Welcome to Gaia! ::

The first thing students see upon entering the blue door is a throne. A throne room, but different from the Queens, for those who remembered the red and white queen. This one was more regal, grand, and empty, a pure gold. In the center of the room were two figures, one dressed a cluttered assortment of armour, entirely for show, and the second in robes, gold and black.

"Visitors!" Exclaimed the first, the tall man in armour. There was something about him that was just a bit too much, like looking at something too fantastical to behold, as if someone had taken pure energy and given it an awkward human-like form. They beamed at the students their armour clinking as they faced the group. "Protection will always be offered to those in need of shelter."

- "But this is not the time-" argued the gold-robed figure, taking off his brazenly gold crown to polish it before placing it back on his head - "and this is not the right place-"

"Technicalities," tall man in armour waved the other off with one gauntleted hand, "that is not to worry. Tell me young spirits, are you heroes? There will be a time when the world needs heroes such as you, and that is when you must stand strongest against the darkness."

"What Excalibur means," explained the gold-crowned figure, sighing grievously, "is are you useful. Just because we are containers doesn't mean we need you-" his eyes slid to certain people in the group, "I propose a trial of sorts to test your worth. I have spoken, and thus, the Voic-"

- "A trial!" Interrupted the armoured man known as Excalibur, "Most excellent indeed!" (The other guy eye rolled more again, once again dutifully polishing their crown with their robe). "We shall partake in a great trial, and may the most victorious earn the title of being a hero."

- "Of being useful," the second voice corrected, but everything had already turned white.

Each student was alone now. It was just them. It was just them, and in the center two objects, next to each other. A crown placed on a marble dais. A sword stuck into thick stone.

'Pick one, and only one," said a voice, but it was hard to tell whom, 'Strength or knowledge is your choice, but you must only pick one trial.'

Choose one.

The sword caught Gabby's attention initially, because it was silver and the crown was not. That alone could have made his decision, if it weren't for the wordless whispers the crown used to call out to him. Wisdom. The experience to endur. Choosing the sword would pit him in battle. Choosing the crown would grant him power. Colors refused to matter, anymore.

It was an easy decision.

He picked up the crown.

It was on his head before he could remember actually holding it. The world was no longer white around him, which distressed him more than it should have - but he was sitting on the throne, which immediately felt right. He was the one leading an impressive following against a formidable opponent. He was filled with power, and purpose.

And then, failure.

Sitting alone on a throne held up by the bones of your fallen army was a maddening, lonely place to be. There was no power in his failure, and there was only one step left for him to complete the dance. He would die, to complete the victory of his enemies. There was nothing left to stop that but himself. He accepted this, because there was no sense in fighting the inevitable. It always came, whether you wished for it or not. He stood from his throne, as the doors opened, and prepared himself for oblivion.

Oblivion would have been merciful. This.. this was not.

"You knew this day was coming." The clank of armor played a tight beat with each footstep, and all Gabriel could think was when would he ever wear that much? But it made sense here, and here alone. At least Efflo's armor was a brilliant, shiny platinum, contrasting handsomely against his black skin. Even dressed in the role of his killer, he was so beautiful.

"I never knew it would be you at my door." Gabriel admitted. "But I should have." Trust was hard won with the dragon, but Efflo had broken through his barriers. He should have made them stronger.

It was too late for regrets, now.

He was armorless, but that did not stop him from taking up arms against the horse that came charging at him, battle cry roaring from his lips. He looked as though he truly believed in what he was about to do, and that made Gabriel's choices a little easier. Fight, or die. If there had been a shred of doubt in Efflo's eyes, that might have made this a little harder.

Their swords sparked hot showers of fireworks as they clanged against one another.

"You KNEW you would lose, Gabriel!" Efflo struck the dragons head with the butt of his sword, knocking him to the floor. "You knew you would always end up alone."

Still facing the floor, the dragon chuckled deeply. There was no real humor in the sound; it was bitter and morose. He turned his head to agree, just in time for the final blow, when he saw it. He saw the chains that bound Efflo to what he thought was this righteous path. He saw Efflo's prison, and all of the bitter amusement was gone.

