The Savage Brawl [Round 5: Battletopia]

Originally posted on MSPA by MyifanW.

---

Diego looked sideways tentatively, as if giving Ziir's request thought. Leaning his head to one side, Diego muttered out a half hearted sounding response.

"I... I guess I will, but considering those stage gods or whatever have been no help so far... Well, those are my only hope to escape, huh? I don't really know how to kill things that are not human. Such is outside of my area of expertise. Right, please help me too then."

Diego hesitated momentarily, realizing the facts he gave also meant that he was essentially useless. Quickly, he attempted to patch up his usefulness.

"...But, I think I figured out how these dogs work. They are pretty simple. Their transformations are defense mechanisms, you know? I'm not entirely sure, but the collars either are the source of the transformation or are some sort of detector of the dog's fear. So long as we don't scare them..."

Diego looked Ziirphael up and down quickly.

"...We should have a relatively easy time getting through this round? Probably?"

Diego gave Ziirphael an uneasy look.




"...Yes, I understand that I would currently seem like a monster in their eyes. One moment."

Using some of his leaked blood, Ziirphael drew a rune extending from head to stomach. Several uncomfortable sounding minutes later, Ziir's bone structure had shrunk to that of an abnormally tall man, his arm grown back.

"There. I restructured myself. I should now have no problems?"





Diego had an uneasy smile on his face, awed at witnessing something so bizarre. Behind his awe, though, his murderous senses had calculated that currently, in such a form, Ziir could plausibly be killed.

"yes... no problems, at all."

Diego peeked outside the door. The dog seemed to have left.

"Alright, looks like the coast is clear. So... considering we haven't heard any 'Godly Announcement' like the last two stages, I'm going to assume we're going to lynch that blob before doing whatever you have planned?



"Probably. The Cyborg, though, is turning out to be a dangerous mischief maker. I have the inclination to end him quickly. However, first we must meet up with our ally."

Ziirphael edged past Diego and exited, heading for the maze.



Diego stared sideways as Ziir moved past, focusing in particular on his ear. Warily, he followed after.

"I... see. that's...Alright."

As Diego walked, he was constantly on the lookout. in the corners of his eyes he could see the glints of several pairs of eyes in the distance, and a few dogs chewing on corpses, but none particularly close to each other, which troubled him. These dogs were currently wild, yet there were several in the same area. Normally, this would result in a lot of battling, which it must have, considering the corpses. However, the corpses were old, deceased at least a week. Diego tentatively concluded that there was a pack- and in a pack, there needed to be a pack leader.

He wanted to find that leader. It would logically be the strongest dog, which in turn made it the most notable- a perfect thing for Diego to pretend was a god. Although his scheme had done nothing the last two times, this time he was going to put a slightly... different spin on it.

But of course, Diego had to find the pack leader first. Maybe Ziirphael could be of use here?

"Excuse me, Ziirphael. Whoever you're targeting here, wouldn't it be plausible to use the dogs to attack with? I'm not sure how, but if there was something we could use to attract them to a target, they'd probably be able to take care of the job easily."

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

---

As the lightning expanded, a faint connection could be seen between them, almost as if another sphere were forming at their edges.

Abruptly, they reversed their expansion. As they contracted, the spectral sphere at their edges began to solidify, and the sphere from which they originated to expand quite rapidly.

The two spheres met. Their collision was felt throughout the arena, as the shockwave from the explosion tore apart trees, bushes, animals... everything in its way. It smacked into the enclosure, setting the metal bars ringing. For a moment, it seemed as something more might happen, as the metal groaned ominously, before going silent.

Ekelhaft had been bisected by the explosion; a portion of it was inside, while the rest was outside. When the two sphere impacted, the outside portion of Ekelhaft was scattered throughout the field, causing a rain of sickly green slime to plop down and dissolve the grass it landed on; an unlucky, thoroughly feral pug, who'd managed to escape the explosion by hiding behind a low rock, and whose collar bore the name "Bartleby", got a faceful of falling Ekelhaft. Whether it was driven insane from the blob's infernal aura or from its face melting off will never be known for sure.

The inside portion of Ekelhaft suffered a different fate, for the explosion went two directions, rushing away from the spheres' impact both outwards and inwards. The ooze was crushed up against the now motionless cyborg, whose body was perhaps saved from completely destruction by the ooze's cushioning effect, as it absorbed a majority of the blast's impact.

Ekelhaft slid off the ancient cyborg's body. The cyborg remained motionless.

The entire process had taken approximately five minutes.

--------

The Emperor surveyed the damage before him. The beam had entirely incinerated the men, their bikes, and a large portion of the pipeworks. Debris littered the area, and scattered fires burned whatever newly-exposed fuels were available. His nose was still bleeding real blood, and he still had the matter of his shields and wormholes to attend to. The Emperor turned, and prepared to leave the area.

A sound stopped him.

He turned, slowly, as the sound twinged his mind in away he felt he should be familiar with.

The bodies of the men, or what was left of them, had begun to... dissolve into a green, burbling ooze. An irrational fear began to overtake the Emperor, as a part of him seemed to recognize the slime, while the rest of him insisted he'd never seen it before. The ooze crept forwards, and an instinct told the Emperor to run.

So he did.

He could hear the ooze keeping pace behind him, slashing and dissolving the rusted metal and twisted tubing of the pipeworks. He felt as though, were he to glance behind him, he would see reality and sanity being dismantled in his wake, replaced by that swirling green slime. The Emperor fumed. The fear which had rushed through his system so unexpectedly, as if here were still a mere organic, did not rob him of his essence. He recognized the thing behind him for what it was: an Alien. The fact that an inferior life form had reduced him, him, the First and Only Emperor of the Star Empire of Sol, to running like a coward was nearly enough to make him turn around and face it. Nearly.

But he didn't.

And so he kept running. Running as fast as a cyborg with twenty-thousand years' worth of improvements could, and still the slime was gaining on him. It seemed to suck the light from the rusty promenades before him, and as he took turn after turn, tore through wall after wall, he failed to notice that he could no longer see more than a few feet away, so concentrated was he on the sounds of his pursuer. It was this inattention that led to his blunder into a strangely out-of-place chamber; rusty and unkempt as the pipeworks behind him, but lit by a different light, and absent the sound of a bustling city above.

Absent too, of the sounds of a burbling mass of insanity pursuing him.

Absent not, however, of people.

A single person stood in the center of the room: the agent the Emperor had been waiting to meet. She stepped forward as he entered, and spoke.

"Hello, Brother."

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

Konka Rar had fled the maze only a few minutes before the explosion.

Caught unprepared, the lich found himself suddenly flung into the air by the blast. By the time he regained his bearings, he realized that aside from being an uncomfortable distance off the ground, he was also headed directly towards the electrified fence.

With few options, he swiftly chanted a spell.

"Vortex!"

Winds began to swirl around him, creating a tornado with the lich at the center. It was not generally intended as a defensive spell, but it allowed him to redirect himself somewhat. In addition, the force of the winds tore apart the large chunks of debris that had once been the maze, securing him against another potential threat.

Maintaining focus was difficult, however. Rar had to keep the storm moving away from the fence, and also carefully control the winds around him so that he would be kept aloft, not torn apart. He dared not even consider what would happen if Ekelhaft drew near enough to interfere with the spell.

Originally posted on MSPA by Not The Author.

---

The blast wave tore through the mass of meat as though it were little less than paper-mache. The outermost layer, still in a semi-solid state, was instantly blown away by the initial impact. Chunks of rock from the totaled maze peppered the grotesque blob, some moving fast enough to tear through and keep going. Gormand's second-to-last thought was, I don't much care for this park, anyway.


~ Some time earlier ~


The meatball let out a rumbling sigh. This is why I don't deal with other people - they're stupid, lazy, arrogant, or conniving. Usually more than one! Which means I'd best prepare to kill Ekelhaft myself... To that end, Gormand had made his way back to the circle of benches at which he had first arrived. Of course, one not acquainted with the meat virus would never have recognized it as such.

For one thing, the benches were gone.

A thick white needle of bone protruded from the ground where the not-exactly-verdant tree once stood. The ground around the ivory spire had acquired the consistency, appearance, and even smell of well-seasoned-if-tepid steak. This hillock of meat grew noticeably more raw towards the fringes, ending in a bog-like moat where the ground had yet to make up its mind as to whether or not it was mineral or victual. Most of the transformed ground was a superficial topsoil layer formed by the Slaglet simply rolling around, but the initial infection had spread out underground as well. While it certainly wouldn't support any sizable force, there was definitely enough material to bring Gormand up to full strength, with possibly enough left over for a light brigade, or at least a single heavy unit.

But things were never that simple.

Despite the dead air, a few emaciated mutts had managed to find their way to the little islet of meat. They'd torn the place up fairly well, presumably in an attempt to find some foodstuff that didn't taste vaguely sulfurous or rusty. They seemed to be spooked by the Slaglet, but only enough that they were avoiding it and not leaving outright.

Gormand, however, was a different matter. His considerable bulk was enough to send most of the canines scampering off in fear. One of the more curious or stupid, or delisional ones went over to examine the meatball more closely, and received a broken neck for its trouble. That managed to get the mutts in motion. The stragglers fled, one of them carrying off the recently deceased pup. A "doggie bag" joke passed through Gormand's mind, and was discarded immediately.

And then something slammed into his backside.

Though he was caught off guard, the foodbeast rolled with the blow, swivelling to face some rabid animal that could only generously be called dog-like. It was frothing at the mouth, fairly heavily scarred, and Gormand didn't actually get a very good look beyond that as he was trying not to be eaten.

The beast lunged, and while the meatball couldn't exactly dodge, he did manage to throw the beast to the side at the cost of half an arm. It turned back in time to receive a noodle to the face, a bruised nose, and a few shattered teeth, but sadly not the broken jaw a lesser creature would've sustained. A claw that would've looked more at home on a raptor carved a chunk of unpalatable beef from the foodbeast's flank. Grunting more with annoyance than pain, Gormand shoved the creature away and staggered back. They circled, each deciding how best to kill the other.

And then, Gormand realized he probably wouldn't have to.

Having personally participated in a good number of large-scale battles, the foodbeast was not entirely unfamiliar with various types of weaponry; while he'd never encountered the particular device lighting up the maze, it was very clearly charging for some wide-spread devastation. The dog-creature seemed oblivious to the flickering electrical arcs some distance off, but then it clearly wasn't built for intelligence, probably had better smell than sight, and for that matter was being distracted by a brownish gelatin attempting to decompose its leg. Gormand took advantage of the Slaglet's interference, and retreated to the ivory pillar.

His eye, his limbs, the "tree," and the Slaglet all liquefied, turning back to that familiar pinkish meaty fondue.

The entire disgusting mass of meat that had taken over the ground rose up and engulfed Gormand; a hulking sphere of semisolid flesh, shifting and flowing as it hardened and even then having trouble sitting still. The vile cocoon sat in the middle of a shallow crater, offering just that extra little bit of protection from the immenent destruction. The dog-beast, having no such shield, was brained by flying shrapnel as it tried to figure out what the hell was going on with the meat and whether or not it could still be eaten.

The blast wave tore through the mass of meat as though it were little less than paper-mache. The outermost layer, still in a semi-solid state, was instantly blown away by the initial impact. Chunks of rock from the totaled maze peppered the grotesque blob, some moving fast enough to tear through and keep going. Gormand's second-to-last thought was, I don't much care for this park, anyway.

Gormand's last thought was, I'll bet the explosion doesn't kill anyone.


Konka Rar had managed to keep relatively safe by riding the crest of the blast wave, but Gormand's brute-force method had its merits. While he ended up with significant injury, having lost a good majority of his shield to the force of the explosion and flying debris, the maelstrom was now behind him, and growing more distant with each passing minute. The meatwad shrank, holes and dents filling in, rocks and other detritus being forced out, familiar flagella beginning to emerge.

Gormand cracked open his eye, and groaned.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

---

The woman grinned cruelly at the Emperor's confusion.

