aionlogs | EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE (PT 2)

EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE (PT 2)

The Empty Throne Pt 2

ESCAPE

As more and more of the prisoners awaken to the Pleroma's power, it soon becomes clear that conflict is inevitable. Strength that was locked away blossoms once again, and simply waiting is no longer an option; those that remain in the cavern have made their choice, and they will not be kept there so easily.

By means that may not be immediately apparent, the Pleroma have found themselves able to cast a spell that will ensure their freedom... but only if they can last the half hour it may take to complete. Whatever this power, Xishen, the Aion orchestrator of the Kenoma's ritual, seems able to sense it. As it begins, she will appear at each of the Kenoma's sides.

"The Pleroma has taken hold of them," she says. "Stop them now, or when you see them again, it will be as your mortal enemies. If you believe in the Kenoma's promise, take a stand. The Regent is watching."

For those that heed her, it will not be hard to find the congregation of Pleroma, the first seeds of their teleportation magic taking form. What's more, the fires of their hope have been stoked by this new chance at survival, granted them a surge of energy born of the Pleroma, compensating for the poor state of their bodies. The tension comes to a head, between those that would follow the Regent's path towards a better universe, and those that would seize the wild power of the Pleroma to escape.

Whatever violence ensues, eventually it will come to an end. Despite the Kenoma's efforts, the teleportation spell will come to fruition, enveloping the Pleroma in a sea of light and warmth. The Kenoma can only watch as fractals of blinding color whisk the Pleroma away.

VALLEY OF INNOCENCE

You will find yourself at the Shrine of the Innocent, surrounded by a valley of flourishing wildflowers. As you step from the shade of the monument, you will find your arrived here just in time to enjoy a warm spring spring morning, the sound of birds and gentle breezes tickling your ears. The sun slowly drifts past the horizon, its rays reaching out to you, as if in comfort. The air itself is alight with a strange aura of peace, as if committing violence here would be a sacrilege. There are no man made structures as far as your eyes can see.

Flowers of all shapes and sizes can be found here, and so can fresh water and various fruits and berries. All of them are safe to eat, and seemingly grow in abundance. There are animals here as well, all the common types one would expect from a place like Earth, with the occasional odd addition. While you can try to hunt them, you will find yourself unable to follow through on any attempts to hurt the creatures here. In turn, they regard you as familiar, and will fearlessly wander close as they inspect these new arrivals. In the distance, you may even catch sight of what appears to be a unicorn, only for its ephemeral shape to disappear from sight just as quickly.

The Pleroma will find safety and comfort here for a time, before they recover enough to travel onward. At some point during the afternoon of the first day, they may spot the occasional humanoid figure moving in the distance; when attempting to move in their direction, they will find an assortment of clothing set out across the grass as if in offering. It will come in many sizes but in mostly plain colors, fitting a general aesthetic of 'things a fantasy peasant might wear'. There will also be some blankets, wrapped cheese, jams, jerky, and bread left alongside them.

While there are trees and brush enough to find shelter, the Pleroma will find they hardly need to while resting here. The weather will be picturesque, a comfortable temperature even at night, and there will be no disruptive rain or aggressive wind. Of course, nothing lasts forever, and even though there could stay here for days, what if the Regent's forces are on their way? Once again, they must find the strength to carry on.

THE TRIWATER

As the Pleroma vanish, those claimed by the Kenoma are left in the darkness of the throne room. The Hylician soldiers are clearly agitated by the fighting, but Xishen herself seems unflustered. She will only sigh before quietly coming to the aid of any Kenoma that still need it, providing some light healing magics and explaining that their work here is over. With the Pleroma gone, all that's left to do is to return to Achamoth.

Things move quickly from there. The camp grounds are packed up, and soon enough the Kenoma will be ushered towards the river at the edge of the forest, to board a particularly large river vessel. As the Hylician soldiers prepare to go their separate ways, you will be told that you are to take the Triwater river to the capital city of Achamoth, where you will finally meet your new master, the Regent. The vessel is big enough for all of you, and it will set off the moment everyone is boarded. Suddenly, the world of entrapment and ruins you've been living in since your arrival will be left behind, leaving you to ponder the nature of your future.

