Round 3: Enchanter (Emonolach) VS Beserker (Ra-Ja) Judge G

[G]

For a moment, all the contestants could see was bright white. As the dazzling light faded, they discovered themselves in a strange location - a picturesque little girls' bedroom, lavishly decorated in crisp white and pale purple. Every surface screamed 'spoiled rotten,' from the unnecessarily large bed that stood in the centre of the back wall to the dolls, stuffed toys and teddies that were peering forth from the walls and the top of two wicker baskets that stood on the left and right; one behind each combatant. The eyes of the dolls, reflected in the surfaces of the many mirrors that were hung on the walls or stood above the pristine dresser, seemed to watch the two fighters from every angle; inescapable no matter where you stood.

Sitting on the bed, her legs crossed neatly before her sat a young girl, who clutched in her arms a large stuffed bear and was watching the reactions of the two strangers with a self-satisfied smirk.
"Finally! I'm bored!" she announced in a loud voice, standing up with little care for the neatly made bed and allowing the teddy to dangle from one hand.

"I'll let you two get to it! It better be exciting though! Teddy is going to be stay and make sure of it."

With a knowing smile, the child placed the bear upright at the foot of the bed, where its glassy eyes were fixed forward into the floorspace in front. Twirling in place, the child disappeared, leaving the two alone.

"You 'eard 'er!" A gruff, low male voice spoke, and for a moment the combatants did not recognise its source - until the bear leaned forward, turning its' head to glare at each in turn with a threatening look.

"Get ta' poundin' each other! Or it'll be me throwin' the punches."

From atop the dresser, a music box started on its own; the melody a lilting dirge.

(After one post has been made by each combatant, the teddy bear will get involved; throwing wooden blocks and blows anytime a post is made where a successful attack does not occur. It moves quickly, and the bears' punches are surprisingly hard, and will leave a nasty bruise.)

Fight well, you have 5 posts per person and 72 hours to respond between each post.
By the flick of a coin, the first to post will be Sikstaslathalin

[SikstaSlathalin]

What...fresh...hell...is...this?! These words slowly walked across the mind of Berserker as he stared around at the painfully girly room filled with toys only a few inches short than him, the stink of too much perfume, and sparkles everywhere. The warrior could feel his scales crawl under his magically repaired armor, he almost wished he was blind this round rather than the last. At least then his eyes wouldn't have to suffer being seared by colors on the walls.

The lizardman had just finished seeing as much of this room as he would wish to see when a little girl's voice came down from above his head. Upon seeing the size of the girl it dawned on him he was in fact miniaturized, a Berserker action figure if you will. He didn't like that, his last fight with Sylvanas had worn him down like a file to a nail. Now he was not even half his normal height, maybe a quarter it, he felt no weaker despite his size though. Reaching down he ripped up some of the carpet with one claw then used the other claw to pry a nail out of the floor board. He did both of these with ease and assured himself he was proportionate still, the girl he decided must been one of the Gamemakers.

The warrior growled at the girl and began to plot away to attack her, but she vanished before he could launch it and left...a teddy bear to watch them. If things in this tournament weren't already strange enough, the bear began talking to and threatening them. Berserker growled defiantly at the stuffed thing, but knew going after the bear would be foolish right now. He had an opponent to face first.

Looking across from him he was amazed to see his opponent was in fact a male this time. He looked human, but he didn't have the same smell as the girl from the first fight. He smelled older, darker, but not Sylvanas's level of dark. There was power behind the man's eyes, he was close to Berserker in height, but not as wide or powerful looking. The stance was prideful and the hair and goatee were fancy looking, something about this man said he was some kind of aristocratic dandy, the long coat and fancy dress only amplified that vibe.
The big warrior sensed magic around the man as well, this warranted another growl from him. Another magic user, would this one manage to blind him, and degrade his armor too?