"You've aged, Brother. I checked the entanglement pair upon contact; yours has undergone almost one billion years' worth of additional revolutions than mine. While you've been in this... cowardly mental escape, I've had plenty of time to review your own logs. You're slipping, dear Brother."

The Emperor... no, he was no longer an Emperor... he hadn't been for... how long? He shook his head, hands pressed against his temples as he tried to remember.

"You are old and pathetic now, Brother. Shunned by the galaxy you helped create, ridiculed as an evolutionary throwback! Though your goals of immortalizing our species were realized, without my help, you could naught but spend your days wallowing in the past. And now that you have a true challenge presented to you, now that you have a new purpose, what do you do? Lose yourself in memories! Pathetic! Useless! Here you are faced with an opportunity beyond your imagining! You could break the Cultivator's miserable little worlds with little to no effort, but what do you do instead? You talk and you socialize. These inbred, filthy characatures of humanity, and worthless aliens are beneath your attention! The Cultivator is your true target! Her power is YOURS to take, yet you make no effort towards it! Where is the man that ruled humanity for fifty thousand years? Where is the man that shaped the future of his entire species? What has become of my BROTHER!"

The last word was shouted, the woman's voice nearly breaking with anger.

Shamed, the... man... fell to his knees, finally remembering. Remembering the hubris he'd brought to this conflict, remembering his numerous failures throughout the battle, remembering who he truly was.

"Yes, Brother, now you realize. You were always lost without me. Together, we were strongest."

Yes, they had always worked best in tandem. Nothing was better proof than the day she disappeared; the day his Empire fell.

"That is why I have contacted you now, Brother. For me it has been less than an hour since my disappearance. As has been hinted, yours is not the only multi-universal battle. You see, I am in one too..."

With that, the Hand of Silver looked up, and gathered himself. He looked at his sister with renewed confidence. They grinned at each other.

"First, dear Sister, I must sort things out on the physical plane. Keep this line open. Deliver your report to me when I return."

"As you wish, Brother."

Hoss faded from the room, as control returned to the broken and battered cyborg lying on the ground. Slightly unbalanced, he stood up, right shoulder leaking silvery fluids, face set in a metallic grin, now lacking its artificial skin. Hoss surveyed the battlefield, and, seeing the fragments of Ekelhaft slowly gathering themselves for a renewed assault, sped off towards the edge of the enclosure, determined to bring it down.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

Konka Rar drifted closer to the center of the park. When he was close enough that he felt safe, he began searching the arena with his cybernetic eye. He could not risk drifting near Ekelhaft, and it was worth diverting some of his concentration from the spell to avoid that danger.

A quick scan revealed that Ekelhaft was nowhere nearby - it was much closer to Hoss than to the lich. If he had lungs, Rar would have breathed a sigh of relief. He decided to turn his attention back to directing the storm before he searched for a safe landing spot.

Unfortunately, he had underestimated how far the tornado would drift without his full concentration. As he was preparing himself, the storm drew near the fence, and an electric bolt struck the nearest mound of dirt as it swirled through the storm.

The soil ignited from the shock, and the winds carried it through the tornado, igniting the dust around it. Konka Rar nearly panicked as he saw the flames surrounding him, but knew that would only doom him faster; he devoted his full concentration to staying in one place, unable to see clearly through the smoke.

He would be safe, he reasoned. Soon the flames would reach the ground, and spread throughout the grassy park. That would likely kill one of the others before long, ending the round and freeing Konka Rar from his self-created prison. And as the flames had been created without magic, even Ekelhaft would likely not be safe from them. As long as he could maintain his focus for the rest of the round, this was the safest place to be.

Of course, the chance of Rar maintaining his focus that long was almost nonexistent.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

---

A pillar of fire erupted in the distance, and Hoss's sensors recorded the bolt of lightning which caused it. Konka Rar's accidental ignition inspired the ancient tyrant, and he moved towards the edge of the enclosure to enact his plan.

His remaining arm, silver surface now fully exposed and glinting in the waning sunlight, began to reconfigure itself into an odd spike-like shape. His hand fused into a single sharp point, which stretched outwards as the spike extended.

It was good his metallic skull was locked in a permanent grin, as, had his artificial skin and facial muscles not been destroyed, he would be grinning anyway. Hoss was enjoying himself, truly and thoroughly. It wasn't the empty motivation from the beginning of this battle, nor the grim determination which had pushed him through the rest, even after he'd finally put together the final pieces of his new Plan. This was something else. His sister had been right; he'd been wallowing in the past too much. He'd lost his focus, and he'd been paying for it this whole time. The other contestents no longer mattered; he had much larger concerns, now, and he would work only to forward those goals.

The spike was nearly five feet long now, his entire arm completely rigid and straight. He neared the edge of the crisscrossing, gridlike metal bars of the enclosure, and pointed the spike at it.

Plasma splayed out from the enclosure, connecting with the end of the spike, and instead of disappearing in a flash, it remained, pulsing, feeding the spike as energy spasmatically coarsed along the gap.

The spike absorbed the massive influx of energy and directed it all to Hoss's internal graviton emitters. Using what internal machinery was still working, he tweaked the emitters very slightly.

Lacking a right arm to gesture dramatically, the next phase was slightly less obvious. The newly-configured emitters were now radiating gravitomagnetic energy, and directing it all towards a single point at the top of the domed enclosure. Simultaneously, a feedback loop established itself in the spike protruding from Hoss's left shoulder, shunting ions back into the metal grid surrounding the park, magnetizing the entire structure.

At the top of the dome, the convergence of gravitomagnetic radiation continued to build in strength. Metal groaned as the magnetized bars began to stress towards the convergence. For a moment, the worryingly frequent creaks and pops throughout the vast structure seemed ready to signal catastrophe, but as the seconds wore on, nothing happened.

Even with the unimaginable amount of energy raging through him, barely controlled, Hoss was still unable to generate a gravitomagnetic anomaly strong enough to pull the structure into it. He would need an additional source of energy, but where...

He thought back to his brief experiment with magic earlier in the round. He'd so far been avoiding it, given its association with the unexplained disappearence of his newmatter fabricators. Still, he hadn't yet confirmed his experiments in matters arcane were directly responsible, and he wouldn't make progress without taking a risk. So...

Hoss reached inside himself, to the place he'd discovered earlier, and infused a small portion of his will into gravitomagnetic convergence.

The result was nothing short of dramatic.

The convergence, still invisible to the naked eye, swelled enourmously, spurting out neutrino emissions as Hoss's will fueled it. The enclosure finally began to snap, crumbling towards the convergence, whose strength had finally allowed it to burst through into the visible realm; a slightly glowing sphere, distorting the space around it.

The ground began to tremble beneath his feet, as the buried portions of the magnetized enclosure began to pull towards the convergence. The enclosure itself formed a perfect sphere, bisected in the middle by the surface. The other half was buried beneath the grass and dirt. It was this second half which was now pushing through the ground, churning the earth in its path, rushing towards the convergence at the top of the other end of the sphere.

Hoss struggled to keep in position as the ground heaved. All around him, the enclosure folded towards its top, and broken shards of metal burst through the ground, rushing towards the building convergence. It did not attract all metal in the area; certainly, metallic objects within its range experienced a slight tug in its direction, but they were not as heavily magnetized as Hoss had made the metal bars of the enclosure.

All around the park, the enclosure buckled and snapped, falling towards the swiftly building magnetic convergence. Its strength continued to build, as it fed on the arcane fuel of Hoss's will, sapping him of energy. The enclosure continued to fall into the strange light, as chunks of metal tore up the overgrown field, mounds of dirt erupting across the landscape as twisted metal screamed their agony through the air.

The ground beneath Hoss was no less turbulent, and the spurting plasma linking his spike to the enclosure was losing cohesion as power fluctuated through the enclosure's grid. Suddenly, the lightning vanished, severing the power to Hoss's generators. The gravitomagnetic convergence collapsed, dropping a dense ball of metal; all that it had absorbed up to that point. The enclosure itself, at least what was above the surface, was completely gone. The portions of it which had ripped their way through the ground and into the air fell back to the surface; a surface of churned earth, broken rock, twisted, crumpled metal, uprooted trees, and one oddly serene tornado of fire.

Hoss fell to his knees, inexplicably drained. He opened a link to his sister, projecting an image of himself which was still whole and vital.

The nature of this multiversal connection was still mostly unfamiliar to Hoss, and, he suspected, to his sister. However, from what he could determine, time flowed... differently, when the link was open. Very little time would pass in his battle while he conversed with people in the network, and everyone seemed to connect at relatively the same moment, despite it being nearly impossible to synchronize meetings across universes.

Which was why it didn't surprise him when his sister replied almost instantly.

"I've dealt with things on my end. The Cultivator has yet made no move, but I've made it clear I'm not playing her silly little game. Report."

His sister began briskly, "There is a contestant in my battle I think you should meet. His name is Vandrel Reinhardt, and he shares your philosophies and past, to an extent. He's a tyrant, a usurper, and apparently ruled his kingdom with an iron fist. From what little I've been able to observe of his interactions, he is also explicitely pro-human. To what extent I am uncertain, but his reputation as a tactician was enough to warrant a comment from my battle's... organizer. He will be a valuable asset."

Hoss caused his image to pace as his sister spoke. He nodded as she finished.

"Good. Make contact. I would like to speak with him."

"I am already on my way."

"Excellent. I should get back to things on my end, if there's nothing else."

He could see her hesitating, and knew her well enough to read the slight inhale as a sign of uncertainty.

"Actually... there is."

Hoss raised an eyebrow.

"Continue."

"Earlier, I was contacted on this line by another... person. I have the message stored."

The two turned to face one side of the circular room, which suddenly contained a screen, showing, at first, nothing. Then a voice, "-ntum thingy to maybe get out of here, if I can just... No, what- Gah. Cursed technology."

A face then came into view, a rather worn-looking man with Old-Earth tinted sunglasses; "Aviators", the two observers remember. The girl's voice came from the screen, saying, "You're connected. I can see you."

"Oh, good. Listen, I'm Officer Arnold Scarlet, Seattle PD, and I am currently a captive of a being calling itself the Controller. He-"

"Let me guess, he's forcing you and a group of others to fight to the death."

The man shook his head. "I only wish. He started off like that, but early on, he took me out of the battle and tortured me as an example to the others. Since then, I've been stuck in this place.

"Sounds horrible." Her false empathy was almost believable. "How did you contact me?"

"He went off to take care of some 'opportunity' that came up and left me here alone. One of his computers lit up and said something about an 'interaction between tagged dimensions' and 'threaded entanglement,' and I though it might be a chance to get out of here."

"Unfortunately, no."

"Shame, I-" He stopped, appearing to notice something, and the image vanished abruptly.

Hoss cocked his head slightly. "Interesting... and I don't just mean the terribly pedantic naming conventions of these multiversal thrill-seekers. 'The Controller', 'The Cultivator', 'The Executor'. Terrible." He turned to his sister, "Did you notice anything off?"

She considered briefly before answering, "... yes, I did. I can't quite place my finger on it, but... why would someone who's being tortured be wearing stylish accessories like those sunglasses?"

Hoss turned back to where the screen had been. "My thoughts exactly. Still, whoever he is, he apparently has the capability to intercept and force open our line of communication. If he contacts you again, bring him into the fold. We'd best keep him close."

"Understood. I-"

Abruptly, the girl stopped, staring off into space. "Pardon, there has been a development." She vanished from the room. Shortly afterwards, Hoss did as well.

Back in the park, barely a second had passed. Hoss took some time to take an account of his internals, and to puzzle at his unnatural fatigue, before his sister contacted him again.

They appeared in the same room, only this time appearing with her was a stocky, solid looking man in a suit of armor, with an impressively well-built face. It looked hardened from years of combat and stress, complimenting his full beard. His physical age looked older than Hoss, but in terms of absolute years, there was no contest as to whom was eldest.

