the final energy state...

Doubtless the weakling would move away from the cold patch generated by the shadow in short time, but for now Nealaphh basked in the radiance of their life essences; a comforting warmth, my different from the sensationless void that was The Nexus. The god-mind eyed nearby sitting areas with curiosity. Would it be too conspicuous for Nealaphh to remain standing? It ultmately didn't matter; Nealaphh was liable to draw attention to itself regardless.

The shadow turned its attention to one of the nearby viewing kiosks, one that was following the journet of the Hero and his Gerudo teammate. Neither of them seemed like they would be able to keep up their fight much longer; the weak physicalities, brought about by Syntech's inhibitive collars, were truly a prime's worst enemy in this game.

...still, Nealaphh was not in any particular hurry. It had only left the Ashen Steppes about a day and a half ago. The Gorons would need more time to gather the raw materials needed for the new Megaton Hammer, and Nealaphh would be lying if it were to assert it was not rooting for the Hylian pair to a certain degree. After all, a good deity was never above taking an interest in mortal affairs. Gods may be great, but they are given significance only by how the sentient universe observes them. Nealaphh almost wished it could grant the pair some sort of respite, or other form of deific succor, but better to just let events take their course.

There would be enough time to bestow blessings upon mewling supplicants soon enough...

[Galel Baraz]

Galel stepped out of the shimmering portal, chuckling to himself. He hadn't had a chance to kill since coming to the Omniverse, and with his defeat in the contest, he had sorely needed a release. The poor Syntek employee hadn't done anything wrong, not by a long shot. He was simply in the wrong place at the right time. The Sorcerer relished the death, smiling beneath his helmet at the thought of the man's shocked face. I'll have to do that more often. He thought to himself, turning to scan the area. There were view-screens and seating arrangements all over, dozens of secondaries filling them and watching the action unfold. Even a few Primes seemed to be here. But are they here for business or pleasure? He wondered to himself.

The Sorcerer strode across the room, taking up a standing position next to some ebon-skinned warp-spawn. He focused intensely on the screen, grinning as he watched the Archer in Black, the one who had pierced his heart, struggle in fevered sleep. He let out an audible laugh as the Golden-Haired boy in Green collapsed and had to be carried by his companion. Even in defeat, we Astartes have left their mark on our foes. He thought. If anyone were listening in on his thoughts, it would have been easy to hear. Galel did not expect any beings of this universe to be capable of Telepathy, and so he had not thought to guard his mind against such things.

As the Sorcerer's mortal eyes watched the screen, his third eye flitted about, observing the few primes that were in the viewing room and glancing at the other screens. There. His third eye settled on a screen, and he turned to walk towards it. How diligent. He thought, bowing his head in respect. On the screen was the gruesome sight of Okor carving open Tartaros's fused ribcage, tearing apart the black carapace, and harvesting his fallen comrades Progenoid Glands. Galel kept his head bowed and his thoughts silent the entire time, a sign of his utter respect for the rituals of the Astartes. When his third eye watched Okor place the glands in a refrigeration unit, he finally lifted his head.

"Only in death does duty end." He spoke, nodding to the screen before turning and walking back to watch Link, Ganondorf, Jon Snow, and Gilgamesh. As he arrived, he took a better look at the Ebon-Skinned Daemon that stood next to him. It was a curious being, seemingly composed of shadows, with three eyes not unlike his own. What sort of Xenos' thought spawned this creature? He wondered silently, still not guarding his thoughts. Perhaps the Eldar, or perhaps a species yet unknown. Galel turned to watch the competition once more. Or perhaps it is a servant of this 'Omni'. If that is the case, I'll have to destroy it later.

[Jak Mar]

Daxter was watching the television as close as he possibly could push through the secondaries, "Hey!!! Watch it pal..." As soon as Daxter got a good view, he stood there to the television to see the action going on. There was a hurricane going on the island and things were looking bad outside on the television. He remained quiet and hoped that Jak was alright. He watched around him for anybody he knew but there was nobody.

Commander Torn was one of the secondaries from Jak's world who decided to make that special trip to the preshow boundaries to watch Jak's progress on the big screen. The wind was howling and the rain was falling down on the island. Not a very pleasant viewing space. There was Daxter, Jak's friend there to watch the progress as well. As much as he didn't like the ottsel, he admitted that both of them had come for the same reason.

[Mickey Mouse]

Craig couldn’t believe his eyes… there was another one.

He blinked a few times, his eyes focusing on the creature that looked pretty much identical the anthropomorphic mouse he and Conan had just encountered. Same big ears, same black fur covering most of the thing’s body; that he could see, anyway. Just one major difference to be noted: this one was a girl.

She lightly brushed her long, flowing red dress off, trying to smooth out the wrinkles that her trip to the Nexus had no doubt caused. In between her huge, perfectly-round ears, a tiara rested gently on her head. She looked like royalty if Craig had ever seen it.

The scout began to feel his nerves creeping back up his spine, though. Non-humans put him on edge more than almost anything else he had seen in his days serving the army of the Kingdom, and seeing two so alike in the same day just made the anxiety tickle even more ferociously at his brain. He looked back over his head; the other one was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps it would be in his best interest not to inform this lady mouse of her twin’s arrival; safer, anyway, so that they would have a harder time coming together and enacting whatever weird scheme they planned to enact on the humans in Camelot.

Yeah, not telling her was definitely the noble thing to do. For country, of course.

