Kai Cooper

Vivian was not pleased with him and Kai could only smile at the rage. The moment she appeared through the Doors to see him waiting, his love had been a sputtering wreck. Flashing from garbled sobbing to strangled screaming to muffled professions of love into his chest before cycling through it all chaotically. It was the most beautiful thing the proud acolyte had seen. He never knew or felt such love before. That it was directed at himself was simply miraculous.

So he was overwhelmed by the show of passion Kai that stood there stunned. Normally he would cut in to smooth over the eruption, but not this time. Instead, the proud acolyte admired the reaction like a work of art. It was when a blow cuffed him across the chin that he woke from the stupor of adoration. Gently, he snatched her hands out of the air. Both to constrain and soothe them. Her glare grew in strength, but Vivian softened in her stance.

“My dear heart, let’s not fuss,” smiled Kai softly. “I am here.”

She growled at him, and said, “Don’t you try weaseling out of this!”

Mocking surprise, “Huh? Weasel out of what?”

“DON’T!” screamed Vivian. Her hands tried fiercely to break free and start hitting again. Like riding a tiger, Kai couldn’t let go now. “Damn you! I, I had to watch you die!”

“Yes,” He frowned and looked away. Her eyes had burned with too much feeling. “I’m sorry you did, but I couldn’t watch you die. I knew you wouldn’t let me protect you unless I forced the issue.”

“Bastard! You had no right,” she sobbed with streams of angry tears.

Growling, Kai countered, “I had every right! I had the spell and the power to do it! If you could have, Vivan, you would have done exactly the same. You're just mad I acted first!”

A choked cry escaped as the healer clenched her teeth in denial, but said, “I would have… of course I would have… So, instead, you made me watch you die?”

“I’m sorry, sweet one,” entreated Kai. “I hoped that I could have gotten away, but that dead thing was a nightmare. Worse than I expected.”

“I tried to heal you…” whispered Vivian as she laid her head upon his chest. Her arms went still in his grip. He moved to hold them lovingly instead of like manacles. “You… you were too far gone. That horrible red light wouldn’t let me do anything…”

Kai grimaced at the thought. His pain and wounds were gone, but the memory was crystal clear. The proud acolyte felt the sting of the red light was still there in his mind. It was an impression he expected to be haunted by for a long time coming. “It wasn’t pleasant,” he said distantly to fill the silence.

“Promise me you won’t do that again,” urged Vivian. “Swear that you won’t send me from away like that again. I am not at your beck and call, Kai!”

His grin formed again as the proud acolyte kissed her and said, “No.”

“No?” her eyebrow rose threateningly and he felt a chill run up his spine. “You won’t?”

“If I can save you, then I will do that every time,” stated Kai with a steady tone even with the cold sweat caused by her glare. “Every time,” he assured.

“I see,” said Vivian, completely calm. The tears and tremors were gone. Now there was only a baleful aura and cold eyes.

They shared a long silent stare. Kai was unwilling to shift his position and Vivian trying to build a response. When the healer opened her mouth, the tone was serious. A dangerous smile completed her terrifying form. Kai wanted to flee. “Then listen to me, my love. That will never happen again. I deny it. Have faith that I never allow myself to be away from your side again. Not in this life and never in battle. You face death, I face death. We survive everything together, there isn’t any other way this can go.”

He couldn’t help chuckling. She tensed ready to make her displeasure felt, but Kai waved her off. Luckily Vivian recognized he meant no offense by the humor. It was a laugh at the situation they were in. An impasse. “Dearest heart, in this we'll always have a contest. Me, trying to secure your safety, and you, stubbornly refusing to leave me… fascinating the trouble you cause me!”

She gasped in offense and began to slap at him again. Kai laughed and encouraged them to seek some rest. All he really needed to do was start walking as his love wasn’t down showing her irritation. Under her wrathful fists, the two of them headed towards their room. Technically they had two, but the other room had never been open beyond a cursory look. It was a tiny thing in comparison to the other. The choice of which one to use was an easy one as every night in The Pit had been spent together. Already neither could think of sleeping without the other being close.

Their tiff continued in the room, but it was just cycling through the issues. Becoming more a play-act as they both realized nothing was going to change. The positions had already been set. In time the healer and the proud acolyte laid down for sleep. Vivian, exhausted beyond measure, succumbed to her dreams first. Kai couldn’t sleep. At first, he passed his time watching her sleep. It was calming, but the dread he had been resisting returned. Bellowing up with undeniable strength.

