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Jeanne’s eyes twitched at the sudden noise. 

Was it to be like this? Barely any input for so long and now one of derision? She feared naught but the possibility that she would die before her vision was completed, and the possibility of the unknown. But fear can be conquered with knowledge, and if whatever it was out there in the fog was… to expire in an unfortunate accident, she could study it more closely. If it was otherworldly, then all the more reason to take it down now.

She emptied her pockets, the coin sized mechanical spiders disguised as buttons immediately deploying, its top irising open, blue dots sweeping the area. Four clambered up onto her, disappearing into her clothes and into a backplate where it took power from them.

With her arms held straight, she focused on the strands on her work equipment, the straps running up and down her body. Strands changed to be flexible and strong, with immense propensity for retraction and expansion at an accelerated rate. This was a crude measure, but perhaps a necessary one if whatever stalked her had traits beyond fleshly means.

The button on her palm popped out, as she held it up, emitting a bright light as she tried to see past the mist. The rest of the spidery automatons followed her in a single file, as she investigated the source of the noise.

The spotlight shot out with brilliant radiance, and immediately, Jeanne’s vision was filled with white. Pure white. Blinding white. The white of her spotlight, reflecting off the dense fog right back into her face. Even if it may not have been enough to cause her to flinch, it was enough for her to squint, momentarily distracted.

But only for a moment. And at an indiscernible distance, she heard a stomp from behind, powerful and pronounced within the smothered world of fog.

[color=fff79a]“Group 1”[/color] She turned, the rows of small automatons turning with her. [color=fff79a]“Fire!”[/color]

A focused beam, unlike what she had exhibited before. That was a mere test after all; she wasn’t exactly going to kill someone. If Ryuuko did die, that simply meant she was an impostor and wasn’t fit to be in this academy. But for this thing, the small spiders fired not a wide burst of flame, but a small blue beam, a lance of plasma. Their furnace’s size makes it short ranged, but that didn’t matter considering how close it was.

The spider-furnaces hissed, then [i]screamed[/i] as lances of plasma surged out, the sudden temperature difference shredding through the fog and dispersing it, enough so that Jeanne caught the glimpse of some creature, the mere glimpse of some leathery tail…but that was all. No carbonization of flesh, no cry of agony.

Her reactions, quick as they were, weren’t quick enough.

Behind her once more, a consequence perhaps of turning around, she heard that same sound, could now perceive the movement of a tremendous amount of wind that was yet insufficient for blowing apart the fog that veiled that creature from her own gaze.

[color=fff79a]“Tch.”[/color] Jeanne’s eyes darted around. Being unable to see it properly was an annoyance to be sure. She had half a mind to start punching it to pulp as soon as it showed up. First, she had to deal with the fog, which, admittedly, was not something she was expecting, or had ever experienced, having to actually deal with. [color=fff79a]“Are you waiting for something? Afraid of a single weak girl?”[/color]

[color=fff79a]“All groups, formation circle!”[/color] She bent down as the spider automatons formed a circle around her, ready to fire while the previous group recharged their shot. The furnace she was using as a light was shut down back into its inert form, before she placed a hand onto the ground. 

Formulation and production. Once there might have been a need for craftsmen to create things individually for assembly. That still was true for the poor, but for someone like her, assembly and creation of a machine with complex manipulation was of no real problem.

A cav field generator at the guard, slot for the furnace at the back, alternating materials for insulation, matrix strengthening of the overall structure, oval cross section and squishy material for the grip. Circle moved into circles, lines intersecting, jostling other bright stars, until the shape she wanted was filled and created.

A foot long handle came out of the ground, her Excalibur, but bladeless, even as she put the furnace into the slot at the bottom where the pommel should be.

Shield and sword. Field and flame. Surrounded by miniaturized furnaces that could flare up to life in a single word, bearing a claymore of plasma that could cleave through steel, her gallant face bearing a fierce expression, Jeanne became the archetypal knight of the Enlightened Era, an anachronism that could only exist in French culture. Her fingers tingled still at the complex Formulizations that she had accomplished in such a short amount of time, but it was a sensation that she had felt many times before. As with following a recipe, as if piecing together a jigsaw puzzle, the more one did it, the faster and less taxing it became, and now, fully equipped, Jeanne stood ready for whatever nightmare lurked in the darkness.

In the distance, that same sound, of a foot stomping against the earth, echoed out. Seconds crawled by, but nothing approached. Had what she responded to simply another curfew-breaker, catapulting themselves through the fog-shrouded streets? The leathery tail merely an Egoist’s mutations, their disregard for her challenge merely because of the miniscule threat she posed? A minute crawled by, her surroundings peaceful, foreboding. Or was it all faked, to get her to drop her guard? A shadow that flickered at the edge of her vision. An Egoist, launching themselves through the emptied streets.

Did these statements match?