He might be able to, but Berserker wouldn't give him the chance to try. He still had the nail in his hand, it was about as long as the big warrior's tail and the tip was still quite sharp. Gripping the flat end the burly beast twisted and snapped it off making a perfectly level javelin. It was then a music box began playing and sent Berserker into another stream of flashbacks he was almost willing to bet the music box will continue to get louder and louder deafening him until he decided to drop the building on top of it. Though that plan seemed rather far-fetched, this room looked new and it didn't have any big pillars holding up the ceiling. He may be able to destroy some of the furniture if needed, but if he didn't need to he wasn't going to use the energy.

Balancing the impromptu weapon in his hand Berserker began circling around the man studying him as minutely as he could. While his opponent looked well-built he didn't have any of the tell-tale signs of a warrior. No scars, no calloused hands, the eyes may look alert, but that didn't carry over into the man's arms or legs. He was in a relaxed pose, but not a relaxed combat pose. At first glance he could be just some poor sod that wandered into the arena by mistake. But if there was one thing Berserker knew, it was you never underestimate an adversary he would test this fancy's man skills. Gripping the nail in both hands he ran at the man and went to jab the nail directly into his chest.
"Let Berserker test you strange one!"

[TheDoctor]

Oh? My lovely masters are not satisfied with my performance?

Before he could claim the mountainous Golem's life, a brilliant flash of light consumed the Enchanter's vision, and the explosive sounds of imminent destruction escaped his ears. Clouded silhouettes and buzzing shadows of distant structures were the first to reoccupy his perspective, but they sharpened as they raced towards him, growing larger and clearer with every heartbeat. Color was the next of his perceptive elements to return as his eyes were assaulted with a cacophony of lilac and lavender so vibrant that he almost gagged. The structures of his new arena were not any better with airy adornments of cloth expressing a false sense of opulence, the stuffed dolls indicating a denial of lonesomeness. He knew that that was the intended reaction, though. With a pomp of such magnitude, what other purpose could it serve?

As the ambient sounds of the enormous room filled the Fallen's auditory range, his suspicions were confirmed by the nasally, contemptible outbursts from the giant human spawn upon the bed. Her feet thundered to the ground at the announcement of her hideously short attention span, but surprisingly, the Fallen snorted with satisfaction at her coddled aura. Finally, an opponent who he could take true pleasure in bringing to their knees. From the moment that her repulsive voice had touched his ears, he knew that there were few others who could light his fuse so easily. She may have been significantly taller than him, at least three times, but no power of hers could parallel that of his own. By his hand, her pampered screams would sing his magnum opus to the masters of this realm, a near-eternal fermata silenced only by the flick of his baton.

Suddenly, the overindulged nightmare vanished, and the Enchanter's eyebrow rose. She was not the one he was to conquer? If not her, then who? His gaze traveled from her disappearance to the only other figure in the room that did not lay as a paralyzed harlequin; a towering bipedal reptilian enveloped by plates of darkened armor. Eyes of liquid gold were dilated in focus and honed upon him. Its long jagged snout twitched with incessant sniffing, nostrils flaring at the smell of the Enchanter. Grizzled muscles rippled under a layer of fine emerald scales, triggering a long tail to bounce from the base of its spine. In its possession was an intimidating teethed blade of concerning proportion. Without a doubt, this was a beast bred for the kill.

It also happened to be Emonalach's opponent.

His moment of analysis was interrupted by both the rugged comments from a victim of poor taxidermy--a stuffed bear who sought a good show--and a decrepit melody played by a twisted music box. How dare this animated fluff command him to battle? What authority did he hold over the Fallen? His threat fell upon deaf ears, if not amused ones, for Emonalach had no fear of the bear's punishment. Before he had time to respond, however, the lizard man charged him, thrusting with an improvised lance for his chest. His eyes narrowed at the reptilian's testing assault, betraying neither surprise nor distress. Instead, he expelled a simple sigh and vanished from sight.

Emonalach's body reconstructed immediately upon the top of the far dresser, his hands held regally behind his back. So Berserker was his enemy's title? He suspected that such an enemy was proficient in physical attacks alone, so magical interference was not a concern. Unfortunately, the Enchanter was deft with neither weapon nor combat of the bodily nature. Berserker most certainly held the upper hand in their environment, then.

Fortunately, the Enchanter suspected that he would not be the one battling him. For a time, at least.

