The banquet of madness that had been enveloping his surroundings ended once Parjet was called onto the stage. His black cloak swished menacingly behind him as he ascended the platform, revealing what he knew to be an intimidating amount of knives holstered on his doublet, made even more so by the blackness of the rest of his clothes. Surely they glimmered most splendiferously in the harsh sunlight. A harsh sunlight that seemed to have been sent exactly on this day with the intention of blotting out his great darkness under its harsh gaze.

However, the dark slumbering within him would not be so easily quelled. It was a powerful, if harsh mistress. A mistress that would very soon ravage the poor boy sent to battle him. Parjet felt nothing but pity of his enemy. Facing someone as dark as him was assuredly a death-sentence for someone as frail, and homosexual as this... Kamino.

Standing in front of his victim he noted that the boy was indeed dressed entirely in white, he'd been too busy to check earlier, having had an inspiration regarding his poetry that he absolutely had to write down. Tournament or no tournament. He closed his eyes and sighed, a fool who feared the dark so much that he wore only white.

What had the youth of today become? He asked himself, lamenting his fate of being born in this particular generation. They were all unfocused, unwilling and all too by the idea of happy time. Didn't they know that only adversity bred true strength? That chasing after happiness was a false hope? It was evident, after attaining some happy time they would simply sit there and drool, and then spend the rest of the week nervously glancing around, trying to see if there was an opportunity for more. Wastes of potential. Why Parjet himself hadn't been happy in what must have been years! This was the secret behind his prowess. This was the reason why all foes looked at him with a deadened expression when facing him.

Parjet closed his eyes and swung his right hand outwards, sending his cloak aflutter, he tastefully lowered his head so that he could only see his enemy through his eyelashes.

“Fool, or rather, Kamino, I see that you've taken on the same expression as all men who must inevitably face me, the impending shadow of death.” He started saying, keeping his intonation sufficiently dark for the subject matter, before reciting the poem that he'd prepared while the others had been fighting.

“In this wretched night of dark,

shall ye yield or shall ye hark.

I offer but one fleeting chance

before we shall commence the dance!”

He recited, but rather, than grow even paler, his opponent rather suddenly gained some red colouring to his face. Odd, he should have been running for the hills now, faced with his immaculate poetry. Maybe he hadn't understood?

Parjet coughed a few times and made to recite anew, this time with better pronunciation, but was rather rudely interrupted by his adversary.

With a deathly quiet voice, the boy asked. “What did you just call me?”

Raising an eyebrow Parjet made a wild guess at what could have so obviously offended the boy. “Fool?” He queried, but received just a shake of the head.

He contemplated the question, the sound of jeers coming from the ungrateful crowd messing with his concentration. Furrowing his brows he made another attempt at answering the question. “Well the only other thing I called you by was your name, but that's hardly anything to get upset about.” He said indignantly, irked that this was what his opponent chose to focus on while he'd done so much different, amazing stuff to catch his attention.

Kamino threateningly, pointed his gnarly wooden staff at him, making Parjet worried at the metaphorical implication of such an act, before snarling out. “Nobody, calls, me, by, that, name.” He ground out.

Parjet puffed himself up. This was ridiculous. “Do you have any idea how you sound saying that. Nobody can call you by your name? What sort of rubbish is tha-?” He halted his tirade due to an odd feeling enveloping his chest.

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He furrowed his brows and looked down. The knives holstered onto his torso. They were vibrating. Quickly looking up he noticed an almost invisible yellow glow enveloping the tip of the mage's staff.

The knives suddenly stopped vibrating, and started pushing him backwards. Parjet gaped at his opponent. “Did you seriously start casting while I was in the middle of talking?” He asked, incredulous.

Kamino gave him a hateful glance. One usually reserved for insects landing in one's food. “Did you seriously start talking in the middle of the fight?” He asked scornfully, at which Parjet could do nothing but sputter.