“Ahem,” the lady mouse said, high-pitched voice and all matching her predecessor, “Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Uh,” Craig sputtered, “yeah, yeah, sorry, missus—”

“Your Majesty,” she corrected, holding out a hand for him to daintily shake, “Queen Minnie Mouse.”

* * *

Minnie Mouse was overwhelmed. The huge expanse of white stretched out before her and her guide, seemingly never ending. At the very edge of her vision, she spotted what looked like an archway; perhaps, she thought, that would lead them out of this wasteland.

A man that looked altogether too similar to Craig sprinted toward them. Minnie made note of their patchwork, but still nearly identical, uniforms, and gave herself a mental pat on the back for allowing her soldiers to dress to their own particular style as long as it still protected them. If nothing else, her army definitely qualified as the best looking one in all the universes ever. The man looked down at Minnie, and then back up at Craig, who shook his head. Had she cared just a little bit more, she might have been suspicious, but at this point, she had a single focus.

“Excuse me, sir,” she started, prepared to repeat the question she had asked Craig a moment ago, “but have you seen a boy mouse who looks a little like me?”

The second scout opened his mouth to speak, but Craig spoke first. “I told ye, we’ve never seen anythin’ like ye, missus—I mean, your Majesty.” He glanced at his friend, who made eye contact with him. Again, suspicious.

“Yeah, never,” the man went along with his friend’s story, though Minnie had a hard time believing it. “I’m Conan, by the way,” he introduced himself, and the Queen went through the same song-and-dance she had before, with Craig. These humans really did not know who they were dealing with, did they?

* * *

In a little bit less than a day, Minnie’s journey took her to the thriving city of Minas Tirith. She had left Craig and Conan behind at the gate and hitched a ride with some nice-looking merchants heading to the capital. Along the way, they had passed by a desolate-looking little village that she had considered staying the night at. In the end, she had decided against it—the poor excuse for a wall they had up convinced her otherwise.

Minas Tirith, however, towered before her, threatening Disney Castle with its magnificence. Of course, Minnie knew that her castle clearly took the superior spot, but if nothing else, the city at least proved a worthy challenger. If anything, she would say that it needed a splash of color; too much white.

The people, too, needed a bit of a makeover. All dressed in ratty medieval clothes, at least down on the lower levels where she had first entered. And the nerve of these people, too—even the ones so clearly much lower class than the lady mouse eyed her with disdain. She could not place her finger on why, though she suspected it had something to do with the overpopulation of humans in this court. This was why Minnie had always valued diversity—Daisy, one of her favorites of the noble ladies back home, was a duck, and she and her husband Donald got a great say in royal affairs. Heck, even Pluto the dog got a little bit of input.

Granted, Mickey was the only one who could understand him, so he hadn’t had much to say recently. That, amongst other reasons, made it imperative that she find Mickey and bring him home. When she had found his letter sitting on her throne, she had been absolutely furious—how dare he go off on another silly adventure, once again without getting her permission first! She loved her husband, truly, but sometimes she found him to be the most reckless mouse she had ever laid eyes upon.

However, she has been getting nowhere in her search. She had assumed Mickey would make his way to a place where he could use his position as royalty to his advantage, become something of an emissary, but throughout her scans of Minas Tirith, he was nowhere to be found. Of course, she didn’t know where she would find anyone of quality in this awful, awful section of town. Where in the world was everyone of worth in this city?

It was then, as she started to give up finding a suitable place for her to make her stay, that she spotted a gaggle of women in fine-dresses coming down from an upper level of the city. Once again smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress, Minnie straightened up her back and prepared to act like the lady she was.

* * *

Minnie’s transformation into an upper class citizen of the Kingdom did not take long. Despite their misgivings about inviting a lady mouse to tea and crumpets, the women she had encountered were quickly subdued by her charm and elegance. Though Minnie knew they probably did not think her any more than a simple pet, she would play the game for the moment, as long as it kept her out of the darker alleys of the White City.

Her position quickly became something of a novelty, at least amongst those who paid attention to the lower levels of Camelot’s court. Though she couldn’t consider herself a major piece of nobility, she had managed to rub elbows with almost all of the city’s minor nobles in the recent days since she had arrived in this Omniverse. As such, her trek outside the city garnered the eye of many a poorer citizen, glaring at her with either disdain or envy. She preferred to think that it was the latter.

As she escaped the walls of the city for the first time since she’d been there, she stumbled upon a strange sight. Tents lined the walls of Minas Tirith—or, at least, a few did. Some, it seemed, were being packed up already. She approached one of the workers, whose uniform bore a ‘DA’ on the front pocket, and asked him what in the world all of this was for.

“Oh, these were for Dante’s Abyss, madam,” he bowed politely to her, “A reality TV show being broadcast throughout the Omniverse.”

“Oooh,” Minnie cooed, “a reality TV show? Could someone like me play, do you think?”

The man looked her over with a bit of anxiety—she did not seem the type to play this game. “Well, registration’s already closed, unfortunately,” the man said, which was the truth, thank goodness. He did not want to see this lady mouse fighting to the death in Karl Jak’s arena, that was for sure. “But if you go through a portal in that tent over there, you can get to our Dante’s Abyss pre-show facility, which has the best view of all the events in all the Omniverse.”

Minnie contemplated this for a second—she did like to have the best, always. And perhaps a distraction from her search for Mickey would do her some good…

* * *

“AW, SHIT! LOOK AT THAT! GANON FUCKED THAT GUY UP!”