"I think, dear bear--'Teddy,' was it?--that you may be throwing the punches earlier than you think." Emonalach's chest expanded as he filled his lungs, his chin lifted in a kingly fashion. "You see, I have no desire for such petty squabbling. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Bickering in the mud is for animals such as yourselves."

The Fallen exhaled, and his enchantment strung taught around his being. It tied his physical sensations to another and another's to his, but he did not tie to the lizard. Instead, his nose twitched at the peculiar sensation of false insides, synthetic constructions meant to provide both stature and cushioning simultaneously. Perfect machine-knit outsides linked with his own pale, weathered skin, the hairs of his beard rustling with the hair that covered the other's body. He knew his linked other felt it too--their bodies now felt as one.

"Now, then, 'Teddy,'" Emonalach brushed a strand of long, black hair behind his ear, knowing that the bear would feel it too. "I suggest that you don't let said Berserker hurt me, or you shall be the one crippled instead. Defeat this lizard, and I shall lift this unfortunate curse from your very soul. Refuse and I shall bind to your cosseted master instead, and she shall be the one to pay for your failure."

Teeth glistened from a fearsome smile upon his face. "What was it that you said? Ah, yes." He deepened his low voice further in a mocking imitation. "'Get ta' poundin' each other!'"

[SikstaSlathalin]

As the dandy vanished and reappeared atop the dresser Berserker let out a low growl. Another cowardly magic user, but it did affirm the warrior's first thought that this man has nothing in terms of physical defense or attack. He was all tricks and magic, but if there was one thing the lizardman learned from his last fight, it's that you need brains more than brawn when facing a magic user. This arena didn't give him as many options for mass destruction and a trump card kill as the Steel Vigil.

There were no ancient and worn out monolithic stones to push down on his enemy, nor any weakened ceiling to bring down atop them. And he sincerely doubted he'd find another pool of holy water to jump into and give himself Holy Ice armor and weapons. Now as the man explained himself and seemed to threaten the large bear watching them, Berserker took the distraction to study the painfully pastel room more closely. The furniture was all wooden, usually breakable, but with his miniaturize size the legs would be like chopping through a massive tree, possible, but not quite something to rely on so early in the fight. He could take out some of the legs and make the high ground unstable, trying to force the dandy to fight on Berserker's level.

That plan had merit the more it rattled around the big warrior's mind. But from what he saw it would require taking out three dressers, some chairs, and the bed itself. The first few would be easier, the legs weren't as thick, Death could cut through them with enough force.He should start on the one the mage was already standing on, but that might be too obvious for his second attack, and the coward may teleport away again. As the big warrior's eyes moved back to his opponent, they narrowed as the man cast a spell on the bear so it would feel whatever pain he did. That could backfire on the dandy very quickly if Berserker could turn it on his opponent instead of him. This would require closing the distance between them though. Flexing his claws he wrapped his tail around the nail before jumping onto the side of the dresser and quickly climbed his way up, snarling the whole time.

He reached the top and launched himself up besides the cowardly man. Taking the nail back from his tail he spun it around in his claw, staring into the man's eyes.
"Smells like a cowardly mage, looks like a cowardly human, and flees like a cowardly child. How such weakness made it so far in these bloodsports is a wonder. Your opponents must've fallen out of existence. Do be careful, Berserker is sure our gruff warden here will not take too kindly to a dandy like yourself trying to harm him.

Keeping his eyes locked on the man, the beast used all his senses to build a quick reference map in his mind. The dresser was as long as it was wide, one side was tilted towards the floor and a touch wobbly. It was next to a window covered in a white curtain, there were a couple of bottles of some kind of paste looking substances across dresser's surface. The wood they were standing on was smooth and painted the same infernal purple as the majority of the room. It didn't offer much in the way of traction, but what he could dig up with his boots. Maybe he could slide along it though, might even give him a boost in speed and with his tail he could control himself better on the slick surface at speed.

