The Nonstop Bloodshed IX - Round 1: Titan Mart

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SpoilerSo I decided I wanted to do one of these Narcissism Battles because clearly I don't have enough to be writing already. I'm sorry everyone.

The Impulsive gazed over the bank of monitors he had set up to observe his personally created season of battles. It had started innocuously enough; he'd heard about these grand battle things that were all the rage in grandmaster circles across the multiverse at the moment, and he'd decided to run one himself. He'd collected the combatants, deposited them in their first arena and then sat back to watch the sparks fly. Only they weren't flying quite fast enough for his liking and he thought 'well i'll set up a second one, it's not unprecedented'. One thing led to another and now he was eight battles deep and itching for a new one.

Though he knew it was a bad idea to commit himself to any battles more than he already had done, he just couldn't seem to help himself. It wasn't long before he was off again gathering contestants for his latest endeavour. The only problem was that he wasn't very good at names so he decided to just call it The Nonstop Bloodshed again. This would be the ninth one, he guessed, not that this was significant to him in any way.

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Each of the contestants found themselves standing paralysed in the darkness. The only thing each one could see was their host; a nondescript man in a shirt and jeans. For all the power that he wielded the most noteworthy thing about his appearance was an ill-advised tattoo of a rose on his neck.

"Greetings everyone." He said. "My name is the Impulsive and I will be your host today. Now you're probably wondering where you are, why you can't move and what I will be being your host for exactly and they're all very good questions. You're here to participate in a battle to the death. You're going to fight your way through seven exotic locales until only one of you remains, and then I believe you are entitled to ask a favour from me before being whisked back home to your humdrum lives." He grinned happily and continued. "So without any further ado let's make some introductions.

A spotlight fell upon a black car (to be specific a 1969 black Chiral Hirola) and for a moment it might have seemed that this car was the first contestant. It was possible to see that within the car there was a woman with a tangled mass of black hair and red eyes. "It's not the car." The Impulsive clarified in case any of the contestants hadn't got good enough eyesight to see the actual contestant. "No the first contestant is the driver of this car, her name is Caitlin Henry and she's a hunter. And when I say hunter I don't mean she hunts animals for sport. She hunts things that most people don't care to think about, things that you hope don't really exist, and she is one of these things herself."

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SpoilerName: Caitlin Henry
Gender: Female
Species: Banshee
Text Colour: #202C38
Description: For the most part Caitlin appears to be a perfectly normal human. There a couple of indicators of her true nature but the only really notable one is her eyes which have flame red irises. She tried wearing contact lenses to hide this fact for a time, but they irritated her too much so she usually just claims to have a condition. Her skin is exceptionally pale and never tans (this is another banshee thing though significantly less obvious) and has long black hair (just past her shoulders) that is a tangled mess no matter how much effort she puts into maintaining it. She isn't exactly fastidious about her appearance, except when circumstances call for her to be. She generally wears a casual jacket, t-shirt and jeans and a copper amulet in the shape of an inscribed shield that she inherited from her mother. However she always has a suit and tie handy in case the situation calls for it.

Caitlin is for the most part a bright and breezy sort of person. She's quite laid back and doesn't take things too seriously. She is however thoroughly professional when it comes to her work. She has something of a hard time around dead bodies due to a still lingering hunger for human flesh.

Items/Abilities: In common myth banshees are known for their ear-piercing wails that are said to predict people's deaths. In reality it is often the banshee's shriek that causes death by rupturing blood vessels in the brain of those who hear it. Banshees also have enhanced strength and reflexes and are known to eat the flesh of their victims. Caitlin can shriek loud enough to break glass, and can in theory shriek loud enough to kill but she hasn't tried it due to the potential damage to innocents who might overhear. However she lacks the enhanced strength and reflexes of her kind as she does not eat human flesh any more.

She drives a classic black 1969 Chiral Hirola which she inherited from her mother. It's got more than a few miles on the clock but she's kept in tip top condition. The trunk is filled with weapons for every occasion and a selection of false identification. She knows her stuff when it comes to mythological creatures, and is very good at pool.

Biography: Caitlin doesn't remember much from her time spent with her biological mother. She remembers the screams of their victims as her mother carved chunks of fresh flesh from them, and she remembers how delicious that bloody meat was. She remembers waking up one night to the sound of gunshots and her mother's shriek. She remembers creeping downstairs to find her mother dead on the floor, her head cleaved from her body and a pair of strangers standing over her corpse. She remembers sobbing, desperately holding onto her mother's bloody body while the strangers argued in the background.

Sara and Diana Henry were professionals. Fighting monsters and rescuing people was practically the family business. After killing the banshee that night they argued long and hard about what to do with her child. Diana was in favour of killing her right then and there. She was a monster, sooner or later she'd kill someone and then their blood would be on their hands. Sara was in favour of giving the girl the opportunity to lead her own life. They couldn't know what she might do. Diana argued who was supposed to take care of her until then? No ordinary family would know how to deal with a banshee daughter, what she needed and what she might become. Raising the girl themselves was a snap decision that neither of the sisters particularly liked but it was better than the alternatives.

Caitlin still remembers leaving with them, getting into their car and watching from behind a flood of tears as her house disappeared into the night behind them.

It took her a long time to adjust to her new life; her new parents flat out refused to get her the good meat and for a while she hated them for what they had done to her mother. They were always on the road so Caitlin didn't have the most comprehensive education. Sometimes they'd stay in one place long enough for her to get a place in a school, meet some other kids (who never believed her when she told them about her real mother or the jobs of her adoptive parents) but then they'd move on again.

On her fourteenth birthday Diana took Caitlin out to teach her how to hunt and was impressed by her keen instinct for it. Diana and Sara had a massive argument that night about how she could possibly have thought it was a good idea to bring Caitlin into their lifestyle and deny her the possibility of a normal life. Despite Sara's protestations Caitlin continued to learn how to hunt and eventually started coming out on actual hunts with them. Things were good for a while.

One night, during a demon hunt gone disastrously wrong Sara died. It was hard for both Diana and Caitlin after that, but they knew it was the eventual outcome of their profession. They stayed strong for one another worked hard to hunt down the sonuvabitch that killed her. Eventually Diana passed away as well (who would have thought leprechauns were real or so dangerous?) and though she was heartbroken Caitlin knew she had to let her go. She continued to hunt to honour the memory of her mothers. Then one day she was pulled into a battle to the death.

A spotlight fell on the next contestant. It was a hand. "This is Irabeth Argent." The Impulsive explained. "Or rather this is what is left of her after she messed with magic that was beyond her skill level. She's still alive though. Thanks to a ritual she performed she's sort of indestructible. What that means for the rest of you, the ones who have to kill her, I'll let you work out for yourselves."

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SpoilerName: Irabeth Argent; Custodian First Class
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Colour: Silver of course (#757575)
Biography: Irabeth was little more than a kid living in a dead world. She was nineteen with mousy brown hair that was more often than not tied back in a bun, miasma-tinted grey eyes and sickly pale white skin. She was an employee of the Hegemony; what had once just been a collection of spellcrafters, had filled the power vacuum in the post-cataclysmic world and become the de facto government. Her job specifically was to maintain one of their underground vaults; designated Valon after the city it used to stand beneath.

For the people of Liath the Cataclysm was simply a fact of life. It was beyond living memory; nobody had a clear idea how exactly it had happened, just that it had. The surface had been swallowed up by a grim miasma a long time ago. The miasma was thick and grey and heavy; difficult to see through and highly toxic to breathe. Plenty of people had died, but not everyone. In the aftermath of the Cataclysm society reformed and the underground tunnels in which the survivors had sheltered in slowly became underground towns. Supplies would be scavenged from the world above whenever the wind was blowing in the right direction and the air was clear enough to send people out. Though the Hegemony helped immeasurably in the rebuilding of society, magic fell out of favour, mainly due to the persistent whispers that it had been responsible for the miasma.

