---

For Cristina everything happened in a flash, there was noise, attacks and yells. Then suddenly everything blocked out. That never happened before.

...

...

Cristina opened her eyes, clutching her forehead where she could feel her blood dripping in. Her head hurts, her vision is blurry and she could hear the waves.

The cold steel of the ship clung to her, even as her unsteady feet try to stand up to what recognized is a sinking ship. She cannot use her Mirage Space at this state, in fact even trying to blink would be pushing things.

She summoned Sinagtala and used it for support, trying to find anyone or anything in this mess.

Energy flooded Callie, and energy was information, and information was something she could process. Encode. Channel. To one purpose.

Mirage Space had collapsed. People she cared about were now on that ship; one of them was barely conscious, their foe looming over her. They, within her sight and by her hand, would be safe: such was the pact, the Charter, that she had made with reality a decade ago. The Arm was the anchor and symbol of that pact – but the identity was hers, and that made Caroline Lidmann as capable a focus as it was. More.

Near every fibre of her being expressed that identity now, bent to imposing upon the world without the world within. Callie felt her whole self afire, her nerves screaming in exultation, horror and pain. Still, she drew forth the power and sent it on, shaped in her image, surging, knowing that she would not fail them.

(In a dark and buried recess of her mind able to consider anything beyond that which pertained to manifesting her fundamental desire through a semi-instinctual connection to the base code of the universe, cries resonated that this was unjust; that hundreds, thousands were currently dying by her hand; that saving only those she liked would not absolve her. In that moment, it did not resonate loudly enough.)

(Its echoes would remain. She was only human.)

On the sinking Guandong-class, where once was peril, a path was made. There was the deck of BRP Jose Rizal just behind Task Force Obsidian, a portal offering them their way back. It called to them, quiet, clear and undeniable, asylum promised with the assurance of truth. For he who had harmed them – beaten them bloody and worse, done so with that which made them themselves, torn away and subjugated – and would do so again? A clarion loud enough to deafen, pressed upon his soul:

YOU ARE NOT WELCOME BEYOND!

Sister Marta Rocha

Mission Five - La Naval de Manila, Segunda Vez

BRP Jose Rizal - 12/28/2022

Marta had been trying to prepare for essentially anything, but having Nil suddenly thrown onto the deck from nowhere still came as a surprise. Thankfully, she had already experienced enough emergencies that she needed little time to run to his side.

"Nil! Hang in there, just a minute!"

Her practiced eye ran over his body, already trying to catalogue his many wounds. Thankfully, it wouldn't be necessary to engage in first aid - she raises her right hand clad in gleaming mail and a pulse of bright, gentle light washes over the deck, healing all wounds in an instant.

The Iron Fang pierced through the armor with relative ease, though it wasn’t enough to incapacitate the chimp completely. The blade merely managed to breach through his ribcage, barely grazing against any of the vital parts it contained. Thankfully, Cristina and Mikey were safe, but despite his efforts, Raja failed to prevent Henri from swallowing a bullet that’d now nestled in his right thigh. His only eye went wide at the sight, his lips parting in a horrified gasp. Just as he darted his gaze back towards Shufen, an enormous explosion was summoned, its fiery trails spreading wildly all over the enclosed space like wildfire.

KA–BOOM!

WHOOSH!

The explosion was about as massive as the ones the Sumatran Tiger would’ve typically summoned—if not, heavier. It appeared that Shufen had finally gotten the hang of his destructive quirk, and he wasn’t sure whether or not he should’ve been exasperated or concerned. Perhaps, it was more of the latter now that the entire TFO was at risk.

Raja jammed his spectral blade against the ground, triggering the same kind of explosion that Shufen had successfully created. He tried to prevent it from reaching out to both the team and himself, but even with his very own gigantic projectile, he could barely reduce the shattering impact that came out of his adversary’s ultimate attack. In fact, it only doubled the impact.

KRA–KOOM!

“Ungh–!!”

The Indonesian Arms Master could feel his towering frame launching to the back, absorbing the colliding impact directly. He could only watch as the monkey ambushed both Cristina and Mikey, causing the Mirage Space to disappear. The view of the sinking carrier became evident just beneath his back, but before he could fly past the ship, he quickly held on to its precipice, both bandaged hands clutching the railing. His lower limbs dangled, the tips of his boots close to touching the surface of the water.

SWISH!

“Urgh… Anjing!”

The gentle sound of the ocean called to him, ready to sweep him out of the carrier’s precipice. Crackling and grimacing, Raja attempted to prop himself up, desperately trying to climb out of harm’s way. He could feel the tides growing stronger and stronger each time, the raging ocean forcing itself to swallow him wholly. Fortunately, when all hopes seemed to be lost…

WHIRR…

…Raja caught the noises of another ship approaching, its hull combing and fighting against the tides. As the impact, the water managed to make its way to his dangling form, spraying his hairless crown. When he glanced past his shoulder, he recognized the ship as BRP Jose Rizal, having caught a glimpse of the deck just moments prior to the beginning of the mission. His muscles relaxed, a sigh of relief blown.

“Puji Tuhan...”

After managing to push himself past the railing, Raja informed the other Arms Masters of the ship’s existence, the barest hints of smile playing by his lips.

“It’s coming!”

FIN.

Mission Five - La Naval de Manila, Segunda Vez/Segundo Beses/Second Time

Ruins of The Guangdong - 12/28/2022, 5: 50, UTC+8

Wu Shufen knew that the foe had figured it out; for every one of them that fell and dispersed their Noble Arm, he had one less copied ability. With most of the enemy subdued, only Raja and Henri, the latter whose NA abilities cannot be copied at all, were left.

But the Monkey of the Zodiac had an escape plan, and that manifested in the form of four Helicopters flying toward his position on the sinking Nuclear Aircraft Carrier. Throwing a smoke bomb, he'd run, then swim in the direction of the gunships, not bothering to snark at the people who had just barely defeated him. If they had any brains, they'd flee towards the portal their friend had opened before they were strafed by bullets that can tear apart even an Arms Master.

He can console himself that he had hurt the foe deeply enough that they won't be able to function for weeks, buying his country valuable time...

Mission Five Has Ended

---

Intermission Five - Aftermath of Victory

Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 8:00 AM, UTC+8



For several months now, Lubao City, under the iron heels of the politician-turned-warlord Flores Pagkanta Corriente and her family, had been a thorn in the Philippine Government of National Salvation's side. It had sent hired militiamen and thugs to harass the Armed Forces of the Philippines in open treason, openly pledged allegiance to China as part of the 'Continuation Government of the Philippines', and now, its people, faced with the full attention of the PGNS, had thrown out their leader in an armed uprising and opened the gates to a surprised but greatful army. Now, Task Force Obsidian was sent there to recuperate and receive news from the rest of the world.

Knowing how sensitive his presence in Lubao was, Crown Prince Shinyahito did not choose to commandeer a notable hotel, restaurant, church, or park. Nor did he and his sister take over the hacienda (a plantation-style estate) where Flores Pagkanta Corriente had made her final stand. Instead, they and TFO made their HQ in the New Lubao Town Hall; the image cannot be reposted outside of Wikipedia), where the local Mayor, a member of the locally influential Parada Family, was eager to prove his loyalty after having cut ties with the Pagkanta-Corrientes. And it was there that they began to receive news of the world after their miraculous victory.

