[Origin Cave]

Character: Vicktor Age: +5 (5 Cycles) Magic Level: +3 (Pupil) ROUND 1 Attempt: +17 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +3 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +3 Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: +1 Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: +12 Penalties: - Total: 44

Character: Booker Age: +6 (6 Cycles) Magic Level: +3 (Pupil) ROUND 1 Attempt: +2 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +15 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +2 Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: +14 Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: +11 Penalties: - Total: 53

Character: Diot Age: +5 (5 Cycles) Magic Level: +1 (Fledgling) ROUND 1 Attempt: +13 Penalties: - ROUND 2 Attempt: +9 Penalties: - ROUND 3 Attempt: +0 Penalties: - ROUND 4 Attempt: +18 Penalties: - ROUND 5 Attempt: +3 Penalties: - Total: 49

WINNER: Booker and Diot

He had launched himself at the numbat, biting down only deep enough to meet old broken bone. Halting at the realization at how far he had gone. His goal wasn't to kill, not even maim, yet here he was with an old friend caught in his jaws. He only wanted them to run, to understand how perilous this was. To flee and leave him alone! He was so confused! This was suppose to fix this! But they didn't run, they only fought! Why didn't they listen!?

The wails from Booker were nauseating, loud shrieks that rang through his thoughts scattering them across the floor. Only thing that brought him back was the burning across his face. He could see the fire flicker across his ebony fur as Booker thrust his hands in retaliation. The fire was already eating as his soft pelt. Leaving a trail white hot stinging that made his eyes water. He had two choices, bite down harder and crush the fiery numbat to make it stop, or let him fall into the snow below.

Except instinct was a hard thing to fight, it told him to tighten his grip, rip the numbat's leg clean off. And he was starting to, the assortment of mushrooms that grew across his leg falling apart in his mouth under the pressure. Until that familiar voice screamed out, dripping with its own instinctual fear. "VICKTOR! WHAT WOULD CLOVER THINK"

What would Clover think, no, no! She would be disappointed in him! She must have been watching him this whole time, crying out in the heavens. Hoping he would to stop to remember what she had taught him. To survive with kindness, only to kill for two reasons alone. Hunger and survival, but this wasn't that...was it? He was so confused, but another smack from those fiery hands gave him enough persuasion to let go. Releasing Booker rather quickly he shut his mouth, the taste of foreign objects mixing with the trails of ichor ran over his tongue. Had he ingested some of those mushrooms? What were they? He hadn't the slightest clue, nor the train of thought to worry as of now. He wanted to collapse, he was so very tired...


"Speech"

"Thought"

@Booker

His palms hit fur and flesh, and Booker's lips twitched up into a sickeningly satisfied smile, the hands pushing forward, outright grinning at the scent of burned flesh. There. Now everyone will know what you are. There was no point in hiding the vicious triumph coursing through his veins behind defensiveness or fear - no, this was pride, singing sweet in his blood. It was only Diot's yelp that broke the numbat from the trance, brought him back into the moment, the pounding pain in his already destroyed leg, the musculature permanently ruined by now. He tried to imagine it, what Clover would think. Tried to see Diot doing something so mindless and base. Couldn't. Sneered at the jaguar, ugly and unkind. Thick, black, slimy mushrooms unfurled from his skin, created a living shield, stuck the sides of his wound together and slowed the bleeding, cushioned him from the snow-covered ground when Vicktor finally dropped his prey. The mushrooms constantly running along his back and down to his toes seemed to have affected the beast, finally, and Barnett barked out a laugh, laying in the ground, protected by tar-like stalks and shadowy caps. Bastard. Serves 'im right. Hope he got hold of the white ones. It was a mean, petty thought. He had no energy for kindness.

@Diot

Though all the screaming Diot's words had luckily gotten to Vicktor. Watching the Jaguar halt in absolute fear, it struck Diot through his chest like an arrow. He felt so helpless, he couldn't help Vicktor. But at least he had momentarily stopped his jaws from clamping down shut around Booker's leg. Even if it was by the onslaught of confusion and fear that swirled through the jaguar. But with one final strike against the snout Booker managed to 'persuade' Vicktor to let go. The soft dark fur now burnt down to bare flesh.

