State of Elysium [IC]

[Dirzrahel]

Freshness filled the blighted air that hung rampant above the atrium of the arena designed specifically to keep the blight in. The freshness was that of new blood, new bloods entering the arena after being found in Denegrad to be different, to be unique in comparison to their human counterparts and demonic entourages. A round pit encircled by bloated, greedy, gluttonous fans of debauchery, violence, and sadism. The arena floor was not made of sand, but made of the arena combatants themselves. Remnants decorated the floor, embedded within it, the pearlescent metal reflecting the bloodthirsty faces of the slave owners and their tickets in hand, bets pouring in like a deluge in August. Their possessions were about to fight other's possessions, no real loss, only gain. One less cursed person. One less cursed being. One less cursed child.

The pit was at most, ten feet lower than the actual stands where the crowd gathered in a colosseum-like fashion. Julius Caesar himself would be proud of the idea he made that spawned ideas after ideas in the future beyond. Two portcullises framed with the same metal that sparkled within the floors of the arena stood facing each other off like helmets of opposing knights. One side was the green side, one side the blue. There was no red side. That was the entire arena after the bouts were over. Then the servants would come in with gallons of water and overused rags to sparkle the arena floor and attempt to purify the arena of its once soaked nature, though, that did no help. After all, red-dyed shirts were now a staple in Denegrad. The sand of the arena was soaked in water and later fabric was added. Crimson was such a noble color, these days.

"I give you, ladies and gentleman, in the green corner, the undefeated champions of the Ranzheim Arena.... Myyyrrrrrrrrrrmidonnnnnnnn!"

The crowd went wild, alcohol spraying and prostitutes receiving an extra stipend to make things "comfortable" for the fight. Fifty-three humans were seated to watch, if you could call them humans only by scientific name.

This was Myrrmidon's three-hundred and twenty-seventh battle. He had served the Ranzheim Arena for his entire life, only learning he even had humanity within the last year. He was always referred to as a demon. Could it be because he had no upper body or head of a human, but rather, a beast persay? What made one human? To be one of those in the stands, that is what it means to be human?

Then I'd rather not be human, and stick to being a demon.

The green portcullis opened and the tall, metallic Myrrmidon stepped out into the arena. His feet were uneven, one standing on a lump of remnant metal while another was suspended in the air by a piece of remnant metal touching his heel and big toe. This arena was definitely hard on the feet.

He never ran or walked anyway. Only flew to his prey and slashed it with his wings, hoping to fly away in freedom at first chance.

Slowly the ring of metal echoed within the arena, his two swords coming out one by one in a ritualistic proficiency. A broad, untipped sword stayed steadily in a back-handed grip against his left hip, his attacking sword held with the precariousness of a samurai waiting for a cherry blossom to make its second revolution in the air.

Until it was cut in half.

Myr's eyes concentrated heavily upon the blue portcullis before him, his metallic upper body moving slowly as his breath raised the metal ever-so-slightly, his fleshy heart beating at an unlabored rate. It was as if the eventual killing of his opponent did not matter to him in the slightest. His heart quivered for a moment, his eyes flitting from the arena floor to the rim of the arena, where the mob gathered.

No, his heartbeat quivered not for the fight. It quivered for a much different reason. He had finally come up with a plan on how to get out of this human-infested hellhole.

[Pikou]

The fight was starting and he still didn’t have a name, dammit!

Deveran was standing against the wall in a corridor behind the stands. The throng of raving lunatics had already meandered to their seats, and you could hear their collective roar throughout half of Elysium. This was a big arena for a big fight. And Deveran wasn’t certain he could handle this one. Master had been “down on his luck” recently, he claimed, and winning a big a bet could take his mind off things for a while.

He knew he would look suspicious, stand out the way he was holding his arms folded tight to his chest and constantly shifting his weight, looking generally restless. But he was too preoccupied with half-panicked thoughts to care if others noticed him. There had been enough time for Deveran to watch a few of the fights in this arena; he had hoped to get a feel for what he’d be dealing with here. It didn’t look good. The Forsaken fighting here were much faster and stronger than the ones that fought in the lesser games Deveran was used to manipulating. He truly doubted his ability to shift the motion of something already moving so quickly and with so much power.

