Inside the armor, a Servitor. A best friend. A maid. A Praetor. A woman. Nothing more or less than that could be the heart of a Diodekoi assassin. Someone trained her entire life to be everything that anyone could need. Someone whose entire life depended on noticing every tiny thing about the world and especially the people around her. No detail could be worth overlooking. Each tiny stain and spill had a scent that stood apart from the intended order of the world, and it was unforgivable not to find them all and wipe them clean. Every person, even the godly humans with their superior genetics, gave off signals that hinted at their moods and needs. Things they weren't even aware of. But she was. She had to be. To know when to speak up and when to hide, to be able to appear from nowhere holding a tray of drinks for refreshments guests hadn't got around to demanding yet. 

Years of perfection. Years of training to improve perfection. Years of effort and attention with a body tailor made by the best breeders in the Empire. And it wasn't enough. Her entire life was leading to a single point of failure, because she didn't even know the game she was playing. 

In the darkness, a single golden eye struggles to open. 

There is so much that needs to be done. Her eye fills with tears until it's as blind as XIII's. What has she done? What has she done? She shudders. She cries without reservation, because she sees her friend in front of her. She sees her sister in her arms, for the first time in her life. She holds Mynx close, as gently as she can, and brushes her palm across the cheek with a tenderness she'd always been afraid to show. Until now. Until now. There's no time left, she has to do it now. She has to say everything now.

"Don't go, don't [i]go[/i], Mynx! Don't you dare! I see you, ok? I see you! You got me! So stay. Stay! You can gloat for the rest of your life, I promise, but don't you dare leave me! Not like this. Not like..."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You never deserved anything I did to you. All those times I was angry at myself, and scared, and... it didn't give me the right. I was horrible to you. It should be me! It should be me, not you! It should be me, me!!"

"You were perfect. Better than me. It should've been you in charge. This whole time. I wish it was. Maybe then we wouldn't be here. Things would have worked out better for everyone. I'm nothing but a monster. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't see it until it was too late. Don't go, Mynx. Don't die. You're... the only one. Who can punish me the way I have to be."

But no word, no gesture, no sign or token of acknowledgement leaves the world of that eye. How could it? Bella is not a person. She's the beating heart of the assassin Tredecima, nothing else. She has no arms to move or voice to speak with. These things belong to the armor, to the body, and those belong to the hunt. Affection is unnecessary. Speech barely more so. XIII stares at the body in her arms without seeing. Mynx's voice is tinged pink. The waves of her breathing are shallow and more beautiful than anything she's ever witnessed. 

But admiration is also unnecessary for the hunt. XIII kneels, and lays the broken body of the Toxicrene on a soft bed of scattered leaves, where she might at least be comfortable in her last moments. She was... not a name on the list. This is acknowledgement of that fact, nothing more. She takes her time to wipe her claws, her hand, her arm up to the elbow clean on the sands. XIII is a monster. XIII is a hunter. Bella's only function inside of her is to read the names written on her body. To choose the targets that come first. And so she does."

"SA! GA! KHAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

The name glows on her back and on her chest. Where the blood drips and spreads across her, it soothes the burn of the other names, like ointment on an old wound. This is not a name that will help her erase herself. This is a name she must purge to prove that she is real. When it is gone, the blood whispers, she will be whole. It took two sisters to write this prayer upon her. Two sacrifices in the full favor of Artemis. Nothing less could buy a name as valuable as Mother's. 

Her body is alight in golden light. Muscles spark with power, and she hunches lower, and lower, and puts herself on all fours to take the shape that will channel all of it. The claws on her hands and feet tear into the sand like flesh. Her teeth are bared in a full animal snarl. She cannot feel the other names on her anymore. Her eyes can't even see their lines. There is only one figure in the wastes, as large and radiant as a sun. 

Mother is a tangled and complicated knot of lines. Her life is a puzzle that needs to be torn open in careful turns to solve and end it. This will not be a simple hunt. This will not be an easy kill. It may even break her to try. XIII licks her lips in anticipation. She bounds forward, potential exploding into motion all at once, and disappears from the sight of every eye upon her. 

She comes. She hunts. She tears space apart wantonly for the crime of getting in her way. One tiny hole opens in the clouds, a bargain struck by one god or many. She doesn't know. Doesn't care. All it means is that, before it closes, a ray of sunlight creeps through to shine against her armor as she hangs impossibly in the sky. She gleams like a star in the night sky for a moment. Only for a moment. 

And like a star, she falls. She is coming. She is here. She is Hunting. She. Is. Death. Are you ready, Mother? You, who court Zeus' favor so freely, ought not to have devoured your children.