RP:Power Surge
Arena Workshop
Ezekiel may have been breaking an entering, but he was doing so in the name of Science! See, Satoshi's fatal mistake, was not showing him the secret device hidden away under the foundation of the grand arena, but leaving it alone. Unguarded, and free of prying eyes, the magical battery did more than just pique the failed mage's curiosity; it taunted him. It wasn't long after a few sleepless nights, tossing and turning, scribbling furiously away in his notebook, did he finally snap. His dangerously addictive obsession had finally got the better of him, and for that, here he sat. In the underbelly of the colluseum, surrounded by the guts of a partially dismantled contraption, which he knew so very little about. Moving like a down-town drug addict, high on their choice of poison, the man moved and fidgeted from one part- to another, all while situated on a small, wooden crate. So lost in his work, lacking both sleep and reasoning, Ezekiel was in a ring of sensory deprivision; it wasn't hard to sneak up on him now.
Satoshi has been in the arena above for some time now, having arrived there little before dawn in hopes of finding it empty of participants and audience alike. When the foxkin can't sleep, it is often here she goes, katana in hand to fall into the repetitive motions of training exercises, burning through them both to sear them into her muscle-memory and to chase off the worst of her night haunts or spare energy. Ko'tar's voice has been filling the arena air with its song as the sun begins to climb above the mountain horizon, Satoshi not even aware of the passage of time until the light hits her eyes. Blinking, she pauses and slides out of her defensive stance, mind releasing its grip on the exercises so that it may wander a moment... and pick up the hum of magic and presence of the living close-by. So focused on her training had she been that Satoshi completely missed the signs of another's presence, only now realizing what the snows have been whispering. Gripping Ko'tar's hilt tighter, the magus begins stalking through the arena as eyes dart along the stands, pierce the shadows, and in vain search for the source until her boot runs up against the edge of the trapdoor, having not been closed fully. With a frown, Satoshi draws the door open, careful to avoid making a sound, and descends the staircase in search of the stadium burglar.
It was a wonder how he managed to do it, run on days of work, with literally zero hours of sleep. This man, if ever there was a candidate, would be -the- deffinition of insomnia its self. Back and forth he shifted, picking up a piece here- setting down another there. Twisting, unscrewing, hammering, and cursing; this was the music of a flectomancer, or any kind of engineer alike. While the scene was relatively normal for the man, the wires, chains, and metal attached to his infamous gloves wasn't. As if he were about to jump a car, the battery served as a conduit for his source of energy- magical energy. In theory, this gave him a better understanding of what exactly he was tinkering with, and the proporties it held. "Maybe.. perhaps if I- No. Too soon. Here!" Mindlessly, he rambled, his conversational skills with an inannimate (or not..) object, went far better than that of a live subject. Pitiful irony. It was right about the same time Satoshi had slipped in through the trap door, that he had taken to his feet, rising to lean in on tippy toes, if only to wedge a cyllyndrical tube back into place. All in all, it was the same 'machine', simply modified; for what, he hadn't quite made it that far, though, his intent was for study. This escapade, simply served to make that easier. He hoped.
It takes biting down on her own tongue to stop Satoshi from exclaiming, "What in the name of hellfire?!" But she manages it. Just barely. And tastes her own dead and chilly blood for the trouble. It's a good thing too, else she probably would have given the poor flectomancer a heart attack, which is the last thing she wants to do when he's so intricately hooked up to the arena's battery. In fact, seeing that the chaos of parts and pathways is Ezekiel's doing and not that of a messy robber, makes the kit more curious than alarmed. Enough so that she moves to take a seat upon the stairs and settle in to watch. The experiments of fellow mages is always a thing worth observing, doubly so when it's a rare flectomancer that is normal more withdrawn from society than the awkward offspring of a hermit crab and recluse spider.
It took him a while to catch onto the magical presence that had entered the room, if not from the stress of work before him, perhaps the sheer amount of magical energy the battery held instead. Either way, they both played a big role in the contributing factors for the tinkering mage's complete unawareness; more times than enough, he had been robbed this way. Still, between the reassembly or parts, scribbles on the board, and his all out frantic pacing, he'd eventually turn around. Though when he did, the chances of a heart attack could have been just as real, all jokes aside. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, his breath caught in his throat, and his stomach sank; much to the similar effect one would get say.. looking at the ghostly image of a face in an old family photo. It was that -same- sudden realization, that he wasn't alone, that nearly left him with a pair of soiled britches, Again! "I- I can explain!" Stumbling backwards, the backs of his knees caught the edge of the wooden crate he had been sitting on, and sent the man tumbling backwards, landing firmly on his back, scattering the few remaining parts around. Scurrying like a well beaten child, Ezekiel had his back against the wall, left of the arena's battery. This was it, he thought, I'm done for.