Iurynopthis, a three-quarter demonise, found Deveran in the shadows near an opening to the stands, picking at the cloths he bound around his remnant left arm, leg jittering tensely. Deveran caught sight of the demonise in his fox form just as a bellowing voice announced the first Forsaken to kill or to be killed. The roar of the crowd drowned out any single coherent voice, but a slow shake of Iurynopthis’ furry head was all he needed. Myrrmidon was to lose.

With a solemn face Deveran entered the stands and mass of blubbering and bloodthirsty humans, shoving his way to the very brink of the bloodstained pit. He had seen this one fight once before—no, he thought, not fight. There was no fighting when Myrrmidon was in the pit, only killing. That must have been Master’s thought, that with the odds stacked so high against the other side the turnout for a win from green would be enormous. But watching the Forsaken in the ring stare out at the crowd with cold, inhuman eyes he couldn’t help but feel afraid.

Myrrmidon may be fast, but I’ll just have to be faster…

[Ludypoof379]

Lilial was chained harshly, her wrists in shackles that were making her bleed, her neck wrapped with a collar that was spiked so it was harder for her to get out of it. Rough handlers dragged her too low so she couldn't walk, and low enough to drag her legs on the ground. Over her eyes was a blind fold so that her trip to the cage was dizzying because she couldn't tell where the thoughts were coming from as easily. She could tell, oh yes by the flavor of the thoughts around her but it wasn't pleasant. Her father, the bastard, walked in front of her arrogantly. She had won a lot of money for him and yet he still just wanted to kill her. Someday when he wasn't careful she would get free. She would use a strong fighter when attacking her to break those bars around that cage and she would be free...

The blind fold was ripped off from over her eyes so she was instantly blinded from the light. She saw the last bit of a brutal fight and wondered who it was that she was to be fighting next. She never looked like much of a fight but it was her defensive skills that brought her the win. She gazed at the monster in the cage and stumbled backwards at the flavor of his thoughts. She instantly felt pity for him. The life he spent in this hell hole. Her body began to shiver, not from fear, but from the power behind this one. Was it him she had to fight?

Lilial felt another taste of thoughts from another freak and looked directly at Deveran. What in the world? Who was he to tell who was to live and to die. Her fury mounted slightly and her eye sought out what was his secret. ' Wind? Interesting...' more and more thoughts were fed into her mind till she knew his scent of thoughts...

What was going to happen next? If she was in the fight she knew that he would help her win but she didn't want to win... She wanted out... She shook her head and stared at the needles in her father's hand. They were her weapon. Small needles that when placed within the proper muscles would freeze them and cause intense pain. This monster, Myrr would still feel the pain from it. And it may handicap him but not kill him. How could she kill him. Well there was always bleeding to death. She closed her left eye a moment to stop the flow of information into her mind. Now what will happen?

[Atrum Daemon]

Ammon watched the fight with mild interest. His handlers remained a bit behind him, still afraid of what the yellow eyed monster had done to his previous handlers when they tried to force him to do anything. He licked his lips thoughtfully, wondering if the fighter Myrrmidon was armored from head to toe. He was an impressive spectacle to watch, but his skill did not shake Ammon in the slightest.

Ammon was growing tired of the pit arena. Sure, it had proved a good distraction at first, but killing for pleasure and not profit lost it’s taste after a few months. He had considered escaping, but had never come up with a reasonably successful plan to do so. He tipped his hat downward slightly to shade and hide his eyes as many more thoughts raced through his head.

His own powers made winning his fights criminally easy. It also allowed him to be rather creative during the times when he was the only one moving. He drummed his fingers against the wall idly, wondering when he would fight again and who he would be fighting.

Ammon glanced over his shoulder as one of handlers cleared his throat, telling Ammon his time out of his cage was up. Ammon sighed and allowed himself to be taken back to the pit dungeon and locked in the cage again. He could still watch the fights from his cell. Watch and wait for the opportune moment to regain freedom.

[Dirzrahel]

"In the blue corner, a foxy girl that's tainted beyond her beauty, Lillllllllllllial!!" The announcer opened once more, the microphone soon being tugged away from his grasp. The owner of the arena sat above in his shadowed aclove, womanly servants tending upon him as he took a long draught of his win bottle. He reached into a basin besides him and produced a perfectly white flower.

