---

It seemed the old adage remained correct: The best laid plans never survived first contact with the enemy- and this was hardly what Galahad would've considered a well laid plan. Leviathan was attacked by Siren almost instantly. Galahad probably should've expected the Psuedolon to have made a return, but it was nonetheless frustrating. Valon's taunting did little to improve Galahad's mood. The traitor Dragoon with his fancy gunlance hardly looked anything like an Edreni Dragoon anymore. Without any fancy flowery speeches, he challenged the Kirins. Perhaps, out of bloodlust or just spite, many of the Kirins collapsed on him as one- Miina with her magic, Eliane with her rifle and Rudolf with his Materia. Galahad in particular was feeling perhaps just a bit less than honorable today- or at least he cared little to show any semblance of it to a traitor.

Galahad for his own part joined in as well, waiting for the others' attacks, and the raking fire of Esben's commandeered aetherskimmer to clear before he lunged, coming down with his own halberd, axe blade aiming to split the traitor's skull in two. "You'll have to forgive us, Valon." He snorted as he choked up on the shaft of his halberd and began to spin his weapon in tight repeated strikes with both ends at the traitor dragoon. Horizontal cut with the axe blade, reverse swipe with the spike, stab with the spearpoint- flourish and bash with the end. "We might have misplaced that lance you were so fond of in the sea. Maybe I'll throw you down there so you can search for it."

Valon was a talented fighter, but Galahad doubted he could protect himself from all angles for too long- combined with Rudolf's gravity materia grounding his reinforcements, all he had to do was keep the traitor dragoon's attention focused on him so the others could lay onto him with their own attacks- though Galahad had no intention of passing up on any opening in his Valon's defense he could find.

The world streams by.

Our landing has not gone as planned. I don't even need to finish falling to know as such, the manner in which we were struck so suddenly, thrown so suddenly from Leviathan's back.

It is no longer an ideal situation, but that doesn't change our task.

We're here to spill Valheimr blood, and that is what we are going to do.

The world streams by as I descend towards the deck of the enemy ship. I tuck my body in tightly, folding my limbs against myself. I can't afford to be injured on landing, after all.

I shut my eyes.

The shock rushes up through my limbs, reverberating through my frame as I feel myself hit the deck, throwing myself forward and rolling. As I open my eyes, I can see the figures in the air. My fingers reach back, my hand wrapping around the hilt of my blade---

Valheim's blood. It's in my reach.

I'll spill as much as I can.

---Ah?

As I stretch out my free hand, crouching low, my legs spreading wide as my body tenses, I can hear his words in my ears.

The younger of the two Edreni men, Sagramore-san.

They'll drop, will they?

My eyes immediately scan them. I'd be forced to try and use my kunai, and my fire materia, to bring them down. But if he can make them drop without me needing to do so---

He'll have earned some recognition, I suppose.

The purple light, and then---

He was right, was he?

The packs the fake dragoons use to try and serve as shadows of far more capable warriors are struggling as gravity's force exerts itself on them with doubled intensity. I don't have to have a deep understanding of technology to be aware of the fact that such equipment simply isn't made for this.

The first one is about to fall into reach, struggling and failing to ascend. Like a bird with its flight feathers cut.

My body tightens, my muscles tensing, my eyes fixing on the man's throat.

---Now!

I hurl myself across the deck of the ship, the world running together again as the only thing that remains a single, continuous, solid shape within it is the body of my target as he hits the deck.

I raise my arm and draw my blade through the air, through flesh.

A curtain of red descends behind me as he slams to the deck, unable to even clutch at his cut throat as the doubled force of gravity slams his choking, gurgling down onto the ship.

One.

I'll kill these false birds before they can take flight again---!

Miina's holding spell ensnared Valon in the midst of his cocky grin, holding him still just long enough for Eliane's shot to take him straight in his right shoulder, piercing through the plate and causing him to kneel in pain as the spell released.

"Gah!" He hissed, still clutching his gunlance as best he could. The veins in his exposed skin turned a dark purple as he forced himself to stand, unnatural vitality coursing through his form. "Okay, I'll give you that one, it was good-" A pause as Galahad's words registered. "You did what?!" Valon spluttered at the dragoon, suddenly aghast. "You know damned well what those are worth! What, did the Limbtaker decide it wasn't worth using one as a-" He suddenly raised his weapon, forced to block Galahad, followed by Izayoi.

"Be silent, brat!" The samurai snapped as Valon somehow managed to intercept both of their attacks, forcing them back with a sweep.

Meanwhile, the Valheimr dragoons flailed and fumbled as Rudolf's Gravity materia sent them plummeting down, making them easy meat for Chisato. Esben's hijacked gunfire scythed through another before moving on to a series of ground troops and a skimmer, the latter exploding and sent plummeting down out of the sky.

Valon surged forward, striking out at both Galahad and Izayoi with ridiculous speed, the veins on his face bulging grotesquely. Even the Limbtaker was hard-pressed to keep up, only narrowly evading and parrying his strikes as the force had her gritting her teeth.

"He'd not been this strong but two weeks ago!" She called aside incredulously to Galahad. "What in all hells did he do to himself-damn it!" Izayoi cursed, forced to break aside and parry an oncoming strike from one of the ground troops stationed on this particular airship. A cut to the neck dispatched him quickly, and she scowled, taking the situation in.

"Rudolf, take my place! The chaff is mine and Esben's to deal with!" Enhanced by Selene, Izayoi practically vanished, reappearing in the midst of a squadron of Valheimr and beginning to tear them to bloody ribbons with her sword work.

Valon didn't stay idle either, instead leaping horizontally like an arrow straight towards Chisato. His plated boot caught her in the chest before she could gut another one of his men, and the Valheimr dragoons began to reorient themselves, fighting off the effects of the Gravity and returning to the air.

"Hussars, spread out!" Valon called towards his men. "Don't let them draw a bead on you, and play for time! The longer this drags on, the more the advantage turns to us!" The dragoons, or Hussars as Valon said, did as bid, each boosting away and drawing beads on individual Kirins. They opened fire, aiming to keep them supressed even as Valon, the ground troops, and the skimmers began their counterattack.

Two skimmers broke off to engage Esben, aiming to keep him occupied with one's evasive actions even as the other attempted to get him in their sights, firing. A third drew a bead on Eliane, firing away with its chaingun. Entire squadrons converged upon Miina and Chisato, aiming to drown them in weight of numbers as Valon reengaged, leaping back towards Galahad with sudden speed and hand outstretched. He seized his former fellow by the throat, laughing as he held Galahad up.

