Well fuck me. I hate ff and its upload system. Idk how the hell the documents got switched. But the chapters were backwards. Im sorry to anyone reading and getting caught in my blunders. Anyway, the chapters have been fixed, and im sorry for ruining shit. For that, i will be posting the fixes, as well s additional chapter to he one that was spoiled, this week. Cuz fuck it, yall need some continuation instead of going backwards. whoever is reading this if anyone, please forgive me.
This chapter was a pain. I got a little bit lost on what I wanted to put on paper, and it made the process I usually do in a few days turn into weeks. To make sure this does NOT happen again, I have shortened the 10 days in the Arena to 6. So we are in our final days of the round 3. I really hope that does not disappoint anyone! Either way, hope you enjoyed and look forward to seeing you in the next chapter! Im getting to my favorite parts of the story in a few! :D
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Haley's momentary pause seemed all too familiar. A sliver of doubt knocked at the door in Diarmuid's mind that he should be weary. And he was, because the lovespot was still atrociously active.
However, the cloudiness in her gander was nothing short of heartfelt hope tangled with the hair of… mutual fondness. In the pit of his gut, he thought it to be affection . She snuggled against him— was that indication enough?
Alternatively, Haley's experiences have weighed her down as of late, and she sunk into him for solace more and more these days. Her reactions were justifiable enough to just be seeking him for pure consolation.
Diarmuid combed his fingers in her soft locks, while she rested across his knees. Her tiny hand was crumpled in a fist under her chin, while the other slacked at her center. There were pockets of dark under her shut eyes which the fire's flickering light brightened.
He believed this to be the most vulnerable she has appeared to him thus far. At a time, he would not have even considered the thought to allow this. Not with those troubles of his past snaking their way into the present more often than he would appreciate. In spite of that, he indulged her cry for closeness when she so virtuously declared her terrors of death separating them.
Staying together was his only desire as of late, coupled with her safety. In her little spout, she shared the same sentiments, albeit hers were more of unease.
Their wristwatch snug around Haley's wrist under his garments was something he quickly sneaked a peek at. 334 hours. He went over how modern times worked and came up with.. Fourteen days? That felt like such a small amount of time, if not for the fact they spent every waking hour with one another. It was not as if it were a bother.
Somewhere behind him, a drop of water accompanied the howling wind outside and the crinkle from the fire. It had been quite the time that she was asleep, only adjusting herself when Diarmuid fidgeted underneath her.
Something was off in the atmosphere. He slowly unlined himself from her, crossing her arms underneath her head to inspect what tickled his sharpened senses. The furious gusts of wind froze in place, the flakes unnaturally sitting in the air.
Turning his back to the exit of the cave, Diarmuid hung their duffel bag over his shoulder. Intuition said to gather what they had. He knelt and lifted the sword by the handle, keeping the blade staring at the ground.
"My Lady.." He said, rustling her shoulder, "Please wake, I believe there to be trouble."
Pushing onto her elbows, Haley gave Diarmuid a questioning look. For one, she didn't think it was nice for him to let her sleep on the cold, solid ground, and two.. What trouble? Everything seemed—
The roof of the cave rained on them, crushing the fire out in a blink. Before either could react, the shower of rock snared Haley's shoulder underneath it. It was not large nor heavy enough that she couldn't push it off, but the pop—and pain following there after—indicated it popped her shoulder.
On the other hand, Diarmuid was knocked back by the quake. Being drizzled by the in-collapsing tunnel, and scooping Haley over his shoulder, he made the sprint. Dodging the spray ice and gravel, they tumbled out of the cave just before it completely closed in on itself.
The sky had turned pitch black once more, as the mountain's shape molded into itself, and the speckles of snow blinked into a different hue. The landscape engulfed in darkness shined blindingly bright, before the remastered Arena brought heat to their flustered faces.
Haley slipped from Diarmuid's tight hold, the back of her hand shielding her eyes from the massive white that dimmed to a bright orange and blue.
