User blog:MockingJester/A mentor to impress

"Hehehe...finally going for it, are you, young man?" An elderly woman sits at the back of the cashier's back. A purple kimono befits her with one thick golden stripe traveling where her cloth's end should be. Thick enough that one might think it made of actual metallic gold, if not for the flexible nature of silk.

She gives a rather boastful grin to the man, flashing her vibrant, unnaturally young cyan eyes. An unconvinced, somewhat annoyed man tapping into the pack of noodles he came to buy "Don't remind me of this...I don't know why I even signed up for it".

"Ooh, well, something about a youngster coming around with talks of a way of putting the skills his welcoming country is teaching him to proper practice, perhaps?" The elderly is relentless in her grin, shrugging off his self palming all the while tapping a piece of paper. A stylized depiction of a gun and a sword clashing at the middle pervades the middle with an undisclosed price at the bottom.

The man grunt in disapproval "Yes...to test them, not to go to some war zone! I told you I just wanted some semi-realistic place to put my new moves on a test, not a battle royal!"

"Oh, come now, I was sure you were an avid fan of rambunctious sports like this. What's that worse that can happen? You accidentally getting entangled with one of the many ladies just dying to meet their special someone on the battleground? Live a little, it's not like you're going to die anyway". Her smirk blooms to a full-blown grin, showering his sight in full teeth.

"Look, if I wanted to go for a date night, there are about a hundred and one places better than a friggin' survival contest where swords and bullets and adrenaline are peaking! I mean, seriously..."

The woman holds on to her grin, only simmering it down a little "Oh, alright, here, come, little Danny". She rises from her seat and walks the side, walks toward him.

"Come where? And I told you to stop calling me like this, I've been here for the better of three years". He pesters back, feeling his hands clasped by the elderly, with a strength he still is confounded by "Hey! Seriously, where do you get that force--h-hey! Where are we--

"Oh my, are we such in dismay that we forgot about the usual seance? My, my, little Danny surely is having a panic attack. Well, I'm giving you this one for free, so, no rabblerousing, come".

"But it's starting soon, I'm going to be late and you know how this place is with things like this--

"You'll be late if you keep jittering about, little Danny. It'll be quick". She speaks without giving him much of a choice with the grip she has over the man, dragging him to the backdoor where a more monastic setting awaited him.

A singular room, far wider and taller than usually possible. Its walls are decorated in ornate sculptures. Dozens of meticulously gilded tails, their fluff, replaced with solid gold, customized to the singular bramble of metallic hair. All of them surround the room, all joining behind the behemoth of a statue.

A giant fox in its primal body, glimmering in gold. A mirror decks its back, so polished that Danny could feel as if he was seeing the reflection of his true self just glancing at it. If not for the gleaming cyan eyes living in its lifeless animalistic face, seemingly staring down anyone walking in what looks like its lair.

They welcome both him and the elderly, the latter, stating to have them made in her likeness...so she says. A table awaits them, decked by a translucent orb sitting over a cushion of purple velvet. Compared to them, and the walls so decorated, the floor mapped in elegant metal and ceramic, it and the chairs accompanying it were rather mundane.

The elderly woman drags Danny on the chair that by now, has welcomed him multiple times "Go on, sit. I've been itching to give you this one since hearing of this yearly 'Starving games' coming up".

Setting aside his grumbles, Danny does take his seat, again in hidden awe at the place so ornate. The statue, it feels...alive, swirling its multiple tails around them as to cut the two from the world.

"Now..." The woman sits at the other end, adjusting accordingly to the orb's tone changing. Her hands are drawn to it, touching its surface. The cyan irises she bears now glow dimly.

"You know..." Danny scratches his head "I still wonder how you do all of this. Kinda like you're not--

"Listen to me, young man". She interrupts, not in a snap, but a trance-like flow "From the moment you are set to fall to the island, avoid the human wave that floods the tallest building, where the best is to be found. You will find nothing but losses here. You shall be unarmed against the victors. You will be unarmored against their silver tempest erupting from their ire and you will be gone. Seek the outskirts where the winds are unchallenged and you will be ready...for whatever arrives in your way".

"So..." Danny ponders a bit, scratching the freshly shaved side of his face "...don't go where everyone else is going. Got it. Thanks for the advice, I'll go--

Danny stops at the sight of the elder's fingers holding what looked like a feather between its nails. A delicate cell of an entire wing lost in its ephemeral existence. An illusion of a feather that gently escapes her grasp, perplexing him "Eh? A feather?"

"Why, yes, it is a feather. Bonus points for that astute mind, little Danny". Even in her trance state, the surprisingly young elder spits out a tiny chuckle.

"Yes, I know what feathers are. What's this one for?" He returns, more adrift about its movement than yet another slight she bludgeoned him with. How uncertain it is in its gliding, sometimes, hovering still in a spin. As it does now, spinning as it gradually lowers on the table, in the reach of his grasp. Forgetting for a moment that it is but an illusion, Danny attempts it, only to see it float away, so far away.

It was as if it was awaiting him, looking to...guide him? Her voice seems to confirm this part "If you ever find yourself lost in the throes of an adversary or a pinch with seemingly no escape, do not forget what has brought you to this very moment, for it may very well guide you away from danger..."

"O...k...?" Danny watches the feather hovering afar on the nose of the stature fox, now really looking like it was staring down at him. He couldn't make heads or tails of her words, but currently has no time as the event was soon to begin.

He moves out, walking half confused at the last bit and half knowledgable at what NOT to go for in the first minute. His run is instantaneous, forgetting the pack he set out to buy in a hurry. A bundle of wind began moving according to his feet, seemingly following in his wake, gleaming in--

"Oh?! H-hi, Danny!" The door opened to a figure whiplashing his momentum wholesale. He forces his leading foot down if only to avoid bumping into the familiar woman. A friend.

"Oh, hey Kyōfū". Danny's foot spits at his impromptu stop with a twisting muscle, one that he forcefully eats in a brief pained wince "I didn't see you there".

"Oh, sorry! Sorry...I-I just thought...I...well, I heard that you were going to the Starving Games this year, and...well...I..." The woman slammers her verbal dialogue, clearly bashful from the sudden encounter...even if her sentence gave way to otherwise.

Danny, however, seemed not to notice, being used to her timid wording as he is now "Oh, yea. It's going soon and I'd rather not have the title 'coward' stickered on my back".

"O-of course! It's a pretty p-popular event as many people tuning on to watch it, a-and ladies are looking to...t-t-to..." Kyōfū struggles a bit with the word she is trying to spell out, cheeks now burning red. Seeing her getting worked up between her frontal twin blades of hair was a real treat for the man. Distress creeps to her shoulders, compelling the young woman to squirm a bit, leaving the braid of her hair to slide from the shoulder. Its silver ornaments of tiny fans disappear behind her remarkably plain black coat.

"...meet with..." Her amber eyes deviate to the left, trailing her crimson cheeks populated by hundreds of freckles, a mundane black in comparison to the irises and similar to her plain black shade of hair. A soft flowery smell washes her surrounding, tackling Danny with their slight spice and sweetened tones.

The river of black that is her resplendent hair is flanked by a triad of feathers embedded in a peach shade. A shining match to the bashful woman's eyes that endlessly quiver to the sides. A small, tiny gem is encrusted at the quill side of said feathers, each adorned with one blue tear.

"With guys, yea. Don't worry..." He places a hand on her shoulder, spurning her with surprise "I don't intend on making this a date or anything. I won't be bogged down to the point where I won't be coming to the sky temples' after-practice with someone in dire need of 'you know what'".

"O-ohh! That's a relief t-to hear! I-I was afraid that y-you might not be...a-available to..." Her eyes, once, re-aligned to look back at him with his shoulder touch, now drift for the second time "...h-help with the cleaning and...y-your mentor...she might have been worried..."

Danny scoffs, not at her, but mostly the idea that a less-than-stellar student like him might be missed "Nah, I ain't the best at this, far from it. She'd probably just pick someone else, honestly". Danny's mind clearly remembers his session at the Gale Temples. His attempts spanning the years he was picked up from the masses to become a Custodes to it. How often he fell short of success due to his skepticism bogging down his flow. Or perhaps, it was his mind struggling to move in conjunction with his hands and practiced gestures. Regardless, his progress, while present, had gone a little slower than what he preferred.

"W-what?! No! I-I mean, you're just catching up--it's normal that you're having a bit of difficulty! I mean, e-even I had issues, a-and, with the time you spend keeping the halls, it's no wonder you're making strides, a-and, besides, i-it's wind we're talking about! An element difficult to control! Nobody had an easy time, a-and--

Her voice stops. Distant airhorns sap her flow of words. The Starving Games were soon upon the city, as most of the people were starting to tune in. Giving Danny a pep talk isn't the best of times anymore.

Still, he nods, grateful to her words "I appreciate that. But, don't worry, with the abyss that will be the entire place to watch for, I'll have no end of 'encouragement'. Maybe then, I'll be able to move over the most basic". He tries to laugh it off, more nervous than anything. Two hundred contestants meant two hundred adversaries to watch out for. Not to mention to the rogue monsters inevitably drawn to this place, soon to search for a suitably laced man...or woman to 'welcome'.

