[temp]

Fatty?s earlier sense of apprehension was redoubled. Nai was in his death grasp only a short moment before, but he was still standing. He?d successfully landed multiple punishing blows against his opponent, but again, Nai was still standing.
This is not possible! No one can survive this kind of onslaught.

?Who are you?? Fatty called out. ?What are you??
No response, although a scarcely discernable smile crept across Nai?s face.

A pleasant smell reached his nose, something like bacon or grilled meat. Ah, food, my old love. But where is this scent coming from? Looking down, Fatty saw his own melting, decayed flesh peeling off his body and his stomach turned as he realized the smell was own!
Reeling in revulsion, he staggered backwards only to see Nai?s smile widen.

An idea formed though, and now it was time for Fatty to smile. Recalling the extra hot sauce he?d ordered on his burrito earlier that day, he stepped back and turned, showing his opponent his back.
A sound, quiet at first, then slowly gaining momentum, ripped through the air only to stop abruptly. The on-lookers were puzzled. Why had the carnage stopped? Where was the blood?
Then the front row section of the crowd nearest to Fatty shifted uncomfortably. One woman keeled over in her seat. The man beside her followed suit. Soon, the entire section was either passed out, or on their knees retching.

Nai?s smirk disappeared when he realized what had happened. A fetid stench unlike anything ever beheld hung like a haze about the arena. It was everywhere, there was no avoiding the putrid air. Nai?s legs weakened and he dropped down on one knee, using his opposite arm to support him.

Fatty stepped back to get a running start. Then he charged.
The crowd in the upper decks that were still coherent witnessed 500 pounds of bulk launching itself into the air. It could almost be called graceful seeing this soaring mass. Gravity, however, will always win out in the end, as it did on this day as well.

Nai was pounded into the earth with the impact. Fatty was confused though. Not unlike his previous attempts to take down this enemy, a strange sensation coursed through his body. He rolled off the ground to his feet, leaving his opponent on the ground a crushed and broken thing. Then he too assumed a position on the ground as he toppled over. Layers of fat seemed to peal off him, rotten and decayed. Blood and lipid fluids leaked over the ground as Fatty?s flesh seemed to fall off his body in profuse mounds of blighted gore.

What started out as battle between two fighters and an unruly jeering crowd was now a scene of two men unmoving on the ground. Half the audience itself could no longer watch this disgusting display and were either passed out or having their own battles with nausea.

At this point the fight was beyond physical toughness. The victor today would be the one with the mental determination to see it through to the end. After all, it is the mind, not the body, that decides to ignore the pain. It is the mind that makes the difference between giving up, or pushing through.

[Morgoth]

Nai groaned with pain as the fat man rolled off him. Pain blossomed everywhere, tearing through his spine to his brain like knives through warm flesh. He was but a hairswidth away from unconsciousness, but if he let go, if he released himself into that welcoming darkness, he knew he would never return. He would finaly have lost. At least, if death would be the end of this day, then the cause would not go unscatched. The assassin turned his head slightly, drinking in the sight of his opponent slowly withering away under the taint that was his touch. Decay covered the man’s flesh, and were Nai’s touch had not reached, the more subtle aspect of his power started showing itself as a vicious rash that had appeared on the fat man’s neck and face. The smell of rot, of pain and fear hung heavy in the air, mixing with the residue of earlier, less pleasant scents.
Around the two champions, the crowd chanted for them to get up, for one to finish the fight and enforce his right to a position among the living.

All this was registered as Nai fought to remain alive.The irony is not lost on me indeed. Sister, I know my demise at... this thing’s hand will amuse you no ends. I... Pain cut through his mind as he carefully tried to move his arms and legs, turning the world black around it’s edges. ...I will not allow you the pleasure. His right leg was crushed, but his left was still functional, if barely. Forcing the thunderous scream of pain back into the far reaches of his mind, he got up on one knee, arm supporting his weigh against the arena wall. He was shaking like a leaf, every muscle in his broken body pittifully protesting at what they were put through. Everything spun violently for a second, almost convincing him that death would be the better option, but then the world stabilized and he was able to push himself into a standing position to the roaring approwal of the crowd.

The roar of the crowd grew another pitch as the fat man struggled to his feet, following his opponent's example. Nai could not help but be impressed at the show of willpower he witnessed. Pieces of flesh fell of the man’s shrinking frames like leaves off a dying tree, he could hardly breath from the phlegm filling his lungs and yet there he stood, insanity born of pain and despair burning sickly in his blood shot eyes.

“What have you done to me” the fat man screamed, spit and blood spraying, froth forming at the edges of his mouth. Nai merely shrugged, an arrogant grin once more spreading across his face. He was too exhausted to answer, but there was no reason to let his opponent know. Theatrics, he had found, could be as effective as any weapon.

Vibration’s rippled through the ground as the fat man took an unsteady step forwards, arms stretched forwards gropping seemingly blindly towards the cause of their master’s torment. Another step and another. Nai could naught but look with horrid fascination as the mutilated monstrosity that was his opponent came ever closer. If those hands reached him, there was little he could do. If those hands reached him, he would lose, he would die. This day would be decided by whether the fat man’s wavering strenght could keep him on his feet long enough. The Assassin smiled with anticipation. Everything would be decided within the next minute and there was nothing he could do. The irony was priceless.

[Cause]

Xe’el Ma’tok fifty-third scion of the Xemati family stood in the shadows of the stadiums tunnels looking out into the arenas floor. Already the crowd screamed at him. Hollered for his blood. He ignored it their voices their opinions they were unimportant. Victory was. That was why he was here. This tournament would be his proof. Proof that he was worthy. Proof that he was the rightful heir of his family’s honors.

Drawing his sword and stepping out into the light his eyes began to change. While one set of pupils contacted in the sudden change of brightness the second against all reasonable expectation began to dilate. As his mind focused and calmed he found his center, the roar of the crowd grew feint and than disappeared. No longer was he distracted by the hoots and callous calls of that hateful mass. He looked into his own soul and felt its crackling power. Felt its power surge and plunge in time to the rhythm of his heart. Drawing deep breaths he steadied his heart slowed its rhythm, steadied the beat of his own soul. Holding the sword straight before him he cast out his soul into the blade in time with the contractions of his heart. Felt its power taken up felt it resonate within and felt it as it flowed back on the release. Again and again in time to the beating of his heart he did this. He sensed it as the power in the sword grew and knew that the power would act as a call to his ancestors. Their spirits would feel its tug be drawn as fillings to the lodestone to answer their descendant’s call.

He began to see a vague shape in the corner of his eye take form. Like him it wore blue but were he wore the armor of a Modan warrior the apparition wore none. Fitting for one of helikan what the people of this land called shamans.
“Honored grandfather” Xe’el spoke as he bowed, bent at the waist hands outstretched presenting the sword to his ancestor.
“Rise Xe’el”
“Honored ancestor I… I had expected another would be sent to watch over me”
“Your father would not come. I am sorry Xe’el, he still mourns your brother deeply. Be patient Xe’el. In time he will come to remember he has another son. Will remember that he loves you both. ”
“His disappointment in me will pass you mean”
“Disappointment? I see. Is that why you do this than? To prove you are your brother’s equal. To prove you are worthy of the sword you carry”
Suddenly a roar erupted from the crowd so loud that it broke through even to his center passed all his mental defenses. Looking across the arena floor he understood. His opponent was coming the opposite gate was being lifted. “I am worthy and after today all even my father will know it”
Stepping out into the arena floor was a monster a demon with eight arms and eight swords. Xe’el Ma’tok fifty-third scion of the Xemati family was afraid for perhaps the first time in his life and his heart knew doubt.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
hope evryone likes it. Good luck dolmen.

