Speak not to the outsider. Sometimes it isn't a warning or a command. Sometimes it is an observation that speech is impossible. Stop? Stop [i]what[/i]?

Stop being who she is? What she is? Stop being an engine of angelic battle? Stop being an interface for the violence of the ancient world? Stop caring, stop loving - dispatch you with the same coldness she undid the Spirit? Stop moving, tear her steel skin off her body, peel herself raw and helpless until she's smaller than you, poorer than you, weaker than you, lesser than you? You want her to sheathe these blades that are her heart? Let things go back to a normal that never satisfied her?

Oh, Isabelle. She'd die before she stopped. She is in the tournament for the battle. She was in the war for the duel. She walked the mountain because she wasn't complete without it. You have a home, a life, a family, wealth and riches. If you stop your life goes on. If Solarel stops her life goes [i]out[/i].

She leaps into gravity. Her annihilation shield cuts through the walls built to cage her. Her falling flight adjusts in sparks and flames. One sword cuts away the ghosts you send to haunt her with heartless words. The other seeks to sheathe itself inside you. There are techniques she could use; she does not. Not on the first exchange. Not when she's learning your reach, your stance, your reactions, and all the swirling memories of the data geists that burn around the blade of her sword. That's right. To the heart. To destroy the machine you must conquer the girl.

Forward, forward, forward. To the heart. 

[Figure someone out: [b]10[/b]. You may ask one.
- What are your feelings about battle?
- How could I get you to fight me truly?
- How could I get you to betray the ideals that enslave you?]