Diot watched his father, the thick black mushrooms unfurling around his body. They would need to flee, but with how his father was, lame leg and now beyond slimy it would be rather difficult. Reaching out to Booker, Diot kept an eye on Vicktor. The jaguar seemed absent, as if he was losing his grip on reality. The tamarin felt so sorry for him, what horrors his old friend must have seen. To be driven this far, Diot could only shiver. But he would not try and help him, his father was priority number one. And Vicktor in this state would be nearly impossible to work with.

"We gotta go...right now...please!"


"Speech"

The fungal mat only continued to spread across and through Booker's skin, and the man grit his teeth as it slid through meat and curled around bone, mending the wound as best the magic could. His friends had, it seemed, come to him in his time of need. A cough of a laugh escaped the numbat's throat, muffled by clenched jaws, and he stared up dazedly at Vicktor, amazed, for a moment, at how such a small, innocent thing could grow up to be a killer. Then again, Baratheon had been small once. We gotta go... right now... please! The plea made his head loll backwards, eye rolling to stare at Diot, dazedly. "Go..?" Go. Go. They had to go, he had to get his son out of here, get back to the burrow, what are you doing? Are you going to let him die? Booker struggled to his feet, groaning as his bad leg crumpled under the weight. He dragged it behind him anyhow, walking and then running on three legs. He charged towards Diot, and didn't wait to check if his plan had worked before darting off, praying that the sticky spore-filled sap of the black mushrooms would catch on the tamarin's fur and pull him along. There was nothing he could do for Vicktor. Nothing but put him down. [ Exit Booker! ]

Booker's head lolled backwards, his eye rolling around to finally stare at Diot. He was fear stricken, waiting for his father to get a move on. Should Vicktor attempt another assault he would dig down for Nature's help. He would have to. Except his father wasn't as slow as he thought. Like a shot he attempted to walk on three legs, finally breaking in a sprint. The thick black mushrooms that unfurled from his coat were now like tar, clinging to not just him but Diot as well.

When Booker made a clear escape he managed to bump into Diot, the tar sticking to his fur and practically dragging him along. Eyes wide Diot didn't run along with his father right away. He only watched Vicktor, barely able to hold himself up on all fours after they made their escape. The tamarin's only choice was to run beside the numbat, staying right next to him, the sap keep them secure as they quickly made their way back to the burrow. He had enough of today's perilous event.

[exit]

"Speech"

It was all muddled, Diot's bright coat seemed to vibrate into a strange aura each passing second as if it was a virus riddled glitch. And Booker's form began to melt into a ebony tar before Vicktor's very eyes. Attaching to Diot's form as they began to flee. Vicktor just stood there, struggling, fighting off the buzzing that echo'd through his skull. That rattling sensation that made him feel hazy, nauseated even. What was going on...it was those mushrooms, it had to be.

Booker and Diot were long gone and Vicktor felt that rush of existential crisis again. He wanted to run, but everything gave him a rush of fear. His sight wavering to the vibrating colors of the forest. The bright glow of the snow that surrounded him, the falling flakes rushing his heart with anxiety. Everything seemed perilous.


"Speech"

"Thought"

The effects of these mushrooms seemed aeonian. No matter how much Vicktor fought it each wave came back stronger. Like an unrelenting torrent it washed over him, flooding his senses. Everything was so bright, it was wavered to and fro.

And that buzzing, it was nearly rattling his very bones. Churning the hot bile that still laid in the pit on his stomach as he began to dry heave. Each time nothing dared come up his raw throat. The stench of burnt flesh from previous fights clung to the walls of his nostrils. It seemed to be one of the many overwhelming senses that screamed at the jaguar. Snarling at him through bars as he could do nothing about it. He staggered forward. Fighting it, he was so tired he wanted to sleep. But he had that overwhelming feeling that if he dared close his eyes, he would succumb to the damage of all his prior wounds.


