[IC] Huntresses of Hybrasil

[Phoe]

"To be honest with you..."

Mirror stretches at her console, straining her arms until her shoulders crack in pleasant release. She's halfway to yawning again but she suppresses it for the sake of the show. Batting aside these test shots is kitten play, she can do it without even paying half attention. She starts to twirl her trident as a makeshift shield rather than swatting aside individual blasts just to revel in the sheer laziness of the battle.

"I would prefer to disappoint you. A crushing loss serves me at least as well as a nap. There is only one match worth spending all my secrets for, and until it is fought and won even claiming my wish is of secondary concern at best. Though make no mistake, Kiriala of the Ginger Tiger, I will be the one to win this tournament in the end."

Closer. Closer. She does not move. Her tails twitch in anticipation of a kill shot, but her fingers slide over the buttons without the slightest twitch of commitment. She lets her trident finish its movement with a slashing flourish that tilts it behind the body of the Gods-Smiting Whip. Now she dodges the lasers with tiny, non-committal movements. Little twitches of movement through her great mecha that bend it almost imperceptibly out of harm's way.

Of course, twitch movement like this is difficult in the extreme at the mecha level. Even attempting it is risking one of her secrets, or at least revealing that she has one. But what choice is there? She is not only relaxed, she is bored. And the consequences of her decision regarding this little test have left her fingers with unacceptably little to do.

With a suddenness that screams snap decision making, she drops the Nine-Tails into a crouching position. Trident still held behind her back, free hand placed onto the ground with splayed fingers, corresponding leg stretched wide out to one side. A Huntress' pose, through and through.

"How! Ev! Er! Had you accepted my offer without a question, I would have bifurcated you on the spot for your disrespect. You have passed my first test. I now repeat my offer: will you not relax with me?"

She leaps into the air, as high as she can get on only the strength of her legs. It is only once she is clear of the beautiful, swaying grasses that she engages her thrusters and truly begins to fly. Up she goes, where the light of the sun kisses her freely. Where the true power of her mecha manifests over all the small dreamers to afraid to fly on fire. Where laser fire is easy to dodge as she makes her charge down from on high. Where she has retreated at the beginning of every single fight in this entire tournament.

She does not bother checking the meter for her chains. No points for creativity to be earned here. But that has always been the point. Every opponent, the same strategy. A tendency, now locked into dossiers as an obsession. Whatever adaptive tactics she may display later on in fights and however terrifying the power of her Gods-Smiting Whip may be, her favorite maneuver is this one. Possibly it is a compulsion, something she must begin her matches with owing to a disease inside her brain.

Whatever explanations they come up with, to date she has not been punished for it. No one, not even Solarel, had yet countered her comet dive. They all simply allowed her to take position, maybe even end the fight from the very beginning, and only after would any kind of chaos or interesting challenge play out.

Will you be more of the same, Beloved of Maeahu? Will you allow her to pass through the entire qualifiers unpunished for her obsessive hubris and standardized tactics? Have you at least read up on her enough to expect it, or is the game that you are playing the same challenge of sight-reading that Mirror had settled on for you?

In every other match to date, Mirror's flight and charge have been accompanied by a barrage of high-energy lasers from her free floating tails. This much, then, is different. There is no attempt at covering her position from up here, she simply weaves and twirls her way through the strafing into an attacking position. In the past she has displayed a kind of zeal for almost obliterating her environments, and has left more than one arena so demolished that even Zaldarian technique wept at the job in front of it.

At the last moment, Mirror switches the angle of her thruster fire and cuts from a full charge to a hover. The gravitational forces it exerts on her body are enough to twist her stomach, squeeze her skull, and pry a grunt from between her lips. In a moment she will need to take a hand off her controls to hold her head and keep her vision from blurring too much to keep fighting. But the moment of energy shifting marks a perfect moment where a trident can be hurled with the force of a hellfire missile barrage.

She smiles as her primary melee weapon transforms into a bolt of divine punishment, and smiles even wider when she imagines Slate's face at the moment she realizes she'll need to find a replacement for it at the literal last second before the main tournament. Then all at once she cuts her engines and lets herself drop into the dancing grass below, leaving a rippling imprint of her landing but not a scorch to be found.

She has already made a promise not to allow herself to come to serious injury. Now she adds a promise on top of that: to preserve this beautiful and relaxing arena but whatever means necessary.

(Center of the Web has been activated for +1 Forward in the scene. Mirror likewise Defies Disaster to begin her fight in earnest and scores a 12)

[Anarion]

Solarel

“I desire a gift from the Empress you half-witted rust-brain”

That one sounded sincere, pent-up anger and stress as Akaithon searches around, your careful thruster calculations ensuring that she doesn’t notice the extra load on her back. The Kathresis leans into this, it’s natural for it, and the stress is evident as Akaithon looks around ever more frantically.

She inspects the remains of the gun she blasted. Really gone, not a decoy. “The Aeteline was a gift to you, a new empress took power and it was supposed to be a gift to me. Do you have any idea how beside herself the new empress was to learn that she could NOT gift the Aeteline to her champion? What do you think that did for her legitimacy in Instanilios? I’ll give you a hint, Solarel, it was not good.”

She shakes her head in resignation, by far the most dangerous thing she’s done since you latched onto her. Just an inch further and you’ll come into her actual peripheral vision. Just an inch, but there’s nothing for it, just have to hope she’s too distracted to be looking closely at her own sensors or getting that feeling like there’s someone staring just over her shoulder.

“Is it really so strange that I want to serve Naelkai? You know I knew her from before her ascension, do I really have to spell it out for you?”

She doesn’t, not with that strained tone. She likes, no, she loves Naelkai as a person. Always has, but maybe you never saw the depths of that before. Before your banishment it was clandestine after all. Snuck in between missions, a history that stretched back to before she came to the Evercity. But you can see it here, Akaithon loves her empress at a level that few people can ever come to love royalty. The kind of love that’s personal and intimate and can only happen if you knew them and had a bond of mutual trust from before they had power. She fights for this love. She would gladly betray everything else she believes in for this love.

If you wish to bring about such a betrayal, you’ll need to hurry, she’s stopped chattering to think and it’s not beyond her to figure out your ploy if she has time to consider.

***

Jade and Dolly

“Ha, not bad!” The Unseen Goose fires its rear jets, righting itself after the kick, which has done little more than chip the paint. It seems that in her new version, Ada has simply committed what had once gone to the stealth suit into basic specs: armor and strength and speed.

She races off after you, using the flicker of the landing and jump angle to pick an educated direction. It’s imperfect, your cloak is back in effect and she doesn’t know exactly where you turned. “I did watch your matches. You love your boasting and you’ve got the specs to back it up. Really care for each other two, I saw how you wouldn’t stab that other Hybrasilian who dressed like your priestess. That’s worth something and no mistake. Doesn’t mean you’re not spoiled rotten with all the blessings of your little empire though. Besides, if I got your tone right, you like being challenged for supremacy over that little priestess in there. It must not be fun to be the only one if charge if there’s nobody strong to prove you can conquer, right? So let me show you strong~”

You can tell she’s enjoying this [Take a string on Ada for your fine performance.]

She’s not making herself an easy target as she speaks. Once that initial pass is finished, she begins breaking more machinery, the sound of her fists tearing through metal at high speed echoing through the factory and actually making it hard to pinpoint her through the debris. She’s leaving a trail of slag and wreckage as she moves, but where the carnage stops and the mecha starts is a tricky thing to figure. On top of that, as she moves she’s not just hitting machinery, she’s taking out supports and pillars and…

…oh shit, the roof’s going to come down on top of you and no cloak in the world will help that one. She’ll have you pinpointed from how you come out of the rubble and it will take you longer than it will take her with all that strength to recover.

If you think about it very hard, this is good, actually, in that she can only try this gambit once! If it doesn’t work then her best advantage will be lost and you’ll have open ground to maneuver (if a little unstable). So, you just need to make sure this doesn’t work! But she’s bringing this place apart fast, faster than you can fly out of it from the center of the factory, so you’re going to have to come up with something more creative quickly!

***

Isabelle

Shattered metal rains down from the sky in little shards. For a brief moment of calm you have just the presence of mind to notice how pretty they are with the sun glinting off them, a rain of rainbow glitter that would make a great memory weave image.

But that’s your autocannon, and your armor torn up, and you’re quickly running out of ways to keep this fight going. You’ve got a melee option on the reconfigured emberlight, right? Enough to block at least one of those two swords?

“Yeah, how do you like that, huh?!” She comes in again, slashing and tearing open the arm plating, no longer protected. If that keeps up you’ll lose hand functionality entirely, you can already feel that unpleasant buzzing sensation in your actual hands that tells you the damage is coming through the neural link.

“I’m a damn good pilot, and when I’m done ripping you up, I’m gonna make you squeal like Jade does until you shout it out for everyone. How do you like that, huh!”

