569/The Battle of Stoicism

The Battle of Stoicism
Date of Scene:	09 September 2014
Location:	Great Painting of Ariamis <PoA>
Synopsis:	Though Sen's Fortress lies conquered, the Union have allowed Oscar to be (perhaps rightfully) the Chosen in place of one of their own; a choice which will most definitely bring benefits and consequences yet unforseen. As the Union's last hope of entering Anor Londo, their champions must compete in the tournament of the ancient gods: The Battle of Stoicism. Her, phantom fights phantom to the death over and over again until a victor emerges, being granted honorary passage to the city of the gods for their skill at arms. Remember to bow!
Thanks to:	Priscilla, for the phantom fight shenanigans.
Cast of Characters:	Staren, Priscilla, 168, 183, 227, 253, 283, 395, 560
Tinyplot:	That Dark Souls TP That Priscilla is Doing

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Priscilla has posed:
    It's been a gruelling, knock-down drag-out hell of a day. Deep within the ancient woods that surround Sen's Fortress, Priscilla had summoned everyone to the crumbling ruins of what might have once been a grand ampitheatre; now little more than a series of vine-covered arches and fragmented stairs overlooking the colisseum floor. Rather than a perfect circle, it is divided into four, squared sections, with a cross shaped walk and metal grates seperating each conflict, as the requisite number of battles would never be finished one at a time. It's kind of a dark and spooky location for a battle, as the clash of steel mixes strangely with the quiet, forlorn air of the forest, but phantoms show up in droves nonetheless. Priscilla's group hasn't managed to occupy more than two arenas at once, but even with the waiting periods between successive fights, it's been an exhausting affair. Despite the fact that everyone seems to win the vast majority, and the number of requisite victories is divided in half for two person matches, it's gone from sunrise to near sunset before the last matches of the day are about to wrap up.

    Amalthea and Shirou are the first of the last round; the grate opening in the southeastern corner as the last phantom crumbles to glittering ash and the two across from it slowly fade from view. The moment they step inside, it slams shut again, despite there being no discernable mechanism operating it. Across from the twin golden phantoms, new summons enter; a red spirit garbed in ragged old robes, wearing a great deal of pouches and trinkets, and wielding a matched pair of curved swords; and a white phantom in a royal soldier's attire, wielding a rather large recurve bow.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Winning matches, for Shirou, has largely been reliant on Amalthea's extreme prowess. With her to handle emergencies, he's been able to get by through just keeping enemies busy the many times he couldn't quite match them head-on. For he is no experienced, heavily armored or geared-up warrior, and his Projected weapons have shattered several times. Getting this far meant pacing himself and not using up all of his prana early on - so, unfortunately, Amalthea had to bear a little extra burden.

    Still, when he fought in this hellish tournament, he did it without complaints. Even as many fighters are more experienced, better equipped, and more into being a hardcore warrior than he, Emiya SHirou has pulled ahead in some of them without any help - often by baiting opponents into striking for an obvious opening and then countering viciously.

    But now, here they are, with a new set of opponents. One of them looking DEFINITELY troublesome - who knows what that guy's got in all of the pouches?

    Either way, he's only got a few weapons he can trust enough to handle either of these opponents. "Trace, on!"

    With great care he mentally divides the steps needed to forge weapons, calling upon a recent acquisition he's had some practice with. The wielder's skill is more important than the weapon itself, however.

    Golden light flickers from his hands, and by the time the fight starts Wuyin Tsai's Jian rests in his grasp.

    For this fight, he'll have to make the BEST USE of that Prana he was saving, or the burden Amalthea's faced would be wasted.

    Damn, he's trying to become a hero, and he has to rely on everyone else for a fight like this?! It's galling, embarassing, upsetting...

    "This time, I'm going to really win." He murmurs. even if his opponent looks like a professional soldier. He'll do something. He HAS to do something.

Amalthea (395) has posed:
    While on the one hand, letting Oscar set his name down as the Chosen Undead that gets to go to Anor Londo felt like the right thing to do, in Amalthea's opinion... It did bring about the issue of now having to compete in the Battle of Stoicism. Nevertheless, summoned by her sign, the unicorn appears, resplendant and golden, armed and armored and...
    She waits.
    Good lord she waits and waits and waits, occasionally gets up and throws down with a phantom when it's time for another match, and then waits some MORE and recovering her stamina between fights. She's practically just laying on her back and staring at the sun by the time it's time for her final round to go. With a rattle of chain and plate, the old knight picks herself up, elbowing Shirou to signal the youth as she makes her way through the grate and to face down the red and white phantoms, taking a moment to lashe her shield tighter to her arm, several joints and seams of her body venting an angry steam from the strain of repeated battles.
    Already through the gate and she's eying up the opposing phantoms, and Shirou chooses the soldier. So she squares herself to face the red phantom.
    "You know the drill kid. Hold your own as best you can, you need an assist just give a shout; but you've done well enough so far." Muttered to the young mage as she draws the sharp honed edge of a black dagger from her boot, rather than the sword at her hip, and then...
    She gives a simple dipping bow to signal her readiness, sliding into fighting stance behind her shield.

Priscilla has posed:
    As is the case so far, neither enemy phantom bothers to say a thing. Either every single one of them are simply paired together at random, they're all closely knit partnerships who know what the other is thinking without words, or they're communicating by some other means. It's a little weird being the only ones talking, but attention has yet to be called to it. As Amalthea bows towards her opposition, the phantom in white gives a little dip of the head of his own to signify mutual respect; however the red phantom ignores her immediately; one hand diving into a pouch at his belt and the other drawing the opposite sword. Unwrapping some kind of rolled paper, he wipes it down the blade of his weapon, and then tosses it, swapping hands and performing the motion with a second pouch and a second sword with well practised speed. The left weapon, smeared with something black and glistening, immediately bursts into roaring flame. The right weapon, smeared with something white and silvery, suddenly gains an ominous blue glow, leaving a sort of aftertrail as it moves.

    It seems they aren't going to let Amalthea and Shirou have it the way they want it. The archer plants his feet, twists his shoulders, grabs a stack of arrows in his fist, and lets one fly straight for Amalthea's forehead with unerring accuracy. The swordsman takes the cue to break into a dead sprint, zigzagging in on Shirou before swerving at him from the left and swinging both swords in a scissor-like motion, preventing him from dodging to either side. No bell of any kind has rung. These two are definitely serious.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    OH CRAP!

    "They're vicious!" And working together very well. Shirou's not sure why a white and red phantom are working together so well - that's kind of odd - but he can't dispute their tactics! "Crap!" Amalthea probably won't be able to handle both the archer and swordsman, so he'll just have to do what he can to throw the swordsman off-balance!

    And he sees what the enemy's going to do a split-second before he does it. There's no choice. In a panic, Shirou does the only thing he can do: skips every detailed step and throws a hand forward. Desperation's clear on his face - 'please be quick enough!'

    It's a GOOD THING he saved up all that prana! This projection will cut down his supply by about HALF!

    A shape appears, bigger than Shirou's whole body. It's the enormous TOWER SHIELD employed by certain knights of this region. The phantasm is only barely taking the proper shape though - it's an amorphous, translucent blob of pure prana that contains all the defensive power it needs - but Shirou's just not experienced enough to create shields properly yet.

    "Agh...hrrrkgh--!" But it DID buy him the time to leap back and away, letting the twin swords strike the swiftly-fading projected shield.

    The boy goes skidding across the ground, skidding and tumbling, but he fights the nausea and slams a foot to the ground to raise back up. The Jian's stuck in the ground, discarded. Instead, he projects twin hunting daggers that bear a Mayan-esque aesthetic. They bear a potent speed enchantment, and might help him keep up with this opponent!

Amalthea (395) has posed:
    The extreme silent treatment that's been going on all day is somewhat disconcerting. But Amalthea does not let it get under her skin. The unicorn's lone eye watches the red phantom's process of coating his blades, and the resultant flames and mystical glow to come upon them.
    And then just like that the fight begins without prompt. In an instant Amalthea is forced behind her shield, the arrow piercing the heavy slab of metal with a shrill ringing whine as the tip bursts through into her defenses. Jerking her head aside with a grunt as it earns a gash in the plating of her face, and just like that she's in motion.
    "Guess our opponents picked US, huh." Grunted at Shirou as she breaks into a sprint, armor rattling while making a dead charge at the archer. Her every step hisses steam from her ankles as her feet carry her faster and faster before she makes for the simple and direct approach of trying to put every single ounce of her momentum into a sudden and brutal swing of her shield and shoulder into the white phantom.

Priscilla has posed:
    Seeing his opponent hotswapping out items not physically on his person must be throwing Shirou's opponent for a loop, but he's not slowing down for a second. Stumbling slightly from having the momentum of his strike only partially stopped by the shield, he shoves his fist against a belt around his hip, grasping a series of objects between his knuckles without letting go of his sword. As he gets back into his stride, he throws his arm wide, flinging a succession of razor thin throwing knives at Shirou to try and soften him up first, before launching off the ground into a flying leap and coming down with both swords in a twin headsplitter; trailing flame and blue light in the wake of his swing.

