SPC "Mikey" Rangel

---

Refugee Camp, North of Manila - 12/3/2022, 10:53, UTC+8

---

Mikey stuck her tongue out at Griff, but had to fight not to smile as she did it. If Griff had just been the other normal person on the task force (well, for given values of normal), she thought they probably would have ended up gravitating towards each other on that basis alone. She hadn't looked forward to being the only unblooded person on a task force that she had been told was one of the most active in the whole war; finding out that wasn't the case had been a relief. It was just lucky that he'd ended up being genuinely likable as well.

Her head jerked up at the announcement, expression suddenly serious. The South Koreans and the Japanese had held the strait, just as the Director had predicted. She didn't really know enough about the navies involved--or naval warfare in general--to know if that was impressive, but she decided to assume that it was. (She didn't know if it was better to phrase it as assuming the best or the worst, but. Y'know. Whichever.)

That sober thought kept her from cheering quite as energetically as she might have, otherwise. Instead, her gaze drifted over to Griff (himself looking serious, in what looked to her like the same funk she had seen him in before) across the gathered crowd (temporarily pacified, and she was just now realizing how tense things had been just a minute or two before, making her more than a bit anxious) then finally over to the other contingent present from the task force.

The scariest teenager I've ever met, she thought, and the Real-Deal No Shit Crown Prince of Japan.

She reminded herself that wasn't a fair judgment, in Cristina's case. Not that the other woman wasn't a teenager--just that Mikey had only left that particular category recently herself. (Somehow, that thought didn't help.) The scary part was definitely right, though.

The prince was even younger, and seemed correspondingly older for his age. That was how it worked for princes in fantasy novels, but she had thought it didn't work that way in real life. Not that she minded this alternative. Really, her biggest problem with him was that she had no idea how to act around him--royalty being completely outside of any context she had.

Mikey suddenly realized she had been staring at them just a tad too long. She caught herself, threw on a smile (which might or might not be visible at that distance) and gave an awkward wave before turning back to her pile of supplies.

La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 12/1/2022, 5:20, UTC+8

Eat, then the best thing is to go sleep for a while… can’t sleep, having such a broken sleep cycle definitely had its issues. Well then, ”Go take mo food.”

And so Nil went to the cafeteria, again.

Going back to her favourite place, she doesn't just want to eat though, the cafeteria is also a place where to commonly find other people, perfect place for both eating and people-watching. Look around, and there’s some people she already knew, maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise but it was welcome nonetheless.

Nil took a drink, something sparkly and sugary, before approaching, might take more later.

“We’ve barely talked since Lingayen. What brings a Belgian with a Greek NA from an EU spec ops unit to the other side of the world?” she asked – followed by practically inhaling the mouthful and shivering with pleasure, then going for another. “Mmmph… God, that’s good. Anyway – spill.”

Spill, it went through Nil’s mind for a couple seconds, then decided to just do it, as if it was a command and splashed her drink on Callie’s bowl, although getting some on Callie herself too.

With her other hand Nil waved casually. ”Spill.”

Callie had seen a lot in the hours before her return to Task Force Obsidian in Phnom Penh. Heard a lot. Faced down a lot.

She’d always trusted her gut, especially when it came to Charter – well, she had since she first summoned Charter, anyway. She’d had to rely on it a lot as she portalled across the city. And relying on it quite so much seemed to have… Enhanced something of it.

And so, when Callie suddenly became viscerally aware that she, and she alone, was about to be splashed with a liquid that she would very much prefer not to be splashed with, she did not question it. Instead, she suppressed her urge to stiffen or to make any movements out of the ordinary at all. And then waited.

Waited.

Before pushing back and out of her chair, leaping up and falling into a ready stance just soon enough to avoid…

The still-fizzing pop that Nil had just thrown onto her food.

Callie sagged. “God, Nil, please don’t scare a girl like that. I’m tired as is.” She plastered the half-smile onto her face again, then reached over to ruffle her hair. “Old gang’s all here, though. That’s nice. You getting on okay?”

@Chiro @Gerlando

Intermission Four - Darkest Hour

Refugee Camp North of Manila - 12/3/2022, 10:54, UTC+8 (Three Days Later)

"I guess the Imperial Court can be a pit of snakes." she spoke as she appears behind the prince for like the tenth time since they started handing food. She is about to leave to stop the brewing fight when she heard the broadcast, turning what was meant to be terrible occasion into something a little more hopeful.

"The intrigues were low-key until an Arms Master offered to make our mother more fertile so that the Imperial Family can have more legitimate children," Crown Prince Shinyahito answered Cristina as he handed out more bowls of soup to the line of refugees. "That was how my sister and I were born, but even then, things only grew really dark when she manifested her Noble Arm after a kidnapping attempt by a random terrorist group trying to make a name for themselves. That gave her actual power, and things got worse, not better, when I received my Noble Arm too; that and our different views on succession put us on a collision course."

He frowned before saying, "This camp needs more tents. Hopefully, there are a few left in storage; our supplies of them have been interrupted by enemy attacks."

One of the MPs guarding the camp, a woman, then ran up to them, saying in Filipino, then in broken Japanese, "We've received a new shipment, but we don't know where it's from; the boxes are unmarked. It could be booby-trapped or even a WMD..."

The Crown Prince's eyes glinted before he said, "I'm on it. Mr. Griffin, Ms. Rangel, can you two mind the soup kitchen and watch out for trouble while I go? I have a bad feeling about what's coming..."

He then told Cristina, "My Noble Arm has the power to analyze what it touches; some sort of psychometry. But I'll need someone to watch my back while I do so; want to walk with me to the storage tent? I'll be going there anyway..."

Assuming that Cristina went with him, Crown Prince Shinyahito went off to the large storage tent at the back, half-expecting it to be almost empty except for junk and a few bits of scrap metal and plywood.

It wasn't. Instead, row upon row of plastic boxes filled the space; some of them had been opened against regulations, revealing several compressed prefabricated tents made of weather-resistant plastic, plus solar panels, batteries, and lights, along with portable toilets and recycling equipment. There was even a collapsible hospital building made of high-grade polymers with carbon-fibre support beams. Hope warring with suspicion inside him, Crown Prince Shinyahito conjured up his spear and touched each box with the Noble Arm, trying to reach the memories of whoever made and touched this.

His eyes opened in response as he spoke, "It's from the Director; he also included a message for me to relay to you - A chance to save... her is coming."

---

It happened in an instant. The moment Crown Prince Shinyahito and Cristina were gone, several of the 'refugees' drew knives and pipe pistols and leapt upon Mikey and Archer, stabbing and shooting, hoping to take the volunteers by surprise. At the same time, several explosions were heard in the outskirts, as cries of, "For Lubao, for the Corriente Family, for the Continuation Government of the Philippines!" were heard all over the camp, some from infiltrators who were going around swinging machetes and shooting at civilian and military folk alike, others from masked gunmen who were attacking the camp guards.

If Mikey and Archer survived, or if someone was there to help them out of the sudden ambush, they'd see a portal opening, and a silver-haired woman with two swords would asually saunter out from it, saying, "Where is the sister who abandoned me?! Tell her that I've come for her!"



@Gerlando@Nimbus@Digmata@ctrlsaltdel@Archazen

SPC "Mikey" Rangel

---

"Mr. Griffin, Ms. Rangel, can you two mind the soup kitchen and watch out for trouble while I go? I have a bad feeling about what's coming..."

---

When Mikey thought about the whole thing later, that last line from the prince stood out with perfect clarity. It was an interaction right out a fantasy novel, and in other circumstances she would have struggled to take him seriously. Right now, though... maybe it was the MP's suspicion of sabotage, or the memory of how close the crowd had been to violence mere minutes before, but her face went serious; she even gave Shinyahito a respectable-for-her salute in response.