The boat itself is well equipped and comfortable for what it is. A variety of colorful hammocks are hung in the lower decks and are open to be claimed for the journey back, which will take a day or two. The Kenoma will be offered a change of clothes of a similar style to what they already have if necessary, and there are plenty of blankets and cushions available to make life in the hold more comfortable. There are dice available for games of chance as well as some mystifying decks of cards that seems to have twelve suits with five cards each, themed around the Legacies. The twelfth suit is for the Regent.

Though the sailors controlling the vessel will mostly keep to themselves and leave the Kenoma alone, one of them will occasionally play harp music on the deck. Though they probably don't actually need help running the ship, they will let the Kenoma help them with chores and ship running tasks if they are so inclined; generally speaking, these sailors just seem like normal people, albeit a bit shy of their passengers. If you're polite to them, they may even gives you a river tour of Horos. On this ride alone, you'll get to see several magnificent bridges spanning the Triwater's width. At night, you are treated to a clear spring sky filled with stars.

As you make it closer to Achamoth, you'll notice the landscape shift, becoming mountainous and dotted with more and more military watch posts. The land becomes increasingly lifeless in a way that's hard to put your finger on, nature giving way to man-made creations of impressive architectural prowess. Soon, you will meet the person behind it all.

QUESTIONS

Can my Kenoma character fight against other Kenoma and/or help the Pleroma?
Yes, though if you do this you must describe what your character has done in a reply to the "Committed Actions" top-level below. This way, the mods can be aware of what happened and have your character treated accordingly. They are unlikely to receive immediate consequences if they don't hurt their fellow Kenoma, but their choices will follow them into Achamoth. If a Kenoma vs Kenoma conflict escalates into serious violence (attempted or successful) committed by the Kenoma rebel, Xishen will intervene and consequences will happen immediately which may restrict their actions until the next event post.

Can our characters leave the valley?
They can, yes, but really this event is just meant to cover the day or two they spend recovering before finding a more permanent place to go. You are free to have your character investigate the valley and probe the spaces beyond it, but please save any plans for large scale travel to the next event, which will be happening on April 2nd. The game will move into a 1:1 time ratio as of then.

Can our characters leave the boat?
Technically yes, but any Kenoma who wander too far will get in trouble. You are expected to report to the Regent, and behaving as if you are considering doing otherwise will not make an good impression.

Does the hope-based Pleroma boost last into the valley?
The boost to Pleroma characters will fade shortly after arriving in the valley, like coming down from a high. They'll have to recover the normal way from there.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Interesting... Very interesting.

The way he holds himself a little too casually gives off the impression that he's not aware of the situation at hand, or that he's ignoring it? What do you mean this is basically a boss fight lined up for him... He's just trying to vibe. ]

Hey, this is important.

[ He's already got an incomplete memory as is. He doesn't want more things he can't remember. ]

Have we met before?

[Boss fight or mid-boss or optional sidequest boss he just so accidentally happened upon, he certainly is acting like a NPC absolutely not about to barrel headfirst into one...

...]

No.

[Easily, unflinchingly. Not too quickly, but not too slowly either. Detached, but maybe ever-so-slightly annoyed at being asked something utterly unrelated to the situation at hand. She IS a practised liar, and doesn't always need supernatural manipulation to stick to her narrative.]

If you're starting to hallucinate or feel light-headed, it's all the more reason for you to go sit down somewhere else instead.

[ Look at him... Completely unarmed and with the build of a stick man. Is this really fighting material?

But hrm. He doesn't know why he can't believe her answer. It's not like he gets this sort of strange familiarity from just anyone, and while it would really help if he could just place his finger on where he'd seen her before...

Damn it, his mind's too much of a jumbled mess still.

There isn't much time to dwell on it as he blinks in surprise at her next suggestion, and he plays up his response in a slightly teasing fashion. ]

Oh? Could it be that you're worried about me?

[does he have baby face too... looking 18 instead of 28 because sometimes That Happens, what's the difference between uni students cramming on no sleep and a lot of piled up depression from LN bs anyway,

Her chiding him probably doesn't make her case either, it just may be something about him, too. The... aura he exudes? A sorry and sloppy state of pretend ease she would LIKE to say she hasn't had a heavy helping already since waking up here, but that's unfortunately not the case? They're all a sorry lot, aren't they... Ugh.

He's answered with a crack of the whip, lashed to reach a foot away from where he's actually standing. Can't roll a good intimidation check on words alone anymore...]