His hand then moves close to her cheek, hesitating "I'll see you later, alright. Hopefully, we'll be having chicken dinner tonight". The warmth of her side welcomes him as another hand subconsciously calls it to its mistress' side. Silence, like always between the two, neither moving forward from this moment throughout the stretched-out time spent alongside.

His hand moves away from Kyōfū's cheek, however, following the man outside from the shop, leaving her nervous twitch.

His figure disappears in the distance, far from her sighing lips, a different glimmer twinkling in her eyes as she turns, looking back to him "I'll....I'll be watching over you, Danny..."

"Will you, now?" The elder was, by then, walking from the seance, hands clinging to her back with a slight chuckle from either side of her face. Her eyes were different, sharper. It was as if they discarded a mask previously worn "Come, dear, do you think they would allow someone like you to enter the stage as a grabber? I do remember the stunt of the last lass who had her 'special' someone playing in the games. Wouldn't want to have another magic-wielding gal running amok in a simple game, would we?"

Kyōfū turns back to the woman, a certain shift in her docile eyes,  changed. Hidden as they were behind her spiraling glasses, they now cast a different gaze, a different voice "I know. I've seen the last game, I know what happened. If I renounce my right to a claim, then I shouldn't have any problem..." --- "Hello, there everyone watching! I'm Patricia the harpy and welcome to the fourth annual Starving Games! We all know what we're here for, so I won't dilly dally and let us get to what this year's game is!"

The harpy's overbearing voice pass through Danny's ears, having watched the last few Starving Games of before. Two hundred contestants translated into the whole of the monsters' many different biomes with a ring of pure demonic energy slowly tightening at the middle, slowly corrupting those outsides of it. Ammunition, melee weapons, explosives, and any other weapons are carved out of the same demonic silver, drawing mana as opposed to blood.

If one falls to it due to the outer ring or 'killed' by another contestant, they have the choice of either teleporting out or playing as one of the monsters' supporters to bring down others in a hastened manner until one remains.

"However..." Patricia's voice calls Danny to attention as this was new to his ears "As per the request of many contestants of old and new, we have implemented a new measure as to cull down the fear of many who play in these games. Firstly, the demonic essence will no longer be permanent in any losing contestant that fall as we have outfitted the medical bays with its extracting. If you are a lost candidate, then you need but to make your way to the teleporters and go for the medical bay".

Relieved sighs come fueling the crowd, only... "Of course...if a lovely gal manages to make her way to you before you teleport out of there..."

All relief is turned to concern as anyone not looking to take a bath in radiative demonic essence would have to be steadfast against the siren's calls in their weakened selves. Some did not.

Danny, among them, walks back, a mask he came with. A particular one. Reinforced in smoothness and braided by silver. Emerald is its metal flesh's color with more hints of silver at the edge as well as the simulated wings. It feels and fulfills its duty as a vented mask, cloaking his face up to his upper nose, down to his lower neck. Neoprene fabrics.

He moves as bit coercing his mask into place as it comes in sync with the bracelet he was given. A multi-tool designed to keep a feed of the event. A map. The number of contestants. The weapon he holds. It's ammunition. His spare magazines. The ring's displacement. The display of 'deaths' by another, the weapon used, and environmental 'kills'.

Anything and everything he could need to judge his next movement. Lights turned to red, signaling the beginning. The bracelets twinkle once.

Twice and...

...they all fall. One second, they were listening to Patricia's reminder of their chance to flee the scene if they fall before a Ushi-Oni or any more aggressive gal swings around...

...and the next, they were falling. Miles on miles high in a High Altitude, Low Opening. Two hundred twinkling stars falling from heaven, bleeding out the dust of magic, the thin and incredibly strong layer sheltering them from the effects of sudden translation into high space.

Said layer translated as their gliding suits, allowing the unparalleled mobility of harpies, dragons, and anything born to fly. A breath-taking point of view from an avian monster. Patricia had thought of this seamless taste of their downward flight. Perhaps a sly argument for those who would inevitably fall under the clutches of an unmarried harpy? Or women in the same basket?

If so, then it seems to work, with many of them taking to atmospheric acrobats "Yo, dudes, check this out!" One of them had somehow managed to smuggle a skateboard, dazzling down to the bedrock like an imaginary set of pipes and rails.

Another thought it funny to feign a nap among the clouds.

And yet another was, unsurprisingly sight-seeing, exclaiming "Hey! I can see my country from here!"

Danny, as may others, felt at ease in this quick and smooth fall. More than the others, feeling winds coursing close, extending across his body in heightened manners. The training he currently undergoes is spreading outward, simulating the closest thing to actual flight.

Feeling the gale surround him, Danny is intently focused, narrowing his eyes toward the very center of the island. Their cracks separating the many themes available, from the graveyard to the desert. The tropical shared space with the cold regions and the seaport gave way to the thick jungles.

"So, that's how they present Zipangu here, interesting", he whispers, lining his eyes on a majestic set of crimson roofs, stylized in a way very common to the distant homeland of the East. Alongside it, and at the very heart of the island, a total wasteland. Sand and withered grass populate the place with ashen soil and derelict domains. All battered and broken.

The largest skyscraper he can see lines up at the exact middle, poking at the heaven with its singular, rusty black antenna. Its windows were as busted at the teeth of a man mouthing off to someone twice his size and three times his thickness.

Yet, inside laid a garden of weapons, ammo, bags, and supplies. A venerable haven for the contestant looking to score a quick raid. Premium grade, they are shining in their luster, feeding off the few beams of sunlight from increasing clouds as the entire island, regardless of setting looked to start raining.

A solid place for Danny to begin..."If only there weren't so many peeps just diving in the shinies..." His mind echoes the elder woman's warning; he wouldn't make it. Not at this gap, even in his increased movement.

His eyes drift from the alluring cove, a snarling mimic showering them as others were already dispelling their landing layer as per protocol on landing. Gunfire and explosions were already on the menu with casualties cropping up close on his bracelet.

'Contestant 123 killed contestant 76 with a pistol'

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 123 with via buckshot'

'Contestant 56 fell from a high face'

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 100 via buckshot'

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 23 with via a head shooting pistol'

'Attention: contestant 42 has become the kill leader with three kills'

"Oh boy, this one sounds like a problem already". Danny's gracious fall stops at a graveyard where he catches the glimpse of a set. A lever shotgun laid in pristine condition...well, as pristine as it could be, half-buried in front of a blank tombstone. Near it, a thin, flimsy vest hazing a very dim shade of white, barely visible. A body shield. And by the looks of it, the most basic of them.

Danny squeezes out a half-grunt, the rest deafened by gunfire. His instincts roll his body toward the guardianship of a tomb as bullets ricochet off the place he landed a split-second ago. He had noticed a few others landing in the approximate area near him, but it looks like some had their feet's first step on a loaded weapon ready to fire...

...and picked him as their first kill "Oi! This is the Starving games, mate! Not the hiding games!" Best put a better show than this". The gunner is gloating, blasting another runner full of silver, bleeding him dry of the blue that lives in his veins.

'Contestant 8 killed contestant 27 with an Uzi'

"Tsk!" Danny quickly takes the chance while his aggressor laughs off another's fall early in the game. He sprints, breathing softly as his Neoprene mask is agitated into the full motion of his face, swiftly gabbing the lever before ducking behind another tombstone.

Volleys of fire bounce off the grave as his first adversary caught on to his maneuver "Thought you could sneak around, did you?!"

"Talks too much, this one". Danny loads the available shells in his firearm and looks around, unaffected by the constant blast of metal splattering on marble stones. Another erected stone was near, shaped like a cross instead of a large slab. And just as tall.

"Perfect". With a click of his lever, Danny immediately sprints towards it, straight in the line of sight of the Uzi wielder.

"Finally made peace with losing, eh?!" Bright, blinding light precede a rain of silver following close to his body. Landing a foot behind him. Puncturing a nearby tree. Denting more tombstones.

The quick runner catches up to his target, bouncing in a higher jump. He leaps toward the gunner, his confidence corrupted by his astonishment at his would-be victim pounce straight at his position "What the hell?! You want to lose that bad?!"

Another volley flies at Danny, threatening to punch mana holes in his body. Without a body shield, this would spell certain defeat, one he is aware of.

In a rapid, almost unnoticeable flash, his eyes glimmer in lime green. His body...shifts to the left in an impossible manner. Superficially pushed to the side, he finds no projectile even glancing around him. His shotgun, however, explodes in a burst of light, funneling the pellets straight into his aggressor's body.

He is instantly pushed back by the concussive force of dozens of pellets ramming into his reactive shield. The momentum couldn't be denied, staggering his aim into wasted shots "Argh!"

The body shield he thought to wear snaps in a second shot, breaking under the excessive force. They penetrate the dead shield, biting straight at his health "A first shot to break the shield. A second shot to break the man".

"Argh....!"

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 103 with a shotgun'

The man's body crashes unarmed and unarmored against the bulk of a dead tree, his consciousness faltering as eruptive smokes of his spirit energy fizzle out his 'wounds'. He wasn't going to return to consciousness for a while with the shot he took.

A man-size box materializes in front of Danny, filled with what the man he shot wore. He knees next to it, tapping the man's banner. It disappears, splitting the top lid in half as to open its content to him.