Well, she wasn't freezing, anymore.
In a quick exchange of garments—while also cautious of the blaring red on Haley's shoulder—Diarmuid rolled the sleeves of the tattered jumpsuit to the dent before his shoulders. Golden sprinkles sneaked their way into his boots during the swap, and the sun beat down on him harder than any opponent. A third change in scenery now, over the span of two sun downs.
"Now that's a view.." Haley whispered with slight awe. "I don't know if the Host's give a damn about what I have to say but… This is so cool."
Diarmuid accompanied Haley marveling at her side to the plains of flat top mountains with divots to create slopes and canyons spreading far into the distance. A lengthy ways down there was a river in the split between the two walls of elevation, trees stippled along the rocky slopes. In the split, the sun's rays radiate in beams, bringing about a red hue.
How a masterful sight as this was scrunched down into the Coliseum they occupied Diarmuid did not know, but it was rewarding. There was nothing as spectacular as this from his day that he had experienced.
Haley's shoulders rolled, as the haunting pain from the Arena's transformation called her attention from the view to them. In conjunction with her injured shoulder, a headache gradually increased. The transition from frigid cold to desert heat finally set in to her body's confusion.
A sparing glance revealed that Diarmuid had new lesions begging her to heal them. He must have attained them when indulging Kayneth in battle. Something he fled from with her in mind, as grueling as that was for a warrior such as he.
Haley has come to value the subtle—yet effective—ways Diarmuid puts aside how he'd like to treat the scenario, to something befitting both of them.. Okay, mostly her, but still. That took a tremendous amount of loyalty, and she held her Knight's delicate—and slightly fragile— nature in the grasps of her own volition.
Her fists clenched so hard her knuckles turned white. Diarmuid became a companion she adored thanks to his righteous personality and strong convictions. He bore her burdens upon himself despite their consequences inadvertently endangering the outcome of his fate. Someone like him deserved the world.
And yet the disgusting torturous tournament was meddling with his spirit like it held zero worth.
A calming sigh breathed through Haley's lips. In the panel's defense, she signed up for this through her own volition, and this reflection did nothing to progress them further. It only rattled her thoughts and threatened their safety.
Glimpsing down the canyon trails, Haley saw mottling of orange scattered about. She and Diarmuid were on display standing off this portion of the cliff. If one of the competitors had a bow or gun, their position begged to get them shot down. In correlation with that idea, something else was nagging away.
"Hey Diarmuid… I have to go to the bathroom."
The look on Diarmuid's face was priceless.
It was almost unfair to the competition that the Heroic Spirit Medea was involved as a Detainer in the tournament. These trials had no name nor value until it involved her dearest lover, Souichirou Kuzuki.
When that wizard was mingled with Counter Guardians, the Greek Spirit could not resist eavesdropping on their intense conversations. The Norse God of Mischief found his way through the barriers of the Underworld and worked quite the deal with Underworld's Master himself.
Not wanting to sit in a different storing system for Heroic Spirits, as the Throne outside of time repaired itself—she meddled into the tournament only to find that her darling had been destined to the Underworld for the crimes he had done in his past. With the other Heroes of Legend having their own little fun, Medea bargained with Athena—a fellow Greek Legend—to partake to save him.
With the backing of the panel and her magical prois, it was only a matter of time before she would bring their love to triumph. Twas a shame they didn't just grant her victory solely based on her involvement in the damned thing. The only challenge that befitted her talents was the events against the Panel members themselves.
How sly of them: To further weed out the damned by putting them against the very epic Spirits themselves. Her match against her Grail War counterpart—The Dog of Culainn— was combat she wouldn't neglect to retain. Well, unless she were to ever be summoned again.
What was infuriating was that the Host's stripped her of Rule Breaker this particular event. They intended to keep the Arena fair. What rubbish. The genuine vindication was evident: Those seven monstrosities knew with her power she could obliterate the competition with ease.