If you're not, then it would make no difference if you never leave this place, now will it?

[Saying flat out "no" would just spur him on, she's had enough Idiot Experience to know this much. Why are Men Like This??]

[ he's a korean man there's no way he looks his age (i say as a 30yo korean woman who recently got asked if i was in my teens)

The crack of the whip doesn't see him move from where he stands, but the narrowing of his eyes indicates that he knows she's a threat. That kind of control, from a weapon she was probably just handed, speaks clearly of her skill. ]

You're asking me to die.

[ Because he's stubbornly made up his mind and it's not to the Kenoma. Is it a little dramatic?? Yeah... But who doesn't love a touch of drama. ]

If you're okay with that, then do your best to drag me in.

[ It's then that sparks begin to appear around Dokja's body, streaks of blue lightning following up not long after as they crackle and hiss around him, striking at the floor to devour anything within reach. He doesn't make a move yet, opting to simply widen his stance like he's ready to charge in at any moment. ]

[i KNEW it, i nod sagely as a fellow asian around the same age who gets asked what i'm studying in hs/college at least once per year, so he looks like a student, got it

She said no such thing, but the assumption is a convenient one. "Stop them now, or when you see them again, it will be as your mortal enemies." Xishen certainly worded her order in an interesting way, come to think of it. She didn't ask the Kenoma aligned crew to outright destroy the other side. It sounded more like a warning, if anything, as if promising that shall they be allowed to escape, worse confrontations will await. How, then? Were they expected to be successful? She invoked the Regent's name, but from how she said "Pleroma", whatever that bolstered not just the resisting force's morale but also unlocked their abilities was not some unknown force. Was this expected from the very beginning? What they were waiting for all along?

...

All interesting questions. Too bad they occur to someone who doesn't care about morality, just following orders. There's always a few of those, tin soldiers too obedient for everyone's good including their own.

But yes, drama is good. The more she thinks this over, the more it feels like they're asked to put on a show over anything else, so him playing along is perfect, actually. He's all but shouted an invitation to be attacked, and she's not rude enough to ignore it. Lightning, huh? Interesting. Ironic. Well then, enough chitchat. She'll be answering through action, now.

Seemingly not the least bit concerned about getting hurt herself, she steps forward enough to lash the whip forth towards his face, intent on grazing his cheek if he doesn't dodge or retaliate with enough power to knock her off-balance. As for his lightning, he better be using it seriously; something that would only shock a normal person or weaker fantastical creatures will not slow her down.]

[ To say that it's been a while since his last fight would be an understatement, but his body remembers the motions, the amalgamation of past battles quickening his reflexes and steadying his balance as he shoots forward in the blink of an eye, a trail of lightning left in his wake. Dokja's always relied on speed before brute strength, though he has plenty of the latter as well, and he could dodge the whip aimed toward his face.

But he doesn't.

Its trajectory isn't aimed at a vital area, and as it passes across his cheek to leave a stinging cut, his eyes narrow just slightly at the knowledge that she had purposefully gone for such an inconsequential play. A taunt? A feint? He doesn't know her well enough to read her.

He takes the straightest path directly to her, the wound on his face a worthwhile trade, as the lightning coursing around him directs itself to a singular point where it concentrates around his right hand. It's a devastating power he's used to blow holes in people, in gods, with both the speed and destructive power of lightning severing entire bodies, but as he closes the distance between them and pulls back his fist, he hesitates. ]

[He's experienced and knows how to see through a bluff. The fact is noted with a mild tinge of irritation; he's already been prodding at her verbally, and taking that inconsequential, easy to heal graze on his cheek would no doubt only feed whatever that fuelled his whimsy in making him ask her if they've met before, of all things. He'll be trouble, in more sense than one. She has a sense for that sort of stuff, and she can't say she's pleased by her own ability.

She doesn't blame him, naturally; she struck first, and whatever he gained from that is only the consequence of her own action.

The air crackles with warning at his approach. He's fast, and she can't immediately tell if she can be faster. Dropping the whip to cut down on every split second she could afford herself, she shifts into a defensive stance as one practised in martial arts would, in preparation to parry a blow she can tell from sight alone is not something anyone sane would accept heads-on.

--And then, it doesn't come.