"Behold the power the True King has granted me! Might beyond measure, with which to bring Edren into its rightful place on this star!" And he slammed Galahad down, throwing him hard enough that Galahad broke through the airship's deck, crashing into its hold below. Valon kept laughing, now lunging towards Rudolf. One thrust, three, six. Barely half broke through the false Sagramore's guard, only nicking him and drawing blood. Was Valon...toying with him? Not taking him seriously?

All the while, Reisa watched on from her flagship, arms folded as she checked a timepiece embedded into her armor.

Three minutes, ten seconds. Nine. Eight.

High above the morning forest, against the tawny hues of daybreak, sparks flew as one auxiliary of the old legion of Sagramore struggled against the limits of his own ability. Alone, against a foe he'd just watched force the twin luminaries of the war he'd not been enough to join out of the fight in short order— planting Galahad through the deck, forcing Izayoi to call for a switch.

He didn't have time to protest— hell, he barely had time to register just what she'd demanded of him while stowing his spent materia, before Valon had made his own demands clear. The prospect was terrifying, after all he had seen in the past instants, but if there was any silver lining... It was that desperation always bore action. With the turncoat dragoon right in his face, it was act, or get skewered. Moment by moment, breath by sharp, hitched breath, the young man skirted past doom by an edge of steel and no further. So it should have been, and yet—

A line opened up along the bridge of his nose, even as he brought the curved sword he wielded to bear to intercept another flash in its immediate wake, fast as any thrust he'd seen in his meager nineteen years. Were it not for Selene's empowerment, he would have caught neither for certain. But it wasn't deep. For all he had laughed, boasted, and demonstrated the raw force he could produce in a mere instant before they had crossed blades, Valon could surely have gouged him far, far deeper— if not worse.

He inched backwards, forced to give ground with each parry, each catch of the awkward but clearly robust, nimble gunlance, only lashing out with basic, singular strikes to try and wedge some room to breathe, room to think in. As the runt of a fighting family, there was no doubt in his mind what was happening ¹— he could hear it on the mocking edge to the laughter, the sarcastically light touch to each blow that rang down the spine of his sword, the dance of the biting head as it always made sure to harry him away from even drawing his second blade. He wasn't even remotely being dealt with as a serious threat; just the perfect vessel for that stated broader goal of wasting their time.

With the two big ticket items out of the way, what fear would he have for little old Rudolf, the weakling brother of his contemporary who had been "too sickly to move" until a month ago, as far as he was concerned?

A slash down. A lazy sidestep, flanked by a snicker and another burst of stabs— two lines drawn against Rudolf's arm, as three were read and knocked away. From the perspective of just about anyone, this was horrendous. Rudolf was smaller, weaker, slower. His armor was worse, his weapon shorter. His opponent was fresh, riding high on the confidence of power newly redoubled, and he and the rest of the Kirins were still damned near at the end of their ropes after what felt like nonstop battle, ever since they'd first left Brightlam. The deck was wholly stacked against him. A losing fight.

Twin flashes of red hair, flickering at the edges of his mind even as his body recalled rhythm, read form, his eyes focused less on shape and more on movement. They belonged to men from far south of here², whose swords and spears he had collectively spent a thousand hours at the wrong end of, for five long years. A telltale crouch, miniscule since it was before no armored dragon's hide to pierce, but nonetheless a mirror to the thunderheaded Dragoon that Rudolf had watched for a tiny eternity after the flame he carried had been loosed, that he had taught himself to recognize a thousand times over, to prepare defense before the strike was uncorked into the opening he'd left for it.

A black fire roiling inside him. One his horrendous luck had hidden from Valon, dropping Rudolf beneath the waves before the former scion of Arkha had real chance to see it in action. One that, with the stakes this high, the time this short, and the foe this obscene, Rudolf had no choice but to spare no expense with.³

Sparks flew, and the boy bit out an acerbic smirk in spite of his hammering heart, his ringing bones, his short breath, knocked back just a little further in his hasty defense against the dragoon's onslaught than last time.

"Honestly, I did the spear a favor," he bit out, the pale blackened copper of his eyes locking with Valon's visor before pointedly flickering to the gunlance he held. His hamstrings coiled, ready to spring. "Trying to put it through Leviathan's a nobler place to end up than whatever the hell you've been up to— something abominable like that's much more your style now than when you were a proper dragoon."

Incense him. Get him to commit over just that extra bit of space, allow for room to time it, then———

Behind his eyes, his instincts flashed, and his jaws snapped over the scaled neck.

Show him how a tiger hunts a dragon.

What Valon had never once gotten the chance to learn, what set Rudolf apart from Galahad, from Izayoi, from even Otto... was that he was a veteran of losing fights.

The next thrust would be forced down, as Rudolf planted his boot through the haft as though he meant to break it in two, all his might brought to bear to knock both lance and lancer off course, to break posture. As he bore his weight in, his right arm swung out in a reverse swipe with that lone Crane's Wing, this time coated in the inky, opaque blackflame, right at Valon's head. There wasn't a chance it'd pierce his helm. Rudolf didn't need it to— the heavy, lingering blaze would be ample smokescreen for his true strike.

He pushed off, praying to Himstus, to Dhinas, to even Imir that with Selene's speed and the surprise of the counteroffensive he could make this gambit stick, and ripped free his trusty Rondel, channeling more of his passenger's shadowy fire through the rigid length of steel as he attempted to jam it past his gorget.

He could worry about what he had just burned when it manifested. They didn't have any time to give up to this bastard— and if he didn't win initiative back, he was going to run out all the same.⁴

---

---

• _{1. The "How to Deal With It" should be implicitly understood as the problem, but he never got around to delineating that.}
• _{2. I'm not doing that. Believe me, I would not screw around in this situation, this is all Rudolf's subconscious overlaying the silhouettes of people from home over the occult-enhanced (like our pact but made tastelessly, I'm sure) Dragoon that's playing with him like a cat with food.}
• _{3. We'll get to the ramifications of this when we've ensured we still have unpunctured lungs in the next five seconds. Unfortunately for me, we did all remind each other just now that Hunting Giants was our one-hit wonder.}
• _{4. Despite how little argument there is to be made on this point, I think I'm allowed to miss the scaredy-cat you all met back in Atsu a little, and the way he would at least blink at being tossed into the deep end by the ex-mother. Or at the ex-mother herself. I think we beat some measure of self-preservation out of him that makes MY continued existence a hell of a lot harder, let alone Ours.}

Miina looked at the onrushing swarm blankly, automatically throwing out a muttered Protect as she tried to work out what to do before being shot completely to pieces. Lightning…? No, nothing she had would really take them all down; they didn't have Eve with them right now and that sort of thing wasn't… well, she couldn't do it as a spell. Ever since Siren she'd been doing almost nothing but working with aether in a way that was far beyond her previous expectations. Still, none of it was anywhere near so formal as a spell, she didn't have the talent to just work those out and this city was the first place where there might conceivably have been some sort of tutor to learn from…

Except for the assassination, and the whole time limit thing, and even then, she needed to kill these. Not heal them.

