Outside

"Hm?"

Leon glanced around as he arrived into a small clearing in the forest he had been investigating all morning. Instead of the smart tux he had arrived in, he now was sporting a white loose hoodie, and beige cargo shorts, along with a pair of converse trainers and a white cotton sweat band on his left wrist.

His hair was pulled back so that the usually spiky fringe was pressed against his head, with a white and black patterned bandanna holding it in place. His brow was moist, it would be apparent to anyone watching that he had been jogging through the woods, all part of his aggressive cardio scheme that kept his body in the perfect shape that it was currently was in.

His pupils scanned the area, finally falling upon a tree trunk, by the looks of the charred top of the trunk, The weather had been the end of this plant's life. It stood at about five feet, and it's diameter was about 10 feet. Perfect size for a little practice.

removing the hoodie to reveal his lean but toned torso, Leon began to stretch, ensuring all the ligaments and joints in his limbs and back were loosened up, before finally letting himself fall into the all too familiar Shotokan Karate stance.

At a steady pace, and executed with precise minuscule movements, he began to kick at he log with his left leg, twisting his body as the flesh covering the top of his foot struck against the bark over and over. Each impact causing a slight grunt to emit from the grimaced lips of the fighter.

"Huh?"

Leon stopped his movements in mid-kick, and slowly turned around, lowing his leg in a somewhat mechanical way, following the motions of unbending his knee, twisting his torso, and finally lowering his leg. He raised his left arm up to his face, and wiped his brow with the white sweatband on his wrist. "Hello!"

He replied, casually walking over so that they were in a more socially accepted distance from one another to be having a conversation.

Too much time on one hand can be a bothersome thing to endure. But having nothing much to do, and with little actions to spare, the swordsman was sitting near the outskirts of the Colosseum with the head leaning against the stone structure, one leg braced up and resting in a lazy act of solitude.

"Tsk..."

Too much time is bothersome indeed. Makes him remember the things that should be left forgotten, or things which is of no value... Makes him remember things he doesn't want to.

And for now, all he could do is to sit and wait until his time is up, and see for himself the results of his match for the second round.

Em-

After his fight, and after limping his way out of the arena, Em couldn't help but explode into mist, fluttering through the day and up into the air. Only to swirl down into the shade of the forest.

Manifesting the hurt officer right there a mere few feet into the canapoy. With a simply focus, he'd blast a hole into the ground. After such, he'd fall into the ditch, pulling the dirt of his grave down over his persons.

It was here that Em would sleep, Heal more realistically, until his next bout.

Each breath drew in energy; each exhale released pain.

Em would be fine by the next fight. Or so he hoped.

Em-

The figure heaved a sigh of relief as he flopped back against the tree in front of his hole. The walk from the infirmary was rather nice, proving without a doubt that the figure hadn't lost any mobility after almost three days of sleeping in the energies of mother earth.

Not only that; but now after a hunch had lead to the truth; the officer would smile down at the few objects he removed from pocket, splaying them out over the lap of his gray uniform pants. A moment of examining and he'd pick up the needle to eye it cautiously.

"Hmm...Should work...Just gota be gentle.."

With that, he'd pick up the first blood stained pearly and hold the needle between his pointer, and thumb, rolling it at insane speeds, with control that only preternatural strength could allow in the matter.

Rather slowly and keenly the dhampir began drilling holes through each of the teeth. Once finished, stringing each one onto a length with a knot to settle them in place. With all the objects tied in place; he'd form a latch and noose for the ends of the article of jewelry after cutting the strip from the spool.

After arts and crafts time was finished; Em'd examine the space between each digit, and approve his craftsmanship in spacing each tooh out evenly. Holding it up to note how it'd hand the teeth perfectly down one's chest-

"Heh..."

A memento. Though he may have never got to wear it. The keep sake would go into his inner coat breast pocket for now. No need to be offensive or unsporting by wearing his previous foe's teeth around.

There he was...

Alone standing quietly against one of the large stone columns offset by nature it seems... The large ivy riddled pillar worn with age provided a nice cool feel to the touch, mostly across his back. Ertai would hide himself it seems from the other fighters and civilians... His eyes wept with a sort of melancholy about them, his pale blue reflecting orbs just loomed in the shade, following the dust blowing gently in the wind... His hair was not black, yet a soft warm brown, like that of a child... His face was not stern or drawn to a frown, yet it held such a simple tweak, as if he was thinking deeply, pleasantly...

His fingers would dance against his leg, the soft black fabric of his loose hanging shirt would twist in ungloved hands... He felt so alive, just to feel for once with out knowing what it truly was... He breathed slow, savoring each breath... Calm...

His eyes would dance up slightly seeing a young couple taking their child to the games. He felt so inspired... Quickly he moved, carelessly and benevolently towards a case by his feet. His hands darted as he flipped the latches open... Nothing but darkness and dust came out as he pulled from its contents a violin... No weapon or trick to be had...

Bending at his knees he would slowly push himself up, not will himself up... His cheek resting gently against the dark wood. His eyes closed softly as he started to play... Play his sad song, his lament...

Drifting softly through his haunting music, his eyes would open slightly only for brief moments, not to see if people were watching, but to see if he was still alive for what he has done...

He stands no longer the feared tyrant of the multi-verse, he stands a man...

"...he doesn't look very tasty......"

That was the first thing to pop out of The Masked's mouth, even as her ruby-eyed and black-masqued face slid over the skyward gaze of her target. Her stringy red-and-black hair hung about her in a deranged mess, complimenting the color scheme of her face--well, her entire outfit, really. Red-and-black swirls danced across her strapped jacket, and juxtaposed to the straight verticals on her pants which were, in turn, mirrored by the slender curves of her like-colored katanas: one fully crimson red, the other fully midnight black. All of this topped off on the ends by black gloved and black combat boots, and none of it speaking to the idea of "mental clarity."

She had been previously wandering the outskirts of the massive Colosseum, bemoaning to her mind's illusions the woes of her plight--she was to return to the current prison of The No-Longer-Quite-So-Little Master with news of The Master's eventual arrival, but The poor and deranged Masked had up and gotten lost. She was fairly certain one of her mind's three fragments knew quite clearly the direction of her intent, but with her stomach growling as loud as it was it was quite difficult to listen, much less understand, The Ghost's words.

A "ghost" which, consequently, was standing on the other side of the bench, long and lanky arms crossed before his thin and bony form, his loose and bloodied bandages hanging about a body only Daria could see. His eyeless sockets stared down upon the man in the bench with furrowed brows, and when he lifted his noseless face he would whisper into Daria's head without the slightest movement of his stitched slit of a mouth. "THAT is NOT for eating, Deej..."

<< In case it's not clear, DJ's schizophrenic, and that last paragraph is one of the things she sees in her head ;D >>

"Whaa?!" squawked The Masked as The Lunch's legs wrapped about her thighs, an action which immediately prompted her arms to raise as while her wide-eyed gaze darted around her point of capture. In the meantime, it appeared she'd taken to squabbling with no one in particular. "Th-The Friend said--"

Her words, however, were thankfully cut short by The Lunch, stopping The Masked from revealing her previous conviction that The Lunch was dead. As it was, his words brought her to suddenly stop in mid-panic, ruby-red eyes sliding over to The Lunch with a look of curious intrigue. She blinked a few times, processing his question, then suddenly her head and shoulders slumped over in a look of defeat, her torso almost falling forward before The Masked began to sit down. Either she'd be supported on the cross of his feet behind her, or else she'd cause him to release her, or else she'd be too heavy and/or unexpected and end up pulling the both of them off the bench and onto the ground.

Regardless, it didn't seem The Masked was paying attention to The Lunch, for her gaze was staring off and her lips were pouting, her gloved hands turned upward to cup their palms around her chin. "The Masked is lost! And The Masked is hungry!" she began to complain to her forced companion. "The Masked can't find The Little Master--trapped, trapped, The Little Master! But The Master is busy--too busy to rescue The Little Master! Fighting in The Tournament!"

At that point--assuming she'd gone on uninterrupted--The Masked would slump forward slightly, her head drooping while her hands fell to her sides, and she would sigh with an air of defeat, "The Masked does not know what to do..."

The Masked thumped upon her rump, but it didn't seem to bother her, for her expression was blank and staring, eyes blinking quite a bit before it finally dawned on her--The Lunch had misinterpreted!

"Not that it's all that difficult to do, given the way you talk."

The Masked blew off The Ghost for now, instead throwing her hands up to grasp the sides of her head, which began to shake side-to-side. "No, no, no! The Little Master is not fighting! The Master is fighting!"

