Even after everything she's never flinched from her name. To hide, to turn away, to pretend to be someone else... despite all the pressure that came with isolation and infamy, she couldn't see any way to be the person she wanted to be that didn't lead through being the person who she was. Home. An existence of crawling, masks, dust, power scraped from chinks of sunlight and the overflow of divine battle. A world of dust she would never feel compelled to return to. Had she found it? What did she think now? The tactics, the calculations, an understanding of the world of her next foe, Isabelle Lorenzo. Everything here was the logic of cities. There was no way in foesign to de-emphasize into the word 'Mech', that curiously barbaric sense that a God was the same manner of being as a mechanical pencil. Though perhaps that was the genius of the Terenians? In understanding the unity of all things, perhaps they saw the Spirit World as one with reality. Perhaps they exalted the pencil rather than denigrated the God. there was no word for 'barter' in foesign <- taken a tribute of idols. This one is Mordred of the Round Table, a wicked and noble knight raised from death to do battle as the Saber of Red. I think she is very relatable.> She held up her prize, a polysynth figurine. She liked the bulk of the armour and how it could unravel to reveal the girl underneath. Something about that duality felt... important in a way that she could feel slipping away. She'd punched out at least half a dozen cops and security guards already in her short stay here. But the sirens! Perhaps because their warriors were so unworthy they tried to scare their foes with extremely loud noises. She presumed that they were for the purposes of exercise - to allow warriors to double the effort it took to cross the city. She saw most people going with the flow, but she also saw warriors using the enchanted roads and stairs in dedicated rooms to simulate crossing vast distances, so they must have different uses for different castes. These people could watch Gods fight nearly every day on their anime planets. She couldn't imagine that would be worth anything to them. Immortality broken by longing, by craving. Everywhere she looked she could feel the drive that must have filled her when she decided to be reborn; everywhere it felt like she somehow hadn't reached what she was yearning for. The only times she'd felt close had been with Mirror. The only times she'd been with Mirror had been in battle... sometimes after battle. Sometimes before battle. But the battle was surely the everything in each case. So she'd do battle. As many times as it took.