Oath

Captain ArcadiaCaptain Arcadia, Promo

A man must have his principles to exist in the world at large. A code of conduct, an ethic, a mantra to repeat when the going gets tough. Something that helps forge an identity, making it a key part of their identity. Without it, we’re dogs in the streets running rampant.

But the world doesn’t stop when you take that oath. It reaches out, fangs bared and snarling. It will attack your oath with every effort that it can, trying it’s best to go outwards and render everything that you’ve had. You’ll be tested again and again to see if you can maintain that grasp on the mantle and stand up for who you are.

Can’t fault someone for taking the oath, being inspired by something around them. Hearing the tales of the Sunbearers during this era of turmoil seems to be almost the perfect thing. A beacon of hope in the dark that has threatened to swallow Arcadia whole in the conflict between the Seekers and the Preservationsits.

Don’t blame you for trying, but take it from me; it doesn’t end well. No matter how much you shine and present a positive image, they’ll tear it apart at the seams. Kindness and bravado are just seasoning for the beatdowns they’ll render out of your hide. You embody the light, and the darkness will come rumbling out, threatening to swallow you whole.

Everyone gets broken down by the end. Their oaths shattered on the ground, left to wonder what to do in the face of adversity. Allies become monsters around you, the hope you build yourself on falling apart as they tear everything away from you and break it into a thousand pieces. And when you find yourself there, bleeding and broken and unsure of what to do?

Forge your oath again, and step forward into a new day.

Gotta say, it’s nice to have someone new here that can embody that warm light again. I was that once, where I shone and did my best in front of roaring crowds seeking approval. The wheels reached for me, and threatened to break me at my core time and time again.

Hell, there were times I thought about dropping the whole hero shtick and calling it a day. But I stuck to my guns, forging the oath that I took on to help the people of Arcadia as best as I could. So I’l help you break in, find a place that you can grow and become what you’re meant to be.

In time though. First we’ll have to break you down, and see what you’re really made of. Test the oath of who you are, and what comes out from pushing that to the limit. It won’t be easy, but the best part is, you won’t be alone. I’ll be there to make sure you get the best out of it.

Just gotta survive the pain that comes from forging the clay of a new fighter to a shining star of hope!

Solid Foundation

Jasper RedgraveJasper Redgrave, Promo

“A house is only as strong as the foundation that it’s built upon.”

[Jasper sits in a small room at a small table. George Cade stands looking over his shoulder with his arms crossed.]

[In front of him he fiddles with the model of a small house, carefully constructing the base.]

“Everything must be perfectly in order, or else your house becomes weak. Unable to stand it’s own weight.”

“All it takes is one missing support beam, or an unlevel board. Even the smallest of cracks in the foundation could send the whole thing tumbling down.”

“When you build a house, the foundation is the most important part.”

“It needs to be solid.”

[A faint smirk crosses his relaxed face as he begins applying pressure to what he’s built so far.. making sure that it’s perfect.]

“We as Preservationists are the foundation on which Arcadia is built.”

“Without us there to uphold the structure, the whole thing collapses.”

“For the past few weeks, all of the headlines have read the same way.”

“Every news source and on-looking eye has said the same thing..”

“The cracks are forming in the Preservationists.”

[The smirk fades from his face, yet he continues building the model house.]

“Hounds to Hades is rapidly approaching.”

“Which means the tides of war are about to ramp up.”

“Our foundation must be solid.”

“The very structure of Arcadia depends on it.”

[Jasper puts the final piece of the house together, spinning it around before him in admiration.]

“Life as we’ve come to know it depends on it.”

[His cold, dark eyes pierce the camera.]

“Mister Sunshine..”

“It seems you’ve tiptoed the line of what it means to be a Preservationist for quite some time with your invested interest in Anton Savor and now Klaus Way.”

“Some of the articles that accompany those headlines are saying that you could be the problem. That you could be the one causing our foundation to crack.”

“With Hounds right around the corner, that’s something I simply cannot have.”

“At Warzone, we put your loyalty to the test.”

[Jasper lifts a hammer off the table, slamming it down on a specific spot of the house.]

