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(Pre-Show) The Lobby

Okor slapped his fellow legionnaire on the back, the decaying flesh of his palm slamming into blue and gold ceramite. "Now, now... Brother. To visit such destruction upon these mortals would be... unbecoming." Okor took a moment to breathe in the aroma of the Abyss, filtering the air through diseased respirators. "Across reality and the warp, the same scenes play out again, and again. The settings... change, the men change their faces, but it all persists. The arenas of Kurze, the blood trials of aspirant Astartes, the savage pits of feral worlders. A people hunger for blood, and this gives it to them. Look.... past the veneer of civilization. The people are here to jeer, to taunt, to cheer, and to scream for more. They wish to make you their champion." He looked from side to side, ensuring that there were no other parties privy to their conversation. "Besides. I.... doubt our time here ends with our victory. That Daemon we met. He... did not know us. The Astartes were a mystery to him. Now, with... four legions swearing their souls to the glory of chaos, five... daemonic primarchs, and countless souls offered up to the ruinous powers, do you believe even the lowliest warpspawn could not recognize a Legionnaire on sight?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "No. I believe this... Omni is something more. The people neither offer us supplications, or... flee. They are unfamiliar. Even the most devolved world will have some legend of... The Long War. We are strangers in a... strange land, one yet... deprived of the Gods. One awaiting their heralds. One that has its eyes cast upon this competition." He threw his arms up, cackling as he envisioned what was to come. "We will be victorious. We will cast the champions of this realm into... darkness, and bring despair to its people. And when all seems lost, when... They have nothing left, we will bring them hope. They will embrace what we bring them, and bow before the Gods. This land shall rot, and be... brought forth anew, rising from decay, reborn into greatness." He leaned forward over the railing, grinning savagely beneath his helm. "And we shall rule over it."
The End Times

Karl let out a sigh as he surveyed the crime scene. All across the room, the once white surfaces were stained red with blood, and although the crews had already given it the once-over, there was still a few more hours left of cleaning to do before the place could host any more meetings. The only silver lining in the whole situation was that Karl didn’t miss the dead executives one bit, and the fact that most of them had died horrible deaths did a little to alleviate the grief the producer felt over having to gut one of his favorite rooms.

And to think… just a half hour ago Karl had been exchanging pleasantries with that lovely piece of man in the spandex.

Before he could get utterly lost in his emotions, the intercom in front of his seat buzzed at him, prompting him to lean forward to click on the talk button. “Who is it?” Karl sighed as he scooped up his nearby clipboard and glanced over the list of tasks he had left to do before the contestants got funneled into the barracks.

“Uh… we have a situation down here, Mr. Jak…” It was another one of his assistants—a dime-a-dozen blonde intern with large breasts and small self-esteem.

“Did you not have the crew take care of Mr. Voorhees properly?” Karl groaned as he leaned back in the chair.

“That’s not it, Sir! The stuff the Empire sent us worked like a charm, and Mr. Voorhees is sealed away in his barrack’s room.”

Ahhh, splendid. Karl thought as he leaned forward and scratched off one of the items on the list. Glad to know that carbonite crap they sent us actually worked. Karl had half-expected the stuff to be defective, but the fact that it worked gave him a little faith in the imperial bureaucracy running Coruscant. “Then what is it?” The producer asked as he started to wonder could be more exciting than a serial killer slaughtering a bunch of bureaucrats.

“We’ve got one of those terrorists from the Vasty Deep shooting up the Lobby… He has machineguns.”

Karl chuckled. “That’s exciting. Is he someone we hired?”

“Umm, I don’t think so... He’s kind of killing people and fighting with the other contestants. There are a lot of guns down here.”

…Well fuck my ass and call me a bitch. With a smirk, Karl stood up out of the chair. “Okay, I’ll be down there in a little bit.” Despite the severity of the situation, the man couldn’t help but grin a little wider as he made his way out of the blood-stained boardroom.


People were screaming all around.

At the center of the chaos was a four foot, anthropomorphic turtle with a pair of assault rifles. All around Wartortle, the bystanders who hadn’t been mowed down in the initial onslaught were in a panic to try and escape. As the secondaries fled, they left behind a small group of individuals who hadn’t moved from their positions amongst the throng of panicked civilians.

At the far back of the Lobby, a preteen machine popped into existence and broke into a mad dash at the terrorist. From somewhere in the crowd, a dark-haired man in a red coat lifted an oversized sidearm and opened fire on the turtle. After having a pair of rounds deflecting painfully off of his carapace, the Turtle Pokémon spun and fired a pair of grenades at Vincent, who backflipped away as the explosions tore through the ground and turned the nearby corpses into a vibrant assortment of free-flying body parts.

Turning around, Wartortle grimaced as the boy machine’s fist slammed into his jaw. The impact staggered the turtle but didn’t prevent him from swinging his weapons to bear on his target and squeezing off another pair of grenades from point-blank range. Proto Man, caught unaware and with little in the means of defending himself, was thrown backwards into the wall like the heavy metal ragdoll that he was.

On the other hand, the turtle simply pulled into his shell as the concussive blast threw the two into separate directions. After a few skips, the shell came to a stop, and the terrorist popped out with his guns trained on the giant hulk of metal and rotting meat that stood in front of him.

“You’re an ugly son of a bitch,” Wartortle sneered as he opened fire on the armored corpse.

Much to Wartortle’s chagrin, the hulking human was just staggered by the attacks, rather than torn in half like most fleshbags.

Fortunately for the Turtle Pokémon, Okor was just as startled by the fact that the force from the rifle fire was impeding his forward motion. With a hollow groan, the infantryman took a lumbering step forward and swung his diseased blade down at his opponent’s neck. Rather than deal with whatever pestilence festered upon the rusted blade, the leader of the PLF laid off his triggers and leapt backwards, his eyes watching as the sword slammed into the ground and smashed through the concrete floor of the facility.

With a scowl, Wartortle pressed a button somewhere on the stock of his rifles, and with an almost pleasant clink, both of the guns now had a bayonet. Stepping forward, Okor swung low with his diseased blade, but this time the Turtle Pokémon dove over the giant chunk of steel. The reptile’s padded feet hit the ground, and he ground his teeth together as he stabbed one of the blades through the side of the man’s knee. Feeling no pain but aware of the metal jabbed through his body, Okor twisted his torso and moved to chop apart his foe’s head. Before his opponent could finish the motion, Wartortle thrust up with his other gun and jammed the bayonet blade through Okor’s sword-wielding forearm, halting the movement of the sword a few inches above the turtle’s skull.

“Resilient.” Okor muttered as his other hand swung in and closed around the Pokémon’s neck. It didn’t take the terrorist long to feel his skin start to bubble.

“Fuck. You.” Wartortle rasped as he opened his mouth and released a blast of concentrated bubbles into Okor’s face. Despite the ridiculousness of the attack, the translucent spheres packed more of a punch than they had any right to, and after the first salvo, even the zombie had to relinquish his grip. Now that he had a little breathing room, the turtle wrenched his guns free, and ignoring the tower of festering, iron-clad humanity, Wartortle dashed to the right. Although he was focused on the robot, his eyes caught a quick glimpse of the red mercenary and his gingerbread friend standing against the wall.

“So are you just going to stand there… or you going to do something productive?” Gingy asked as Proto Man missed with a blaster shot and bashed with the flat end of the reptile’s rifle.

“Me?” Deadpool asked after glancing around and pointing a hand at his chest. “Nah. I’ll just let Alex sort this one out. Plus, I don’t have any Pokéballs on me.”

A few yards away, Wartortle batted away Proto Man just in time to turn and duck as Captain Jak Mar opened fire on the Pokémon with a pair of his own guns. “How many of you are there?” The reptile inquired as he scattered the pair of Jak and Daxter with a pair of forty-millimeter shells. Before he could receive a proper response, the preteen machine jumped on his back and tried to lock him into a full nelson. In front of Wartortle, Okor was lumbering toward him, and all the other gun-toting primes were advancing toward him.

“Yield,” Proto Man rasped as he squeezed at the turtle’s arms, causing the terrorist to flinch and lose his grip on his rifles. Unfortunately for the robot, the moment he took to glance at the falling weapons was all the time Wartortle needed to smash the back of his skull into Proto Man’s jaw. With the Prototype Robot Master stunned, the turtle took a step forward and hurtled the child-sized machine at Okor, who stumbled out of the way.

