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Tim's body went limp as he bled out at the dinner table, his neck was sliced part way through. Mad looked from the head of the table at the man who had drawn a steak knife and proceeded to ruin the mood. She gulped down the rest of her tea and sighed. He was covered in Tim's blood now, and the pressure of the blood spout had died down from the initial attack. "You're wrong." Chris said, throwing the knife aside. Mad looked into Chris's eyes.

"You're really testing my patience, Chris." Mad remained calm.

Chris spat blood on her face. "Fight me yourself, faggot. Everytime we do this I only want to kill you more."

Mad wiped her face off. "And here, I went through all the trouble of bringing our mutual friend to dinner with us."

Chris's blood boiled. He could feel the tunnel vision of rage taking over. "I'll find a way to kill you. I don't care how powerful you are. I'll make you feel hell unlike anything you've wrought - even if I have to drag you along with me."

Mad gave him a pitiful look. "You gonna cut my neck like you did his?"

Chris picked up another knife and stabbed it into his own chest, twisting the blade before pulling it out. "I'll find a way." he angrily took his last breath.

Mad, Tim, and Chris sat at a dinner table together. Chris held his steak knife firmly. "I can do this all fucking day you remorseless piece of shit." Tim looked confused at his friends' sudden anger. This confusion was followed by sudden fear as Chris stood and slit his neck. Tim choked and coughed up blood before his body went limp and his head crashed onto the table. "Come at me, bitch! SHOW YOURSELF YOU FUCKING COWARD!" Chris screamed in fury as he stabbed himself in the heart, twisting the knife before drawing it from his body. As his vision became dark and he began to fall over, he saw her twisted smile.

Using the last of his consciousness he swiftly wrapped his arms around her, and stabbed through the back of her head and into the front of his own.

Chris lay fatigued in a patch of moss overgrowing stoney bricks. He relaxed from his heavy breathing with a sigh and sat up to see the dusty remains of a high level crystal mage. "Maybe I'm getting too old to be going this far alone." he thought. He looked to his watch. It had been broken for years. Inscribed on the face was a note from his old friend. "Sorry about the watch. - Tim"

Chris stood and his stomach growled. He could tell it had been a few days since he last ate. "Guess I'll head back." He pulled out a piece of paper from his breastpocket. "22 - 34 - 51 - 9" he committed the path to memory. It would lead him to the safezone.

So he traveled back the way he came. Through the labyrinth.

Oooh this is the labyrinth thing. No wonder you were in such a hurry to wrap the other one up.

Actually this was made up on the spot. I had a completely different set of ideas for what labyrinth was going to pertain to before. The only thing this has in common is being cys fanfic and the name labyrinth. I think it'll end up really cool though.

The old guru stayed in calm meditation while he listened to her story. "After that, I hurtled through space for a long time." Cricket said to him, "I was lucky enough to pass close enough to a star and absorb it. Once I had that kind of power I took the form you see now and searched for greater sources of power."

"What did you seek from this power?" he sat motionless as he spoke.

"I wanted revenge at first. Then perhaps to be as powerful as my full form in the underworld." Crickets' fiery clothing flicked the air showing her inner distrubance.

"You were unsure?"

"I was." Cricket breathed with the old man and felt weightless. It was not the weightlessness of overwhelming power, but the absence of intruding sensations and thoughts. Her mind cleared and she continued her story in meditation with him. "I desire power, this much I know."

"This troubles you?" The guru noted Crickets' flames had calmed down, and he felt the conversation become a little safer.

"It does." They both breathed slowly. "I have blocked myself from moving forward. My self-awareness only furthers my frustration. Though I possess now the strength of several stars I feel powerless and that makes me angry."

"This place has a way of bringing out the worst in all beings," the man opened his eyes revealing empty sockets. "I sought beauty beyond all else, and this place - this labyrinth - took it all away from me." Cricket frowned at the thought of losing all the power she had only recently obtained. "I probably will not live long enough to witness what my mind has long since forgotten, but I have no desire to try my luck after what I've been through."

"That's why you won't leave here?" Given the great quantity of foolish and pitiful monsters she had come across on her journey, Cricket had noted the lack of intrusion upon their conversation.

"Yes. I have not been lucky in finding safe areas. I will stay here so that I may die in peace." he closed his eyes and went back into a meditative state. Cricket took a deep breath before standing; her cloak of flames riled at the edges and along her shoulders. "Be wary on your way." he said.

