Targa wandered through the haunted streets of the grand festival in Joya, taking in the sights and sounds of the various haunted houses from across Earthland. The crisp air was filled with a chill, not just from the evening breeze, but also from the eerie energies swirling around the festival grounds. Her pink eyes scanned the elaborate displays, briefly considering which house to explore next. The Seven-based haunted house caught her attention so she would visit them first, its entrance styled like a grand arena. The haunted gladiators inside were said to test one's courage, not just their physical strength.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted someone familiar, a guildie she had seen back at Fairy Tail but had never met yet. They were partnered to come here. She seemed to speak to Targa saying we should get it over with. She seemed a little scared to her.

"Hello there, I recognized you from the guild, but we've never actually had the chance to chat before. I'm Targa, and there is nothing to worry about if you're scared. But if you want we can get through it quickly. There are a lot more stops after this though, if you are going to come me to the other haunts."

WC: 217

Targa smiled as Sam, full of spunk, stopped ahead into the haunted arena.. This place held more than just spirits...there was something unsettling about it, something that clung to the very bones of the building itself. Targa could feel it. Maybe it was her vampire nature, but she felt death. She followed behind, her demeanor calm, graceful as ever, but her pink eyes glinted with intrigue.

"I like your spirit, Sam," Targa said, her voice smooth and reassuring, "but remember, this place doesn't test strength. It tests what's inside. Or so I wager."

The arena grew darker as they stepped into the center, the vast coliseum standing tall around them echoing the battles long forgotten and remembered. Stone seats stretched upwards, and though no living soul sat there, it felt like thousands of invisible eyes watched their every move. A cold wind swept through, carrying faint whispers that sounded like distant battle cries. Everyone once in awhile the roar of a crowd would erupt after the sounds of a bloody splat could be heard.

As the two stood more inside, a low rumble echoed, and from the shadows of the stone floor, the first of the gladiator spirits emerged. The air grew heavier, as if gravity was heavier in the area and pressing down on them. as the figure took form; half-transparent, shimmering with an eerie, pale yellow green light. The color of infection on a battle wound. The ghostly gladiator was a towering figure, once a mighty warrior in life, but now twisted in death. Its skin, or what remained of it, hung from its body like tattered paper, revealing bones that seemed to ooze some found stench of pus. Hollow eyes stared out from a cracked skull, and in its hand, it wielded a rusted, bloodstained trident.

Its body dripped with ancient gore, remnants of battles fought long ago, and the stench of decaying flesh filled the air alongside the smell of pus. Its mouth hung open in a grotesque snarl, bits of muscle and tissue dangling as it spoke. A tooth would fly out and land near their feet, rotted and black. "You… have come to face us," the spirit rasped, its voice like gravel scraping against stone. "But strength alone will not save you. Fear lurks in the hearts of the brave, hidden beneath their bravado. Will you face it? Will you answer my challenge?"

Targa stood tall, her pink eyes narrowing slightly as she gauged the spirit. She had faced many things in her life, but this...this was something different. She thought this was supposed to be a event, something for fun, but this felt like a real ghost. Was it some high level illusion magic? She couldn't tell if it was. If it was, it was certainly cast by someone far stronger than her...maybe even guild master level in power. She had heard of a wizard from a couple generations ago that used illusion magic. Her magic, her illusions, her fake scenes where so real that they were rumored to be able to even fool a wizard saint. Maybe this was such an illusion...or maybe...it was just a real ghost after all and the two had stepped into something a bit more dangerous than they expected.

A challenge not of muscle or magic, but of the mind. The spirit raised one hand, parts of it's bones showing as rotted flesh almost slopped off it, pointing its rotting finger at the duo. "Here is my test. Fail, and you will be trapped here, forever wandering this arena like I do." The ghost's hollow eyes seemed to bore into their very souls as it spoke its riddle:

"I live in the darkness but never in the light,
I cause men to tremble though I am not alive.
I live inside you, a whisper in the night,
Tell me, what am I?"

The gladiator's voice lingered on the final words, its breathless whisper sending chills down Targa's spine. The riddle wasn't just a simple puzzle. It was clear that it was trying to force them to confront something deep within themselves. Fear. The kind of fear that exists in every heart, no matter how brave. Targa glanced at Samantha, waiting to see if the fiery redhead would charge ahead once more. This test wasn’t about muscles but it was about facing that which cannot be fought with fists. Would she face it? Would she look inward? How would Targa help out. She didn't know the answer to the riddle, but she could guess at it. Maybe they could collaborate about it before answering. Targa, as calm as ever, could feel the weight of the arena pressing down on them. That gravity was starting to become oppressive feeling, making it harder to think.