When he was sure she slept soundly, Kai pulled himself free to sit on the bed’s edge. His breath came tightly as the proud acolyte allowed himself to feel everything alone in the dark. The memory of the burning red light, his hands rubbing where it had been. Tears pouring down. Ice took over his blood as the moment of his death welled up. That sense of inevitable that came as blood lost took the light from his eyes.

The worst part was the worry that part of him didn’t come back. After death, there had been oblivion. Staring into its infinite made Kai feel as if he was fraying. He had a strong suspicion that staying there too long would scatter and annihilate him. The stark terror was that he hadn’t been brought back quick enough. Nothing felt missing. But, how is someone supposed to notice something like that? thought Kai.

He sat there a while processing everything that had happened. It was long before sleep would come.

Vivian Russel

She watched him from under the covers sitting there silently. By his stiff shoulders and slouch, Vivian was sure of what her love was thinking. She ached to offer comfort in this dark moment, but knew it was best not to. All that could be done was to keep vigil over Kai. In time, he would open up or process it fine alone.

Her way was to release it all at once, violently. While that did embarrass the healer, there wasn’t anything to do about it. That was the only way for her to let go of what got built up inside. Kai was different. If she was to offer comfort, it would only be an intrusion. An invitation to what he was feeling was the only way to directly aid. So instead, Vivian watched and protected his solitude.

John Harken

The priestly man peered at the painting of the sky and thought on the nature of death. The Hall was hushed. Most had ghosted the sitting area at first lazily, then in trickles before the rush. Fleeing the mood that had been brought in by those returned from the tunnels. It lingered in the air like miasma for the soul. People had died today, and with that, came the dread of the one true doom. Harken saw it in the eyes of the Sixth whether they went through the Doors or not. Swelling fear creating fertile soil for the seeds of doubt.

That each of the deceased has returned to life only adds to the confusion, thought Harken. In the old world, dead was dead. Someone coming back from the grave was not a normal thing. It was never expected. Only in stories told as fictions or ancient tales did the concept even come up. In the modern age, the perished stay gone. The deaths of our people have reminded us of the harshness of reality, but the resurrections, they remind us how strange The Pit is.

Harken stood under the cracked sky and hoped the strange woman would return. It was here that she had given him good words and the right path. He hadn’t seen a sign of her. There was nowhere to go, but back to his room, so the priestly man remained. Not with any hope the moon-eyed woman would return. Only to contemplate the crisis at hand. The Hall was open and better for pacing.

Absently, he traced a circle parallel to the dome above. Following the steps that she had taken while speaking wildly. Some part of him hoped it would grant him similar wisdom. He wanted to feel the surety and confidence that had imbued her words. To know and understand how best to act for the sake of the Sixty.

The simple truth is that we must keep moving forward, thought the priestly man. This shock is a long time coming, but we can’t let it stop us. Death was promised and delivered. The Commandments spoke on this. They also urge us upwards, so the Sixty must keep rising. They do need time… how long can be allowed?

His pacing continued as Harken racked his brain for the right words for the right plan. In the following days, Harken believed he needed to be ready. This was a pivotal moment for many and the priestly man wanted everyone to come out the other side in the right way. He whispered to the quiet hum of the Hall, “Rise, we need to rise.”

Marceline Kant

“What are you looking for?” called out Evelyn from behind her. For a long while, Marceline didn’t bother answering back. She continued to stare into the mirror by the glow from the main room. It was dark in the attached bathroom, but there wasn’t any urge to activate the light. The reflection was completely visible and there was a comfort to dim light. Easy to slip away when you wanted.

In the mirror, she searched and hoped to find any sign of something. It was a strange thing to experience death and have nothing change. Her skin was unharmed and smooth. As if she had stayed rather than left through the Doors. Marceline felt compelled to look for proof. Some physical marks to prove the confrontation. There was only the gold rings. It felt disconcerting that a life and a death were symbolized by just the loss of a ring.

"I know I died, but it feels like a dream…” answered Marceline finally. “All of this feels like a waking sleep that I can’t escape.”

“It’s real,” murmured Amelia as Evelyn joined her in the bathroom. The Sisters had grown close and knew each other well. Which is why her dear friend didn’t touch in an offer of comfort. Marceline did not like to be touched.

Instead, Evelyn looked into the mirror and said, “Nightmare maybe. Of course, I’d fucking look prettier in this hell hole.”

That was her friend's way, to complain and listen. “I don’t believe I got any prettier,” remarked Marceline.

A disgruntled frown marked Evelyn nastily as she replied with an eye roll, “Of course not. You're a damn living doll. Porcelain skin and naturally red lips. Genetic fucking lottery.”

“Yes,” giggled Marceline, happy to be distracted. WIlling to be.

