The Olympics had simply taken too long. The Overseer had overestimated their ability to choose the worthy before it became too much for the valkhound. By the time she returned to the cavern where Saran'zol waited, with the names of the worthy on her tongue, the oilstone chrysalis had reformed, but this time the shell had trembled with the force of keeping the valkhound contained. She had waited for a few days, before telling everyone to go home - when he emerged again, they would be ready. It could be any day now.

Tectus had kept an eye on it. Every day, she'd journey to the wall in Orion and see if there was any change. For a while, it was simply tension.

But then, a few days ago, the spark shad gotten worse. The oilstone's angry reddish glow had started to get stronger. When another day passed and it got considerably worse, she'd called for them - the worthy. The champions of her games, that had proven themselves, hopefully, strong enough to withstand the might of the Unbound Champion.

And then, at last, the day came where the energy that charged in the air was so palpable, one could taste it, like blood and ozone. Tectus stood in the middle of the Forum and knew it was time. She raised her head. "COME, CHOSEN GEMBOUND!! FIGHT WELL! SURVIVE!! YOU HAVE PROVEN YOURSELVES WORTHY!!" Her voice bellowed through the ruined city of Orion, loud enough to echo across the walls and send streams of dust trickling down form the ceiling. With her announcement out of the way, she turned and climbed back into the seats, high above where she could carefully observe while being out of the way of the fight.

[Origin Cave]

THE CHAMPION, UNBOUND

The collapsed wall beyond the Forum held an eerie blood-red glow for cycles, but now it was nearly blinding. Sounds of static grew louder and louder until there was a great trembled in the ground. In one moment, there was a roar, like a landslide, and Oilstone shards went flying from within the cave, followed by bolts of bright red lightning that singed the stones

"D̶͓͍͓̪̱̆̕͝Ò̶͙̲͍̹̯̅̿̕͝ ̵̢̫̲͍̲̥͓͑͌ͅŅ̸͍̯̤̘͐̇̍̓̽̀͛͝Ő̴̜̮̭̦͊̂T̸͔̰̖̣̫̜̂̚ ̷̨͔͔͙̦̻̅̓̎͂̀͐͜M̵̛͙͕̤͖̝̬̂̓̊̀A̴̭̯̟̙͆̎̏̒̂͝ͅK̷͙̲̺̺͚̫̼̈́̐̓͌͌͑͘͜͝Ẹ̸̡̹̜͎̈̽ ̴̢̻̮̯̫̞͍̎͋̈́͒̀̈́͠Ḿ̷̜͖̥̈͝E̷̝̋̃͝ ̶̧̜͕̦͕̓W̵̝̬̭̦̖̬͋Ã̸̛͖̝̭͇̠̭̈́̆͛̅͘̚ͅI̵̙̙̤͙̰̓̌ͅT̵̢̡̨̼̝͇̦̩͋͂͠ ̸͎͍̖͍͋̋̐̎͋̚͜A̴̡̳͉̭̙̾͌̒̑͗̀̕N̸̳̗̩̙͖̰͌̔̕Y̶̨͙̙͚͓̔̈͋̇̌M̶̢̦̥̙̱͔͙̠̈́̒̅̌O̸̺̹̘̟͂̌̕R̸͇̥̫͎̝̮͋͂̈́Ȇ̷̹̯̟͆͑̈̊!̶̯̪̤͘!̵̮̥̮͈̝͕̋̃̎͠͠"

The voice was deafeningly loud, and then bursting from the cave, came Saran'zol. His eyes burned red and his body seemed to have grown even larger, swollen with the power that could no longer be contained. He charged forward, gripping the bladed staff in his arms, and leaped clear over the top of the forum and landed with a resounding BOOM in the middle of the arena.

Oil dripped from his jaws and poured from his glowing eyes. Red lightning crawled over his body constantly, weaving in and out of the scales that glowed like a hellish furnace. He wasn't trembling but vibrating, as if some ungodly engine in his heart had roared to a start, leaving his entire body shaking violently with the power coursing through it.

