We are Change. The Blazing Titan.

[18:28] Zekeil stepped into the arena, he had chased the Syndicate down to the building.. But it seemed this was the spot they had in mind to begin with.

Watching as the syndicate stopped in the areana he knew what would follow next.. Standing his ground he reached for the sword on his back! His energy shroud would spark to life around himself as his eyes focused and narrowed in on the syndicate before himself.

"I'm not about to lose like I did to Raven.." He'd state blatantly as he dropped into a lower stance, a single bang of hair falling in his face..
(Zekeil)
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[18:31] "Raven?"

A grunt, followed by a minute, gullet-drawn snarl. The Heathen does not seem at all familiarized with the epithet Zekeil has just mentioned- the members of the Syndicate do not acquaint themselves with one another. They are detached.

Impassive.

Distant, expendable tools to themselves, to the overseer, and to one another.

"Such blabber."

The flaming spade-like staff that rests by the robed revenant's back is spun by a set of flailing, fast and despondent digits, that slam the instrument onto the ground and crash oversized blocks of marble to the sides in a fleeting crash of kinetic force.

"If our youth had the slightest idea of the things that truly matter rather than grudges such as yours, this fight would not have to take place."

The weapon is cast forth, pointed at the young ethereal magi.

"Desist."
(Heathen)
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[18:37] The onslaught was fast, quick-paced, donned with the celerity that only two swordsmen of peerless caliber could employ. Zekeil had been graced with such celerity, ability and excellent footwork he might have taken the day were it not for his nimbler, youthful frame.

"What do you expect to accomplish, young man?"

The question is almost fraternal, even if the aggressiveness and hostility in his posture and bearing remain extensive and evident.

"To perpetuate the sinners of your ruler? To stretch the dire foulness of the Order?"

The flaming nova that surrounds the Heathen expands, prompting the form of the enforcer to quite literally imbue itself into the forged swage of a blazing colossus.

"REPENT!"
(Heathen)
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[18:43] Raising his blade in defense he would give a heavy exhale of breath.. His focus continued to stare down the Syndicate before himself.. A boy with a dream, a dream to become an Exarch one day! And to bring protection to the land.

His grip would tighten on the blade as his prosthetic began to clank against steel. "What.. Do I expect to accomplish?.. I expect to embrace my damn dreams, that's what.." Raising his blade further he rushed in quickly, his blade glowing at the edges with energy magic.

"Sins of the order?! You people have done nothing but harm innocents in some terroristic act of self justice!!" He cried out as he continued to rush in.. Fight with all you had. Fight with all you had..

He wasn't necessarily outclassed in terms of power.. Or skill... His age would be his downfall. He was too naïve, and too inexperienced with the world.

His energy shroud flared hotter and brighter as he advanced! Closing the gap faster and faster as he moved.

"When I'm done with you.. You'll be the one repenting!!" He'd shout now leaping upwards ready to come down with a heavy strike.. This was round two.
(Zekeil)
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[18:53] "The victims of your sovereigns needn't repent, CHILD!"

Each strike of the Heathen's spade overheats the ground beneath their feet and jolts streams of liquid flame athwart the wooden ground, threatening to collapse the very foundations of the entourage about them.

From the cracks sundered ablaze, blazing pillars erupt, leaving cinders and molten rock in their wake.

"Regret it!"

An overhead blow comes crashing, spiraling currents of condensed fire into explosive bangs along the impact.

"ABANDON YOUR DOGMAS!"

His voice reverberates into louder, booming echo, resonating with each loud, horrifying clang of ignited metal.

"RENOUNCE THE PUTRID FAITH OF YOUR DEAD STARS!"

A final crash has the conflagrating polearm within his grasp ruin the center of their ring, dispatching a cindering shockwave outwards that propagates with terrifying potency. Incidentally, it clears Zekeil away, sending him reeling several yards from the cirque.

At this point, the Heathen has become a titan of fire and flaring napalm, spreading a fervor frighteningly similar in intensity to that of his inflammated revolt.
(Heathen)
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[18:57] Being blasted back Zekeil would be sent reeling backwards from the attack and into the ground outside of the arena, his focus being lost on the battle towards the end.. Nerves and weakness had gotten to him once again in the duel between him and the syndicate.


"D-damn it!!" He'd hiss as he spiraled into the ground with a large slam, curling himself into a ball to lessen the impact on landing until he hit the wall with his back, another large thud in place..

Zekeil had been defeated.
(Zekeil)
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[19:08]  A grit of his teeth, a sound was made after Anderson watched one of his fellow soldiers get plummeted by very familiar magic, one he fought before.

His expression? He stared as Zeikel was blown out of the battlefield, watching as Heathen preached his words, nothing seemed to make sense for the moment - when did they even attack?!

Being in the Dark, once more - seeing the failure of his comrades, the potentially injured teenager. He walked towards the Heathen - pinned to the floor his gaze was, his teeth sinking into his own lips..

With each step, lights began to dim.

One - by - one.

Anderson's cloak flutters and within it's shade, the Heathen spots something most unsettling but rather interesting.

Within the Darkness; white orbs made their debut, blinking and watching, locking gaze with the Heathen himself. Anderson did not pick up his own gaze off the ground either.

