[OLYMPICS V] Magicka Show! - Printable Version

flesh of malice, black of bone; blood of oil, heart of stone

In spite of the Oil dripping from her tongue and tattered maw and slicking over her path, Draconua clambers up the shelf of broken rock. Her fingers come away cut-up and bloodied with every foothold, but she frets not, too frantic and nearly dry-heaving with the exertion of climbing up a stone barely taller than herself.

"In Chaos's den, you cannot slip loose from that tether. You are hardly free," she pants, staring through the gathering now, driving hooked claws into the crumbling stone and making them bleed at the quicks with the intensity of her hold. "Beneath your soft skin, you are violence!"

Violence!

"Beneath our skin, we are Oil. When you are born, when you die! When I am born, when I die! When we are born, and when we die!" she howls.

VIOLENCE!

The trails of Oil dripping down the stone begins to sprawl outward, turning it darker, darker, darker until it shimmers with a pitch-black iridescence; until Draconua is reduced to wheezing and gasping wetly around the Oil clogging her throat, clinging harshly to the newly-made fount of corruption. "It's Chaos, all the way down! No matter how many of you there are that deny our true nature!"

VIOLENCE!

She lowers herself, then, into a predator's lurking crouch despite being in plain sight, and she wonders— (and fantasizes and paralyzes herself with her own indecision on where to strike first—) how it would be to leap from this stone, teeth bared and her own soft skin ablaze.

... how it would be to sink her teeth into purple scales and imagine that they're a more violent magenta.

... how it would be to cross the gap and snap up as many soft bodies as she can fit down her gullet and drink deep of the violence they will not gorge themselves upon.

... how it would be to—

... to— to—...

beast, valkhound, violence-prone! oilstone! oilstone! d r a c o n u a

She stayed to watch, of course she did. There was nothing she loved more then to see the gembound of the caves displaying their talents and skills, and their creativity to boot. She cheered and awed where she needed, cringed at poor Tourmaline...and then that beast arrived and she found herself apart of the show once again, this time without her consent. Her fur stood on end and she stood and stepped back, hissing with surprise, as the massive valkhound's teeth snapped shut too uncomfortably close to her. It was targeted. Spiteful.

She stared, wide-eyed, and tried to compose herself, flattening her fur and wiping her face of any intense emotions, and tried not to take everything Draconua was saying personally but...it was hard. The Valkhound seemed to make her entire show the antithesis of hers, to erase and paint over what she had shown. It was an insult - of course it was - and even more so that it all succeeded, and Wilder's own intended finale was darkly mirrored in the raising of Draconua's own dark spire.

Wilder could not help but frown. She could not help but be disturbed. Perhaps the last time she was on this stage, she would have fled and hid, sobbed and despaired into her own fur until the aches in her soul stopped hurting for once. But that was Wilder before Hume, before Enlightenment, before she truly grew up. Now she faced the disturbance and something in her sparked, something in her eyes flashed gold and pink, and she reached forward to listen in on Draconua's mind, to understand. Why was she like that?

It was, probably, the first time she'd ever touched a Valkhound's mind. The first corrupted being, for sure, and she was immediately bombarded with the pure chaos of her nature. It was overwhelming, immediately, like a ferocious storm that raged around her and within her. Like a tornado was ravaging straight through her mind, grinding against the underside of her skull, and every breath, even second of existence, every thought that crawled oily slick through her mind, was chaos.

Wilder had known Order, once. It was something she had carried with her for a very, very long time, the rearranging of her brain, the loss of her autonomy, the compliance she had been forced into. This was both its enemy and its blood, black to white, the flip side of a coin. It was violence without control, worship without comfort, it was pure unchained chaos, so brutal and unpredictable and horrible that Wilder could see it for what it was on the exterior - its own kind of chain, holding Draconua to this state of half-being, a slave to the power she claimed to master. Just as the Drones were to their Hive. There was no freedom in this.