“At Warzone, we stress test the very foundation that the Preservationists compose.”

“I cannot go into war without knowing that our foundation is sturdy.”

“I cannot go to war thinking that the structure of Arcadia could very well collapse.”

“I need to know where your loyalty actually lies.”

“Even if I have to beat the living hell out of you until that smile of yours fades away..”

“I will make sure that the base of Arcadia is rock solid.”

“Because should it start to crumble under the stress..”

[SMASH! Jasper slams the hammer down hard, causing the model to shatter!]

[Redgrave leans back in his chair.]

“Then you’re of no use to me or the Preservationists.”

[Redgrave kicks his feet up, both boots slamming down on the debris of the model house.]

[He smirks.]

“Either way, our foundation will be solid.”

[Fade.]

Finger Painting

Mr. SunshineMr. Sunshine, Promo

It’s art time at the Sunshine Clubhouse.

“There’s nothing quite like finger painting, is there my little Sunbeams?”

Mister Sunshine laughs joyfully as he dips his fingers into the paint.

“It’s the best form of art. No brushes, no pencils. No fiddly technique to worry about.”

He smears yellow across his paper.

“Just you, your canvas… and your way of expressing the creativity that lies within.”

“Oh, lovely colours Miss Joy.”

He watches as she smears white paint slowly over her white paper.

“Don’t you love the feeling of art at your very fingertips? Finger painting is the ultimate sensory experience. It makes you feel alive!”

He laughs heartily, splotching an assortment of colours over the page.

“Our friend Jasper loves to paint too, Sunbeams.”

“All of Arcadia stands before him as his canvas, and he just loves to get his fingers dirty… to be one with his artwork.”

“A gallery full of masterpieces, captured by his very own hand. It takes a certain kind of mind to see art pop out of a little knife wound to the throat, but he’s a certain kind of artist.”

“If you look closely friends, you can see just how he’s finger painted all kinds of situations.”

“He painted Deathrow in shades of Jasper Redgrave. Those you’d last expect to be wowed by his art were touched by his hand. CJ Thorpe was his masterpiece, and he fingered him good.”

“He’s been painting Jackson Cade’s path for as long as we can remember. His magnum opus that he’s painted in every shade imaginable now.”

“Now, Jasper’s got his fingers all over George Cade, trying to taint the canvas of Tombstone to his liking.”

Sunshine stands up, admiring his artwork for a moment.

“But here’s the problem, my Sunbeams.”

“Sometimes we get so into the process of our art that we don’t know when to stop.”

“At a certain point, we keep adding colours and all we’ve really made is a big mess.”

His art now smeared randomly with every colour imaginable, blending together in a brown sludge.

“Sometimes, there’s no longer any artistic flair or creativity left in our artwork. We’re just… getting our hands dirty because we like it.”

“We’ve ruined our artwork by trying too hard.”

“And that’s exactly what Jasper Redgrave has done to his canvas. He’s made nothing but a big mess.”

“A mess of CJ Thorpe, of every lovely helper he ever showed inside his gallery… and a mess of the Cade family.”

“He thinks he’s Arcadia’s artist… friends, he’s nothing more than a buffoon.”

Sunshine dips his fingers into the paints once more. He begins smearing the paint over his face, beaming his smile as he does so.

“I am the creativity that Jasper lacks. I am the colour that his finger painting needs.”

“The Sunshine illuminates the lives of those that believe in me. And in that light, we not only see a piece of art in the smile of every Sunbeam… we see a masterpiece.”

“It’s time to play finger painting with Jasper and show him just how much fun he’s been missing.”

Syntax Error

GeminiGemini, Promo

I used to think I was broken.

Like something inside me had glitched, like the code didn’t compile right. You know what that feels like, don’t you, Nero?

The little red text blinking at the bottom of your screen. The error that shouldn’t exist, the line that doesn’t make sense, the behavior that can’t be explained.

So you debug. Line by line. Loop by loop. Trying to find where it all went wrong.

I did that too. In the mirror. In memories. In people I loved who didn’t love me back.

And every time I tried to fix it, I made something worse.