The half nymph sighed, eyeballing the hunk of man wearily inspecting the outside of their new pillar fortress. The usually dark outfitted male looked beautiful to her, even in the ratty orange jumpsuit. The cold pretense of a soul actually quite deeply regretted his past, and was lost in life on how to make amends. He now suffered in this pithole for his actions as an assassin in earlier life.
"Caster, there, walking along the cliff side," Kuzuki pointed an adamant finger to the pair above them, "They will be at our left side. I will strike them from behind."
The proclamation fell upon deaf ears. Arrested by abrupt fatigue, Medea's vision was seized by murkiness. Limbs felt absent upon attempting motion. What in the world?
Witch
Witch
Witch
The words assaulted Medea's psyche like invisible fists. In a wink her purple cape was peeled away, leaving only the foot long, violet dress. Periwinkle bum long hair reduces itself to a short cut at the neck.
A low rumble spread through charcoal colored clouds and a salty breeze caressed the woman's cheek. Palms turned upward to greet confused, orchid eyes. Bewildered, the crashing waves snapped Medea's smaller frame out of the trance overtaking her.
A crinkle in the sand slowly began sinking sandal feet. Curses and screams soundlessly mouthed through purple lips, inaudible in the distortion of the dream world. The woman was trapped, gasping for air in her lungs that was replaced with contents of the beachfront.
Asphyxia burning in Medea's chest, sand scratching at her sensitive orbs, and now saltwater gushing into her rampaging figure, she struggled for any sort of relief. She clawed at the sand and wiggled to be set free from submerging further into sand and seawater.
Witch
Witch
Witch
Familiar voices hissed the words, having the woman recoil from their poisonous wrath. Medea thrashed about in this strange void, now livid from the insults. She was no damn witch! The sinkhole warped, finally releasing its captive to fall, fall, fall, seeping into the blackened abyss as if rejecting that very statement.
Bleak, astounding memories harassed the depths of the enchantress' mind. A tool of mere use to Aphrodite. Forced to betray and take the lives of her family. Returning to the man she loved only to be rejected and shunned as he found a more suitable wife. Then tossed to the world when no longer of use.
As if the barrage of the Greek's life was not enough torment: The slapping her back made against the strange end of this tortuous realm disintegrated her body. Shards of her appearance scattered about the dark land leaving nothing but anguish in her nervous system. She was still alive, feeling every bit of her nerves go into shock.
Slowly, her form began to rekindle itself, each block of her figure coming together like a strange, obscured puzzle. A loud, consistent rattle similar that of a rattlesnake answers the fragmented pieces with a horde of scorpions.
The insects began devouring the bits placed about, bringing forth yet another agony. Every nerve of her being felt like it was being torn apart by a beast. This… wasn't real. It couldn't be. Her and her beloved were just conversing in the rocky dunes of the canyon.
"Souichirou-Sama…" The woman's soft voice was carried in the realm.
An image of a man with dark, steel eyes, high cheekbones and a slender chin appeared just out of reach. His all black suited attire was snug to his already tight figure. A school teacher, a past assassin, the love who gave Medea everything she ever wished for. Kindness, forgiveness, loyalty, love.
"Souichirou…!" The woman called out again, but the man turned away to the half of her arm that reached for his fond touch, "No...why... ?!"
It was the lack of answer that brought the woman to tears. The blatant disregard with a simple show of back gave a clear, rejecting answer. The man's frame was swallowed by deep flames. Skin rolled down his body into a pool of thick mud causing the woman to screech,
"Souichirou! No, Souichirou!"
"Caster..." His voice was cool and smooth as it always was, as Medea desperately clawed at the air with her mangled figure,
"SOUICHIROU!"
"Caster.."
She begged the Gods not to take him, not torture him as she was.
"Caster..!"
Not her darling Souichirou!
"MEDEA!"
Eyelids peeled open, revealing blown, amethyst pupils. Shooting forward onto her feet like a bullet, the Heroic Spirit wildly searched for their sweetheart. What she found was a grotesque battlefield of broken corpses, and pummeled earth. Clearly the work of those brass like fists Souichirou fought with, and whatever the enemy concocted.
