Emeth

Kurai Majokko: Tsundere Gekido

"Summoners aren't exactly known for their speed, you know?"

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Evil Eye stopped venting her frustrations mid-swing, turning to regard Schrade as she descended next to her—the aura of their leader was impossible to ignore whenever she transformed. She would finish that swing without looking at her opponent as the weakling miseria sought to take advantage of her hesitation. Her lazy-lidded eyes went wide at her superior's words just a moment before she took off to rescue the others. It was as if she knew how Evil Eye was thinking of her. A leader—me, the weakest among us? She scoffed inwardly at the notion that Rei would ever willingly pass the torch of protecting Hibusa Town to her.

Evil Eye both admired and hated Rei. Few things could draw her ire like a puzzle that she could not solve, and the girl was simply indecipherable. Was she mocking her just now, or trying to be encouraging? Did she really care about the Detention Club, or was maintaining it more trouble than she felt it was worth? Was she trying to remind the others how inadequate they all were, or was she truly out of touch with their capabilities? Did she want to be in touch? Was she showing off her power to demand their respect, or did she on some deep level need to feel like her presence was important, like Evil Eye herself did? Did she want Evil Eye's reports of the goings-on of Hibusa Town because she really needed them, or was she humoring her? Was she lazy at heart, or trying not to get in the way and stunt their growth? Analyzing the girl's actions made Evil Eye feel like she was going cross-eyed. She simply could not reconcile the two images she had of Rei into a cohesive whole.

It was Hizuki who took her attention away from the spectacle that was the Demon of Hibusa. "You're not dead. Don't be so dramatic," she chided hypocritically. She closed her eyes and consulted her Mogall, inspecting the damage. All things considered, she got off relatively unscathed compared to the others—but only because she'd sacrificed one of her strongest minions to escape a matchup she considered unwinnable, and stuck close to Rei. She'd been thinking the same as Earthshaker, in the end—asking for Rei's help was the same as throwing in the towel. She was their win button—one that was old and tired and worn, and did not always register input when pressed—but one that was absolute. Evil Eye then turned her eyes to Shatterscape—eyes that probed, but did not immediately judge.

The Hourglass Order

Marhazannet

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Sorriso is banished to the Omenaxan, and Virang stands poised to seize the day. Black King, however, has other plans, and calls in a favor from an exorcist. The demon, a fraud, shrinks back in fear, but Zarina's wildblood manas awaken and tip the scales back to a neutral position. The dragon and the exorcist prepare to battle, the dragon indistinguishable from a demon in the eyes of the Palaparese rebels. They seem evenly matched, but will anything survive their climactic showdown?

Palapar 5: The Dragon and the Demon

It seemed that, for the time being, Devasa had been held off by friendlies and central command was safe. That was just as well, for Marco was healed not so very far from there. He was sitting on a cot, his armour on the floor, flexing his freshly healed calf when a tall black-clad figure appeared in the doorway. It was King. "You've dealt with demons before?" It wasn't really a question.

Marco did not immediately answer his partner in crime, but instead experimentally kicked at the air as high as he could, then held his foot there for several seconds. He seemed to be testing the strength of his leg, and after a brief silence transpired between the Volti and his prospective recruit, the Century appeared satisfied with the work of the medics and began preparing himself for battle once more. Their attempts at undressing him had nearly caused Marco's identity to be exposed. He had to fight tooth and nail to keep their mitts off of his helmet, which was the only piece of armor he refused to remove when the healers diagnosed his injuries.

Taking a knee in front of "King", Marco buckled the straps of his shin brace and tucked his pants into an armored boot. "I don't deal with demons Black King. I exterminate them. It's kind of the reason why the Century recruited me in the first place."

King waved him off. "Is there any other way to deal with them?" he replied, gesturing out the tent flap with his chin. "Feel that flash of temporal magic - the one outside your range that's big enough that you still pick it up?" He nodded. "That's where we need to go."

Then, he paused. He tugged at his ear and furrowed his brow. "You first. I'll be there." he stalked out of the room.

It was time to get back into the fight. Marco quickly inspected his weapons which were still splayed across the table atop a long roll of sackcloth. They were in quite the pathetic state after his run ins with Selma and the harlequin kite. Haghoridir's mana reservoir was still pulling material out of the environment in an effort to repair itself, and in its present state was barely two inches long at its broken tip. His witchwood bow, made from the living root of a writhing tree, was partially charred from magma and dragon fire and would require some tender loving care under the hands of a skilled binder. They were basically useless.

"I will return for you when this is over my dear friends." Marco tenderly brushed his fingers across the hilt of his trusted sword and then exited his tent without hesitation. Tools were not what made him strong. A Century's greatest asset was and always would be the strength of their faith, their body, and their Gift.

An unexpected surprise awaited Marco as a familiar war horse appeared from beyond his line of sight and bumped his shoulder with her snout. It was the same horse that he had borrowed when he rode to recapture Tiger Hill. There was a scar on her rump where she had taken a stray bullet, although the healers had clearly patched her up. It seemed that her owner had still not come back. Maybe they never would.

"You're eager to bring an end to this war too, aren't you gal?" Marco climbed into the horse's saddle and affectionately stroked her mane. The chestnut colored steed flicked her tail in approval and released a gentle whinny. "Hyah!" Marco shook the reins and took off in the direction of his most dangerous opponent of all. The moonlight was growing stronger now. Her signature was unmistakable. Zarina's power was comparable to only a handful of opponents he'd faced in his entire life, and he wasn't sure he would win this time. To say that he wasn't afraid would be a lie, but it was his ability to keep moving forward in spite of his fear that proved his devotion to Eshiran. He would die on his feet before he ran away from his duty. That would never happen again.

Zarina was, indeed, entranced. No response from her, pupils wide and matching the shape of Ipte's bloody moon she fixated. Marco knew she was going to turn. He could end this now, but alas, here stood a genuine monster seeking nothing more than the havoc the dragon would bring. The sort of game he so happened to specialize in.

The demon licked their lips, restoring order was not part of her objectives. The boy only called to her with the desire to kill the yellow masked Volto. . . and since they're no longer able to clash for a loooong time, that means she has free reigns, right? But for as long as the scaly woman amuses her, she will play along.

They noticed a foreign rebel approaching the entranced Zarina. Reshanas's grin disappeared for just a second. He did not look as interesting as the yellow masked one, nor did he hold the presence of the dragon lady. Since the fat man was quite filling, she only needed a small snack and the horse will do fine enough. . . and to watch a potential fall made it all the more appetizing.