[Dolmen 2.0]

An azure sun radiated down into the Arena building. Glistening in the luminance the entire arena glowed in clashing contrasts of golden yellow and cool silver. The spectators’ jubilant cries rose from the stands like thunder, amplified by the amphitheatres design; Hades swore the earth shook beneath him. Standing in the walkway leading to the arena floor Hades could feel the masses outside. Each and every heartbeat drew his avid attention; He could smell the miasma of the multitudes as they perspired in the heat despite the thick solid walls separating them from him. Hades started to fidget with his simple amour. The men charged with guarding him drew back as his eight arms became active simultaneously, they were wise. Hades felt as though he was on the verge of murder. Had they come any closer he’d have lost all control.
“What’s happening to me?”
-Its obvious love, - The voice came from within him –You’re responding to your thirst.-
“…Thirst?”
-Indeed, a thirst for life, mortal life. You did die after all, remember? - A small laugh echoed in Hades’ head –We immortals are cursed with such needs. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.-
Hades nodded his head. “I’ll hold you to that…”
The stadium doors opened and light flooded into the walkway, along with the light came the full voice of thousands of warm human throats. The sudden flood of human presence struck Hades hard. He fell to his knees, body racking with a sudden dark desire.
“Damn it!”
The words were like a roar, primal and reverberating with pained restraint. Driving a fist into the floor Hades tried to calm himself, slowly the warrior known as Hades drew himself up, shuddering as he curled into a crouch, then he slowly stood up to his full towering height. He was motionless.
“Sir your presence is required in the arena.” Hades remained dead still; a dark sound came from the still warrior. It sounded like a chuckle.
“Um sir…I must insist…”
The guard took two steps forward…

Hades reacted like demonic lightning. The first guards neck tore off with a twist of his wrist, Hades slid forward to plunge stiffened hands into the chests of the next two driving them back into the third guard who had just managed to reach for his sword. Using yet another arm Hades grabbed the unsteady guard behind the two flinging him into the last four, leaping into the air Hades seemed for mere seconds to hold himself up only to drive down among the Last for guards. They died before his feet touched the floor. Crouching low Hades heard a muffled thump on the earth behind him where the headless corpse had finally landed. Hades grinned.
“Well so much for the warm up…”

…When Hades turned back to the entrance his smile was dark and his eyes glowed like fire. Covered in blood Hades stepped forth into the arena.

***

The crowd grew even louder as the second warrior entered the arena grounds. His stride was lithe, somehow managing to look humane despite the eight arms and freshly bloodied amour. This was not however the cause for the sudden chilled silence that overcame the masses. In each arm the demonic warrior held the remains of a human figure. As he walked the creature left a trail of blood and bile in his wake. Finally arriving before his opponent the being that called itself Hades emitted unearthly light and suddenly eight blades erupted from his hands skewering the guards. Gradually the bodies melded into the blades. The crowd recoiled at the scream that erupted from Hades as the swords returned back into Hades hands.Dropping his arms the light faded and Hades looked up with terror filled eyes. To his opponent he whispered
“Run my friend, I can’t control myself, he’s to powerfull…I…I…”
A loud piercing trumpet sounded in the distance breaking the immense silence and with that sound Hades’ shrieked and his eyes began to burn once more…



LOL excuse the melodrama, Thanks Cause good luck to you too buddy

[Cause]

Xe’el had no idea what it was he faced and that was unusual. He possessed the inherited memories of an entire people an entire race. The Modan had crossed lands innumerable had met creatures exotic and magnificent uncounted but no where in the recesses of his mind was their recollection of the foe that now faced him. The Modan had faced non-humans before, the four armed sekati the snake like naga, they knew how to deal with them but this apparition was greater than any of them. Eight arms, how will I fight that and magic swords. “Xe’el look deeper past the mundane this creature boasts hidden dangers” his grandfather called. His vision already blurred between the physical and spiritual worlds shifted. The pupils in his eyes growing and shrinking in accordance to his want until his mundane sight was blinded and he saw fully past the veil into the spiritual realm. Everything changed. He could no longer see the stadium, the sky or even the ground only souls in the black void. His grandfather, which before had held the appearance of a man, was now nothing more than a crackling-shifting ball of white light. He could still make out the crowds though no longer as people but as souls strangely blurred by their proximity to each other. Importantly he could see the essence of the foe he faced. The creatures soul seemed almost human but twisted, warped, somehow and oddly a second decidedly inhuman soul seemed parasitically bonded to the first pulsing with a sickly purple light. Most distressing of all though was that their was a third player less obvious its signature more subtle riding both souls. A sinuous red thread connected to both souls trailed off them back into the inky depths thinning and than vanishing from his sight. “What does it mean grandfather”
“Some being guides this creature, its will is not entirely its own. Some demon or dark god perhaps, you must be careful. I will summon the rest of the honored dead perhaps our combined wisdom will yield more answers”

Shifting his sight back to the blurring of both worlds that allowed him to see both the mundane world and his ancestral spirits Xe’el saw the creature charge him its speed was frightful and still it become faster. Suddenly the creature was gone from his sight and Xe’el reacted with an action born not of thought or training but of instinct jumping to his right as he heard his grandfather shout the order to move too late. Anything else would have been too slow the creature reappeared but inches from where he last stood its swords occupying places where his head, heart and groin had been.Too many swords too many . Deciding to focus on defense while he tested and studied his opponent Xe’el drew his tonfa. The Creature had been surprised too find that his prey was not where he had suspected but reacted quickly. It turned to meet its opponents and the blade storm began.

Xe’el parried and blocked but found no time to riposte but he would not yield. He fought with a fierce determination he would have the coveted third name he would have recognition. His sword and tonfa were a blur in that maelstrom of steel and magics but it was not enough there were just too many swords too many strikes to stop. He had learnt to get in and stay close, it provided a smaller target and kept his opponents strikes manageable by limiting his strike potential. It had its disadvantages too, this close the creatures unnatural glowing red eyes proved discerting. His breastplate shrugged off another strike as his sword blocked three over-head strikes and his tonfa another three strikes to his left. The eight and final strike broke through his guard and impacted against his helm. Clenching his teeth through the pain he fought on but dizziness threatened to undo him. Another strike broke through his defense again it hit against his helm. This time it was one of his opponent’s fists and the blow sent him reeling to the floor. Xe’el had not even seen his opponent retract the blade.

***

Xe’in Ma’lik Ti’gom watched the fight in horror. His grandson was on the floor rolling away from his opponent trying to get some distance. The demon was pursuing its eight arms flaying through the air as his swords threshed the ground as they sought out his grandson’s blood. Oh my son what has your neglect brought us . Xe’er had been the first-born and his younger brother had loved and worshiped him in equal measure. Always the stronger, the faster, the better swordsman and rider he had been his brothers hero and his fathers pride. When Xe’ek the boy’s father had finally been slain the sword should have past from father to eldest son. The sword had not made it in time. By the time the warriors of the heron clan had traveled the distance back to the Modan camp Xe’er had fallen sick and died. His spirit never bonded to the sword before it escaped its mortal cage. He had been lost in a way few Modan ever were. Death was not something to be mourned but the loss of a soul to the dark void without an anchor to guide it was devastating. The boys father had been crushed by the news. When Xe’el had summoned his father’s spirit to tell him, Xe’ek had lashed out at his son had blamed him for the death of his brother. And now here Xe’el had come to gamble his life to earn his fathers respect. The summons had been sent, the honored dead would answer, he hoped his son would be among them. “Get up Xe’el, you carry in you our families blood remember that”

***

Xe’el knew the situation was bad he needed to get up or the fight was lost. He would die in disgrace without a third name. Continuing to roll fighting to outrun those deadly swords he heard his grandfathers shout. I am of the Xemati and I will prove it to all . He saw his opening and took it.