“Like I need guns,” Wartortle rasped as he threw his hands at Jak and Vincent. The pair of primes found their aim, but before they could find their triggers they were both hit by a wall of water that seemed to form from thin air in front of their intended target.

Before he could follow up on the fact that most of his attackers were flat on their backs, Wartortle spotted the detachment of armed soldiers jogging at him. “More lambs?” He shouted as bent down to collect his guns. As he did, the group of soldiers that had emerged from the dozens of registrations booths opened fire on him with their shock rifles. Behind the soldiers, a startled woman with red hair watched as the thoroughly electrocuted turtle toppled over but continued to reach for his weapons.

“Fuck… you…” The Pokémon managed before a second round of bursts stole his consciousness from him.

“Everyone calm down!” The primes collected in the now water-soaked and bullet-riddled Lobby all turned to see a skinny man in a fancy suit come sauntering up to the scene. “I assure you, this was all a stunt, and this… individual here is just one of our many contractually obligated contestants. I apologize that he may have been a little exuberant with his stunts, but I assure you that no secondaries were harmed in the making of his production.” Before anyone could call bullshit on Karl’s remarks, the group of soldiers swarmed forward. They collected the unconscious Pokémon and vanished with their leader into the other end of the Lobby.
[Image: KarlSig.jpg]

"Then trust me! Trust me to help you! Trust me to help you!" The Guardian had been sent the memories telepathically by Tapion about the Konat's real death and also his two deaths in Dante's Abyss. He knew of the end of the Horsemen, but he also believed in the goodness in Retane's heart. Jack had to stand tall, though he felt Retane's pain.

Tapion looked to the wielder of ice, and walked towards him. The elder Horsemen, still beatened and battered, laughed, "Oh, you think you are better then me then, eh?"

Jack stood tall and proud, "Yeah. Well-err" The Horsemen paused. Jack took a deep breath, trying to think upon the memory that Tapion had showed him, and the words that had been spoke. "I will have his back!"

"You will have 'his' back? Can you kill? Have you ever killed? YOU HAVE TO KILL!" Tapion let his voice enter that dark growl similar to the namekian.

The ice wielder hesitated for a moment until the red head stopped his stride, bringing him nearly face to face to each other. The newest member still held his ground, "I will have his back! Why do you think I was sent here? You obviously couldn't do the better job!"

Tapion backed up for a second but was fast to be annoyed, "Really? You think you can do a better job then me? Here I am, trying to see if you can handle this type of tournament, and this is what you try to give me?"

Jack answered his pissing contest with, "I know I can do a better job. If anyone could save his ass it would be me! You all treat me like a child and this is how I will prove myself! With or without you in my way!" Jack put his left foot back and crouched slightly anticipating a duel.

Tapion nodded and smiled but crossed his arms. Such a difference in characters and experience showed. Jack soon realized this and understood he was being baited. It made him flustered and he glanced to Retane who also watched the scene unfold.

Jack took a deep breath and shook his head trying to stand strong at all the eyes that looked upon him, but it was Tapion that finally answered, "I have looked into your soul, my friend. I find goodness, but I am afraid of what you may have to do. You think I am weak, but you are right. I remember when I was so innocent, just like you." Tapion let a tear fall from his eye.

"You may be better then I ever was" Tapion wiped his eye,"But to be better them me, means you have to kill! Can you kill!?!?"

Jack looked then at Tapion, deep in the eye, and he realized the pain, not the antics, he would endure. He saw Tapion then as an ally and nodded, "I will do whatever i have to do to protect Retane. I will pick up where you left off. I promise you thatIi will never let another being slay him in battle as long as I stand. Until my last breath I will fight for him. He is my purpose for being here. And I am a Horsemen!"

Tapion snapped back, "Are you sure? Are you a Horsemen?""

"Yes! I am sure! I will do what ever to protect Retane!" Jack was sure of himself.

"Then you accept death and do not fear it. Then you truly are a Horsemen" Tapion smiled

Jack paused and looked around. Retane never involved himself and had let him do his own thing. Jack only offered a nod to them both, realizing he had been accepted more then he thought.
[Image: tumblr_mez96xdyvu1runifxo4_500.gif]

Deadpool Wrote:Another moment -- Jack saving Retane's ass. That was OG.

As Mami entered the lobby through the tear in space, she stumbled and slipped, falling to the ground thanks to... Water? Why was there water here? As the Magical Girl rose to her feet on slippery boots, she realized the lobby was filled to the brim with people. It was definitely not just herself that was uncomfortable, as a few people filtered off into the other rooms, if her eyes did not fail her. A few people, likely fans of the game or people coming to watch, had set up what she could only call 'camps': Tents or mats rolled out with food and people packed into (Or onto) them. Aside from such setups, she saw plenty of people about, though most if not all were unfamiliar faces. Disappointing.

There was one face Mami could recognize among the others. A tall man, a fair amount taller than many others - Alongside a figure in peculiar-looking armor... Though Mami couldn't really call anyone peculiar in her position. A tall man with dark brownish hair, with eyes to match. The rest of his body she could not see, but she was almost positive that was him. "What's he doing here?" she asked herself and began weaving through the crowd, sliding in between the varied and ever-moving people around her. "Excuse me, sorry, coming through... Ah!" she felt herself collide with someone, causing her to almost lose her balance.

The little gunslinger struggled to keep herself standing, though she managed to remain on both feet. Before long, she was passing by the pair she had seen earlier... Though it appeared neither was particularly concerned, like she assumed one should be when someone was out for your head. In fact, they seemed quite comfortable casually talking with one another. She decided that perhaps it was best not to bother them - Even if it was Harry and... Someone, she didn't see fit to pick a fight. She walked through the nearest door - Anywhere but here, with all these people, was good.

Quote:just ignore me i'm just going somewhere else aaaaaaaaaaaaaa
[Image: KBSao70.jpg]

Although a few people were still casting curious glances in his direction, Ganondorf was very much relieved to no longer have a room full of eyes upon him. Perhaps it had to do with the strange nature of this Omniverse; with so many oddballs and misfits popping into existence, it seemed that a random outburst or two was nothing too out of the ordinary. Still, he felt a heat rise in his cheeks at the memory of his moment as a social pariah, thought even the intense embarrassment he felt couldn’t overcome the shame and depression of what he had done in the Dunes. The Gerudo had failed his charge, and he only had himself to blame. Sure, Enel was the one who had broken Firani, but Ganondorf’s ego had allowed him the opportunity. Had he merely continued to play to Enel’s delusions, the fight and her death could have been avoided.

A sudden commotion broke Ganondorf from his thoughts. The hallway filled with screams and a strange cracking noise. As the crowd moved to escape from the source, the Demon King got his first look at the troublemaker. It was a turtle. Honestly, he hadn’t been expecting that. Blue and toting a pair of strange devices, the thing appeared to be firing at random into the crowd. At random, at least, until a familiar sight popped into existence. It was that strange kid Ganondorf had seen when he’d first arrived in the Omniverse, and again during the Rathalos Hunt. As the two began to engage in combat, yet another familiar sight graced the Gerudo’s vision. The boy. Link. Sword drawn, the Hylian youth was pushing through the chaotic mob to assist in the attack. Typical, Ganondorf thought. The boy might be a fool, but you can’t say he doesn’t have courage.

For a brief second, Ganondorf considered letting Link engage the turtle. At worst, it would weaken the kid for their eventual conflict. At best, the turtle would kill him. But then a thought occurred to him. Link’s skills were undeniable, and in an event such as this one, they’d be an invaluable asset. And, for some reason, it didn’t quite feel right allowing the boy to die. Perhaps it was because of Ganondorf’s pride, that HE should be the one to end Link. Or maybe it was because Ganondorf had already dealt with the death of one he knew this day, and was unwilling to experience it again, even in regards to his enemy. In either case, the Gerudo moved swiftly forward, his massive frame pushing through the crowd like they were paper, and he placed a hand on Link’s shoulder to stop him.

Immediately, Link swung about, training his weapon upon the Demon King, a reaction that elicited an amused smirk from Ganondorf. Looking past Link, he took measure of the combat occurring close by, before taking a knee and meeting Link’s gaze.