Hoss caused his image to smile. "Hello, Vandrel Reinhardt. You may call me the Hand of Silver. We have a few things in common, and I think you'll be interested in what I have to say."

Reinhardt sank to one knee and stabbed his sword into the floor, bowing cordially.

"Greetings, Sir Hand of Silver. Tell me what it is you have to say."

Hoss motioned for Reinhardt to rise, and the younger man did so. Hoss snapped his fingers, and two highbacked chairs appeared next to the men, with a low table in between. Startled, Reinhardt looked cautiously at Hoss, who smiled again.

"Not magic, I assure you. If you'd have a seat, I will explain."

Hoss motioned towards the chairs, and Reinhardt, after some hesitation, followed. The two sat down; Hoss, luxuriating in the comfortable chair, let out a sigh of relief as he sat. Reinhardt remained rigid.

"That's the second time I've seen something no normal human should be able to do, and told that 'it will be explained'. My patience can only last so long."

Hoss nodded acknowledgment of the other man's complaint. "I understand. So, as promised, an explanation."

"I come from a universe where there is no magic. None. Early in our history, my ancestors lived much like you; minus the magic. Just regular humans, bound to a dirt prison by their feeble technology."

Hoss leaned fowards. "But, being human, they constantly yearned for more. More knowledge, more power, more ease of life. And so they experimented, and learned, and improved, and their technology improved. They went from wood sticks to metal swords to gunpowder cannons and further. Using nothing but their own ingenuity, and limited to the scarce resources of their world, they built, and improved. And those archaic weapons turned to more sophisticated ones; small cannons that could be held in a person's hand, which shot bits of metal at rapid speeds. They harnessed the power of lightning, and used it to power their cities, making a world without darkness. They discovered ways to communicate across vast distances, and every day the world grew closer. Eventually, they found ways to leave their pathetic ball of space mud and claim their birthright; the rest of the universe."

Hoss leaned backwards once more, relaxing back into his chair. "What you see before you is simply an advanced form of your own technology, forged through the passion, courage, and intelligence of our species, and put into use for the might of humanity. In my universe, humans were the only intelligent form of life. Just humans. And we expanded across the stars, ruling everything. It was glorious."

He lowered his head slightly, pupilless eyes never belying their focus.

"But these battles and their organizers... they have shown me a terrible truth. That humans are not alone in existence. I suppose I should thank them for that. But you know as well as I do that humans are the only species which deserve sentience. Everything else deserves only extermination or subservience.

"And that is why I need your help, Vandrel."

Hoss clasped his gloved hands together on the table, and leaned forward again in earnesty.

"We must scour the multiverse for more battles like the ones we are in. More humans, to rally to our cause, and overthrow these unworthy masters. Humanity must, once more, reign supreme across existence."

Hoss allowed a slight easing of his expression.

"So, Vandrel Reinhardt. Will you join us?"

Vandrel considered.

"... what position, exactly, would I occupy in this... Network... you intend to establish?"

Hoss smiled. "I'm glad you asked. Yours will be the face which all potential contacts will first see. You will filter out the undeserving and the unwelcome, and gather only humans, or any other useful non-human tools you may encounter. And," Hoss added, in response to Reinhardt's bristle at the word "non-human", "they will be just tools, to be discarded when their use has been served. My sister will initiate each search with you; she will be your contact in your battle, and your conduit to me. The two of you will work together to create our... yes, you know, I rather like 'Network'. Network it is, then. She will decide if I need to meet any new contacts, but it will mostly be you acting as the face of this operation."

Reinhardt sat back, absorbing Hoss's offer. It certainly seemed... intriguing.

"Very well. I will join with you."

Hoss smiled magnanimously. "Good. I am glad to have a man like you as an ally, and I look forward to working with you."

"Indeed." Reinhardt stood, and Hoss followed suit. They shook hands. "The true might of humanity will be felt across all worlds."

The men smiled at each other. Hoss nodded at his sister, imperceptibly, and she nodded back. She and the armored king vanished as she brought them back to their battle, leaving Hoss alone. He looked around briefly, sighed, and vanished as well.

---

Konka Rar had been mostly unaware of the chaos outside his tornado, focused as he was on not killing himself. It wasn't until a broken, bent metal bar shot through his tornado that he became concerned with the events outside his firey prison.

He spared a small amount of energy to pry open a portal through the maelstrom, lifting two bands of flame to peek at the park. What he saw was... unexpected.

The whole park had been dug up and dumped back down. Broken metal jutted out everywhere, some lodged where they fell, some still half-emerged from the ground.

But this was not what caught the lich's eye. No, what he saw was every single contestent, off-balance, drained from the ordeal, vulnerable. Ekelhaft had still been recovering from Hoss's discharge earlier, and was now broken into several distinct blobs all across the churned earth. Gormand, less disturbed by the enclosure's downfall than the explosion previously, was nonetheless in obvious shock from the chaos. Of Diego and Ziirphael, there was no sign, but one could easily conclude they had not faired well through first the explosion and then the collapsing metal dome.

And then there was Hoss. The ancient tyrant was on his knees, gasping. Great big shuddering breaths stole through his battered body, despite the fact that he did not need to breathe. With a huge hole scarring the area where his nose had been, and the other damage from his fight with the main mass of Ekelhaft showing in pits and abrasions across his almost fully exposed upper torso (most of it missing skin, revealing the cybernetic underworks), he looked drained. And drained he was; his inexperience with magic had cost him. He had not known that, in using his will to fuel his magic, it would drain him in ways he had no real way of recovering from. He was unfamiliar with this concept of magic, and as such, was unprepared for the consequences.

Given Konka Rar's somewhat more considerable magical acumen, he was able to see the signs of a novice mage pushed too far in Hoss, and knew that all his enemies were at their weakest. This was the moment to strike.

Expending a considerable amount of his magical power, he pushed the wind and fire outwards away from him, causing a wall of fire to race across the tortured landscape, seeking to engulf every remaining constestent in flame.

Originally posted on MSPA by Not The Author.

---

Gormand slowly plodded across the field. Decomposing, while a useful defensive mechanism, always left him feeling mildly hungover. He’d lost a good chunk of his terraformed meal, but had still managed to keep a significant portion of mass from being lost to the blast wwwwwhatthehellwasthat

Shattered fragments of an iron bar gouged through the top of the meatball, instantly frying his eye as charged metal tore through soft flesh. He staggered, oozing pink slop as his body worked to repair itself once more. This place was really becoming a nuisance, and the sooner he was gone, the better. Of course, there was only one way to leave…

Diego Red was highest on his mental hit-list, second to the neigh-indestructible Ekelhaft. As the blob had been split by the explosion and they were still in this despicable park, he could only assume it still wasn’t dead. So it fell to the Earworm to act as the exit strategy. Of course, he could be anywhere, and Gormand was not feeling terribly patient what with this residual headache from the electrical shock and residual hangover.

Konka Rar would be the most helpful – he’d shown initiative in fighting the slime, and likely had methods of detecting life via either his magical school or technological enhancements. Perhaps he could trace Mr. Red via his magical signature or something similar. Hoss was the next most likely candidate; he’d shown incredible abilities with all his technological enhancements, and probably had some form of tracking mechanism. Of course, he’d not been the most stable-minded individual, and appeared rather distracted as of late… Konka Rar seemed the better choice.

Then the Lich decided to set everything on fire, so Gormand took the second option.

The cyborg shone like a beacon in the glow of the blazing field. At the very least, the flames had scoured away the tall grass, so reaching the robot wasn’t as difficult as it might’ve been. On the other hand, Gormand was becoming rather overcooked in the heat, and the smoke was more than a little irritating. Hoss’ faux flesh had been seared away again, but the metal man didn’t seem to notice. In fact he seemed absorbed in his own thoughts again, muttering something to himself, and completely failed to notice the meatball until he was prodded several times in the shoulder. Hoss looked up with a start.

“If you’re quite done doing nothing…”

“Why am I breathing?”

Gormand blinked, caught off-guard by the question. “Is that really important right now?”

“If I’m breathing, then I have lungs. I shouldn’t have lungs when did I get lungs how did I get lungs I shouldn’t have lungs everything is on fire and I’m breathing in all this smoke that can’t be good for the lungs that I shouldn’t have dammit”

All this chatter was making Gormand rather annoyed. He’d disintegrated, been electrocuted, set on fire, and blinded by smoke. On top of that, he did not want to have to comfort a panicked machine, let alone anyone ever. He wanted to be done with the park as quickly as possible, and Hoss was not making that at all easy. At this point he was tempted to just off the cyborg and be done with it.

He settled for a slap across the face.

“Snap out of it! We need to find Diego Red as quickly as possible.”

Hoss rubbed where he’d been smacked, though his metal skull was of course unharmed. He seemed to consider something before solemnly nodding. The tyrant stood, and stared off into space before turing to his companion.

“Isn’t being on fire uncomfortable?”

Gormand groaned, his desire to once again slap the machine rising. “Just lead the way, will you?”

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

If Konka Rar had not lost his sweat glands long ago, they would be drenching him now. The amount of concentration needed to send away the wind and flames, while still holding himself aloft with a smaller pocket of wind, was immense.

Fortunately, once the act had been done, maintaining it was far simpler. The smaller tornado slowly drifted towards the ground, until the distance was small enough that the lich could safely cast a levitation spell to stay above the flames.

Rar surveyed the park again. Although every one of his opponents was weakened, there was only one who might be able to recover quickly once they arrived in the next arena. Ekelhaft.

Even now, the slime creature was resilient - Rar spotted its constituent blobs slowly oozing over nearby flames, smothering them. But he could not help but notice the masses of slime beginning to drip from the heat surrounding them. The flame was not magical in and of itself; it had merely been spread by magic. The ancient madgod could only fight back by dousing the fire manually.

Furthermore, Rar reasoned, an individual blob would be more vulnerable and possibly less intelligent than the creature would be if it reformed - a task it seemed to be finding difficult at the moment. A single flame spell on an isolated piece of Ekelhaft might prove extremely effective, especially with it already suffering from the ambient heat.

Rar soon noticed such an isolated piece. The other components were at least making some progress in moving towards each other, but one was having difficulty navigating around a fallen tree. Precisely what had made the tree fall was uncertain at this point; it could have been the tremor, the explosion, the winds, or even another contestant overcome with rage. In any case, the cause of its fall was irrelevant. What mattered was that it was an insurmountable obstacle to the now-barely intelligent blob, and Konka Rar had his best chance to strike back.

He floated rapidly towards the stray ooze, seeing no need for stealth against an opponent that could barely understand how to deal with an unmoving tree. As he neared it, he raised his staff to unleash his spell upon it.

"Inferno!"

Originally posted on MSPA by MyifanW.

---

"Well? Any progress?"
Diego said, looking above the walls of the maze. Another column of flame rose, only further cementing his worry. Power like that was impossible to deal with head on, and only slightly easier to manage from... altered angles.

"Patience. Internal structures are much more difficult to manipulate."
Zir gave a short reply, not wanting to bother explaining the complexities of breaking down parts of his own composition in order to emulate a attracting smell. A somewhat emasculating action, but Zir had long lost the ability to care about the small, physical things.

"Right, right..."

Diego muttered, as he gritted his teeth. Over his network of sound, he heard the meat monster's intent to find him. Although nothing more relevant was said, it was obvious what the intentions were. He had probably run out of time, again.
He took a side ways glance at Zir, who had crouched down, unmoving. Diego had honestly wanted to go through with the dogs plan, but if he was being hunted now... killing Zir would be the easiest way out. He surveyed his surroundings. Wide, open space, save for a few buildings. Hiding was probably impossible in this plane. Unless the others managed to kill the blob, which Diego doubted would happen any time soon, he was as good as dead. If he moved on to the next stage, would he have a better chance? Maybe, but he hated the idea of leaving things to fate. If he just made things work out properly, he could take fate and mold it to his liking.
"Done."
Just in time, Zir announced that he was finished. He stood up, looking no different. Before Diego could question exactly what had happened, the dogs came. There were roughly twenty of them, each with the correct collar. They stopped a distance away, attracted by Zir but simultaniously repelled by Diego.

