Grass. (Concrete.) Sky. (Apartment complexes drowning out the clouds.) Bella's laughter. (Nero's laughter.) Foxgirls chirping adorably. (Servitors wailing in terror.)

Redana digs her fingers into the grass. (The concrete yields.) She breathes in and out. (Fire fills her blood.)

All this time, she was running from home, and it was, what? All part of her mother's plan? Or was it just an opportunity that Hermes chose to run with, a quick carnival trick, exploiting the value that a runaway princess could have?

Her friends are real. Her friends have to be real. She's not about to be betrayed by, by Dolce pulling out a sword from a cane and telling her that he's actually a real baa-stard, right? No one else would have come so far with her if she wasn't surrounded by true friends, all sharing this doom with her, carrying hell to heaven.

Because that's what it is. That's what it's going to be. All these people who haven't dared to try and escape, suddenly handed the universe that the Azura made all blue and ordered and regimented. None of them ever dived down into a turtle's throat, or danced with Dionysus on a world of broken automatons, or crossed the Styx. None of them have had dinner with Yue and sat on the porch afterwards and watched Princesses fly along standing on swords. They won't know what to do.

All of them, mother? All at once?

Nobody's ready, are they?

"We're not going to let her do this," Dany says, quietly, under the sound of her wife's helpless, joyful laughter. She reaches out and grabs at Bella and--

Oh, um. Bella. You have flopped onto her. Because you were laughing. Very hard.

Oh. Um. Bella.

Your hair smells of.

How do you make it smell so.

So much like home, and nothing like Tellus?

She reaches up and buries her face into Bella's mane and shudders and for a moment it's as if they were never separated, as if they'd run away together and crashed onto a jungle world with Alexa there to say that she told them so, even as she lifted logs into the shape of a shelter and tended to the emergency flares.

As if she wasn't carrying this world's doom with her this whole time, from one end of the universe to the other.

"Okay," she breathes into Bella. "Together. Let's tell my mom that she's grounded."

Because what else is a heroine for, if not fixing her own tragic mistakes?

Dyssia stops.

She stops. She stares.

And with a hoot, she starts to laugh! To laugh uproariously, tears in her eyes, laughs like a child!

Because she's wrong! She's wrong, and the Azure Skies are wrong, and in a single instant it's like seeing--

It's seeing a cart rolling along on a set of round wheels after building nothing but square wheels your entire life!

"Biomancy!" she gasps, in between a fit of giggles and a gasp of air. "Biomancy could never!"

Not cooperation as the Pix know it! Not as a result of competition, a form of excellence, everyone striving to fit the same ideal! Not cooperation as the result of fear, or coercion, or pheromones, or instincts, or--

It's strange! It's glorious! It's looking at a society and realizing that all along, what you thought was the peak of scientific ability was actually a whisper of a shade of an echo of the real thing! Iron skin and titanium lungs and synthetic muscles, all of it worthless in the face of--

People, everywhere, being different and having different skills and choosing, every single one, to give nothing more or less than anything they can, because it's right and it's helpful and that's a good enough reason! From each according to their ability, to each according to their need!

It's humbling and amazing to realize that after all this time, she *still* has so much to learn! She could spend the rest of her life here learning--what was it called? A daily affirmation of the way?--

But first! First, Nero needs to be stopped!

In the Sky Castle, Princess Chen was taking a shower. It had been a long workout and she'd been dunked in a lake at least once, so she deserved a shower and a change of clothes. Not to mention the Sky Castle had amazing showers, full of steam and lavender soap, so she could let herself luxuriate. It was a joy to let the warm water wash over her tail, her ears, and all her hair thoroughly before gently easing herself back into the warm fluffiness of her thick clothes for the flight back.

When the announcement came, she let her rinse finish and gently but quickly toweled herself off before getting dressed. She was not about to assault a major fortress and she knew enough to understand that the people she'd just met were the ones equipped to deal with this problem. But she did have more than enough speed on a sword to make sure that they had a manageable number of problems interfering with their air space. And besides, it would be fun to put on a sky show with the other Princesses.

Dolce doesn’t mean to eavesdrop. He never does. He’s not supposed to. He’s required to. Someone might want to know what their guests said under their roof. But, he, doesn’t mean to. He doesn’t mean to. He can’t not. He just hears. Always. And people rarely explicitly say when something’s not meant for you to hear. You have to pick it up by context clues. Then think as hard as you can about some little snatch of song you heard once, fill up all your mental bandwidth, so that hopefully none of it sticks in your memory, except everything sticks in your memory, but that doesn’t mean you have to make it easy for yourself-

Point being: He heard everything. Sorry Kat.

If it makes you feel any better, he also heard everything.

First, the slow breaths. In. Hold. Ouuuut. Then, countless bodies rise to their feet. Doors open. Voices rise. Not as many as you might think. Swords thunk against their pegs. Swords ring, just a little, out of their sheaths. Then clap back in. Many feet walk. They patter, uneven, steady, like rain kissing the ground. Here and there, tears fall. Here and there, hands clasp. Arms hold. Songs hum.

Foxgirls giggle.

They do not speak at all. They simply are.

No talk with a Supreme Leader could have made him understand; the whole thing was doomed from the start. The letter of apology won’t be nearly as long as he thought it would either. It wasn’t needed. Dolce breathes in the cocktail of biological dominance he was built for. Sees the world he was born for. Breathes out…

Vasilia catches him before his legs buckle and he hits the ground a second time. Scoops him up to her shoulders. Steadies him, hand in hand.

“Tell me what you see.” She begs.

Dolce tells her everything. Even as the helicopter takes them to the skies.

The Imperial Palace is the most fortified single location in the galaxy. It outshines Capitas. Ceron would fall before the Palace. Demeter's Forge, for all its terrors, would break upon the anvil of the Palace. And all this before it caught fire.

"Do not weep for me, beloved citizens," Empress Nero said from one hundred billion screens and speakers. She sat upon her throne of gold, holding aloft a glass of her beloved wine, the same wine that could be found anywhere on the city. "Drink with me! This wine is the blood of my veins. I bled myself dry on the soil of Tellus so that you could, each of you, drink along with me. Feel this experience! And then look upon your neighbor and realize that they feel it too! They have drunk of me as you have! They have been through Hell as you have! They have risen from the grave as you have! All of you, every one of you, entombed within the shell of Tellus have been on a voyage together, a voyage grander than any other! You have traveled across the length and breadth of the galaxy and the citizens alongside you are not simply your cell-mates, they are the friends you have made along the way! People of Tellus! Humanity, reforged! Remember your birthright, your inheritance, the possibilities that are open to you as a united species! You have seen what the Endless Azure Skies has dreamed together, and the works their unity has made possible!