Immediately, the gembound would feel the energy pouring off of Saran'zol. It took their breath away, they would feel themselves diminished in the wake of the explosion of uncontrollable power currently storming in the middle of the forum. But they did not have time to recover themselves, as the valkhound threw back his head and roared to the stars above -


"S̴̮̖̰̟̘̣̩̪͈̜̦͈͒̎̿̎̊͑̍̈́̈̅͝H̵̡̨̻͚̞͙̘̞̼͙̥̗͎̞̜͌̀͛̆̏̑̉̐̅̂̐͝ͅO̷̧̹̟̲͒̇̽̀͊̍͗̓͆͆̚͘͠W̸͇̹̦̥̋͑̄ ̴̯̲̺̝̺̣͍͙͇̳̝͛̕M̶͉̗̟̮̞̗̝̙̪̳͗̅̋͜Ĕ̸̘͙̫̻̹̙̳͚̈́̑͆͌̽͐͒͗̊͠ ̵̙̺̯̮̲̮͕̤̼͓͍̜̻̺̭̫̍̈́̈́̅̒͐̊͑͗͆͆̀T̶̢̛̛̹͎̼͂́̐͂̋̈́̿̄͛̏̔͝͝H̶͍͎̘̝̖̙̝̼̒̀̽̃́͋̃̆͌͗ͅĂ̷̡̡̧̧̲̮̩̘̣̞͖̒̑͊̐͝T̴̞̤̦̻̟̠͚̲́̌̃ ̷̨̛͈̰̭̗̣͆̅̐́̍̀̒͐̐̚͝͝Ỵ̵̌͗̇̑́͋̋̉O̴̢̙̗̙͖͒̒̇̈́̽͗̒̿̈́̽̽̕͘̚͘͝͠ͅͅÚ̵̘̇͂̽͠ ̸̛̦̩̠̤̻͕̺̠̟̰̀͌̎̒́̔̿̓͑̔̏͊͘̚Ä̸̰͚̭̜͚̗̬͍̈́R̸͚̘͉͔̻͈̝̲̗̊̐̓̑̕͜͝ͅE̵͉͉̝̼͎̗͈̖̺̊ ̴̛͉̦̞̣̮̗̗͐͑̅̑͘͜͜Ẁ̵̼̬̼̻͖̜̘͎͖̣͖͕̥̏̂̆̋̏̍͊̇͒̌̂̾͛̕͝O̵̤̘̲͌̄̽̀̍̊̔̾̄̀̽̎̚̚͜R̶̨̡̠̲̥̲̩̗͔̱̼͙̄̏̔̔̅͆͝͠͝T̶̺̫̤̦̹̳͂̈̃͒̐́͒̅͗͂̃͂͒͊͘͜͠͝H̵̢̛̦̤̼̻̱̩͉̩̘͔̼̖̱̽̌̇́́̅̇͌͘ͅY̴̠͍̱̼̭̮͊̏̆͌͌!̷͙͍̗͉͍͔͙͌̽̀̆!̶̟͎͎̘̗̙̯̟̠̯̘͇̜͍͘͜͜"

The fight against Saran'zol, the Unbound Champion, has begun! The 9 winners of the Olympics have been called to fight him at last. Any other gembound may safely spectate from the stands of the forum. Any attempts to interfere, however, will lead to devastating consequences - we ask you to remain in your seat, please!

Fight well, and good luck! The next round will be posted in 3 days time. (Hover over zalgo text to read)

Click here to view the announcement post explaining the basics of the fight.

@Relic (Gaheris, Bauxite T-One) @Nidhogg (Shrike) @Fahl @Azrael @Phelix @Audland

She'd been... around. And like a few of the others, undoubtedly, it had taken the form of milling, checking in, and eventually training, even drinking. Weird camaraderie, in other words. And at the very least, there'd been plenty of time to heal from the previous battles. The call to arms brought those of them still waiting.

