Okay Alright You Know What Time It Iss. After I Have Escpaed From Prison, It's Time For Anothe Eve's

Okay alright you know what time it iss. After I have escpaed from prison, it's time for anothe eve's weird question time: would you rather have an animated adaptation of your book or live action? Who would play or voice the protagnist (or all the character if you want to ramble. Please do)

Thank you so much for the Ask @your-absent-father! I'm so sorry for the late response, things have been quite busy for me after the weekend lmao.

Would you rather have an animated adaptation of your book or live-action?

Definitely animated. Not only because that would allow much more freedom in fully translating the magical and otherworldly aspects of my WIP's world, but also because - as an art student working on game animation and someone who is a general fan of the animated media - I find that it is important to support the making of new animations (and support it's creators as well). I would love either a 2D anime style for this hypothetical adaption (like the style of Castlevania or Legend of Vox Machina) or a textured mix of 3D and 2D styles (like Arcane or Star Wars: Clone Wars).

Who would play or voice the protagonist (or all the characters if you want to ramble. Please do.)?

I really don't know lmao. Sincerely, mostly because, when it comes to animation, what matters is the person's talent in voice acting, as looks and the acting itself don't factor into the equation quite as much.

But if I had to pick lmao, maybe Ashley Johnson as the voice of Raelen Ashiren, Hailee Steinfeld as the voice of Ellinor Dallantes, Neil Newborn as the voice of Zephyr Tellian, Elle Fanning as the voice of Luciya Anynth and Zachary Levi as the voice of Darian Caelestis. Gosh I dunno lol.

Happy WBW! What is the first thing that you think about/consider when you are building a new world? Is it the weather? Night/Day cycles? Maybe the food! Tell me about it!

Happy (Late) Worldbuilding Wednesday! Thank you so much for the Ask, @writernopal!

What is the first thing that you think about/consider when you are building a new world?

The first thing I tend to consider when building a new world, after choosing the time period and general vibes/aesthetics of that new world, is "How does the setting affect the lives of my characters, and why?"

I consider what are my character's lives and how they have been shaped by the world around them, what aspects of this world can I create for this setting that will be immediately relevant not only to the characters but the plot as well? That's what I focus on, when I am beginning to develop my books' worldbuilding.

When that part is well established and fully developed, I consider: what is this world inspired by? What ancient cultures, or time periods, can serve as inspiration for this world? I make a list and expand on that, jotting down ideas, vibes, concepts, and anything I can create based on that knowledge.

Then, the fun part begins and I can truly begin to create an immersive and functional world for this story to inhabit. This is where I truly start worldbuilding. I consider: how was this world formed, what is its current political landscape, what are the existing cultures/races of this world and what are their relations, what is the existing magic system, and how is it viewed? What are the fashion styles, foods, cultural quirks, traditions, etc.? Are there wars/conflicts/prejudice? Why? What are relevant events in this world's recent history and why do they matter to the current plot? The cool part of worldbuilding!

So yeah, I start by considering how the world impacts the characters and then plot, seek inspiration in cultures and historical events that fit the chosen time period, and then begin the actual - compelling - worldbuilding to create an immersive setting!

Enchanted Illusions: (Victorian Gothic Fantasy) Valentine Concordium Journal Entries (part 2)

Valentine Concordium, Year 53 After the Great Dawn, December 3, dusk.

Ever discover a new place in the very house you grew up in, a place that you had no idea was even a part of your house until you found it? Well, I believe I just did. At least that's something new, even if it's strange. After nearly 200 years of living in this mansion, I guess it still has its secrets to unravel. Just the distraction I was in dire need of.

Puzzling, but not ... unwelcome, I think.

I found the crypt hidden in the manor's woods, yesterday night during one of my many midnight strolls. It's always more difficult at night when my mind is clear and my thoughts so loud. But regardless, I digress. I guess I must've gotten lost, or walked further than I intended to, because, before I knew it, I was in a part of the forest I had never been to - something I would never have thought possible fifteen minutes prior. And there it was, the crypt, or what I guess was a crypt.

Curiosity - and a desperate sense of loneliness - got the better of me, and I decided to explore this new discovery.

It was as one might expect. Covered in centuries of dust, cobwebs, and many kinds of debris, but there was more to it. The further I walked, the more that became clear to me. To begin with, this was a crypt with no coffins. Among the piles of dust on tilted tables were stacks of ancient literature, carefully placed as if by a scholar's hand. The handwriting was vampiric, though the symbols that littered the leftmost corner of the pages were illegible, or at least unknown.

Every room and chamber of the crypt was like this, and the walls were decorated with torn silk banners with the faded outline of my family crest. The strangest place I ever visited had been within my grasp all this time, and I didn't even know it.

I spent hours walking around there.

My wandering led me to the furthest chamber of this crypt. It was chiefly empty, but not quite. There was a trapdoor on the floor, front and center. And pulling it open - though it took, admittedly, a remarkable amount of effort, even for a vampire - revealed a journal.

A familiar journal. Dusty and covered in cobwebs, but I would recognize that journal anywhere. Under the cover, there was a Hunter's silver locket, stained with dried blood. It almost burned my hand, almost. I was quicker.

Sebastian's journal, locked away in a crypt I didn't even know about until a few meager hours prior, with a Hunter's locket hidden within its cover. My brother had been studying something about the Hunters, judging by the contents of the unfinished journal. Something he shouldn't have discovered. The Hunters killed him for it.

Nothing about any of this makes sense, but yet... it does. In a strange, twisted way. Remarkable.

I wished to keep investigating, but had to leave before the first rays of the sun began to rise, not wanting to spend the next day stuck in a crypt I did not know. Still, I need those answers - it's not like there's anything better to do with my time, and the questions will keep eating away at me until I know the truth.

Tonight, I am going to go back there, to the crypt. This time, more prepared - and well-armed, I suppose. And will, I hope, discover what my family has to do with it, and why did they keep this secret from me. We'll see.

Taglist (ask to be -/+): @cabbojage

Writeblr Battle Royale - Round 2 Elyren vs Herschel

Hi, there! I am taking part in @your-absent-father's amazingly fun event, Writeblr Battle Royale, where I and other cool writeblrs choose our most powerful OCs and make them fight in an interdimensional arena. It's chaotic, it's badass, and more importantly, it is FUN (:<

This is also the second round!

Important: These events are not canon to our stories! They're just something very cool we as writers have decided to subject our characters to, for the sake of writing practice and Fun tm, though it is completely unrelated to our projects and the characters' actual experiences in the books.

Check out the rules and other amazing fight scenes at @writeblrbattleroyale!

TWs: guns, blood, gore, graphic depictions of injury, burning/fire, hallucinating about a dead loved one's ghost, suicide, violence, repressed emotions.

In this fight my teenage elven sorcerer Elyren faces off against Herschel (@quisyop's character), in a new, more dangerous arena - a maze filled with deadly monsters.

Herschel’s head was pounding, horrible visions danced at the edges of his eyes. Bodies and death, family and friends burning and screaming. He felt his body shake and swerve, an aura of confusion covering him. His vision went dark. And he woke up to the dark green shades of a vast, vast maze.

Elyren blinked, eyes adjusting to the world around him as a new arena came into view. How great… He thought, before noticing the strange looking woman staring intently at him. She looked like a Fortune Teller, somewhat. He’d meant to ask who she was, but he wasn’t given that time. As she pointed at him, the world around him became blurred, like a strange dark fog. Elyren shook his head. Well, this isn’t ideal. The fog twisted and stretched, spiralling around him. Elyren couldn’t tell where he was, nor could he precisely tell what was happening or where he was going. Until he heard that voice, twisted and filled with hatred, but still painfully familiar.

"You did not save us.” The voice hissed, and Elyren whirled around. “All that happened, was because of you. It’s all your fault - I was foolish enough to believe you could be any different.” Elyren shook his head, speechless, staring at the bloodied ghost, he didn’t know what to say. Memories from that night assaulted his mind, the day that Elyren could never seem to forget playing out vividly before him. “We are dead because of you!”

Elyren bit back the urge to sob, struggling not to look away from the familiar ghost of his brother. “T-that’s not true. You were killed, I tried to save you. I- I am still trying to save you.”

“Liar. You went to that temple. Aeralyn followed you, I followed you. And following you led us straight to that Imperial scout. If you had only listened to me, for once in your stupid life, I would be alive. We would all be alive. But you had to screw that up too, didn't you? You deserved to be exiled.”