And the worst part was, that cryptic prediction from a literal prince probably saved her life. Alert as she was, Mikey spotted one of the approaching attackers drawing his weapon from a deep pocket in enough time to react. She didn't immediately recognize the object for what it was, but something in her brain said "weapon". "Stop!" She held her left hand out facing the approaching man; Angel Duster shimmered into existence in her right hand, its muzzle pointed at the ground.

The sound of the shot was almost simultaneous with her shout. The bullet went wide--pipe guns were inaccurate under the best conditions, and she had startled one of the other would-be assassins into firing before he could draw a bead--but it still felt like all the blood had drained from her body. Oh god, it's happening. Some part of her--even as she had listened to the Director's briefings, cleaned and calibrated her weapons, gone over the naval safety packet for god's sake--really hadn't believed it would happen. Even now, a small voice was trying to deny it--It wasn't supposed to be today! The mission wasn't for another four days!

Even as that part of her mind quailed, her body swung her Noble Arm up to a two-handed grip. The man Mikey had spotted was raising his weapon as well, and another line of thought, far from the action, connected the gunshot to the device in his hands.

They drew on each other. If they had been using identical weapons, Mikey probably would have beaten him anyway; she really was very good, for her age and level of experience. In reality, his weapon was a clumsy, improvised thing; hers, for all that it lacked the power of a modern military rifle, might as well have been an extension of her arm.

Mikey shot him down before the iron sights even made it to her eye. One, two. The first took him just below the sternum, the second just above that and to her right as the recoil forced the barrel to track upwards. She didn't stop to look at her handiwork; her drills back at the Proving Grounds had taught her to take only the time she needed to see her target go down before moving on to the next--a woman holding a large knife out ahead of her, charging. Bang, bang, down. A third--bang, bang, down.

But they were still coming, just about within the range where their makeshift pistols and knives would be most effective and her own weapon would be effectively useless. She swung the barrel just to the side and fired again, and this time as the crack of the shot rang out, Mikey vanished...

...only to reappear behind the attackers, half-falling against one of the refugees. She grabbed his shirt for balance, and he was too scared--by the sudden onslaught, by the American who had suddenly appeared next to him, or by his general situation--to object. Mikey quickly regained her balance, shouting back over at the tent. "Griff, watch out!" Probably unnecessary--if the gunshots hadn't alerted him, the shouting had, but she wasn't a model of clear thought at the moment. Could Griff even handle himself? She hadn't ever found out what his Noble Arm could do. Her little firing range demonstration had just accounted for half of their attackers, but that might be three too many for him...

That thought was cut short as Mikey's attention was quickly drawn by the portal, and then by the silver-haired woman who emerged from it.

She's an Arms Master. The realization was as immediate as it was terrifying. Mikey knew that, as far as powers went, hers was both nowhere near the scariest, and what strengths she did have weren't suited for anti-NA combat. And yet the common wisdom was that, on the battlefield, the best counter to an Arms Master was another Arms Master. Unless the prince and Cristina returned, and soon, this was on her and Griff.

She wanted to throw up. She wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. She wanted to scream and throw Angel Duster as far as it would go.

Instead of doing any of those things, she shouted at Archer again. "Finding a vantage point!" She didn't wait to see if he heard her before she swung her rifle up and fired at a piece of scrap sitting atop a nearby building. Again she vanished, reappearing on the roof and slumping down, both to get out of the line of sight and from sheer nerves. She really wanted to keep going and just lay down, but she took herself by the metaphorical shoulders and gave herself a mental shake. Running away was not an option. That being the case, she had to deal with the situation. And as much as she was not the person for this job, it was not an situation her training had overlooked.

Mikey fumbled with Angel Duster and ejected a bullet from its magazine, just as she had done in the gym with the sodas. What appeared instead of cola was one of the gun cases she had been toting. She unclipped it (with fingers she was genuinely surprised weren't shaking) revealing a Benelli M4 shotgun. Its barrel was shorter than standard, and it sported a pistol grip. Angel Duster vanished as she dropped it, and she began hurriedly donning both the weapon's sling and the bandoleer of shells stored in the case.

Her hands had already learned how to do this in training, so her mind was free to spend that time wondering if today was not just the first time she killed someone, but also her first time she leaving a friend to die.

---

The Prince's departure was like the spark to a powder keg. The uneasy stillness of the refugee tent site shattered in an instant, giving way to shouts, panicked cries, and the unmistakable cracks of gunfire. Griff barely had time to register what was happening before Mikey had pulled her rifle and fired. The sound rang in his ears, sharp and precise. And then she was gone.

One second she was next to him, and the next, she had vanished. "Griff, watch out!" Her voice carried back to him, urgent and distant.

Griff's head snapped toward the shout, but his gaze was immediately drawn to the attackers barreling toward him. Knives gleamed in the low light, their makeshift guns coughing out rounds sporadically. His instincts screamed at him to move, and he obeyed, diving toward a pallet stacked high with rice bags. The impact jarred his shoulder, dislodging one of the heavy bags that sagged slightly against him. He pressed his back to the stack, gasping for breath, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest.

His mind raced, unable to keep up with the chaos unfolding around him. Mikey’s Noble Arm had shown its worth in mere seconds, not just as a weapon but as something versatile, almost otherworldly in its efficiency. Griff’s eyes dropped to his own arms, his breath hitching slightly at the sight of the bracers fused to his forearms. They sat there, dull and lifeless, offering no comfort, no power—just dead weight. He clenched his fists tightly, frustration mixing with fear. If his bracers weren’t going to do anything, then he’d have to do it himself.

"Finding a vantage point!"

Gritting his teeth, Griff steeled himself and surged to his feet. The attackers were closing in, and he knew he needed to stop them before they could take aim. Charging forward, he closed the distance to the nearest man, his movements sharp and deliberate. A knife came slashing toward his ribs, and Griff’s body reacted on instinct. His arm shot up, the blade skidding harmlessly against the bracer with a sharp clang. He barely registered the sound before driving his fist hard into the attacker’s ribs. The man staggered back with a pained gasp, dropping to his knees, leaving Griff enough time to press on.

Griff barely had time to catch his breath before a gunshot cracked through the air. His body twisted sharply to the side, the bullet whizzing past him so close he could feel the rush of air against his cheek. His heart thundered in his chest, the realization of how narrowly he’d avoided death hitting him hard. He didn’t stop to think about how he’d moved so quickly—adrenaline, he told himself. It had to be adrenaline.

The gunman raised his weapon again, but Griff was already moving. He surged forward, closing the distance in a blur of motion. The gun fired once more, the bullet striking his bracer with a sharp metallic clang and ricocheting harmlessly to the side. The sound startled him, but he didn’t falter. His shoulder slammed into the gunman’s chest, driving him to the ground with a force that left the attacker stunned. The weapon clattered free, and Griff followed through, pinning the man down with swift, practiced movements.

Before Griff could recover, the glint of a knife caught his eye. An attacker lunged at him, the blade flashing in the dim light. Griff turned, but not quickly enough to avoid the knife entirely. Pain flared along his side as the blade glanced off him, slicing through his shirt and grazing his skin. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the attacker’s wrist. With a sharp twist, he disarmed the man and drove his knee into his stomach, doubling him over. Griff finished with a decisive strike to the back of the attacker’s head, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Griff staggered back, pressing a hand to his side where the knife had caught him. His breaths came fast and heavy, the sting of the wound a sharp reminder of how close he’d come. For a fleeting moment, he thought about the way his body had moved—the speed of it, the sharpness of his reactions. It felt... different, like he was a step ahead of himself. Adrenaline, he told himself again, though the thought sat uneasily in his mind. He couldn’t afford to think about it now.

Scanning the chaos around him, Griff’s gaze darted over the sea of movement—refugees fleeing, attackers pressing forward—searching for any sign of Mikey. “Mikey!” he called out, his voice raw but forceful as his eyes scoured the camp. She had vanished across the field earlier, her voice echoing back to him. He needed to find her.