From the room, Amelia called out sleepily. “I am very beautiful.” Both girls in the bathroom without turning around replied in sync, “You are indeed, Amelia.” A self-satisfied hum was the reply.

“Yeah, so fucking death, huh?” awkwardly started Evelyn. “What was that like?”

“Better than expected, but worse than you can imagine,” she replied honestly.

“That’s a bit twisted… and, I’m not sure I getcha,” frowned the dagger user.

Marceline tilted back and forth as she thought about it. “I think, mmm, it was much easier to die than I thought. Especially after we started using Mana. My life just slipped away. Under all the pain I was going through, it just whispered away. Was quite startling. That’s the better-than-expected part. The worst part… I, well, stood in the endless place between nowhere and everywhere, and felt oblivion try to break my soul. If I didn’t have a healthy respect for my life before, experiencing that would have instilled a desperate need to protect my life to avoid that again.”

“Alright, yeah that sounds fucked,” nodded Evelyn sagely. “So, what now? You need a break from the tunnels?”

“No,” intoned Marceline dead seriously. “If anything, I want to get out of here more than ever. My hate for this place… I can’t wait to meet the master of this place.” An evil grin broke her pale perfection and an evil illumination of purple fey flames burned lightly around her.

Evelyn answered with a grin of her own and replied, “Neat!”

Ameilia called out to the two of them in great exasperation, “What’s neat? Why are you two talking in there… Do I need to leave this nice, comfy bed to join you in there?”

“No, dear Ameilia, we’ll come to you,” laughed Marceline. She played the vibrate purple flames across her fingertips. “I have something to show you!”

Amiyah Kazmi

The arrow missed the target by what felt like a mile and it wasn’t even a moving one. Amiyah glared down at her trembling hands. Come on damn you, she swore at herself. Her breathing was too fast, but she tried to take large calming breaths anyways. Almost mockingly, her hands shook harder as frustration mixed with fear.

She felt lost in the woods. Reliving her childhood nightmare and once upon a time, reality. Trapped between endless trees as their shadows deepen under the failing sun. No light, only a doll to keep her company in the wilderness. Amiyah had claimed the archery range for herself in hopes to escape that feeling. That strategy had worked before.

Many of the other archers were terrified of Clarissa after her extreme training. They were still complaining about how harshly the redhead had pushed them. Amiyah had valued every moment. It had been a revelation for her. Waking in The Pit has sent her straight back to the day. A nightmare that started with a misstepped in a national park. Learning archery had given her the power back. A guiding point to control her destiny, to see a path out of the trees.

Death brought her all the way back in chains. Amiyah’s memory of that wild darkness took over her senses. The sun was gone and the moon missing. The trees were all but lost to sight in the gloom. Only their edges were lit by starlight. Her blood was going cold with panic as she felt/remembered oblivion on her skin. The world distorted as the silent archer’s breath became ragged. Her vision was failing until all she saw was that desperate night when a little girl was lost. Just a scared child with a doll. The bow acted as a proxy to hold onto as skeletal monsters peeked from every imagined tree.

A whisper from a dream to this nightmare, “Breathe. Never forget to breathe. You’ll make yourself dizzy, and then your aim will be completely worthless. Well, more worthless. Breathe to the beat of your heart and shoot between. Alright, show me that you assholes aren’t wasting my time!” Amiyah gasped and used the memory to steady herself. Forcing a slow stuttering breath while kneeling on the floor. She wasn’t sure when that had happened, but kept focused on the drive that the memory had invoked.

Slowly, Amiyah took back control and was cleansed of most of the panic. Her hands were steady again, though her legs were a little shaky. It was a careful climb back up to a standing position. Breath in, and exhale. Smooth inhale and long release. Her bow raised with the arrow set. Eyes straight forward, but her attention was inwards. To tuning lungs and heart to the same rhythm. When it beat together, she narrowed on a target. The one insultingly missing an arrow. Draw the string and pull in the air. Let out carefully, measured.

Before the next breath, the arrow flies perfectly. She holds her stance, watching it travel precisely into the target’s center. The last of the strain in her body breaks and Amiyah feels free again. Clear from the haunting trees. She summons Mana while raising another arrow. I’ll practice, she said absently. Make Clarissa proud and chase away the shadows. Pale gray Mana collected around the arrow as the silent archer chose the next target.

Warner Papadopoulos

Fists flying, he danced through the shadowy forms. A sticky thought held most of his attention while going through his paces. Warner had chosen humanoid illusions of middling skill to occupy his body. Some paced to work through a notion or two, but the brawler preferred physical training. A practice fight above all. Assuming the real thing wasn’t available. The training rooms of The Pit were a thrill for him. They allowed for endless struggles when a particular rumination proved frustrating.