    Amalthea's opponent has just enough time to level his bow once again during her charge, lowering an arrow from the bunch in his hand rather than going back to his quiver. Sighting again, he suddenly aims straight down and shoots for her knee, before bodily throwing himself to the side, breaking his fall into a deft roll and planting his heel to spin back to face her. From his crouching position, he begins loosing a stream of arrows; several of them per second; simply thumbing each arrow against the bowstring so no time is lost reaching behind him, leaving his only motions the draw and release. The last arrow in the sequence makes an odd whistling sound before violently exploding on the first surface it strikes.

Amalthea (395) has posed:
    Thusly does Amalthea learn she may have been very wrong. In her every encounter with archers all she had ever needed do was get in their face, and throw them off their game by turning a long ranged battle into a melee, usually causing panic, disarray, and. As it just so happens, this particular bowman seems to fear NOTHING and keep shooting at her.
    Expecting shots to come spanging off her shield the sudden introduction of an arrow to her knee brings things to a crashing halt. A shrill snarl of pain, surprise, and a fair mix of rage rises as the unicorn takes a tumble, the shaft sticking out at an angle from her knee. Rolling with her crash, she manages to arrest her motion in time to get her shield back up, the volley that follows spanging off the metal slab before the final one connects- and erupts.
    In another tumble that loses her her shield in a ringing din. But this time when she picks herself up, scorched and sizzling, she flips that dagger in her hand-- suddenly hucking it with a well practiced speed and force as she uses her free hand to WRENCH and snap off the arrow in her knee and then rip it out the other side with a grunt of pain and small spurt of silvery liquid.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Here, Shirou can only trust his instincts. And they're not very honed. He attempts to parry some of the knives - or rather the daggers do without much input from him! Some of the throwing knives spang off them, a few others plant themselves into his flesh and draw blood - but they miss his vitals, and he only lightly flinches from the pain. His teeth are clenched and he expects every trick in the book from this enemy.. and plenty that aren't.

    This would be so much better if he just had more experienced, proper training!

    As it is, Ainsley's daggers shatter after the fourth parry, leaving Shirou seemingly unarmed with the robed figure dropping down!

    "uuuuuraaaahhh!!"

    He's only got a few moves left to play though. Shirou grabs the impaled Jian and brings it up to catch both weapons in a flat parry. This should leave him quite vulnerable. It SHOULD. Most opponents would probably immediately take that as a moment to kick or the like.

    But the opposite is true for Shirou, who's only using one hand to parry.

    His OTHER hand is open, and golden light that flares from his palm forms into an Estoc - yet another weapon acquired from the jaunt into Sen's fortress!

    The weapon is designed for thrusting, and that's EXACTLY what SHirou does with it. Though he's been driven to his knees and sparks flew from the impact of blade on blade, he aims a thrust straight for his opponent's gut, ignoring his screaming muscles the whole while!

    And also ignoring the cracks forming in the Jian...

Priscilla has posed:
    Diving out of the way of a charging unicorn is one thing, but the archer has planted himself in a firm, bracing crouch, confident that he could shoot down Amalthea before she could cause him any harm. Though he seems to have been correct in that tactical assessment, he is far too rooted to go dodging out of the way of a high speed dagger flying straight at him. He drops his arrow, pushes himself halfway to his feet, starts to turn, and then takes the blade straight to the chest, embedding into him up to the hilt. Though it doesn't seem like a fatal wound, an glittering explosion of fine particles burst from the impact point, as a reminder to the fact that gold phantoms are specialized in defeating enemy spirits. The white glow surrounding his body dims as he seems to slowly lose form and substance, however he does manage to nock his last three arrows at once and spray Amalthea with all of them roughly on target; each one of them explosive.

    On the other hand, Shirou has just as much of the element of surprise as his opponent does. As he catches both weapons on the flat of his blade, a small explosion of withering flame washes over him, and a screaming jolt of what feels like ice cold electricity shoots up his arm, tinging the jiant both white hot and luminescent blue where the edges of the swords meet. The swordsman does indeed go for a sliding kick to knock out his legs and impale him against the ground, however the thrust of the estoc comes first, and just like Amalthea, the blow immediately disrupts the red phantom's essence. Unfortunately, that one stab seems to have taken a lot out of Shirou, because by now he should be feeling utterly exhausted. As it seems, every last one of those knives had been poisoned. The swordsman manages to reach for his chest pouches, unbuckling them and letting a small hail of multicoloured, rounded objects fall out around Shirou's feet, and then hurls himself off the end of the estoc with a spurt of silvery mist, taking a few steps backwards before the junk littering the ground detonates into a wild conflagration of fire, toxic smog, crackling electricity, and raw magic. The smoke hasn't even cleared before he returns, swinging both swords in alternate rhythms to one another to try and catch Shirou out in a flurry of blows that are extremely difficult to parry.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    "GHHH!" Horrid pain lances through Shirou's body. Never before has he felt such a kind of agony. Shocking magic and a cursed flame burning and draining his strength. The Jian shatters messily, but the moment the THINGS start dropping to the ground he panics and leaps backward with all the strength he can muster, even abandoning the estoc.

    It's just in time too.

    KABOOOOM!

    "Errraaaaaaaaaaghhh!" Shirou's propelled backward. He goes rolling and tumbling, hitting the ground over and over. It's HELL on his arm. Heck, it's hell on all o him. He's coughing and spluttering, orced to struggle to remain conscious through the pain and the nausea. He's seeing red and his body's a wreck. Yet, somehow, he's still holding on. Somehow his wounds just aren't enough to 'kill' him.

    All he can do is stagger up to his knees. There's no strength in his arms anymore, and he can TELL what that enemy is up to.

    He's not surprised at all when the Red phantom comes charging through the smoke, but now Shirou's facing defeat. How is he supposed to win?

    If they don't win, and can't reach the gods in Anor Londo, can they really trust Oscar to carry this immense burden? Will more turn undead, suffer, and turn Hollow?

    There's the sound of creaking, straining metal as Shirou forces energy into his limbs and struggles to stand. Blood's dripping from his face where a wound was scraped open, and he's gasping for breath despite the fire inh is lungs from the poison. He may not be an experienced warrior, but he just refuses to go down.

    "Fall... FALL ALREADY, DAMN IT! I don't have time to waste!" he can't arm himself. He can't swing.

    His vision blanks out as he does something crazy, cranking his Magic Circuits up to maximum output and channeling ALL of his prana.

    Even if he can't swing, he must create a weapon. That's all he can do!

    Letting out a wet, choked battle cry, Shirou has seemingly lost it. Sanity AND the match.

    Anyone who doesn't look BEHIND him will think that, anyways. For many weapons appear around him, spread out in a cloud! Their business ends are all angled at the Red Phantom. There's Auron's Katana, an enormous katana wielded by a warrior digimon, the man-serpent greatsword, the uchigatana, another estoc, several copies of Ainsley's daggers, a greatsword, Wuyin's Jian...

    And they all fire off and down at the Red Phantom like bullets from a gun. The wind howls as it's cut down by a rain of swords!

Amalthea (395) has posed:
    She got lucky with that throw. She was just aiming to wound and take the opportunity to hurl herself back into melee range, but a direct fatal blow is a blessing she will not begrudge. She will, however, begrudge, the explosive arrows as they all come streaking for her. A lurch and leap and she tries to evade, but one connects solidly with her shoulder and erupts. It flings her aside, causing the second to go wide, but not out of range of the blast radius for it or the third, and when the smoke clears, Amalthea is on her knees and elbows, panting, ragged, battered and smoldering. But too stubborn to give up and die.
    But she does not get up so quickly. Shoving up with a groan and creak of her body and armor refusing to work, she pushes the pain aside mentally, gritting her teeth and turning towards Shirou and the red phantom. A breath and she reaches into her shoulder, snapping out one of the several normal arrows left protruding from her body and dropping the broken shaft as she starts her trudging approach. Trudge turns to hustle, but after getting arrowed in the leg and barely withstanding several explosions she is not sprinting again. Still, she throws herself into the fray, no qualms about turning the fight into a two on one, as Shirou had been having difficulty.
    And she is there when that deluge of swords comes down. A leap, and she lands amid the pincushioned ground where they land after firing for the phantom, and if that wasn't enough, she rips one from the ground and SWINGS it. It shatters. She pulls up a greatsword and heaves it with all her might. That shatters two. The Man Serpent greatsword... SWUNG and shatters. A process repeated sword after sword after sword, swinging each at the phantom, uncaring if they break on or after impact, she pours the last of her stamina into pouring a full out mauling down on the scarlet foe.

Priscilla has posed:
    The red phantom can smell the blood in the water. Shirou's burnt, poisones, injured and exhausted, and that seems to be the exact modus operandi this swordsman seems to like using. With the overwhelming advantage he possesses, he rockets through the other side of the smoke cloud, sprints dead on towards his ailing opponent, and then leaps out of the way as the first sword goes screaming past him and slams into the ground like a thunderbolt. It seems he simply had the bad luck of challenging Shirou on the last match of the day, where he is free to blow all of his prana on a single victory. He manages to sidestep one sword, roll out of the way of another, and then duck a third, but one of the flying daggers catches him in the shoulder and causes him to flinch, followed up by a katana plunging straight through his unarmoured gut, and then the massive greatsword sending him flying half a dozen feet and throwing him against the arena floor.

