"Wait a moment," Menelik's voice broke the conversation. "You mean to tell me that you murdered the Emperor of Sidra and then you just… Left?"
They had vacated the safety of the gazebo and had been journeying for nearly an hour. The maze sprawled with labyrinthine paths and cul-de-sacs, a living, breathing construct of towering walls. The passages meandered, weaving an intricate tapestry that shifted with each stride they took.
"Was that before or after losing an entire island?" Idris interjected from the back of the group.
Zero angled his head slightly, his tone tinged with humility. "I didn't lose Vol. I just don't know where Nix took it."
"Yeah, and that's the epitome of something being lost," Maeve chimed in.
Zero halted, pivoting to face Maeve, his eyes narrowing. "Why do you pretend you weren't there?"
Maeve retorted with a smirk, her gaze dipping to Zero's unshod feet. "Why do you still disdain shoes?"
Zero glanced down at his bare feet. "At this point it’s just a habit after my time on Mount Heven."
"Is anyone else feeling fatigued?" Idris interposed.
"No," Zero denied, shaking his head. "Not at all. In fact, I..." He paused, a perplexed expression fleeting across his face. "...I actually feel invigorated." He turned to the others. "Hey!" He exclaimed, singling out Menelik. "Your armor is restored too?"
Menelik felt the repair then tilted his head upward, regarding the inky abyss forming the ceiling before casting his gaze upon the impossibly high stone walls. "It's restoring us," he stated, patting his belly. "I mean, REALLY restoring us. I bet you're not hungry or thirsty either."
Menelik's observation cleaved through the silence, and a surge of realization cascaded over the group. Their revitalization was unparalleled; they basked in a state of supreme satisfaction, radiating well-being.
As they lingered, reveling in their newfound vitality, a faint chant of voices danced in the air. Wordlessly, they followed the resonance, navigating the twists and turns of the labyrinth. The voices guided them to a grand stone archway adorned with a peculiar, misty haze, veiling the enigma beyond. The voices, now vibrant and clear, seemed to emanate from the other side, resembling jubilant cheers.
Silently, Zero advanced through the archway. Maeve observed him vanish into the mist and nonchalantly shrugged before stepping after him, fading into obscurity. Idris and Menelik exchanged a glance, then pursued their comrades into the archway.
Entering the mist, an eerie sensation enshrouded them. It was akin to being submerged in water—dense and frigid, yet oddly dry. A surreal experience, as if traversing a medium that defied its very nature.
Emerging onto the far side of the portal, they found themselves within a colossal coliseum. The structure sprawled grand and formidable, its marble walls reverberating with the uproar of a sprawling multitude encompassing diverse species—Humans, Giants, Harpies, Centaurs, Elves, and a myriad of others. They filled the amphitheater, their exultations and cries weaving an overwhelming symphony of sound.
Venturing further into the coliseum, they witnessed an unfolding gladiatorial spectacle. At the epicenter of the arena, a figure fully enrobed in gleaming metallic armor, whose stature appeared dwarvish, engaged in a fierce battle with a formidable Sphinx. The helmet concealed their bald head, but a flowing beard cascaded down like a river as they deftly maneuvered against the Sphinx. The beard was adorned with a multitude of beads and rings, each of varying shapes, colors, and sizes, symbols to the dwarf's long and battle-worn life. Twin axes, gripped firmly in the dwarf's hands, defied the weight of their substantial armor as they moved with surprising agility. The axes twirled through the air, their blades catching the light with a brilliant gleam as they delivered a flurry of strikes upon the Sphinx.
The Sphinx, in its own right, proved to be a worthy adversary. Its sinuous and powerful tail acted as a deadly weapon, swiping at the dwarf with force capable of shattering stone. The feline form of the Sphinx appeared to be sculpted from stone, meticulously carved to resemble fur, and its head was adorned with an elaborate golden headdress that crowned a feminine yet catlike face. Gemstone eyes glistened with an enigmatic allure, and its mouth remained perpetually sealed. Its movements flowed with an unparalleled grace and fluidity, creating a striking contrast to its appearance and the dwarf's aggressive, unwavering assault.