[Dolmen 2.0]

Post 2

The voice of the crowd rose and fell about the deity. It became a drumbeat equal to that of its dark heart. Dust flew as that which was once Hades fought to draw more and more blood. The dark hunger within its eyes echoed of a time of chaos. A time of unrelenting bloodshed. Hades was now the moving shadow of a God.
The warrior Fought well, this pleased the deity within. This soul was the first of a growing tide. When this mortal died The God would finally manifest itself in its full power. This family would be more than enough... The blade lunge came from nowhere. The oddly shaped sword speared through the shoulder of the Gods puppet. Ahh yes pain. A memory best left forgotten. The deity roared in anger the stadium shook as all was flung back.
"That wasn't very nice..." The warrior had been flung to the opposite wall. As he got up a smile crossed his face. The god returned the smile, Then disappeared. the impact from the block broke both warriors arms. If not for the wall behind him the warrior would have lost a lot more. The six fists that followed found nothing but crumbling concrete as the opponent snaked away like lightning.

The God growled in frustration. Pulling its six bloodied fists from the wall it grinned once more...

***

Hades no longer knew what he was. Deep within him he recalled once being a mortal soul. He felt himself as he was, A monster. How could things have gone so wrong? Hades opened himself to the world around him. Through Crimson tinged sockets he witnessed in horror the battle unfold before him. He could not believe the fierce speed of the creature fighting through him. The warrior fighting before him however was equal to it. Where Hades expected a parry the warrior would glide through, where Hades saw an opening, his weapons would only meet a frantic two bladed wall. Every time Hades felt himself grow closer to ending the battle the warrior parried and rebutted his blades. Hades was impressed, To perform so well despite having an almost utterly crushed arm... now here was a warrior worthy of honorable combat and yet here Hades was... A spectator within his own body.

-I don't like this very much- came an utterly unexpected voice.
Hades roused himself from his complacent stupor. -what?-
-I said I don't like this very much.-
Hades frowned within himself -Why?-
Erga made an appearance before Hades, Her right shoulder was bleeding and her left was mangled. A track of blood traced down the side of her mouth and a nail was broken. Hades coughed -Oh. I was wondering where the pain was going-
Erga stared at him for a while and said. -My brother isn't thinking. He underestimates our opponent. Have you noticed the souls?-
Hades frowned once more -souls?-
Erga grimaced as she raised her right arm to point back through her brothers gaze out towards the blue clad warrior. Hades focused but saw nothing.
-I don't see anyth...-
The words hung in the air as the field filled up with blue clad spirits.
Hades smiled once more. -Perfect.-

***

Sensing the sudden presence of souls the Darkness that was Hades stopped its onslaught. The warrior before him seemed to grow stronger as the souls of his lineage gathered about him. The deity then felt something entirely unprecedented. Within him the soul of the possesed began to resist his control. Until now there had been no resistance to his will.
"So this was your plan? You weaken my control to end my existence? You fool!" Lights emanated from the deity as the eight blades began to glow. one by one they forged together into a sword of pure darkness. The God barely held it up with all eight arms straining.

"I end this now!" as the blade rose clouds darkened the sky. at the height of the blades arc The blade held. "Nooo, You idiot release us or you die!" In the distance xe'el smiled as he understood. Hades eyes dimmed.

"I can't hold on for too long my friend make a move or die!" The roar of a god echoed within as wills collided before the blue clad warrior.
perfect

[Cause]

He saw his opening and took it. Using his hands to push himself up on his next roll he thrust up with his sword to where he imagined the creature’s heart might be. One of his opponent’s ubiquitous swords got in the way deflecting the strike but still he managed a successful hit to his opponents shoulder. The creature bellowed in rage and Xe’el was flung back by the blast. Such power. He felt his back impact against the arena’s edge bringing his neck and head snapping back like a whip. “Hurry Xe’el get up. Your opponent draws nearer” his grandfather urged. Taking a deep breath he summoned forth the will. He rose first to his knees and than to his full height a hand on the wall for support. He set his back to it for support hoping his opponent would not notice. The dizziness that before had threatened to undo him now had. He felt light on his feet unable to get his bearings. His opponent was closing the distance slowly confidently. He smiled for all the inequality of this fight, for all his feelings of being outmatched he had drawn first blood. His opponent smiled back and than he was gone. Dread quickened his heart and his reflexes as he set his sword and tonfa to a guard position. He blocked two downward sword strokes on his tonfa and felt as well as heard the bone crack. The pain proved of use, its onrush clearing his head. He needed to get away. He spun right pushing past his opponent and turned to face it.

The clash that followed pushed Xe’el to his limits. Never had he fought so well never before had he needed to. He felt his skill rise to new levels and he felt that he might have understood the way of combat better than ever before gaining a new insight. Still it was not enough. The demon pushed him ever backwards its skill and quantity of strikes just too overpowering. The pain in his arm, which before had saved his life, increased with each blow. He could not suffer it much longer. He was losing and slowly his warrior’s will began to acknowledge it. “Fight Xe’el” a voice cried.
“For the Xemati” another voice
“For the Heron” echoed
Than a chorus of voices started, each crying praise and encouragements. It was his line back through the ages all the way back to the family’s founder. All except one he realised his father still had not come. His anger came to a boil than and he used it as a final strength. He would not submit not until his father acknowledged him. Before his ancestors he fought his spirit renewed. The honoured dead had amassed they would judge his worth by this fight and he could not disappoint. If he earned the third name how could his father ignore him than?

Suddenly the creature’s eyes dimmed their blood red colour lessening and its movements become careless. It seemed to be dividing its focus, between what Xe’el could not say but he pressed this small advantage hard not sure when it might end. Without warning his opponent returned to his old form and Xe’el feered it had been a feint to draw him in too far. If that was what it had been the creature had waited to long to spring the trap and Xe’el was able to dance back to safety. The creature chose not to peruse and for that he was grateful he needed a moment to catch his breath.

What happened next was unexpected and worrisome. His opponent spread out his eight arms two pointing to the sky and two to the ground and the remaining four to either side. Than the top most arms met the upper of the middle arms pointing to the side, the ethereal blades joined as one and the lower pairs of arms repeated the action again until he held four swords each held by two arms. Again he merged the swords and finally he brought the remaining two swords together joining them before himself and clutching it in his eight hands.

The monster roared a challenge "I end this now!" and as the blade rose clouds darkened the sky. At the height of the blades arc the blade held. Nooo, You idiot release us or you die!" In the distance Xe'el smiled as he understood and the creatures eyes went out. "I can't hold on for too long my friend make a move or die!" The roar of a god echoed within as wills collided before the blue clad warrior.

