The Battle for the Sanctum (Empire Claim)

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Fables_

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ATTACK

Fables (me)

@raysh_al_shaytan

DEFEND

@thestoryteller

@theunseen

@raysh_al_shaytan@thestoryteller@theunseen

Love looks not with the eyes, but with the heart
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the heart

It was dream.

That's all it was, right?

A dark endless hallway, little light for its grueling trek. She had called out many times before and still no answer. At the end of the journey was a door of oak design but strong like the strongest of steel. Its craftsmanship on the frame itself a marvel, as if etched by the greatest master of all time. And that was as far as the dream would go, the door unable to open no matter how hard Matilda tried. Again, she journeyed across the endless hallway, a cruel prank if designed, the Manchester Mage just staring at the door knowing the outcome.

It must have been in that acceptance of reality that the dream opened its doors. Matilda's brow furrowed, questioning the the next stage into the unknown, into the surreal, looking at the stairway which awaited her. Her steps ascended her into which she could not see, expecting her eyes to awaken by the sound of an alarm clock, but it did not. Instead as she walked into the clouds which the stairway led her arriving into a massive hallway of corridors.

She uttered aloud a profane curse from her lips, her echo traveling down the hallway for anyone who set foot on such grounds to share her euphoria. So much can be learned from those that came before them. What the funk is this?

No Caption Provided

A strange green light arose from her utterance, easily catching her attention as its radiant energy and design made her easily recognize it and shutter. Out of the shadows he appeared, or at least a phantasm of him. It took not an introduction as she gazed at the Sorcerer Supreme, or at least a visage of him as he continued on his path as her presence was not known.

The subtle manner in which he walked showed his familiarity with the structure. It was then the epiphany hit her. This was the Sanctum of Cryptic Sources, a place where the weird and strange knowledge all across the multiverse were brought and catalogued under the Sorcerer Supreme. The visage she was following, a chronicle of the life of the master of mystic arts. Which begged the question, what happened to holder of the title.

The visage continued, the spark of ethereal energy sparking the darken room like the Sun as the Master continued as he began contorting his hands in an abnormal matter and created glass like fragments around one of his hands as Matilda slipped another cursefrom her lips as her fingers moved instinctively, copying the spell with hand gestures and tucking it away for a later event. She knew of this spell, she herself knowing a variation of it, yet Surreal made it so easy as she knew it took immense concentration. After making a few hand gestures, the mage then slammed his palms together resulting in a shock wave of mystical fragments being sent in all directions, washing over the entire environment. What had now happened was that any sorcerer was able to isolate the dimension that the battle was raging in from the one with all of the physical matter in the area. If imitation was the biggest form of flattery, she would have gotten on her knees in awe of which she was seeing.

No Caption Provided

It was good, not quite my flavor though, she said aloud as her eyes wandered momentarily to the knowledge isolated in this room alone, made the Library of Alexandria but a pamphlet in time. The visage moved, not only in space, but in time as well as he began to contort and twist his fingers in a complicated manner that was reminiscent of someone who was pulling a series of invisible strings. Her hands intertwined the visage's hand as if the Master of Mystic Arts were giving the once Merlin and her innate comprehension of mystical language an exclusive as she could feel the invisible fabric of reality at her very fingertips. She could see why the other Merlins questioned her status years ago. She gave a small titter, as she mumbled aloud a curse from her lips as she had done twice before in just mere minutes. She could spend centuries in this Sanctum and still feel the urge to learn. This was the moment it would all change.

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TheStoryteller

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@fables_:

Plated with gold and ice, the chambers of the The Jaded Showman rested in an uneasy stillness. The large black curtains prohibited the sun from reaching the confines of the room, as spells filled the air with wisps of emerald lighting. "Not now." The words softly uttered out of desperation. As in the darkness, Lance sat over the Sigil Of Ameth,its green light illuminating his blue, cold skin.

The workings of his Father had begun to become evident, it appeared that it wasn't only his family line that had changed, but his history as well. The temporal tampering of the God Of Mischief was slowly turning him into something he didn't want to become; Loki himself.

It was a dream.

An illusion played by his own mind.

No Caption Provided

That was what he told himself when he saw the first patch of icy blue skin. But now it has become much more than that. It has become a reality. A reality that he didn't wish to come into fruition. A reality he needed to erase before it became too severe. That was why the Enochian Sigil was laid out before him, a symbol of protection that came from a mythos outside of his own. Perhaps, it could save him. Or at least he thought. He hovered over it for three days, chanting the same mantra over and over again. Instants of his normal coloration appeared time and time again, but were quickly overtaken by the markings of the Jotunn.

Hope slowly began to leave him, as he believed to be marked by the devil himself. However, in that same instance, a vision came to him. A phastomagorigal plane of existence has opened to him. The Emblem of The Sorcerer Supreme appeared before him, fading in from the darkness as if it were in itself, a ghost. Was it a calling from the man he had met before? Over a year ago? In his time of desperation, a new hope opened up before him. And a new idea entered into his mind.

A place filled with the strangest of knowledge and magicks has opened itself up to him. The Master Of Mysticism's personal collection of oddities and artifacts were bound to have some knowledge that could help him overturn his father's doing. An illusion was cast over him, turning his skin into its original form, and giving his eyes the jade they were meant to have. He gripped his scepter and donned his cloaks, and with a flash of his cape, vanishing in a puff of green flashes.

****

No Caption Provided

Within the middle of the Sanctum's grand hall, The Son Of Loki stood. His eyes hastily shifted across the room, as he felt something he didn't expect. An emptiness. As if the halls have lost their Master, and his own presence began ever greater. Yet, he knew he wasn't alone. While he couldn't feel or sense the presence of another being, the sheer allure of this place was bound to have brought someone before him, looking to take the mantle of Sorcerer Supreme, and potentially take his one chance of regaining control over himself from him.

He walked through the halls, wishing he had the time to fully appreciate the grandeur. However, time wasn't something he had, and currently it was working against him. The glass covers that held the various artifacts enticed him. Yet, he knew that they were secondary to his mission, to claim the title of Sorcerer Supreme and undo his father's work.

He continued his stride, all the eldritch artifacts vying for his attention, as he continued to search for any others, cloaking his own presence the best he could. However, a master of illusionary magicks could potentially notice the frost and frigidness within the air, as Lance's transformation slowly, but surely, took place.

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Life as a ghost is a lonely one, part of human existence but just outside of it. As always he hovered inside a local night club, watching the living as they act, conversing with one another without a care in the world. It was pretty much a common routine, one that made him yearn for his living days as a magician in which the crowd would be fixated on him, not getting another drink. But ever since his stent as a Ghost, his powers of observation had grown exponentially, and watching the human’s behaviorism was his greatest joy, next to actually possessing a body and living through them. In this occasion he couldn’t help but notice a strange individual enter the club, clearly overdressed for the occasion. The stranger was dressed in a long trench coat, concealing most of him, while a small trace of sweat dripped from his brow. Before anyone knew it, from under his coat the stranger whipped out a double barrel shotgun and after one blaring warning shot overhead, he shouted “This is a hold up! Everybody put your hands in the air!”