Tried to erase the parts I didn’t like. Tried to patch over the pain. Tried to rerun the script with different choices.

But no matter how hard I tried, it kept crashing.

Because the bug wasn’t a line. It was the logic.

You can’t overwrite yourself, Nero.

Not without consequences.

You can’t hack your way out of grief or rewrite your past in some pretty new language and pretend it never hurt. But that’s what you’re doing, isn’t it?

You built your identity like a firewall. Line after line of code meant to protect you from the virus of who you used to be.

Cool mask. Clean interface.

But under the surface?

You’re just as scrambled as the rest of us.

You didn’t purge the pain, Nero. You just quarantined it.

Tucked it away in some corrupted subfolder with a little note that says “deal with later.”

But later always comes. And when it does, the whole system goes down.

I know, because mine did.

And when it did, I had a choice. Try to restore an old version of me—or start from scratch.

So I wiped it. All of it.

The love I lost.

The pain I hoarded.

The girl who needed someone to fix her.

I didn’t debug. I deleted.

I built something new — not perfect, not elegant, but real. Something that doesn’t crash when life gets hard. Something that doesn’t hide when things get messy.

You’re smart, Nero. Too smart.

Smart enough to fool the world into thinking you’ve moved on.

But I see the lag in your responses. The stutter in your code. The way your eyes flicker when someone gets too close to your source.

You’re still trying to run a script that was never meant to last.

And when you step into that ring with me, you’ll try to control the narrative. Redirect the flow.

Rewrite the outcome.

But I’m not data. I’m not code.

I’m unreadable.

I’m the glitch in your system. The string you forgot to close. The variable you didn’t expect. And when I hit you in the face, it won’t be an error.

It’ll be the only truth left in your network.

Because this isn’t about control. Or perfect design. Or foolproof firewalls.

It’s about freedom.

And the only ones who find it are the ones brave enough to delete what they were and start again.

So go ahead, Nero, try to rewrite the ending.

But I’ve already lived mine, and I’m still here.

Clean.

Rewritten.

Alive.

No errors detected.

Ashes

DrewittDrewitt, Promo

This week, I face a man who doesn’t fight to win. He fights because losing feels familiar.

Destructo.

I’ve been watching you for a long time – long before I stepped foot in Olympus. You used to practically wear a hero’s cape. You used to pull people out of wreckage, not leave it in your wake. You were fire, just like your parents – dangerous, but purposeful. Controlled. You burned bright for the people who needed you in Arcadia.

But fire doesn’t stay tame forever, does it?

I know what happened. Your mother, first – gone in an instant. A spark in the dark, then a haunting silence in the aftermath. Something that brought an unimaginable pain to your soul. You carried that pain like an ember, tucked close, too proud to let it stop you.

And then your father years later. Another loss. And this time, it broke something in you that never came back. You couldn’t carry the pain this time.

You’ve been burning ever since.

Not the kind of flame that warms, but the kind that devours. You push people away like you’re doing them a favour. You singe every hand that tries to reach for you. And now, you fight not because you want to rise, but because falling feels honest. Almost like you deserve it.

You don’t want glory, I can tell that much. You want impact. You want noise. You want to make everyone see your pain. You want to hit the mat so hard because you might feel where your father once hit the same mat. But most of all you want to take someone else down with you just so you don’t feel so lost in your grief.

But here’s the truth, Destructo: You’re not the only one who is lost. You’re not the only one who is scarred. You’re just the one who decided to let your pain define you.

I’ve been through it too – loss, collapse, regret. I’ve stood in places where the only thing left was the echo of what used to be. I’ve faced the kind of hurt that eats people alive, and I’m still here.

You think you’re the fire. But you’re just a man still running from the smoke.

But I’m not here to put your inferno out.

I’m here to weather it. Because pain doesn’t make you strong on its own. It’s what you do with it that counts. And right now, you’re not healing – you’re just hurting everyone who gets too close to the flame.

So come at me. Bring the heat. Bring the fury. Bring whatever you’ve got left after the world took everything you loved.

But when it’s over, when you’ve thrown every punch like it’s your last breath and the smoke clears – you’re going to see me still standing.

And you’ll have to face the truth.