“If you wish to kill me, boy, then by all means do so. I can assure you; however, that Omni was correct when he stated that death here wasn’t permanent.”

Link’s eyes darted around at the crowd in the room before focusing back on Ganondorf. His hands tightened on the Master Sword and he once again moved to enter into the fray with the turtle. Ganon’s hand on his shoulder stopped him again, a gentle pressure, yet firm.

“Wait, Boy. Don’t do anything foolish. Let’s see how this plays out.”

“He’s killing people, Ganondorf! I have to protect them!” Link replied, forcing himself from Ganondorf’s grasp with a twist of the shoulders. The Gerudo ground his teeth and rose to his feet once again, staring down at Link, who had turned on Ganondorf again.

“You don’t HAVE to do anything. Let the proprietor of this establishment handle the situation. Or any one of the people currently engaging the creature. There’s no need to risk yourself to handle this threat. Not when doing so worsens your chances at this game.”

Ganondorf paused a moment, a thought occurring to him.

“Why ARE you here, boy? From what I understand, this Dante’s Abyss business is going to be violent… You don’t seem the type who’s in it for the fame or power…”

“It’s none of your business why I’m here, monster!” Link replied, though a subtle shift in his stance told Ganondorf that he was indeed hiding something. “I’m more concerned about why YOU’RE here. What schemes have you hatched now?!”

The larger man chuckled softly, shaking his head in amusement, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m here for the Omnilium, the fame, and the chance to win a potent item of power.”

It wasn’t quite the entire truth, but it would do for this whelp. Ganondorf wasn’t about to lay his soul bare to his nemesis, and even if he did he doubted Link would believe him anyway. The boy snorted in disgust and muttered, “Typical.” He turned back to the combat going on in their midst only to find it had concluded while he and Ganondorf had conversed. An irritated glower came over Link’s features as he looked back at his Gerudo enemy.

“What do you want, Ganondorf?” Link growled, staring up at the wolf-eyed Gerudo. “You obviously weren’t looking out for my best interests when you stopped me.”

“Perceptive,” Ganondorf mused, still smirking as before, “Promising. Before, you’d not have seen even that obvious ploy.”

Link resheathed his sword and waved off the Gerudo’s compliment. “That wasn’t an answer, monster. What do you want from me?”

“To propose a truce… or rather, an alliance between us.” Ganondorf gestured around them at the mass of people, who were only just now starting to calm down.

“It seems that Dante’s Abyss is going to be a small scale war. Already I can see many of the others talking, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that they’re making plans. Individually, we are both formidable opponents, but a dedicated group could eliminate us from this game before we reach our goal. Together, however, we’d be a threat to all but the mightiest of warriors.”

“I’d never join you,” Link retorted, taking a step back as though Ganondorf had punched him. “You’re evil, Ganondorf. Your word means nothing, and you only know how to speak lies. The first chance you get, you’ll betray me.”

The Gerudo sighed, his lips tightening a bit as he responded, “I know our history together doesn’t elicit much faith in me. And I understand your misgivings. But I’m no liar, boy. A man’s word is all he really has in the world. So, you can believe me when I say that, if you were to compete by my side, I would not betray you. Our battle would be held off until the end of this. I give my word on that.”

“But you swore fealty to the King of Hyrule, and betrayed him at the first opportunity.”

“I did not, Link. I swore allegiance to the throne of Hyrule.” Ganondorf chuckled a bit at the memory of his time in the castle, amongst those fools who thought themselves nobility. “Not to the man on the throne. And by the throne, I sought to place a man truly deserving of the title of King upon it. It’s not my fault that your King thought I said something I didn’t.”

“You truly are a devious monster…” Link sneered, glaring at Ganondorf. “Is that what I can expect from you here as well? Are you going to twist your words to mean something else?”

“Boy, I stated in no-nonsense terms that I would not betray you; that our fight would be postponed until the end of this event. I see no wiggle room in that vow. But… I can see that this discussion is going nowhere. Your fixation on my past transgressions is understandable, but regrettable. Perhaps even the chance to keep me under your watchful gaze, to see if my claims of being a changed man are true, isn’t enticement enough.”

The large man shrugged absently and turned away. As he did, he heard the Hero of Time speak from behind him.

“I can’t trust you, Ganondorf.”

“You’d be a fool if you did,” the Gerudo replied.

Okor Wrote:Okor slapped his fellow legionnaire on the back, the decaying flesh of his palm slamming into blue and gold ceramite. "Now, now... Brother. To visit such destruction upon these mortals would be... unbecoming." Okor took a moment to breathe in the aroma of the Abyss, filtering the air through diseased respirators. "Across reality and the warp, the same scenes play out again, and again. The settings... change, the men change their faces, but it all persists. The arenas of Kurze, the blood trials of aspirant Astartes, the savage pits of feral worlders. A people hunger for blood, and this gives it to them. Look.... past the veneer of civilization. The people are here to jeer, to taunt, to cheer, and to scream for more. They wish to make you their champion." He looked from side to side, ensuring that there were no other parties privy to their conversation. "Besides. I.... doubt our time here ends with our victory. That Daemon we met. He... did not know us. The Astartes were a mystery to him. Now, with... four legions swearing their souls to the glory of chaos, five... daemonic primarchs, and countless souls offered up to the ruinous powers, do you believe even the lowliest warpspawn could not recognize a Legionnaire on sight?" He chuckled, shaking his head. "No. I believe this... Omni is something more. The people neither offer us supplications, or... flee. They are unfamiliar. Even the most devolved world will have some legend of... The Long War. We are strangers in a... strange land, one yet... deprived of the Gods. One awaiting their heralds. One that has its eyes cast upon this competition." He threw his arms up, cackling as he envisioned what was to come. "We will be victorious. We will cast the champions of this realm into... darkness, and bring despair to its people. And when all seems lost, when... They have nothing left, we will bring them hope. They will embrace what we bring them, and bow before the Gods. This land shall rot, and be... brought forth anew, rising from decay, reborn into greatness." He leaned forward over the railing, grinning savagely beneath his helm. "And we shall rule over it."
Galel smirked beneath the ceramite plating of his helmet, stopping next to Okor and looking out across the hall. His third eye flitted about, even as his mortal eyes rested on Okor, appraising his companion's demeanour. "You speak with wisdom, brother." He said, his indignation calming. "I have contemplated our situation, and have come up with three possibilities. Either we are being tested by the Ruinous Powers, probed and challenged for their dark purposes. Or we are trapped and ensnared by an agent of Malal." Galel spoke, his last sentence dripping with spite. "If it is Malal, then we have much to be wary of, and much destroy. I doubt that any of the Gods would dare allow us to live for even a moment longer if we allowed Malal's schemes to come to fruition..."

Okor nodded, staying silent for several moments. A few maggots wormed their way out of a crack in his armour, falling to the floor covered in clear, viscous goo. A fly landed on Galel's shoulder, twitching about for a moment before being swatted away by the Sorcerer. Okor finally spoke. "What is your third conclusion?" He asked.

Galel soured, glaring at the crowded hall before them. "We truly are lost, gone from the reality we knew, isolated from our brethren and the Long War." Galel clenched his fists on the railing, the steel warping ever so slightly under his weight. "The third possibility is that Omni was telling the truth. That is the idea I dread the most."

Okor nodded his helmeted head in agreement. "You speak.... the truth, something I'm sure you are unaccustomed to." He chuckled, hoping Galel would see the humor in his jest. "I... believe your third hypothesis may be... correct. I... remember The Broken Temple, standing atop its peak. The furies circled, the storm raged, and decay was ever-present." He took a moment to gaze down at his chest, inspecting the bullet holes, a reminder of his prior heroism. The xenos was a strange breed, armed with stub weaponry, on top of strange abilities. What sort of reality did it come from? He wondered. There were mutants, Xenos, men, Daemons, and more, all in this Colosseum, mingling without fear, boundaries, or any other restraints. To propose that they all came from the same war-torn reality of the forty first millennium was madness. There were entire realities out there still untouched by war. Still soft. "No god could... hope to have influence on such sacred ground. This... Omni operates differently. He has... stolen champions to amuse him, stripped the greatest warriors from their.... battlefields." He laughed, and gestured towards the crowds.