No Caption Provided

Immediately, the crowd went silent, except for a few gasps of fear, as even the D.J. scratched a record as he ducked under his booth. The whole mood of the place had shifted in seconds. By now the stranger was throwing his weight around, while waving his gun and barking orders. Everyone was in fear except for Barry. With a quick, “Looks like it’s show time” Barry flew down to the stranger and as only he could, possessed him. Immediately, Barry became one with the stranger, reading all his thoughts, while fully taking over his body, and after a brief second of getting use to it, placed the stranger’s gun on the bar top and began to apologize! “Sorry about all this robbery stuff,” he says as the stranger to the bartender! “Please call the police and tell them I surrender!” Then without a moments hesitation, he slams the strangers head upon the bar-top, knocking him unconscious, causing the stranger’s body to fall to the ground, where it lay motionless, until the police would arrive. At the same time Barry exited the body, proud of himself, then flew back to the rafters where he hovered, as the bar patrons tried to make sense of what they had just seen.

Suddenly he felt an outside force, unlike any he had ever felt before. It was not like any sensation he felt in a human host, but a feeling of enlightenment much like when the powers that be granted him the power of the ‘Ghost!’ But in this case the force was calling him, almost pulling him from where he was, levitating to some unknown outside location. Before he knew it, he was being pulled, like in some mystic tractor-beam, straight through the walls of the night club, across the parking lot and onward, at a speed that rivaled his own in flight. In what seemed like a second, he traveled across many miles, through countless buildings and even through a few people. But at the speed he was traveling it was no more than a blur. At the same time, visions beyond his comprehension, danced through what passed for his head, of a man, no not just a man but a Sorcerer, a Sorcerer Supreme, now missing, and his mystic sanctum, The Sanctum of Cryptic Source. The rest was to much for poor old Barry to comprehend, even though he now possesses a small fraction of the magic he was perceiving, and yet somehow it all made sense.

No Caption Provided

Before he knew it, he was now in downtown Metro city, heading straight towards a rather odd looking building, that he had only seen before in the visions. But just as he arrived, with what little magic he had been blessed with, he could see a protection spell encasing the Sanctum. Immediately, Barry began to fight back against the pull, but despite his best efforts, another wave of images flashed through what passed for his head, leaving him with the feeling that everything was going to be okay. Before he could utter the words, “Hope this trick pays off” he was phasing through the protection spell as if it was nothing, leaving him with nothing more than an itching feeling, until the mystic pull finally came to an abrupt stop, right in the middle of a sitting room, complete with fully upholstered chairs and bookshelves along every wall. Above was a hanging chandelier that was not attached to anything, giving off a dim light that somehow lit the whole room. Resting upon a long thin center table next to the chairs, was a candy bowl miraculously holding Hershey kisses, Barry’s favorite treat from when he was alive.

No Caption Provided

But at the moment the unknown force ceased to pull him, he immediately fell to the ground as if he had weight, or more specifically a human body. But once again, in less than seconds, all physical sensations vanished and he once again felt the nothingness of being a Ghost. Taking a second or two to gather his wits, he hovered around the room simply observing all the intricacies of the room. Along the way he could not help but notice a long brass mirror resting along the near wall, and out of sheer curiosity he had to look upon it. Immediately, he ‘gasped’ as he gazed upon a reflection of his mortal self gazing back upon him, leaving him to yell, “Holy Hell! That’s, That’s Me!” Shocked and bewildered he pulled back, even levitating up to the ceiling where he clearly saw himself as a specter, void of any human body. Still somewhat frazzled, he once again gazed back into the mirror, this time pleased as he saw nothing back but an open room. “Now that’s better” he uttered as he began floating towards the nearest exit, “Something tells me this is going to get weird!” Convinced he was now in over his head, he still wished to investigate his new surrounding, determined to discover why he was brought here. Without knowing the house would immediately defend against anyone who cast a threatening spell, he whistled a lively tune as best he could with no lips, and headed towards a hallway, where it appeared another individual was there!

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Raysh_Al_Shaytan

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#4  Edited By Raysh_Al_Shaytan

@theunseen: @thestoryteller: @fables_:

The Sorcerer Supreme. The title alone would have been enough to have enticed the self-aggrandizing narcissism of the former Father of Assassins. To say nothing of the privileged access, resources and exclusive authorization of the once impregnable cathedral of magic known as, "the Sanctum of Cryptic Sources." And as the Shaytan sub-consciously mediated in an Astral Projected echo just above his physical body, feeling the intoxicating summons of the seemingly now abandoned Sanctum, he knew that such an offering could not be left for the taking of lesser beings. Unworthy stewards. Or impure imposters.

He returned to his body swinging his dark asymmetrically styled cape around his shoulders before making his way down the halls of his forgotten family's rebuilt estate. Several elongated serpents unnervingly slithered alongside each automatic step as the supernatural assembly descended upon the Knightfall family library.

"The so-called Sorcerer Supreme is gone. Missing. Dead. I dont believe it really matters either way. What does matter is this window of opportunity." The Shaytan declared to his venomous audience.

Than in a series of precise rhythmic performances the ringed fingers of the Immortal Mamba began to exoterically tut, instantly transporting the full weight of his sub-conscious mind into the susceptible body of the secret paranormal detective, Ezekiel Moon.

Ezekiel
Ezekiel

An enigmatic loner living and operating on the fringes of supernatural society. A counter-cultural misfit with but one notable attribute of intrigue. As a former Shadow Cardinal of the LoS, his inhuman ability of spiritual and supernatural espionage were inherent gifts.

For while the Sanctum's Sorcerer had abandoned his posts, the buildings mystical defenses had not. Any forced or violent incursion would be rebuffed by Sanctum itself keeping her secrets locked away in a geometric paradox of infinite time and space. Forever.

So. Adorned in an outlandish outfit. A white on white layered catastrophe of fashion, complete with an imposing white mask with white lensed eyeholes, Raysh Al Shaytan - as Ezekiel Moon - briefly stood before the manicured doors of the fabled Sanctum. And took a moment to appreciate the little things. All before confidently, straightening his tie.

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Fables_

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It was a series of fortunate events that allowed the boisterous mage into the great chambers of the Sorcerer Supreme, even if the Master of the abode was nowhere to be found. The mystery of the whereabouts enticed Matilda much like a child at there own birthday party. As a living grimoire, the knowledge in these halls was a treasure that would not be surpassed, losing herself in the experience until she heard the faint melody from within the halls.

Had its master finally arrived? How would she explain her presence within its grand halls to a title every Merlin acknowledged as greater than their own?

Matilda's face reflected that of sorrow, leaving the library as she attempted to locate the jingle. The trek itself revealed paradox in itself as the halls seemed to go on forever. The physical barriers which the building rested upon apparently did not obey to the natural laws which the material world relied upon revealing the nexus of mystical energy which its very foundation rested. Her body shuttered, knowing that an uninvited presence could walk for infinity if not for her melodic jingle that was a lifeline with its walls.

The song became stronger, much like her nervousness fluttering in her gut. Appearing from a corridor, she expected to see the Master of Mystic Arts, yet saw other options.