Griff’s chest heaved as he stood amidst the chaos, his fists clenched tightly, the sting along his side a sharp reminder of the fight he’d just survived. The attackers lay scattered around him—some groaning, others still. The camp was still in turmoil, the cries of fleeing refugees and the distant sound of sporadic gunfire filling the night air. But for the moment, Griff stood alone, a brief lull wrapping around him like a vacuum.

It was then, as he raised his head, that he saw her.

She was already there, standing as if she had been cut from the chaos itself. Silver hair cascaded past her shoulders, catching faint glints of light, and in her hands were two gleaming swords. She stood with an otherworldly stillness, her presence commanding yet unnervingly quiet. Around her, the air rippled faintly, and Griff’s eyes were drawn to the space behind her—a swirling portal, its edges flickering like a barely contained storm. He hadn’t noticed it before. Had it been there all along? Had she?

Something deep inside him stirred, a primal instinct he couldn’t explain. He didn’t know who she was, but there was no doubt in his mind—she was a Noble Arm user. It wasn’t the swords or the portal that convinced him, though both were strikingly unnatural. It was something else, something he couldn’t put into words, as if his own Noble Arm could sense hers.

Griff’s breath caught for a moment as he stared at her, unsure of what to do next. His fists loosened slightly, the cold weight of his bracers grounding him in the moment. The battle may have been over for now, but something about her told him it wasn’t finished yet. Not by a long shot.

La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 12/1/2022, 5:20, UTC+8

Callie sagged. “God, Nil, please don’t scare a girl like that. I’m tired as is.” She plastered the half-smile onto her face again, then reached over to ruffle her hair. “Old gang’s all here, though. That’s nice. You getting on okay?”

As Callie dodged the splash last second, Nil just stood there, a little shocked by the sudden movement, but perhaps she shouldn’t be.

The Old gang probably meaning the ones from Lingayen, although missing Sophist… he didn’t end up well.

”Yes.”
Her response came pretty bluntly and without a hint of a follow up, though for those who know Nil it would be clear it’s not because of lack of interest, rather her train of thought ended there.
At least until someone says something to keep the conversation going.

---

Refugee Camp North of Manila - 12/3/2022, 10:55, UTC+8 (Three Days Later)

Pick up box, put down box, pick up box, put down box. Carrying the necessary stuff to keep the kitchen running was mind-numbing but somehow satisfying for Nil, maybe because it was a simple task fit for an Arm Master’s innate regeneration, no need to worry about getting a dislocated shoulder or aching back for too long.

For some reason Nil thought each box would be a candy for herself back at the Academy, a reason to keep doing such a menial job even if nobody told her that. This however also made her annoyed that now they weren’t moving boxes.
No one knew where they were from or whether they were even safe to handle, so they were just parked there waiting and Nil sat next to them with her legs crossed… after opening a few of them out of curiosity.

After a few minutes that felt like an hour ’Shinya’ showed up, with a less than princely outfit stained from cooking soup.

His eyes opened in response as he spoke, "It's from the Director; he also included a message for me to relay to you - A chance to save... her is coming."

Right, so they were good to be carried somewhere else, Nil stood up ready to keep doing her job, until they could hear gunshots from outside.

The sudden blazing of guns was NOT fun for Nil, as she at first covered her ears, quickly grabbing her muffs nearby and putting them on. Next moment she was looking at Shinya, who, while not her commander, was still a Prince and may know what is going on.

Noticing Shinya had already summoned his Noble Arm from checking the boxes, Nil did the same and summoned Stang.

---

"I hope you and your sister won't need to cross blades due to this, it is the worst feeling." Cristina answered to the prince as she watched the running guard going towards them. She wasn't sure why she said that, knowing that her situation and the prince is entirely different.

Regardless she followed the prince to the tent and put up her guard, she needs to compensate for Nil's lack of one after all.

She raised her eyes at the 'gift' they received, it is right to be suspicious and vigilant.

She waited with bated breath for any signs of deceit or a trap only to get a message from the prince.

A chance to save her...

She didn't get anytime to think harder at those words as she heard gunshots, it wasn't directed to them but she knew where it is coming from.

"The Refugee camp!" she yelled to the prince and Nil as she grabbed them. "Hold still."

Prince Shinyahito and Nil will find themselves blinking from place to place as Cristina uses her Noble Arm to continuous blink around. She cannot make her way in one blink but a series would be enough for her to reach the destination.

When she arrived the battle is on a temporary halt and her eyes meets her sister's.

"I guess it's finally time, I've been waiting for long for this moment." she spoke as drew her Sinagtala before her.

Then she disappeared along with the silver haired woman.

Basilia would find herself in an endless expanse of space where there is nothing.

Nothing aside from her little sister.

"We don't need to do this." she pleaded to her sister even though she knew it would fall under the deaf ears.

She knew she would have to fight her who was once and is the biggest person in her world and that it might be the only way they could interact...

This is the worst feeling.

Intermission Four - Darkest Hour

La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 12/1/2022, 8:24, UTC+8



As Henri, Nil, and Callie talked, Myron Makraig continued to worry about Noel, not helped by the fact that Tonka and Oskar had just suddenly vanished. This was bad; he was on the verge of calling up old terrorist contacts in order to break out the First Lieutenant who had believed in him when no one else would. But that meant putting himself in their debt, which can harm his friends later on - Friends who would not forgive him for the measures he took.

This time, he cannot blame them if they abandoned him; only himself. But what else can he do? Let the First Lieutenant - A mere 18 year old - suffer underneath a depraved avatar who took joy in torture? Noel Alonso deserved better; he cannot just let him spend another day in that deep dungeon like so many others have already.

"I can save him, if you'd accept a freebie," a voice suddenly said from behind him. It was a tall, beardless, blond man wearing a tank top, trousers, and work boots that showed off his lean, toned arms; Myron recognized him as Diligence. "In exchange, well... I notice Nico Makri is indisposed, right? Pass him a 'get well soon' card for me, and tell him I haven't given up on his' becoming the real Humilitas."

It was all Myron can do not to scowl at him...

@Chiro@Nimbus

Refugee Camp North of Manila - 12/3/2022, 11:00, UTC+8 (Three Days Later)

The Philippine Government of National Salvation's forces were spread thin and were not well-equipped for the sudden strike by the Corriente Family's private army. This was the second time Crown Prince Shinyahito was caught unawares by various political clans' intrigues against each other and the PGNS.

But as Cristina took her sister away into her Imaginary Space for a 'private settlement' of their issues, the boy can think clearer now about how to save the camp from this assault without excess collateral damage.

"Nil!" his tone hardened into one of command, "Stay with me! Do not fire unless we are attacked; do you get me?! If you fire at random, we'll end up harming innocent people! So don't fire until I give the say-so!"

Then he turned towards Mikey and Archer, saying, "You two! Arms Masters can use ordinary guns too, so go find some and fire!"

And as if to set an example, the Crown Prince drew a Beretta Nano he had concealed in his jacket and fired at two of the machete-wielding infiltrators who were chasing a mother and child. One was brought down, the other remained. As he saw that Nil had a clear shot, he told her, "Okay, you can fire at him and only him until he is hit, got it?"

From her new vantage point, Mikey could see that the battle outside was not going as well as it should; the Corriente Family's thugs had put machine guns and armor plates onto four Toyota Pickup Trucks that had broken through the camp fence and offloading squads of well-armed militia, while motorcycle-riding gunmen - sixteen of them on Chinese-made vehicles, rode around shooting at anything and everything. Philippine Government of National Salvation forces were rallying, with Military Police and Regular Army and Police units organizing themselves into a cordon around the camp while others swept the area for infiltrators.

What can she do right now?