A plan was forming in the warrior's mind, but as the plan for riding the slick surface to attack the dandy showed the first spark of inspiration. Berserker's mind was crushed in the flood of another memory. Both Ra-Ja and Death seemed to snarl in pain as the sensory overload stampeded through the battlefield of Berserker's mind. A field of slaughter was all around him, bodies of his clan, enemies, and even a few he couldn’t place. No one had clear faces he could recognize, they were either turned away from him, too far away to see, or the heads were fully gone.

It was a horror beyond words or description. All that was concrete was the constant ringing in his ear and cold, heavy, dread of Death across his back. This was the first time he felt the monstrous presence in his mind and the first time he witnessed his own madness and how it weakened him against the rage of being Berserker. As the memory continued the image of a lizardwoman appeared very close to him, her face was away from him, but something in his heart said this woman was important. Before he could approach her side though the memory suddenly ended and he was back in the girl’s purple bedroom staring down the dandy and the bear.

He felt the familiar burn of rage sneaking into his mind, but it was tempered with a soul deep sorrow and sense of lose. He knew the rage as well as he knew the back of his hand, but the sorrow and loss was painfully new. It was borne from the memory he knew that, but he just wished he knew what the sorrow really was. Was it from defeat? From watching everyone he knew die around him, was it for the woman he saw on the ground next to him? Maybe it would be his next memory upon victory over this man in the long coat. Or maybe defeat would result in death so he wouldn’t have to feel this strange new emotion any longer than necessary.

Either way nothing would get accomplished by standing around gabbing. Gripping the nail the lizard man reeled his hand back and hurled the nail at full force at the man. As the nail flew out he quickly drew Death and moved to prepare a follow up attack.

[TheDoctor]

Lovely, it seems our scaled mongrel has quite the mouth on him. How magnificent.

The Enchanter's lack of concern for the lizard's jabs at his "cowardly" character were evident in a heavy roll of his eyes and a verbal groan that escaped from his lips. It was the same nonsensical jargon that the Golem had spat at him in his previous arena, and, unsurprisingly, he found it just as tiresome. Never once did he think that he would've preferred Hodor's fruitless pleadings for peace, but lo and behold! Could it really be that all of the champions in his despicable engagements held a similarly childish, naïve integrity, so easily crushed under the Enchanter's boot?

They sneered at him for escaping from harm. They basked in their glorious honor and fulminated his cravenly virtues. They shouted at him; Coward! Scab! Traitor! It was naught but useless banter from pious seraphs, pouring from lips of hidden fear.

Yet they died by his hand, and he was still alive. Better a coward than a cadaver, lizard man.

To Emonalach's disappointment, the stuffed bear did not react as he had planned. It seemed that it did not fear the Enchanter's mysticism, and he cursed himself for being so presumptuous. How could an animated toy discern the pain inflicted upon the Fallen? No enchantment of any strength could impose feeling where there is none. From the moment that he perceived the animal's synthetic insides, he knew that his original stratagem had little chance of working, and with his bluff called, he needed to adjust his method.

Such a task was simple. Their spoiled stage offered plenty of options, from the soulless dolls to the miscellaneous hygienic goods resting on the tabletops, but he didn't need any of that. All he needed was a little bit of time.

At the reptilian's approach, Emonalach was shaken from his reverie, and a smile crept across his face as the lizard shifted his weight with the nail in hand. "You still believe that you can hurt me, simpleton?" The metal javelin flew, and the Enchanter's lips buzzed with a flowing, elegant chant. Upon contact with the projectile, his skin and flesh dissolved into a hydrous, molten state, like a candle melting in the face of a bonfire. Within seconds, nothing remained of the Enchanter's body but a grey, monotonous puddle by the reptilian's feet.

His being, however, was beyond reality.

The queenly countertops in Emonalach's field of vision were quickly replaced by a melancholy room. Sickening pinks and purples faded into monochromatic grays and blacks, airy flourishing replaced with glass bowls of ash and small mugs full of a dark, black liquid. Pieces of both crisp and crumpled parchment with brusque, mechanical manuscript upon them coated a majority of the hardwood floor, which was otherwise occupied by a plain mattress, metal drawers near which Emonalach's entity resided, and an ordinary desk with a chair. Twilit rays of sun that twinkled with specks of dust illuminated the desk from behind a set of angled blinds over a white, featureless window.