"Look at them. Thousands... crowded, to watch. Even the most diligent Daemon would not devote such... effort, to acquiring souls. Could he give our... 'Prime' abilities to so many?" He shook his head. "It is... Improbable. We stride as gods amongst men in this realm. We are fresh, still covered in the viscera of our coming." To illustrate his point, Okor manifested a glimmer of Omnillium in his rotten palm, turning the iridescent substance over. "Every moment we... live, we grow in power. Can you predict the outcomes of facing a true veteran of this realm? While... pathetically incapable of matching the Legions, the sheer power of Omnillium may grant them... an unexpected advantage." He pushed off of the railing, beginning to walk towards the portal from the registration booths. "Come now. While... Tartaros may still be viewing the world through the fog of the Great Crusade, I doubt he will take as long to fill out a form, as he does... opening his eyes." He chuckled once more. "While I have utmost faith in our Gods, our skills, and our Fathers, a... refresher would not be totally unwise."
The End Times

“This is where I leave you. Have fun. Kindal had worn a sinister smile as he spoke his final words to the Prime and eyed the few clipped hairs on the side of his auburn head.

The Prime nodded a pleasant goodbye to the short businessman and was ready to leave the Omniverse for good. He would have to contact Guu about his departure and he was sure she would be sad to see him go, but if he explained the situation and his own mission’s success, perhaps maybe she would even choose to accompany him on the cruise ship.

Blissfully unaware of his surroundings, Gildarts remained focused on taming the unquenchable magic from within, until a shiny nozzle was shoved into his face. Bright light flashed into his eyes and suddenly he had a soft looking marshmallow held up to his lips.

“Goooood morning! I’m Ron Burgundy, ONN news. Tell me sir, what is your name?”

There was a momentary pause, “Gildarts.” The Prime responded as he eyed the camera man. Was this a “promotion” too?

“Tell me Gildarts, you seem to be well experienced in battle, but may I ask you why you joined Karl Jak’s Dante’s Abyss and what you predict the outcome might be?”

“Battle?” Gildarts inquired, his eyes began to harden and a serious expression was exuded in place of his aloof demeanor. What did a vacation have to do with that?

“Do you think you have a good chance at winning Dante’s Abyss?” Ron’s brow wrinkled and he appeared suddenly nervous at the threatening gaze he had received from his interviewee. In order to break up any technical misunderstandings, he explained to Gildarts as he angled the wand into his face, “Oh, here, just speak into this microphone.”

“Dante’s Abyss? Listen, I just want to get to the island as soon as possible.”

“Wow, I don’t believe I’ve met anyone so eager to fight to the death! In a few hours or so you’ll be out of this place and off to the island... Battling and surviving with other Primes who want to make it to the top." Ron informed his audience, "Now tell me, is your excitement for the competition based off the confidence that you are going to win?”

Gildarts felt his brow crinkle in frustration, there was a mention of death, an island, and a battle yet to come; yet he could not see how his guild, Fairy Tail, fit into it all. Something was wrong. The Prime’s nostrils flared with anger and his eyes didn’t see a colossal cruise ship as Kindal had described. It became more and more obvious that it had been a rouse. Kindal had lied, or taken some cheap shot at assassination. Gildarts moved his good hand to touch the minute patch of singed hair from the bullet that had zoomed too close to his head and the rage within Gildarts, only grew. The ground crackled below his feet and he unconsciously damaged the lobby’s floor as he tried to figure out where he had gone wrong.

Ron took a few steps back as the ground below his feet became more than a little cracked. The cameraman zoomed in as the suited man justified himself, “Whoa there, I meant no offense to you, you seem very powerful and I'm sure you have good standings and the ability to make it to the top.” Ron shuffled his feet and then when the surge seemed quell with a momentary hiatus, he gulped a refreshing breath of air and straightened his slightly frazzled hair.

The cloaked man’s gaze swept over to Ron, his closest victim. “You mean to tell me, that I will not be taken back to my home realm, but instead, I’ll be transported to an island where I’ll be forced into battle with other people fighting trying to survive?"

“Huh? Well, when you put it that way... Uh... But this is different, they all consented... You too... Should have known too that you were signing up for the competition. The prizes alone are monumental... It’s been announced all over the Omniverse, courtesy of Karl himself.”


At this point, Ron turned back to the camera and Gildarts had stormed off with the air around him shimmering in a dense magic. There was no regret from Ron, who had just cultivated disaster in the powerful and raging Prime, for his dramatic reaction was sure to make the ratings soar.

“This just in, it seems Gildarts had no idea what he was signing up for! Will he become a victim of the game? Or will he overcome the impossible and become a champion of the competition he never agreed to join? Ron Burgundy, coming to you live from the front lines of Dante’s Abyss.”
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"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus

Desco and DesX wandered into the Lobby from the gate."Ohhh, there are a lot of funny looking Demons here." Desco stared at everyone around here especially the non-humanoids which she naturally assumed were demons. She wasn't familiar with any of their species though, surely they were from other netherworlds besides Hades. "Most of them aren't actually Demons Desco. There are many worlds inhabited by strange creatures and monstrous looking humans that are considered normal." Desco gasped at the concept that DesX presented to her. "Really?" "Yes, even the zombies and ghosts we have as Demons other worlds probably wouldn't call Demons." They sipped on their Pepsis as they moved through the lobby and observing the different people that were here.

Desco pointed at a rather buxom girl for her age wearing yellow, brown, and white with a feathered hat and miniskirt. "Hey look! She looks like a Magical Girl! Desco always wanted to be a Magical Girl!" Desco could already imagine transforming into her own purple and black miniskirted outfit with a long crystal wand and magical powers. Then she pointed to a guy all in red with a yellow lightning bolt. "And he had to be a Super Hero! The symbol must mean his powers are electricity! Maybe Desco will get to fight him? She's never fought a Super Hero before!" "Well, you killed the defenders of Earth and a group of Ranger heroes that you could say were Super Heroes." "Really? Desco wishes she remembered taking over Earth..." Desco stood around looking wide eyes at all of the others while DesX wandered off to look at something that caught her interest.

Tartaros meandered through the portal, into what appeared to be some kind of hall, as he wandered about he noticed crowds of people. Some odd green beings, armoured warriors, and odd beings covered head-to-toe in red and brown costumes. Walking further there even appeared to be some small children! Around the end of the hall there also seemed to be doors labeled with words like "Rec. Area" and "Dojo"... what an odd word... Walking further forth he noticed the rotting giant, Okor, and the sorceror.

"Oi! You two!"

The marine ran towards the two, his feet clanking along the floor.

"Well then, what's going on here? Sorry I took so bloody long... the clerk was a bit of a grumpy bugger... Tell ya what, why don't we check out this little place until that imp finally signs up? Could do with getting to know our... opponents..."

Mickey arrived in the lobby just in time to catch the tail end of the commotion. Across the way from the door to the Recreation Dome, a contingent of soldiers took down a large, anthropomorphic turtle that, according to what Mickey could glean by eavesdropping, had apparently just gone on a rampage, attacking Primes and Secondaries alike. Even unconscious, Wartortle—the creature’s name, if he could believe his ears—looked menacing. Mickey’s fur stood up on end just looking at him, and apparently the producers had signed this crazy maniac on to compete in Dante’s Abyss.

Slowly but surely, the mouse had begun to second-guess his decision to enter this competition in the first place. Originally, he had grossly misjudged what his competition would be and, for that matter, the sheer volume of “Primes” that inhabited this Omniverse in the first place. To hear the citizens of Bree talk, seeing a Prime was a rare occurrence, but gosh only knew how many people had already signed up for this tournament, and to Mickey’s knowledge, you had to be a Prime to enter.

He no longer felt that his prowess as a Keyblade Master put him above the rest of the competition. Sure, he could scrap with the best of them. But if “the best of them” were all as formidable as this terrorist turtle, then he doubted that he actually even had a chance in the first place. Was it all just some sort of fantasy he had dreamed up? Sure, when it got down to it, the mouse fought pretty well—and, to be honest, probably would be grossly underestimated by his competitors thanks to his stature—but these people fought for a living. The fights he had been in up till now could be considered child’s play; this was not child’s play, this was real.