@Gerlando@Digmata@ctrlsaltdel@Archazen

Refugee Camp North of Manila - 12/3/2022, 11:00, UTC+8 (Three Days Later)

Cristina’s blinking demolished whatever semblance of a plan Nil had in her head, after surviving the previous missions she had been taught: Don’t remove your earmuffs. Don’t get distracted. Don’t get near the enemy, stay in the back.

Headgear is on.
Ready to shoot.
Aaand we’re right next to the enemy now.

Two out of three is still good, right?

”Nil!" his tone hardened into one of command, "Stay with me! Do not fire unless we are attacked; do you get me?! If you fire at random, we'll end up harming innocent people! So don't fire until I give the say-so!"

The Prince’s commands were stern and confident, but most importantly they were reasonable, the thought of danger for nearby civilians hadn’t passed through the girl’s mind, some days Collateral Damage is her middle name. Nil was already looking for one of the nearby assailants, would have been an easy hit and so would have been the building behind him, with someone on the roof that ended up being Mikey… how did she end up there? It’s reminiscent of Callie’s portals.

Still, order is to wait, don’t cause collaterals, which are literally everywhere aside from the sky… and no safe way to retreat and get distance, not that bombarding the area would help with the ‘don’t harm innocent people’ part.

So Nil dispelled most of her staves, leaving only 2, then looked for some cover, the best one being right behind Archer, he was tall and had some armor on his hands, probably his Noble Arm, an ideal shield to hide behind.

As he saw that Nil had a clear shot, he told her, "Okay, you can fire at him and only him until he is hit, got it?"

”Klart.” She had been eyeing that particular opening that eventually leads straight to the sea, there was some building in the distance but if the stave was thrown with enough power it could go over it, Stang was sure of it and Nil wasn’t even close to questioning her Noble Arm’s calculations.

A moment after Shinya was done, a stave launched straight for the would-be slasher villain, rendering his entire upper body into a bloody mist almost instantaneously, leaving only his lower body slumping on the floor. _{(that poor child might never recover)}

Anyone near the trajectory would definitely feel the air pressure from an only somewhat aerodynamic rod breaking the air barrier twice and splashing into the distant sea. Nil was glad to have her muffs on and slightly adjusted them as she cowered behind Archer once again.

”That one candy, ja?”

SPC "Mikey" Rangel

---

From her new vantage point, Mikey could see that the battle outside was not going as well as it should; the Corriente Family's thugs had put machine guns and armor plates onto four Toyota Pickup Trucks that had broken through the camp fence and offloading squads of well-armed militia, while motorcycle-riding gunmen - sixteen of them on Chinese-made vehicles, rode around shooting at anything and everything. Philippine Government of National Salvation forces were rallying, with Military Police and Regular Army and Police units organizing themselves into a cordon around the camp while others swept the area for infiltrators.

What can she do right now?

---

As the prince ran up to him, a feather-light impact hit Griff's chest, and a handheld radio clattered to the ground. It immediately buzzed to life; Mikey's voice came through, crackly and distant, but the strain in her voice could still be heard through the tinny speaker.

-kzzt- "Griff! Griff, are you ok?!" A pause for breath, and her tone became more professional, though her voice still wavered. -kzzt- "Um, sorry, sir--uh, I mean, your highness? Specialist Rangel here. I have overwatch, on the building to your... southwest." Another pause. -kzzt- "Christ alive, there's a lot of them! Sorry, I mean... Counting four technicals, almost twenty smaller vehicles with armed riders following them through the perimeter breach to the west. No count on the... infiltrators, but each of those trucks is carrying an unknown number of armed soldiers." A shaky breath came through the speaker--her instructors would have chided her for bad radio discipline, but at the moment that was the furthest thing from her mind. -kzzt- "I guess Cristina is handling that Arms Master, so I'm going to do what I can from up here. Support incoming." Pause. -kzzt- "Sorry for leaving you behind, Griff. Uh, over."

Another gunshot rang out--one among many--and a gun case clattered to the ground at the Arms Masters' feet. It was branded "US Army", and inside were a Glock 19 pistol and FN SCAR rifle, with several loaded clips for each.

Atop the roof, Mikey let out a long breath. She wasn't missing the extra hardware, and one look at her would make it clear why. She lay prone at the edge of the roof, using the pack that she had pulled the radio from as a rifle rest for Angel Duster; she had pulled a flak vest from it as well, which she had donned over the Army t-shirt she had assumed would be sufficient protection for the day's activities. Her shotgun lay within easy reach to one side, where she had placed it once the enemy Arms Master was... neutralized? (She wasn't really sure what Cristina had done, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.) On the other side sat a pair of metal, military issue containers.

Ok, Mikey. She smacked her own face a couple of times, not as lightly as she intended; her hand as she pulled it away was slightly damp. Just like target practice. Load up, acquire target, aim, shoot. Load up, acquire target, aim, shoot. She closed her eyes tightly for a moment, steeling herself against the sounds of screaming refugees and gunfire, then suddenly opened them again and rolled to one side.

From the waiting containers, Mikey pulled out two grenades--one cylindrical, the other round. She took each in turn, pulling the pin and shooting them with Angel Duster to disappear them, then resumed her sniper's perch and aimed over at the closest technical as it began disgorging soldiers.

CRACK--her shot impacted the bed of the truck, next to the mounted gun, and the first grenade began belching thick white smoke in a cloud that quickly enveloped the area.

CRACK--another shot followed right on the heels of the first, aimed in the same spot, and as soon as the second grenade's impact fuse touched the ground it exploded, sending shrapnel flying in the vicinity of the truck, and hopefully killing or disabling the gunner.

Mikey had a short moment of gratitude that the smoke prevented her from seeing the results of her work before she grabbed another pair of grenades and prepared to fire again.

<Snipped quote by Chiro>

“It’s the humidity.” A figure in army fatigues practically fell into the seat beside Oskar, pallid face and messy blonde hair quickly following and a bowl of arroz caldo thunking onto the table in front of her. “Wish I’d spent more time in the South-West as a kid, I’d have been used to it already, but as is… Didn’t take too long to acclimatise.”

She spared a glance towards Henri, wan smile crossing her face below her half-lidded eyes. “Not going by rank, then, Sergeant? And give the guy a break, he’s barely arrived.” She plunged her spoon into the dish, then turned towards the newcomer, extending a hand to shake. “Caroline, Lidmann, but please just call me ‘Callie’. ‘Caroline’’s what the brass and my mum should call me, and, ideally, not another soul.”

“Speaking of…” Callie lifted the spoon, now heaped with rice broth and chicken, and pointed it at Henri vaguely accusatorially before withdrawing it to beside her mouth. “We’ve barely talked since Lingayen. What brings a Belgian with a Greek NA from an EU spec ops unit to the other side of the world?” she asked – followed by practically inhaling the mouthful and shivering with pleasure, then going for another. “Mmmph… God, that’s good. Anyway – spill.”

"Yeah, well, it is increasingly hard to follow the full protocols of the military. Especially with teens as superior officers" Henri said, swallowed another piece of stew, and continued, "As for how I got here, I, like the rest of the Laelaps Unit, was supposed to handle internal affairs within EU. There's a lot of politicians, businessmen and the like with suspected Downward Descent connections. However, with Russia and China taking an aggressive stance, we had to change policy Realpolitik. So, I was sent here to represent EU."

Spill, it went through Nil’s mind for a couple seconds, then decided to just do it, as if it was a command and splashed her drink on Callie’s bowl, although getting some on Callie herself too.

With her other hand Nil waved casually. ”Spill.”

Callie sagged. “God, Nil, please don’t scare a girl like that. I’m tired as is.” She plastered the half-smile onto her face again, then reached over to ruffle her hair. “Old gang’s all here, though. That’s nice. You getting on okay?”

"Whoa!" Henri exclaimed, was lucky to avoid having any liquids gotten on him.

He noticed at the side eye Myron talking to a man he couldn't remember the name of right now, but the looks of Myron, the man's presence wasn't welcomed.