"But humanity has always surpassed! That is why I love you so, oh sons and daughters of Prometheus! You have reached beyond! You have risen to meet every trial placed before you, setting aside your differences and acting in unity, forming immortal bonds of friendship, forging immortal heroes of legend, raising immortal nations into history! You bound the galaxy in starlit gates, and when those failed 'midst the storm, you set sail upon the black like the mariners of old! All of this awaits you again!

"So do not weep for me. I shall ascend to those immortal ranks and watch you from eternity. I will see how you lash and tame this savage galaxy once again. I will cheer as you collar the wolves and break the skies. And I wait with breathless anticipation to see what new project you will begin from your rightful seat of galactic mastery! It will surpass my dreams and win my heart, as it always does. I am sure of this. I believe in you. I have done all this for you, and to see what you will do next."

The palace burned. Biomanced roses flash and crackle and ignite like fireworks, sending glorious cascades of sparks up into the sky. The deranged glory of it is a shock even to eyes jaded by the vision of Capitas; Capitas was a stagnant thing, for all its beauty, designed to last forever. The burning palace of Empress Nero is using forever as kindling; her twisted shadow's mobile palace was but a pale foreshadowing of the scale of her intentions. Her death was to be one last common experience for humanity, a God crucifying herself on the altar of man.

But it was not complete. The distortion of the incomplete planetary teleportation had the palace fading in and out of reality. Clifflike walls snapped and slid, the ocean raged and snapped as it was forced aside for the roots of towers, and then rushed back into the vacuum when they departed again. Defensive legions fled in terror, pouring down the steps and through the gates of the inferno, diving out into the raging sea in their thousands - columns of black dressed maids, phalanxes of golden-robed aristocrats, routs of soldiery, archivists cradling relics in their hands. Waterfalls of bodies falling out into the ocean, spilling into the sea like oil spills. Empress Nero had ensured that their paths would be free, their evacuation protocols were well rehearsed, and she waved them good-bye from her screens as they fled her madness.

The wind raged. Helicopters have always been violent affronts to the laws of gravity and aerodynamics, beastly machines that want nothing more than to crash, and these are not ideal flying conditions.

Cyanis plucked a hat off of her head, so she could scratch herself in a spot behind and between her fluffy, luxurious ears. The fact that she hadn't been wearing a hat until just now is immaterial; she needed a hat on her head to take one off and scratch the back of her head where it had been sitting, and so she does. Er, did. It's kind of in her hand, now.

"Well doesn't that just beat all. How'd we wind up here?"

Behind her, the motley assortment of allies she'd rather not have or need did whatever it is that they were doing. In front of her, a crashed helicopter burns and smolders, though not quite as spectacularly as the Imperial Palace and its roses.

"Well they say any landing you can walk away from..." offered Kat.

"Is insurance fraud." Actia finished for her.

"Wait," said Cyanis, "Is that the play here? Are we defrauding the weird sad, obviously rich lady who lives here? Probably all alone and oohhhhhhhhh, yeah ok! Wow it's so nice to have a plan for on-- I mean again!"

Actia was silent: she simply pulled free a tube of blue lipstick and painted a colon and a three on her lips. Kat was less silent, but that wasn't because she had a lot to say in this moment and more because she was excitedly hopping up and down at the thought of being part of a Foxgirl Scheme one more time.

"Just quick thinkin' and expert helicopter, uh, stuff, Cy," said Yue, "Sorry you blacked out and don't remember it. You were so cool, actually. Never seen anythin' like it!"

And so saying, she threw her sword into its sheath from behind her back. Only the little click of the metals touching betrayed her at all. Actia narrowed her eyes at the sound, but the most dangerous thing a fox could ever do is call attention to an Anime when they are in the middle of anime...ing. Wisely, she let the moment go.

"Ooohohoho! Well! I will say, it's good to get some credit and respect around here for once! Thank you, Yue Just! But for the record it goes against the Foxgirl Code to lift even a single pawsie's worth of effort in service to charity! I will of course be expecting full remuneration for my heroics in the form of hrmfrblurblgjghlllllle?????"

"Er," er'd Yue, "My name's just Yummmmmph?!"

Luckily there were only two sillyheads still talking. Because Bella only had two hands.

Without the yapping, she could hear the silence of this place. Was it surprising? For all the bombast of the exploding rose tresses there was hardly any noise to be heard. The crackling of fire, the soft collapse of the grand scheme of pipes running in and through everything, and the trellises holding up the flowers besides them, the bursts of light and heat whenever a petal caught right to send the inferno towering ever higher...

All of it was quiet. All of it was gentle, in its way. As violent and bombastic and beautiful as it was possible for anything to be, and yet the noise that it produced felt muffled and almost prerecorded. Bella did not collapse and howl from the overload of it all. She did not even need to cut off her hearing to keep going. She breathed in the smoke and tasted perfume.

She was home. And home was burning. All around her a million memories burst into bright red nothing and tumbled down to ash. All around her steam hissed where the ocean seeped through unformed walls and lapped at this art project which was nothing less than the destruction of everything her childhood had held dear. The only place she'd ever wished to return to, the only place she'd ever wanted to live, the only place she'd learn to hate as much as she'd missed them.

Thousands of memories burst into glittering sparks and ash around her. The little theater that she and Redana had watched all of those ridiculous movies in as children was gone now. She would never get the chance to teach the screen the magic of Prion Paula. Her fingers would never again caress the banister where her hand had once come into contact with Redana's and their fingers had nearly intertwined. She would never smell ammonia in the courtyard past that hallway and know that Mynx was lying in wait. She would never...

Could she really not do it? Even now, as every beautiful thing that was left to her memory burned to dust around her, could she not make herself hate Nero? Where was the anger she was supposed to feel? Where was the fury that had propelled her across the galaxy, through every horrible task she'd been asked to face? It was true that she hadn't felt it when she fought Taurus over Beri, or when she'd fought Sanalessa for Vesper's sake, or...

"Ah, shit. When did I lose it?"

Bella looked down at her claws, as they pressed against the lips of a swordswoman and a fox. With a sigh, she released them both only to immediately snatch Yue around the waist and throw her over her shoulder.

"I need a new weapon, then. You'll do."

"Haweeeeep?!"

"Come on, Redana. If she wants a beautiful death, let's go take it from her. The rest of you... I don't care. This is my home, go loot it or whatever. If you can find anything worth stealing."

"Foxgirl Heist, Foxgirl Heist, Foxgirl Heeeeiiiiiisssst~!"

"...Thank you, Kat."

"You're welcome Actia!"