It made her sad. It made her yearn to help. And that yearning very quickly flipped into madness and she leaned into it. Hume's burden burned in her mind and she found herself itching to do something, even though Draconua was very much unhelpable, but she had to try she had to or she would go mad. She did not see the irony as her eyes clouded with wisps of pink and gold.

It hurt. Her heart ached as she listened to her corrupted thoughts. What a sad existence this valkhound lived, slave to hatred, chained to chaos. She would never see the sky. She would never love and have her heart broken, she would never know the care that Wilder had known, for others and from others. How she pitied her, how she wished she could be better, that she could understand, see as Wilder saw...yes...yes that's what she would do! The brief look into Draconua's mind had immediately shut down any help Wilder could offer, but there was still something greater then her, her own power that she could not truly control.

She reached for it, and upon Draconua, she Wished - I wish she knew how wrong she is. Not just for her proclamations of violence, of their lack of freedom to Be, but also for the visions she fantasized, fighting in Rrevalk's wars that she would never see, of the corruption that had cooked her mind to oil and to know that there were other ways to exist rather then that of a slave to chaos.

Wilder could feel the heat on her fur and she did not panic - it was Hume, surely, the power of wishing taking something from her every time. It wouldn't occur to her later that she was too close to the font Draconua had placed, she didn't know that it was anything but a facsimile of her Dark Spire. She'd walk away from this with something more then she asked for, but it didn't differentiate in her mind from the visions of Draconua that were fading in the wake of the spell.

She stepped back and crouched, wide-eyed and breathing heavily as that bit of madness faded a bit. She had tried.

Throughout the competition, Tectus watched carefully, never showing signs of fatigue or boredom, giving each contestant a chance and her undivided attention. Some left...different impressions then others.

The train...well...Tectus at first looked around, trying to work out where it even was, but the signal definitely caught her attention. Not that...anything happened. She stared after it as it disappeared and looked down at her sheet. So that was...Titivilus? She didn't really know how to react to that one.

Wilder, however, caught her attention immediately. At first, she was settled in for something she'd heard before, something she knew about, nodding at the "rebellion" and the "silence." Seems like some gembound knew their history. But the appearance of the Fates caught her off-guard. Tectus had never been a historian of any kind, she did her job and she did it well, so she found herself leaning into the story a bit, eyes narrowed suspiciously. Did Wilder know what she was saying? Did she understand what she was attempting to unravel before Tectus's very eyes? For a moment she considered disqualifying her, for kicking her off the stage before she could continue planting very dangerous ideas of freedom in everyone's heads, but for now...she let it slide. But she would not be acknowledging her at the end. "Thank you, Wilder," she forced out, tersly, as the cat left the stage.

Gaheris was, perhaps, the first contestant that truly impressed her. The design of it, for one, was beautiful and powerful, and the magic she displayed equally so. It was fairly basic, of course - displays of energetic power on three poor boulders that stood no chance, but it was strong. The finale, in particular, brought a bit of a gleam to her eyes as she leaned forward a bit over her elevated rock. This was a strong one. What was their name? Gaheris? She would keep an eye out for it. "Very impressive, Gaheris," she rumbled at the end. "Thank you." She didn't answer the question, but the corner of her mouth curling up perhaps gave away her thoughts on the matter. It sure did suffice.

The next performance brought a bit of confusion and sympathy. The fickle nature of magic seemed to fail Yvan in the place where she knew they were all hoping it wouldn't. He didn't have the mastery needed to overcome that nature and it made the performance, well...a little embarrassing. She had enough graces to say nothing until the end, simply giving a small nod of the head, "Thank you, Yvan." As she did with all the others. She quickly moved on after he'd fled.

Then...the pass of Khavur and the, well, unfortunate finale of Tourmaline's was certainly a shakeup. And, weirdly enough, Tectus was kind of impressed. Even if it hadn't been intentional, the crystal spear had been crazy and flashy and demonstrated at least a power of magic, even if it was out of her control. She kept the cat noted in her mind after that.