"Let's see, now. Uzi? Don't need it, too wild for me. I'll keep that second slot for something else. Hmm? Blades?" Two shiny, short swords laid inside alongside other things, coated in demon silver like all things. "Interesting. I'll take those off his hands. Oh, a blue shield, eh? And a few charges to recharge it. Don't mind if--

Having barely put on the shield, Danny feels the impact of bullets bouncing off his now protected arm as a reactive blue hue appears between it and the projectile. More contestants coming around, swinging at the previous man's roaring tone.

"Seriously? Now? Fine". He takes the charges, two of them, and starts sprinting, taking a glance at his bracelet. His health is unchanged. His shield's power, however, is down a bar. Two more remained, lowering with glancing shots.

He spits out the empty capsule from his shotgun and aims it toward an unshielded woman who had the thought of an easy kill...now instantly regretting her action as she unwillingly looked at the inside of his barrel, up close.

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 12 with a shotgun'

She drops, her weapon disappearing from her hands, unconscious. His eyes line up with a now terrified gunner realizing he bit more than he could chew. And there were two bitters.

Danny trails behind him, smelling a panicking prey now clumsily running through the tombs, spitting out his smoking, empty shell. Three more remain inside.

His feet become light, quietly bouncing off the obstacles turned footings, giving him a leeway into his next victim. A victim aware of his catching up "Hey man! I'll give you my gun! Hell, I'll drop it! Just stop, please! I don't want bruisings!"

"Sorry, friend, you took a shot at me. How did you think I was going to react to this? Let you flee with my charges?"

"Your charges? You mean--ok! Ok! I'll drop them, I'll--

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 14 with a shotgun'

His body is forcefully pushed into a tombstone, slump on its top. A box materializes on his 'death' too, giving full leeway to Danny.

"Ohh? He had three charges? And a large variant too. Nice". He picks up the man's small bag pack, fitting his back with one at last, and starts looting the box like a goblin of greed. The pistol, the ammo, the small health packs, he takes them all while watching his surroundings.

The silence of the grave is disturbed by the constant stacking of metal clinking on his back with everything being hurled into the kitchen sink that is his bag. Metal and nothing else.

...and moaning?

Danny's head snaps back to the front, his instincts calling him to fight. The sound of a round inserted into the barrel of his pistol echoes, drowned by several wailing moans.

"Zombies?" He sprints to the nearest tree, his feet picking up a feat of supernatural pace. 'Airwalking' to the tallest branches, he stops, seeing a few zombie women. Many of them dressed in the surrounding's customs, which is to say that there must have been a gothic clothing store somewhere with all the black they wear.

"He's all aloneeeee...and look, more meeen..." Some of them were looking to the two men he had shot down, the previous one dense in demonic essence. Ripe for the taking.

"What the--what the hell?!" He shouts as he finds himself awake from a zombie woman straddling him.

"Hmm...you smell...ready..." The woman practically salivates at the prospect of her catch.

"Oh, yea. She said the locals would have a grab at us. Hmm..."

'And here we have our first lovelies reaching out for defeated contestants!' A megaphone shrieks into life, prompting Danny's attention 'And, oh, my! It looks like he's gearing up for quite a haul of love-starved undead. Better hope he didn't bleed out spirit essence too much!'

"Yea...no". A loud bang resonates from Danny's pistol, lodged straight at the straddling zombie's head. The place where the hole should have been is ripe with fleeting demonic essence following her pleasure-twitched collapse.

All of them look at Danny, now with vague hostility in their eyes. A man devoiding them of another? That cannot be...

...or, it can. Round after round, they all fly into the dozen's head, their slow movement making them easy ducks for him.

'Oh, dear. Contestant 7 isn't willing to get his kills harvested by the locals. I wonder what could push him to defend those that he ringed out'.

He jumps down and walk-shoots. Each round finds its target, felling yet another zombie. And another. And another.

Through to his previous victims "Come on, get up, I can't stay here for long". His eyes long the bracelet, spotting a flashing red number. '0:20'.

"Hum, sure, mate. Didn't think you'd stick around". His first victim slowly gets himself up, deliberately sluggish in the absence of stamina.

"Yea, yea, I didn't come here to commit people to a stage embarrassment, which, the three of you would have no end of with the amount here". Danny points to the unconscious, dazed undead frozen by the round laid over their heads.

"Yea...I didn't exactly read the clause to this part".

"All the more reasons for you to boot yourself and them to the escape teleportation pods".

"Yea, no kidding". He turns to the two slowly waking, privy to Danny now running as alarms blare everywhere 'Attention: the ring is receding. Make your way to the next secure spot'.

"Oi! Good luck, mate!" His voice disappears in the growling sound of the fog of demonic essence encroaching on the map. A gigantic wall of purple drowns in, swallowing everything in sight. The changes are superficial at best, putting a purple filter on everything inside and little more.

However, for Danny, it was an omen of loss that would eat at his 'life' his spirit essence. So, he runs. Runs far, holstering his weapons. He pours his utmost, having glanced at the bracelet. Landing away from the center meant a longer play away from those already armed. Unfortunately, it also meant larger grounds for him to cover the next shrinking ring.

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it! Why did I have to go so far?!" His hands move in motion, calling to his on-going training to aid him. The memories of his lessons pour unto him, coursing through his mind to his feet. Winds join them, pushing them further. Pushing them faster. Pushing them strongly.

His view becomes a blur as his body follows suit. A green blur speeding away from the wall of corruption. "Run...Run...Run...Run..."

His velocity is close to supersonic, witnessing distant shootouts occurring. Running battles as his bracelet continually feeds him

'Contestant 30 killed contestant 5 with an assault rifle'

'Contestant 140 killed contestant 200 with explosives'

'Contestant 50 killed contestant 178 with throwing daggers'

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 88 with a claymore'

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 90 with a claymore'

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 89 with a claymore'

"Run...Run...Ru--Stop!"

A wall! Danny forcefully plants his foot, spitting stone and grass as he made his way to derelict facilities flanked by hills and mountains. His direct impact was impending with a broken wall. His first instinct is to diverge. Run around it and the building it belongs to. Alas, for a relative initiate to the wind, such a feat was more advanced, a lesson he had yet to fully put in practice.

"No, no, no, my shield isn't going to survive this! How did the teacher do it?!" Danny shambles his hands forward, struggling to weave a few signs in his rapid approach to the concrete wall. Bundles of wind begin to coalesce in his palms, slowly gathering, fleeting across his fingers. he joins them, spreading their energies in front of him, hoping, wishing that it could--

Too late! His head crashes against the concrete. His body follows suit, falling on the wall like a wrecking ball of flesh and turbulence, utterly disturbing his concentration. Debris fall in an explosion-like state as he is forced through it, leaving a gaping hole.

'Shield at 66%'

He trips and spins, his view, chaotic. Debris, small and large collapse and shatter around him like a geyser of ceramic pain. They bite at his shield, sapping it outright.

'Shield lowered to 42%'

'Shield down to 21%'

The shattering sound of a snapping light erupts around Danny, now in direct contact with debris falling all over as his continual rolls come to a stop.

"Tsk! Gah! Ouf...Teuk..." He rolls and rolls, only now stopping fully. A path of ruin followed in his wake, beset by countless spat up stone and concrete. Light pours inside this otherwise derelict industrial plant, a mimic to an actual one.

Letting his instincts take over him, Danny flees the immediate scenery, taking to metal stairs up to the plant's second floor in a dark corner, stumbling somewhat in his run. Here, he sits with a heavy thump.

"Ugh...gah, never doing that again--Tsk!" Pain afflicts him, taking his attention from the outside battles away. Neither he cared for the streak of kills the kill leade 42 was chaining, going as high as 8 in total. No, his bracelet displays his general status, a sight that didn't please him.

"Really?! This crash killed all of my shields! Ohh, that's just great..." Shields depleted. Health lowered to 65%. A bright red bar flashes where the shields should be. Same to the amount of health suffered from this cascade.

"Definitively never doing that again..." He pulls out a med pack, a mechanical one-time use of a paste distributor. A white variant capable of patching up small and mild wounds. A 30% health recovery over its application of 5 seconds.

"Ok, doesn't matter where I put it, it'll be the same. Now..." He plants it on the side of his shoulder where he feels he suffered the most and pulls the trigger. A small hum begins rubbing his inside, slowly nurturing his wounds.

Alas, his crash hadn't gone unnoticed "Saw a critter crash around here! Wouldn't happen to have--aha! Someone's healing near!"

"Seriously?" Danny lowers his head at a random volley. A scare tactic to try and flush him out. Steps climb the stairs. Going his way. Likely from his audible patch up.

"Come on...I don't even have my shields up yet...I'm not..." One of his hands clutches the heavy charge cylinder, the other holds his pistol and bracelet, counting the time to a full charge. Eight seconds he wouldn't have.

"Now, whoever happens to be hiding here might as well go out like a man and stick up. Maybe...I'll grant you a quick defeat..." The steps come close.

Closer.

Closer still.

His battery charge still has 4 seconds to go before fuelling his shield. No time to properly arm himself, not with his aim going off as a disadvantage. No choice...

"What the---" The investigator is forced to a cover nearby as a light erupts with lightning-fast rounds bouncing near him. He returns fire from his dual automatics, his shield absorbing the glancing shot from Danny's repetitive shotgun.