Spontaneous 'Blank Paper' uprisings have sprung all over Mainland China in response to the devastating defeat in the West Philippine Sea. Now, truly Filipino waters after Admiral Yi Yeol had pounded the PLA Navy to scrap metal. Although the People's Republic of China had acted with the usual brutality and repression, making arrests and executions, the protests were growing in number and frequency; this would be the right time for the Qing Restoration Society to make their move, only there was a problem: Lei Qingshe, their most powerful Arms Master, the smartest mind they had, and a person who had the secrets of Occult Programming Language in her hands...had disappeared for the final time.

On the plus side, they were getting reinforcements today; new volunteers were flocking to them soon.

---

Flashback - A Remote Outpost on Finland's Southern Border - 12/30/2022, 22:00, UTC+2

Lukas Lightbringer had been called to the outpost by his handler, who said in a curt voice, "We've been hired to join the winning side in that war in Southeast Asia - And to everyone's surprise, it isn't China."

The Handler, wearing thick, concealing winter clothing, handed him a dossier about Task Force Obsidian before saying, "We - Or rather you - were originally going to be tasked with saving one Noel Alonso, a Filipino Arms Master who got himself captured by the Downward Descent's forces. However, our superiors have decided to send you over to where the group he once led, Task Force Obsidian, is waiting for news, reinforcements, and the rescue of their commander."

Clearly thinking little of his subordinate, The Handler continued as his snow goggles faced Lukas' eyes, "Your orders are simple; get in good with them, share in the rewards, get their trust, and if the wheel of fortune flips again and they start losing, stab them in the back. We'll arrange for you to be flown to their provisional HQ in a few days. Until then, do not blow your cover. Got it?"

---

Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 8:00 AM, UTC+8



Lukas had been flown to Lubao as a 'volunteer' seeking to join the now-prestigious Task Force Obsidian; he had been told that the New Town Hall was where the group made their temporary HQ. As he walked the still heavily-patrolled city, meeting the suspicious gazes of both military folk and locals as he drew closer to his objective, he'd get a text message on his smartphone... And pictures of the Black Cell being systematically dismantled and its personnel fighting and dying against mercenaries who wore a badge showing a Broken Sword, accompanied by a brown-haired, green-eyed woman in a lab coat whose Noble Arm was an oval shield that looked like it was made of a ladybug's shell.

The text message said: The Black Cell has delved into matters beyond its understanding and received the consequences. You are free now, Lukas Lightbringer; use it well - Chastity, Avatar of Castitias, of the Seven Virtues.

---

Levi Orienko had found himself in the Philippines; Task Force Obsidian was hiring. He was closer to the New Town Hall than Lukas was, within sight of the gates, where...

"Orienko - Levi Orienko!," a voice broke the relative silence behind him. His fellow Arms Master, Bahram Mainyu, was walking toward him without a care in the world, waving hi. "I was told you'd be coming here, so I volunteered to join too!"

His eyes were positively glinting with delight as the Persian continued, "Have you heard? Jin Li of the Qing Restoration Society is coming to the Town Hall to meet with Task Force Obsidian! Wonder what he has to say..."

Bahram had met Levi just a few months ago when Broken Sword PMC was busting a Russian Prison in Siberia, a Prison he was rampaging through as well. They had fought alongside each other, saving each other's lives, and when Bahram had absentmindedly flirted with Levi, the fact that the latter hadn't rejected him showed that maybe, there was a chance with this cute, badass, brooding guy.

So he smiled at seeing him, before adding, "Oh, right, my Noble Arm has gotten stronger too since I met you!"

---

Now, Jin Li of the QRS had something more to announce to TFO's members, and he was going to meet with them in the Municipal Hall's meeting hall after they met their new members to give them what he hoped would be a tolerable piece of bad news...

@Amidatelion@Chiro@Nimbus@Digmata@Ducksworth@Gerlando@Terry Bogard@LladyLloki

Lukas had just been about to start making a small watch camp on top of a building in the recovering town when his work phone played curious tunes. He was dressed casually in light jeans with holes in them, and a white t shirt splattered with daft punk underneath a black studded leather jacket, seemingly like a young man seeking solace. Sitting cross legged with his black bags leizurely dropped to the side, Lukas read the message. Terror formed on his face as his immediate thought was the formation of a new threat. He quickly realized it was not, and as it was a woman and organisation who's name nor reputation was to be taken lightly, he allowed himself to believe it, if only for a few seconds. His lips stretched into a bare minimum smile, and he allowed himself to enjoy the feeling of liberation.
Was she really letting him go though?
The sources were unmistakable, and Lukas had been given orders to do literally anything that this exact phone told him. So...Okay, he thought, and dared relax while replaying the files attached, again and again, smiling as he watched the long sought for destruction of the people who had hurt him. While his smile grew, his understanding of freedom did, too. He chuckled softly, which he hadn't done in so long his chest felt like shedding rust. He clicked the side button, and dropped the phone while staring thoughtfully ahead.
Now what?
Was he like a sprung out inmate, who were warned not to do more crimes by whoever chose to place their faith in him? Was he going to spring up like an unbearably happy idiot who'd just won the lottery? Theory would have it he was no longer anyone's weapon. He was...free. Squinting thoughtfully into the hot eastern air, Lukas pondered what that meant, exactly. He did not blame himself for not knowing what to do with that freedom, but he had been told to use it wisely, so he set his mind on that.

He had not tasted freedom in twelve years, and while on strange grounds, he was also completely alone. The only family he'd had, although messy, was gone. He frowned, wondering why he was cut loose in the first place. Did they know he'd been forced to do all those things, and chose mercy? Were they really giving him a chance to choose for himself? To Lukas it made sense. The Seven were pro human after all, and highly ideologistic people tended to be incredibly merciful.
After a few minutes Lukas could only move on from there, and packed the few things he'd unpacked just moments before. He stood up, and looked at the dark screen of his work phone. Before it could start glowing or ringing again, Lukas quickly threw it with all his might against the wall next to the door that would lead him back down from the roof. Being quite sturdy, the phone only lost a few small pieces.

Dreading it would revoke his miracle of freedom, Lukas marched over to it with his gun, and aimed to shoot it into oblivion. Pausing suddenly however, though still so hungrily intent on shooting it he panted with adrenaline, Lukas realized it would be rather distasteful to do in a town currently recovering from war. The bang would not only upset the entire nation, but bring unwanted attention towards his location. Groaning annoyed and impatient Lukas marched back to his bag to make his gun soundproof. Once he'd done that swift, but tedious task, Lukas made quick business of breaking the phone into many pieces by using five rapid shots. One shot, sadly as quiet as his existance had been, breaking it in three. Three shots, again too quiet for the groundbreaking change Lukas experienced, breaking those pieces into more damned pieces. Lukas fired one last quiet shot before he realized he needed to stop.
With a hot barrel and phone rubble all around him, Lukas shook with excitement and fear. It was not enough. He couldn't just break it, he needed to obliterate it. Picking up the broken pieces Lukas neatly stored them for when he could place them in lava, or kindly ask an Arms Master to melt them for him. Should the phone glow or ring now...He'd shoot himself.