Elyren frowned, no longer trying to hold back the tears. He wanted to believe this wasn’t real. Kiran would never say these things, he’d never speak to him with such hatred. But that didn’t matter, because, at the end of the day, Elyren knew the truth. And the truth is that he always screwed things up. Even this. The world began to spin around him viciously, the ghost never once wavering from his accusatory glare. YOUR FAULT. Elyren placed both his hands tightly over his ears as the vision grew in intensity, spinning wildly like a hurricane around him, before it dissipated, fading away just like it appeared. And the winding maze appeared before him. With great effort to stop his hands from shaking, Elyren sighed, wiping away the remaining tears from this horrifying encounter, the rageful voice still screaming at the back of his mind as he steeled himself for the fight to come. Let’s just get this over with.

“Shit.” Herschel’s head pounded as he pushed himself off the grimy floor below him and tried to get a good understanding of where the hell he was. “Shit”. He, still shaking, checked his pockets and supplies. Not much. His gun, a couple of matches, and a small knife. (as well as some cash and things that wouldn’t help) The gun was still missing two bullets. “Shit!” He took a couple of moments to breathe and collect his thoughts. Three things were clear to him.

He was stuck in a maze, presumably by the… thing from the match before.

He would probably kill another at the end of this. Or be killed, a thought that… no, they could work together. He wouldn’t die.

He was having a hell of a bad day.

Herschel stuck his hand out and pressed it against the wall of the maze, ready to follow it to, hopefully, the end. He passed the place he started in 7 minutes.

First, he took a look around, taking in his surroundings. The walls of the maze were high, so climbing them was out of the question. There were multiple pathways he could take, though clearly only one would lead him to where he needed to go - and judging by whatever it was that had trapped them here, those pathways would likely be riddled with traps and gods know what other monstrosities. Elyren shook his head, taking a deep breath. There was no time to be rash or get lost in this place. If he wanted to be out of here, his only option was to get through this as swiftly as possible, face his next opponent and see where this takes him next.

Trying to focus searched his mind for a spell that could help. If he couldn’t go around this thing nor climb up, then his best option was go through. And he knew exactly the spell to guide him to where he needed to be.

With a twist of his hands and a few muttered words, glowing runes appeared before him, flashing a floating mix of purples and greens that lit up the dim maze. Elyren focused his mind at the center of the small glowing ball of light commanding it.

Lead me to the center of this arena, find my opponent. The runes buzzed, small sparks flying from it at the command, and after a small pause, it shot fowards, drawing a glowing line into one specific pathway of the arena and then further. Elyren smirked, and wasted no time following this guiding light towards his opponent. Now it was just a matter of time. Despite focusing on not losing sight of the runes, Elyren knew he should be careful, after all, he did not know what this maze was nor what lurked within it.

So, while running ahead, he kept watchful attention fixed on any signs of threats from his surroundings. That’s why - after what seemed like an eternity of running from corridor to corridor -when he heard that bellowing growl approaching from one of his sides, Elyren was not caught of guard, quickly making a sharp turn on an opposite pathway and pressing himself hidden against the wall, just as a strange looking beast lunged into the corridor he’d been standing moments prior, tracking, ready to strike at any small sound. He peeked over the wall, only ever so slightly.

The monster looked like nothing he'd ever seen before, mutated even. Elyren made himself quiet, controlling his breathing so as not to give away his hiding spot. From the corner of his eye, he could see his guiding spell was still within reach, floating next to one of the doorways, waiting for him. He needs to figure something out. Now.

Herschel had simply accepted that this maze was either

A deeply complex magical construct that shifted and moved with the explorer

Was a circle

He chose to ignore that latter possibility, figuring that he’d just have to explore the good old-fashioned way. With each step on rocky earth that had the texture of smooth marble, he felt his legs shake with more speed and strength. He shouldn’t have been walking so much. But he wasn’t. It was a short walk, probably barely half a mile, but his legs felt weighted down and cramped quickly through his travel. When the texture of the ground turned from slippery marble to a texture like sandpaper, Herschel went cramped up and slowed down, taking more effort in his watchful gaze. Then the headache of the sweetly sick smell of cotton candy found its way to his nose. It made him want to vomit, combined with the heat that he found himself feeling. The noise of a sharp blade on concrete alerted me to the beast that found itself on the corner of a turn. It launched at him, claws like broken shards of glass aimed at my chest. He barely slid out of the way and whipped my cane up in defense. He got a better sight of it, pale skin stretched taut against bones that turned in angles too sharp and pointed to be human. Attached to its body were vague estimations of what limbs should look like, more lumps of flesh stacked on top of each other than neatly designed appendages built from years of evolution. Teeth like freshly molded hot red glassware shined at me in the glaring sunlight from the skies above.

“Oh hell no…”

Herschel charged forward, using his cane as a makeshift staff and swinging it at the leg closest to him. The beast's leg snapped easily, bone poking out of its skin. It reacted in rage, swinging its neck at an inhumane angle and lunging at Herschel, who swiftly shoved the came in its mouth, trapping the teeth shut.

While it whipped its head around trying to free itself, he pulled his revolver out and shot twice in the thing's chest. A thick, viscous liquid burst out of it as if held in by tight pressure, its color remaining Herschel of the dark red of mahogany. Herschel wiped the sludge from his mouth and leaned down to pull the came out of the thing’s open maw. He pulled it out with ease and reached down to break off the teeth of the creature, ready to use it as a replacement weapon. The monstrosity snapped its jaw shut with its final wisps of life, tearing a long wound down his arm as he recoiled his arm.

“FUCK!” It was dead now. But Herschel was close to the same fate. Now without a way to support himself, he found his way to the corpse’s pierced leg, bone still fresh with blood. He steadied himself and pulled on the bone, with as much force as he could with his undamaged right hand (he’s a leftie!) and found himself smothering a cough of vomit as the dripping fragment slid out. So now he had a cane and needed a way to stop the bleeding.

He took an admittedly short glance at the torn skin of the beast before deciding against it. He slid off his glamorous furry coat and pressed it against the open cut. He stifled a cry of pain as the strands of fluff pressed against it and absorbed the pain. After a minute of recovery, he continued onward with his warped bone as a cane and an improvised bandage, deeper into the maze.

With practiced ease, Elyren reached for his runic bow, soundlessly nocking the arrow and pulling the string taut. Peeking behind the thick wall behind him, Elyren could see the beast stalking, mercifully distracted by the glow of his guiding spell - still floating on the other side of the corridor - like a kitten with a ball of yarn.

Carefully, he adjusted his position, placing the arrow on the corner of the wall, taking delicate aim. Elyren narrowed his eyes - the beast just keeps moving. He’d never been a great hunter, but this is ridiculous. Holding back the urge to scoff, Elyren took a cautious step forward, bow string still pulled taut, as he cast flaming blue runes onto the arrow’s tip - as silently as he could manage it, muttering the spell’s words under his breath. After all, there was no telling how good this beast’s hearing was. Once he was sure his aim was somewhat true, pointed carefully to what he assumed was the beast’s heart, he finally let the arrow fly and it lodged itself onto the creature’s thick flesh with a burning hiss. Good, that means the runes worked.

The monster howled, throwing its clawed paws up in the air in pained fury. Elyren was swift to press his back onto the wall once more, hiding himself from the creature’s sight - at least for now. He needed something to hide, and since this terrain provided little in terms of shelter or higher ground, he’d just have to get creative. The invisibility shroud. He’d done it before, in the previous fight, and it worked out well enough. Though there was still no telling whether or not this beast couldn’t track him by smell or hearing, though given it’s inability to find him behind the wall, it was likely that it relied strongly on its sight.

That’s it! He thought, biting back a triumphant laugh. I’ll use the shroud, blind the beast, and then go for the killing blow, whatever that may be. Perfect! As the creature prowled the hallways behind him with increasing fury - the runic spell still burning its necrotic flames inside its flesh driving the beast mad - Elyren knew what to do. It took no time for him to cast his invisibility runes, though he was careful enough to conceal them as well this time. Won’t make that mistake again. He thought, recalling how he amaterishly neglected hiding the runes in his prior fight, and how that cost him dearly. He also carefully placed his now empty bow on his back once more.

Now completely shrouded in invisibility, Elyren moved, steps light as featherfalls on the concrete floor beneath him. Now the tables were turned, he figured, as he was the one stalking the beast that had meant to kill him moment’s prior. That brought a satisfied smirk to his fine features, but he pressed on, reminded of the urgency of this moment as the beast rounded the corner right in front of him. He stopped, and the beast whirled its head from side to side, confusedly looking for the one responsible for the necromantic arrow on its back, but finding nothing.

As fast as he could manage, Elyren quickly got to work on his next spell, the same necrotic flames of the arrow now floated before his hands, hidden by the shroud, ready to blind the beast before him. He just needed the right moment. Unwilling to wait too long, Elyren whistled, loudly bringing the beast’ attention in the direction of the hallway where he was standing, though it still had no clear path to where he was in order to strike. Just as soon as the beast’s sight focused on his path, Elyren struck, blueish green flames flying directly onto the monster’s glowing eyes. And the beast howled, flames searing through it’s flesh like acid burning through paper, melting down it’s eyes closed. For good.