It was the human soul speaking. He wanted to be freed. Charging Xe’el sheathed his tonfa and placed his freed left hand against the pommel of his sword. He would drive it through his foe’s chest. Only steps away the eyes of the demon awakened once more and a hand let go of its fell blade to swat Xe’el away. He was knocked to his left and ducked into a roll to stop a nasty fall. Getting to his feet he turned in time to see the dark sword strike the ground. Eight wraiths broke free of the sword only visible due to his transformed vision. He recognized them not from appearance but by the cast of their souls they were the guardsmen that the creature had dragged into the arena. One of the wraiths drew a sword from a scabbard and swung it at Xe’els head. Before he had a chance to parry another spirit blade intercepted it. “We will deal with these but we can not help you with your true opponent” it was Xe’kar Ma’fur Ti’elc the famed champion “You must cut the link to win”.
“I understand honoured ancestor” Shifting his sight again Xe’el blinded his mundane vision and focused his senses into the spiritual realm.Theirs the link but how to get to it. With his mundane sight blinded he would be unable to fight. Xe’el would have trust in the trapped warriors spirit within, it had broken free once, it could do so again. “Please I can help you but I need your help again.” No answer came still he needed to try he must have faith. He ran for the red line that was a Gods connection to his pawn and with his blade cut it. His success was proof of that warrior’s aid. Shifting his sight quickly back to normal he was witness to a profound transformation. The eight arms, which before had been separate, seemed to fuse somehow together and where before the blade had been black it now shone a pure white.

“Thank you” the apparition called. “Now stand and fight! It will come back you must kill me to end its threat. I cannot surrender though another prevents me.”

[Dolmen 2.0]

The shadow lifted. Hades felt the light surround his soul once more. The warmth from the rays of reality revived the soil of his heart and within that soil Hades felt memories begin to grow. Hades felt the warmth of the sun from a childhood he had thought forgotten. The God had taken it all. Before Hades had become a ruthless warleader, before he had been enlivened by the elders and been taught the steps of the cyclonic dance, Before he had earned the seventh blade of closure...Hades had been innocent.

Now standing here in the centre of the arena Hades felt an echo of that. The arms were gone but the wound had stayed yet Hades felt a knew strength within him. He felt...lighter. A sudden break in the clouds drew hades focus to the sky where he saw with inner sight the darkness of the Shadaan Godling build along the edges of this realm. The sight of the shadows slowly consumed his joy. This wasn't over.

-You fool you unmitigated ASS!- the voice of the demi demon Erga rang in Hades head like a chorus of sirens. Hades looked at the warrior before him.
-don't ignore me! Do you realise what you...- Hades blocked Erga out.
"Thank you" The words carried across the arena. For the first time hades felt the silent awe of the crowds, he grinned the show must go on... "Now stand and fight!," Hades lifted his blade "It will come back you need to kill me to end its threat." -hahahaha your crazy do you think he stands a chance?- Erga broke through his disciplined control. Hades felt her insanity taint his thoughs -The weapon you hold is my GIFT- She chuckled -It will not stand idle..- Hades grimaced at this "I cannot surrender though, another prevents me."

The blue clad warrior understood and held up his weapon. Hades locked eyes with the warrior. Comprehension dawned as he saw the iron resolve within his opponent. "yes, thats more like it." They attacked.

The impact of the charge was immense but neither warrior yielded despite the pains of injury. both shifted step and flowed into a series of strikes and parries. as the swords flew the fighters became more desperate each strike bordering a fatal conclusion. The blades became a whirlwind as each one of the two opponents intensified their efforts. The results left the stadium in awe. The roar of the crowds thundered across the stadium. Hades however had closed himself to it all. The way of the cyclone. an art of using not one or two but seven blades at once with only two arms had developed Hades into a blademaster yet here he was facing a wounded opponent unable to defeat him. The sudden desire to overcome his opponent enveloped him and Hades restrained himself no longer. The Eighth blade ignited.

Hades struck. faster than ever yet some how Xe'el parried the over head swing. hades reposited like lightning. anticipating the move xe'el swung down to defend. the mistake was damning. Hades drove his sword into the blade. the Blades met and in one horrific instant the sword of light, the final blade, tore through the warriors sword. the erupting force was final.

Hades stood still his head faced away, fearing to face his opponents mutilated body. The blade entered through his heart. The blossoming pain was sudden and unexpected. Hades looked down in surprise at the blade skewering his chest. he faced his opponent only to see a smile tracing blood. The worrior stared into the distance, eyes focused on something well beyond this world "So you forsake me...even now." the smile faded as both warriors fell into darkness.

[Tes'thesula]

No wonder Richter loves to travel
It was the first time that Dr. Branner had ventured out of their assigned quarters, and the entire Arena was arrayed before him. Though Branner was a thaumo-biologist and done autopsies and read studies on the denizens of the multiverse, it was a different matter to see them living and breathing.
Well, most of them are breathing
The majority of the spectators were some type of human or meta-human breed, but here and there sat some of the more exotic creatures that inhabited the many realms. Two rows behind Branner were a trio of coal black Kebal demons, their multifaceted eyes looking hungrily around. Across from him, the doctor could see a pair of Ventriti conversing quietly, their plumage shimmering in the bright sunshine.
Suddenly a horn sounded, and Branner felt a lump rise in his throat. He had sent Richter to watch the earlier matches, to get a sense of what Cepheranishai would be facing, but the young Traveler had returned after only two, his face pale and his hands clasped together. He had described clashes that were vicious and short, hot blood spraying across the sand, and the two men had wondered whether their ‘champion’, even with his unique powers, would be strong enough to compete with the creatures that embodied conflict.
The announcer’s voice boomed from an unknown source, in a language that was comprehensible to all, ‘Sentients, please welcome into the Arena the Terror of Apartment 5, He Who Lurks in All Things, the Painted Man, Cepheranishai.’

The great wooden doors at the east end of the battleground swung slowly open, and Cepheranishai was pushed out into the sunlight, a figure stripped to the waist, only a dusty pair of trousers to protect the man’s modesty. There was a hush from the crowd as the magnificent extent of his tattoos was revealed, but the sights and sounds of the Arena barely filtered through to his drifting psyche. Currently his soul was floating among the particle clouds of some unnamed nebulae, racing alongside sharks in a feeding frenzy and caressing the shoulder of some anonymous lover. The condition of his physical body was the last thing on his mind. He heard, but ignored, the announcement as his opponent was introduced, saw, but was unconcerned, as a furry heap was thrown from the western doors and began to stir.

Branner was on the edge of his seat as the klaxon that indicated the beginning of the deathmatch sounded. He watched as the shape that had been introduced as Kangaroo Jack climbed unsteadily to its alien feet, and Cepheranishai stared unblinking at the crowd, where a Frehga nomad shifted in his seat uncomfortably.
What is he doing? Why is he just STANDING there?
Branner had no doubts towards violent tendencies of his patient, one of his nurse’s life had been brutally ripped away when he had dropped his concentration for a bare second. But for some reason Cepheranishai was not responding to the movements of the creature, which had picked up its weapons and was moving closer with an odd hopping motion.
Do something
The crowd around the doctor was getting restless; the other warriors had swiftly drawn blood and had been displays of remarkable skill and godlike endurance. Meanwhile, Kangaroo Jack was accelerating towards Cepheranishai, who had yet to move.
Branner’s hands were gripping the forearms of the spectators on either side of him, both of whom were avoiding looking at each other with an almost studious determination.
“Do something!” screamed Branner, but his words were lost in the roar of the crowd as Jack’s machete tore across the chest of the Painted Man.