Oh yeah, she’s overconfident. She’s just coming in hard and fast with the slashes, taking everything she can get as fast as she can get it. Now’s the time to turn the tide. The only time.

[Isabelle’s autocannon is destroyed, and her arm plating is damaged, exposing the hand mechanisms for the next attack.]

***

Mirror

Oh she’d been watching the video. See her step forward when you jump? It slightly obscures one of her hands. Not even really obscures it, you’re in an open plain, but it makes one hand forward and one back and usually people don’t look at the back hand. They don’t notice it slip to the ionic net that could encase your tails and pull you to the ground.

But, to Kiriala’s credit, the Ginger Tiger still doesn’t overcommit. She saw you coming down, but she didn’t put herself into the throw, didn’t overextend her muscles.

Your throw still strikes true, it’s too fast and too unexpected to completely dodge. But the Ginger Tiger takes it on the side. There’s a high-pitched whine as the trident blows through the shields and then the satisfying deep sounds of metal compacting as it damages her. It rakes across the right arm and down the right leg as she pushes away, and the impact shatters its way up the trident handle as well.

Everything is warped and broken from the strike, but she’s not down by any means.

“Hooooooo” she breathes, and you can hear the awe. “What a compliment! You did that for me! Sacrificed that for me, broke your routine and everything! Wow, wow!”

Her voice is giddy and a little higher and for sure this is the first time you’ve seen her roused to emotion. “Okay, alright, this is serious. Let’s gooooo!”

And there she turns that into energy and she kicks it up a notch. The momentum that had been going into dodging the trident shifts. She lets herself land, uses her spear in the dirt to turn her momentum into a pivot and fires her thrusters even harder then pulls the spear out into a charge, still firing at you.

It’s a creative take on a by the book play. Press an opponent, limit their movement with covering fire and strike a killing blow. She’s just…she executed on it really fast, with a mastery of her own mecha’s momentum and energy. It was faster than almost any huntress you’ve ever seen. It’s the sort of thing that happens in all sorts of sports. A straight throw of the ball isn’t anything special, but if it’s faster than anybody else can throw it, sometimes that’s enough to make it unstoppable.

Still, your daring play meant that she had to make this correction. It might surprise you, but you’re pretty fast yourself. There’s an opening here if you can find it. Just a much smaller one than you might have hoped.

[Phoe]

The attack does not leave time for conscious assessment or planning. It's so fast that if she hadn't precalculated an attack vector before throwing her trident, she might be in pieces now. There is no time for assessment and no chance to prioritize the preservation of secrets. This single line was pre-selected as a worst case scenario that would result in the breaking of a promise, but even anticipating it her reactions are not up to par.

Unless.

Thrusters fire, left shoulder. Hold burst for 0.75 seconds, angle for descent. Push Gods-Smiting Whip into the grass from full standing, opposite arm out to break fall. Result: spear thrust redirected to shoulder, damage noteworthy but within mitigation standards. Result: temporary removal from opponent line of sight.

Minimal attack window. Separate right leg from joint, swing for power along pre-selected circle in coordination with left leg. All thrusters fire, microburst. Roll frame along damaged shoulder unit and redirect momentum toward standing position. Left leg jump, right leg lift for loose guard. Rising punch to opponent chest section, redirect momentum from spear thrust as cross counter damage. Re-attach right leg joint, allow upward velocity to carry frame in wheel formation. Land on reattached limb for stress test and final lock in checks.

All in all, impossible response. Degree of implied pain through neural link beyond known capabilities of Hybrasilian species. Degree of independent limb movement and redirection also beyond natural range. Questions asked, questions answered. Overall sacrifice deemed acceptable for continuation of primary and secondary objectives. Nine-Tails remains in working order. Terrain remains relatively pristine. Opponent on ground.

"Impressive form," Mirror chirps, "I see where your match record comes from. And why you are so effective despite ceding the advantage on mecha specifications to nearly every participant here. Mmmm, mmmmm! I have never been the slower fighter before, this is fun!"

Mirror does not close in for the kill. In the time it takes the Ginger Tiger to regain its feet, she instead grabs Tails One and Two from the air behind her and attaches them to the forearms of the Gods-Smiting Whip. She flourishes with each arm in turn, and a pair of brilliant blue plasma blades erupt from the ends to cover its fists. Each of the formations is relatively small, but watching closely the edges occasionally crackle with a rippling, lethal seeming power reminiscent of the the deathblow she attempted to finish Solarel with.

"Nine Drive System, Partial Configuration. The First Form: The Claw That Steals the Sky. Come, up! Fight with me, Kiriala of the Ginger Tiger! Play with me, you who hides her name from the stars! This match has no meaning, no value to either of us, so let's have some fun! If we cannot nap together, then this is my solution. I will not fight you to incapacitation. Rather, I offer you the following conditions: I am bound today by two secret, unbreakable rules. Discover them and force me to concede either one, and even if you wind up in pieces I will pick you up again and call you Victor. I will allow you to employ me for one full day without cost or contract, and I will not leave you wanting."

"But!" she thrusts a blade-arm through the air, then waggles it like a teasing finger, "If my rules remain in place at the end of our match, then no matter what the Arena score may say about us, I will be victorious, and you will wind up owing me instead. And I will give you this single warning before we begin: this is not me taking you lightly. Your combat skills and speed exceed my own. I acknowledge that I cannot overcome you through raw prowess. So I have decided."

Mirror snaps her fingers, and the sound echoes over comms and across every broadcast of the match, however big or small they might be today. And in that instant, the net in the Ginger Tiger's hand falls apart; shredded to useless bits. She flashes a toothy smile that drips with playful malice.

"I will fight you in the manner befitting of the Ultimate Warrior."

(Mirror rolls Fight: 11. She takes the net, a superior position, and a string. She is very explicitly opting not to inflict conditions in this match)

[Thanqol]

Ah. She has been stolen, that is it. Stolen into service - and that is only fair. Solarel too fell for an Empress. Solarel too tried to steal the stars on her behalf. She understands. They had both found new swords to fall upon since last they'd fought.

Her hands trace the Makhaira under arms, around thighs. Gently, gently, gently. The thick cords of muscles, the crackling neural electricity of the spine. She knew every reactive armour plate, every sloped ballistic curve and ammunition storage rack. She had penetrated this armour before, unraveling its secrets around her fingers before Naelkai had done the same. The lace and bows of nanoweave, gentle gossamer threads of repair solution wrapping reinforced steel cable, soft to the touch. The promise of recovery, an invisible dress that made scarcity and durability irrelevant concerns to the followers of Zaldar.

It was that very lace she worked on now. Gentle touches, loving touches, the caress of silver geists and software updates. Uploading a new shape into the Makhaira's repair nanoswarm, node by node. Wrapping loop after loop of silken threads around wrists and breasts and legs. Gently, gently... up until her darling knight took damage. Then the thread would pull tight, a gentle weave of thread tightening into a shibari. All of that knightly durability turned back on itself. The automated repair swarms would remember a shape where wrist was bound to ankle and hair was bound to tail and a submissive inner heart would be revealed for all to see.

It would still require a blow. To trigger the repair process, and have it proceed so quickly that Akaithon would not notice the binding until it was complete. It would still come down to the lance.

"You desire a gift?" Solarel said. "She had me robbed, Akai. Attacked by the Varangian Guard outside of my God and exiled from Roevg, in defiance of all of the Knightly codes of the Evercity. I understood you standing by, out of love," a barbarian lilt, understanding was not the same as respecting, "but I did not think that you would then call the fruits of treachery a lover's gift."

"But then," she added, gently kissing the nanoswarm, sending a silver ripple along it before withdrawing back to the Kathresis, "it is the way of the high riders to take the noble path after every exploring every possible alternative, and then toasting their virtue for so doing."

[Who's the Monster? 7
- Your words sting; they take a Condition.]

[BlasTech]

“I’m a damn good pilot, and when I’m done ripping you up, I’m gonna make you squeal like Jade does until you shout it out for everyone. How do you like that, huh!”

Isabelle doesn't reply immediately. Too much focus is needed on those blades, on keeping them away from her vitals, on minimising the damage, on staying in the fight. Wrist to parry. Catch a hand and redirect. Kick to break away.

No luck, no luck, no luck. The two mechas carve grooves in the sky as they fight. Ksharta always following, never allowing a gap, a moment to recover. They leap from cloudtop to cloudtop, obliterating white mountains with their passage. The pace quickens, a whirlwind of blows and strikes. An attack comes in high and is met with crossed arms. Thrusters flare, countering momentum, and a shockwave ripples out across the blue.

And in that hurricane, Isabelle feels herself tossed like a leaf.

Mother's advice is why I'm here.

She'd expect me to be able to get out of this on my own.

... so why can't I do it?