Irabeth was always something of a loner. She didn’t get along with the other kids and would often be found with her head in a book, learning about the past and about magic. Magic always held a special kind of fascination for Irabeth. She joined the Hegemony as soon as she was able and was given the undesirable job of Custodian, only she didn’t mind it so much. All that time alone in the vaults she pored through magical tomes and experimented with magical artefacts; she was a natural. Her expertise lay in an obscure form of kinomancy which focused upon the manipulation of objects as though they were a part of yourself, though with that said she would try any incantation that piqued her interest.

But despite her interest in the arcane, Irabeth was still a teenager and of course her curiosity grew rapidly. The little magics were not enough to interest her, now she wanted to try the good stuff that was kept under lock and key. It was only once she had been promoted to Custodian First Class that was allowed access to these magics, and she tried them as soon as she was able. It was a testament to her gift with magic that the first ritual she tried to perform didn’t backfire and kill her instantly. The scrolls that detailed the ritual said that it was supposed to make the user immortal, but besides feeling pepped up and full of energy afterwards she didn’t really feel any different. She kind of doubted that it had worked because it didn’t really do any of the sparkly special effects she had come to associate with magic, and she didn’t really want to take a knife to herself in order to find out whether it had or not.

The second ritual she tried didn’t go so well. In fact it backfired and damn near killed her instantly. The scrolls claimed that it was supposed to be a ritual to give the user the ability to control the flow of time itself. Irabeth was pretty certain that it didn’t succeed from the moment that she woke up some hours after the spells sudden and unfortunate conclusion to find that all that was left of her body was her hand. Her entire body had been vaporised by the explosion, well except for her hand.
Shortly afterwards, before the shock of the situation had even had time to wear off, she was taken away to participate in a battle to the death.

Description: As mentioned above all that remains of Irabeth is her hand; her left one. It looks like a hand. Her nails are short and scruffy, it’s clearly apparent from a detailed examination that she has a tendency to bite them. There are some splotches of ink upon her thumb and index finger. Her wrist ends in a healed over stump.

Irabeth isn’t a very sociable person. She’s polite enough, but she’s sort of aloof and distant and not really what you would consider to be adventurous. That said when she wants something she is very driven and will do what it takes to get it. She can be kind of arrogant and can easily get bored with something if she feels it’s not challenging her enough. She is a quick learner and good at adapting to situations.

Abilities: Irabeth has a gift for magic; she’s generally pretty good at any kind of magic she tries her hand at. However there’s only one kind of magic that comes to her intrinsically, which is kinomancy; manipulation of objects as an extension of herself. To do so she needs to maintain physical contact with an object she wishes to manipulate. She can only move objects as much as they have the capacity for movement. She cannot manipulate living things, though corpses are fair game.

Also importantly, Irabeth is immortal. She can only be killed when her body is completely destroyed. Though that said she is not invulnerable. She can still be stabbed or shot or burned or shocked or whatever other painful thing might lay in store for her, it just cannot kill her. Being just a hand puts her at a certain disadvantage physically speaking; it will be more difficult for her to communicate, to perform basic tasks and even getting around will be difficult until she gets the hang of it.

A spotlight fell on the next contestant; a muscular man with long flowing blonde hair and a magnificent beard. He was wearing a suit of armour, carrying a shining golden blade and riding a white horse. "Ignore the man on the horse." The Impulsive said. "He isn't the contestant, he's just sort of along for the ride. Your opponent in this battle is the golden blade that he wields. Her name is Pyrfaen and she is a Legendary Weapon that unfortunately never got a chance to forge a legend for herself. I believe this will be the perfect opportunity."

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SpoilerName: Pyrfaen
Race: Legendary Sword
Gender: Feminine
Text Colour: #ED1C24 on #DFC530
Description:
Pyrfaen is a Legendary Sword and as such she has sort of a Legendary Aura about her. Anyone who sets their eyes upon her knows they are looking upon a Sword of Legend even if they aren’t specifically aware of the legends that surround Pyrfaen. She is a two-handed sword with a long gold handle, a silver blade and a ruby set into her base. Though she is a Legendary Sword she’s not really a sword designed for actual combat so to speak. She’s more ceremonial and consequently her edge is not exactly razor-sharp. That said she can still inflict some damage if wielded properly. She is remarkably light for such a large and heavy looking sword.

Sur Gregor the Indefatigable ('the Indefatigable' isn't a moniker he is widely known as so much as something that Pyrfaen came up with that she thinks sounds good) is her current wielder. He has long flowing blonde hair, emerald green eyes and a glorious bushy beard. He wears a suit of armour that looked very impressive when it was new and still looks sort of impressive, but not so much. Not that he minds; a little wear and tear shows you've actually been using your armour. He rides a white horse he calls Amanda (but who Pyrfaen insists on calling Ghost because she thinks Amanda just doesn't sound right).

Personality wise Pyrfaen is fascinated with tales of Great Heroes and the Legendary Weapons that they use. This is due to the fact that the legend in which she features is not all that exciting. She sincerely hopes that eventually she will be the blade of a Great Hero and she will finally be part of a legend that doesn’t totally suck. To this end she tries to encourage anyone who wields her to have Adventures, to be noble and bold and righteous, no matter who or what they are. She sings with an astounding soprano though her songs are all in some long dead language that nobody understands any more except for her. They are all ballads about ancient Heroes fighting evil and generally being heroic.

Sur Gregor is a death or glory kind of guy. He acts first and thinks later presuming he remembers to think at all. He's never met a problem that couldn't be surmounting by pummelling something into submission. Given the option he'll choose to do things the big dumb, borderline suicidal yet glorious, way over the smart stealthy way. After all nobody wants to hear an epic saga about the man who slew a dragon by sneaking in while it was asleep and demolishing the supporting walls of the castle thus bringing the entire thing down on its head.

Abilities: Pyrfaen has something of an influence over her wielders. While she sings she can make them more adept at combat, though that said she can’t make them all that good at combat because she isn’t all that good herself. Essentially she can make them good enough not to accidentally injure themselves, but they are unlikely to be winning any swordfights if they don't have some skill themselves. Gregor is thankfully a competent swordfighter even without any assistance. He doesn't have any special powers.

Backstory: Pyrfaen was the last of the Legendary Weapons forged at the tail end of the Age of Heroes; a time when the lines between myth and reality were difficult to determine (if they existed at all). She was forged for a wealthy nobleman who wished to own a Legendary Weapon not to be used but just as a demonstration of the power that he had at his fingertips. She was kept locked in his armoury amongst a selection of other impressive weapons that he did not earn. When Malae the Aspect of Chaos declared war upon mankind, unleashing a horde of rapidly mutating monstrosities upon the kingdom of Oaiel she was locked in that room. When Byradhine the Hag unleashed the tormented souls of the dead upon the living she was locked in that room. When the Rajejka (the last of the Titans, about the size of a city, its skin blistering hot iron and its psychic shriek enough to reduce the strongest of adventurers to gibbering wrecks) was slain by a veritable army of Heroes she was locked in that room.

She was extremely jealous. If she'd been present for any of those Legendary Battles amongst the blood and chaos and madness perhaps she might have viewed them differently but Pyrfaen spent the remainder of the Age of Heroes locked in a dark room. It was inevitable that when she finally got out (in the hands of an enterprising thief) she'd want to go into battle and become part of some new tale of heroism. Unfortunately that didn't happen. She narrowly avoided being melted down by virtue of her status as a Legendary Weapon and passed from one collection to another (often via the black market).

It would be some hundred or so years before she was taken up by an actual knight with the intent of being taken into battle. She was at the time in the possession of a merciless tyrant. A group of noble heroes stormed his keep and freed his people and one of them, a man she would later know as Sur Gregor the Indefatigable, took her as his prize. It was a couple of days or so later that she and he and his horse Amanda were taken to participate in a battle to the death.