Finally done with that, Lukas looked around and wondered whether he should go to a restaurant to celebrate, find a brothel, or maybe...Damn, what a lame place to be freed, Lukas thought. There was no way he could celebrate it properly in a post war town, although, he and the town had one thing in common at least- they had recently been freed, so maybe partying was at its place. Lukas chuckled softly at the silly thought. In any case, he needed to move on. He was still signed up as volunteer for the Obsidian Task Force. He could use that to blend in and observe, for his own reasons, one of them being to celebrate.
He hoped they served breakfast, at least. Maybe some cakes. Now, that would impress him. While walking the dry streets towards the New Town Hall, Lukas pondered the possibilities.

Closing in on the New Town Hall grounds, Lukas noticed a couple of younger boys, apparently meeting after a long time apart. He scanned both without giving or demanding any attention while walking towards or past them. Even though it was hot, his leather jacket covered his armed harness nicely. If not anything else, his military boots revealed he was most likely a volunteer, or some other, while heading towards the HQ in a confident stride. His right hand gripped the strap of his backpack relaxed, while his left carried the black travel bag as if he'd been travelling most of his life.
His black hair bun had long since started to come apart, adding to his placid and nonjudgemental appearance. Should any of them get two seconds eye contact, if one, with Lukas however, and only with mediocre insight, they'd notice a contrast. A sense of unease that was typical for newcomers.

@Ducksworth @Letter Bee

Sister Marta Rocha

Intermission Five - Aftermath of Victory

Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines

"...sempre me rege, me guarda, me governa e me ilumina. Amém."

Sunlight streaked into the shaded building, filling in the grooves on wood-carved reliefs. The space within is quiet, save for the occasional footstep or sound from without the walls. A figure lies knelt upon her pew, her knees occasionally fidgeting, her hands running over a metal rosary, her murmured prayers audible to passersby. Despite her anxious clumsiness, her tone is steady and calm, each prayer offered with metronomic constancy and precision.

A loud ringing emanates from the campanary, interrupting her meditative trance. Birds roosting outside are sent flying from the surprise, their shadows passing by the windows and temporarily obscuring the beautiful altarpiece.

The sister breathes deep and stands up, a hand rising to adjust the veil of her habit, hands brushing over clipped hazel bangs of hair. She stops for a second, as if trying to build up energy, and after checking that no one is looking, does a spot of shadowboxing against the wall.

"Right, good to go." One uppercut later, she was flying out the church doors and to a meeting she's sure to arrive somewhat late to...

---

Cristina took a moment to clutch her te pain in her head, it's been around a week since that fiasco (in her eyes) of an operation. While time and medical attention had healed her physical scars, she still needs to rest from the countless battles she faced since joining Task Force Obsidian. Said rest is not an entirely bad thing as it allowed her to visit her sister, things between them are pretty awkward and the path of repairing their relationship as sisters will be long but she is optimistic at her chances.

She let out a sigh as she looks at the sights of the reconquered city, she wasn't aware of the battle that took place here but she knew that before her is a recovering city and a sign that things are getting better for this country.

In fact the thought of what happens next cross her mind, she had no intention of staying in the military after this war but should she do? Head to a desolate town with her sister once she got released and her pensions? That sounds a tempting prospect, a very nice one thing to consider.

She let out a sigh as she head to the meeting place, she can daydream about her future later. She needs make out of this war in one piece first. Once she did that, she could start dreaming about her future afterwards.

Intermission Five - Aftermath of Victory (Not a GM Post)

Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 8:00 AM, UTC+8

Bahram could tell Levi liked him enough not to pull away, and even to talk a little. So his next words were, "Some of us have been tasked with giving humanitarian aid; food, water, medicine, blankets, and for the kids who had to endure war, toys and candy - I have a sample, if you want!"

He then pulled out a plastic bag colored United Nations blue labeled "Hershey's", and said, "Try it; it's not poisoned, I promise!"

The 17-year-old tried not to notice the black-haired volunteer close by; he wanted to spend more time with Levi!

But on the other hand, would Levi think badly of him if he ignored the other volunteer ahead of him, plus the mission? That, and he recognized the other guy, Broken Sword PMC's soldiers had been hired by the Seven Virtues to take out his employers, but not target him - He was an innocent victim, according to Chastity. Well, best to keep it secret that he knew; he did not want it to look like he was holding it over Lukas.

"Levi..." Bahram turned his attention back to the other brunette, "It's New Year's Day. Wanna celebrate after we finish joining up with Task Force Obsidian?"

Some civilian volunteers were distributing newspapers in English, Tagalog/Filipino, and a few other languages; Bahram would take one and exclaim loud enough that Lukas could hear, "Whoa; it seems the US is debating if they should enter the war! Must be the rebellion in China... You know there's a rebellion in China now, though?"

@LladyLloki@Ducksworth

After clasping shut his fake ID wallet, once approved by the guards at the entrance of the New Town Hall, Lukas glanced at the outburst of the kid in fancy blue drapes. He looked like a persian prince. Nice, Lukas thought, though noted how young he and his friend looked. Even though Arms Masters were enrolled young, much like himself, Lukas would much rather they spend their lives away from it. Some enjoyed it though, so Lukas was not signing up on any resistance movements anytime soon.

He dropped his bags by the gate, and signalled to the guards he was only taking a minute to talk to the two boys, as if he knew them. Benjamin, as his ID said his name was, Benjamin Andersen to be precise, headed over to the two boys with his thumbs relaxing in the belt loops of his bright jeans.
"Hey," he said glancing at both in a curious and friendly manner. Before arriving at the matter of his approach, he suddenly paused at the sight of Hershey's candy, and gave it a quick impressed hum "Mm!" As if it had only been a passing thing, Lukas did not expect them to share in the slightest, and continued "You look kinda young to be standing around here for. I'm guessing you got some masterly arms about you?" Lukas' head tilted slightly to the left to give off a sense of ease after his direct ice breaker.

BAM!

“Arghhh—!!”

“C’mon, Vic, man up! Don’t give up yet!”

Raja had lost count on how many times he’d tried to flail and bruise a palm tree while training with his older brother, only to hurt his hands in the process. The impact managed to leave his knuckles with noticeable hints of violet, his fingers growing numb and stiff after each flail. It was palpable that he couldn’t endure the pain much longer, though given his brother’s encouragement, would he be allowed to take a moment of break? To just… rest and let the soreness go away? He wasn’t so sure, though, but he wanted to. He winced and staggered back, shoulders hunching, the healthier hand holding the bruised knuckles.

“I– I can’t, Bang Tigor!” Raja protested, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “This is too much! I– I don’t think I can handle it anymore. I’m not you, and I’m nothing like our old men back home.”

Tigor quickly shushed, firmly patting his younger brother’s cheek. “No, don’t say that! You don’t try to be like us, Vic. You’ll never be like your old men because… you’re special. I mean, just look at you!” His hand gestured at Raja, highlighting his abnormal height and lengthy limbs. “You’re tall, big, and your senses are sharper than usual. Didn’t you hear what they said? They even thought we were the same age because you were about as tall as I am. You have something that most of us don’t, and are you just going to throw that away? Spending the rest of your life being a chump?”

Raja hesitantly shook his head. “No, abang...”