"Good. Great, actually. Now lead them to the mouth of this maze."
They walked a short distance inwards, guiding the posse of dogs.
"Perfect. Now, Zir, I'll tell you- I actually an ability besides, well, knowledge of the human body. It'll be quite useful here."

Diego walked forward, repelling the dogs further in. Then, he raised his hands, and concentrated. manipulating the air with violent waves, he created a makeshift dog whistle. Instantly irritated, the dogs howled and transformed. Some attempted to approach him, but Diego released the sounds in a gradient- the closer they were to him, the more painful it would be. Quickly, they dispersed into the maze, sounding like hell.

"Phew."
Diego turned and began to walk out. His powers were drained, but because he had so little it didn't matter- it would all be back momentarily. He focused it, ready to make his next move. Here came the hard part, the part Diego had doubts about. Zir, just now, was a witness. Although he hadn't shown much, that was already the limit of Deigo's ability, and anyone who saw that could not continue to exist. If Zir thought he was weak, it was inevitable that he'd become a target quickly. The only way for Diego to survive was if he could maintain the illusion that he could hold his ground in this competition. So, Zir would need to die.

There where two problems with this- One, the dogs needed to have some impact first. If they could kill someone, that would be grand- every other player was impossibly dangerous. However, Zir still needed to die here and now. The only way Diego could kill Zir in the same instant was if Zir was stunned, and Diego could do the deed instantly. Diego had the tools, though- it wasn't impossible.
The greater issue was Zir himself. Diego couldnt tell if Zir trusted him, even remotely. Even with a face on, he never moved it, and his emotions were inscruitable. Did Zir suspect him? Probably. The only thing that mattered was; How much did Zir suspect him? Enough to see the next instant coming?
Time was up for Diego's thinking.
"Come on, lets get out of-"
Diego passed Zir. In that instant, Diego's mythril knife flew out of it's holder, going the minimal distance into Zir's side. The flesh was tough, but not enough to stop the knife from still piercing, and that was enough. Twisting his arm, Diego shoved the knife in further, and released as much power as he could, channeled through the blade. A violent shock went through Zir, cutting all bodily signals.
Zir dropped to his knees, but Diego wasn't done. With a jumping twist, he mounted Zir's back, knocking the large body onto the ground, pinning the arms with his knees. Drawing his sword, He shoved it downwards through Zir's left arm, pinning it o the ground. Jamming his right thumb into the indent in the back of Zir's skull, Diego finally exhaled.
Somehow, everything went off without a hitch. Did Zir really trust him enough to let down his guard for a moment, or was it that he was actually somewhat capable of dealing with these monsters? Breathless, Diego smiled. He pointed his left finger upwards, and air began spinning around it. It seemed like he was capable of surviving, after all...

"Haha... That wasn't so hard at al-"

Pain shot through his neck. Instantly, he remembered that he hadn't kept his air network up, and realized that he had relied much too much on it. The second thing he experienced was the warmth of blood- his own. Then, the warmth of a body, bearing down on him.
Oh, another dog. How did I miss that one? He wanted to say out loud, but the words didn't come out.
Ah, that's right. Zir was controlling the dogs. He must have had one stay close...
His analysis of the situation was done. The beast violently tossed his body to the side, and Diego realized he was probably a corpse.
Well, since it was already going to happen, Diego was going to accept it. He knew that this would be the result, if he failed even once. He knew, he was prepared...
No! NO! This isn't right! I did almost everything right! I earned it, I did! I want to live! I can't die here! Not somewhere so far from my world... I can't die where no one knows my name! I, I....

Diego Red passed out from the pain and bloodloss, his face contorted anguish, a pool of blood steadily being filled around his head, like a red halo. He had died, his body just had not accepted it yet, just like he himself had not.

Show Content

SpoilerAnd I'm out! Diego was kinda fun to do. Wish I thought of more to work with, though. Anyway, Diego's technically not dead yet so any post or whatever can happen before the round ends, but since it's been days since the last reserve I think it's fine if it ends here.

Originally posted on MSPA by MalkyTop.

---

The dimension the Cultivator was paying a visit to was, well, maybe not the complete opposite, but at least quite contrary. While the Cultivator's domain was white and decorated cheerfully, if not messily, this place had a suffocating blackness about it and was rather sparse, except for a few, drab machinery and a chair. Sitting in that chair now was the Monitor.

The Cultivator stopped and glanced around sadly, thinking that some bright colors would really add something to the place, until the Monitor stopped typing away rapidly at something and turned towards his visitor. Somehow, even without a face, he managed to emit general annoyance. Still, he said politely, "Hello, Cultivator. May I ask what you are doing here? A favor, perhaps?"

"Hi Manny!" the Cultivator grinned. The Monitor let out a mechanical 'hrrrrmm.' "How's it going? You really should have some trees here or something. It's so bleak! It looks like a lonely man's basement! Maybe you should get out more, you know? Fresh air is good for you." The woman nodded to herself and examined the darkness as though there was something to examine.

The Monitor waited for the realization that he was actually quite robotic and thus wasn't really affected by how fresh the air was, but it didn't come. The Cultivator started humming something, obviously waiting for some sort of reply. The Monitor 'hrrrmm'ed again, tapping his chair before replying.

"I am doing rather well. My two battles may not be generating as much data as I'd hoped, however. I have also heard you have started a battle. How is that going?"

The question came out a little blunt and accusatory. The Cultivator winced noticeably. "Good, good...hey, you know, I've been learning a few neat things while that Brawl's been going on! Wanna see?"

"And how is the Brawl going, by the way?"

"I've been learning some neat magic tricks!"

"Alright, but what about your battle?" the Monitor repeated patiently. He paused for a moment. "...Magic tricks?"

"I'm glad you asked!" the Cultivator chirped, either completely misinterpreting the Monitor's tone or pouncing on the opportunity to continue avoiding the topic of battles. She produced a coin from out of nowhere. "See, there's these neat slight-of-hand stuff, you know? It really involves lots of quick movements and and and..." With a flick of the wrist, the coin seemed to disappear. With another, it was back in her hand. "I've been learning stuff with cards too, and it's amazing what you can do with mirrors..."

The Monitor stared for a moment. "Correct me if I'm wrong," he started, sounding more cross than before, "But I am quite certain that you could just make the coin disappear without roundabout trickery."

"No, no wait, you don't understand! It's slight-of-hand illusion! It takes, you know, more skill and practice and stuff to really make it believable and--"

"And what about your battle," the Monitor interrupted blankly.

Realizing that she could no longer dance around the issue, the Cultivator shifted uneasily and spun the coin expertly around her fingers. Her smile faltered for a minute. "Yeah. Ah. About that."

"You got bored of it."

"I can't help it!" the Cultivator retorted defensively. "I mean seriously, it's not as interesting as everybody makes it out to be. I mean, I was hoping to see more...I dunno...ugh. It's boring."

"Just to make sure, we are talking about the same battle that turned a giant's house completely upside-down and blew up the underworld and, right now, is basically throwing explosion after explosion, are we?" The Cultivator nodded glumly. "You are probably the only being I know who would find bloodshed boring."

"I mean, I dunno, I was thinking I'd see...like, really big scheming stuff. Backstabbing. Or at least some cool revolt against the higher power, you know, me."

The Monitor stared at her, a little baffled. Then a thought occured to him. "Have you even been following your own battle recently?"

"Um?" The Cultivator replied. "Maybe....a little? Sort of? There...might've been some sort of annoying message from my computer...? Why? What happened?"

"Oh, nothing." The robotic grandmaster was slightly proud that he managed not to say it suspiciously fast. "In any case, you never told me why you came here."

The coin was now spinning so fast that it appeared to be orbiting around her fingers at a rate of three revolutions per second. "Right. Um. So. Since I'm doing, er, magic tricks...I may be too busy to...er...I don't have a lot of rounds prepared for the battle right now..."

"Really? How many?"

"Uh. None."

The Monitor made another 'hrrrrmm' sound. "I'm not going to let you dump your battle on me," he said rather reproachfully.

"Oh, no, no, of course not. Just one round. I need, uh, time. For the rest of the rounds."

"And you won't procrastinate and continue to fool around with silly magic tricks."

"No, no, of course not." she grinned uneasily and her eyes glanced off to the side and she brushed away her hair.

"And if I remember correctly, you borrowed a few things of mine..."

The Cultivator bit her lip as she recalled her piles of stuff. Not that she didn't know where everything was. Of course she did. "Right, right, your video games. I, uh, I'll return them when I'm done."

The Monitor had the feeling that he would never see them again.

"Right. I'll see what I can do.

"Oh thank you thank you thank you I'll make it up to you I swear. I knew there was a reason you were my favorite, Manny! I'll get those games back to you as quick as I can, really. And, uh, don't tell anybody about this. I mean, it'll sort of be embarrassing." And with that, the Cultivator disappeared again.

The Monitor turned his chair around back to the various screens and leaned back, contemplating something. He glanced at the remaining stack of video games he had left. He checked the rounds he had prepared for his own battles. With a sense of satisfaction, he inserted a disc into one of his many computers. He idly wondered when the Cultivator would change her name once more.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There seemed to be a strange delay before the remaining contestants were transported out and into black nothing once again.

"Hello," a droning voice boomed. It was decidedly not at all the Cultivator. It wasn't even female, for one thing. "I am aware none of you know who I am and you don't need to. The Cultivator has asked me to take over for her temporarily. She's a little..." and here, they could practically hear his eyes roll, "...busy. This will probably be the only time you will hear from me. Although it wouldn't surprise me a bit if she asks me for help again."

By this time, the scenery started blending into something substantial. Surrounding the contestants now was a quaint town that wouldn't look strange if it was in a black and white photograph. A few boxy cars were parked along the two-lane street and blocky signs adorned some of the stores. Nobody seemed to be walking around just yet, not surprising, as dawn appeared to be just breaking. Although right now, it was frozen in a constant state of breaking.

"This is a rather small town. Really, just an ordinary town where all the inhabitants are familiar with each other. I'm sure most of you have ravaged one or two of these in the past, you should understand the basic concept. I realize it may seem a rather dull arena, other than the opportunities to slaughter the helpless, but I assure you that it will most likely not remain that way. For reasons which will become clear soon enough." The unfamiliar voice faded and the sun continued ambling its way upward.

Show Content

SpoilerThere's not really much to say about this round, obviously. It's just a normal town in the 50s about to probably be destroyed by a cyborg lich, a cyborg human, a giant meatball, a death god and an avatar of entropy. Also, in a bit, there will be an alien invasion. Maybe even several, if you like it like that.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

---

"Just lead the way, will you?"

Hoss had been careful to maintain his confused exterior; given how many times he'd lost his sanity during this battle, it was better if the other contestents did not know how much control he currently had. Especially given he no longer considered them relevent.

Nevertheless, he had to agree with Gormand. Diego Red would prove an easy kill, and the sooner he could get the round to transit-

Suddenly the world faded, and he was once again surrounded by blackness. No, not yet! I wasn't ready! He'd been hoping to be able to prepare for the transition, but as it was...

He'd barely managed to configure his sensors to record as much data as possible about the transition before he found himself in a town straight out of his world's past. He ran a quick overview of what he'd managed to gather; some interesting information about the local geometry of the multiverse, but nothing useful was immediately obvious. He shunted the analyzation of the data over to his secondary processors and looked around.

Briefly, he wondered who died, before deciding it didn't matter. This battle, its contestents, they were no longer important. Something much larger was in motion...

As if to puncuate his train of thought, he recieved a notification of a message broadcast through the multiverse, and smiled inwardly. Reinhardt would prove as a valuable filtering mechanism, and a believable face of the Network, leaving Hoss free to set the groundwork for the Network's future.