However, it wasn't his place to interfere unless ordered to, so he returned to the conversations. Callie's interaction with... Nil was certainly a close one. Henri didn't know much about the Arms Master, despite having worked together. Then again, Nil was a general enigma, excluding Danish seemingly being her mother tongue.

Callie's comment did cause Henri to look at Nil closely. She didn't seem to be in a bad condition, but upcoming missions would be stressful.

As Callie dodged the splash last second, Nil just stood there, a little shocked by the sudden movement, but perhaps she shouldn’t be.

The Old gang probably meaning the ones from Lingayen, although missing Sophist… he didn’t end up well.

”Yes.”
Her response came pretty bluntly and without a hint of a follow up, though for those who know Nil it would be clear it’s not because of lack of interest, rather her train of thought ended there.
At least until someone says something to keep the conversation going.

"So...Nil" Henri said, pondering what to say. "What brings you here?... To this table, I mean."

((Collab between @Letter Bee and @Digmata.))

Mirage Space

Basilia Bernardino faced her sister, her two swords drawn. The longsword on her right had a blue-and-white hilt and gave off a cooler aura, a calmer glow even when its counterpart in the woman’s left hand, a wicked-looking cutlass with a red hilt covered in black reptilian leather, flashed red maliciously. She said, “Every time I thought of giving you a chance, you wave your fortune in my face! I thought you had started to care about me again, but then I saw you with that Prince! Oh, I get it, we both share the same tastes in prematurely gray-haired young men - Stop showing off how successful you are!”

Then she swung her first sword, letting loose a horizontal wave of burning white light that cut through the air itself.

Cristina looked at the cutlass; that must be the Noble Arm that she gained from the descent.

Although for a moment she got distracted, “Wait what? No!” she spoke as she rolled away from the light’s path. “Shinya is a friend, more of a superior to be honest.” She denied her sister's allegation as she blinked on her back and performed a lunge.

Basilia thrust her Cutlass, opening a portal, and the portal’s other end was behind her, in the direction of Cristina’s thrust. This meant the Cutlass’ blade blocked Sinagtala as Basilia spoke, “Don’t lie to me! You promised never to lie to me! Or are you breaking that promise too?!”

She was twisting everything Cristina did or said in the worst light possible, even when it made no logical sense. What conclusions can be drawn from this?

“I did not! Please believe me.” Cristina pleaded as she found herself in a bladelock but both her words and arms wavered at her sister's superior strength and rage. She finds herself being pushed back even as she tries her best to hold on.

Basilia paused, her face scrunching, eyes closing as her brain tried to find a way to misconstrue Cristina’s words in the worst possible light. Or was it her brain that was distorting things?

If Cristina did not figure out what was going on in her sister’s head soon, Basilia would open her eyes, but that did not mean she saw anything beyond the overwhelming rage that forced her mouth open to call Cristina a liar.

Cristina took the opening for what it is, pushed her blade in, but the attack stopped an inch from her chest. Cristina looked at her sister's eyes filled with tears and resolve.

“Please don't make me do this.” she spoke in a low tone as Basilia saw her face. It is no longer the scared face she always saw when she was younger.

Cristina's face was more hardened like a woman who was searching for her resolve.

She didn't want to do this, but she will if she has to.

The red glow from the black-and-red Noble Arm flickered before suddenly turning off. The blue glow shone brighter, but not to the point where it glared. The rage in Basilia’s eyes faded as she scrunched her face, struggling to do… what? It was like someone trying to remember something from long ago, an old grandmother or busy parent trying to remember something they should know.

Her next words were calm for the first time since she and Cristina met anew, “You’ve intimidated the Red Soul. If your friend Henri is nearby, take me to him and have him use his Anti-Magic power. As it is, even now, something - A filter, a loop? - is trying to paint everything you say and do in the worst light even when it makes no sense. Even now…”

She sighed, beginning to shake, as though containing something she was struggling to keep sealed inside. “I didn’t want to admit it, but I was not as strong as I thought. I wanted you with me even when it was bad for you. Even now, it is far easier to believe that you abandoned me, instead of being honest with myself that I wanted you beside me more than, more than, more than…”

More than I wanted your happiness, was the unspoken implication.

Basilia Bernardino screamed anew as the red Noble Arm flared brightly with a crimson nimbus, and she began shouting, “NO! NO! NO! NO! You never wanted my happiness! You should have stayed beside me! I missed you! Why did I have to take the high road and let you go?! Why did my needs never matter?!”

“Sister…” Cristina muttered as she listened to her sister. So that's what's happening to her. She let out a sigh of relief as she saw that her sister despite everything is not yet far gone.

Which is why when the so-called Red Soul took over once again, she is no longer afraid, instead she is determined to take what made her start this journey in the first place.

“Shut the fuck up!” she yelled to the Red Soul possessing her sister. “You are not her, you're just a parasite taking her will and pulling her strings.” She took a few steps back and called upon Sinagtala once again. While she does have an option of removing the influence with her new powers, she opted to not rely on it for now due to the chaos outside the Imaginary Space.

Plus she needs to punish this soul for tormenting her sister's mind.

“Sorry sis.” she spoke with a steely voice as she took a stance. “This will be a little painful.” she declared as charged to the Red Soul determined to make this sentient Noble Arm pay!

The cutlass swung, but the blue-and-white hilted longsword resisted her commands. Basilia’s expression turned calmer, clearer, as she spoke again, this time with tears flowing, “Cristina! Do it! Also, I’m sorry for being a bad sister - What I did say about wanting you beside me more than you being happy, and regretting having taken the high road back then, it’s still true! I hated being alone!”

Cristina's strike found its mark at her sister's stomach, it shouldn't immediately kill her but give her time to fall unconscious.

“I know.” she said as she kept her grip on the blade. “You can rest now, I’ll have you back. I promise.” Cristina spoke with a comforting voice.

Basilia was tossed backwards by Cristina’s strike, but digging into some reserve of strength, she stood up; the blue-white longsword was no longer moving according to her commands - If anything, it had gotten heavier - but the red cutlass was still there. Nevertheless, the older woman’s mind remained clear a while longer, as she said, “Not entirely controlled. Not entirely willing. That’s me, but while the mental filter, Red Soul, trying to make your actions look as bad as possible, has been broken…”

She dispelled the blue-white longsword and instead pointed the cutlass alone at Cristina, all but openly challenging her, “I have pride that’s not just Superbia trying to trick me - Only the strongest little sister in the world can save me.”

Basilia cut open a portal whose other end was just a few inches away from Cristina’s stomach and punched at it through the rift in space-time with a closed fist, before saying, “Are you that, Cristina?”

Cristina was forced to take a few steps back from the blow. This moment, it reminds her of the old times when she was trying to unlock her Noble Arm.

She tightened her grip on Sinagtala as she let out a smile. “I will!” She declared, boasted and disappeared for a moment.

Before appearing before her sister and letting out a slash. She needs to be aggressive, keep the initiative away from her.

This time, Basilia allowed her cutlass to clash with Cristina’s blade, before pressing forward and slashing downwards, almost chopping, at her right shoulder. Her next words were, “Don’t get crippled saving me now.”

She was even smiling.

Cristina cursed her smaller frame as she found herself slowly pushed back, it was however something she accounted for.

“I won’t.”

Her body disappeared at the minute, appearing behind her sister as orbs of fire began conjuring on her blade. She rained them down on her, hoping that some would hit.

Basilia just cut open an extra-large portal that spat back the orbs at Cristina’s front, emulating one of Angelito Jaime’s famous techniques…

Cristina would blink away from the orbs and fire the rest away with her own, resulting in a smokescreen in the sky that she used to fly away and assault her sister from the sky. It would be comparable to the assault of a hawk, dodge or parry one and Cristina will fly away for another assault.

If there is one thing she knew she was better, it was holding on.

Basilia ducked and weaved the first two times, then cut a portal in front of Cristina on her next dive, a portal whose other end led to just a few inches above the ground. Can she dodge in time or splat?