Sudden delicious pain. Pain that brought his mind snapping back to the confines of his physical body, and with it, the recollection of the events of the past few days. Richter opening a gateway to this world, the fraught journey through the dimensional causeway, the Ultimate Deathmatch and Branner’s deal…
…Win this for us, win this tournament and I will give you your freedom…
All these memories swirled around his mind, mixing with those from the entirety of his long life. Working as an accountant with Shavya, the ecstasy and agony as Pritchard tattooed his soul onto the Pattern, the horror as the Weaver’s sword casually pierced his abdomen, the irritation as Jack’s rusty machete slid across his bare chest.
That was the irony of his being. With his soul attached to everything, the Pattern that was creation, it made it very difficult to maintain concentration of any one thing, any one place. It was pain, the sole concern of his physical body, which brought focus on the here on the now, on the Arena, on Kangaroo Jack.
Cepheranishai’s left arm snapped out, colliding with the Kangaroo’s forearm, stopping short a cut that would have decapitated a fair few of the sparrows that paraded across his body, and he countered with a swift punch that slammed into Jack’s snout. The Kangaroo just screamed. The creature that Cephi faced was insane and had no skill or technique and foam flew from its madly working jaws. But it was strong and it was fast, and its broken mind led it past the limits of natural endurance.
A smile worked its way onto Cepheranishai’s face.
I wonder what Kangaroo tastes like?

[Illuyankas]

As Kelehedemon neared the figure of his opponent, he finished stashing his weapons in various scabbards and sleeves, and turned to meet the assassin. Keleh studied the garish figure and sighed.

"I hate the undead."
"It's not like I want to serenade you from under a balcony either, mate. All I'm searching for is a decent bar, one that serves drink we 'vitally challenged can imbibe', whatever the hell that means. You ever been to a BA meeting?"
"BA?"
"Brainoholics Anonymous."
"You eat brains?"
"Naw, I went into the wrong room. I was heading for a DUZPPAATSOIGAUFASTSTBPTDA meeting. That's a Disaffected Undead Zombie Pirate Prince Angry At The Schemings Of In General An Uncaring Fate And Specifically Two Soon To Be Painfully Tortured Dwarves Anonymous meeting, in case you were wondering."
"... so, you were heading for a bar."
"Yeah."
"These drinks, do they come in sealed green containers with lead lids? Or bright red vats with a label marked 'Abyss and Co's Brain Liquors and Ales - Full of Tasty Human Goodness'?"
"That's the stuff! Where did you see it?"
"There's a bar down the stairs that end of the arena, on the third right past the hookers. The beer is complementary to those who can kill the clientele who order it, well, them and their friends. It's not that bad, either. Bit nutty."
"That's to mask the adrenal gland's aftertaste. Well, as much as I need a drink, it'd be rude of me to leave you here without an opponent, after all."
"I wouldn't-"

An enormous gout of flame blew out three rows of the nearest stand, showering masonry and bits of bystander across the arena floor. The slew of bloody spray and fragments of person divided around Kelehedemon like a knife had sliced the air, while a chunk of stone the size of a horse stopped dead against his companion's arm, and was flung away a good few meters.

"-worry about it," he finished, glancing up towards the shattered stalls. The prince was somewhat less sanguine about the sudden eruption. "And what the hell was that!?" A figure appeared in the hole made by the explosion, threads of fire spinning round him like a violent twister. It screamed in rage and frustration, then started stalking through the rubble towards the arena floor and the two combatants.

"Who's this hot head? (Get it? 'hot', head? Man, I'm funny)"
"I think he was a previous fighter, who lost and died. And please, don't ever use a pun again. Ever."
"Spoilsport. So, he died. Then, why is he here?"
"He got better."
"Excellent, a revivication machine!"
"Um, yeah, one of those."
"I can become alive again! Well then, I'm off for my last few kegs of Abyss' Quality Pancreatic, then I'm getting a pulse back. You don't mind fighting this guy instead? Chances are they won't let me use it, but this is the first time I'll be able to have a few drinks in over thirty years. Damn spacial/chronal distortion, mumble mumble..."
"Feel free, you can always fight him or me afterwards. Besides, as far as slavering unclean beasts go, you're alright. Go knock yourself out."
"Cheers very much. Have fun now! And you are an awesome ventriloquist. Later!" he called, strolling off towards the opposite end of the arena and inebriation.

The remaining crowd members, already annoyed at the lengthy conversation and delay, and rattled by the aerial dispersment of many of their fellow ticketholders, began to jeer and boo the - in their eyes, at least - fleeing contestant, until a vast voice, overwhelming in it's volume, declared, "SHUT THE F**K UP." Afterwards, they shut the f**k up. Kelehedemon spun around to watch the blazing figure approach, having clambered down the wall of rubble he had created to reach the arena floor. As he neared, his twisted mutterings could be heard over the crackle of the flames surrounding him. "...alive...how could he be alive...from the flames...my flames...I still live, yet he does not?...I still live...can still fight...can still win..." Kelehedemon tilted his head to one side.

"I've only ever fought one fire user before, and he, well..." showing more teeth than was necessarily appropriate for a smile, he floated a sword and rubbed his face, feeling the contours and edges of his frozen side, felt it shift into a snarl, "he still owes me a drink." Plucking his sword out of midair, he continued, "But I have you to take my grievances out on for now."

The man's arm flashed up towards him, and the assassin's head rocked back to one side, sending him staggering, the burning knife having scored along the obsidian face before glancing off and sticking in a pillar behind the two. As Keleh righted himself, the score healed over, leaving not a trace of a mark on the perfect sculpture. He tightened his grip on the blades in his hands, then smashed the air away from him, sending a wave through his new opponent's flaming defense. As he stood there, dust billowing away from him in clouds, the whole crowd, including the acquistor, still off on a toilet break, and Wynn, still in the infirmary, heard his challenge, no matter where their location;

"Alright then, let's do this. Hmm, that wasn't very original or witty, perhaps he'll let me have another go..."

[Asandir]

Wait a second, i think that pig rutting monkey faced buffon was making fun of me. Ahhhh I'll get him later. Lets see if I can get a drink before they lock me in a cell again....

[Asandir]

As the prince was sipping on his unpleasant looking beverage a judicator arrived at the bar and sat down next him.
I'm terribly sorry dear prince but unless you fight your battle we will unfortunately have to keep you here until the next Deathmatch....in another millenia. You can see your choices are limited, can't you.
Oh yes, very limited like a knife in your hand.
What did you say prin.....aaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh.
Yes yes gotcha. Fight freako or stay locked up im on it. Hey ugly gimme two more drinks.
As he left he decapitated the judicator.
Thats for disturbing my drink. Hey barkeep you can keep the tip. Ha ha get it.
The barkeeper just looked on with a somber face.
Pah nobody gets my jokes.

The prince strolled back up to the arena floor and noticed a flaming tornado in the middle of the stadium. It reminded him of a what Clacks left behind in the sewers after a night on the blackk stuff. Cesspit of the damned alright.
Can't have that now can we. Look at that flaming ponce i think he needs to chill out.
As Keleh was in midair the prince seized his chance and swift as bird in flight he ran towards the eye of the storm where the flaming figure stood. Removing something from his satchel he came within inches of the enraged beast and blew something into its face. An awful moan began to reveberate around the stadium. The crowds roars of outrage quenched into muted observation as the flaming creature writhed in pain and then slowly began to freeze up from one twitching limb to the next.
Now the prince stood over the creature.
I know you can here me ugly. Now this is where i'd normally slice you to pieces beginning with disembowelling you but as you can see i'm in a bit of a predicament. If I did chop you up I might end up stuck here for slaughtering the wrong opponent then again they'ld probably just revive you but I can't be arsed taking the chance. Instead I'll let them remove your smoking body from my sight so I can deal with pig face. Oh look here they come. Goodbye.