She sees those daggers coming at her again. At this rate, it's only a matter of time. Her arm is already starting to numb, and one more direct hit might knock it out of action. Hells, enough heavy fighting might do it all on its own. And yes, she has close-combat weapons on her, a sword, the EMP gauntlet, some daggers of her own, but she needs space to deploy them. An opening. A chance.

All she can do right now is make that time stretch as far as possible. Give herself time to keep rolling the dice. And hope that eventually ...

She catches Ksharta's wrist. Twists inside the overconfident strike and brings an elbow hard into the throat of the other mech.

... eventually, her luck might turn.

"You're right, you are a good pilot." she says, as Ksharta reels from the neural feedback. Coughing into her comms. "But I'm not the one who's going to go home tied up."

She raises her hand, revealing a smart cable that snakes from a concealed spool and around the wrist of the Pulsar Cat.

As her opponent staggers forwards, Isabelle ducks under the blow, bringing the rope around and behind. Snagging the other arm by the elbow and pulling a strand across the chest of the other mech. Can you feel your bonds closing in about you Ksharta? Can you feel victory slipping away?

Will you come undone for me, even as the ropes are binding you tighter?

What will you do?

[Isabelle rolls to Fight: 5 + 5 + 2 = 12 - She choses to inflict a condition, take a string and a superior position. She'll immediately spend that string to encourage Ksharta to fall apart. Just as mother intended.]

[Tatterdemalion]

Jade freezes up. The roof. She’s going to bring down the roof on their heads. And there’s no time! She starts moving for an exit, anyway, but there’s no time!

Girders groan, ruined machines hiss, steam vents up in gouts, and the roof buckles. Faster, Dolly, faster! All the grace in the world can’t help them if everything comes down around them, and—

Dolly slides. There: a manufacturing device heavy and bulky enough that even with its supports turned out, even flipped over, it still makes an almost-tent. She lifts their lance, and Jade pushes power into the tip. When the roof comes down, it’ll be explosive, blasting away falling rubble. But she’ll be blinded from the whole thing coming down anyway, and the machinery should shield them when the roof comes down.

[Unfortunately, they’ve rolled a 4 on Defying Disaster. I offer their position and their speed at getting out from under the rubble as well as their cloak.]

[Anarion]

Solarel

“She what? But you…you betrayed her, betrayed us! She, she said. She said you were too loyal to Voctine. The Aeteline belongs to the empress! She can’t…she can’t steal it from her own knight. Trying to keep it would have been the betrayal! I…that’s what I thought. I didn’t…isn’t that how it’s supposed to work? Didn’t you…I…Sol, I…what happened? What did you, what did she do? Why were you banished?!”

She lets out a shout then, and shakes herself, the sudden movement making it difficult to keep the Kathresis in place. She rushes suddenly sideways looking for you, looking for some way to confront you.

“Damn it Sol, if it was all this bad why didn’t you ever contact me?! Why did you leave and make all those deals? Losing your mecha, going in debt to one Terenian after another just to stay in the fight without our support. For what? A Hybrasilian? Don’t you care about your own people? Don’t you care about me? You think you can…can act so high and mighty but who did you turn to when you were in trouble? None of your friends! Nobody who even knew you! Maybe you should enlighten me how you managed to pull out of the teachings of Zaldar that you should betray two empresses!

[Akaithon marks guilty.]

***

Mirror

“Huh.”

The Ginger Tiger leaps to its feet, jumps away as you ignite the tails, considering your words even as it maintains the high energy of the last few moments, turning its recovery into an attempted encirclement that probes for weaknesses.
A beep indicates that tails 4, 5, and 6 are available, which is admittedly a lot more coincidental than getting 1,2,3 to start. Maybe the system is weighted to favor the tails activating in numerical order with only a little randomness. Or maybe it picks a different pattern each time and just happened to settle on numerical order this time, with that choice being only a single random choice rather than six separate ones just happening to work out.

“I accept” comes over the comms after a brief silence as Kiriala looked for an opening, changing heights and angles rapidly but never striking. “This may be a mistake, I have the most profound feeling that I just allowed myself to get perfectly played by agreeing to this match on your terms. But I don’t care because I want to see what you’re offering. So I accept, the match will play out on your terms.”

She goes then into the same move as before. Nearly identical, high speed, covering fire. She wants to see if you’ll do the same thing or not, wants a sense of whether your choice of response relates to your rules. She might be guessing that one of them is about how you respond to certain attacks. If you do something completely different, it will tell her something about what restrictions you’re not under. It’s almost a taunt. Are you going to trick me or show me something honest~? That’s what’s being asked.

[She will take a string and spend it immediately, asking the question “what will it take for you to reveal your strategy for this new set of match rules?”]

***

Isabelle

“No. No! Fuck. FUCK. ARE YOU SERIOUS?”

Ksharta didn’t want this. She did get overconfident, tried to pick you apart and didn’t think there’d be some hidden trick. But this, this isn’t just that she’s breaking down, you’ve immediately turned the tables and lorded it over her and this isn’t fun anymore and and and and

She writhes, slams against the rope, manages a knee into the Emberlight’s stomach, knocking the wind out of you as you come around, giving her a second. She uses that second to take her still free arm and…rip her other arm off from the elbow, cutting the trap loose from its anchor point as she flies away.

That had to hurt. A lot. Mecha dull pain relative to the neural mesh, but you know that pins and needles feeling. She just did that suddenly, a shock would have run through her whole arm before it went completely numb from the elbow down. Some pilots would black out from that. Many would throw up.

“You SERIOUSLY think you can just make a joke out of me? Seriously?” The Pulsar Cat lowers its head and you can tell the pilot is shaking with some combination of fury and shame. Her good hand pounds herself in the head. “Gods, gods! I tell you what I’m here for, I try to tease you and play with you and you immediately try and make the same joke that Jade did. I’m pathetic. I’m so stupid. Stupid stupid stupid Ksharta. Not worth anything but making soup for the bigger, faster girls. Why does everyone fall for Jade when she does this?! What am I doing wrong? Fine, fuck it, fuck you!”

She’s coming for you, as hard as she can, no more toying.

You have time to draw your weapons with all of this, your advantage bought you that much. You get to choose how to meet her. In fact, you can almost certainly win this match from this position, she’s down an arm, down a weapon, distracted, emotionally a wreck, it’s really not that hard.

It’s just, here’s the thing. This is a moment of clarity for YOU, Isabelle Maria Lozano de la Estrella. Do you see how your mother’s strategy, while absolutely effective for winning this match, took no account of the emotional impact it would have on your opponent? This isn’t a one-off. This isn’t a fluke. This is your life. This is your past and at this rate it’s going to be your future. Almira Lozano cares for power and no person will get in the way of that for her. If you follow her advice forever, you will have power. And with it, a life that is an endless string of agonies. Agonies that you receive and agonies that you inflict. That will all fall at your feet. Is that your choice?

[Ksharta takes Insecure and emotionally loses it completely, escalating to a desperate final attack. You take Guilty. And a reminder. Many people are watching these matches. What you do here will be momentous.]

***

Jade and Dolly

You slide desperately, coming in under a huge storage tank as it’s collapsing. It’s better than some spots, you take no real damage, the hollow tank curls around you instead, its rounded shape helping to ensure other debris slides off it rather than punch through it, though it does slowly begin to crumple as dust and cement builds up on top of it.

There’s a silence as you lie there, but you can’t just sit here and wait, if you don’t come up you’ll be declared disabled and lose the match! So you groan and strain and push the tank off you, dust sliding in and obscuring your vision. It grew heavy with the collapse, the top caved inwards so that now you’re trying to push a tank full of cement slabs, which even with a crystal fire drive is a bit of a difficult effort.

Thus it’s as your pushing and straining, your arms occupied above your head, that you feel the cloak ripped off you. Ada did indeed use her superior strength combined with her knowledge of what she was doing to get out ahead of you, find where the rubble was shifting, and use your moment of vulnerability to take what she was after.

There you are, revealed for the cameras, covered with loose, white-gray chalky dust. And there’s Ada and the Unseen Goose II, right on top of you, your cloak ripped from your back. She pulls to the side, holding it triumphantly and all you can do is crane your neck to look at her without dropping the whole tank back on yourself. You’re in a very vulnerable position, arms up and body bare for her, the only thing keeping her from the decisive blow the fact that she doesn’t want that storage tank to fall on her either. But the second you finish freeing yourself, she’s going to be on top of you.

“Need a hand there, princess~?” she asks, taking a stance just out of range of the rubble as she watches you struggle and newly on display for everyone.

[Thanqol]

Words, words, words. The Evercity was full of words. Just as full of questions. Why this? Why that? Why are you not the person in my head? Why are you not the person who fits my scheme? Say the words that let me know if I should love you or hate you. Say the words to let me know I'm a good girl, a good knight, who never did anything wrong. Anything is okay so long as there are the right words in place.