Right, so… improvisation. Fire was still good, but really, to cut them off and fan the flames… wind and haste, huh? It always came back to storms. That still needed fire, there was no telling if those flying thingies that Valheim had could stand up to ruff weather. Rough weather and incineration? That was a better chance.

But fire… the bunny ninja had the materia for that, right? Miina turned to face her fellow small girl and–

…

What was her name again? They hadn't actually spoken yet. Miina was… herself, and the other girl was… also quiet. Ah, it wasn't important, there weren't any other Viera on the deck!

"B-Bunny, um… fire? Lots of it, please?" the red mage made vague fwooshing gestures with her hands, hoping that it would convey what she was after. It took a long and uncomfortable moment before the other girl nodded and – yes, fire. Fire that would be so easily caught up in steadily accelerating air. Round and round and round it goes and…

Now that she thought about it, surrounding this single vessel in a flaming vortex for as long as she could keep it up would keep things out, but… this wasn't going to mess up the airworthiness, was it?

---

Izayoi was right. Valon was stronger than last time they'd fought him- and not the type of natural improvement one would expect from training either, not this quickly. Whatever it was, it made him strong- stronger than Galahad expected as Valon broke through his guard and grabbed him by the throat. Maybe it was the strange color with which the veins on his face pulsed- maybe it was the glint and flare of rage in his eyes, but Galahad couldn't help but feel a familiarity with Valon as he was choke slammed through the deck of the ship. As he hit the bottom of the hold, perhaps the impact finally jogged Galahad's memory- though he didn't know why. It was the subtle but noticeable shift in his fighting style, it felt less disciplined, less controlled, more bestial, with a greater focus on instinct and raw strength than technique and skill. It felt less like he was fighting a dragoon... This feeling that Galahad felt-

It was like what fighting a dragon felt like.

"What have they done to you, Valon?" Galahad murmured in horror. The man that Galahad had known in the years past was gone- Valon, while always a bit stuck up, was a loyal, dedicated warrior of Edren. Now he felt twisted, changed- corrupted even.

Whatever it was though, Galahad didn't have time to figure it out- he had to fight. He heard the clang of steel and Izayoi's barked command, switching in Rudolf. Galahad shook himself off as he stood up finding himself staring into the bewildered faces of a half dozen deck crew in the midst of ferrying ammunition to the airship's weapons. Men scattered as Galahad swung his halberd in a wide circle, one man cut down as the others dove out of the way. Looking up, Galahad saw the shifting shadows- the lance that belonged to Valon.

Reaching down, Galahad grabbed the ammunition- a cannon shell, threw it up at the shadow, followed by his electrically charged halberd. From his position down below, he couldn't tell what Rudolf was doing, but the dull roar of flame gave him an idea. Galahad waited exactly one more second before he leaped back up through the hole Valon had made with his body, shooting up past the deck before returning to the ground with a powerful kick aimed at the fallen dragoon.

Blood splatters across the deck of the deck of the ship, streaks of crimson reaching across the steel like the limbs of a dying spider.

I haven't stopped killing since the moment I landed. Ever single disabled fake dragoon that I could reach was greeted with a swift thrust through their neck, into any gap in their defenses I could find. I had to kill as many as I could as swiftly as I could.

But there's still so many opponents. There's still so many targets. Even between all of us, how can we kill this many this quickly?

I have to try. I have to fulfill my duty. I have to spill as much Valheim and traitor blood as I can possibly manage. There's no other option.

There's no room for doubts.

This time, though, my blade is meant with a strong, forceful parry, and I can't push further. The fake dragoons have recovered---!

The world rushes forward past me as my feet leave the ground, shock rushing up my arms. It's not that I can't catch myself, but even a moment's pause or delay in slaying as many enemies as physically possible is a moment that our chances decrease.

Damn it, damn it, damn it---!

I need to kill them fast, but even an explosive won't help and kill enough of them to make space. I can't be caught up in fighting for too long, but there's no space to disengage and reenter combat.

I need to do something swiftly, but what? If I had my hand cannon, then maybe---

My ears twitch.

Bunny?!

---There's no time to question it or assert my name. I understand what she wants immediately. On my own there's no way I could do something on the scale required, but with her assistance...

I suck in a deep breath and draw one of my kunai. This time, I use the materia to pour as much flames as possible into it, to serve as a channel through which to unleash the biggest burst of heat and sound I can possibly manage. It's not meant to fly accurately or reach its target, no. It's meant to simply be a conduit through which to start a conflagration.

The steel glows white, as flames pour off of its edges.

I toss it into the air, and the fire bursts from it, red light washing over the deck with a roar of heat as the fireball appears over the deck, then dragged by the currents that Malina-san has created---!

---

Eos and Selene had little trouble interspersing themselves among the rest of the Kirins, their small size and speed helping them to evade the crossfire that was enveloping the deck. Even though they'd only all had a short nap to try and bolster themselves before the fight, Eos set about casting her magic over the group, shoring up their strength and restoring energy to tired limbs—as Selene weaved her own spell, ensuring the group could more than keep up with the barrage coming their way.

They, luckily, knew exactly what they were doing. Esben, where he sat in the 'cockpit' of one of the aetherskimmers, knew what his plan was...but without any piloting experience of this sort of craft, it was a far stretch to claim he had any firm idea of what he was doing. Mowing down a decent number of the hostiles facing them was a good starting strategy, but as they rapidly adjusted, he was left considering how to do the same.

While under fire.

The instruments at least seemed...somewhat intuitive. Flight level was simple enough to determine. One that, out of how it moved in the corner of his eye, he must assume was marking his altitude. A compass was obvious, one that was turning at the same time as the flight level, two of them that marked speed for some reason.

Easy enough to hopefully not crash.

He climbed and rolled out of the way of oncoming fire, one of the skimmers flying past underneath him. Once he came upright again he pushed the craft into a dive, drawing down on the flyer that was trying to evade him even as he could hear the other strain to turn and come after him. A fireball erupted overhead as he screamed underneath it, before the entire gunship was enveloped in a flaming vortex.