However, the tide of the struggle shifted when the attention of the audience wavered toward the newcomers. The applause and exhortations faltered, replaced by susurrations of intrigue as onlookers observed the group standing at the periphery of the arena.
Distracted by this sudden shift in focus, the dwarf redirected their gaze to the group. A fatal misstep. Amidst this momentary diversion, the Sphinx pounced, its tail connecting with the dwarf's form, propelling them across the expanse of the arena.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as the dwarf's body impacted the ground, their axes clanging beside them. The Sphinx claimed victory, its tail undulating through the air as its attention pivoted toward the group, the audience's murmurs amplifying in intensity.
"Behold! It seems we have fresh challengers audacious enough to confront our champion!" A voice reverberated across the expanse, authoritative and commanding, its origin veiled. "And as it appears to be a quartet against one," the voice reiterated, "Since our champion is at such a disadvantage, I shall release the hold on her magic!" The proclamation resonated through the arena, eliciting yet another overwhelming torrent of acclamation.
"Ramatma!" "Ramatma!" "Ramatma!" The chant surged throughout the coliseum.
Ramatma, one of the last of her lineage, emerged as a notable figure among the three distinct subspecies of Sphinxes, each brought into existence during the reign of the Three Pharaohs of Drithel. These Pharaohs, beings of resplendent golden energy, fostered the creation of Sphinxes to serve as island protectors. Ramatma's genesis was intertwined with Pharaoh Ramattra's rule. Her kind, the Ram Sphinxes, were revered for their remarkable shape-shifting abilities. Ramatma, true to her lineage, embraced this transformational power. She ascended onto her hind limbs, sprouting two supplementary arms, morphing into a four-armed entity radiating relentless strength.
Upon completing her metamorphosis, Ramatma unveiled her full range of capabilities. Energy pulsed around her fists, each arm a conduit of magical potency. A rapid gesture set forth a torrent of magic.
A resounding roar filled the coliseum, signaling the commencement of Ramatma's pursuit. The quartet scattered, weaving across the arena as she trailed them.
"Can we have some weapons, please?" Idris implored.
The announcer's voice thundered in response, "Shall our challengers be furnished with arms?" The crowd's acclamation erupted, their voices merging into an ear-splitting wave of endorsement.
"Very well!" the announcer proclaimed. At the gong's resonance, Ramatma ceased her chase.
Before their eyes, weapons materialized for the group. Idris regained his short sword and his spear had been completely repaired as if it had never been snapped in half. Menelik received his warhammer and mage staff, Maeve her daggers, and Zero his warhammer.
Without delay, Zero endeavored to transmute his warhammer but faced disappointment.
"Still no magic, idiot," Maeve taunted.
The conflict initiated promptly. Their movements synchronized, strikes executed with precision. Idris lunged with his spear, his short sword poised to parry. Menelik's warhammer swung true. Maeve, a blur of motion, pinpointed the Sphinx's vulnerabilities with her daggers. Zero, his hammer gleaming in the stark light, mirrored Ramatma's ferocity.
The arena reverberated with weapon clashes and the crowd's roar. Ramatma, her four-armed form exuding power, responded with her own assault. Magic surged from her fists, each thrust radiating energy.
Despite their unwavering offense, Ramatma appeared unaffected. Their blows merely provoked her. Her incandescent eyes blazed with fierce resolve, her focus was unwavering.
The battle waged on, neither side yielding. The quartet sustained their barrage, their weapons meeting Ramatma's magical defenses. The audience remained entranced, their cheers and boos punctuating the fusion of weapons and magic's roar.
With the struggle's progression, it became evident that a swift resolution was not forthcoming. The group's efforts merely grazed Ramatma's defenses.
Suddenly, the arena's center bathed in resplendent radiance. A breathtaking display of magic and light unfurled, grander and more spectacular than the preceding fireworks. Beams of light ascended from the ground, their brilliance illuminating the coliseum. Swirls of magical glitter danced in the air, creating intricate patterns with their shimmering trails.