He knew that not recognizing that he had gotten himself into something real would end up being a huge mistake. He resolved not to let anything these Primes could do surprise him, no matter how much more powerful than him they were. No doubt they all, too, had reasons for thinking they could win this competition, and Mickey would not let himself be done in by ignorance.

Couple that with the fact that he had no idea what exactly the competition had in store for any of them, and his nerves only intensified. What, even, would the players be subjected to once they had been selected for the game? The people in charge of this game had not given any of them, as far as the King knew, any inclination of what was in store in the Abyss. Mickey started to think that—just maybe—it might be better if he wasn’t picked. But he knew he couldn’t let the people of Bree down.

The strange sensation of being watched broke him from his thoughts. The mouse scanned the lobby, looking around for what could be causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand up. Most people in the room still focused on where the soldiers had carried Wartortle; they stared at the elevator to the barracks, leaning over to their friends and talking in hushed whispers. For a while, Mickey had been content to listen to them and learn what he could about the terrorist, but now something else distracted him.

No matter where he looked, though, he could not find anything. Everyone seemed focused on something else. Nobody seemed to notice him. Granted, that could be because he stood less than half the height of everyone else in the room, but still—something watched him. He could not shake the feeling.

Suddenly, a chill ran up his spine. They were right behind him.

“Excuse me,” a boy’s voice rang out from behind him. Mickey spun around and looked up to see a young human teenager standing there, hands behind his back, looking down at him with a smirk on his face. Though the boy obviously was very young—Mickey postulated sixteen or seventeen years old, at most—he had long, silver hair, and held himself like someone who had been through too much for such a young life. He wore a black cloak so long it touched the floor, zipped up the front, and had the hood of it up, though it could not hide his hair. “I wanted to tell you, sir—”

“Who are you?” Mickey’s eyes narrowed, and he wasted no time moving right along to the questions that needed to be asked. This boy had snuck up on him, and had been watching him the whole time he had been in the lobby—maybe the whole time he had been in the Dante’s Abyss facility. He, of course, had no way of knowing that for certain, but he had a certain feeling in his gut. Some might call him paranoid, but… he was right. He knew he was right.

The boy chuckled a bit at Mickey’s violent reaction, and his smile grew bigger as he removed his hood. “I wanted to tell you,” he continued, ignoring Mickey’s question, “that I like that.” He pointed lazily at the keyblade hanging off Mickey’s belt, and instinctively, the mouse’s hand went to the hilt of the weapon. “No need for that,” the boy assured him. In the ensuing silence, the grey-haired boy’s gaze shifted up to one of the large television screens lining the hallway. After a few seconds, Mickey’s name—or, well, the alias he had registered under—appeared next to a screenshot of his interview from earlier. “Can’t wait to see what you do in the Abyss, Ears,” the boy said, acknowledging the screen. “Later.”

With that, he turned to go away, and Mickey knew he should have let him go, but his curiosity got the best of him. “Are you a competitor?” he called after the boy, who stopped at the sound of the mouse’s high-pitched voice and glanced back over his shoulder.

“Me? Oh, no. Just a fan.”

He disappeared into the crowd, just as mysterious now as the moment Mickey met him. The mouse tried his best to keep his gaze trained on the boy, but he couldn’t. Within seconds, he had vanished from sight, and the mouse wasn’t tall enough or perceptive enough to keep up with him amongst the mass of bodies.

But who, exactly, had he been? He had stared at the mouse with a knowing smile, like he had some sort of knowledge of the King even though Mickey had barely existed in this world for more than a few days. Whatever the case, the mouse knew that he could not dwell on it right now; now was the time for Dante’s Abyss. Now was the time to keep his head in the game, and make sure he won the game—or at least didn’t embarrass himself, since he apparently had at least one “fan.” He wouldn’t let thoughts of this boy get in the way of his thoughts about the game; he needed to focus.

Focus, Mickey.

But something about that smirk wouldn’t let him do it.
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As 'stunts' went, Vincent could safely say he had never witnessed one quite like the bloodbath that had just ensued. He and the other surviving occupants of the facility's lobby were sharing looks of surprise and confusion as they cleaned themselves up, attempting to remove the chunks of debris and blood from their hair and clothing. Vincent had luckily been fast enough to avoid the blood along with the homicidal tortoise' bullets, though the same could not be said about the layer of muddy soot that now layered his cloak and mantle. He glanced down at his feet, the leather of his armored boots quickly absorbing the crimson liquid that drenched the area. 'Pig' blood (some still actively pouring from the 'robots'), diluted by the creature's aquatic assault, now soaked the shiny linoleum floors, tinging the Prime's reflection a stark crimson. With a sigh, the gunslinger parted from the rest of his co-defenders, in search of some peace before the 'real' action began.

Though quite familiar with death, watching the life actively fade from a person's eyes had always shaken the pale warrior. When it came to putting down foes for the sake of some greater good, he could put things in perspective, mentally marking himself a 'champion of justice' rather than a murderer. When there was no clear divide, however, the task was much more difficult. This inability to fully, complexly deal with a person ceasing to exist, his mother would always assert, was due to her son's “inate caring and protective nature”, one of his naive attempts at trying to stall Death's inexorable battle to claim Life. He knew that he would need to play the part of Death in the days to come for his own selfish reasons. Still, it had to be done. If she could see me now, he mused.

The cloaked man slipped silently past his fellow entrants, avoiding eye-contact. The 'stunt' had luckily drawn most of the attention toward the dozen or so droids that were now cleansing the area and he was able to exit the area unimpeded. The ex-Turk had been taken by surprise, having not been quite prepared to risk his life on his first step through the gash. As the atmosphere shifted from leisure to bedlam he had attempted quell the violence before lives could be claimed, but he had failed. The brutal chelonian had been deceptively strong, taking a handful of entrants just to subdue him. Vincent mulled this over silently as he crossed through the voluminous lobby, heading toward a wall-mounted directory board. Bloodshed like this was what he had to look forward to in the Abyss, no doubt. The gunslinger wouldn't be surprised if the officials of the contest unleashed the maniac turtle during the event as a bit of added 'drama'. They way that the employees were highlighting the suspense and glory of the event assured him of this possibility.

Presently the gunslinger reached his target, skimming the directory readout in search of his best shot at relaxation before the storm that loomed on the horizon. The electronic display offered both a bulleted list offering descriptions of the various entertainment options as well as a map of the area. If the key on the map was to be believed, the convention center styled facility was enormous. Noting the expansive lobby behind him, Vincent could take that as fact. He skimmed past the entries for arcades, driving ranges and combat simulators, stopping on the entry labeled 'Library'. Hopefully the definition of 'Library' is the same here. The Prime noted the location on the map and took a moment to mentally map his route before turning on his heel and setting his sights on a nearby hallway.
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Dante's Abyss '15
Vincent Valentine

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Dante's Abyss '16
Grand Champion
Nanaki/Red XIII

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(07-16-2018, 06:14 PM)Lord Zedd Wrote: I'm here to kick ass and write compelling stories with Vincent Valentine.

And baby, we're all out of Vincent Valentine.

As Guu ran out of the recreation area, the familiar presence became stronger and stronger. The girl she left behind so long ago; she hid it well, but she sort of felt regretful leaving her so suddenly. It was for selfish reasons and she admitted it. Guu wanted to break out on her own and do some trolling. It was nothing but pure irony that she would leave for that reason only to become a hero and the leader of a small city-state.

She hadn’t known DA would be her chance to see her again and possibly make it up to her. If she had known that this was her ticket to a second chance, she would have signed up sooner. Even if the rest of this was hell, this opportunity alone would make it all worth it for her.

Guu stopped at the edge of the perimeter of the press. She could still sense her in the crowd near the entrance. Slowly, the reporters noticed her presence and the crowd began to part. They were probably still freaked out from the microphone incident. Eventually, the path was clear enough that she was finally in sight: Desco.

Just seeing that face again had her reminiscing. She was the first person she ever interacted with in the Omniverse. She remembered this cute little demon girl floating up to her as she was swimming around the Nexus fountain. It was a photo of her that served as one of Guu’s first tweets in the Dataverse. She looked exactly like how she remembered her.

Desco was still scanning the crowd for the strange sights when her eyes finally met with Guu’s. The two stand there, the demon girl still processing what she was seeing. Eventually, she broke out in a wide smile.

“Guu?” She said, overjoyed.