One man's hesitation, another's opportunity. Diverting his winding arm aside and grabbing it at the wrist with her own right hand, her left fist darts forth without mercy at his shoulder joint with inhuman strength, an attempt to dislocate the limb with... uncertain results. She can control her strength, but she still doesn't know enough about him to tell exactly how much she should put behind her own punches. It was at least enough to potentially snap the bone of a Dead Apostle in her world, but there's no telling how this man would compare in terms of endurance. Did it come across as too strong? Or too weak? Both would lead to undesirable and inconvenient outcomes, she can only hope he could at least feel something crack a little. An air bubble would be fine too, really.

--Actually, a broken bone would be preferable to the alternative. Judging from his non-delirious personality so far, him being smug would be FAR worse than him being injured. Thus she attempts within the next blink to pivot off the momentum while she's still got a hold on his arm, to throw him against the nearest wall before he has a chance to recover. But if he manages to react first, then...]

[ Stupid, he mentally chides himself as his shoulder takes the blow his hesitation had afforded his opponent. It's a strength he had been unprepared for, and he grits his teeth as the pain blooms and travels down his entire arm, chest, the side of his neck. He doesn't even have the time to recoil before she's tossing him against a wall, and the force in which he hits it with his backside knocks the breath out of him while his already injured shoulder seizes in protest at the immediate follow-up mistreatment.

It's thankfully not broken, his body more durable than most, but it hurts. It hurts in a way that's foreign to him, no Fourth Wall present to offset and soothe his wounds. His hand comes up to gingerly touch at his shoulder, the rest of him sliding down against the wall to seat himself on the ground. Shit, this is the worst... ]

Time... time out...

[ Can he do that?? The words are practically choked out in between harsh, gasping breaths. More than her unexpected strength, he's still mentally stuck on the fact that he'd hesitated at the moment where it would've counted most, when his opponent wouldn't have known what to expect. But he's played this hand now and thoroughly wasted it. Why? What for?

Because you've hurt enough people.

He can almost hear that familiar mocking voice laughing at him and his foolishness. "Kim Dokja is an idiot" it would've said. And it would've been right, the way it always is. ]

[Unprepared for, or chose not to?

...The former, judging by his reaction. He pitifully calls for "time out", and by not following him, she seems to be heeding the request. Her expression remains stony, but she stays standing and unmoving from where they clashed. She's the one who struck, then performed the throw out of a ~~silly~~ need to emphasize that this is a real fight, not one where she's merely making feints, not one where either of them should be second guessing each other. Yet she undeniably is, even as she surveys his injured state now. She hasn't done anything fatal, but both his offence and defense have crumbled, he can easily be picked off if this was a unforgiving duel to the death.

(Did she overestimate him, after having taken a glimpse of the power he CAN command? Of course she'd miscalculate, she had no existing data to base anything off of to begin with. Does she regret it? Having obviously hit him hard enough to more than just wind him a little, when she was mostly trying to get a message across? Her face doesn't look it. This isn't the first time she's tossed aside a black-haired ~~boy~~ man who wasn't eager to fight her. The second time should be easier, right? Practice, makes...)

What is done is done. Neither of them could take back the hand they've shown. She established herself as someone with superhuman combat capabilities who did not hesitate in trashing her opponents, who could back up her ~~warnings~~ threats with more than just hot air and shallow whip cuts across the cheek. He displayed mastery over a power that was absolutely capable of hurting her, she could tell from the ease he summoned it and the look on his face at that time that he's used it before. He didn't approach her with fear or hesitation, even after joking around and acting lackadaisical earlier. He truly froze at the very last moment, almost as if instinct or reflex, almost, as if...

...Ironic, no doubt, that she's thinking just as hard about the cause of his hesitation than he may be.

...Tch.]

Don't step onto a battlefield if you can't bring yourself to fight properly.

[He doesn't know her. She doesn't know him. She doesn't know if he stopped because of trauma, or some misplaced fear of hurting others. (It definitely had nothing to do with her personally; they're strangers.) But he's utterly disqualified himself with that blunder, and a different opponent could've very well made him pay for this worse.]

Stay there and don't strain yourself any further. Take some time to think about what you can do.

[It doesn't happen on a conscious level, repeating to him similar things a hooded woman once told a delirious man in a dimly lit cave smelling of stale sweat and despair. "Don't strain yourself." "What I (do) am doesn't matter. Focus on (what you can do) who you are." Does she sound patronizing, is she lecturing him? She's not sure herself, exactly what she's hoping for in telling him these things.