It further seemed that she had forgotten entirely about her hunger issue, for The Masked soon twisted around and scrambled to her feet, there to spin around and throw her arms to the sides. It was thus she began to prance like a little girl fantasizing about princes and unicorns as she described:

"The Little Master is far too sweet, is far too innocent and far too precious for fighting!!! No...The Little Master is beautiful and fair! Perfect, perfect, perfect! A living sculpture, but the grace and elegance of a swan! A young and blooming, soft and gentle maiden!!!" At last, she turned to face The Lunch, upturned hands on her hips and her tongue sticking out. "That is The Little Master, daughter of The Master!!!"

Her shoulders slumped again, her head hanging, and she bemoaned, "Most unfortunate that The Masked cannot show The Little Master..." Then, a lift of her face, a pleading gaze. "If The Masked had an excuse, maybe The Monster would release The Little Master...?"

The Masked blinked, slightly confused. "...The Masked is The Masked..."

Kré narrowed his bandaged brows at Daria. "He means your NAME, you dolt. You need to be more CLEAR if you with to help Faustina."

To outsiders, it might be rather unclear why her expression slowly changed as the voice in her head explained matters. "Ohhhh..." she murmured, and then in a single, swift thump!, back she was on the ground, cross-legged, leaning back on her palms with a big grin plastered on her face. "The Man is silly! Ummmm..." She leaned forward and furrowed her brow--it was quite clear The Masked was concentrating very hard! And slowly, she began to piece together the information jumbled about in her scattered brain.

"The Masked was called...ahhhhh...Daria! The Masked was Daria, once! But then, The Masque--" here, she pointed at the elegant black masque she was wearing "--and then Daria was called The Masked! Ahhh..." Another prolonged moment of thinking slithered by before she continued, "...The...The Monster...Seer? The Seer?"

"DESeer!!!"

"DeSeer! Yes! Yes! The Monster is DeSeer! The Monster keeps The Little Master from The Master! The Master is...aaahhhhh...Jaeger! Yes, that's it! Jaeger is The Master!!!" And then, of course, The Masked could not but help giggling and snorting, "Jaegermeister~!"

Her face lifting back to The Man, she beamed, full of hope, and prodded further, "The Man has an excuse for The Little Master? A ball...a ball!!! The Little Master would look lovely in a ball!" The Masked even began to crawl towards The Man as she then offered in all her excitement, "The Masked can fetch The Little Master for a ball! For a ball, for to show The Man the beauty of The Little Master, The Masked will brave The Monster!!!" And finally, with a cocked and inquiring gaze, "...or...does The Man wish to free The Little Master?"

Her eyes widened incredulously, and then, all at once, all fours shout out in each direction, completely ignorant of anything in their path as The Masked exclaimed with absolute and infinite glee, "The Masked has TRIUMPHED!!!" A bit of flailing and twisting turned The scrawny Masked around and onto all-fours, upon which she was able to scramble herself to a hasty stand and start frantically swatting the dirt from her pants.

The job was mediocre at best, and The Masked had soon twirled back around to face The Man, a stiff-straight hand slapping itself across her brow near hard enough to topple her back over again. "The Masked will prepare for evacuation!" she pledged, and then, turning and taking off in the direction of Durem City, she cried with pure joy, a fisted hand skyward and leading the way, "The Masked departs for The Broken Halo~!!!"--it seemed she had quite suddenly remembered exactly where she was going, that small weight lifted from her mind--"The Little Master shall be ready for The Man to rescue!!!"

Some fighters are just not impressive. Esouna, the two-foot tall fairy-like woman, trekked across the gravel, her face contorted into...contempt, was it? She sneered up at the Colosseum: too broad, not tall enough. Whatever; Gaian buildings never suited her species. They were for the large, generally flightless creatures that looked like they had their wing sets amputated, without even stumps left. Regardless of their nature, she had to deal with another nature: that of their creations.

Once she reached the first few steps of the entrance, she abruptly sat down on the smooth rock and curled up her legs. From there, a fairy reached down and...picked bits of gravel out of the calluses. Her 'contempt' expression lifted rather quickly, returning to neutral focus. What the hell was the point of the little sharp rocks? Esouna could deal with stepping on them, obviously, but it was really uncomfortable. Perhaps they were a test...or not; maybe you were supposed to find a way across without damaging your feet. Settling on that idea, the fairy shrugged, making a mental note to fly across--saving herself unnecessary pain outweighed conservation of her energy, at least for this circumstance.

She stood up again, only to back into a wall and lean against it, taking a lazy, unamused pose. The fairy noted a strand of her yellow hair dangling in front of one eye...very split. Even her culture didn't like split ends. Since her mind had started to wander, Esouna closed her eyes to relax.

While some fighters aren't impressive, some are. Hans Fritz dwelt deep beneath the earth's soil.

Within Gaia's bosom the ground did quake, while the soil above was gently caused to shake and an eight foot beast of power and grace made its way without hesitation. Meditation of the next course lead a warrior of renowned strength to head to this coliseum.

'Krieger von alten.' Hans thought of himself, a warrior of old and wondered if he still had a place in this world. Everyone was all about agility, precision and speed. Hans relied on the strength of his own monstrous form and the earth from which he was so tied.

With the shaking ground finally reaching the small forest off the field which surrounded the warrior construct, Hans discerned a good place with which to appear without much attraction. Certainly the brush and bushes of the forest would not notice his arrival.

Ripping from the earth, not far from the robed figure, Hans let one of his giant paws stretch forth to the heavens. Soil dropped to the sides of a golem-like creature, that's hard rock shell cracked and fell around. Hans' 400lb body was armored with a reginold cuiress. A great sword was resting upon his shoulders, with a gauntlet encased right fist holding its hilt over his shoulders.

The blade Wrote:

> -Lanseknecht Zweihander- Hans favors this over the flamberge in most cases and is often seen across his shoulders without a scabbard. The Zwiehander is 89 1/4", just a bit shorter than he is. It weighs 9 lbs and 15 oz, has a 66 7/8" blade, 1/3" blade thickness, 17 3/8" grip, black leather wrapped. There are also two onyx stones embedded into the ends of the guard, which Hans sometimes manipulates for various uses.

Realizing that he'd come through the earth at an enclosed location, his massive frame slightly concealed through the canopy, Hans was pleased with Gaia's guidance. However, Hans did notice a spirit was near and looked to see what she was up too.

"So...what have you been up to?"

The day was nice, a blue sky dabbled with fluffy clouds, and the gentlest of cool breezes rustling the trees. The paved walkways were filled with the hustle and bustle of guests, fighters, exhibitors, and the like, all rushing from here-to-there, caught up in their busy agendas. Some had taken to a late-afternoon picnic, some resting a moment in park benches, and even more still posing fake fights as they role-played their favorite combatants. It wasn't as crowded as, say, an urban city, but there was definitely a decently-sized swath of people walking the GTB grounds.

Faustina and Snow had just exited the Infirmary, Snow's wounds freshly patched up by the hand of one of the GTB's white mages, with the young Devil leading the way. She wasn't entirely sure where to go, even less sure what the status was with her father, Bellanox, and her father's honor guard, but hoped that things would be kept at bay at least long enough for her to relax and catch up with her old friend.

Or...as much as a friend as she'd ever had, anyway. True enough, the two hardly knew each other, and yet the familiarity and comfort Faustina felt with Snow was just as valid as any of the other fleeting people in her life. Besides...what little she knew about Snow made her all the more interested, and all the more happy to steal away from everything going on in the world to just relax and talk.

"Any other tournaments since the Dark Tournament?" she offered, mis-matched eyes filled with glistening intrigue.

The things Snow spoke of intrigued Faustina, bringing her to tilt her head in awe in spite of his clear disdain for the things his employers put him through. The idea of traveling so far and wide was foreign to the girl--even when she was living as a shinobi as Konohagakure, she hadn't received missions like the other Genin, and even though she'd moved far, far away from that original "home," she had never, aside from now, ventured beyond The Devil's Alibi and The Broken Halo, much less outside the City Durem. Her confinement was only due in part to her captivity to the Clan DeSeer--even if she hadn't been, she doubted she would ever have been able to build up the courage to explore the world the way she was certain Snow did.

In fact, so taken was she with Snow's words that Faustina found herself murmuring softly, "Wow...It must be amazing to see so much of the world..." It was with those words that came the thought that she had been able to, once. There was a time when she could simply sprout wings and go wherever she desired, and whenever she desired, but she had been too ignorant to ever really realize how wonderful a gift that was, and now that it was gone...

Faustina blinked, leaving behind such thoughts, and instead followed Snow's gaze to the children playing in the field, a distant smile curving her lips. "Sounds like you've been quite busy." She was quite a moment, and then in a bout of curiosity, ventured further, "Just how much do these things pay out, anyway?"

Faustina's eyes grew wide, her head turning back to regard Snow, and her voice grew soft. She knew only a small fraction of what Snow was talking about, having heard stories from the mission-undertaking shinobi from Konohagakure, but not very many, and none so bad as what seemed normal for Snow. "That...That's terrible...!" she murmured. She frowned, then turned back to the children.