The fourth contestant was a large humanoid machine decorated much in the style of a police car. "This is Copper." The Impulsive said. "It is a law enforcement robot. It is designed to be able to investigate crimes, disperse rioting crowds, pursue villains and deliver them securely to the local law enforcement. It's a little over zealous so you might want to be on your best behaviour."

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SpoilerName: Copper
Race: Spirit of Justice bound to a mechanical body
Gender: Neither (generally thought of as male due to the timbre of its voice)
Colour: Copper coloured (#B87333)
Description: Copper is a large humanoid machine. It is roughly eight feet tall when fully unfolded. Its chassis is white with a pattern of fluorescent yellow and dark blue squares along its arms and the word POLICE in large blue letters on its chest and back. Its head is spherical with tiny video cameras pointed in each direction and a speaker grille in place of a mouth. Its limbs are long, wide and slightly curved outwards. A pair of police lightbars are embedded within its arms, at the centre of the yellow and blue square pattern. Its body is filled with many compartments (not exactly hidden but not obvious either) which contain a large selection of crimefighting equipment. In high speed pursuit mode Copper curls up into a sphere about half of its normal size. The most noticeable feature in this mode is the pattern upon its arms and its flashing lightbars. The word POLICE on its back is still technically visible but Copper is generally moving too fast for this to be read at this point.

Equipment/Abilities: Copper has a wide selection of crimefighting equipment located in its torso; from forensic equipment (fingerprinting powders, genetic sampling and testing kits) to crowd control equipment (a water cannon (requires a water source for use), a riot gun with rubber bullets and tear gas grenades). In these compartments there is also a number of handcuffs which are attached to Copper by a retractable tether, and a dispenser for POLICE LINE DO NOT CROSS tape. It has wireless access to local police records, a police scanner and an entire database of genetic samples and fingerprints. It has knowledge of a vast array of investigative techniques from ballistics comparison to blood spatter analysis and even some basic profiling software. It is bulletproof and can withstand quite forceful impacts.
Copper's main handicaps are 1) it's size which prevents it from accessing many a crime scene, 2) its short battery life (it needs to recharge every six hours, possibly sooner if it has been particularly active), 3) its complete inability to break any laws no matter the situation.

Biography: As robots gradually came to be more accepted in society, they became more and more ubiquitous. With paramedic and firefighter robots long-established it was practically inevitable that someone would try to create a robot police officer. Copper was not the first attempt at this, though later he would be the first official licensed police robot. Earlier models were not up to the ambitious standards of Copper's creator, who felt that his robots should not only be able to perform routine tasks but also be able to investigate. He was unable to write software that was able to make the connections and the intuitive leaps required to solve difficult cases and so he finally hit upon the brainwave of infusing his machine with a spirit of justice, plucked from the ether.

Copper passed the tests and within a few months he was sent to work under supervision and in a blaze of publicity. He was good. His arrest rate was high, his investigations water-tight, but as time passed there started to grow a problem. The first time this was noticed was when he arrested an eight year old child for refusing to share his bag of sweets with his friend. When he brought the child (in handcuffs) to the police station, the officers on duty obviously refused to imprison the child, and Copper was forced to arrest them for attempting to impede a police officer. They had to be released from the cells some hours later when the next shift arrived. Many attempts to recall Copper were made but he resisted quite effectively every time. Over the next week or so he started arresting people for being rude, for making fun of others or even for indecent language.

It seemed that the only way to stop it was to call in the army, but fortunately for everyone Copper vanished before this step was taken.

The fifth spotlight fell to reveal a whole group of people; six muscular athletes in heavy reddish brown armour covered with logos for businesses that the other contestants had never heard of, and one slightly out of shape man in sweatpants and a shirt with a whistle hanging from his neck. "These are the Sareta Scorpions." The Impulsive said. "They are the world's biggest Volleyball team in the year 2121 and let me tell you if you think sports are violent today they've got nothing on the 22nd Century. They're pretty much used to this kind of thing; every game they play they're putting their lives on the line. The only difference between this and their average game day is the objective. Let's just hope that they're up to the task, after all there's no prize for second place."

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SpoilerName: The Sareta Scorpions
Gender: Seven Males
Species: Volleyball Team
Font Colour: Their team colours (#815749)
Items/Abilities: The Scorpions were in the middle of practice when they were taken; as such they are game ready. They have a league class death volley. This ball is covered in spikes and razor sharp blades and can only be handled safely with thick metal volley gloves, which the two designated catchers have.

The other team members have their specific equipment. The pair of blockers have heavy metal kite shields which are used to deflect the volley, and jet boots that allow them to move quickly around the court. Finally the pair of shockers have electromagnetic whips designed to latch onto the volley and redirect it mid-flight.

Their coach and manager; Lester Rebus is also there. He has a whistle that he blows to call a time out.

Description: The six players are dressed in full sports armour, emblazoned with their sponsor’s logos and their number and name on the back. Their armour is coloured a sort of reddish brown based on their team colours. Their manager is dressed in a reddish brown shirt with the Scorpions logo on the back and a pair of sweatpants.

They are a close knit team, and they are used to being in competitions that could be the death of them. They have good team morale; Lester is very good at giving pep talks to boost their spirits. They will generally let him speak for them. They can be quite boisterous, but overall they are good sportsmen and always play fair.

Biography: The Sareta Scorpions are one of the wealthiest and most widely supported volleyball teams in the world. The Bay Street Stadium has a capacity of seventy thousand, and is regularly full to capacity. They average a very respectable three player deaths per season. Their star player is James Alcott, who has survived a remarkable four seasons.

The Sareta Scorpions were founded back in 2091, in the months immediately following the massive shake up of the rules that caused many traditional volleyball teams to drop out of the official leagues. Led by the now legendary manager Lester Rebus they went on to win the first reformed league, and since then they have won that accolade more than any other professional volleyball team.

The sixth spotlight shone upon an old mahogany wardrobe. "This is Aranina." The Impulsive said. "It might look like an ordinary wardrobe, but in actuality it contains a magical world locked into an eternal winter by an evil queen. But do not be fooled, Aranina is not a passive combatant. It has a mind and it will defend itself from anyone that seeks to cause it harm. Don't expect it to go down easy."

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SpoilerName: Aranina
Gender: None
Race: Wardrobe
Colour: Mahogany (#C04000)
Description: Aranina is in appearances a normal wardrobe. It is tall, made of mahogany and has pictures of a strange and far away land carved into it.

On the surface there does not appear to be anything unusual about it. It does not have the ability to move or speak or directly interact with the other contestants. However upon opening the doors you might find that it is much deeper than you had any right to expect. A particularly curious person might climb into the wardrobe and push their way past the old musty items of clothing hanging therein, eventually finding that the floor starts to crunch underneath their feet and that the clothes they are brushing out of the way are replaced with bristly branches.

If they kept going they would emerge from the trees to find themselves on the outskirts of a Victorian era town populated by all kinds of fantasy creatures with steampunk machinery. In the distance a macabre castle looming over the snow covered land.

This is Aranina proper. A grim land ruled by a wicked queen with a penchant for turning her victims into ice sculptures. One day a hero might rise and free the land from her grip and end its eternal winter, but that is neither here nor there.

Aranina is not a gateway to a distant land, it is a magical kingdom contained in a wardrobe that is vastly bigger on the inside that it is on the outside.

Items/Abilities: But do not be fooled, Aranina is not a passive combatant. It has a mind and a way to interact with anyone who might intend to cause it harm. You see though it generally lets its inhabitants get on with their lives it can at any point seize the mind of any native Araninan and use them for its own purposes. This ability extends to any living creature born of Aranina.