She shrugged, her arms crossed in disappointment. She looked at the possibility before her, even thinking the most absurd scenario. There was no Sorcerer Supreme here, only pretenders within his very halls, but was there a Sorcerer Supreme left. Since the moment she had set foot onto its floors there was an aura into itself. Almost as if it was alive, maybe even looking for its new master - a new Sorcerer Supreme.

She doubted her qualifications for such a title, but the symbol of the Sorcerer Supreme shown brighrly once more down a corridor onto a door in the distance. She had passed the open room on her journey to the main hallway but this time where once rested rugs and furniture now led a doorway to floating land platforms as if ths movie Avatar had been filmed there. This was obviously the place...one which apparently would house a contest where the winner would receive the nortorious title. Now it was just time for the contestants

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TheStoryteller

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#6  Edited By TheStoryteller

The endless halls of the sanctum, twisted and turned in many directions. An endless labyrinth of corridors and hallways Lance passed until he realized something, he had fallen for one of the many defenses of the Sanctum. It must have remembered his own mystical aura, and while he was flattered that he made an impression, he didn't have the time for this.

No Caption Provided

"Listen here, house" He spoke as he stretched out his hands, streaks of emerald moved between his fingertips as he channeled the magic within his mind. Tendrils of green mystical energy extended forward snaking through the many hallways and even walls. "I am Lance Lokison, and I will not be trapped amongst your pathetic illusion.s"

And yet, it wasn't an illusion, the space within the walls moved and twisted around him in an attempt to keep him surrounded. "Well then" He muttered underneath his breath as he made his attention onto the space. He tried to fight against the house's natural defenses

However, as he did, the Sigil appeared once more, the Sorcerer Supreme's crest. It called to him pulling at him with a natural allure that he couldn't help but follow. As he stepped forward, he passed a door he didn't realize, only to notice it when the door shut behind him. In front of him, a mirror, and as he looked forward at it back at him was a figure of nothing but ice.

It made him uneasy, as underneath the sheets of ice, he could make out a familiar face: his own. "Damn it" He growled underneath his breath, approaching with the intent to break the image. But as he withdrew his Scepter Of Mind to destroy the magic, the image of ice grasped him and pulled him inside. Spitting him out in front of a doorway.

Muttering profanity under his tongue, he dusted himself off and quickly got on his feet. There were two strange sights before him, the lesser of the two was a woman with the attire of what could be described as "goth-meets-street magician". However the one that intrigued him more, was the doorway with platforms suspended by nothing. He gripped the scepter, and as he looked at his supposed competition, schemes crossed through his mind.

No Caption Provided

"So, what are you here for? "

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Fables_

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@theunseen: @raysh_al_shaytan: @thestoryteller:

Matilda turned to the voice as another contestant revealed themselves, sharing the same disbelief that she possessed, not to be undone from the Sanctum as its once hard wooden floor morphed into green, lush grass suspended by nothing. Unbeknownst to the Merlin, the training room was expanding, consuming contestants with its strange abilities.

"Apparently to be the next Sorcerer Supreme," Fables replied as she noticed artifacts and books from different rooms floating freely past her in a mix-mash of confusion and unpredictability.

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TheUnseen

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#8  Edited By TheUnseen

@fables_: @raysh_al_shaytan:@thestoryteller:

No Caption Provided

Upon closer inspection, the man Barry thought he saw was in fact a Medieval Knights armor, residing along the wall, adding to the weird decor of the hallway. The floor was covered with a thick red carpet, almost an inch thick and would cushion any size foot that would step upon it. Across from the armor was an overly large vase, painted in some ancient dialect that he could not read, and ever so often he would pass a variety of paintings of individuals, that he could only assume were other Sorcerers, that once frequented the Sanctum. But as odd as it sounded, every time he would pass one by, he could swear that their eyes were following him. Still flying down the hallway, he thought he had reached the end as the light above was dimming and a new light was shining just above. But to his surprise, as he flew forward he could not help but notice a similarity, as he once again was hovering above the same red carpet, heading towards the same Knights armor, vase and paintings that he had just passed before.

Somewhat puzzled and annoyed, he shot down the hallway like a bullet, only to find himself right back were he started from. “What the Heck?” he couldn’t help but utter as he hovered, talking only to himself, “This is getting beyond weird!” Determined to find a way out, he tried flying down the hall a few more times, each with the same out come, until finally deciding to just phase through a wall. But once again, just as his ghostly body phased through one wall, he would find himself exiting the far wall behind him. “Argh!” he screamed, “This is getting on my nerves,” after which he slightly chuckled while calming down.“That is if I had nerves!”Suddenly and for no apparent reason, the hallway appeared to bend, as if twisting like a corkscrew. Soon enough the walls around him began flickering, while parts began to fly away into what now appeared either a different reality, or other dimension. Before he knew it, all that was the Sanctum was gone, and Barry was now hovering in a strange place along side floating rocks of different shapes and sizes, and what appeared green, lush grass suspended by nothing!

Immediately, Barry could no longer tell up or down, as all forms of natural law were absent, and instead hovered in one place while his surroundings move around him, in all different directions. “I think..” he says while crossing his arms in a defiant manner, “...I prefered the hallway!” It was then he saw what best could be described as a door, hovering a few yards away, or at least that was the best way he could describe it in this place, as nothing, including distance, could be clearly described here. The door appeared open, and from what he could tell, two individuals were on the other side. One of them was a goth-meets-street magician lady, that he had never seen before, but the other looked familiar. Not personally, but Barry seemed to see his face back when images were dancing around in what passed for his head, as he was being dragged here from the night club. Of course he could be wrong as the images were flashing by a mile a minute, but he did feel certain there was a connection between the gentleman and this place. But as puzzling as it is, Barry was more concerned with where he was and why he was here, so when the gentleman at the door inquired, "So, what are you here for? " to the lady, all Barry could say is, “I could ask the two of you the same thing” as he waved his arm from the far side of….where ever he was!

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#9  Edited By Raysh_Al_Shaytan

@thestoryteller: @theunseen: @fables_:

Masking any ill intent or delusions of confrontational conquest, the possessed Eziekel casually navigated the supernatural hallways within the Sanctum's ever evolving measurements of space and time. Each step a peculiar display, a visual glimpse at the counter-cultural magician's odd sense of style as he allowed the Sanctum to dictate his countless directional reshuffling. His white gloved hand periodically reached out to hover over a prestigious piece of collected memorabilia, metaphorically drinking its knowledge. Absorbing its historical relevance.

Like countless mages, witches and arcane masters before him Eziekel was enamored with not only the house's living aura of esoteric wisdom, but with its safeguarded artifacts and literary works. Some of the most mythical pieces of authentic sorcery the multiverses had ever known. And they were all here for the taking. The Sanctum was indeed a powerful force. But one without a Sorcerer Supreme. It could be brought to heel. It would, be brought to heel.

Before long the fashionably suited paragon of the paranormal was led into one of the Sanctum's metaphysical parlor rooms, where several other candidates were anxiously gathered. Questioning the potential meaning behind such a unique meeting of diverse magical artisans, as well as the Sanctum's subliminal runes. Indicating a secret agenda to recrown a newly anointed Sorcerer Supreme.

With silent hand gestures the masked trojan horse 'signed'

No Caption Provided

"Hello there." addressing the assemblage of arcane acolytes.