"Hold out your hands." Cricket told him. She covered her hands over his, and after an initial flash of heat he felt something move.

"Oh?"

"At least now you won't die alone." Cricket smiled with the old man. He felt his warm friend crawl up his arm. A tarantula made from divine flame made its way to the top of his head.

"The gift of a friend." The man smiled weakly, elated by a new companion. "I am sorry I could not do anything for you in return."

"Don't worry about it. It felt good to calm down and just talk, but I'm starting to get fired up again. I think I'll start by getting revenge." Crickets eyes flared with determination as she walked away.

"I thought you said the mountain woman died?" the guru tilted his head in confusion and the spider produced a flaming question mark to match.

"This revenge isn't for me." Crickets blood boiled as she looked upon the labyrinth with hatred.

Can't believe you brought back that Cricket skank, the Mountain defeated her fair and square!

That was so much more wholesome than how things usually go when she puts tarantulas on blind people though.

Ford's original ~ story thread for when it eventually sinks down the list.

Mizal rose from the lake of blood, gasping for air and choking on the overwhelming fumes. The pool she had been face down in was about a foot deep, warm, viscous, and bright red. It felt fresh. She gagged from the smell and let loose what little was left in her stomach. She was covered head to toe in blood and missing all garments. She had to whip it off her hands in order to wipe her eyes of it. The emerald of her eyes stood out from the surrounding mass of red, but she soon regretted the decision to look around. Corpses drained and mangled lay around her piled too high to see over. A landmark did stand above the rest - what appeared to be a nearby cliff, whose surface bared a visage so tortured she could hardly look away.

She began trudging through the thick motionless blood, noting that the surface below was smooth and solid like stone. This made the warmth even more unnerving and generally gross. As she trudged she felt confused. She didn't recognize herself or her form. It was a troublesome thought, interrupted by the sudden tight grip of a hand around her ankle.

Mizal woke up in a cold sweat, shaking. The campfire still held some soft embers and the moonlight shone brightly through the cave entrance she had settled in for the night. She felt for the pistol strapped across her chest and for her missing arm through an empty sleeve. After she calmed down, the relit fire reflected boldly against her golden eyes and revealed her age through shadows on her weathered face.

She hadn't had a dream so intense in over a decade. She checked the clothing that was set near to dry and decided the socks were well enough to wear through the night, but her heart sunk and chills ran up her spine when she noticed a dark handprint on the ankle that was grabbed in her dream. "Shit." She cursed in part due to the unknown nature of this new situation but mostly because whatever it was, she would be tired while dealing with it.

She slept that night with one eye open, and a hand on her pistol, as best she could.

Best character time!

But where the fuck is my arm!?


(I know you said something about maybe wanting to edit this, you may have forgotten already but let me know if you need the edit lock removed.)

[music] [img]

Thara had meticulously planned for everything with the utmost secrecy, but the difference in power was too great to overcome. She lay before the throne of her father, impaled by spears at all angles and bleeding out on the floor. The spears dissipated in a puff of magic. End has not so much as stood up from the throne and yet he foiled her attempt to overthrow him. Thara's regenerative curse was all that kept her alive and conscious. She had been drained of her mana and drained of backup plans. She coughed up blood and breathed heavily in an attempt to stand up. Before she could get on her feet, End finally moved.

End grabbed her by the neck, choking her to within inches of breaking her spine. Her regeneration curse, which he had bestowed many eons ago, made her essentially immortal at the price of being conscious through all pain. It was not the choking that most hurt her though. As End raised Thara off her feet, she felt a sense of dread. Bone cancer wracked upon her at an accelerated pace. Her bones became beds of needles growing outwards from within her body. She tried to scream as every cell was tortured. Soon enough the bone began to break through skin. One of her eyes came out through the socket, skewered by a needle of bone. All she could do was choke on blood and twitch uncontrollably.

End healed her instantly, but her relief from the pain was short-lived. "I'm not angry." End said, strategically controlling the spread of bone this time, "just disappointed." He made the bones grow inward through the marrow, building up pressure until Thara's arms burst from the implosion. He did the same to her legs - starting at the bottom of her feet and causing the sensation to spread to her ankles and knees. The impending sense of where the pain would be next made it all the worse. He did this while letting it spread in outward needles at her hips, ribcage, and skull. Soon she was but a perforated husk of bleeding skin, still conscious; unable, even, to writhe in her own sorrow and blood.