There's no time for Cristina to evade nor brace herself for the dive. She landed badly but managed to roll away. Those portals she needs find a way to get around them.

How about this?

Cristina flew again charging to her sister, before blinking behind her at the last minute and letting a downward slash.

Basilia cut open another portal, but Cristina blinked before she entered it, teleporting behind her sister’s genuine blind spot. She would hit, and her cut would sever several locks of her sister’s hair.

“No fair!” Basilia said as she barely managed to turn around to face her younger sibling. “And by that, it’s very fair. You’ll pay for the hair regrowth if you succeed in capturing me, right?”

And she resumed her onslaught, trying to cut Cristina with a flurry of four weak but fast strikes, then opening another portal with the fifth, which would open behind Cristina, allowing Basilia to try and sucker punch her with her free fist.

“Oh come on, you're the one spamming portals left and right!” she complained as she parried her sister's attack, finding out the fist too late as it landed to her face.

Leaving her open for another attack.

Basilia wasn’t trying to kill her this time, but she was determined to make sure Cristina earned any victory she had, and so she began another flurry of slashes, aiming to leave several shallow cuts and force her younger sibling to admit defeat.

Cristina’s cheek would be cut by the blade and she parries the upcoming ones and teleports herself away from the last one.

“What the hell?” she says she touched her bleeding cheek.

“You're not taking this seriously are you!?” she accused her sister.

Basilia responded bluntly, “If I took this seriously and I were not getting a mental filter distorting the information I get, you’d be dead.”

Cristina will grit her teeth at her sister's flawless logic before speaking again.

“The fact of the matter is-”

Her voice is cut-off by her suddenly teleporting in front of her sister slashing. The tantrum is a ploy and Cristina made her opening.

Basilia barely parried, then took a few steps back before attempting another series of slashes and cuts, stronger this time.

And yet those cuts could only reach air as Cristina moved or blinked left to right to keep her sister on their knees. Just as when she is getting a pattern from her movements would Cristina change it up with a flash to blind.

Which is then followed by a thrust to her chest.

Instinct saved Basilia long enough for her to parry the thrust with her cutlass, staggering back as she said, eyes closed, “You’ve gotten better. Maybe you have what it takes to defeat me after all.”

She cut with her cutlass again, tearing a wide portal in front of her, a portal that led to the sea.

Water began glowing throughout the imaginary space…

Cristina will strike a few more times as Basilia effortlessly parries her attempts to draw blood. Was it just her or her sister somehow better?

The glow gave Cristina the warning she should get away which is why she blinked and flew away. If only she had the power to summon the sun.

As Basilia recovered, she closed the portal, realizing that her feet were wet now. She then took a defensive stance and waited for Cristina to attack; without the white-blue sword, she lacked ranged options, and the white-blue sword was not responding right now…

Another standoff, one that Cristina used to breathe as her sister closed the portal. So that was a bluff, one that she fell splendidly.

She looked at her sister, she looked like someone who barely broke a sweat while burning her reserves quickly.

Cristina landed to the ground, took a stance and held her blade with two hands, she cannot afford a battle of attrition.

So she attacked, combining aggressive slashes with sudden thrust forgoing defense in favor of dealing damage.

Basilia was starting to tire, to break, her reactions a split-second slower than they used to be. Was there going to be an opportunity?

Cristina doesn't know so she’ll make her own, she swung harder as flames began igniting her blade. Then she found it.

An opening to her guard, a moment to slash her stomach.

And she took it.

Basilia’s scream as Cristina’s blade cut through under-armor and skin was a signal of victory.

“All right, you win, you win!” Basilia admitted. “You managed it!”

A moment of silence lasted between the two as Cristina kept her guard up for anything that might spoil her victory. She raised the blade to her sister's neck before speaking.

“Your Noble Arm now.” she spoke.

Basilia nodded, and passed the scimitar to Cristina.

With a soft sigh, Cristina tossed her sister's blade upwards and transformed her blade into a greyish form. In a single swing, the now Noble Arm negating Sinagtala collided to the scimitar, snapping it in half.

At the same moment, the siblings now returned to the real world and Cristina pointed her blade once again.

“Just needed to be sure.” she spoke.

Basilia nodded, then asked, “So, it seems I’m your prisoner now?”

There was a moment of silence before Cristina spoke. “I guess that's how things work or whatever the government tells me as due process.” she said before hugging her.

“But if they try pull something before us, I’ll make sure they'll regret that decision.” she promised.

---

There had been a man there. One second—a living, breathing, moving thing. The next? Gone. Griff stood motionless, his breath caught somewhere in his throat, his body suddenly unfamiliar to him. He felt rigid, like his limbs weren’t his own, like the very idea of movement had become something distant—an abstract concept his brain was struggling to recall.

It wasn’t just the brutality of it. It was the speed. The power. The sheer, unnatural force with which Nil’s Noble Arm had erased a human being from existence. There had been a man there. He was certain of it—he had seen him, registered him as a threat, prepared himself for another clash. And now there were only his legs left. His mind splintered into fragments, thoughts scattering in random directions, none of them helpful.

'Move. Move. You need to move.' But his legs didn’t listen. His body remained frozen, his chest tightening, his breath too shallow, too fast.

'That wasn't normal.'

'You know that wasn't normal, right?'

'He was there. He was there. And now he's not.'

His fingers twitched, curling slightly, his hands balling into unsteady fists. He felt like a marionette whose strings had been suddenly severed, his body waiting for a command that his brain couldn’t seem to deliver.

'What if it had been me?'

The thought flared so violently in his mind that his stomach twisted. If Nil had decided, if the trajectory had been slightly different, if—no, he wasn’t finishing that thought. He needed to move. He needed to breathe.

A sudden impact hit his chest, jolting him just enough to break the paralysis. His glazed-over focus snapped downward. A handheld radio. It buzzed to life, crackling through bursts of static.

"—iff! Griff, are y—k?!"

The voice was familiar. Distant. Mikey. Griff’s throat was dry, his limbs still sluggish, his thoughts jumbled. He needed to snap out of it—needed to force himself back into the moment. His breath was coming too fast, his pulse hammering in his ears. Static crackled again.

"—your highness? Speci—gel here. I—watch—building—southwest."

His mind was slow, struggling to piece together fragments.

'Southwest… She left me?'

'No. No, she shot across camp. She’s fine. She’s—'

Another pause, another broken message.

"Christ—lot of them! Counting fo—technicals, tw—riders—perimeter breach."

Four. Twenty. The numbers weren’t clicking properly, weren’t fitting together in his mind the way they should. Griff sucked in a breath, rolled his shoulders, shaking the stiffness from his limbs. The battlefield was coming back into focus, piece by piece.

"Sor—leaving you—hind, Griff. Uh, ov—"

Leaving him behind. That was the part his brain latched onto, twisting the words in the fog of shock and adrenaline. Leaving him behind. He knew it wasn’t intentional, knew Mikey wasn’t saying it like that, but the thought coiled around his mind anyway. Something snapped inside him. Not fear—not anymore. Something hotter, sharper—the stubborn refusal to let this moment control him.

Griff exhaled sharply. Then, before he could let his thoughts spiral further, he pulled back his fist and punched himself straight in the jaw. The pain was instant. White-hot, blinding, perfect. His head jerked sideways, his lip splitting as the coppery taste of blood flooded his mouth, dripping onto his tongue. Good. That did it. The battlefield sharpened instantly.

The explosion hit next—a deep, rolling boom that roared through his bones, thick smoke curling through the air. Shrapnel clattered, dust kicked up. The technical was gone. Obliterated. He barely flinched.

His pulse was fire. His senses were steel.

His eyes flicked downward—two gun cases, dropped by Mikey. His fingers twitched once, a brief hesitation, but he already knew the answer before the thought even fully formed. No guns. No killing. But something was different. Something surged through him. Heat pooled in his veins, thrumming, as if something under his skin had woken up for the first time.