Like Ezikiel, each of the mystical mages had their own sense of charismatic style and characteristics. Attributes in which the Sanctum had deemed worthy of interest, and thus worthy of such an exclusive look at the many secrets the monument of magic had to offer its potential Sorcerer Supreme. Silently, through the gaze of his human puppet, Raysh momnitary took mental note of the Mad Pixie of Penny Lane's attendance. Having briefly crossed paths with the arrogant but capable spellcaster not so long ago.

"Seems we've all been gathered for a reason." Ezekiel silently signed again. Lingering towards the outer edges of the transformable room. Watching. Waiting.

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Fables_

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@thestoryteller: @theunseen: @raysh_al_shaytan:

For as far as Matilda could remember, the battle for the Sanctum was the first were the arena choose the combatants. Another contestant appeared, the fickle witch unaware of the three which challenged for the title. She examined each of them, waiting for one to make an opening gesture as she floated randomly on her own land mass much like the others did. The dilemma arose for Matilda, her cynical nature taking root in her direction of thought. She knew she was not perfect, but she couldn't even guess about the others, and that was a threat to the female Merlin. The title of the Sorcerer Supreme was probably more than she could have imagined, more than any could imagine, but she could not risk the possibility of the title to falling into another.

She gazed at a land mask which floated above all of them and without hesitation she pulled her wand into the field with a sleight of hand trick she did many of times on the show circuit. She didn't even have to aim, as the mass was big enough of a target to eye her attack. With a gesture, she focused her immense aura through her wand striking the floating object with enough force to split the mass into two, one which plummeted at her whistler known as the Unseen, while the other sizeable chunk came hurling down toward the Storyteller. She wanted both of them to use their reaction at her opening salvo.

Debris came spraying downward from the larger two masses like rain in the Queen's Kingdom. If they were at all competent mages, she knew it would be unwise to challenge all three of them simultaneously, and as such her plan began to reveal itself. She ran from her floating mass of soot and grass and leapt from it, diving into the smaller debris for partial cover which left the Storyteller and the Unseen the option of dealing with the Mad Witch as she fell along with her opening gambit or deal with the massive chunk of nature falling above to each of their positions.

It was a distractive move, intended to steer the battle in a better direction for herself, and as such the unique nature of the masked man appearing with them. He spoke with gestures in silence, but it was the gesture which concerned her. She did not want courtesy to be the demise of herself by accidently mistaking a greeting with a somatic gesture of magic. She would fall amongst the smaller debris, using the cover to better prepare for the unknown Rayesh.

"Rettacs," she uttered, wanting to split her presence into multiple echoes of the original, where one Matilda would fall, multiple would follow in the falling debris to get closer to the white masked mage.

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@theunseen: @raysh_al_shaytan: @fables_:

Suspended in the air by an island of gold, Lance felt insulted, as if the Sanctum was playing on his own vanity. Even worse was that it was working, it appealed to his sense of grandeur. As the rest of the land mass were filled with their selective mage, he felt a sense of unease. The unknown was a terrifying thing, and before him were beings who the Sanctum had also deemed competent enough to potentially earn the title of the Sorcerer Supreme. They all had an air of mystery that spiked the tension, but if he felt that way about them, they had little reason but to feel the same towards himself.

A trick he knew they'd all be playing, revealing the extent of their magic as the battle went onwards. So he didn't want to reveal his hand too soon.

"Crask-Boom" The air suddenly exploded over head, and a landmass he hadn't suspected had been broken, presumably by one of the other magicians, as how the debris fell in such a targeted manner. Targeted at him and what appeared much like an apparition.

It was a cheap shot, to hurdle a hulking landmass his way right away. And while eyeing it, his first thought was to simply break through. Revealing his godly nature and splendor. To show the rest of his contestants that they were hopelessly outmatched, and should quit while they were ahead. Then, reasonability settled in. Telling him that if he were to reveal his hand so soon, that they'd all put a target on his back and try to get rid of him first. Something he couldn't risk especially when their capabilities are also hidden.

Instead he focused his might on his mind. With his scepter pointed towards the large chunk of ground, he spread his influence over the surface of the debris, keeping it still. As his eyes swept over the non-Euclidean battlefield, in search of the culprit of the surprise attack and the target of his upcoming one. He saw the female Merlin, racing across the falling debris with an experienced agility, closing the distance between her and the man with a white on white layer of fashion disaster for his costume.

She was the first to act and therefore most likely the one who used his ignorance against him. And if he was wrong, well she was still in his way of becoming the Sorcerer Supreme. As dozens of false debris and platforms would appear around her, Lance targeted the grand landmass he held still towards her, throwing it a little above the speed it was falling.

As for the man in nothing but blinding white, a trick laid in white for him. Versions of Matilda, the arcane chainsmoker, appeared on various platforms, one appearing on the same one Ezekiel stood on. They transversed the tricky terrain expertly, as they closed the distance towards him. And while they were illusions, they were very much capable of dealing pain and suffering.

Turning his attention towards the other debris that would threaten his own platform, did his best to redirect them elsewhere with his telekinesis.

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@thestoryteller: @raysh_al_shaytan: @fables_:

No Caption Provided

Despite the fact, he was trapped in some warped version of reality, Barry was surprised that he could be seen. Never since his stent as a Ghost had a mortal seen him, and now there were three of them. But as he noted his surrounding delved into the mystical, it was a natural conclusion that the three strangers were in fact Sorcerers. It could also be concluded, that through his vision, there was some dispute to whom should master The Sanctum of Cryptic Sources. With the four of them now inside the warped reality, it appeared Barry was the only one hovering, as the rest stood ground upon floating rocks, it was the Stranger (TheStoryteller) was the only one he felt he could trust. For the visions that danced around in what would pass for a head, made it appear that if the true owner, Mister Surreal, could not defend his Sanctum, it should fall to the only person the Sorcerers Supreme trusted, and that was the Stranger. As for the other two, it was hard to get a read on them, as the visions mentioned little to nothing about them, except for the fact ‘they should not be underestimated!’

But before Barry could get into one of his speeches over ‘how we don’t need to fight’ and that ‘we could talk this out’ the goth lady drew her wand and aimed it forward. Never a good sign, Barry hovered back to a safer distance, as the Female Merlin waved her hand, and before he knew it, a rather large portion of the rocky interior began moving ever so faster in his direction. Immediately Barry’s only thoughts were to protect the Stranger, but by now there was a huge chunk of marble between the two of them, blocking his line of vision, and leaving him unable to help in any way. With pure confidence in his intangibility, Barry flew head first towards the rock, and as a Ghost easily phased through it without a care, until coming out the other side, unscathed. Immediately he looked around for the Stranger, hoping that the man was okay, completely unaware of his true power and the magic he possessed. To his delight, The Storyteller was more than doing fine, he had by the power of thought, altered the path of the rock heading towards him, and sent it flying back at his attacker.