She found herself more and more jealous of them, more and more nostalgic for the protected and veiled innocence she had known before coming to this world with her Father. Where once she had been frustrated with her naivete, now she was envious of theirs.

Yet...on the other hand...if that was the way the world truly was, then maybe her Father really wasn't as terrible as people made him out to be? At the very least, maybe she could continue believing that, in spite of the things people said he did.

But then...did one man's sins make another's any less terrible?

"Snow...Are people...really that despicable...?"

Again, Faustina followed his gaze, this time to the skies high above, as if trying to see the same thing he saw there, as if to read something in the clouds that would allow her to understand the world the way he did. She remained quiet, listening, her mind mulling over the things he proposed, and for a moment her mind tilted back in time to the first night she met her father. That night, they had talked about things similar to what Snow was describing--about how everything was an array of shifting grays, with little if any true black or white.

It was a hard mindset to get used to, and certainly not a comforting one, but the more Faustina observed the people around her, the people she cared about, the more she saw how true it really was. Her mis-matched stare turned back to regard Snow, and she began to wonder what shade of gray he was...

"...But then I met you, no?"

Faustina blinked a little more rapidly than normal, and she knew just by the heat that her face had flushed a violent red. Her head bowed, her long auburn hair slipping from her shoulders in a feeble attempt hide her face, and her hands began fidgeting low before her. In spite of herself, the corners of her mouth couldn't help but smile. Her tail wiggled giddily behind her, caught between her embarrassment and a strange fluttering rustling her nerves, and she soon found herself replying softly, "...I...I'm glad...!"

She shifted uncomfortably for a moment, those strange and awkward feelings on the rise again, and slowly convinced herself to lift her face, her hair slipping back to reveal emerald-left and garnet-right eyes that glistened in the sunlight, her blush faded a bit so her cheeks held the slightest pink tint. She smiled up at him for a moment, and then slipped into a playful grin, chuckling lightly, "I don't want to punch you in the face, either!"

Faustina gasped as Snow's face moved closer to hers, her body going rigid and tense, her cheeks flushing brilliantly and her eyes widening. Her lips quivered a bit as she tried to answer Snow, but her mind wouldn't think straight, and her breath was caught in her chest. She could hardly remember to blink, much less formulate a coherent answer, her chest inexplicably fluttering, and yet only half of her anxiety came from not knowing what had warranted these feelings--the other half was not knowing why she enjoyed it! It was a sensation she managed to avoid for the most part, but those few times it reared its discomfortingly alluring head...Faustina was all but a wreck, not entirely sure just how she was to handle the situation at hand.

Her jaw began to move of a more controlled volition, and her tongue slowly came to agree that some form of response was advantageous to the situation. Her voice was soft and distant, airy and light as she stammered the few bits and pieces of an answer she could muster. "...I...boys...haven't...don't...ahh..." She could only desperately hope her meaning could be reached well enough with such feeble words--if Snow kept her suspended on clouds like this for much longer, it'd be a long time before he got anything sensible out of her.

Now that she was a Devil, Faustina's body was naturally just as hot as her father's, something that certainly took a bit of getting used to. And yet, even though she knew this, the young woman had a sneaking suspicion that her current temperature was much more due to the speed at which the Devil's blood raced through her veins, pumped through a loudly-pounding, racing heart. The glisten in her eyes became only more apparent when Snow went so far as to touch her, even though it seemed she was no longer looking at him but, rather, past him, as if taking her focus off the real world would do anything to calm the fluttering in her throat.

However, her distant daze wouldn't last long, her eyes drawn back to Snow's as his cold hand moved to lay against her warm, flushed cheek. The tension in her body became almost unbearable, fighting against her reflex to bat his hand away and run off, and her lips quivered, a soft and feeble voice faintly gasping, "...ahhh....o-okay...."

In spite of her efforts to restrain the display of her affections, Faustina couldn't hold back the sigh that came as Snow lowered his hand and turned his gaze away, the release of breath and tension that had been caught all throughout her body, somehow suspended in his touch and gaze. The bright red drained from her face, settling back to something more natural, and her tail dropped back into its natural, lazy sway. She was still rather befuddled by just what it was that stirred such strange reactions within her--she never was good handling such closeness with boys, but what held her back from the usual outburst, the flailing and vehement fighting against the source of feelings she couldn't control? These were thoughts she kept quiet and to herself, merely lifting softened eyes and a gentle smile to her companion as he led her towards the bench.

"Thank you," she replied, her tail lifting and adjusting itself to drape over the armrest, safely out of the way of her rump as she sat beside Snow. She fidgeted just a little as she got comfortable in the bench, sitting back so her feet would be off the ground just enough for her to sway. Faustina allowed herself a few childish swings before doing just that, the faintest giggle brightening her smile and helping to ward away the last of the uncomfortable freeze Snow had somehow set upon her.

Anchoring her feet to the ground with a point of her toes, Faustina turned her gaze to regard Snow, and a little color slipped back into her cheeks, though not nearly so much as before. She nodded, and replied softly, "Yes, thank you." A small pause passed between them, and then her eyes shifted to watch the children play-fighting, though her face remained turned to Snow so he could hear her. "...I'm sorry about that. I...don't have much experience...you know..." At this point, her head would bow out of shyness, and she would finish in a small voice, "...with boys......"

Experience? What experience?

The swordsman is befuddled by Faustina's sudden, apologetic tone. He couldn't recall anything she did that could be considered offensive or in some way impolite to the swordsman. Even more confusing was the fact that she was bowing her head at him - making it seem as if it was something dire which prompted her to perform such an act. The swordsman tilted his head, blinking in puzzlement. Upon hearing her small voice echo the word, realization struck in like puberty.

"Ah..."

Lack of experience with boys. The swordsman looked to the side, clearing his throat a bit in understanding. Somewhere in the deep recess part of his subconscious, the thought of teaching her this experiece crossed his mind. But...self discipline and the lack of a corrupted mind stilled this potential urge to take that thought a step further, the swordsman turning his head back to gaze at her with a smile.

"It's nothing to be sorry about. Besides, boys aren't that different from girls. And vice versa."

The swordsman paused, averting his eyes a bit when he couldn't think much about the difference; he was rather inexperienced in this matter as well, never really thinking more about this topic when he's in a fight or just performing his duties during travel.

"....I think."

"But you know," he continued, trying to hide his own lack of experience in diverting the topic, "If you don't have the experience, it doesn't hurt to...er...do a bit more research into this subject. After all, at least you're having a good experience with me, right?"

A smile. Or at least an impersonation of a cheerful smile.

"...I hope?"

What was initially a means to help put her at ease instead became a confession to his own demise. And, in a fairly blunt tone - The swordsman is in a dire pinch about his personal life! Well, to the extent of answering that question she asked. It isn't something he is used to doing, but for the sake of maintaining appearances...

.. ... Wait. Why is he trying to maintain his appearance? Odd. He never really thought about how he seems to others before...Hm. He'll worry a about it later.

"Well........let's say it's a 'work in progress'. I never really did need to do research about it; traveling, and especially just getting the job or contract done is usually more often than not my priority. I never really did stay in one place for a while to actually...you know."

His words trailed off, feeling a bit lost as how to explain it even further. His hand went up to ruffle his hair with guilt, before he then looked at Faustina with a shy grin.

"I guess I'm in a similar situation like yours."

Someone, somewhere, started dry heaving.

Faustina's heart lifted at his response, her face and entire manner brightening into...what was this? Was she...yes! Yes, she was giddy!!! Boys had made her many things in the past, but never giddy! It was a new experience for her, and although she still wasn't too keen on the idea of someone else having such an effect on her, she rather liked it! Indeed, she felt like giggling, but managed to keep it to a restrained smile and the faintest of chuckles as her gleaming eyes watched Snow react in very much the same way she did to the whole ordeal.

Gaze turning back to the world around them, Faustina sighed in contentment, watching as the children and their families began to disperse, and the crowds slowly dissipated back into their lodgings for the tournament. The world grew quiet, a soft and gentle evening setting in, leaving the pair more-or-less alone on the park bench to watch the horizon grow ablaze. All in all, a very comforting atmosphere that calmed and soothed the young woman...

...and gave her the strength to answer Snow's question. She swallowed, a sadness thickening into her voice, and she softly replied, "...I'm here to watch my father." She chuckled a bit, a half-smile pulling at her lips, and continued, "I wish I were a participant, though. To fight and claim the glory and respect worthy of a Devil...to make him proud...and maybe, one day, to fight at my father's side..." Her voice trailed off, a wet glisten speckling her mis-matched eyes as she was forced to acknowledge the terrible reality that she may never get that chance. Even still, she was hesitant to bring up the arrest of the infamous Roen Jaeger--if Snow had seen the arrest on the television, there wasn't much need to bring it up, at the risk of dampening the mood. Instead, she would bow her head and reply, "...one can only hope, huh?"