Resting upon said desk was a peculiar machine which Emonalach had never seen, but he could only guess that it was the source of the patterned manuscript on the ground. The machine, only one foot wide, was decorated with letters of the common tongue upon circular levered buttons, and another clean piece of parchment emerged from a metal bar across the top. Only inches away from the mechanism was a dried and rotted corpse many years old with its head reposed upon the desk. It sat slumped in the chair, as if taking an infinite moment to collect its thoughts.

But you...

...you know...

you were my favorite.

The Enchanter's phantom eyes widened at the all-encompassing voice, and his focus narrowed upon the body in the chair. What is this place? Have I been here in the past? Who are you?

You are we...

..and we are I...

aren't we?

For the first time in his short memory, Emonalach found himself unsettled. This room was part of him, was it not? Otherwise, Habel would not have brought his entity into it upon use. Nothing within the memories restored to him told him of this closed world, not even a mention. Where was he?

Time is fleeting...

...you must return...

for I must write.

Suddenly, the scene before him dissolved, and the disgusting chambers of the Fallen's arena returned to him. The gray puddle upon the ground twisted and lifted by phantom hand, reconstructing his bodily structure and restoring his living hue. Perfumed air filled his lungs as his body once again became corporeal, although the images of the foreign realm continued to haunt him. Sparks of curiosity ignited a cinders within his mind, kindled by the thirst to know more. Only through victory, he knew, could he quench it.

The Enchanter had little time to consider what befell him, for the lizard man already rushed forward with his jagged blade primed to strike. He had expected such a maneuver, for a nail thrown for his heart was far too blatant to act as a primary assault. The dazed expression over his brow tightened into amusement once again as he took several steps back from the reptilian's approach, his final footfall taking him over the edge of the dresser. He tumbled gracefully from the top of the dresser with little fear for the floor below, for the purple velvet curtain along the adjacent wall provided plenty of support. Grabbing a handfull of the cloth with each arm, he hugged it to his chest and immediately halted his fall only a foot away from the floor.

Pleased with his physical maneuver, Emonalach released the cloth and dropped to the ground, dusting off the tails of his coats with a smile. His momentary escape seemed short lived, however, as his peripherals noted a bulbous brown physique barreling towards him. He didn't need to look up to know what it was.

"Yer' a little scoundrel, you know that? Maybe it's time I teach you a lesson 'bout respectin' yer' uppers!"

Indeed, the Enchanter's suspicions did not betray him. The stuffed bear was, in fact, trying to charge him down.

[SikstaSlathalin]

Thus the cowardice and arrogance continues. As the man turned into a disgusting puddle of something the warrior was left snarling down at it stopped mid-attack. Snarling the big creature was forced to occupy himself with more planning. Any blatant physical assault against this freak would be useless, his cowardice would always result in his teleporting away or doing something like this strange puddle again. All Berserker had was physical attacks, he had no magic, he'd already thrown the nail away and would need to retrieve it to use it again.

It would be a waste of time anyway, the man would flee the second he saw Berserker mount an attack. The lizardman would need to be invisible to get an attack in before the coward ran away again. Looking around he tried to find such an avenue for stealth, the ceiling could be a choice, but in his miniature form the climb itself would tire him out and even if he made it up there, dropping down for an attack would need to be an instant and assured hit otherwise he'd kill himself on impact and the Dandy would win without contest, and Berserker couldn't allow that while there were other options available to him.

His planning was interrupted by the man reforming from his puddle and stepping off the desk only to grab onto the curtain and drop to the floor...the floor? It was then the idea came to him, while the ceiling was too high, the floor was right there. And he could jump from the dresser here, use the sword to rip the carpet and break up the wooden floor to get under it. Then, assuming the was enough space he could attack the man from below and hopefully actually get a hit in before the whelp flees once more.