"Umm...What do you think Sam?"

WC: 827
TWC: 1044

The ghostly gladiator's hollow eyes flickered with a strange light as Sam spoke. For a moment, the rotting figure was still, as though processing her answer. Then, a low, gravelly chuckle escaped its cracked lips, sounding like rocks grinding against one another. "Yessssss," it rasped, "A nightmare. Born in the dark, never living, yet it holds power over the minds of the brave. You are not wrong, warrior. Nightmares are the truest test of courage. For it is not the blade or the fist that conquers, but the will to stand firm when fear grips the soul." The air around them seemed to shift as the ghost offered a slow, eerie bow, its decaying flesh creaking with the movement, with some of it sloughing off and falling to the ground with a grotesque slopping sound as it hit the ground. "You have passed the first trial, and for that, I commend you both. But beware as this is only the beginning. There are many more trials that lie ahead, deeper and darker than you might yet imagine."

With that, the spirit began to dissolve, same with it's sloughed off flesh, its once menacing form vanishing into a fine mist that swirled away into the shadows. The haunting stench and oppressive aura of the arena lightened just a little, though the feeling of unseen eyes still loomed. Targa turned to Sam, a small smirk curling on her lips. Her pink eyes glittered with amusement as she folded her arms across her chest, taking in the sight of her guildie."Not bad. So...did you guess that on purpose? Or was that just a lucky shot?" Targa was half serious half teasing with the question.

WC: 293
TWC: 1337

"Luck’s not a bad thing... Sometimes it’s all that gets you through a tough spot. And hey, you did fine. We’re still here, right?" Targa wasn’t one to judge. She understood that not every challenge could be met with brute strength or sharp intellect alone. Life, in its many trials, often threw chaos into the mix. "Besides, I’ll take luck any day and if we run into another one of these tests, maybe I’ll take a crack at it. We’ll balance each other out."

With that, Targa turned her gaze back toward the shadows of the arena. The atmosphere had lightened slightly after their first success, but the spooky atmosphere still lingered like a fog that hadn’t quite lifted. As if on cue, an eerie rumble that signaled the coming of another spirit. This one was taller and was covered in worn armor that was battered from combat. Unlike the previous gladiator, this one appeared more regal, a commander in life perhaps, now a shadow of his former self. Its hollow gaze was fixed on them, and the edges of its form flickered like a dying flame or weak candle. "You’ve proven yourselves in the first trial," the ghost intoned, its voice echoing unnaturally through the coliseum. "But now, you must face me. If you can hit me, you win."

Targa thought maybe it was a joke of some kind. She'd reach out as fast as she could, but the ghost seemed to side glide it as if he knew how she was going to reach out. Fascinated she'd try to a faint, as if she was going to reach out and grab it but the ghost didn't move. Smiling to herself, Targa tossed her hands up once more, this time moving casually, as if she were playing the same old game. The ghost stood still, its hollow eyes fixed on her, clearly not expecting what came next. In an instant, Targa's expression hardened. She let her magic pulse through her body, channeling the invisible force of her crash magic into her hand. With a final fake-out motion, she snapped her fingers and unleashed a wave of energy forward. The wave was invisible, not even powerful enough to be considered a spell really, but the force of it was undeniable. The ghost had no time to react as the crash magic surged into it, disrupting its form. With a low, echoing wail, the spirit’s body dispersed. "Gotcha," she said with a grin, looking over at Sam. "Took a little magic to get him. Guess brute strength’s not always the answer, huh?"

The ghostly remnants lingered in the air for a moment before fading completely, leaving the arena eerily quiet once again. A whisper on the wind spoke. "You Pass..." Targa looked at Sam again. "This is a little errie don't you think? How many more trials do you think there are? Do you think that was it?"

WC: 487
TWC: 1824

Targa busted out laughing at Samantha's outburst. She found it endearing. The air in the arena seemed to lighten considerably now that the trial was over, and the looming presence of the spirits had faded entirely. "Looks like we’re done here," She looked over at Sam with a thankful expression. "Seems like this was the last trial for this place."

Targa pulled out the brochure she had tucked away earlier and skimmed through the different haunted events happening around the country. Her eyes flicked over the various descriptions before landing on one that piqued her interest: The Frozen Warnings of the Draugr. "So, what do you think, Sam? Would you like to travel with me to the next event? There’s a haunted house called Frozen Warnings of the Draugr. It's okay if you not interested, just figured I'd invite you since we already together on this one.

[Targa Exit}

WC 156
TWC: 1980