The idea of fighting for someone, in the name of glory and pride is a foreign thought - an alienated idea to the swordsman. He can understand it if it was a group effort - fighting for a mutual cause or some reason, but pride because one is fighting under another person's lead or cause...

He couldn't feel any alluring sense of glory and honor in it. The swordsman has been in many fights; in countless acts of violence against individuals all scheming for their own. In many incidents, pride and glory go out the window when a person is pressured, cornered to do certain acts and gestures that are beyond...human morals. In many other incidents, following behind someone's shadow simply means one is too weak to stand up by themselves - relying on support in this so-called sense of...glory and pride.

The swordsman has lived by the pride of himself - to fight, for himself. In the past, he was too concerned about respect from others, fighting for the sake of earning it in tournaments and meaningless fights. And what did he get from fighting for such respect and glory?

Just scars and wounds.

"I see." The swordsman gave a few nods, not familiar with Roen in the slightest. Hell, he never really met the man face to face before, and there were only a few people here that he knew rather well - most of them known through direct fights. Giving a slow sigh, he thought about how he should address Faustina about this, unable to find the right words to convey his own experience to her without repercussions.

"Why the lack of confidence in yourself?" The swordsman questioned, deciding to tackle the issue from another direction.

The swordsman couldn't bring his head to wrap around this subject. Being born with certain traits and attributes however was one thing he knew to heart, and using that as a basis to understand what she was talking about, he remained quiet while she explained her reason to him. Apparently, this...alchemy she spoke of is highly valued in her perspective, and because of some reason, it is locked away due to some...problem with her alignment? Does it mean that the ability to wield alchemy is dependent on her blood affinity? He idly wondered how a full Devil would interfere with such abilities.

She has the techniques already, but if she can't wield it herself willingly... What about using tools as replacement to improvise the ritual?

Frowning a bit when she implied she had nothing left, the swordsman shooked his head in dissatisfaction to her initial impression. "You know, just because you lost something, doesn't necessarily mean that you can't get it back. Figuratively speaking, of course. While there are some things that can't be returned - such as old age, forgotten memories, et cetera, there is always a way to improvise the problem or use a replacement to fix the problem. Although I am unfamiliar with the meaning behind a 'full Devil', and how it affects your...alchemy, I'm pretty sure there is another way to use tools..or objects to compensate for your loss of power, yes? After all, you still have the knowledge and the technique down...

You just lost the method of easily conjuring it or wielding it, I assume."

"And," the swordsman continued on, "if you already know your weakness, then I'm pretty sure you know what you need to improve already."

At the mere mention of his use of powers, the swordsman's face darkened - as if the mere subject of it brought up a distaste in the swordsman's expression. While it certainly is an integral part of his abilities in current combat, the method of how he conjures isn't something he enjoys discussing about. In fact, whenever he actually thinks about where his power came from, and especially where that power stems from... The swordsman took a while to respond to Faustina's question.

"Well..."

The word drifted off to silence as he thought about the topic, unable to find the right words to convey. It is something that even he is not fully knowledgable about, using what was taught to him from mentors that he'd met years back to control the power more appropriately... In order to prevent it from killing him in the process, as it did so many years ago.

His powers, unlike conventional magic, seems to be based off the properties mixed in his blood. If it was because of his origins, then that may be one potential possibility but... The swordsman sighed, eventually turning to look at Faustina with a strained smile. "I'm not too sure where they came from, to tell the truth. I...had quite an experience back in my...past, you see. My...mother," the swordsman's tone turned darker at the mere mention of his maternal parent, "was human, you see. And, I believe that my father was nothuman. According to...well, you know. I was a conceived child of a human mother and a non-human father. I'm pretty sure that the powers that give me such ability is either from my paternal side or maternal side...but as to where they come from exactly, I cannot tell."

"I don't know who my...father is, or what he is exactly. But from the people I've met in my travels and from their expertise, they refer to me as a Cambion. Not exactly sure what it is, but with my mother being human...you get the idea."

The swordsman continued. "Anyways, from what I've experienced with, my powers stem from something within me. It's probably my blood or something...but as to what exactly, I'm afraid that most of my power's been sealed as a result by a mentor due to some...incidents, resulting from some inexperience in tampering with such ability in dangerous amounts. So, thanks to that, I use tools to compensate for my restricted power. These --" The swordsman would tap at his bracers, then at the weapons slung on each side of his hips, "-- are mixed with a special material that can tune in with my ability. It takes less effort for me to conjure up my ability as long as these are equipped on me. Otherwise, well..."

The swordsman looked away, his eyes drifting towards the view of the looming sun which was beginning to set.

"...It's the reason I use my blades so often."

The gentle caress, the delicate enclosure of her presence to the swordsman caused him to feel the tinge of shyness creeping up his skin. It enveloped him like a wave of water, feeling the strange, almost insecure sensation of its grace latching into his body and giving him this unusual thought of moving away.

Of course, bounded firmly by discipline and the hard-rugged experience of living in the wild, the swordsman brushed the thought away quickly as it came, tilting his head to listen to Faustina's story about her own past. Surprisingly, as she opened herself to him, the swordsman never really paid attention to her eyes until now - noticing the emerald hue and the rosy garnet contrasting in a mesh of...of...

"..."

He stared at her for a while, temporarily lost in thought. It took a moment for him afterwards to regain composure, but when he spoke, he spoke in a tone that didn't really fit the swordsman.

"They're uh...beautiful."

Was it the shyness making its mark on the swordsman's mind? Or was it the sudden tinge of red that started to creep up near the swordsman's cheeks? He couldn't tell, nor could he understand why he's feeling this way.

"So...about this transformation, um... Would you like to tell me more about the Devil? I'm...afraid that I'm not familiar in their background, much like my lack of knowledge towards other races."

The swordsman listened intently at her description, expressing interest in the abilities of other races. He has been most fascinated by how other people can control things that were beyond human abilities, such as the ability to wield fire, to wield the forces of nature upon a simple whim... While he too is able to delve into such powers through the influence of his body, he couldn't help but ask the question;

What makes it possible? Is there a rule, an underlying process that makes the impossible possible? Some form of connection that cannot be seen through normal means, some catalyst that acts as the building block which is able to create something out of nothing? His lack of knowledge in this field made it perplexing to think. The fact that he is unable to understand what makes his own magic work made the topic even more important to understand, or to start to dismantle, bit by bit whenever able.

At the mere mention of the Devil's affinity for fire, the swordsman quirked an eyebrow at the subject. Fire seemed to be more or less a...popular field of magic. Having met demonslayers, demons, humans, magicians, wizards, bards, casters and many more in the course of combat --

It was pure misery whenever he had to deal with fire users. Oh, the times he was burned, scorched, toasted and engulfed by the substance were particularly good memories - if not the reason that he loathed the idea of being burned in the more recent tournaments. Hell, even the foe he just fought in the first round used fire, reminding him of all the things that he'd come to dislike...whenever it's used on his body.

And the fact that her sudden murmur of fire being poetic caused the swordsman to turn his head towards her in a puzzled look. In dry humor, or perhaps a lack thereof --

"You mean burning people in the process? Not exactly the most poetic thing that I can think of."

"Tis was indeeed poetry in motion when Snow and I mingled..." came a voice, with an obviously, faked accent. The inflection was so bad that it could hardly be determined what it was supposed to be, but then, the speaker's voice returned to normal as he made himself known, approaching the pair.

"And I learned how to kick his ass thoroughly".

Had Snow been aware, he would've recognized the aura before he recognized the voice. It was none other then his Snow's rival, and former Captain, James Eredas. He came to say hello to Snow, and give him his well-wishes. You know, the "stay alive so I can kick your ass instead" type of well-wishes.

A small tilt of his head toward Faustina was the only other indication he made of her presence, before addressing Snow again.

"Interesting sort of company you picked up, Avan. I didn't think you were into the daughters of scum."

"... hrm, then again there was a time I didn't think you were into women at all..." He muttered under his breathe with a sideways, contemplative glance, then he looked back at the pair with a silent smirk.

Faustina's eyes widened, and her head whipped around in the direction of the voice, panic raising in every fiber of her being. Her teeth clenched in anxiety, hands curling into small fists, prepared to throw up a defense if necessary. She saw the man who had spoken, however it wasn't until the figure emerged from the shadows and spoke again that she recognized him--James Eredas, from the Ball.

She was about to retort, but just as she was about to vocalize her threats she realized James wasn't here for her--or at least, not entirely--he was here for Snow. Her gaze flickered between the two men, withdrawing slightly from the apparent rivalry, but James was quick to recall her anger, her head snapping to the side to turn a vehement snarl upon the man as she hissed, her tail snapping violently behind her, "Leave Father out of this!!!"

