Enough to make my systems blow [.plot-fünf.]

Stella silently listened to Adrian as he responded to her, so he couldn't control his power after all - at least that was what it sounded like to her. The presence of the other person though surprisingly enough caught the girl off guard. Not moving nearly as fast as Adrian did, one ice shard flew into Stella's face - leaving her with a slice on her cheek. Another ice shard ended up flying past Stella's thigh, easily slicing open a small section of her jeans and making it's momentary mark. "Ow, what the hell." The concept of being in extreme danger was foreign to Stella and as a result the next ice shard that flew toward her, the girl held up her hand and started to mutter quite a few magical words. For those brief seconds, the entirety of her eyes turned pale blue and the ice melted in her hands. With the water seeming to stick to her hands, Stella brought it up to her cheek - healing the first wound easily. With that done, Stella started to move the same hand down to her thigh with plans of healing the other injury that had been inflicted on her.

[ooc; rolled 8. no dodge. ]

|| OKAY, HERE GOES. ||

Adrian and Stella:

The figure takes the blows at hand, reeling a little but making very little effort to dodge aside from moving his head to keep the punch from hitting squarely. He has the build of somebody who once carried a great deal of extra muscle. Months in the darkness made him slighter, but tougher. Much tougher. He grunts when the blows take, then retaliates in a terrifyingly efficient way.

Adrian is swept up in water that had been hidden by the half-light, frozen into place off to the side by ice encasing his hands, shoulders, and feet. The white-haired individual then moves on to Stella. His first attack had hit- ice had sheared past Stella's person.

As she heals her thigh, he closed the distance between them, drawing on the very water she is using to heal herself to attack her again, intending for it to dig into the closing wounds as he aims a scarred fist at her face.

((roll for reflex again, Stella. Adrian, you may roll for escape. Since your opponent is distracted, all you have to beat is a thirteen.))

--

Jason and Chase:

Several blows land at once, mostly due to the overwhelming imbalance in numbers. These individuals operate tightly, having fought in the arena together before. They know when to get out of each others' way, and when to attack en masse. Some of them are stronger than average and a feverish light seems to be coming from their eyes.

These three are the ones that also try to use their teeth when fighting. They are the most dangerous of the lot, who come out to about seven if one bothers to try to muddle through the confusion to count.

((roll for counterrattack if you have not. Anything above a ten hits. 10-13: glancing blows. 14-17: solid. 18-20, crit. If 18-20, roll again to confirm (if same range, auto-KO if using fists/blunt weapons. Please PM me with your rolls if your counter is a different modus.))

--

Olwen & Tucker:

The boy sits up weakly, hand over the wound blossoming on his chest, just under his collarbone. His confusion is multiplied by the addition of the pain. He has no idea whether this is a dream or reality, nor does he recognize these new threats. He looks down, hand coming away from his chest, slick and shiny with blood.

He was pale before; now, he is ashen. He struggles to put space between himself and the two, but his legs won't serve to carry him anymore and he just sort of writhes away from the two. Terror and exhaustion play with his mind, distorting the two into wraiths. So much time running only to be taken out by an enemy he had not met before.

Beneath his ragged clothes, he is emaciated and heavily scarred. He closes his eyes to try to move from this reality to the other one, but the woman nearby has woken up and he cannot find another consciousness to move through. As he bleeds, his fight leaves him and he closes his eyes. Dream or not, he can die and will do so if he loses any more blood. That fact alone is the most real thing in his existence; death is the same no matter what plane he travels through.

Out of the chaos enveloping his senses comes this deep well of resignation. He finally finds his voice and says haltingly, "Real or not-real... please make it quick. I can't run anymore."

--

Felix:

Figures move around in the dark beyond the flashlight, but their presence does nothing to alleviate the overwhelming sense that the beast he escaped earlier. In fact, a growl comes out of the dark behind him, causing him to start running again. This panicked flight completely destroys Felix's bearings. So, now, he is not only fleeing for his life, he is hopelessly lost.