Tigor maintained a firm yet considerate expression, his hands tight around his brother’s smaller shoulders. “Look, Vic, we came from a warrior tribe. Life’s never been so easy on us since the moment we were born. We have to hunt and protect our land from wild beasts and other disruptions, but that’s our purpose. To fight and to win, that is. After all, our ompung would’ve won against the Dutch for nothing if he raised the next generation of losers. Our old men have had it worse, Vic, and the last thing you’d wanna do is to be a burden and a disgrace to your own tribe,” he added, then gently shoved Raja back, not even bothering to mince his words. He pointed a finger at the prior palm tree ahead of them. “So, go back there and show me that you can punch like a man!”

“But…”

Tigor shushed again. “No more excuses, adek,” he warned, crossing his arms. “Speak with your fists, not your mouth.”

Raja swallowed. He no longer said anything. As weary and burdened as he was, it seemed that the only way now was to push forward, conquering his doubts as best he could. He’d always understood his task, but the question is how? How was he going to achieve it? Many attempts had been made, yet none truly fruited a satisfying outcome. Perhaps, he didn’t exert his inner force as hard as he wanted himself to believe, even after following Tigor’s advice to take a deep breath and concentrate his energy into his fists.

So as he turned against his brother, Raja closed his eyes and tried again, inhaling the island’s fresh breath and letting the power from within crawled all over his towering frame. The sounds of chirping birds and gentle crashing tides managed to ease his tension, aiding him in achieving a tranquil state of mind. Hesitantly, he brought his fist out of his side, his bruised knuckles facing the tree’s solid frame. It was apparent that something was holding the younger islander back, but he had to steel his resolve—to prove that he, too, could flail as hard as any of the tribesmen could. He drew his fist back, and once he opened his eyes…

POW!

…a right-handed hook was delivered. It was still rough around the edges, indeed, but was enough to make the taller tree jolt. Even Raja was jaw-dropped at the sight, unsure if he could really pummel as strongly as that was.

“That’s it, boy! Keep punching!”

Did his brother really just say that? It seemed that he’d done a decent job if even somebody as blunt as Tigor commended his performance. With the barest hints of smile playing by his lips, Raja hurled another hook—this time, using his left hand. Once again, it wasn’t too smooth, though it managed to leave the trunk’s rugged surface with grazing cuts mimicking the shapes of his knuckles. He could feel blood trickling out of his knuckles, wincing and hissing, though he continued to push past the pain to deliver another right hook.

CRACK!

WHAM!

“Stronger, Vic. Stronger!”

As if the uppercut hadn’t just nearly shaken the tree out of its position and left its trunk fractured. Raja took a moment to wiggle his right hand, hissing a little uncontrollably, his bruised knuckles scarred and bleeding. He took a look at the bruised trunk, then both of his blood-soaked hands, not knowing if the assignment was done correctly when he ended up wounding his knuckles.

“What are you looking at, adek? Keep punching!”

“I– I can’t!”

“What do you mean you can’t? You’re almost there!”

What Tigor said made Raja realize that, perhaps, the main objective of this training wasn’t solely to refine his techniques. Maybe it was to tear this punching bag of a tree down with only his two bare fists, which he didn’t think might be possible. While he could feel his hands shaking and bleeding, he thought he’d begun to get used to the numbing sensation. Drawing a deep, deep breath, the young islander concentrated his energy once more, keeping his frame steady. Once his stance was assumed, he drew his shaky fist back, then swung a massive uppercut right across the tree’s wounded spot, creating a moderately sizable bowl. The tree began to teeter uncontrollably, dancing along the whiffling breeze that’d been guiding a flock of parrots back to their nest. It was close to toppling.

“Yeah, boy! That’s how you do it!”

This time, Raja was unfazed. He fixated on the cavity formed around the tree’s injured frame, its size larger in his eyes than how it really was. Instead of flailing, he dragged and positioned one of his bare feet behind his towering frame, his leading knee bending. He tried to transfer some of his inner strength into his leading leg, and once concentrated, leaped forth, mimicking the flying knee strike that Tigor taught him the other day. The knee rammed the bruised spot, strong enough to create a broader fracture spreading beyond the cavity. A cracking noise erupted, and in just a split second, the tree’s upper half toppled, reaching the ground with a thunderous…

THUMP!

For a moment, a small quake arose and crawled across the shore as the impact of the collision between the enormous tree and the ground—loud enough to awaken the local fishermen resting within the nearest hut. It felt like the entire world halted around Raja as he landed on his feet, every eye on sight drawn to the raw display of strength. He panted, hands on his hips, as he tried to control his breath. Until this afternoon, he wasn’t even sure if he could flail properly, let alone collapsing a damn tree. It must’ve been a miracle that he could even pull that out to begin with. Then, from behind him, was Tigor wrapping his arm tight around his shoulder, his knuckles nudging his shaky arm. It took Raja off guard for a second, nearly choking on his own breath. Was his older brother going to scold him or…?

“Hah! Now, that’s my adek!” Tigor exclaimed proudly. “I knew you were a tough boy. Told you, you’re a special kind, haven’t I?”

Raja was close to snorting, then sighed, curling a tired smile with his lips. He gave both of his bloody hands one final glance, furling and unfurling his fingers. All of a sudden, his pain and agony were washed away, but it was probably more to do with his satisfaction overcoming the stinging sensation.

“Maybe I am,” he murmured, almost to himself. But then, his smile faltered, his doubt toying with him once more. “Or maybe I still have a lot to learn…”

“Oh, c’mon!” Tigor drove his hand over Raja’s shoulder, the push rough yet caring. “It’s not so bad for a rookie. You’ll get used to it.” Then, a gentler, almost brotherly pat, his hand moving away. “Let’s just end our training here, should we? Somebody needs to tend to those bruises.” He pointed at the wounded knuckles with his finger.

Raja nodded, then subconsciously winced, holding a bruised hand. “Yeah, I think we better head out now. Inang must’ve been waiting for us,” he agreed. “But wait!” He peered over the toppled tree ahead of him, narrowing his eyes at the worrying sight. “What are we going to do about that thing?”




Given the tranquility and the refreshing verdant scenery, the Bamboo Hub was just the right spot for Raja to start this morning with his usual routines: meditating and training. He couldn’t count how many hours he’d spent just sitting under a bamboo tree cross-legged, closing his only eye and finding solace in solitary. Frankly, unlike most Indonesians, Raja wasn’t exactly the most sociable individual—preferring to keep everything to himself and speak only when necessary. And it showed. Perhaps, he’d been musing to himself a lot more than he had talking to either one of his TFO fellows. Not that he’d been a member for a long time, anyway.

Usually, while in this state, Raja would take a moment to reflect on his past actions. Sometimes, he would’ve drawn comparisons between the way he fought now and the way it used to be when he was still in his prime as a cage-fighting champion. Oftentimes, he wondered how different things would’ve been if he chose to stay in Samosir Island, instead of pursuing a career as a professional fighter. Surely, he would’ve never met his comrades at the TFO, but at the very least, he would’ve been there when his fellow tribesmen needed him the most. It’d been years since the tragedy that nearly wiped out the entirety of the island, yet he still blamed everything on himself. While the island did recover over time (and was even on the verge of inaugurating the tallest Jesus statue in the world atop of Sibea-bea Hill), he knew that nothing would’ve ever brought his family back. Not even by miracles. He was the only one left of the extinct tribe, and until this day, he still carried that weight atop of his shoulders.