It was a magnolia head, the flower that stands for purity and chastity. What irony these hypocrites wrought.

Gently the magnolia was thrown into the ring, it's delicate head drifting slowly until it was in the air between the two fighters, spinning ever-so-softly on its descent. It never reached its destination.

Myrrmidon shot off from his position like a bullet from a gun, the flower sliced in half perfectly, the reason unknown. His sword hand hadn't even appeared to move. His feet made no sound as he ran, as if he were but a breath of a breeze. Though, with such experience in battle, one would be able to hone their skills. His body was a hair's breadth from Lilial's, and he disappeared like a spirit in the wind. A screeching of metal on metal followed shortly, his defensive blade embedding itself into the pit's walls as sparks showered Lilial, Myrr's offensive blade in descent with its tip first. He cut a deep line into the wall, one of many, to prevent the opponent from looking up in case a piece of hot metal were to land in their eye. He was trying to move her, not hurt her. But he had to play the game to make the onlookers happy.

Until, of course, he got around to killing them.

The only thing he thought inside the prison he was trapped within was one thing that drove him, one thing that mattered to him more than anything. The first word he had ever spoken when born, and the last word he had spoken since then, taking a vow of silence until he got what he wanted.

It echoed within his mind like the chanting of priests within a chapel.

Freedom.

[Ludypoof379]

Lilial stood in her corner with her eyes closed, and only once the flower was sliced in half did they open. Her eye watched him without fear, without emotion, and without reserve. The moment he stopped moving she jumped up onto his blade and flipped over him daintily and one foot struck the ground softly then the other with her hair flowing after her. She stood behind him, with her hands folded behind her back. She glanced at Deveran, watching to see when he might move. Lilial could read Myr's moves, his intention, and she saw that at the moment it was simply a game...

Lilial spoke softly, so that only he might hear, " It seems that one of the on lookers is using another of us to try to win their bet..." She looked directly at her father who was furious that he didn't kill her at first blow. Lilial's normally calm face laughed, which made him even madder. He threw two of the needles into the cage directly at her, of which she caught between her fingers. She then ran towards him, then slid in the dirt so she was down low and jabbed a needle harmlessly towards his leg where a nerve would be. She murmured " Freedom..." and then glanced up to his face. His move...

Lilial could taste his thoughts, that freedom was the word he had only spoken. It was what she wanted too. To get out of this pit. She thought it was pathetic the way that they referred to her as tainted beyond her beauty. Damn this beauty, it wasn't what she wanted...

[Dirzrahel]

As soon as the needle jabbed him, Myrr's leg in question flipped out in a kick stirred by the reaction of the nerve. It missed Lilial's face by a mere fraction. He did not want to hurt her. He wanted to hurt the others. The ones watching. She had moved to the spot he had intended, but in a different manner than he would have liked. In any case, it was set up perfectly. His eyes glanced unseen to the remnants upon the ground.

Pieces of arms, eyes, backs, legs, feet, toes, noses, ears, and a couple heads. All embedded within the ground. Though, there was one thing he had figured out after facing a man with an arm shaped into a sword by the remnant that devoured him. When two remnants collide, hit each other, a resonance is made. He had wanted to get the girl to that spot so he could make it look as if he were going after her, and not the remnants in the ground.

He stopped momentarily, his large defensive blade twirling in his hand as he sheathed it expertly at his side, and his sharp-edged offensive sword inserted into the folds within his back with ease. He spun around as soon as he had done both, his legs in motion like a demon trying to get out of hell. He ran forward at her, turning at the last second as his finger flicked a metallic ear on the ground. A ring resounded from it, only audible to those tainted by the remnants. Within his prison, Myrr smiled.

Another was flicked, an eye, then another, a nose. None were specific. The ringing grew louder and louder, echoing within his metallic upper body. The sound was slowly doing its job. The walls of the pit were shaking steadily now.

All the while, it just looked like Myrr was sliding on the ground in an arc around Lilial, trying to flank her. Nothing more, nothing less. He made sure his movements were too quick to be noticed.

[Pikou]

The other fighter was shoved into the arena. A female. How odd for one to make it to such a high level fight. She peered around the enclosure rather calmly, but suddenly her attention snapped toward Deveran. Lilial, the announcer called her, and she almost seemed as though she were staring right at him. Though it was likely only a coincidence that something had caught her attention near him, he found it incredibly intriguing and stared right back, keeping his expression neutral. Besides, he was safe with the shield-rune cage between them.