Looking at Death's blade he thought how much easier it'd be if the giant blade had normal point rather than the hooked spikes on the front and slicing blade on the back. They made grievous wounds against flesh and cut through ancient stone pillars, but against the flat relatively new wooden floor it might not be as effective. Looking around there wasn't much else of an option when it came to stealthy attacks, the furniture wasn't close enough nor was there much of it to keep him hidden. The floor it was, quickly scanning for an easier entrance he saw it in a bit of bare floor board where the carpet wasn't properly secured. There was his entrance, this was his best plan for the moment, and he could easily punch through the wood and carpet for an attack. The only issue might arise in tracking, if the light was right he could see the shadows above him, the carpet wasn't that thick or dirty so he could probably smell the man and teddy bear, he could even possibly hear them. Another issue came from how the floor was made, if it was full of boards, studs, and nails travel would be more difficult.

These thoughts stilled the lizard's scattered mind, the voice of Ra-ja was quizzical while Death was hissing discontentedly at the idea of being used as an axe again. Berserker was in control for now and he knew what he would need to do. As the dandy was being assaulted by the bear, Berserker took the chance to attempt his plan. Leaping off the back of the dresser the big warrior landed on the carpet and moved to the bare spot, maybe if he was quiet enough he could get under the floor and improve his chances of sneaking up on the Dandy. Prying the boards up as quietly as he could the beast opened up a hole big enough for him to drop into and did so. It was dark, but not impossible to see, similar to being outside during twilight. He could in fact stand at full height and even had enough room to draw Death if he stood sideways, now comes getting to the spot where the coward was standing. Using his mental map of the room the warrior pulled his boots off and let his claws dig into the wood some. It would help him move quietly and give extra grip when he runs and jumps, jogging along under the floor Berserker heard the bear's quick thudding foot steps and luckily the dandy was on the same board as the lizardman he'd seen a couple of usable holes going between the studs to use if needed, but it was better if he didn't have to test them right now. Stopping under the man, Berserker timed it as best he could. Punching his claws through the floor he made to grab the coward's feet and yank him down so the bear could pummel him.

[TheDoctor]

Enough of this sickening folly.

Emonalach's eyes flared in anger as he felt scaly, sharpened claws seize his ankles and pull him through the floor. Boards cracked and shattered, leaving jagged splinters that tore into the Fallen's legs. The imbecile reptilian had decided to immobilize him while he remained in the trajectory of the barreling bear, choosing to let the stuffed beast fight his battles for him. It was an unpalatable irony that left a bitter taste on the Fallen's tongue.

He had more important things to trouble himself with. Whatever realm he was sent to at the flare of his newfound power seemed to call to him incessantly from just behind his eyes. As the bear raised its fist, only moments away from pummeling the Fallen into a pulp, the illustrious cavern of his consciousness screamed for his return, to discover more while the opportunity still presented itself. Fortunately, his mental connection with the other world thumped strongly in his soul. It was just enough for one more visit.

Two birds, one stone.

With a flutter of his pupils, the Enchanter once again dissolved into an indistinguishable muck, leaving naught behind but disappointment for the bear. Falling to the lizard man's feet, the grey fluid puddled ominously, betraying no signs of life yet holding an uncomfortable presence all the same. Emonalach's entity vanished, reappearing as he hoped in the macabre realm of the corpse and the machine. It was different from before, with much of the minimal furniture overturned in what appeared to be rage. Papers were torn and crumpled next to a discarded wicker basket, and the mug of dark liquid was in fragments upon the ground. The desk and the machine remained exactly as they had before, but the corpse's head had pivoted. It now rested its head on its arms facing the sight of the Enchanter's apparition, empty eye sockets gazing longingly into him. All was silent, all was still.

Emonalach took a step--rather, glided--towards the desk but was captivated immediately by the ethereal voice.

Warrior of blood and ether...

...why do you return so soon...

...without the head of your daring opponent?

The Enchanter hesitated. You returned me without answers. What's the purpose of whetting my curiosity? For your own amusement?

A low-pitched, inhuman chortle followed.

I find no amusement in you...

...for how can I find amusement...

...in what I have seen thousands of times?

His incorporeal lips curved into a frown. You see the future, then. You've seen the outcome of this encounter.

See?

...I do not see the future...

...I create it.