Just as the removal squad took away smoky Keleh landed next to Raine.
So i guess we're fighting after all
You got it ugly. Hey don't look at me like that, it turns my stomach. Here I brought you a drink.
Hmmm, the crowds are gettin noisy again. Should we
Pah, the bastards can wait. Heres to us, let the best creature feature win.
Hey look who your calling creature, at least I don't look like I'm a walking corpse
Cheers.

As both combatants knocked back there drinks Prince Raine thought to himself " dammit that was my easy way out now I'm going to have fight. Damn fly boy. hmmm might as well get started "
Hey ugly.
I am not ug.........
The prince smacked rock face in the mouth.
Ouch, well come on then pig face show me what you got.................

[dessembrae]

It felt so long ago. A dream? A vision? Like it had happened to someone else and he was just an innocent bystander. Fleeting glimpses of what had happened hurtled at him like a thousand cuts from blades unseen. Relentless, seeking to get under the skin and shatter the fragile mind.
Heat as if thrown into the sun. Darkness the likes of which you cant even comprehend. The fall may have been a thing of grace and beauty. No more wandering, shouldering heavy burdens. Free. At peace. Peace that was ruptured by a mortal wound to the chest, backed by the will and desperation of one man. Added venom in the fact that it was one of his own blades. How the gods were laughing that day.
He had always relied on his faith to bridge the gaps. Faith in releasing others from their fraught lives, pain endured no more. His was truly a sweet surrender for those who wanted it. In a world of black, plummeting to a doom unfathomed. The agony of countless wounds taking hold and the fear of the unknown gripping like a curse.

The irony was not lost on him.

Something was bothering Kahmul. It was the simple fact that, as he made his way clumsily over the rubble to the arena, he should be dead. The soul passing from the body to the nether. Made to spend the rest of time contemplating all that had taken place whilst living. A faint smile crossed his face when he pondered....had he really, truly lived. Was it a life. Brought up by a twisted, uncaring man. A future that couldn't be changed. Decisions already made.
Well enough. The soul was still in the same place so that would have to do. Adapt was what he was told. Although cocking his head, the smell was.......unusual. The body almost felt borrowed. Like it didn't quite fit. Kahmul found himself rolling his shoulders a lot, a twitch he just couldn't shake off. Tattoos still dorning his body but now with a faded glow. Flesh now retaining the pallor of ash coloured grey. Worse yet his tunic barely spared Kahmuls blushes.

Running a languid hand across his chest, Kahmul was enticed by the neat scarring on his chest. The tattoos spiralling to a particular point. The knife really had been driven straight and true. It was an intoxicating whirlpool of tortured flesh. Making his way across the arena floor acquardly, Kahmul felt strangely ashamed of what he had become. His gait was that of a drunk. Limbs loose, swaying in foreign timing. The composure he once held was all but gone.
Caught muttering, words echoed in his head. Fight, live, win. This brought on an inner spark Kahmul thought had all but subsided. Enreathed in flame, it was like the fire was trying to thaw this death apparition. Yes, i feel it now.

Only now taking in his newfound opponent. Kahmul didn't know what to make of this other man. Their little set to in the bar only clarified his need of a stiff drink. He held himself well. Strong, sure. Almost as if he was ready for any outcome. A very curious eye indeed it was that stared back at Kahmul.
Shrugging his shoulders once more even as the other man bellowed the words "Alright lets do this!", Kahmul laughed inwardly. I am ready for anything now. If one good thing has come of this it's that i now know.

Death is so overrated.

[Illuyankas]

Watching the flame-shrouded figure, Kelehedemon started to spin the sword in his right hand in lazy circles, trying to decide the most effective way to end this quickly. Fire needs heat to live, so... Swinging the blade harder and harder, forcing the vortices formed to swell, combine, strengthen, a near solid column of air formed at his side, being fed by the simple fan made by his sword. It was always easier to augment existing flows than to force the stuff where you wanted it, and he intended to save his strength for the later fights. He wanted to shatter this man's magics, douse his fiery defence and crush his resolve, crush him utterly as some slight recompense for what had been done - He held his sword straight, the howling hammer of wind appearing to emanate from its hilt, and examined this thought. That debt had been settled, fatally, years ago. What brought it up now? The man's use of fire? He really was losing focus recently. Shaking his head, Kelehedemon stepped forward and flung the tornado at the stationary apparition, the tower of air whipping around to bear down on its target. The flames pushed back by the initial blast of wind had recovered, and leapt forward eagerly to greet the oncoming attack. The column should have struck the man like a hammer, and treated his infernal aura like a smouldering torch in a hurricane.

The hammer broke upon the wall of flames like it was made of glass. Keleh blinked. The moment his eye opened, there was a bright flare in front of him, and he had barely enough time to fling his swords in the path of the incoming knife. Whatever hit the crossed blades, splitting into four blazing pieces, rocketing past him and scorching his shoulders and thighs through his chain mail, was certainly no earthly metal, and only his sense of self preservation made him fling himself away, narrowly avoiding two more darts. Stupid, stupid! Sorcerous fire doesn't work that way! You forgot everything so soon!? Wrenching the wind down to assist, he made his way across the area in a series of bounding leaps, stopping far enough away to react to any more flung shards in time, and throwing up walls of wind to slow them further, even as it blurred his view of his opponent. Even so, he still barely ducked the next missile ? his defensive walls of thickened air not doing a thing to even divert it! ? the shard leaving a smoking hole through the wall behind him, and probably anyone in the way. More fool them, and more fool all these buffoons watching this for amusement. He never would have done this but for boredom. That, and the huge amount of cash they were willing to pay him, for merely exploding some silly gladiators. At least this man, if he was still a man, wouldn?t as easy to kill - at least, he hoped not; it would be nice to exercise his mind in murdering someone. The flesh half of his face turned up in a sneer, the stone still frozen in its expertly engraved snarl. You?ve got to take your pleasures where you can, they say?

Heat broiling off the stationary figure before Kelehedemon sent violent waves of hot air skywards, seeming to thunder to his ear. The residue of the fire clung to its writhing coils, not totally outside the assassin?s control, but not usable by him in any way. Still, there were other methods. He had suspicions as to the source of this power, but needed to get closer to confirm them. And it was going to hurt. A ?headache? would probably be the most pleasant feeling he had afterwards. The sneer broadened into as big a smile as he could make.

He began by mimicking an effect of heat on air, extending it in a circle around the blazing warrior, surrounding him with a shimmering wall that blurred his view of the arena. A view that, as the assassin walked three paces to his left and four darts carved through the wall behind where he had been, did not contain Keleh. Changing the shape of the mirage to show images of him in differing parts of the arena, he reached up towards the sky, farther, farther? As streaks of fire thudded into the walls on either side, a funnel of freezing air spun down and enveloped him in a ball, then distinct flows began whirling around his torso, his limbs and his swords. Frost rimed on the blades. His chain mail was frozen in place. The exposed skin of his hands and cheek grew taut and painful from the patches of ice. Nothing formed on his mask. He only noticed he was injured when the blisters on his right thigh, formed when the fragment of dart had burned him, burst in the cold, and nefarious fluids froze directly on the wound. He shrugged, producing an icy series of small cracks. All part of the job. As long as that tunnel connected him to the upper reaches of the sky, he could keep himself cool enough to give the man a hug if he wanted, though a case of severe sword poisoning would do. Kelehedemon projected the illusion of himself around to the opposite side of the arena, then brought it rushing towards the man as he leapt high into the sky, to come down from the direction of the sun. Hanging in midair, to find the right angle, he saw his opponent raise an arm and a surge of fire swept through his mirage, revealing the entire arena floor to him. Oh, shi- Down! Down! As the warrior looked upwards, Keleh descended at him as fast as possible, adding a spin for momentum to his attack. The ball of supercooled air battered the flames aside, and the assassin smashed into the tattooed man with a shockwave that cracked the ground like an eggshell and sent dust and stones into the audience, to choked-off screams and panic. It looked like two tornadoes, one inside the other, one of white, grey-tainted steam and one of black smoke and gouts of fire, with an infernal radiance at their base. Inside that maelstrom, they fought.

