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The being was not entirely sure how and why she came upon this place.

Perhaps it was through the will of the Hive Queen, or maybe it was a niggling desire to be gone from whence she had been spawned some time before time, for where she came from in the first place was incomprehensible to man and creature alike. Some place in between the vastness of the stars, some blip in space and time.

She oozed into being, a great black, tarry bubble seeping up from the earth and forming into... something. First, a vague, monstrous shape, then, bit by bit, as it had seen this place before, becoming more human, like clay being shaped by the potter on the wheel. When it was over, she was there, standing in the flesh, resplendently beautiful, dangerous and hard as a whipcord, like a panther ready to pounce.

She stood tall, nearly six feet in height, with inky black hair that tumbled down her shoulders, past her waist and to her well-formed calves. Her flesh maintained a grayish white hue, ghastly to behold.

But her facial features were something to behold, ethereal and threatening, with thin lips, a mouth that seemed to stretch unnaturally long were she to smile, lips stained a deep violet in hue as though rouged such. Her nose was long and thin and regal, her chin dainty and pointed. And her eyes shone a brilliant gold, fringed with long, doll-like lashes.

She was perfection only because she formed herself here in such a way. She had one purpose, and that was the hunt.

The being paused, nary a muscle on her perfect form twitching as she held perfectly still, sensing the threat. Huddling over slightly, shoulders rounded, her gilded eyes regarded the man standing before her, and more importantly, the way his hand reached back to touch his weapon.

She flinched back, clearly threatened by this. Her mouth drew back into a frown. Were he to look closer at her, her glamour shifted; her mouth, a little too long for her face, the eyes a little too feline to be human. Tiny flaws, tiny tells that she was not exactly of this world.

"No." Was all she said, a single, guttural expulsion of sound from her not-so-perfect lips.

A quizzical cocking of a well-formed brow. The being tilted her head, the idiom lost on her.
"Long... face?" She echoed, taking in every minutiae of the man's form, from his musculature to his clothing, to his weaponry, all the way to his fangs and the color of his eyes. It occurred to her then, that this was not one of the humans she had heard spoken of in hushed whispers back at the Hive.

Whatever humans were, he was not one of them, clearly. He was something else, like she was, though what exactly, she could not put her finger on.

"No," she repeated. Her voice had a strange echoing quality to it, one she quickly dropped as she realized that was not a normal quality for a voice to have. "Not... a threat. Won't attack." Her vocal cords were forming as she spoke, wrought of that oily black substance that she had formed herself from. Gradually, her voice lost its wet, echoing quality and sounded... mostly normal, though like her face, there was something "off" about it, not quite human.

Hearing of the tournament, she nodded. There was something to be done here, and she wanted in on it.

The creature was something beyond: beyond fear, beyond rage. Beyond form, even, as she reverted to an inky black liquid, dropping to the ground in an oily ebon puddle to avoid the Demi Ball by losing her form entirely. She slithered for a moment like that, moving away from the scene of the carnage before re-forming, crouched and teeth bared fiercely, coated by her hair. She snarled, clearly feeling a little more than threatened now that Clash had sought to test her.

Rising in one smooth motion, she elongated her talons and lunged, slicing this way and that with her nails, up, down, diagonal.

Nagisa found her talons deflected, a sudden and jarring metallic ringing reverberating through the innards of her arms. She could keenly feel the heat upon her face as she was showered in sparks, which caught, smoking, in her wild, black hair. Deterred, she took a step back just in time to feel the air growing warmer around Clash's charging form, though she scarcely had time to react before his knee came crashing into her belly, the maneuver completed before she could drop her form into a puddle again.

With a grunt, Nagisa stumbled backwards, needing to put some space between herself and her adversary. It was evident that Clash was trying something new, though certainly as powerful as the Demi Ball, which she was certain would have disintegrated her on contact.

Not that it mattered. Nagisa could re-form at will.

With a grunt, she dropped to her knees, summoning slick black tentacles in the hopes of grappling Clash before he could do anything else. These tentacles, five of them, wriggled wetly and shimmered moistly in the light, each thicker than a mans waist.

The tentacles were cool to the touch, and moist, all around awful to be bound by. They pulsated around Clash, terrible and living eldritch beings much like Nagisa herself. As Clash hacked and slashed his way free from their grasp, they bled hot, stinking, acidic blood that would sting his skin where it touched, and corrode metal and eat through clothing fibers if left on. And given enough time, it would begin to burn the skin as well.

When the first tentacle was wounded, Nagisa let out an agonized cry, a terrible, shrill thing, enough to stun. She lurched back in pain, huddling into herself, but the remaining four tentacles seemed to act as though out of her control. As though the tentacles themselves acted independently. As though the tendrils sensed what he was about to do, the tip of the tentacle adhered itself stickily to Clash's open mouth.

If he remained grappled and he could not weave any incantations, perhaps the battle could be ended before it began in earnest.



((No harm done, been busy myself. Hope this message finds you well.))

With every injury to the tentacles, Nagisa jerked and screamed until they fell away into piles of carbonized ash to be blown away by the wind. The arcane being was driven to her knees, patches of burnt flesh sizzling and smoke rising from her scorched flesh. She looked up at Clash with rage in her eyes now. Not hatred, but she did not relish having her tentacles burnt away.