Minnie turned away from the screen as the giant, rampaging pig monster batted Retane away. How come that guy had not told her this was a fighting game? She had sat here for maybe thirty minutes, and all she had seen were people being beaten to a pulp or having their eyes gouged out by a giant, green man—and all over a hammer, apparently. Altogether, not her cup of tea.

She resolved to leave. She headed for the lobby of the Pre-Show facility, preparing to leave behind the long row of television screens that showed pretty much everything on the island. Perhaps she should have taken the time to look at another, but her gaze had been transfixed on the violence occurring at what the announcers called an “Easter Egg” fight. She had not been able to look away, until now. It had been too horrifying. The lady mouse shook her head, reaching the doorway and preparing to cross through it—

“We just want the hammer. No one has to get hurt, kapish?”

No.

She spun around, and sure enough, on the television screen stood her husband, arm wrapped in some strange metallic gauntlet, staring down a cloaked man with a red-headed woman standing by her side. The man in the red cloak tossed the “magic hammer” at Mickey, and Minnie gasped in horror as it sped toward them. Luckily, it clocked the girl and not her boy, but she still couldn’t help but cry out painfully.

“That’s my husband!”

* * *

Why? Why, why, why, why, why? Why in the world had Mickey joined this gosh-awful tournament? He was not a violent boy—and from everything she had seen on the television screens, this tournament was not suited at all for pacifists like her husband.

She had stayed, after finding out Mickey was in this tournament. She had rented a room at the hotel adjacent to the Pre-Show facility and decided that she would stay here, watching her husband until he either got eliminated—oh, the horror—or won the whole thing. So many powerful Primes populated the island that she doubted he would escape them all to the end, but to hear the analysts describe it, his chances were good, especially after he and his red-haired companion (who Minnie was not jealous of at all, thank you very much) had managed to join up with the armored lady and her scruffy-looking friend.

In the screening room she was in, each television focused on a different contestant. She had found the television screen that followed Mickey and camped out there, watching her husband intently as he and his newfound allies weaved through the forest, thankfully encountering nobody. She prayed a little bit every hour that he would remain safe and relatively unharmed.

Heck, she didn’t know if she could handle him getting into another fight—watching that man throw fire bombs at the King and Erza had almost made Minnie have a panic attack right there, in front of everyone.

To her left, she had made a neighbor. A silver-haired boy in a long, black cloak had also taken up residence in front of Mickey’s monitor, and though the female mouse had grown nervous about him being there, she had not yet perked up the courage to actually talk to him about it. She was, after all, a jealous creature at heart, and it plagued her to think that someone was just as interested in her husband’s progress as she was.

Finally, after a while, she decided to press the matter. “So… do you know Mickey?” she asked, trying to sound as non-confrontational as possible. It was difficult.

“Not in so many words,” the boy responded almost instantly, “I’ve met him once, but otherwise… well, you could say I’m just a fan.”

Minnie’s brow scrunched up at the boy’s puzzling answer.

This place is too flippin’ weird.

* * *

Her companion had disappeared shortly after Mickey and his crew found the man in the blue spandex. Minnie did not know why her husband had all of a sudden become less interesting to the boy, but she did not mind the privacy. She much preferred the rotating cast of occasional watchers than this boy and his consistent interest. Thankfully, though, no one sat even close to her monitor at this time. She supposed the lack of violence had dissuaded them; also, she got the feeling the Pepsiman was not all that popular with the viewership.

And then, all of a sudden, everything went black.

Behind her, the boy in the black cloak lifted up the sack and gestured to his two friends that flanked him. One of them used some omnilium to summon a portal, and just like that, they escaped with their prize.

[Tearen Wover]

Nealaphh was watching with glee as The Hero of Time and the Gerudo suffered through their individual hells. Oh, yes. Nealaphh did also wish them great success in their pain wracked endeavors, but the display of such organic misery warmed the shadow's otherworldly heart. Good to know that other primes could suffer as it did...good to know that other primes were not above treachery...good to know where these being's breaking points were.

A sudden cacophany of shouting came from a nearby screen, and Nealaphh briefly diverted its attention away from the Hylian duo to the source of the excitement. Through the courtesy of instant replay, Nealaphh watched as one of the contestants betrayed a female prime, injecting her with some sort of violet ichor. The afflicted prime thrashed and screamed in terror as her body instantly dissolved into fine black powder. Enthralled with the display, Nealaphh listened in to the commentary, barely audible above the shouting of the viewership.

"...Wolfe has banished Ms. Uzumaki to the underverse! Guess we won't be having a post-game interview with her, eh Cotton?"

"That's right John; as our viewers may or may not know, the only way to prevent our prime overlords from reincarnating in the Nexus is to banish them to the Underverse, where they can expect to get a face full of Diablo's gigantic nutsa-"

Nealaphh had stopped listening at this point, its eyes squinted in deep thought. It seemed as though there were ways to counter The Smiling One's powers. This was both good and bad news...while it did mean that Th Smiling One was not quite as all-powerful as had been stated, it also meant that there was a very real risk that Nealaphh could be prevented from progressing its rightful ascension. Caution would have to be taken, then, during its maneuvers within the Omniverse...