"No, no, no. You won't ruin my fun. Missus Scales is for me." And she drew from the galloping mount.

And so the Century fell, just as the demon hoped he would. Marco had just come within eyesight of his quarry when he was suddenly flung from his saddle. He rolled into the fall with his shoulder, then his back, and finally landed in a low crouch. He turned his head to look for his horse, and was stung in the chest when he realized that the poor beast was literally falling apart at the skin, as if something was rapidly aging her into dust. She never stood a chance.

Marco straightened up and glared at the demoness from underneath his helmet. He was pissed now. I thought Soldato was joking. That's an actual fucking demon. Feels like one from the top of the hierarchy. What would have happened if I wasn't here today? Angling his gaze to the left, he could plainly see that Zarina's transformation was already halfway complete. Maybe he could still take her out of he acted now, but based on the demon's actions he could assume that it would do everything it could to get in his way. It was better to send this... thing back to the depths of hell so it wouldn't have a chance to team up with its Wildblood companion, whose body was already starting to grow beyond the constraints of her armor.

"False angel who steals the hearts of men, know that you have come here seeking only your demise! You stand before a scion of the sacred Pentad, and by my power you shall drink the wrath of Eshiran!" Marco's magic signature rapidly shifted into an unrecognizable wavelength. Whatever drawing source he was pulling from, it did not exist in this material plane, and it was not a kind of energy that the succubus was fond of at all. Just like particles annihilated on contact with antiparticles, there existed aberrations that could turn a human being into the antithesis on demonkind. Marco was one such mage, having consumed a white aberration in his childhood which granted him the power of an Exorcist, and as his manas grew fat with power, so too did the blinding aura that was visible only to the demon of Ipte.

"Begone!" Marco roared and blasted the vile being with a wave of holy magic.

"Gross, are you a church boy? . ." The demon looked a little grossed out by their sheer being. "Always so upright and brave. Mommy or daddy Eshi will be so proud o—h shit!"

The aura instilled hesitence within the demon. Soon the body would change, the frame becoming less overtly feminine.

No more naps, mister vessel. They shook the very soul of the rat.

Till you next time, Fisky.
After a short while the demon had become but a human. A human that would inevitably get hit by the church boy's holy magic. It stung, it hurt, but in comparison, it could have been worse.

The little time Faiskal's now form bought for Zarina was enough for the gnarly metamorphosis to complete. A big puddle of blood was left at the wake of numerous bones cracking, skin ripping and scales piercing through what was once human flesh. Thick and not yet coagulated, the mass of red was all that was left behind as the creature had simply vanished the moment attention was brought away from the demon and toward the moon-enthralled Virangish.

Following the compulsory shit-eating the recently possessed had to undergo, the threads of time and space rattled and echoed loud enough for Marco to be tipped off. Something was coming, something big. In an instant, she was to his right, though he had since seen it coming. She wasn't close enough to be literally breathing on him, but the immense heat generated from her core and the stench of sulfur were already overpowering. No attack came just yet, only an ebony creature hunched and on all fours.

Her face held evidence of her humanity, it resembled Zarina in many ways, but the bone structure had slightly alterned to favour more draconic traits. The horns had matured, curled like a goat's and had reduced her hairline by a good third, though said hair still remained and flowed in the endless gusts of wind born of the tempest of war. Her eyes were still amber, though they were just that, amber with no white sclerae and a singular, reptilian pupil. Teeth were thick, visible from her consistently parted lips. The rest of her body was covered in black scales, thick and mightier than most metals. A true apex predator, said to be long extinct by the few experts on the subject. Her arms were perhaps the most altered, being almost twice the normal length if one followed proportions and a membrane connecting them to the dragon's core.

Zarina pushed on her hind legs, standing before the large, red moon and casting a mighty shadow on the Century. A good ten feet, if one counted the horns and she stood completely upright - a feat she did not display so far.

“You should.” an unnatural pause from an even more unnatural voice. Her vocal cords had adjusted to the massive change in her throat's anatomy, creating this distorted, human-dragon mix where the latter was winning. One had to imagine a constantly roaring dragon, with its hisses and groans, trying to speak, all the while having the the pitch of a young woman. “Go.”

Marco's entire body was paralyzed. He felt like if he moved even an inch, this beast with the face of a woman would bite his head from his shoulders. Every breath was taken manually, every heartbeat filled with fear-induced adrenaline. The young Century could feel his gloves pooling with sweat. He couldn't help himself. No matter how mature he was mentally, this body he had stolen from his past self was still just that of a student. Some fears could only be overcome through physical experience, and that he currently lacked.

She can manipulate time just as easily as I can. What am I going to do? Marco licked the perspiration from his lips. Black King possessed magic that the holy knight had never encountered before. He had outrageously strong allies of his own. That man had to come to him to finish the job. Something had gone horribly wrong with their plans. If it had come to this, then Marco's defeat would probably result in the complete capitulation of the entire Republic army. That burden placed a weight on his shoulders that he wasn't sure he could carry on his own.

I guess I'll just go for it! If I can't beat her, the war will continue exactly as it did before and the future will be lost! The two enemies stood frozen, each one waiting for the other to make the first move. The wind pulled a leaf from a small sapling a short distance away, and when it touched the grass, Marco and Zarina vanished from sight.

An unseen impact caused the ground to explode, leaving behind a smoking crater. Invisible forces collided and created a rippling shockwave that blew back any bystanders that happened to be standing nearby, impossible for a normal person to see with the naked eye. The fighters clashed with fist and tooth and claw, sparring at the speed of light as they engaged in a battle of temporal acceleration. Only a few bystanders who hadn't fled the scene could even comprehend the individual movements exhibited by each duelist. A stone crushing backfist which passed over Zarina's head. A blade-like talon that missed Marco's throat by centimeters. This was not a showdown between humans any longer.

For every four missed attacks from either party, one collided with the other. Colossal powers clashed and ushered in shockwaves that inevitably swept those nearby and left lines of craters in their wake. An imperceivable fight that took lives seemingly at random, Virangish and Rebel alike. A sense of dread washed over all those that witnessed the event, an experience no different than a rookie's first fire fight where at any second a bullet could enter their skull. At any moment, it would be lights out, no matter what they did.