Wasting no time, and taking advantage of the beast’s confusion, Elyren pulled out both of his runic daggers, lunging towards the scrambling beast with a viper’s precision. This, he knew how to do, killing swiftly was second-nature to him after the War.

Aiming for the exposed throat of the thrashing mutated monster, after dodging a lucky strike of the monster’s impossibly sharp claws, Elyren aimed for the bulging veins upon its exposed throat. With another swift sidestep, his daggers plunged onto the waiting neck from both sides. With considerable effort, as the beast continued it’s agonizing thrashing - one of his clawed paws tearing a deep gash on the side of his leg - Elyren was able to sever the monster’s skeletal head from it’s shadowy, lion-like shoulders. As the strange head rolled on the floor, the body went limp, spasming one last time before promptly falling forwards, blood splashing all over his dark robes. Well fuck, this is going to be hells to wash off - Stumbling backwards, Elyren shakily supported himself on a nearby wall as his now-injured leg trembled and gave out, dark arterial blood seeping onto his clothes faster than it should. His invisibility shroud swiftly fell around him, revealing him to any incoming threats. This is not ideal.

Pain shot upwards from the injured leg, and he cried out, hand instinctively reaching out to press onto the wound, and scrunched up eyes going wide as soon as he felt how deep that gash truly was. Looking up at the dead monster’s body, shakily, he confirmed his suspicions. In the monster’s now still claws was a ripped up strip of a familiar cloth, tangled with - Elyren realized with a sudden urge to vomit - strips of his own ripped up flesh. Shivering, Elyren closed his eyes, turning his head away from the gorily unpleasant sight. There were other matters at hand. Like not bleeding to death before the real fight even began.

He knew what he needed to do - he’d done it many times before. It doesn’t mean it is any less horrifying to consider. Before a quick pause, mentally going over the correct spell, Elyren finally made his decision. His left hand glew bright with searing flames - normal ones this time, like what one may find at a campfire - and he moved to hover it above the gaping wound, hesitating for a mere moment. He knew many spells for killing, many more for controlling the dead and causing fatal harm, but he awfully lacked knowledge of how to heal things, especially on himself. I’ll have to work on that, I can’t keep roasting myself everytime I almost die. Gods, I should’ve listened to Kiran when he told me to learn more about alchemy, shouldn’t I?

Gritting his teeth tightly, Elyren decided to be quick about this. The quicker the flame, the quicker the pain. Swiftly, he all but slapped the flaming hand above the wound, beginning to sear it closed. An inhuman howl left him, despite his attempts to bite back his pain, and Elyren barely acknowledge the warm tears sliding down his face, all his thoughts focused on the gash burning closed on his leg.

The godsforsaken smell that rose from it was quickly becoming too much to bear, blood sizzling into evaporation making Elyren want to vomit even more. Swallowing back the bile, as more tears fell from his eyes, it pulled away the hand. Elyren looked down, gasping for air, and examined his handiwork. The wound wasn’t bleeding anymore, and though the burn was one of the most cursed sights he ever saw in his life, his leg was still functional. Good.

Elyren shuddered, taking a moment to steady himself as the white hot pain turned into a dull - equally unbearable - throb upon his leg’s charred skin. After a moment of testing his footing underneath him, Elyren finally felt confident enough to push away from the wall, taking a stumbling step towards the guiding spell still floating next to that strange doorway.

Limping over, Elyren slowly realized how far he was into the maze. The sounds of the cheering audience were distant, but present, and looking up, he could not see the arena’s higher walls anywhere close. He was at the middle of the arena, he realized. And his opponent was likely waiting for him on the other side of this next corridor. Walking slowly became less agonizing, as Elyren forced himself to become used to the insistent pain, pushing it to the back of his mind, determined to win this fight. Quickly.

Crossing this hallway, in his compromised speed as his leg all but dragged behind him, took a long moment, and as he made one final turn left, the spell dissipated. Elyren saw where he was. A wider clearing, in the very center of the arena, or so he assumed. And before him, his strange-looking opponent was waiting. Well, the spell was not wrong, he figured, bracing himself for the fight he knew was coming.

As Herschel’s final gasps of air were about to leave him, he locked eyes with a young… man? His skin was the color of the swirling sea, the undertones a deep indigo. His hair was long and silvery, falling down to his shoulders that were covered in a dark cloak. His leg was torn open and burned from methods that were ambiguous to Herschel. He didn’t know if this thing was another beast, a foe, or a potential friend. But he saw the look in his eye- one he, too, once had. A look of fear, and an urge to strike out at potential danger. He wanted to help this kid.

“Hey! You! You know what I’m saying?”

The strange looking man limping in the arena before him stopped in his tracks, leaning into a short bone for support. Elyren tried not to think where that bone had come from. He was slightly thrown off by this man’s attire, which looked like nothing he’d seen before in Agrannor. Well, he shrugged, still not weirder than all of this. Nothing can be weirder than this fucking situation. He quickly noticed how exhausted his opponent looked, but also did not fail to see how this person seemed to be analyzing him, as if checking to see if he was any threat. Subconsciously, one of his hands reached for the handle of his dagger, but din’t unsheath it. Just placed it next to the blade. Waiting for the man’s next move. Through the ringing of his ears, and the annoying pain shooting up from his blistered leg, he noticed the man was speaking to him. Adjusting himself and his hearing, Elyren finally understood it. “Hey! You! You know what I’m saying?” The man asked, and Elyren tilted his head.

“Yes, I do understand you. Why?” He questions, his sharp accent echoing around the arena. There was deep confusion in his eyes, but curiosity as well.

“I’m guessing you want to kill me? Like all the fucking things here?” Herschel had taken a casual posture, but kept a tight grip on the bone in his hand. “We don’t have to, you know! Violence isn’t the answer, as they say! …you probably don’t know what that means, don’t you… never mind! Just… don’t hit me preferably!”

Elyren narrowed his eyes at the man’s answer. One particular choice of word struck him quite harshly, though he was aware that this might not have been the man’s intention. Thing. “Like all of these fucking things up here?”

He remembered how it was like, in his past. Being hunted for sport, treated like cattle for slaughter. Just another abomination the Temple of Radiance had to eliminate. Just another thing.

Shakily, he shook his head. Now was not the time for this. He needed to think clearly, Elyren told himself, as he awkwardly took a steadying breath in, though it hitched. He didn’t know whether it was at the pain on his leg or the memories the word brought up. What a day.

“... Thing? No. Don’t you ever call me that again!” Elyren said, arms crossing over his chest protectively. “I’m not a thing. I am a person.” He paused, calming himself down and recalling the rest of the man’s response. “And no, I do not want to kill you. But… what choice do we have? How else can I get out of here?”

Despite himself, his lower lip quivered, before he forced his anger to return to his stony facade once again, speaking under his breath. “You’re not the only one afraid here.”

Herschel could feel the sting that his words dealt.

“No, you’re no “thing”, you’re right. You’re a magnificently complex miracle of nature, and whoever has said otherwise is wrong.” He paused when he heard the young man open up, realizing it must have been a hard thing for him to do. Herschel squatted down and placed his weapons on the ground, clearly showing himself to be unarmed. “You need a hug? Because I think I do too.”

Elyren paused, frozen like a statue. “... What?...” The word left his mouth almost without him realizing it. The man had apologized, sincerely in fact, for his slip up. And had offered him a hug. A hug? Elyren thought. What an unusual request for someone trapped in a deadly combat. He frowned slightly, considering if this was a trap or in earnest, eventually realizing it was the latter. A hug would be nice, he figured. No one ever hugged him after Kiran died. Most people just try to kill him on sight, like he is a pest or something disposable. This is new. This is… nice, if it is true. “... A hug would be great, honestly…" He ran a hand through his now tousled hair and shurgged, trying to be nonchalant and not awkward "Sure, why not."

Herschel strides forward, arms outstretched. A look of sad empathy is found in his eyes, but he covers it with a welcoming smile. As he reaches the peak of his stride, the noise a loud howl screeches out into the air. “Fuck.”

Herschel dashes forward and grabs Elyren swiftly, pulling him behind a scenic bush. “I’m sorry for the sudden push, and I’ll get you that hug in a moment, but it looks like we got a bigger problem in our hands right now. You seem like an efficient killer, but please keep yourself safe. If it comes to it, I can kill it. You don’t have to die.