Speak Not, said the sage. It was so much easier if you took out all the words and let her life express itself in a sequence of actions. A sequence of fights. Just watch the fights. Just watch the way she fights, please. Can't you see that Tactics are impossible without love? That Tactics are all she is good for?

Blades of silver and gold, gift from spirit and empress, rest on the edge of her hands. She's ready to cut her way free in a whirl of blades, leaving Akaithon a hobbled and limping wreck, easy prey for the lance. A flawless checkmate, an ice cold tactical takedown that would leave her victorious and... Akaithon would still not understand.

She was going to have to draw this out.

"Akai. Why are you so stupid." She said. Not bitterly, not with any sense of meanness. Just, thinking. How to explain to someone who only spoke the language of words. The burden of translation was entirely on Solarel here. Typical high rider. As she thought she put the Kathresis' foot against the back of the Makhaira's head and activated her thruster at full burn. It was a kick in the head, a white-hot blowtorch burning a hole through the sensor crest and propelling her out of reach, but it was a thoughtful kick in the head. Don't you see that, at least? Don't you see that by targeting this part of your God she's trying to get you to think in a certain way... ugh, no, it'd take more than a kick to the head to get through Akai's skull.

She took the moment of full burn scramble to think. Kick to the head and sabotaged repair protocol or no, arm's reach was lethal range and Akai's reflexes were amazing. She needed as much distance as she could get.

"Akai. What is important?" she said, as she burned for distance, darting through the debris. "For you it's... peoples. Nations. Empire. You see the City. Everywhere you look. You see the politics. You see the crown. You ask, where do this person's loyalties lie? You think, she rides a lesser God, she must be in trouble. You think if it is not encrusted in gemstones it is not valuable. You think... you think Speak Not is the same as saying nothing."

She gets her distance and burn-flips around, bringing up the lance in a resumption of her form at the very start of the duel, in the exact spatial co-ordinates she had begun from.

"That is... not how it is in the stormlands," she said. "I would sit. And watch the Gods. Unpiloted, feral. They'd wander the plains. They'd clash sometimes. Sometimes annoyed. Sometimes territorial. Sometimes earth-shattering battles to the death. Sometimes they'd bump up against each other gently, breaking each other apart with soft talons. I once watched the Scarwalker peel the carapace off the unresisting Taurus and rake its substructure before trying to put the armour plates back on. That... matters. To see the affection, the closeness the... love that divine machines can show each other. Enough force to destroy a tribe. And yet they step around the barrier glyphs. Gently. More said in the silence of power than a thousand Imperial promises. Do... do you think it matters to me, who the Empress is? Do you think I was surprised to be betrayed? We call Instanilios the City of Lies. All your high rider talk of honour and... loyalty and greatness means nothing compared to the footprints inside the barrier glyphs."

She was quiet for a moment. And then she lowered the lance. Set her feet. Made ready. Made it explicit.

"When I saw you were using my sword," said Solarel. "That made me happy. That felt like the nicest thing you'd ever done for me. So... thank you. I really appreciated it. When I asked to use this lance it was me doing the same. What I am about to do to you is my most sincere compliment and act of affection. I am worried with all the words in your head you won't see it. Won't realize it. So... shut up Akai, okay? Shut up and let me kick your ass. For love."

[Make It Right: When you allow yourself to be vulnerable to someone you hurt during your villainous past, they choose 1:
- Decline to engage; they gain a String on you
- Lash out; you Stagger
- Guide you; they mark XP and give you a task to help make amends
- Show vulnerability; you take +1 forward to interact with them
- Forgive you; you each clear a Condition and this move no longer triggers with this person]

[Phoe]

One two three, four five six. One two three, four five six. Well this is a splinter if ever there was one. Static. Fog. One, two, three. Four, five, six. What can she manage in the face of this observation? One two three, four five six.

"You are correct," she says with words that feel drunk and heavy on her tongue, "You have fallen into my trap. But you are... (four five six) still mistaken on one (two three) front."

Tail Four, Tail Five, Tail Six: disengage from main body, formation on points one, two, three. Nine Drive System, Partial Configuration. The Third Form: Moonlight Fantasy, Manifestation. A new technique but a lazy one. Just a play on her Immemorial Vanguard's full-sphere protection but focused into a traditional front facing shield with the maneuverability of a single tail. Rotating but imperfect protection that doesn't require the use of either arm, and leaves other active tails free to continue other activities.

A blip over the corner of her left eye: two partial configurations at once is straining several power systems more than expected. More even than the Fang. Fascinating. And her apologies, Kiriala, for the lack of -- one two three -- vocalization. But she promised to fight you as the Ultimate Warrior would. And she Speaks Not to the Outsider. Besides which, your form leaves very little room for flourishes, if any.

Four, five, six. Divert power from thruster systems to maintain configurations. Seventy percent functionality suffices. The earlier dodge, unnecessary. The shield absorbs the laser blasts admirably, but even these weak shots will erode its integrity before long. Irrelevant. Its true purpose, the one thing it can do that the Immemorial Vanguard cannot...

...Is ram into an idiot's face when she tries the same perfect charge twice in only a handful of seconds. The flash of sparks is blinding, one two three. The impact is equivalent to planting face first into an iron root, four five six. Mirror feels none of it, even second hand through the rattling of her frame, since the point of origin isn't even touching the Gods-Smiting Whip. One, two, three. The shield shatters, along with Kiriala's form. The brief stagger buys Mirror time for a strike.

Her attack is pathetic. Lazy in the extreme. A long trailing slash from her right arm reaching up from the Ginger Tiger's thigh and ending at its midriff. The equivalent feeling through a neural mesh of having your skirt slashed open and your underwear admired by a playful finger, and nothing more. The Nine-Tails steps into the attack so that it can pivot through and roll away. Re-establish positioning and facing. Tails Four, Five, and Six are scattered, but hovering in positions both hidden and not. Deeply dangerous, and not firing at all.

Hm. Not bad. She can work with this if she doesn't fight it. One two three, four five six. Until the itch is scratched. Until she is allowed to think in a way she wants to again. She taps her fingers on the console to this new beat, and opens her mouth.

"It was not a mistake to fall for my schemes. It has purchased you the opportunity of your life, if you do not waste it. One, two. Three chances. It does not become you to attempt an experiment in this way when the variables have already changed in front of you. It is... (four five) unwise. To think my claws are the same as my fists. The next time you attempt this maneuver, I am ending our fight. So please, play with me. Find what I have left for you. Please."

[BlasTech]

Clarity sometimes has a way of slowing things down.

That moment, as the Pulsar Cat pulls away, stretches into forever. She can see clouds trailing from its leading edges like white ribbons. See each rivet, each weld, as it reflects the glint of Akar's sunlight. The heat shimmer from its thrusters, carving grooves behind it.

And in that moment, she weighs her options.

Power. Agony. Two sides of the same coin. Inseparable, at least in all the ways that matter to her Mother. Corporate power, economic power, soft power, hard power. The power of dozens of planets, billions of people, turned towards a single person's desires. The power of Terenius.

Does Isabelle want that power? Well ... maybe a little. She's not an idiot, she knows there are shortcomings in the system. Gaps where people can fall through, or be pushed, all in the name of power to an elite few. Is it naïve to think she might be able to change that if she wins? If she becomes the next CEO? To somehow keep the good and address the bad? Is it also naïve to think she can keep herself whole while chasing that goal?

It's not the right question to ask though. The real question is: does her mother want it ... and does Isabelle not want it enough to defy that? To endanger Her goals or even challenge Her? The answer to the first is obvious. The answer to the second ... well ... she's not an idiot. She knows what Mother can do. What she has done in the past, all in the name of securing power.

Images flash through her mind, faster than coherent thought: A small girl, watching as her mother signs documents. Staff meetings where charts and graphs are shown, where people are crying and she doesn't understand why. News broadcasts, where the people on there yell things and her mother just smirks. A dark closet. Yelling. Silence. Loneliness. She knows what is at stake here - Asil, Emberlight, her life (though she doesn't really care about that), her siblings. Her Family.

The nanites in Emberlight coalesce, a jet-black sword forming. It takes seconds that tick by like days. The sword's edge is monoatomic, its blade as hard as the toughest alloys. It's dangerous, it's a warrior's weapon.

It's also a distraction.

It happens while Ksharta's words wash over her. Isabelle isn't an idiot. She knew what this was going to do. She knew how badly this would hurt. She's made a living reading people - a skill that comes in handy on the battlefield and in the boardroom. She knew when she equipped Emberlight with the spool that it might trigger the Hybrasillian. She knew from Mother that her words would cut deep. That if she pushed hard enough, the young woman who was her opponent would topple.

She knew all that and did it anyway. She really is a bad person in the end.

It would've been ... kinder ... to say something back - to tell her opponent that she was taking her seriously. To fight her - sword to dagger, to re-engage and make it a contest. To meet skill with skill. To do something. To say something. Anything. Just so it didn't end on this note.