He'd been walking as he thought, idly recording the scenery. This town was from before even his time. He considered this other being's words carefully. The passing mention that the current tranquility would be broken by something other than the contestents was telling; from his history, he knew that nothing of note ever actually happened in these kinds of towns, therefore they could not possibly be in his home universe. This too must be another artificial construct of... well, apparently, not the Cultivator. Was the other voice another... what had Reinhardt called them... Grandmaster? If so, why had the Cultivator felt the need to bring it in? Had she noticed what he was doing?

He rather hoped so. The more interest he could garner from the Cultivator, the more likely it would be that she directly interefered. He was not yet prepared for that eventuality, but still, perhaps this new Grandmaster was a good sign. A sign of her increasing worry, perhaps?

He entered a yard, and the robe-clad man who'd been padding his way towards his mailbox for the morning paper froze. Hoss felt like sighing; he'd forgotten his appearence; a nearly naked, one-armed metallic man with a grisly gash through his face, and other similar wounds across his body. If only his newmatter fabricators were working...

He brought himself short at that thought. Their disappearence was related to his magic use, somehow. If he could continue to learn more about the arcane, perhaps he could regain full functionality. All he needed was a viable test subject. And luckily, he already had one.

He reconfigured a small portion of his internal sensors, and sure enough, they were receiving a signal. He tried to grin, before realizing he couldn't. He sent a few commands; this would take some time to set up, but the wait would be worth it.

Meanwhile, the man had begun to back away. Small sounds of confusion and fear escaped his mouth. Hoss extended his left arm, and a thin sliver of silvery metal shot out, impaling the man through his just-opened mouth, severing his spine through the back of his neck. The sliver retracted back into his arm, and the man slumped over. As Hoss looked towards the house whose yard he was standing in, his tertriary processors sent up a notification.

As per his previous orders, they'd been passively analyzing patterns within the battle, and had come across an interesting anomaly. Before the previous round ended, a small burst of neutrinos had been recorded in the distance. The anomaly arose from the fact that this neutrino pattern exactly matched certain aspects of the neutrino patterns evident when the "gods" had been speaking. Curious, that one hadn't made itself known in the previous round, and curiouser still that the same pattern had shown up in the approximate direction of one Diego Red...

Hoss continued to mull over the data as a blast from his forward kinetic emitters pulverized the wall of the house. He walked through the resultant hole to see a rather startled looking woman and two children, just beginning their morning ritual of breaking fast. The mother's eyes drifted slowly downwards, focusing on something in the yard behind him, and she opened her mouth to scream...

Three bodies slumped to the floor in quick succession, as Hoss continued into the house. This will do nicely, he thought. He moved towards a wall and shoved his hand through, pulling out a mess of wiring, and got to work.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

I guess I'm reserving.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

Konka Rar and the stray piece of Ekelhaft vanished a moment before the fireball struck. Whatever effect it would have had remained unknown.

Rar cursed his luck as he was shifted through the dimensions. His best chance at destroying that irritating creature, wasted. Who had even died? It must have been Diego or Ziirphael, he had seen Gormand and Hoss not long before.

He cursed his luck even more when he saw where he had emerged. Specifically, the large, decorative cross in front of him.

It held no magic, but it still left the lich feeling uncomfortable.

What sick, twisted mind thought it would be entertaining to place a being held together by unholy magic in a church?

Fortunately, it was empty. Not that Rar would have greatly objected to disposing of witnesses, but he did not wish to deal with a priest. Even if they lacked actual magic, they would probably have artifacts of some sort, and holy water was a given. It was a risk he was glad not to face.

Then he heard the front doors opening. Someone was coming. Konka Rar could deal with them easily enough, of course, but the noise might alert the priest, and he was still unsure of his surroundings. Acting on impulse, he dove behind a nearby curtain leading into a booth. Inside was a small book - no doubt the holy book of the church.

He heard footsteps coming closer. Closer.

Then they stopped.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned," said a voice from the other side of the booth.

Oh.

Rar flipped through a holy book in the booth, using his cybernetic arm. He did not want to take the risk that the book would burn his undead bones on the touch.

"What troubles you, my son?" Rar said, trying to disguise his voice as best he could. It didn't work very well.

"Are you all right, Father?" the voice asked, sounding concerned. "There's something... odd about your voice."

"A cold. Even men of the cloth must suffer illness from time to time. Such is the will of the Lord." That phrase seemed to be common throughout the book. "But please, tell me what troubles you." So I can leave before your accursed priest comes in without you screaming for him.

The voice sighed. "The same as last time, I fear. I have once again been unfaithful to my wife."

Damn. There was a history here. This would be difficult. Did this man have one mistress he kept returning to? Or did he regularly fall for any woman who caught his eye? Rar could expose himself if he assumed one and it turned out to be the other. For all he knew, this was only the man's second transgression and he was overreacting.

He calmed down. He did not need to assume anything. He could continue the conversation with generalities.

"The Lord is always testing us," the lich said. "You must be strong in the face of temptation. Your marriage is a sacred trust."

"I know," replied the man in the other booth, "but I feel so weak. Every time I see Richard, I think about how much I want to..."

Richard?

As the man recounted his latest encounter in more detail than the ancient wizard would have liked, Rar found himself wondering why the fool had bothered marrying a woman in the first place. It seemed highly impractical given his situation.

On top of that, Rar was beginning to get the impression that the regular priest had asked for this level of detail, which raised questions the lich preferred not to have answered.

Finally, the visitor seemed to pause, hoping for a response.

Had Rar been honest, at this point he would have said "Really, is that all?"

But he had a ruse to maintain. And that meant feeding this somewhat disturbing man the nonsense he wanted to hear.

"You have committed a grave sin," he said, "but the Lord forgives you. But you must be strong in the future. Go back to your wife and tell her you love her."

"Thank you, Father. I feel... I feel I can be strong now."

"The Lord is always with you. Remember that."

"Yes, I will. And by the way, love the sign outside. Makes it clear we don't want the wrong sort coming in here."

Rar said nothing, and waited as the footsteps started again, and slowly faded out.

When they stopped, he left, and carefully opened the main doors of the church. The man's words had piqued his curiosity.

Looking around carefully, with the aid of his cybernetic eye, the lich noted that no one was around. It was likely safe.

Rar stepped outside and read the sign. He didn't understand what the peasant had meant.

Let Your Judgement Be Not Colored, he read. Empty platitudes. I wonder why he thought so highly of it?

The lich then considered his next move. He could not stay hidden, and did not particularly fear the peasants (except, perhaps, what they might say to him if that one man was not unusual), then noted that behind the church, there was a cemetery.

The next course of action was obvious. Provided he could find a shovel.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

---

Re-re-re-re-re-reeeeeeeEEESERVED!

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

---

The world had exploded.

Okay, the world had felt like it exploded, and when half of you had been trapped inside the blast created by a gluon feedback loop from malfunctioning ultra-tech, the difference between what it seemed like and the reality of the situation was pretty negligible. The world had exploded and then it was set on fire. And then it exploded again in a coruscating blast of lightning and metal spears ripping their way through the earth. And THEN IT HAD BEEN SET ON FIRE AGAIN.

Ekelhaft had been smeared across half the arena, teeth and eyes and slime burned and crushed and dispersed. It had flailed and wiggled and bumped into things, completely failing to reform in any significant way and gradually boiling away as the sorcerer's flames had ravaged the landscape. It had been a bad time for Ekelhaft.

Then the world faded; spread as thin as it was, the old god hadn't been in much of a position to appreciate what that meant. Then the new world formed around it, and whoever that monotone voice that had replaced the Cultivator's belonged to had seen fit to gather the shattered ooze into one place. From dizzying confusion and sensory input from a million indecipherable sources came clarity.

And fury.

This had been quite enough. That uppity steel man had more than outlived his amusingness, and his fragile little mind harbored too many schemes and too much self-importance to leave it intact any longer. Ekelhaft would destroy the self-styled tyrant utterly and without delay.

Which might prove problematic, actually. Now that it had formed a goal and stopped focusing solely inwards, the green horror realized it did not know where Hoss was. Or for that matter, where it was itself. Those few eyes that had survived the repeated holocausts in the abandoned park were soon supplemented by new ones formed in the noisome depths of Ekelhaft's remaining bulk, and began scanning their surroundings. It was dark and cramped and oddly soft, but there was a band of light mere inches away.

---

Robert was six years old, which was, in his father's estimation, far too old to still be afraid of the dark or monsters under the bed or aliens from Mars. There were too many real things to be afraid of, like communist spies and black people, to cling to childish bugaboos like that. It was time for Robert to grow up and act like a man, and for God's sake if his mother didn't stop encouraging stupid fantasies and mollycoddling the boy, he would end up like Johnson down the block and everyone knew what color carnation HE wore.

To Robert's credit, it had been months since he'd really been afraid of monsters around his room, and a little longer than that since he'd... you know... wet anything. He was growing up, and he was proud of it! But for some reason, this morning as the sun rose and cast long, eerie shadows across the floor and bed, he was filled with dread. The longer he lay there, the more it seemed that things were moving in the corners of his vision. He'd even swear he could hear something bubbling beneath his bed. For what felt like several hours, he stayed perfectly motionless, trying to convince himself it was all in his head or still dreaming, but when he thought he saw the dresser start inching closer, he screamed.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMYYYYYYY!"

The shout pierced the air and probably woke a few neighbors; if it hadn't the sounds of their dogs barking in response certainly did. There was a thump from a few rooms down and a few muffled words, then the sounds of footsteps banging down the hall. A woman in a dressing gown and hastily-donned robe opened the door, panicked, to see what her son was screaming about.

"Honey, what is it?"

A tiny hand peeked out from under Robert's comforter and pointed shakily at the dresser, eyes wide and unblinking with terror. The woman looked over at the unmoving piece of furniture; there was nothing apparently threatening about it, but if she squinted she could see how the shadows of tree branches could vaguely approximate a face. She smiled gently and began walking towards the bed.

"Now, sweetheart, your father's told you, there's no such thing as–"

Without warning, a green tendril tipped with wickedly hooked fangs shot out from under the bed and slashed cruelly across the mother's stomach; gown and robe tore like paper, as did skin and muscle. The woman and her son's screams rose as one as her entrails were flung carelessly aside, blood spattering randomly across the walls of the boy's room. She collapsed, perhaps from pain and shock, or perhaps because three more such tendrils emerged from under the bed and began flaying her legs.

Teeth and pseudopodia tore the hapless woman apart in moments, adding dismemberment and decapitation to her disembowelment. Her screams died in moments, while her son's shrieks and weeping grew ever louder; soon, a man burst into the room, golf club in hand and glasses askew, obviously drawn by the commotion. Robert's bed launched upwards ash he entered, propelled by the rising column of slime. Dozens of glaring eyes stared back at the man; surprisingly, he stood his ground and gave the club a good swing, scything through the monster's gelatinous body and knocking an eyeball or two against the wall.

Sadly, it was both the first and last hit he'd manage; the ooze swept his feet out from under him in retaliation and descended on his prone form. He didn't even manage a yell as the monster enveloped him, slime filling his nose and mouth; more teeth swooped through the fetid mass of green, tearing the trapped father to ribbons. After his thrashing stopped, the monster turned its attention to the last living thing in the room: Robert.

The boy had been thrown against the ceiling then crashed down against the dresser, snapping a leg with the momentum and then being pinned beneath the flipped bed. At this point, he was too shocked even to snivel, and simply gawped, face spattered with his mother's blood, at the approaching horror. The bed was unceremoniously tossed aside again and a single pseudopod wrapped around Robert's leg; he was whipped upwards and slammed down again, head dashed on the corner of the dresser. Despite there having been no conceivable way the poor boy could have survived having his neck broken and skull shattered like that, the little body was slammed into the wall several more times before being tossed across the room.

The monster wasted no more time on the room now that it was devoid of other life, oozing quickly out into the hall in search of other victims.

---

The neighborhood, which had already begun to slowly stir in the rays of dawn, had been rather rudely roused by all the screams; while they had been brief, they had been loud, and might actually have been less foreboding if they had gone on longer. A number of people were already moving towards the house, and it would be hard to believe not even one person had already called the police.