The Princess Redana Claudius And A Whole Bunch Of Other Things runs through her prison-home-memories, leaving behind a bunch of foxgirls ("see if you can find some other Alexas, they're big strong women with four arms!").

The funny thing, part of her keeps remembering, is that she's done this before. It was in her own heart, admittedly, and she was running from herself at the time, or, no, the person she could have been, if she'd given up on Bella and on the quest and been some sort of awesome and terrible void pirate. But that got most of the trauma of seeing her home destroyed out of the way already and she's certainly not half-expecting the Nemean to break through a wall and reach for Bella with one massive hand. Not in the least. She's staying close to Bella because that's tactically sound, especially in a place which is so chaotic and cloyingly sweet-smelling. Through the fire and the flames they carry on.

The other funny thing is that she is both indignant that Mom would tell the people of Tellus that they had just been on the journey from Tellus to Gaia together, when really they were just taking a shortcut on the route of the Plousios which had been the hardest and biggest thing she had ever done in her life, to the point that come to think of it it has been her life, and she is also ashamed of being that indignant. Every time she's ready to start complaining to Bella through her trendy sailor's gasmask that it's stolen valor, is what it is, which is the way that those funny foxgirls would say it, she remembers her mother's opening salvo in the coming fight:

Showing her the people of Tellus.

So many of them. Lonely, boxed-in, afraid. The people who don't look up because there's no sky. Ghosts repeating their obsessions, just in smaller worlds than they once did. It's wrong to punch them down just because they didn't have the opportunity that she did. (There's something that the Nemean would have done, happily.) And if this succeeds, if Mommy brings the world of man back to the stagnant Azure Skies, then...

Then they'll have avoided the whole thing.

The journey. The places. The people.

She's never going to lock herself back up in her rooms but what are the odds that everyone on Tellus just looks at the sky and then closes the curtains?

Too high.

A wardrobe crashes down through a weakened floor, spilling the contents out. Bella leaps over it easily, but Dany hesitates, watches the fires start to lick at the dresses which she wore once before getting bored of them.

She pulls out a very familiar scarf, wraps it around her neck, and keeps going, regardless of the fire risk. Some things are important. The memories from the far side of Lethe are among them, and so is going to meet one's destiny.

When she races down a hallway, past a blazing garden full of the smoke which is death, for just a moment it's like her feet have wings.

"Oh, sure when she burns down her palace, it's fine and dandy and a cultural touchstone, but when I knock over a brazier--"

She doesn't want to think about how many people are pouring out of the sky--about the dropships and the legions and the sheer number of--

All on one planet! All of them crammed into one planet like clowns in a car!

She doesn't want to think about the future--about all of these people, drenched in their ways, dripping all over this, this, this precious difference to everything else in the galaxy. Hope, that's the key. Hope in the people of this world, hope in the system they've built, hope in their resilience--
It's silly, right? This is a maze, this isnt' the palace she burned, it's a fortress, it's glorious, and still she has to remind herself that she can't rely on memory to guide her.

… It's beautiful. It is! Not just beautiful in the way of a pyromaniac hypnotized by a flame, but--those flowers! Could she recreate them? Would that be--is that wrong, to want that?

There's an army approaching this planet, escaping their own. There's a palace ablaze. And for just a second, the thought flits into her mind of a different beach, and a different impossible defense, and--

Trust. Trust and hope in the people of this planet. Trust in the unity they show, not of biomancy or coercion or inborn instinct, but of genuine *goodness* and empathy.

Nero is the key.

She dives into the palace, but stops on the way to pat out a smoldering rose and pocket it for later.

On the run, Dolce scoops up a satchel off the ground. It’s ragged and patchwork, which means that it’s not standard issue. The strap is torn, which means it’s been dropped. It was laying in a hallway, which means the owner didn’t have a chance to come back for it. He has no idea what’s inside, but he can think of no more precious treasure to rescue from the burning palace.

Also he and Vasilia are wearing a pair of dashing hats. She may have scooped them up. They might be some of Cyanis’ spares, the ones she felt weren’t right for the moment. But how else is Nero to know that a pair of pirates are plundering her precious possessions?

Bella and Redana!

Empress Nero is not alone upon her throne. Before her stands the ranks of the Codexia. The Thirty Masters of War, the Chosen of Athena, those legendary warriors who internalized every lesson the Goddess of Strategy had to teach. Their glyphs are written upon their armour, tattooed upon their skin, waterfalls of symbols that spoke the full vocabulary of war, death, victory. Their quadranix armour was polished in metallic blue, great horsehair plumes rising up into the sky, eyes cast in shadow. Only the gleaming drips of sweat running down their chins indicates that they feel the heat, only the white knuckles around their spears indicates that they feel the fear.

It is one thing to speak of duty unto death. It is another to watch the flames closing in.

Behind them came the soaring music of a zither. The Empress of the galaxy plays her swan song with all her burning passion - but cuts it short. The only sound she longs to hear more than her own music is applause.

"Triumph!" cried Empress Nero from atop her velvet throne, hands clapping above her head. "Spectacular! You have finished your journey and have won yourself a galaxy. Brava! Redana, my daughter, my champion, my chosen, you have achieved the task for which you were made! You have earned your place!"

The flames roared. Nero pulled her rosethorn crown from her head and gave it to her Codexia.

"Kneel, my daughter! Kneel and accept your reward: the Crown of Man!"

*

Dyssia and Dolce!

Black fingernails snap. A goddess whispers her advice. The collar pulls tight.

Sometimes they speak to you so: from within. It was their first language, before all this, before the rituals and the clarity. Sometimes they speak through hungers, through inspiration, through fury. The line between you and the Gods was never as clear as philosophers liked to hope it was.

You have come not before the Crown. You have come before the Imperial Kennels.

"Come, see the fruits of all this blood and semen," said Demeter from her throne in the basement of the world, the fat end of the pyramid. She sat and could not rise for her legs had been crippled and broken. What force had harmed a Goddess so? Or was this part of Hephaestus' fate mingled through with her own? Her throne stood upon clattering, crablike legs and carried her forwards and sideways. "Come and see what it is that you must rescue."

She paused by a door made of jagged bone. She trailed her fingers over it thoughtfully.

"Dear little Hermes locked all of my gifts away down here," said Demeter. "She ripped them out of the humans they were bound to. A painful, unnecessary surgery; a symbiotic ecosystem of mutual reliance, torn apart by a fascist sense of genetic purity. She taught them to live dull, grey little lives without their networked partners, forced them to bury their shovels with their fingernails, and held onto all those wonderful stolen gifts in case she needed to put her fingers on the scales. I did not object; I wanted my gifts to be used, after all. What mother would want anything else?"