If she were a better person, she might've been able to figure out how to do just that.

But the truth is, she isn't a better person. She doesn't know how to find the third option. Solarel had chipped at her chains, but left her alone in the darkness. Asil was her heart, but also her weakness. Right now, in this fight, neither was enough.

Too weak. Too stupid.

Emberlight twists, sword falling away as her lance-pistol swings forward. The Pulsar Cat freezes, aware of the sudden threat and too flat-footed to dodge.

Even through the forming tears, her shot is perfect.

[Tatterdemalion]

“Again, you refer to me as royalty! As one who does not rule but is revered— ah, I see how that must translate for you aliens, with your bloodlines of rule!”

She’s keeping the worst of it off Dolly. Her beloved pilot is still squirming under the weight in ways that are not very productive, but that is because her legs are pinned under weight as comforting as Jade can make it. What a kitten she is.

It’s up to her, as always, to find the solution. That is her role, after all. To show Dolly the way out, to make her thrill, to make all that dare to challenge them look like fools. And there is a way to do so here! It’s just that she hasn’t seen it yet, and she’s running out of time. Soon this Invisible Avian will tire of showboating and bury the both of them under the rubble.

“I may not be one of the Honored Ones,” she continues, avoiding even their proper titles. Not even she would casually speak of her Grandmothers before the watching crowd. Dust showers onto her front as she strains, and realizes that she is stuck, unable to get leverage to push it up further. A thought flickers into her head, and she guides Dolly’s arms back down, slowly blotting out the sky. One foot hooks the bottom of the tank. “But you are right to acknowledge me and my authority. I am one of the powers of the universe, immortal from the moment of my birth. I hatched from an egg, born to myself, and I walk the eightfold path that is forbidden to your kind.”

Metal groans. Dolly’s arms are wobbling with the effort. You can do it, sweetie. “And if that makes me a princess, then I accept it— princess of the hunt, stone-crowned, and—“

The plan was simple enough. Shove it upwards, using the bottom of the tank as leverage, knocking it into the Ephemeral Swan and giving them an opening to scramble up and free, but her knee jams into something, the tank jars loose from her grasp, and she has barely a moment to decide what she will do.

She flows over Dolly like night. Pins her down. Pushes her face against the floor, swaddled in shadow. She interposes herself between Dolly and the feedback of being crushed underneath the cement-weighted tank. Her own cheeks burn with embarrassment, and some quirk of the feedback makes her feel like she bears all that weight on her shoulders, her back, crushing her against the voluptuous curves of her priestess.

No pain for Dolly. Just weight, entrapment, helplessness. Even failure will be a gift for you. As long as you are here, as long as your goddess is here, as long as you have offered yourself up body and soul, you will be protected, and indulged, and loved.

Well? You want to finish this fight, Preening Crow. Lift the tank. Mock them if you must, but you won’t end it like this. You won’t abandon the chance to continue showing your power. You’re hungry for it. Perhaps you will ready cords, or step on your opponent as you lift it off, but you won’t end it like this.

But until you do, all Jade can do is push one knee against Dolly, insistently, and watch her squirm, night-hooded and barely audible, arms stretched out, hips bucking by centimeters, trapped underneath the weight of her goddess, who would hold up the world for her.

[They could have tried to Synchronize, but the image I had in my head was to Defy Disaster with Daring, no matter that it’s their worst stat. Anyway, they have rolled a 4 and are at Ada’s mercy; she gets to define how the match continues, or if Jade has any further chance to win.]

[Anarion]

Jade and Dolly

You feel the weight suddenly ease. The Unseen Goose II has joined the effort, adding its strength to yours. Metal buckles and strains, and there is a sheer screeching as the cement slides against it, but in the end, Ada helps shove the cement-filled container off you, showering you both in dust and loose rock.

As she’s working, she looks at you. “You’re lucky this is the last match, princess. If I could get knocked out of the tournament here, I’d have shot you in the knee and been done with the match. Family always comes first and I’m fighting for them above everyone. But that business is taken care of and I think the seeding matters less than a good match between us. And maybe something after, if you’ll put in a good word with my people that the Snow Geese just want a safe space all their own.”

She recovers herself, brushing off some of the dust, an odd gesture reflected in a massive mecha-frame, but an immediately understandable one. “Now that your cloak is gone, we can have a fair fight. But that doesn’t mean I’m giving you all day to recover, if you can’t keep up, I’ll still knock you out! So, get ready or you’re going down in 5…4…3…2…1…”

[Ada takes a string on Jade and chooses to allow the match to continue on (relatively) fair terms in the hope that friendship, rather than hostility, will benefit her family afterwards.]

***

Mirror

“Ah!” Kiriala shouts as she feels the claws rake across her. It’s an exclamation, a mix of surprise and wonder more than any serious pain.

She comes across the other side of the maneuver and tilts her head, thinking. “God, fuck, now I wish Shantri were here instead of me. She’s the one who would know exactly what to do here. I’m the one who’s strong and fast and can hunt by scent and does really good signals tracing work. But at the end of the day, I’m the muscle when it comes to these mystery things, Shantri’s the smart one.”

You get the sense that she’s living in memory for a second. You clearly showed that even with her high skill level at mecha combat, she can’t just go at you. You did show her that you wouldn’t react the same way twice, and she’ll get to that in…well right about now actually.

“Okay so, fine, fine. You said the conditions were set, but the variables changed. That’s something, that’s helpful. It means it’s not a fighting style or a commitment to a certain type of response. Not like how you started the fight. So, I need to just fight then. Ha, Shantri would be telling me I’m an idiot for not playing to my strengths.” Her tone gets a little bouncier again.

“Okay, alright, let’s go let’s go! Show me something, give me something to work with!”

She changes up her tactic here. Not a blind charge or a holding pattern like you’ve seen so far. Instead she’s maneuvering in a new way. She’s using the ground as a source of unpredictability, stepping with light jumps, like she could take off and fire thrusters to go airborne anytime she wants, but she’s not so she also keeps the option of pushing off the ground in any direction in addition to her thrusters. She’s coming at you, spear this time not out for a direct stab but instead for a slash, itself in an as yet unknown direction, she can adjust it quickly and easily.

This is aggression, but in a different style, almost like if you were sparring hand to hand with staves and she was trying to bait you, circle you, and get into your rhythm. Not that you can’t shoot her if you want, but that’s in the calculations too, it’s just a longer-range staff with a higher recovery time committed to it.

You’ll have to be careful, since she’s keeping low, that any attacks she launches don’t wind up tearing up the field because they didn’t hit you. Ditto for your own counterattacks, especially anything wide-burst.

***

Isabelle

Your fight is over. You’ve won. Ksharta took the shot with just enough time to let out a final, primal scream, and then she was down. She’s not literally out, but you can see that she’s decided not to invite you to rip the Pulsar Cat apart while she’s recovering and has instead surrendered.

A clean win. Dominant. No risks and no honor.

Well, no risks now. You’ve made an enemy today, one whose enmity will live far beyond the combat arena. It is one thing to embarrass someone through superior skill, but quite another to make a fool of them.

When you return to the hangar, Almira is there in person, dressed today in a burgundy silken shawl that sparkles with gold dust above her dress. As before, what should be the incongruous hangar jacket simply accents her neck and shoulders.

“Competently executed” she says, when you land. “It gives me some reassurance we’re actually related.” There’s a great deal in that praise. Competence in switching to the Emberlight, in the fighting style, in the execution, perhaps in your choice of obedience. Absolutely no thought to the problems this could cause, or to whether you’ve done the right thing. Obeying Almira Lozano is, after all, the right thing as far as Almira Lozano is concerned. And you’ve done well.

“Come, there’s going to be a gala held in Akkar, I hear they’re actually using the arena for it to celebrate the start of the knockout rounds. We’ll need to get you a proper dress for the occasion.”

She turns and you’re expected to follow.

[Take the experience for following the advice if you haven’t already]

***

Solarel

“Sol I…”

There’s a storm of thoughts in Akaithon’s head happening right now. The pain in that voice, the realization, the conflict. Akaithon’s smart, but this is a whirlwind of emotion. She wants to speak. You can hear it in the way she trails off, how now, NOW she has a thousand things to say. In her head there are questions of ethics and governance dancing with what friendship is even supposed to mean, and above that is her own love and what sort of foundation it rests on now that she’s heard you. Are you right? Are you wrong? Is it impossible to simplify it down that far, a position with a thousand different nuances to ultimately figure out the way to navigate life.

All of that’s there and dancing, begging to burst out of her in a stream of words. But she doesn’t. After that initial reaction, the instinctive reflex that ran ahead of the rest of her, she is quiet. She takes that storm and she internalizes it. Lets it rage within her, through her, and instead she hefts her sword, your sword, and raises it in salute.