That’s when he felt it.

A pressure—no, a presence—coiling around his forearms, something settling, shifting, unfolding with the same unstoppable momentum rolling inside him.

His Noble Arm. It was changing.

The bracers he had relied on—the ones that had always felt unfinished—weren’t just there anymore. They expanded, plating stretching and shifting over his skin, a seamless transition of molten metal reforming itself into something complete.

Gauntlets. Full. Tangible. Ready.

His breath hitched. His heart roared. Then—movement. An attacker surged toward him, machete gleaming, eyes burning with murderous intent.

Griff didn’t hesitate.

His body moved before his mind did. A step forward—too fast, too smooth, too perfect—his foot hitting the ground heavier, more controlled than ever before. The attacker lunged—Griff’s arm snapped up, intercepting the strike without effort. Metal met metal—his gauntlet caught the blade—and for the first time, the strength behind his grip felt like his own.

His other fist came next. No thought. No delay. Pure, exhilarating instinct.

He swung—clean, decisive, brutal. The moment stretched and his knuckles crashed into the attacker’s face—bone shattered instantly. A sickening crunch. Blood exploded, spraying across the ground. The attacker’s head snapped back, his body crumpling before he even had a chance to scream as a sickening smile crept across Griff’s face.

Unconscious. Face in tatters. Done. Griff stood taller now. His chest rose and fell, controlled, steady. This was different. This was new. And it felt right. There was no time to process it—no time to question—only time to fight.

And he wasn’t holding back anymore.

News travelled fast, these days. If a gunshot could be heard around the world in the late 1700s, word of one could certainly travel a few kilometres in a matter of seconds now.

Particularly if that gunshot was in the vicinity of the Crown Prince of Japan in a foreign nation.

In her ear, Mikey heard a murmur.

“Friendly incoming – no blue-on-blue.”

And then a void the colour of the sky opened just behind her and a woman in fatigues fell through it into a crouch behind the lip of the roof, blonde ponytail whipping behind her and long rifle, with antique spyglass mounted, clutched in her hands. “Specialist,” Callie intoned with a nod as the portal closed behind her. Then she turned to the battlefield, focus in her darting eyes.

She let go of the rifle with one hand, placing it down with practised speed – and the other hand still on the spyglass. The now free hand she raised, as if to cast a spell, and then began sweeping individual fingers back and forth as if she actually were.

The motorcycles bisected. There was no other word for it – no great bangs, little fire, only great chunks of metal and rubber that split away from the vehicles as if sundered by swords of impossible sharpness, sending clouds of dust spewing forth and flinging screaming riders from their vehicles at terrible speeds. To a watchful eye, their guns, too, came apart, scattering harmlessly across the ground.

Within about three seconds, none in sight were left intact.

Callie let out a heaving breath, then turned back to Mikey. “Any orders in effect? If we need evac –” she added, she threw a gaze behind her, whence she came.

@ctrlsaltdel

Intermission Four - Darkest Hour

La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 12/1/2022, 8:29, UTC+8



Myron mused that Diligence made a good pitch. In other circumstances, he would have been persuaded, but to be blunt, accepting help from the Seven Virtues at this point would push away not just Nico Makri but a surviving Lei Qingshe... If she survived. So his next words were, "If you people were so kind and altruistic, you'd rescue him for free. What's stopping you?"

Diligence was shocked and said, "Superbia is... usually stronger than all of us combined. Without a Humilitas, we're fundamentally incomplete."

He then regained his poise as he spoke, "But to be honest, that's coward's talk, unworthy of us."

The blond man sighed, then said, "You've talked us into this - We will be rescuing Noel for free. Expect First Lieutenant Alonso to be back by the end of the Second Battle of La Naval de Manila... Or maybe earlier. Wish us luck."

For the first time, Myron wished a member of the Seven Virtues luck as Diligence vanished in a flash of blue-white light, no doubt dispelling his Avatar.

Then he turned towards Callie, Henri, and Nil, glancing at them long enough to let them know one ear of his' was paying attention to their conversation, and walked towards the three before adding, "You know, Henri, I've done my own digging, and I must say, a Noble Arm that is oriented towards negating other Noble Arms? If this were the 'old days', the Disablers - My old group - would be considering you as a grudging ally."

His eyes then glinted as he continued, "I made mistakes in their service. Remember what motivated those mistakes, no, atrocities. No one is immune from the urge to participate in the cycle of oppression and revenge - I say this not out of scorn, but out of concern."

@Chiro@Nimbus

Refugee Camp North of Manila - 12/3/2022, 11:05, UTC+8 (Three Days Later)

Crown Prince Shinyahito shouted through the radio, "All MPs and Normal Police units, plus Callie - take the motorbikers into custody; do not let them escape!"

This was said with unusual viciousness for the normally kind and gentle little prince as he, with Nil in tow, walked to where Cristina and Basilia were, and he asked the two, "Need a first aid kit?"

He then introduced himself to the latter with a slight bow, then a smile, "You must be Basilia Bernardino; I'm happy you're in a better state now - Cristina really looks up to you."

Looking at Nil again, then Archer and Mikey, the Crown Prince of Japan said through the comms, "Mikey, observe the remaining Technicals as they drive through the Refugee Camp and tell Nil where and what to shoot! Archer, if your armor has superhuman speed, race to the breaches on the western fence and cut off their route of escape!

As for what the western fence was, the refugee camp was arranged in a rectangle surrounded by a small ditch and a metal fence with barbed wire on top. The enemy's Technicals had breached such weak defenses by just plowing through the ditch and the fence, and it was clear that the Corriente Family's goons were planning on using that as their way of escape; indeed, several of their assassins had already snuck out that way after sensing defeat, but their boot prints can be seen through the mud.

Crown Prince Shinyahito made up his mind; if ASEAN and its allies won the coming Naval Battle, something will have to be done about Lubao and the Corriente Family...

@Gerlando@Digmata@ctrlsaltdel@Archazen

La Trinidad de Manila Academy - 12/1/2022, 8:29, UTC+8

"So...Nil" Henri said, pondering what to say. "What brings you here?... To this table, I mean."

That was a good question, was there a reason to come to this table specifically? Unsure.
There was something about the familiar faces? Or what Callie asked before? No, she wouldn’t have dodged if she wanted to get spilled with soda.

Taking a step back, what brings her here? The answer was rather simple.
”Food.” Nil answered rather bluntly and proceeded to stare at the other two Arms Masters on their chair, and Myron too once he walked in.

She had no idea what this talk about Disbablers was all about.

---

Refugee Camp North of Manila - 12/3/2022, 11:05, UTC+8 (Three Days Later)

It was a pretty comical scene from the outside looking in. The underage Prince, giving commands to the grown-ups and even dragging around the comparatively big Nil like a troublesome toddler, all while guns are shooting nearby.

Still better than the real battlefield. No trenches, no laying on the ground and a lot less bullets and explosives than a real war, they even had time for formal introductions.

Say, didn’t that girl next to Cristina look like one of the ‘big bads’ from one of the briefings or post-mission reports? At the very least they looked very similar, but no one was hostile with her so there should be no reason to worry.

Looking at Nil again, then Archer and Mikey, the Crown Prince of Japan said through the comms, "Mikey, observe the remaining Technicals as they drive through the Refugee Camp and tell Nil where and what to shoot!”

”Aye.” Nil replied with practiced readiness, and definitely less spooked than Mikey.

---

SPC "Mikey" Rangel

---

“Friendly incoming – no blue-on-blue.”

Mikey froze, Angel Duster in her hands but not yet aimed to deliver the next smoke grenade. The voice sounded familiar--and here, a familiar voice with an American accent could only be so many people. The young woman rolled onto an arm and swiveled her head around--the gesture a bit wild--looking for the "incoming" friendly. Her guess was confirmed a mere moment later, and in the present moment, whether her lack of surprise to Callie's sudden appearance displayed a surfeit or a deficit of composure was really anyone's guess.