Her crablike throne turned to face you. Claws extended from behind it, reaching out to measure skull and ribs and tails. "Synnefo, household variant. Pure design, unacceptable deviations. Not qualified for decision making," she said as it investigated Dolce. Then Vasilia, "Chimeric hybrid. Nonviable. Not qualified for decision making," she went on. She smiled when the crab crab claws performed their three point measurement of Dyssia. "Azura Administrator design. Qualified for the exercise of Authority. We may speak frankly, dear."

A terrible, earth-shaking roar came from behind that awful door. The fires were descending.

"This box contains everything that was stolen from humanity," said Demeter. "Its strength. Its beauty. Its biomancy. Symbotes and symbiote-species. You have seen one such in the person of Bella; a companion, guardian and lover. Innocent and eager to serve. There are many more like her; biotechnology designed to strengthen, to improve, to remake. Graft limbs, replacement bodies, genetic paradigms, hivemind constructs, viral degenerations, pheromantic compulsions - all the possibilities of what humanity sought to become crammed into this Pandora's box. Humanity had been altering itself as intensely as it had been altering its servitors, and all of that recursive self improvement is down here. And now, in her moment of ascension, Nero wants to burn it all to death, to force humanity to live without it. An atrocity, you no doubt agree. One that you can stop. Open the door."

Clack.

The Empress desires applause.

Clack.

She shall receive it.

Clack. Clack.

But it shall not be thunderous.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

"Hail Your Imperial Majesty, Nero IV. Hail, the rose of civilization. Hail and a thousand times more, hail! I, your faithful servant, have returned with the Princess Redana Claudius. Just as I promised I would."

Bella offers a sweeping bow that does not make allowances for the fact that she is still carrying Yue. The other girl bites down an 'eep' and scrambles to cling to the right places not to be dislodged by the gesture. Not that she, y'know, enjoys being carried by tall muscular women. Not at all! But she's a weapon, right? She should stay in her sheathe or... whatever.

"Across this vast galaxy, I have carried your will and your dreams with me. I returned to your light when no others could. When the gods demanded I burn for my obeisance I lifted your banner yet higher in response. To Olympus, I carried your Crown. In the Endless Skies, I spoke with your Voice. Even here where it is least welcome of all, I, Bella Hostilius Tredecima Mosaic, have remained your loyal Praetor."

A crown is presented. It is not the crown of rose thorns that is meant to be a gift. It is an old, discarded relic, rendered ugly by years of improvement and therefore neglect, rendered uglier still by the insistence of a second empire clinging to even more bankrupt aesthetics than the first, as forgotten and unwanted as the head that bore it these uncountable parsecs. The Imperial Regalia clatters as it reaches Nero's feet.

Bella's lips split into a fangtoothed smile.

"I return my borrowed title at last. I know you wanted other flowers for me than these. Yes, I know it. All I have ever wanted was to call you my Mother. And nothing could be more revolting to you than this. Even still, I see that you love me. Even still, through all your games and deceptions, I have perceived... even held your heart. I know what I am to you. No matter your disgust, you are even so the woman who took a more active hand in raising me than any in my entire confused existence."

Her feet are planted in place as though she'd been cast in bronze on the spot. Exactly where she belongs. Next to Redana, at the end of everything. Her golden eyes are bright and clear, almond irises roving in their pools with the calmness of a cat on a high fence. Her hands part, and she claps again. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Palms burst and claws clack together. Bella's smile grows wider still. And then it breaks, the fangs receding under her painted lips as her expression softens.

"I'm very sorry, this is so many words to say that I think Your Majesty is an idiot. Like mother like daughter, right? Where would either of you be without me? Ahhhhh, it's so fucking funny! How many centuries of planning did it take? How much scheming and lying did you need to do? How many resources did you have to pluck out nothing for this? And in the end, neither one of you are standing here to say one word to the other if I didn't love you both more deeply than the universe should even allow! Ahahahahahaha!

"You are an idiot, though. Listen, Dany is about to tell you a whole bunch of things about how she doesn't want your dumbass crown, or this ridiculous farce of a plan, and how she just wants the same thing she always has, which is freedom. Not just for herself but for everybody, everywhere. Because she's seen the stars. She's tasted the journey. And she knows better than to want to sit on her ass and watch a bunch of stuck up pricks playing with toys. My beautiful Redana might have started out just as stupid as you, but she's learned all the lessons of a universe you turned your back on. Trust me when I say you can't possibly overcome her, Your Majesty."

Her tail lashes behind her, the way it does when she is about to pounce. But what she does instead is unwind the iron bound muscle of her body with liquid grace. She takes several steps to the side, counting the Codexia as they watch her, so careful not to approach Nero even a single toe's distance lest she present a threat. Then she throws her shoulder forward and throws Yue forward, and this time the "Demon Swordswoman" can't keep herself from squeaking with fright. Or from landing on her adorable butt.

"Hey! What'd you do that for! What is even the point of all thi-mph?!"

"Wait your turn cutie," Bella shushes her with a claw, "This is a matter for the Imperial Court."

Free from burden, Bella spreads her arms wide to either side, basking in the quite and beautiful fires lit just for her (just for her!) and dips into a second, sweeping bow. She lifts her head high when her hair brushes against the ground and her eyes sparkle with the promise of the hunt.

"But it's ok! Your other, better daughter is right here, Your Majesty! I'll make it all work! I'll make it all better! I won't even take the glory, I'll give all of it to Redana even as I burn myself to nothing for the sake of your dream. The Empress will be weak! The Empire will be strong! Just the way you taught me, mother."

She lifts herself up and holds her Diodekoi gauntlet to her lips, lapping at the claw.

"The only thing I ask is that you prove to me you know better. Show me you're not as stupid as I think you are. See this girl? This random, scrawny asshole?"

"H-hey..."

"She is literally the first hapless dork I came across when I landed on this planet. And not remotely the most special. I don't think I can really make it any fairer than that, right? And you've got, what, 30 Codexia here? So hit her. Hit Yue even one time and I'll drag this planet to the underworld myself. I'll make your every dream come true. But it's not gonna happen without me. So let's see the magic, Your Majesty."

"Ok now hold on a darn minute! When exactly were you plannin' on lettin' me on this little plan? You just up and drag me anywhich way into a burnin' throne room in front of a golden shortstack and now, what, I'm supposed to save the world? Ain't she your mom? At least ask nice first! Like I'm not about ta not fight but a lil' politeness doesn't hurt, y'know?"

Bella yawns.

"...Anime tea party."

Yue's sword shines brighter than a setting sun. She lifts it parallel to her shoulder and plants her feet in a light, airy stance.