But he's down against the wall, in pain and catching his breath, and isn't in anyone's way anymore. Taking a step back while keeping her eyes on him, she seems intent on leaving him without pursuing further action. This is enough.]

[ If only it was enough.

There's no doubt he's still rattled by the emotional turmoil the sickness had inflicted on him, and it wasn't at all helped by the fact that he'd never recovered from an onslaught of traumatic events before arriving in this strange world. He'd been picked up at his very weakest, the incessant desire to see the end of himself plaguing his thoughts and worsening upon arrival at the sight of a familiar face, one that reminds him of how wretched he is every time he has to see it. And now that he's been presented an opportunity to fight and escape, he's finding it difficult to do the former.

The last battle he'd fought, he'd seen too many lives lost and sacrifices made. He'd watched families torn apart, friends turning on friends, screams tearing past throats at meeting their ends, and all for what? His own twisted amusement, he'd later discover.

He's tired of fighting, he distantly thinks as he sucks in a breath and shakily exhales through his nose. But since when has being tired of something ever stopped him? He'd been tired of commuting, tired of working, tired of completing scenarios,

of living.

But he'd still done it, hadn't he? And now as he raises himself back up on unsteady legs, a sweep of vertigo briefly threatening to topple him back over before he quickly catches himself against the wall, Dokja finds that he's back at the very beginning. He thought he'd reached his end, but it looks like his story has simply looped back around for another turn, an unknown continuation he doesn't know the first thing about. A second chance? There's nothing as hopeful as that left inside of him. But another story...?

That's tantalizing. ]

I remember you.

[ Not fully, not clearly, but her words are far too similar to past ones for Dokja to miss such a detail. He remembers waking up, confused and out of it, to berries tucked against him and he thinks of that now as he pushes himself off the wall to stagger forward. There are holes in his memory, and when he tries to recollect pieces of that moment, there are more gaps than whole images. Still, at the very least he remembers being helped, and now that they're faced off like this, he assumes the worst. That she had just been trying to lure him to the other side with small dabbles of comfort.

He's never been good at understanding people. ]

I'm fine now. What I can do is continue this fight.

[His declaration rings like an accusation. However slightly, her eyes seem to narrow even further. She wanted to avoid feeding his assumptions, yet she misspoke. Had she been that careless? Why...

...]

You're oddly fixated on delusions. What are you hoping to gain, insisting on knowing a stranger who's already told you so?

[Maybe it's a natural outcome for someone with inordinate attachment to stories, not that she would know. She wilfully ignores his claim at still being capable of fighting, but takes the opportunity to recover the whip she's previously discarded on the ground with a flick of her feet. The stubborn ones are always the most troublesome. ...Suppose she would know, for more than just a few reasons.]

[ What he's hoping to gain...? That's a good question, a great question even. If Dokja were to think about it in shallow terms, he doesn't think he stands to gain anything from discovering who this person is, but as a reader, he's intrigued by her unrelenting status.

Why is it there? What is it for? Is it so bad to know him? (yes) ]

An understanding of why she insists on being a stranger.

[ He drops his hand from his injured shoulder when she retrieves the whip from the ground, his body tensing in preparation of what's to come. Judging by her previous moves, he's not going to get off easy with a cut to his face this time, and he doesn't want to be caught hesitating again.

He will, however, continue running his mouth. ]

I'm sure you must have your reasons, but I'm the sort of person who likes to pry.

[Ah, so he can't help it but act nonsensically. That must be why he's done nothing but blab and hesitate uselessly. Why does she keep meeting this Type? Rhetorical as the question may be, as much as she may continue pretending she wouldn't do the exact same thing were she the one in his shoes.

Her cool gaze grows more distant, the scowl abating. Yet she begins walking his way instead of backing off now, whip in hand again as she approaches him one slow and steady step after the next.]

Is that so. And how far are you willing to go, prying for no reason other than because you can- no, because that's what you want to do?

[ Wow, what an intimidating presence. With a wall at his backside, Dokja doesn't have anywhere to go as she begins closing the distance between them... Well, he had practically invited her in with his inability to shut up and back down.

