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Team Krivbeknih...

A dark team, it can be called. An abomination, a telekinetic and a hellspawn-type wrapped into an obviously violent and gruesome package. None were aware of their capabilities yet, nor would the team reveal such things until the proper time had been established. Lydia Summers, the teams leader and controlled of a specific subject, seemed to fit right into the whole group like a puzzle piece. This "Ti'kal", a gruesome blob of tentacles and gelatin it seemed, was nothing short of cute if it were not for its exterior. Churl, an odd Karonian as his race was called, topped off the epitome of the hideous/strong crossover - something that could easily strike fear into its opponents. All of them were being watched, and all of them knew what was watching them.

A shadowy figure, robed and armored. Silent. Deadly...

It sat in the corner of the ship with nothing more than its weapon, an oversized scythe, upon its back. Its armored face was covered, thought its taloned toes stuck out of the boots like a sore thumb would. It was obvious this was no ordinary warrior, or creature. Lydia knew though, she knew...

This figure was known as a Shadowknight, a Death Bringer... or if one feels romantic, an Angel of Death. It would wreak havoc across many planes of existence, taking over and destroying all that posed a threat, and all who did not. If it were not for that Lydia girl capturing the knights orb of souls, he would still be doing exactly what could just be envisioned as genocidal horror - the living entity of the equal force of judgment.

He was here to serve her until he was released or his freedom handed off to another. How she used him was all up to her decision.

At the sound of Kuro's voice, the young boy would stop his rendition of "Let the Sunshine In" and turn his head towards the origin of the voice. Within the confines of the consciousness of this manifestation of Ion a memory was triggered of his early days and a set of fighters whose power rippled throughout the omniverse.

--Gray, atmospheric level fighters with a blood red AA logo painted on the underside of their frame streaked across the orange, evening skies. Their target was the middle ring of defenses of a now defunct empire. Apparently some advanced PALADIN type fighters had managed to bring the air support from the Army Assassinators to its knees.

They flew to their deaths.

The plumes of black smoke that rose from burning SAM sites, heavily armored tanks and speeder bikes filled the air with an aroma of twisted metal, soot and burning flesh. To add to the theatre of conflict, cackling of flames, never-ending explosions from shells dropped by sky-bombers, and screams of agony from soldiers maimed by shrapnel filled Ion's senses. Panic was an uncharacteristic trait of Ion, but this time... this ti--

The shrill screams of demons being torn apart by the freak octopus-human thing brought the boy back to reality and the matter at hand. With a nimble hop, skip and a jump, Ion jumped off the cold railing and landed on the metal surface of the boat with deceptively large thud. A smile spread across the boy's lips as he put his hand into his pocket and started to walk at a hurried pace toward his old rival and friend. A glint shined in his eyes as the tiresome facade of an ignorant kid was dropped.

With a snide, cold voice that matched his ice like stare the avatar of life answered the question. "What do I think?" The being would roll his rather large, navy blue eyes. "I think this place is full of circus freaks." While he said this (without the slightest care for who was listening) he was pointing at Roen's group on the prow of the ship."Seriously, it looks as if it had been laundry day and they had to wear the costumes from the last three Hallow's Eve parties they went to."

The thin smile curled into a wide grin as he took out his right hand from his pockets and stretched it out for a handshake. "And I think you're one son of a gun who I haven't seen forever."

"I wouldn't try so hard with him," said one of the Advocates as he approached Faustina's side. "He's been a little off lately." Sighing and removing his helmet, the Advocate shifted in his armor and squatted, setting his headgear on the deck and moving his assault rifle to his flank before rummaging through a pouch located on the utility belt strapped around his waist. The Advocate, looking to be in his mid-twenties, had a cheery expression on his otherwise mild-haggard face. He had seen his share of battles judging by a few scars along his forehead and chin; but it seemed that he had taken them in stride, his easy smile and baby-brown eyes retaining the luster of youthful optimism.

Pulling out two cookies, the Advocate popped one into his mouth and offered the other to Faustina. Biting into his and smiling, the Advocate pulled the cookie away with his other hand and brandished the one he offered with the other. "Take it, little boss. It's not as good as my mom's, but uh--heh, I try. It'll help settle your stomach." Looking up at Roen and frowning some, the Advocate watched the Devil for a few moments before proceeded to answer Faustina's question. "Your father wanted to talk to some woman. I think she turned him down." Chuckling, but softly as to not earn Roen's ire, the Advocate turned back to Faustina, wanting to see what she thought of his homemade cookie.
_________

It was right around this time that Bellanox came back with the Devil's highly-coveted lemon pie. For the first time in a long time, Roen's expression softened, his eyes looking upon the pastry with immeasurable longing. "♪Heaven♪" the Darkened Devil murmured in a singsong sort of voice as he reached for both the pie and a fork. "♪I'm in heaven♪" Taking it back to his specific spot at the railing and stabbing his fork into it, Roen carved himself out a weighty morsel and looked at it, the lemony scent most pleasing to his sense of smell. Yet, as he brought it to his lips, his stomach twisted in protest.