Suddenly, Guu ran forward and almost knocked Desco over with a huge hug, wrapping her arms around the demon child and burying her face in her shoulder. She gleefully reciprocated, smiling warmly at seeing her old friend again.

The legions of reporters only feet away were quick to film and photograph every second of the adorably sweet moment. Neither of the two cared. Guu eventually pulled away, never breaking the embrace, to look Desco in the eyes. The two laugh happily, as Guu lets off the tiniest of genuine smiles.


Eventually, the two leave the crowd and find a nice bench near the lobby. Guu tells her of the adventures she’s had since the two had parted. She told her about the fight with Gilgamesh, about how she was crowned princess to a city of teens, to eventually building that up to the somewhat prosperous city-state of Ambrosia.

“So yeah, I came to Dante’s Abyss to represent them and that’s how I found you.”

”Wow!” She said, her eyes glimmering with wonder. ”You’ve done a lot since we last saw you! Even became a dictator!”

“…I’m not really a dictator…

”Dictator Guu!” She yelled cheerfully.

Guu laughed awkwardly before abruptly changing the subject.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, why is there another you in the room?” Guu asked, as her senses have been display the clone’s existence for a while now.

”Ooh! Yes! I ran into my daddy in coruscant! He made another demon like me! I want Guu to meet her!” She stood up and waved her into the crowd, yelling. ”Des X!”

A second Desco floated through the crowd, except the monster that composed her back was a more goldish color. She paused in front of the two, floating effortlessly a foot above the ground.

Guu, I’d like you to meet Des X!

Hello. I believe Desco has mentioned you before. It’s a pleasure.

But before Guu could respond, the crowd of reporters started to make a ton of noise as new primes enter.

“We should move this meet and greet somewhere quiet” She told the two. She lead them both to the Recreation Dome.
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Galel nodded to Okor, his third eye scanning the arrival platform for any sign of Tartaros. "I have theories about him, too. His armour, his demeanour... it is not becoming of a son of horus. I believe he-" He spoke, suddenly silencing himself as he spotted Tartaros striding towards them. "I will speak of it later..." He muttered, turning to Tartaros and giving a slight bow. "Did he ask you to demonstrate your abilities, Castus?" Galel chuckled, his attention seemingly focused on idle conversation. His third eye had other plans, probing about in an effort to discern the loyalties of Tartaros.

No Imperial iconography, at least none that has been used in the recent millenia. No chaos iconography, at all. Ancient colours and badges. Who is he? A servant of the Corpse-Emperor? A follower of Malal, perhaps? Or a thrall to some xeno? Perhaps all of them at once? Galel's mind filled itself with conjecture, churning within even as his outward demeanour reflected that of a calm and collected tactician. "I was just thinking the same thing, Castus. Okor thinks as much as well. If we size up our competition, collect information, then we will have the advantage."

Galel grinned. "Knowledge is power, after all." He chuckled, clapping Tartaros on the pauldron and turning to look at the crowd. "So many targets, so little time. Perhaps we should start with they who fought the xeno creature that shot those holes in your armour, Okor."

What had Link gotten himself into?

Ganondorf's flowing mane rustled as he turned his back to him. He was offering him an alliance? After everything they'd been through? After Link destroyed his empire and locked him in a nigh unbreakable magic void? After Link jammed the Master Sword through Ganondorf's gut? What possible angle was he playing?

Link scanned the crowd again. Still no sign of Syla, and Ganondorf made no mention of her either. If she had intended to sell the relic to him, surely their paths should've crossed by now. But if she wasn't in the lobby, then there was only one thing that made sense. Link slapped his forehead as the realisation came to him.

Syla tricked him.

Syla wasn't here at all. She knew about this Dante's Abyss, left the note knowing Link would instantly pursue, and then went her own way. Getting Link into Dante's Abyss was a perfect way to stall him while she did whatever she planned to do with the Triforce of Courage.

Of course! It made so much sense! Syla couldn't risk capturing Link; the last time she tried that, he summoned the Phantom Sword and freed himself. Killing Link meant he would resurrect again, if Link believed the rumours. If true, the process must be too short a time for Syla's plan. Yet sticking him in a contest, letting him fight his way out ... even if he lost straight away, she still had more time than any of her other options. And there was always the chance Link would go further than last place.

So, what was Link's plan? No Syla, no Triforce of Courage, about to enter a competitive tournament, and his only ally was his greatest enemy? Link sucked in a deep breath, held it, and released.

Anything he assumed about Syla was only conjecture. If he couldn't leave, the only other way out of here was to win the competition. He was a strong warrior; maybe he stood a chance. He glanced about the room and noticed a number of threatening figures, some talking among themselves, forming alliances, talking strategy. Just how was this game played? How many foes would he have to face off against?

Link frowned as his best hope sauntered away from him. "Wait!"

Ganondorf stopped in place, shooting a glance and a grin over his shoulder. "Yes?"

Could Link really trust him? He felt nerves lighting up in his stomach. He needed the Triforce of Courage back, but to get it, he had to get out of this thing. Plus Ganondorf had mentioned prizes; power, omnilium. Perhaps Link could turn those against the Gerudo king once they were finished here.

"I'm not saying I trust you, because I don't." Link cleared his throat. "But ... what do you know of this ... game?"

Ganondorf chuckled, a deep and booming sound. If it had come from a colleague, it would have been endearing. Coming from Ganondorf, it set Link on edge. "You really don't know? You just entered without asking any questions?"

Link looked away, feeling a redness in his cheeks. Dammit, not in front of Ganondorf!

Ganondorf's smile climbed up his cheeks. "Don't be embarrassed." The grin reduced, like he was smiling at a discouraged friend. "You can keep your secret for now." He spread his thick arms wide, gesturing to the lobby. "This is Dante's Abyss. A fight to the death. People sign up and compete against each other for prizes and glory."

Ganondorf's words echoed in his head. A fight to the death. He would have to kill to get out of this alive. Link didn't like the idea. It sat bitter on his tongue, but he needed the Triforce of Courage back, and to get it he had to live. Sure, he had heard that Primes resurrect upon death, but Link had no confidence or desire to test it. Yet if the Triforce recombined and fell into the wrong hands, an untold number of lives could be forfeit anyway. Sacrifices had to be made.

"Figures you would enter," Link said, the heat gone from his face. "Death and personal gain. Your two favourite pastimes."

The Gerudo's eyes narrowed but his immaculately practiced smile did not. "Now now, let's be civil. After all, you are asking for my help, aren't you?"

Link breathed out of his nose sharply. "OK. Get on with it."

"Now as you can clearly see, there are a number of fearsome individuals gathered here." Ganondorf pointed to a space in the lobby. Parts of the ground had been blown apart. "Who knows what sort of wizardry that turtle was using."

Link nodded absently. Now that he thought about it, what were those things it wielded? It was unlike anything Link had seen before.

"If powerful and swarthy individuals like yourself and I are here, who knows what sort of competitors we will face?" Ganondorf continued, folding his arms over his chest. "If you want to win, and I assume you do, you need someone watching your back."

The very suggestion sent tingles down Link's spine. Ganondorf watching his back? How long would it take for the desert king to thrust a knife into it?

Ganondorf humphed. Link quickly scoured the emotion from his face, but it was too late. "I've changed, Link. Just look at me. I'm not the same man I was before."

That certainly was true. New clothes and armour, new headwear, even a flowing cape of red hair down his back. What had happened to him since they battled the Rathalos?

"Besides," he added, "like I said, if we stick together, you can observe me. You can see the veracity of my claims. And you know first hand of my power." His voice grew low. "This isn't a battle for Hyrule, Link. That world is gone. This is a battle for survival. I'm not gullible enough to think you'll trust me. But I'm not asking for your trust. Just your assistance."

Link didn't like this at all. Could Ganondorf have changed? He did battle against a pair of ferocious dragons to save Camelot. Maybe while he was sealed away he realised the error of his ways?

Was Link just telling himself this to make an impossibly terrifying decision easier? If so, it wasn't working.

But he could watch the Gerudo king. If he hadn't changed, perhaps another contestant would provide the opportunity to stop Ganondorf once and for all.

Yes. An opening to kill Ganondorf. Staying with him meant the danger was ever present, but always within view. Keep your friends close and enemies closer.