The creeping silence of the room was broken by the machine whirring to life as the letters and numbers upon the circular levers depressed in a rapid, violent pattern. In response, block-style manuscript was slapped upon the white page with what Emonalach could only assume was ink, and the page was tugged to the side. It touched the end of the machine, ringed, and immediately slammed back into place, revealing a new line of flawless text. Line after line was printed in a similar fashion before the paper finally locked back into place, and silence consumed the room once again.

Drifting closer to the desk in the form of an unearthly cloud, the Enchanter studied the paper quietly. By the old ones...it's an epitaph...for--

All at once, the room burst into light again, returning Emonalach's entity to the plane of reality. Once again his form reconstructed before the lizard from the cold swill, chromaticizing his body until earthly hues were restored. The dim light of the expansive area beneath the room greeted his eyes first, impractically illuminating the reptilian opponent's wide figure. He stepped back instinctively, recalling his current predicament in an instant. Ah, yes. First I must handle these worms.

"Fine, you so boastfully demand my attention, pest?" The Fallen's jaw clenched, accentuating the tendons in his neck. "You have it, then. What shall I make you do?"

It was as if the reptilian was actually trying to make his situation worse. Emonalach didn't even have to worry about cornering him anymore, for his opponent had wandered right into his talons. With the low ceiling above and the close captivity between them, the Enchanter knew that it was time to slaughter the bothersome snake. All he needed was time. Pure, uninterrupted time.

"Ah, yes. I know."

From the depths of his throat and stomach polyphonic chanting crawled and grumbled, splitting into voices both brittlely high and unnaturally deep. The avalanche of vocal noise rose and shook the very core of the soul, unsettling not just audibly, but in how it crept across both skin and scale. Emonalach's twisted aura grew very near visible, rippling the air around him in a distorted sphere. Degree by degree the air around him climbed, growing uncomfortably warm underneath the floorboards in moments.

From between the calls of those long dead, the Fallen's taunting voice bellowed. "Why don't I make you bow to me before you die?"

[G]

In a sudden flurry of movement, the various other dolls and toys in the room rose from their resting places, clambering down from shelves and out of the baskets to form a ring around the combatants. Chanting along in sing-song voices to the music box, they join hands, dancing and skipping in a large circle. Anytime a fighter draws near the edge, the closest toy will reach out to slap, kick or punch them, or to grab at their clothing/limbs in an attempt to trip them up. The various toys, like the bear, possess an unnatural strength and hardiness, despite their soft and cuddly appearances.

[SikstaSlathalin]

As the toy gathered around and began to taunt Berserker and the Dandy a rage began to build, but not the familiar rage from the Vigil...no this rage was more black than red, far more powerful than before, it even seemed stronger than the hope and desire for redemption he gained in the last fight. He had managed to pull the man down under the floor and much to the big warrior's surprise the pansy actually turned and faced him down. What surprised him further was the sudden increase in temperature the bastard was using magic again. He had to be stopped.

Clenching his teeth and claws Berserker snarled against the heat. His training as a warrior of rage has given him a pain tolerance that rivaled Syl's. But this spell felt different it was deeper...it was an ancient magic...the beastman was so sick of magic and its practitioners. The chanting of the toys became a screeching in his ears and the black rage grew stronger and quicker as images of horror and blackness flooded in faster than Ra-ja or Berserker could stem. And as the beginnings of the dark man's spell tried breaking into the hornet's nest that was the lizardman's mind the foolishness became obvious trying to use his greatest weapon against him, he was tapping into the one thing the warrior was the most skilled at. And where the man might've expected screams or begging a deep proud voice rumbled through Berserker's mind and out his lips.

"Hehe, you poor arrogant fool." Berserker's shoulders slumped and his claws unclenched, the warrior's aura seemed to darken as did his skin, the olive colored scales quickly became a deep nearly black green. His claws and fangs lengthened and turned black as well, the transformation ended with Berserker's eyes turning red as fire with black irises. The warrior's body straightened and he pulled the massive sword off his back letting it thump onto the wood. The hook dug in and the rumbling laughter continued, echoing above the incessant chanting almost mimicking the tune of the childish song. The Dandy's spell continued to charge, but Death was now in charge and it felt no pain and it felt no horror from monsters lurking in the black corners of a mind already riddled with horror.