Zarina was truly a beast, relentless and indifferent to any sort of punishment she'd take. Tales of her scales were anything but hyperbolic, they could sponge the mightiest of cleavers and regrew at a staggering rate. An arm was even sacrificed at one point, only for a new one to progressively burst out of the stump until fully renewed. To compare her to a demon was about as accurate as said tales. And she wasn't all defense either, every strike came with the potential to end things. Bites, slashes, jabs, tail whips. Then came the fiery breath and its toxic aftermath. This thing was truly an instrument of Ahn-Eshiran, administering pure death by design. What sort of animal could exist to produce such a specimen?

The core heated up more and more as their brawl persisted with little progress on either side. The hotter it got, the brighter the flames were, until their converted into pure, death rays of nuclear devastation. Land cut by these blades of blue energy soon erupted into flames. And following the beams were her very claws igniting with that same, destructive energy - a human touch, she still had a partially human mind. There were tactics, she recognized his approaches.

Something was coming. The escalation of her destructive capabilities promised as much. It was going to be devastating. Standing near her would be unbearable to most without Marco's abilities.

In the middle of their fight, the titans wordlessly concluded that they were equally matched in their ability to twist and pull the threads of spacetime, and with an explosion of light the warriors reappeared into view. Marco swung his fists only to have them caught in the palms of her scaly hands, pushing the two of them into a contest of strength. For a few seconds they were dead even, but it didn't take long until his boots began to sink into the ground. Even with full body kinetic augmentation, he was still just a human. He could see the glint of humor in the creature's eyes as she patiently overpowered him, not even exerting the maximum extent of her strength.

Rather than let his arms get ripped out of their sockets, Marco ended the struggle by jumping into the air and kicking at Zarina's exposed chin. The wildblood released her grip and swayed backwards, leaving him hanging helplessly in midair long enough to deliver a punishing kick to his midsection. The rebellion's final weapon was sent flying across the field like a ragdoll.

Forcing himself to his feet once more, the wounded Century struggled to regain his focus as his vision blurred from sweat and exhaustion. When he tried to breathe, he felt pain deep inside of his chest. Marco had caused more damage than he received, but his opponent possessed endless stamina and regeneration. The longer they fought, the more the scales tipped in Zarina's favor.

"Grr...! It's not over yet!" Marco stretched his arms out and used his telekinesis to steal a pair of bayonets from the rifles of two fallen soldiers, then took a new stance. His body began to vibrate rapidly as he kicked his acceleration into high gear, but unlike their first clash Marco was not altering the flow of time. This was pure physical speed. The Century's afterimage was disappearing and reappearing so quickly that one Marco became two. The twin warriors closed the gap between themselves and Zarina at breakneck speed, leaving a massive trench in the earth created in the wake of his kinetic charge. A pair of blades swung at Zarina from both sides, but only one of them was the real Marco. Would she avoid and counterattack? Was her regeneration so powerful that she could simply take the attack head on and crush him? He didn't know or care. He was just using every trick he had to try and catch her off guard.

Two enemies. It hardly mattered which was fake and which would explode should she stare at it long enough. They both were going to be swallowed by the dragon's fury.

Space was instantaneously created between Zarina and literally everything around her - an omnidirectional Extend Space bolstered by an inhuman magic capacity. Marco was also a temporal mage and could likely adapt, but his approach no longer had the coordination he had hoped for. And with this change in distances came a sudden burst of searing heat from her body. The closer he got, the more intense the heat and the stronger the metal taste in the air was. If he hadn't caught on already, the area was becoming increasingly irradiated.

The peak of this exchange was imminent. The absurd power accumulated in the nuclear reactor that was her core - her very heart - was ready to unleash Eshiran's flame. In a singular flap of her arm-wings, she generated a tempest of wind and repositioned herself high above.

A final, quake-inducing draw rang like a swan song to those that met the dragon's gaze. It was now or never, Marco.

Marco could feel, in that moment, something reach for him through the distorted space and time all about. It was a tentative tether: a lifeline from someone less well-versed in temporal magic, but it was an anchor nonetheless, and it reached him and bound him to this moment in time should he need to return to it.

Lunti could feel them again: too close, the monsters. Above, a little red dragon shot up at a vast grey one. The first one was an ally, he thought. Then they were thrashing about in the sky and anybody remotely close might die from it.

He ran and an enemy soldier swiped at him, but she missed and then they were apart and it was pointless to turn back and try to kill her, for she was not pursuing him. He missed a step and stumbled over a boot. It was heavy and there was probably a foot in it, but he didn't have time to consider, as it was all that Lunti could do to keep his balance. He hoped that Sinta was away from the dragons.

Then, with no warning, the world... stretched. It stopped making sense and he was in the same spot but everything between he and the distant hellscape where the yawa and the armoured man fought seemed longer and further. He stumbled back without understanding and broke his own cardinal rule.

It was both the most and the least surprising thing as a bayonet pierced him through the back and poked out of his bloodstained jacket.

Marceline had been trying to get through to Zarina for the past three minutes, but she could not find her half the time. The battle had stained the ground with the blood of over ten thousand casualties on each side. These two things combined to remind her of just how small she was and how little she could do.

There was nothing. Zarina was lost to the dragon and its fury and, if Marco did what she thought he was going to do, they might both be dead from it. Already, Marci could feel the first hints of temporal pressure building: just a slight feeling of tightness atop her stomach, a little discomfort behind the eyes. The spell that she now cast, taking one of the rare moments that her sister was accessible and pulling free a thread from space and time for her, would accelerate the discomfort. She had the sense that it wouldn't matter, though. An end was coming. She knew it. One way or another, it was imminent.

With a single spell, the path of time split into branches. How many times did Marceline try to save Marco only for him to die on the spot? Because of the laws of nature, there was no way for either of them to comprehend the countless tragic fates he suffered as he was slain by Eshiran's flames. Too slow to react, too weakened by radiation sickness, too hesitant to end the life of a fellow student of the academy. In countless versions of history, this was where the Century's life came to an end.

But today's history was the one in which Marceline succeeded. She watched from afar with bated breath as the battered soldier reached for the sky and began to absorb the dragon's attack, protecting the hundreds of Virangish and Palaparese soldiers who would have otherwise succumbed to a roiling wave of atomic fire. Nobody really believed that his capacity could match that of a draconic wildblood. Many began to pray as they waited for the end to come, as the foreign warrior, mighty as he was, would inevitably reach his limit and die from an overdraw. That was the natural conclusion that they expected to take place.