This wasn't more than Chase had bargained for in the least. By partaking this endeavor, they were bound to encounter trouble one way or another. But, even with this mental preparation, he still had to restrain his inner beast from sinking his fangs into the tantalizing flesh of the dark figures in front of him.. Or at least, this is what his mind had conjured to try and satisfy his bloodlust. It was also driving his desire to fight and destroy the group in front of him, which was a strong advantage. Their scents were overwhelmingly close, and as irrational as it sounded, he wished for them to separate a bit more so he could make the distinction between them. It was frugal, seeing that they'd all pounced on he and Jason in an instant and tightly surrounded them in a circular formation without a moment's notice. They were certainly experienced at this, he noted to himself. Chase gritted his teeth as a rain of blows descended upon he and his partner, but for now, he positioned his arms in front of his face in a fighter's stance, fixating his eyes onto his foes with unwavering concentration. He pushed the false images of fleshy sacs of people from his mind as he focused on the real silhouettes, using his enhanced vision to aid him as he sized up his opponents. Of course, it was difficult with fists flying at him from all directions, but his body was compact enough to handle it. If he lashed out without thinking, it would be in a dire situation, for now he was calculating just as much force he should administer to his blows, as well as where to direct them. The young man began to concentrate all of his might and strength into his fists as he breathed evenly, taking in the hits as they came. At one point, it almost felt numb, the sharp jabs of pain beginning to dissipate into a surreal nothingness. But, reality struck just as quickly.

The werecat couldn't contemplate his own might sometimes, and at the present situation, this was one of those times. Raising up his balled fist with vigor and speed, he drew back his arm into the narrow space that surrounded he and Jason, before extending it towards one of the weaker foes. He'd been directly facing the individual, so it wasn't too long before his arm could reach out to them. His knuckles connected with the person's temple, a sickening thwack filling the air as the contact between fist and skull. The young man chose not to dwell on whether or not the person had fallen unconscious or where they'd landed, however, so that he could focus in on defending his face from the constant attacks, but he'd watched their form careen backwards with a smug sense of victory. Though it wasn't one of the more difficult enemies they faced, it was still enough to eliminate someone from the mass. And, he was hoping that this could at least intimidate those who seemed to be less experienced or unsteady and send them off, but that seemed hardly to be the case based off of the fervor and animalistic frenzy to their movements. Though his fist did hurt a little bit, the adrenaline of the battle and the beast stirring within him outmatched the trivial pain. He returned to his defensive stance, grunting every now and then as the swift jabs pinpointed him in many areas across his body all at once. Since he'd done so well with his first shot, he decided that waiting for the right moment would be the best approach for this. And, now, Chase focused in on the people who had a glimmer lurking within their eyes. It was unnerving, angering his inner beast with that irrational fear and agitation of light, and he found himself drawn to try and attack them next. He repeated the same motions, using the little space provided between flying fists to take back his clenched hand, as if he were winding up a toy, until the tension in his muscles grew too powerful. With that, he released the taut pressure, letting his fist strike the glowing-eyed foe as a bestial roar wrenched itself from his throat. As to be expected, the person appeared to have been stunned by the brutal contact, but they hadn't crumpled to the ground like the other had, latching onto their will to keep them conscious. Chase hadn't expected any less, finding that these people were the ones emitting stronger blows, but he was glad to have crippled them. Now continuing to keep himself shielded with his bruised arms, he glanced back at Jason, doing his best to keep his werecat at bay as he observed his partner. Throughout the entire process of this, he hadn't even given him a shred of attention, and now it was impeccable that they at least communicate or check in.

(Rolled a 16 and an 18 on a d20 and +1 modifier, and I'm so so sorry about the wait D:)

    "Buo," Tucker began, but failed to finish. He hesitated.

    Here they were, fully reliant on one another in the dark dungeons of some evil lair, and he was hesitating. To top it off, Olwen had chosen him to be at her side. For his resourcefulness or foresight or level mind. She remained armed, lethal, and ready to end this poor sap's life in a moment's notice.
    He remained uncertain how to proceed.