Then, as his mind went to his family, Raja was reminded of his first mission—of how close he was to reuniting with his entire tribe. He still remembered how he held onto a ruin of the drowning Guangdong-class ship, fighting back the tides that continued to grow and grow as the sight of his comrades became increasingly distant. Unlike the rest, he didn’t get to leap straight into the portal provided for them by Callie, and he felt foolish enough for not doing anything when the chance was present. It was vivid in his mind how the tides devoured every rubble in their paths and just how close he was to becoming the next one to be engulfed. The Sumatran Tiger had never felt so frightened since the horrors that the Hammers had brought upon his land. If it wasn’t for the rescue team that came to check the ruins that day, there was no doubt that he would’ve been with his tribesmen now, instead of his crew.

That damn monkey… I was so close to finishing him off right there and then. He was supposed to be a dead meat!

The thought of the mischievous Wu Shufen broke the Sumatran Tiger out of his meditating state, his remaining eye flicking open. With a sharp movement, he launched himself skywards, flailing the wind with a flying uppercut. Once he landed back on both feet, he assumed his stance, deploying a series of rather coordinated flails upon the fresh, cold air.

“RRAAHHH—!!”

Raja could feel his vicinity trembling, even as he merely flailed the swirling wind. Hopefully, his furious exclamation didn’t just disturb the tranquility around him. Then, multiple kicks were hurled, his leading leg swinging wildly. He began by drawing his knee close to his torso, then extended his leg, executing a side kick. Following the side kick was a twirling crescent kick, then a leaping back kick which closed the distance between himself and the nearest bamboo tree. As the finishing touch, he turned against said bamboo tree, only to propel himself forth with a lunging elbow.

“Hrrmm–!!”

Though, before his elbow could graze against the bamboo’s flimsy frame, the Sumatran Tiger halted. The exuded force prompted the wind to bend to his iron will, gathering around his elbow before it began to dissipate. The bamboo tree wobbled back and forth, its verdant leaves descending upon the tall, gallant Arms Master. Despite the exceptional gifts that were the spectral Iron Fangs, Raja had always preferred to fight his battles this way—with just his limbs and untapped strength. Nothing more and nothing less, even though the last thing he would’ve wanted to do was to cause any serious troubles outside of his home country. He withdrew his elbow, closed his remaining eye, then inhaled deeply, trying to keep himself composed.

Calm down, Raja, calm down… You’ve done all you could to redeem yourself. It’s time we move on. That’s what they’d want, isn’t it?

Relaxed, the Sumatran Tiger drew out a gentle exhale, then brought his hands together, his palms colliding with each other. He could feel sweat flowing down his forehead as the fruit of the intense physical exertion. Instead of draining, it felt somewhat refreshing, nevertheless. Before he truly departed, he opened his only eye, taking in the sight of the verdant scenery once more. The cascading sunlight and the flock of chirping sparrows added to the beauty of the tranquil view. Just looking around his vicinity made him smile, albeit faintly.

Heh. Very well… Let us find something to eat.

The growl that his stomach had been making didn’t go unnoticed. Aside from a bottle of water, he hadn’t quite consumed anything since the moment he woke up. As he headed out of the growingly bustling hub, he caressed his toned midriff, thinking it would’ve calmed down whatever the noisy storm raging beneath. Eventually, he ran his enormous hand over his bandaged pecs, tracing patterns around the white fabric holding his torso tight. There was a broad, dry wound carved underneath—the fruit of the explosive collision between his blasting Iron Fang and Shufen’s very own fiery maneuver. Perhaps, he had another mark to add to the collection of scars decking his burly, upper frame, and something just told him that this wouldn’t be his last. The war was far from over, and the best he could do was to push forth, regardless of the many scars and enemies he’d make along the way.

FIN.

Manila Naval Hospital - 12/28/2022, 10:07 UTC+8

Adrián had spent the last hour intently staring at a pair of doves. His face had lost color, so Jasmine promptly committed him to a hospital. The Rear Admiral hadn't the heart to reprimand her for insubordination, plus her post hoc signed orders from his direct superior prevented him.

So be it, he surmised. He could operate at ninety percent capacity using merely a phone. Then Jasmine took his phone away, assuring him that she'd relay anything that demanded his attention specifically. So he turned on the television and watched as the second attempted invasion of the Philippines readied and commenced. So Jasmine took away his television too.

He went a little stir-crazy, trying to find something to focus on. He settled on a fence in the outside yard. It ran underneath a tree, and doves had made nests on its highest branches. Every so often a few would flutter and perch on the fence en route to pecking the ground for... who knew? The ground looked well-swept from his view.

He knew well that it was sleep-deprived delirium that caused it, but he could’ve sworn he understood the communications between the birdbrains. A bulkier dove would flutter over to a gentler dove, who would hesitate but not refuse the advances. Then a small flock of them would chase them away, and the outcasts would wait and steel themselves for retaliation. He sensed fear, and uncertainty, and caution, with a faint trace of hope. Smart little creatures.

His door opened, and his birding was interrupted by increased volume in the hallway. It wasn’t urgent chatter that forewarned an influx of new residents, but excited chatter reserved for news. Before he discerned the words, the nurse entered and closed the door behind him. “Steak and vegetables on rice, Admiral.”

Adrián knew Jasmine was right around the corner but wasn’t quite able to see her past the big boned nurse. Still, he knew there was news. “Give it here; I can cut my own steak.” As he got to work, he decided to circumvent his aide. “So, what’s the big news?”

“The Chinese turned back their invasion fleet. We gave them a bloody nose!”

“Ah, excellent. There should be a young woman outside. Short, black, curly hair; in uniform. Send her in, please?”

“Yes, sir.” The nurse promptly left, again closing the door. It reopened after a second’s pause.

Abasolo relinquished his utensils. “Just tell me if my boys and girls are alright.”

Jasmine nodded. “One injury, but they all seemed to make it. Honestly, there’s not much to tell but good news. I can relay while you eat.”

Abasolo rubbed his hands together. “This ought to entertain. So, which PLAN warships line the ocean floor?”

Palais de l'Élysée, Paris, France - 12/28/2022, 08:52 UTC+1

"They lost how many ships?"

"Mr. President, our current count is eighteen. Two carriers, ten destroyers, six corvettes."

L'Élysée was especially full today of naval analysts, Syracuse IV surveillance operatives, and the French Armed Forces' general brass. They weren't paid to express their opinion, but the president's whistle, lean in his chair, and smile reflected the room's sentiment.

Nonetheless a killjoy had to spoil the fun: "These are initial estimates. Four that we know are dragging behind the fleet. We don't know if the PLAN will attempt to repair or scuttle them. So, anywhere between sixteen and twenty."

"So that's an entire strike group out of commission?"

"Roughly speaking."

The President returned to smiles. A senior officer lacked discipline and so muttered under his breath, "My gosh. They have no power projection."

"Say that again?" the President encouraged such talk around him.

The senior officer shuffled to the crowd's front. "Well, those destroyers and carriers and such have been busy protecting their trade lanes. They don't have infrastructure to import everything from the Russian Federation at scale, so their oil, their iron, their food imports... that is completely undefended."

"Can we take advantage of that?"

The Minister for Europe and Foreign Affairs emerged from the masses. "We can, but at what cost?"

"Explain."