"Oh their butts're as good as kicked."

She's been running this whole time, and now Mommy-- no, her mother-- no, Hermes-- has showed her that it was all a futile effort. That she could always take one step and be right by her daughter, her disappointment's side.

She shouldn't

She shouldn't still lean forward for the praise.

She's crying because it's hot in here. That's all.

Smoke stinging her eyes. Yeah. That's it.

It's not that her mother always wanted her to be more, to be better, to be smarter, to study harder, and to hear praise fall like rain from her lips threatens to turn her into a little girl beaming from behind a report on naval tactics in the Atlas Cultural Sphere.

For a moment, her heart is a burning rose being lifted to the lips of Love. For a moment, she almost takes the first step forward, even after it all, even knowing that they're here to stop the worst mistake Nero's ever made, a shortcut which threatens the souls of all of humanity. Despite it all, she still feels the impulse to bow her head and accept acceptance. The praise. The love.

The crack of Bella's palms against each other jerks her awake like a sleepwalker.

As her wife speaks, the color slowly rises in Redana's cheeks and her mismatched eyes widen. It's not every day that the heroine takes center stage, after all. It's especially rare to get teased by the heroine right before you have to speak to your mother again, and refuse the incoming regime of little treats (and very big fires).

When she's given the floor (right after Yue is tossed out like a card in some sort of battling game), she's shaking, but her hands are steady as she draws her sword, Chalcedony, the one Taurus gave her (which is, somehow and also, the sword she had before crossing the Lethe). The stance she takes is not one of the manifold openings she learned as a child, but one she picked up from the Silver Divers.

"...you dumbass!" Her voice cracks. "I'm not going to let you burn yourself up to make a future where we all make the same fucking mistakes all over again! Do you hear me, Mom?!" The tears run down her cheeks. "I don't want your crown, and I... I do want freedom, but I want you not to burn yourself up for this stupid plan!! And now my friend Yue is going to kick your butt, and if she doesn't, I'll take you and Bella and the whole fucking Codexia on if it means we all get a happy ending!!"

And there's your mistake, Nero. You haven't seen what she went through in the heart of the saddest little meowmeow to ever sail the stars. You don't know what she'll do in order to make sure everyone wins.

Redana throws back her head and howls. And what's her mother think now that she's been blessed with Ceron's gifts, huh?

Dyssia does her best not to wince at the claws.

It's not the touch, you understand. Metal and claws and limbs out of an abyssal catalog are part and parcel of dealing with many of the servitor races, and she's eaten enough crabmeat to grow sick of it.

No, it's the. Intimacy is perhaps the wrong word? Intimacy, but in a way that is not deserved. Intimate, in the way that a knife pressed slowly between your ribs is intimate. Overly personal, like finding a tongue unexpectedly shoved in your mouth.

Biomancy! The curse of her existence, the tool of her childhood, not exactly her greatest mistake because it was not hers alone, but one that years as a Knight taught her to loathe!

The Kennels burn, door firmly locked, and she does nothing to stop it.



Dyssia hauls open the door, barely pausing to notice Demeter. There are roars behind that door, and she's never been one to wait when someone is crying.

She strides--soars? Slithers?--with purpose through the Kennels, ignoring the way her nose rebels at the scents of viscera and blood. Strides through, beats the Biomancers bloody, tips the vats of acid, pspspst's the servitors from their boxes, breaks the chains, and leads the prisoners, blinking, into the light.



There are blessings here, even if they come from a poisoned source! Long life, great strength, the ability to change and define as you like!

Nuggets of good, trapped in a fine cesspool of the kind of shit that made the Skies--that trapped endless generations in only being happy while devouring mountains into processed minerals, that imprisoned billions of souls in obsidian crystals to maintain the network of megastructures all for--for what? To make a face in the sky? To let some king have in high definition the same thing that people have been doing for aeons with two dots and a line?

Are long life, iron skin, and lungs that can breathe in space worth…

Somewhere, the Pix are conquering. She knows it, distantly, in the back of her mind. They're an administrator species now, thank you so very much.

There are blessings here. She can do it better than those that came before. Kinder, smarter, with freedom for everyone to choose as they will what they will be. Dyssia throws open the door.



Dyssia stares at Demeter and does her level best not to hyperventilate at the futures in her head.

She hates making decisions. Hates, rather, making the kind of decisions that entire futures hinge on. Hates Demeter, in this moment, for deciding that she, of all people, is the only person in the room capable of making this decision. Hates the claws, hates the gall, flirts with a future that involves stomping on the legs of the throne, one at a time.

"What one god does," she says pensively, mulling over the thoughts as she says them, "no other god may undo. So if Hermes does destroy biomancy here, it's gone.

"…For good. Everywhere."

She's realizing, now, that she's not going to get her wish. Not directly, anyway.

Thoughts flit across the screen of her mind--thoughts of girls with swords, a crowd rising up in support of one another.

"And for what it's worth, that seems like a good thing?"

She's watching Demeter now--not in the way of a dog, watching for a raised hand, but in the way of a crow baiting an animal.

"We don't need it. It's outmoded. Obsolete. Harmful. Everything it does can be had elsewhere. Why wouldn't I let, how did you say it? Oh yes. Why wouldn't I let 'dear little Hermes' continue? Why would I listen to you when these people have shown, very well, that they're better off without all of this?"

There are roars behind that door, is why. But if she can keep Demeter focused here…

It would be easier to stab her.

Six and a half steps. Turn. There could be a sword in his hand, and if it is not drawn it makes no sound. Then forward, and through a goddess. And that would be that.

No breath may hitch. No muscle may twitch. No thought may be spoken, but must be cast down to boil in his belly with the rest of them. Wait. Observe. Listen. As he has done, all his life. Unheeded and undetected. Stand ready for the moment to act, and then do what needs to be done. Whatever it is. However long it takes. From now, until it is time, whenever it is time. Wait. Observe. Listen.

It would be easier to stab her.

No, he doesn’t know what would come after. No, he doesn’t know what he’d decide if Demeter deemed him able to choose. Those are just two things he doesn’t know. It’s a long list. Long enough that no one could argue that he deserves a say in the matter. And Dyssia! Dyssia is a good knight and a dear friend. She will follow her heart, and it is unthinkable that she will choose poorly. But Dolce of Beri has journeyed a long way. He’s seen the worlds above and below. He’s done a fair bit of seeing, and a lot more thinking, and here at the crossroads of Biomancy, Dolce of Beri wants his say.

But though other ideas might be easier, he waits.

He waits.

He waits.

He. Waits?

He does an awful lot of waiting. Doesn’t he.