[color=fff79a]“Scatter formation!”[/color]

The spiders scattered from each other immediately at that command. 

If it was just going to keep its distance taunting her, perhaps thinking Jeanne was slower than it, then it was dead wrong. Speed, strength, and even reaction time to an extent was nothing for a Technologist to augment. Faster than any humans could move, fast as only machines could achieve, Jeanne sped through the mist like a bullet, the plasma sword arcing a brilliant blue around her.

Mist blew past her as her brain buzzed with frenetic focus. Heat modulation, mental navigation, and a sharpened awareness of her surroundings kept Jeanne on track, even as her spider furnaces were left further and further behind by the speed that her Formulized straps gave her. More torque, more force than what humans themselves could generate through a lifetime of training, with experience that allowed her to keep her movements in sync even as she traversed through a cityscape that had long become a blur. There was no distant scenery to keep her orientated, but it mattered not.

All that mattered was that, even though the [i]sound[/i] of the footstomps she trailed gradually became more and more quiet, she could still follow it through Bermuda, could reorientate herself. It was her pride that made the furnace master believe that the creature was taunting her. But that was just pride, irrational and meaningless. Her miniaturised furnaces were left in the dust. She continued through the suffocating fog, drawing in more of that damp air, until…

…something whizzed overhead, followed by the unmistakable hiss of a suppressed steampistol. Five more shots scattered around, ricocheting off stone pathways and steel streetlamps, one shattering a lamp and darkening her immediate surroundings.

But Jeanne was not hit.

In the distance, another footstomp echoed. If she did not continue, she would finally be so far that the quarry she chased would be untrackable.

The mini furnaces were left behind to their purpose, even as she moved quickly through the fog. Jeanna had initially thought to try and disperse the fog, but with someone actively shooting at her, she switched immediately to a low stance, moving faster through the fog. If she could see the enemy, the enemy could also see her. 

Moving quickly, she picked up a pebble from the ground, holstering her weapon as she altered the rock on the move. 

No more gunshots chased after Jeanne. Whatever had shot at her did not pursue, and the Technologist continued throughout the fog at her breakneck pace. Sweat and salt pooled in the creases of her clothing, lungs heaving in the thick air as she continued to keep just in range of the sound that led her.

The sound that led her closer and closer, to the center of the island, to the sequestered academies that made up Bermuda’s interior.

In time, those footstomps disappeared, whatever travelling through the fog taking a subtler approach. Jeanne herself stood at the very entrance of the seamless grand walls that prevented the uninitiated from coming in. Her student card could supposedly serve as a key, but this late at night, it looked unlikely that the reader, shining with the devastatingly bright light of the Starlight Formulization, would function. But there were no other traces of the monster she had hunted.

Jeanne did not falter of course. She simply silenced the material she was holding, the rawest form of her specialty, ready to engulf the entire area in hellfire. Taking out the sword, she simply cut through the door, Or rather, burnt through the entire door, the scorching heat blasting dry air around as she disabled the cav field holding the plasma together. There was no shortage of people able to wield fire after all, and using a card reader was a ludicrous move to even consider. 

And with the roaring of plasma, the thunderous screech of stone blasting away, Jeanne was able to pass into the inner sanctums of Bermuda. It was as she remembered it, libraries and study halls arranged in concentric circles while gardens and gazebos served as outdoors distractions for students who required a change of pace to get their brains moving. Though area had previously been clear of fog, it looked as if the hole she made now was enough to start drawing more of the fog inside.

There was undoubtedly a treasury of ancient manuscripts and materials within this portion of the island, but, once more, there was no sign of anyone else here either. It was simply an empty space, dead as a graveyard.

[i]See?[/i]

Compulsion? Instinct? Her eyes lifted towards the library to the northwest. Upon the gothic roof, something indistinct moved, slithering within the darkness that laid between false stars. The faintest outline of a tail, the shrouded suggestion of folded wings. Before she could make out anything further, the humanoid creature disappeared.

It must have gone inside.

Turning the safety back on, she made her way to the library’s door. Jeanne put her hands in her pockets reflexively, grasping for the buttons that weren’t there. All of them were deployed at the moment, with some in her working suit’s backplate. While she could remotely ping them to call them to her, it would take precious time she might not have. No matter, she had enough to deal with anything at the moment. 

She gently opened the door.

The lights were off, and beyond the diffused glow of the streetlamps outside peeking into the large windows, the library was in a state of perpetual gloom. It was hard to make out the details that had made the place out to be some exquisite place of knowledge when they toured it during the morning; at night, it was simply gloomy and empty, claustrophobic and cavernous, filled with oppressive contradictions.

But it wasn’t silent.

Jeanne could hear it, echoing within the darkness, whispering into the depths of her mind. A ghostly wailing, a tortured soul’s timbre reverbrating monotonously, as if it had done so for millennia. Surely not though, when Bermuda couldn’t have been more than a couple years old?