His fist passed through the head of a shade as the final blow. It fell backwards, dispersing. A kick flashed around to create space as more of them came at him. They do so endlessly to give time for the gears to move and a conclusion formed. At the moment Warner floundered inside. The Sixty were in distress. This was a moment to capitalize on, but he was hesitating. The big man wasn’t sure why.

Not only has a disaster fallen into my lap, but Malachi has claimed the blame for it, thought Warner as he ducked a swiping attack. His fists flashed in counter before skipping to the side to avoid a blow from behind. I can use this, if not to claim the top then at least build myself up. Why am I holding back? What do I owe this man? He’s been doing fine, but I’ve seen his like fail before. For fuck’s sake the man by all acounts is buckling right now! And yet, I feel more regret for that than enjoying the taste of opportunity.

Warner snarled as he put that frustration into an onslaught against three shadows. Weaving through them and landing one blow after another. Kicks to trip to cause a stagger or flinch. Preferring fists to finish. When all three faded, more came and that was good. The brawler was still feeling frustrated. A nebulous feeling lay heavy on his heart. It wasn’t grief, though that too weighed on him. That would be urging him on, but this strange feeling held him back. Whispered to wait. He didn’t dare trust it despite the strength of sensation.

“Why?” seethed Warner. The next wave was coming and his blood burned ready. A strong desire seducing him to sink completely into the fight. Escape the cycle of frustration for a bit. It was hard to let go even as he charged the new shades. His thoughts still rolled as the big man raged, They're never good enough, so why this dork? He’s said nothing to think him deserving. Just another fucker that fell into the job or grasped it for the sake of power. Goddamn it, why?

“Cause you like him,” stated someone. “Worse, well to you at least, you are starting to believe in him.”

“The hell?” sputtered Warner as he turned towards the entrance. On the little balcony overlooking the practice floor, there was the flicker of movement. It was empty by the time he got more than peripherals on it. “Who's there?” The confusion cost him as a shade’s blow slammed into his back. It was just a small burst of kinetic and deep cold. A signal to let you know you were hit. Growling, he turned back to the fight. His eyes flickering for someone solid.

“That’s what you’re feeling,” whispered the voice. It was somehow behind him again. “You don’t want to usurp his position.”

He overextended an attack as anger flashed at the assumination. Both that they would claim to know him that deeply and what he did was somehow wrong. Removing bad leadership was the crusade of his life. None had measured up before. Warner doubted anyone would. “Hey, what the fuck is this? Is this some kind of game to you? Play the ghost and talk like you're wise?”

He twisted in a search, catching just the edge of a cloak before they were lost in the shades. Surrounding the edge of the practice fight was a crowd of waiting illusions. When a shadow lost, one would drift forward to replace it. That was how Warner had set it up. To call and remind him of his school day fights. His heart had been forged in those days. It gave him a sense of familiarity in this strange place.

“Not wise, I just can see,” smirked the voice. The brawler was now sure it was a woman’s voice. There was an odd quality to it that threw him at first. “I came because you needed a nudge in the right direction.”

Mana surged through his veins as Warner growled at the assumption. At the haughtiness of the voice. “How dare you,” he growled. The shadows were both a distraction and giving cover to this interloper. He decided to scatter them to see his visitor. A stomp brought a wave of orange Mana to stun. Then the brawler burst into action. Letting off wild blasts of energy to clear out even the encirclement.

A few shades remained and new ones were being formed already, but he was successful in his purpose. The practice floor was cleared enough that no one could hide. Unfortunately, his visitor wasn’t there. Anger pulsed through him as Warner turned to the balcony. A cloaked figure stood there defiantly with a little smile just barely visible.

“A lot of effort to find me when you only needed to look,” they teased. “No wonder you needed me to state it clearly for you.”

“You’re pissing me off,” he said through gritted teeth. “Why don’t you fuck off?! You don’t know me... whoever you are.”

“I will, I will,” agreed the cloaked woman. It was disconcerting the way they looked at him. “Once I have had my say. Give him time, Warner Papadopoulos. Give him time, and you shall not be disappointed.”

Before he could reply, they nonchalantly walked away. Warner stood there unsure what to do. His anger demanded they race after, but pride scoffed at that. When a shade attacked he was completely unaware. Going with what came easily to him, the brawler took this as a signal to just fight it out for a while. He commanded the room to a higher difficulty as he decided to seek the zen of the battlefield. That nebulous thing within him now whispered, “Not yet… Not yet… Not yet.”