    Somehow, he manages to stand, wrapping both hands around the hilt of the sword embedded in him, only to be smashed from behind by Amalthea; uanware that his partner is in the process of fading out. Struck still on the spot from the shock of the sword shattering over his back, there is nothing the twin swordsman can do as Amalthea simply goes to town; jerking and recoiling with each of the weapons she manages to break in half over him, until finally crumpling to his knees. The phantom finally goes limp, and then fades, scattering to the wind as nothing more than reddish smoke, and his archer ally fades out with him; one last arrow dissipating in mid-air inches away from hitting the back of Amalthea's head. The grate opens, and the two are allowed back out, just in time for the square at the northwest corner to clear a space and welcome in Staren and Mizuki's turn. Priscilla has nothing to say as they come back, other than a quiet "well fought . . ." and a clap that would seem sarcastic if Amalthea didn't know her so well.

    The phantoms in the next arena must have won the last match, because they're already standing there when the two young 'immortals' step in. One is decked out head to toe in massive, slab-like plates of armour, clutching a steel-grey greatshield engraved with the likeness of an eagle, and some sort of polehammer that would belong in a fantasy videogame more than to any real medieval warrior's arsenal. His backup appears to be a man in a set of scales and lamellar similar to that worn by the bodyguards of the lady cleric from Firelink shrine, clutching a flanged mace in one hand, and some sort of ornate, golden talisman in his other. As Staren and Mizuki are let in, golden runes are already swirling around his feet, as a faint, amber wind blows across the both of them and swirls about their bodies, leaving the two of them with a faint, hazy aura.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Bloodied, dizzied, nauseous and fighting the urge to vomit - can a phantom even do that? - Shirou's struggling to stay conscious. He manages to mumble a few things into the radio, despite how hard just BREATHING is right now. His brain's absolutely on FIRE, and definitely counts as a worse opponent than the robed phantom was. Because he can't make it stop. With his body screaming at him, his od supply entirely emptied, and his mind straining to cope with the insane Projection feat he just pulled off...

    The boy topples forward with a WHUMPF, unconscious.

Amalthea (395) has posed:
    Amalthea only barely registers the arrow whizzing clean by her ear. Had it been on target she would probably not had the strength nor been able to regain her balance in time to evade it but... That's it. She has nothing left in her.
    When the red phantom fades, she drops to her knees, sagging for breath, and stays that way for a good, long, moment until the gates open, before she shoves herself back to her feet with a whine of servos and motors, and scruffs Shirou to start dragging him along with her.
    Priscilla gets an exhausted and battered thumbs up before she finds a wall to slump against and pass out for a while.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    By some miracle, Mizuki seems a good bit more focused and composed than she normally is when she visits this world. It may be because she senses 'imminent death' wafting off of the opponents as she steps into the ring, or it may just be because her dream diving experiences from the night before had left her pensive. But whatever the case, she's here now with her sword drawn and wings out, soon striking her usual pose: she stakes the point of her blade into the ground, resting her hands on its end. There she stays for several moments while she awaits Staren's approach, analyzing her enemies.

    Turning to him, she sums up her cursory observations a quiet tone, so as not to alert the opposition. "One of them has rather bulky armor. That coupled with their shield is likely to render my gun and my sword alike useless, so I shall rely on you to take care of him." She gives a nod. "Rather, I will focus on the one in leater. If push comes to shove and they recognize this tactic, then I will pause time for you. When I do, aim all of the explosives you have left and fire at will. Creation's providence willing, that will be enough to finish them by that time." She should certainly hope that they didn't hear her -- she just laid out her entire plan. Not like there was any better way to go about that given her usual lack of telepathy, but you know.

    Facing her opponents, Mizuki gives a small bow to signify her own readiness. It's really not her style to be the first one to charge, and she at least likes to -appear- as though she is a paragon of caution and midcombat thoughtfulness. To look like all of the Nathan she's not, in other words.

Staren has posed:
    Staren came to the battle of stoicism prepared. When he was summoned, his magic bag was temporarily empty of many tools and supplies, in order to be stuffed full of extra missiles and replacement forcefield projector discs. He's worked together with Mizuki here. Missiles and high-tech weapons deal with the armored opponents, while Mizuki gets flashy duels with the speedy ones.

    It's worked so far.

    Some opponents have gotten close. Staren's armor is a bit scratched and dinged up, but it isn't severely damaged -- worn-out and overloaded forcefield projectors have been replaced as needed.

    So, now, once again, Staren and Mizuki face opponents suited to their strategy.

    Staren greets his opponents with a respectful nod. But as soon as the starting bell rings or whatever, he opens fire -- a micromissile from one of his forearms, programmed to fly around and attack the armored guy from the back. These are armor-piercing warheads, designed to impact an enemy at high speed, penetrate deep, and then explode.

    Only one missile first, because Staren's checking the opponent's defenses. Would suck if he fired everything at what turned out to be an illusion or someone who could teleport really fast. "Let's do it, Mizuki!"

Priscilla has posed:
    Bowing seems to be a 50/50 thing. This time, the frontline warrior across from Mizuki returns the gesture as deeply as his heavy armour will allow him, while the cleric behind him is busy whispering words at an unbelievably rapid pace, clutching the relic to his chest as the air swirls around him and glittering motes of gold suffuse their side of the ring. Both of them are white phantoms this time, and so they appear to have the decency to wait until their opponents are good and ready, but the moment Staren opens fire, all bets are off.

    The two of them might not recognize what a missile is, but when one lives in a world so full of new and exciting ways to be killed, one doesn't get very far without developing a healthy reflex to avoid anything thrown or launched in one's direction. As micro-explosive flies behind the armoured figure, the cleric waves at it with his talisman as though it were a fan, and subsequently, a shimmering wave of energy slams into it; catching it like a candy wrapper in a breeze and hurling it far off into the forest where the explosion no doubt levels some other, priceless architectural find. Ignoring Mizuki for the moment, if only for her inoffensiveness, the warrior charges Staren with his shield raised, getting so close that the catboy can hear the faint humming that comes off his iridescent aura, before he swings downwards with the gargantuan, ornate hammer, and deliberately craters the ground at his feet. At the chime of metal hitting stone, the epicenter of the impact turns into an explosive release of raw magic, going off like a tiny, directed energy bomb.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    And whether she had intended for it or not, the lasting psychological impression that her bowing gesture left on the knight plays right into her hand. While they are distracted, she runs forward, staying groundbound for now so as not to attract too much attention. She tries to evade the cleric's gaze for as long as she can, but when she is inevitably noticed, she would... disappear. The cleric would have warning in the form of a loud crack from her revolver, and the sound of footsteps from another entirely. Only thing is, the gunshot isn't even aimed at the cleric's vitals -- it's aimed a little to her left, so that they will hopefully be grazed by it if they jump to dodge the thrust she executes from her immediate right. Mizuki isn't going for a heavy hit here; just a graze with the bullet, the sword, or both if she gets -very- lucky. She is going for shock and awe, though: a test of their reaction time as well as their endurance.

Staren has posed:
    Staren just nods slightly to himself when the missile's sent off. Okay. No more missiles until the cleric is dealt with or distracted.

    She's doing her thing, so right now, he needs to trust her, and watch for openings. The heavy guy /charges/ and with the most telegraphed attack ever swings his mace -- Staren easily dodges out of the way -- only for a blast of magic to hit his forcefield and send him tumbling. Thye outer layer of the forcefield is cracked all over and pieces are breaking off. Oooo-kay. This is not a good start! Staren gets up and tries the next thing: His own directed-energy weapons! He keeps his distance, firing shots from the particle beam cannons on his arm at the armor guy. Hopefully they inflict noticeable damage... or he'll expose another defense. Who will run out of tricks first?

Priscilla has posed:
    The cleric isn't fast enough to dodge bullets, nor keen-eyed enough to tell where Mizuki has gone off to, so by the time he starts looking for her in bewilderment, the gun has already gone off, startling him from the percussive crack. Just as expected, he leaps out of the line of fire too late, and yet he doesn't seem to have any noticeable bloody wounds on him. The reason why is quickly made apparent as Mizuki lunges at him, only for her sword to simply turn away as it reaches the cloak of amber haze wrapped around the cleric's body, a couple of inches from his armour. It feels as if an invisible force had swatted at the side of her blade, with enough force that less-dedicated strikes have absolutely no hope of penetrating.

    Which is exactly the problem Staren faces. Normally his weaponry would be enough to turn his opponent's armour into molten slag after a couple of hits, however, this world in particular seems to like to challenge his massive technological advantage with its magics. The warrior hunkers down behind his greatshield, turning himself so that his entire body fits behind it, and as each blast strikes it in succession, the dancing motes of light swirl and congeal around the points of impact and scatter the beam into pieces. The steel of his shield is left covered in glowing hot marks, but nothing seems to have punched through, leaving him free to march foward under the volley of fire and swing his hammer around for another round; sweeping it back and forth with remarkable ease for the fact it must surely weigh 50 pounds.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    So that's their alternative to the shell of heavy armor, is it? A magical cloaking, it seems like; something that pushes her sword away on contact. Trying to take advantage of whatever time she may have left before the cleric gets his bearings, she throws out her right hand to conjure a few of her stasis fields. Like shackles of a magical, monochromatic kind, they would attempt to lock around his feet to prevent him from moving. It probably isn't enough to prevent him from casting, though. Contributing nearly all of her focus to keep him in place, she launches herself into the sky, brandishing her sword before coming in for another lunge, this one powered by the sheer force of two powerful wings beating behind her, propelling her forward.