The bellowing roar shrills through the air, chilling his blood within him, as his opponent - or should he call him friend? - drags him to safety behind what looks like a bush, but feels more like metal than anything else. Falling to the ground behind it, it took everything he had to bite back the cry of pain from the impact on his wounded leg, but he managed. In his shock, Elyren listened carefully register the man’s hurried words, as the beast’s footfalls echoed in the arena around him, menacingly.

Carefully, he peeked from behind his shelter, seeing a giant monster with a large toothed mouth. It was green, and grey, and looked like a mix between a praying mantis and a dragon. It was horrible, and he hated it already. Frowning, however, as he slipped back down out of side, he mulled over the man's words. “What? No. You’re not fighting that alone. I’m still breathing, that means I can still fight, and I’m not backing out from this. So, let’s kill this thing. Got a plan?” He said, slipping his bow back into his hands, and steadying their shaking as he moved to nock an arrow.

His words were hushed as he kept crouched down behind the “bush” out of the monster’s line of sight. He hoped. Elyren noticed the human’s worried glances to his injury - which admitedly was horryfying to look at - and tried to give him a reassuring smirk, which faltered into a pained grimace. He wasn’t sure at all. “Don’t worry about the leg. I’ve had a lot worse.”

Elyren didn't know if even he himself believed the words he just spoke, but there wasn't time to discuss it.

Herschel grimaces at the cut, but chooses to trust Elyren’s statement. “I left my weapons on the other side of the room, so I’ll join you in a second.”

As Herschel moves to stand up, Elyren stops him with a firm hold on his arm.

"Rule number one of survival: Never part with all your weapons. No one needs to know how many of them you have in the first place." Elyren says, as he gives Herschel one of his many daggers.

“Thanks! Little rusty, but should be good!” Then, Herschel looked at the beast. It was massive, almost double his height, and its limbs resembled jagged stone in their strange shape. Its natural armor was the color of sea glass, and its head jutted out strangely from the neck.

Without thinking twice, Herschel ran to the other side of the creature, swinging away from the stab of its arm and preparing to strike. “The name’s Herschel, by the way!” He yells out as he dashes towards the beasts side and manages to slice into its underbelly.

Elyren narrows his eyes as his new ally runs straight towards the monster, and sighs, shaking his head.

"I don't know why I am doing this, but alright then." He mumbles under his breath as he casts a shield spell, not for himself, but for the reckless human currently right beside the furious creature.

"Good to know your name!" He yells out, standing up fully to take good aim at the beast's neck, unprotected by its back armor. "My name is Elyren Tyrvommira. Just call me Elyren because yes, the surname is terrible for humans to pronounce, so don't worry about it."

On the other side of the arena, face to face with the monster, Herschel frowns, trying to figure out a way to pronounce Elyren's surname even though he was told not to. "Ty-ra-vom-Ira? … You know what, nevermind”

Elyren laughs, "Told you. Just forget it, oh Gods."

Herschel, now holding on the dagger as it pulls through the insect-like monster, quickly darts his eyes Elyren as strange glowing lines and circles appear around his hand. Herschel stares at them as they float around Eylren’s wrist, and is shocked out of it when he flys backward when the creature slams it's leg against his skull. But he feels no pain. Only the energy of the hit seems to transfer, and seconds later, Herschel is back up and grabbing his cane off the floor. “Thanks for whatever the hell that was!”

Elyren smirks. The spell worked - that's good. He rarely ever had to cast a shield for someone else, and it required a bit more concentration than usual, but at least it gave his newfound ally a fighting chance against whatever this monster was.

As the beast threw its head to the side to try and catch Herschel, it left its long, sinewy neck fully exposed. Perfect. Elyren coated his arrow with necromantic flames once more, and let it fly. The sharp tip lodged itself deep onto the thankfully exposed flesh with a gnarly hiss.

As the flames started to consume the skin and flesh of the very-much-still-alive monster, Elyren suddenly felt a jolt of dizziness, struggling to recover his concentration on the shield spell for a brief moment as his leg flared up brutally. Well, the hazards of being a sorcerer He thought, hand hovering over the burn on his leg as the other still clutched the bow.

After a short moment, his focus on the spell returned completely, but opening his eyes revealed an unforeseen reality.

Upon trying to handle both his pain and the spells, he had forgotten to hide himself from sight. And the monster was currently racing it's bug like form towards him, despite the flames currently eating at its neck. No time to think, just run.

"A little help would be nice! Quickly. Like right now!" Elyren screamed, trying his best to limp away from the quickly approaching monster, which was now furious. He didn't have time to nock another arrow, nor to cast another spell with his compromised focus. His only chance now lied in his ability to find a better position to stab this thing. If he could manage to escape it's claws in time

He stumbled, almost falling to the floor, and his injured leg locked in place, refusing to move as a wrong step shoots more pain through his very core. Elyren looked up. The monster was almost upon him. He braced himself for the inevitable. But the bite never came.

Herschel only had a couple of seconds to process whatever the hell was going down with the glowing runes, because the beast was dashing toward his ally at a breakneck pace. Herschel took a swift breath and dashed at the thing, cane in his torn left hand.

He brought the bone down with all the force he could on the thing’s leg, which was already ablaze with madly flowing, flesh-consuming strikes of fire. A sick pop could be heard throughout the maze as it made contact and the thing’s head twisted as if on a swivel. Herschel fell to the ground, clutching his arm, as the beast shakes and twists beside him.

“You… good? Might have some… I can give you my clothing of you’re bleeding."

Elyren pants, out of breath as he puts all his weight on his uninjured leg. He might have miscalculated the damage his previous encounter in the maze had caused him - his leg was all but torn, held together only by the clumsy cauterizing he'd cast. It was... agonizing.

Watching from afar, he saw as the beast stopped in its tracks, his ally tackling its leg with his cane. He shook his head at his ally's question, taking a shaking, rattling breath to try and think through the pain.

Running had only made it worse, he realized that now, but there was no time. "... I'm not bleeding, I think hng I ... made it stop. It just hurts. A lot" He blissfully keeps out the details of how the previous monster had torn away a chunk of his leg, which was now an open wound, and how he had to sear it closed by himself. There was no need for the other to worry more. He positioned himself out of the struggling beast's reach.

It had been deterred but was recovering remarkably fast, climbing onto its remaining legs as it let out a blood-curdling howl. "But we don't have time. We need... to end this." Elyren choked out, forcing his voice to sound even and strong, clutching his dagger as he scrambled in his mind for a plan. "If I... If I can restrain it, can you help kill it?" He called out, drawing the beast's attention onto him with a whistle as he awaited the other's response.

Across from him, Herschel staggers up. “Hell yeah, man.”

He poses his staff above the thing’s neck where the arrow had pierced, ready to slam it in like a hammer and nail. “This is gonna get bloody!”

Elyren nodded. Closing his eyes, glowing purple runes appeared on the arena's floor, as the concrete stone started to rearrange itself onto chains. Focusing on it, Elyren ordered the chains to latch onto the creature's back, restraining it constrictively. Hands stretched out, Elyren made the stony chains tighten around it, all his remaining strength channeled into keeping the thrashing monster held onto the now broken floor from which the chains had sprouted. This wouldn't last for long, but it was the chance they needed it. He met his ally's gaze and nodded again. New runes - another spell - formed around Herschel's staff, marking its end sharper, giving them a greater chance to kill this thing. Out of breath, struggling to hold both spells at once and ignore his growing pain, Elyren ordered, a panicked lilt to his voice.

"... Do it! Now, do it now!"

With his last breaths as blood poured from his open wound, Herschel’s staff was lifted in a high arc above his head and slammed into the creature’s skull. An explosion of blood covered his lower body, and he felt himself kneel to the ground as his body gave up beneath him. But he rose back up, using his bone as a weight to hold himself. He shakily lifted his hand and brought a thumbs up to Elyren. He managed to cough out, “How about that hug?” before collapsing into the stone floor.

Elyren keened, finally able to let go of the spells he'd been holding onto. His head ached like it had been smashed with a hammer, and he could barely feel his feet. All that he could feel was pain, shooting up from his charred, torn leg.

His vision swimmed, for a moment, and Elyren felt as if the ground was moving beneath him, which he knew from experience was a tell-tale sign of being about to pass out. Closing his eyes tightly, he forced his body to steady, breathing through the pain until the dizziness stopped and the ground felt even once again.

He opened his eyes just in time to see his ally collapse. Elyren felt an unexpected surge of worry. Had Herschel been injured? Elyren analysed the other, looking for visible injuries. The monster's blood was dark as tar, which made it incredibly easy to see the growing crimson stain in the other's clothes, around a wound. Oh.