The swordsman couldn't guess what James was thinking. If the intention is actually just plain teasing, then provoking him to have a fight certainly doesn't fit the bill. Unless.. He didn't buy James' innocuous gesture. Parting his lips to speak, the swordsman's tone went from annoyed to a more chilly attitude, seeing the clash in attitude between his rival and Faustina.

"...While I'm not familiar with the current events - or disputes - between you two, I do have to point out, James, that violence against her won't be taken lightly. Threats, or intimidating gestures doesn't fit your style, after all."

He crossed his hands together, raising an eyebrow at his rival.

"As for the matter between me and you, I'm relaxing and waiting for the first round results, while enjoying Faustina's company. Fought a guy that used fire, like you in my fight. Quite a formidable foe, if you ask me...but, left him a present nonetheless - a commemoration for trying to burn me in the process."

A pause.

"How was your fight?"

James seemed completely unperturbed by Snow's increasingly frosty attitude. The man was impossibly stubborn when he believed he had the moral right of way, and he believed so in this case.

"My fight? Guy tried to throw the sun at me." THe slayer cracked his neck, before continuing on.

"You're wrong about that "not my style" thing though, Avan." James added, and the smile suddenly dropped from his face.

"People change". He slowly, deliberately raised an open fist, and snapped it shut, a small burst of fire exploding from his palm in the process. "But just to let you know Avan... if you ever get in my way", he tilted his head in Faustina's direction.

"I will kill you too."

He let the sudden aura of killing intent around him sink in the validity of his words. For those that knew him, it was hard to argue that James was not slowly becoming as monstrous as the things he was sworn to destroy. Those who weren't trained, or as well-trained in the fighting arts tended to feel killing intent as a sort of, suffocation. The desire, the need, to run, but the paralysis that kept one from doing so, and the fear resulting from not being able to escape.

On that dangerous note, James waved and turned to leave.

"Well good night... I'll see you around..."

He paused, then continued on.

"Both of you."

Faustina grew silent, and her eyes grew distant, falling slightly from James as he made his leave. She might have seemed a bit shaken, or unsettled, or at the very least somewhat "off," though it was by no means because she feared James' idle threat. No, what hung about the young Devil wasn't fear...it was guilt. Guilt brought on by so small and simple a word...as Snow shared his final thoughts on the matter, Faustina was having a small trip back through time, a few instances from long, long ago flashing before her, summoned by the single word "kill."

Blinking, she banished the thoughts from her mind, eyes shifting to stare after James as he walked away. Her distant past aside, the events of the last few days were forced back to the forefront of her consciousness. She continued to watch in silence until James was gone, and only then did she echo the same question she'd asked her father so long ago, her voice detached and her gaze trained on the horizon, "...Snow...is murder forgivable...?"

She couldn't help but flinch, her mind hit with an onslaught of terrible visions...gore-filled scenes of her father being tortured, ripped apart, gouged full-through, somehow helpless against horror after horror. She shuddered, a cold chill creeping down her spine as she tried to replace with these morbid thoughts with the hopeful aura of Snow's words. She had thought it was some side-effect of the thoughts, but she was soon proven otherwise as a hand came to rest upon her head, suddenly snapping her gaze from their distant stare upon Snow's red hues. A small gasp was issued forth, her warm skin somewhat startled by his cold touch, but she soon relaxed, her features softening into a grateful expression, even if it was partially forced.

She bowed her head slightly and closed her eyes, allowing Snow to continue patting her head as he wished, and even so much as enjoying the contact--one which she'd never allowed a male to commit aside from her father. A small smile set upon her gentle lips, and she murmured , "...Thank you, Snow."

Her eyes slid open and glanced to the side, eying the street lights, and she noted, "...I guess it's starting to get late." Lifting her head just enough to make eye-contact with Snow, but not so much to banish his hand, she asked, "Are you staying at the hotel?"

Faustina laughed lightly, her tail sliding along the bench as she rose to a stand--even so simple and mundane a movement was somehow made to look just as elegant and graceful as anything else she did. "I know what you mean! Though, I imagine my situation was never as severe as your experiences--my time training with Mother was spent in the forests surrounding Konoha, so while we, too, lacked proper beds, we at the very least were always able to go into town to obtain the necessary provisions." She giggled a little more, then met his gaze with mis-matched eyes that sparkled under the stars, more-so now that she'd emerged from the slight shadows veiling their bench.

"Yes, we're staying there as well." A moment's hesitance passed, shyness warming her cheeks, before she softly suggested, "...Let's walk back together?" Then, trying to chase off the awkwardness, she grinned and flexed her arms, pretending she was some mighty and powerful hero as she declared, "That way, if he comes our way, I can protect you from that mean ol' James!"

<< No worries! :] >>

Faustina laughed, genuinely cheered by the playful exchange between Snow and herself. Dropping her pose, she turned and walked merrily back to the hotel with her companion, her pleased tail swaying back-and-forth in rhythm with her footsteps and, consequently, the subconscious sway of her hips.

It wasn't until they neared the hotel that her mood began to once more subdue, a quietness wrapping around her as she slowed her approach, something akin to hesitance lingering about her. She paused a moment, her head bowing slightly, but soon enough a smiling face, albeit somewhat "off," was lifted to regard Snow, pleasantries trained into her features to hide the nervous pain, worry, and fear rattling deep within her.

"...Well..." she began, voice as delicate as the glistening gems she called eyes, "...this...was a very pleasant evening, despite James' intrusion." A pause, and then her smile grew more genuine. "I'm...very glad I ran into you, Snow. Thank you."

Faustina blushed deeply, her head tilting back down ever slightly though her gaze remained happily trained upon Snow. Her smile seemed to somehow glisten in the same manner as her eyes, one hand lifting to lay gentle fingertips upon her soft lips. "I...look forward to the day...!" she breathed, and though she wasn't sure how or why she felt the way she did, she could confidently assert that she was happy she did.

Another moment of awkward hesitance passed, the both of them unsure how to end the night. She bit her lip, trying to think back to any references she'd seen in the past of how events like this were supposed to go. She had no experience of her own to speak of, but she'd been told stories, and she'd seen passers-by. They all started with a young couple, one that joined either by their choosing or else by chance, and they went on to enjoy a lovely evening together, and when all had been said and done, they ended the night with...with...

Faustina swallowed, incredibly nervous for reasons she knew not, one small footstep bringing her ever slightly closer to Snow, her head tilting back to keep her gaze upon his, accommodating for whatever height difference. She paused, second-guessing herself, and at the very last moment, as her toes pushed her heels from the solid ground, her trajectory shifted, and soft, warm lips graced the cool surface of Snow's cheek.

She didn't know what to expect, how Snow would react, if he would even accept the incredibly embarrassing though small gesture. If left to her own devices, she would whisper a soft "Good bye..." as her head lowered, and would turn to make her swift retreat back to her hotel room.

If, however, Snow decided to take any action of his own...well, Faustina was more than aware just how vulnerable and helpless she'd become in his presence.

[!]Beyond the Arena[!] Suffering is a Lie… []~O~[]

[!] ~*”Wisdom is not the counting of all the drops in a waterfall…”*~[!] Unwilling to wait around for the crowd to surge from the stands, and certainly not interested in facing them, Dithakar retired to the woodlands for meditation.

He sat on a large boulder, legs folded one over the other, a fluctuating dome of golden light stretched out around him; Reverberating with bass as he chanted a single, unbroken, syllable.

"Oooooooohm..."

It would become quickly apparent, to any who might be looking on, that the old man still bore the vicious wounds of his previous fight; The flesh of his jaw, chest, and left shoulder pitifully rotted as if by corrosion. Somehow, the elderly monk had found a way to press both hands together out before him...Chin lowered in dutiful prayer.

For, within his enclosure, the world was devoid of sound.

Focused; Calm...Serene as the stone beneath him. Calling out to the faith that maintained him, and gave his aged form purpose. All at once, his injuries would begin to move in reverse; Caught by individual wells of time. The decay he had suffered was drawn from his flesh inch-by-inch, and muscle repaired itself from within.

Dithakar took in an unnecessary breath, and then released it...followed by another. Cleansing himself of the negative energies that had taken root; Even as he replenished himself with the positive Prana of Gaia at large.

Doing this, his [Harmony] orb began to retract; Drawn in upon his central figure. Feeding upon the light even as his efforts reached there end.

He was whole once more...

Ready.

The radiance became a silhouette; Limning his muscular physic with brilliance as though he were an avatar of light.

Legs unfurled, and the mighty martial-artist rose from his assumed state. His aura faded away, and gradually his true pigments became apparent once again. Dithakar's eyes, which had been closed, opened to regard the trees nearby.

How they reminded him of his ancestral home; So very far away...