"Speech"

"Thought"

Dragging himself forward he stumbled through the snow. Snarling, spatting out what was left of the numbat's blood from his tongue. That bitter taste of those mushrooms still searing his taste buds. The colors that managed to poke through the gleaming white blanket danced wildly. Throwing themselves across his trembling vision. The bare leaves and twigs twisting into large smiling mouths that greeted him with aggression. He recoiled, over and over again at this display.

Screaming incomprehensibly at the monsters that danced around him. Hiding within the blinding reflective snow he was surrounded with. He tried to fight them, snarling and spatting at the ones who dared taunt him. Recoiling like a startled child when they charged his face. Vanishing into nothingness as they collided him head on. He was defenseless from them. Yet he knew they weren't real, at least that's how it started. It was hard to fight one's instincts under the influence of hallucinogens.

"Speech"

"Thought"

Pulling himself through the snow he could only scream, defeated, alone and in pain. His teeth began to chatter together beyond control, he was so cold now. He could barely see through the torrent of tears that flowed down his muzzle. He was dying.

Collapsing into the pristine white below he lay there. Craning his next to take a final glance at himself. Only to see the white snow around his abdomen pool red. Huh, he hadn't noticed everything opening up again. Must have been when he leapt at Booker that final time. Though higher heart heart could have caused the helpful clots to be push out. This would explain so much...inhaling deeply be began coughing, heaving up speck of blood from his raw throat. He wanted to live...it wasn't suppose to end like this, nothing of this was suppose to happen. This was beyond a bad day, it was legendary.

With heavy eyes Vicktor began to fade in and out, he could no longer feel his body as a whole anymore. Yet he was trembling uncontrollably, barely able to retract his claws that seemed frozen in place. "I'm...sorry...I...don't want to die...Clover" His voice barely above a whisper as the snowfall picked up its pace. Covering his trembling mass in a frozen blanket. He would be at peace.

But as fate would have it there aint no rest for the wicked.

A blinding hot light flashed beneath his eyes. Vicktor violently woke, screaming forth from unconsciousness. His tattered pelt glowing a bright white from the fire that developed inside. He could feel the searing heat thaw his frozen limbs, trembling like a newborn as the snow melted around him. Heart caught in throat he heaved, throwing up white hot bile. Glowing with heat as it steadily flowed from his maw like two spindly rivers. Specks of the fiery bile flying from his mouth as he let loose a shriek yowl. Burning.

His ebony coat was blinding white until finally the tips of his fur began to ignite. Going up in flames it quickly spread, ravnous they covered the entirety of his body. He stood, struggling to rise himself. Attempting to roll into the snow to put it out, yet it was useless. This fire would not be put out so easily, not until it had finished its task. Collapsing into a pile of pristine white he screamed his throat hoarse. Plasma pouring forth, pooling beneath his head. The wounds he had suffered from COR began to trickle with white hot plasma, dripping down his body like a thick tar as it seared his flesh clean along the way. The gaping hole that laid across his abdomen pooled forth this tar, white hot like the magma he had vomited. It seared his flesh in a flurry of smoke that billowed from his body relentlessly. The scent of burning flesh swirled through the clean scent of winter that had taken the forest. It was stale, rotten and unrelenting. Fur scorching and burning to ash only fell along the bare muddy forest floor around him.

He had stopped screaming, but not willingly. He would thrash, snarl and shriek yet nothing would emerge through the torrent of plasma that gurgled from his body. He felt as if he would drown, his throat had been filled with the boiling liquid. Struggling to breathe through this heat. His lungs had already began filling, blistering as he fought it. He could feel the shifting of bones deep within his rib cage, that liquid filling up the space around them. This couldn't be an hallucination, this was too real. This was torture, hell itself. Yet still he lived, still he fought and suffered.

Until finally he gave up, body limp as strips of his own flesh began to peel and burn crisp into ash. He was gone, knocked unconscious from the lack of air he held. Slowly the fire died down, it was done. Leaving his body burnt and steaming with rancid smoke. Sections seemingly untouched yet fur burnt short to his very skin. Yet those that sections that had been 'healed' appeared the worst. Bright red and inflamed from the onslaught of torture. Yet they were sealed up tightly.

His heartbeat but a faint sporadic rhythm, he was alive.


"Speech"

"Thought"

@Cayenne