The deep voice rumbled with arrogance and pride, but behind the ego was a keen intelligence.
"You wish to burn me with Hell's fire? Heheh, you know nothing of those fires whelp! I am Death, I will show you the true meaning of hell!" Death roared his rage and lunged at his opponent moving even quicker than he had before, but underneath the black cloud of the demonic rage, a force was fighting against Death's control. A slumbering rage that refuses to rest quietly while its body was being stolen from it, for now its power wasn't enough, but soon...very soon the two forces would meet and a second battle would begin, one that would define Berserker's chances at continuing on in this cruel sport.

[TheDoctor]

As the reptilian closed the distance between them, Emonalach's lips contorted into a horrendous, snarling smile. Yellowing teeth glistened from the light between the floorboards with a terrifying bestial confidence. His eyes glimmered with a primordial vehemence, pulled from the very depths of his unconscious mind's barbaric desires that he had tamed long ago. He was no longer man, no longer Fallen. His bloodlust had turned him primal.

The lizard man had taken the bait. A being as clever as the Fallen would never enter close proximity with such a rabid creature without utmost confidence in his ability to destroy it, and confidence he had. He cared not about the lizard's observable possession, for neither demon nor deity could withstand the Fallen's fury. The master of the realm had even bestowed upon them a forced captivity of circling dolls, tightening the snare on the lizard's neck. Safety had become obsolete, for the time to kill was upon them.

He had figured out the puppet master's game; after every battle, he was restored, rejuvenated. No audience wished to observe a challenge against a weakened opponent, so why would this one be any different? Finally, after ceaselessly questioning his purpose in such a competition, the Enchanter finally understood why.

He was here to entertain, and entertain he would.

With no regard for his self-preservation, Emonalach raised his arm, flinging it in the path of the reptilian's ravenous blade. Cursed steel met cursed flesh and bone in a debilitating crunch, an impact of nauseating proportions. Even the Fallen felt the shocking stabs of pain that followed, his willpower barely muffling its influence over his body. But his diversion was successful, if not only just so: the blade had raked over his scalp rather than through it, decorticating the right side of his head and severing his arm just below the elbow. The Enchanter's forearm lay lifelessly upon the floor, and jagged bone stuck angrily from the stump of flesh on his right side.

It didn't matter, though. The Enchanter had taken the reptilian's savage attack, the possessing demon's ancient hatred, the steel's unforgiving touch on flesh, and embraced them in the depths of his being. Every strike at his body, every taunt of malice, every toil of frustration from the lizard's being unwittingly coalesced in preparation for the Fallen's sacrifice. An oblation of incredible magnitude collected for the archaic demiurge, the immortal abyss of oblivion. Once alit, they burned and snarled as an ember of inconceivable fury in Emonalach's chest, clawing at his insides as it sought to ravage the outside world.

The lizard man was too late.

"Oh, how I love a spoiled sport."

Complete and absolute silence enveloped the underfloor as his chanting ceased, quieting the fluffed automatons' singing and even stilling the ambient sounds of their world. Emonalach's flesh ignited with a flame of the purest white, flames which constricted and swiveled around his remaining appendages. A devastating surge of horrifying, ear-stabbing screams and roars erupted from his entity as the inferno of chthonic origin exploded outwards, consuming all within wide range of his now-extinguished figure. The avalanche of barreling conflagration was unyielding and swift in its cascade, guzzling the dancing dolls around them. They burst into flame, childish shrieks of horror rupturing from their seams as they crumbled to ash. Floorboards above caught fire and burned quickly, providing the spell with ample anchor to their realm.

When used upon the Monk, Emonalach's enchantment had been reduced to a fraction of its power. Fueled by poor kindling drenched in the waters of the halfling's peaceful consciousness, it withered with hardly half of its true effectiveness. The reptilian's unquenchable rage, however--coupled with the admirable wrath of the demon that possessed it--burned higher and brighter than Emonalach could've possibly imagined.

How fitting it is for this hobbling snake to be devoured by its own untamed violence.