You know her, you know all the words she must be thinking about, how much she’d like to debate forever. That she chose to do what you told her is an unparalleled act of submission and vulnerability. She hasn’t made up her mind, but it’s neither has she closed herself off to you. Not now, not like this.

She charges, strong and direct, the style you taught her. Not knowing the extent of your prior touch. It’s on you, now, to show her what love means.

[Take +1 forward to interact with her]

[Thanqol]

Did you know that is the difference between us, Akai? You don't see that you don't have to do this. You don't see that fighting Solarel, the way Solarel wants to fight, is a failure of tactics. You've stepped back onto the rail and now there's only one way any of this can play out. The way she prepared for. You're in the dream she imagined for you. Wasn't that the tactical application of love? Making someone become something contained, controlled, defeated. Predictable. And she has such predictions for you.

The jaws of the trap stretch and yawn...

But there's the thing. Akai stepped into this trap. Willingly, in front of everyone. She did see that she she didn't have to do this, and she's doing this anyway. She could have drawn the line and declared Solarel faithless, called her an animal, a savage brute with no empathy and been right. She also had a dream, something that went beyond this moment, something that lit her up like a star - even if Solarel could poke at it she couldn't destroy it. It made her greater than Solarel, unattainable, in the same way Mirror was. But she'd lowered herself to engage on Solarel's terms, to make the decision to listen to what she was trying to say.

So that meant that if she spoke in the ice-cold voice of Tactics then Akaithon would hear her. She'd hear the voice of a monster.

A flicking gesture. The weave of nanocharge along the Makhaira's carapace, that sabotage so carefully, delicately woven, discharges quietly and fades to nothing. For all the effort she put into setting it up, she will not speak those words today. Another flicker and the swarm of drones hidden amidst the debris field power down. With a flare of blue and gold, she burns away the stealth plating of the Kathresis, refocusing the nanites into a heavy kite shield. Her secrets and tricks cast away one after another until all that's left is a knight.

And she speaks.

She does not move like she should. Does not move in accordance with the strengths of the Kathresis. Does not move in accordance with its speed. She is a wasp playing at bear, throttling her speed, raising her lance to strike. Hear it. Listen. She fights not as herself. She fights as Akaithon, in that final battle in the arena, the last time they met. She replicates the blows, though not the strength behind them. She replicates them for how they moved, what they said, the limitations that went into each one. You must accept this. You must pretend I have your strength. You must recoil from these strikes as though you were me, because only then.

Only then we can fall into the rhythm. Only then can you see what this is. Only then you can see...

That this was how you could have beat me.

Solarel had thought about that match for months. Meditated on every strike, every twist, every parry. Seen through to the weaknesses of her form, the unrealized strength of Akai's. One two - and this was the mistake, this needed to be different. Overhead, down, the great sword can't maneuver as swiftly in these conditions. You didn't see Solarel's limitations when you were fighting against her but now that the roles have switched do you see how close it was, how many mistakes you forced but couldn't recognize enough to capitalize on? This is my weakness. This is your strength. This is how I see you, Akaithon. This is how...

Follow this pattern through.

Follow it through and your lance will take my heart.

Do you see now why I left that sword behind after that fight? You broke that weapon for me, because this is what I could see, what you made me see. I won but the way I won was nonviable. Everything since was built on the lessons you taught me. In this way I sought to become you.

When I rode the Aeteline, I used a lance.

[Comfort/Support: 13]

[BlasTech]

"Of course, Mother" replies Isabelle, obediently following along.

The path through the complex is long, and gives Isabelle time to reflect on the ending of the fight. For sure, Ksharta would be nursing a grudge for a while. Another enemy to add to the steadily growing list - so many - from each and every fight. Ada Smith, Ksharta, that pirate from the first round. Probably those kidnappers too. It didn't seem like anyone could lose without taking it personally.

Well ... that wasn't true. There was at least Quar.

The Zaldarian had surrendered honourably. She'd lost favour from her mother for her stunt but gained a ... teacher? A confidant? It wasn't yet clear what the Zaldarian was to her beyond "prisoner" - but maybe things would get better with time. In either case, it was a data point that broke the trend. More analysis was needed.

Still, enemies sprouted like weeds. Appropriate, since she felt like the villain of the piece. Mother had always said that power created enemies, that it meant the only ones you could truly trust were family.

Trust. she scoffs internally. The only thing she trusted was that her mother would be true to herself and her ambitions.

But what did that mean for her? She knew she was just a piece in the game, and one that had been unreliable in the past. If she failed to perform ... what would happen then? To Asil? To Quar? To her charity works and other "diversions"? She had to prove her reliability. Keep consistent. Keep being competent.

For now, she distracted herself by mentally reviewing Emberlight's schematics. Anticipating the repairs that would be needed.

It was odd. She found she could recall things much more clearly lately, down to the specific bolts and circuit boards used and where the damage had ended. Maybe all that late night practice was really helping ...

[Isabelle takes the XP and uses it to get the move "Talk Nerdy To Me": Specialising in Mechanical Engineering.]

[Tatterdemalion]

Family.

Dolly has family. An older sister, Jade’s midwife. She watches the matches; from afar, she is their witness. But her work has her planetbound, trying to understand how Jade hatched herself out of the stone egg, and here Dolly is standing on the surface of a world made for challenges.

Jade stretches as she helps Dolly to stand, and the idol cannot contain her as she does so. Her back brushes against the sky; her hands encompass the entire battlefield; her tail curls around the world. Then she recedes, tidal, and places her hands on her shivering, eager Dolly.

The ruthless play would be to fight like a Fisher: to use the lance like a harpoon, to stab and stab, to seek a weak point and run the Snow Goose (which must be its name) through. But Dolly hums in gratitude and lets the bells on her tail chime as she uses the lance as a staff, whipping it through the space between them, stressing the metal of the mecha-worthy haft as it tears against the air. You want a good fight, Snow Goose?

Marvel, then! Behold the circle of her hips, the arcs of control, the way her idol moves with perfect footwork. Try and touch her again! That spearhead will kiss you and let your heavy armor slip away. And if you can bear her down to earth, if you can close in when the lance demands your distance, you will have earned your win.

But is she not beautiful, Snow Goose? Dolly is untrained, not particularly skilled in combat, but she does not need to be. She just needs to obey, and she is so, so good at that. When you fight her, you are really fighting Smokeless Jade Fires, wrapped around her so tight, showing her off. Can you see her jingling chains in the sweep of her feet? The bounce of her bosom when she presents her breastplate? The huff of exertion through her nose? Hidden in plain sight, waiting for you to notice, as she stands exposed beneath the cameras.

“Who is this family you fight for?” A question both for the pilot and the cameras. “Why are they so important to you, that you would fight for them— here, of all places, against me, undefeated and clad in holy terror?” She cedes an opening, gives ground, presses herself against Dolly’s back and squeezes. “I promise, we are listening~”

[Phoe]

"Good, good. Good. It would be disappointing and difficult for me if you did not feel outmatched in at least one way. Remember your Shantri. Wish for her. And then! Sing your song with me! I shall become your harp, if your hands are skilled enough!"

All out warfare. That is what this situation calls for. An absolute blizzard of defensive techniques. Mirror fights strictly through the medium of counterattacks, only ever opening herself up in the space allowed by Kiarala's testing, and never committing to the death blow hard enough to expose her in exchange in the aftermath.

Tails One and Two, maintain claw technique. Her swipes are precise and lighter than falling feathers. They scrape paint and carve secret runes and leave behind the sensation of clothing being slowly cut apart in provocative patterns. Here you go, a Mayze Szerpaws original. Tail 3 replaces her trident and offers something to physically parry the spear with that also helpfully shifts to a floating position above the shoulder whenever a counterattack opportunity presents itself. She never swings - that would be a punishable commitment of resources.

Tails Four, Five, and Six are on laser duty. Their shots are heavier, normally, than the Ginger Tiger's, but today the intensity is dialed down. When they fire, it is directly at beams that Kiarala shoots first and only with enough power to cancel them out. In itself this is a very difficult technical display, and it's own fun sort of minigame. The calculations are complex enough and the actions so fast that it purges old patterns from her mind. Soothing. A cold wind across her face that makes meditation tolerable.

Peace.

Hm. Amusing thought. All actions contain packets of information inside of them. Kiriala's assertion. Not incorrect, either. A puzzle box unfolds as you solve it, and even in revealing the depths of its complexity it cannot help but speak to you of its construction. Riddles that should be increasing in complexity instead become simpler purely off the back of the overall possibility space shrinking as it opens. A cloud chasing reeds and the river runs dry, as the saying goes. An ancient paradox of sorts, taken from old water plants that spread their seeds in response to the dry season. A sudden flurry of movement, vastly increasing complexity, and in its wake nowhere to hide. In other words, strange seemings make everything clearer.