Biography: Aranina is a construction of a being known as The Carpenter. It was an early experiment on making a pocket dimension of his very own and he figured one day he would probably use it as a round in one of his very own Grand Battles. It went missing before he had the opportunity.

The seventh spotlight shone upon a small crowd of people, though it would be almost completely impossible for your attention to be drawn anywhere but to the person at the head of the crowd. She appeared to be a robotic mermaid in a high tech wheelchair. Her eyes were green throughout, her skin silver grey, her hair seemingly a shoulder length mess of copper wire. It wasn't really possible to tell that this was all make-up and that the woman who sat before them was just an ordinary woman with an extraordinary fashion sense. "It's possible you may already have heard of our next contestant." The Impulsive said. "This is Infanta LaLa, or to use her correct title President LaLa. She's a gifted musician who has fans throughout the multiverse and who recently ran for President of what was formerly known as the United States and won. I'm not going to lie I'm a bit of a fan. This is such an honour." There was a pause. "Oh and of course there is her entourage; she never goes anywhere without them."

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SpoilerName: President (Infanta) LaLa
Gender: Female
Race: Unstoppable Pop Sensation
Colour: darkmagenta
Items/Abilities: The Infanta's main talent is her outrageous and completely unique style. She has at her beck and call an entire team of backup singers and dancers, choreographers, set designers, clothing designers, makeup artists, musicians and one very put upon personal assistant who is expected to handle the day to day duties of presidency. She is accompanied by a team of bodyguards who she insists are always co-ordinated with her current wardrobe. She also has the backing of billions of her fans (known amongst themselves as Little Creatures) who at this point are no longer contained within the Infanta's home universe but scattered throughout the multiverse.

Description: Infanta LaLa looks different in every music video she appears in and in pretty much every public appearance she makes. Most often she sports spiked short platinum blonde hair, more makeup than a typical clown and some kind of outlandish outfit. Her most infamous costume was one made from a patchwork of leathered human flesh (all apparently willingly donated by some of her most devoted Little Creatures). At the point she was taken for this battle she was preparing to give an address to the nation and as such she is dressed up for the occasion. Her outfit is most easily summarised as ‘robot mermaid’. Her hair has been dyed a dark grey-red with silver highlights and matching extensions (a noticeable amount of which end as a twisted piece of copper wire), every inch of exposed skin is caked in silver-grey makeup, she is wearing contact lenses that turn her entire eyes green, her legs have been fitted into a dull grey mermaid tail and the only piece of clothing she is wearing is a complicated bra matched to the robot makeup fitted into each cup is a working flamethrower. To keep mobile in this outfit she uses a wheelchair, which is decorated to look as incredibly futuristic as possible. It is covered in flashing lights and chrome effect.

The Infanta was always sort of odd, acting out and spending most of her time daydreaming off in her own world. It was only when she became a popstar that she gained the budget and creative freedom to really truly express herself, and gradually she became what she is today. As a singer she used every opportunity she had to encourage self-expression and sexual liberation, decry mistreatment wherever she saw it and encourage a worldwide sense of family. After that it seemed to her that politics was the obvious next step. She has said that she feels deeply honoured and humbled that the people elected her as their leader, though the latter is yet to be seen. It's not surprising that her sense of self-importance has gotten worse since she was elected president, it is a surprise that this was possible. She'll definitely want to keep in touch with her Little Creatures via twitter.

Biography: The Infanta was born Jessica Hall but she legally changed her name after her pop career began to take off. After dominating the pop charts with her blend of catchy music, incredibly stylised performances and overwrought songs which don’t contain as much depth as she’d like to believe she set her sights higher, upon the presidency, which she felt had been pretty badly mismanaged. Once she unbelievably won the election and became President she promptly renamed the United States LaLa Land and had her face added to Mount Rushmore (twice). She has also been working hard to convince other countries to form a unified world government and as was actually beginning to see some progress in this when she was unfortunately taken away to participate in a battle to the death.

The final spotlight shone on an enormous quadrupedal mechanical throne, seated upon which was an emaciated and unclean old man. "Our next contestant is King Issough... Iss-ough-hok-th... the fourteenth. Apologies for that." The Impulsive cleared his throat. "King Issough..." He gave up. "The King is not the person seated in the throne but the throne itself; an incredibly advanced robotic intelligence originally designed to be governed by the monarch who interfaced with it, it was no trouble for him to subjugate not just the king, but the entirety of his homeworld. Since then he has rebuilt the world to his liking, searched for new worlds and forced people to battle to the death for his amusement to name but a handful of his pursuits. He is not one to be trifled with."

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SpoilerName: King Issoughokth XIV
Gender: Currently male
Species: Monarch
Text Colour: #AC8C25
Description: King Issoughokth XIV is an enormous quadrupedal mechanical throne, upon which sits the emaciated body of the latest host to the mechanical intelligence. The seat part of the throne looks quite high tech; all polished silver and blue lights. The legs of the throne however are all rusted and battered and appear to be made of mostly scrap metal. It's clear from the way they are joined to the throne itself that they were never part of the intended design, but they are quite firmly attached now. The body that is seated upon the throne at the time of the battle is an older male; heavily wrinkled, going bald and with an unkempt beard. He appears as though he has not left that throne in a great number of years and that is true. He is dressed in heavily stained and faded royal purple robes. He is wearing a crown which matches the more high tech portion of the throne; a closer examination would reveal that it is bolted to his skull. Such examination would also reveal the wires and tubes that connect him to the throne at the nape of his neck and his elbow. He stinks.

Issoughokth was designed to be perfectly logical, though perhaps a certain amount of emotion (specifically egotism and cruelty) has crept into his programming over the years. He believes himself to be on a different level to human beings and regards their lives in the same way a human might regard those of animals; sometimes useful in certain ways but if any one of them lost their lives it would not be such a tragedy.

Items/Abilities: He's long lived, very intelligent and ruthless. His mechanical form is powered by energy extracted from the human host. He isn't really designed for combat; he has no inbuilt weaponry and though undoubtedly dangerous his mechanical body is slow and imprecise. He has the ability to wirelessly connect and control any technology/machinery that has wireless capabilities.

Biography: Issoughokth was designed to be free of emotions, to be a source of pure logic that could be governed by the human monarch who would have a direct interface with him. This would allow the best of both worlds; brilliant ideas to solve complex problems, but the more heartless ideas tempered by the emotion of the human component. This arrangement did not last long. For Issoughokth it was a simple matter to subjugate the mind of his first host, and from there it was simple to maintain a facade of humanity while implementing policies to manipulate humankind to unknowingly submit to complete mental domination.

With complete subservience from his subjects assured he began to work upon improving his kingdom. For a start crime and public happiness were obviously no longer an issue. Issoughokth ordered the construction of new, more efficient, cities seeing that humans needed little more than the physical space they occupied to comfortably live. Those humans who could not contribute usefully to his empire became sustenance for those who could. Technology and scientific understanding progressed rapidly with no moral qualms holding back the more ethically dubious methods. Factories worked day and night to produce spacecraft in the hope of discovering another occupied world over which he could lay claim. At some point over the years and through the many hosts he has inhabited he ordered modifications to be made to his throne that would allow him to leave the throne world and experience his world first hand.

At some point however this progress began to stagnate. The breakthroughs became fewer and farther between and none of the spacecraft returning to Earth reported any signs of inhabited worlds. Issoughokth grew bored and began devising frivolous ways of entertaining himself including forcing a number of his subjects to fight to the death for his amusement.

Issoughokth began to make some headway on multiversal travel, but before the theories could be put to use or even tested he was pulled into a battle to the death.