The crowd momentarily fell silent as the shadowy arena owner let fall a snow white magnolia. As it slowly fell, twirling, Deveran closed his eyes and took a steadying breath to focus… And opened them in time to catch the middle of the fight. Each time Myrrmidon’s blade sliced toward the girl Deveran tried to shove a bolt of air at him to flick the blade to a harmless course, or to move the girl out of its path. Lilial came to no harm, but Deveran knew it was not of his doing; she would dodge, lithely jumping aside Myrrmidon’s blade and Deveran’s attempts to help. But Myrrmidon was so quick with his swords that Deveran found it difficult to believe the girl was avoiding him entirely on her own, even though he was seeing it himself. Perhaps even the strongest arena Forsaken had their off days.

Deveran felt incredibly ineffective, but kept his eyes wide for opportunities nonetheless. The girl seemed distracted or uninterested in the fight. She peered around a lot, catching Deveran’s glance once again.
Odd…

As Myrrmidon sheathed his blades and darted toward the girl, Deveran shot a force of wind at him to trip him up or push him off course—the Forsaken shifted direction from direct to flanking and another of Deveran’s attempts puffed into nothing on the bloodsoaked-and-silver arena floor. Simultaneously a piercing metallic ring filled the air and made Deveran flinch. The pitch of the sound was rising, he could feel it, vibrating his remnant left arm, the vibration intensifying with the sound. He felt no pain in his remnant, but where flesh met metallic curse a sharp twinge quickly became a deep throbbing ache. He sucked in a sharp breath through clenched teeth and was taken down to one knee.

So much for not attracting attention… No one else in the crowd seemed bothered by the noise. Could they even hear it?

Where the full remnant snaked out across his torso and hand was the worst pain. It clutched at his lungs and struggling to take broken gasps he raised his head to watch the fight. Deveran didn’t understand what the hell was going on, but telling Master he failed (“Because my arm was hurting me.”) was not an option.

[Atrum Daemon]

“A woman,” Ammon said, amused, as he watched from the window of his cell.

He was forbidden to watch the matches from any non-secure location for fear that his control over time would allow him the opportunity to escape. His lips curved into a smile as the girl evaded Myrrmidon’s attacks. He raised an eyebrow when the ringing rounds of Myrrmidon striking the remnants in the arena floor reached his ears. “Now why is he doing a thing like that?”

The thing really puzzled Ammon. Even more when the ringing caused the arena to shake. Ammon knew the Forsaken had to have a plan of some kind. He might simply be using it as a tool to distract the girl from using whatever power she had that allowed her to avoid the attacks. The idea that it might some ridiculously contrived escape attempt never crossed Ammon’s mind. But, that might have been because the ringing was causing a small tingling in his spine and skull that was becoming increasingly annoying.

[Ludypoof379]

Lilial knew what he wanted and danced around his sword as if they were actually fighting. Their plan was more than that now... her mind's thoughts had taken his in to become her own for the moment. She danced with his thoughts, she danced with his moves to make them look, too perfect. When the remnant began to ring she was enveloped into his thoughts...

Lilial knew the ringing was from the remnants and she wished to help, but all she could do is allow Myr to hit them in their dance. She moved gracefully around him, her long black hair dancing with the movements. The ringing was hurting her eye and it seemed that she was starting to cry blood from her left eye. She closed her eye to somewhat protect her eye and yet she was still engaged within his thoughts so she had no thought to worry. The pain was rising with the ringing but it would grant what she desired. Freedom. She spoke quietly, " Be careful they don't know what's happening. Otherwise they will use the ringing of the remnants to bring us down later..."

Since Lilial was so close to the ringing remnants it was giving her a terrible head ache and it felt like she would be close to fainting but since the cage was beginning to collapse it didn't matter in her mind...

Yet when the cage was really collapsing she herself fainted, not being able to take all the ringing in her eye which was causing severe pain with in her head...

[Dirzrahel]

His body was starting to hurt, but it was well worth it. His plan was working. He had studied that the resonance of remnants produced a sound decibel that had the potential to cause destruction if multiplied. After so many battles, so many tests, it had proved fruitful. The arena walls were cracking.