With his leg dragging behind him, insistently numb and agonizing at the same time, Elyren was able to limp over towards Herschel, who was now waiting for him just around the fallen monster between them. Once he reached the other, Elyren paused. "... Yeah, a hug... sounds about nice... right now," He reached out a hand. "Do you want to... get up... or do you prefer to stay sitting down...? Either way it's - it's fine. For me. You helped out... a lot... in the battle. "

Herschel speaks softly. “It’s fine… I can…” He tries to move himself but his body refuses. “Sorry, I… don’t think I can.” He reaches out to hug Elyren.

Elyren notices the other's struggle and nods. "Don't try to.. get up. I'll get .... to you, sorry." Wincing, Elyren lowered himself into a seated position so that the hug was easier to achieve, Elyren responded with an awkward, distant, but gentle hug. He hoped his lack of practice in such things wasn't so apparent, but he knew it was. Gods, I'm pathetic. How can I not remember how to hug?

They stayed like that for a while. It was nice, Elyren realized, leaning a bit more into the hug before letting go. This was his first hug in years, and only now had he realized how much he'd missed it - being hugged. He stiffled a small sob at the thought, before clearing his throat.

After the hug ended, they stayed on the floor, just sitting side by side. Elyren's gaze wandered upwards, towards the tallest wall of the arena. The wall from where M - and likely hundreds of others - were watching these fights. He set his jaw tightly, thinking.

"... What now? I - I mean. How do we get out of this? We were... supposed to fight, but now, I can't do this, I don't want to do this."

I just want to go home. The thought dies in his throat before he can bring himself to say it out loud.

Herschel takes a breath, one loaded with sorrow hidden by years of practice. “Don't worry. I can fix this.” He slips out his gun and presses it into Elyren’s hand. He guides it up as Elyren stares at it, confused. He presses it against his own forehead, as the young elf holds the gun.

"What is this? I don't understand." Elyren asked, confused, trying to pull the gun away from Herschel's grasp, to pull it away from his forehead, but the other did not let go. Despite not knowing what this contraption was, Elyren somehow felt it was nothing good. "W-what does it do? Tell me what does this do, let it go-"

Herschel whispers calmly to Elyren. “It’s a way for both of us to be happy here. When I say so, you’ll pull the trigger- the little thing on the bottom- and it’ll fix the problems. And hey, the next one that comes along, just point this thing at it, using those fun little glowy things from before if you’d like, and it’ll fix the problem too.”

Herschel, strangely, doesn't feel fear or anxiety. At least for himself. He realizes, after a moment, that he has one last message for Elyren.

“Don’t let anyone pretend that you aren’t a person. That you aren’t a sentient being. Because you are, kiddo, and I know with all my heart that you’ll do good. I… believe in you… if that matters.” With that, he makes a gesture with his hand to signify to press the trigger.

Elyren's hands shook. He listened to the other's words, trying to understand what they truly meant. This didn't look like a nice thing. This... this looked like a weapon. Realization hit him faster than a falcon - Herschel was trying to give him a way to kill him without a fight. Whatever this did, it was - he hoped - an easy way out. For the both of them. Despite still not wanting to do this, despite hating this with every fiber of his being, Elyren forced his hands to obey, moving to clutch the weapon with both his hands, holding it more precisely. Tears were falling unbidden from his eyes, Herschel's last comment made Elyren choke up, more tears following suit. He'd waited for so long to hear those words. That he is not a monster. That he can do good. How twisted is the hand of fate that he now has to kill the person who just said the words he'd been waiting for so long. Elyren stammered, trying to breathe through his sobbing but failing. "...Thank you. F-for what you said. I'm so sorry, I'm sorry...!"

All Herschel did in response is clasp his hand on Elyren’s, holding it firm. He nodded in understanding.

Elyren took a deep breath, steadying his hands one last time. Pull the trigger, Herschel had told him. What is a trigger? He thought to himself, carefully leaning over to see within the weapon, and maneuvers his shaking fingers to clumsily but carefully rest upon what he thought was the trigger. I'm so sorry.

He barely presses the mechanism, and a loud, awfully loud sound echoes around the arena. Elyren screams, ears ringing from the unexpected sound. Blood splatters onto his face due to the proximity, and as Herschel falls limply to the floor, a hole upon his forehead, Elyren watches numbly the pool of blood grow.

He's frozen, unable to move. Everything feels too much, and he feels too numb. His hands are still wrapped around the handle of this strange contraption called a gun. He hates this. He hates himself. Shivering, he moves to lower the gun, but his shaking fingers cause him to drop it, clattering onto the bloodied floor before him, like it's accusing him.

Elyren forces himself to look away from the corpse of his ally, the newfound friend he'd been forced to kill, turning his back to what he had to done. Like he always did. People always died because of him. Maybe the illusion of Kiran's ghost was right, after all. And now, he waited. He had won. It doesn't mean he has to like it. Right now, with the distant cheers of the audience echoing around him and the corpse of his ally beside him, Elyren wished he could just not think at all.

At least for a while, before he would be forced to go through these hells again soon.

Writeblr Battle Royale - Round 2 Julyan vs Blair

Hi, there! I am taking part in @your-absent-father's amazingly fun event, Writeblr Battle Royale, where I and other cool writeblrs choose our most powerful OCs and make them fight in an interdimensional arena. It's chaotic, it's badass, and more importantly, it is FUN (:<

This is also the second round!

Important: These events are not canon to our stories! They're just something very cool we as writers have decided to subject our characters to, for the sake of writing practice and Fun tm, though it is completely unrelated to our projects and the characters' actual experiences in the books.

Check out the rules and other amazing fight scenes at @writeblrbattleroyale!

TW: Death, blood, gore, violent hallucinations, depictions of a panic attack, burning/fire, and mentions of vomiting/puking.

In this fight Julyan, my suscryer mageborn, must fight against Blair (@gummybugg's character), who tries to taunt him into fighting against him. And well, things derail from there (:<

The world whirls around him, the old arena fading away as Julyan feels himself being transported, floating as if underwater. To where, that he can’t tell. 

After a mere moment, he feels the ground beneath his feet once again, and hazily blinks open his eyes. It feels like the last time he was brought here. And different all the same. 

As his vision adapts to new lighting, he feels a surge of energy pass through him, as if his body is healing from the ache of his previous opponent’s attacks, exhaustion giving place to full awareness once again, like it would after a full night’s rest. Strange, he frowns, but a welcomed feeling nonetheless. Everything is hazy around him. He can’t see the arena, it’s all, blurred, like his sight isn’t quite right. Julyan closes his eyes, rubbing them, and then opens his eyes again. It wasn’t much help, but that’s when he notices her, standing across from him. Her clothes are strange, but he quickly recognizes her garb as typical of a Fortune Teller. She looks at him, for a moment, he notices her eyes are filled with unspeakable sorrow. 

Maybe she doesn’t want to be here either. Given his recent experiences, that doesn’t seem unlikely.

Is she a new opponent? No, I don’t think so. Something doesn’t seem quite right. But if she is not my opponent, then what is she?

Before Julyan can figure out the answer to that thought, however, the Fortune Teller woman moves. And points to him. Directly. Once again, his surroundings swirl around him, and for a brief moment, Julyan feels like he is falling, fast, towards somewhere he cannot see, spinning like a kite caught in the wind. Before it stops, just as suddenly as it began, and he feels the ground beneath him again. 

Groaning from all the swirling and sudden crash, he stands up, and takes a lot around. He immediately regretted that decision. 

Looking around, at first it seems as if he is back home, in Agrannor. It’s the same snow covered streets of his city, the same stone carven walls. But there is blood upon the snow, and the wall’s ancient stone is marred by the all too familiar fires of war. Everything seems misplaced, destroyed. It’s nothing like what everything looked like when he was first whisked away to this dreadful competition. 

Something is wrong, terribly so.

A shrill scream cuts through the winter air, and Julyan feels as if his blood was frozen inside him, terror filling him. He knows this voice, he knows this voice too well. It can’t be… nonono… Julyan whirls around in the direction of the sound, heart beginning to race within his chest. 

Please no, Gods, anything but this, don’t let it be what I think it is -

The dreadfully familiar sigil of the Secret Court comes into view, as assassins march mercilessly through the ruins of the city around him. Terror follows soon after, the feeling he had wished he’d never feel, the fate he lived to avoid. Their enemies had found them. 

And worst, much worse yet. His siblings were caught in the crossfire. Julyan wanted to scream, or vomit, whatever came first. He felt as if his heart is going to punch a whole through his chest, terror and grief growing as he took in the sight that was standing in front of him. 

A red cloaked assassin smiled, rotten, standing behind his younger sister, a wickedly sharp dagger held dangerously close to her throat. Behind them, there was more blood on the snow, and Julyan wanted to curl up and die when he realized from where it was coming from. Azra, his adoptive brother, lay on top of the growing red stain, alive - but the deep gash at his side told Julyan that it would not be for long. 