And yet. Complexity increases, and basic answers become more difficult to deliver confidently. Those same seeds inevitably go to ground, and come the rainy season there is no exact pattern even today capable of accurately predicting the new growing patterns. Which will take root, which will sprout, which among them will grow too quickly and be eaten by the local birds and early fish returning to the riverbed themselves to spawn. Which patches will gather nourishment to grow the thickest and which shall avoid the stinging bites of insects and plague. Indeed, the supposed simplicity of the reveal disguised a nightmare of new challenges to solve, and assumed wisdom would need to alter from year to year lest habit make a meal out of efficient huntresses.

"Curiosity. We have spoken very little to one another, but we have each been listening intently. Yes? You would agree? Three times as of now, I have mentioned my intentions to fight you as the Ultimate Warrior. Do you know to whom that refers?"

Tail Five neutralize shot at 'three o'clock' angle. Tail three parry, off balance spear, rushing jab clips shoulder at base of neck. Quick leap, take to air, kick off of back. Thruster fire, oh-point-seven-five seconds. Spin, low stance. Defense, defense, defense. Damage only possible via avoidance. Tail Six rise to threat horizon, Tail Four return to point defense. Resume pseudo-trident stance. Breathe.

It's a fifty-fifty chance, or near enough. As likely as wondering what side a wafer might land on if tossed toward the sun. Solarel's reputation as a one-woman blade that cut the Net of Hybrasil into humiliating bits is buried deep enough in their culture's psyche that little kittens today have started telling ghost stories about her to each other. But the official position of Hybrasil is that the war ultimately ended in feline victory, and some even claim she only penetrated so deeply as part of a clever trap on the behalf of high command.

She is a lurking terror whose name is mud. Not so different from the Whispered Promise who loves her, really. But knowing who it refers to and what it actually means are entirely different challenges, by a full order of magnitude. The scattered reeds are growing again, and soon the rains will flood the valley. What shall our hunting grounds look like, O Beloved of Maeahu?

Have figured who her heart is wishing for, like yours is for your Shantri? And do you understand the nature of the deadliest blade that fearsome warrior ever swung?

Has it occurred to you, darling Kiriala, that she might lie?

(Roll with Wit is an 11)

[Anarion]

Solarel

For a moment, things are sluggish. For a moment, Akaithon brings the sword around. For a moment, she considers the feeling of the lance and the way that she could use the weight of the Makhaira to force a decisive blow directly through the strikes of the Kathresis. For a moment, she calculates how much damage she’s take and whether the lance would pierce deeply enough to reach her cockpit. For a moment, she knows that it wouldn’t. But only for a moment.

Though no words are spoken, in her mind plays the same fight as yours. The old fight, the tournament fight. You know with absolute certainty that she’s feeling it. She can hear the bells that rang through Instanilios on tournament days and see the streaming pennants of the field. She can see herself fighting through you, and so she raises her sword in the block you made back then, and pulls back from the weight of the lance, brings it around, feels for herself the heft of that blade and the sluggishness of it. The deadly blow doesn’t come because she defends herself from her own lance.

Long ago, in her mind, that sword could go anywhere because in her mind your strength was unbounded. That’s how she saw you, how she’s letting you know now that she saw you. What matter if the blade is heavy and resists the pull if its wielder has the strength of gods to wrench it from the air that holds it?

But she knew, too, the limits of metal, and now she feels them for herself and so sees deeper than ever before. The sheer force straining against her arms, the way that you bring the lance around again and again to force her to shift and change, the limits of how much pressure the joints of the Makhaira can take, so similar to long before.

With each move as she feels the limitations in her own arms, she relaxes and settles into your rhythm more and more. This is right. This is more right than almost anything. The sword sings with joy even as it strains against the speed and strength of the last. You can feel the shared rhythm with Akaithon. And…so can she. It’s the first time she’s let herself relax in the entire fight.

This is perfection, and she knows it too. Her heart knows it better than she’d ever hoped. Despite everything that brought her here, she’s allowed to enjoy this just for itself, just for the moment. No thoughts of anything to come after. You’ve given her that and she’s letting you know it’s making her heart shine.

[Akaithon opens up and will clear her Guilty condition.]

***

Mirror

“You’re talking about the Zaldarian, Solarel. The one who earned you your title, One-Day Defender. The battle’s in every history curriculum already, an analysis of what worked and what went wrong, it’s probably going to influence our military strategy for the next century. I’m familiar with her.”

Kiriala shakes her head, but it’s good banter. She’s fluid in her style, or emotional. The latter actually. Earlier in the fight, you might have said this would be a good technique considered intentionally. Switching from a waiting style, to precise technique, to a loose and flexible melee. But it’s more that Kiriala has been letting herself roll with it, at least at this point. Up through that first really good charge she was doing something precise, but when you showed her that all her skill wasn’t enough to defeat the techniques you could wield and then changed up the game on her, she swapped into something much more reactive, playing by her gut. First testing, then more aggressive, and now loose and relaxed and getting into the zone of the fight as a conversation.

She swings her spear in arcing spins, maintaining her balance, using the momentum of each attack and each block to determine her direction so that she’s never really off-balance or presenting you with a juicy target even though she can’t land anything decisive either.

“This is hard, y’know? It’s exciting, but it’s hard. When’s the last time a match went like this, even in practice? Most pilots, you exchange a few moves, find something where they’re sloppy, and then the fight’s over. Or they pull out something tricky and the fight’s over. Spear through the neck, stopped at the last second to call the match. And now you’re asking me to do a different analysis. It’s really a step beyond what I’ve been doing. I’m good at fighting, y’know? I’m getting a sense of how you move, the way you shift your tails. I can fight someone and pick up on that sort of thing that…I dunno, what’s the word? The way they lead, it’s like their moves are already happening in my head before they do them, and it’s intuitive. But your capabilities keep changing and you’re setting me different problems. Mental puzzles. Rules I’m supposed to intuit by what you’re saying and how you’re saying it. I didn’t catch the reuse of Ultimate Warrior at all, I was too focused on looking at how you moved and responded to me to really keep that in my head. And I know Solarel, but I don’t know what it means that you fight like her. Your specifications are nothing like the Aeteline’s. Maybe you could beat it with that mecha? It was stronger and faster than my little tiger, but you’ve got some things going on there that might have beaten it if it didn’t catch you off guard. Is that it, is this about getting me comfortable, getting me to lower my guard somehow?”

She continues in the melee, her spear singing as she speaks, the banter and the match going in punctuated movements. One thing you can say for her is that her endurance is incredible. You’ve been going several minutes of high intensity sparring and she’s not showing any signs of slowing or having the Ginger Tiger’s reactions falling off. That physicality really is her strength. Every Hybrasilian child learns to pounce, but few can read motion with the level of consistency and skill that Kiriala is so casually expressing.

You might also be considering about now that Hybrasil seems to have done a very poor job recording Solarel’s history. That damn old mecha of hers might have gotten in the way. Everyone was too blinded by the pure power to think about how the pilot always seemed to know how to wield it. Maybe you even contributed to that depending on how you told the story once you were free.

“...No, actually that’s fine too. I have to stop second guessing myself. This is good, this is right. I’ll go all day fighting like this if I have to. I’ll remember every second of this fight and it’s going to dance in my head when I sleep. Thank you~!”

And if anything she picks up the pace, though she’s no closer to defeating you or solving the task you placed before her.

***

Dolly and Jade

“The Snow Geese. Have you heard of us, princess? We’re mercenaries with, perhaps, a little bit of free business on the side. We live for ourselves. No grand government lords over us. But that doesn’t mean we’re like some out there, where it’s every woman for herself. We believe in honor! The Snow Geese fly together! We support each other! In our home, every man, woman, and child receives a place of honor. I and my closest guard earn our keep. But those of ours who stay at home prepare the feasts! Each teacher of our children receives their place at the table. Each elder offers their wisdom and deserves their rest. Each child learns how to practice respect and to speak her mind!”

She comes in with fierce punches. No attempt to garner distance or change the angle. She dodges, deflects, takes the spear thrusts on her strong arms and advances. You nip at her, dancing at range, maintaining the length of the spear between victory and defeat. Unconquered the both of you.

“Family is what keeps you between heaven and earth, child! It is the hall full of laughter and the heart’s pull home no matter how far you travel. It is good food, good jokes, and better dance! It is community, always having each other’s backs no matter what, no matter who. It’s unconditional love, even for the ones who stray or who do wrong.”

She speaks to you and beyond you, Jade and Dolly. There are shades of these things in Hybrasilian families but Hybrasil also has the gods, and the broader society. Hybrasil thinks bigger than this. It thinks of huntress lodges and research stations and a vast network of trade across a myriad of planets. It’s greater, grander, perhaps more beautiful. But it also forgets the small closeness of these things at times, and Hybrasil can forget the cruelties that are inherent when trying to direct so, so many people. Ada Smith does not.