The lead skimmer turned hard and he followed, the three of them passing below the deck, skirting between the conflagration that surrounded the larger vessel and its hull. Tight as it was, he couldn't manage to get any lead on the first, so he kept off the trigger to keep from wasting any ammunition when he didn't have the faintest clue how much it held.

When they came up around the other side of the great loop they made, though, he could see very clearly a target that he did have a good bearing on, side-on to him.

Perhaps...too good of a bearing.

"Fy faen," he spat, pulling up rapidly. He passed over the top of the skimmer, gunfire erupting from behind him—whether from Éliane or from the skimmer behind him he had no clue, although none of it touched him, which was good. Ideally, he might've led the Valheimer into some friendly fire. Either way, he rolled upside down, dove, turned back and rolled again to right himself...

And nearly skipping off the deck as he rose again, he opened fire on the pilot that had so doggedly followed him around the ship.

---

Éliane smirked in smug satisfaction as she watched her shot connect. It didn’t take long for her satisfaction to morph into a frown when she saw Valon was still alive and in fact more than combat capable, seeing how he blocked both Galahad and Izayoi and pushed them back, despite the rest of the Kirins following her personal example and going for the decapitation strike on the traitor. They had great momentum, but it felt like the pendulum was about to swing back.

At least the false dragoons were still being dealt with.

After making her quick snap shot, Éliane changed positions. It wasn’t as fast as she liked, but juggling multiple guns, including the big one generally used for static purposes meant that she didn’t have the mobility that she preferred.

Nonetheless, she’d managed to make her way onto the aetherskimmer Esben had hijacked. Leaving Valon to be dealt with by the rest for the time being, she shifted her fire to the pursuing craft around them. A rapid burst of fire sent one enemy flaming to the ground behind them, but Esben’s attempt at flying was making it very difficult for her.

“Esben! Fly better!” She screamed out between bursts of gunfire.

She sighted on another vessel, only to quickly lose it again as her own craft tumbled away, doing some ridiculous maneuver that was making even her lose her meal.

“Stick to the original plan! Get us a bigger ship!”

---

"I'd like to see any of you do any better your first time in one of these," Esben grumbled back. At least he'd kept from crashing, getting hit, or anything else bad, all while facing the people that were experienced with the craft. Not only that, but he'd managed to actual go on the attack with it!

That had to count for something.

Reisa observed the fight from aboard the flagship, peering through a spyglass. A flaming cyclone engulfed the ship that the Kirins were facing Valon and company on, and she frowned beneath her helm.

"Abort all safety checks. I'm deploying the project." She turned to her aide-de-camp, who snapped up in a salute, stuttering.

"M-ma'am?"

"You heard me, soldier. Inform the engineers that I'll be making my way down to the hangar shortly."

___



"Cute," Valon grinned in response to Rudolf's taunt, cockily letting himself get swept up in the banter. "Otto never mentioned you managed to grow a working pair of balls-"

Rudolf stomped down, locking Valon's lance long enough to thrust with his rondel. Enhanced by black flame, the dagger pierced through Valon's gorget, though an instinctual jerk back saved the traitor's life. He snarled, a plated fist coming up to smash into Rudolf's jaw and floor him before he knelt, one hand raised to staunch the flow of blood the cut had made.

"Alright, I'll give you credit: got me good there. My fault for taking you lightly." Valon grinned ruefully, picking his lance back up. The other hand came down, and it seemed the flow of blood from Valon's punctured gorget had already been somehow staunched. He leapt back just in time to evade Galahad's kick, amusement returning to his expression.

"Well, Good Ser Caradoc, how's it feel that Istvan Shilage's worst runt has been contributing more than you in this battle so far? Care to change that anytime soon?" A glow of crimson aether seeped into his eyes as his knees bent, preparing to jump.

Meanwhile, Miina and Chisato's combined efforts lit no few Valheimr soldiers ablaze, embers spreading from the volcano and cooking them within their black armor. Soldiers screamed, rolled along the deck, and in the case of some too far gone, outright leapt over the railing. Izayoi surged through those least affected, her blade barely a glint of light as she took full advantage of their distraction to tear through their ranks. The faster she was done with this, the sooner they could focus on Valon...!

Up above, Esben's outmanuevering of one skimmer before Elly sent the other crashing eliminated both of their aerial pursuers, leaving the two free to start hunting down the remainder of the Valheimr air support unmolested...

...Or they would have, at least, had a thundering boom not erupted from the flagship, distracting everyone from the battle at hand.



A crimson glow dropped like a meteor from the flagship, gaining speed as it plunged to the surface below. Leviathan and Siren, both leaking aether like sieves from their battle wounds, coiled around each other in a grapple for supremacy, looked up from their struggle just in time for the red comet to hurtle through the both of them. A claw grappled each serpent, scaled and formless water alike, up by the neck before gaining height.

Finally, the streak began to slow as it ascended, revealing its true form as it leveled out above the airship the Kirins were fighting on. A titanic warmachina, sinewy flesh and bone plated in blood crimson and tall enough that the average man barely came up to its ankle, hovered over the deck. Its claws clenched, and both Eidolons of water, true and false alike, collapsed, dissipating into aether that was absorbed into the monstrous machine. If one looked closely enough, they could see the speck of blood in its left claw: all that remained of Siren.

"Lieutenant, take your forces and make for the surface. I will finish this here." Reisa's voice, distorted through machinery and sound amplification, boomed from the machina's head, to which Valon could only sigh.

"And here I was, just starting to have fun. Ah, well. Happy hunting then, Captain. Hussars, we're going headhunting! Double pay to anyone who guts the old man first!" Valon and his false dragoons quickly made for the surface, with the former simply leaning over the edge of the airship before letting himself fall backwards, a two-fingered salute shot out towards the Kirins before his form fell out of sight.

With that out of the way, the construct's head turned back to survey the Kirins, noting the decimation of the Valheimr ranks aboard. Izayoi's pupils dilated as she heard Reisa's voice, animalistic rage starting to enter her tone.

"REISA! You think to hide yourself from us within that shell?! I will tear you out, piece by piece, and carve bloody vengeance with mine own two hands!" She screamed, her sword glistening with blood.

"Be honored, barbarian scum. His Imperial Grace has deemed the threat you pose enough to unleash this Ruby Weapon upon you." The warmachina, touching down on the deck. "Your quest ends here and now, adventurers! Come! BEAR WITNESS TO THE GLORY OF VALHEIM!"

