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Fliodan, Cambolton Palace: The Ranger's Watchtower, Time: 12:35 AM
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Dy'va and his skeleton army continued to fight against the rest of the rangers. One of them tried to shoot an arrow to his head but he was gunned down before they could even attempt anything.
The leader's determination didn't waver as he closed the gap between himself and Dy'va.
Dy'va's playful facade shifted, replaced by a determined glint in his eyes. He swiftly retrieved back away, backflipping with a smooth, practiced motion.
"Alright, I'll play along for a bit," Dy'va said, a hint of seriousness entering his tone. He adjusted The Warden on his waist, its mechanism clicking into place as the belt goes around his waist and connected to the right side.
"You know, normally I'd let my skeletons handle this kind of thing, but I guess I can stretch a bone or two," Dy'va muttered, his fingers curling around his rune medal.
The circular medal was adorned with black feathers and as big as a pocket watch, and as Dy'va pressed the button atop it, an eerie sound emanated from within.
"Night Raven!" A voice echoed from the medal, and the emblem's front opened, revealing a yellow symbol resembling an oozy, gooey, green substance in the shape of a raven.
Dy'va shifted the lever on The Warden to the left, aligning it with a slot on the medal, all the while his expression shifting into one of focus and anticipation. He was ready to unleash his transformation.
"Hen-Shin!"
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Fliodan, Cambolton Palace: The Training Ground, Time: 12:35 AM
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The training ground sprawled before Rosco, a vast expanse of land meticulously arranged for honing combat skills.
Various terrains were spread out, each designed to mimic different scenarios. A dense forest stood at one end, its trees towering and shrouded in an air of mystery.
A wide field gave way to rolling hills in another area, offering ample space for tactical maneuvers.
Obstacle courses, spiked pits, and archery ranges were strategically positioned, providing a diverse range of challenges. In one corner, a collection of dummies and targets awaited the training exercises.
Warriors in various stages of readiness practiced their strikes, each determined to refine their techniques.
The atmosphere buzzed with energy as shouts and the clang of weapons filled the air. Instructors offered guidance, while seasoned fighters showcased their expertise.
It was a place of growth and dedication, where the clashing of steel and the determination in every warrior's eyes told a story of preparation and progress.
Rosco, Surrounded by a group of berserkers, their leader—a fearsome cyclops—stepped forward, its voice dripping with animosity. "You dare set foot in our territory, intruder! We despise those who trespass!"
Rosco, his stance unwavering, met the Cyclops' glare calmly. "I've dealt with worse than the likes of you," he retorted, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
The cyclops lunged, its massive fist aimed squarely at Rosco's head. Swiftly, Rosco raised his sword, parrying the blow and sending the Cyclops stumbling backward.
The cyclops snarled, its singular eye seething with anger. "You won't escape our wrath so easily!" it roared, the other berserkers echoing its sentiment.
Rosco simply scoffed, his grip on his sword steady. "I have no intention of running." With practiced ease, he brought out The Warden from his side, fitting it into place around his waist. The mechanical belt clicked into position, its connection to the emblem secure.
His medal, bearing a circular rune reminiscent of dragon scales, glinted in the dim light. As he pressed the button atop the medal, a voice resonated from within: "Pendragon!"
The medal's wing slowly unfurled, revealing a captivating dragon's eye, fixed on the unfolding scene.
Adjusting the lever on The Warden, Rosco aligned it with the slot on the emblem. The anticipation was palpable as energy crackled around him, his transformation imminent.
"It's time to show you what I'm capable of," he muttered, his eyes never leaving the approaching berserker.
"Construct."
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Fliodan, Cambolton Palace: The Wizard's Sanctum, Time: 12:35 AM
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As November observed the unfolding chaos, a sinister satisfaction crept across her features. The monstrous creation she had set loose was wreaking havoc, obliterating everything unfortunate enough to cross its path.
The Centispore's relentless advance left destruction and chaos in its wake, fulfilling November's malevolent intentions. "This is quite reminiscent of Dy'va's chaos," November mused, her eyes fixed on the unfolding mayhem.
The centispore's rampage continued unabated, its devastation leaving nothing behind but a trail of dust. The eerie green smoke enveloped the surroundings, a stark contrast to November herself, who remained unaffected by its effects.
Amidst the chaos, November's attention shifted to the sanctum's second floor. The chaos below had seemingly masked her presence, allowing her to observe the activities on the higher level unnoticed. With a sinister smile, she muttered, "They believe themselves safe on the second floor."
With a casual gesture, a small portal manifested beside her. From within, a pillar of darkness emerged, adorned with ancient, glowing runes. November's gaze locked onto the ceiling of the first floor as she directed the pillar's motion. The runes pulsed with power as the pillar shot upwards, piercing through the ceiling.
On the first floor, a lone survivor staggered, moving cautiously toward the staircase leading to the second floor. Others clustered around, seeking answers to the chaos below.
"What's happening down there?" their voices trembled in fearful curiosity.
The survivor's trembling voice managed only a single word, "Monster..." before the sudden intrusion of the dark pillar, impaling them and launching them into the ceiling of the second floor.
The impact was followed by a burst of crimson, splattering the surroundings in a grotesque display of violence.
Panic erupted among the wizards and scholars on the second floor. Fear and dread gripped them as they realized that the chaos below was no isolated incident. The very foundation of their sanctum was under siege, and the very air seemed to crackle with an ominous energy.
