The canyon walls? Bizarre. Nonsensical. She was broadcasting. That's a certainty, vocalized response after final outburst confirms. Retrace memory, activated after? Doesn't line up, definitely broadcasting. Her entire damage report was record between them. Point blank, no opportunity to dodge. Pointless to do so even if it was possible. Nine Drive confirmed incapable of further shielding. Kill shot. Kill shot. And yet, the canyon walls. Why?

Risk of damage to the Bezorel? Absurd. Superior pilot, inferior machine. But protracted battled favored tech edge. Even broken Nine Drive preferable resource to empty missile racks. One limb, slow turn speed, designed for planting and barrage, any tactician on Solarel's level would trade the Bezorel's life for the Gods-Smiting Whip's. Not paying attention, then. No, also absurd. Not her. Not clever, creative, beautiful, desperate her. She knew. Understood the flow of fight, understood the opportunity, passed on it.

Mirror blinks. She is surprised to find herself above the crumbling canyon, still lighting up with explosions as the missiles set off self-destruct mechanisms and trade the Bezorel's capabilities for pyrotechnics. Her hands carried her here on their own, as automatically as they'd dodged that awkward, lancing kick. She has no memory of either maneuver. And suddenly, she understands.

"Set piece," she mutters, "Romantic. Win condition."

She scowls. Every motion on her console is meticulously tracked this time, full focus on the battle as she rushes into the air after Solarel.

"Disingenuous! Foolishness! When have you lost? When? You think you're losing now? Explain! No, do not. Do not bother. You say 'unsolved', but I am marked, marked marked. Marked. You say 'impossible', but I am defeated. Losing, even now. You. Broken machine, broken God. Rusted relic. Me. Honed machine, partner god. But look. At us. Look. At me. Told you. Told you!"

She is a blazing star, burning through the sky. She is a tangled mess of systems built only for communication that can't find any way to bridge this infinite gap, this last impossible inch. If words and signals and expressions and displays and endless training sessions weren't enough to make her heart be heard, maybe this would do the trick. Maybe everything she had would let her touch something soft, sweet, and worth possessing. If not her fingertips then her tongue. If not her tongue then her body. If not her body, then, then... then flip her over one last time, spread her apart, and fucking take her. She'll yield. This once. Promise.

"I chased you. For years. You. Revamped. Nine-Tails. Built Nine Drive. For you. Were your. Eyes shut. Last night? Who did. I want. To see. Me?"

She thrusts her trident through the Bezorel's left foot, vaults over the top of it, and smashes her knee down on the sword arm where it couldn't reach her in riposte. The fight tilts down from the sky and the pair of them come crashing back down to the earth again. The crater they make together breaks the river wall, and floods the hole with rushing water that splashes across their bodies with a burst of deep cold that explodes all at once into scalding steam. 

In the hissing, obscuring sauna built for the two of them, the Gods-Smiting Whip hurls its trident away with enough force to bury it halfway up the shaft in the crater wall. Mirror's fingers dance faster than ever, guiding her mecha through the precise and complex motion of snatching several of her Sacred Tails out of the air in each hand. Instead of projectile beams, their tips sprout focused blades, which it spirals in great crescent sweeps, brrrr, brrrr, brrrr, szzzzzt! No more arms, Solarel. No more sword. But you are not finished yet.

"You say. You want. My eyes. To see you. I can't. I can't. I can't. My focus. My attention. My mind. You cannot. Ask more. Of me. You cannot. Stop. My eyes. From wandering. I cannot. Turn off. My mind. Is seeing you. Not enough? You said. It was. Fine. Lies? Even. Now. I am. Thinking. About quilting. There is. Pattern. Want to capture. Show you. Colors. But I cannot. Be what. You say. You want. I am not. The girl. You need. I am. Broken. But you. Are the one. Who broke me. You are. Why. I see. Outside."

Two tails interlock in her hands. Tail Five floats in front of them and connects to form a full spear shaft. Mirror leaps back and plants the Gods-Smiting Whip's feet in a wide stance that hold this spear in front of her, guarding the cockpit from direct fire. There's a rumbling in the air, and blue-white arcs of raw power race across the haft, some even climbing over the Gods-Smiting Whip itself. Suddenly, the energy coalesces into a massive, unstable energy blade more than twice the size of either machine. Just existing makes it vaporize water and melt rock.

And even still, there are tears in Mirror's eyes. She grits her teeth, and tightens her grip on the controls until her fingers feel about to break.

"This is. My. Loss. But I can. Still. Give you this. Because. I love you."

She holds the blade aloft, and armor crumbles from the arm of her own mecha just from the force of it. Joints and servos glint in a sudden burst of lightning strikes the massive plasma configuration.

"Nine Drive System, Full Configuration. First Form. The Fang That Devours. The Sun."

[Fight: 4, 3, +2, +1: [b]10[/b]. Inflicting another condition, seizing a second advantage, and taking a string via flirting. This triggers Feelings 4, and with the Mask dissolving in the presence of Solarel yet again, Mirror makes an immediate additional exchange of strings]