Amidst the luminous symphony of radiance and enchantment, a figure materialized. It was a Pandafolk, a being of distinct and captivating visage. Standing tall with an air of sovereignty and might, the Pandafolk emitted an aura of command. His fur blended black and white in contrast, while his eyes held a profound, intelligent gaze that appeared to absorb the very essence of the surroundings. Amid the grandeur of the spectacle, it was the Pandafolk's presence that eclipsed all else, his dominance encompassing the coliseum.
His attire was as exceptional as his being—a blend of traditional and contemporary styles that mirrored the heritage and richness of his people. He wore a flowing robe of royal blue, intricately adorned with patterns of silver and gold that shimmered in the light. A broad, ornate belt cinched the robe at his waist, its buckle a polished stone radiating inner luminescence.
A crown adorned his head—a modest gold band bearing a single, sizable gemstone. The gemstone, vividly pink, pulsed with an inner glow, mirroring his eyes' luminance.
His hands adorned various rings, each set with a diverse gemstone. The stones, spanning an array of hues, sparkled in the light, augmenting his overall radiance.
Yet, beyond the grandeur of his attire, it was the Pandafolk himself who continued to seize attention. His presence merged authority and serenity, a balance evident in his tranquil expression and measured movements. He was a fusion of contradiction and harmony, a being embodying the vivacious culture and storied history of his people.
The PandaFolk approached, extending his hand before reverently moving it to his chest in a bow. "I am Tacitus Claudius, Emperor of this Coliseum, Keeper of Knowledge, and Chronicler of History." He straightened, his voice resounding across the arena, amplified by magic.
His voice quelled the crowd's murmurs, and he turned to Ramatma. "Please… Take your reprieve." Turning to the group, his voice dropped to a hush. "I assume hunger is not your concern, but trust me, my palate still delights in feasting, flavors and spices can’t be forgotten."
Menelik strode over to Tacitus, draping his arm around him. "C'mon, my friend, lead me to that spread."
Menelik glanced at the others, receiving unanimous nods. However, Idris had one stipulation. "Depends… You got chocolate chip cookies?" His tone was firm, eyes closed as he gently swayed his head side to side, a faint smile gracing his lips. "Air-buddy loves chocolate chip."
In a flourish befitting his entrance, Tacitus guided them from the coliseum. A wave of his hand enveloped them in a shimmering mist, momentarily blurring the surroundings before ushering them into a majestic corridor.
The corridor was a marvel to behold. Sculpted from stone like the coliseum, its walls bore intricate carvings, narrating tales of battles and triumphs, champions and their illustrious feats. Banners hung from the ceiling, each bearing a distinct champion's emblem. These banners injected splashes of color into the predominantly monochromatic scenery, vibrant hues standing out against the stone.
The corridor expanded into a sprawling dining hall. It exuded grandeur, a lengthy table extending across its expanse. The table was adorned with an array of dishes, their aromas weaving through the air. Yet, the hall's true wonder lay in the jungle trees sprouting from the stone floor, their lush leaves forming a canopy above.
The table was a feast for both eyes and taste buds. Laden with offerings from cultures far and wide, it showcased hearty stews and roasted meats, delicate pastries and refined wines, platters of exotic fruits and vegetables, freshly baked bread, bowls of creamy soups, pasta, salads, and an array of desserts.
Tacitus seated himself at the table's end, selecting a cookie from the plate before him—its chocolate chips releasing a sweet aroma. Taking a bite, he savored the flavor before shifting his attention back to the group.
"Please… Enjoy," he encouraged, his voice resonating within the grandeur of the hall. A touch of amusement glimmered in his eyes as he observed the group taking their places.
"Man," Menelik's voice conveyed casual admiration as he reached across the table, retrieving a pastry. "I knew I'd like you, Tacitus." He devoured the pastry, his gaze fixed on their host.
Tacitus finished his cookie, brushing away crumbs before responding. "Please, call me TC."
