XIII falls as a star should, the way a god must when they are struck down by some mortal drunk on hubris. Her body burns, hot enough even that for the first time she can't feel the names carved into her skin. There is only the sensation of pain, of being made of fire and sent crashing through the air by a sudden inversion of gravity. Her stomach squeezes from the weight of her descent. She tumbles head over tail, falling, falling, falling, burning: the roar of the wind around her is her only companion as she falls, with nothing to do but train her eyes upward to see where the upstart lioness will land even as her uncontrolled spiraling constantly tries to pull her sight away. 

She does not scream or make a sound. Not even a grunt of surprise when she was suddenly struck with the hull of [s]her own ship[/s] the [i]Anemoi[/i]. She is poised. Perfect. If her role to play is to be a meteor, then she will strike the earth with idealized grace and composure. When she reaches up with her hand, it is only to wrench her body free from the spell of spiraling gravity and with her own raw strength force herself to flip upright. Even like this, she always finds her feet. 

The first explosions catch her just before she lands. The impact drives her into the sands up to her knees with enough force to send shivers through her bones. She does not bend. When the rest of the rounds catch, she meets the endless ocean of bursting SP ammunition looking for all the world like a statue after the apocalypse. 

The world shrinks. It squeezes the whole of her with random clawing, pinching, grabbing hands that push and compress her until she is in a Box too small and too painful to even fit herself inside of. Her straining eyes see only hot, blinding white light. The roar of exploding shells fills her ears and expands until it's the only thing she has inside of her. Roaring. Screaming. Shrieking. No mind. Pain. Pain. The cocktail of horrific scents layer themselves one atop another until they become a single miasma of foulness beyond description. The flavor pulls bile from her stomach just to cover it with new fire. It dribbles out her lips, and she is helpless to stop it. Each tiny break in the torture is only a trick so that the next new burst will ruin her straining senses all the harder. She is disintegrating. Shattering. Breaking.

Dying. She must be dying. Kill her. Kill her!

She squeezes her head with a wet, gurgling howl. She balls her hand into a fist, and smashes it into her face. The world shuts off in response. Black and cool where it had been white and hot. Silent where there had been nothing but torture bangs. The air with no scent. With no taste. She breathes it freely, and lets the gasses do what they will to her insides. She can't feel it anymore. She is aware of her own body only through the presence of the softly glowing names still on her skin. Where they itch, she is. Where they are dark, she is not. She is a creature in pieces, but that is enough to move.

And the Auspex is enough to hunt by. Slowly, the soothing blackness fills with gentle golden-glowing pulses and swirls. These are the movement of the creatures around her, their steps, their breathing, their hopeless words of encouragement and despair to one another made manifest into motes of light that she could snip in half with her claws, if she wanted. Where the gold pools thickest, there are softly shifting, trembling silvery lines in vague shapes she recognizes. 

Ah, yes. Bodies. Or rather, the strings that hold those bodies together. All she has to do is put her claws to them, and they'll burst apart into nothing. The light will go away. Another name, another piece of her body will vanish into pleasant nothingness. And when she's purged them all, then she too... then she too. Nothing. Soothing, silent nothing. All of it, gone away forever. The ultimate treat for a perfect girl. 

She bursts from the sands and flies up, up, up into the air high above the noxious, obscuring clouds of heavy SP smog, and doesn't even notice. She makes herself into a comet again, and falls where the brightest and sharpest lines gather. Her claws sing a clumsy song, but it's plenty for what she needs to do right now. 

Not this one. Not this one. Not this one either. Pieces of her vanish and slough off in a brief sensation of wet, numbing relief. But none of them are her. None of them are Vasilia. They could be anybody; the only way to know who dies is to kill them first, and mark which part of her body disappears in response. No matter. She doesn't mind. 

Another name falls limp in her crushing hands when she notices it. A golden chiming that ripples through through the entire world. More beautiful than the entire rest of creation. A name that burns more insistently than any other. Dangerous. Yearning. She spins and faces it, and the chiming of its soft footfalls draw closer.

XIII's mouth splits open in a savage, feral grin. Finally. Finally! The name she lusted for in her heart longer than any other! The one she must break ahead of all the others, the only one strong enough to see clearly in this world she's built for herself. Finally, finally, finally! To kill, to kill, to kill! The name she screamed herself on the morning she was born.

"Re. Da. Na..."

"Oh Bella," The voice swims around her head in melancholy greens and blues [s]just like her eyes[/s]. She comes closer still, "Look what they've done to you. I never thought you'd fall this far. It's ok, Bella. It's ok. I'm going to fix everything, now."

[XIII expends a use of Bella's Clever Tricks to buy herself an Overcome. Tenacity Incarnate is active, so with Vigor the roll comes out to an [b]11[/b]]