Satoshi's expression is almost hurt at Ezekiel's reaction. Or would be, if she wasn't trying to fight back laughter at the same time. It takes her a few moments but she does manage to compose herself by the time the flectomancer's back has met the workshop wall, looking as if he's regretting not updating his last will and testament. "Oh come now. I haven't eaten you yet, have I? ...I don't particularly intend to either, unless you deliberately step on a tail or somesuch. I mean, don't get me wrong, I -am- flattered you think I'm dangerous enough to rip out your throat at the slightest inclination. Honestly however, you fascinate moi far too much for that. It'd be a waste of a unique and capable mind, to eat you, when I can eat the useless members of the world, the ones who won't be missed~." A killer Satoshi might be, but she does try to adhere to certain standards and refrain from hunting those of use to the lands. Flectomancers are very, very useful. Especially when they have an obsession with an arcane artifact you own. Said artifact, the battery, is gestured at now by Satoshi. "Please, carry on. I'm simply curious what it es you're doing. I love a good experiment, being a magus myself. 'What's the worst that could happen?' I always say~."
What's the worst that could hapen, if only the two knew. "Not sure if that's twisted sarcasm, or a wry compliment. To the latter, I digress. I would say, more of a mentally sickened mind, sustaining off an addicting obsession. Father never did understand where I got it from." Hardly composed, he'd rise to his feet anyways, dusting his coat off while cautiously stepping forward; mostly so he didn't damage anything else, but naturally, for if and when she changed her mind. So much he didn't know about the Queen, and how fickle the tricks his mind could play. Friend.. foe.. figment, reality was on the brink of shattering for a man who didn't sleep, anything was plausible. "This.. this 'thing'- I know what it is, I think. I mean, I truly, know what it is. Words, no words. I have no words for what it, this.. this.. "He pointed, "is?!" With his guard still up, he paced frivolously, chin in fingers, arm in arm. "Magic. You have 'it'. I can feel it, almost see it. Am I not mistaken?" He may have held it deep inside, but where his was simply locked, Satoshi's wasn't. Maybe she could be the helping key in helping him crack this code. His crazed rambling sure wasn't.
Satoshi finds Ezekiel's pacing as erratic and difficult to follow as his sleep-deprived speech, but that last bit... that last bit she understands clearly. "Feel it, sense it, see it, hear it, -be- it, when it comes to the magics of Ice, yes. Other kinds, yes, I can detect and follow too." The whiskers help there, sensitive to the shiftings of magic as they are. "You don't?" The idea of a 'mancer that can't feel magic goes against all her knowledge of the ways of the Arcane. Is that why Ezekiel is so... odd? Satoshi shakes her head at the thought, instead choosing to remark on his earlier statement about knowing what 'it' is. "So... what -is- it, then, if you've figured it out?"
"It's hard for me to explain, I'll do my best." The pacing stops, the battery is faced. "The essence- their magic. I feel it just a much as you, perhaps more. The gloves assist in amplifying the stream, a hypothosis I've yet to follow up on." He even went so far as to wiggle his fingers, as if it would add to a dramatic effect; this man was in serious need of some congnative recallibration. "To me, it always came off as an aura, of sorts, though.. recent insight has shown me more. To every magical essence, holds a piece of the wielder- A mage, for example. It's not just their magical trail, it's a piece -of- them. Knowledge, skill- their very core. A literal thread of their place in this.. this matrix of a magic-based universe." Even he had to question his theory; explaining this was harder than he thought. "Here. As simple as I can put it- this battery, is more than just a battery. It's a store of magic, knowledge, skill.. essence. The very essence of every man, woman and creature that has stepped foot in this arena. Possibly more. One could argue, that is almost.. living. Metaphorically speaking, of course." He honestly didn't expect her to keep up, for even he himself was lost. "Quick, do something.. a skill, ability, something. Ice you said? Please?" Despite the lack-of-parts, those of which scattered from light kicks of his shoes, he was ready to put his theory to the test; all saftey precautious thorwn out the window by this point.