Bewildered, Medea turned to the voice calling her name, knees pathetically quivering like they'd been struggling to hold her very form. "Souichirou… what in the world happened?!"
"The enemy had magic that drains those of mana by infiltrating their mind. Caster, I am sorry it took so long to subdue them." Souichirou said in a flat tone dyed with slight worry.
When Medea had fallen unconscious, the former school teacher targeted the rivals in the tournament above them. It was quick work crushing the latter's skull, however, he had not realized the enemy he defeated was in an alliance with another.
The foe Magus took refuge somewhere in the gorge. Finding them took ample time. Souichirou had to break through their defenses to end the Detainer so he could ensure Medea's release from the dream drain. It seemed the Forsaken was only capable of tackling one opponent at a time, thus why he was proficient in-taking them down after a couple of attempts.
Medea's exasperated sigh was so strong it could blow down the entire mountain like those folk tales of the wolf and pigs. The stale expression the man always wore never left, even as Medea swung her arms around the taller figure.
For Heaven's sake, Souichirou would never turn away. What wretched, stupid thinking. He would be by her side. Always .
The lowering full moon was shrouded in puffy cyan mist overhead. Stars hid behind the cluster of clouds that slowly crossed the expanding sky. The ravine carried a breeze that hugged the Irish Knight's frame. Coated in thick layers of sweat from the sudden onset of sun baking heat, the night's air was refreshing across the watered down man.
Diarmuid's shoulders were hunched, as he knelt on his knees watching for any other aggravating assaults. After his Master relieved herself—and rather belatedly—supplemented herself with snacks and water, the duo were mauled. It seemed her edibles drew attention from lizard-like beasts that hounded them.
Somewhere in their skirmish, deformed coyotes joined the fray, biting off more than they could chew. Lady luck decided to assist them, adding three other competitors into the mix. Together, the unlikely team chipped down the numbers from few to none. The Knight was thankful for their assistance, and even more jovial when they departed.
Their reprieve hadn't lasted long, and within a few hours, the steam clouds above rained. What could have delight, swiftly shifted to horror as the sky drowned the Arena in a muck so vile it sweltered the skin of all underneath it. If not for the archway made of stone and dirt, their lives would have been lost in slow, melting agony.
Both he and the Lady now had welts, blisters and slits so severe, another attack pressured their advancement. In the few moments of peace they were granted in the sweltering heat, they settled in a crevice that was neatly tessellated in cacti and crooked trees.
Diarmuid looked over to the tattered woman hidden in the formation of stone. He knew she was drenched to the toes. Her chocolate locks look like they had gotten into a fight with the wind. And lost. The center of her top laid bare her bosoms, while other cleaved sections exposed light flesh. In utter frustration, the Lady used the sword's blade to finish extracting the smelted pant line past her knees.
Turning his gander away—for he was still seeing more of the lady than he should—the Knight inspected his own gear that closely resembled that of a wounded warrior. There was no fragment of clothing left unscathed from the previous assaults. He debated following in Haley's wake, shredding bits and pieces of fabric until it made sense. They only had another mere day left of this insanity, so he would refrain from doing so.
The other pressing problem besides the tournament's little interruptions, his Lady still seemed out of place. Not so much as physically— but rather in terms of emotional detachment. The shine that normally reflected in her azure orbs died out. Her usual banter and forthrightness now secluded itself into a cage of gloom. The only moment of respite in her deteriorated state was their landing in this new section of the Arena, where the sun's rays warmed their figures and the canyon's breathtaking view blew them both away.
The male had attempted to communicate with her again, that she needed to have faith in his abilities. The Lady needn't question the outcome of the tournament. That she, just as he, needed to remain true to their resolve without letting the crooked way the tournament did things put a damper on that.
"Trust me, I get that. And I am not doubting you.. It's just a lot." And it was. In the course of a day, her whole reason for being in Hell's limbo came crumbling down like a ton of bricks. "Just give me some time to get over it."