As Ekelhaft caught sight of the approaching humans through a window, it began to reconsider its objective to destroy the cyborg and only the cyborg. Surely there was time for a little fun along the way.

---

Whatever had gathered up the constituent parts of Ekelhaft and smashed them back together for this round had seen fit to leave Self out of it, for which the little ball of fury was the closest approximation of grateful it could manage. It had barely managed to survive the explosions and fire, having so little mass to lose, and was only still alive because it had managed to burrow its way into the lee of some soil raised by the lich's maze spell.

In the new round, it had been dropped unceremoniously on the top of what appeared to be a steeple. For some time, the little droplet of slime simply cast its monocular gaze around from this high vantage point, content to wait until a target presented itself. This target wasn't long in coming, as a dark shape it recognized as the lich exited the very building it was perched on top of, looked around for a moment, and headed towards the fenced-off area that appeared to be a cemetery.

Self began oozing stealthily down the spire and across the roof; from its last encounter with the damned mage, it knew a head-on attack with no preparation would be fruitless and suicidal, so it resolved to track him for the time being. It would gather information and find a weak point or good time to surprise, and hopefully sap his power and sanity along the way.

Originally posted on MSPA by slipsicle.

---

As the town slowly rose to greet the soft dawn light, the not-so quiet violence of the early morning drew curious townsfolk towards two houses in particular. One, from the outside, did not seem too out of the ordinary, despite the unanswered knocks of concerned neighbors. On the other side of town, the other house was a tad more conspicuous. If the crumpled body laying near the driveway wasn't enough to arouse suspicion, the missing kitchen wall certainly was. As the more prudent citizens rushed to call for local emergency services, others warily looked through the large hole in the wall, trying to discern what was happening inside.

The house's interior was a mess. Every wall had been torn down, the floors ripped apart, copper wiring and plumbing strewn through every room in an increasingly complex web. Hoss moved through the house methodically, scrounging for the raw materials he needed to continue the construction. As he worked, he realized he was grateful for the absence of his newmatter fabricators. Where before he may have simply spat out a horde of Von-Neumann nanomachines to do the labor for him, now he was present and involved in every step. He had always found this kind of detail-oriented work oddly therapeutic, and as his artificial muscles went on autopilot, his mind, never content to waste time, turned towards other matters.

His brief foray into the world of magic during the previous round had taught him much. He recalled his meditative period, when he had first applied his Will to the world around him. At first, he could summon nothing more than a slight breeze, but his efforts towards understanding the application of will to reality had shown him much. During his time of contemplation, he had felt... something. A current running through the fabric of his being. It was very faint, and the more he had tried to control it, the more it had slipped away. Confused, he had given up that avenue of research and had instead turned his attention to the calm grass and air around him. Again, he encountered a current; he could not tell if it was the same type as what he sensed within him, nor could he tell if it had a "type" at all, but it was there.

It was when he surrendered himself to the current within that he found he could control both. It was slight, at first; the breeze was an accidental side-effect of a kind of magical pressure, created by that surrender.

Later, when he had so recklessly poured that current, his will, into the electromagnetic singularity, the current inside had left him. He felt an odd pressure, as though his body were still meat and fluid, and his lungs held naught but vacuum. The world pressed upon him, and his still-human brain instinctively tried to fill that vacuum. Futilely, it sent involuntary signals to his cybernetic body, forcing him to gulp down mouthfuls of air which were of no use to him and went nowhere. His body convulsed as his brain told it to fill lungs which no longer existed.

Eventually he had reached a kind of internal equilibrium. He still felt... odd, but he at least had control over himself once more. Now, calmed by the meditative labor, he was able to reflect more coherently on those events. He'd undergone similar soul-searching in his youth, of course, and had never encountered that ethereal flow. So why now?

He turned to the data his sensors had gathered during the round transition. They were disappointingly sparse. He was, however, able to wrest from them some useful information: the current, the ethereal flow, had fluctuated wildly during the transition, and there was a definite drop in the... intensity of the external current; the flow of the world around him. Which would make sense; this world was likely less magical than the park. But why? What made any particular universe inherently more or less magical? And how could he, a being from a universe without magic, suddenly sense this current?

The answer had to lay with the Cultivator. Her powers were sufficient to allow mutually incompatible laws of multiple universes to work together in harmony. Obviously, this meant these "laws" ceased to be "laws" and became more... guidelines, to be adopted and discarded as one wished. By allowing the rules of different universes to work in tandem, the Cultivator had made them less rigid, allowing more enterprising minds, like Hoss's, to bend these laws to their will.

There was more, he knew. But he needed more data. Especially if the Network were to become workable. Its users would need to have the ability to easily and quickly pass information through the multiverse; something which was, at the moment, quite difficult to do. He and his sister were lucky, and he suspected there may be other beings who had such pre-existing links. But there were too many who didn't.

Which brought him back to his work. If the house-sized device he was constructing served its function, he would hopefully gather enough additional data to easily convert it into a multiversal communication node.

And if he could build one, then he could pass on the instructions to his sister, who would in turn pass it on to the rest of the Network.

He grinned internally. Now that would certainly disturb these self-styled "Grandmasters". To have their contestants suddenly building communication nodes, devices which broke the confines of their individual battles... he was certain it would not go over well. He would have to be prepared to take advantage of the initial disturbance, and ensure the fledgling Network was not crushed before it could begin.

A sound brought his attention back to the house; something was moving downstairs. Hoss stood up from the web of fractal-like wiring he'd been assembling and moved towards the stairs. A small band of men armed with baseball bats, tire-irons, and a few firearms were cautiously working their way through the ground floor, perhaps searching for the one who'd killed their neighbors. A tinge of annoyance passed through Hoss as they clumsily shoved their way through his carefully-assembled wiring.

This would not do. They were interfering with his work.

He was glad enough of his peripheral systems were functioning to allow him to move silently; they did not know he was above them. His aural and infrared sensors tracked their movement through a hallway directly underneath him. He waited until they had passed him, then fired his lower kinetic emitters. The floor beneath him was blasted apart, and he dropped straight down. His legs remained straight as he landed, as he did not need to absorb the force of the landing, and as such had no recovery period. Before the closest man could whirl to face him, Hoss's only remaining arm was outstretched. The men were motionless. Not because they were startled, but because a thin silver line was connecting them all at about forehead-level. The line contracted back into Hoss's hand, and again, there was a sound of bodies slumping to the floor. Hoss looked at the corpses, considering. He probably had enough nervous tissue from the bodies laying about the house to actually be useful. He bent down to begin harvesting, but was interrupted by the sound of sirens.

Hoss's mind raced ahead; emergency vehicles inevitably meant law enforcement, which inevitably meant more people entering the house. He couldn't keep killing them; it would delay his work. They couldn't kill him, but of course this was a fact of which they were unaware. Inevitably, the situation would turn into a siege, where the locals realized sending people inside would only get them killed, but, guided by a misplaced sense of righteousness, they would set themselves up outside to prevent him from leaving.

No matter. He didn't intend to leave anyway. And perhaps the bodies they would lose in their initial forays would give him more raw material for the device. Plus, the barriers they would erect around the house would be full of precious metals, should he ever require more.

Hoss knelt again, and began to flay the skin off of the corpses before him.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

May do some posting here soon. However, I wouldn't object if somebody else posted first, particularly if they haven't posted yet this round.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

"Hey! What have I told you damn kids about trespassin'?"

Old Man Mackenzie grumbled to himself as he approached the costumed figure headed for the cemetery grounds. He carried his shotgun, just in case. He didn't plan to use it.

At least, not unless this troublemaker was the sort that really deserved it.

"This here's the final restin' place of the dead! I don't know what it is with you kids traipsin' around here in yer silly costumes, but I won't stand for it!" He raised the shotgun.

"Now, take off that mask so's I can see who ya are."

Konka Rar simply stared at the aging groundskeeper.

"I don't got time to mess around," Mackenzie growled. "Take it off or I'll fire."

"My apologies. I was considering all the ways I could kill you, and debating whether your aging body would be worth preserving."

The lich raised his staff.

"I've concluded that I would have little use for such a frail minion. So I will opt to give an entertaining demise instead."

"You tryin' to scare me, boy?"

"Dissolving Shadow."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean? Some kinda code phrase? You got buddies hidin' in the bushes?

The groundskeeper kept his eye closely focused on the troublemaker. He didn't even notice the four small circular shadows forming a square around him, and slowly moving in.

Konka Rar said nothing as the spell proceeded. But Mackenzie could have sworn he saw the skull's grin grow even more sinister. It was enough to drive him over the end.

"That's it! I'm firin'! I don't even care if yer wh-"

He never finished his sentence, as the circles collided, forming one larger circle around Mackenzie. He froze in place, and his body slowly grew as black as the shadows beneath his feet.

"No sense letting this go to waste," Konka Rar noted, grabbing the shotgun from his now-helpless agressor with his cybernetic hand.

Moments later, Mackenzie's body disintegrated, and the circle vanished. All that remained was a pile of dust in a circle of dead grass.

"How pathetic," Konka Rar said, as he continued towards the cemetery, making a point to step in Mackenzie's ashes. "I doubt he was in any shape to resist the spell regardless, but he didn't even notice it. Well, I rarely get such a prime opportunity to use that one."

He soon found Mackenzie's shed, and as he expected, there was a shovel. He put down the shotgun and began working.

Konka Rar walked over to the nearest grave, and began digging.

"Perhaps I should have kept his corpse intact after all," the lich muttered to himself. "At least he would have been able to dig."

Originally posted on MSPA by SleepingOrange.

---

The small crowd that had gathered outside the house had rung the bell several times and pounded loudly on the door for several seconds and still received no response; several people were discussing what to do, one had already gone back home to call the police again, and a few were considering ignoring the discussion entirely and just breaking down the door. One decided to circle around the house itself to see if they could see anything; as he passed the late Robert's room's window, he was the first one to become aware of what happened. He wasn't burdened with the knowledge for long, though, as Ekelhaft burst through the window as he approached.

The poor victim shouted noisily and scrambled back, hoping to run back to the safety of the group; he wouldn't make it, of course, as dozens of razor-sharp teeth sliced neatly through his retreating hamstrings then descended on his prone body, but he did neatly lead the oozing scourge back towards the rest of the group. It was immaterial anyway, as his dying screams brought them to Ekelhaft anyway.

---

Getting down off the steeple had been a time-consuming challenge; crossing the roof and descending the wall had been a time consuming challenge; tailing the lich across the grounds had been a time consuming challenge. Self's already small size had been further reduced in the fiery cataclysm that had ended the previous round, to the point where even grass had become a bothersome obstacle to both vision and movement. It did its best to absorb as much of the plant matter as it could as it passed, but the biggest impediment to growth was the abysmal starting point it had to work with.

Konka Rar had already begun digging in the graveyard before Self managed to draw level with him; it was a pity, since the energy from his spell would have proven a nice boon for the little slime, but the powdered human was still an adequate meal. Plus, this way he was so occupied with manual labor that the chances of him noticing Self before it wanted him to were minimal. The blob began idly etching its way into a tombstone, settling in to wait and gain power while it let its influence slowly take hold in the old necromancer's mind.

---

Chaos was rapidly taking hold elsewhere in the figuratively and literally sleepy little town; Ekelhaft had summarily slaughtered nearly the entire band that had gathered around the house it had been summoned in, and the survivors were running pell-mell and screaming. Alternately brutally efficient and playfully sadistic, the ooze was a force to be reckoned with, and the poor civilians had no real way of dealing with it. Even Crazy Old McRabish and his infamous .44 special, the most resistance the town could really offer, was completely ineffective, and the coot in question was quickly mutilated for his trouble.