It was his luckiest shot. The rest were nowhere close to his target, too busy looking left and right, high and low for an escape route. Or a flanking path. The charred wall devoted to his cover somewhat hinders this, filling the air thick with burning metal. Hot with lead, spewing out debris from too many close calls.

"If you think I'm flinching right now, well, tough luck, buddy! See, there, I ain't the one cowering on the corner right now! Not with that violet shield I've got there!" He wasn't wrong. A fully developed armor allowed him ample boldness, slowly walking nearby in continual suppression.

Danny was done--wait...

"Eh?" Time flows to a slow dilation. Everything feels delayed. Everything. Save for a small, gentle feather in peach pink spinning near him. Tempting him for a grab.

Ignoring the volleys, he conceals a hand in its direction, his other blindly firing in his aggressor's general direction. But, it spins away from his side. Dances midair in the gap between his flight of stairs and the one to the other side. Over a suspended piece of catwalk held in place by ceiling cables of iron. Two of them. One to go up, one to go down.

"Never saw that before..." His eyes watch the feather now just...spinning in place, leading him on. His mind recalls the elder woman's words 'If you ever find yourself in a pinch or without a path, then the feather shall...'

"Well, she can be trying, but never was wrong before". Danny continues to shot, spilling his last shotgun shell. The wall he hides behind is battered with an additional volley of twin automatics, firing, firing, firing--


 * click, click, click*

They echo in hollow chambers. "Damn it! These things eat way too much ammo!" Danny can hear two empty clips fall to the metal catwalk. It was now or never.

"What the--oh, hell no, you're not!" Danny runs, planting a foot on the rail guard. He leaps, focusing his mind, letting his feet grow lighter.

"Walk. Walk. Come on, walk, the wind is just an extra footing". One step in the empty. A puff of wind pushes his foot forward.

"What the hell, how?! What am I--" Two steps in the empty, another puff of air greets his sole forward to the surprise of his assailant.

"The wind is a stair. It elevates yo--oooooou!" His third step falls short. His focus is interrupted by the assailant's shooting. It's a free fall, now.

Not quite. "Tsk!" Danny's fingers clutch at the very slippery edge of the elevated catwalk. His mind replays that botched attempt. How he was close to being pumped full of silver. So close to setting foot on a literal high ground, yet fumbling because of the aroma of combat.

Still, he caught up, ushering the leftover of his failed airwalk into an air jump.

"Damn it!" The other contestant is funneled back under the stairs, unwilling to be the next eliminated. The body shield he came in, initially his bastion of confidence, withered out from Danny's surprisingly accurate shot despite his literal hanging into dear persistence into the competition.

Headshot after headshot, it snapped away, putting him on equal footing as Danny. The man's ears tickle him with the electric sound of power pouring into a dead shield "Oh, no, you don't!"

A small projectile lands down the stairs, directly underneath the assailant's steps. His eyes quickly turn to see the source of the clanking. His eyes widen in terror.

"Damn it!"

His recharge suspended, he takes a clumsy escape back up, nearly blasted by the detonation of a concussive grenade...

...exactly into Danny's unsheathed blades. Swung from his position, he leaps straight into his foe. The wind slowed his descent, gracing his bladed aim at his victim until in which, it slips from his fall. Slight adjustments spent in split-seconds.

"Shit, shit, shit!" The man hurriedly pulls out his automatic in a blind firing. Panic dominates him, making his aim utterly useless against the accelerated man of glimmering edges.

"Shit! Shit! Shiiaaeeeeeeugh--

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 97 with twin swords'

Spiritual bleeding pours in weakening vapors, his hands, no longer able to hold on on his half-emptied lead hoses. They dissipate as he drops them, slumped on his back, stripped of weapons and armor on his defeat.

Danny's eyes follow the amber feather that pointed to the catwalk between, now sitting on the edge of the platform he tried accessing. The quill end was mapped with a brilliant yellow marble sliced in half and encased in silver. Even from the distance, its faint glow presented to him...

...pointed at the entrance of his rather forceful entrance.

His instincts call to him, whispering danger revealed by it "Right..." Barely with enough time to assemble his spoils, the man leaps back to the platform, catching the idle plume mid-jump.

Rapidly, he leaps to the other side, ringing gunfire of his pistol echoing upward, snapping one of the rooftop's cords, making the catwalk unsteady from his burst of a leap.

Just as he lands, he sees a figure walk over the hole of his making. "Right on time", he whispers, witnessing the entire thing swing in collapse straight towards it.

A pained grunt comes to his ear as it contacts and violently pushes back whoever had the idea of wandering for an easy kill, painful 'clunk' ringing back in response 'Contestant 7 killed contestant 121 with environmental hazards'.

"Really?" Danny looks, a bit dumbfounded, only now hearing the outside gunfire lulling down "This dude went down here with practical wounds all over himself? Pff..."

Others, more crafty, came along from other entrances, seeking a kill, seeking a cover spot, seeking a flanking corner, feeding into Danny's disgruntlement "Come on--

They bump into each other, firing in wanton abandon. Some try potshots at the masked man himself, ever grinding on his gears "I haven't finished loading my shotgun! And my shields, I've barely--fine!"

Sliding a fresh magazine in his potent pistol, Danny takes aim and scores a deluge of returned fire. His eyes are illuminated with fizzling shields and whizzing spiritual essences.

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 123 with a headshot'

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 100 with a headshot'

'Contestant 7 killed contestant with 1 with a headshot'

Gunfire attracted more around the surroundings, ever hungry for a score of bounty accumulating from a lone contestant, not unnoticed by the harpy 'Oh my! Looks like we may have two overly rampant fighters stacking up bodies after bodies! Contestant 7 has just joined number 42 in piling up ace shots! Let us hope the contestant to the kill leader knows how to deal with hordes of starving, lecherous ladies flying close to this cluster of unconscious men! Nothing like the slow, unfortunate undead he crossed before!'

"Huh-uh...wait, what?" Danny's eyes look to a megaphone installed in the derelict plant. Ricocheting bullets, however, pulls his attention back. Anyone coming in would be ecstatic to have a shot at the second kill leader under siege. They fall just as fast as the rest.

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 8 with a headshot'

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 10 with a headshot'

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 12 with a headshot'

Shadows flap over the flowing foundry, stacking with evermore paralyzed men and women, all smoking vapors of spirit essence from their foreheads.

A clip falls to the ground among them, bouncing off a freshly phased inbox. A clip he didn't have the high time to reload as a glancing shot stole 22% of his overall health. Weakness briefly overwhelmed him before being forced down his honed senses, trained over and over. Panicking, to him, was the worse outcome among anything.

He rushes down, glimmering blades in hands, running towards the panicked shooter. Bullet after bullet, his aim against the second leader of kills is staved off his would-be sure shot. Danny was running too fast for him to properly line a burst of fire, even with an assault rifle still full of silver.

His breathing is halted, devoted to emptying his clip in the blind hope of a lucky kill. A hope coming too late as twin blades pierce his spirit essence, bleeding his health dry.

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 83 with melee'

He drops backward, his weapons, ammo, armor, and supplies all clogging a box snapping beside him. Danny's breathing is short and concealed, tired somewhat, crouching to take hold of his many spoils "Good...grief...why do they all come near the crazy man with the gun?! DO they not read the kill feed?!"

"They thought to catch challenger overwhelmed..." Another voice. Deep. Booming, relieved, and disappointed. The former to him, the latter, to his victims "...and failed in act. A pity, but none from me".

Among all the participants vying for the hundred-grand prize, there was only one bold...or insane enough to open up comms with him so earnestly "So, considering you're the first going through the trouble of talking me up, I'm guessing you're mister 42". Danny would the odd moment enticing to him...even though he was technically speaking over to a man that might potentially murder him, in a figurative way of speaking, overtime.

"Yes. You talk to 42. I talk to number 7. Challenger to monument of mine. Someone to meet at center".

"Huh-uh". Doubt creeps on the man's mind. In games like this, most people had their minds on the hundred-grand prize. Not a desire to fight someone. Then again...

"You doubt my word. But, you are here to put techniques into use, yes?"

"Hmm?" ...Danny wasn't the most of them, as the man spelled out.

"You hear me. I heard man racking kills. Winds moving to man's will. Man moving like majestic birds that live afar in drifting palaces. Not here to win prize with easier way to get to it. Not for man of winds. You're here to put monastic training into baptism of battle".

Danny often forgot the entertainment aspect of the Starving Games due to his focus on surviving and working his training into use "Alright, I might be looking to polish a few moves...what of it? You have a problem with that?"

"No. No problem. Contrary, in fact..." Crackling spills from the end of Danny's earpiece, a comm tool distributed to every player on the island as to better hear any announcement...if the megaphones somehow weren't enough. Something fuming, radiating intense heat, perhaps, near mister 42 "...best time for me to have entered. Others offer nothing in the way of challenge, not against me and radiant spirit. But, hearing of man of winds has given me hope to truly put strength to test".

"Makes...sense, I guess. I mean--ok, having a breathing moment is great and all..." The megaphones were sprouting about...something. Something about feathers and...a swarm. It was white noise to Danny. Annoying white noise "...but, those things are grating on my ears".