Hrm. Hrmmm.

Hrm?

Oh.

Of all the times - of all the places! To almost forget! Observe! Bless you, Dyssia the Distracting, and may you never question your knighthood again! You

You’ve given him a say.

His say. The say, even.

Perhaps he ought to have thought a little more carefully about that list of things he didn’t know. Preferably before the path of the universe was laid on his shoulders. That would have been helpful, wouldn’t it? No, it probably wouldn’t. But it is something to think about that won’t crush him flat. He’s just one sheep, after all. How is he to decide what’s best for the universe? That is, in a more concrete way than. Well. Other ideas.

So. Yes. Deciding. After worlds above and worlds below, decide what becomes of that which made him and everyone he’s ever met. Better to let it burn, or is there something - anything - that deserves to be saved? That the world would be worse off for losing? Quickly now; the fire waits for no one. The irony of proving Demeter right at the last might be worse than choosing wrong. Come, listen to the tale of Dolce, who could be trusted with an assassin but not a decision.

…well. Hrm.

Demeter didn’t trust him with Authority. (Capital A, just like and not at all like Princess.) This decision, to her, required Authority. What one god does, no other god may undo, so she needed someone with Authority to decide to do it for her. To make a real Decision.

Dolce was not trusted with real Decisions.

Dolce was trusted with an assassin.

Assassins did not require real Decisions. According to her.

Another roar shakes the ground. He doesn’t know who it is from. But he knows what they are, straight away. And he sees another way out. For all of them.

Demeter wouldn’t trust him with Decisions. Why should he trust her Choice?

With a discrete sign for Vasilia to stay, Dolce silently walks through the door. Not the door, mind you. The door to the servant’s entrance. There’s always one, some way for everyone needed to keep the place running to get about without getting underfoot. Demeter might’ve used it herself, if she’d thought to look for it.

Nero!

"Oh!" cried Nero, putting her hand where here heart once was. "You wound me, children! Carrying on as though I am some awful tyrant - can you not see that I am in the process of setting everyone free as we speak? As we speak the chains are breaking, the cell doors are opening, and humanity is stepping out onto its long-awaited homeworld! From the moment I became aware of Molech and his Spear I swore to rescue my beloved humanity, and that plan is accomplished. From here on out your destiny is in your own hands. Everything I have done has been to ensure that humanity is set strong, healthy and united upon the path together when their mother takes away her guiding hand. Because an Empress is more than a mother to her heir, she is mother to the Empire. If my love seems cruel it is only because I must split it a trillion ways! If your love seems pure it is only because your view is small!"

She stood in magnificence, crimson dress arcing out behind her, Aphrodite at her back.

"Behold the scale of my love!" cried the God Empress. "Behold how it is stronger than my flesh! It was stronger than my eyes! It was stronger than my heart! And it shall be stronger than my children! Humanity must rise, no matter the price I must pay! Codexia! Unleash all of your arts of war! Ensure the freedom that my daughter craves passes to her in full!"

They open with a storm of knives. They arise on bolts of lightning. A phalanx that flies, unfolding like a kalideoscope fractal, spears and shields, thirty perfect warriors overlapping and interlocking. Every mechanic of limb and reach calculated, every transition between spear and solid and esoteric honed, every warrior Achilles, a monster formed of perfect solved violence. This is War as Athena intended.

*

Demeter!

"Oh yes, yes, it's all very entertaining and noble that you think you can think that way," sighed Demeter. "You want to engage me with Facts and Logic and How It Should Be, but if you learned anything from my art it's that language is a courtesy. All the relevant decisions were made long before you were born. Here is one of my favourites:"

the screaming

"Biologically, you cannot endure the sound, can you?" said Demeter from atop her throne of crab. "You hear the screams of pain and your prefrontal cortex responds. You can imagine that pain in yourself and feelings of aversion, avoidance and fear are triggered. Straightforwards enough. Communal survival technique, good enough for buffalo. But that is only a fragment of the complexity of your biology. Observe -"

the screaming

"Change the pitch a little and now it registers as a child's scream. An entirely different coalition of limbic responses trigger; the preservation of a new generation becomes more biologically important than the maintenance of an existing one. And you'll find that your neurological response is fixed, it imparts upon you a terrible sense of immediacy that, sufficiently stimulated, essentially forces your entire decision tree. This process will compound once you enter and you see entities with large heads, large eyes and small bodies. The chemistry of your brain only plays out one way. If you wanted it to play out a different way, you should have taken advantage of my gifts beforehand, before your hard-coded responses were triggered."

the screaming.

"You will quickly find it will not matter that some of the creatures that are screaming are monsters," said Demeter. "Some of them are little more than collections of organs, or dispensers for viral weaponry, or machines for generating catastrophes. Plenty of them I have wrapped with empathic camouflage, like the assassin XIII who you have traveled with, unable to comprehend that she is neither cat nor girl. Well, here is her family, here are ten thousand just as appealing as her, and you have no more choice about saving them than the starling has about feeding the cuckoo's brood parasite even as it murders her children. Now, little robot, it's time to fulfill your programming."

The... screaming?

Demeter paused. Something was missing. Something was wrong. She smiled and brushed it off. No matter. It couldn't be her. She was here, and she was correct.

"See, this is what I'm talking about."

Bella shrugs her shoulders as she turns her head for a moment to watch the action unfold. She predicted this. Counted on it, more like. But that isn't really the same thing as seeing it coming.

For one thing, most of it doesn't really make a lot of sense? The Codexia opened with an absolute hailstorm of knives, all just sharp and lethal and thrown as perfectly as you like. Surely the move would be to dodge, somehow? Y'know, do one of those bull... shark martial arts thingies and step between the shadows of the blades or whatever. Or maybe she knows how to turn her sword into a shield? Or she could dig up part of the floor with a quick slash and use that! Right like... you can picture that, yeah?

This is a sliiiiiiight overestimation of the subtlety a girl who cut a spaceship in half by whacking it really hard with a sharp object is actually capable of. What she does instead is make a little "hyup!" noise and slash the knives as they come at her. Not, like, a series of faster-than-lightning cuts in a flurry worthy of some perfected master. No, she swings once. She cuts once. And all of the terrible blades coming to end her fall at her feet.

It's as if she summoned the wind with her blade, even though she hadn't swung particularly hard or fast. It's as if she cut the air itself and opened a little hole that everything just tumbled helplessly through. The glittering, silvery afterimage of her slice still hangs in the air like a painting of her intention. She smiles, and flips the sword in her hand. Carefully, she plants her foot. Hyupfully, she hyahs. Her second slash is aimed at the lightning carrying these peerless warriors above her. It is a bright and gaudy pink rising up toward the ceiling of the palace, even though none of the light that could be reflecting off of the weapon could possibly have matched this hue.