Just then, Nealaphh felt a new presence within then lobby...a mind that resonated within the fabric of the Omniverse. The god-mind spun around slowly, searching for the source of the emanations. Nealaphh came to regard the form of Galel Baraz, one of the contestants who had been within Dante's Abyss. There was no mistaking it; the space marine was clearly the source of the mental power Nealaphh felt. The shadow was conflicted; would it be better to make itself known to this man? Or would it be prudent to maintain a low profile. Currently, Galel was staring at a different screen which depicted his erstwhile ally carving something out of his chest. As the Psyker began to turn back around, Nealaphh went back to looking at the Hylians, though in actuality it was still observing the Astartes. Any capacity for psychic power had not been demonstrated within the games themselves, but Nealaphh had to remind itself that none of the contestants were operating at full capacity.

Deciding to go out on a limb, Nealaphh turned to meet Galel's three eyed gaze with its own. Without so much as a blink, Nealaphh reached out and tapped the Psyker's mind with its own...

[Galel Baraz]

As Galel stood and watched his comrade in arms struggle to his feet only to be slain ingloriously by a second missile, he scowled in anger. He will pay. The sorcerer thought, clenching his fists in anger. He fumed within his mind, and as the Ebon-Skinned God-Mind reached out to touch Galel's psychic presence, it felt the roiling chaos of a storm greet him. The God-Mind paused, and that was when Galel noticed him. The Sorcerer's reaction was instinctual and swift. When another presence had touched his mind in the past, he had retaliated with a crippling burst of psychic backlash. It would cripple his foe's thought processes, leaving them helpless to his physical assaults that would follow. Now however, nothing happened.

Nealaphh felt the psychic presence of Galel retreat inwards, putting up wards designed to keep out invaders. Carefully, the God-Mind tested one, finding it to be far harder than he had anticipated. With prodding, he felt the cracks and crevices of the mental barrier, and with the application of some force, he broke it down. Behind the first ward lay a second of completely different structure. As the God-Mind probed it, he felt the thoughts of the Psyker echo out from within it's mind. Who deigns to probe my mind? Galel asked of the invading presence.

Within his mental bastion, Galel frantically questioned what had just happened. Why had he not been able to strike back at his foe? Was his foe such a powerful Psyker that Galel's mental attack had accomplished nothing? If that were the case, then he had to retreat, lest the insidious daemon take permanent root within him. Was it the locale? Did the collar's effects silence his telepathic power? Did the collar's effects extend to all of the Dante Verse? No, it wasn't that. His Force Sword had come when he summoned it, and he could feel the omnillium within him once again. What then? Had Omni taken some of his power from him? Had the smiling daemon obliterated ten millenia of practice and learning in but an instant?!

Anger fueling him, Galel spoke within his mind, intent on learning from this psychic invader. What is your intention? Do you serve the gods, or the corpse emperor? Or do you serve the insidious master of this realm? Answer me! He demanded, practically screaming in his head. It was then that his third eye met the gaze of the being before him, and questions began to clear. He locked gazes with the God-Mind. You invade my mind. Why? He asked within his head, laying that thought bare for the Ebon-Skinned Daemon to glean.

[Tearen Wover]

There was much depth to this Astartes' mind, more than Nealaphh had initially anticipated. The man was old...not nearly as old as Nealaphh, not by a fraction of a percent, but the span of his memories went back farther than Nealaphh had expected. Was he entirely human? Well, perhaps a portion of him was technically borne of man, but a majority of it was twisted...changed...either through some corruptive force Nealaphh could not identify or through myriad mechanical enhancements. Before it could plumb any deeper, however, Galel gathered his thoughts and was able to halt the god-mind's progress. When the space marine spoke to Nealaphh within his mind, the shadow was glad to be able to have a conversation with someone who understood what sentient thought was capable of.

I have no other recourse...no other method by which to communicate. Your defense is respectable, but ultimately pointless. Nealaphh said, blinking slowly. A look of dark resentment spread across Galel's features, and Nealaphh could sense that he was upset about something...loss...impotence...lack of full potential. It would seem as though that Nealaphh was not the only prime to have been brought low when The Smiling One had called it here.

You have been crippled by The Smiling One, yes? Made less than what you once were? I...empathize. Words cannot express what I was once capable of... Nealaphh said, its mental voice taking on a deep, rumbling timbre. The god-mind turned its head to regard one of the video screens within the viewing area, where just now a young sorcerer had been flayed alive by Nealaphh's primary competition for godhood.

I watched you and your...brothers...within the Abyss. Much of your ways lie beyond my ken, but I did manage to glean that you share a common philosophy. That of change. Chaos. Nealaphh said, turning back to Galel.

Chaos is my essence, Galel Baraz. There is much I would change within this Omniverse...and to answer your query...no. I do not serve The Smiling One. If my vision for this realm comes to fruition, he will serve me. Nealaphh said, a small flare of eldritch thoughts spiraling alongside the words that it sent into the Psyker's mind. Dark geometries and impossible equations...visions of worlds cracking and the birth of galaxies. All lost to the capricious wiles of the master of the Omniverse. Worse than dead...an entire multiverse petrified, unable to die simply because Nealaphh was not there to kill it. Nealaphh held Galel's gaze for a moment more before returning its attention to the screen that followed the activities of Link and Ganondorf, though it left its mind receptive to any thoughts that Galel had to share.

[Strazio Rockwell]

Within the walls of Darkshire many people watched the Abyss through various means. The Defender of Darkshire, Strazio Rockwell was slowly but surely becoming a crowd favorite among the denizens of Darkshire. Although no one was more a fan of Strazio than the good ol’ Seargent Rumford. He had personally witnessed Strazio’s bravery when the prime saved Rumford’s squad from certain death against a small horde of undead. Every night after drills Rumford rushed home to watch the most recent DA broadcast and root for the Avatar of Rage. Despite his protests his daughter Rika even watched the competition with him.