"Yes. I blot out chatterbox when she overly flaunts feats. Too distracting from opponent in front of me...and behind me...and around me. Judging by surprise, I take it you weren't listening in either unless it mattered, yes?"

"Seeing as I only now hear of this, I'd say yes".

"Then it's settled. You are here to put technique to use and polish. Just like me. And this is why I speak now. I await you at center where ring shrinks to minimum. Do not rob me of the challenge, man of wind".

The communication cuts off, leaving Danny to sight a bit "...of course there'd be someone else. Poor guy's gonna be disappointed, seeing how I ain't the best of my classes". The feather, having moved to his shoulder in idle inertia, now rattles. Virulently.

'And just like that, the first banter between kills leaders, ladies, and gentlemen!' The voice of Patricia bounces in the megaphone, catching Danny's attention as the shadows creeping up over the stained glasses.

'Contestant 7 just has taken on the prowling contestant 42! Who knows what they could have exchanged? Threats? Banter? showboating? How exciting! Of course..."

The glasses suddenly break from the impact of feathery bodies. Plumage of pink and black broadcasting enthralled shrieks. Harpies! Dozens of them!

'...he first has to make his way out of a harpy move in! So many delectable, unclaimed males, ripe for the picking! And right at the beginning of their breeding season, no less! I feel the heat from up here myself!'

"Oh, yea...that was a thing...right" The feather slides on from his shoulder in a broad, exaggerated motion, catching his eyes. It goes deeper into the factory plant in deliberate gliding. Once again, his mind recalls the elder woman's foresight. "Follow the feather...seems it wants that anyway".

Danny takes a charge out of a shielding crystal, filling his armor anew before taking to a reloading sprint "Hold up, little guy, can't run and reload so casually".

The storm of feathers plows the place, seeing many harpies diving at random, unconscious men. Some were somewhat shy, taking hold of their catch in a search for the closest secluded corner as to exchange marital vows. Others, much less shameful, tore their impromptu mates' pants, overwhelmed by the need to copulate.

'My! What a scene! For those watching for the first time, do not worry! The contestants all were made to read thoroughly the terms of participation. They knew what they signed up for...and might get a lovely wife out of the ordeal. Question is, is our contestant among them?'

Danny runs deep into the factory, light feet taken into winds. Focus paints his eyes in light green. They lock into the feather that flies away, ever a step ahead of him. Leading him afar.

A door at the end...too clogged in starving harpies claiming unrelated 'kills'. More men being made impromptu husbands. Some spotting him with lecherous haze in their gazes.

He follows the plumage as it curves to a flight of grated stairs to the left, sliding under a clawed grasp and an unsavory grunt from a now stalker.

A shotgun pump sets him on the ascension, following a tiny floater through pipes. Sliding under one more. Jumping over others. No movement wasted. Seamlessly chaining oner after the other.

The plumage briefly drifts to the left, calling to a warning. A black cloak of feathers swarms from its corner. Silver pellets fly in velocity, smacking demonic essence out of the lurking harpy. Her fall ends on the ground...

...followed by another, plummeting to the grate where he runs, made paralyzed by the dozens of tiny orbs sticking to her only means of flight. Her fall pushes the feather to the side away from the rail and platform, where a steep end awaited Danny.

His eyes see it swirl around a large, steady, if rusty pipe, calling him to it "Wall running? I can try..."

Lust-filled croaks echoes behind him warning him. He jumps, barely out of the harpy's reach, forced to a stopping land on the edge of the place, a readying stance to leap at Danny as he lands on a pipe. Her dart is straight and narrow...

...a bit too narrow, too excited, unable to think of his intention as he jumped further to a wall-riding pipe. Too fast to stop, to quick to prepare, she plunges through a window, shattering it in mirrored shards.

His feet embrace the brick structure of the wall while he runs over it. A hand anchored on its cold bricks, swinging over larger pipes as to feed the winds that fuel his wall run. The other follows his eyes, loaded with a fully entrenched mag, lining up harpies and witnessing them fall from a paralytic round of the demonic silver. Small arms and buckshot were his predilections over the more automatic ones.

He runs, runs up the walls, climbing on ever-higher pipes, surrounded by a gale of feathers. Uncertain predators swarm around him, watching his ascension to the semi-function vents at the ceiling. The more daring ones coerce each other to a group dive up to his feet.

"Four of them..." Cartridges fall high alongside bodies, each lodged with a silver round still spinning on their foreheads while evermore came flying.

The feathery guide he came to follow was dauntless in its passage through the swinging vents, the irregularity made its pattern. Danny was climbing behind it, only briefly turning as to greet a harpy flying too close back to the ground. Only...

-click, click-

His clip falls beckoning the last of his round with one zig-zagging so close, 'cawing' in triumph. In his state, busy with the last stretch to the tubular turbines, reloading was an outright impossibility. Not unless he was willing to sacrifice the little mobility he had, clinging to the ascending pipe.

She hurries toward the perched man near swinging blades of a fan. Closer, and he would able flow out...assuming he gets through without a rusty slab of metal clunking his face down.

There's no way he would try the leap. Even if he did, what then? A few more seconds of relief? To what end? Reload his arm? In open space where they rule? Where his narrow shooting would get no leeway?

He was done and the harpy knew it. He had the fire to have shot down her brethren in earnest. Agility to have a constant foot ahead of them. A perfect mate, she was sure of it.

Alas, as she dives upward, switching to her claws, a glint of metal came close. Too close. Embedded in her wings 'too close'. Danny thought of one-time projectiles to carry with him. His bigger bag allowed him better space for them, for an exact moment like this.

Hence, she falls, leaving way to the next bold woman looking to claim the perched man, several meters lower. Too little, too late. Danny's affinity with the breeze returns in an upward draft. A strong, light green current swells around him, lifting him alongside the artificial blow of the fans, making his exit a quick one.

Like a green missile, he flies deep in the cerulean just as the megaphones were cranking up. He was deaf to them, so high in the air. The chorus of avian women grunts as well. None of it mattered, in the element that surrounds him "Well, that went better than expected. With the airwalk's screw up, I'm surprised I've been able to pull two feats so seamlessly. Anyway, the ring's looking like it's closing".

Indeed it was. His dubiously slow fall, so slow it was akin to a gliding feather, he had no worry of a sudden faceplant on, well, anything. he takes a gander at his bracelet broadcasting the general map. The numbers were flashing red.

'0:00. Warning: the ring is moving'

"Well, looks like the massive skyscraper is looking to be the very center, then. Ok". Danny takes slight glances around, spotting his faithful guide. The feather floating near him, seemingly waiting for the man to take notice of it.

"Ok, you've certified yourself as a guide for a flunkie and managed to pull him twice from the frying pan. Seeing how you're still here, I'm guessing you have an optimal place for me to fall over?" The feather rattles a bit, visible for the man that winces his eyes slightly in confusion.

A confusion quickly undid as it now floats in high speeds away from him, looking to fly directly into the monolithic derelict that is the black, largest skyscraper in the entire island. Danny's unnatural winds return to him...more to say that they never left him, and boosts him forward like an aerial diver.

He flies, hearing the quick grind of the demonic ring shrinking, lacing everything in its essence, save for the middle... --- 'Contestant 111 killed contestant 16 with an assault rifle'.

A man falls, pumped full of silver, a box appearing next to his conqueror. His hand is on a trigger of a medical paste, applying it "Hehe, that was close, mate! 20% of health! Imagine if some bloke just came out of the left field and--

Shattering glasses snap his mouth shut. The small pieces break into smaller pieces. His eyes turn, attempting to ready himself, witness to the image of a man peeling off the shards from his body, a dome of turbulence keeping them from his flesh.

The flash of a violet shield briefly alive from the crash.

His green eyes, luminescent in the ghostly shade, rapidly returning to a sharp, if mundane brown.

The shards themselves flying everywhere as mentioned, scattering and shattering in their ceaseless song.

And finally, the center of attention, a large, glint weapon sporting a silver finish from the back to the front. The blinding shine of dread at the weight it seems to carry. Shells of silver and purple held by its side. And the double barrels leading to the hollow inside, hidden by darkness.

Until it wasn't, as a brilliant bead expulsed from the top barrel exploded into tiny, furious smaller and silver beads. The last sight he was to see hurrying to meet up with his body...

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 111 with a lever shotgun'

His body ragdolls at great speed from Danny's landing. He spins over the dusty floor, smearing the corner of the sixth floor in dust and choking air, resonating hard against the rail guard he collides with.

"Word of advice..." Danny pumps his trusty lever shotgun, the barrels cloaked in an augment bolt fire. The empty shell still ushers smoke from its heated confines, falling to the floor with an empty 'click'.

"...never heal in the range of hazards. Least of all, windows". His eyes follow the feather that brought him here, gently drifting to his shoulder, its gem side pointing to a pair of stairs as it lands, secured on his body.

They remain fixated on the ascending flight, giving his other hand free reign over stuffing his supplies with the man's box when a blur catches his attention. The click of shield charges and medical packs falling in his spacious backpack did not blot out the all-too-familiar steps of someone mounting the stairs.

His armed hand quickly exchanges his hefty buckshot for the more nimble pistol, immediately abusing the trigger.