    On her way down, she would shoot off two more mildly concussive rounds. They are aimed at him - his feet most likely - but especially considering the 'cloaking', are not meant to deal any real damage. No, they are just meant to get a rise out of him, since he seems more 'skittish' than his armor-clad friend. Ultimately, she would attempt a sweeping hit to his side. Nothing gruesome, but certainly debilitating if it hits with full effect.

Staren has posed:
    Staren doesn't just keep firing the same weapons, once it's clear no progress is being made -- he draws his laser pistol and rapidly swaps through elements, looking for a weakness. Earth? Water? Fire? Electricity? Holy? Dark? /Think/ Staren... you're going to need some outside the box tricks here...

    As the armored opponent reaches melee range, Staren takes to the air as well, on transparent orange wings. He doesn't think his opponent will have no counter to this--but hopefully the counter will be easier to deal with than point-blank blasts of magic!

Priscilla has posed:
    Though normally a flawless strategy, Mizuki seems to have gone up against the wrong opponent. The cleric seems to have little direct combat ability, if any at all, but the second spell he cast seems to be directly countering other magic and energy manipulation altogether. The stasis fields slow him, but if Mizuki had to guess, they're functioning at only 10% of what they should be, allowing him to trudge out of the way just in time to avoid being skewered. Stumbling out of the shackles of slowed time, he wheels around with a wild swing from his mace, only to have Mizuki's sideways sweep punish him for the ill-advised move, knocking it out of his hands and slicing into his underarm with a shower of phantom blood. Thrusting the sacred icon at her with the other hand, the ground beneath her lets off an ominous sizzle, before erupting into a soaring pillar of golden lightning, vanishing up into the sky like a thunderbolt striking in reverse.

    Earth is absorbed by the sheer bulk of the greatshield. Water seems to have only a little more effect. Fire is immediately diffused by the magical barrier, as is electricity. Holy has the least effect of all of them, but the dark round finally catches him with enough force to send him sliding backwards, bracing against his shield so his arm doesn't buckle. Seeing Staren take off into the air, the warrior chases after him, but only to cover his ally from Mizuki. Indeed, he doesn't need to, as once the vertical lightning disappears into the clouds, a shower of smaller bolts fall back down; pouring over Staren's airspace like crackling sleet.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Sparks likely flourish from the clash of metal on metal, even if her blade prevails in the end. She soars just a few feet from the opponent, barely having time to make the connection between the icon and the impending strike. When she does, it is mere milliseconds before it explodes from the Earth, allowing the holy energy a fairly considerable burn on her left wing. She lowers herself to the ground quickly to compensate, not hesitating a moment. This time, her maneuver lacks any semblance of the fancy or the refined - it's a simply dashing thrust, this one intended to bleed their other side. After dashing over, regardless of the effect, she would cast a 'speeding field' on herself. All of her subsequent movements would be quickened.

    Which, of course, includes the sword swats themselves. Finally deciding on how she will capitalize on her foe's weakness, she decides to give him no working room, delivering a seemingly endless flurry of metal to every inch of his body. The crazed nature of it makes it lack the precision necessary to deal any mortal or decisive damage, but compounded, it could be quite threatening indeed. She continues to weave around the priest as she does so.

Staren has posed:
    Dark element, huh? Good to know. There's one more thing he has to at least try, though...

    Suddenly, there is lightning! Raining down! "Ah, F***!" Staren flies out of it, but in the meantime the lightning rain eats away at his shields. One of the projectors sparks and smokes as the outermost layer is overloaded and the top half of the second layer becomes entirely pockmarks.

    Staren draws an oversized revolver -- like a larger Colt Peacemaker with a triple-M monogram engraved on it -- and fires, two mad-science-charged bullets leaving the barrel from the same shot. In addition to being powered by mad science, this weapon was personally crafted by a god. Are phantoms weak to divine stuff? Now to find out!

    Either way, Staren follows up with a barrage of dark or divine shots as appropriate!

Priscilla has posed:
    Despite how destructive a few of the spells this cleric knows are, he doesn't seem to have any buffs in his repetoire that deal with speed, because as soon as Mizuki casts one on herself, she has an immediate, overwhelming advantage. All he can do is wheel around to try and keep up with her, throwing out waves of energy like that one that had taken out Staren's missile left and right in a futile attempt to nail her. His magic barrier holds up considerably well under the onslaught, but with the enhanced speed of her thrusts, holes open up one by one in his armour, and his glow begins to fade and lose definition. The warrior comes charging in just in time to intercept a sword blow to his shield, before countering with a hammer sweep in the direction Mizuki is still going, hoping to catch her in the ensuing explosion before she can change direction.

    The divinely empowered bullets seem to perform . . . about average. Perhaps slightly less than so. As the magical defenses are ostensibly miracles, cast by a holy man, the two forms of residual divinity clash spectacularly, but don't especially win out over each other, leaving Dark elemental shots his main way of moving forward. Unfortunately for the warrior, defending his support from Mizuki and Staren simultaneously is nearly impossible. He can only use his shield for one, but then is forced to use his body to block the other, losing chunks of armour as he repeatedly intercepts extremely destructive attacks with pure selflesness. The cleric at the center of it all kneels down, muttering more frenzied words too quiet to be fully heard, before throwing his arms out to the heavens, whereupon an omnidirectional blast of pure white light rushes outwards from him and shatters the stone floor beneath it; a spherical blast of enough power that it /should/ knock both Staren and Mizuki out long enough for him to cast a healing spell, which he begins immediately after.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki strafes one way and twists around the priest, continuously slashing... until there's an interruption. Her sword -clangs- against the shield and she stumbles backwards, that instinctual reaction alone thankfully keeping her from being crushed by the head of the hammer. Still, she is most certainly caught in the seismic waves that follow, losing her footing and being blasted well away from the cleric.

    And this, unfortunately, gives them the time to cast something else. Another explosion, but this one is of a more divine and magical kind. Light explodes outwards, arcing toward the ground, even spraying a little of the soil into her eyes. But she isn't grounded. Yet.

    So she decides to do something a bit desperate. She and Staren don't have any viable methods of healing themselves, really, so it would be disastrous if they could find a way about sustaining themselves long enough to formulate a plan. They could tank them, if they tried. So she attempts a completely blind time jump, attempting to propel herself in the direction where she last saw the priest before he can complete his incantation. Whether or not this works how she hopes is an entirely different story, however, especially considering that she only regains proper vision when she has already appeared at her destination, swinging wildly.

Staren has posed:
    Staren shoves the Annihilator back in his pack and sticks to spamming dark lasers. He grins slightly as he sees the damage to the armor. Good, good...

    And then, some kind of attack spell -- with a sudden thought, Staren aligns the shields to holy element, but even so, he's sent tumbling through the air wildly. He can't give them this time: He launches another missile, this one programmed to seek out their opponents and then airburst near them in a big plasma fireball! He doesn't /have/ to aim it! Which is good, because the field then hits the ground and Staren sort of rolls in it awhile like a hamster whose ball has been kicked. @_@

Priscilla has posed:
    Both Staren and Mizuki can practically feel the cleric's tension as he rattles off the words to another divine epic, chanelling the powers of the sun to bless him and his companion with healing for their wounds. Should be be successfuly, any chance of victory would rapidly diminish to a one in a hundred chance at best. By sheer luck more than anything however, Mizuki manages to hit more or less the right spot, cutting him off mid-incantation with a sword swat to his helmeted face. The warrior turns around just in time to sent her flying with a hefty swat of his hammer, but that only proves to be in her favour as the missile approaches both of the distracted fighters from behind, detonating before either even has a chance to see it.

    When the smoke clears, both phantoms have faded already, leaving the arena an empty mess. Whoever replaces these stone tiles without losing the crumbling, ancient asthetic, must be one hell of an artisan. That question will have to wait however, because the two are being let out, and the gate in the southwest quadrant is now open, beckoning Chris and Saber forward to fight. Their battle seems to be somewhat unusual, as neither opponent seems to be a warrior of any kind. A man in far too many layers of hoods and cloaks appears to be holding an axe in one hand, but his opposite hand, glowing with a steady red light, is the more pressing concern. His accomplice is a woman in ragged purple robes with an incredibly stereotypical witches hat perched upon her head, gesticulating with a staff made of some kind of gnarled, black wood, which may actually be bone, affixed with a crystal of some kind in the end. These two also begin their fight with enhancement magic, manifesting as burning flickers of red energy for the man, and a floating disc of blue for the woman, circling around her slowly. Both of them are red phantoms, and neither one of them bow.

Chris Rothschild (283) has posed:
    Most of the fights with Chris and Saber today have followed a simple formula; banking on Saber's high-end superhuman attributes, her Master has held himself back, supporting his Servant with magical boosts and occasional light interference from basic attack spells. He's cautious, always looking for the right moment to strike and always aware of his safest direction of retreat, and careful about using any sort of extensive magic. He has, in short, been keeping most of his capabilities under his hat.

    But it's their final match of the night, isn't it? No one else to watch and take notes. Only one more fight between them and their victory. "Saber," he says simply as they stride out, already tapping his fingers on his PDA. "...let's make this one a show."