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Unfortunately, by now the Whisper Witch had already casted another of her wicked spells, and as were one Female Merlin once stood, a multitude of them now resided. It was truly an impressive spell, one that could strike fear in an enemy, but Barry had to worry about only one. With a quick, “Don’t worry, pal..” said only to The Storyteller, “I got your back!” he immediately flew forward to cast a spell or two of his own. Unsure where the man in all white’s loyalty stood, Barry chose to simply subdue him rather than attack. With the wave of his left hand in the air, a series of Ghostly Chains would soon appear around him, then if unchallenged, would bind him tightly. Hoping not to do to much damage, the chains would be the normal shape and size of any common link, and though appearing with a bluish ethereal tent, the chains would in fact feel cold and solid, and would soon ensnare his whole body, from head to toe. Hoping that would be enough to deal with him, Barry quickly turned all his attention back to the Female Merlins!

As the original Fable was the source of all the others, it was her that Barry needed to put down, and put down quickly. Still hiding behind the rock under The Storytellers control, he followed it in a means to get closer to the original Female Merlin without being seen. But at the moment he felt he was in striking distance, or should she alter, destroy or manipulate the rock in any way, it would be then he would make his move. As soon as possible Barry would appear, and at the speed of light he would swoop down upon her, hoping to use his greatest gift. As a Ghost he felt confident he could possess her, and in doing so take full control over her mind, body and abilities. Put simply if he were to possess her, he would immediately disperse all of the other Fables. At the same time he would be able to access all of her memories, including strengths and weakness. This is of course under the assumption he could overtake the Whisper Witch, a feat neither of them had faced before. Barry however, was not afraid, and was hoping that The Storyteller had his back, for if at any time as he tried to take over the Female Merlin’s mind, she would be an open target as she would appear motionless! As brief as it may be!

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Raysh_Al_Shaytan

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#13  Edited By Raysh_Al_Shaytan

@fables_: @thestoryteller: @theunseen:

"Oh. Well now." Ezekiel calmly thought to himself. Or more accurately, Raysh Al Shaytan thought to himself.

As all manner of supernatural hell broke loose culminating in a definitive opening series of magical attacks - courtesy of the wand wielding Merlin - while acting as the living embodiment of the Shaytan's physically and mentally manipulated puppet, Ezekiel Moon remained chillingly composed. Even as the overhead isle began to rain down like catastrophic death from above, the mercurial paranormal investigator exhibited a surprising lack of urgency. A lack of motivation to move or even visually react.

Instead, the dangers just seemed to narrowly avoid his presence. Allowing the masked phenom to simply enjoy the show as it were. Captivating displays of restrained abilities were theatrically employed as one of the unknown contenders, fresh from his garden of gold, used an artistically forged scepter to intercept his would-be demise, suspending it in place before acrobatically using it to close the battlefield's gap. And as for the aforementioned Pixie of Penny Lane, without missing a beat she had instantly erupted into a kaleidoscope of perfectly copied replicas, each one seemingly tasked with converging on the white side of the moon himself, Ezekiel.

Yet before the mute occultist could react he was seemingly chained. Shackled and incarcerated. Wrapped up in ambient coils preventing and restricting his movements.

Marking the third member of the four to have launched into an unprovoked counter or attack. Raysh could not help but to wonder if this was indeed the very method in which the previous Sorcerer Supreme had been anointed. Trial by combat. Survival of the fittest. Having never officially met the previous title holder all the Father of Assassins could do was to speculate.

Meanwhile just beyond the threshold of the Sanctum's front door, the immortal Shaytan himself now stood in the prized estate's main hallway. Still in control of the white masked extension of his magical malevolence, Ezekiel was nevertheless a mere distraction for those eager to compete for the title of all esoteric titles.

His capture, death or defeat would ultimately mean nothing to the Shaytan. Nor was he eager to engage the other practitioners of the mystical arts. Most if not all with a longer and deeper well spring of spellcasting knowledge. Though he doubted any were more lethal or dangerous than himself.

No Caption Provided

The Shaytan's interests lied not in defeating the other anointed, but rather in defeating the Sanctum itself. Mastering its defenses. Destroying its protective wards. Erasing its runes. And seizing control of its endless library of power and relics. A task made much easier as those who would seek to disrupt his ascension were busy foolishly destroying one another.

Comfortably seated in a floating lotus position, Raysh began to recite an old Hebrew incantation directed at the Sanctum itself. A mere opening ceremony of things to come as the Shaytan sought to bend the Sanctum to his will.

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Fables_

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#14  Edited By Fables_

@thestoryteller: @theunseen: @raysh_al_shaytan:

So you want this smoke, huh?
So you want this smoke, huh?

The ghostly chains which wrapped Matilda's intended target, the white adorned Ezekiel, made the original Matilda hesitate for a miscalculated moment as she did not cast the visible spell before her. She slowed to a freefall as her duplicates continued in the dive bomb, unaware and leaving the perfect opportunity for the Unseen.

It would be an odd feeling, one of not in control. An unseen intrusion of her mind and body as she froze, her duplicates slowly shattering like shards of glass into the air. Those were the simple parts for her intruder, but Matilda was a complicated person as was the source of her abilities. Her Grimoire, her focus and repository of mystical spells which granted her the magical gifts to partake in such a battle, and most of her seals placed by her parents to guard against her real identity. She did not know if it was her strength, a sending off from her parents, or a weakness for not knowing fully what it was but it was a part of her. All the spells placed into her by her parents and the reason for her innate ability to soak up magical spells. It was her memories, which the Unseen had access too, but in her memories were the two spells she learned and contorted from the visage of Sorcerer Supreme and the Sanctum, tucking them away with a curse when she first appeared in the Sanctum. They were two cursed memories, which the ghastly Unseen had access too, but in so also received the curse of activating such a spell. It was a momentous moment for the Merlin, her nature of misdirection with two spells cast by the Sorcerer Supreme himself. They were both spells of massive concentration as was her curse holding both back even more concentration from her part, but with the possession her own concentration would drop, letting the genie out of the bottle as it were and once it was out, there was no putting it back in.

No Caption Provided

Much like when the Sorcerer Supreme fought the inhuman Warsman in the Sanctum itself, a series of mystical strings would launch from her uncontrolled body with unbreakable magical power, able to slice flesh from bone, and thus able to ahnhilate anything physical near her. The falling debris redirected from the Storyteller were seemingly turned to dust, but not of soot and dirt, but that of mystical fragments, for it unleashed a separation of the physical and the mystical, a mirror dimension of sort, trapping those in the dimension within the Sanctum. As the mystical shards cascaded around them all the combatants in the training room would would see the mirrored reflection of the physical realm, able to damage with in it but not interacting with the physical realm itself. It was a sacrifice. All magic required it. This was hers to the Sanctum as everything that happened within the training room which was their battlefield, was just an extended reflection from the dormitory within the Sanctum where the spell was cast. The mirror dimension would cascade the building, hopefully severing @raysh_al_shaytan from the physical and his attempt on the Sanctum, and directing the assassin toward the source of the spell.

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TheStoryteller

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@theunseen: @raysh_al_shaytan: @fables_:

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The Master Of Mentalism watched from his seat of gold, as the battle continued further. To his delight there was a constant, a true blue amongst the areas of gray that were his contestants. And that was the unseen Ghost man. Momentarily, before he had cast his own route of safety from the fallen debris. He heard the ghost's call of reassurance for Lance's safety before his own. A helpful hero, a perfect pawn.