-Click, click, click-

Bullets fly, most of them ramming straight into the would-be walker's cranium. A blue hue flashes repeatably, eating away Danny's shot with great difficulty.

-Crack, crack, crack-

Automatic fire returns the apparel, smearing glancing hits on Danny's violet shield. A panicked aim that gives little fight on his armor with the most of a drop to 91%.

"Bad aim, friend".

"Shit!" The opponent's shield collapses from the repeated headshots, putting his health in direct danger.

"Oh god! My shields!" A retreat. A hasty one, if anything. One Danny isn't willing to let go unpunished, running straight after the man downstairs.

"Get away from me!"

Random shots bounce off the flight of stairs, so aimless that even hitting Danny wouldn't do much, not with their power rubbed on the holes of the walls. He aims at the man's shoulder down a flight and fires once.

The shot slams him against the walls he was lounging, giving ample time for his aggressor to drop close, a blank shot.

'Contestant 7 killed contestant 56 with a pistol'

Gunfire erupts from everywhere all around him. More people made their way to the heart of the island, picking fights left, right and center. The floors, six to one, all become dense in powder.

Danny runs down the stairs, hands on his shotgun. Closer quarters. They can be...unexpected. It rings its signature explosive shot, dropping opponent after opponent. His kill feed ramps just as much as the universal feed.

He only looked for the other one tallying up his mountain of defeated enemies. The man of 42, feeding his view with chaining kills, more and more among the randoms scoring hits over others.

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 129 with a claymore'

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 199 with a claymore'

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 21 with a grenade'

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 57 with a grenade'

'Contestant 42 killed contestant 64 with a grenade'

"Jeez! He's going at it like it's a war!" Danny continues his descent, catching the occasional enemy hidden in the stairs, ever unaware of his hushed pace.

Smokes and powder, light, and projectiles, it all hushes down in a screen of gray and tumultuous silence.

Danny knows that he stands among the very last contestants. He takes cover behind a metallic coffer, waiting, hearing. The footsteps of uncertain opponents walking in a haze of persistent smoke. The Stark inhalations of choking powder squeezing persistent coughs out of unmasked contestants, often leading to a short firefight.

And then, the feather, so comfortable sitting on Danny's shoulder, drifted right...

"Right!" He jumps in the same direction, flopping on his belly under a dwindling cloak of dust. It's density, mostly absorbed by his mask, is insignificant in comparison to the acrid scent violently engulfing the plain floor where he stood a second ago.

Embers decorate the surrounding "Fire? Incendiary grenades? No..." A sigh slips from Danny's mask, a realization quick to tickle his instincts as well as the first days of his induction into his custodian training. A tickling familiar as he learned to either give in the sensation...or ignore it utterly.

He slowly walks back to grounds zero where a virulent blast of hot flames passed, eyes locked, greenly, at the front and center "Nice flames. I'm guessing that cracking noise from your end was a fire of your making?"

"Flames, yes. My Making. Avoided using them up to now. Would have made this game too easy for me..." A figure solemnly walks from blackened smoke. Fires of natural shade burn brightly in Danny's sight, their anomaly made manifest by the blue hue foaming within. Magical flames.

"...but, looking at you now, I see no problem with bearing full might into game..." Slowly, this figure makes itself visible, visibly a head taller than Danny even from the distance between them. Already, he was looking more like a warrior of the modern age than a simple player, judging by the horned helmet he was wearing. It was a deep, bright crimson. Gilded, metallic braids encompass it and coat the horns that protrude backward. Its machination no doubt due to the man's decision to adorn his esthetic outfit, a feat allowed and even encouraged by the organizers of the Starving Games.

It was as imposing as Danny's green and silver mask was sleek and humble. However, as impressive as it and the man's outfit were, it as the flame dancing in his hands and massive two-handed sword hinged on his back that truly caught his eye.

Danny could see it poke out of the man's back. The pommel was in the shape of a dragon brewing a flame. The blade, unlike his colors, showed a glimpse of black luster. He couldn't be sure whether it was due to its esthetic change or the man's fires.

"...teacher gave this condition for me to bear magic. And there you are, followed by own mentor looking to see what fruits you bear in battle". The man turns his head upward to a cohort of creatures. Monsters that likely came to see the two pretenders to victory duke it out...or fall over the loser. Their excited expressions blended either possibility.

"What?! I don't think--" Danny takes a gander up. Two high-altitude figures catch his gaze. One with massive, scarlet wings folded around her body. Armor plates her body, already hardened by the scales coursing her arms and legs, wings, and shoulders. A dragon helmet swings by the waist, looking like the type that he and his adversary were wearing. One that conceals the wearer under anonymity.

Her eyes were darted at the man he was facing, a stoic demeanor perfuming her folded hands. A surprising connection to see between her and the man before him. However...

...it was the other that widened his eyes. Just like him, she was touted in green. And, it was the most significant familiarity between them. Everything about her shouted 'majestic avian'. From the peach-colored wings that are her hands, filled with legions of resplendent feathers to the same color of hair united by a single braid of hair resting on an emerald kimono washed in wind scriptures and ornaments.

Pom poms in fluffy white fall on both sides of her head, held in place by a crimson hat featuring a receded triangular form.

It is as red as the mask that screens whatever expression she might be wearing, though, likely as expressionless as the dragon. It wasn't the interest that called to Danny, breaking his focus as much as turning the side from the other last standing man.

No...more than the mask itself, more than the outfit she was wearing, more than the creature herself, being a slightly more secluded race, even more than her mere presence, it was the familiarity presenting itself to him. The plumage, he knew this color. Among the tengu that populates the sky temple of his tutelage, there was only one that bore the colors of peach on her flanks...

"Boss?" Danny reels his head backward, locked in an exchange of glares with the tengu from the rooftop.

"Boss?! No, no, no, it can't be her! There's no way she'd waste her time staring down a flunkie--" Feathers dance close to her right side of her head. Their gale steps call to the lone quill that returned to his shoulder, caught flying up by him.

All the way to join its brethren in the tide of her hair "Ohh...she's absolutely here, then. That's...I..."

He sighs, his eyes lowering. Why would one of them, let alone his mentor, even bother spectating a game he was in? To see his self-made trial? Immovable weight braces don his shoulders. Self-imposed failures, that, while capable of being polished, were now made evident to him "Incapable of taking the simplest steps through empty air...a blunder of a landing through a wall...unable to make any use of anything unless I'm in freefall...Constant fumbles watched all the way through by the one person I was trying not to disappoint...great, j-just great".

"I do hope that this is not dismantling wind man spirit". The man takes a step forward, a fresh clip inserted in what looked like a semi-automatic "It'd be a shame to be unable to bear full use of newly acquired strength".

"Hold. Off. I'm just...I'm not really in the mood for this...right now..." His hands, so firm on his tool of gunfire, filled with the six shells it could hold, were lessening in its hold. Disappointment grimes his demeanor, thinking about this attempt to polish his biggest misses turned into a display of incompetence.

The more he thought about his wandering about, the more it seemed like sheer display of luck and less like any sharp-minded acts. Those he shot down, they were probably new to this, clumsy with weaponry. They had to be, otherwise...otherwise, a halfwit, dour, slow-minded individual like him--

His eyes flash in green, turning back to this eyesight. The teacher to his custodian harness, satiating a deep murmur of wind spinning across his ears. His name being called. The others were non-existent to his sight. It was only her. In a dilation of time, almost frozen.

Only her headshaking, slow and deliberate, immediately following these apprehensions of his making. The wind comes carrying these sour notes of himself and casts them away, replaced by one sentence in a voice more familiar than he expected.

'Do your best, Danny!'

The figure that was his mentor bowed slightly. Dots slowly began connecting in the man's head. But, for now, her humble voice, as intimate it was making itself to be, was a spew of wind robbing him of his more 'toxic' thoughts as to cast them apart in its grasp.

He sighs, looking to the man before him, the dilation gone and over with "Ok. You said you wanted someone to throw fireballs and all manner of hot stuff at without one-shotting them? Alright..."

His first moments in the Starving Games had him hesitant to 'represent' so to say. No one wants to be represented by a self-touted worse student of any school, let alone, a temple. Seeing his mentor making her way here simply to watch him, as she likely did up to this moment changed his mind.

A slot on his bracelet opens up to accessories. Cosmetics. The people he gunned out of bound were all privy to quirky and intimidating esthetics. His was what he was made to wear in his training, something he kept at an arm's length. Not anymore.

Arcane sparks tunes and turns his default wear and tear to a much more...imposing appearance. From the silver coating his edges to the emerald washed over his plate. To the rest of his body, the marriage of colors and wind scriptures covers.

Danny takes a few steps forward, hustling winds on his feet, only stopping a meter or two in front of the man claiming to have made his wait here, waiting for him "...I'm your man. Well, unless you found someone else..."

"No. No one else. No practitioners beside you and me". The stranger ejects a clip from his rifle before inserting another one in a calamity of heavy metal "But, this is no problem for me. Stage mostly unoccupied for us to do battle".

"Mostly?" Ohh, right..."

"Yes..."

Fire and wind disperse from the proximity of each other, moving in supernatural steps from corner to corner, their action made crystal for anyone on the side of confusion 'And it seems our two almost-final competitors aren't content with merely grinding the other's accuracy, might, speed, dexterity, and quick-thinking against their own! They want the whole stage for themselves! Oh, my! Look at the kill feed!'