Ashes aren’t the end.

They’re only the beginning, you just have to be brave enough to build again and rise from them.

God’s Eyes

Wolf Fang AyameWolf Fang Ayame

“Some people have tended to look at the sun as an eye of sorts. Light that cascades down from the heavens illuminating all. None can hide from the watchful eye of the Sun. And so people act without worry for they know they are watched by the Gods above.” 

 

“By that notion when the Sun sets that must mean that the Gods are not watching. No? Darkness overtaking everything allowing the worst in humanity to fester and grow. Suddenly humanity must act in their own self interests for they believe that they are abandoned.” 

 

“But Mankind was always judged wasn’t it? Each star was an eye of a God, or a warrior. Mankind just assumed that they couldn’t be judged in the shroud of night. And the thought that pulled at the back of their head became fleeting as they began making their lights to ignore the stars.”

“Some would say the eyes that remain in the shadows are the most dangerous. They’re silent, they judge, but most importantly they know when to strike and strike the hardest. That I may grant you Night. You have become a shadow within the cloak of night. Exposing yourself to the worst of what causes the rot of man, and coming out the other side.”

“But your tactics only work so well. Sadly a god that wishes to remain hidden may not attempt to burn brighter than another without quickly being snuffed out quickly. You play your hand and then you will have become exposed, analyzed, and held up to scrutiny. Your tactics have become trite and you must think on your feet but you can never to the shadows from whence you came.” 

 

“I became deeply aware of this fact from the day I set foot on my mission. And I opted to stand proudly in the sun, making no excuses for my actions. My plans were laid bare before the entire world. For I knew that I would always be watched, I would one day be the one with eyes looking at me hungry if I was opportunistic.” 

 

“So hide in the shadows Night. Let it give you cold comfort. When we stand in the ring there will be no shadows, only bright lights to expose all before us. When we face off you will not be staring at my back hungry. You will be looking at me face to face. And while I look at you, you will see the eyes of the dragon princess.” 

 

“Eyes that roar with the fires of hunger. Eyes that burn brighter than the sun that you have rushed to hide from in the shadows. And your worst fear will occur once the bell rings.” 

 

“Those eyes will follow your movements.”

The Tale of Shadow

The NightPromo, The Night

“There was a puppy that hung around the Slums when I was a boy. It was a black Labrador that liked to hang around in the darkness. I called them Shadow.”

“Little Shadow was very protective of their mother, who also hid in the dark. If anyone were to approach them, human or animal, the pup would get courageous and attempt to scare off those that came close.”

“Nobody ever bought it. In the end, somebody else had to swoop in and save both of their hides from getting mauled.”

“But what if nobody did save them from the worst case scenario? Well, on one fateful day, they found out the hard way.”

“A group of bullies I used to know approached Shadow and their mom one night. The little one attempted to wear their brave face and frighten them away by gnashing its still developing teeth and barring its dull claws.”

“They weren’t scared. In fact, Shadow’s bravery earned it a beating that nearly killed it. Their mother earned a similar assault, but it was lucky enough to receive death’s embrace.”

“Shadow would live on for a little bit longer before keeling over itself. They tried to get in a fight with several bigger and meaner dogs, but ultimately lost after one of them bit their throat out.”

“Some people would wonder if I’m talking about myself and my potential future by bringing up that dog. I have to remind them that, despite nearly dying and finding comfort in the dark, I am nobody’s Shadow.”

“I do not depend on others to finish the job I start.”

“I do not have to act brave in order to fend off my attackers.”

“My teeth aren’t still developing.”

“My claws aren’t dull.”

“And I most certainly do not model myself after a dog.”

“I’m sure you’re one of the people that believed I was reflecting on myself when I brought up Shadow, weren’t you, Ayame? The truth is, Shadow more closely resembles you more than anyone else.”

“You nearly died and depended on the wolf spirit to protect you in order to come back to life.”

“You now wear that mask of yours to try because Caido says it can catch your foes off guard, despite it doing nothing of the sort.”

“Your teeth are still developing.”

“Your claws are as harmless as getting slapped with a wet sock.”

“And you model yourself after a dog.”