    There's a rule about this sort of thing, Tucker recalled, his awareness dulling as he mingled with incoherent memories and careful thought.

    Indecision is fatal. I can't afford to hesitate. So why am I?

    Because our lives are in danger. He is an enemy. We cannot afford risks. I have no moral objection to killing an enemy.

    That was no reason to hesitate.

    He is defeated. Starved. Wounded. Beyond what we have done to him. Scared. Now, resigned. Submissive.

    Could be a trick.

    Olwen, Tucker directed his thought directly at her, in desperate hope she would hear him and comprehend. A subtle acknowledgement would do wonders on her part, I don't trust him, but we can use him.

    Tucker moved forward, knelt down, but kept a significant distance. The boy across from him continued to bleed out. An open wound would be the easiest way for Tucker to kill this settling person. He took on a sympathetic tone, "You're okay, stay with us. We'll get you help. What can you tell us? What's down here?" He shifted his glance to Olwen briefly, "Buo, can you slow his bleeding?"


***


(Adrian - Escape 1d20 : Rolled 11 = Failed Escape Attempt)

    For a moment, Adrian felt a swelling of pride as success followed his fists, but the accuracy meant little when the opponent could take the hit. Take the hit!? Adrian gaped in confounded fury. Spitfire was no light weight, yet two critical, end-all strikes harbored little effect. I hate these freaks!

    Prepped to strike again, eager and raging to follow up his attacks, Adrian let out a frustrated yell when water rushed against him. The distance only meant that Adrian's wrath could not be exacted. Oh, he would fight this water. He would go against any current to pummel this freak.
    Problem was, the water did not remain a mere force pushing him back. It froze and locked in place, restraining Adrian like a helpless, pathetic human.

    No time for clear thinking, Adrian struggled against his binds in a futile effort. Small cracks showed in the ice, but he quickly exhausted himself with the effort. In futile resignation, his attention turned to Stella with startled realization, "Duck, you idiot!"

   Olwen felt the shift in the emotions that were running through the guys head, even without peering into his mind. His expression changed as soon as she had knocked him to the ground and his posture moved into a more fearful state. Owl watched as he felt the wound she had inflicted upon him not moments before, she felt a tingling sensation now; a feeling of regret. The guy was confused and he seemed to be lost in more ways than one, the words that slipped from his pale lips proved this. "Real or not-real... please make it quick. I can't run anymore."  Owl ran her eyes across his face, but never the eyes, and saw only a look of dread. Surely there was more to the story than this. 

   Tuckers sudden movement next to the guy made Owl realize that she was still holding her sword up defensively, a habit of hers. She lowered the blade and knelt next to the guy as Tucker started talking, "You're okay, stay with us. We'll get you help. What can you tell us? What's down here?" Buo, can you slow his bleeding?" Olwen ripped the bottom of her shirt off and moved quickly to attempt to wrap it around his waist, a slow stream of blood was dripping from the cut. She gently tied a knot and sat back again, eyes on Tucker before shifting to his face again.  Her icy blue eyes longing to see into his and beyond. Though she couldn't say no this time, they needed some answers that he could have locked away. With a long sigh, she pulled her eyes over his and looked within. 

Well, if it hadn't been enough for her to want to come along on this stupid adventure - they had to be fighting a psycho water elemental. As the water dug right back into the wound that Stella had been trying to heal, the young woman let out a sharp yelp. She knew water could be used offensively, but who knew it would hurt so much? Stella attempted to move back then, somehow only managing to catch some of the attackers skin against her face instead of the full force of his punch. The realization that it probably would have broken her jaw if he had been able to hit her full on had the girl closing her eyes tight and attempting to remember the spells that her parents had told her about when it came to using water offensively (even defensively at that). Closing her eyes tight, the young woman started to mutter words then with her hand hovering over the wound that ice had dug into. As she felt the ice melt then, Stella sent her arm out - with intentions of causing some sort of injury to the man attacking her. Whether or not the water actually moved, was a mystery to Stella with her eyes practically glued shut.

||I have been given the go-ahead to post. Let's get this behemoth going again... sorry if some of the sections are short.||


In the next minute, the barriers come down. The lights remain low, the overall oppression of the labyrinth unchanged, but the cages swing open as a unit and the route to the exit can be located through careful search.