Staren has posed:
    When Staren can right himself, the match is over. They... won? It was close there for a moment. Staren gives a respectful nod to the fading phantoms, then high-fives Mizuki on the way out.

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
As she and her Master are called forward, Saber approaches the platform. Her hand settles gently on the hilt of one of her swords, then hovers to the other. Back and forth several times, just tiny twitches of movement, before she settles on her standard katana, the one she'd been using through all the battles so far today. Green eyes close for a moment, and the Servant takes a deep breath. "...a show?" Lips press into a thin line, and Saber's hand shifts to the oddle-shaped hilt of her other sword.

When she opens her eyes, Saber's gaze is cold, hard. "They both look capable of attacking from a distance. Take care, Master." Her weapon is drawn, and, unlike the katana, it appears to be more like a short sword with an uneven blade. It's a famous sword, easy enough to identify on sight to those who have studied its past: the Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi.

Priscilla has posed:
    Saber's sword might be easy to recognize were her opponents familiar with earth mythology, however these particular warriors have their own set of legendary weapons, and have no idea of its capabilities. That said, both are clearly wary of such an odd looking weapon, knowing fully well that strange appearances often mean some manner of magic, which may or may not be powerful. Without waiting for either Saber of Chris to move, both their opponents begin launching attacks. The man suddenly adopts an aggressive stance, his right hand bursting into flames as he cocks his arm back, and then hurls it forward. Rather than launching an archetypical ball of fire however, the arena is suddenly engulfed in an eruption of ugly green smog; immediately recognizeable as acid by the way it burns the skin and begins to eat into exposed metals. The woman begins by gesturing in an arc above her head, summoning a series of five, glowing lights that hang overhead, and then jabbing forward with her staff, tracing what appears to be a blue-white laser over the ground between herself, Saber, and then on to Chris, that subsequently explodes into a geyser of ghastly magical energy.

Chris Rothschild (283) has posed:
    As Saber steps to the fore, Chris starts with a trick he's used in all the other fights thus far; he slings one of his signature 'quicksilver armor' spells at the Servant. But rather than serving as both protection and physical supercharger, he's been giving her one that's more purely defensive, banking on combining it with her natural durability and regeneration to let her attack recklessly, and deal more damage that way instead.

    But then their opponents start up without so much as a preamble, and he's barely able to get a similar spell on himself in time. The sheath of silvery liquid engulfs him just as the acid smog floods the arena, and while it's protecting him for the moment, it's starting to boil away fairly quickly. His next step is to take a small handful of coins from a pouch tied to his belt - old copper pennies, which he looks about ready to throw when the woman unleashes her spell.

    Chris leaps aside in alarm, going through a roll and coming up in a crouch. The movement is panicked enough that he loses his grip on the pennies, scattering them about. But he's already reaching to the pouch for more, apparently planning to try again rather than recover what he already fumbled.

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
Fire. That man is about to attack with fire. Saber is ready for it, and then fire... does not happen. Green eyes blink once, but she soon sees what his attack is meant to do. She can already feel the exposed skin of her leg, hands, and face tingling from the acid, and her lips pull into a frown. "You attack with airborn poison, without knowing the nature of your opponent's weapons." Shifting her grip on her sword, Saber brings it back and sweeps it elegantly in front of her in a motion that doesn't seem to have much strength behind it. And yet, in the wake of its movement, the air begins to shift. Gentle currents of wind sweep around her, ruffling her silver hair and forcing the green smoke away from her and Chris, and back toward their two opponents.

The followup swing is every bit as elegant, though much swifter, slashing the sword quickly back in front of her. An invisible blade of wind springs forth, slicing through the air toward the axe-wielder.

The strange fire erupts from the ground beneath her, but Saber doesn't let out a cry. When the light from it fades, she stands firm, silvery glow surrounding her from Chris' protective spell. For now, she trusts her Master to take care of himself, though she does make sure to impose herself between Chris and that axe widler as she advances.

Priscilla has posed:
    Of course the guy doesn't know the nature of his opponent's weapons. That's why he had been hoping to destroy them before the match had fully begun. As the acid fog comes flying back towards him, he stumbles a couple of steps back before dismissing it with a flick of his flaming palm, then pushing the fire straight to his chest. The moment before Saber's windblade connects, probably powerful enough to slice in in half right there, he is engulfed in a cloud of steely gray smoke, and then sparks fly in every direction. The blade of air blows the smog aside to reveal that his skin has taken on the appearance of flexible iron, mimicking the silver sheen of Chris' spell, but without the finesse. The way the ground shakes with his steps is indicative of the fact that most of him must actually be /made/ out of metal by now. Thrusting out his hand again, the pyromancer makes a complex series of gestures, and then the air in the wake of his fingers bursts into flame, running back and forth until it forms a long, fiery cord. Using it like an overly long whip, he lashes out at Saber several times in quick succession, though the flames themselves seem to move on their own, writhing and scorching the ground around her.

    Meanwhile the sorceress seems to have paired off with Chris, content with her rotating disc and little hovering balls of light; so minimalistic that they provide no real information about their function. The point of her staff glows that same pale blue again, before firing off an arrow of silent, ghostly flame; cutting a blue-white trail through the air as it actively curves towards Chris. Even should it miss, it spins back on itself and tries again, homing in on him without guidance from the caster herserlf.

Chris Rothschild (283) has posed:
    By the time the sorceress gets her spell ready for Chris, he's managed to get ahold of another small handful of coins, and he's winding up to throw one when she manages to shoot first. For a second time, the magus is forced to dodge with a body language that practically screams 'oh crap'. He loses a few more coins, clinking and rolling across the ground, but this time he's actually managed to keep hold of one.

    He flings it in her direction, and with an electrical SNAP it accelerates, becoming a high-speed shock projectile. He's had fair luck with these thus far, but he was rather sparing with them, having hung back and let Saber do most of the fighting. It looks like he's ill-prepared for a more direct confrontation, because just as he's grabbing yet another three or four, the arrow of flame comes back around and clips him across the shoulder. His protective spell blunts it, but it still hurts enough to stumble him forward, knocking still more coins out of his hand.

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
The ineffectiveness of the blade of wind doesn't seem to bother Saber. In fact, her gaze becomes more focused as she darts in toward the pyromancer, sandals tapping against the arena floor. She makes no attempt to dodge those whips of fire, though her sword flashes out swiftly, sending out gentle gusts of wind that attempt to redirect some of the fire back to its source, and a few of the tendrils upward and behind her, toward the sorceress. Several of those tongues of flame do manage to land on her, marking her kimono with scorch marks and even melting away much of the protective spell over her face.

Judging by his footsteps, he must not be made of flesh anymore... and when Saber finally closes the distance, she brings Kusanagi to bear once more. The strength of her swing is not the most impressive, but the sheer cutting power of a blade that's able to cut the very air itself is set up against the metal skin of the warrior before her.

Priscilla has posed:
    To Chris' credit, it's not as if his opponent is the type to be able to tank magnetically accelerated pieces of metal. She isn't wearing any kind of armour and she doesn't look particularly, sturdy, unlike her magically roided up friend to her right. Unfortunately, she seems to be well aware of this fact, and has taken precautions to defend herself just as Chris has. As the coin comes flying at her, the floating disc suddenly spins around to her front; automatically interposing itself between her and the high speed projectile; flashing with a resounding chime and a pulse of light as it deflects the penny off of its surface. Seemingly undeterred, she plants the butt of her staff into the ground, performing another gesture with her off hand and pointing directly behind the magus. The ground to his back suddenly bursts open as an orb of blueish light rockets into the air, splitting into a shower of smaller bolts and then raining back down in a blanket of explosions like a miniature, magical MIRV, forcing him to run closer towards her or else be annihilated.

    The strange whip of fire the pyromancer uses, despite suspension of disbelief, does not appear to be operating like fire at all. Though it trails magical flames in its wake, the core of it seems to be something solid, like a white-hot wire being slashed across Saber every step of the way she goes. The return blow from her main sword manages to penetrate his iron skin, but only just, predictably feeling like chopping into a block of solid steel; sparks, recoil and all. Though it might be deep enough to cause some heavy bleeding in a flesh and blood human, the wound remains completely inert as it is now, providing an extremely potent advantage in the fact that the pyromancer doesn't even flinch from the blow. Pulling the whip tight, he winds it about Saber's opposite sword, yanking on it with superhuman strength. The red aura around him burns more brightly as he exercises his muscles, probably being some kind of strength enhancing effect. With her so close, all he has to do is wind the axe back and swing it into her ribs, either forcing her to take the hit, drop her sword to get away, or occupy herself with parrying it instead of hitting him.

Chris Rothschild (283) has posed:
    Well, that's one try unsuccessful. But Chris can almost certainly keep at it, can't he? This time he actually manages to snatch one of those copper pennies up off the ground, and after a very brief charge he flings his hand again just as the sorceress opposite him tonight is starting her own attack as well. He flinches, his attack going very slightly wide, but even if it only passes close, she'll still receive a nasty little shock from its passing.