"Wait a moment," Menelik's voice broke the conversation. "You mean to tell me that you murdered the Emperor of Sidra and then you just… Left?"
They had vacated the safety of the gazebo and had been journeying for nearly an hour. The maze sprawled with labyrinthine paths and cul-de-sacs, a living, breathing construct of towering walls. The passages meandered, weaving an intricate tapestry that shifted with each stride they took.
"Was that before or after losing an entire island?" Idris interjected from the back of the group.
Zero angled his head slightly, his tone tinged with humility. "I didn't lose Vol. I just don't know where Nix took it."
"Yeah, and that's the epitome of something being lost," Maeve chimed in.
Zero halted, pivoting to face Maeve, his eyes narrowing. "Why do you pretend you weren't there?"
Maeve retorted with a smirk, her gaze dipping to Zero's unshod feet. "Why do you still disdain shoes?"
Zero glanced down at his bare feet. "At this point it’s just a habit after my time on Mount Heven."
"Is anyone else feeling fatigued?" Idris interposed.
"No," Zero denied, shaking his head. "Not at all. In fact, I..." He paused, a perplexed expression fleeting across his face. "...I actually feel invigorated." He turned to the others. "Hey!" He exclaimed, singling out Menelik. "Your armor is restored too?"
Menelik felt the repair then tilted his head upward, regarding the inky abyss forming the ceiling before casting his gaze upon the impossibly high stone walls. "It's restoring us," he stated, patting his belly. "I mean, REALLY restoring us. I bet you're not hungry or thirsty either."
Menelik's observation cleaved through the silence, and a surge of realization cascaded over the group. Their revitalization was unparalleled; they basked in a state of supreme satisfaction, radiating well-being.
As they lingered, reveling in their newfound vitality, a faint chant of voices danced in the air. Wordlessly, they followed the resonance, navigating the twists and turns of the labyrinth. The voices guided them to a grand stone archway adorned with a peculiar, misty haze, veiling the enigma beyond. The voices, now vibrant and clear, seemed to emanate from the other side, resembling jubilant cheers.
Silently, Zero advanced through the archway. Maeve observed him vanish into the mist and nonchalantly shrugged before stepping after him, fading into obscurity. Idris and Menelik exchanged a glance, then pursued their comrades into the archway.
Entering the mist, an eerie sensation enshrouded them. It was akin to being submerged in water—dense and frigid, yet oddly dry. A surreal experience, as if traversing a medium that defied its very nature.
Emerging onto the far side of the portal, they found themselves within a colossal coliseum. The structure sprawled grand and formidable, its marble walls reverberating with the uproar of a sprawling multitude encompassing diverse species—Humans, Giants, Harpies, Centaurs, Elves, and a myriad of others. They filled the amphitheater, their exultations and cries weaving an overwhelming symphony of sound.
Venturing further into the coliseum, they witnessed an unfolding gladiatorial spectacle. At the epicenter of the arena, a figure fully enrobed in gleaming metallic armor, whose stature appeared dwarvish, engaged in a fierce battle with a formidable Sphinx. The helmet concealed their bald head, but a flowing beard cascaded down like a river as they deftly maneuvered against the Sphinx. The beard was adorned with a multitude of beads and rings, each of varying shapes, colors, and sizes, symbols to the dwarf's long and battle-worn life. Twin axes, gripped firmly in the dwarf's hands, defied the weight of their substantial armor as they moved with surprising agility. The axes twirled through the air, their blades catching the light with a brilliant gleam as they delivered a flurry of strikes upon the Sphinx.
The Sphinx, in its own right, proved to be a worthy adversary. Its sinuous and powerful tail acted as a deadly weapon, swiping at the dwarf with force capable of shattering stone. The feline form of the Sphinx appeared to be sculpted from stone, meticulously carved to resemble fur, and its head was adorned with an elaborate golden headdress that crowned a feminine yet catlike face. Gemstone eyes glistened with an enigmatic allure, and its mouth remained perpetually sealed. Its movements flowed with an unparalleled grace and fluidity, creating a striking contrast to its appearance and the dwarf's aggressive, unwavering assault.