"You hurt my cadets, you attack my city - you threaten my people-" His hand went up ever so slightly, grasping the well-polished axe, which had been fitted with a chain from the looks of it.

He wraps the chain around his forearm in quick motion, letting the heavy blade hang freely down below.

Anderson looked up, gazing straight into the Heathen's eyes. They were void - black as tar, darkness stimmed from within, the abyss gazes back at the Heathen with no remorse.

Lights. Out.

The chain tingled as Anderson made his move.

For valor?
For honor?

No.

For Revenge.


(Anderson cos D'Arnette)
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[19:14] Just as Zekeil had been cast away, Anderson pitched himself into the ravaged battlefield. The young noble's speech? It is discarded with a substantial, evident amount of disregard. He is no longer bound by reason or insight, but a drive that carries him on towards a chain of violence and repetitive preaching of his outrage.

Even if Anderson was right, the revenant would simply not reckon it.

and he was not.

"And what are your people, moppet, if not overfed pigs catered to by the excesses rendered through our suffering?! You relish in the lavishness of your lifestyles, and dare accuse us of terrorism. We are not terror-

WE ARE CHANGE, AND THE TUNE WE SING IS THAT OF YOUR REPENTANCE!"

The Heathen spared his words, for long he had delivered himself into the emblazoning, all-encompassing embrace of his flaming carapace. Along with his rage, it swells, threatening to consume even the newcomer.
(Heathen)
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[19:21] There is no further discourse to be orated. No sudden pleasantries between honoring rivals to be dispatched.

This war had been hideous from the start, and this conflict was the evidence.

As the man made creature flails through the air, a crushing blow feints into a devastating, disorienting thrust, obstructing Anderson's perception of what could only be perceived as a whirlwind of heat and gauzy fire.

"Repent."

A hymn surges. Unbecoming and horrendous.

"Lament your own filthiness."

It reverberates louder. The flames resound it.

"Chastise the servants of the celestial. Christen their downfall."

And then it repeats. Consecutively, another swing.
(Heathen)
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[19:22] Explosion magic was simply -choking- the D'Arnette, even with his illusions suppressing the Heathen he could not get close.

The heat was intense..

Darkness dimmed the lights of the Heathen's flames, the noble was ready to make his come back, there was nothing to stop him now!

He watched the patterns of attack, for now, though, he needs only to figure out the way to avoid the intense heat, and that gave him a plan.

"I will repent," Anderson dashed right back into the Heathen, "Once you taste what I've tasted."
(Anderson cos D'Arnette)
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[19:32] "I have tasted FAR WORSE!"

It was a cry of anguish. A call that beckoned for the upper castes of Osrona to reckon their own depravity. A surging scream that rang aloud in vain, for there would be no contrition from either the warriors of the First Light or the heralds of the Syndicate's revolution.

They held between themselves an eternal point of contention that would never cease to promote war.

War they waged,

war they had become,

and war would consume them.

"Your own nobility works beside us! You instill a brand of fear that simmers far more terror in the hearts of the people than we ever could!"

The Heathen's form grows, yet ablaze- a wandering, butchering dreadnaught that woke firestorms with each step and brandish of his arms.

"YOU ARE A PLAGUE!"

An almighty hook swings low, crashing with Anderson's chin in order to dart him into the ceiling- but out of the Heathen's grasp.
(Heathen)
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[19:51] -- Those with hardened hearts, deserve not death; agony was the answer.

"For you have tasted worse, I tasted bitterness." Not words you'd hear from a noble - while the Heathen was the enemy, his words did not lack truth nor reason.

Anderson's face is consumed by the Darkness stimming from within, a hardened heart beats ever so slowly, ever so slightly - the Heathen could hear the rock beating within the noble's chest..

Ka-thud...

While the Knight hadn't been that experienced in combat, he knew when to get out - the fire was intense but so was all the emotions, all the darkness - all the pain he held in his heart.

A gentle gust of wind, chilly, bone piercing fills the arena. Once fire was thrown at the Knight, he moves not to avoid it but actually embraces it.

Set ablaze, the visage would approach the Heathen; fire burning in bright black; black slimy substance made it's way from his facial features, slowly approaching the Heathen, closely, slowly...

Thud, thud, thud...

Arms extend forth, and before the Heathen knows it - he's wrapped in the Knight's embrace.. The slime slipping off the visage's features, covering the entirety of the Heathen, even for a second blinding him.

And within that second, something plays in the back of his head.

"You're a disappointment, Anderosn - why do you plan to help them?" Voices echoed, a smack followed - an older gentleman seem delivering the strike - harshly resembling the Knight, yet much older.

"They're my friends, father! I don't care where they come from..." The voices whisper, children giggle - screams blare in agony.

"I want to help them all, save them all. I don't want them to stay like this-" Anderson's voice blared once more...

"They deserve to live like us!"

A sob...

Then it was light again. The Heathen recognized where he was, right in place of his first blast, blowing the Knight seemingly away.

But there was no opponent, the Knight was gone and so was the defeated Cadet.

"Find me." The echoes continue you, before the Syndicate member made his way through - back to his comrades.

(Anderson cos D'Arnette)