He stemmed his body against the force pressing him back, starting to advance on the rapscallion. It was laborious, but worth it to see the surprise in the boys face. He was stronger than his frame suggested, darkness made sure of that. However, to his surprise, instead of retreating, the mage started coming towards him.

The force keeping them apart became stronger the closer they came together. Parjet shouted in effort as he extended his hands towards the throat of the wizard who was only a few feet away, his ribs aching something fierce. “Why you little!” He shouted out through wheezing breaths and teary eyes.

He never saw the staff that came to rest on his forehead, and which gently pushed him backwards and off balance. This in conjunction with the forces pushing him away from the boy sent him shooting through the air for several feet before rolling a dozen more. He came to a stop at the edge of the platform, one arm hanging off of it.

Breathing in harshly Parjet quickly got to his feet, feeling quite wobbly, only to be greeted by two feet flying towards his head. These feet were naturally followed the rest of the body, and he quickly tumbled off of the platform. The last thought he had before his head cracked against ground making him lose consciousnesses was. 'Bro, just because you're wearing robes doesn't mean you shouldn't put on some pants!’'

-/-

What was the meaning of life? Or more specifically, his life?

Lock contemplated this question as the wizard who he definitely did not know, and who'd just drop-kicked his enemy off the stage, started wobbling around on the platform where he was now lying. He tried to pull down his robe to cover up his pasty white legs and his underwear. Looking away from the platform Lock continued to think deeply on the topic. Interrupted only by the disgusted sounds that the crowd around him was making.

Eventually coming to a conclusion, he turned his head a bit, just in time to see Ino being led off the stage, huffing and puffing wildly. He looked worse than his knocked out opponent, if one ignored the horrified expression frozen on the man's frozen face.

The wizard would definitely need some physical training. Also some pants. Couldn't forget that. Lock glance at Kamin, who seemed confused, likely at the countless comments condemning the wizard on stage for flashing everyone. Lock rubbed her head and messed up her hair, making her pout.

“You, blindness might have some advantages, you should savour while you still have it.” He said wistfully.

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He said and turned back to the arena to watch the next fight. It was between Silas, a boy who'd went up to Harald and had attempted to threaten him or something, for some reason, and another girl. A girl that, now that he looked at her, was very beautiful. The crowd seemed to agree by their appreciative murmuring. Why hadn't he noticed her before? Analysing her clothes revealed that she was wearing a coat with the hood thrown down. She'd likely had it on earlier.

Lock wasn't able to keep looking at her clothes for long, before his gaze was once again drawn to her face. Not in a worshipful way, but in a way that one wanted to look at a beautiful weather phenomena while it lasted. Perfectly plump pink lips, pale skin, high cheekbones, cute nose and a green eyes that glimmered in contrast to her shoulder-length black hair. A vision of beauty. Her body was nothing to sneeze at either, from what he could discern through her brown baggy clothing.

Musing for a second if he could bring himself to fight such a girl seriously, Lock glanced at her opponent. Silas was standing on the platform, a conflicted look on his face, before shaking his head, making his hair fly, and joining the girl in the circle of confrontation.

The countdown to the match began, and once it started, the girl blew a kiss her foes' direction. In response to this Silas promptly turned around, walked over to the edge of the platform, and hopped off. Once there, he seemed to regain his mental clarity, glared hatefully at Harald, and was made to leave the premises.

His opponent once again put on her hood, to the groans of the crowd, and left the platform to make way for the next match.

Lock thought that he could see the girl's face start shimmering right before she pulled on the hood, but he didn't pay it much attention, rather spending his time on dissecting what had just happened.

Eventually he concluded that there had to be some trick involved, be it magical or alchemical. Most likely magical consider how Silas had snapped out of his daze the moment he'd jumped off of the platform. It indicated a continuous involvement from the girl, or at least a time limit. Something most alchemy didn't have. Well, at least not that short of a one.

He began brainstorming how to help Ino overcome his next opponent, but turned his attention to Mia once she was called on stage.