There was no falter in decision. No hesitance. No moment to mourn what he was about to lose. He picked up his sword and hacked at the chains mercilously. He saw splatters of blood in his vision, and closed his eyes. He heard the cries of mercy from a boil who still didn't know he was being manipulated, and shut him out.

Because no one chained up his Efflo. Dead or alive, he would have wanted to be free.

Jil remembered these caricatures from one of the shared dreams they had all taken part in. It had been her favorite. She'd been a warrior, a beast of battle, and then woke up to find herself still here in this miserable school trapped in this limbed, weak body.

Was she a hero? Not in the traditional sense, no. But there was a desire and hope that one day, to her people, she could achieve their goals and achieve the proper punishment for those who deserved it. She hoped to be a paragon to her people.

And so she chose the sword.

As her hand touched the grip she heard swells of chanting in her own language, a dark and gutteral speech. The ghoul's eyes drifted shut as the sounds flooded her mind. They chanted for her, subjugated by choice, and she was their leader.

"Mother Eye. Mother Eye." Yes it was her future. To be their mother eye.

When she opened her eyes with a satisfyingly cruel smile, the scene was different and the chanting was replaced with one of battle. An army of beholders behind her rushed forward towards an army of white coated hunters. Magic sizzled the air, bodies flew in all directions. Jil stood amongst them holding Excalibur, her worthy weapon, when the sea of bodies parted and she spotted another woman. She was beautiful and cruel, holding a staff.

"Mother Eye.." Jil hissed. Why? She was supposed to be gone, replaced by herself, ruling the colony.

"YOU DO NOT DESERVE THIS!" Mother's beautiful humanoid features twisted cruelly and around her legs her ruffled skirts began to whip as the staff granted her immense dark power. "You were never supposed to return from the school. YOU WERE TO DIE AND LEAVE THE COLONY TO ME!!"

Jil hissed, rage filling her more easily than anything close to hurt or betrayal. She lifted Excalibur and felt it fill her with power as well. "YOU ARE A RELIC. LAY DOWN AND DIE!!" She screeched to her mentor and launched at her.

They met in the middle of the battle field and to Jil the rest of the din seemed to disappear into only the sound of their weapons smashing. They were warrior queens and their blows and pain were real. Mother was stronger and faster, more experienced. Jil found herself beaten and tossed aside, barely blocking the strikes against her but the ghoul was not the type to know shame or to relent in the face of adversity.

Excalibur spun from her hand, landing upright in the bloodied ground. Mother stood above, rippling with terrible power. She smiled, cruel and sharp toothed, holding out her hand. Jil recognized the black eye that emerged from her palm, saw the glow as the killing blow of magic built up.

Kill or be killed.

Mother had power but Jil had desire. Mother was strong but Jil was determined. Failure was no option.

With the last reserves of strength she threw herself to the sword, ripped it free, and used the other woman's moment of glory-basking to run her through with the blade. There was a sputter, black blood oozing from the wound and over her hands. Her mentor's eyes were wild even as they glassed over.

Was she happy to die? Was she proud of her charge?

With unwavering hands, Jil raised the sword above her head and howled in victory.

Gold was a nice color, she mused as she entered the throne room. If Alecto had seen a throne before, the memory clearly hadn’t been properly stored in her brain. Her forked tail flicked curiously as she took a few moments to examine the sparkling décor (a part of her seemed disappointed at the lack of furniture to set aflame) before she finally settled her attention on the dual figures. [Who are these losers?] (Dunno, I think they’re pretty funny though.) Alecto watched the two men with a blank, glowing stare as she listened to the two voices commentate in the background. Megaera raised her head at the mention of a trial and a certain name. “You’ve got to be—“

She was alone with a crown and sword. Choosing was easy for Megaera. She directed her gaze to the crown, but before she stepped forward the other two shouted in her head.

No!