Not even a day onto the island and Strazio was already battered and beaten, but with the tenacity of a man who doesn’t know how to give up he pushed forward. Rumford watched with baited breath as the Defender, against all odd, survived his first encounter with Ganondorf and Link. Even still, Rumford cursed his foolish friend as he made his way for the easter egg event. Rumford watched in horror as several strong contestants made their way to intercept Strazio at the easter egg drop point. As the fight began he realized that Strazio wasn’t there to win the fight for Mjollnir, he was there to hurt Ganon. The fight betweeen the Avatar of Rage and the Gerudo King was a vicious one, each of them landing titanic blows on the other. Unfortunantly in the end Strazio was thrown across the playground like a ragdoll.

Rika held her dad tight “is he going to be okay papa?” Rumford bit his lip and held her close as the hidden cameras began to pan into the school. The Defender was still breathing, just unconscious. Rumford watched, hoping that none of the other contestants would wander into the school and end his friend’s life. The seargent and his daughter cheered when Strazio stirred and left the school.

[Proto Man]

“Why aren’t I on the island?” Proto Man asked as he walked over to the attendant. After their failed attempt to banish Cindy, the group had been separated, with Proto Man being thrown into a cramped little room for a few hours before the room just decided to unlock. Once he was in the hallway, it hadn’t taken him that long to find someone who worked for Syntex—a young blonde woman with her hair pulled into a tight bun. It took her a brief moment to check out a clipboard she held in her hand.

“You’re not a contestant.” She replied. “Sorry… better luck next time.”

“But I came here,” Proto Man fought back, his ire growing as he started to fear what had happened to Samus or Harry.

“You never officially registered,” the woman snapped. “It’s probably for the best, Kid. You would have lasted less than six hours out there with those killers.” With that, the Syntex employee sauntered off to deal with whatever else was in her docket for the day.

“This isn’t fair,” Proto Man growled as he contemplated blasting his way through the facility until he found someone who would fly him out to the island. Before he could activate his Proto Buster, he managed to remember that he was in a whole new verse owned by the same people. He didn’t feel like getting thrown into a containment room for another day.

Feeling somewhat deflated that he could support his two old allies; Proto Man followed the signs until he found another elevator. Once onboard, he mashed the button that said ‘Lobby – 1’ and stood back as the doors slid shut and the platform descended. After a few moments, the elevator let out a ping and the doors slid open to reveal the same giant area where Proto Man had arrived during his chase of the reptilian terrorist.

As he stepped out of the elevator, it slid shut behind him, and a glance over his shoulder revealed a flat wall. It took switching to his x-ray overlay to show that there was still a secret elevator hidden behind the wall. Whoever Karl Jak was, it was clear that he really enjoyed the theatrics. “Meh,” Proto Man spat as he made his way toward a large stage near the elevator that led up to the Barracks. The elevator had been covered by a giant, movie theatre-sized screen that was displaying a live feed from the island. It was focusing on some green man and a guy with blue hair. Proto Man watched for a few minutes until it switched over to a group of warriors consisting of two men with sad faces and spiky hair, a man in spandex, and the very same turtle who had murdered his way into the Dante Verse.

“They let him onto the island?” Proto Man asked incredulously as he walked up onto the stage and saw that it was filled with several smaller viewing areas. While there were two dozen sets, there only seemed to be six or seven different feeds. It took the red robot a few minutes, but he finally found a smaller screen displaying a group that contained Samus and Harry. From the look of things, the two were allied with a woman and a bipedal mouse that Proto Man found strangely familiar.

With no one else in this corner of the stage, the android took a seat and watched. Samus seemed a little battered, but she didn’t seem to be dying, which brought a smile to the android’s face. Glancing over his shoulder at the large screen, Proto Man saw something that made him groan in a mixture of disgust and anger.

Cindy, all by herself, was still very much alive.

[Tearen Wover]

The god-mibd watched intently as the pair of Hylians once more crossed paths with other contestants of the Abyss. The likelihood that Link would survive and encounter with primes who were as fresh as Retane and Jack Frost was very low, but Nealaphh resolved to watch the conflict through to the end...

It didn't last long. Whatever savage power had gripped the mind of the pale boy was more than enough to put an end to the Hero of Time. Nealaphh's eyes widened as the Hylian's heart was ripped free of his heaving chest, cast aside like so much worthless meat. Nealaphh did not keep its eyes lingering on the screen for much longer; it had to keep its eyes peeled for the emergence of Link from whatever fold in space transported him back to this place. Completely forgetting his exchange with Galel, Nealaphh swept off towards the middle of the expansive room, keep its eyes wide open for any flashes of green and white.

The god-mind whipped around as it caught movement off to its left, but was disappointed to only see the demure form of Mami Tomoe emerging from a discreet door. Hadn't she been eliminated hours ago? Did it take time for primes to be reconstituted within this place? Nealaphh's mind flared in anger, and a cup of coffee sitting on a table nearby imploded in on itself. It was at this point in time that something dawned on Nealaphh...it was feeling human emotions. The shadow's sight blurred into tunnel vision as the scope of this horror fully grasped the god-mind. Up until this point, it had been able to move through the Omniverse without sinking to the sort of flawed mental activities so common in mortal kind...why now was it starting to feel such things as anger or impatience? Had it always had the capacity for these feelings, or was it a side effect of being trapped within this organic body? Nealaphh closed its eyes for a moment and calmed itself; no good would come from losing sight of its goal, even at the expense of introspective speculation. Nealaphh thought back to a time long ago, within its own Multiverse, when it had perhaps felt these feelings before...