Oddly enough, Satoshi follows this theory with perfect understanding. It's a belief she's carried herself since learning the ways of magic, one she's seen in proven time and again not only through her spells, but those of other mages. Much like the emotional impressions Empaths and Psions can trace, magic leaves signatures of its own behind wherever it's been used. She knows the complex of threads well, they've anchored in the plane of existence when by all rights she should have died. No, Ezekiel's theory is far from insane. At his request, the kit complies, drawing off a fragment of her mist-woven cloak and whispering a word to it, solidifying the fog into a frail, icy butterfly. "Here~." With a flutter of glass-thin wings the construct takes to the air and begins weaving delicate patterns between cryomancer and flectomancer.
Ezekiel would have been lying, if he said he wasn't envious of the talent displayed before him. What he would have given, to have even the most simple of spells, at the whim of his own will and desire. To the battery, he'd turn and watch, the ominous glow- a bright neon blue -breaking from every exposed crack on the device's surface. "Yes.. yes- you can see it. A little more?" So wrapped up in the excitment, Ezekiel absent mindedly forgot he was still hooked up to the contraption, via wires, chain, and the few copper rodes sticking out. "If what I believe is true, could you imagine the possibilies of housing the very core of a living beings magical essence in one, single device? Simply amazing." Were this a generator, half the cities lights would have been knocked out, and the room they stood in would be dimming; what could go wrong, she said.
A handful more butterflies are conjured from Satoshi's cloak with no more than a string of lyrical words serving as catalyst for the spell. As the growing flock gathers near the ceiling and the battery glows brighter, the magus glances toward Ezekiel with a half-smirk. "Es that not a phylactery, by definition? Among a few other types of constructs designed to house one's essence. They... just tend to end badly for most that attempt to make them. ...As a note, if that thing blows up, I'm changing my mind about killing you." She looks rather pointedly at the battery. If any magely occupation is prone to causing explosions, it's the flectomancer, and while Satoshi has a spell in waiting to ward herself, she really, really doesn't want to repair the arena again so soon.
As stated before, the man had been so caught up in the excitment of the moment, he completely forgot he was literally 'hooked' up to the machine. His innocent gaze shifed from ceiling, to Satoshi- to battery, and the impressive glow it gave off. In fact, now that he thought about it, that was a little too much glow, from all that he had seen.. so far. "Uh- I.. I wouldn't.. plan-on-it. Wait." Subtle glee, quickly melted into casual panic. "This isn't right, Hey.. stop. Stop what you're doing, Satoshi-" The scattered parts on the ground were scattered even more, hustling steps carrying him back and forth between Queen, and Battery. In retrospect, he was using the wires and rods, as a sort of grounding unit, his anti mage-esque block working with him, for once. Though, he hadn't taken into consideration, the effect the gloves (which were specifically designed to bypass said anti-magic aura), and the reaction of Satoshi's direct magic, double so with just how close in proximity she was. The wires were emminating the same, static glow the battery was, gradually traveling along the length, and eventually, headed for Ezekiel's gloves. Whether or not the woman ceased her magic or not, the motion of energy was in full, and there was little to nothing that could stop it. For once, the flectomancer was truly scared for his life; the panicking was showing.
Rather than the magus herself speaking to cease the spells, her cloak reacts, parting down the center and reforming itself into a pair of phantom claws that arch over her shoulders. Within seconds the butterflies have all been swiped and reabsorbed into the misty claws, thus ending their arcane existence, allowing the cloak to fall back into place as just that, a cloak. All the while, Satoshi is watching Ezekiel scurry about in a panic, baffled by what's taking place and uncertain if there is a way she can help. Or if she -should- help, when it could come at a risk of herself too. Ever the self-saver, Satoshi takes a number of steps back to widen the gap between herself and Ezekiel, while the trigger to her defensive spell lingers on the tip of her tongue, just waiting for the moment of activation...
Sparks were flying, gloved palms resembling Morning Glory's on the Fourth of July. A self sustaining source of raw power and magical energy, had Ezekiel in its unrelenting grip. The wires and rods meant nothing now, for he had established a direct current for that unrefined, raw energy using his very own body. Paralyzed with fear, the poor tinker watched with horror in his eyes while he was engulfed fully by the wrath of the arena's essence- the scene could almost be rivaled by that of someone getting stuck in an electrical socket. While Satoshi had backed away, Ezekiel lifted- literally -up into the air. A once numbing hum, was now a deafening roar, overbaring for the two stuck in the underbelly of the colleseum. His eyes, mouth, and even veins, were overtaken by the same glow the battery was using to dominate the dimmly lit workshop, turning the not-quite mage, into a neon-blue beacon. The only real immediate danger Satoshi was in, was getting caught by the palms of his glove, which more or less resembled the afterburners of a jet engine, the spikes of seering energy whipped like an extension of his own appendages; if she was going to use that protection spell, now was as best a time as ever.
