The 1st Light of Dawn Tournament | Labyrinth of Champions | Phase 1 | Entrant #4 - Alyssandra Ezofuji-no-Tsukuyomi

You chose the portal. It takes you away as the world melts away before you. Your world is gone, for a time, and you find yourself in a netherworld, where everything twinges with arcane powers. You think you can see portals to other places but you're not sure. You hear children crying somewhere. A woman laughing. A church bell goes off. A dragon roars. Your hold your axe tight as you twirl through this storm of nether. You shut your ears tight.

Try to ignore the sounds then suddenly the world jerks, you feel like you're punched in the stomach and gain the world spirals. Twists, turns, buffets you around like a rag doll. You can't see anything and you shut your eyes tight in case that changes. There a slamming thud and you hit something hard and painful and its cold to the touch. You don't even know where you are.

You exit the portal, waking up on the cold, hard stone floor of the next courtyard. You don't know which courtyard you're in though, or whether you went back or forwards though. What you do see is a demonic monster growling at you, with a hungry look in its eye. It drools lava, it seems to feed on anything and its got horrible twisted horns. The great beast is prepared to pounce.

Grab your axe Champion! Fight this beast off and win! You cannot die here!

Attach Accuracy

Random number (1,10) :

8

Attack Strength

Random number (1,5000) :

2570

Alyssandra had little time to dodge the massive hunting hound.  Transformed into a demon by the dark forces at work in this evil kingdom, it moved faster than the regular dog.  This demon was on fire, and looked menacing with its two massive, curved horns and perpetual snarl.  Any love this dog's former master once had for it had clearly disappeared when the darkness set in over Drak'Tharon.  It was sad really, and even Alyssandra, as pragmatic and unfeeling as she could be felt bad.

But now was not the time for it.  She stood up and dusted herself off, tying off and cauterizing any bleeding wounds, then hefted her massive axe over her shoulder.  Ashbringer, the former axe of Lor'em-thaçar.  The King's Fist.  Once a hero to his country, even in betrayal he had nothing but the best in mind for the people and kingdom of Drak'Tharon.  Yet, in death, he became perverted for the dark uses by the King and his sorcerer.  Now Alyssandra held his will and axe in her grasp.  She would see it through.

Charging at the massive demonic beast, Alyssandra swung her heavy, two-handed axe at her opponent, hoping to lop off any body part she could.  She was still new to this axe, and was taking time to adjust to its weight and balance, but she would get it.  In the mean time, Alyssandra's plan was to swing, and swing wide.

Attack Accuracy
8

Attack Strength
4197

For an undead, demonic, flaming dog, he's quite lithe.  He's dodging all of your attacks.  Every swing of your axe, every time you attempt to bring it down on his sull.  Mak'ron barks as he laughs in your face.  At least that's what his barking sounds like.  It's unnerving and it's throwing you off but you refuse to give in, and Mak'ron knows this.  Perhaps its the dark magic or the fact that in life he was trained well, but either way he's smarter than most dogs.  Even demonic ones.

In fact he's even smarter than most of the enemies you just fought.  This worries you.  Good, that's what he wants.  He knows it does and it's working for him.  You hesitate in one of your attacks and he takes the opening.  Opening his jaws wide he aims to snap them down, shut tight, right on your shoulder.  He wants to latch down, pull and rip your arm right off.  Mak'ron does not play.  Mak'ron hunts, and he kills.

Attach Accuracy

Random number (1,10) :

8

Attack Strength

Random number (1,5000) :

2796

Alyssandra frowned as he axe-swing missed Mak'ron by miles.  But as she continually dodged his attacks, Alyssandra felt the axe grow lighter.  She was growing accustomed to not only holding it and moving around with it, but hopefully swinging it.  There was really only one way to find out whether or not she was used to the axe though, and that would be to use it.  To bring the sharp blade down on the spine of Mak'ron and end the damn demon.

As Mak'ron neared her, Alyssandra hefted the axe high above her head, and with a roar of rage and confidence, she swung downward likes lumberjack aiming to hack a piece of wood in half.  She swung with all the rage of an angry god.  She was angry for the people of Drak'Tharon who suffered because of a mad king and his quest for power and immortality.  Killed for something that ended up claiming everyone, not just the people.  No one won in this deal, and yet all of the higher-ups, demons now twisted by the evil magister, still felt like they had won.

Like they were victorious and had earned the immortality they asked for.  Alyssandra was going to drive the axe deep into the mad king's skull when she found him, just so she could laugh in his twisted, ugly face when she saw the light leave his eyes and the horrible, smug look of victory disappear from his face.

Attack Accuracy

Random number (1,10) :

7

Attack Strength

Random number (1,10000) :

8145

Mak'ron is hit hard by your attack, and now he's near dying. He's not quite dead yet though, and in his final moments the hound wants revenge. He wants to rip your throat out and devour your flesh and watch you bleed out and die. He is loyal to his king, even if the king abandoned him long, long ago. With a growl, flames slowly dying away in Mak'ron's maw and on his body, he prepares to pounce.

The great beast barks, howling, yowling, snarling. Then he leaps, jumping on you, looking to rip you to shreds. His teeth gnash together, he claws slash at flesh and clothe alike. Mak'ron does not care, Mak'ron only cares to spill blood. With a howl he pauses, then continues, trying to rip you to pieces with his massive, flaming fangs.

Attach Accuracy

Random number (1,10) :

2

Attack Strength

Random number (1,5000) :

3436