It would appear that the bearded warrior had encountered some wayward strand of webbing, shaking his otherwise hairless head to clear the memory away.

Now was not the time.

Victory in his battle did not immediately guarantee passage into the next round; Nor did this small trek into the wild protect him from his duties as a competitor.

First one foot, then the next, would set the old sage back upon the path that found him here; Carrying him, yet again, into the waiting arms of combat. Regardless of the outcome, the winds of change could not be denied.

He felt them, even now, pulling at the chord of his existence.

Calling him to a higher purpose.

[!] ~*”…It is understanding why the water seeks the earth.”*~[!]

The phase of negotiation was over, it was obvious that this situation was going to lead to the crossing of blades. His hands reached up to his neck as he let the brooch holding the heavy cloak over his shoulders unclasp, resulting in the cape landing against the grass. The next object to remove was his shirt, constricting and thick the article of clothing during the fight would keep his movement limited.

Each glove was removed as he took a knee and rubbed his hands against the grass, letting the dirt settle onto his palms and fingers before placing the gloves back on his hands.

Mentally he was ready for this, an encounter he was going to have to face with a blank outlook. His mind knew he could easily take Z in a fight even though he was now aged. Many years of life and death combat mixed with training various individuals has allowed him to be confident in his own abilities.

Physically his body was unprepared for the upcoming duel. Age had taken its toll when it came to longevity in combat. He could last maybe a minute tops before he knew his body would start to lag behind and protest his every swing and riposte. Experience had shown him over the past year during his weekly practice fights with various Legion members that he often had to take a minute to breathe and let his legs and arms catch up. A regiment of exercise and lifting daily was proving to be inadequate to keep up with the aging.

Regardless this was the here and now, so Doji drew his long sword and positioned himself facing Z, with his left leg forward and his right leg behind him. The sword was held in both hands as he watched his opponent. He knew Z and knew his fighting styles, and if the man was still hunting Doji for lessons would of stagnated in his training.

He even switched to menthol laced tobacco to help his breathing.

Confidence filled him as he opened his mouth, speaking a simple line.

"Start this fight you dishonorable cur."

He watched the reckless charge as his mind raced at what he was witnessing in action. It was careless, unguided, emotion in human form. An Algerian whose body was being propelled by sheer anger and hate, emotions boiling over in every step. Doji knew he could work himself into a position to knock Z down a few pegs and end this quickly, but he wanted to keep himself from hurting an old friend. His mission was to keep the crazed individual at bay rather than lash out if possible.

His right leg seated itself a bit more, feeling the upcoming charge would be a more forceful blow than a finesse style series of cuts and stabs. The tactician inside of him had already planned what he would do in the situations that this young blood managed to slow his roll and open with a different method of attack.

But the time had come for the clash, the bringing together of blades as the long sword came up at a diagonal to meet the katana head on. Locking the blades by placing pressure with his own, he pressed his leg strength into a step as he moved forward. "So, what kind of magic blade was this?" he said straight to Z as he felt that familiar tingling of magic being drained out of the katana. The feeling of someone telling you that a loved one died, that you were now single, that your dog was declared a lost cause and in need of being put down at the vet. He hated this feeling.

"Perhaps you should back down now, save yourself the hassle of this entire exchange."

With the swords locked and the confusion splattered across Z's face, Doji seized the initiative and took his left hand off of the handle and brought his fist up and launched forth a left hook which was aimed for Z's right kidney. It would be a quick and sharp blow, more intended to unsettle the opponent versus do any reasonable damage. If he wanted to end this without bloodshed he would need to focus on the mental game and keep his own guard up.

He knew the release of his left hand from the blade would cause a shift in power as he let his legs untighten a bit, ready to fall back swiftly if the tides of pressure would change.

The fist connected with a bit of a roll, a glancing blow to the intended target as his hand quickly went back to the blade's handle. The reaction was too late to stop his own blade tip from being knocked to the right as Doji stepped back and as the long sword was left down long enough for the mid section swipe to fly past the space he was occupying just a brief second ago. Once the swing would be past, the long sword would come back up.

"Honor is a social construct, used to hold you back while others stomp on you. Give it all up and free yourself!"

His mouth started to gather saliva as he pulled mucus from his sinus cavity and held it in his mouth. The punch threw him off, lets see how a page out of the ole dirty fighting book would handle. Already his old bones were starting to feed him protesting results. His knees in particular were starting to get a bit sore which was odd for him. Maybe the fight was so slow and dull for Doji his own adrenaline had yet to flow.

Either way he needed to keep this man at bay, and was hoping that deep down Z would see that none of this had to happen. Time had dealt enough of a punishment for his actions years ago, leaving him a shell of what he used to be.

He spit the loogie onto the ground in front of Z and stared at him as his own long sword matched Z's stance.

"The problem is you view honor as something on a wall of a dojo, a code you have to follow by heart. Have you ever considered that maybe for once you should follow your own heart? Follow what you believe deep down? Who do you serve anyways? You spent how long looking for me?"

His talking was aimed to both disheart his opponent, and to give himself a small chance to catch his breath and let his knees take a quick second of respite. Surprisingly, his arms, shoulders, and hands were in great shape which was a shock to the 78 year old swordsman. No matter what happened today, he knew he would feel this tomorrow. Thankfully whiskey can numb pain quickly in large quantities and allow for a good night's rest.

"You served as my Protégé for many years, and frankly the only thing I taught you was how to survive against odds that were greater than your own. The knowledge you should of gained during our travels and adventures should of blessed you with experience to avoid fights that would be a risk of your own life for no reason. Did Terra ask you to fight me?"

Raising his voice, he called out while still watching is opponent carefully.

"Terra, did you ask him to fight me on behalf of your honor?"

He remained silent in response to the comment made about his wife. The bigger matter at hand was his talking was working and leading to his opponent to act on emotion. Drain the emotion, drain the fight out of him.

The blade came forward as the long sword knocked the incoming blade on Z's left, as Doji stepped up to take advantage of the now open defenses of his temporary rival and to close the gap between them..

He could stab him in the chest but instead he wanted to go for a more subtle approach. He lashed out with his left, boot covered foot which was aimed for the man's groin. If he can't find a way to get Z to drop his act, he would have to offer some suggestions on why it might be a good idea to put the sword away.

Another cross of the swords. It was seeming like this fight was lasting for an eternity, but actually, a whole minute had yet to pass. The flow of time in a battle was always skewed. His sword repelled, Z was open for an attack. A kick to his groin area, a dirty trick. Z didn't think it was cheap, however. Honor was his philosophy, but he respected the attack. It was just unfortunate he was not here to do any respecting other than the meeting of their swords.

His kick was stopped cold by Z's right leg chambering in front of him, blocking the foot from going any further. He set his foot down in its new forward positioning, turning his body in the counter clockwise direction, and using his sword to keep Doji's from coming back too soon. His right shoulder was aiming to check the old man straight in the chest as he slid his right foot into the inside of his foot spacing.

Z inhaled as the knife was drawn. A thrusting attack was likely to come from that. This was the moment of true. Scurry away like a little kid and avoid a devious strike, or push into the maw of the beast and show no fear for harm. This is what it meant to be a warrior. He couldn't let himself be scared away by this. Swallow it. Push.

Z pointed his blade toward the ground, pointing the pommel of his handle toward Doji while lowering his blade, only to raise it back up and deliver an uppercut-like blunt strike with the end of it. At the same time, he felt the slash of the knife against his waistline, and relief passed through his stomach. The chainmail beneath his eastern robe protected him. Had Doji known he had protection underneath, he would have used a thrust instead and stabbed right through his defense. It seemed the luck of battle had turned its head up today.

"It is not anger," he spoke as he delivered his strike. "This is judgment!"

Should he knock Doji off guard, Z would position his sword quickly in a round about matter to redirect the blade's tip toward the body of his former sensei, and attempt to stab him through his right shoulder in order to hinder his good arm. Surprisingly, Z had yet to pick up on Doji's ambidexterity, instead being distracted by the relief of not getting wounded. He figured disabling the functioning of his right arm would disable his ability to fight well in total.

Z knew his wearing of armor was a bit unfair. He would have removed it had it not been such a heated moment during their meeting. The step back and the additional offense between them finally made Z reconsider his position, also doing a step back to reset his own offense and defense.

Natural breathing exercises took effect as he blew with control between his lips. The minute had passed. Z had to settle himself. He needed to try to grasp his magic again. Doji had did something to cancel them. He was so confused about what occurred. As he stood there, he began to rethink his next move, until he let his senses return to him.

The charade needed to be dropped. Just that brief moment of sword exchanges reassured Z that his skills did seem to improve in the time that they were apart. All his reactions and setups were timed well and logical. He still felt like he had gaps in his openings, but for the most part, he was much better at his sword fighting than he believed himself to be. If he could just summon up his powers, he can deliver one last strike at Doji.