    However, he keeps trying stubbornly to produce another handful of coins, trying to arm himself in such a way that he can mount a more steady attack, and she keeps offbalancing him at just the wrong time. Like, say, calling up an attack right behind him. "Whoa shit-!" The bursting of the ground alone startles him, and with a stumble he begins to run forward just as planned, fumbling more precious ammunition onto the ground in the process. "Come on," he mutters in quiet frustration, once more reaching for the pouch at his belt.

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
Each last of that whip burns away more and more of the protective spell that Chris surrounded her with, but even that isn't able to keep ugly welts from appearing on her skin where the wire touches. A soft hiss escapes the Servant's mouth, but her gaze remains focused. "You are quite durable..." Rather than getting stuck, Kusanagi is pulled free quite easily, though Saber gives a brief look of disgust to the lack of blood from the wound. "You defile yourself to gain an advantage. It will not be enough." As she pulls her sword back again, she feels the tug on it, then glances aside to see the wire wrapped around it. A legendary holy sword such as Kusanagi is not easily damaged, even by such high temperatures, but it's quite hard to swing the sword like this. Add that to the sounds she hears behind her, and Saber makes a snap decision.

"Master!" As the warrior yanks on his whip, Saber thrusts forward, following the motion of the pull, then quickly yanks Kusanagi back as she twists. While it frees her sword, it also leaves her wide open for that axe... and Saber lets out a cry of pain as it slams into her side, cutting through the protective spell and her kimono. Both of those defenses together are quite formidable, at least enough to keep her from being cut in half, but blood gushes freely from the messy gash on her side. "I will deal with you in a moment," she hisses and spins, slashing her sword at the air and sending an invisible cuting wave of wind toward the sorceress' back while leaving herself open again.

Priscilla has posed:
    The floating shield doesn't seem to catch the actual voltage of the coin passing, obvious due to the arc of electricity that leaps out from it grazing past her and zapping her on the staff hand, causing her to momentarily drop it. Suddenly in a hurry, the sorceress bends down to pick it up, which would normally be a safe time for Chris to act, except that the moment he stumbles within range, the five orbs over her head pulse in sequence, and then fire off in an automatic volley of homing bolts; screeching in at him from several different angles at once. Finally retrieving her catalyst, the sorceress backs up the stream of bolts with a recast of the same spell, immediately engaging due to the close proximity of her opponent, and firing another five to make an even ten.

    For all of Saber's attempts at dialogue however, her opponent is as eerily silent as they all have been. It's enough to wonder if the phantoms summoned by Priscilla are the only ones capable of speech, and also enough to make it a little creepy when he wrenches the bloodstained axe and simply goes for another swing, staring at her with those featureless, metal eyes. As the whip slips from its grasp of her sword, the flames burst apart, before begins sucked back in by some kind of vortex centered on the pyromancer's hand. Hit or miss with his axe, he kneels down and presses his hand to the floor, after which the area between himself and the sorceress suddenly glows with red heat. One after the other, towering geysers of what look like lava burst from the ground, issuing from no actual hole, but definitely possessing enough heat to kill just about anyone with a direct hit, nevermind the scalding droplets raining down all over. Of course, not one of them appears within close proximity of the sorceress herself, but her automatic defenses are tied up dealing with saber's windblade, leaving her momentarily open from the opposite side.

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
This is not the sort of battle Saber prefers. Although Kusanagi allows her effectiveness at range, she's primarily an in-close fighter, and protecting both herself and her Master is more difficult in this situation. Fortunately, she trusts him not to do something stupid and endanger himself. That one shot at the sorceress was all she could spare for the moment, so she hopes he can make it count!

Against such a stoic opponent, some of Saber's other tools are less useful. She'll have to rely on her own swordsmanship and endurance to get her through this. Despite the blood still running from her wounded side, the Servant manages to twist backwards, away from the followup swing of that axe. "That is..." Her statement is cut off, however, as the warrior begins to send jets of lava from the ground. She has no inherent shielding ability, nor any way to deal with molten metal, so the bits of slag that fall on her begin to sizzle against kimono and skin, leaving an unpleasant smell.

With the warrior's defenses, Saber has to do something to regain her advantage. "That will be quite enough, I think..." Electricity arcs all around her, sparking off her kimono but not managing to run any current through her. Planting her foot, the Servant brings Kusanagi around again as sparks run down the length of its blade, though it isn't the man she's aiming for. Instead, she attempts to sever the axehead from its shaft and deprive her opponent of a weapon.

Chris Rothschild (283) has posed:
    Chris apparently falls for it, bringing out that last handful of coins just as he comes right in range of those five homing orbs. He skids and falls on his backside in a way that manages to avoid one, and also scatters his brand new handful of coins in all directions. So much for that attempt. He can't even get to his feet before a trio of projectiles comes in and slams right into him from three different directions, the hiss of pain betraying that his quicksilver protection wasn't able to ablate all the damage. But he at least manages to stumble onto his feet again and out of the way of the fifth shot.

    Then come the next five, forcing him to stumble and roll back, the energizing effects of his protective spell wearing off as what little is left of it expends itself trying to ward off damage from grazing hits. And with that coin pouch of his half-open, coins keep spilling out here and there, littering the arena with gleaming copper... until he comes out of a side roll with his PDA in hand, arms and sides scorched, only to stop in a crouch...

    "...heh."

    And grin.

    "Network online. All nodes connect. Voltaic net pulse on my mark." It's certainly a strange spell chant. But his PDA responds with a beep, and the floor around the sorceress begins to hum. No... not the floor. All those coins. Every single one of them is starting to hum with stored electricity.

    "...mark."

    And suddenly, a huge swath of the arena is linked by crackling bolts of lightning, forming an electrical net that arcs and sparks and shocks anything nearby with enough voltage to floor an elephant. The fact that Saber's in just as much danger as their opponents doesn't seem to bother him... probably because her magic resistance will nullify this spell without trouble.

Priscilla has posed:
    With Chris' quicksilver barrier reduced to nothing, his ammunition scattered all over the floor, and his being well within the range that dodging spells becomes nearly impossible, it's clear that the sorceress feels she might as well have won this match. Even as he flashes her that grin, she only raises and levels her staff towards him, filling the air with a gradually rising shriek as light congeals at its tip, preparing for a much bigger, much more powerful spell than before, likely in order to annihilate him in one hit before he can protect himself again. She is perhaps milliseconds away from discharging and wiping him from the face of the arena, when those charged coins finally go off, leaving her in no position whatsoever to raise any sort of counter. Just as before, her shield does nothing to protect her from nonphysical attacks, and so the leaping barrage of electrical bolts slams into her dead on from several angles at once; causing her to convulse in an extremely inelegant way, before collapsing to the ground in the middle of an exaggerated, blackened scorch mark.

    The pyromancer seems somewhat stuck as the head of his axe comes straight off, leaving him without any means of offense but his fire magic. Tossing the haft aside, he snaps his fingers, and a sudden rush of fire abruptly explodes out of his hand in an uncontrolled, point blank blast at Saber. The flames dissipate to show him halfway through casing another spell, only for, the electrical bolts racing all over the arena to find him first. It should be predictable really. He's turned himself into solid metal. There's no way he wouldn't act as a giant lightning rod for that much amperage flying around everywhere. He is struck head on so hard that it lifts him off the ground; throwing him backwards and sending him skidding and sparking up to the edge of the arena, where he finally goes still. The iron tinge wears off from his skin just as he begins to disappear along with his partner, marking a third victory for the Union tonight.

    As the gates open, both to let Saber and Chris go free, and to open up the fourth and final northeastern quadrant, the after-battle quiet is broken up by the sound of voice; booming like thunder in such a way that loose stones rattle against the ground and the leaves rustles in the trees. "This is a mockery of my arena!" The voice rumbles, seeming to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. "I will not see one more match decided by trickery instead of skill! Send your best and strongest champions to me, and I will demonstrate what a true battle between warriors should be!" The final arena seems to have become shadowed over, as if the sun had passed behind a cloud only in its square. The reverberation left by the skull-numbing bass of that voice makes everything else seem quiet by comparison.

Chris Rothschild (283) has posed:
    "Network collapse. Load: node-underscore-magnetize." Chris holds a hand up, and all those copper coins leap off the ground, flowing back to him in one huge handful of change almost the size of his fist. There's a little fumbling involved in dumping all those coins into his pouch, but once he's got it, he turns and gives Saber a simple thumbs-up, his expression utterly deadpan.

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
That last gout of flames washes over Saber, but a quick snap from her sword dissipates it around her. Her gaze watches the warrior go flying, and she slowly turns away right before he lands. With that much magical electricity, she's fairly certain he's through. The lack of killing intent from behind her helps cement that in her mind as well. "Nnn..."

Despite the win, she's not unscathed. She's still bleeding heavily from her side, but she manages a rather elegant walk toward the exit of the arena. The yelling from nowhere in particular earns a piercing glare from Saber, though she's not really sure where to look and settles for staring vaguely upward. "Do not concern yourself, Master. He isn't able to properly appreciate two fighters who trust each others' abilities." Now, if only she can get somewhere to sit down so she can stop this serene walking and pretending it doesn't hurt.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    If one had looked up the definition of 'Carry' in the dictionary, they'd see a picture of Psyber. He had actually been holding back for most of his fights and had still been managing to pretty competantly trounce people in 2 vs. 1+Nathan's Tactics battles. In fact, as the last match concludes, the ghostly blue form of Psyber is sort of hanging out. He looks pretty beat up, but mostly casual. Shirtless, leaning against a wall, he's wrapping his hands with bandages and appears to be more or less unarmed at the moment. Even through the blue of the spirit, a different insignia of blue glows on his back right between his shoulderblades. A sun with a spirograph and a chunk cut out of it that glows a different, more neon shade of blue against the darker blue of his toned bare back.