As the apparition ventured towards the goth Magician, he turned his attention to Ezekiel who simply watched as well. Although it was hard to tell with the mask over his head, he seemed out of it. Something that contrasted his first impression of a man of silent observation. But perhaps that was only to his own advantage, a misdirection for a plan he had later. Either way Lance couldn't simply let him be, but as he conjured up a mental incantation of chaos. Everything happened at once. The crackling of the mystical threshold, screams that belonged to him but weren't his own. Magical dust becoming from nothing. And then the sudden space between him and himself, or his body to be specific.

Now, he too was an apparition, one of mystical sort instead of spiritual. The essence of his existence. Connections between the magically gifted Hawthron family and his direct lineage to Asgard made his own spirit seem that of a diety's, which gave him conflicted feelings. As it counteracted his own plan of secrecy. However, when the magic fell from his body, another failsafe took place. His physical body turned into an ice blue, as the illusion was broken. With the gold of his crown following, appearing as a part of his body instead of merely a crown.

A grimoire appeared at his side, one made of bone and leather instead of simple twine and paper. And within it were the tales of the mystic's bane: anti-magic. Much like how darkness only exists without light, the anti-magic within his own body can only exist when all magic was removed. And so it has. It coursed through the veins of his physical body, as if his own blood was becoming replaced. And while he mentally wasn't there to experience it, he could see the pain it caused him.

His emerald eyes had turned to hellish red, but because his mind was not there. The shell of himself stood there burning away at the Sanctum's mystical protections, destined to turn it into nothing more than a normal residence if not dealt with fast enough.

Now, however, there was an opportunity within the problem, his body was the perfect counter to the mystical battle that commenced. However, it was too open for possession for his own good. Mustering up the strength of his magic, began to muster up a fortress around both himself and the space his physical body occupied. As the anti-magical properties slowly but surely began to eat away at the mystical boundary of the mirror dimension and the physical one, originating around the mindless shell.

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@thestoryteller: @raysh_al_shaytan: @fables_:

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Possessing a mortal’s body had always been an easy trick for Barry. You just simply enter, take over and then you are in charge. It was a process he had done hundreds of times, over and over. True there were a few times when a mortal would have a strong will, but even then Barry could still take over. It would just take a little more time. But in this case it was different. Like always, he easily slipped in, and found the ability to maintain control, but it was when accessing her memories that things went bad. Delving deep into her mind, Barry began to find secrets, when suddenly he was met with a metaphysical wall. Unaware of what he was releasing, he naturally delved deeper, when he was suddenly hit with a cold feeling. Darker than any other thing he had ever faced or felt, his ethereal form was shaken as Matilda’s darkest curses were being brought to life. Immediately, an uncontrolled darkness began to overwhelm Barry, one he could not contain nor suppress, and as it even appeared that the host’s body was being effected, he was immediately being ejected.

But just as he was being thrust from the host’s body, he had only seconds to act before being ejected. Using all the will power he could muster, he began planting a single thought left in Fables mind, in the hopes she would follow through with it before he left. It was a simple act, the only one Barry was concerned with before entering Matilda’s body, and that was to disperse all of her duplicates, immediately and surrender. Whether or not his implant would work, he struggled hard to place the thought in her mind, and even harder to leave it there. But in the end he was violently ejected from her body, so much that he was sent flying from her and further in an uncontrollable tumble. But just as he was being forcibly ejected, he still managed to glimpse one last vision from within the witches mind, and it seemed to be a single word,”Grimoire!” But whatever it may or may not mean to her, it was little concern to Barry as he was slowly regaining his bearings from the tumble. Immediately he let out a few groans as he recovered his wits, then turned all his attention to his allies in this fight, in order to make sure he was still okay.

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But before he could say a word, a sliver of reflective images began dancing around the Whisper Witch, that slowly began spreading out in all directions. It was a sight Barry had never seen before, nor did he understand it’s implications, as a Ghost saw no threat in it. Instead he raised his hands before him and began summoning his mystic chains, when once again some unseen force began pulling him away! Just like when he was summoned to the Sanctum, a mystic tractor-beam grabbed hold of him, and against his will, he was being dragged away to another location. In a last ditch effort to help his ally, he shouted to The Storyteller, “Don’t worry pal. I’ll be right back in a second.” then just as he began to phase away from existence, or plucked through a gaping nothingness, he finishes with a resounding, “I never miss a final act!” With that said he was whisped away from both the reality he was in, and the new reality Matilda was creating. Instead he felt himself being dragged back through the Sanctum’s hall, and through it’s many splendor rooms until finally coming to a halt at the prized estate's main hallway.

To his surprise, a lone individual was hovering there in a floating lotus position, spouting words in some mystic Hebrew dialect. Although his intentions were unknown to Barry at this point, he could sense the Sanctum did not agree. For as the man continued to chant, the Sanctum fought back as only it could. Although the immediate area surrounding the Stranger (Rasysh) was bending to his control, the rest of the Sanctum was shifting to its own will, as a strong cold wind swept through the halls and right down upon where the stranger was resting. As a Ghost the wind had no effect on him, but it would surely have some effect on the Sorcerer. But as Barry was there as well, he could sense the Sanctum wished him to intervene. Still standing behind the Sorcerer, and assuming he was too preoccupied with his spell to even know he was there, Barry attacked with simple brute force rather than wasting the time for some spell. With the simple waving of his hand, he used the power of thought to lift the heavy and thick metal coat rack resting by the door, up and closer towards them. Like a huge ten pound battering ram, he sent it flying to the back of the Stranger's head, in the hopes of simply knocking him unconscious, so that the threat was neutralized and he could get back to helping his friend!

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Raysh_Al_Shaytan

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#17  Edited By Raysh_Al_Shaytan

@fables_: @thestoryteller: @theunseen:

No Caption Provided

Beads of sweat began to form across the Shaytan's stressed brow before gently trickling down the side of his focused face. The Sanctum's internal defenses were beyond remarkable. A true testament of not only the mystical monuments ability to repel a direct assault, but of the Shaytan's newfound ability to challenge the near omnipotent institution.

Elsewhere within the Sanctum, the other chosen combatants were premiering their individual charms, spells and incantations. Some for protection. Others for defilement of the mind, body and soul. And although each seemed to hold their own forms of authentic mastery over the mystical arts, the Shaytan had seen through the eyes of Ezekiel that in fact one above all seemed to not only wield a profound understanding of the Sanctum and all its beautiful secrets, but the willingness to engage in an offense minded campaign to secure its exclusive possession.

So it was no real surprise when the chain-smoking spellcaster sent out a shockwave of flesh shearing strings of magical refinement, seeking to annihilate anyone within her immediate range. Ezekiel. though well versed in the arts of escapism, had already dislocated several joints in an effort to escape his bondage. Only to be cut and fatally lacerated by Matilda's deadly attack.

Capable of unfathomable levels of reactionary awareness, Raysh Al Shaytan felt the demise of his would be meat puppet while simultaneously angling his head off to the side just enough to avoid the unseen apparition's launched projectile. Allowing it to harmless sail past him before becoming embedded in a self-portrait of the 5th Sorcerer Supreme.as it hung from the hallway wall. Just seconds before the entire Sanctum was cut off and protected by Matilda's dimensional transgression of mirroring protection.