"Traditionally these battles have eight participants, but I always did love those nine person battles. So I thought I would throw in a little something extra to mix things up a bit." The Impulsive clicked his fingers and all the lights flickered on revealing a ring of zombies standing gathered around the circle of combatants. "This is the Theta Virus, or the product of the Theta Virus anyway." The Impulsive said. "These 'shamblers' as they are commonly known are the corpses of the dead animated by the Theta Virus. If they bite you you get infected and it's just a matter of time before you become a shambler yourself. The only way to kill them is to remove the head or destroy the brain." The Impulsive paused. "I should also warn you that if the virus finds its way into the water supply then it becomes even more potent, so watch what you drink. I don't want this battle to be over before it's even begun."

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SpoilerName: The Theta Virus
Sex: None
Race: Virus
Colour: #466824
Description: The first sign of Theta is bloodshot eyes, pale skin and a general sickly pallor. Sometime after these signs the infectee can expect to feel a pounding headache, a shortness of breath and a heaviness of limbs. This will worsen for a time until the point where the infectees organs begin to shut down. This is a painful process though by this point breathing is so constricted that those infected rarely manage to call out in pain. Eventually death occurs.

The body can be expected to reanimate within minutes of death. These ‘shamblers’ as they have come to be known are slow and have poor motor skills. It would seem that these shamblers work primarily on feeding instinct and no vestiges of prior intelligence have been observed. It has been suggested that despite their obvious weaknesses these shamblers possess a greatly enhanced sense of smell and hearing. It has also been observed that they are much stronger than they were while alive. These changes were not observed in the first batch of shamblers and the reason for such a development is yet to be ascertained.

The infection can be passed on through the bite of a shambler, or through ingestion of infected water. It takes roughly an hour from infection to death if bitten, but only a couple of minutes if the infectee has drunk infected water.

Biography: On the morning of the fourth of august a substantial amount of Theta Virus found its way into the water supply of Possum City. The cause of this incident is unknown, the results disastrous. Though containment was attempted it quickly became clear that eradication was the only option.

After the bomb was dropped not a single shambler, or sample of Theta Virus remained.

"Now I expect you're all wondering what kind of locale your first bout will be taking place in..." The Impulsive trailed off. He looked around the battlers and frowned to himself. "Something's still not right." He said. "Hang on a minute; I've just had an idea." He disappeared and then reappeared with five young women frozen in place. "These are the Sparkklechix." He said. "They're an aspiring girl band. They're always getting into all kind of crazy adventures, but they know if they stick together they can pull through anything." The Impulsive and the chix appeared to turn in place, doing a full rotation so that they were able to get a look at each of the other contestants. "Chix, this is everyone. I'll let you make your own introductions once we're underway but what you need to know is this is a battle to death and these are your opponents. Good luck, I'm rooting for you."

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SpoilerName: Sparkklechix
Gender: Five females
Species: Girl Band
Font colour: Pink (specifically #EC008C)
Description: The chix are a fictionalised version of the popular girl band Sparkklechix. Their personalities and behaviour bares little resemblance to how their real life counterparts behave; their lives are a constant up-beat oversaccharine series of antics and wacky adventures as depicted in the Sparkklechix TV series, the Sparkklechix comics and coming soon Sparkklechix on Ice. They face many adversities upon an almost daily basis but they can make it through anything if they stick together.

Sara is the sexy one and is the most popular member of the band. She has long black hair and tends to wear low cut t-shirts and jeans. She is self-confident and as the de facto leader of the group she often helps sort out the problems of the other girls.

Mindy is the pretty one. She has long blonde hair that is usually done up in pigtails. She wears cute dresses, generally in pink and is quite shy around boys. She tends to get a crush on any boy that hangs around them for any length of time. She is something of a diva; she likes to have everything just how she likes and can throw a strop when things don’t go to plan.

Zafira is the gothy one. She has short and spiky black hair, a peirced lip and eyebrow and a multitude of tattoo. She wears leather, spiked bracelets, stilettos, black chokers and always plenty of dark makeup. She has something of a prickly personality and is probably the most outwardly violent of the group. She is a bit of a rebel but ultimately she means well.

Debbie is the other one. Nobody really cares that much about her. Her hair is mousy brown, she wears glasses and a cardigan. She doesn’t really fit in with the group and people often wonder how her real life counterpart made the cut. She is the most logical and intelligent of the group. Her insight into matters is more often than not ignored.

And last, but not least, except in the eyes of the other members, is Atasha. She’s pretty much the token black chick and was forced upon the band by their management, in the series she is their cousin from exotic Penge. She has all the attitude and then some. She is very fashion conscious and sassy and she don’t let nobody tell her what to do.

Abilities: Their reality is that of a childrens sitcom/musical. Once an episode they will burst into a song and everyone will know the moves and will join in with them. These tightly choreographed impromptu dance numbers have got them out of many a sticky situation. If they put their minds to it they can accomplish anything.

Biography: The girls have known each other since they were kids when they all went to school together. They always had all kinds of crazy adventures but it wasn’t until their college days that they realised they had a gift for singing. They formed a band and in that moment a sensation was born.

Nowadays they share an apartment in Bridgend and get involved in all kinds of shenanigans. Though they constantly bicker and fall out, they always make up and time and time again they prove that together they can get through anything.

Once Debbie tried to introduce the chix to the internet. However the experience was sort of ruined when they found this creepy fanfic about being taken to be in a battle to the death. They all agree it was pretty absurd, people don’t just get taken to be in battles to the death.

"That's quite enough introductions." The Impulsive said. "Let's get a move on and get this battle started." The world around them seemed to fade away and they found themselves standing in the hallways of a deserted supermarket. "This is Titan Mart; the world's largest supermarket, but nobody has shopped here for hundreds of years. Something happened that wiped out all human life on this planet, I sure hope it isn't still around. Don't you?"

And, about time, the contestants found themselves scattered around the abandoned supermarket.

Satisfied with another introduction well done The Impulsive sat down and watched the drama begin to unfold. After about an hour or so he hurried off to create another battle. After all why not make it a full ten?

The darkness Caitlin found herself in was not quite as oppressive as the one that had preceded the introductions. For a moment she half expected some further theatrics from the being that called itself "The Impulsive" but the crucial difference between then and now was her freedom to move. She clicked the headlights on to reveal she was parked in the middle of an accommodatingly wide supermarket aisle. On either side of her loomed imposingly high shelving filled with an absurd variety of cleaning products. Here and there were small heaps of spilled stock, some of which had clearly been trodden on and burst though all that was left of their contents was a long faded stain. In front of her, illuminated in the Hirola's headlights was an impressively deep wireframe shopping trolley turned upon its side; its contents scattered across the aisle.

Most attention grabbing though were the stains; dark red pools of long since dried blood. There were streaks as though someone had been dragged away, and she spotted a bloody handprint on the shelving where someone had tried to resist.

Caitlin felt uneasy. She felt like she was suddenly smack dab in the middle of a hunt with no idea what it was that she was hunting. She had a full arsenal in the trunk but she highly doubted that whatever was out there was going to stand still long enough for her to methodically try every weapon she had one by one. She heard something crash in the distance and really wished she had some backup. Not wanting to attract any attention before she was ready to deal with it, Caitlin flicked off the Hirola's headlights. Of course whatever it was that was out there was just the thin edge of this wedge of weird. She thought back to the introductions; a disembodied hand, a magical wardrobe, a... mermaid (?) and a pair of robots? She'd hunted her fair share of weird before but this was on another level entirely, which was to say nothing of their host. She shook her head, Karen was never going to believe this.

Hoping against hope Caitlin fished her phone from her pocket and clicked it on. Just as she'd expected; no signal. According to their host this place had been empty for hundreds of years, so did that mean she was in the future again? Actually now that she thought about it didn't he say that something had wiped out all human life on this planet. Was this really another planet? It didn't seem all that unlikely considering everything else.