Either Danny was sprinting up to an unprepared camper with a shotgun at the ready or his soon-to-be opponent was flanking another one with rapid-fire. Either way, the few that managed a spot in the ring were being weeded out, their attempt at readiness met with merciless gunfire 'So unfortunate that the two colossi of this yearly event just happened to have entered at the same time! The rest of the contestants can barely muster return fire, glancing over the juggernauts' shield--and the last one has just been vacated from any further competition! And it looks like the two remaining men are darting straight for the other, unwilling, or perhaps, unable to gather any more material!'

Danny's acceleration crashes against the man of flames and horns, his torching sprint splattered by the aero of turbulence snuffing it out. The rebound is immediate, spotting the two pull their firearms amidst their gravely slide charring the concrete.

Glinting metal and sparking clashes. Virulent powder and falling lead. So soon they had their weapons out, the two began firing. Non-stop. Bullets find each other long before they find their shooter's opponent.

Sparkling microscopic explosions of silver litter the middle where the majority of the shootout ended. Light continually flickers the men's faces, hindered behind their helmets,  bursting into life from trigger abuse.

Few shots hitting either scorched the glancing side of their shields, flickering it as well in twin purple, all stopping with the acridity of their magazine and shells.

A grenade flies in Danny's face, an inner flaming light pouring from its hollow hole. It flies close to others, catching him seemingly unguarded as he thought, for a second, to quickly reload his dual shooting.

Cracking explosions send a geyser of gravel and concrete up high to splatter the surroundings. Gasps from the crowd see their eyes looking up to a fleeting figure. A trail of visible wind follows in his ascending wake, a hand on a grenade, the other, his weapon of predilection "By the way..."

He had caught it before its fall, steadying its timer as he hurls it back in enhanced velocity in the shape of  "...you dropped this. Here".

"Tsk!" The man quickly takes his pistol and hurls it against the crackling grenade, sparing his shield the worst of the blunts as a fiery yellow envelops the area near and his bracelet scaling numbers down to 19% next to his shield status.

The crowd's hushed gasp falls silent, unable to make the shadow beneath the faltering smoke. Only the impromptu leap cutting a swath through the dwindling smog.

"What?! I'm 15 meters up high and he doesn't look like a jumper--" A radiant glow bursts into life from the horned man's hands. Fire.

Danny's eyes look to his showing. Or, lack of showing. His man-size claymore wasn't on his back anymore. Connecting the dots was surprisingly easy for Danny.

Two solutions laid before him, one he didn't think he could pull off. "Right, can't throw a bundle of wind in this narrow time. Alright, then..."

The fiery man's crackling fire spills from his hands in earnest, shaping as a  mid-size, flaming dashing sphere. Danny had a way out of it...partially. And this would cost him his preferred weapon.

Empty within, inert without, the red-hue shotgun he held all this time was cast to the fireball, consumed by its ethereal flames. A sound move, if desperate, as fiery as it was, the flaming sphere had but one chance to hit him between his eyes, and failed.

Danny's talent for the cerulean breath comes gliding with the man inside its current in a downward dash. His shield flickers, battling the lingering embers atop his throwing arm and correspondent leg. 82%. 79%. 75%.

Feeling his intention, most of the current surrounding him dissolves into his silver blades, shaped by the glint of metal it wraps. One of them screeches back at the flame tosser like a knife churning the air.

"Hmpf!" A glance at his bracelet gives him a sordid warning in flashing red. No shield to lessen the blade's starved touch. Nothing to stop his mana from pouring out. Nothing but the brunt of his assault rifle aching for a fresh clip.

A dream dead for the weapon, sacrificed as a makeshift shield to block the penetrative edge. Its polished luster cracks, almost spitting in half. The fleeting wind-shaped as its augmentative grasp was bare centimeters from his helm.

A distraction that fulfilled its purpose, setting him with nothing for protection against the emerald shine blaring on his falling flank, a second sword enchanted by the gust.

"Swift as raven! Let me present worthy hide to contest strong blow!" The man's left arm was the intended target for Danny's demon sword. One blow...or two, and it would be over. Whatever spot he decided to figuratively skewer was of no importance. No need to find a lapse in a dead shield. No need to find a gap in any armor.

If the science of his shield and the steel of his weapons wouldn't come to his aid, then magic would. Fire erupts from the man's arm seemingly by instinct. It envelops it just as his enemy's slashing motion comes in contact, sparking a virulent stand-off among the elements. Danny focused on forcing his blade through. The flaming man devoted his attention to the opposite.

Their imminent plummeting wrought no thought from either, as violent as it was approaching. Wind and fire were never the best of friends. Their tide of struggle spat around the two, fusing the elements in an erupting blast of molten air splattering the ground in ash and searing air.

The clash rejected both to the extremes of the ever-shrinking arena. A rust pillar for one, a sunken wall of decaying iron for the other.

Danny's glance at his bracelet sends him wincing as he pulls out his pistol. Numbers decrease to 12%, giving more punch to the man's defense than anything.

Still, he plows the air with demon silver, screeching toward the man who returned a spiteful glance. His armor of fire saved him but at the cost of 22% of his health "Accursed breeze!"

His submachine guns roar in defiance, looking to catch as many of his opponent's volley. Just enough.

"You're one to talk, buddy. That volatile defense was a cheap shot". Their clip falls, the overwhelming majority of their ammo slammed against each other on the middle ground.

No time to reload, Danny sprints forth, clutching the second blade that fell a while ago. Its sharpened blade gorges itself on the rusty metal, between a gun it had finally snapped in half. A vestige of wind remained on its edge, waiting on its master to pick it up as he ran, returning the emerald tide to its side.

Two empty automatics fly in his way. His training on the cerulean temples and shrines sees him swiftly cut through them in such a way that their pieces blow away from his path.

A fiery path runs the opposite, cleaving the ground in ashen soil as the man in its midst takes hold of his two-handed claymore, slamming it down against a concert of serrated drafts.

Fire meets wind in the second cascade of elements blowing outwardly. The crowd that stared in a chorus of gaping maws, men and monsters, were forced to close it, presented with a geyser of hot wind. Almost burning as it was destabilizing them.

They struggle to lay eyes on the dwindling arena, faced with heated air. They cling to the rails and border. To their seats and the view.

Save for the two at the edge. The wyrm and the tengu. The mentor and the teacher. Their eyes blur briefly between the other, their affinity making the eruptive draft insignificantly powerless.

Their disciplines feel their eyes. One of crimson, one of amber. They do not turn to acknowledge their continued watch. They do not turn to spot the crowd of enthusiasts striving to keep eyes on their contest, half enticed by the display, half-starving for whoever would be the defeated.

Their eyes did not turn, locked in the eyeless visor of the other, brawling and chipping at each other's weapons. The protection of elemental flesh was the only stopgap to the blades' persisting stature, as chipped and increasingly scratched they were becoming.

"This is better trial than what I expected". The man's massive claymore is held upward, rejected from the ground by twin emerald drafts grinding at its fire "Fire struggles against element it should have advantage over. Wind is sharper than I anticipated. Mentor trained you well".

"Gu...likewise, buddy. Honestly, I'm not the best at shaping wind like this. But, I can tell..." Drafts continually fuel Danny's swords forward, keeping him from exhaustion.

"...that person keeping you in shape...is definitively going somewhere with this...nobody goes this out of their way to build someone as a juggernaut for fun..." A gust of wind gathers on one of Danny's feet, pulsating in light green.

His enemy, focused on bringing down his flaming blade, hadn't noticed the pool of gale swirling underneath. A roar sets it spewing, resonating with the sudden kick that Danny inflicts on the man's torso. It flees to the spot, turned into a brief, powerful blast of wind pushing him fast and immediately out of the ring.

His eyes were choked in surprise, but quick to adapt, spotting Danny straining to recover from a stand-off he would have lost. A flaming crescent spending his flaming buff comes screeching at the downed man.

"What--" Searing fire comes enveloping the man of wind "Guh, seriously?!" His dwindled shields die completely, consumed by the blinding fire before he could dispel it.

It was far from over...

His push wasn't debilitating enough. The man of fire had more than enough will to recover outside of the ring's safety. Quickly, his instinct compels him to plant his claymore on the ravaged soil, abusing it further in a roundabout spin. The winds that shoved him out were fed to the momentum back in.

Back to flying dash back at Danny. His bracelet only now stopped decreasing the number on it, as low as 15% percent. A comparable parallel to the man's alarming 19%. Between the whirlwind of their struggle and the impromptu croissant of fire, Danny could barely manage a movement. Muscles tired, exhausted. His mana, also fleeting as vapors flew from his esthetic plates, drowned out in the encroaching ring.

He knows he won't survive this reversal of fortune. Not unless "That's a brilliant move you pulled there, buddy. Between you looking to scrape me to the floor and that swing of fire, I can't go pretending that I'll walk out of this unscathed, if at all. However, I ain't sold out".

"Same to me, man of wind. Most of power bled out from duel and continual blows. Ravenous blows. This is last defiant blow. If I fail, you win stand-off. But, I have faith in chances".