The Ruby Weapon spread its claws out wide, and Izayoi charged, leaping up to bring her sword down onto its chest with a bloodcurdling howl.

Contact.

The breaking of resistance at the end of his dagger, driving all the force through an icepick grip his torso could wrench through that desperate lunge. He reached out with his far hand as Valon reared back, to try and hook the back of his neck with the spine of the blade and pull him into a true killing blow—

A blur in his peripheral. Too quick, too close—

!!?!!E$^#&&!

Enormous pressure, the ringing of a heavy sledgehammer on steel, through the side of his head as he found himself a second behind, his vision swimming. What? What was that? How had he hit the floor?

A silvery blur erupting from below bought him time to piece it together, forcing the cocky traitor to retreat before he could capitalize on the suddenly-shaky legs he had given Rudolf. Nothing, though, would stop him from talking their ears off, it seemed... Rudolf grit his teeth and began to work will back into his frame, to pull himself back up to his feet.

Halfway up, he realized those teeth weren't gritting at all. Valon's braying zingers towards the pair of them still sounded dull, waterlogged in his left ear, as a sharp, branding-iron pain throbbed just below. Numb all through the side of his face otherwise, and his words came out half-formed. He had to fix this now— no matter how well he might have been able to manage on his own, if old stories from his forefathers were to be believed.

"Eosh," he slurred, waving the glowing point of green in his periphery over. No mistaking it, if he didn't reset the joint he'd be damn near unintelligible beneath the roar of the field. His eyes narrowed— if he remembered this right, the next second was going to really suck.

Isolate the chin. Keep downward pressure, and...

He reached up to his mandible, thumb pressing down on the lower molars as Eos's restorative winds washed the pair of them in green, and coaxed the bone up and back.

"Agh, ffffuck!" he hissed, as the pressure released with a telltale POP of the hinge returning to its proper alignment. The fae wind soothed the lingering pain, luckily enough, but still— for all he lacked a real barometer of the crazy jump in Valon's strength that Galahad and Izayoi had attested to, having never fought him before the untimely introduction to Siren, knocking his jaw out of joint with one swat of the fist... was...

A red glint from on high brought their eyes upward, as one. A crimson comet, streaking out of some hangar within the Valheimr flagship and plummeting, meteoric towards them. Still in their vicious tangle, even Siren and Leviathan were forced to give pause as their battle was encroached upon—

Rudolf's eyes went wide. His face lost color. A ball of cold lead settled in his gut, like Miina had run up from behind and stabbed him, as he saw that meteor tear straight through both true and false Eidolon, stopping a few meters above the deck with the heads of each in hand. It loomed, imperious, over the lot of them— a giant of blood ruby, hewn from gnarled metal and twisted horn, sinew writhing beneath slabs of armor.

"You're kidding..."

He staggered to his feet, and watched the golem clench those wicked claws, crushing the pair of titans down to their constituent mana. A moment later, a familiar voice began to blare out of the tinny, distorted radio speakers that were somewhere on the abomination, but in truth, he hardly registered the words— What he had just seen was unshakable from his mind. It had barely been week since he had seen, since he had felt Leviathan's power firsthand— and barely two since he had been at Siren's utter mercy, practically powerless against her.

There was no way.

There was just no way in hell...

A clawed hand flexed as Valon and his falsified cohort dove over the side, now out the picture, leaving them alone with this unfamiliar monstrosity. Rudolf's eyes caught a speck of disorder in the red of that hand, something of the color that didn't match. For a moment, he was puzzled... but then he tasted a tinge of copper on his tongue that matched.

His breathing was shallow, lost under the hurricane of Izayoi's vengeful bloodlust as the abomination thudded onto the deck. It was slight, to his meager credit, but he couldn't stop himself from flinching. He had barely been able to scratch the false Eidolon when they'd fought... and this "Ruby Weapon" that Reisa now piloted and crushed her like an ant. That was what they had to fight?

Forget Valon.

Forget Izayoi's master.

Forget Adrammelech, forget Famfrit, how could they win against this kind of power? That which dismissively carved through the primordial spirits of nature, which feasted on the aether that held them together... forget winning, how did they get out of this alive?! They couldn't run, the speed this thing had displayed on the flight down here would mean they at best would just be picked off as they fell. He could see it. His own blood, joining the psuedolon's on its claws, painting the armor and razor-edged bone. His hands weren't stilling on his command. Stop moving, dammit, he could hardly still his own mind to begin with!

A blur.

No.

A flash of steel.

Please don't. We're gonna die.

A throat-ripping roar filling the air, as Izayoi's vengeance carried her forth regardless of his silent plea.

You already figured out that running isn't an option. Did you forget? In two seconds, will you forget me reminding you?

He hadn't. He hadn't, but...

Look at the damn thing. Leviathan was already more than humans were ever made to handle, and look what it did to her! He was already pushing his meager luck by trying to go toe to toe with Valon when he'd beaten back Izayoi and Galahad on a lark, but this was a whole level beyond even that!

Let me put it to you another way. If you're going to die no matter what, since you can't run and can't win...

The Wing roosted at his hip, even as Izayoi made first contact, crashing into the gnarled ruby chestplate some fifteen feet up. From his back, he drew the greatsword. No fear had left him as his choices seemed to make themselves, shamefully— his grip was white-knuckled as ever, his eyes still wide as saucers. He was no less certain that his threshold of "losing battles" had been shattered— the scales were just too different. A massive gap in strength between two men was in the realm of possibility. There was no experience he could leverage against this descended god. Absolutely none.

Yet it is a godslaying flame we hold. It is that divine connection to their whims we've burnt all this time. Fate, too, is a divinity. You've built up a lot of withheld divine favor over the years...

Alluding to how much he could cash out on? Or how little he had left to contribute to the fund?

He couldn't tell. But either way, his terror told him there was one path left.

He exhaled. With the breath, black smoke escaped. The ice flooding his veins, his gut, paralyzing him... was replaced by a sticky, burning fire. Like pitch within his heart, clearing away the frozen ball of lead that weighed him down. The red on the claws and the red of the armor no longer looked so different to his eyes... Good. Fewer distractions.

You're right. Everything goes. It's the only way to buy a chance.

A plume of that familiar blaze erupted along the length of the blade. It surged, roiled, twice as feverish as the last. The blaze licked at the edges of his arms. His clothing. His eyes.

He was burning.

Burning.

Burning at the edges.

Burning life unlived.

---

...I marked myself for death here. This was the moment.
There was no time I was more certain that I'd passed a point of no return.
I will carry it with me for the rest of my days.