So why could they feel his power still growing?

"Hah... hah.... are you there Soldato?" Marco gasped. He could feel the magusjaeger nearby, but the Volti's incomprehensible magic was hiding him right at the edge of the Century's awareness. Marco wondered, was he watching from the sidelines because he knew there was nothing he could do, or had he been helping the entire time?

"Well, even if you're... not there... I guess I'll just talk... huff... anyways. I might be... dead soon." Marco's old wounds began to run with fresh blood. The immense pressure building inside of his manas was causing his blood pressure to skyrocket. "I've met someone like you once. Someone who gave me the same impression you do." He was already at his maximum capacity of eight point five. "You've seen it... haven't you? The grove I mean. You've been m-marked with a special fate." Marco gasped for air. He was beyond his limit now at eight point seven. "I'm not s-special. I can't change the laws of reality or... or... transform myself into a dragon..." Eight point eight. Eight point nine. Nine point one. Marco's energy intake was reaching inhuman levels. Bystanders were already beginning to faint under the weight of his gigantic magical presence. Nine point two. Nine point three. Nine point four.

"But..." Marco grunted. The pain was becoming extreme. Ironbloods couldn't hold onto their charge forever or they would literally explode from the inside. The Century turned his head to where he thought Desmond might be and smiled from behind his visor.

"I can protect all of you!" Zarina's dragonflame finally abated, against all odds unable to break through Marco's mind boggling defense. He could feel his skin tingling. If he didn't release his stored up energy now, he was going to kill himself. The young knight clapped his hands together and spread them out, creating a portal twice the size of Zarina herself. As she gazed into the opening in space, she recognized what looked like the middle of the rebel encampment. It was the spot where they had helped him gather his secret weapon, which he had spent an entire week preparing in anticipation of fighting someone like her.

"My turn." Out of the portal erupted a shower of spears so vast that it blocked out the sun. Thousands of fragments of sharpened rock and steel, that he had beaten into shape over the course of several days, fired out of Marco's gateway like a Sirrahi machine gun. She tried to avoid them, but it was like trying to dodge rain. As soon as the first stake pierced her hide, dozens of them, hundreds of them followed, until her body became more iron than flesh. Zarina kept regenerating, and Marco kept shooting until the stakes started bouncing off of each other. The assault lasted for well over a minute, until Marco's manas finally ran dry and the portal ultimately closed itself.

Marco couldn’t witness the result of his final gambit. When the attack was over, he blacked out on the spot.

Lunti could feel them again: too close, the monsters. Above, a little red dragon shot up at a vast grey one. The first one was an ally, he thought. Then they were thrashing about in the sky and anybody remotely close might die from it.

He ran and an enemy soldier swiped at him, but she missed and then they were apart and it was pointless to turn back and try to kill her, for she was not pursuing him. He missed a step and stumbled over a boot. It was heavy and there was probably a foot in it, but he didn't have time to consider, as it was all that Lunti could do to keep his balance. He hoped that Sinta was away from the dragons.

Then, with no warning, the world... stretched. It stopped making sense and he was in the same spot but everything between he and the distant hellscape where the yawa and the armoured man fought seemed longer and further. He stumbled back without understanding and broke his own cardinal rule.

It was both the most and the least surprising thing as a bayonet pierced him through the shoulder and poked out of his bloodstained jacket. He let out a strangled cry and ripped himself free, not even comprehending the pain, the sheer damage, that another human being had done to him. He tried to turn, dully preparing himself for the fatal blow, thinking that it was as good as any other way to die, even though he did not want to.

But the blow didn't come.

Instead, some ways - but not enough ways - away, there came a point of light and power so intense that Lunti could feel it inside of him, even over the pain and exhaustion that dulled everything else. He watched and he realized what it likely meant. He was not able to summon hatred. Why? It was all that came to him, and there was no more.

The glow erupted as Lunti and thousands of others like him watched from afar. It seemed destined to destroy them all, for one man, one mortal man, even as powerful as the Gods had made him, could not contain that. And so the soldier watched, because that was all he could do. He had not always been a soldier, but he might die one right now. Dimly, it occurred to him to kill his enemy, and his eyes and those of the man who had stabbed his shoulder met for a wary moment. They would both die by dragon. These mages couldn't tell one little beetle from another.

But then, the armoured man kept pulling it in: more of it, and more still. Something in Lunti returned, for a moment. It returned and he watched, hoping that this one man could do it: that he could stand against evil and -

The light was gone. The death of them all was contained, in one man. The soldier couldn't really even see him. And then, it rained death. A thousand holes in the sky opened, and he recognized, as he watched them rain down on the yawa, that the things striking her were those strange metal shards that people had been hiding just behind Tiger Hill over the past few days.

The dragon fought them, and Lunti hoped. She dodged them, swallowed them with her own portals. She disintegrated and blew them up. She forced them away, but then they struck. This man was not a man, the former fisherman understood. He was a God. People had said that a God had saved the city of Betalo from the Virangish.

More of the projectiles struck, and they skewered her. More, still, until she lay, a great misshapen heap of the things growing out of the ground all around her. Still, it grew, and the portals began to flicker and close, but it was not enough. It would never be enough, for she was -

He felt the steel touch his neck: cold and impossibly hot, and he knew no more.

They were thrashing about in the sky and anybody remotely close would die from it. Lunti ran and an enemy soldier swiped at him, but she missed and then they were apart and he hesitated before turning to kill her, for she was not pursuing him. He missed a step and stumbled over a boot and she was gone. It was heavy and there was probably a foot in it, but he didn't have time to consider, as it was all that Lunti could do to keep his balance. He hoped that Sinta was away from the dragons.

Then, with no warning, the world... stretched. It stopped making sense and he was in the same spot but everything between he and the distant hellscape where the yawa and the armoured man fought seemed longer. He stumbled back without understanding and broke his own cardinal rule.

It was both the most and the least surprising thing as a bayonet pierced him through the shoulder and poked out of his bloodstained jacket. He let out a strangled cry and ripped himself free, not even comprehending the pain, the sheer damage, that another human being had done to him. He tried to turn, dully preparing himself for the fatal blow. It was as good as any other way to die, even though he did not want to.

But the blow didn't come.

Instead, some ways - but not enough ways - away, there came a point of light and power so intense that Lunti could feel it inside of him, even over the pain and exhaustion that dulled everything else. He watched and he realized what it likely meant. He was not able to summon hatred. Why? It was all that came to him, and there was no more.