“When we meet in the ring at Warzone, you’ll see for yourself that I’m no puppy. I’m not even a dog.”

“I’m one of those bullies that isn’t afraid of you getting violent. In fact, I want you to. That way, I’ll have a excuse at hand when the rest of the Seekers ask why I nearly killed you at Olympus.”

“So go ahead, try to tear my throat out. It’ll make your impending visit into the eternal darkness feel all the more justified to me.”

“Darkness comes before the dawn… and I am the Night.”

Lockbox

HatchetHatchet, Promo

“If there’s one thing in Arcadia I hate? It’s fuckin’ lockboxes.”

“You know what I’m talkin’ about, right? Those metal hunks of shit every shop fills to the brim with their hard earned credits?”

“Now, I don’t hate them because they get between me and my pay day.”

“I hate ’em because they’re a mother fuckin’ lie.”

“A story sold by the manufacturer, a false claim of safety. And you must be thinkin’, what’s so false about that?”

“The walls are made of real sturdy metal, the lock is practically unpickable. Who’s ganna get inside of there?”

“Me, bitch.”

“Because no matter how strong, reliable, and intimidating a lockbox wants to be? It’s still just a façade of protection.”

“Anythin’ can be opened up with enough trauma. Give me a hammer and in thirty seconds I’ll have that piece of shit busted wide open, credits flutterin’ in the wind.”

“While the shop keep looks on distraight, I’m stuffin’ my pockets full of chedda.”

“Poor fuck left wonderin’ how his precious box could fail him.”

“Askin’ himself why he feels so unsafe.”

“If he can’t trust the lockbox, then who can he trust?”

“I’ll tell ya one thing.”

“He sure as fuck can’t trust Caido.”

“Do you wanna know why that is, Caity? It’s because just like that deposit box, you’re a fuckin’ liar too.”

“And shit, I hate bein’ lied to.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’ve heard your story, I know exactly the kinda myths behind you. The mask on your face? It’s a symbol of fate, of doom. Every last mother fucker who sees it knows that the man beneath it is a vessel of pure god damn destruction.”

“Everyone except me.”

“Because in my eyes? That story? It’s another fuckin’ sales pitch, a story sold to the masses to make them feel safer with you around.”

“But we both know it ain’t true, don’t we?”

“That mask? It’s all myths and rumors, a façade of justice sittin’ on the shelf to deter weak-willed bitches. But nothin’ is truly safe, Caity.”

“With enough force you can break any lock.”

“And I’m all fuckin’ force.”

“Beneath that mask, past the steel walls and rumors, doesn’t lie a paragon of power.”

“Behind it all lies a coward.”

“A man who uses his title to garner respect, a pussy who knows that without his little safety box? He has nothin’.”

“And soon enough? All of Arcadia will see just how little they can trust their Dragon.”

“I ain’t like you, Caity. I don’t lie about who I am, what I’ll do.”

“What you see when you look at me is who I am.  You take away the face paint and what do you got left?”

“The same shit eatin’ grin, the same cold eyes, the same heartless fuck who would burn the world down for what he wants.”

“I’m going to break you wide open, Caido. Tear that mask off your face and kill the lie once and for all while I line my pockets with victory.”

“Cause I’m only tellin’ the truth.”

“Eventually? Everyone gets downed by the clown.”

Lines

NeroNero, Promo

In times like these when the world feels like it’s collapsing in on itself and every door might be your last, people like to talk about lines.

But they never talk about the one thing that actually keeps people alive…

Trust.

Not the convenient kind. Not the we’re on the same side kind.

I mean real trust – the kind that costs you something – and, right now, Gemini, I don’t know if we have that with you.

You showed up at my door last week, nerves unraveling and fists tight, acting like none of it meant a damn. You told me Narcissa came to you, sat upon your bed, and threatened you like a god – speaking in that same flat tone you use when you’re trying to hide something.

Once upon a time, I would’ve stepped in front of the storm for you without question – but that was before the silence.

That was before I went digging through every message board, every intel stream, and every whisper channel I’ve got access to – and came back with nothing.

Not a name. Not a trace.