"You betrayed me! I served you to my fullest capabilities and this is how you repay me?"

You were not created so that I could, in turn, compensate you Nealaphh. You may wield the power of Azathoth, but remember that you are but a servile being.

"Don't compare me to the likes of some wretched angel or demon! I transcend such limited definition!"

Of course you do, but only because I will it so. You are far greater than any servant of Yaweh, but your existence persists at my discretion. You would do well to remember this in the future.

"Nonsense! I existed long before you came to me with your gilded lies!"

Before? So the great Nealaphh mighy deign to perceive itself as subject to the sands of time when it behooves the great Entropy, yes?

"Don't mock me by claiming to assert that I need to think one way or another. Such pettiness is fit only for lesser minds!"

Do not belittle me with your misplaced scorn, Enigma. Or would you have your place taken by another of the Oneiroi?

"Who? Jules? Your little demon spy who actively seeks your destruction? Meldraeni? The fallen angel who is too busy doting on her nephilim spawn that she can't lift a finger to serve the purpose you gave her? These are the beings you would replace me with? Laughable."

Perhaps. But at least they know their place within the spheres that I work with. Your arrogance surpassed my patience, and for that, you were condemned. Persist in your tantrum, and perhaps it will happen again.

"Threats, Master? Is this how the great soul of the outer gods operates now? What happened to your predisposition for subtlety and overtone?"

Taunt me further Nealaphh, and I will return you to what you were before all of this. There is only one type of loyalty I accept; unconditional.

"..."

Are we done?

"Yes...Master..."

Nealaphh shook its head and brought its thoughts back to the present. The garish colors and extravagance of the Abyss lobby resumed their assault on Nealaphh's sensitive perception. It took a few moments to look around, though it seemed as if The Hero of Time still had not emerged from his death. Currently, there was a group of viewers crowded around a screen, shouting the words 'Ambrosia' and 'Rathalos', but this didn't meant much to Nealaphh, save for the fact that The Pink Enigma had not yet perished. Looking around, though, Nealaphh did note that a few other primes seemed to have entered the spectating area. There was a small rodent-like creature in a resplendent dress, and a strange looking human in a grey jumpsuit, who sported a pair of sunglasses. Both seemed entranced on the screens that they were watching, though when the contestant known as 'Cindy' had her knee smashed in, the Shaded Eyes chuckled to himself a little bit.

Nealaphh also took note of the fact that there seemed to be more people walking around in merchandise related to what was happening in the game. There were shirts that sported the name 'MESH' and more than a few people had headwear that read 'Rock 'n Rock'. Was this, perhaps, the true purpose of Dante's Abyss? To fuel a consumerism frenzy brought about by the Omniversal obsession with this blood sport? If so, Nealaphh respected Karl Jak even more. If the man did not have aspirations of godhood, he certainly had the drive to pursue such lofty goals. Perhaps...maybe if the games were held again, Nealaphh would enter itself, just to get a better appreciation for the kind of influence Karl wielded. There were only hazy rumors as to what the ultimate prize would be for the sole survivor of the Abyss, but all assumptions pointed towards something of substantial power. Perhaps Karl Jak had some special pact with The Smiling One? It was a hypothesis worth pursuing at a later time, but for now, the god-mind had to keep its attention focused on the task at hand...

[Galel Baraz]

Galel stared at the God-Mind for several moments after it had turned away. This being had existed outside of time itself, had been tasked with ending it's universe. It too, had been laid low by Omni. Galel chuckled within his mental bastion. At least others had been reduced by the damnable daemon that had brought him here. The other 'Primes' as Omni had called them, they were like him. Stolen exemplars of their own worlds, used as cheap entertainment by a capricious god. Galel would love ruining his fun. If he's anything like Tzeentch, that will be impossible. He thought, but nonetheless, he would try.

Galel watched the screens intently, his interest piquing as the mewling boy that Okor had found came into the fore. He watched as the insignificant child betrayed a woman, sending her screaming into the depths of the warp. You have to admire his conviction, if nothing else. Galel mused, silently disapproving of the boy's lack of honour. A pity he won't survive much longer. He'll be discarded by his new allies and chewed upon by the crows. Galel smiled at that last thought. He'd love to watch. For some reason, he didn't like the boy. Something about his demeanour irked Galel. He seemed off, oblivious to the true nature of things.

The Sorcerer turned to look at Nealaphh, only to find him gone. He turned around, his third eye searching for the Warpspawn. There. He spotted him sulking about, observing the crowds. Galel raised an eyebrow inquisitively, his gaze following the God-Mind's and watching the crawling masses. Their clothing sported all manner of symbols and words, glorifying this contestant or that one, or even the company that was running the games. Pitiful thralls to mundane overlords. What a sad sight. Galel chuckled to himself. Where he came from, corporations and companies were rare and weak things. The soul-crushing majority of all resources were controlled by military powers. Whether from the Mechanicus of it's Dark counterpart, all technology was owned, built, designed, and operated by religious fanatics. Perhaps it was wrong, that science had been reduced from it's height during the Dark Age of Technology to the ritualistic and memorized form it took in the forty-first millenium. But many things that were wrong were commonplace where he came from.