With one final remnant flicked, the true effect transpired.

Like an earthquake, the arena shook violently from the echoing and repetitious sound of the remnants and their resonance, the walls suddenly giving away as a slab fell to the arena floor. Myrrmidon immediately stopped moving and changed his direction with speed at such a pace that one would have thought he'd been playing the entire time. He ran toward Lilial, jumping as if he were going to send a flying kick her way, but instead placed his foot on his shoulder and pushed off. A slab falling off the wall was mid-way in descent as Myrr landed on it and pushed off again, going to the next slab and the next slab as they all began to fall. He was near the top when the 'observers' realized it wasn't part of the whole shibang.

Myrr took one final leap as he came over the wall, face to face with a drunken man who seemed to not realize the gravity of the situation. It mattered not, since he was soon in four neat slices of human bread. Within that near half-second movement, the demonic Forsaken had drawn both his blades and slashed the man repeatedly, kicking off the drunken sod before he fell to the ground in pieces. Crimson liquid graced the stands in a bath of pure life, Myrr running through the stands on a rampage of infernal wrath. The 'humans' he passed by looked fine until he got a few paces away, they themselves falling to multitudes of pieces. Glints of metal reflected the light as Myrr made his path through the filthy sacks of bones, cartilage, and greed. He had gone nearly all the way around and the arena and was soon face to face with the remnanted one who was trying to throw wind at him earlier. He passed by this remnant, the two onlookers already screaming beside him as their blood bathed his body, their own bodies falling down in a mutilated mess. His cold, emotionless, faceless form went right past that remnant.

One swift motion sheathed his defensive blade as he threw his his offensive blade, a very thin, very strong cord following the handle. The blade embedded itself into the wall, giving Myrr a moment to jump off and swing into the booth where the owner of the arena was.

He sat in shock, the two women beside him having already fled to safety. Myrr stood over him, the sun's rays behind him, a figure of the utmost black. An abyss. He jerked his hand, the cord bringing the blade out of the wall. Another jerk and the razor sharp blade flew to him, Myrr moving out of the way as the sword pierced straight into the man's forehead. His face was frozen in a state of terror. His eyes were nearly popping out. His mouth open, collecting the blood pouring from his forehead.

With that, the demon Myrrmidon had killed all humans in the area in a time frame of two minutes and twenty-six seconds. He had counted. He would count again when he got out and started what he wanted to do. His reached into a flap of remnant metal upon his chest and pulled out another line of cord, tying it to the wall as he threw the rest down to the bottom of the pit, as if inviting his opponent up. Although, she was opponent no longer.

The Forsaken backed up until his feet were on the end of the wall, his head hanging, both his blades sheathed once more. His hands came up, fists in the air, his head now raised up in triumph. A metallic-toned bellow echoed across the arena, a chilling tone, but a rightful one.

"FREEEEEEEDOM!" Came the demonic bellow, the one called "Myrrmidon" suddenly turning as he ran through a door, on his way out of the arena. He left an atmosphere that was apparent in the air. As if he had left with the words, "Follow me", as a dull note ringing in the air.



Myrrmidon had nearly crossed the city, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, stopping on a three story house as he knelt, his hands around his calf. Apparently during his escape, one of those 'humans' had managed to get a shot off and managed to send a bullet into his dominant leg. The Forsaken had to stop running for a bit, so he sat, his leg paining him greatly.

[Atrum Daemon]

Ammon took his chance when Myr started all the commotion. Ammon’s handlers came to move him to a more secure cell, a bad move on the part of the two men. In their view, the last thing they saw was Ammon vanishing before their necks split open. Ammon saw the immediate area pause as he used a concentrated time stop. Grabbing the long knives each handler wore, he slit their necks wide open. He needed to get out and no one would be able to stop him from doing that.

He dashed through the dungeon halls for the exit, the guards along the way standing no chance of even attacking Ammon before their lifeblood coated the walls and floor. Time within and around the pit arena froze as Ammon hit the exit. By the time he released the stop, he was well within the city. The knives were hidden within his coat and his hat tilted over his eyes slightly. To the general public, he was nothing special to stare or gape at.