"We've had the ability to mess with their boats, but if the Chinese suspect us, then they'll accuse us of getting involved. Worst case scenario, the nukes fly."

"Forgive me, Sir, but that's the thing," countered the invigorated senior officer. "We could always hit their trade, but anyone can. Somali pirates, the Indians. The Tanzanians! A three legged cat could sink it. They're undefended."

"Alright," said the president. "Who can we contact?"

The Director General for External Security raised his hand. "Our people have contacts in Mozambique and Gabon. We can sink your target ships for you."

"With no possibility of backfire?" confirmed the Minister.

"There's a chance," clarified the director, "but the Chinese captain who phones back won't know what to look out for. It's as close to zero as possible."

"I concede, then. Monsieur President?"

The president smiled. "What can I say? I love fireworks."

Choibalsan, Mongolia - 12/30/2022, 10:07 UTC+8

Tian Haoyu was a shrewd man. Most of his peer ministers styled themselves from great leaders from Chinese antiquity. As Minister of Finance, he modeled after the great American general William H. Tunner. The others gave him funny looks, but accepted it. Tunner’s brilliance kept China supplied and fighting throughout WWII during the relentless Japanese onslaught by flying over the Himalayas. Tunner was a patriotic choice enough.

His potential detractors certainly kept their mouths shut when, during a particularly nasty economic time in Russia, Minister Tian managed to acquire enough tank trucks to operate a continuous stream of crude oil and natural gas from Russia's hinterland to China's heart through Mongolia. He expanded road networks, fostered international relations, and coordinated massive economic complexes. In his eyes (and the eyes of those paying attention), he single-handedly upheld the conflict.

This was thanks to his attention to detail, his mathematical genius. Not a drop of fuel, not a scrap of metal was left unaccounted under his watch. It was a herculean task given how the regional ministers always tended to lie, but his well groomed brigade of auditors remedied that. Yes, indeed. Tunner would be proud.

But Tunner was an airman. He never had to deal with a driver whose incompetence miraculously managed to crash his rig across all four lanes.

And so Haoyu stood a mile from the wreckage, watching a dozen truckers who had never picked up a crowbar try to raise the monolith upright without wasting (or worse, igniting) the precious fuel inside. Hilariously, the truck was wedged perfectly between hills, making the situation even less tenable. He had refused to let such a travesty interrupt his paperwork, so his documents and charts waited patiently behind him. As per usual, he had a cellphone in his left pocket and a handgun in his right. He turned to the foreman. “How many trucks came through today before the crash?”

“Sir!” saluted the overseer. “All but about, I figure, twenty percent. We’ll still meet our quota today!”

At that point, the minister pulled out his pistol and aimed it squarely at the foreman’s chest. “Relax. I’m not going to shoot you. I will if you repeat that húchě de jíkǒu number. It happened in the morning. Trucks run from sunup to sundown. The number I seek is less than fifty percent. Tell me.”

“…Thirty-seven percent.”

“Then I can only reroute, let’s see, three hundred vehicles, maybe three-fifty.” Tian Haoyu shook his head and mumbled something about how he should’ve invested in railroads. Just then, his phone rang. He set the gun down and answered the call. “Zhōngguó gòngchǎndǎng wànsuì.”

The dialogue was energetic but brief. Tian summarized to his underling: “The New Vista was sunk.”

“And that is?” asked the overseer.

“A supertanker. The crude oil's gone, and any oil from future voyages. That plus Jinghong Dam…”

He snapped his fingers, then returned to his papers and shuffled through his charts. “Give me a pen and a straightedge.”

There were charts already with jagged lines. The overseer looked over his boss’s shoulder as the boss made a couplet of straight lines on independent graphs. He pointed to the first intersection. “Our energy is depleted here.”

The next graph's intersection was further down the line but not greatly. “And there goes the food.”

They stood in silence for about a minute. “Those gāisǐ Americans,” muttered the overseer.

Tian Haoyu breathed deeply while scanning the steppes of Mongolia. “Yeah, probably, but we can’t prove it. The stupid captain couldn’t distinguish operatives from ordinary pirates.” He straightened himself out. “Alright. We’ll start cutting off the civilian sectors. Implement stricter curfews. That buys us a few additional months to win.”

“And what if that’s not enough?” asked the foreman.

Haoyu shrugged. “Then I won’t be alive to see this nation collapse.”

Hongyadong, Chongqing - 12/31/2022, 22:07 UTC+8

Chongqing was China's pride and joy for a decade. Smog polluted the landscape like no other place on Earth, but the night lights on the riverside district were something else. Hongyadong, where the locals were concerned, was the king of nightlife.

For some reason, hopefully favorable winds, the skies were completely clear. One could even discern a star. It was an evening to enjoy life and make merry for soldiers on leave, generals with escorts, civilians who were weary after a long, hard season of sacrifice. Noodle shops were making bank, and the entire district was crowded beyond belief.

And then the lights went off.

Hongyadong was hit first, but the blackout spread throughout the city. The citizens collectively gasped and then went silent. The lights didn’t go back up, but an outcry of terror did. Small pinpricks of light came from individual cellphones as the citizen journalists tried to contact their handfuls of followers, but the standard communication networks were also offline. People trampled over each other, thieves exploited the panic and confusion, and Chongqing was plunged into chaos right until the sun rose.

The public demanded answers, and the People’s Republic couldn’t withhold them. Rolling blackouts covered the entirety of southern China: Chengdu, Shenzhen, even as far as Shanghai. As if oblivious to the public backlash, emergency systems blared across the networks: not only would energy and fuel be rationed, but food as well. No further explanation. Do your part to continue the revolutionary efforts.

The few internet hubs still available were flooded with the soil of discontent. The war was a distant thought. What mattered now was light and bread. The first flower to bloom would emerge from the darkness in Shanghai.

Intermission Five - Aftermath of Victory (Not a GM Post)

Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 8:04 AM, UTC+8

Bahram cringed at the older male's attempt to be hip and said, "Yes, I am an Arms Master. You?"

As for Levi... Bahram did not know what to say or do now that his gift had been refused. To buy time, he ate one of the chocolates, then mused about what he could talk about. Then he realized that Levi just accepted his offer.

"Cool!" Bahram said, "Fireworks are banned because we're at war, but we can eat... what foods do you like? I'll treat!"

As for politics, the Persian boy decided to spoil some details, albeit in a way that can be plausibly denied as rumors.

"ASEAN has allied with the Qing Restoration Society, a group of... LARPers whose goal is to pose as monarchists to look so ridiculous that the People's Republic of China cannot take them seriously enough to clamp down on them. The problem was, actual monarchists joined, plus enough people in China believed that they were the real deal, not helped by the fact that Jin Li is a Qing descendant. So now they cannot just do a sudden conversion to Republicanism and keep their credibility, which is bad as the actual democratic rebellion has erupted in Shanghai, where after the first few dozen peaceful protesters were shot, there was an open uprising and they're more popular than the QRS."

Bahram then added, "Or so goes the rumor mill among the mercs and info brokers..."

He let the implications hang in the air; ASEAN had allied itself with a liability and may lose the initiative because of that.