But nothing was happening.

"What did you do to my magic?"

It was a risk, but Doji would stand up straight at the comment about magic, and sheathe both of his weapons. Fighting was going to do either of them any good, and his own life had seen enough worthless bloodshed.

"Many things have happened since the Elemental Caves Z. It would take some time to explain to you and frankly, such talk is better suited at the bar with some drinks versus under the hot sun."

Carefully he cracked his knuckles with a loud pop from each of his hands as he looked over the young samurai.

"I think you have proven yourself, sheathe your weapons and let us return to the bar."

Damien smiles to himself listening to the two exchanging words. Right about now a few drinks was sounding good. He looks over to Terra and smile, giving her am "I told you so" kind of look.

From the trees dropped five individuals suited up from toe to head. They wore masks on their face illuminated by red goggles. They stood near the four individuals with a very straight pose.

Coming from the direction of the hotel were three more men. They each pulled out baton into each hand, which let off an electrical shock. Basically, a taser. And it was more powerful than the normal devices women hid in their little purses.

A sigh left his mouth as he put his right hand on the handle of his blade. Stepping back away from Z, he looked to the approaching individuals as they pulled what looked to be stun sticks from their bodies.

"Excuse me sirs, we were unaware that these grounds were off-limits."

He moved up to the closest... thing and stopped in front of him, looking at him dead on.

"I assume that is the issue yes?"

From off to the side, the two dragons looked at the oddly placed guards and felt a twinge of unease. Slowly, the Brass Dragon pulled from a pouch on his side two feathers and held them in his hands, as he started to mutter under his breath as Hoon and himself started to be overtaken by a golden aura...

show spoilerhide spoilerLevitation Levitation permits the mage to overcome the effects of gravity and hover freely in the air. This entails little mental effort once the spell is cast and permits the mage to engage in other spellcasting or even the use of ranged weapons (though he will likely be a primary target for any enemy ranged weapons himself!) With a bit of concentration (precluding other spellcasting), the Mage may raise or lower himself at a rate of 10 feet per second (or slower). Although the spell does not provide for lateral motion, the only inhibitor to such movement is either physical objects or air resistance. As such, springing off a wall can propel the levitator scores of feet.

Doji has had one universal policy that he has held with him throughout all of his travels: Always obey the local law if possible.

But the lack of a response mixed with the fact that Ciyn had started casting his Levitation spell (yay knowing the words) meant that they were dealing with probably brigands.

So when the swings started to come flying in from several directions, Doji kept on his toes and stepped back quickly, allowing one of the electrified weapons to make contact with his right side. He winced as the baton had a clear hit on the man's kidney, a blow he knew could result in him peeing blood for the rest of the day. However with the blow came that feeling, the feeling of electricity being drawn from the weapon. That feeling...

Regardless of the blow, his reaction to being struck would be to draw his sword and dagger as he attempted to land a One Draw, One Cut strike to the hopefully surprised individual.

show spoilerhide spoilerOne Draw, One Cut

By unsheathing the blade quickly and with great force, the sword attempts to cut into a close individual upon leaving its protection. The blow is generally enough to disembowel unarmored opponents. At the very least, it is enough to push them back and make them take a stance if they are unprepared for it.

Over in Dragon country...

Ciyn continued his casting of the spell as he watched the masked individual land a decent swing on Doji. His blood pressure started to rise as he knew he was coming to the end of the spell in a few seconds.

Hoon had given up on wanting to cast his spell as he played his trump card early, turning his body as he opened his mouth and released his breath weapon: An arc of lightning 2' in diameter that was aimed for one of the random mooks that were standing near Doji. He wanted to aim for one of the goons not engaged with Doji to prevent his weapon from being reflected off of Doji's protection, which could mean bad news for any ally in the area.

Z was mildly confused, but he understood that now was not the time for questions. Defend themselves first, then attack. His first priority was protecting Terra. He was already thinking to prepare a spell when it hit him that his magic was still not coming into conjuration. The fight with Doji really had brought about bad luck. But he swallowed his panic, and drew his sword, quickly rushing toward Terra.

The two men that attacked him were met with a quick offense, but they had stopped his approach, allowing the third one to go at Terra unhindered.

"Terra," he shouted loudly to her as his sword blocked their hits.

Were this fight to have taken place many years ago, this would of been seen by Doji as a most noble challenge. Three men approaching him with hostile intentions on an even playing field. It would of been great sport and been accepted as a direct test of his own skills.

Time flows constantly and has shown that this now older, and more cautious gentlemen, has gained few pints of common sense over the years. He started to move back as his sword blocked one of the fast incoming attacks, draining whatever electrical charge was left in the weapon. The second swing would miss, but barely, as his backwards retreat towards the dragons would result in him taking a pure defensive strategy.

Not even a perfect defense was without an offensive edge, as Doji flipped the dagger around and grabbed the blade before throwing it at the attacking goon, aiming for a chest shot. It was a crap shoot given the closed distance of the target, his worry being it would be unable to make enough rotations to properly stick before hitting the target.

Over in Dragon Country...

The Levitation spell finished as Ciyn and Hoon took to the air about 20 feet up, floating without a sound as they took a brief half second to adjust their balance for the change in position.

Ciyn let out a small laugh as he watched the two goons continue to approach the now out of reach dragons as he whipped a red, crudely worked wand from his belt and pointed it down in front of them. The end of the wand started to cackle with energy, as the blue light being brought forth from the wand started to create a sort of Doppler sound, echoing throughout the area.

Hoon knew what the brass was up to as he pulled the Call Gem from his belt and activated it. Quickly he pressed the stone to his forehead and then tossed the Gem with his improved strength deep into a set of nearby brush. With that taken care of, he drew his long bow and started to string it up.

Legion HQ, On Call Area, Time, 3:13 AM

"This is all bullshit, see the issue here is we are playing a game of dice, and two of you can move the damn thing with your minds! You know what fuck all of you, I am out!"

Grandor stood and grabbed his pile of gold coins and slid them off of the table and back into his pocket, his face beaming with anger.

From across the table the devil let out a hellish laugh and sat forward, letting his elbows rest on the table. "Don't gamble with servants of the underworld if you are unable to pay the price."

Next to the devil the female necromancer smiled and picked the dice up, placing them back into the rolling cup as she started to shake the cup up and down in front of her. "Grandor get back here, you spoiled shit."

Turning, Grandor would start to speak, but his rebuttal would be cut off as the scrying pool at the far end of the room started to glow red and produce an alarm sound. The entire table of individuals would stand up and rush to the pool, almost tripping over one another at the prospects of riches and combat.

Looking down into the pool they could see what was happening, seeing the leader of the Legion take a retreating stance from the three goons as the two dragons fought off several others. Immediately the three of them reached over to the shelf nearby and pulled off the three magical scrolls that would display the payout for accepting the job.

"Give me 300 more and toss in a few gems" said the Devil who looked at the payout sheet and gave it a bit of a "wwhhhaaatt" look.

Grandor took his scroll and opened it, then shut the scroll immediately. "Fuck that, I want an easy night tonight anyways." He said as he put the scroll back on the shelf and left the room "I am getting a coffee, anyone want anything?"

The Necromancer looked the scroll over for a few seconds, before taking the scroll and placing it on the scrying pool's liquid surface, where it floated. "I accept, I need the gold right now so I can get some better skeletons for fighting purposes."

This was only phase one of a three phase process....

[!]Beyond the Arena[!] Suffering is a Lie… []~O~[]

[!] ~*”Wisdom is not the counting of all the drops in a waterfall…”*~[!] As was his way, the elderly monk was enjoying that walk back to the tournament grounds; Albeit with a previously unseen item clutched in his right hand.

An 8ft tall Khakkhara staff; Fashioned of smooth wood, and adorned by six rings which hung from its golden cap.

The combination of his gait, and his use of the haft as a walking stick, had set the metallic chimes to ringing sweetly; Which made the scene at large that much more serene. To any eyes, Dithakar would seem as an old man out for a stroll...And nothing more.

Too far removed from the on-going commotion, thus having missed the battle between Doji and Z, he moved along considering his former opponent. Injury, and necessity, had shielded the normally concerned monk from his typical response...Which would've had him assisting his fallen foe in any way possible.

However, at the same time, he wasn't entirely certain that the fae had been alive to begin with. There was no hard evidence to suggest such a thing, and Aetyra had apparently been killed in their final exchange, but something told him that his particular talents would've proven useless.

The ancient martial-artist had no way of knowing that his former enemy was not only fine, but entrenched in unfolding events of her own.

As was the rest of the GTB.

[!] ~*”…It is understanding why the water seeks the earth.”*~[!]