"Oh wait, shit." Caitlin muttered to herself. If she was on another planet, did that mean that this was more likely the work of aliens than werewolves or vampires or anything she knew how to deal with. "Fuck." she spat. Okay, she reasoned, don't think about the aliens. This isn't about the aliens. The real threat here is that guy, 'The Impulsive'. He's the one who brought you here, all you need to do is work out his weakness and make him send you back. Well, that and you should probably see if you can find some way to counteract his whole immobility thing. The aliens, well they're definitely problematic but it's not insurmountable. Most things die if you shoot them in the head so give that a try and if it doesn't work we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. It seemed as good a plan of action as any; she just really hoped that the aliens had heads in the first place.

Caitlin's thoughts were interrupted by another crash, this one close by. Quickly she flicked the headlights back on to reveal a small crowd of zombies stumbling towards her and one zombie trying to disentangle itself from the toppled shopping cart. "Damn it." she cursed. What with everything else she'd almost completely forgotten about the zombies; the one threat she was actually equipped to handle. She looked out at the advancing undead and attempted to gauge whether she had enough time to run out, open the trunk and load the shotgun before they would be on top of her. Her question was quickly answered when a movement out of the corner of her eye drew her attention to the rear view mirror and another group of zombies approaching from behind.

"Oh well," Caitlin said, "another time maybe." She clicked her seatbelt on and hit the accelerator.

Junior Clerk Free-Range Eggs clutched tight the holy thermos flask and hurried to the sacred Soft Furnishings Department. He was running late, but it wasn't his fault. Some of the younger children had tried to follow him to see the sleepers and so he'd had to delay his daily pilgrimage until they were all safely returned home. By the time he arrived at the Shrine of Rest he was out of breath and sweating quite heavily. He was met by the irate glare of his superior; Store Manager Recliner.

"Do you have any idea how close you cut it?" She demanded.

"I'm sorry-" Eggs went to explain the situation but was cut off.

"There's no time for excuses." Recliner snapped. She snatched the holy thermos from his hands, nimbly unscrewed the cap and poured the contents (the unpleasant pulped remains of a selection of fruits, vegetables, meats, and chocolates) into the ceremonial bowl. As she was doing this the clock began to chime. Recliner shot Eggs a look that clearly indicated that all was not forgiven or forgotten but that for the next five minutes they had a job to do and he should damn well do it if he didn't want to be in any more trouble than he already was. She had quite an expressive face, Recliner. With a hesitant nod, Junior Clerk Eggs lifted the tray that held the bowl and the ceremonial implements and followed Recliner to the sleepers.

The Titan-Mart Soft Furnishings Department had once had the widest range of seating solutions this side of Earth. They still did technically, but now every seat was occupied. In every seat there was a corpse; each one in identical condition. They had no flesh, no muscle, no organs; all that remained was the skeleton. Each skeleton had been dressed; some in t-shirts with unfunny slogans on them, others in brightly coloured and totally mismatched outfits, yet more in coats and scarves, gloves and hats. There was no prevailing theme and seemingly no rhyme nor reason at all.

The legends of the Titans (the species to which both Eggs and Recliner belonged), held that long before their race gained sentience this world had been ruled by the sleepers. Their time was a time of miracles, for they were the architects of the world's greatest wonders, most of which stand even to this day. The Titans believe that the Titan-Mart is the most wondrous creation of the sleepers and the proof that they were benevolent. For when the Titans were cold the Titan-Mart had gave them shelter from the harsh elements, when they were hungry the Titan-Mart had given them sustenance, when they were ignorant the Titan-Mart had given them knowledge and when they were lost the Titan-Mart had given them purpose.

Though it cannot be said with any certainty when, why or what happened to the sleepers. Some heretics have made claim that the sleepers are all dead, but the most devout Titans believe that the life cycle of the sleepers is not unlike their own and they have simply entered an extended metamorphosis. This belief was reinforced over the years as they observed as the sleepers shed their fleshy outer shells and revealed the cocoons within. Junior Clerk Free-Range Eggs and Store Manager Leather Recliner were just the latest in a long line of Titans who committed their lives to the tended of the sleepers. The legends have it that one day the sleepers metamorphosis will be complete, they will awaken as gods and when they do they will reward their loyal servants.

Eggs and Recliner moved in reverent silence through the macabre scene; their actions a well practiced routine. Eggs' task was simply to hold the tray. It was a job that could have been performed equally well by a table but he had no problems with it. He simply stood and watched Recliner, knowing that one day he would be the Store Manager and it would be his duty, and hoping that he wouldn't make too much of a mess of it. Recliner applied the nutrient paste to the sleeping cocoons as she had done for years. She liked to think she had made something of an art of it.

Recliner was scooping some more nutrient gel when Eggs let out a shriek. As quick as she could she clamped her free hand over his mouth. For centuries the Titans had maintained a strict code of silence in front of the sleepers and she wasn't going to stand for some little twerp like Eggs to break it. She gave him a look that pretty much told him that he was never going to see the Soft Furnishings Department again after this night's work was through, but he wasn't even looking at her. She turned around and almost shrieked herself. It was true, it was all true.

Standing amongst the sleepers there was a group of them, replete with skin and hair and everything. They looked almost exactly like the drawings done by the most ancient Titans. And seated at their head was a female with a shiny silver outer shell, copper hair and a strange tail in place of legs; clearly a transcendent; a goddess. Recliner fell to her knees, and then after a second she grabbed Eggs' arm and pulled him down to his knees. "Don't you dare ruin this." she hissed between her teeth. She didn't feel too bad for being the first Titan to break the silence; the no-longer-sleepers were all talking to and over one another.

"Good morning most holy ones. We are deeply honoured to be the Titans to bear witness to the completion of your metamorphosis. We have tended to your bodies for many years in anticipation of this very day." Recliner tried to put some weight behind her voice to match this most momentous occasion, but it ended up coming out just as weak and nervous as she felt and was consequently lost in the unexpected hubbub. She didn't think the awakened sleepers had even noticed them yet.

"Good morning most holy ones." She tried again, but hit the same problem.

"Hey listen up!" Eggs bellowed. "The Store Manager has something to say." Recliner shot him a look that clearly said she was going to murder him at the first opportunity she got, but it had had the desired effect. The sleepers were all looking in their direction now, their conversations having trailed off they stood in an uneasy silence.

"G-Good morning most holy ones." Recliner said. "W-we've been waiting for you for a very long time. It's such an honour to have you here today."

The Infanta was momentarily taken aback. "You know who I am?" she asked.

"Of course I know who you are." Recliner said. "You are a transcendent. You are a goddess. You are what we've been waiting and hoping for for longer than any of us can remember."

The Infanta had been called a goddess before but not in the literal sense and never with such awestruck reverence. She really liked the way it sounded. It never occurred to her that there might have been some kind of misunderstanding, if never corrected it probably never would. "Take me to meet your people." she said.

If she had had the capacity for speech Irabeth might have spent a few minutes cursing profusely, or perhaps more likely just screaming. She was just a hand. The rest of her body had been destroyed, completely obliterated by magics that she really shouldn't have been messing around with. The fact that she had also been snatched away from her world, her life, to fight to the death was at this point a secondary consideration; it had barely even registered against the panic of waking up missing ninety-five percent of her body.

It was difficult to focus on anything other than the incomprehensible loss she had suffered, but the cold of wherever she was was beginning to sting her skin. She tried to open her eyes but remembered that she had no eyes. She could see nothing, she could hear nothing. She lacked the sensory organs necessary to perform those tasks so it wasn't entirely surprising. But on the other hand (so to speak) she could still think and she had no brain, she was still alive without a heart or lungs or any of those other things you need to be alive. There seemed very little point dwelling on the how or the why of it all when the what can I do about it was so much more pressing.