Silence past in a beat, and Diarmuid exhaled. "Alright, but do not forget I am here if you wish to speak."
"I know, and you don't have to worry, I will be okay." Haley said, drawing circles in the dirt beneath her rear.
Haley absorbed the breeze that felt cooler thanks to the coat of sweat she wore, trying to level her head where Diarmuid needed it to be. She spied his soggy back across from her, and wondered how the hell a dead man could sweat. Was that normal? Eh, the heat was only affecting him slightly, and the puddles of water latched on to him was nowhere near as bad. It was easily settled that it was mild, just like his reaction to the cold in past days.
Between the inflection of russet boulders, beams of yellow winked through. Dingy clouds broke apart from the sun's assault. Haley groaned, knowing this meant the torrid heat would make a second appearance. The nature of the desert's night was much more rewarding, and was uneventful.
Fingers reached for the bag of essentials to pluck a water bottle from it's depths, then recoiled from the snap in the earth. Haley discharged back, scrambling from what broke through the foundation.
Diarmuid like the guard dog he was— was already in front of her, obscuring the view of whatever unlatched dirt, and swallowed their bag whole. A sibilant sound was carried as the man shielding Haley pounced like a lion protecting its cub.
Arena Sword in hand, jolted for the serpent-like creature that now towered over them. Lime colored scales flayed under warm silver. The alluvium quaked and spit nuggets in the wake of the cobra burrowing.
The Arena rumbled like a stomach needing filling. Erupting like a volcano, the slithering menace deflated the terrain. The mountain elevation was reduced to rubble, submerging the Knight along with Lady to the layers below.
Diarmuid recovered quickly in their drop, snatching the woman mid air, breaking her fall by taking the sheer brunt of it himself. The impact dislodged all the air from his lungs. All that was left to make their abrupt descent worse was the debris that cracked bones and shred skin. The two flooded with adrenaline, rushed right to maneuver away from the remaining bits of showering stones.
In the midst of their narrow escape from the Arena, its slithering friend was far from gone. The reptile with red jewels for eyes locked on them like a sniper and spit venom that dissolved more rubble. The only positive matter was that it was locked merely on Diarmuid, while Haley managed to escape behind the pile of rubble.
"Diarmuid watch out!" Haley called to her Knight, the moment she saw the wreckage explode from a man the size of a damn mammoth beneath it.
The Irishman's eyes snapped to the behemoth that hurled the ruins from his person, and with a snap adjusted his leap to avoid it.
The man was herculean: ridged muscle contoured his entire shape. Straight red hair just narrowly skimmed his shoulders and the roar that exited his plump lips matched the bellowing cry of the serpent. The glittering snake switched targets to him just in time for him to see the woman uncovered.
Completely opposite from her teammate in size, the lady was scrawny and had matching, short scarlet locks. Diarmuid's keen eyes spotted crimson splatters across her skin. Had she fallen victim to the rocky torrents?
With the serpent's attention on the sheer force of that cursed man, Diarmuid scouted for the sword that slipped through his fingers when apprehending Haley before they smashed asphalt. It's handle was severely damaged, only a stub of it remained and the edges were scraped apart but it would do.
He clutched the cold steel in his left hand and deciphered how he was to handle the monstrous beast next, despite the fact his right arm was completely useless. The fellow Forsaken just missed a crashing blow with his gigantic mallet, kicking up dust.
"You, let us work together to slay this beast," Diarmuid called to the woman who just managed to stand on her two feet.
"Fine!" She shouted back over the sound of the monster tunneling into the canyon once more, "Jaxon, focus all your energy on that thing!"
The two warriors exchanged confirming glances in their temporary truce, though something irked the hell out of Diarmuid. This man, had he not at least seen him prior to this endeavor?
Well anyway, the familiarities could wait. Because just as he was about to form another sentence, the damn ground leveled beneath the Knight's feet once again.