@LladyLloki@Ducksworth

Having expected the mention of their arms to form some discomfort, and noticing their disinclination towards his approach, Lukas simply answered the peacock boy's question with a short and silent nod. He was not there to bother anyone, too much, and their shared burden warranted a consideration of privacy. Lukas never judged anyone for wanting to keep their cards close to their chests. Lukas had grown up in a 'don't ask, don't tell' type of military. Still, what he had been trained to learn underneath all that, was who carried an Arms Master, of any kind, so he'd know who to push ahead and who to throw aside. As this was not his goal at the moment, which he still needed to get used to, finding safety in recon was a hard habit to break.

He didn't make himself important enough to actively disrupt their conversation any longer, but remained in the warm sun, which he started to like more and more, listening to them. He smiled amused at the story about LARPERS and the tragedy involving monarchists, showing an easy going attitude towards global conflict, and a sort of confidence in his own role in the world. His smile naturally died down at the end however, as he did not truly find joy in the horrors of humanity, and did not want people to mistake that about him either.

The peaceful raven hair kept his hands relaxed in the pockets of his blue jeans, and looked expectantly at the emo kid to his left as he was asked by the iranian prince boy what he preferred to eat. Lukas was pleased about the easy entertainment he got this early in his role as volunteer, whatever that meant.

Callie leaned against the cool, cream-white wall at the back of Lubao’s municipal hall. The rain had abated for now but the monsoon humidity remained, clinging to her skin and weighing down her breath. It felt grounding - something to help her ignore the constant prickling across her form and the itch burrowed deep beneath it.

More than that… She sighed. Minor architectural differences aside, this place felt more than a little familiar. The parking lot, the wide streets on one side, the painted fence ineffectually guarding a wide expanse of green scrubland on the other - all of it summoned memories of those few happy months hanging out at the mall with friends easily won and hard-fought for, whiling the days away before responsibility could pin them down.

Speaking of all of that.. Callie smiled as she tracked a figure hurrying down the long road towards the building. Her eyes felt sharper, now - or perhaps she was just even more hypervigilant than she had been before. It was hard to tell. Feeling the rush of displaced air as Charter fell into her hand, she made the slightest exertion of her will to open a portal that would save her a few dozen seconds…

The needles dug in, just slightly. Huh. Thought that would be worse.

Of course, any thought along those lines was cut short by the figure suddenly bursting through the portal, all fluttering habit and desperate haste. Callie chuckled as she let it close behind her. “Hey, easy, easy! Still got a few minutes before we get going, Sister. No rush.”

Marta stops in her tracks, the sudden stop causing her to almost topple over from the inertia, quickly wobbling back into place to avoid a most undignified pratfall. Seeing that she’s being observed, she clears her throat in an attempt to salvage the day’s impression.

“Ahem. Callie. Nice to see you! Good weather, isn’t it? Small miracles and all that.”

She gestured vaguely to the sky above, feeling more at ease.

“I must say, I do enjoy this downtime. You don’t realize how stressful war really is until you get back home and you feel yourself really unwind.”

She struck Callie on the shoulder with a playful jab.

“How’s your shore leave been, eh?”

“Worse, now!” Callie laughed, rubbing where Marta’s strike had landed. “Foresight didn’t tell me that’d be so hard... Seriously, though - still not at my best but much better than you last saw me.” She flung her arms out with a bold grin. “As you can see! Your healing does a girl a power of good - almost makes me jealous!”

---

The hospital is much like other hospitals: walls shaped and coloured like nothing in particular, dry, slightly acrid disinfected air and a constant background hum of electrical lights and instruments. Granted, it is also a hospital that has been touched by the chaos of the recent counter-coup. Surgeons and nurses stride the corridors with more urgency than normal, weaving around beds occupied by men and women less than fully intact, laid outside the wards that ought to have housed them.

A gleaming light tinged in viridian flashes through the halls. Injuries disappear wherever she walks - her power mending even the most grievous wound or disease. She is long used to receiving praise and even prayer from those she has helped around the world - that makes her uncomfortable. She wouldn’t call herself a saint, though some would disagree.

But not everything can be solved on the physical level. And so, she helps. She carries things that need carrying, she helps make food, she cleans and sterilizes the needed spaces, and provides succour to those who have suffered wounds beyond the physical.

Diligent and dutiful, she nonetheless eventually reaches a cordoned-off area of the hospital that could have held many of those crammed into the rest of the space but for lack of power. The emergency generators were able to keep only most of the building operational, which will have to do for the stretch of time predicted for the electrical infrastructure damaged in the uprising to be restored. Thus, an entire section lies in darkness that only slightly recedes before the healer as she crosses its threshold.

One would be forgiven for thinking those shadowed wards entirely unoccupied, unfit for treating sick or wounded alike as they are, nor at all appropriate for those whose trauma is mental rather than physical. The clear light thrown out from under a door off a nondescript corridor, reaching out to meet the healer’s own, would nonetheless put paid to that idea. After all, none of the everyday miracles of modern medical practice are quite suited to dealing with a trauma not of mind, nor of body, but of the soul.

Caroline Lidmann lies on the hospital bed, sunken eyes open and unseeing. Unbound from its usual tail, dull, wispy hair spills out behind her on the pillow atop the headrest; her chest rises and falls in time with deep yet half-formed breaths. Below, her hand clutches her Arm, held like it is a fact of reality that it belongs there, which of course it is. Of the few attempts to pry it out that others have made, none have succeeded, and so the spyglass continues to cast the room in a glow that seems to siphon warmth from the surrounds it lies upon - and substance from its holder.

For, barring the Arm, Caroline’s entire form is diaphanous - not wholly there, half-shadow in her shape visible on the mattress beneath her, through her. Even the substance of the bed itself and the blanket covering her seem as though leeched, the world laying punishment upon them for daring to associate with one that it half-rejects.

At the bedside, a woman raises her head to mark the opening of the door and gives a professional nod to the one who entered through it. Her camouflage and peaked cap atop dark hair held in a tight bun mark her as an officer (as does the stern if not unkind weight of her gaze), even as the stethoscope notes her particular command as atypical. “A pleasure, Sister; I was told you would be here. I am Master Sergeant Lorena Tecson Salcedo, specialising in antiquarian medicine. This one has been placed in my care, for the time being.”

“Ah- yes, it’s nice to meet you. You can just- call me what you like, it’s fine.”

She offers a discreet nod and goes to observe the “patient.” Marta would like to say that she has learned enough in her days to “belong” at a hospital bedside. She is no doctor, and she respects them for her efforts, but she can more often than not prevent people from falling apart not to die within the half a minute necessary for her Arms to “change”.

This is something out of her expertise as she understood it. Mysterious, magical jiggery-pokery wasn’t exactly something you could learn at a United Nations Refugee Camp.

Not that this would be enough to stop her. The person on that bed is a comrade in the good fight, and she’ll figure out a way even if she has to tug on the coattails of divine providence.

“So, uh, Sergeant Salcedo. How’s the patient doing? Any changes?.”

“Nothing since I arrived from Q.C. to oversee this facility one and a half weeks ago; no response to stimuli, no function beyond autonomic. I would call it an ordinary coma, which would be explicable, were it not for… The other symptoms.” Salcedo stares at, through, the figure on the bed. “I will be honest with you, Sister: I have cared for dozens of other Arms Masters during my service, many of whom required it after reaching beyond their grasp. This case is unlike any of those times. The patient’s Arm is more highly ranked than any I have come across before but even as it is categorised under spatial manipulation it lacks any facet of intangibility, stasis, self-teleportation - there is nothing in her file that would suggest her present state is due to power gone astray.”