Satoshi watches with growing horror as Ezekiel is borne into the air by the sheer potency of the energy coursing through him, all the while her ears are pressed flat against the pain of the battery's roar and every instinct demanding she get the hell out of dodge. But she doesn't flee. She, of all things, steps closer to the trapped flectomancer, fur beginning to stand on end and crackle with ambient mana as the gap is cautiously closed. As she draws near, Satoshi's hands stop being empty, the black form of Asorial glaciating into existence and angled to allow the flat of its blade to serve as a barrier between kit and fiery blue sparks. Satoshi, once she's beside Ezekiel, hurriedly glances between himself and the battery with a thoughtful expression, calculating the risks and--after a moment of deliberation--throws all caution to the wind. This isn't to save Ezekiel. This is to save the arena, her home, and Frostmaw itself from the potential explosion of such a magically-charged item. Asorial is then hefted, drawn back over her shoulder, and swung forward to be brought bearing down on the outstretched cables. The scythe's supernaturally keen edge cleaves through them with sickening ease, severing the connection Ezekiel has with the battery... and sending a surge of the mana current straight into Asorial. The flux of energy is enough to blast Satoshi off her feet and clear across the room where she collides with the wall, slowly slides down it, and crumples into a heap upon the floor, wisps of blue smoke drifting off herself and the scythe still clutched in her hands. "Ugh..." At least she's alive, if slightly overcharged with magic to the point that her whiskers can't stop quivering violently. Can the same be said of Ezekiel?
The last of the deadly charge fizzled out from the palms of his gloves, the metal (still of mysterious origin) red hot, and blistering to the touch. It was at that same moment when Satoshi had been blasted back- he feel to the ground. With no connection to from man-to-machine, he was simply a body in the air, if only for a second. Crunching the small crate that once served as his stool, the poor flectomancer laid on his side, in and unconscious, smoking heap. The sickening sight and smell of bubbling leather (as well as something akin to burning ozone) filled the air; the gloves, his finest invention, were melted to his hands. The roaring hum quickly ceased, and returned to a dull buzz, before eventually dying out completely. He was alive and breathing, but out cold- and probably so, for the new day or two. He'd make it out of this one alive, but at a great price; he was in debt to the Queen, this time around.
With the sense of danger passed and the fluorite core gone dormant, Satoshi makes no attempts to get to her feet immediately. Instead she devotes her attentions to gathered scattered thoughts, doing mental checks of her body in search of injury, and silently assessing the rapid escalation of events. Asorial, still clasped in her hands, has been humming and vibrating since absorbing the mana current, the force enough to rattle Satoshi to her bones while the charged light coming off it is near blinding in intensity. In time however, the scythe's voice becomes softer, less shrill, until eventually it grows completely silent and still with only an occasional spark of electric-blue energy arcing across its glassy surface. The weapon gives a final hiss--an unpleasant mixture of malicious and sated--before it dissolves, once more returning to its dormant state and leaving behind no more than that sibilant bit of laughter. Satoshi shudders at the sound. Rarely is it a good thing for herself, when Asorial departs laughing. But what is done is done, the magus tells herself as she begins struggling back to her feet, limbs feeling both heavy as lead and empowered as a ghroudium-gloved punch by an angry Dami. With excess magic coursing through her veins and directly charging her, its no wonder the kit feels this way, an unsteady combination of frail and invulnerable just begging for her to do something reckless. Reckless can wait, though. There's a flectomancer lying sprawled in the middle of the workshop, likely in need of some form of aid. Satoshi, unfortunately, isn't the right sort of aid, choosing to take up one of the stray metal rods to jab Ezekiel in the face childishly until he groans, proving his still-living status. "Well then," the magus says, lips pursed thoughtfully, "if that didn't kill you, Rabbit, you're tougher than I thought. I'll have to make sure you stick around longer. You're terrible fun~." Satoshi turns on a heel then, off to seek a guard to retrieve the man, lug him back to the fort, and set him up in a room to recover... after the guard is subjected to witnessing a brief Satoshi-fit when she discovers the fifth white tail now nestled among her former quartet. So -that- was what Asorial was laughing about...