a n n i v e r s a r y [p]

[Roxilicious]

Falkor narrowed his eyes, looking down on Dia as the scythe acquainted itself with his bleeding throat. He smirked slightly, an air of condescension and disrespect about him, wondering if this girl knew anything about being an olisthir. Endless possibilities and freedoms and chances to escape demise.

He shifted into a great phoenix, hovering above the battle and again wielding the power of flames. Another dance of burning embers fell upon the multiple clones of Darcy, though this time Falkor was sure to not forget Dia.

The Darcys that escaped the flames didn't escape being the subject of Holly's oxygen experiment. Despite their slowly dwindling oxygen levels, they continued forth, rushing at Holly like a maniac before disappearing into thin air. Meanwhile, the real Darcy had conjured up a deflective bubble. Her petty clones could be the victims of Holly's asphyxia. But not her. No, not her.

After about two minutes of mindlessly running around, many of the Darcys began to weaken or drop to the floor completely, unconscious. It wouldn't be long before all of them were completely gone, and a few of them were already disappearing.

Darcy couldn't wait any longer though. She was growing impatient. She quickly dispelled all of her clones, revealing her to be the one standing behind Holly with an angry face. But she wasn't going to stop there. A ball of light originated in her hands, and she sent it flying to her phoenix brother. Falkor simply disintegrated into millions of spiders. It was a simple teleportation spell, and he would regain consciousness on his bed in his private quarters in the castle in about five minutes, but she made sure something creepy took his place. Spiders, spiders, more and more spiders!!

"The silly bird is his own prey now," she said, turned to Holly with demonic eyes. The spot where Falkor had been was the birthing site for thousands of more spiders, all of varying sizes and species. They simply fell from a black hole, accompanied by their scorpion friends.

Now, Darcy began to throwing something red at Holly. They were strawberries. She threw them consistently, conjuring them one after the other as they flew through the plane of existence toward the court wizard. At this point, she wasn't really trying to hurt Holly. It was fun just to freak her out. And who didn't love strawberries? Darcy wished someone would throw strawberries at her.

[Holly]

Dia didn't really expect Falkor to stay too long. Of course she knew he was an Olisthir. Everyone in the room was an olisthir. And if Falkor hadn't been so straightfoward and ran off, only to be teleported away by Darcy, he would have seen that. At the flames, Dia merely threw up a barrier of water to create steam to engulf the hallway.

Holly swatted away the strawberries, not really freaked out about the spiders or the scorpions or the strawberries. As a real threat passed, the Mystic got annoyed about the more petty attacks. Snatching one of the strawberries out of thin air, it burned to a crisp in her hand.

What she completely forgot was Dia who grabbed the blonde by the back of her shirt and threw her against the nearby wall. Pressing her own staff against her neck, Dia put pressure down until she knew Holly was going to have a hard time breathing. "Don't think this is the last of us, Holly Skies. I assure you, it's not. I have a mission and I intend on keeping it. Your demise, as well as your King's will be successful."

The slayer's scythe turned into a sword as she drew a D on the Mystic's right shoulder, an I on her stomach, and an A on her left shoulder. Lastly, she slashed both of her cheeks. "That's my mark. Don't forget it, Mystic."

Gasping for air, Holly was released and collapsed to her knees. She watched as Dia gave Darcy more strawberries and walked casually out, not even teleporting. She wasn't sure if Darcy went with her or not, though. Spots traveled in her vision for a while as she waited for more air to enter her body. She had to get to Falkor. He was hurt.

She couldn't move, though.

Della Serkan, however, could. She took the liberty of teleporting Darcy away* and helping Holly up. The Mystic didn't speak as she was lead unsteadily to Falkor's private quarters, but she expected some sort of questioning about why she hadn't helped during the whole ordeal. Simple answer: Della was not like her brother and did not choose to watch over Falkor 24/7. She helped in fights that she knew he couldn't win.

Without waiting for Falkor to wake up, Holly sat on the edge of the bed and began working on healing the four gashes on his neck.

*I didn't know what Darcy was going to do, so if she ran off with Dia or ran off on her own, then ignore the teleporting thing, but if she didn't then Della teleported her like, just outside the castle.

[Random E. Vent]

That's when he decided his most opportune time to strike was.

He was a lowlife. A peasant, a lonely traveler with no family and few friends. His name would not be remembered in the history books, and no one would miss him when he was gone. He wasn't even sure if he had a name, but her certainly had a purpose.

A crooked witch had given him exactly what they needed. The two conspired together, two lost souls with nothing better to do with their lives than terrorize the many. She synthesized a venom and inserted it into the man's venom glands; as an olisthir, he had taken the form of a snake.

"The venom will not kill the King," the witch had told him. "Instead, it will send him into a psychological frenzy. His orders will be brash, illogical, and destructive in nature. It will make him an entirely different person, and his entire kingdom will fall due to its ruler's instability. The venom will be traceless, your bite will be small, he will feel no pain, and the effects should last for six months, enough time to bring down Verfall. In essence, King Falkor himself will be comatose while his body and mind still command. He will vaguely remember and hardly care about the people around him. His kingdom will fall." Then she had laughed wildly.

Now, the man was slithering through the king's room, reminiscing on his witch's orders and rantings. He had a mission, though, and his thoughts were distracting him. Consequently, he moved forward, fully focused and ready to strike.

A dangling hand was the perfect opportunity. Very close to the floor, Falkor's gangling arm was succumbing to gravity's pull off the edge of his bed. The man in his serpentine form aimed, hesitated for just a moment, then used his muscular body to propel himself upward a little bit and bite. The modified saliva that was his venom flooded into Falkor's pinprick wounds, and the six-month journey through totalitarianism and political crumble began to form storm clouds over the hopes and dreams of every citizen of Verfall. Soon it would rain, and shortly thereafter, it would begin to pour.