    "Yeah, yeah, I'm comin'," He says to the booming voice of the arena, able to mask the surprise of hearing it behind a mostly bored look so as to not break his calm demeanor. As he finishes wrapping tape around his fingers and knuckles, he comments to Nathan, "Standard gameplan. I bum rush, you hang back and play support. I doubt they can throw much at me I can't stop. If it comes to it, I'll summon a weapon." It's a fairly short briefing for Nathan, but he trusts the librarian to know the score. They work together daily.

    Giving Nathan this rough gameplan, he flexes tiredly and rubs at his chest, making sure the wounds across his physique have healed up during his regeneration downtime. He then dusts his hands off and clenches them. Finally, he boredly reaches into his back pocket and takes out one of his sources of entertainment during the fights: An iPod.

    He slips the earbuds into his ears as he steps into the arena and idly spins the wheel, queueing up his next song.

    Now Playing: Coheed and Cambria: Key Entity Extraction V - Sentry the Defiant (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ya2JgAWPqHg)

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    Hall just concluded a quick spell to send off a report to the Union about Sen's Fortress when, all of a sudden, the powerful voice can be heard; the man himself seems to not react beyond a brief, delayed worried noise, but those familiar with him know what that means. His expression is as blank as ever, except for an eyebrow raised to his partner. "Well." He says, simply. "Either we are going to deal with someone who is exceptionally confident in his abilities - and likely rightfully so, in this world - or someone who intends to draw a great deal of attention, to avert it from his partner. Focus on him; I will be scanning and alert for opposition. Watch for magical threats. Stand by for additional assessments."

    Nathan's entry into the northeastern quadrant is quick and humble. He's intending to return any bows, but he's not going to pre-emptively give them. His primary focus is assessing the enemies he's about to face. He remains rather quiet as he walks into the ring. 'My arena', they'd said. Hmmm. Well, in any case, Nathan's already got wide eyes sharply scanning. "The standard gameplan, yes." He says, simply. The white phantom is very clearly focused on observation and information-gathering at the moment, which the foes are likely to be able to see as well.

    His posture shows nothing of his tension; he is very clearly ready to spring into action, specifically to run. He doesn't intend to get near this fight. That's not to say he doesn't intend to help, judging by the soft yellow glow of the medallion around his neck.

    "They wish to see skill. I will do my best to determine ways for you to show it. It may be a good chance to make a positive impression." He says, simply. The librarian is already taking his place behind Psyber.

Priscilla has posed:
    As Psyber and Nathan both step through the gate, the portcullis slams shut, though doing so is little more than a formality at this point. The only thing really keeping anyone to a specific arena should they be so determined, is the sense that leaving will probably have then disqualified. A match of honour involves neither cowardice or kiting. As the shadow in the northeast darkens and the mist swirls to give form to new phantoms, something is immediately and obviously amiss. Rather than two figures standing side by side, only a single silhouette emerges from the merk, glowing in nothing other than a single, ghostly shade of grey. The man is enormous enough that he has to look down a little to meet even Psyber's eyes, and is built like a walking tank. Collossal slabs of polished metal create a suit of armour that would give a space marine reason to pause, and all of it is carefully engraved and burnished to a golden shine. His sword and shield are slung over his back, but he leaves the green heater shield right where it is, only drawing his equally gargantuan weapon, taller than he is, with one hand and slinging it over his shoulder. His face is hidden behind an especially peculiar helmet; the face of which is engraved in an ornamental fashion like the mask of a samurai, depicting the expression of a wildly bearded man no doubt meant to represent some deity. Twirling his zweihander over and slamming it point down into the ground, he takes two steps towards Nathan and Psyber, and throws open his arms; inviting them to strike.

    "Well? What is it?"

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    Nathan's mind flares to action, despite all his confusion and all his awkward inability to respond in any social capacity. He's not really sure what to make of this sudden, subversive alteration to the standard procedure, but he decides to work with it anyway, especially given the fact that the alternative, right now, is being torn open by that sword.

    "Horizontal strikes more probable than vertical ones. Approach low, with a posture prepared to leap above low strikes or roll below higher ones. Be cautious of wide-area horizontal strikes. The size and reach gives him midrange advantage. Flank on approach, and be prepared for the wide swings. Punish any vertical strikes, keep cautious in horizontal." Nathan says, in a droning monotone that's absurdly quick, lasting no longer than the strange gesture the man makes to them.

    "Stand by for additional assessments." Hall says, as if punctuating. Then he takes a low, kneeling posture, like a runner about to start a run, his eyes flaring wide as be activates his SCAN ability to attempt to determine any anatomical or elemental weaknesses to this foe's armor or spiritual structure, alongside simply watching whatever tactics he uses as Psyber approaches.

    'This is kind of terrifying.' Nathan thinks, to himself, quietly. But he's thought that about a lot of the battles so far. Just, this time, more so, you know?

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "You know," Psyber comments to himself idly, watching as the man appears from the mists, "I'm really sad I wasn't holding Adjudicator when I decided to get summoned," That sword would have made his life way easier about now. He sighs a bit, sizing up his opponent carefully.

    "Oh well, no sense dwelling on what could have been," Hands are dusted off again while he takes a few moments. He briefly turns down his music and carefully listens to the advice from Nathan, mulling it over in his head before nodding a bit, "Alright. Let's do this."

    Psyber claps his hands together and then slowly draws them apart. Through a bit of sleight of hand, one of the pages of his Fetch Modus is in his palm and he's slowly pulling a massive cobalt hammer into existence, which he then spins and hoists across his shoulders.

    He then dashes straight forward and to the side, trying to circle into a weak spot while swinging the head of the hammer in an uppercutting motion with a smooth swipe, trying to take his opponent off his feet quickly.

Priscilla has posed:
    Nathan's SCAN isn't bringing much in the way of good news. As far as strengths and weaknesses go this guy is minmaxed to an unbelievable extent. His armour has absurd levels of physical defense, as well as a great number of seals to proof it against, magic, fire, lightning, and many other such elements. His physical parameters are also completely off the charts; by far more than should be possible for a human, even as grotesquely giant as he is. His only real weakness seems to be that he has a poor field of vision with that mask, and that the armour is mostly loaded to the front and sides, though getting behind him seems so difficult that it might not be worth it.

    He also seems completely content to ignore Nathan as Psyber comes at him. Wrenching his sword free from the ground with a startlingly casual motion, the giant man /flips/ out of the way of Psyber's swing like some fancily choreographed move from an over-the-top action movie, despite wearing what looks like 300 pounds of armour. Diving past the half angel, he plants his heel into the ground hard enough to crack the stone, and spins a full reverse with the zweihander, cutting almost 360 degrees around him at roughly chest level. As the point of his sword hits the ground from the overswing, the stones shatter from the explosion of flames that it generates, showing just how powerfully enchanted that massive blade is. Without waiting for Psyber's counterplay, he simply keeps on swinging; sweeping back and forth at varying heights with consummate ease, not seeming to tire in the slightest.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    When the massive 360 swing comes at him, Psyber jumps backwards. But he's not able to evade the easy swing from the man so smoothly, at it opens up a VERY deep wound that runs the length of his torso just below the collarbone. The staggers a bit from it and adjusts his grip on the hammer, watching the man carefully as he keeps hopping backwards.

    Psyber shifts the grip on Erinyes to be totally in his right hand while he hops backwards carefully, trying to lead his opponent. Eventually, he takes a deep breath and feels like he has the read properly. He whirls around and puts a hand on Nathan's shoulder, "Trust me."

    And then he grips down hard, holding Nathan's shoulder in his left hand. During one of the MASSIVE arcs of the Zweihander, Psyber swings Nathan in a counter-arc, wielding the mythical and truly legendary Nathan Hall-kind card with trump expertise. He tries to use Nathan to surprise-parry his opponent and follow up with a counterattack from his hammer.

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    "No substantially exploitable weaknesses detected." Nathan continues droning to Psyber as he watches that man... Flip. Seeming to not react to Psyber picking him up, he continues speaking, as his softly glowing eyes watch the man. "No major anatomical weaknesses. This will be a matter of sheer damage output. Superhuman physical parameters. Limited field of view and openings in the back; try to punish any vertical strikes or inopportune acrobatics with a back strike. Emerald Countermagic."

    Wait, what was that last part? Nathan's crossed his arms together in front of him, and they're glowing with a sudden burst of multicolored light. As Psyber uses him to parry a giant sword (Psyber this is literally the exact opposite of protecting Nathan in this, even if you're technically carrying him!) the librarian tries to send a magical shock into the enchantment on the weapon. Normally, this shatters low to mid-level magical effects, but for an immortal, it might just temporarily hamper them.