Vintrict Wrote:

[!]Beyond the Arena[!] A walk to dismember… []~O~[]

[!] ~*”Wisdom is not the counting of all the drops in a waterfall…”*~[!] To say that he was a bit taken aback would've been an understatement, and even though the aged warrior could've reacted...Even with so little warning...he saw no reason to engage the three assailants.

"I am not sure I under..."

But their intent was far clearer than his comprehension, and they would not leave the elderly monk time to consider an alternative to combat. For them, the advantage was surprise...

For Dithakar; Range!

With an audible exhalation of breath, he would separate his feet and send the staff into an overhead spin...left to right. The speed of that maneuver alone was impressive, but it was little more than a ruse...The weapon's rings quieting for a moment as inertia pulled them taught...

And the muscular monk retreated on both feet; Quick-stepping back as the three offenders came into range. Each complimented the other, leading with attacks specifically designed to cage the wrinkled warrior. The one on Dithakar's right, however, had opted to thrust for the elderly mendicant's ribs...Instead finding his baton trapped in the elaborate metal cap of the recently descended Khakkhara.

A firm twist alone would've proven effective enough to dislodge the electrified stick, or break the wrist of whomever was stubborn enough to hold it, but the displaced monk immediately paired that catch with a tug downward.

Effectively forcing the 'head' of his staff toward the ground, dragging whatever it carried along for the ride, even as he swung in with the opposite side of the haft...Which had risen high, and now descended to catch the left-side attacker in the back of his head.

He'd maintained a safe enough distance, for now, and put two of his newest foes on the defensive...But for what reason had they come? They hardly appeared to be friends of Aetyra, and their strange clothing reminded him more of the mysterious Ninja clans he had encountered while touring Japan...

What did this mean?

[!] ~*”…It is understanding why the water seeks the earth.”*~[!]

Vintrict Wrote:

As he tossed the dagger and seen the blow coming in to connect with his skull, he leaned back a bit as it went wide, just scraping the tip of his nose as the goon fell at his feet. He gave the goon a quick kick to the skull as he reached down to retrieve the dagger...

"Well, there goes all of my luck tod-"

He was cut off mid-sentence as he felt something heavy smack against his sword and wrap around it. He looked up to see the third man, who had been the victim of the breath weapon, at the controls of the ball and chain.

Immediately he began the struggle of resistance, as he felt his arm and shoulder start to protest the action. He would hate to get rid of his main-hand weapon, even if he could get one just like it back at HQ. It was more than that though, it was the basic idea that he was losing his weapon to a nobody in a pitched battle. He leaned his body weight back onto his left foot as he reached down and pulled the blood covered dagger from the dead mook at his feet. He was hoping his body weight would keep the enemy from being able to quickly use leverage to wrestle the blade from him.

Dragon Sky Fun Party 2013

When the bolas were thrown, the two dragons simply increased their levitation by 10 feet, letting the spinning weapons fly under them.

With the Call Gem off doing what it does best, Hoon finished stringing the long bow and grabbed an arrow, looking out at the idiot attempting to take Doji's weapon from him. Pulling the string back and taking a moment to aim carefully, he let the arrow fly as he started to retrieve another arrow.

The wand finished charging, as two beams of light hit the ground below him with a smack as two large Dire Goats, standing about 7 feet in height, left the light. They immediately let out snarls as they proceeded to charge the two mooks still on the ground, heads down for a headbutt.

http://i.imgur.com/bFv8HBwl.jpg

Hoon would laugh and then look to Ciyn "Seriously?"

Legion HQ, Skeleton Storage BA2, Locker 2AD

The Necromancer used her hands to guide past her hooks which held plastic bags, each containing the skeleton of a fallen foe. Everything from human skeletons all the way up to ogre skeletons were here, each labeled and tagged with various marks. She went through her mind what was called for by the Gem, she needed something that could do great damage but stay mobile enough to engage multiple foes.

It kicked to her what she needed as she flipped through the hooks and found the Minotaur skeleton she had purchased from an adventuring party in the Neutral Zone months ago. With the Minotaur on the hook next to it rested the large, double bladed two handed axe it had wielded in life.

Within moments she had two assistants carrying the Minotaur behind her, making their way to the Portal Room. She knew the Devil and Fighter were going to stay behind, but the risk being taken this evening was worth it. Any gold is good gold.

It was fortunate for Z to see Terra take care of her own. That meant he could put all of his focus into defending himself. These two goons had what appeared to be electrical blunt weapons. If they managed to touch him with any of them, he felt he would lose the clash fast. No need to cry over lost magic. It was time to down these adversaries swiftly so he could go to Doji's side.

His eyes focused on the space between both enemies. Experience and reflexes caused time to slow as his sword spun in his hands. It was then that he found a single opening that will allow him to take down both attackers in one slash. It would require perfect finesse, timing, and speed. He inhaled sharply before he rotated his foot to the outside, held his sword to the side, then lunged himself across the ground in a slide between them both.

SLASH!

His sword swung through the air, posing with his back toward them. The blade turned and touched the inside of the scabbard. And with a slow and steady sheathing, the men fell to the ground with blood splattering before them.

Letting them fall, Z went toward Terra's side.

"Are you okay, Lady Terra?"

[!]Beyond the Arena[!] A walk to dismember… []~O~[]

[!] ~*”Wisdom is not the counting of all the drops in a waterfall…”*~[!] Still uncertain of their motives, but now fully on guard, the elderly monk would complete the turn of his Khakkhara staff.

Which sent the baton it had held tumbling away behind him...

With a resounding thud, the butt of Dithakar's weapon would connect with the ground once again; He, in turn, staring the two remaining enemies down with his piercing blue eyes.

"Forgive me for harming your friend, but I do not understand why you have chosen to attack me...What has happened?"

Silently, his gaze took them in; Every aspect of their physical features laid bare to his scrutinizing gaze. The way in which they stood, how they gripped their weapons, all of it taken into account.

Studying them.

[!] ~*”…It is understanding why the water seeks the earth.”*~[!]

Vintrict Wrote:

Feeling the jolt from Terra, Damien had been stunned during the fight. When he finally came around, the attackers were already dead. Damien crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow Couldn't save me any? In truth, he was glad they were already down for the count. The sooner them being dead, the less of a threat they were to his friends. It seems things has indeed changed on this world since he had left.

He didn't feel alright, contrary to Terra's words. His magic...

He never knew how much he felt dependent on it until today. It caused him to lower his head and fall to a single knee again, the thought defeating him inside.

"I didn't get better at all," his thoughts spoke to himself."I couldn't even protect Terra without thinking about my powers."

He looked up toward Doji.

"What are they? More of your enemies?"

Damien walks over to the huddle. His curiosity was now heightened. He didn't take too kindly to unexpected threats. He could feel some of the electricity flowing through his body, but he kept it in check. He still kept his wings inside his back, never using them unless a fight was needed in the sky above. But these enemies had seemed to rely on being on the ground. Either way, he wanted to make sure he was prepared for anything incase they got more visitors.

Another mistake on his part. This day was simply going in the wrong direction of what he intended. He got to his feet swiftly, returning his blade to its scabbard. Then something else came storming out from the trees, causing his blade to be drawn once more. He was so confused, that he took everything as an enemy at the moment. Then seeing the person coming over with what looked to be a skeletal beast, he just left his mouth agape.

Then the explosion occurred from a distant building.

"What was that?!"

Strangely, all the suited men who had attacked, dead or not, had completely vanished. No movements or anything happened to catch it other than a small "blip" at the edge of their vision.

He was about to toss out some ideas when the sonic impact from the explosion hit him in the back of the neck. Quickly after the actual sound caught up as the audio of falling glass and the screams of individuals filled his ears and the air around him.

"Well, that escalated quickly..." He said to the group as he placed his sword and dagger back in the sheathes. "Should we go see what is going on? I am sure people will need medical attention at least."

For him this was a conflict of interest. In reality he wanted to just leave the premises and head back to HQ, or even stop by his old Bar establishment and work on fixing it up for a soon re-opening. But he knew that his actions here would at least make him look better to the public, and help increase his apparently burned ties with Z.

The two dragons looked to one another and nodded, as they looked to Doji, The entire time they had been communicating telepathically, keeping their thoughts and plans silent from the group. Speaking up after clearing his throat with a heavy animal like cough, Ciyn spoke.

"We feel that it would be in the Legion's best interest if we left this to the people who work for the GTB, and returned to the room for the time being. Our ultimate objective is to collect dangerous artifacts, in no documentation of our mission statement does it say playing the police."

Doji took what he said to heart as he looked over to Mindy and up at the skeleton which was standing perfectly still as if it was a statue. Mindy looked back to him and placed her staff's butt on the grass below and leaned on it. "I would like to at least go see what is going on first. I left a perfectly warm and comfortable chair to come out here and cleave things in half and I will be damned if I am going back without a new skeleton."