Shaking, he finds his voice, looking up at the assassin placatingly. 

“Please, just… let them go, alright? There’s no need to involve them. You need a victim, don’t you? Then take me. Kill me, hurt me, do whatever you want. Just let them both live.”

The assassin tilted their head, glowing eyes a sickening reminder of what Julyan was trying to avoid. They laughed. 

“It’s too late for that, Sunscryer.” The voice echoes around him, like a ghost, sounding more like a snake’s hiss than anything human. “You ran, like a coward. You were too afraid to face your punishment, your fate. Now you pay the price of your freedom.”

The person pulled the dagger closer to Raelen’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood, and she sobbed. “Julyan, help me!”

Julyan tried to move, to take a step closer, do something. But he couldn’t, as if his feet were stuck in place. His eyes flitted between his sister and the assassin holding her at knifepoint. He wished he could comfort her, save her. But there was no time.

With renewed desperation, Julyan struggled against his inability to move, something still holding him stuck in place, as his legs were rooted to the floor. That didn’t stop him from trying - even though it was not working. 

“Stop!” Julyan commanded the assassin, though it came out as a desperate, ragged plea. “Don’t do this -  hey, I’m right here. I won’t fight you if you let them go. A-at all. Kill me now and end this madness, not them, please, leave them both alone. I’ll do whatever you want -”

The shadowy figure of the assassin laughed once more, shaking their head in sadistic glee. Julyan jumped forward, or at least he tried to, attempting to reach the assassin before it was too late. 

But he was helpless to only watch as the figure stabbed his sister in the heart. 

Time seemed to stop as crimson blood gushed out of the fresh wound, staining her robes around the twisting blade. For a moment, Julyan could not find the words to speak, or the air to breath, as he stared down his worst fear. 

Until he fell to his knees, a gut-wrenching scream leaving him and echoing mournfully around him, the realization of what he just witnessed being too much to even bear. “NO!”  Manic desperation filled him, his eyes glued to the corpses on the red snow before him, and the assassin walking away.

The wind picked up pace around him, but despite it, Julyan felt like he was being suffocated. He covered his face, nails digging into his pristine skin as he covered his eyes, unable to move. Unable to think. 

He couldn’t tell if the roaring sound that seemed to surround him was just the wind, or the blood rushing behind his ears. He couldn’t care less right now - he barely realized he was still sobbing, even though he couldn’t find the ability to stop. 

Around him, behind the roaring of the foggy wind, all other sounds seemed muffled, underwater. He didn’t open his eyes. 

But then, the wind stopped, and so did the sounds behind it. Julyan felt numb, despite the hammering of his heart within his chest and the shaking of his hands where they still rested upon his face. 

Faintly, in the back of his mind, Julyan felt a glimmer of recognition. Only slightly. Of where he’d been before all this horror came to be. Despite his mind still spiralling around him, and without caring enough to wipe away his tears, he looked up. 

And as expected his new opponent was standing right before him, a triumphant smile on their face. 

A frantic wind surrounded Blair, who removed his now-clean hands from his face to observe the arena morphing into something unrecognizable. That's right, he had survived. He made it! 

But he didn't feel free. 

Instead of the juxtaposing light and shadows of the old, reflective stadium, an even more vast and desolate field spread out before him. Through a silver mist, an old-timey fortune teller lady stepped forth, her arm outstretched. Her eyes told stories of long, forgotten tragedies. Too bad Blair’s could possibly be next.

Upon opening his eyes, Blair recognized his surroundings matching that of Elijah's apartment. Blair also found himself at gunpoint. At the end of the weapon stood what appeared to be Elijah, whose blurry face twisted in horror. 

"Get away from me, you freak!" Elijah crouched in the corner of the room, clutching his chest. His face was splotchy and his voice was ragged and worn. 

"What are you...?" Blair asked slowly. He took a step forward. 

"Get back, or I'll shoot!" Elijah said, except it didn't sound like he was convinced enough to pull the trigger. 

Shoot me? But I didn't do anything! I don't even know how I got here!

The grip Blair didn't notice he had on his knife tightened. How did that get there? He brought his hands up to his face. Sticky residue clung to his hands and dug dark, red trenches into each fold. He turned the knife over in his hand until he caught a glimpse of his blank expression. 

"I'm not going to hurt you," Blair closed the gap between them, causing Elijah to visibly shake under his shadow. He couldn't seem to release the knife, but kept his hands visible at the very least. "Tell me who did this to you," he demanded. 

"Please, just get out of my apartment!" Elijah choked, "I'll do anything you want, just--just please don't hurt me again!"

"Again...?" Blair's voice trembled. Then he followed Elijah’s gaze. 

Elijah looked down at the red spot on his chest that he had been clutching grow larger, the expression on his face melting into grotesque fear. Blair watched in a dissociative silence as his friend began hacking up blood at the sight of his wound, exacerbating his injury. 

In a blink, Blair found himself ripped away from the mini nightmare. 

This time, his setting appeared like one of the ancient worlds in an old sci-fi or fantasy movie he had seen once. But instead of a bloody man crouched before him, it was a girl Blair couldn't recognize. Behind them, another stranger. The stranger seemed to care a lot about this girl as he wailed in a similar heart-wrenching agony to Elijah's just a moment ago. 

As pitiful as the sight was, this stranger was irrelevant to Blair. In fact, the situation kind of confused him. Although his intuition told him this vision wasn't in any way connected to him, something about the man dressed in that unusually outdated attire struck him as important. But why, he wasn’t sure yet. 

But this was made clear the moment he opened his eyes from the vision: the man he had seen seconds ago in the nightmare resumed his crouched position in real life. The only thing missing was that bleeding girl. 

This was his opponent, the announcement made it clear. 

Blair has begun the battle with the upper hand, it seemed. Well, at least he had a psychological advantage, not much so a physical one...he glanced at the balisong in his hand. No more stabbing people, he promised himself. He didn't like how death felt in his hands the last round. He tried not to think about it too hard. Blair forced his vision that had tried to resurface to the back of his head. No more thoughts. Save that energy for winning the fight. 

He took a deep breath and placed his hands on his hips to steady his shaking. Psychological warfare wasn't his forte, and neither was kicking a wounded animal. But it made Blair more secure in his actions to rile his opponent up rather than kick him while he's down. 

"Hey, are you gonna keep crying or fight?"

Blair wasn't sure what happened after death but thought it couldn't nearly be as shitty as fighting for a self-absorbed, sorry excuse of a circus ringmaster. As far as he could tell, this was no circus, unless Blair and Julyan counted as the clowns. 

"Crying isn't gonna bring your friend back from death, you know." 

The last few words came out of Blair’s throat a bit more unevenly than the rest. Julyan probably already knew why, as Blair’s vision had presumably leaked into his. But it didn't seem like his taunt had much of an effect on Julyan. So he pushed harder. 

"You won't be able to save her in time if you die and M gets to her first."

Julyan glared upwards, steadying himself on the floor. The shaking didn’t seem to stop. Faintly, his mind still foggy from the panic, Julyan grasped what this new person was trying to say. 

They were urging him to fight. No, they were taunting him to fight. Julyan narrowed his eyes, seeing the knife clutched on his opponent’s hand as the man took a step closer. He shook his head, feeling at the same time numb and overwhelmed. Scrambling, Julyan tried to think of what to do. His grip on his powers was fickle as is, but right now, after what he was forced to witness, his connection to the flames felt severed. Using them right now would causing him more harm than it would to his opponent.

New plan then. His arms were still shaking too much to fight, but he had a dagger. Blair - he recalled the name given by the announcer - didn’t have to know Julyan wouldn’t live up to his threats. He just had to buy some time, and then find a way to run away. 

Julyan knew that, if he was to survive this, he needed at least some time to recover. In his current state, he would be an easy mark. 

Shakily, he gathered himself up and rose to his feet, pulling out his dagger from under his overcoat, and pointing it at Blair. 

“... Get away from me.” Julyan ordered, trying to make his words threatening. Unfortunately, they came out as more of a desperate plea than anything else, and the trembling of his hand as he pointed the dagger wasn’t helping. His eyes flitted around, and he saw an entrance to the maze, just a few feet beside him. 

If he could gain distance, and stall his opponent long enough, he could make a run for it. Once inside the maze, he could try to figure this out, to control his powers and … fight. Maybe. but only then. 

Gracelessly but slowly, like a cornered animal, Julyan started making his way towards the pathway, not once looking away from his opponent as he backed away, dagger poised to strike.

Once he was sure his opponent was far away enough, Julyan took off, stumbling as he raced through the maze, trying to find at least a few moments to clear his mind, heart hammering on his chest as the throes of panic refused to leave him. 