Thara healed her eye so that she could glare at her father. End used his free hand to conjure a necklace. It was of gold with an amber crystal at its center. "Here: a gift for making an effort, at least." End let the necklace wrap around her crushed throat. "You rely far too much on things you do not fully understand. This necklace will severely limit that power you're so fond of." Thara continued to glare at him with her one good eye.

End opened a dark swirling portal. "Don't bother coming back until you've learned your lesson." He threw the limp sack of pain through the portal.

Thara festered and bled in a hallway of cold, overgrown, stone bricks. She was regenerating much slower than she was used to. Flies circled about her and moss grew upon her arms while she focused on the defeat. No matter how much she thought in hindsight she could not see a path to victory. Her past naivety frustrated her.

I guess this is good if you're into Thara abuse. Curious to see where story Thara can possibly go from here, though.

I wish I could double commend this.

Haha, take that, bitch.

Thara limped down a dark hallway, still healing some joints from her defeat against her father. She assessed herself, what powers could she use that the necklace hadn't taken away? She had her cursed healing-type immortality, so death was no factor, but pain was. For one thing, she could use magic sight to see the thick coating which glazed the walls around her - and she could tell it had many layers of complicated properties; likely to deter tampering by witches. Which means this place was made specifically to trap me or there are magic beings besides me around. she didn't enjoy the idea of fighting a mage at the moment, so she stopped before going too far and decided to test her current ability. Something she could get a lot of information out of, like a demonic summoning.

Any low level trash should be enough, even if this necklace nerfed me down to a childs' level. She knelt to the ground and drew a magic circle, inside of which lay a triangle with three lines jutting from it - two on a face and one at the opposing tip. A magic amplifier, also known as a mag-amp, uses natural magic aura to amplify the users magic output into a certain direction. She made one of the face lines connect with a nearby wall, and the tip of the mag-amp connect to the summoning circle of interest. She would use the difference between her magic level and the magic level of the thick coated wall to create an imbalance in the mag-amp. This imbalance would create a magic flow from the tip and into the summoning circle.

Such ideal-scenario concepts were for beginners and those only just becoming familiar with magic circles, but it would be a good practical application here. The last time she had to use one was as a twelve year old, when she made her first lich from a dead mage and the circle was too large for her small frame to handle. Now grown, she had decided to summon a simple imp; one which was practically harmless and would pose no trouble to defeat even with phyiscal means if she couldn't get it under control. A low level summoning didn't require a good circle, but she drew a perfect one anyway from muscle memory.

Once she added the elder sigil of Buer and the lesser signage for an imp, she began concentrating her magic into the mag-amp. The difference in power between her and the thick complicated magic of the walls was great, and the mag-amp lit up with a highly concentrated magic trail leading to the demonic summoning circle. Yet nothing happened. Thara was having trouble keeping up her lowly magic output, which already started out weak and only got weaker as time went by. She decided to catalyst the circle wth a drop of her blood.

Thara's spirit was of excessive density and power. A drop of her own blood easily trumped most mortals entire supply of blood. In this case, an amateur darkmage would need about a pint of blood. She bit the tip of her finger and let a drop of fresh blood go into the circle. The circle glowed with fire and fury while the blood droplet created a thin ribbon floating about a couple inches from the ground; this was an odd reaction. Where she expected her blood to flow into the circle and match its pattern, the blood twisted, warped, and bubbled without stopping in any one position. Eventually both the circle and blood spontaneously broke down, creating swirls of rainbow light throughout the hall and splattering a thin layer of blood mist onto Thara's face. Thara lifted her hand, exhausted even from just a tiny experiment; but she had the information she needed.

For one thing, she knew she wasn't on Earth, and possibly not a planet at all. Like souls trapped in a soul stone, her blood never found a direction. This is a directionless space. Even if my summoning was crude and in the wrong direction, my blood would have been enough to compensate. She also knew mag-amps worked, which means that simple building-block circles would work. She also confirmed the magic which coated the walls was complicated and unstable. Sure, she had looked at it and seen a few layers of symbols, but once she felt it via the mag-amp, she could tell it was pulsing at random with large waves of energy. Even if I were at my full power, it would be an extremely difficult break. I would probably have to analyze a sample first and break it down and and and... Clearly anti-mage, which not only means there are other mages around but intelligent ones; and this place is meant to trap them. Now that her mana was so low, her body was exposed to even the most basic of attacks. She needed physical protection as soon as possible.