Stella and Adrian: The water moves as Stella wishes, but an attack using the element their opponent has such definite control over is ineffective at best. The fact that he barely makes an effort to change the fluid's direction is a testament merely to his over-reliance on offensive rather than defensive tactics than due to any perception of Stella's force.

The boy with white hair drops down to kick Stella's legs out from under her.

[[Make a roll for reflex. If it gets above a 15, she passes her reflex check.]]

--

Chase and Jason: Jason's counterattack takes him down a hidden path between a couple cells, hidden in utter darkness. This darkness works to his advantage, but takes him out of viewing range of Chase, who is left with two (and a half, if the crippled one is to be taken into account) assailants and more on the way, by the sounds of things. With the cells swinging open, it is safe to assume that time is officially against the students in their mission.

Running in the distance, the sounds of voices. Inevitable fight, if they arrive before the two students have fled.

--

Olwen and Tucker: The boy flinches when Olwen touches him, his vivid blue eyes a few shades darker than Olwen's. They settle on Tucker's face as he speaks, but he shows no outward signs of comprehension. Aside from his initial reaction to being touched, he barely seems to register the bandage. His gaze moves unnervingly to Olwen's face and he finally makes an expression of concentration through the confusion and resignation.

"Down here," he says hollowly as images drag forth from his memories. All of these images and fragments of conversations are cryptic at best, occasionally rooted in sharp pain or intense fear. A white-haired boy with power over water. Instant death implied by his presence. A girl who glows from beneath a layer of blood and viscera. Boy with a blade-arm and hollow eyes. Also linked to death. They chase him. They are constants. A girl with auburn hair who gives him food when he can find her. A woman whose touch steals souls.

Fighting. Running. Screams echoing all around with no indication if they're real or memory. Rest comes briefly, if at all, since dreams here are indistinguishable from reality and time is meaningless when there are no days to mark its passage. "Run. Nobody here is going to look out for you." He looks at Tucker. "Your friend. Not your friend if the Mistress gets to her." Another pause. "Run. There are no exits but the final one. Beware the ice-man. The glowing girl. Blade-arm. Ansleigh is good if you can find her in the dark."

A second later, the cells in their vicinity open and he panics, disappearing into the dreaming between one breath and the next.

People are exiting the cells around them. Some are lost. Some are angry.


((Scribe, roll a D6. The number that results is the number that go directly after the two.))

--

Felix: He rounds a corner and finds a door. Thinking it's the way out, he opens it and enters into the light, only to be body-checked by a fighter in the arena. He exits this thread.

As unbelievable as it was, it seemed as though Chase's attacks had helped decrease the amount and force of the blows constantly invading his body. But, it wasn't enough to provide a considerable change, truthfully, and the young man continued to keep himself shielded whilst battling his inner demons. With Jason gone, he had the option of transforming and leaving it up to fate as to whether or not he could fend off his opponents, since he wouldn't be risking the other boy's well-being. But, on the otherhand, leaping into a situation with an unknown amount of enemies didn't seem like the wisest decision, for even his feral form could only handle so much at a time. Chase exhaled slowly in an attempt to regain some kind of focus and composure. The last thing he needed now was to lose it when he'd gotten this far in his endeavor.

