Fletcher watched from a distance as the man in the strange clothes, Alistair, his name was, attempted to talk down the mad king. Fletcher contorted his face into his best impression of admiration at a brave but altogether foolhardy endeavor. He stood there calmly as the battle raged around him. Two different kings attempted to charge him but Isaiah splattered their brains on the ground. In his backpack there were a number of choice goods that he had brought along, or stolen from Isaiah. Fletcher was fairly certain he would need all of them in this upcoming battle - it was gonna be a big one.

The first thing he pulled out of his pack was a small ziplock baggy. In it was a small amount of white powder. Drawing a knife, he doled a small amount onto the blade and snorted it. His right eye twitched once, twice, three times. He swallowed the sneezed violently. Shaking out his limbs he began to limber up.

"Isaiah, remember that thing?"

"Fletch I don't believe you could be more vague if you tried,"

"Work with me, man, I'm really high right now. You know, that one move we'd been theorizing about,"

"Hugo?"

"Whatever man. I think naming it is fucking weird but sure,"

"Yes I'm familiar with Hugo. Why are you bringing it up? It's never been done, we would need to test it in a controlled environment. Performing it in the field could be catastrophic,"

"So..you're a pussy?"

"Fletch..."

"Look Mac, I think we might be in serious trouble here. Catastrophic might be what we need,"

Isaiah sighed. Fletcher was at his most rational when he was strung out on cocaine. The irony would have normally made him chuckle but his partner was making a good point. 

"Ok, let's do it Fletch. I'll make the necessary preparations. Let me know when you're ready,"

Fletcher nodded to nobody in particular. He often wondered what fear felt like. From what he had gathered, it was situations like these that would bring about fear in normal folks. He took a deep breath, put on his best frightened face, and went to work.

It started with mutters. Right before the muttering intensified to chanting, he began to work his fingers in complex patterns. As his vocem increased in volume, he began to move his arms in sweeping arches, utilizing a different motem pattern with his fingers and his arms. This would either work gloriously or a lot of people would die. Both interesting outcomes as far as he was concerned. Fletcher's clothes began to ruffle as the waves of alchemical power washed away from his body, soaking into the soil beneath his feet. He was practically yelling now.

Isaiah had been busy preparing his contribution to Hugo. With an extremely hard bit he had been carving a powerful and intricate sigilum onto a bullet. It was slow going at first but the power of the alchemy at work induced an almost trance-like focus that enabled him to work more rapidly. As he finished and loaded the round into his beloved rifle, the runes that slithered down the heavy barrel began to glow in the presence of alchemy. [i]This had better work[/i]

Fletcher was risking going hoarse by shouting so loud, yet he was barely audible over the din of the battle. All of the fighting seemed to have moved away from him, the power of his alchemy pleading avoidance into the subconscious of the nearby kings. As the chanting reached its climax, a huge phoenix burst into the sky. Fletcher's attention, fortified by the cocaine in his system, would not waver, however. As Vail shouted her command to let loose their alchemy, Fletcher's motem and vocem stopped, leaving a void in the soundscape of the battle. He plunged both of his knives into the earth. A few hundred yards away, Isaiah gently squeezed the trigger.

All three forms of alchemy struck the ground beneath Fletcher's feet simultaneously. The resulting wave of power amplified Fletcher's alchemical specialization to a point he had never experienced before. A magnetic field, small in size but unbelievably powerful in magnitude, began to draw the iron from the soil to itself.The second part of the alchemy kicked in and the cloud of solid iron began to whip and whirl violently. A metal tornado, roughly twelve feet tall and five feet in diameter, began its course towards Gadrael. Fletcher collapsed to the ground from exhaustion. His last thoughts were of something almost alien given how uncommon it was. Hope. Fletcher hoped powerfully that their alchemy would be enough to stop the mad king. With that, he eased into unconsciousness.