Galel caught a glimpse of a screen as it took a break from the action. Videos of Primes fighting in odd locales were clipped together in a montage of sorts while a deep and strangely familiar voice spoke over it. "Syntex Corporation is the proud sponsor of Dante's Abyss! Visit us on the Dataverse at double-u, double-u, double-u, dot, SYNTEX, dot, data!" Galel raised an eyebrow. "What is the 'Dataverse'?" he mused out loud, prompting a nearby secondary to look at him strangely. "The Dataverse is like, the coolest place man!" the youth exclaimed, grabbing a small handheld device and shoving it towards his face. The Sorcerer scowled, grabbing the youth's wrist and holding it in place as he examined the device. "Crude, but effective." He muttered, releasing the youth's wrist. "Leave me." He said to the boy, turning to walk towards the entrance.

Taking a seat near the entrance, Galel closed his eyes and focused inward. He could feel the Omnillium within him, churning as raw potential, waiting to be put to use. He could work with this, it wasn't very much different from the warp, if perhaps a bit safer. He attempted to alter the world around him, and frowned. It was less potent than Psychic power had been, more stable, and more difficult to mould. It would take time to create anything. Instead, Galel decided to focus inwards. He felt his heart pound as he let Omnillium enter his bloodstream, flow up into his head, and be absorbed into his brain. The veins and arteries around his third eye bulged, and the eye itself snapped open. It was bloodshot, and quickly began to flit about. Galel smirked and opened his mortal eyes. Watching the same event twice produced an odd effect, but within moments he had adjusted. It was not quite the same as skimming the warp for glimpses of possible futures, but it was just as effective.

"Don't step there." Galel said to a passing Secondary. The woman looked at him, confused, as she stepped on a banana peel and tripped. "I warned you." Galel said calmly, not even glancing at her. The Sorcerer chuckled to himself, his thoughts full of glee. He had power again. Not all of it, but some of it was returning, coming back to him. Soon enough, he would be able to do all that he wished and more. Reaching inside himself once more, he gauged his Omnillium reserves. They were low, certainly, but he had some power left. He toyed with several ideas, before settling on the device that the youth had shown him. He would not create an exact duplicate, but the basic concept would be the same.

[Gildarts]

Behemoth prowled around the room in his mustached disguise. The powerful and skilled secondary would have made a nice addition to Karl's collection, had he only been a Prime. The mustached man, tall and slender, sauntered over to the corner of the room with his beady eyes flickering from the group of people who also seemed interested in cheering on their friends.

Tch. Don't they get it? This is a game to the death. And sometimes the winner didn't even survive, he had met too many in his adventures of the deep who had become more hollow than a conch shell.

His own scarring from the treacherous torture he had endured was hidden under a classy suitcoat but with no tie. Behemoth could still feel the burns and slices on his skin beneath the fabric, softly eating into his flesh so he eventually would be left to a corroded heap of bone. Such was the curse he was marked with, a war wound, he had just been one of those lucky enough to have survived to tell the tale.

The man's eyes scanned the room once more as he thought, If Karl comes within range, I could make him play my game. A malicious and greedy smile coiled on his thin lips, venom spewed from his eyes and in the room of heroes, comrades, and well-wishers, he was the most villainous and the evil he sprouted tainted the air.

On a large screen there flashed an auburn head of hair and showed his favorite Prime's best scene. "Way to steal the limelight. Oh, and there he goes, at it again."

Another glance to the room, he didn't have to watch their reactions, for he could read their minds, however, an amused thought came to own his mind. What if I made them think their favorite champion died?

Oh, what fun could be had when a man had the power to change other people's memories.

[Jak Mar]

Daxter sat front line and smiled, Come on Buddy! You can do it!!!"

Daxter didn't want to miss a second of things going on near the spectator room, but the man standing in the back started to feel chills and the hair prick on the back on his neck. He stared at Daxter, even know Jak would gut him if something ever happened to Daxter but he hated the little orange critter, right? Something just didn't feel right around this area.

The Commander inched closer to Daxter trying to warn him of something. "Hey, Rat... come here... "

Daxter frowned "What's ya problem, Tattoed Wonda? I wanna watch Jak... don't you understand?"

The dreadlocked auburn man growled "Don't give me that shit, ottsel.. you want to live or not?"

Daxter frowned "What?! Now you're just spoutin' nonsense..."

[Okor]

Okor strode through the entrance, ducking to allow himself to enter. Seeing the familiar scintillating patterns of the Thousand Son, engaged in activity with what seemed to be some variant of a dataslate. A third eye had finally opened itself on his forehead, which was certainly a good sign for the return of his powers. Clutched in Okor's hand was Peoples and Tribes of the Omniverse, an essential tool to his coming conquests. He fell onto the bench beside his Brother, running a ceramite-clad finger down the transparent film protecting the paper within from his veritable aura of entropy. He silently moved his blackened lips underneath his helm, slowly sounding out the syllables. Intriguing.