A screeching blade comes darting at the man's flying charge, the last time it will ever flow. It comes, gashing on the man's shoulder, tearing down across it and the rest of his arm's esthetics, leaving it bare and bleeding spiritual essence. The bracelet drops to a startling 1%.

"Ohh...oh...this isn't--" More than enough for the man to retaliate in his uncontrolled flight. The dull darkness of his gigantic blade cutting a large blue scar on Danny's torso. His bracelet's numbers scale down, spinning wildly to end on a 'defeat' screen.

Even with the remnant of his casting wind on his clutched blade offered as the last wall, it wasn't enough. If the man was defeated, but unscathed, then his weapon was the true victim, shattered into a torrent of glimmering silver and purple dust, the magic contained with it, spilled outward.

Danny's defeat is whole, his body crashing through a rusty pillar, his body proving too much fort he withered metal. Wall after wall, he plummets over them, gathering a summit of rubble, far beyond the safety of the ring...now that it was devoid of its corruptive effect, ringed by the end of the game.

His body rolls on the floor, dust kicked up, left, right, and center, gradually returning to the sand of the soil. All witnessed by everyone. The crowd. The man he was exchanging blades with. His teacher. Danny's mentor. Anyone and everyone spectating saw.

Their cheering screams ringed hollow to him, nothing more than white noise. He takes a tired, struggling step forward to his distant adversary, on the precipice of collapsing himself as the 1% flashing on his bracelet...sunk.

His eyes strived to remain conscious, seeking to apologize, a hand cast in Danny's collapsed direction "I'm sorry...hit...a bit...too hard...didn't think...would have been..."

Another step and a claymore forcefully planted on the floor. It looked inviting in his dwindling stamina, yearning for an improvised sleep, so close, too. He needed only to give in.

Arms embrace him in its stead, giving the soil a cold shoulder. His helmet would be the only thing to slip from his visage, giving away the deep blue of his eyes and the exhaustion radiating within "You did well, Tarkin. Very well".

His teacher refused the man a cold fall, instead, bringing him the warmth that welcomed him in the dragon temple. It was warm, entirely devoid of the stoic demeanor that masked her body language a few minutes ago.

Yet, this burst of accolade is met with weakened concern via a frail, seemingly lifeless hand stretching out. His blurred vision cast him with the sight of feathers. Hundreds of feathers in myriad colors storming forth toward the defeated. A fate his hard-fought adversary didn't deserve to him.

"Do not worry about your rival. Such a hard-fought victory from his hands, I'm pretty sure his mentor wouldn't let him be disgraced like this". She speaks as she sends a glance behind her back to the dozens of harpies blind to their desire. Consumed by the ambient demonic essence slowly diminishing.

And the winds cutting a swath among them. A burst of forceful blast erupting the entire surrounding. A further collapse to the building's already fragile structures. Rejection of everything. Dust. Feathers. Metal. Bars. Tools. Screws. Spent munition. Overshot bullet castings. Everything.

Everything but the tengu responsible for the casting of the formless tide, clutching her defeated underling close, a faint smile adorned on her lips.

Primetime for the man to wake from his ceaseless crash course, filled with her sight...and shame of his epiphany "Ohh?!...ohh, right...took a beating...of course".

He sighs as the gale wails down, looking away from the woman putting him through his teachings "I'm sorry I don't look the part for that reveal, Kyōfū. I'm not exactly coming back with a trophy..."

He turns around in grumbling exhaustion, struggling his way back to his feet to a concerned Kyōfū following his sluggish movement. Looking to the left. Looking to the right. Dwindling purple "Argh...I dropped the ball on that one..."

"What? No!" The tengu immediately rises "That was anything but! Especially in combat, the way you moved and whirled, it was nothing close to a 'failure'!"

"Hard to believe you when I'm the one that's gotten flogged over here. And that crash...and that failed attempt at--

"Yes, yes!" Her wings set behind the nape of his neck, drawing the frankly tired and exhausted man "Things that can be worked. I mean, having to delicately balance an element in shapes and uses isn't the easiest of things. Not to humans. That you have lost to someone with a similar mastery over a different element long after fighting your way through others isn't something to bear shame over. You're no failure, Danny..."

Her attempt to comfort turns into a womanly embrace, her voice full of warmth...and pride "Not to me...the others wouldn't disagree if they were watching too".

"...I guess. Catching a monument to success would have been good too". His hands display a vulgar disregard for the status between them, returning the embrace with his own. His hands were exalted at her more-than-woman hips' welcome to their touch. His heart began beating strongly. To see his closest friend as the same woman who trains him made it easy for him to make the leap.

A leap Kyōfū seemed more than ecstatic to cherish, her heart beating in harmony with his "That's okay. It's the least important thing right now..."

Her eyes, hidden by the spiraling glasses, turn to the other duo, fiding the dragon mistress's glance. A toothy grin reflected on Kyōfū's reflective lenses, one full of prideful effervescence. The teeth, in their turn, replied the tengu's avenging glare full of revenge promises.

Not now. Not too soon. But one day, when their pupils would meet again. It was a rather innocuous exchange for how serious it was looking to be.

The reptilian wyrm spread out her wings in a puff of wind setting her and her follower away from the normalizing island to the dismay of the harpy spokeswoman flapping from her tower "Wait! Your prize! You forgot your prize!"

"They weren't looking for a prize, I think". Kyōfū turns eyes to the sighing harpy before going back to her exhausted protegé "I know we weren't".

A faint giggle flows from the tengu's lips, following eyes yearning to 'compensate' the defeated. Having seen his convoy through the island, having only barely fallen to an equal standing was a loss on the most shallow of surfaces. And there was one way to convey this.

And so, in a flash of gust, she softly presses them against his. The grime of exhaustion afflicting his body drifts away in place of surprise tickling his end with the sweetened taste of a breeze traveling the air.

Tickling red cheeks harmonize between the two, setting Kyōfū in an additional giggle and a confounded Danny "Wha--wai--I--why--

"I told you, didn't I?" Wings press softly on the man's battered torso armor. His whole wardrobe could use a change. Quaint blush clothes her cheeks made resplendent by the return of the sun "What I saw...it was wondrous. However you want to cut it, it was no failure. A failure would have been to have given up so early after that missed step. Or that unfortunate crash the plant. Or the other little mistakes that would have set you up for defeat. But you didn't, did you? I saw you strive to make your way to my tiny guide".

"Well..." His hands now really are comfortable clinging to her waist, handing him privy access to her luminescent eyes, gentle slits mirroring humble strength "...I couldn't exactly afford to drop so fast, could I?"

"I'm glad you didn't". Her wings doubling as arms take him on, leading his cheek to the fold of her chest where it rests on the blunt of her kimono. She was privy to his exhaustion briefly blurred by the soft kiss of a monster now recovered "But, for now, let's go back, alright? You fought hard today, and rest is of the highest order".

"Right! Right..." His eyes close to a surrounding of disappointed harpies who held the hope of vying for someone of his stature. The few that remained near had little hope of purchasing a defeated prize from the clutches of an occult tengu enticed by her student. Judging by the way she holds on to him in their ascension to a current of wind, she wasn't keen on letting him go...ever. --- "Wow, little Danny. Quite the romance story you've got, do you?" A familiar grin wears down a visage, sharp in feline teeth to an unimpressed man standing the counter "Now I see where you've got this adorable bundle of feathers".

"Yes, a 'bundle of feathers' that's been bored to sleep thanks to this unending need to hear every detail of that game". Danny sighs as he glances at the child that sleepily clings to his chest. Her bottom is gently held afloat by his arm with the other used to anchor her close to him.

Young Kaze naps the day away, slightly turning her head around as she would do on her tiny nest. Moving so drags her tiny pom poms with it, a matching pair to her mother's. Just like her small peach-dipped feathers and the closed eyes.

A white traveling kimono befits her three-year-old stature, having wanted to accompany her father to this simple grocery run for spices. at least, before the fox woman thought it a good idea to uproot her dad's unconventional confession to her mother, causing the youngling to fall asleep.

"Oh, come now, little Danny. How do you expect someone to react when one of the few apprehensive men suddenly comes swinging with a cute little chick in their arms?" The Inari leans on the counter, nine tails resting on the wooden floor as well as ears flapped down.

"Well...maybe start with explaining why is it that you went all this time without telling me that I've been dealing with a fox".

"Believe it or not, I do not enjoy having customers walk around me like the floor is eggshells. Makes for a dull atmosphere. Surely you haven't forgotten how overtly cautious you were around the more...supernatural kind, have you?"

Oh, he remembers. Hard to feel comfortable around creatures that could seemingly pull magic out of their robes. Less so as a foreigner "Ok...I guess I can give you that one".

"Now that you're plenty associated with this 'scary, scary' exotism, I don't see any problem having my ears poke out". She speaks while looking at the union of a tengu and her subordinate quietly breathing in her sleep, her ear flapping somewhat. Likely from a pleasant dream.

"But anyway..." The Inari elder takes to the side, magic sliding openings to a truly endless wall of spices waiting to be claimed by anyone with a taste for seasoning. Danny re-arranges his hold to his child, making sure not to accidentally wake her as he sets eyes to the stretching wall of aromas with an inviting voice to ponder "What would the missy be wanting for this evening, hmm?"