Raysh, now visually disgusted by the Unseen's interruption, but more so by the cunning deployment of a dimensional rift, sighed as he once again returned to a stoic stance of arrogant indifference. His violating connection to the Sanctum had been severed. Yet a connection he had made none the less.

He could still feel the living ambient magic which resided within the Sanctum's very essence. Intoxicated by its esoteric elixir, and he simply could not let it slip through his greedy mystical fingertips.

"Who dares."he bluntly called out. Slowly tilting and angling his head with observational articulation. Unable to see his attacker but sensing its presence all the same.

"In a battle of limitless magical accreditation, you decided to unleash the full dangers of the Sanctum's.....furniture?" the Shaytan sarcastically mocked.

Momentarily setting aside his muted anger and disdain, Raysh began to passively investigate his replicated surroundings by tracing his fingers across the mirrored finish. Admiring his distorted reflection for a second. Noting the new white streaks of hair racing along the sides of his head. A byproduct of his attempt at infiltrating the soul of the Sanctum.

"Magic has a price." he casually thought to himself.

With his puppet killed and the Sanctum currently under the protective dimensional split of Matilda, as well as being stalked by an Unseen apparition, the Devil's Head was left with little to no other choice....but to finally get his own hands dirty. Recklessly ignoring all other threats and dangers the Father of Assassins stepped across the training room's threshold before allowing the contours of his lips to form a sinister smirk.

"Hello Matilda. Tis been awhile" The familiar nature in which the Shaytan addressed the Merlin held the casual sway of a hollow acknowledgment.

"Friends of yours?" Indirectly referring to any and all others who had entered the Sanctum.

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Then, without warning or hesitation the Shaytan's arms flashed up and forward from along his sides. Instantly attempting to 'bloodbend' the mystical madame right where she stood. Seeking to violently use the blood and fluids within her own body against her in a physical deformation of the human form. Looking to twist, turn and cripplingly bend her till every inch of her body cried out in unbearable bone breaking pain before being folded up into an impossible Tetris of shapes. Twasn't magic. Nor a spell. This was perhaps the Shaytan's most basic, yet indomitable ability as a long lived mutant, a true child of the atom.

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Fables_

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#18  Edited By Fables_

@thestoryteller: @theunseen: @raysh_al_shaytan:

There was a soft haze to Matilda, the numbing residual effect of a spiritual transgression. The loud lady of magic had always considered it to be a low maneuver, no matter how effective, though all bets must have been off considering the title and Sanctum at stake for the winner.

She noticed that the combatants had dwindled, a palace in the distance striking against the dimensional barriers of the mirror dimension. The hatted man had disappeared while the masked Ezekiel laid still, his once white attire now soaked in crimson blood.

No Caption Provided

Hello Matilda. Tis been awhile.

The puppet's strings had been cut. Now it was time to reveal its master. The voice was vaguely familiar, her knowledge only connecting the voice to its owner upon appearance. You are Raysh! She uttered. I met you with that prissy lady...Delacour, if I remember correctly.

She was about to answer in some snarky remark but pain that she never could have imagined seized her body once again. She could feel the pressure build in her neck, assuming the sensation it belonged to was the veins pressing against her skin as if they were trying to jump out of her body. The weight on her chest not helping either. It was a manipulation of her body on a physical level she would never describe if she lived through it.

She looked at Raysh, looking at his indifference as she dangled in unthinkable torture . If she could, she would have mocked the man where he stood, the Merlin obviously have done something correct to unleash such a maneuver. There was something happening behind the scenes. Something that the mirror dimension cut off and then the revelation struck her much like her heart beat echoing through her body. Raysh for all his ability was not a combatant for the title of Sorcerer Supreme, thus leaving the Sanctum as the only other object of interest, and the mirror dimension stopped whatever hold he attempted on the structure. She wished she could smile, knowing she had personally squandered the pompous wizard's plan.

But Raysh attack was a strong one. Not of magic but some other source. She had learned to escape both the physical and magical many of times and yet this power Raysh possessed seemed to have hindered those abilities with the mere gesture of his hands. She would have classified as demonic, as gazing into the eyes of the Devil himself and yet she knew she had one thing left to do. One thing she had to do.

She had begun this journey seeking the title of the Supreme, something she could hang over many. As his mutant grasp tightened she realized that the Sorcerer Supreme was not the one with biggest spell. Not the best trickster or persuader of onlookers. It was a title bestowed to the person willing to walk that balance of light and darkness and stand on that line knowing that their job was magic, and thus the job itself required a sacrifice as did any spell.

With that epiphany, Matilda mustered the concentration she could muster past the searing pain, focusing on the magical essence of her parents. This was going to be her sacrifice, the focus of her powers as it pulled from her body, forming physically into a grimoire of the grandest design. Wise words filled her head realizing this was her moment

if you had one shot, or one opportunity

To seize everything you ever wanted, in one moment

Would you capture it, or just let it slip?

She ignored the desire to scream, focusing on possibly her last word and spell. Enogeb!

In less than a blink, the air around the grimoire sparked a fire which blazed much like her spirit in life, teleporting the magical essence of her spells and unknowingly forged by the Dredd Dimension to the one place a magical book belonged, amongst the dormitory of the Sanctum. It was a sacrifice to the building of knowledge, a gesture to magic itself, knowing that at all cost, the battle had to be won even though she may not be able to see it. Molding her knowledge with the Sanctum's so that the Sanctum could know more about her and the Dredd Dimension, but always be a part of the Sanctum as it would bury it deep into its caverns which intertwined the multiverse itself and always be chronicled amongst the spells within its halls as a sacrifice that needed to be made. Especially if it were to spite Raysh

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TheStoryteller

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#19  Edited By TheStoryteller

@raysh_al_shaytan: @theunseen: @fables_:

Hell narrowly avoided him, as his body opened a gateway,connecting the area of mystical and physical. The mystical madame, being strangled by the seams of her blood, was less of a concern for him than getting his own body,having an understanding that she could take care of herself.After crossing the rift between, his fails afe prevented him from spell casting for such a time. Contradictory to the chaos of color and sound that was the mystical dimension, the physical one remained quiet and still. The artifacts oft he sanctum remained unprotected

Vulnerable.

Under the nature of his Jotunn self, he hurried across the Sanctum. However, within the pit of his mind, where his mystical essence still remained, he felt as if a burden upon himself had been added. Fire had sparked through his mind, as he felt a great magic become added to the Sanctum. A darkness unfathomable became one within its halls.

What his contestants had released was unknown to him, but he could only feel one thing from it.

He stopped his search, and turned his attention to the dormitory. It was here, wherever it was, within the confines of this uncontainable library. And he knew he had to find it,and potentially destroy it. His own ailment didn’t matter at this point, he felt something within him.Something beyond just his conscience pressed him to destroy whatever this was. It was his lineage.

Despite every single fiber of his being that told him to run, to hide, to coward as he usually does. Something within him told him to press on. And so he did, the illusions, the bending and the warping failed against the shroud of anti-magic that cloaked him. Continuing along the endless labyrinth that was Sanctum’s libraries, he slowly believed that he was becoming sidetracked by mystical forces.