Thara drew another circle in the dirt. She searched nearby and found some stringy elastic moss to put in the center. She would attempt a directionless magic this time: transmutation. Again she used the mag-amp, setting it up more complicated than before for better stability and more efficient use of her own power. To the circle which housed a pile of moss and plants, she let the last drops of her mana flow into it. A couple sparks and some smoke later, and she had transmuted herself a reasonably sized set of clothing. She sought to enchant it with at least basic protections and maybe illusory magic, but enchanting would be very difficult; and she was out of mana for now. As she thought about what to do next, a noise echoed from one end of the hall.

She began to rush. It was a rush to relax and focus. A study of nomadic mages brought her knowledge of how to adequately improve the human body's strength without need for mana. Thara had full control over her mind, and extended that control to her body through the techniques she learned from those mages so long ago. It was an embarassing pose to hold but, if what echoed closer to her down the hall was strong, it would be necessary.

As Thara focused inward and brought about strength in her limbs, the sounds ahead grew clearer. A familiar sound caused her to stop after strengthening her legs. It sounded like music. An accordion?

The accordion is one of the most refined instruments known to man. This can only mean something or someone of the uttermost noble nature is approaching.

As I am obligated to reply because of a certain amount of Thara's were used in this post. I would say I liked all of the magic elements again. Now we'll have to wait and see about the accordion. 

The labyrinth twisted, bulged, and warped like a disease of rooms and tunnels which moved as a lifeform and changed with great frequency. A room may only exist for a day or two before collapsing in on itself. Some rooms seemed more stable. Many were dark and full of evils. Cave-like tunnels connected many, while other tunnels were more artificially crafted. Often times larger rooms, the size of planetary landscapes, had their own weather systems in which clouds could dot the "sky"; that is to say they gave contrast to the rough rocky ceiling whose material seemed to differ widely from room to room, sometimes changing color drastically. The surface of these walls and ceilings was coated in a thick molasses of magic, leading any attempts of destruction meaningless as the walls would merely heal themselves if they could even be damaged at all.

A cavernous room of green rock and crystalline ceiling was the site of one mass burning. The god of hellfire had entered in the form of a particularly bright fire elemental. Her light revealed beings of the undead roaming aimlessly. Some of animals, others of humans, and more which closely resembled large crabs or perhaps spiders whose bodies were of festering boils and sizable from a few inches across to some feet across. Cricket's light had attracted the attention of the inhabitants and garnered fruitless hostility from them. She let her elemental form descended upon the droves. Dark crystals began to form about the visageless flames creating adamantite armor on her right half. Simply because it was more comfortable than flying, she allowed the armor to bring her in contact with the dusty soil which lined the bottom of this room.

Upon inspection of her surroundings, ignoring the undead hoardes approaching with caution, she found the landscape to be devoid of life. A field which once contained a plethora of trees was now a field of nutritionless soil and bushes more dead than the reanimated. Beset on all sides by a field of death, Cricket searched for intelligent life which could bear information about the labyrinth. None was found. She sighed. Everything was burned to a crisp and disintegrated into ashen dust.

Cricket had been stuck in this neverending dungeon for weeks now. While this was not such a large span of time, it was frustrating as she had wanted to leave a fair while ago. Her form was of a half elemental, with her left side as flame and right side clad in dark adamantite armor which had become sooty over the mass burnings. The execution of droves of life throughout the seemingly endless labyrinth of rooms and tunnels had become a frustrating chore. It made the passion of rage burn hotter than usual within her, creating a headache born of contempt and frustration.

Recalling her experience with the old man from scene 1, she opted to calm herself. Amidst the smoking warmth in a field of embers she etched a summoning circle upon the ground. It did not come alight. This infuriated her further, causing a portion of the adamantite armor to become red hot while her flames raged with greater heat. Calming down was not going well. Without a distinct set of compass rose directions present in the never-ending labyrinth, a demonic summoning was going to be excessively difficult.

Cricket was no amateur though, and she donned full adamantite created of her own excess energy. She took a deep breath, letting the flames escape the small gaps throughout the armor, and focusing her minds eye to reading her internal compass. A demonic compass rose, bearing sigils about the circumference, created from the calming flames of this meditation made a halo above her head, and so direction was created and summoning could begin. Yet, very quickly, it became increasingly difficult to hold this inner direction. The labyrinth was so void of center, top, or forward that the space itself was fighting against her will to create a concept of direction. She had to act quickly.