Shrike was excited, at first, until the blastwave of searing energy slammed her off her feet. When she pushed back up from the dust, there was considerably less excitement, and considerably more concern. A distinct Ahh, shit passed through her mind as she decided how to approach this.

With a grimace, she staggered up, wings spreading. She had no idea how well any of this would go, but a few of them had wings, and it seemed best to use them. Her intent was to soar upward and plunge down, as fast as she could, and kick into Saran'zol's... back. Ish. One of the few bare spots without the spines.

She hoped the others would be more successful, because the armor on Saran'zol did not make her prospects feel promising.

Hahaha oh shit, is what Nidhogg would've thought too, if he'd had any capacity to think at all. Because right now he'd been sent tumbling across the arena floor, sand coating a noodly, oily body that had flipped and twisted in a manner that'd have been comical if it weren't for all the ROARING BELLOWS that somehow sounded red to him.

As he came back to his feet and got a new look at Saran'zol, Nidhogg became very, very sure of one thing: the enemy had gotten larger.

This was probably not true. But he SEEMED bigger. He was definitely louder. Nidhogg did not want to get anywhere NEAR him.

He thought fast. He COULD go in as a distraction. Play a serious role, help the group, try to turn Saran'zol's attention onto him. But right now that seemed like an incredibly fucking bad idea. He did not want Saran'zol looking at him. In fact! Best if Saran'zol wasn't looking anywhere at all.

Nidhogg darted forward, looking for a beat like he had found some courage after all, as if he were going to attack the Unbound Champion head-on.

Instead he pulled up at the last second, letting his spiked tail carry the momentum, flinging stained sand from the arena floor in a cloud for the Champion's face. Whether it reached it--or actually did anything at all--was another question entirely.

It'd been a while since danger carried such a crushing weight for Fahl. Certainly, he'd had his share of harrowing experiences, a battle against a molten golem the latest of the lot, but most of those had evoked little more than momentary regret and spat cusses. Magic, as usual, had proved enough to carry him through to the end in each instance. He'd aimed it, exerted his willpower as best as he could, and the directed energy had often struck true.

But this? The pressure which slammed into the arena reminded him of the deepest waters he'd ever traversed and the deadly Kraken of the Black City. Then, an insect compared to his foe, he'd done his best to inflict damage alongside evasive maneuvers, only to be swatted aside before the battle's finish. While his group had triumphed, he could barely consider it a personal one, their success ultimately due to a Master's aid.

He had choked as his chrysalis devoured him, both a victor and a failure. Now, though, he might not have grown in size, but the magic he harnessed had swelled through tireless practice. If a return to that terrifying sleep happened again, it'd be with far more of a fight than ever before. Hopefully fears were unfounded, and that "if" would instead turn out to be a "never."

The beginning of the current struggle was an assault to the senses on all fronts. A mere marine iguana, albeit mutated, the crash of Saran'zol into the forum catapulted him backwards, claws scrabbling against the ground to arrest his momentum. Dust whipped into his eyes and nostrils, and all the while, his skull rattled from the force of Champion's roar bouncing off its walls. Fahl spat out the grit unceremoniously gathered in his mouth from the ordeal and hissed, words of fear and vulgarity-laced determination unable to be spewed when the moment demanded all breath be dedicated to quick action.

The sentiment, however, would be perfectly clear to anyone else stuck in the same situation: fuck, shit, damnation, and any other negative thought one could harbor against potential destruction.

Soon as his limbs stopped quivering just enough to move, distance was sought for. Much as he wished he could throw himself into harm's way as other combatants would likely try, practicality insisted on sticking more so to the edges of the conflict than its epicenter. The clever didn't wait to be struck, but stayed swift on their feet; Fahl sprinted along the curves of the arena. His gaze scanned over every detail of Saran'zol's form, but never left it, seeking a potential point for him to target from afar.

Engulfing his opponent in flames, although tempting, would probably do more harm than good. Anyone who preferred close quarters engagement could be burnt as well and, therefore, sabotage the group effort. A weapon wielder, however, might suffer the loss of his staff without it blowing back on everyone else. At worst, if the staff proved more resilient than expected, perhaps some nasty hand burns could be inflicted.