Priscilla has posed:
    If Psyber thinks he can lead his opponent, he's actually correct. This man seems completely content to simply run at him, laying about with his giant sword so that he can't run to either side; slowly pushing him back towards the edge of the arena. Each time the edge of his weapon skirts over the ancient stones, it leaves behind trails of writhing flame far more impressive than any show of sparks could be. Once Psyber is close enough to the corner, he finally heaves the sword well over his shoulder and brings it down in a diagonal motion that should hew the half-angel's upper left half from his bottom right, however no matter how veteran a warrior could possibly be, absolutely nobody could possibly forsee the weedy little guy who had done next to nothing in every fight behind used as a weapon himself.

    The burst of countermagic along with Psyber's superhuman strength actually manages to clash with the oversized zweihander, knocking it back in a conflagration of seething fire. He staggers back slightly from the sheer force of the counterblow on his over-extended motion, but manages to plant himself steady just in time, only to take the equally massive hammer straight to the side. The strike launches him off the ground and sends him sailing a good twenty paces, yet somehow he manages to land on his feet, grunting out loud from the enormous amount of shock that must surely have passed through his armour, especially with its magical barriers weakened by Nathan's emerald countermagic. Were this enough to kill him however, he surely would not be the master of the arena here. Gripping his sword in both hands now, he charges back into the fray, suddenly swinging much faster with a proper hold on his weapon. A side slash goes into a spinning sweep in the other direction, followed by a low thrust, into an uppercut, and then a devestating overhand swing. The arena is being blown to bits by the overuse of force he puts into every swing, but that doesn't seen to cause him to hesitate in the least.

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    "Augmenting enchantment parameters reduced overall." Nathan continues to drone in his monotone, immediately following up on his words without any interruption, like some kind of lecturer. "Substantial dust buildup in arena, be prepared to utilize particle matter and debris offensively." When he's dropped, he immediately rolls away, first, then sets into a run, coming to a stop only at the edge of the arena, before he turns back and continues observation. Of course, even while he runs, he continues to give his tactical assessments.

    "Mobility increase; delays between swings are minimized to unusability. Mid-swing counterattack techniques proven effective, test additional means of achiving mid-swing stagger." His mind is racing. This fight has been going on for less than a minute, but an astute observer can perceive Nathan's battle-assessments shifting and his tactical advice coming rapid-fire. Completely unable to really help substantially, of course, but Nathan's keeping quite a cool head.

    Due to having just now been used as a PARRYING TOOL, though, he's completely terrified, and is currently, alongside his analysis, in the process of adjusting his breathing rate to alter his heart rate and buffer himself against further unsettling. He works to keep his mind clear and sharp, to help support Psyber.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber is quick to drop Nathan almost immediately when the man grips his blade in two hands. He lets Nathan head off to wherever Nathan wants to micromanage from, still lamenting that he doesn't have his supersword on the inside, where his feels reside.

    But it's time for a weapon switch for him regardless. The hammer is tossed up and vanishes shortly after, leaving Psyber unarmed as he moves. He needs that slight edge of speed to avoid the dying and the sword attacks. He nimbly rolls out of the way of the cataclysmically powerful strikes. He wants to use the dust and debris that is currently pelting him as cover for his movements to conceal his circling.

    And then, when that fabled overhand swing that Nathan told him to punish comes up, Psyber once more rolls. This time he rolls towards his opponent on the downswing, trying to speed through and come out behind the massive man before he can recover from the swing of his weapon.

    A moment later, Psyber has a red and black longsword in his hand. It causes his entire body to ripple and course with holy lightning. He grips the sword in two hands and then thrusts it right into the small of his opponent's back with a powerful backstab. He hopes.

Priscilla has posed:
    Obviously no longer in the mood for talking with all of his attention taken up by the fight, the only phantom to have said anything all evening ignores Nathan only slightly less than before as he is put down, only barely staying aware of where he is in case Psyber wants to pick him back up again. Churning the ground up with overt displays of brute force, just as Nathan predicts, work to his disadvantage wearing a mask with eyeholes rather than a proper visor, and so just as it seems that the half-angel has slipped far enough behind the rhythm of his strikes for the next one to land, he brings the zweihander down on top of nothing, and is rewarded with a sword straight through his back.

    The giant of a man keels over on the spot, crumbling to the ground with the blade still stuck in him, lightning crackling over his hulking armour. The fact that he doesn't begin to fade however, shows that he is still kicking. After only a short delay, he vaults to his feet with agility impossible for anyone weighed down by anything at all, taking advantage of the moment of surprise to flash his hand in Psyber's face and generate a spontaneous explosion much like that used by the pyromancer in the last match, except twice as powerful, and with jet black interlaced through the bloody red flames. Hopping backwards to create distance, he places his free hand on the unsharpened portion of the zweihander's blade, gripping it like a long spear rather than a two handed blade. With even greater control over his weapon, he hacks at Psyber's feet, before bolting into a lightning fast series of forward lunges aiming to skewer the half-angel through the torso, relentlessly coming one after the other.

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    Oh, are we done? Is that it. Oh, thank goodness. That's the approximate feeling Nathan has, as he dedicates his full effort to controlling his terror responses. And then, surprise!
    Nathan's tactical assessments may be good, but his reflexes definitely aren't. He's unable to guess that the sudden surprise-recovery would happen, much less the explosive pyromancy, and all he's able to do is call out a few warnings. "Grip is closer to center of gravity, rapid low-inertia strike timing incoming." Then the lunges. "Lunges incoming, stagger and counter." He urges, still showing no signs of his surprise or how much he's been caught off guard by the sudden recovery.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber gets a moment where he thinks he's successful in killing this man, watching him go down to a keeling position and then vaulting back up. Psyber manages to get out, "Mother fu-" Before the blast of pyromancy his him square in the face, throwing him backwards across the arena and tumbling end over end. The half-angel rolls for a while and eventually comes to a stop not too far off of a wall that he just bounced off of.

    He pushes back to his feet, looking at the sword in his hands. He then hurls it straight upwards with all his strength, trying to aim at the sky above. The sword, partway up, turns to lightning and shoots up into the clouds as Psyber rolls his neck and cracks his shoulders, "Gonna go with ow."

    Unfortunately, his iPod was also destroyed in that blast and tumble, leaving him musicless for the first time all fight. He looks to Nathan and nods at the advice. It'll help him buy time for his plan. He moves in towards the man, trying to avoid the spear-like lunges with his superior speed and maneuverability. After the heavy explosion, no SOLID hits are landing, but he's getting a lot of glancing strikes to the corso and rib area, and could definitely win by death of papercuts due to Psyber not actually acting.

    This goes on for a fairly prolonged period of time before Psyber eventually feels he's given his finisher enough time to charge. Abruptly, the half-angel stops and runs a hand through his hair, wobbling on his feet a bit, "Psalm 18, Verses 13 and 14. The Lord also thundered in the heavens, and the Highest gave his voice; hail stones and coals of fire. Yea, he sent out his arrows, and scattered them; and he shot out lightnings, and discomfited them."

    Psyber then slowly extends his hand towards his opponent and then snaps his fingers. The sky above rages with a crack of thunder before what could best be described as a 'pillar-sized' bolt of holy-infused raw lightning descends from the sky directly onto his foe.

Priscilla has posed:
    A stranger to the bible as he may be, Psyber's enemy knows an incantation when he hears one. Obviously he doesn't care if miracles are used in his arena if he allows clerics in to fight, but that doesn't mean he'll simply let Psyber cast in peace. At the end of one last lunge, he doesn't stop and pull back, but keeps running forward, letting go of the grip of his sword so that he only holds it in reverse by the unsharpened forte. Pulling his arm back as he reaches the apex of his sprint, he hurls the sword overhead like a javelin, throwing the enormous weight of the 8 foot long beast of a weapon into a single attack that should nail Psyber to the railing behind him.

    Unfortunately, he is just a hair too late. While the zweihander is still flying through the air, Psyber finishes his little piece of gospel, and the wrath of some foreign heaven descends upon the master of arena with a cacaphonous boom. The debris littered all around is swept up along the blast wave, hurling chunks of tile and mansonry in every direction as the stone turns to glass. The gigantic figure steps out from the smoke, takes a step forward, and then one more, before finally falling to one knee; smoking from head to toe.

    "Excellent! At last, a worthy warrior!" His bone-rattling voice sounds a lot happier than it should be after losing, even after a good fight. "I have waited for years to approve an adversary of your stature!" Slowly climbing to his feet, he staggers to retrieve his sword (whether or not it hit anything and whatever psyber has done with it withstanding), and then over to the half-angel himself, thrusting his gauntleted hand at him and opening his fist to reveal what appears to be a ring. It's actually too small for Psyber's finger, but it is engraved with the same or similar sigils to the ring of light that had appeared under Oscar upon besting the Iron Golem. "May the Lords be entertained by your battles!"

Psyber (253) has posed:
    The sword catches Psyber squarely in the chest, sending him sailing back and right into a wall, pinned for a few moments as the sword protrudes from roughly where his heart should be. The half-angel coughs a few times and makes a gurgling noise before he plants both feet on the wall and un-embeds the sword.

    Then he's walking back over to the Arena Champion with the sword protruding from his chest and out the back of him, dripping with whatever he has that passes for blood. When the man seems to want to retrieve it, Psyber makes a generic 'just yank it out' motion before wheezing in a long breath.

    "Cool, always glad to entertain. Thanks for letting us through," Psyber manages to wheeze out before giving him a thumbs up with one hand while accepting the ring with the other.