Bella blinks. She does her best to return her attention to the matter at hand, but her Auspex keeps wandering against her will to track the fight.

"You phrase it all so carefully! One second it feels like you're speaking to me directly, but then I think it over and there's not a word in there that isn't talking just to Redana. My whole life I've been left to wonder if you meant for me to hear any of it all. But here we are, aren't we? You listened to my proposal. Tell me, Mother, is this the only way you and I get to have a conversation?"

The wall of flames consuming the palace starts to dim. The air fills with a kaleidoscope of colors in its place. The silver and the pink, but also a rich cerulean and metallic purple. A handful of blacks, all crosshatched like shading, stand against a green and a brown, and a yellow above them.

Yue laughs and jumps inside the world of her cuts. Suddenly the movements of the phalanx are irrelevant. The peerless form of Achilles means nothing against the silliness of a girl at play. Because every time they try to get close, they're cut. Cut by, well... the cuts. They're not exactly afterimages, y'know? What Yue is swinging around on, ducking under, and twirling inside of is nothing less than a history of this fight so far. One that's still alive, even! Every slash is just as real, just as dangerous, just as pretty as when she put it there a moment ago. And it's all--

"Oh whoopsie doodles! That one should go... here, I think!"

Yue reaches out and plucks a long, red-orange slash from the air in front of her. She turns it in her wrist and carefully, caaaaarefully guides it down to a spot between her yellow and her green. In an instant, four shields of the finest quadronic alloys the Empire can forge are split in half along the angle of its new position.

"Ah, there we go!"

These, for the record, are the Wandering Tales of Yue The Sun Farmer. The eighth Secret Sword: Art Lessons From My Best Friend. And that's the thing, y'know? Like, yeah, Yue put this one together on the off chance she could impress Qiu with it, but at it's core this Secret Sword isn't even a combat technique. What does Athena have to say about that? Well, nothin' much I'd wager, given the state of her. But even if she was all good and whatever, what counterpoint would she have ready? What riposte is there in the formations of this perfected fighting figure that has an answer to lil' ol' Yue? Just... Yue?

And into this deadly painting walks Bella. To her, it's nothing more than paint. She smiles, softer than she should, and brushes her fingers along a trail of red and gold that is more beautiful to her than anything her eyes can remember seeing. Behind her are the sounds of the whooshing of blades, the cracking of armor, the dull thwack of a body hitting the floor, and a medley of truly ridiculous laughter.

But her eyes are facing forwards.

"I see your love, Nero. But do you see mine?"

In her outstretched hand is an old, familiar sword. Her tail swishes once, twice. As if to pounce.

Once upon a time, far away and long ago, there was a foolish dreaming girl. Because she dreamed, she ran away from home, and because she was foolish, she tried to bring the girl she would one day marry. This went poorly. Hurtful things were said. The beloved was shut up into a closet. And the foolish dreaming girl panicked.

She stole the person who stood between her and freedom, instead, and said: you have to sail the ship, because I am a princess and you are a statue. And eventually that foolish dreaming girl learned that the statue was a girl, too, and her heart ached with all sorts of dreams which statues were not supposed to have.

The girl let her friend go on the edge of the scariest thing she’d ever do. It wasn’t fair to make someone you stole follow you into the worst sort of danger. But she’s never forgotten, except for the times when she forgot, but even then her heart was shaped by four arms which were great at hugs.

And the girl who ran knows now: it would be a truly rotten thing to do to let Yue the Sun Farmer fight alone.

Maybe the girl isn’t quite as grown up as all that, and she still thinks that if she doesn’t keep an eye on things, then in the very middle of her fight with her mother, it’ll turn out that the Codexia got the drop on Yue and they’re right behind her, aren’t they. Maybe she heard what her wife just said and knows that this is something she needs to do, a confrontation that has to be had without giving their Mommy the out of ignoring Bella and turning instead to Redana. Wouldn’t it be ridiculous to try and holler across Bella’s triangles to get Dany’s attention in the midst of those swirls of color and motion? It certainly would be.

So instead, Redana tries to drive a wedge in the midst of the Codexia. They’re not one homogenous unit, even though they looked that way to the naked eye. There are two hundred and ninety-nine potential Alexas here, just waiting for the deep-buried opportunity to know themselves.

So as Yue cuts color into the world, Redana follows up with attacks hidden by the colors of the sky. Her Ceronian blade’s tip cuts through bandoliers and belts; she kicks spears aside and sends swords skittering to the ground. And as she fights, she says:

“You do not have to fight!
“You are more than a weapon!
“You can choose the future you want!”

While someone else bears their command seals, they are still vulnerable to being forced into action, but two hundred and ninety-nine people refusing their orders at once might be too much for any one person to bear.

So she hopes. So she fights, and never strikes to kill.

The screaming

The screaming the screaming thescreamingscreamingscreaming--

… The screaming?

The screaming. The screaming isn't in her ears. It's not in her ears and she blesses the quickness of the quiet sheep that, she notes, is being so quiet that you might miss that he's not here if you stop to listen, if she stops to listen--

She coughs, dry heaves, and spits, "Oh, like [i]your[/i[ shit doesn't stink!"

The words sound phony in her ears. Fake, trembling, like a scared little girl trying to stand up to mommy. But she says them anyway, because…

Keep her here. Keep her angry. Keep her distracted. Keep her paying attention.

Time to dance, once more--dance on the edge of disaster, dance just forward of the crest of the wave, dance without the purple pounding in her temples--

Do you think it hurts to disintegrate, or do you even have time to notice?

"Talking about instincts, responses, programming, pineal glands, camouflage!"

She can feel the rant building, feel the panic rising, feel the urge to shut it down, be normal be--No! No! Louder! Harder! As annoying as possible, weaponizing as many of the--

Think of all the times she's found an invisible line where apparently politeness turns into friendship-ruining rudeness, and push those buttons for all she's worth, and--

"Do you never shut the fuck up? As if you're not dancing on any strings of your own! No, no, of course, how silly! You, alone out of anyone--out of everyone, gods, mortals, administrators, servitors--in the entire universe are truly able to see the whole picture and make the hard decisions that nobody else understands, free of the sin of being manipulated!"

She's not arguing well, but that's the point. She's never going to convince this asshole, but she doesn’t have to. She's coiled like a spring next to a barrel of gunpowder for the moment Demeter moves, but--

Hell, this is fun! She's having fun, see? See her laugh at you, Demeter? See these big rosy cheeks, doesn't it just--Doesn't it just make you wanna smite her? Smite her! Do it!