No one’s asking a fucking thing about the Red Light District.

It’s like it never happened; like it’s been erased. 

And that’s what’s troubling me, Gemini… Because when something explodes in a world like Arcadia – there’s always noise.

People talk; people point fingers.

But in your case, there’s nothing but static – and that kind of silence doesn’t come easy.

It comes from planning.

From knowing how to vanish before the fire even starts…

I keep thinking back to who you were before all this.

Before Deathrow. Before the Grove.

Before your mind was torn in half to stop you from breaking entirely.

Sweetness and fire; radiance and wreckage.

Marked by a grief so profound it split you in two just so you could survive it – until you stepped back into the light claiming you were whole again.

Like healing was just something that happened when no one else was watching.

But if you really are whole again, Gemini, why do you still flinch like there’s someone else inside your skin?

When you came to me last week, I didn’t know who or what I was looking at – and in a war like this – not knowing means everything.

People are choosing sides and they’re not doing it with words – they’re doing it with actions.

With betrayals.

You keep saying that we’re in this together; that the Hounds match binds us, like loyalty forged in blood means something anymore.

But I don’t need your rehearsed lines. I don’t need performance.

I need truth – real, raw, and dangerous.

I want to trust you, Gemini… Not the memory of you, nor the version you pretend to be.

I want to trust the one that stands opposite me in that ring this week.

But if there’s even a chance you’re playing both sides or hiding something that could get the rest of us killed, I need to know before the next explosion goes off.

And if that means putting you on the other side of the line…

Then I’ll draw it my-fucking-self.

Give You Hell

TombstonePromo, Tombstone

You keep sayin’ you’ve been through hell, Jackson. Every time life throws another tragedy at you, you stamp your badge on it and call it damnation. You carry your pain like it’s fire, like it’s proof you’ve already burned.

But I’m here to tell you something that’s gonna cut deeper than any truth you’ve ever heard— You don’t know hell.

You thought you were in hell when Jasper Redgrave tortured you and took your mentor, Riggs, right out from under you. You weren’t. That wasn’t hell. That was lesson one.

You thought you were in hell when you found out your brother was still alive, sitting on Deathrow, rotting in the darkest corners of Arcadia. You weren’t. That was just the weight of guilt.

You thought you were in hell when they handed you the star, made you Sheriff, and told you to clean up a world that don’t want to be clean. You weren’t. That was just a man wearing a badge with no bullets left.

You thought you were in hell when Redgrave killed CJ Thorpe, when he snapped his life away like it was nothing. You weren’t. That was just a page turning.

And now… Now you think you’re in hell ‘cause your own father—the man who should’ve stood behind you—joined the man who broke you.

But Jackson… This ain’t hell.

Not yet.

You think pain is hell. You think loss is hell. You think betrayal is hell.

But I’ve walked through real hell.

I’ve toiled in the boiling stone fields where time don’t move. I’ve felt fire kiss my back for what felt like eternity. I’ve dragged the weight of a thousand sins behind me like Sisyphus, pushing the same damn boulder up the same damn hill over and over again, just to watch it fall.

You’ve cried. I’ve melted. You’ve bled. I’ve burned. You’ve lost. I’ve been forgotten by time itself.

So when we step into that Hell in a Cell match at Warzone… Don’t you dare call what came before this hell. Don’t you dare pretend like you’ve already survived it.

Because what I bring with me into that cell… It isn’t pain. It isn’t grief. It isn’t vengeance. It’s hell incarnate.

It’s the chains that bind your soul to suffering. It’s the flames that don’t die when the match ends. It’s the agony that lingers, even when the lights go out and the cameras cut away.

You’re gonna feel the cage close in like fire on all sides. You’re gonna feel the weight of your father’s betrayal, your brother’s death, your own failure—all at once.

And when I stand over your broken body, and the flames of that cage glow in my eyes… Then, and only then…

You’ll be able to say you’ve been to hell.

Because I will have taken you there.

And you won’t walk out the same.

You’ll crawl… if you crawl at all.

And every step you take for the rest of your life will be a reminder—

That Tombstone gave you a taste of something eternal. And it burned all the way down.