In his current position, the young man was being frontally assaulted, which left a good space behind him as a viable option for escape. Slowly, while still enduring the brutal blows dealt by the frighteningly abundant foes, he edged his way backwards, constantly keeping his arms over his face to avoid too much damage to the head. For whatever reason, it seemed to irritate the beast the most as well, and he found his mind straying towards keeping the bestial urges under control. He emitted inhuman snarls and growls between the punches and kicks thrown his way, even feeling his canines begin to elongate ever so slightly. Every hit sent a small flash of fire through his body, as if it was goading some sort of negative reaction from him. And though the student was aware of the choice of action he planned to take, he chose to hone in on the other sounds around the brawl before making any hasty decisions. In what seemed to be a sudden and rushing chorus of swinging doors, it became apparent that plenty more of these.. People were on their way to assist their cohorts. Chase definitely needed to leave now, there was no question about it, for he was unsure if his body would be able to endure such conditions at this point. In a fluid, jerking motion, he tossed his body backwards to stumble briefly, but successfully disconnecting himself from the assailants for a fleeting span of time. During this instant, Chase spun on his heel and, despite every fiber of his being shrieking at him to tear the other people alive, darted forwards, grunting and growling with each painful and jarring step he was forced to take. His exceedingly advanced night vision permitted him to at least see when a wall or sharp turn would occur in the labyrinth of concrete, and though his gait was somewhat lagged from his battered body, he could keep a constant pace without fear of smacking into an unexpected wall.

( Tucker - Enemy 1d6 : Rolled 4 )

    Tucker felt some relief in seeing how quickly Olwen came to understand the situation and changed her actions accordingly. For a moment he watched the interaction between the two. Both without words, yet seeming to divulge a lifetime of experiences between them. Comprehension dawned on him. All this time, trying to think loudly enough for her to hear, could she only read his thoughts with eye contact?

    That's not right, He furrowed his brow, distracted by the implications of this psychic interaction. She said she could detect the presence of those in her surroundings. She did say their thoughts were unintelligible at the time, though, and I know something separated us from the others.

    Ansleigh?

    He had no time to think about this development, as not only did their surroundings echo with metal gates crashing open, but their victim fled, disappearing into thin air as if he had never existed. Exactly the same way as he had appeared, he recalled. So why not teleport out of here? With growing awareness, Tucker dropped the internal subject when he noted that Olwen and he had been spotted. Most of the prisoners wandered out in a daze, seeking what, he had no idea. But just a handful, four, turned with an aggressive fury in their direction.

    Shifting into an untrained stance, Tucker recalled a particularly lethal encounter he had had on a train once. With some embarrassment, he realized that he really had not fought all that well, and he had never properly learned any combat techniques since. However, he felt much healthier since arriving at Foresta and had learned a modest amount in field tactics. Further, by proof of his past, he had no hesitation to kill in a situation like this. He had done it before and his new ally seemed prepared to execute the teleporter moments prior. Hopefully, that meant there would be no hesitation for what they had to do to survive.

    The motion that followed was a small struggle, one he had devised from watching Buo and reliving his experience on the train. He tore fabric from his sweater, he removed a nylon glove, and he reached out swiftly to seize Buo’s blade halfway up its length. “I’ll watch your back,” Plague spoke for the first time in a long while, he had to be absolutely certain she heard him this time. The palm dug in and he sliced his hand along the sharp edge swiftly, smearing his highly contaminated blood all the way to its tip. The cut had gone deep and his hand assumed a limped pain while he quickly bound it. “Don’t sheathe it until you sterilize it.”


    The first of the assailants descended on the pair instantly, surrounded in a kinetic whiplash of energy that aimed to knock them back or slice them to bits. Plague wasn’t quite sure. The concussive force knocked him off balance as dozens of cuts appeared in his clothes. The draw of blood from numb wounds became his only notification to the injuries. They were beneath minor and did not even yet sting, but opening more wounds in this fetid place was unlikely to have a positive effect on Plague. Their attacker rushed for Buo, a spiral of energy around his hand as he jabbed for a linear attack.

    Still, two more approached, not yet falling into the use of their ability as they closed in, seconds behind the first. The fourth had no need of closing the distance, projectiling torn strands of hair like flechette from a high powered rifle. Someone was going to have to take care of that one. “Buo! Can you feel the others?” Perhaps she did not need the distraction, but if they were in this mess she could either call them to their aid, he hoped, or retreat to find their own reinforcements. In the mean time, he would try to stall the other three. He was unlikely to fair well.