The glow erupted as Lunti and thousands of others like him watched from afar. It seemed destined to destroy them all, for one man, one mortal man, even as powerful as the Gods had made him, could not contain that. And so the soldier watched, because that was all he could do. He had not always been a soldier, but he might die one right now. Dimly, it occurred to him to kill his enemy, and his eyes and those of the man who had stabbed his shoulder met for a wary moment. They would both die by dragon. These mages couldn't tell one little beetle from another.

But then, the armoured man kept pulling it in: more of it, and more still. Something in Lunti returned, for a moment. It felt like he had seen this, in some strange way. He returned and he watched, believing that this one man could do it: that he could stand against evil and -

The light was gone. The death of them all was contained, in one hero. The soldier couldn't really even see him, but he knew where he was. And then, he found himself looking up to the sky. It rained death. A thousand holes in the heavens opened, and he recognized, as he watched them rain down on the yawa, that the things striking her were those strange metal shards that people had been hiding just behind Tiger Hill over the past few days.

The dragon fought them, but Lunti believed. She dodged, swallowed them with her own portals, she disintegrated and blew them up. She forced them away, but they struck. This man was not a man, the former fisherman knew. He was a God. People had said that a God had saved the city of Betalo from the Virangish.

More projectiles landed, and they skewered her. More, still, until she lay, a great misshapen heap of the things growing out of the ground all around her. Still, it grew, and the portals began to flicker, but it was not enough. It would never be enough, for she was -

He whirled just on time, as a sword came for his head, ducking away and staggering back. The Virangish soldier across from him shouted something in a language that Lunti did not speak, and he did not want to kill this man, but he would have to in order to live. He did not see the armoured man - the hero - collapse. Instead, he sunk his bayonet into an enemy, and then another, until a frightened young woman hacked deep into his chest with her sword and he lay there on the ground and bled out, staring up at the sky.

With no warning, the world... stretched. It stopped making sense and Lunti was in the same spot but everything between he and the distant hellscape where the yawa and the armoured man fought seemed longer. He stumbled back, somehow expecting it, and twisted on the spot.

It was both the most and the least surprising thing as a bayonet came for him. He stumbled out of its way, beholding surprise on a mustachioed face, and then drove the butt of his sword into the enemy's nose. The Virangishman staggered back, spitting up blood and blinking furiously, and Lunti was a thing of war. He stabbed the man through the neck and, exhausted but triumphant, watched him fall.

He turned, for some reason.

Some ways - but not enough ways - away, there came a point of light and power so intense that Lunti could feel it inside of him, even over the pain and exhaustion that dulled everything else. He watched and he somehow knew what it meant. He was not able to summon hatred. Why? It was all that came to him, and there was... why couldn't he stop it? Why couldn't someone stop it?

The glow erupted as Lunti and thousands of others like him watched from afar. It seemed destined to destroy them all but, as if answering his question, one man, one mortal man, made powerful by the Gods, stepped forward to contain it. And so the soldier watched, because he was not that man and this was all that he could do. He had not always been a soldier, but he might die one right now. Dimly, it occurred to him to kill his enemy, but he remembered that he already had. Lunti would at least die by dragon or monster, whenever that would come.

But then, the armoured man kept pulling energy in: more of it, and more still. Something in Lunti returned. He returned and he watched, knowing that this one man could do it: that he could stand against evil and -

The light was gone. The death of them all was contained, in one hero. The soldier couldn't really even see him, but he knew where he was. And then, his eyes went to the sky. It rained death. A thousand holes in the heavens opened, and he recognized, as he watched them hammer down on the yawa, that the things striking her were those strange metal shards that people had been hiding just behind Tiger Hill over the past few days. He felt a sense of satisfaction: his contribution to the death of a monster that would've killed them all.

The dragon fought, but Lunti knew. She dodged, swallowed them with her own portals, she disintegrated and blew them up. She forced them away, but they struck just the same. This man was not a man, the former fisherman was certain. He was a God. People had said that a God had saved the city of Betalo from the Virangish. Lunti had been blessed. he had met divinity.

More projectiles landed, and they skewered her. She lay, a great misshapen heap of the things growing out of the ground all around her. Still, it grew, and the portals flickered, and the soldier wondered if it would be enough. Could it ever be enough? Would they ever be safe, for she was -

He whirled just on time, as a sword came for his head, ducking away and staggering back. The Virangish soldier across from him shouted something in a language that Lunti did not speak, and he did not want to kill this man. For a second, he hesitated, wondering what would happen if he simply did not. They stared at each other for a moment, searchingly. Then, came the slash and Lunti was too slow. He died, staring up at the sky, with regrets.

It was both the most and the least surprising thing as a bayonet came for Lunti. He stumbled out of its way, and he and his mustachioed counterpart stared at each other with wide eyes. Then, he had the thought that, if he didn't strike, he would be killed instead. The man looked at him and the soldier cut him down.

He turned on time to see it and began walking.

Some ways away, there came a point of light and power so intense that Lunti could feel it inside of him, even over the pain and exhaustion that dulled so much. He watched and he somehow knew. He was not able to summon hatred. Why? came the thought to him, and he somehow had a strong feeling about what would happen next. He would have to stop it. Somehow, he would. Why would nobody help... Well, he did not know who, but there was someone who would step up to stop it, who would die doing so. He needed help.

The glow erupted as Lunti and thousands of others like him watched. It was intended to destroy them all but, as if answering his summons, one man, one mortal man, made powerful by the Gods, stepped forward to contain it. But the soldier kept walking, even as his stomach turned and a pressure built in his head. He walked past a man who he could imagine, in his mind's eye, trying to kill him, and a scared young woman who did not.

The armoured man was mighty, and Lunti admired him. He kept pulling energy in: more of it, and more still. Something in the soldier stirred. He reached out, knowing that this one man couldn't do it alone. He could stand against evil, but -

The light was gone and the death that it contained now burning through that singular hero. The soldier could see him clearly in his shining armour, even as his head began to pound and he felt like he might retch. His eyes went to the sky and it rained death. A thousand holes in the heavens opened, and the things that poured forth were the things the armoured man had made and that Lunti and a thousand others like him had spent days moving into place behind Tiger Hill. he had helped the armoured man then. Was there no way that he could help now?