"You're a coward, all of you," November's voice echoed through the chaos, her words dripping with disdain as she effortlessly levitated and landed on the second floor.
The wizards and scholars looked on in horrified disbelief, realizing that a single individual was responsible for the havoc that had unfolded before them.
Amid the turmoil, one of the senior wizards stepped forward, his expression a blend of determination and outrage. "You dare defile this sanctum with your recklessness?" he demanded, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and sorrow. "You disgrace all who seek knowledge and understanding!"
November's lips curled into a cold smile, her eyes gleaming with a twisted amusement. "Shame? I merely show you the fragility of your precious sanctum. Knowledge can be twisted, power can corrupt, and order can crumble in an instant."
"You will not escape the consequences of your actions," the senior wizard declared, his words laced with a solemn resolve. "Your power will be undone, and you will be held accountable for the chaos you've unleashed."
November's laughter cut through the tension, echoing through the grand chamber. "Accountability? Ah, such quaint notions. In the grand scheme of things, your worldviews mean nothing to me."
November extended a pointed finger towards the senior wizard, a malevolent grin etched across her face. In response, a portal materialized before her, crackling with eerie energy.
As brilliant as it was deadly, a bolt of lightning surged from the portal and struck the senior wizard with unrelenting force. His anguished screams pierced the air, mingling with the crackling of electricity before his form disintegrated into a haze of ash and dissipating remnants.
Amid the escalating chaos, a figure emerged from the shadows, determined to put an end to November's malevolent actions.
It was a seasoned wizard, his face etched with lines of wisdom and experience. With a firm expression, he stepped forward, his voice carrying a blend of authority and concern.
"Enough, Witch," he called out, his tone cutting through the turmoil around them.
"Your path of destruction ends here." His hands crackled with arcane energy, ready to intervene if necessary.
November turned her gaze toward the approaching wizard, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. "And who might you be, attempting to thwart my little experiment?" she sneered, her tone dripping with condescension.
"I am Alaric, a guardian of the sanctum," the wizard replied, his voice unwavering. "Your actions endanger not only our knowledge but our very lives. Cease this madness at once."
November's eyes gleamed with amusement as she crossed her arms. "How noble, Alaric. But tell me, are you truly willing to stop me by force? The same magic you seek to protect, I wield as a weapon."
Alaric's stance remained resolute, his determination unshaken. "I must protect this sanctum and its inhabitants. If it means facing one of our own, then so be it."
Alaric, fueled by desperation and fear, conjured an array of icebergs with a surge of his magical prowess.
These icy projectiles hurtled toward November, with Alaric believing he had gained an upper hand as he recalled her momentary immobility.
Yet, his hopes were swiftly shattered, for to his astonishment, the Centispore intervened, absorbing the assault with ease, as though it had been expecting such an attack.
November's sardonic laughter rang out, accompanied by her casual caress of the Centispore's form. "See, dear Eldritch? This is how they should have shown their appreciation," November addressed the Centispore, her words dripping with irony as it emitted a resounding roar in response.
Alaric's shock deepened as he witnessed the Centispore's loyalty to November, a stark reminder of the alliance forged in chaos. Undeterred, he unleashed his spell, only to find his strike negated by the Centispore's resilient defense.
November's taunts lingered in the air, a testament to the power she now held at her fingertips.
With a swift, practiced motion, November strapped The Warden to her waist, activating its intricate mechanism. Her gaze locked onto the Centispore, her hand outstretched as if in communion with her eldritch ally.
The Centispore obliged, expelling a newly enhanced cartridge that gleamed in her grasp. With a deft press of the button, an ominous sound filled the air. "Σαρανταποδαρούσα."
As the newly reinforced cartridge took its place in The Warden's designated slot, November adjusted the lever, poised on the precipice of transformation. "Witness the might that dwells within," she proclaimed, a harbinger of the impending metamorphosis.
"Build up."
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Fliodan, Cambolton Palace: The Soldier's Dormitory, Time: 12:35 AM
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"You... You're a monstrous abomination!" One of the soldiers shouted, his trembling finger pointed accusingly at Toodies. Turning his gaze to the accuser, Toodies remained unfazed, his countenance a mask of detached indifference.
"Yeah, and?" Toodies retorted with an almost casual disregard for their accusations. His response was devoid of remorse or concern, embodying a sense of detachment from his actions.
With a fluid motion, Toodies fastened The Warden to his waist, the mechanism clicking into place as its belt secured itself. As he began to advance toward the group of soldiers, a sense of calculated resolve emanated from him.
"My purpose isn't determined by your judgments," Toodies asserted in a voice tinged with cold determination. The confrontation seemed to be of little consequence to him, overshadowed by a higher purpose he had committed himself.
As the tension escalated, Toodies withdrew an emblem that bore a striking amalgamation of multicolored furs, feathers, and other animal components. Without hesitation, he pressed the medal's button, unleashing a distinctive noise: "Mythology."
The medal's meaning remained enigmatic, yet its invocation seemed to herald a transformation of otherworldly proportions. With a decisive motion, Toodies shifted the lever on The Warden, aligning it with the medal's slot, signifying his readiness for the forthcoming metamorphosis.
Toodies concluded the sequence with "Reshape," his lever pressed down resolutely.
As each member of Sugar's Enterprise activated their transformation, the sound of levers engaging reverberated in unison, their commitment to the cause evident in the synchronized movement.
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