Fahl, like Gaheris, truly impressed her. It was even more flashy then the dragon's had been, brutal and powerful and she found herself leaning forward to watch as he went about his performance. It was more then a simple display, it was mastery, and its brutality sang to something in her heart. How bold, how fierce, to create a doppelganger of yourself and burn it alive for the audience's amusement! And to wither it within chains of its own flames, oh, Tectus had a favorite. She liked this one - she looked to the iguana and wondered if she could make use of him, if he would allow it. Perhaps an outsource for when they needed that kind of strength, if he was receptive. "Very impressive, Fahl," she offered at the end, forcing herself to keep to basic comments only as the show continued. "Thank you."

The octopus, at first, she had to squint to see, and its tiny voice, and something in her at first scoffed and pushed it to the side. Old habits. But she reminded herself that gembound, smaller then their valkhound predecessors, were still proving themselves powerful no matter the size. So she kept her mind open as the small creature formed bubbles of ice, admiring at least the base magic skill that went into it. She nodded, although noted that it had faltered partway through. "Thank you Phelix, that was lovely."

Daphne's show was flashy, she noted the failed opening, but appreciated the finishing touches. The performative aspect of the lightning disappearing, like it had flooded into the wolf's body without harming her, was impressive. Tectus knew this one, she was one of hers, and she remembered noting that she was still fairly new to magic. Relatively, at least. Her control was not quite up at the place she was looking for to fight the Champion, but she still gave her an appreciative nod. "Well done, Daphne. Thank you." She would be strong, given time.

She was hopeful with Archon, another of Vargas's Forge, and his promise to display combat magic. She thought back to the Corundum and wondered if it was going to be similar but...ah, he struggled. The brightness at first confused her (in a bad way), the doppelganger confused her (in a good way), and also reminded her of Fahl's performance, and then the last mirroring...confused her (in a bad way again). The Overseer looked mildly bewildered at the odd mirror images he'd conjured around them (was that Vargas?) and for a moment she wondered if she was supposed to laugh at it, but a glance back at him and the sour expression and...she didn't, thankfully. She simply nodded. "Thank you, Archon," was all she said as she composed herself.

And then...the last one. She looked at her sheet and felt a spike of nerves run through her. Vargas had mentioned this one at some point, and her gathering of information in the time since she'd awoken had of course told her of the monster beneath the Black Spire, the caves' proverbial "skeleton in the closet". She'd purposefully put this at the end, in case of any catastrophic events or destruction of the "stage" they'd created, and now that they were at the end, it was time for her to go loose.

While she was apprehensive about Draconua's performance, she could not help but love it. She was, after all, built and created to run a nest of Chaos so Draconua's dissaproval for Wilder's performance was mirrored in the Overseer, and she would have nodded along if she wasn't keeping herself impassive. But it became very clear to her very quickly that this was...too far. Chaos to the point of instability, her words going from a denouncement of the non-chaotic powers that tried to make a home in this nest to...babbling as chaos itself erupted from the stone she created. Tectus was far enough away that she wasn't effected, but that wasn't her concern. The Sleepless Chaos was prowling, glaring, a predatory energy in her form and she wasn't...moving. She blinked. Uh...was she not going to move?

"Thank you, Draconua," she said, loudly. Okay she would...ignore her for now. And if she tried anything, well, Tectus would try her best.

She glanced around. Hopefully some of the more competant ones here would help if it came to worse. The Task Force would already have been made away that there might be complications with Draconua attending. Hopefully they were ready.

Anyways...

Ignoring, for now, the prowling valkhound, Tectus turned to the crowd. She'd already been considering throughout the show who she would award with the top places, who was the most worthy, as Saran'zol had asked for, and decided on the three. They would survive against it, she was sure.

"Thank you all for your performances," she began. "You have all shown great feats of magic, you've displayed your power, control, and creativity. In this cave, where magic is unpredictable," she glanced towards the looming Spire, "you have still persevered and I have been truly impressed by what you've displayed! However, there are some that have stood out among the rest - those that have proven to me that you are WORTHY. Worthy to challenge the Unbound Champion and reap the rewards."