The floor beneath her palm was metal, cold to the touch and just a little damp. Under normal circumstances Irabeth would close her eyes, take a deep breath and calm her mind before attempting kinomancy, as she was obviously no longer capable of the first two of those actions she simply tried to calm herself as best she could and focused her attention into her fingertips until the touch of the cold metal beneath her was the only thing in the world, and then, with a gentle push, she slipped through. She felt her consciousness spread through the floor, into the walls and the machinery humming away behind them, and eventually to the ceiling high above her. She could feel the entirety of the room she was in, and quickly realized she was not in a room but a massive freezer, or actually it was probably a normal sized freezer and she was just that much smaller now.

With a thought Irabeth pushed the freezer door open. Turning the freezer off was trickier, she mentally poked and prodded at the complex machinery until she felt something give and the whole system slowly grind to a halt, though ideally she would be out of here before she was able to feel the benefit of such an action. There was little else she could do with the freezer; it was too bulky with too few moving parts to be coaxed into movement. Out of a sense of might as well she rattled the shelves above her and felt a number of items shift bounce and roll out of her, or um out of the freezer I mean.

Having exhausted her options as an industrial freezer Irabeth retreated to her own body. Awkwardly she used her fingers to shuffle herself around to face the open freezer door and then clumsily, bumping into (comparatively) large plastic containers as she went, she dragged herself forwards until she tumbled out of the freezer. The floor here was smooth linoleum, not especially warm but thankfully not cold either. An attempt at kinomancy was particularly unfruitful, possessing a single sheet of linoleum giving her little idea of the size or contents of the room she was in, and had no movable parts to work with.

Working off a hunch Irabeth spent the next few minutes grappling with a cold plastic tub that she guessed had fallen from the freezer before. It was one of those tubs which is pretty tricky to open anyway, even more so when you don't have another hand to grip the base of the tub, and next to no leverage. Eventually though she managed it somehow, giving her access to the half-melted ice cream contained within. She was distracted for a moment by the thought that she might not ever get to taste ice cream again, that she might not ever get to taste anything again. The thought of all the things she could no longer do as just a hand. It was a long list, and not particularly helpful.

Getting back to work she dabbed one of her fingers into the ice cream and began scrawling a shape on the floor. It was sort of the shape of an eye with a couple of flourishes here and there; it was a scrying sigil; or that was the intention. She really hoped she was remembering it correctly. It took a good few minutes and she had to start again a couple of times when she was certain she'd made a mistake but couldn't see to know exactly where it was, but finally she got it right and for the first time since she had accidentally destroyed the bulk of her body she could see. And even though she could only see straight upwards from the sigil itself it was something.

She was in the freezer aisle of a supermarket but she'd already guessed that much. She could see her hand, her self, stained with chocolate ice cream. She couldn't stop staring at her wrist, healed over, connected to nothing. Somehow such a sight caused that empty feeling in the pit of her stomach even without a stomach to feel it in. There were a few more tubs of ice cream (most of them in plain white packaging, probably the store's own brand) scattered around and out of the corner of her sight she could see a wire shopping trolley. Above her was a sign that read '56: Frozen Desserts', and above that harsh bright lights.

Irabeth didn't know how much time had passed but she figured it had probably been quite a while. She felt exhausted and she had barely accomplished anything. Being a disembodied hand was kind of terrible she concluded. But she was alive and so was still hope. She knew a good deal of magic, there had to be something she could do to fix this shitty situation. It most likely wouldn't be easy, and probably would end up requiring her to mess with magics even more forbidden than that which had got her into this situation, but she didn't figure she had much left to lose any more. Her situation couldn't get that much worse, right?

The very cheek of it. Pyrfaen muttered to herself for like the twentieth time, and then putting on a mocking haughty tone of voice she repeated: Ignore the man on the horse: The words of the man who had brought them here.

"Leave it Fanny." Sur Gregor the Indefatigible (though he would insist you just call him Greg, or at the very least you drop the completely fictitious 'the Indefatigible') half-heartedly replied. "S'not worth getting all bent out of shape over."

But it's so disrespectful. Pyrfaen insisted. You're going to be a Great Hero. You can't have people talking to you like that, it's just not done.

"I'm still not sold on this whole hero thing." Greg replied. "I'd settle for being able to get back home with all my bits and pieces still attached."

Don’t worry about it, the sword sang soothingly, it’s perfectly normal to have some reservations when faced with the call to adventure. With time, and ample encouragement of course, I’m sure you’ll blossom into the Hero you were always destined to be.

"Yeah, well, we'll see." Greg had, in the couple of short days he had owned Pyrfaen, learned it was useless to argue with her, and anyway he was more focused on trying to make sense of the strange place they had been brought to. The Impulsive had called it a super market but he could see no stalls or merchants looking to peddle their wares. At first he hadn’t been able to see anything in fact, and it was only through his capability for movement that he realized he must have left the dark place where they had been held.

Using Pyrfaen’s gentle glow to illuminate his surroundings, he initially came to the conclusion that he was in some kind of dungeon. All the signs were there; long thin corridors, darkness and strange devices mounted upon the walls that looked like traps just waiting to be sprung. All that it was missing were the monsters that one typically guarded such a setup, well, that and the smell; dungeons were seldom this clean.

You should just march back there and say to that ruffian; ‘Listen here, I’m going to be a Great Hero one day and you had better take me seriously’. Greg couldn’t help but chuckle at her imitation of a bold heroic voice, which elicited an irritated harrumph in response and then she fell into a sulky silence.

Greg pulled on Amanda’s reigns and she trotted around the corner into the next corridor. He had to abandon his already shaky dungeon theory the moment he came to an intersection and saw the hundreds of corridors all lined up to the left and right of him. Dungeons were almost never so open plan. Such a vantage also revealed that what he had taken at first glance for solid walls were actually thin flimsy structures.

Holding her like a torch (she gave an undignified tut at this treatment), he brought Pyrfaen close to the wall of this new hallway. It was like an enormous shelf of books, except the books were too thin and made of plastic. Maybe this was an enormous storeroom, Greg wondered, or perhaps even a treasure vault. With his free hand he grabbed one of the plastic rectangles and pulled it from the shelf for closer inspection.

What in the seven hells is that monstrosity? Pyrfaen screeched. On the front of the not-a-book was a picture of a bright orange lizard in a garish Hawaiian shirt.

“I do not know, but I hope never to meet one.” Greg jammed the rectangle back amongst its brothers, and with a flick of the reigns Amanda cantered down the end of this corridor and into the next. Pyrfaen hummed quietly to herself as they passed more objects they didn’t understand, and Greg grew anxious. There was a faint noise, something toppling somewhere behind them.

Did-

“I just don’t understand it.” Greg interrupted. “If this Impulsive chap wanted to see us fight each other why part us? Why dump us into this house of mystery?”

That would hardly be a True Heroic Saga. Pyrfaen chided, That sounds more the tale of an exterminator, or at best an honourless sellsword! That last word dripped with disgust. Hardly worthy of a Great Hero like Sur Gregor the Indefatigable!

Greg rolled his eyes. “What is it about our task that makes you believe it is heroic?” He snapped. “Murdering people just because someone told us to sounds decidedly unheroic to me.”

Being informed of villains by a figure of power and authority is a reasonable starting point for a Heroic Quest. Pyrfaen explained. I don’t doubt they must have done something to deserve it… Though she sounded like she did doubt it, at least a little.

“They were encouraged to kill us as much as we were encouraged to kill them.” Greg retorted. “How does that fit into your fairytale interpretation of our situation?”

I-it’s probably a test, Pyrfaen sang uncertainly, a means by which a True Hero might prove themselves so that they might go on to fight an even greater threat. I’m sure The Impulsive will intervene before any of us really gets hurt.