She tucked her arms behind back, the shadow thrown away from the spyglass’ light shifting with them. “And yet, the reports from the helicopter pilot and crew accompanying her all agree that she gained these symptoms as she was using her Arm, which its current effect would seem to confirm.” Salcedo turned her eyes back to Marta, more inscrutable than before. “As I understand it, you were present at the point of the power’s use; do you have any further insight into how it expressed itself and whether it differed in any way from the patient’s typical Arms Master abilities?”

Marta shakes her head. “Sure, I was there, but I was in the backlines. By the time I saw it happening I had to react to an injured person, and…” She approaches the bed haltingly before looking to the Sergeant for permission. “May I?.”

“Of course.”

Marta approaches the bed, clutching her rosary with her left hand as she lays the armored right hand upon Caroline’s arm. She tries to gently pull the Arm from her grip, but fails, and instead just presses the hand gently.

“Merciful Lord, we thank you for your kindness and benevolence. We praise you who has uplifted the meek and humbled the mighty, who has been the shepherd of righteous men.”

She looks to the sergeant for an instant, wondering what she thinks of this “treatment”; her face remains expressionless, albeit with more attentiveness than before and… Something else, in her eyes. Marta focuses again.

“As I am dutifully wed in spirit to thy Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, I kindly pray that I be granted the authority to drive out the impure and to banish disease and illness among those who have recourse in thee.”

Releasing the crucifix in her left hand, she tries to raise up Caroline’s clenched hand.

“When you are an outcast, the Lord shall sustain thee. When you are on your sickbed, the Lord shall nourish thee.”

She kneels by the bed, her strong hands trying to peel off but a single finger, her every thought preoccupied with the salvation of just one more soul. The Right Hand of Mercy emits another shimmering flash of bright viridian light, warring with Charter’s frigid glow.

“If it be the will of the Lord my God, in whom I trust, then may the impure spirit be cast out, and let the wayward lamb return from the hills and the rushes to be with its flock.”

A moment. For doubt; for faith.

Slowly, the finger uncurls beneath Marta’s own. Green light reaches out again, not fighting now but embracing its pale fellow with its warmth. As one, they draw back into Charter - and then the viridescence flows into Caroline herself, gently suffusing her, the shadows beneath her banished first by merciful glow; then, more and more, by her own, solid form. One by one, the rest of the fingers follow in unclasping from the spyglass’ living metal, until at last it falls away and vanishes into nothing.

Callie’s eyes flutter closed, a meaningless murmur on her lips; her head falls to one side; and she stills, but for the deep, steady draw and release of air.

Behind her, Salcedo is a woman transformed: eyes wide, sternness melted away. She steps, then rushes forward, one hand reaching for the wrist from below which the spyglass fell, now hanging off one side of the bed; the other tracing the sign of the cross. “Pulse… Is regular and strong. Still only autonomic; we will have to monitor her, but this is still…” She shakes her head. “Diyós ko… I had hoped, but…”

Marta breathes out, letting the stress in her frame bleed out. She follows Salcedo in making the sign of the cross.

“Sometimes hope is what sustains us, Sergeant. I couldn’t honestly tell you that I knew what was going to happen, but well… I had to try, right?.”

She offers a relieved smile and raises both hands reverently.

“Behold, God is my salvation, I will trust and not be afraid.”

“‘For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith - not by works,’” Salcedo answers, trailing off. “That… The words you speak might be more true than even you may know, Sister Marta.” The sergeant shakes herself, brushing dust from her sleeve as she stands, still gazing down at Callie. “It is always a wonder to witness those whose Arms bestow renewal as much as they do judgement. I read your file too, of course, what I was cleared for of it; I knew that there was every chance that she would be beyond your Hand’s reach. And yet, for all that the body succumbs to time, the soul is everlasting.”

A moment of pause. Then she lifts her head, mouth half-open, eyes darting across to - almost meet Marta’s gaze, before halting, hesitant. “I… I should not speak heresy before a woman of the cloth.”

The sister waves her off with a carefree expression.

“Oh, pshaw, don’t worry about that kind of thing. As long as you’re doing good, you’re good in my book.”

She dismisses her Arm and offers her hand in recognition.

“So let’s both keep working hard, alright?”

The sergeant stares, down at the hand, and then at Marta, and then at the hand again - and then she laughs, and takes it. “Sister Marta, I have served for two and a half decades, seeing so many Arms and their bearers, learning of them and their function, and I have formed… Something like a hypothesis, something like a belief. Many in my work see them merely as an extension of the soul - but that cannot be all. No human soul can do such a thing alone.”

Lorena reaches up to remove her cap, leaving tightly bound hair below, and clutch it to her chest. “The Lord God sent to us the Word once before, that He might redeem us. I believe that He has done so once again. I believe that your comrade drank deeply, beyond even the fullness of the Light veiled in metal that He gave for her to call upon, and could not bear it.”

“And I believe that you, by the Light that He has given to you and by your faith in Him, have now restored her.” She shifts the cap in her hand and reaches down to Marta’s, encapsulating and embracing it between her own, meeting her eyes with a look of appreciation and… Awe. That’s it. “Thank you. May it shine on others as brightly.”

Intermission Five - Aftermath of Victory

Municipality of Lubao, Pampanga Province, Philippines - 1/1/2023, 8:30 AM, UTC+8

The members of Task Force Obsidian were called to the Municipal Hall's meeting room, where rows of plastic chairs were set before a podium and projection equipment. Jin Li, descendant of the Qing Dynasty and head of the Qing Restoration Movement, was on the podium, checking whether the new volunteers had arrived.

Once Bahram Manjyu, preferably with Lukas and Levi in tow, entered the room, the young man felt that he was ready to confirm what had already reached the rumor mill.

"You've heard news of rebellion in China's Mainland; Shanghai has had protests that started nonviolent, turned violent, and now a large portion of the city is in rebellion. However, the rebels want a real Republic, not the Qing Restoration Society in power. Which brings us to another point... The Qing Restoration Society was never meant to stay Monarchist - The idea was to 'convert' to Republicanism at the right moment, hope that any rebellion believes we've changed into Democrats, and then take a high-value seat in the rebels' leadership that would grant us more power than becoming a Monarchy."

Jin Li then sighed and said, "But this plan did not work. The Students and Dockworkers leading the armed rebellion have made it clear that they do not trust the Qing Restoration Society. However, I cannot leave my men and women, the people who fought valiantly beside me, leave empty-handed."

He then faced Task Force Obsidian and said, "Those of you who still remember me - Callie, Henri, Nil, then Cristina and Marta - I fought for your interests, I cleared your 'West Philippine Sea' for a crucial while; I sent Lei Qingshe to fight and eventually die on your side. You and the rest of ASEAN owe us. Thus, I ask in the name of Lei Qingshe's memory, help me; help us. The Qing Restoration Movement or its successor organization needs a place on the table in whatever China emerges after the new civil war. Thus, I am asking you all to help me earn that place."

Crown Prince Shinyahito was in the front rows, same for his sister, Princess Fukuyo, who was smiling in implicit approval while her brother twitched slightly at his right eyebrow...

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