Most of the survivors had fled as far as they could, so Ekelhaft was occupied picking off stragglers and toying with the still-living when the police arrived. The pair had been expecting some kind of domestic disturbance, not a horrific monster straight out of the movies; they barely had time to radio back to HQ to report the nature of the threat before they were summarily killed. Well, before one officer was summarily killed; the other was kept around a little longer. Just for fun. The dispatcher at the other end of the transmission would have been unable to believe her ears and assumed it was some kind of stupid pranks if it weren't for the very convincing screams Officer O'Donnel had managed to get out before his lungs were removed.

---

The little fragment of slime and sentience that called itself Self had consumed a not-insignificant amount of tombstone by now, and was having to take care not to bore all the way through the soft stone in the interest of staying unnoticed. A skeleton with a shovel wasn't exactly a thrilling show, and the rock not exactly the best material to consume for the purposes of growth, but there wasn't much else to do or see for now. It wished there was at least some way to see the effects it was having on the lich; as it was, the only thing it could see was Konka Rar knee-deep in a hole.

---

Konka Rar was of a similar midset, although about entirely different subjects. He was becoming increasingly frustrated about his decision to indulge himself and disintegrate the groundskeeper, and the hard-packed soil wasn't helping. Nor was this culture's ridiculous insistence on burying their dead fully six feet underground. What was the point? It's not as though the digging was tiring, but it was dreadfully dull. In an attempt to at least do something with his mind as he dug, he began calculating the approximate increased efficiency that would have resulted from zombifying the old man instead of destroying him.

After only a few moments of menial mathematics, the lich caught something out of the corner of his vision. It appeared to be a female figure all in black; he whipped his head around to get a good look at her, but could find no indication that anyone was there or had been there. Not one to dismiss something as his imagination, Konka Rar began scanning the surrounding area with his cybernetic eye and a few low-level divinations; the data he got back indicated neither the presence of anything living nor the aftermath of any kind of teleportation. There was a small anomaly near some graves a few yards away, but it was within acceptable deviations. It was probably about time to calibrate his eye anyway. Still, the sight of the woman had been odd.

Very odd.

---

Life for Nancy Lionel was fairly dull: she was the third-shift dispatcher at Jedesburg's dinky little police station; not only did this mean she was up from Ungodly O'clock at night to Ungodly O'clock in the morning, when nobody worth mentioning was awake and about, it also meant that her job was boring and uneventful in the extreme. There was no crime in Jedesburg, just teenagers. Nothing ever happened on her shift, which meant she spent all her time playing solitaire with her lucky deck and reading the cheesy romance novels she'd never admit to owning.

When two calls came in at about the same time, it was a once-a-year occurrence; the reports were pretty vague, so she just sent a patrolcar to each, expecting one to be some kind of accident and the other some kind of argument. She also expected that to be the high point of her nearly-over shift, and was thus VERY surprised when someone radioed back. It was O'Donnel and Michaels, the pair she'd sent to the domestic whatever; it was hard to tell exactly what they were telling her, since most of what they were doing could really be described as "gibberish" or "screaming", but she got the gist from words like "monsters" and "killing" and "corpses". She was initially skeptical, but... She was pretty sure she just heard the pair die. It was honestly more 'excitement' than she'd ever wanted, and she pushed down the urge to feel guilty for wishing things weren't so monotonous as she sent out a call and warning to the other on-duty officers, explaining what little she knew and urging caution.

---


Ekelhaft was neither stupid, nor deaf; it had heard the policemen send their warning and call for help back to their base or station or whatever they had. And it was glad they had, too. Why bother looking for targets when they all tell each other right where you are and come looking for you themselves? It once again thanked the Cultivator with a wordless paean to her barbaric glory, with just a little hint of gratitude towards whatever droning voice had seen fit to aid her. Aeons of silent, solitary degeneration, suddenly replaced by glorious combat and delicious death.

The ancient killer descended on a passing stray, bloodthirst sated for the moment as it waited for the prey to come to it. Things had never been so easy! It was glorious.

---

Several minutes had passed since Konka Rar had seen the woman, but it hadn't left his mind; he kept his senses sharp and his sensors on high alert. Given his vigilance, it came as a great shock when he heard snippets of words floating across the air.

"... be doing... can't see why... right."

Once again the lich spun around to survey his surroundings, but the scenery gave no hint of any presence but his own. And the words had sounded like they had been coming from RIGHT next to his head.

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

---

Beth, part time receptionist at the local radio station situated on the outskirts of Jedesburg, was stressed out. She was manning the phones, which for a start wasn’t really her job but there was never really anyone else around at this time of the morning, well apart from Dave Franks, but he’s the ‘talent’ so god forbid he do anything, plus since when did people call in at half six in the morning? She hadn’t even had time to drink her coffee. And as if that wasn’t bad enough all she was getting was prank calls; reports of blob monsters from space eating people, yeah right, the dead rising from their graves and then doing manual labour, what?, or of giant balls of meat doing something or other, she just put the phone down on that guy. Oh and hey if it still isn’t the worst morning ever Dave, that sleazy old pervert, had started bossing her around like she was his secretary. He needed some records from the storeroom and ‘would she be kind enough to fetch it for him hot stuff?’ As much as she didn’t like to be bossed around, he was the ‘talent’, and if she got him his records then he’d leave her alone and hopefully she could get through the day without killing herself, ugh. Beth opened the door to the storeroom, to find amongst the boxes of old records and miscellaneous junk a corpse in a tattered suit, lying with a sword through his side. Beth stumbled out of the storeroom backwards, almost toppling over, her hands pressed over her mouth in silent shock, then she screamed, and collapsed onto the floor.

Dave had heard the scream and come running, pausing only to start a record; no matter what the matter was with that Beth, Dave wasn’t going to get fired over it, that was for sure. Before he even saw the corpse he was hit by the smell, it was awful, but not exactly the smell one would associate with a corpse. It was more like the smell of a wild animal, and not a very pleasant one at that. Upon seeing the body he rushed to the nearest phone and called the police. Before he’d even finished relating the incident the woman on the other end of the phone bluntly asked if anyone was being murdered at the moment, and when he said that no there was not she hung up on him. Dave was attempting to make sense of the situation when Beth called out for him. When he dashed back to the storeroom he found the dame bent double over the corpse feeling at it’s neck.
“He ain’t dead.” Beth said.
“You sure?” Dave asked doubtfully. “He looks pretty dead to me.”
“He’s still breathing.” Beth insisted.
“Go call an ambulance then.” Dave said. “Police aren’t interested.”
“Not interested?” Beth asked, as she got to her feet.
“Yeah…” Dave said. “I have no idea. Just get a move on and get an ambulance.” Beth did so as Dave took a closer look at the body. Well wouldn’t you know the chick had been right, this guy was breathing. He was in pretty bad shape though. He wouldn’t last long with that sword inside him. Dave grasped the handle of the blade and pulled it free, causing blood to come flowing out of the wound. “Ahh… umm…” He mumbled awkwardly to himself. “Shit.” He flipped the guy over, onto his back in case that helped and dragged him out of the cramped storeroom.
“What are you doing?” Beth asked. “That can’t be good for him.”
“What are you talking about?” Dave responded in a tone that he hoped made him sound authoritative. “He’s got more room out here.”
“He isn’t doing aerobics you dolt!” Beth snapped. “He needs medical attention from someone who knows what they are doing?”
“Oh yeah, like you?” Dave responded snidely. “I have a radio show I have to do, so you’ll have to wait with him for the ambulance. Just don’t touch anything and you should be fine.” Dave dashed off back to the studio.
“Jerk.” Beth muttered under her breath and ran over to watch for an ambulance out of the windows. She failed to see the body open it’s eyes, dip a hesitant finger in it’s own blood and uncertainly mark it’s chest with an arcane symbol, which is a shame because that was something she would probably have liked to have seen. She watched the street and grumbled about how bad a day she was having as the wound knitted itself back together and as the body climbed to its feet.

Ziirphael was not in a good mood, he strode back into the storage cupboard where the idiot had attempted the worst first aid he had ever seen and grabbed the sword from where it had been discarded.
“You’re awake!” The receptionist exclaimed, as he walked back into the office. “Are you okay? How are you walking around?” She walked up to him and proceeded to make demands that she take a look at his wounds. She was bothersome and so Ziir stabbed her, dispassionately thrusting the sword into her chest. She collapsed to the floor, grasping with one hand at her wound and with the other at Ziir’s foot as he stepped over her. She couldn’t scream, it felt like all the air had left her lungs, not that Ziir would have cared if she had screamed. He had had enough of this game, of this competition. His goal of destroying The Cultivator seemed only to get more and more out of reach as time went on. He kept getting distracted by trivial things like alliances or Ekelhaft or the absurd treachery of Diego Red. He would not stand for it any longer. He strode through the empty radio station to the studio where a red light indicated that the idiot was on air. He pushed the big heavy doors open and stepped inside.
“I’m sorry listeners, something’s just come up. I’m going to have to take another moment off air.” Dave said. “While I’m gone why don’t you listen to…” Ziirphael interrupted the DJ with an unexpected stab through the throat, and as he fell to the floor clutching at it Ziir stepped over him to where the microphone hung.

“Cultivator…?” Ziirphael’s voice, one of awful satisfaction, echoed tinnily out of radios across the town. “I know you are listening Cultivator… How could you not be? It would be difficult to be more noticeable in this particular scenario… Are you having a nice day Cultivator…? Have you been having a fun time watching us kill one another for you? Well you best enjoy it while you can Cultivator… I’m going to kill you next… I know how I’m going to do it as well…” He stifled a laugh. “You really don’t stand a chance… The things I am going to do to you Cultivator… You’ll wish you were dead, you’ll hope and pray for death to come and take you into the sweet blackness that lies beyond this life but it never will. It’ll just be me and you forever Cultivator… won’t that be nice?” He paused. “People of this town, my name is Ziirphael and I regret to tell you that your town has been hijacked by a being of incredible power. She has turned your homes into a playground for us awful beings of death and destruction. She wants us to rampage through your town killing you and eventually one another. She is a monster, a depraved coward hiding behind her magic, not daring to show her face. I can all but guarantee that your town will have been sealed somehow to prevent exit by us, and probably by you as well. I offer you three options; the first of which is simple enough: ignore this warning at your own peril, most likely you will end up the victim of one of my competitors. The second is get the hell out of town, the barrier might prevent you but if enough try to leave at once perhaps it can be overwhelmed and you might be able to escape with your lives. The third is to hide, find somewhere secure and stay there, barricade the doors and windows and keep your loved ones close and perhaps you might just survive to see another day. Konka Rar, if you can hear this get in touch with me, I need to talk to you.” He paused again and grinned widely. “Tick tock Cultivator… That’s the sound of your life ticking away…”

Originally posted on MSPA by Not The Author.

---

“They came in through here…”

A man in a fedora skirted the newly-renovated storefront, taking care not to step on any rubble.

“Looks like they drove their car through the wall, or they probably woulda just picked the lock.”

The store bell jingled as he made his way through the miraculously unharmed door.

“And they weren’t just vandals or they’da broken all the windows.”

His gaze passed over the empty shelves, coming to rest on his elderly companion.

“They took everything?”

The old man scraped away a few more flakes of dander.

“‘S very odd… The cash is all accounted for, but my wares…”

“Hrm.”

The hatted man’s pencil flitted across his notepad as he drifted back to the gaping hole in the wall.

“And then there’s the, um…”

“…Yeah. The… That.”

They both stared at the curious trail leading from the scene; were both interrupted by an approaching siren.

“Well, that was fast.”

“Fast? They should’ve been here five minutes ago. Town’s not that big.”

“Hey, I know how this world works, okay? And it don’t work all that great for people who're different. People like me.”

The siren’s aging electronics sputtered and died as the car ground to a halt short of the curb. A click and a clack and a crunch and the driver’s side door reluctantly popped open.

“Looks like your luck isn’t getting any better…”

A rotund figure jostled free of the cockpit, beady eyes locked on the man and his notepad.

“How inna hell‘djew get here ‘fore me?”

“Detective Simmons! Fancy meeting y-”

“Get th’ hell outta my crime scene! This’s’n official police investigation, an’ I won’ have your sland’rous filth muckin’ things up!”