"OK," Link said. "OK. We have an alliance."

Ganondorf's eyebrows arched. "That's all it took?"

Link's eyes sharpened. "I still don't trust you. And if you give me reason, this time, I'll stick the Master Sword straight through your skull."
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Landing on my feet as I jump out of the rift, I look around for the change of scenery. Walls and archways riddled with holes, the floor damp and glistens from the ambient lighting. I drop the table stuck on the scythe and sit on it, looking around some more. A good distance away, I see a large turtle being apprehended. A few feet back was the Marine trio, "I wanna go there." Just a few feet away from me, people carrying large, black , rectangular boxes facing men and women holding microphones crowd together on a spot that blocks half of the hallway. I kick the table from the interview tent back at the rift, wondering if it'll hit something from the other side. Stepping on the red-carpetted floor, I sneak around so as not to get their attention.

*squelch squelch* The carpet alarms my presence. "Darn, Carn."

A few silent seconds later, I feel more than a dozen pairs of eyes gazing at me followed by footsteps, oh dear. Just as I was about to move another inch, the very same crowd moves in unison, blocking my escape and flooding me with a torrent of questions. I couldn't believe there were people faster than me in terms of asking questions or blocking other people. I try to listen, understand and make out something that I can reply to. The sudden surge of words gets me confused, flashing lights from who knows what isn't helping me either. "Gah! W-wait! Please slow down. Please, slow down.", I beg them.

*click click*
*tap tap*
*mic feedback*
*indistinguishable audio*
*click click*

A few seconds in, they still keep on asking the same question, questions I would answer once I gather back my thoughts, although by now, I'm pretty much annoyed. I take a deep breath and with a smile lined with dangerous teeth, I answer them in a deep, growling and guttural voice, very different from the usual cheeky tone I use, "I am Carn, Carn is here for fame and food. Since I am now satisfied with the attention you have given me, it is time to feast! *chuckle*," I declared with a voice that rattles the hallway, biting off one of the black boxes with a shiny glass on the front which I find out later to be called a camera when this guy comes running, squeeling like a piglet, "Aaaah! It ate the camera! *trips on carpet*"

*squish squish*

Deep inside, I like the little bit of chaos, dumb idiots running around hysterically. I grab another camera and eat it. The flavor is rather bland but I like the tingly aftertaste, probably the lithium-ion battery inside it. One of them drops a mic as it squeels once it made contact with water. It got me motivated as I start harassing more of the mediamen. I just hope this wouldn't actually go on air for my debut on television.

*squelch squelch squish*

With relatively no one annoying left between me and the Marines, I run up to them, avoiding what appears to be dismembered bodyparts I am not responsible of, to say hi. "Hi" yes, 'Hi', what did you expect? I just made sure they acknowledge my presence since it'll suck for my future if I didn't at least see them. "What happened here? You guys seen Victor? He's that kid Okor beat earlier. The place seems nice, huh?" I comment.

*squelch squelch*

Looking around to check what else this place offers, my head directed me to a nice smelling atmosphere, no, not Okor. My feet starts moving towards the smell even before I get to decided what to do, oh well. "Uhm guys...I think I'll have to get some chow, I feel hungry now. Probably because of the running I did. Oh well, if you meet Victor, please dom't kill him and tell him I'm in the nice smelling area. Thanks!"

*squelch squelch*

I walk my way into the Recreation Dome with nothing but the nice smell to lead me on.



Blitzing out from a freshly erect portal preceding sloppy descent, Straw Hat met the squeaky-clean linoleum with his rubbery dome, unceremoniously toppling like a sack of potatoes upon pristine tile. Springing up for an awkward recovery, Luffy briskly hastened to his feet. "Ack! What an inconvenient entrance!"

The wiry captain habitually swatted away crud from his cardigan, though to his astoundment not a single speck of dust kicked free. Heh, the maintenance guy around here must be crazy thorough! He pondered, peering around to absorb the scenery.

Gilded furnishing and ornate jewels. Everywhere.

"Wo–WoOoOaAaH!" A magnificent sight to behold splayed out before him, intricacies the likes of which he'd never bore sight upon, accentuated by the scent of succulent meat wafting from above. If ever his wet dreams came to fruition, it was this solaced moment. "Awwwesooome! This place must have cost a fortune! At least ten-hundred million Berī!" The youth yammered with star-glimmered peepers, though unfamiliar with this particular realm's currency, nor inherently great at math.

Slanting his visage to either side, Luffy observed a slough of exotic migrants, yet not quite as numerable as he'd expected, a clear result of his evident tardiness. Armor-clad brutes, mutated varmints, even fun-sized lassies littered the spawning point. Betwixt the nethers of an expansive corridor, he noted a duet of uniformly dressed men postured on either side of a puzzling construct comprised of twin metallic vestibules.

Precious paragons. Voluminous valuables. Titillating treasures. Assuredly, that's what dwelled behind such a glamorous crypt of wonderment. Training his eyes on the target, the captain extended both arms to an exaggerated length, clasping a pair of fixed ornamentals adorning the sparkling walls just shy of the dimly-lit hallway.

"Gomu Gomu no . . . ROCKET!!" Straw Hat yawped before retracting his elastic limbs and careening forth at a fleeting clip whilst bypassing a multitude of heedless compatriots, arriving in sheer seconds and planting his sandals several hairs shy of the patrolmen.

"Woah! S-Sir, you are not permitted beyond this point. Please step away and–" The guards's aghast decree was severed short as Luffy plowed through, snubbing the duo until he felt a palm stiffly grip his shoulder.

"Did you mishear the man?" His partner chimed in, "You may not enter until the boss says otherwise, boy. Go upstairs, prance around the park, whatever you youngins do these days." Such commands served as mere annoyance. Sharpening his countenance, Luffy fastened his hand around the minion's. Squeezing hermetically, he implored a pained outcry from the guardsman as he sunk to his knees.

While the fallen doorman tended to a throbbing extremity, his cohort brandished an sable device and pressed it against the pirate's abdomen. Tugging back the trigger, arcs of electricity sparked to life, gnawing away at Luffy's dermis.

"Kahaha! Stop it, that tickles-hahah-damn it!" The stretchy captain giggled, inearthing the man in black beneath a layer of addle. His taser was utterly useless, soliciting him to toss it to the wayside and invoke his partner's aid. "Oi!! Just let me snag a peek will ya??" The young buccaneer fruitlessly requested.

Amidst the skirmish, the rearmost lackey knocked Luffy's Straw Hat loose, tossing it afloat down the lengthy passageway as both suits grappled the tenacious lad. Fed up, mugiwara arched his head abaft, stretching his neck to inhuman lengths some twenty yards away, peering out from the corridor's archway.

"Grrrk . . . grk . . . Gomu Gomu no . . . BELL!!" Incanting his trademark phrase, Luffy snapped his rubbery cranium forth like a whizzing cannonball, slamming into the alloy-mantled aperture with tremorous impact.


". . ."

Not even a dent.

Collapsing with bootlickers in tow, Luffy's pancaked mug slumped down the unmarred, immaculately sturdy aperture. "Sonuvva . . . that thing must be made of kairoseki . . . sea prism stone . . . I just wanted to . . . see the treasure room . . . Gahh." Benumbed and bewildered, Luffy arose to a seated position, gently kneading his forehead. In that instance, a patron shrouded in form-fitting attire and paired mask strode though, halting once he overheard the commotion.

"Yo, that's the elevator you dipshit."
[Image: giphy.gif]

Dr. McNinja was sitting in the Recreation Dome with his thoughts when he heard a huge explosion.

"Um," he thought, "Are we fighting already?"

Suddenly, Mickey Mou - sorry, Ears (haha he looks just like Mickey Mouse though) - sprinted past him, presumably to check out the explosion. Dr. McNinja scowled. What was going on now..?

He picked himself up and followed Ears. He was heading to the lobby. He must have heard where the explosion was - Dr. McNinja supposed that the mouse calls himself Ears for a reason. He followed him, stealthily following, making sure Ears did not see him.

As he entered the portal to the lobby, Dr. McNinja heard more ruckus happening emanating from the vertical pool of energy. Nervous, he watched Ears dive through. Dr. McNinja followed suit and saw the horror that had happened.