A tired smile lifts the corners of his lips and he shakes his head, all the while keeping his eyes trained on her. How far, huh? He doesn't have a track record here, but a single glimpse at his previous history would show that he's willing to go too damn far. ]

Why ask when you're about to find out?

[ He starts moving, matching his steps with her own but along the wall rather than toward her. If he could just maintain some distance, move to get around her, to an open field instead of backed into a wall, then... ]

[...Unbelievable. This idiot is as good as asking her "yes please beat me up more", simply because he's curious? Of course it occurs to her that he may be messing around trying to keep her attention solely on him just to buy time, since she's not devoid of common sense (unlike him). For better or worse, however, she doesn't mind the stalling: she cares more about putting on a show than really prevent their escape. So where does that leave them?

He was so fast and commanding of real power, before. Where did it all go? He may want to pump out more of whatever that was, as one moment she was walking, and the next, she's a blur darting straight for him. There's no killing intent however, if he's capable of discerning such an aura, and if he doesn't do something or react fast enough, he'll find himself pressed harder into the stone wall with her hand firmly clutched around his neck. His feet would also no longer be touching the ground, despite the fact that he has a good 10 centimetres over her. Crossing that distance in an eyeblink and drag-lifting him up as if he were a rag doll, while looking at him as if he were trash...

Is this what he~~'s into~~ wanted??]

[ ~~glances away~~

The longer this is drawn out, the more he's having trouble reading her. There's no doubt in his mind that she has the strength to completely dismantle him, and maybe it's because he's putting on a front as well, but he can't shake the impression that she's not entirely serious about this.

Well, if they're both going to be playing that game...

When she races toward him, Dokja sees the path she takes, knows where it is her hand is aimed, and yet he doesn't resist or evade when he most certainly could. As soon as he feels the wrap of fingers around his throat, Dokja's own hand lashes out to grab her wrist to keep her in place as his other hand forms a fist, lightning rapidly crackling back to life as he sends it hurtling toward her torso with a speed matching her own.

There's no hesitation this time, but should it connect, it's a fraction of the power that he would normally use in serious combat. ]

[~~closes my eyes~~

That he can read the lack of enmity would be another testament to his experience, she would of course not fault him for assessing the situation correctly. His hesitation and his words in turn also told her enough: that he wouldn't try actually killing her, though she couldn't predict exactly what he would do beyond that fact either.

So it's almost a pleasant surprise, when he does actually retaliate. The fingers around his neck digs deeper into skin, while her free hand (she's wrapped the whip along the length of that arm as a "placeholder") raises to catch his fist. She's taken measures to reinforce herself, of course, but suppose she'll just bear with shock and pain not powerful enough to incapacitate her at best, or lose an arm and suffer cracked ribs or more at worst. Lightning's her element too, coincidentally, so maybe taking a direct hit from a watered down version of his could provide her with some insight about the magical energies at his disposal?

Meanwhile, he may begin to have trouble breathing in earnest. He's still got a free hand unlike her, and he COULD also make use of his legs. But she seems perfectly capable of keeping him up and continue choking him out, could probably snap his neck too with how she quite literally has it held in her hand. Yet she's still playing this nonsensical game right along with him, accepting up front his punch like it wasn't going to be a big deal. (Hm, she can hardly feel her other arm. Give it some time...?)

...

How far, indeed? Who will give out first? Is this how the "game" has evolved, now?]

[ Here's the thing about Dokja: He knows how to put on a show. He knows how to be convincing. All that time spent catering to the whims of the Star Stream, making sure the constellations would take notice of him, and making them think they were the ones in charge have built up Dokja's stories and made him the person he is today.

(Albeit, a very broken person.)

So this? The fact that he can feel the raw strength of her grip wrapped around his neck and the ease in which she could crush him right there and then but doesn't?

He's a little late to pick up on it, but at least he eventually does. She's set the stage for him, all he has to do is play along as his lips part in a desperate bid to gasp in a scant amount of air. It's not enough, spots beginning to obscure his vision as the sounds around him grow distant and muffled, and the pain of having his throat constricted making it additionally hard to concentrate. At this rate, he'll lose consciousness and what kind of a poor performance would that be?

In an instant, thick white fur begins covering Dokja's neck, shoving its way under his opponent's hand to forcefully pry her grip loose. The use of Beast King's Sensitivity is to repel and protect him from physical harm and it works now to dislodge him from her hold where the wind can catch him and send him dashing to the side at an impressive speed to create some distance between them.