“Well, technically it’s libel, but-“

“Get. Out.”

The newsman shot the shopkeeper a sympathetic look as he sprinted to his car.

“An’ don’t come back, or I’ll make y’ regret it!”

The detective’s glare followed the reporter’s much nicer automobile as it sped off down the street.

“Ugh. Damn press. Always sticking ’eir nose in ev’rybody’s business…”

Then he saw the street itself.

“…The hell?”

***

He’d been that kid who’d asked all the wrong questions. Like why two and two was four, or why blue was blue, and not some other color, how did you know it wasn’t? He got into trouble a lot, because people didn’t know how to deal with him.

He’d grown up and not lost that inquisitive drive. He wanted to know why – why people did the things they did, why the world was the way it was, why things never seemed to match in explanation and execution, why why why why why. When he got a job as an investigative reporter, nobody was surprised. Jimmy Chase had always been a newsman.

He had a nose for the news, an eye for the details. He still got in trouble for it, but this time with the mob, monopoly owners, politicians; the type who’d ruin your life given half the chance and never once look back. That’s why he was in this backwater town – taking a well-earned vacation from all the people who wanted his head on a pike.

He didn’t like Jedesburg, in large part because Jedesburg didn’t like him. He was an outsider, fast-talker, city-slicker. If there had been anything to do in this town he was sure people would find a reason to keep him from doing it. He was restless but kept being told no, he couldn’t come back yet, the situation hadn’t cooled off enough, now stop calling us before someone catches on.

He hadn’t expected anything newsworthy from Jedesburg. That he’d happened upon New Leaf Produce at six in the morning while driving around to relieve boredom had been sheer coincidence. The scene was just too bizarre to be natural. The hole in the storefront had something like dried blood all along its rim; only the food had been taken, everything of value had been left untouched… Oh, and the giant, bloody groove leading from the scene that to all appearance had been melted into the asphalt.

Something smelled fishy.

Or… come to think of it, more like... beef.

Why did it smell like beef?

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

---

Ziirphael’s message was presumably met with scepticism, after all to the average listener it sounded like a preposterous hoax. Maybe one or two listeners who had noticed that something was off in their quiet town as of late might have took it seriously, but they were most definitely the exception. Ziirphael had nothing more to say and he clicked off the radio transmitter and left the studio. He was aware of the implications of his message; that he was looking for some kind of a reaction from the people of this sleepy town, whether that reaction was to try to escape and prevail, to unite against this threat to their homes, or to just riot. In truth he did not care. He had only bothered to inform the denizens of this place that their doom was at hand in case it pissed The Cultivator off; this was all the motivation he needed. He walked back to the office in which he had killed the girl; an open area with a window looking out onto the street below, a whole mess of untidy desks, a shattered mirror and a set of speakers built into the wall that were now broadcasting nothing but silence since the station had been took off air. The room was definitely empty, save for the girl’s corpse, and yet something was off. Something had changed that Ziir could not quite place his finger on, something familiar. Suddenly as if designed to break his concentration he could hear the approaching wailing of a siren. Putting aside any momentary misgivings about the room he went to work daubing himself with a series of runes, designed to give him a strong yet lightweight carapace of bone and sinew, and to alter his hands into talons sculpted of nail and bone. As his body reshaped itself, and the sirens drew closer, Ziirphael grabbed hold of the nearest wall, his hands digging into the plaster with pain. This was absurd; alterations to his physical form should not be this painful. It made sense at the beginning of the battle when he was so out of practice, but now… perhaps it was this body. He had never been in one body for so long, it would make sense that they were not built to survive the stresses of continual reconstruction. If that was true, if this body was sooner or later going to snap like a twig and be beyond repair, then he had to hold off on the alterations as much as he could before he confronted the Cultivator. Ziirphael’s mind was gone for a moment, so consumed with the pain that he felt that he did not hear the door open and a pair of paramedics come rushing into the building. When he resurfaced, the patch of wall he had been holding reduced to nothing but dust, he turned to face the paramedics who were stood in the doorway to the office, their jaws agape. They began to slowly back away, back towards the entrance when Ziirphael leapt. He barrelled towards them, casually grabbing and discarding the closest of the paramedics as though he were nothing more than a doll. The second paramedic broke into a sprint and bought himself a little time discarding a bag of medical equipment at Ziirphael’s face, and he almost made it outside before Ziirphael reached him, his sharp claws ripping bloody chunks out of the man’s back. It was almost like old times, if he hadn’t had that nagging knowledge that there was a problem that needed dealing with promptly. He left the bodies as they were and was about to see if there was a back way out of the building when something clicked.

Ziirphael had lived for a very long time. In the beginning a single murder had been enough, it was so much fun to watch the life drain from a person, watch them go empty and still as they slowly slipped away. Some of his best memories were of only a single kill. But as any addict will tell you eventually one is not enough. At some point Ziirphael realised he had to kill entire communities, sink entire ships or kill entire armies before it became fun again. And at some point even this was not enough. The dealing of death lost its appeal, and he found he was just going through the motions, without deriving any satisfaction from his actions. So he stopped. He took a new body and he endeavoured to find another source of enjoyment in the world. He got a job working in some office or other, in a way he enjoyed this for a while, the novelty of it; the idea of a god of death photocopying files and hanging out with people who were just ordinary people. His coworkers, ordinary boring humans, found their jobs dull, which is to say nothing of how enormously soul-crushingly tedious Ziirphael found it when the novelty wore off. Was this how most humans chose to waste their lives, stuck behind desks filing reports about nothing that would never be read by anyone; mindless busywork for the drones. He drifted for a while, tried some of the things humans use to make their lives bearable; drink, drugs, sex. Each one just demonstrated to him how utterly pointless existence was. He had lived for millennia and what had he achieved? Nothing except keep himself amused for a while, and worse while humans would eventually die and be removed from their misery he was stuck with it forever. If he had had a life to lose back then he would have taken it, but the option was not given to him. In a house that his body had once called home Ziirphael waited, perhaps he was waiting for something interesting to happen or perhaps he was just waiting for the heat death of the universe when he would hopefully be destroyed along with it. The house had fallen into disarray, dust covered every surface and Ziir made no effort to sustain this body. It was almost as still as the grave, until one day a tinkling of glass from the living room. Ziirphael hauled himself upright and halfheartedly went to investigate. The mirror had been broken, but there was no sign of the person who had broken it, no sign in fact that anyone had even been in the room for months, except… a note pinned to the centre of the mirror’s broken frame. Ziirphael took it, his interest piqued for the first time in a long time. The paper was a yellowing sheet of notepaper and the message upon it had been typed via an old typewriter. It read: ‘You do not know me. Consider me a benefactor. In time I can provide you what you want, whether that is a source of amusement or a cessation of your existence. If you want in just say yes.’ This note was too good to be true, the promise of either of the things he wanted the most, things which no longer existed for him. How could such an offer even be possible? Who had left it here? How had they left it here? How had they known what he wanted? This note was clearly too good to be true, but what was to be lost in accepting it? Ziirphael had nothing that he could lose. “Yes.” He said aloud to the empty room. “I want in.”

Ziirphael rushed back into the office and over to the shattered mirror. It had not been shattered before his announcement, of that he was now sure. As he approached it he noticed a yellowing piece of notepaper pinned to the frame. In the same thick typeface from the same typewriter the note read: ‘Do not attempt to kill The Cultivator. The lich’s magic will not be sufficient. You will fail and I refuse to lose another of my investments.’ Ziirphael had all but forgotten the note he had received on that dull and dreary day, it had been four years since and the promises therein had been seemingly unfulfilled. The only reasons that it was at all memorable were the mysterious nature of the note, and the spectacular sense of disappointment that followed it. Now another note shows up offering tactical advice in a battle four years hence. Was this what his ‘benefactor’ had meant? Was this battle what he had agreed to all that time ago. Was this The Cultivator playing some kind of unfathomable mind game with him? It would explain why the latest note advised against killing her. But no, this was not her; leaving cryptic notes and shattered mirrors was all a bit mysterious and standoffish, not exactly The Cultivator’s style. Ziirphael was getting angry again. He was being manipulated, he was sure of it, and if there was one thing he hated it was being manipulated. It was the sole reason he had not peacefully gone to his death now that he had the opportunity. Though he would never forgive The Cultivator, the contempt he felt for his manipulator, his benefactor, was monumental. He responded to the message in the way he knew best, by disobeying it and seeking Konka Rar.

It did not occur to him that this might have been what his benefactor wanted all along.

Originally posted on MSPA by Dragon Fogel.

---

"Finally."

Konka Rar lifted the lid of the newly-unearthed coffin. The corpse was, fortunately, still intact. At least he wouldn't need to put up with this again. He was still somewhat unnerved by the images and voices he had seen for the last few minutes, but he could put that aside until this matter was dealt with.

"Serve me!" he shouted.

Were Konka Rar capable of tracking the flow of magical energy as he was casting a spell, he would have noticed a small trail of mana being redirected towards the nearby tombstone. Self was still too small to seriously disrupt the spell, but the magical energy proved to be far more filling than its other meals in the recent past.

Rar didn't notice anything unusual as the newly-created zombie stood up.

"Follow me," Rar said, climbing out of the hole. The zombie slowly climbed out, and walked right into Rar's back as he stopped.

"Stop following me, and don't take me so literally next time," Rar muttered. The zombie stood still. Konka Rar handed the shovel to it and pointed to another grave. "Dig that corpse up. Start digging up the rest if I'm not back by the time you finish."

The necromancer walked off; staying here watching a zombie dig up a grave was no more interesting than digging it himself, after all.

As he did, the minion shambled over to the grave its master had indicated. However, due to Self's interference with the reanimation spell, the zombie wasn't as good at processing Konka Rar's verbal instructions.

As far as the formerly late Albert D. Smith, Esq. was concerned, his orders now were simply "Dig".

Originally posted on MSPA by Ixcalibur.

---

Ziirphael was conflicted, on the one hand he was furious at his unseen ‘benefactor’ who had seemingly arranged for his entry into this battle, but on the other he had a plan to get rid of The Cultivator and he was pretty sure that it would be useful in locating and dispatching his benefactor as well. The one emotion balanced out the other. Ziir exited the radio studio via a back door into a narrow alleyway, which could barely contain his hulking carapaced frame. He grabbed onto the brickwork of the radio station wall with one claw and scrambled up the side of the building. Standing atop the roof, he looked down at the town as it woke up. There was more traffic on the streets now, specifically in the street below an ambulance driver wandered from his vehicle into the radio station to see what was taking so long.

From this vantage Ziirphael could see children in uniform walking to school chatting amongst themselves, people driving to work ignorant of the danger that loomed. He could not see the logic in choosing this place as a battlefield. In previous rounds everything that moved was a potential threat, whether from an opponent or something else entirely, this place was littered with people and things that were completely irrelevant to the task at hand. And for that matter when compared to previous rounds this environment was pretty dull. A fairly standard, if old fashioned backwater town somewhere? Even he could have done better, but this train of thought was not helping him locate Konka Rar. There had to be some way to use this environment to his advantage, earlier he had contemplated soliciting the Lich’s location over the radio and waiting for a response. This was a foolish move, he did not have the trust of this town, they were unlikely to volunteer such information, and that was assuming that they encountered the Lich and lived to tell anyone about it. Ziir had since contemplated paying a visit to the local police station and hoping that someone would call in with his location, but again this was too passive and unreliable. He had spent far too long playing The Cultivator’s game; he did not intend to waste any more time. Suddenly it became clear that he had been overcomplicating matters; it was obvious where the Lich would go, he would use this rare opportunity to raise some minions from the local cemetery. Ziirphael scanned the horizon and noticed a church spire in the distance. Ziirphael bounded across the rooftops of the city, leaping from one to the next, surprisingly agile for such a huge shape. A look of grim satisfaction spread across his face, so near to his freedom and his revenge that he could taste it in the air.