However, the tide of the struggle shifted when the attention of the audience wavered toward the newcomers. The applause and exhortations faltered, replaced by susurrations of intrigue as onlookers observed the group standing at the periphery of the arena.
Distracted by this sudden shift in focus, the dwarf redirected their gaze to the group. A fatal misstep. Amidst this momentary diversion, the Sphinx pounced, its tail connecting with the dwarf's form, propelling them across the expanse of the arena.
A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as the dwarf's body impacted the ground, their axes clanging beside them. The Sphinx claimed victory, its tail undulating through the air as its attention pivoted toward the group, the audience's murmurs amplifying in intensity.
"Behold! It seems we have fresh challengers audacious enough to confront our champion!" A voice reverberated across the expanse, authoritative and commanding, its origin veiled. "And as it appears to be a quartet against one," the voice reiterated, "Since our champion is at such a disadvantage, I shall release the hold on her magic!" The proclamation resonated through the arena, eliciting yet another overwhelming torrent of acclamation.
"Ramatma!" "Ramatma!" "Ramatma!" The chant surged throughout the coliseum.
Ramatma, one of the last of her lineage, emerged as a notable figure among the three distinct subspecies of Sphinxes, each brought into existence during the reign of the Three Pharaohs of Drithel. These Pharaohs, beings of resplendent golden energy, fostered the creation of Sphinxes to serve as island protectors. Ramatma's genesis was intertwined with Pharaoh Ramattra's rule. Her kind, the Ram Sphinxes, were revered for their remarkable shape-shifting abilities. Ramatma, true to her lineage, embraced this transformational power. She ascended onto her hind limbs, sprouting two supplementary arms, morphing into a four-armed entity radiating relentless strength.
Upon completing her metamorphosis, Ramatma unveiled her full range of capabilities. Energy pulsed around her fists, each arm a conduit of magical potency. A rapid gesture set forth a torrent of magic.
A resounding roar filled the coliseum, signaling the commencement of Ramatma's pursuit. The quartet scattered, weaving across the arena as she trailed them.
"Can we have some weapons, please?" Idris implored.
The announcer's voice thundered in response, "Shall our challengers be furnished with arms?" The crowd's acclamation erupted, their voices merging into an ear-splitting wave of endorsement.
"Very well!" the announcer proclaimed. At the gong's resonance, Ramatma ceased her chase.
Before their eyes, weapons materialized for the group. Idris regained his short sword and his spear had been completely repaired as if it had never been snapped in half. Menelik received his warhammer and mage staff, Maeve her daggers, and Zero his warhammer.
Without delay, Zero endeavored to transmute his warhammer but faced disappointment.
"Still no magic, idiot," Maeve taunted.
The conflict initiated promptly. Their movements synchronized, strikes executed with precision. Idris lunged with his spear, his short sword poised to parry. Menelik's warhammer swung true. Maeve, a blur of motion, pinpointed the Sphinx's vulnerabilities with her daggers. Zero, his hammer gleaming in the stark light, mirrored Ramatma's ferocity.
The arena reverberated with weapon clashes and the crowd's roar. Ramatma, her four-armed form exuding power, responded with her own assault. Magic surged from her fists, each thrust radiating energy.
Despite their unwavering offense, Ramatma appeared unaffected. Their blows merely provoked her. Her incandescent eyes blazed with fierce resolve, her focus was unwavering.
The battle waged on, neither side yielding. The quartet sustained their barrage, their weapons meeting Ramatma's magical defenses. The audience remained entranced, their cheers and boos punctuating the fusion of weapons and magic's roar.
With the struggle's progression, it became evident that a swift resolution was not forthcoming. The group's efforts merely grazed Ramatma's defenses.
Suddenly, the arena's center bathed in resplendent radiance. A breathtaking display of magic and light unfurled, grander and more spectacular than the preceding fireworks. Beams of light ascended from the ground, their brilliance illuminating the coliseum. Swirls of magical glitter danced in the air, creating intricate patterns with their shimmering trails.