The lobby was smeared with blood and bullet holes. People (if they could even be called people: there was an assortment of angels, demons, children, anthropomorphic animals, zoomorphic humans, robots, and a combination of all of them) were laying on the floor, dead. In the center of all the gore lay a...

"That... is a Wartortle," Dr. McNinja muttered to himself.

He looked to his right and saw a skinny man in a red rag of a vest and a straw sombrero trying to bust open the elevator. He was stretching his arms and legs, smashing his face into the door. Now Dr. McNinja had seen some strange things. He'd seen dirtbikes that turned out to be an evil unicorn, he'd seen lobster-men lead a mafia, he'd seen ghost wizards ordering skeleton armies to find a solid gold Walkman (which he still didn't like thinking about). Never had he seen a man like this. He was basically a rubber band that could stretch itself. It was... insane.

Finally, though, the man muttered, and collapsed after the host scoffed and muttered, "Yo, that's the elevator you dipshit."

Dr. McNinja approached the Wartortle and scanned it. He turned to Ears, who was nearby.

"Uh..." Dr. McNinja cleared his throat. "How you doing? You okay?"
[Image: 665000_mcninja_by_cavenglok-dch0qt5.jpg]
Odd hours. Call for appointment.

Jon took a deep breath inward as he emerged from the portal that led back to the core Omniverse and to the Nexus, his long black cloak trailing behind him as he moved. Metallaic doors slammed behind him, sealing the bastard inside this peculiar pocket realm for good. Taking slow, weary steps, Jon took a few moments to adjust and scope out what was around him.

A vast collection of assorted rooms and archways - chrome elevator doors just like the ones he had just stepped out from were scattered all across the wide, spacious hallways. Other portals from other places, Snow assumed. Jon paced further down the corridor, and the hallways split, leading him into a wide dome of space, counters and comfortable-looking chairs - the centrepiece of this grandiose structure and elaborate maze ground.

Sullen hazel orbs quickly flicked around the room. The place was pretty crowded - not overly so, but there was enough people the make Jon feel unnaturally submerged and swarmed. Cameraman and reporters were all set up in the corners of the lobby area, eying the crowds for anyone who looked of apparent interest or had a potential look to be someone interesting. A few of them appeared to be still savouring their lunch breaks, munching way on fine looking bread stuffed with an ample amount of ham, cheese and fine greeneries.

Jon decided that he didn't feel like answering any more questions with a camera pointing at him, and as one of the distant reporters glanced his way, Jon swiftly turned and quickly trailed off, his long black fur-cloak flowing slightly behind him with his strides.

The bastard must have gotten well-enough away from the eyes of the cameramen before he stopped completely in his tracks.

Or something stopped him in his tracks, rather...

Flowing auburn hair burned against the corner of Jon's eyeballs, prompting him to stop and divert his attention. Jon's nose wrinkled slightly as he realised his impulsive mistake. Could be a Tully, alright... but it can't be Robb. Not curly enough.

Jon sighed.

The orange headed man (or what he assumed to be a man, anyway - his back was turned to him) still looked interesting to the bastard, anyways. A long brown cloak hung down from his shoulders, very unlike his own black, fluffy attire. He adorned steel shoulder pads outside of the cloak, visible for the whole world to see. It was smart as a means of protection, but why didn't he wear them under the cloak as opposed to over them? It wasn't much of a good defence when everyone could see it and know where not too strike. Jon couldn't tell if there were any more layers of armour beneath the mans cloak, but uncertainty and the unknown always gave a certain edge to a fighter when he was in the midst of the field.

Stood across from him was some reporter; a sleazy yet well-attired looking man with slicked-back brown hair and a long, bushy moustache. He wore a red velvet suit, his blue tie hidden away by his stainless maroon jacket, all except for the top of it which lumped up beneath his collar. He was holding a microphone right under the auburn-haired man's nose, speaking with him intently.

Jon tugged his cloak further around him, leaning back against the wall behind him. He had naught much else to do but simply stand back and watch the world go by him, though he still kept a close eye on the reporter and the red-head. He was too far away to distinctly catch what exactly they were discussing.

What Jon did see and hear quite clearly, however, was when the ground suddenly cracked and split slightly beneath the mans feet.

Jon blinked, his pupils dilating and his mouth going a tad agape. What kind of black-magic did you have to know to do something like that?

Jon had seen enough strangeness this past day, though, so it didn't strike him all too much - it was still enough to pipe his interests, though.

Jon was starting full-on at the two men now, watching their movements and changed interactions with steady, bold eyes. Jon figured he was a far enough distance to get away with looking them down and not being accused of giving them a dirty once-over. As the auburn-haired moved past the reporter and brought the interview to an end with his own leaving, however, Jon quickly turned his head away. Looking to him from the corner of his eye, he could see he was about to pass him by and take a right down the hallway. Jon called after him quickly.

"What happened back there?" he spoke in a calm yet curios tone, staring down at his feet. He didn't turn his head to him just yet, but he kept his eyes tacked onto the figure from the narrow-slint of his eyeballs edge. From the glimpse he got of him, he saw a middle-aged looking man who was growing out a bit of a scruff upon his chin.

"Hrmm?" the man responded as he heard Snow, turning back around to face him. Jon now inclined his head, so that their eyes met.

"I saw whatever you did. The ground crackled beneath your feet like.. dried clay..." Jon blinked a few times, pausing as he took a moment to gather his words. "How'd you do it?" he concluded finally, lips pouting slightly outward.

The man's facial-expressions twitched faintly, as though he was having a hard time trying to find the words to properly explain it - like a Braavosi man trying to explain to a dwarf the belief of how an imps cock had apparent magical powers and capabilities.

Jon stared patiently at the cloaked man in front of him, waiting for any kind of answer.
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The immortal had taken a full sweep of the room, vibrating with life and the low murmurs of people planning their next move. The fast pace of interrogation he had left behind, squeaked through the gushing lull of the room and into his aware ears.

Isolation. He had eyed the hallway very shortly after his departure with the messenger, who had delivered the worst possible news: Fairy Tail couldn't be saved. Gildarts was trapped, not to mention inconceivably enraged. The cape that adorned his shoulders fluttered as he beelined away from the crowd of innocents. Had he let anything loose, the room could erupt and crumble in a single wave. Or at least that was how it had worked before he arrived at the Omniverse, though now his self control seemed even more hard to come by.

The little hallway branched from the main room, and tucked him away. He was about to feel some relief when a voice beckoned him back to the drastic reality he faced.

Gildarts tucked his chin below his scraggly collar and swiftly turned to face the man square on. It took but a second for the wizard's eyes to capture the intent of his pursuer. There seemed to be no malicious intent in the warrior's body language and the genuine curiosity could be read simply by his tone.

The youth seemed to be almost twenty, and Gildarts found himself realizing that he vaguely recognized the man with scruff etching his cheeks and jaw, as well as dark muddy eyes and a fabric cloak with fur lining its collar. Perhaps the resemblance was intangibly uncanny. With a grin, the threatening anger that seemed to surround the veteran wizard transformed in an instant. He always put on a good face for the next generation. Gildarts was glad to see the youth, for anything was better than dealing with spineless reporters.

The question finally reached Gildarts and his thick head had to think for a moment. Beneath my... Feet? Oh I must have released... The Prime looked back through the swarm of people and saw beneath the reporter's shined shoes the ground was muddled. An embarrassed hand moved to the back of his own hair, "Oh that, I guess it got away from me. You see, I can't always keep a handle on my magic..."

The wizard spoke as though magic were a natural occurrence, and with a stray eye judged that the young warrior was not from the wizard's own realm. The warrior's expression wavered with a hint of question on his face, so Gildarts explained.

"I'm not a native to this realm, where I am from there's a small portion of people who have magic that flow within their bodies. I just happen to be one of them." Gildarts didn't overanalyze his brief summary, though it was acutely vague, the confidence in his own ability seemed to fill any void that his words may have left.

The charismatic veteran regarded the warrior for a moment, he appeared to be quite young, yet the age of his experience could only be distinguished in the underlying tones of his solemn expression. A layer of invisible armor burdened the man's furred shoulders and seemed to be worn against an ever-waging battle that he had endured. With this, Gildarts perceived that perhaps the stranger was unlucky enough to have seen the blood of war. "And who might you be?"
[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus

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