***

( Adrian - Escape 1d20 : Rolled 18 = Succeed Escape Attempt )

    The groan and shatter of ice made an unmistakable sound throughout the hollow rooms. Perhaps it had been the stress he had already put on his containment. Perhaps his captor had been distracted in maintaining the prison while focused on Stella. Perhaps both. Adrian knew he had recovered enough to try again and remained pleased with the success. He had not honestly expected it. But confidence came easily for him, and obviously he had taken the title of Hero in this encounter, "Lay off, Frosty. The girl don't want what you're sellin'."

  The silence breaking sound of the cages opening made her heart stop for a long moment before she saw the people starting to edge out. All were dazed and confused yet some seemed to dislike their presence, running towards them without any real motivation. Her eyes fell onto Tucker as he grabbed her sword, Owl looked at him funny as he cut himself on her sword, but she still didn't know what his power was so she decided to go along with it. His words rang in her mind, still curious as to what he meant by it. 

  Olwen fell into defensive mode, her now bloodied sword was placed in front of her as the man came rushing up to her. His movements were random and not far from crazy. Her eyes followed him as he started to circle her with a grim smile upon his pale lips. The man jerked forward a few times, making her nervously back away from him. Suddenly, he slid to the side before she could react and launched himself unto her side sending them both to the ground. Olwen gasped as she felt the sword make contact with him, but he didn't seem to care at first. His hands raked at her face before she shoved him off of her and backed up to Tucker again.

  The guy took a second to recover and get back to his feet before he charged her. Olwen let one hand fall from her sword as she slammed her fist into the guys face, he stumbled back but before he could gather himself another blow caught him under the chin and sent him to the floor. Shaking her fist, she turned back to Tucker and repeated the words he had said to her earlier, "I've got your back." Checking the guy she had knocked out before she let him fall from her mind, she looked into the eyes of his attackers and Olwen slid her sword into Tuckers uncut hand. One word went streaming through her mind and into theirs, stop, stop, stop. Though she had no idea of if she had the strength to hold them for very long, she prayed that it would be enough for him to knock them out or cut them down. Much to her dismay, one of the attackers was unaffected by her powers. "Don't take too long with that one Tucker, I might not be able to hold the others for very long..."

(rolled d20 = 16 for stealth)

     Jason took his time in the darkness, grabbing what shadows he could, he coated his entire body with the shadows.  Jason peered around the corner to check in on Chase's situation.  He watched silently as he watched chase take the beating.  Jason started to ready himself to try and back him up, but Jason just watched as Chase ended up going into a full out sprint to escape the situation.  Jason could do nothing to bail out Chase as he turned the corner, charging in at this point would be serious injury or certain death seeing how crazed the people were.

    Jason took his time and counted down from five slowly.  As he said the word zero he felt his back meld into the shadows on the wall behind him.  After about a second he popped out of the shadows 50 feet away from his hiding spot behind what he now referred to as the "crazed."  Jason prepared him self mentally for any of them he would encounter ahead.  If they were alone he would just plow through them, if there were to be a group he would just jump into a wall or the floor to bypass them.  Time was ticking, the shadow armor would take it's toll on him if in use for too long, and the jumps would only make it harder to maintain his power.  The last thing that Jason wanted to happen was have another adrenaline rush and lose control again. "Let's hope my luck hold out for this run," he though to himself pushing deeper into the fortress he had entered.
[OOC: Jason's current appearance.
]

Stella had no time to react as Alex kicked her legs out from under her, causing the girl to fall promptly on her but with a yelp. Needless to say, she wasn't in the most charming of positions with her inability to completely fight this person. It wasn't like she wanted to fight in the first place, what was she even doing? Stella heard Adrian's voice then, seeming confused and surprised that he had gotten out of the ice prison that their attacker had put them in the first place. As soon as she got out of this place, she was going to lay down and sleep for a very long time.

It was then that just a few feet away from the three that a blinding light appeared. The light was so bright that anyone in close range would most likely only be able to squint at most, the voice that followed the light though was surprisingly feminine. "Ah, there you are." It was uncertain, who this voice meant - all the way up until the point that this said light seem to fly directly at Adrian's and Stella's attacker. This light though, appeared to be in a small looking potion bottle if someone where able to have a closer inspection at it. Before it had the chance to hit the floor though, a vine was also thrown at the attacker in a lasso like manner as if it could restrain him in some manner.