She created a summoning circle as before, in order to bring forth Furcas, a knight whose knowledge may provide her with sufficient reference or insight to the labyrinth. A degree of zero was necessary, and so she focused North and began to call upon Furcas. In the breif moment of summoning, a chill ran down her spine, and caused a deviation to her focus. The summoning went through, and Cricket lost her sense of inner direction. The labyrinth's magic was unusual, certainly powerful, but the chill was definitely caused by something else. The God of Hellfire sensed a beastly power was upon her. She looked to the summoning, and as the sulfur smoke cleared she realized what mistake the lapse of focus had caused. "Wass pop-PING?!" it said. Cricket rolled her eyes and groaned. She had summoned Ford, a peculiar being who often resides in Hell.

"Take your humanoid form and shut up." Cricket ordered. Ford transformed from his hellish visage to one more appealing to the eye. She had no time to waste dwelling on her largely useless summon for the effort. A dangerous presence was going to enter the room; and as it neared, Cricket could feel the air shift. The insanity of her surroundings would have made any lesser beings tremble and break into a frenzy. Cricket strategically shifted into a humanoid form, donning a simple looking cloak with typical leather adventurers' garb underneath. She bet that one who would emit such a wide range aura of insanity would also think themselves higher than humans, and she could potentially gather information in this form.

A woman, dressed lurid with a large purple tophat stepped from the tunnel. Her heels tapped upon the stoney tunnel opening. The eccentric woman emitted such a powerful aura of madness that nearby rocks crackled and crumbled in her wake. Cricket felt the same tension as she had when meeting Mizal. She kept her flames inside and made sure she didn't show any signs of differing from a normal human. But even a woman so gripped with madness could not help but notice the charred landscape and remains of a summoning circle which was seemingly used to acquire a high level retard. The hatted woman surveyed the scene and stared closely at Cricket. "Nice to meet you," her words made the field of embers turn solely to cold ash. She gave a curtsy and smiled like a crescent moon. Her words felt like a relentless attack on the psyche, but Cricket was able to brush it off.

"Nice to meet you, too." Cricket spoke in a neutral tone. The echo of her words carried the fair distance between them, maybe 30 or 40 meters. Hat lady immediately retracted her aura of insanity and looked shocked for a moment.

Having figured out what happened, Hat lady apologized. "Oh. Sorry about my rudeness, but would you happen to be some kind of god?"

It was Cricket's turn to be a bit surprised. "Uhh...yeah. How'd you know?"

"That spell tends to be deadly for lesser beings and demi-gods usually have a hard time with it. You, on the other hand, were quite alright even after I spoke to you." Hat lady took a step forward and appeared next to Cricket, only a few feet away.

Too fast! Cricket thought.

"Again, terribly sorry for my rudeness - I've been trudging through lesser monstrosities for quite some time now." Hat lady lowered her head.

Crickets mind was elsewhere, wondering how a movement like that was done. I didn't see or sense her cross the distance between us, and to stop after going so fast would've created an intense shockwave...teleportation? Without a sigil? But how the fuck? Cricket stood confused and thought back to the old man she had met before. "Uh, apology accepted." If this person was neutral or on her side, maybe they could work together to get out of here.

"I forgot my name long ago, but most people call me Mad. Nice to meet you," Mad extended her hand towards Cricket.

"Cricket, God of Hellfire. Nice to meet you too."

Ford sneezed into his hands and both women proceeded to watch him fling a glob of mucus onto the ground. "Is...he also a god?" Mad asked, noting that he did not die or go insane earlier. They both looked on in cringe and disgust as he turned to meet their gaze with snot hanging out of his nose.

"No, he's just a mistake." Cricket said with confidence.

"At least I've never fucked up a summoning..." Ford mumbled. He was burned on the spot. As his fiery corpse collapsed, Mad offered to share tea time with Cricket.

"That would be lovely, Mad. Thank you."

"It would be my honor, Hellfire God." and with a tap of her hat and a wave of her hand a small table with teacups was set up in the field of ashen death, lit by the burning corpse of a disgusting dumbass. Mad and Cricket shared a wonderful discussion about the labyrinth and what to do next.

Ford should be a recurring cameo. He's surely not dead in a permanent way. A being so retarded who spends so much time in Hell has to be used to fire, and probably unable to understand that it's supposed to be fatal.

This did a nice job establishing more about the labyrinth and how magic's going to work (or not work) as well. With the last thread (even though I know the intent was to just a series of epic battles) it was pretty all over the place with the powers everyone had, so this is probably a good thing.

Necroing because Mad × Cricket best pair

I agree