As he turned to leave, he saw a book that stood out to him. He headed towards it, and as he reached for that book. His being was transported elsewhere. For the Sanctum knew his wishes and his thoughts. The consequences of his defiance of its rules grew too great for any simple spell, however, it awarded him the freedom he had wished. Sending him to a prison and a paradise.

As he fell for what felt like an entirety, Lance looked around the cosmic setting with a sense that had never felt before. HIs body turned into its normal hue as the effects of his father’s influence began to dwindle. And the magic coursed through his blood once more. However, he didn’t feel excited nor confused, not even angry or lost. Only one emotion took hold, a primal emotion that even the gods felt from time to time. A sustained feeling, as if something beyond him lurked in the cosmic shadows of it all.

The feeling of dread.

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@thestoryteller: @raysh_al_shaytan: @fables_:

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Barry’s attempt to stop the Rasysh in the hallway, was a failed attempt. Almost laughable in the eyes of a Sorcerer. For as Barry was sending a ten pound coat rack to the back of his cranium, stronger forces were at work. The bridge to the mirror world, that Matilda had been creating, had grown stronger and in a world of spells and sorcery the Rashy was drawn into it, or perhaps wished to enter it under his own power, leaving Barry alone with his thoughts. The Sanctum it’s self was still trying to undo what the Rashy had accomplished before leaving, by re-inventing itself in a manner accustomed to it’s needs. The doors and archways appeared more ancient, as all other artifacts, giving off a vibe that felt familiar to its previous owner Mister Surreal. In fact everything in the Sanctum became reminiscent of it’s old ways, just like before. It was a clear sign that the Sanctum was showing it’s displeasure with it’s intruders and wished them all to just….go!

But as the Sanctum was busy healing it’s self, Barry could feel a new, and powerful force, forcing it’s way into the Sanctum. Before he knew it an old book, dripping with magic and enchantment, was floating by him, and further down the halls. Despite it’s size the book floated rather easily as if some other Ghost was carrying it in it’s arms as it floated deeper and deeper into the Sanctum’s inner chambers, more specifically it’s sacred library. A place few are aloud to enter without permission. Flying right behind it, Barry followed, even trying to reach out at times and grab it, as he could sense the Sanctum was not pleased with it’s untimely intrusion. But every time he tried, he was prevented by a protection spell, far above his level of understanding. But as luck favors the foolish, just as he was running out of options on how to stop the intrusion of the Grimoire, his ally showed up at just the right time to intervene. Clearly The Storyteller’s magic out-shined his own, and if anyone was going to counter the Grimoire’s power it would be his. Naturally Barry felt odd being the third wheel, but ever sense entering the Sanctum, he never once felt he was for-filling his true purpose of being here!

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It was then, it dawned on him, why exactly he was here and how he could truly help. With The Storyteller seemingly out of danger and the other two intruders nowhere in sight, Barry had the time to reflect on everything that happened so far. Everybody was so busy fighting to claim the Sanctum and title of Sorcerer Supreme, nobody bothered to ask what the Sanctum wanted. Realizing that every time he was tugged or pulled from one place to another, the Sanctum was trying to talk to him, and ask for help. It also dawned on him, that with all the fighting going on, the Sanctum was to weak to fight for it’s self. That was when it finally hit Barry and what he needed to do. Hovering in mid air, he placed his hands upon a wall, and closed what passes for his eyes. Calm down, my friend”he said in a reassuring manner, you’renotalone! I’m here to help!”At that exact moment the Sanctum’s temperature increased to a warmer, more gentler degree, that any living body would find quite pleasing.

But Barry was not done yet, as the Sanctum was still weak and nowhere near it’s full strength. It was as if it was only a part of it’s self. It was at that moment Barry began to phase into the wall, more specifically, phase into the existence that is the Sanctum. For if the Sanctum had a being, then Barry could become one with it. His plan, as crazy as it may seem, was to not only become one with the Sanctum, but share his magic with it and in a sense, make the Sanctum stronger! For what may be the last time ever, Barry began to phase through the wall but instead of coming out the other side, he possessed the Sanctum while it possessed him. What once was all that was left of Barry, was no more as his consciousness was swept away. What he was is no more, for now he was just another nuance of the Sanctum, but a part the Sanctum cared for deeply. However in doing so, the Sanctum was now alive with new, raw power, enough to give it an edge over the intruders, where ever they maybe. Therefor, with it’s new revived well being, the Sanctum would seek out all intruders, no matter where they would be, or wait for them to re-entered it’s hallowed halls from where ever they maybe, and in one glorious show of power, make it known.“They were not wanted!”

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Raysh_Al_Shaytan

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This was it. He could feel it. Through his hands and up his arms he could feel the blood inside Matilda give way to his overpowering grip, and he sadistically relished in it. Momentarily allowing the premature satisfaction of victory to delude the severity of the situation. It was at this moment that the metaphysical brilliance of the uncrowned Sorceress Supreme was put on display. With but a word the Mad Pixie of Penny Lane ceremoniously played her most triumphant hand..

"No no no. NOOO!" Raysh uncharacteristically roared as he felt his grip, and ultimately his victory, slip away before his very eyes.

See, what the Lady of Mystery inherently understood, and what the Shaytan could never - would never - understand, was that pure untainted magic required a sacrifice of equal or greater value. And the Sanctum was no exception. Unbeknownst to the Father of Assassins, Matilda held a connection to the Sanctum that went well beyond a temporary stewardship. Or title. Hers' was a secret but authentic succession.

And so, with her spellbinding self-sacrifice, the Sanctum welcomed Matilda's transmutative gesture. Embracing the true heir into its essence and forming an amalgamation of unbreakable solidarity, knowledge and mystical wisdom. Leaving the Shaytan in suspended disbelief as all he could do was watch and bear witness. Perhaps even reflect on his own magical limitations and his lack of esoteric accessories.

He would never admit it. Never show it, but deep inside the Mystical Machiavelli could not help but to be slightly impressed. There was no longer a true victory to be had. No title to claim or Sanctum to lord over. Not now. Not after the Madame of Merlin's Mystical Might had fundamentally altered the playing field. Even if by some miracle he were able to contend with Matilda's gambit, the cost, the toll it would exact upon his persons far outweighed any possible benefits. Or so he believed.

Sharply the Shaytan arched his head with curious suspicion. The Sanctum's aura had dramatically shifted yet again, signaling the absorption of another entity. An entity with a familiar presence and sense of being. Fortifying the sacred monument's recovering defenses and altering the gladiatorial battlefield once again, as the fight would now be waged within the Sanctum's own essence through the deposited consciousness of both Matilda and the literal 'Unseen.'

Armed with a self-assured grin Raysh Al Shaytan simply placed his right hand against the reflective surface of the mirrored casing, and demanded;

"Well played. Now. Release me from this replicated charade or suffer the fate of all who have sought and failed to incarcerate the Father of Assassins. You dont really want me locked up within your prestigious halls....do you?"

A veiled threat. Assuring the Sanctum that to keep him locked inside was a far worse threat than to release him back into the real World. He had played his game and lost. For now. If the Sanctum were as wise as he believed it to be, with the added influence of not one but two potential Sorcerer Supremes', than it would immediately grant the Shaytan his release, marking the end of his attempted take over of the monument of magic's fortified dwelling.