The dragon fought, but the end felt inevitable. What had made her want to do this? Was she truly a creature of evil? He felt as if he might not have thought so much about it before. She dodged, swallowed them with her own portals, she disintegrated and blew them up. She forced them away, but they struck just the same, just as he knew they would. Whether this hero was a man or a God, the former fisherman thought, he did not deserve to have to do this alone, for he was savign them all, and he would suffer for it.

More projectiles landed, and they skewered her. She lay, a great misshapen heap of the things growing out of the ground all around her. Still, it grew, and the portals flickered, and the soldier knew that it was enough. He could see the armoured man waver. He, too, was wavering. "Stop!" he croaked. "You've done it. She's beaten."

He managed to make it a few more steps, as his field of vision narrowed. The energy was unfathomable. He stayed with the world for just long enough to watch a hero fall alongside a demon.

Lunti was bleeding from where a bayonet had stabbed him in the shoulder. He and his mustachioed counterpart stared at each other with wide eyes and the enemy stammered... an apology. He grimaced and nodded and both turned to watch the sky.

It occurred to him that he needed to reach the hero and the yawa and he tried to run, but the bloodstain on his shirt grew. He noticed that there were dozens of people heading closer - maybe hundreds.

There came the dragon's point of light and power and Lunti could feel it inside of him, as he knew he had before. The pain and exhaustion was there, but it not control him. Why are you doing this? he thought at the dragon, for she had been a person, too, at some point. He gave voice to his thoughts, and there were other shouts as well. He knew how this would end. They all knew. This attack would kill her and it would kill...

The glow erupted as Lunti and thousands of others like him ran forward, and the hero arose to stop it: on mortal man who was, in a sense, all of them. The soldier coughed up blood. he staggered and he coughed, but he kept on moving. Cries erupted from the thousands gathered: Palaparese and Virangish alike. Why was this necessary? Why the indiscriminate death?

Lunti saw them in the crowd: men and women who he had killed, or who had killed him. It all felt, in truth, like some kind of strange dream that he had lived already. How many times? He could not say. His stomach turned and pressure built, but he tried to do as he saw some of the mages doing. He tried to draw, with his capacity for magic so meagre as to be effectively nonexistent.

And the armoured man drew too, for he was mighty, and Lunti admired him. He kept pulling energy in: more of it, and more still. They all did.

The light disappeared, the death that it had promised now contained, harmlessly, within each of them. Lunti felt weak, and he swayed on his feet from the loss of blood. Sinta. Where was Sinta?

The shining knight stood there in his armour and a thousand holes appeared across the heavens. It seemed, for the first time, like a threatening thing in its own right, but the projectiles that the armoured man had created and Lunti and a thousand others had moved behind Tiger Hill, rained down upon her nonetheless.

The dragon fought, just as Lunti did, but the end felt inevitable. He was not a soldier. He had been a fisherman before. Sinta had been a seamstress. Tanyag had farmed. The projectiles were dodged or destroyed or deflected, and some struck true. They began to skewer her and he wondered, as his own pain began to fade and he thought that he migth take a seat, if the pain might set her back to her humanity or, if she was feeling less of it, as well, like he was. The portal flickered as the Armoured Man ran out of energy, though Lunti did not see it.

He knelt, exhausted, upon the ground in his shining steel, trembling. The dragon, lying there, impaled a dozen times over, twitched and groaned. Thousands gathered round them: Palaparese and Virangish, warily mixed, guarded. The blood of one good fisherman seeped out of his battered body and into the battered ground, for he had given it freely, as a soldier.

Some ways away, blood leaked from a girl's nose. The people around her were uncannily still, but for a tall middle-aged Virangishman, his hand comfortingly on her shoulder. He reached up with his other to adjust his eyeglasses. The girl swayed where she sat, for she could not have walked even at the best of times. "I..." she grated. "Are they...?"

He nodded and squeezed her shoulder, and she deflated in relief. "Thank... Oraff. I... don't think... I can..."

He shook his head and sighed and gazed out at the battlefield. "Nor will you," the man promised. "It's up to them now."

Zarina had become a dragon, and it was a gruesome image for the Palaparese. There was so much blood, bones snapped and fell to the ground—was Zarina still there, or had her body been consumed and replaced by this beast? In some ways, it was an act of desperation. As Marci tugged on Raffie, warning her not to engage, she proceeded anyway into the blooming death between them.

She tried to draw from Zarina's attack, to stop her from obliterating the battlefield indiscriminately, for that was not the girl that Raffie knew. In the end, she had to rely on that divine power that she used against Ren—the fruit of the gods—just to survive their clash, and her efforts had made no difference. Both lay dead, herself the only survivor, floating high above in all of Raffaella Mataraci's radiance. Perhaps she was an inspirational image for the Virangish, but what was it all for? Zarina was dead. This wasn't what she wanted. It was—

—an act of desperation. As Marci tugged on Raffie, warning her not to engage, she proceeded anyway into the blooming death between them. She could not shake the feeling that Zarina would not survive what was to come. She tried to stop Marco's attack, but he continued to draw well beyond her enhanced capacity, and she was so, so exhausted. Would she die here? This wasn't what she wanted, but perhaps it was what she deserved. It was—

—an act of blind loyalty. She proceeded into the blooming death between them. She would stop Marco, somehow, even if it meant Zarina would obliterate thousands. They would both survive this. They had to. As she attempted to add even more power to Zarina's attack, multiple people tried to stop her, but they could not. In the end, however, she stayed her hand. It was an uncanny and vivid scene. She imagined herself and Zarina standing over Palapar, a wasteland bought with the blood of an unknowable number of lives both innocent and not. She knew that neither Zarina nor her wanted this. It was—

—an act of cowardice. She observed the blooming death between them, and knew that she could do nothing to intervene. It was an ambition of a kind, and perhaps there was some manner of truth to her connection with Vashdal, or perhaps the entity from her dreams was a demon and she was a charlatan after all. It wouldn't matter to her in the least if she could just help Zarina survive, but in the end, it was—

—an act of foolishness. What were these people doing? They were all rushing into the blooming death between them—so many common people with no RAS to speak of. It reminded her of when she was a powerless little thing, with a few curious mana types but nothing more to her name. Only her adoptive mother had seen her for what she was, an ambitious and stubborn girl who didn't know when to quit, hiding behind a facade of feigned helplessness. That persona would not help her here. It was—

—an act of foolish courage. If she was a charlatan, then so be it, but they would both survive this. Across the battlefield she bolted with every ounce of speed that once aided her in running away, when it was the only thing she was good at. She appeared before the Virangish an image of the divine. "If we wish to survive this, and spare Palapar's bounty, we must UNITE!" she commanded.