---

He too charged, a pouncing leopard, trailing streaks of black as he joined the fray. The dull copper was gone from his tongue, the fearful glass coating his gaze burning away to steam. With a raw, wet cry, he drew the greatsword back as he landed a few yards ahead of the Weapon and swung, painting a broad, burning brushstroke of ink across its gnarled ankles.

He surged forth after that, in the wake of the blaze— Izayoi would need someone there to occupy and split Reisa's attention at melee distance— any one of them hanging around that close at their lonesome, surely, wouldn't be long for the world.

Fear might have been an appropriate reaction to some oversized… thing that had just torn through the eidolon and not-an-eidolon like they were made of paper, even with the benefit of the two having been engaged in trying to tear each other apart. But… hmm, had she actually been afraid at any point in this journey so far? Talking to people, yes, and social situations in general, but… even joining that first ambush back on the Ospreyan border, she hadn't really been… afraid. Or back before that, when she realised the gang had been using her and it was time to… pay it back.

… maybe now wasn't the time to wonder about her own mental state just because it was another giant enemy. Maybe it was just because this annoying woman had been an enemy… well, it couldn't have been that long ago, but it felt like it was over a year ago.

She was sure there were other reasons to care, but Miina was pretty sure the building anger was just her frustration at someone else who just wouldn't die and how they couldn't do anything in this country without fighting enemies tall enough to make your neck ache. She was sick of it.

But that didn't give her an answer to how to beat it. Well, there was "keep throwing attacks at it and it'd break eventually", but that was inefficient and everyone else had it covered. If Miina had the time to learn bigger spells to play with… she might as well wish that she could just teleport straight to her brother and get this journey over with, though. But Reisa had said that this was a weapon, right? Which meant that she was in there somewhere. So, who really cared about destroying the armour? They just needed to kill the nuisance piloting it.

And if she was nice enough to be in some sort of mostly-sealed spot to control it all, or even a suit of armour? She still had to breathe.

Seemingly out of nowhere, Miina started laughing. "C-C-Crack it open, I'm sure we c-c-can drown her."

"Libra," Of course, examining it couldn't hurt, wouldn't it help to know where Reisa was exactly? Probably in the torso or head, but where… she just had to be ready to dodge when it attacked back. Or throw up some sort of barrier, if it had magic on its side.

---

Luckily, Esben looked up in time to notice the ordnance dropping from the flagship, breaking off from his pursuit of the other skimmers just to make sure he and Éliane weren't caught by whatever it was, either on the way down—or, more presciently, on its way back up. The pair glided slowly along as it started to shoot back up, Siren and Leviathan caught in its claws, as he tried to figure out just what he was looking at. "What in Etro's name have they done this time..." he muttered, as Leviathan was crushed into a spray of æther and Siren into a faint spray of blood.

It was almost disappointing, for the half a second he entertained the thought. After what had happened out on the ocean, he'd wanted to be the one to finish the undead woman off.

But they had far more pressing things to deal with than such wants and wishes.

Something that large, with no clue of the actual armour or combat capabilities as of yet, only that it was enough to crush an eidolon and her copy after a drop from altitude and had some sort of aerial capabilities of its own, was an obvious threat. Moreover, the remainder of the Valheimer forces were still active, including the flagship it had dropped from. Somehow, he doubted the ætherskimmer would be enough to combat it alone, even with the rest of the group working in concert. He could be wrong, of course, but he'd rather be safe than sorry.

"Éliane," he started, turning back to the pink-haired gunner as Reisa started her address, "We need something bigger to hit her with, ja? You would agree?"

"Absolutely!" she readily agreed, nodding rapidly back. He turned back to his controls, glancing up at the flagship. "Two birds with one stone, then," he mused to himself. "Aim for the windows, and then make sure to duck, this might be rough!"

He jerked the craft upwards, opening the throttle wide as it sped up towards the flagship that Reisa and her giant weapon had dropped from. He wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the Valheimer airships, even before setting off on the journey that eventually led to him joining the Kirins and fighting them face-to-face. The layouts were fairly standard, which made finding the bridge a simple prospect.

While the pair of them couldn't hope to commandeer the vessel guns and all, they could try to take control of its bridge. From there, they could, at the very least, turn the Valheimer flagship itself into a missile.

He leveled out quickly, flying straight for the flagship's bridge. After a moment to make sure he was properly level he let off the throttle and opened fire, aiming to shatter the wide windows he was aiming for, and heard Éliane's gun behind him doing the same. The next second he ducked low beneath the bit of windshield he had as the skimmer glided through the blasted windows and started to slide across the deck.

He leaped, rolled on landing, still slid into one wall as he came upright again. Not hard enough to give him much more than an annoying bruise, especially with the magic Eos had cast on them all as the fight started. He whipped his sword from its sheath, cutting down the first member of the bridge crew to come close to him in the same movement, diving forward to grab the woman's dropped pistol before coming up and opening fire on another one of the invaders that managed to recover from the shock quickly.

"Éliane, watch the door!" he called out to wherever she had hopefully landed safely. Another flash bomb from her to keep any of rest of the crew stunned would be helpful, but knowing her she'd already have one ready to go if she had any to begin with.

Another crewman popped up at the sound of his voice, falling backwards with a strangled cry as Esben fired another round into his chest.

---

"Shit." Galahad cursed as Valon backed off and was replaced with something surely worse. It was bad enough that Valon had the strength of a dragon flowing through his veins, now they had Reisa piloting what could only be considered living armor. Something powerful enough to make both Eidolon and Psuedolon seem less like serpents and more like wriggling snakes in its grasp. Strangely enough, Galahad wasn't even surprised at this point- it felt like the entire journey as Kirins had been facing an escalating trial of horrific beasts and things. They'd fought Pseudolons, Eidolons, Tomtema, now it was only fitting that they fought something even stronger.

Izayoi at the very least had no reservations about fighting it, diving on in headfirst like a berserker. What truly surprised Galahad was Rudolf drawing his greatsword to actually attack with it- to his memory that was a first, but now was hardly the time to comment on it.

Miina had the right idea- probably. Reisa was inside this thing somewhere. Underneath this mass of terrifying bone and metal, there was a much softer, easier to kill person. They just had to get at it. Galahad leaped into the air, guiding himself above and over the armor and landing behind it to further split Reisa's attention from Rudolf and Izayoi. Rudolf went for the ankles, Galahad went for the arm, swinging his halberd down to interfere with Reisa's attack, using the wide blade and spike to hook and restrict its movement long enough for Izayoi to strike.