"That's right, run! Can't hide forever."

Blair wasn't used to having the upper hand in most, if not all, battles he had ever gotten himself into. He clutched his balisong in his left hand, both his weapon and hand clean and restored. Placing one hand along the wall of the maze and the other, ready for attack, Blair began the search for his opponent. 

It was curious how seemingly easy it was last time--and now this time--for Blair to pursue his opponent, he thought. It was almost like no one else wanted to be here either, and for a moment, the thought of reconciliation with his enemy against M crossed his mind, but was quickly interrupted by the guttural growls from behind the adjacent wall. 

Blair peered around the stone wall at a robot scorpion about the size of a large dog. In the nick of time, he dodged an electrical attack and resumed plastering against the safe side of the wall. A close call. 

There was no other way around it. Continuing straight ahead would result in a dead end. It was now or never. 

Blair recalled the safety procedures from his first day of Robotics 101. Rubber-like material acts as an insulation to electricity! He decided to run full throttle at the scorpion, which bared its claws in blue electric anticipation. Then he went in with a roundhouse kick, knocking both his croc and the claw into a side wall. 

"How do you like that, you bastard?" 

He hurried to pick up his shoe and new-found weapon. Now, Blair had no clue how to use this claw thing that doubled as a taser and a laser gun (which he endearingly called a tlaser), but aimed it at his mini-opponent, nonetheless. It must have weighed at least four babies, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. 

The scorpion from across the enclosure crawled its way closer, snapping its remaining claw at Blair, clearly looking to make things even. 

"Come on, do something!" He shook the claw, as one does when trying to get the last good piece of meat out from a crab's claw, "Piece of shit..." 

As if on command, a blinding beam fired from the disembodied claw, melting a hole straight through the scorpion's head. The recoil was enough to smack him shitless against the wall, knocking the wind out of him. That would take some getting used to. Blair’s eyes widened at the reality of owning a BFG (big fucking gun), and he clutched on to it as if his life depended on it (which, I mean, it did).

The scorpion squirmed from its last few bursts of energy for a couple more seconds, then stilled.

It wasn't like he wanted to do this. To be forced to kill more strangers, that is. He didn't take the idea of being another person's pawn--in this case, M's--too lightly. If he had it his way, no one would be killed except for that M guy. But it wasn't up to Blair what could be done. He was just as powerless as he was against the government back at home. 

Blair reasoned that since both he and Julyan were murderers since they had made it this far, that it probably wasn't worth mulling over ethics. Besides, the sooner he got to uncovering the mysterious M and his lackeys, the sooner he could get out of here and resume his mission. 

He began to wonder where the real Elijah was, since he had been nothing more than a figment of his imagination in the last round. Nothing and no one was to be trusted. 

Blair was going to proceed to the next round and the next round and however long it took until he got his ass out of this nightmare. Not just for his own sanity, but for Elijah’s, as well. Getting revenge for the person he cared for most severely outweighed the numerous bloodbaths it'd take to get there. He had somehow gotten himself into this mess and he knew there was no one helping him out of this. So, Blair proceeded deeper into the winding maze to seek out his worthy opponent. 

Julyan scrambled as he made yet another sharp turn, his boots sliding on the smooth concrete floor of the maze. He looked over his shoulder once more, at least his opponent was long behind him. Stumbling behind a particularly sturdy wall, Julyan let himself fall to his knees, back pressed against the coarse wall for support as he slid to the floor. Gasping for breath, Julyan placed one hand over his chest, clawing at the fabric of his linen shirt as if it might give him a semblance of a grasp on reality. Gods, he felt as if his heart wanted to beat out of his chest, and the screams from the illusion still echoed in his mind, haunting him. He really wanted to vomit right now, but could not find it in himself to pull away from the wall supporting his back. 

Okay, okay. Breathe. Julyan told himself, shakily as he stifled what he thought was another sob. You need to do this. Gods. Okay, what do I know right now? I am still in the arena. But it’s a maze now. That means that … what I saw it’s… not real. It’s not real, Julyan, get that? Not real. This is just like another nightmare, you had plenty of those before. Stop crying. Stop. O-okay. What else? There’s someone chasing me. Yes. He taunted me. He has a knife. Okay, not so bad, okay, I can… work with this.

Julyan thought’s were frantic, but at least he knew what to do. Somewhat. That’s a start. He tried to focus on just breathing, as his hands slowly stopped their desperate shaking.

As his mind became clearer, another thought - no a memory, he realized - resurfaced in his mind. A recent one, words spoken with a voice that was not his, but his opponent’s.

"Crying isn't gonna bring your friend back from death, you know." 

"You won't be able to save her in time if you die and M gets to her first."

The words replayed over and over in the back of his mind, and the more Julyan thought about them, the more they seemed to fill him with rage. As his mind became ever clearer, Julyan could not help the mix of disgust and fury that seemed to now fuel him, a desire to defeat his opponent rising in his chest, replacing the terror completely. This person tried to use his fears against him. Well, they messed with the wrong guy. Julyan slowly brought himself to his feet, no longer unsteady, clutching his runic dagger in one hand, as he closed the other in a fist, markings glowing bright red, like molten iron, as his grasp over his powers returned tenfold. 

As Julyan turned around, another sound echoed behind him. A howl. A strange howl. Quickly, despite how blood-chilling the sound was, Julyan waste no time in moving, trying to find the corridor where the sound came from, instead of waiting it to come to him. The howls grew louder the more he walked, closer, and Julyan followed them deeper into the maze, until, eventually, he saw it. Or well, a glimpse of it. 

It looked like some sort of bull, but had all the long six legs of a spider. As if my day could not get any worse. Julyan could feel it had noticed him, as the monster stopped in its tracks, head tilted. Listening. It’s legs clacked on the stone floor, echoing like hooves as it skittered around, despite it’s abnormal size.

Just get close enough already! Julyan wanted to scream, his nerves getting the better of him, but managed to calm down. The monster was clumsy, he could see that from the way the creature struggled to maneuver itself on the tight hallway. That gives him more advantage. He waited. 

And just when the monster managed to fully turn itself around, he striked. A beam of sunfire filled the corridor, charring the monster’s closest legs, causing it to make a terrible screech, but it did not cause it to stop. 

The monster bellowed, focusing it’s blazing eyes onto him as it’s nostrils flared, furious, like a charging ox. Julyan knew that sight all to well. 

“Uh…” He made to go back to the other corridor, but as if on cue, all the doors behind and around him slid closed with a clank. The only remaining door stood behind the furious spider-ox now aiming at him. The only way out is through. 

“Fucking hells, fine!”

The monster charged, footfalls echoing on the long hallway. Julyan stepped backwards, until his back hit the wall. The spell, I need a spell, what’s the name… Gods dammnit, yeah, Intangible Transportation. At the last moment, before the monster could smash him through its horns, Julyan cast the spell, and appeared on the other side of the corridor, the monster passing harmlessly through him and slamming its horns on the wall. 

It was momentarily disoriented, and Julyan did not waste a second to use that opportunity. Focusing, Julyan’s hands were engulfed in glowing red flames, and he cast two large bolts of fire on either side of the monster. It would take a lot to disintegrate such a large creature, so taking out both sets of legs should do the trick. It was swift, and Julyan was quick to walk around it, swiftly finishing the killing blow - plunging the dagger onto the beast’s heart, and twisting. It went blissfully limp, and Julyan pulled out the weapon, stunned as if breaking free from a trance.

For a moment, he paused, looking around in horror. At what he’d done. The walls around him were charred like coal, but that did not compare in the slightest to the mangled, charred corpse of this creature. This living creature which he had killed. With no remorse. Like an Imperial soldier would.

What did I do?!

There was so much blood, and the smell… Oh Gods the smell. It hit him like a ton of bricks, the scent of melted flesh burnt to a crisp. Julyan scrambled away, tripping in one of the beast’s severed legs and falling over it with a sickening crunch, as the charred remains dissolved into nothing but floating pieces of coal. The smell of burnt skin hit him tenfold, now that he had fallen upon it. 

Before he realized what he was doing, Julyan rolled onto his side, facing away from the sight and the godforsaken smell, bile rising to his throat. And puked. 

Chest heaving, there was little in his stomach that could be thrown up - he hadn’t eaten in a while, even before being brought here - and that absence only made this feel worse. It hurt a lot. When there was nothing more, he coughed, trying to catch his breath as he scrambled to his feet once more, walking away from the charred corpse behind him. 

Wiping away some unbidden tears, he spared the dead creature one last glance, once he was far away enough that the burnt smell wouldn’t just make him sick again. Taking in the damage he was forced to cause, Julyan felt a sense of rage overpower his sorrow, stronger than before. 