Warchief Blackhand, one of the first leaders to unite the Orcish tribes during the time of the Diabolic invasions. He led a horde of warriors, warlocks, and beasts to the bark of Yddgrassil, intent on burning it to ashes, enslaving the Elves, pillaging the infinite treasures of the fey people, and rampaging throughout the rest of the 'Verses. Sadly, his hordes met their end upon the blades of the Elves, skewered by arrows, and annihilated by foul magicks. Blackhand was slain by the Queen of the Elves, Tyrande, and his crown, carved from the bones of a Carriage of Elvish Nobles, looted from his massive corpse. Sadly it had disappeared from their vaults several years ago, and was presumed lost to collectors, thieves and criminals. Sighing, Okor folded the book shut. That was one opportunity denied to them. He leaned against the steel wall, gazing around the heavily commercialized room. What he saw caused him to spit and sputter.

Okor had vehemently denied fate and destiny, believing that the only inevitability was decay. He had spat in the face of soothsayers, prophets, and the like, professing how strength of will was the key to glory, not the whims of the Gods. While the Gods were magnificent and powerful, they hardly had time to meddle with the unwashed masses. However, he began to suspect some external force manipulating events in his life, as he gazed upon the advertisement glowing on the wall. Coming now to the Coruscant Museum: The Crown of Blackhand! Grinning beneath his helm, he nudged his brother, pointing towards the garish signage. "Brother... I believe we have found an objective. Control their... hearts, control their swords."

[Okor]

Okor waited for Galel's response patiently, but a burst of colour and lights from the holographic tables demanded his attentions. A bright display filled the space over the flat surface, forming into the most wonderous words Okor had seen since his elimination. #39, Victor Wolfe: Dead. Quickly shambling over to the screens, he watched the death of the bratty child. A pale, strangely-coiffed man held a bag over the youth's head, the plastic rising and sinking desperately as the whelp attempted to breathe. His efforts, as usual, were in vain. He threw back his helm in laughter, relishing the circumstances of the fool's demise. He died without glory, without a battle, without dignity. Just as he lived his life. He briefly considered the prospect of ambushing him by the exit, but it would have as much of an effect as mauling a deactivated training servitor. No point in wasting his hatred on the dead. Chuckling softly, he replayed the scene again, watching as Victor ultimately succumbed to the lack of Oxygen, choosing to base his own existence on such mortal worries. He tore fruitlessly at the material, his fingers unable to penetrate the transparent film. It was pathetic. He made a mental note to see just how deep Victor fell after this disgrace, once he had the chance.

He replayed the scene again, chuckling mirthfully under his ragged breath and the hum of his armour.

[Galel Baraz]

Galel looked up from his newly crafted Dataslate. It was an impressive piece of technology designed to draw power from his own Power Armour, and could be slotted into the backpack power supply for storage purposes. It's Data transfer rate was far beyond most, utilizing alloys from the Dark Age of Technology and the smallest, most advanced cogitators he could think of. On the screen was a website demanding a call to action against the creator and ruler of the Omniverse, but that wasn't important at the moment. Galel followed his brother's gaze, examining the glowing advertisement. He smirked, looking at Okor. "Have you formulated a plan, Okor?" He asked rhetorically.

Galel chuckled, stowing his Dataslate in the slot he had created to accommodate it. One small button needed to be pressed and it would pop out far enough for Galel to grab it easily. The Sorcerer stood up, walking over to view the death of Victor with Okor. He grinned widely at the boy's fate. "Never was there a more fitting end." He said, then clapped Okor on the pauldron. "Let us find Tartaros, you can fill me in on the way." He said, turning to leave the Viewing area with Okor. They did not have to travel far, for Tartaros was on his own way in to the viewing rooms. Galel saluted him in the manner of the legions of old. "Tartaros!" He called. "Okor has something to occupy us!"

[Gildarts]

There was a reddish fox with a goody smile looking confidently at the screen. It was apparent even without his telepathy that Daxter's first pick was doing well. The unexpected happened when all the allies were separated and the suited man smirked,"Divided they fall."

The baleful Behemoth had to wonder what the happy fox would do if he saw something on the screen that surprised him, but his insidious fun would come later. Evil intent latched onto the red furred creature before Behemoth rose from his position on the comfortable leather couch and leaned toward him. Following this action a creeping chill crawled beneath the fox's skin, causing Daxter's fur to rise at the danger as a porcupine's might, but with more tangled suspicion.

Yes, for Behemoth it was much more amusing when he didn't use his memory technique, but merely snaked around the fox's thoughts. After a pause of the surprised red-fur, still staring with surprise, Behemoth initiated conversation, a little too casually, while he let the darkness in his eyes betray him.

"So who are you rooting for? I like the guy in the cape, but he's a bit of a dope."

The Commander turned his head to the man speaking more at than to Daxter, but found what really captured his attention was the mirthless waves of intent, readied like daggers to skin the poor fox. Still, the Commander didn't speak immediately, as he tried to determine what was so off-putting about the mustached stranger, and why he had seemed to have taken interest in the fox.

The Commander's silent suspicion was plunged as deep as Behemoth's venom.

"So what are you guys doing here?" The mustache paused, as though he already knew the answer. "Me, I'm just here to repay a debt to a, but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy the show."

[Jak Mar]

Daxter frowned and his fur started to rise, something was bothering him and fast... What did this man know?

Something was in this man's eyes, what was it... Maybe he just wanted to talk... No.. nobody just wants to talk without something...

Commander Torn eyed the man and frowned crossing his arms and the chills waving across his neck were bothering him and the offness of the room was really creeping him out. Torn was about to reach for his dagger but watched the man silently. "Why do you like the rat? He's.... annoying..." He hid his true intent to protect Daxter through a mask of emotions and made sure to hide it.."

Daxter somehow worried. He watched the television and the strange man was smirking. Something happened... the split...