---

Éliane couldn’t help but gape for a moment at the developments in the battle around them. That Valheim would use some kind of twisted superweapon against them was almost a given at this point, with the way the foreign barbarians hounded them at every turn with their bizarre experiments, but the monstrosity they released today was truly beyond the pale. She only dwelled on it briefly, though. There was no time for introspection in battle, let alone an aerial one.

“Barbaric,” she snipped, her attention switching back Esben in the brief lull created by the entire fiasco. Her eyes drifted towards the massive Valheimian flagship along with his. It was clear they were on the same wavelength.

It took only the briefest exchange for them to confirm, and Éliane swiveled the gun around towards the ship’s bridge as Esben piloted the craft straight for the most vulnerable spot on the vessel. Pressing the trigger down, she absolutely hammered the bridge with the rotary cannon, slamming hundreds of bullets right through the glass windows and into the bridge crew.

On cue, the pink-haired Skaeler ducked as the aetherskimmer rammed right into the opening she had created. The sound of wrenching metal and glass was deafening as she held onto dear life as the small ship rocked and wedged itself into the narrow space, twisting apart. Éliane barely had time to leap off the mangled thing with her guns before being crushed, but a little burst from her wind materia made her land far more gracefully on the crumpled plate floor of the bridge than she would have otherwise.

“Unf… Impressive carnage, Esben. A man after my own heart I see.”

Some of the bridge crew had survived, and Éliane whipped around, still lugging the big gun and pumped a very quick burst into him. The thing was not man portable when it came to firing, but at ranges this close…

Well, she could keep the door very suppressed as long as she had ammo. “Consider it watched!”

---

The pair of them mopped up the rest of the bridge crew quickly, freeing Esben to search for the controls to the vessel. Thankfully, they didn't seem to be terribly damaged from their entrance—ideally, they'd still work to complete the second part of his plan. He put both hands on the large yoke of the craft, turning back to Éliane as she confirmed that she'd keep watch on the door. "That's good," he said, pausing for a moment before continuing:

"Be careful about that first bit, though. Rudolf might have more questions if he ever hears it."

The monstrosity that was Reisa's new weapon was clearly visible through the shattered bridge windows. He knew there was no way the flagship would control like the ætherskimmer, in the same way that a frigate was ungainly compared to a racing sloop; still, he hoped he'd have enough of a feel for it not to completely miss his mark. An escape plan could be determined afterwards. The skimmer was certainly damaged, but maybe it would be good enough to get them out and to another ship without much trouble...or maybe he'd just have to rely on Éliane's wind materia.

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was good enough for government work.

He grit his teeth, pulling the yoke to turn the Valheimer flagship on a collision course with Reisa and the other gunship. "Make sure to brace yourself!" he called back. "We're about to start falling!"

The swirling vortex of flame does exactly what it is intended to. The scent of burning flesh, Valheim soldiers being cooked inside their own armor, fills the air as they fall to the ground, smoke rising from their bodies, or hurl themselves from the ship and far below. Malina-san's approach worked perfectly.

Flames were exactly what these Valheimr had earned.

---What is that?

It's a monstrosity. Even laying eyes on it is almost indescribable. I've never seen anything quite of this nature, no matter how many missions I've undertaken to slaughter the invaders' forces. A construct of flesh and blood and steel, a weapon of war created out of both living and nonliving components.

I don't want to lay eyes on it, but there is no other choice. For the sake of completing the mission, I'll assist in its destruction.

---Izayoi-dono is barely heading any kind of reasonable strategy. Perhaps that's even an understatement, she's completely thrown away any sort of plan at all. Can this abominable machine be destroyed by such an approach?

I don't know, but I have to offer as much support as I can manage.

Malina-san would have a point, if we were not in the air and it was not compounded with laughter that made her sound like she had gone insane. Had the sight of the flesh machine tilted her mind in the wrong direction? How are we meant to drown its pilot here?

I cannot worry about such things now. I have to focus on what I can do.

My katana won't reach deeply enough, even in the most fleshy parts of the weapon's anatomy. My kunai, too, aren't destructive enough to hamper the flesh machine's movements.

But the explosives might be enough. At the very least to distract its pilot, or the creature itself, or both. However this monstrosity functions.

First---

The smoke bombs will help obscure the approach of my allies and of the true explosives. I don't know how this construct registers the world around it, but at the moment I have to assume that they will be effective. Three of them hurled upwards towards its head should hopefully assist.

Second---

Bombs at its leg joints. If I can force it to stumble, then we may be able to make some leeway into figuring out how to destroy it. The fuses flare to life as I use my fire materia to set the ablaze, ducking low and hurling the bombs towards the weapon's knees.

The alarm sounded as Esben took the controls, plated footsteps already starting to grow ever closer to the doorway. Soon enough, the first group of Valheimr rushed for the door, swords and pistols drawn.

"They have the bridge! How in the hells did they seize it?!"
"Focus!"
"What the-CHAINGUN! TAKE COVER!"

Esben lurching the cruiser into motion unbalanced the rushing soldiers, who varyingly lost their balance. The ungainly ship of the line locked in on a heading aimed straight for the Ruby Weapon, though the question remained of whether or not it would stay locked into position, considering how quickly it had been moving earlier...




A mocking laugh emanated from the warmachina's speakers as Izayoi's blade merely bounced off of its chest armor.

"Has vengeance dulled every last one of your wits, Emperor's Demon? Truly, domesticity has ruined you." Izayoi snarled, barely even registering the taunt as she caught herself with one hand against the Ruby Weapon's chestplate, using it as leverage to clamber up and leap towards the head. She landed atop, slamming the tip of her katana down into the machine's cranium...only for this strike to ping off uselessly as well. It seemed that even the head was well-protected. Undeterred, Izayoi started to attempt to carve her way through the armor plating, sinking her sword in as best as she was able.

Down below, Miina's Libra spell returned a surprising wealth of information. Firstly, Reisa was exactly where she'd suspected: in the Ruby Weapon's head, currently under a fruitless assault from her cousin. Secondly, the armor plating covering it didn't afford full coverage. Whether it was due to cost, haste, or simply accounting for range of movement, there were numerous areas around the joints that were less heavily-plated and therefore much more vulnerable to attack.

Rudolf would notice that his strike wasn't just enhanced with his passenger's blackflame. For the briefest of moments, whatever binding shackled his greatsword loosened just enough that he didn't only just strike true: he struck hard. The Shilage's swing tore through the plating on the Ruby Weapon's left ankle, unbalancing it such that Galahad easily redirected its swipe and Chisato's bombs did real structural damage.