This wouldn’t have happened if he wasn’t forced to fight in this arena. This wouldn’t have happened if his opponent didn’t taunt him during a moment of panic. 

This wasn’t himself, Julyan knew it. He hoped. He would never kill another creature like this. His mind wandered to his previous opponent from the prior fight. She hadn’t meant to harm him, not truly, and yet he was forced to kill her. And now he was forced to kill again.

Julyan seethed.

His anger twisted and turned, as he headed towards the only remaining open door in this hallway, dagger held tightly in his hand, Julyan walked out of the corridor and into the next room. It looked like a small arena. Good, this means his opponent might be near, this means he can end this quickly. 

Blair wandered into a large clearing, probably another corner of the maze. It was there he caught the glance of his opponent from just a few feet away. 

"You!" Blair had gone from dragging the pincer on the rocky ground to pointing it at Julyan. 

Now that he had gotten a better look, he noticed how tall Julyan really was. He had strawberry blond hair tied up in a ponytail, a ruffled white shirt, a fancy overcoat, and boots. Honestly pretty intimidating, but Blair was used to having a taller opponent by now. 

A pirate? Blair thought. 

Well, that didn't matter. Cosplay or not, he was going to win this match. He planted both feet firmly on the ground. This will end here, once and for all. Blair smacked the side of the BFG, charging its laser up. It would only take a single shot to annihilate his opponent, but he also wasn’t exactly sure how much juice was left. This could be his final shot. 

“I’m tired of you running. Let’s finally finish this so, in a way, both of us can get out of here,” Blair chuckled. But Julyan wasn’t laughing. Blair wondered if he was good at parties. 

"You're rather insistent, aren't you? Just back off already!" Julyan told Blair, a twinge of impatience to his usually collected voice. This was his last warning. His opponent had better heed it. 

"Look, I'd like to, but then that'd mean you'd win the match. And I didn't endure that acid trip nightmare for nothing." 

Julyan dodged Blair’s poor attempt at jabbing him with the sizzling metal prongs. The metal whirred past his head, just barely scraping his shoulder. Julyan saw the strange contraption, then the meager cut it had managed to cause, which barely hurt, then looked back up at his fuming opponent. It took all he had not to burst out laughing.

"Well aren't you a brutish one?"Julyan gave a twisty smirk filled with vitriol. "Your tactics are rather senseless, don't you think? Oh yeah, of course, you don't think, at all."

"Did you just call me stupid?" 

“Maybe.” Julyan chuckled, a dangerous, victoriously angry sound, filled with hatred as seamlessly sidestepped one of Blair’s hits. “Wow, I’m honestly surprised you realized that by yourself.”

“People like you deserve no remorse.” A spark in Blair’s eyes. Was it a glint? Probably just from the claw that resumed its humming and zappy duties. 

It didn't take much to rile Blair up especially given the circumstances. He focused more intently on his target. But it was difficult when all he could see was red. It fueled him to keep going despite the hole he had dug for himself. There was no backing out now, the only way now was up. He had to win this at any cost. 

Blair tried repositioning the laser the more Julyan danced about with his attacks, to which Blair found more irritating than anything. It was no easy task to dodge while holding a large weapon. The more he used it as a shield, the more it degraded, so Blair had a single chance to get things just right before…

A wall of fire shot right past him burning the side of his arm before Blair barely had time to dodge. In front of him, Julyan stalked closer, golden eyes burning hotter than the flames at his hands. 

“Who’s running now?” Julyan questioned, rhetorically, tilting his head as he watched a beam of his fire shoot outwards towards his opponent, who dodged in the last second, leaving a pit of melted ground where he’d just been standing. Julyan scoffed, walking closer, his flames burning white hot in his hands. He laughed, bordering on hysterics, feeling manic after all he just went through - his voice was sickeningly sweet, provoking, though it slowly derailed into rage as he finished his sentence “Weren’t you the guy taunting me when I couldn’t fight back? Well now I can. Step up to the challenge, you bastard!”

“Oh, I’m not going anywhere. I said what I said,” Blair spat out a bloody tooth for no discernible reason. Maybe to assert dominance in his culture…? Not even M knew. 

Julyan shot another blast of sunfire, cornering Blair as the other tried to run back into the maze. For a moment, Julyan watched his opponent dodge flame after flame, as he made the burning spiral chase Blair no matter how far he tried to run. For a moment he wondered how on earth that man had the energy to dodge his attacks while carrying such a large scorpion claw. Until he could see his opponent becoming weary. Good, now that guy can’t taunt anyone. 

Lifting both his hands up he cast a wall of fire just as tall as him, and threw it towards Blair, who barely had time to run, rolling away - a faint singed smell seemed to permeate the maze, but Julyan forced himself to ignore it, momentarily losing focus on his flames, with shoot out haphazardly before he controlled them again. Not now, I can’t get sick again, not now. 

“You singed my hair off, you bastard!” Blair panted, hand against the wall for support. “Do you have any idea how long it took to grow that out?”

His opponent was insistent, Julyan had to give him that. It was difficult to pin down and hit this guy, he was fast, but Julyan’s anger more than compensated for that. At this point, he didn’t have to aim. Walls of fire were enough to trap Blair in every direction. And his opponent slowly realized it. Slow and steady, but with a brutality he usually found appalling, Julyan was breaking his opponent down. Now it was a matter of time. 

His power’s instability, however, seemed to grow the more angry he got. Which was, right now, a problem. Julyan was starting to feel dizzy again, like he’d been thrown into a pot of boiling water or a fiery lava field, but he forced himself to ignore the growing ache or how numb his fingers were getting. Winning was more important today.

Reality began sinking in like quick sand, Blair squirming in response. 

He dodged another attack, which grazed past his ear. In a single hit, he too, could be dead. And he could tell Julyan wasn’t going easy on him. This wasn’t like the last round at all. Burning hatred glinted in Julyan’s eyes, a look that Blair had only ever seen one other time. 

If he failed to survive this round, he would never have the chance to tell Elijah goodbye. Well, at least he wouldn’t be here to see me die, Blair thought to himself. This isn’t any of his business, and maybe it’s for the best I stay out of his hair. Maybe I deserve this. I am no better than Julyan and definitely not deserving of a happy ending. 

Blair’s vision was overcome with tears. Blinking had no effect on the oncoming of tears in remembrance of his best friend. That’s right, he never got to tell him how he felt about him. Well, that wouldn't matter. It wasn’t like anyone could love someone like Blair. His opponent was basically doing the world a service by exterminating people like him, right? 

I just hope that whatever happens…that at least Elijah gets his happy ending. 

Julyan spun around as Blair dodged yet another one of his strikes. He couldn’t feel anything, just the fire, burning inside of him, through him. And anger. He was never this angry before. Never. He hated anger. It was sick. Julyan realized, with a momentary pang, that this ‘anger’ was actually fear. Deathly fear. He shook his head, and his thoughts dissipated in the searing burn of his sunfire, his own skin aching at the overheating of the flames as he shaped it into a fiery spear, and took aim. 

And this time, he aimed to kill. 

A sudden gust of fiery wind shot through Blair’s chest– an instant kill. He fell to his knees, then collapsed to the ground with a solid thud. Through the gaping hole in his chest, the scorpion claw that had yet to fire its target shot. Abruptly, it began cooking the lifeless body with its laser, setting it aflame. Within seconds, Blair had been reduced to a pile of ash. 

Julyan watched, with growing terror, as his opponent burnt to ash, a gaping hole seared into the young man’s chest. His rage bubbled up, mixing with all the pain, terror and grief he was forced to endure today, his flames disobeying his own commands, spiralling around him in growing distress.

Julyan stared emptily at the corpse. He just killed someone again. Julyan felt his hands reaching to pull at his long hair, fire swirling around him like a searing hurricane. And he screamed, falling brokenly to the floor as the fire around him exploded outwards, flames finally stopping as he realized what he was being forced to become. 

A monster. 

As much as he wanted to go home, as much as he needed to go home and keep his siblings safe, a treasonous part of his mind asked one dangerous question. 

What if I lose myself?

Because that, oh that, was a terrible thing. And right now, it was a reality that felt far too real to ignore.

Finally! Someone gets it! And yes, if you're looking for "Just Warm Fuzzy Fluff" my writing isn't really for you, dear potential reader, either! While I do try my utmost best to always be sensitive about anything I write or approach in writing <3

"you have a responsibility to consider how your writing would affect other people" literally 50% of writing is manipulating the audience by setting tone and mood and drawing them in to fuck with their emotions. writers do NOTHING but consider how our writing is affecting other people and this is implying that our moral imperative is to make them feel warm and fuzzy which it is not