[b]Dyssia![/b]

Above you, the vast light of Nemesis goes out.

The executioner ring, the orbital frame that delivers worlds to their slaughter, was sustained by the body of Hermes ever below. With it, distance meant nothing to the Wolves of Ceron. Now, section by section, arc by arc, the great golden lights in the sky go dark. Reality begins to vibrate as the chains holding this world in place begin to loosen. With the discipline of an army that has seen this a million times before, Shogunate forces begin to load into evacuation shuttles and withdraw into the sky, leaving mauled defenders to gape in shock and awe.

And from the wreckage of the shattered castle, the Shogun pulls herself. She brushes off the rubble and masonry with the pragmatic air of someone who did not find being on the inside of a collapsing building a novel experience. She flexed her healed leg, looked up into the sky, and sighed.

"It looks to me," she said, "that you have killed the goose that laid golden eggs."

Her head lolls over backwards. She makes upside-down eye contact with Dyssia. There was a grin on her face.

"But the thing people forget about that," she said, flexing her muscles against her torn armour, "is that afterward you still get to eat the flesh."

Both of her hands slammed inwards towards her breast.

They rip through hyperium-infused plating, claws digging into quadranix-reinforced ribs. She howls. Her hands burst into fire.

Mars stands with her. As she bends over backwards he sets down the spear still wet with her blood and plunges both of his hands into her chest alongside hers. He screams a warcry, the sound wrapping around the howl like a serpent.

Wolf and god strain together amidst a nightmare conflagration of orange fire and thick black smoke.

And the Shogun wrenches forth a silver sword from her heart.

It is kin to yours, but suited for her. Long and curved, extending into almost a cleaver shape towards the tip, still burning with the wreckage of fire and fur but otherwise pristine. Staggering back to a standing position, leaning heavily on Mars for a moment but still swinging it experimentally, it cuts through the air with an eerily serene sound. You know how powerful it felt from the inside to wield this blade, but to see it in the awfully skilled hands of the Shogun is a level of terror you previously did not know existed.

She kisses her reflection in the silver. With tongue. Then she bites down on it and grins at you.

"You have no idea how fucked you are," said the Shogun.