It's a reveal of too many of his abilities all at once, but he needs it at this moment. ]

[The signs are certainly piling up, yes. She already knew he lacked common sense. She knows about his self-perception issues, too. That crushing self-blame and self-loathing, yet a will to carry on in spite of it all. Even now, there's something uncanny yet familiar between them she can actively sense; that "priest" projected the same feel too, bore the same mark on his arm. All he's displaying now merely reinforces how messed up he must be. More than grasping onto what she's trying to do, he actively WANTS to get slapped around, doesn't he? Probably thinks he deserves it. He's definitely crazy. Takes one to know one, after all.

The sudden growth of beast-like fur has her eyes briefly narrow. Quick and admittedly wholly unexpected, it does free him and have her step back in turn. The arm that caught his punch is still numb, but nothing is terribly broken. The seemingly random array of his abilities... No, she doesn't know enough to draw any theories about the "how". It's simply notable enough from observation alone that they are numerous and varied; all the more testament to his experience, and reason for her to stay alert. He hasn't tried anything serious on her yet, however, just as the same is true for her.

...

Of course, she follows to give pursuit. He's the one playing bait here, to buy time for his companions busy with the teleportation spell. It's actually very convenient that he's gotten himself a protective fur growth around his neck now, because this means an otherwise exposed and fragile part of his body is now wide open to take on rougher abuse. So she obliges, unwinding the whip around her good arm and lashing out with more strength and velocity that human eyes can follow - towards the selfsame neck she had in her grasp mere seconds ago. It won't snap like a twig or bruise too painfully with all that fur, right? Perfect conditions to chain him like a unruly dog, who's been left to bark disruptively for a tad too long.

And once the whip finds purchase, winding around his neck and snapping in place like a lock, she pulls.

DOWN.

A show, right? Since it's such a zoo down here already to begin with?]

[ The extensive use of Way of the Wind throughout numerous battles has fatigued him, causes him to stumble in his steps as he tries to get away. It leaves him wide open and vulnerable to an equal sort of speed, and it catches up with him now as he feels some length of the whip coil around his throat.

Before he fully registers what it is that's happening, Dokja crashes to the hard, uneven ground with the entirety of his weight, landing heavily on his injured shoulder from before. The pain ricochets throughout the rest of him, body seizing as it tries to grapple with the unbearable agony that momentarily whites out his vision and he opens his mouth in a soundless cry. In his daze, the fur recedes from his neck and disappears entirely, leaving an exposed and already sore throat to be further abused by the whip twisted around him. With so much pain wracking his body, he can't help but wonder what the hell he's fighting so damn hard for...? He could stop.

He'd wanted to.

It would be easy. The same way he'd pressed his disintegrating fingers against the glass of the subway train to speed up the process of disappearing despite the warnings of the Fourth Wall. The pain had been insufferable back then, too, his heart as scattered as the rest of him with the knowledge he'd been the one to cause all that suffering and death and destruction. He doesn't deserve to live with a consciousness.

... No.

It would be too easy.

Furiously blinking his vision back into place, he reaches up with desperate fingers to try and wedge them between skin and whip to allow him some breathing room as he twists to try and get his feet back under him. No, he can't stop here. He has centuries left to atone for. If he gives up now, if he loses his will to fight here, then he'll never be able to pay back what he owes with his miserable existence. ]

[...What a contradictory person. He knows he's done wrong. He knows he should be cursed a thousandfold by others all over. Yet he persists and keeps going, wouldn't permit himself the luxury of stopping. Hah... Is this what the Martyrs have in common?

But whatever his tenacity, his combat experience, and his ~~masochism~~ folly tell her are inconsequential right now, merely idle observations she may revisit during quiet moment sometimes in the future. For now, there's only a bruised and battered man on the ground with a whip mercilessly round around his neck, trying desperately to get it off the same way he struggles to simply find his footing on the cavern ground. Pitiful. ...And yet.

She saunters up to him in measured and unhurried steps, having loosened the whip just enough to let him talk if he really wants to. Back at the shrine and through the trip here, the soldiers were able to completely control them with these. She had no intention of using them this way when she first accepted the Hylician guards' offer, but now...