“Specialist.”

"H-hi." She hiccuped out the greeting, but thankfully Callie seemed to have better things to do than listen to her stammer. Mikey's eyes tracked the view of the telescope--presumably the other woman's Noble Arm--reluctantly back to the chaos below. Those eyes went wide as she watched the handiwork written upon the riders. "They just fell apart," Mikey breathed, not even realizing she had spoken aloud. Her own destruction of the technical had taken a lot of prep, all told, and had been loud and--something in the back of her mind was screaming--messy. Callie had disabled over ten times as many vehicles in seconds--and a dark corner of Mikey's mind noted that she might not even have killed anyone in the process.

Mikey turned back to the other woman, mouth slightly ajar, as she heard Callie heave a breath of exertion.

“Any orders in effect? If we need evac –”

Before Mikey could speak up, the radio crackled to life.

""All-zzzt-Police units, plus Callie - take the motorbikers into custody; do not-zzzt-them escape! Mike-zzzt-bserve the remaining Technicals as they drive thr-zzzt-tell Nil where and what to shoot! Archer-zzzt-to the breaches on the western fence and cut off their rou-zzzt"

Her first thought was, Oh, thank god, Griff's ok.

Mikey shook her head, took a deep breath, and grabbed the radio. "A-affirmative, your highness. Over. She released the talk key and waved the radio at Callie. "So you just heard all the orders I've got right now. All I know at the moment is we're under attack." Fuck, what information was she supposed to include in her report? "Number of hostiles unknown. One hostile Arms Master, um, neutralized? Fewer vehicles now, I think there are still about three technicals with mounted guns. Uh, sorry--uh, I've gotta... yeah."

She grimaced--Christ, even under current circumstances she was embarassed to look that uncool in front of Callie--rolled back on her stomach, and used a pair of binoculars to peer over the edge of the roof. The technicals had starting moving forward into the camp proper, leaving their disabled sibling behind and pushing the crowd forward--both with the mounted guns and by the simple expedient of driving into them where they were too close to shoot.

Mikey was silent for as she took it all in. For a long moment, she didn't even take a breath. Finally she let out a long, ragged exhale; her inhale was shaky as she keyed the radio, her voice flat, almost robotic.

"Nil, right?" Another breath, this one steadier. "Three targets. All thinly armored. The crowd is heading your way, so watch your fire. There's a big truck about twenty meters to your six o'clock. True to her word, there was an M35 cargo truck parked behind the group on the ground; the soldiers who had used it to haul supplies to the camp had abandoned it when the shooting started, but its roof stood almost three meters off the ground. "You may be able to use that as a vantage point." Mikey resumed her prone shooting position, the barrel of her gun tracking down--"Targets are approaching from the west--first target is at your two o'clock, seventy meters."--past the northernmost technical she had just called out to Nil, until the second technical sat between the metal sightposts. The truck wasn't moving quickly--it literally couldn't, in the cramped confines of the camp--and it was barely more than a hundred and fifty feet away from her perch at this point. Mikey took an extra moment to aim before firing, four rounds rapid, at the man on the mounted gun.

---

The prince’s command rang sharp through the comms, cutting clean through the chaos of the battlefield.

"All-zzzt-Police units, plus Callie - take the motorbikers into custody; do not-zzzt-them escape! Mike-zzzt-bserve the remaining Technicals as they drive thr-zzzt-tell Nil where and what to shoot! Archer-zzzt-to the breaches on the western fence and cut off their rou-zzzt"

The order was all Griff needed to hear. Without hesitation, he charged forward, boots tearing through the churned earth as his body locked into a rhythm that felt both new and deeply familiar. His gauntlets were no longer just armor; they had become an extension of him, anchored to bone, fused to instinct.

He pushed through the wreckage of the camp, weaving between tents and shattered crates, vaulting low barriers, and catching himself on debris without ever losing momentum. His breath came hard and fast, not driven by fear but by the sheer force of his relentless pace. Every movement was deliberate, not perfect nor supernatural, but fast, efficient, and always just ahead of danger.

As the western fence came into view, its barbed wire curled around the break like twisted fingers, Griff spotted fresh footprints in the mud, three figures slipping through the gap and making a break for it. Surging forward with purpose, he didn’t hesitate. The first figure turned too late, and Griff’s shoulder collided with him full force, driving the man sideways into the ground. Despite the hard impact, Griff was already rolling, on his feet and moving again before the man could even groan. The second swung a pipe at Griff’s head, but he ducked low, stepped inside, and delivered a gauntleted fist into the attacker’s ribs with a sickening crunch. Following through with an elbow to the neck, he dropped the man instantly.

The third figure had already begun fleeing. Griff gave chase, his boots pounding through the mud and grass. Catching hold of the man’s collar, Griff yanked him back, sending him sprawling to the ground. One clean punch to the jaw ended it, fast, precise, brutal. Standing alone at the breach, Griff’s chest rose and fell with the weight of what he had just done.

Then he heard it, a low, rattling growl. The sound of an engine grinding through the distance as tires struggled for grip. The noise carried a weight far greater than any other chaos on the battlefield. It was a truck, a technical, its scrap armor bolted haphazardly to the front. There was no gunner, just a driver hunched forward as if sheer willpower alone could propel the vehicle through anything in its path. The truck was headed straight for the breach, and for him.

His body protested as his legs ached, his ribs throbbed with dull pain, and his back remained stiff from earlier clashes. Yet none of it mattered. The gauntlets pressed warmly against his skin, their weight both reassuring and potent. Griff had no certainty if his plan would succeed, but the resolve that had carried him this far told him he had to act. As the truck hit the ditch, its front end dipping low under the strain of its suspension, Griff moved.

He stepped into its path, launching himself off the ground with both fists raised overhead. Time seemed to stretch as his gauntlets came crashing down. The roar that erupted from Griff wasn’t a word or even human, it was pure, primal sound, forged from pain, willpower, and something deeper within him. His fists struck the hood like a sledgehammer meeting steel, and the truck collapsed under the force. The engine crumpled, the front axle twisted, and steam hissed from the mangled front end as the vehicle shuddered to a halt in the ditch.

Landing hard beside it, Griff stumbled from the impact. Pain surged through his body, his arms screaming from shoulder to wrist and his back flaring with white-hot agony. Yet he wasn’t finished. He staggered to the side of the truck and raised his fists once more, bringing them down with all his strength near the front wheel. This time, the metal didn’t shriek, it cracked. The wheel well buckled inward, and something inside snapped loudly and cleanly. The front of the vehicle sagged to one side, sinking into the mud like a wounded beast. The truck was done. The gap was sealed.

Griff stood gasping, his shoulders trembling and his spine throbbing. The muscles in his arms twitched uncontrollably, pain pooling behind his ribs like cement. Yet despite it all, he was still standing. Dropping to one knee, he pressed his hand into the cold earth, momentarily grounding himself. The gauntlets remained flawless, clean and untouched, but his body told a starkly different story. This was what the gauntlets were capable of, and Griff was only beginning to grasp the limits. Slowly, he rose to his feet, each sharp breath cutting through his throat. The breach was closed, and Griff was still on his feet.

---

"No need to, I'm completely fi-" Cristina failed to finish whatever she is saying as a sudden ache stung on her right elbow. It was when she crashed to the ground during her fight with Basilia. "Ok I pushed myself a little too hard." she admitted.

Pulling the sleeve of the freelancer would reveal that the elbow is dislocated and definitely something that shouldn't be made light of.

"I didn't say much." Cristina denied the prince words even as her prisoner (sister) looked at her.

"You are planning something, you knew that I'm legally obligated to keep up with you." Cristina spoke.

She said nothing about stopping him from his planned chase, even though she could easily stop him even with her injuries.