Amidst the luminous symphony of radiance and enchantment, a figure materialized. It was a Pandafolk, a being of distinct and captivating visage. Standing tall with an air of sovereignty and might, the Pandafolk emitted an aura of command. His fur blended black and white in contrast, while his eyes held a profound, intelligent gaze that appeared to absorb the very essence of the surroundings. Amid the grandeur of the spectacle, it was the Pandafolk's presence that eclipsed all else, his dominance encompassing the coliseum.
His attire was as exceptional as his being—a blend of traditional and contemporary styles that mirrored the heritage and richness of his people. He wore a flowing robe of royal blue, intricately adorned with patterns of silver and gold that shimmered in the light. A broad, ornate belt cinched the robe at his waist, its buckle a polished stone radiating inner luminescence.
A crown adorned his head—a modest gold band bearing a single, sizable gemstone. The gemstone, vividly pink, pulsed with an inner glow, mirroring his eyes' luminance.
His hands adorned various rings, each set with a diverse gemstone. The stones, spanning an array of hues, sparkled in the light, augmenting his overall radiance.
Yet, beyond the grandeur of his attire, it was the Pandafolk himself who continued to seize attention. His presence merged authority and serenity, a balance evident in his tranquil expression and measured movements. He was a fusion of contradiction and harmony, a being embodying the vivacious culture and storied history of his people.
The PandaFolk approached, extending his hand before reverently moving it to his chest in a bow. "I am Tacitus Claudius, Emperor of this Coliseum, Keeper of Knowledge, and Chronicler of History." He straightened, his voice resounding across the arena, amplified by magic.
His voice quelled the crowd's murmurs, and he turned to Ramatma. "Please… Take your reprieve." Turning to the group, his voice dropped to a hush. "I assume hunger is not your concern, but trust me, my palate still delights in feasting, flavors and spices can’t be forgotten."
Menelik strode over to Tacitus, draping his arm around him. "C'mon, my friend, lead me to that spread."
Menelik glanced at the others, receiving unanimous nods. However, Idris had one stipulation. "Depends… You got chocolate chip cookies?" His tone was firm, eyes closed as he gently swayed his head side to side, a faint smile gracing his lips. "Air-buddy loves chocolate chip."
In a flourish befitting his entrance, Tacitus guided them from the coliseum. A wave of his hand enveloped them in a shimmering mist, momentarily blurring the surroundings before ushering them into a majestic corridor.
The corridor was a marvel to behold. Sculpted from stone like the coliseum, its walls bore intricate carvings, narrating tales of battles and triumphs, champions and their illustrious feats. Banners hung from the ceiling, each bearing a distinct champion's emblem. These banners injected splashes of color into the predominantly monochromatic scenery, vibrant hues standing out against the stone.
The corridor expanded into a sprawling dining hall. It exuded grandeur, a lengthy table extending across its expanse. The table was adorned with an array of dishes, their aromas weaving through the air. Yet, the hall's true wonder lay in the jungle trees sprouting from the stone floor, their lush leaves forming a canopy above.
The table was a feast for both eyes and taste buds. Laden with offerings from cultures far and wide, it showcased hearty stews and roasted meats, delicate pastries and refined wines, platters of exotic fruits and vegetables, freshly baked bread, bowls of creamy soups, pasta, salads, and an array of desserts.
Tacitus seated himself at the table's end, selecting a cookie from the plate before him—its chocolate chips releasing a sweet aroma. Taking a bite, he savored the flavor before shifting his attention back to the group.
"Please… Enjoy," he encouraged, his voice resonating within the grandeur of the hall. A touch of amusement glimmered in his eyes as he observed the group taking their places.
"Man," Menelik's voice conveyed casual admiration as he reached across the table, retrieving a pastry. "I knew I'd like you, Tacitus." He devoured the pastry, his gaze fixed on their host.
Tacitus finished his cookie, brushing away crumbs before responding. "Please, call me TC."