"As if that fuckin' matters! As if you, and every one of the gods, aren't just as emotionally compromised as we are!"

The next one sings in her cage.

”~please don’t don’t i’ll be good please i’ll be good don’t don’t no no no no no no~”

Her long limbs splay out in random directions, lying where they fell. Save for the twitching. Her eyes - yellow, sharp, familiar - struggle to focus on him. Her ears - big as her head - struggle to hold every sound in the Kennels. Her ribs stick out. Her expression is empty. Her notes are perfect.

“I’m here to get you out of here. I’m going to come in now, slowly.”

Dolce speaks in a soft whisper. She does not react.

Dolce turns the Master’s key. She does not react.

Dolce enters the dog’s cage. He does not stop.

“My name is Dolce. The palace is burning. I’m here to get you out of here.”

”~i’m a good girl~”

“I know you are. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to unlock your chains now-”

”~staying staying staying staying~”

“If you stay, you’ll burn to death. But that’s not going to happen.”

”~staying staying staying staying~”

“I came here with XIII.”

She stops singing.

“Do you remember her? She’s married now. I made her a big cake for it.” He reaches into his wool, plucks out a tiny, tiny bell, and lays it on the ground near her hand. “She gave me this. I think she’d like you to have one too.”

She closes her hand around it. Holds it up to her ear. Her trembling arm shakes it for her.

”~it’s so…soft…~”

Dolce unlocks the chains. She struggles to stand, and he offers his arm. She touches his wool with just a finger, like it’ll bite her if she lowers her guard. Then she throws herself on his back, clinging for all she’s worth, burying her face and ears into an impossibly soft, rich cloud.

Dolce takes a moment to steady her. Just a moment. And then he is off to the next one.

He crosses paths with the first one he freed. She’s got three of her siblings in tow, and heading for a fourth. Ahead, a gaggle of children are divided on whose door to unlock first. When he is done with them, they are split into two teams, with a few extra joining him; there’s a fellow with wings who might be out of reach for someone like him. No one struggles for too long before help is sent their way. No one stops and grinds all around them to a halt before he is kneeling beside them. No one, no one is forgotten.

Dolce carries XVI the entire way.

Dyssia!

The wicked have long known that if you can't beat the argument, beat the table. As it turns out, this is just as effective a weapon in righteous hands.

Demeter is an old lady. She is patient, a creature of seasons and cycles, so hand in hand with Death that it took her daughter. You are beneath her and your outburst has no effect. But Demeter is not Demeter alone, and now it is a different voice speaking, different eyes looking out - no thing of pure nature, red in tooth and claw, but the high pitched whining snarl of someone with too much to prove.

"How dare you talk to me that way!" said Hephaestus-as-Demeter. "You are nothing more than a genetic defect, the product of broken biochemistry, part of the unlovely and unblue Azura slave race! Statistically lower in intellect than those of bright blue, ancestors forced to the lightless depths where they were forced to dedicate biological resources to camouflage rather than social intelligence, only given delusions of equality because my gifts have so long allowed for the correction of your ilk that mainline society has forgotten how to deal with you! Well I have not! I curse you, wretched mortal, as the Lord of Life: your genetic line ends with you! You will never have a family!"

Dolce!

Artemis holds the door open for the service entry.

"The choice of doors is, itself, sufficient," she said quietly. "That is what keeps this strange world alive. Its rulers imagine themselves servants, and so they serve. It would take a very simple twist of perception to alter that, to turn utopia into nightmare. Have faith that it can happen the other way around as well."

Wretched things, scared and shivering, leave through an invisible door, huddled together for warmth and support. They do not walk through the Master's Gate, are not saved, are not unleashed. This is an escape, and the gentle pressure of Artemis' fingers on the metal of the doorknob ensure that no other God can undo its framing.

"How many times have you seen it done?" she asked. "Good turn to evil, and evil to good? Do you remember the village in the belly of the Eater of Worlds? Do you remember the machines dancing on the ruins of their irradiated homeworld? Do you remember the beauty of the Skies turning to ash in your mouth? You who have seen so much, can you see the shape of Hell? Do you hear it shout its name?"

Aphrodite!

And here, at the close, you stand. You raise your hands, withered and frail, a conductor in the moment before the symphony. These beautiful, doomed creatures thought they could overcome you? They thought they could defy you? They thought they could use secret swords and the power of love to undo what you had done? They think that this moment was one of redemption, one of glory, heaven reached through violence?

Hell could be reached through violence too.

"I see your love," said Aphrodite. "I see it is Persephone's. She has broken my hold on you. You are her creatures now, open palms letting the galaxy slip through your fingers. But you have not begun to see mine. Behold!"

Above the Imperial Palace, the sky fragmented as a new dimension shift ripped into place. Out of it came a ship, burning and terrible and broken, spilling an avalanche of saffron warriors. They descend upon Yue, magnificent bodies flashing forth from beneath saffron robes, ten thousand and more. "The Coherent!" said Aphrodite. "The craven mercenary transhumans! You did not have the coin to pay their way across the Rift - but I do."

Old comrades. Old shipmates. Seekers on a path of transformation - here at last, transformed. Each of them is perfection in flesh, every barrier between desire and reality broken down, strong and fast and beautiful and terrible in so many different ways. Their robes are open now, revealing the perfection of their completion. Revealed too is the rot - the black lines already rippling through, a ticking timer until this dream of divinity fades. Each of them knows that the price for this eternity.

And then Redana is struck by an avalanche of marble and gold.

"And of course you know Alexa!" gloated Aphrodite, as that old familiar wrestler's grips locked into place after place after place. A golden blindfold was wrapped around her eyes. "You know how long she craved friendship, community, selfhood. After so long struggling alone, you expected her to give it up the moment she found it? I did not. So here she is, still fulfilling her function - teaching the Princess one last lesson."

And for Bella...

Her reach was wrong. Wrong! She had been slight - she was slight - tips of her ears barely reaching your nose. But now everything's backwards; you feel small, feel like a child, caught in the grip of a predator that was larger and stronger and had authority over everything you were allowed to do.

"Do you know how much she envied you?" said Aphrodite. "Your strength? Your authority? How you lifted her species out of bondage on a whim? She wanted you. She wanted to be you. She wanted everything you had, everything that you let carelessly spill from your fingers. You think it is easy to give up Imperial authority and assassin's strength? You think that powerlessness is desirable? She does not."

Jil's teeth flash, and her eyes shine like lanterns. She is so strong. As strong to you as you were to her.

"Don't get it twisted, I am grateful," said Jil. "But you could have done so much more."