"I've been looking for you, Alex." The follow-up was the most surprising though as the person who had brought the light in the first place threw a rock the size of a softball straight at Alex's head. There was enough force behind it that if she managed to get a clean hit in, the woman would most likely knock the attacker unconscious.

|| A'ight. I trust y'all to make good, not-godmode-y choices. I leave you to your respective fights since there's not much of a point for me to continue to narrate the obvious. I'll step in if I feel things are not dire enough, or if something should have happened and didn't. Please feel free to PM me if you have any questions!||

Alex collapsed heavily onto the floor, the silvery hair on the back of his hair turning red as some blood started escaping the blunt-force wound his girlfriend had inflicted on him.

    The dark, dank, foul-smelling labyrinth seemed to enjoy throwing as many odd obstacles as it could to make things as difficult as possible. Thankfully, a majority of the newly released prisoners had completely ignored the commotion. It would have been nice if they helped, but Tucker just felt relieved that he would not be forced to fight a horde. That might change in moments, but he had a job to do.

    With his sword-companion facing off with the quick handed energy burster, Plague focused his attention on the three otherwise neglected hostiles. There was little he could do to curb the advance of the nearest two, who had not displayed any overt power quite yet, but he proved attentive enough to place himself between the ranged support and his own ally. He had to hold up his end of the deal, after all.

    Lances of pain shot through his body, mostly indistinct and even more difficult to trace. The only harm came with the impact, the wounds were so fine that they would bother him little more than paper cuts. It seemed he need not have charged in the way, most of these needle-like hairs had been aiming for him anyway.
    Glancing down, he noted long dark strands of limp hair sticking out of his clothes. Curling one on a finger, he simply yanked it out and felt a shiver of creepy pain as the thread extracted from his flesh.
    Disgusting. Well, if that wasn't completely unsanitary...

    Undoubtedly, the hairs used against him as ammunition had been filth-ridden long before impaling certain nondescript regions of his anatomy. Worse yet, the injuries themselves were finer than needles. The infections he fully expected to gain as a result would not be so easily cleaned by merely scrubbing the wounds out. He paled.
    Infections aside! She could have pierced my organs with near undetectable injuries. Oh, his internals were all screwed up now. This would prove so much worse than mere flesh wounds and a week in a fever-induced coma.

    Before he had any time to panic or reason out a solution - he had plenty of time to think, but nowhere near the speed to put any of his plans into action - Buo's opponent dropped like a sack of oats. He caught her words, appreciating the camaraderie and jest, but did not expect the trade in the least.

    Plague noted his own disbelief when the bloodied sword pressed into his hand. His fingers curled reflexively to grip it, but he had to wonder what Buo could be thinking. It occurred to him that, at least between the two of them, he might be the only one with real experience in a fight to the death against Gifted. It worried him in some distant fashion that the only solution coming to him had to do with killing.
    Time to think about that later. The only way he had survived earlier skirmishes in his life had been due to Solace's influence. A presence of a childhood friend that had acted as his guardian angel. He might almost think himself alone, if he had not realized what Olwen was doing.
    Perfect.

    Personal skill with a martial weapon be damned, his closest two targets halted abruptly and made themselves wide open to attack. He clearly had no training or even a concept of wielding such a blade, so he raised it with a powerful slash bent on momentum. A weapon like this worked on torque, but his left hand would not give the grip it required even if he did know how to use it.
    The resulting cut tore flesh out through ragged clothes, no doubt plaguing the injury with Tucker's own blood. He only struck the one closest to him - with enough force to knock him into the other while both were seized by Buo's mindlock - so that he could rush his at-range adversary.
    If Buo's focus failed, at least one enemy would succumb to illness eventually. The effect certainly would not be instantaneous. Tucker still had enough energy to run wild, and he had been infected long before.