[Pikou]

The metallic ringing was synced with the vibration in his remnant and, Deveran realized, the rhythmic pulsing of the walls of the arena pit. The entire cage was pulsing, faster and faster, feeling like the beat of an enormous heart that he could feel in the ground and remnant and mind until his mind was filled with nothing but the ringing sound and his body was only the gasping pain and the pounding heart of the cage. A few quick moments passed in terrible clarity. At the peak of the sound everything stopped. Ears stunned from the ringing Deveran watched a single eggshell crack spiderweb across a shield rune in the wall in a perfect silence. In the time it took him to draw a breath he realized, he felt, that the ground was beginning to break. He threw himself from the edge of the pit as it crumbled. The thunderous crash of smashing stone was expected—the screams were not.

Sprawled on the ground and catching his breath, Deveran recognized that the pain had gone as suddenly as it had started. He rose to stand and found himself in the middle of a bloodbath. The demon Forsaken was loose and slaughtering everyone in sight. People running fell to gory pieces upon the ground. In a few quick instants all the bloodcurdling screams were cut down as well. He caught the eye of this demon, Myrrmidon, as he passed and had no time to react. Three people were left as a sticky red mess at his feet but Deveran was unharmed. He only watched as Myrrmidon killed the arena owner as well, bellowed a single word—freedom—and fled.

Deveran couldn’t help but wonder but he had been left alive. Looking around at the sudden carnage was a shock. All of this mess had been a roaring, repugnant mob only moments ago. Iurynopthis had his fox lips pulled back in a grin of ecstasy as he rolled about in the red and lapped up all he could. Dev had never seen him so happy, but decided not to comment.

Deveran was entirely unsure of what to do. The very air was singing with a suggestion to follow but… well, when it came down to it, Deveran was afraid to follow Myrrmidon.

A sudden thought: there had been two in the arena and now there was one—where was the girl? From the edge of the rubble-filled pit, Deveran saw no sign of her. Perhaps she had escaped as well and fled, or was in bits with all the others. Maybe both. But as he turned away his sight grazed over the shape of a small pale hand, not remnant but flesh. He was wary of approaching any arena Forsaken and moved along the edge to a better viewpoint. From his new place he saw her lying covered mostly by a great piece of earth. And somehow, as she lay still and alone and dead, she reminded him of little Sinth… —But no! Not dead! Her hand moved everso slightly. Without thinking he went to her, leaping down from stone to stone.

Near her head he knelt, whispering that it would be alright. Deveran looked her over to see if she were cut by Myrrmidon and how badly she had been crushed.
“It seems to be alright though!” he said mostly to himself. “I thought this thing had smashed you in half, but you must be a fortunate one; this stone on top of you is levered up by this one here. That’s the way it looks, at least. Can you feel if you still have legs, I wonder…?”

[Ludypoof379]

Lilial lay under the large slab and her body began to restore it's consciousness. Opening both eyes she cringed, and her left eye was still painful as it was bleeding. She closed her left eye and left her right eye open. Thoughts... the taste was familiar. The person close to her was Deveran, oh, he was speaking softly. What about her legs? She shifted and her legs were alright. Looking up at Deveran she heard the thoughts in his head, he was afraid of her. " It's ok. I won't harm you..."

Lilial slowly pulled herself out from underneath the slab, and suddenly the smell of all of the human blood hit her like a tidal wave. Turning away from Deveran she gave up what she had left in her stomach and for a few minutes afterwards dry heaves. Coughing she shook her head and pulled herself the rest of the way out. She stood up slowly, using the slab of the rock to steady herself. Her body had no cuts from Myr's blade at all. Looking around she asked softly, " This was all from Myr?"

Lilial looked around in horror at all that Myr had done. It was understandable but now the humans would try to hunt him. Glancing around she noticed the cord that Myr had left for her. Walking towards it she held a hand out to it and then began to climb. She was a bit preoccupied with her thoughts to really pay attention to Deveran. The first things she needed to do were become disguised enough to not be recognized. There was so much blood. She shook her head and spied a black trench coat laying forgotten on the back of a chair that she could use to cover her meager clothing that her father dressed her it. She slipped it on and then ripped some clean black cloth from a shirt and wrapped it around her eye several times like a bandage.

Lilial looked to Deveran and asked, " Shall we go? Freedom is still ringing in the air."