The jowls of his jaw stuck out as Roen ground his teeth and clenched. Try as he might, he couldn't stomach the idea of eating even the tiniest piece of this pie. His soft expression turned hard once more and he sighed in some strange mixture of disgust and self-loathing. "Bella," Roen offered the pie up to his bodyguard while his eyes struggled to stay off of it. "Take it from my sight."



Turning his head, the Devil furrowed his eyebrows at the cyborg and then turned away, throwing his fork and morsel of lemon pie into the sea. "Hello, Edward." He replied pleasantly enough, watching a seagull swoop down to attack his floating fork before the implacable drive of the ship drove the bird away. Shaking his head and looking back towards the cyborg, Roen frowned at the man's Renaissance jest. "I'm here to fight and they're--" the Devil gestured to his Advocates. "--here to make sure I don't die prematurely."

.:[: The black moon, the brother of night, and the enemy of stars... :]:.

Junas stood, leaning against the railing at the bow of the ship, off away from Roen and those of his group, and his acquaintances, his elbows resting on the railing. Instead, he merely kept to himself, staying away from the fighting that was going on where the stadium had risen, and the fighting that had started, if at all, on the other various parts of the ship. Instead, he would look out, in an almost unresponsive, and and intensely uninterested fashion out over the water, a Swisher Black Stones, stuck between his lips, the tip of it glowing a cherry red, and smoke rising lazily skyward, shifting whichever way the wind decided to blow it.

Instead of joining in the fighting, though the possibility of taking out possible obstacles so that he may obtain the prize, though it in fact appeared to be a good idea, he also knew the possibility of getting taken out of the competition himself was not too far from happening. Though that was not just the only reason for his inaction at the moment, he also didn't want to display his combative skills and abilities in front of possible opponents, rather, he would want to catch them off guard. That was his basic simple strategy, in fact, he really didn't want any serious matches, it seemed like too much work.

"Jeez...."

He would mumble quietly around the cigarette in mild annoyance. Taking a drag of the cigarette he would shift his gaze over to those fighting off in the distance, as long as it didn't move towards him, he would remain in some semblance of comfort and relaxation. Sighing the smoke from his lungs he would turn his gaze back over the sea, though, if he was actually watching it couldn't be called the truth, instead, he simply retreated into whatever thoughts he had, if any at all. His gaze could be attributed to a blank, unthoughtful stare.

"You'd think some of the smart ones would at least save it for the real fights..."

It would remain a thought, rather than foolishly expressing it like an idiot, and attracting unwanted attention, he would remain unto himself. Pulling another drag from his cigarette he would hold it in for only a few seconds before exhaling it outward. He didn't seem to have his teammates around him, though he was sure they were on the ship, somewhere, though he really didn't care. Raising a black gloved hand up to his cheek he would scratch lightly at the itch that for no reason started bugging him.

"I hope so," Ed replied after Roen made the comment about coming to fight, giving the Darkened Devil a friendly grin. He reached out with his right hand, stopping a foot away and closing it tight. Roen typically dressed like dandy, all refined and crap, and quite a bit old-fashioned. s**t, the dude still listened to that f*****t 80s Glam s**t. But Ed was pretty sure that the devil was hip enough to know how to pound it. Once that was done with or the Darkened Devil just stared confused at the punk's gesture; the cyborg's dark green eyes darted over to the Advocates which made up Roen's honor guard. Kind of impressive as far as henchmen go, Ed admitted to himself, but henchies were kind of lame too.

"Are they even necessary?" The nerdy cyberpunk asked, looking back at Roen curiously. As far as Ed knew, the advocates did more harm than anything else. They brought Roen more attention than he needed. s**t, they were the only reason the punk had found the Darkened Devil with just a cursory glance. They all had the devil's emblem or whatever on their LARP-tastic breastplates; so any enemies of Roen would pick him off with zero problems. Basically, Roen was just asking for s**t to happen. "One would hope that a competitor here could protect themselves, or stick with their teammates. You know what I mean?"



Totally unsurprised by the Ogre's appearance, Ed simply lifted his right hand off to the side for another fist bump. "Roen. This is Wigi. Your other teammate. Have you ever heard the stories about elves and fairies who steal socks and other articles of clothing from people?"

The cyberpunk paused for a few moments before awkwardly pointing in the changeling's direction without looking.