What's the point in holding back? She's done much, much worse. Accepted the Kenoma without caring about its objective or offer, because she understood immediately this is where the truly wicked belong. Besides, he's as good as asking for it anyway, isn't he? Wants to be punished, to suffer for whatever he's done?

Thus, the "test" continues.

GET ON YOUR KNEES.

She simply stares down at him with cold and emotionless blue eyes, as if observing a fly with its wings clipped. Well?]

[ With the whip around his neck going slack enough for him to gasp in some much needed breaths, Dokja finally manages to get his legs under him to push himself back up to stand with shaking legs, one hand held on to the coil to keep it from tightening once more. He's worn down, and there's nothing in particular that he wants to say as his opponent steadily approaches, though a very honest anxiety starts to grip at his heart.

He doesn't know where it comes from, only recognizes it because of how often it's visited him before in the past. Immersion has completely taken over this role he's playing, and he takes a stumbling step back.

But then the command comes, deafening loud and clear, and Dokja finds that he has no control of his body as he goes crashing back down, his knees colliding against the cavern floor at her behest, every part and piece of him feeling too heavy to move. His eyes go wide in shock but that's about the extent of his reaction, his frail mind a blank canvas as if awaiting her next order to dash a mark across it.

He knows this. This is the same method that the Hylician soldiers had utilized to render him complacent when they'd first discovered him, and he's stunned now to find it working in the hands of someone who... had been just like him. Not only that, he'd recovered his powers and been able to fight back, so why...?

He needs to get back up (does he?) and fight (will he?)...

But why is it that his mind wars with him? ]

[WHAT is wrong with him? First he plays along, and now he's really just... given up? She can't bring herself to believe it, can't take it at face value. Not when he's clearly rejected the Kenoma in spite of his glaring mental instability, which means he has to have managed pushing aside the shadowed and accusatory ghosts of the past she's seen cling to him firsthand, back when she found him delirious and powerlessly debilitated.

Moments ago, he had outright proven that he's also endowed with strong superhuman powers he could easily use. Perhaps he stepped up to answer her taunt precisely because he knew there was at least something he could do, he did try talking first too. Yet he clung onto insignificant details that would only complicate matters for himself no mater how much she warned him, and now after exchanging a few half-hearted blows, he's reduced... To this?

Foolish and traumatized, deafeningly so. She recognizes the budding of mild irritation within her as irrational, but can't help feeling more and more annoyed despite acknowledging how tremendous of a mess he is. She knows she's not the reason he's crumbling, maybe an accelerator at most. Then what got him into such a state? When he seemed more than a little eager to talk shit just earlier?

Eyes still devoid of humanity, she saunters up to him until she's standing right in front of him. Reaching out to cup his chin with her free hand, she tugs it upwards to force his gaze into hers, as if inspecting a poorly performing mule or some diseased stray dog.

It's the most pitiful sight she's laid eyes upon since opening them to this world.

...]

Your name.

[It's not a question, but barely a beat passes before she continues.]

Think it if you can't speak.

[He probably can say something if he tries, but maybe he should also just save his breadth, considering. If she's already using him as her helpless little guinea pig, then may as well put the suggestion out there, hm?]

[ Where to even begin with the exhaustive list of things wrong with him? This Dokja is just a shell of the person he used to be, incomplete and damaged beyond any hope of repair. His desperation to cling on to his life is for the sake of others, never himself. If he were to be given proof and assurances of their survival, he'd let go in a heartbeat. It's only guilt that draws his breaths now. Guilt and a madness that's gone unchecked for countless years. Thousands upon thousands of years.

He can suffer anything because he has suffered everything.

When she tugs his face up to meet his gaze, there's an emptiness in the pitch black of his eyes. Had it always looked so vacant? Up close like this, it's plain to see that the light had left them a long time ago.

While the whip has incapacitated his body, the fractured pieces of his mind are still there. He briefly debates refusing her demand, flippantly thinks for a second that it's mostly because his throat hurts so much that he doesn't want to say anything, but then he figures what the hell.

It's not like he's in any position to refuse. ]

... Kim Dokja.

[ His voice comes out in a rasp, and he forces the corners of his lips to turn upward. Not mockingly, not in a jeer, but in a cavalier manner as if reflecting back on how he's been acting throughout this entire ordeal. ]

You won. Now what?

EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE (PT 2)

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