She let it hang for a moment, before clearing her throat. "In third, Pollen. You performance was beautiful and demonstrated a great amount of control and creativity with an element many would not expect to see much innovation within. If you wish to fight, then I am sure you, garden knight of the palace, will persevere!"

She nodded to the muta and moved on - they would all have a chance to respond and accept (or not) at the end.

"In second place, Gaheris. Your magical strength is quite impressive! The magics of energy are fraught with danger, yet you display power and control over its fickle nature. Yes," she added with amusement, "It will suffice, should you choose to fight."

She gestured to the dragon and moved on, again, to the final.

"And in first place, Fahl! Your performance was flawless! You have true mastery over your magic, displaying fearlessness, brutality, and precision. It was pretty damn gutsy too," she smirked. "I respect it, and it deserves you the first spot in the upcoming fight, if you desire to participate."

"I would like to give some honorable mentions - V-Corondum-One, your use of magic was creative and exciting! I did not expect it and was impressed by your ingenuity! Nikolai, your strength is very much noted, a very cool display of the dangers of flame! And..." she looked off past the crowd, "Tourmaline absolutely wowed us all, I think, with such a brutal display! I won't be forgetting that for a while!"

Tectus turned back and gestured to the ones she'd called out. "Congratulations to the winners, and thank you all for your participation!" She gave them their moments, then, to respond, thank her, whatever. If they wished to pull out from the fight, then she would accept and choose the next from the honorable mentions. All the while, she kept a wary eye on Draconua, in case something started that she needed to end.

I wish she knew how wrong she is.

For the first time of Wilder's enlightened life, her wish would go unanswered. Silence would bubble within her ears in the wake of her wish and as the sounds of announcements and chatter faded from her senses, the feeling of slipping from a riverbank and into the current of rushing water would overtake her: suddenly, the climax of that bubbling, echoing silence would engulf Wilder as a turbulent crashing of rapids.

Draconua was not wrong—nor was she right. Was Wilder right or wrong? Who decided right or wrong? Not Wilder. Not Draconua. Not Hume.

There was no right or wrong. There was no good or evil. Wilder's vision blurred until she was beneath the rainbow sky of End, greeted by the gentle, warm red-orange eyes of the wolf—NATRIUM. He was speaking to her, his voice light and kind, explaining this like it was some lecture he had repeated time and time again. The words scrambled in her head. The gargling of the empty river that swallowed her before did so again and she was swept away from the grey and white wolf. A wolf she did not know but whose name etched itself into her mind as she was taken with the current and spit back out into the cave.

A gift from Hume? A slap on the wrist? A wag of finger chiding her for assuming something so childish? No, no—because Hume was not here, not really, but her essence gave life to all of them. Wilder's intent, her will, the enactment which fell short caused her magic to bristle in response. Draconua was life, too. It was life that Hume cherished, even the valkhounds. Even the drones. The apostles, the enlightened, all of it.

Congratulations... the words started to creep back into her consciousness. As if she had blacked out and came to, thank you all for your participation.

Tectus sounded like a flat tone in her mind, scratchy, as if being played from an old recording.

The sound that came clear to her as that rush of water subsided—as the blood whirling through her ears ebbed—was the guttural pop of oil within Draconua's throat. Tectus might as well be a distant, faraway thunderstorm. But the valkhound was here. Right here. She was violence. She was chaos. Flesh of malice, black of bone; blood of oil, heart of stone. The world turned to grayscale as the sound of sizzling oil crawled through Wilder's mind like it knew the entire labyrinth of her brain, but shimmering in green and purple was Draconua's upper skull and Wilder was forced to look upon it.

Valkheart. Draconua's heart of Oilstone. With a knowing she did not have before, Wilder obtained the word like change spit back from a payphone. The chaos dragon was violence. The Valkheart that fueled her gave that violence purpose.

And would she ever see Rrevalk's war?

Yes.

She was staring directly at it.