She appeared before the Palaparese an image of humility, a freckled redhead of unknown origins, or perhaps a lucky little maiden who handed out food at the Blue Star Idasque and managed to survive its burning. She did have burns on her face, after all. "This attack will flatten your homes! Food will not grow for a long time! To stop it, we must UNITE!" she commanded.

It hadn't worked before, but this time, it would. It had to. Soldiers on both sides of the conflict drew from Zarina's attack as one, and with substantially less to feed on, Marco's attack would not be the end for Zarina. It was the only path forward. It was—

—over.

"Zazzy!! ZAZZY!!" Raffie cried, rushing to Zarina's side, weeping over her friend's crumpled form—and she was a strange image. Who was this girl, who was neither Palaparese nor Virangish? She carried something close to the educated bearing and magical talent of a noble, but in her maidsclothes, she could have been the dragon warrior's servant for all anyone knew. Tears streamed down her cheeks, cutting trails of white through the dirt on her face.

"MEND!! MEND!!" she commanded, to little effect, just as before. Even if she had the same training as a binder—and she did not—Zarina's body was a mystery in this state. Her work was slow and not gaining much ground against the dragon's blood loss, and as that realization hit her, the girl's weeping began in earnest, and for a moment there was no war, and no enemies looming behind her back ready to remove her humble red head from its shoulders. Perhaps there were, but she did not perceive them, for in her tiny little world, there was only the imminent death of a loved one, and hollow acceptance of the inevitable—the image of purest tragedy for all to see.

---

Fire, first white, then a concentrated blue. So much fire just to destroy one man. Marco terrified this monster for she had never been pushed this far, especially not as a monster herself. Fear brought out the beast even more and the beast had absolutely no human qualms. And so, we end up with only fire. Not to warm the cold or purify a meal in progress, but to purely destroy and leave nothing but poisonous ash.

As anathema as the result would be to Zarina, the terror was great enough to push out any semblance of conscience she may have at this moment. Everything burned, until the Century unleashed his own trump card. Portals, much like the ones she enjoyed to leverage against difficult enemies. Out of them came the instruments of her downfall. Metal tools of the common en masse, initially consumed by the flames of a tyrant but their numbers were far too great.

The dragon ended up completely skewered while the armoured warrior burned after exhausting himself completely. A painful and horrible death for both. Not the end neither had hoped for either. The battlefield became a wasteland and the plains of Fortuna would remain tainted by the fallout for decades.

---

The flames were once again building up in her belly. Awakening from the blackness engendered by her final clash with Marco, Zarina found herself ascendant toward him, flames about to be unleashed. They had to be as she felt like her innards were about to melt. Her bestial mind did not question it, it must’ve been another trick. Another reason to wipe this threat from her sight.

Wait, was her goal to kill? She couldn’t quite recall. The burning belly was all that she could think of and the sweet release of unleashing all her power.

And so on again they clashed.

One skewered. One burned. Thousands dead afterward. Fortuna scarred. This wasn’t right, she thought, as the lights went out once more.

---

It burns so much …

Zarina felt like she was going to explode. In fact, should she not unleash what she had contained. Marco was poised for a counter and she knew what was coming. But what else could she do? Death was ordained the moment her bestial rage was unleashed and control was but fool’s gold to a Wildblood.

It’s going to come out. she clenched her jaw, delaying the blast ever so slightly. A mere second and a half later than before. I … Can’t … the flames focused into a singular blast of xenon-coated energy befell Marco and the rest of Fortuna.

The impalements took longer to kill her - she knew where the coup the grâce was coming from. One sought her heart but melted instantly with a simple nudging of the dragon’s head.

Instead, her left horn completely shattered and her life ended instantly from a harpoon to the skull.

---

IT BURNS! IT BURNS! IT BURNS!

The all-consuming light of the tyrannus horrifer was inevitable.

IT HURTS SO MUCH! I CAN’T! IT WON’T STOP!

Her jaw was forced open. It was like fighting back the need to vomit when suffering from a uniquely potent plague.

There was nowhere to turn, everywhere she’d kill thousands. There was no teleporting, all her power was dedicated to her core. The only chance for any sort of salvation for anybody, was to keep it on Marco.

Releasing it was relief. A poisoned relief she loathed. A necessary relief. Soon, she died and Marco fell from exhaustion into the poisonous flames.

---

STOP! I CAN’T STOP! STOP STOP STOP! TAKE IT OUT!

The dragon pleaded, but was bound to the strings of her rage and pain. The only out was carnage.

HELP! HELP! I CAN’T STOP! I CAN’T SCREAM! I CAN’T STOP BUUUUUURNING!

Here it came. A fifth ushering of death.

But something changed. A relief, one that came before she belched her purifying flame. Like an abscess finally being drained of its pus, the festering wound that had been torturing her in this infinitesimally small moment in time.

The flames came regardless. No longer all-consuming. She heard the voice of Raffaella, in the distance, somehow. The alleviation of the burden had perhaps allowed her consciousness to use a modicum of spare energy to listen in. All had rallied around a few courageous heroes, her young friend included, to stop this nightmare.

The nightmare. Ever since she had stepped on this island Zarina had believed she alone was the only one that could prevent the nightmare from taking both Palapar and Virang. It was obvious just how wrong she was - the very power she believed in, that would make armies tremble, was the very essence of the nightmare all, no matter the creed or places of birth, fought against with a common goal to stop it.

The dragon fell, skewered all the same, but barely spared death. Raffie found her just as much ripped apart as she was burned by her own failed finisher. The slow heaving of her chest was the only evidence the young mender would have of Zarina’s survival. Scales fell and regrew, manas regenerated and a completely mangled face regained a partial resemblance to the friend Raffie had made ever since they were first brought together by that lovable fool Tommy.

Zarina opened her eyes, still a ten foot and gravely injured monster. She moved to lie on her side, tail wrapped around her waist. She couldn’t produce a sound - her throat was still recovering from the burns. She reached out for her minuscule ally’s hand with her oversized set of partially charred claws as she exhaled, unleashing a soothed, almost purr-like sound coming from her still steaming chest.

