A deep, groaning sound undercut the mayhem, like something deep within the earth had shifted. The sharp reports of gunfire followed her out of the building, and screaming—Daz? The soldiers?—but it all faded behind her as she ran. Armored transports screeched by her, covered with the black creatures all scratching and clawing at the metal to get inside. An artillery shell impacted an office a block away, turned it into a fountain of brick and fire that rained down on the civilians fleeing ahead of her. The road was rain-wet but the sky was clear, and the water was red and stuck to her feet and stung all the little cuts that crawled up her ankles. No, the elevator wasn’t close, and it did feel like no matter how fast or how far she ran it would never get any closer but that didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, Quinnlash. You have to keep running. [color=black]Our[/color] blood [color=black]our[/color] pain the more you spill the more [color=black]I[/color] see you see [color=black]me[/color] A great swelling in the boiling lake, a gout of steam as scalding water burst up and fell upon Hovvi like rain. In the mist and dark something struck up at the moon; a pillar, an umbral spire that—no. Not a structure, a thing. It twitched, and its steeple split and curled and when it came slamming down onto the docks, burying into the stone and earth below, another just like it rose up. They were hands. It pulled itself from the lake, steam wafting from its lean body. The Modir came to a hunched stand over the town. Its jagged mouth opened, a low groan dripped from its throat. In the pitch sockets on its face, red eyes glowed to life, pure and bestial. Artillery burst against its chest, its shoulders. Bullets pelted its legs and pinged off the modium scutes running down its arms. It didn’t care, it didn’t even seem to notice. It just reached up towards the moon, long fingers splayed like it might just snatch it out of the sky. Instead it closed its fist on a twisted clump of air. Black light leaked from between its fingers, distorted the space around it into odd, nigh-invisible shapes and refractions. Suddenly it yanked down, and a massive shape exploded into being. It crashed onto the town, crushing an entire span of streets and houses to nothing. Despite the weapon’s immense size, the creature hefted it up with hardly any effort. A hammer of some kind, or a club or— Its maw grew hot. Grew bright. A cannon. With a deafening, titanic [i]CRACK[/i] a blast of fire turned the artillery and the block around it into a searing crater. The Modir groaned again. Its bloody eyes swept across Hovvi and come to rest, briefly, upon the elevator. And then they turned down. To you. It sees you, [color=black]Quinnlash.[/color] [hr][hr] [i]Magnifique[/i] lay on the quarry floor, grasping the stump of its shoulder. Over the comms, Lucis’s screams were so raw Besca thought his throat might have torn. He wasn’t responding, she wasn’t even sure he could hear her anymore. Eventually his voice dried out into a ragged whimper. Ghaust had the Modir locked. The former Helburken knight moved with every ounce of the ferocious grace that had earned him his place as a pilot. His sword was a blur of white light, striking and feinting and striking again. The Modir matched him to every measure. It was like fighting a mirror; wherever [i]Grauritter[/i] moved, it stepped opposite, wherever he swung, it blocked. They could have stayed there, trading blows and parries for hours, but something was changing. Slowly, but surely. It was stronger. It was faster. Ghaust could feel it, could feel himself dragging on his blocks, it wasn’t just getting faster, he was getting tired. Damn his phasing speed, so slow, never a matter before with a team to buy time or step in. He needed minutes. He got seconds. The Modir stepped in, slid its blade down [i]Grauritter[/i]’s and hooked their guards. With a vicious twist, it wrenched the sword from his grasp and flung it away. To his credit, [i]Grauritter[/i] didn’t balk, didn’t miss a beat—he swung wide with a hard fist, but it was too late. The Modir’s blade pierced his neck straight through. He grabbed at its shoulders, grasped for purchase on the hilt. It ripped out, nearly decapitating the Savior, and in a return swing it cleaved him in two at the middle. [i]Grauritter[/i] fell in pieces. On Besca’s screen, Ghaust’s vital readings blipped out. The Modir flicked its blade and turned to [i]Magnifique[/i]. Lucis screamed over the comms once again, not in pain this time, but in terror. Like a panicked, wounded animal, the Savior pulled himself up just enough to scramble away. He tripped over his own feet, smashed through the barricade, and made a mad dash for Hovvi. The Modir did not follow. [hr][hr] [color=black]Run Quinnlash[/color] you have to run. [color=black]It sees you. It wants you you have to run.[/color] Teeth clacked in a vile rictus, the Modir raised its cannon. The maw grew bright, so bright that, for a moment, it was like she was standing under the afternoon sun again, following Besca to the marina. [color=black]QUINNLASH—[/color] Something struck the cannon—no, latched around it. At first it looked like a massive length of rope, but as it grew hot with white light, it was easier to see. Chains. The cannon’s mouth was yanked away, and it spat fire uselessly into the cliffs. The chains pulled taut, and another, massive shape flew at the Modir. Before it could raise the cannon again, a fist caught it on the head and sent it stumbling away, nearly back into the water. [i]Jubilee[/i] stood upright, holding another length of ghostly chain in its other hand, which it whipped around its wrist until it had made a white-hot gauntlet. The Modir roared, and the Savior roared right back at it. In the distance, the elevator descended. [color=black]Run, Quinnlash.[/color] It was still far, but if she didn’t hurry, she wouldn’t make it in time for the first round of evacuation. And there was no telling yet if there would [i]be[/i] a second.