"Ngh!" Reisa grunted in annoyance, tapping away at damage readouts within the Weapon's cockpit. "Enough of this, gnats!" A brief burst of magic originating from the Ruby Weapon's head knocked Izayoi off, sending her tumbling to the deck. Meanwhile, the warmachina extended its hands, the individual talons on its shooting out to target each of the other Kirins assailing it. They embedded themselves into the deck, retracted, and then shot out again and again, aiming to impale.

Flame flooded him.

Heat in his veins coursed. A burning river, surging through aching muscle, leaking out from the scrapes Valon had left, like the winding channels of flame beneath a volcano. It bubbled, boiled, flickered, leapt, filling his world with writhing black. When it left, he could feel the stinging pain melting beneath it, as though the lines on his face themselves were burnt away. His limbs responded to his will, but they seemed to do so of their own accord— it was like the weightless nous of doubled-over haste. It seemed like it made sense. Pain and the weight of his limbs were both a response signal. If you wore away one to nothing, then another was sure to be affected, somewhat.

His breath was thick with smoke. Hot, and sticky, it didn't seem to tighten the throat or chest the way the grain silo had... but each breath seemed to fuel the chorus within him, the oscillating surge and drone of rushing, rising tar, water pumping into a cauldron about to bubble over. Were it the time or place, he'd have likened it to feeling in some way like he was under the waves all over again. A haze of heat coated each breath. There was a strange sense of familiarity to that. Almost like a fever.

Within this symphony, however, muddled by the fog of war, the blaze of black, through the dulled voices and rushing fire and howling wind and muted colors and crashing metal... was a single discordant note. A feeling. A response signal that was so alien, not even calcinating¹ fire could break it apart. Not before it reached his head.

He knew by now the feeling of striking with the blackflame. It was a gnawing, abrading thing, it burned and chewed through something when it struck, grinding and pulling it apart by the bonds that arranged a material out of base elementa. It siphoned structure, subverted order, melted form— that was part of why he had reasoned it to be fueled by luck. To start a fire you need ample fuel. To eat through order, order must first be ordained. Thus was fate². But in making contact with the Ruby Weapon's ankle girding...

What the hell was that?

The scream of shearing metal, armor forced to split. The resistance of sinew, taut muscle being severed by a blade, a sharp blade, and unimaginably sharp blade— but when he struck with the lump of cursed metal he wielded, he swung through empty space until he was left, simply, with a light tap. Every time before now, no matter the technique or force applied, it was always brushing a feather against the target and no more.

This was not that. Not at all. This was neither of those two sensations. Beneath the weight of the fire, there was an unexoected lightness for a moment— like a binding had become loose. The curse needed to be broken either through a specific ritual or through the death of the caster, the man who walked presumably upon a whole separate plane from theirs. What was the reason for this sudden, unexpectedly proper feedback? Impressions raced in his head, almost-thoughts swirling, clashing, racing through the smoke. Isolde lied? Wrong?
Uninformed? Enough fire burns curse?
Not enough for that.
The Weapon ate aether before.
right, Leviathan's absorption.³

A thudding. Pressure waves at the top of his skull. Light from on high, a scream of orange.

Heavy drums above his head, some fifteen feet, scattered the swirl, as Chisato, Galahad, and Izayoi made their moves. Bidden to alertness, Rudolf's head snapped upward, greying eyes wide and unwavering as Reisa redirected her chariot to counterattack, shifting the weight, even her mighty titan of flesh and steel forced to give an inch. Its arm extended, tipped in razor claws, each easily eclipsing even the accursed greatsword in length and lethality—

Side.

And one showering his frame with sparks as it burst out, telescoping and stretching as if made of putty, and Rudolf brought the hardened steel of the rondel up to divert its course even as his feet carried him out of the way. A rush rose from the pit of his guts, scattering as it hit his heart. He recognized it as what was supposed to be fear. He was scared. That was the whole reason he'd come this far, worked this hard, sacrificed this much. He knew he was scared. He knew he was terrified of this enemy. It wasn't like he stopped feeling it altogether—⁴

Quick as lightning, quick as it had extended out, the claw retracted back to the hand of the weapon, adjusting its aim minutely before firing again. He could perceive the form of this. He and his enemy would dance on the margins until whatever Reisa used to read his patterns caught him.

He would break that form. The burning told him to. It told him something even more important than that—

Whatever the reason for it was... his dead weight had woken up, and could break this juggernaut down where everything else failed.

He dove forward this time, summoning the memory of the last time he had fought the insurmountable. He couldn't recall the thoughts, but the feelings, the arcs of weight and balance—

Clearing the path of the next incoming strike, Rudolf let the blaze roar through him as he drove the knife through the steel that held the massive foot of the Ruby weapon's weight on the deck, and wrenched his torso, swinging the seven-foot tower of steel and fire 'round in a vicious crescent, crashing through the claw as it contracted from the miss, carrying through to the armor again. He leapt, he struck.

He roared, crashing through, daring to let the next attempt to impale him that would doubtlessly come meet the godslaying blade he had awoken through unknown means, to test its mettle as it deflected away, and he swung again. His voice seemed doubled. A trick of his ears?

Not the time. He needed to focus only on cutting through the armor, keeping the weapon from regaining any more initiative, and not dying before he⁵ they had killed it.

---

---

• _{1. That's a specific term I would really appreciate having some time and space to double check whether or not I let slip.}
• _{2. Luck of course being another name for the winding whims of fate. You can always make your own luck— and many times, you do so by playing nice with the big folks upstairs. It's bribery, really.}
• _{3. Two streams of consciousness, even collaborating, are indistinguishable from two guys trying to talk at the same time and neither backing down. I've done my best to make it legible for you, dear reader. I'm a caring curator.}
• _{4. But it's like the fear breaks apart before it can get stuck in and be a problem. In a way quietly horrible, but I can't deny it's saving our asses. Speaking of, less chatter unless it's relevant. Tell me when more bombs are hitting my airspace.¹}
  
  • _{4-1. Hold on. Time out. Who let you in here? That's not how thi— All of it's relevant, you rock-munching Northron barbarian child! Watch the skies, the shadows of the fleet are moving out of formation! Wouldn't want one of them to veer into this big new ego you've got, would we?}
• _{5. Admittedly, it's getting very loud in here. Even if some senses aren't being as dulled as others, there's a lot going on that can drown out outside stimulus. But never mistake that for being in isolation. Just because you can't see something doesn't mean something isn't there. This is a fundamental concept to the people of the night, and our magics.}