Fear and superstition was not in Jeanne’s repertoire however, and with the plasma sword’s setting on the lowest, she banished the darkness with its light, holding it aloft like a torch. Darkness had no teeth, save for only in one’s mind. 

Her breath was slow, almost tense as she entered, that feeling of adrenaline as her body tensed for immediate danger. Her steps clacked rhythmically against the floor as she investigated first the rows and rows of books.

[b]“Wooo…wooooooooo…”[/b]

Jeanne continued through without response, the blue light of her plasma sword granting the illumination she needed to see the rows and rows of books stacked up on the shelves. The ghostly wailing continued for a bit longer, becoming more and more deranged, until, echoing through the library, from what seemed as if it was all around her, that same ghostly voice spoke up.

[b]“Aw man, guess that didn’t work after all.”[/b]

Jeanne inhaled and exhaled slowly. Alas it seemed not to be the new specimen she was looking for. A student perhaps? A teacher with a strange sense of humour? 

[color=fff79a]“Show yourself. Or stay there and I will incinerate both the structure and you.”[/color]

A dark chuckle sounded. [b]“Oh, you truly exceed your reputation. Do it.”[/b]

A quick movement, and the safety was off, the blade flaring uncontrolled and wild from her weapon. Heat enough to set the air in motion as air swirled around chaotically, the very ends of her cuffs burning as she swung it. It didn’t take full contact from the blade for anything remotely flammable to catch fire, and those close enough to the superheated core vaporised instead of just burning. With the safety off, the blade was more like a blowtorch than a contained sword, flaring several meters in width. 

It was paper and wood, after all. It would burn well. Warmer light filled the cavernous library now, flickering shadows growing starter as flames grew hotter. Books, shelves, chairs, tables, anything that Jeanne would direct her blowtorch of a sword towards would dry, char, and then combust. Smoke surged up, the ceilings high enough that she had yet to start choking on it.

[b]“Mhmm, that’s a nice little bonfire you’ve got there.”[/b] Rapid clicks sounded somewhere, but the roaring flames masked the direction. Her senses were still human, even if her power was divine. [b]“On the small side though, no? There are sand rats who could do more with a matchstick than you with your fancy toy.”[/b]

[color=fff79a]“Small words from a coward. A small dog barks loudest after all.”[/color]

A flick of the controls, and the cav field turned on, directing rather than containing, the blade growing several meters longer but thinner though still flaring wild the longer it went. She swung it swiftly around, not only from side to side, but upwards too. Were they hiding in the rafters? Ceiling? One of the overhanging balconies?

The weightless blade of heat continued to slice and dice, carbonizing any organic material it struck while blackening, then brightening, the surfaces of stone and steel. Carpets caught flame too, tapestries and paintings, plant life wilting into ashes. The temperatures rose further, an inferno stoked by the destruction of works of wit and art. Jeanne would soon suffocate if she didn’t prepare countermeasures to her own destruction. She had recalled though, that the shadow that she had stalked entered the building from the roof. If they were still there, the smoke should reach them, as well as the scalding heat. And yet…

[b]“Bark bark,”[/b] the voice continued, crackling and cackling alongside the crumbling structure of the library. [b]“Leave it to the French to be barbarians in this era.”[/b]

So it was someone from the island itself, and with a hate for the French. Was it an Englishman? No, if it was some sort of monster she had followed, it should be someone from the Oriental lands. France has many enemies but none as vehement as the English after all, what with the struggle for the crown and all.

She closed her eyes for a moment, and shut down the blade.

As if losing all interest, Jeanne simply pushed aside the door and walked out. There was something wrong there. There weren't any answers to be gained from her current actions after all.

[i]Neck.[/i]

Her hands went up immediately to her neck, before she looked around the area.

A sharp pain jolted through her hand and into her neck, right as Jeanne turned. Immediately, her body felt heavier, as if her blood had thickened to a syrup, as if her heart was weighed down by anchors.

[b]“Huh.”[/b] The same voice. So much clearer and nearer now. [b]“Didn’t think you’d be able to react to that.”[/b]

Her eyes trailed the needle embedded through her hand, the long, whip-like tail that delivered it, the thick, muscular lower body that was connected to it, and traced it up to the bat-like wings, the barrel-sized chest, and the face. The face of a devil, massive ears like a double-sided axe stretching out from his face. Piercing golden eyes, a gnarled mouth twisted into a smile. Beneath the coarse fur that covered his chest and his extremities lay pasty, pale skin. From his neck hung a camera.

An Egoist. An Occidental one.

[b]“Well, no worries, matchstick girl. I’m no murderer.”[/b]

Her eyelids felt immeasurably heavy, and she slumped onto the ground as the inferno raged behind her.

[b]“Just an opportunist.”[/b]