“We seek only to have a place all our own. To live free, without threat of being found, whether by Hybrasil, or TC, or even the Zaldarians if they have their way. Or by other free companies of less repute than ours. We are tired of hiding, we want our own planet, a home where we can live and thrive and build our own culture!”

You’re going to need to do something. These retreating spear thrusts are like the sting of a wasp and you’ll need a thousand stings before Ada Smith drops in such a mood. Meanwhile, she simply needs you to make one mistake and the fight ends in her favor. How do you end things before that happens?

***

Isabelle

Your mother scoffs at the dress shops on Akar Prime. Indeed, they simply won’t satisfy. There’s time until the gala. Time you could have been practicing or engineering your mecha. Time you could have studied the Zaldarian hand signs or convinced Quar to start speaking to you.

Instead, you are on planet Kikuji in Shiki, home to some of the finest fashion houses in TC, albeit with a different sense of style than the capital. It was the best that could be done on short notice. Shiki is only three jumps away from Akar, just close enough to get there, rush a dress fitting, and get back in two weeks for the gala. TC Prime was simply too far to be ontime.

This is always a bit frustrating. TC controls a vast empire, yet word can’t reach home of your exploits for weeks. Even worse, the time isn’t as long when you’re the one in the ships jumping systems. For you, each jump is a matter of only several hours even though you lose two to three days even on a fast ship. You are literally losing days to the outside world, which is just how long-distance interstellar travel is in TC.

But it’s important that you make an impression and you can’t wear something old or second-rate. Kikuji does at least offer a few styles. There are long kimono-style formal gowns. There are shorter, sleek dresses that fit nearer to your body. There are shoulderless and backless dresses with slit legs. There are cross-hatched jackets and there are suit jackets, and there are the sort of silk shawls that Almira so favors (she’s already bought three new ones, keep up). There are even a few designs that must have been inspired by Mayze Serpaws, uneven work with only one shoulder and the skirt going longer on one leg than the other, though still in the Shiki style with silk fabrics and embroidery.

Who do you take with you on this journey, knowing that two weeks will become mere days and time will be so precious? And knowing your mother will be there the whole time?

[Thanqol]

The lance has found her heart.

"... Thank you for listening to me," said Solarel quietly. The radio static of the comms was audible now that the music of the Makhaira has died along with its reactor. "I was listening too. I think that was my problem. When I heard, Speak Not to the Outsider I took it to mean that I should express myself with my actions alone. I put my heart and soul into every battle. Few heard me. The only people who heard me were those who made a deliberate effort to listen."

"... so maybe that's what the Sage meant. That I should listen rather than speaking. And now the two people closest to me have both told me the same thing. They don't want to fight me as I am. They want to fight me at the height of my power. Different reasons, but the same desire. I had planned to show my love through planning, understanding, Tactics. Showing that I knew you so well that I could find your most hidden weaknesses. But that's not what you need. That's not what she needs. So yes, I've heard you. I will travel to Roevg, infiltrate the Imperial Palace, and reclaim the Aeteline. It will be my stake in the final rounds of the tournament."

"I hope what I have shown you about your own strength today is enough to let you defeat it. I hope what I have shown you of our friendship is enough for you to help me steal it."

[Phoe]

"Solarel."

Her voice softens. Her technique liquefies. No longer the martial artist dodging and countering on a knife's edge, suddenly Mirror is a rush of maddening aggression bending at impossible angles as if she didn't have joints to begin with. Most children of Hybrasil are gifted with highly flexible bodies, but here she is like fighting a thunderstorm. Pieces of the Gods-Smiting Whip seem like they must be melting, or else shifting into some other dimension when its arm curls around its back to snatch a tail and twirl it in a circle like a blade.

The only thing she cannot do, or rather does not do, is land a kill shot. The thunder is yet far away. The wind is yet gentle. The rain is yet warm.

"Everything I have done so far across this entire tournament has all been for the sake of defeating her. All my secrets have been saved for her sake. All of my techniques have been refined against the best in the galaxy to measure up to her. All of my games and all of my restrictions are just an artifact of wanting... no. Needing. To be better than her best. And I have not reached those heights yet. I have further yet to climb. Even my offer of a nap was another claw I am sharpening against Solarel."

This right here is the true deathblow. Solarel's ultimate technique has always been her use of information. The toxic infodumping to overwhelm an opponent's ability to reason. The strategic declarations of emotion to fluster someone into giving her what she wants, or to trick someone into taking what they want. Sounds simple when said, but it's far subtler than that. If Mirror understood how to describe it she would not be so awed by it. Even where she has defeated this power has largely felt like a factor of luck instead of personal growth. This too might be another layer of the form. Infinite petals, spiraling around the center of the universe. Potentially undefeatable in the end.

But even this is a distraction. The scything of the final blade disguised as a wistful sigh. The reason the One Day Defense did not last longer was the same reason Solarel had left a string of broken cats, broken hearts, and shattered pride behind her on her campaign across Hybrasil space. The true name of her power was evil incarnate. Even just to speak it was to risk falling prey to it.

Fulfillment. Once it sets in there's no coming back. The flames that fuel a warrior turn to a baker's warmth, and the final blow never quite reaches all the way it needs to strike true.

"I entered this tournament not knowing she would be here. I do have dreams outside of fighting her which made it worth contracting my services out to the main government. Ordinarily, we would not align. Ordinarily, we would find the idea of working together, hmph. Distasteful. But my dream is worth theirs a thousand times over. And even that. Even that is ultimately about defeating Solarel."

She rises off the ground now, still no thrusters. Purely with Nine-Tails' leaping power she takes to the sky to drop kicks in the pattern of a meteor shower on the Ginger Tiger's head. Faster and faster, harder and harder, beyond reasonable endurance, beyond typical physicality. Can your gifts keep up with hers still, Kiriala? You want to try, don't you? Are you any closer to Mirror's riddle?

"No one understands her. It was not the power of the Aeteline that made her untouchable. It was not trickery that made her skilled. It is not enough to be faster than she is, stronger than she is, smarter than she is, nor more magnificent or beautiful or to dream larger dreams than her absurdly blindered brain can conjure. It is not even enough to love her. Defeating Solarel, truly besting her... that is something only I can do. With this machine. With this body. With this dream.

"I am through being coy. I am inviting you to share in that dream. Hybrasil does not raise knights, but in my time among the Zaldarians I became one anyway. And now I stand before you with that title and the threat of falling into darkness. One final chance to determine the fate of our game today. Will you pull me away from blasphemy? Will you use me as a lover, will you attempt to draw me at last into the world of the Huntress? Or will you fall to me, fall with me, and try to live inside of what I am building?"

[Mirror is opening up to someone whose regard matters to her, and dropping her Feelings back down to zero]

[Tatterdemalion]

What does Jade do when she is threatened? When her lance is insufficient (because she will not use it to be cruel, because she wins by the rules that she sets out for herself)? She constricts, she restrains, she seduces, she caresses.

Out comes the cord.

She seemingly overbalances, lets the lance be batted to one side, but she uses it as counterbalance, and the cord wraps around one of the Snow Goose’s wrists, the lead swinging in smaller, tighter circles. She darts to one side, pulling it taut long enough to force her opponent to strain, and then lets out another length, enough for her to dart around, laughing, light-footed.

Each punch could end her. So she seeks to pull those wrists in, force the powerful mercenary to strain against her own frame. She is fast— so fast! Her suit is damp with sweat. She is tying this warrior with her own ropes, and Jade whispers of pressing her up against the foe, chest to chest, both of them pretty little packages for her glory. Each flex, each pull, convinces her that the whole thing is going to come undone, that she’s going to be yanked off her feet, that she’s going to be wrapped so, so tight— but Jade is correcting for her, always knows where to put her balance, knows knows knows her knots! She slides between the thick thighs of the Snow Goose and pulls the cord up taut, tight, hooks it to the web between her shoulders.

And then, because Dolly is such a good girl, because they’re on camera, because she fucking wants to, she shoves her body against the Snow Goose, front to front, trusting in the cord to hold. Daring it to hold. If it does not, she loses.

“Pray to me,” she purrs. “And I will bless your family and their stars, lifter-of-stones, teaser-of-princesses.” She can feel the current running through the cables— no, not current. Magic. The magic nips at her skin and sends vibrations running through her front. Jade’s hands are on her cheeks, squeezing, rubbing, playing with her collar, digging nails into her thighs, making her shake with the effort of staying there, doing what she’s told, pressed up against a tamer of princesses, and don’t they get the big Terenian dresses and crowns? What would she look like in one? Princess Seven Quetzal… “A homecoming I will promise you. All I ask is worship. Well. Worship… and service to be discussed later.”

Princesses. Yes. An explanation would be most useful. Another honor for her peerless bride! And another desired torment, yes? Oh, how you will sing of princesses for her, pilot!

[Jade manages an 8 on Defying Disaster with Grace, and risks the match on it.]