Fahl squinted while he ran, focus landing on the gleam of the bladed staff. Normally he would use his paw as a conduit for the power pooling within him, but circumstances meant he couldn't break his stride. Intent and line of sight would have to do. He timed magic's release with his latest exhale, a combination of desperation and desire to harm thrusting it forward.

Sorry these r gonna be short. augh

The Relic who entered these forums now wasn't the same one as before - in this case literally. New talons scraped against the gravel, forcing her to take an awkward gait. She assessed the other winners briefly, eyes catching Nidhogg - she should talk to him, soon, ask about the... The Oilstone, or whatever - before she refocused on the massive, glowing target up ahead.

She was better at biting than talking, so she wouldn't bother.

Relic's speed was hindered somewhat with her new paws, but she rushed into the fray to take a chunk out of a leg if she could. Her speed didn't matter if she made sure that Saran'zol would be slower.

The Bauxite was planning on being... Less helpful.

It'd had the rules of engagement explained to it, that the last man standing would reap untold rewards. But there was no other mention of mandatory participation, or a required amount of damage output. That didn't bother it much.

But uhh, he can try something, I guess.

He picked a rock off from the ground, and he threw it in the vague direction of the champion. Yep. That's it. That's the post.

Cycles of waiting for a response, for validation, had left Gaheris unmoored. She'd paced the length of the home cave, swam circles in the water. She was desperate - had it all been for nothing? Had her performance truly been as mediocre as she'd begun to fear?

But it hadn't. The announcement of second place was enough to quiet it all in a moment, and here he stood, ready to prove himself to the others, and the champion they faced.

Mindful of the others, she focused on a point above the champion's head to manifest her most powerful spell.

The Azrael walking into the forum this time was quite different from the Azrael of before. Instead of the bare-chested beast, he was now clad in a set of thick armor, dark-bone plates with many severe and intimidating curves and edges, spiked in places, and quite heavy-looking. But protective.

He stood still as Saran'zol landed and blasted the entire forum with the intense power sparking off of him and the beast grinnned wildly. THIS was what he was waiting for! He had been EXCITED and READY.

With a glance towards Relic (and a nod - she was worthy) he turned back and roared his response, charging forward with claws bared to begin his own attack.

All four arms swiped mercilessly at the valkhound, to try and put him on the defensive, or at least inflict damage. Better yet, call his ire to him!

cw gross kinda

Was Audland late? Holy smokes. He wasn't trying to be.

But from the looks of it, Saran'zol was in a world of hurt. There were so many different Gembound dogpiling it, Audland was having trouble finding out where to even fit. It almost made him... blush?

Fahl's astute observation about fire was quite right. Not that Audland was able to notice such a thing, or care. Audland was liable to head for fire first, as it seemed to be his body's favorite, but recently he realized he could actively try something new. Not out of anxiety to be more helpful—ew, no—but out of a desire to start off stronger (yummy; yes). Especially with such a strongly armored opponent. A multitude of attacks from all sides might overwhelm an opponent, but a well-armored one would expect it and take it well. Surface distribution. Saran'zol's power, in particular, might just overwhelm them all back (it already felt like it was trying to).

But a chink in the armor, that could be exploited. If Audland could get close enough, he might be able to make one. If he could insert them into a fresh wound, their roots could take hold and make it worse, creating a spot for everyone to focus on. Even if Saran'zol was wholly immune the corrupting element of the spell, which it seemed like it might be; the inside of the beast would not be able to deny the roots, and—

Ohh, sweet mother of cave Jesus. His mushrooms really liked this substrate.

Their roots practically rolled right off Audland's body like water off a duck's back. The yucky juices sloughed off him in waves. It was like they'd never wanted to be on him at all. Was this what divorce felt like? Anyways. It seemed they had the internal intention of spreading beyond the wound they were made for. Audland was not about to complain (even though he really wanted to).