[b]Rose![/b]

Rose from the River, you made a deal, didn't you? 

Two ninety minute ownership chits in a timeshare arrangement from Will0 WZP, subsoul and technodaemon of the Scales of Meaning. Demons never forget, and three hours can be a long time when it comes to a battle. For whatever fears you had of prison the tightest bindings are not the ones forced upon you but the ones you consent to.

You are called to attend, and as a creature of the ancient world, you must obey.

And so you come before the Secrets of the Stance, the daemonic mistress of battle, no longer muzzled, no longer trussed, with the broken blades of three Handmaidens hanging from her belt already. You come before the Voice of Ballet, ungagged and ascendant, singing the piercing musical tune that causes the Pyre's thousand selfish fragments to remember the selfishness that reigns above all. You come before the Scales of Meaning, she who holds your technological leash in the form of a pocketwatch that counts down your remaining period of servitude.

And so you come before the Pyre of Inspiration, the soul who has decided that life as the Demon Queen of the Underworld is the only way she shall be satisfied.

She is not, of course. 

Imagine a bird. A simple thing, driven by instinct, but without karma. But this bird endures a harsh winter and it grows thin and knows hunger. The experience changes the bird, who thereafter hunts even when it is not hungry and chokes down each additional calorie in case it needs it. But the more it eats the more it fears the hunger, the more winters it endures the more it comes to hate them, and the more its life comes to be dominated by this craving. And then, at the end, as it fades, the bird's soul thinks: In this life I was not satisfied. In the next life I shall eat even more.

And so the bird is reborn as a pig. The pig gorges itself and grows fat, but this time it is not satisfied with its surroundings. At the end of its life the pig's soul thinks: In this life I was not satisfied. In the next life I shall live somewhere beautiful. And so the pig is reborn as a mouse, consuming the paper in the bookcases of a grand and ancient library. 

In each life, craving compounds. In each life hunger grows. This is what it means to descend the wheel of karma. Ever more complex vices are found, more intricate cravings, and a tighter grasp on the things of the world. Craving leads to gluttony, to excess, to tyranny. The over-built nightmare of the Burrower Kingdoms was an attempt to slake the thirst of those souls who had drunk of every lifetime they could imagine experiencing but whose tongues still felt dry. In the next life, my total market capitalization shall exceed that of my rivals. In the next life people who have never met me shall dream of me. In the next life I will be carve my name on history itself.

After a point reality simply cannot fulfill the craving of a tortured soul - and so the soul leaves reality behind and becomes a demon. Partaking in the impossibilities of the Demon City is not and cannot be enough either, and so there are eight billion demons. A soul passes through becoming eight billion demons like each is a step on the ladder, and it will not stop its descent until it is reborn as the Queen of Hell herself, a creature of such transcendent craving that it must break itself into a thousand hungry shards and engage in vice simultaneously with each of them to have a chance of satiating its hunger.

And of course it isn't enough. It can't be. Material excess, even on the level of the Queen of Hell, cannot satisfy a soul. 

And so this is what it is to be on the bottom of the Wheel. And so, even in the Pyre's malevolent joy at being free upon the city of Ys, even with her three mighty sub-souls standing guard around her, even with the mighty HUNTER-Class 猎犬 chained by a ticking clock before her, the Pyre of Meaning is still not satisfied. Her beautiful face is frowning. The Scales of Meaning is distracted. Secrets of the Stance is still snarling, no happier from being free from her restraints.

"You are called to serve," announced the Scales of Meaning, though her voice was tired and there was no joy in it. "You are ours. You are mine."

[b]Chen![/b]

Princess Ysel is not broken. Not even discouraged. Her banner rises up all over the city, red and black against the white. And there, at the gates to the palace, she stands in her full battle radiance. Her onyx armour glitters with curling calligraphy of gold and her cloak scatters against the wind in Roman red. Her face is scarred and smiling as she surveys the chaos that has become of her home.

Ysel is a conqueror. Her legend is patterned after heroes like Iskandir the Great or Caesar; warriors who went to distant lands so that they might bring their ruination home to serve as trophies. Her blade is but a gladius but her weapon is the girls and horses under her command. Her city is breached, her forces are betrayed, and she's happier than you have seen her since she split with Hesha. 

And her eyes are fixed on the distant white banners heading down the Parade, the banners of Princess Yin.

"Lieutenant Chen!" her voice bellows out, a storm announcing. "You are to deploy with the cavalry. I hope you remember your riding lessons! Qiu wants a fight? Well today I'll give her one, and you will be my lance. Follow my commands and I will break Yin, break Qiu, and give you a Shard and Kingdom of your own. To your position!"

[b]Yue![/b]

On your adventure, Yue, you have seen the battle techniques of ghosts, wolves, artists, thieves, princesses, foxes and handmaidens. But today you fight the Radiant Knights, the hand trained elite of Princess Yin.

Which is to say that: Of [i]course[/i] they form a line. Knightly honour demands nothing less. With precise drill they step into a single file formation, shields to the left, swords raised in salute. Then the first one steps forwards. 

This is an opponent wearing heavy armour, and more seriously, a helmet that covers their face. And that's a whole new category of trouble than anything you've found yourself in until now. The armour means that the Knight can slowly walk towards you and ignore your attacks while setting up a powerful blow of their own. The helmet means that you can't see if they're laughing or serious, can't tell if they're distracted or living their best moment. You're up against your first Guard, Yue, and in the wars of Princesses a Guard's role is somewhere between bouncer and backup dancer. You are not fighting someone whose heart is aflame, but you are fighting someone who will knock you on your ass if yours [i]isn't[/i]. 

But the radiant sunset oranges of the Demon Swordswoman's robe flow around you, and the legendary blade sits firm in your hands. The orchestra is quiet and the actors know their places. It's time for your first soliloquy, and five knights stand in good order waiting for you to set the tone.