Kelehedemon had been shielded from the impact by his protective ball, but the fiery warrior had not, and he had felt half the man's ribs crack. He had also felt a knife slip in and out of his hip, and in rolling away to stand, however lopsidedly, lost his opponent. Limbs of flame licked his side, igniting his hair, before a killing frost whipped up to douse the fire, causing his scalp to split, bleed and freeze in a fraction of a second. A cloud of steam parboiled his legs, before the heat of the ground itself, sticky and molten beneath his smoking boots, drove it away. An enormous roar drowned out every other sound. Everything was either searing hot or acidly cold, and white steam buffeted him and hid most of the burning barriers from him. Most. It looked like a glacier and a volcano having sex in a hurricane. Grinning at his own metaphor, the flesh of his cheek and jaw splitting and showing his teeth, he turned and was tackled by the burning man. Striking the ground together, Keleh had his head dashed against the ground, where it made a dent and held onto the remnants of his already smouldering hair, and his opponent began to stab him in the chest with daggers, real ones for all the flames on their edges. This close, his swords were useless, for all that they were the only things here that the heat didn?t affect, and it was all he could do with the hilts to direct the knives, without seeming too, away from his vital organs and into his lungs. They cauterised themselves, which was handy. Even so, one cut deep into his stomach, and another came perilously close to his heart. As the man reached back for what he thought was his final strike, Keleh threw his head forward and caught the knife in his teeth. The flames charred his mouth, reduced his tongue to a blackened husk, and closed his throat over - not like I breathe anymore, and the holes in my lungs are enough to survive on - but he used the space to break the man?s trapped right arm at the elbow with one hilt-holding hand, stab him in the left bicep with the other - too shallow! - and roll him off to the side. The flames subsided slightly, and he ran through them to open air and whatever temporary relief he could find, pausing only to boot the man in the testicles on the way past. I'm going to have to think of a new way to kill this thing...

[Morgoth]

Right, the winners of first round are:
DIB
Shin
Illy
Morgoth
Dolmen
Tes

Pairings for the second round are as follows:
Dolmen vs DiB
Tes vs Illy
Shin vs Morgoth

Let the games begine anew

[drinksinbars]

It felt strange to be out on the sand again, and it took Kaal a few moments to recognise the sensation as he had not felt it in a long time; it felt like freedom. He knew it was absurd, for he was now a true captive but knowing that did not disperse the sense of freedom he felt. As a captive he was no longer responsible for Erion, the duty and responsibility given to him by the First was now totally irrelevant. It was as if a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders and he was seeing the world anew. He had always enjoyed battles and his last had been the most amazing he had ever been in. He had died on the sand not ten yeards from where he now stood, yet he didn’t feel fear at that thought, instead he felt free!

He looked over at the sand where he knew he had fallen and could see nothing to indicate that a battle had been fought there not long before. Indeed, when he had woken an hour earlier his body had been completely healed of injury, and only his mind had been damaged, though damaged was perhaps the wrong word. The doctors had clearly been shocked by his remembrance of his death, though they had tried to assure him that it was normal. Their misplaced confidence in their technology had let him read their minds, and while their faces didn’t betray their lies, the train of their thoughts did.

Kaal reached out with his consciousness, feeling his thirty-six dead brothers, hovering in that shared space that the First had carved out of the multiverse years before. They hadn’t bodies waiting for them, but he now knew that if they did that they could return as easily as he had. The masters of the arena had thought themselves gods with their powers of regeneration but Kaal knew better. They were children before the power of the First and his Brothers, who had built up civilisations that spanned the stars and had crossed the fifth dimension that separated the forty-two known universes. Death to them was something that could be conquered by stitching a body back together, but kaal felt their method cared little for the souls of the dead, and for a moment he contemplated what it would have been like to have faced that gate alone.

Kaal pushed such thoughts from his mind as the crowd erupted in a cheer. The other fighter had arrived, and he stepped out onto the sand as if it were his first time to grace the arena. Kaal looked at him closely across the distance, and could see immediately that before him was a man who had passed through deaths gate just as he had, though Kaal sensed that it had been less kind for this other. Kaal felt a momentary kinship with this once fallen warrior, and raised his sword in a brotherly salute that indicated a universal code of honour back on Erion. He wanted to ask the man what it felt like to die alone, and only his sense of honour stopped him from raping his opponents mind for the answer.

The man grinned for the first time since entering the arena, breaking the previously stern and serious expression that had darkened his face, with a glowing grin that lit his features in what seemed like genuine pleasure. Kaal’s opponent returned the salute with a swift sweep of his arm that ended precisely in the right pose a hairs breath from his face. The control he possessed drew admiration, not only from Kaal, but from the crowd as well who called out their appreciation in loud cheers and claps.

Kaal looked down at his left arm, noting that it had slowly faded away once more, so that it existed partially in this universe, and partially in another. He looked across the sand once more and sent his mental powers forward to read the surface of his opponents thoughts. As Kaal had guessed, the man was a simple swordsman, highly skilled but bereft of extraordinary talents.

“I have need of my arm,� spoke Kaal from his place within his Brother’s minds.
“Then have it back with thanks, Brother!� came a booming voice in his mind.

Kaal held his arm out before him as the bones suddenly materialised within his ghostly appendage. Slowly the flesh of his muscles grew in substance around the bones, in patches at first so that he could see through his forearm to the bone below, before it was finally hidden by the purple pink flesh. Thin veils of blood, veins and arteries began to appear along the surface of muscles, shimmering and wavering beneath his ghostly skin. Finally the skin solidified, grey at first before turning pink then white.

Satisfied, Kaal moved forward in a fighter’s stance. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he heard his opponent speak to someone in his mind moments before he too came forward with his blade ready.

“Brother,� called the First urgently. “Beware, for this one travels the fourth!�

Before Kaal could make sense of the First’s comment, the two blades met, and battle was joined.

[Cause]

The creature lashed out like lightning. Xe’el met the over head blow with a desperate parry. His opponents riposte came even faster if such was possible. Fortunatly he had anticipated the move and had already begun to move his sword to the defence. Pain and defeat followed. That horrific glowing blade tore through his own, destroying it in an explosion of shards. As his body felt the impacts of those needles of pain he struck out with his last strength with what remained of his blade into his opponents chest. He was dying. He had failed. His father would come now. must. As his lips broke into smile Xe’el raised his head and was met with shocking disillusionment. "So you forsake me...even now." the smile faded as both warriors fell into darkness.

Darkness. That was all that would remain. His soul would ride the currents of darkness time without end. His gods, the gods of his people had long ago been lost. No peace awaited him, no god would claim his soul. It was damned to survive in darkness. The sword, what remained of it, would trap his soul to preserve it against those who would seek it for their own dark ends. The rare summons from his living blood would be all he would have to break the monotony. He would survive amongst the other Honoured Dead, but he would not be amongst them without a third name. For the first time he wondered if oblivion were not the better end.