Dark claws reached for the sword. (Give me power!) Letlet me protect—

When had the outside world become so loud? As if Alecto didn’t have her fellow voices to keep her company to drown out the clash of ringing metal and dying screams. She held Excalibur in as firm as a grip as she could make with her claws. “Wherewhere am I?” she wondered in a confused murmur. A survey of the battlefield revealed familiar monsters and reapers and assorted factions, she could even spot the familiar spirals of the horsemen and the white coats of hunters. They were everywhere, caught in mixed combinations, caught in a three-way war if not more. She could not understand.

Keep moving.

It was peculiar to hear her own voice to urge her forward, so she did. The tip of Excalibur’s blade trailed across the stone ground as she attempted to cut through the monstrous mob of fighters. It wasn’t difficult when most of them had a tendency to disappear into nothingness before they even fell onto Alecto’s path. But then again, she never saw them return, like the reset button of a video game. It seemed there was a glitch.

There had to be. How else could she be standing in front of herself now of all times? The sword nearly clattered to the ground as she stared at a mirror reflection of herself, but her posture was different, the way she tired her hair back, her clothes, it all screamed off—

“Megaera. How…? I thought wewe were the same.”

“We have always been separate entities trapped within one vessel,” she answered calmly as she pointed the staff at Alecto. “Yet never the same, we are anything but.”

In return, Alecto pointed her own weapon at Megaera, but found her hand trembling. Her ears flattened. She couldn’t, not someone who had been with her all these years…

So Megaera struck first, and Alecto’s fighting instincts took over. She could still feel the vibrations of the first strike moving through her arms as the hellhound dove in for another blow, stepped back to stand her ground, and against pushed herself forward for another swing at the robed ghoul. Over and over, the ringing of an aching fight.

A great ache settled into her stomach as Megaera tore away the sword’s handle out of her grasp. She watched with dismay as the weapon spin across the floor before coming to a halt. Defeat or be defeated. She heard Excalibur’s face as she bent her knees, took step after step backwards to keep the distance between her and Megaera. Live or die. Win or lose. There is only one choice.

An even greater ache filled her FEAR core as she struck down with her claws.

Only one choice.

Heroes? No, Petro shakes his head, he does not consider himself a hero. He does his best to protect and defend because he is a Guardian. Because it is his duty. Others can claim the title for themselves, he is content with doing what is expected of him and doing everything he can to make sure he succeeds.

A choice is presented to him. He must pick between a Sword or a Crown, between Strength and Wisdom. It's not much of a choice for someone like Petro who, though he believes he seeks endurance and wisdom, lives his life through sheer will and force. The Sword is in his hand and the Crown is never given a second glance.

---------------------

Excalibur has become more than a sword to Petro. It is an extension of himself, as part of him as his arm or feet. He cannot fathom the power in his swings, in his blows and strikes. He feels almost invincible using this weapon. He is quick to rise in the ranks, eventually holding the title of leader.

And ever by his side is his love, his life, Lattice.

She is all that keeps the haunting faces and voices of fallen comrades at bay. She is what keeps him sane and why he presses on with the war. He fights to protect her, to see her smile, to her hear teasing chiding as he returns bloody and bruised and on the verge of collapsing. She listens to his stories, reads his pain between the lines, and she soothes his heart and his soul.

And then. He loses her. It's his fault, he knows this, accepts this. It's the burden of being the leader. The needs of the many outweighs the needs of the few, and even though Lattice is his whole world and he is her sworn Guardian, he took an oath to be the Guardian of Halloween. He regrets it, always. He will regret it to the ends of his days. The guilt and shame and the weight of her loss breaks him bit by bit until he cannot afford to stop fighting in this war.

He presses on, past the deaths, past the deep ache carving in his chest, past the endless struggles, until he finds her. Her, who is wielding the staff, each blow filled with killing intent, striking true again and again. Petro cannot raise a hand against her, cannot find the strength to defend himself. He deserves this, deserves each fracturing bone, each darkening bruise, each oozing gouge.

It's the only way she would touch him.

Excalibur calls out to him, begs him to use it, there is an opening, this is a chance! Reach for me, summon me! Victory can still be yours!

Petro ignores the sword, raises his head to meet the murderous fury of his beloved, and opens his arms to the death blow. "Y'll always have my heart," he whispers through blood-stained teeth. He chose the world over her, it's only fitting he would lose the world to her.