    "We're going to retreat and try to find the others, Buo!" Again, sharp lancing pain shot through his body as his adversary unleashed a shotgun blast of stiff hairs into his chest. The hair on her head had been ripped to shreds and he could not bring himself to forgive her even when he saw the fear in her eyes. It was mostly the momentum that killed her. He began his haggard run back to his companion, with the plan to bludgeon them over the head with the sword's hilt if they still remained under Olwen's control. If not, they would face that challenge in seconds.



***



    Spitfire had been about set to flex his muscles and demonstrate certain knuckle-prepping gestures before a flash of light interrupted everything. The newcomer delivered three successive attacks with not enough time between them for the water twisting menace to react. Disorient. Immobilize. Knock-out.
He had been fairly certain a blow to the temple and solar plexus would have flattened anyone, yet his adversary had kept on. Now, some uncalled for meddler ended the fight with a mere stone.
    "Well, that was disappointing."

    Still, the woman's voice carried such a passive tranquility that Spitfire found her presence altogether unsettling. Just as likely for the enemies to have their internal quarrels, Adrian made his decision quickly and acted swiftly. He placed himself between Alex's nemesis and his own, somewhat useless, companion.
     "Heels, run if you have to."

At this point, the sounds of the other, deranged people he'd encountered previously faded into the eerie atmosphere of the dark labyrinth. He hadn't stuck around long enough to ensure Jason's well-being, but it'd be detrimental to both parties if he returned now. The beast could very well cost Chase and Jason their lives, really, and he wasn't willing to take that risk. In fact, as he now realized, he was quite concerned about losing their lives, moreso than he thought he'd be. Death was a very real and frighteningly close factor, and yet somehow, he chose to face it head-on with a plethora of bull-headed, bestial attributes and joining in on a potentially lethal escapade. Good going, he chided himself inwardly, trying to think of something to occupy his thoughts as he sprinted forwards. Without a set destination, he found it difficult to keep himself motivated enough to keep going, and the darker dimension of himself almost seemed tempted to turn back and surrender himself up to a gruesome death. He certainly couldn't let that angle of him win just yet.

After about ten minutes, perhaps more with his inability to grasp a sense of time while jogging through seemingly duplicated stone corridors, the sounds of a nearby skirmish caused the young man to slow to a halt just before rounding a bend. There was no way his body would be able to endure anymore stress now, unless his intentions were to transform, and he truly couldn't allow himself to succumb to that situation, especially not after just fleeing the battle with Jason. His eyes surveyed the distant squabble with silent observation, only interrupted by the occasional, deep breath that emitted from his slightly parted jaws. He might've been in peak condition, but that didn't mean he wasn't capable of breathing somewhat heavily. Nonetheless, he went undetected as he took a careful and tentative step towards the increasing chaos, listening to the mangled screams of the people at the center of the animalistic ring being, quite literally, torn to shreds. Their bloody remains were tossed haphazardly out of the frenzied circle, even an arm being tossed to Chase's feet. He felt a strange surge of lust and complete disgust overtake him as he gazed at the dismembered limb in shock, for though his own feral desires drove him to taste the metallic liquid, he was appalled that a member of his own species had been killed. A numb sensation spread over his body as he spun on his heel and high-tailed it in the other direction. There wasn't enough time to battle his two personalities with the crazed people so close by.

Now, there seemed to be something a bit altered about the labyrinth as a whole. Something had been changed, but the young oman couldn't quite place his finger upon it. Chase pressed on forwards, with his lungs only beginning to burn a bit now, he felt as though he still had plenty of energy to use up if need be. But, his main goal was either finding someone else or, perhaps even better, the way out. At least there, he could mull over his options and make a much more collected decision. Small breaths slipped from his lips as he jogged briskly onward, his eyes scanning each pathway with scrutiny. Once again, his sense of time had become blurred, for what seemed to be an hour could've been as little as fifteen minutes. It was at this point that he discovered a marginally wider and almost well-traveled path that led him to one of the only distinct sources of light in this dimly lit maze: The exit.

(I think Chase is going to head out of this place since he found the exit, so you guys can all continue your character development things)