“Is he dead”
“Of course”
“But I feel his soul still in his body”
“Are you certain”
“Absolutely”
“But his body. He has no pulse, he draws no breath”
“Seek it our for yourself than”
“No impossible… we must heal him. The pain! It must be excruciating”

He experienced pain. Not the pain he had once felt as man a different pain. More intense and yet different. Only that he knew he wanted it to stop was what let him know what sensation it even was. So different. He saw through different eyes, Felt through a different touch, knew without knowing that something was wrong. He was alone and that should not be. Where were the blood of his line, were the blood of his people. He felt them but it was as if they were behind a vale that separated them just as it was when he was a man yet different from that as well. It was as if he was caught between worlds. Suddenly the pain intensified further and it was as if anchors pulled on his soul. He felt himself being dragged, but to where he knew not.

Eyes snapped open. A heart was sent racing. Breaths were stolen from the air. All happened as his body exploded into motion. He shot upright as his hands clenched at sheets. He was naked from the waist up in a strange bed. His body he saw was covered in scars. Up his arms and all along his chest, long lacerations to small tears. All were equally represented. He was alive. He had been given a second chance. He understoof what had happened. The shards of the sword had indeed trapped his soul but they had trapped it within his own body. Such a thing was unprecedented and he wondered what it would signify.

Walking down the arenas tunnel he prepared for the fight to come. He would not fail twice. Fate had given him a second chance and he would fashion from that chance and the shame of defeat a victory. Setting his face to grim determination he stepped out onto what would be his field of battle. Looking over the sand he was drawn to the spot
Were he failed, were he had died. The horrors of that fight returned to him and the rembrance of those final moments sent his heart racing with dread. He had been sent out to battle a monster, a demon with eight arms and wielding eight swords of magic. He had stood no chance. But he had tried. He had tried so very hard and still it had not been enough for his father. “The past is not the future. We are not doomed to repeat our mistakes. Do not be so worried Xe’el this fight will be different” His grandfather spoke. His connection with his ancestors had changed; it was like they were apart of him now. No longer connected to them through a sword but through his own soul.

Looking at his opponent Xe’el did believe that this fight would be different. Here stood against him a mortal man. Though his right arm bore some mark of sorcery Xe’el felt better for at least facing a man and not creature of the abyss. His opponents suddenly flourished his blade in some kind of gesture. “He honours you cousin”.Xe’el broke into a smile he could not help it. Honour, respect for your opponent, this was how fights were meant to take place. Between men who were equals not against rampaging nightmares. This fight would indeed be different. He swept his sword in a mirror of the gesture he had just witnessed hoping he had got it right. He did not wish to offend by making a mistake or seem mocking.

His opponents arm changed than from sorcerous touched to flesh and blood. His opponent would meet him steel to steel and flesh against flesh. This fight would indeed be different.

As they made to meet each other across the sand his grandfather spoke in his mind. “For your blood Xe’el Ma’tok Ti’ran”. Blades crossed.

[drinksinbars]

In the split second before they met, Kaal played through the opening blows in his minds eye. He noted the strength and power in his opponents movements, and read the subtle signs that his opponent’s body displayed. By the direction he held his blade, Kaal could determine the most likely direction of attack and could change his own posture accordingly to offer the best chance of counterattack. He imagined the first few moments of the fight in that split second, seeing himself winning and losing countless times in a variety of ways. One scenario repeated itself over and over in his mind and Kaal flowed into the form as he closed the distance.

His opponent altered course in response as both fighters allowed training and instinct to dictate their movements. The blades barely seemed to touch before they were striking again and again in quick succession. Both fighters fought with close precise movements, their blades darting forward then slipping back almost before the attack had been blocked, just in time to stop the counter attack that already been launched. Their feet were kicking up clouds of dust, and tracing complex patterns into the sand as they twisted and sidled away from each other. The fight played on like a dance between two masters, stretching from seconds to minutes and still neither had succeeded in striking a blow. The ring of steel on steel was a furious clattering of sound that echoed throughout the arena and seemed to beat in time with the hearts of everyone watching.

What cheering there had been had all but died out as the skill of the two swordsmen silenced even the loudest of mouths. People could barely believe the skill of the fighters, for although it was a fight to the death, the timing and precision of the swordplay was such that it seemed more like a rehearsed act than an actual battle. Yet for Kaal it was all too real. He had never fought harder and yet been so fruitless. His every attack was anticipated even as he read the attacks of his opponent and moved to capitalise on them. He didn’t have time to consider anything other than the swift movements of the blades and the next position that his sword should be in. It was almost as if he were being told where his blade should be a fraction of a second before it should be there, and knowing that to miss that window of opportunity would mean his life.

The high tempo was beginning to get to both fighters though, and although their movements were still too fast for most to see, Kaal could feel the burning in his muscles and knew that he was becoming fatigued. Sweat was dripping into his eyes, and his long dark hair was becoming matted against his brow. His breathing, which had been slow and easy moments before, was starting to feel laboured and raw on his throat. Every breath was like sucking in hot and poisonous fumes that burned at his lungs and made his muscles weaken. He was not alone in his suffering though, for neither man could maintain the pace at which they were fighting and mistakes were starting to show now in the style of both fighters, and only luck was keeping them from striking a blow.

Kaal blocked a thrust high on his blade, and rolled his wrist to push his sword over the top of his opponents guard. Even as he did so he sensed the feint in his opponents movements, and felt a moment of panic as his new momentum carried him past his opponents pirouetting form. His blade sliced along his opponents flank, but didn’t even pierce his armour. Kaal pushed hard with his left foot, knowing that for every moment that he moved forward he granted his opponent the time to slice across his newly exposed back. Their eyes locked as they past, and Kaal saw with horror the look of triumph in his opponents gaze. He sensed the shifting of weight behind himself and could sense the steel rushing toward his back. He had only a fraction of a heartbeat to launch himself as close to his opponent as possible in a vain attempt to remove any power from the blow and perhaps take his opponents leg from beneath him, when his right leg lost its footing and gravity grabbed hold of him.

He barrelled into the sand as pain erupted across his side and back. He fell into a roll and lost the grip on his sword as the sudden fiery pain threatened to overwhelm him. He came up in a defensive crouch but the dust and sand flung into the air clouded his vision and he couldn’t spot his sword anywhere. A glint of sunlight sparkled along flashing steel as Kaal threw himself out of the way. The pain of his back was forgotten as his adrenalin kicked in and he scrambled away for his life.

[Cause]

cant get it to post my post. TESTING 1 2 3.

Seems to be a problem with posting my real post but no this. Try to sort it out hold on

can someone help me. It seems its too big. Yet its only 500 words or so. WHy the problem?

[Cause]

Okay tried sending it to DIB to post. But wont work iether. SO here it is in a post a paragraph

His opponent was defeated, unarmed. All that remained now was to kill him. He struck out with a thrust of his sword barely missing his opponent’s heart as he kicked away and scrambled back. It was of no concern. Even the crowd settled. Already bored, disappointed with how the fight had turned out. So was he.

It was he felt regrettable that the fight should be over. Victory had been given to him by the fortune of chance and not by skill of arms. No not given but rather stolen from him. There was neither honour in this victory nor any glory to be won. This fight that had been the greatest of his life and he suspected of his opponents as well proved nothing. No true victor had been revealed. Neither had bested the other. But what a fight it was! Their swords had flowed effortlessly, meeting one another again and again until they danced to the music of their making. His ancestors had guided his hands and he had met every parry and struck every blow exact and precise and yet always his opponent’s blade had s been there to meet it. His opponent was a true warrior a man of consummate skills. For him to have matched with his own skill alone that of his entire line…