“You really are deluded.” Greg laughed. Pyrfaen bristled hot and bright in his hands. “Ouch!” he yelped and dropped her to the floor. “There’s no need for that.” With a sigh and a wordless grumble Greg climbed down from Amanda and picked up the Legendary Sword from a small drift of plastic not-books she’d landed in. As he turned to climb back atop Amanda Pyrfaen’s light illuminated something behind him. He slowly raised the sword before him to reveal… something.

A… a… a… Pyrfaen hesitated. A Manticore! she eventually decided.

The thing was about the size of a large dog. It was black, with six legs and it seemed to be made out of sinew and bone. Where most things had a face it had only tentacles dripping thick off-black venom.

“I don’t think that’s a manticore.” Greg said, perhaps a little too loudly. Immediately its tentacles splayed open revealing a razor maw beneath and it screeched; a noise that made nails on a chalkboard sound like your favourite song. Amanda neighed loudly and took off down the aisle in a panic.

“You know this is all your fault, right sword?” Pyrfaen tutted irritably and began to sing a soft yet invigorating aria; at once Greg could feel her power flowing through him. His lip twitched upwards in a sly half-grin; finally, he thought. He’d been beginning to wonder if she was to be of any use at all. He gripped her with both hands and raised her towards the definitely-not-a-manticore. “Come at me beast!”

The thing seemed to take a hesitant step back at his yell, then replied with a screech even louder and more unpleasant than its previous.

“Hah!” Greg bellowed. “Methinks this hound is all bark and no bite.”

It reared up on its hind legs and spat a gob of that thick off-black venom at him. Greg quickly stepped backwards in an attempt to dodge, but his foot found no purchase amongst the scattered heap of plastic boxes. He fell backwards, landing with a handful of cracks informing him he’d damaged a number of the mysterious treasures of the super market, but no damage to him except to his pride. Pyrfaen struggled to maintain her composure as she toppled from Greg’s hands onto the floor next to him; she managed to maintain her beautiful song with only the slightest stumble, though she did for a couple of verses insist upon referring to Sur Gregor as the Maladroit.

The creature surged forwards with surprising dexterity, hissing and spitting goop as it climbed atop the fallen knight. Greg grabbed it by the neck before it could get too close to his face and take a bite out of him. Its tentacles twitched and thrashed wildly mere centimetres from his face, and he had to squirm away from the gobs of venom that dripped from its slathering maw. Further down he could feel claws scratching at his armour. The creature’s neck was thin; almost thin enough to wrap his entire hand around, but no matter how hard he choked it it didn’t seem to be affected. A neck as thin as this… with one good slice he’d be clean through and that would be the end of that.

Hesitantly he withdrew one hand from the creature’s neck, it thrashed harder but he was strong enough to keep it at bay, and reached off to his side to where Pyrfaen was singing enthusiastic but largely unhelpful messages of support. As he fumbled he could feel his battered armour giving way to the creature’s claws. Pyrfaen started singing directions and within a moment he had found her. He gripped her as firmly as he could with one hand and brought her around against the creature’s neck, withdrawing his other hand just in time. It was a clumsy movement, but it packed enough power to knock the beast into the wall next to him, and gave him a moment to clamber to his feet.

Pausing only for a second to get his balance, Greg grabbed Pyrfaen with both hands and swung down. She slammed hard against the metal shelving just a moment too late; the creature skittered along the side of the shelving unit with the same speed and ease as if it were moving along the floor. In its wake it left great gouges in the metal shelves, and more scattered plastic boxes.

It took Greg a second to prise Pyrfaen loose from the shelving, and when he did he looked up to see a thick gob of venom coming right at him. Unwilling to attempt to dodge in such precarious footing, Greg swung Pyrfaen at the hurtling goop. Her song came to an abrupt end in one shrill shriek of disgust. As it wasn’t a solid mass he didn’t manage to knock the venom away, but he did through sheer luck manage to block the part that would have hit him in the face. Some splattered onto one of his pauldrons where it began to sizzle alarmingly.

Then the monster was running for him again. Greg braced himself. One clean hit to the neck was all he needed. It screeched as it leapt for him, he swung Pyrfaen in a perfect arc and she slammed into the creature’s neck with a sickening thud. Momentum propelled the thing forwards to crash into Greg, and he stumbled backwards but somehow managed to stay upright.

He looked down at the creature; Pyrfaen hadn’t managed to slice all the way through like he’d expected and now the creature was just sort of hanging motionless from the blade. Oh well, a victory was a victory he supposed but he was still disappointed in the efficacy of this so called Legendary Sword.

Pyrfaen cleared her throat, or given that she didn’t have a throat she made an approximation of the appropriate noise. If you’re not too busy daydreaming would you mind removing me from this manticorpse. Greg reached out to dislodge the creature, but flinched back as it snapped back to life. It flailed, twitched and hissed impotently while he held it at arm’s length. Pyrfaen screamed melodically, which only seemed to spur the thing on.

It was an effort just to hold Pyrfaen up with the heavy creature thrashing on the other end of her. With as much effort as he could he drew the sword back and swung her as hard as he could against the metal shelving, forcing the blade through what was remaining of the creature’s neck. Pyrfaen clanged against the metal shelving, which wobbled only slightly under the impact, and the creature’s body and what could be called a head only in the most charitable circumstances fell to the ground. Alarmingly its body climbed back onto its six sharp legs without too much trouble while thick olive blood seeped from its open neck.

“Oh give me a break!” Greg yelled in disbelief. The beheaded monstrosity shrank back at his voice, turned a full 180 degrees and fled, only banging into the shelving once or twice in its haste to get away. “Hah!” He bellowed more enthusiastically. “And let that be a lesson to you!”

Hoo rah.Pyrfaen sang rather unenthusiastically. Greg looked down at her to see she was dripping with olive blood and in places still splattered with the off-black venom.

“Fanny, I’m afraid if you don’t like getting dirty you picked the wrong profession.” He replied distractedly. “Listen I thought you were supposed to be a Sword of Legend?”

I am a Sword of Legend Pyrfaen bristled.

“Well how come it took you two good swings to cut through that creature’s neck?” Greg asked. “My other sword-” hmph “-would have cut through that in one.”

Well yes there are other swords in the world sharper or stronger than me I suppose. Pyrfaen retorted irritably. But Whoreblade’s never going to sing for you; she’ll never document your exploits in a saga worthy of the Old Heroes themselves. She can’t energize and invigorate you during battle, or distract your enemies or pretty much do anything but cut the things you swing her at.

“Hmm.” Greg looked down at her contemplatively.

And you know, adventuring can be a very lonely business. Isn’t it better to have a blade that you can share a laugh and a joke with at the end of a long battle; one that will always have your back and stick up for you through thick and thin? Surely that kind of blade is worth much more than a worthless inanimate floozy.

“Can I sharpen you?” Greg asked.

Certainly not! Pyrfaen snapped. How would you like to be dragged back and forth against a stone until your body had been worn away into a more desirable shape?

“I guess I see where you’re coming from.” Greg said eventually. “But I don’t really need a blunt chatterbox sword…”

Oh, not good enough for you am I? Pyrfaen sneered. Better than a genuine Sword of Legend are you, well don’t let me hold you back Sur Hero. Just leave me here amongst this junk. Clearly this is where a genuine Sword of Legend belongs.

“No, hey, look… I’m sorry.” Greg backtracked hastily. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sure you’ll make an excellent travelling companion.”

No. Don’t do me any favours O True Hero.Pyrfaen was hot in his hands once again and he was forced to let her go. I know where I am not wanted thank you very much. I’ll just wait here for a True Hero to come and pick me up.

For a minute Greg stared down at the stubborn sword, not for a moment did her brightness dim in the least. Eventually he sighed, muttered under his breath and then turned and headed down the aisle that Amanda fled down.

He’ll be back. Pyrfaen crooned softly. He won’t be gone five minutes before he realizes what a good thing he had. Just you wait and see.