A week soon passed, though the time felt different for each and every monster in the arena. For some, it was merely a second. Some, an entire lifetime. For Teta, it was about a week.
These three separate perspectives were no closer to each other than in Alban's cell. Alban couldn't wait to jump back into the arena as he felt his grasp over his powers becoming stronger with each battle. His class as the Macabre Artist was interesting indeed, although he hadn't been able to make use of this supposedly new element in his soul. The mana type from Painted Expression was odd, a black energy with faint outlines of white pulsing around it.
Alban was still thinking up names for it, though the fact that it still lies dormant was a bit frustrating. The names he thought of weren't very...inspired. One of them was Null, for the fact that black and white are separated that should either cancel each other out or blend in, the other was Shadow, though Alban considered the latter option stupid. Who's to say shadow wasn't already an element?
Meanwhile, Lat had also been exploring his powers. Not as nearly as Alban, as he had been preoccupied in the memories that took over most of his mind. Still, he found the few things he knew he could do to be rather interesting, if not a little ironic. The yellow light that settled over him was what Teta referred to as a pseudo aura, as it didn't do anything really. For a reason completely unknown to him, all he could use it for was for fueling his wings. His wings were too tiny to fly on their own, after all.
And lastly, Teta. The mischievous imp wasn't a big fan of being contained, trapped and viewed like an animal. If anything, he should be the onlooker— not the main event. Though he was enjoying the motivation to mess around with his uniqueness in his idleness, as his matches were more for show than anything else. The fellow monsters in the arena weren't strong enough to prevent him from flying, so all he had to do was point, shoot, and wait for them to go down. The imp found that extremely boring.
As all the monsters stewed in their various cells, there were really only two others to note. Surja, who became increasingly rabid in the cell with Blackbeard, would constantly smash the cyclops's face in. Her calm and verbose demeanor was instantly flipped on its head the second she saw that coward, making it a point to voice her discontents constantly. It just so happened that the messenger of her woes was her left and right fist. Who would've known?
And Krista...she was an odd one. After the day she became different, she instantly slaughtered the rest of her cell mates. It's against Blood Band Arena policy to allow a contestant to stay in their room alone, so Gethu placed a child gheckla with her. Surprisingly, the clearly deranged woman did nothing to harm them, merely smiling and humming to herself from time to time. The weirdest thing that happened was her staring straight at the invisible camera in her cell...
As Gethu finished writing down his report, he vocalized a large sigh of dissatisfaction. He had just finished his last surveillance for the day, the arena now finished in it's operation. The last 7 days were the most lucrative moments in his life, he could still remember the peppermint sheens of geld littered across his bed. It was the first time he had ever literally rolled in money, he felt as filthy rich as a magnate. It was a pity that he wouldn't be able to experience this any longer, for Camra had finally sent their drafts.
Gethu looked up from his desk as the steady stream of clicks and clacks rang in his ear. A stale breath that symbolized his anticipation lingered in his throat, while his beak shivered. He observed his surroundings in an attempt to make himself feel safe, only seeing that Damaris was in the room. Yamel had flown off to sulk, and honestly Gethu couldn't blame her. He wished he could escape right now.
'Creeeaak.'
The door slowly opened as a figure clad in simple armor walked in. Their face was obscured by a pure white slate, their armor without elegance or adornments. The creature before him held the same bearing, their posture upright without any superfluous movements. You could say there was no character in the way they walked, though absence of a trait also counted as a trait as well.
"Gethu." A low, steady voice made itself known to the silent room, shattering the mix of emotions that pervaded it. The anxiety Gethu held was now gone, and the indifference Damaris felt was replaced by curiosity. As the two focused their gazes on the person's blank mask, they walked until they stood right in front of Gethu's desk.
"It's not everyday an Officer comes into my office, what are you here for?" Gethu did not dare to stand on his feet, instead trying to maintain a calm demeanor. An unhurried demeanor, one that did not show the dread that lay beneath the confident veil he projected. He merely peered up at the officer, a languid expression on his tired face.
"We require three recruits. My superiors have already decided who they are. Isn't that convenient for you?" The figure stood unmoving, not even caring to level his line of sight with Gethu's. Their voice was laced with a faint amount of derision, though who it was aimed at wasn't exactly clear. Maybe it was for the monsters who served in the arena, maybe it was the monsters who served in the arena...or maybe it was for the monster that cowered before them.
"W...who do you want, Dresden?" Gethu's reply was abrupt, showing how afraid the man truly was. Damaris laughed a bit in the corner, while Dresden finally made a movement. The clear mask that covered his face showed cracks, as jagged teeth formed a subdued smile. As Dresden unfurled his hands from behind his back, he pointed his finger towards the paper on Gethu's desk. Coincidentally, the index finger was aimed at the topmost part of the paper, right at Alban's name.
"All of the ones in that one's cell. Very simple, even you couldn't fuck that up. Hurry." The voice remained the exact same, the monotone tune having no intonations at all. The "mouth" wasn't moving, almost as if the voice leaked out from the figure's very pores. As Gethu felt a cold sensation in his veins, he signaled for Damaris to leave the room. The lamia, knowing what he meant, went down the stairs to go fetch Alban, Lat, and Teta.
—-
It didn't take long for Damaris to reach her destination, as she morphed her legs into a long tail. She was much faster this way, not having to worry about the slow pace of walking down stairs or the occasional tripping. As she sidled up to the dark door, she knocked on it promptly.
"Whaddya want? Arena's closed ain't it?" The impatient vocalization was clearly from Teta, the least satisfied with the current circumstances. Damaris's eyes twitched in annoyance, as the imp had been constantly harassing her every single time she came in to feed them. The only one who hadn't been fed ever since he came here was Alban, who was so feral that he'd rip the limbs off of an opponent while keeping them alive so he could fill his stomach. Thinking about that, Damaris's mood soon improved as she opened the door.
"You boysss have to come with me, okay? Today'ssss your lucky day, sssay hello to freedom."
"Liar." Teta wasn't having it at all, as a red haze coalesced on his finger tip. Before he could fire off a shot, Damaris snapped her fingers.