Raffie took Zarina's clawed hand in both of her own, small and trembling, and smiled. "I told you I'd be here when you win," she whispered, and there was a silent understanding that she'd emerged victorious against the monster within. The redhead employed her chemical magics, now, to ease the burning pain Zarina was feeling, and accelerate her body's own healing factor. Of course that had been the better solution all along, but she hadn't been thinking about that, or about how her actions today would shape her image as Raffaella Mataraci. Right now there was only Raffie, and Zarina, and this moment of them together, however long the soldiers around them might allow it to last.

The dragon could still smile, the bone structure change hadn't quite dehumanized her just yet. No speaking, still, and she didn't particularly want to either. Zarina was content where she was, lying down as tensions rose again around them. She could sense Nilay patrolling, safeguarding the two from an ambitious rebel seeking to make a name for themselves.

Eventually, the hulking mass of now mellowed Wildblood sat up. Legs crossed and long arms lumped over her jagged knees. The breathing was improving and her vigour was returning, evidenced by the increased activity of her tail, swaying from side to side. She had hoped to find Marco.

After a long, smoky sigh she pushed herself on her legs, though she needed to stay on all fours to maintain her balance. The dragon walked, beckoning Raffie to follow her with her tail, and ignored everybody else. It looked as though she was done.

Zarina found the so-called Hero of Betalo in awful shape. He had suffered through self inflicted injuries from overdrawing, and the debilitating effect of atomic radiation was taking its toll. Without any particular expertise in Atomic magic, he had essentially absorbed a nuclear bomb without personal protection, and his manas were too weakened from the stress to fight for his recovery. The faceless knight lay peacefully in the grass, his armor dented and scorched by their duel. He was breathing but unable to move, as healers from both sides of the conflict gathered around to try and keep him alive. They had succeeded for the most part, as his heart was still beating strong despite his sorry appearance. The crowd that gathered around their savior stared at the approaching beast with a mixture of hatred and terror, and many of them raised their weapons in warning.

Raffie followed wordlessly beside her enormous friend, appearing almost corralled by a protective tail. Gone was the murderous rage, but in its place... what did she plan to do next? Was she going to finish off her opponent? She could only trust in Zarina, her friend Marci, and the plan she did not know. Weapons were raised, and with them, Raffie's arms as she made to stand between them and Zarina. She knew that this was war, but... couldn't this be enough, just for one day? Her eyes pleaded wordlessly for an end. Would they respond with an attempt on her life?

The beast lumbered closer, eyes on Marco and only acknowledged his entourage once blades and spears were raised. Zarina stopped and canted her head. More of her wounds had naturally healed since then. Her lips parted, revealing blackened, sharp teeth. A sign of hostility to any that had seen the destruction she had wrought with only her breath. But instead of flames or even smoke was a dry breath. She was trying to speak.

“H- Hhhh-” nothing. It was hard enough for her to talk coherently when in perfect health, this wasn't going to work out. Instead, she leered at the dying man from her vantage point. The hand that had been holding Raffie's previously rose to about chest levels as she focused her draw. Zarina, the girl that didn't always wear the face of a horrible monster, was known to be a potent chemical mage. With the radioactive resilience of her current form, she had the chance to relieve Marco of his affliction. With a deep inhale, she tried to cleanse him and hoped to set an example for Raffaella to follow.

If it wasn't clean enough, a gentle tail nudge hopefully sparked some initiative.

Raffie wondered at Zarina's actions. Was she thinking clearly? Even if Ren was gone, this was a risky move. Still, when encouraged with a light tail nudge, she also lent her aid to the operation.

Their combined attempts at healing their former enemy paled in comparison to the master healers of the academy, but they were enough to pull Marco back from the point of no return. The sickness which crawled beneath his skin and burned his cells was still there, but its effects were weak enough that he would most assuredly live long enough to seek help of his own accord. His ability to sit up and gaze at the crowd of people hovering around him was proof that their efforts were not in vain.

There was an uncomfortable silence as his sights fell upon Zarina, the terror that was responsible for his present condition in the first place. The soldiers and rebels squeezed their weapons in anticipation of what the knight would do now that he had regained consciousness. They wondered if he planned to finish their duel which had been left unconcluded, as both of them had apparently survived the other's ultimate attacks. He answered the unspoken question with words.

"Gods be praised, it looks like Eshiran has spared us both..." Marco unbuckled his breastplate and let the beat up hunk of metal fall to the ground. It was making it hard to breathe. His voice grew stronger as his lungs filled with fresh air. "May I assume that this is a flag of peace?"

Raffie turned to Zarina hopefully, as if she already knew the answer.

Zarina canted her head once the fallen warrior inquired on their intentions. She hadn't thought too far ahead, it was hard to in this state. The reptilian eyes appeared human for once as she shrugged and half-nodded. Marco had done an effort to speak, and so she forced herself to do so as well. “Ee-” a high pitched and dry sound came from that deadly weapon of a throat. “En-uf.” was what she could muster before retreating her hand back down to the dirt for support. “Enuf.” she peered down to regard her guardian and friend. Did Raffie approve?

"Yes," she agreed, leaning on the dragon. It was a risky path they were taking, but Zarina was alive and still herself, and that was... "Enough."

"Good. Good..." Marco flopped back down on the grass and breathed a sigh of relief. "Because I can't do that more than once." The knight stared motionlessly at the clouds for a little while. "Cherish the lives of your enemies, for today's enemies may be tomorrow's saviors. Mercies, 2:14." He pointed a trembling hand at the scaly wildblood hovering over his head. "I'll win next time. You better watch out."

Zarina's head went from one side to canting to the other. She needed to process what he was saying. His declaration, however, prompted an awkward chuckle. “Hah. Hah.” they sounded more like grunts.

The dragon then looked up to the horizon. There was less fighting, but the moment of unity hadn't suddenly created peace. “Smile Monster. Gone.” she inhaled deeply. “End is possible. How?” once again, she sought her friend's visage for guidance.

Raffie blinked. "We... have to talk to Dani." She, too, hadn't thought very far ahead. That was the thing about war and politics. The ones who planned ahead, planned for victory—not compromise. Now that she realized what peace talks would entail, she wasn't looking forward to it. "Ugh. Before another blood-mad tyrant like Ren starts barking more orders," she emphasized to steel her resolve. There was supposed to be a chain of command, and going around it would have consequences.

So many people had died, and only now, when re-entering the world of politics, did the deaths of "important people" start to matter more than the rest. Who was even in charge, now? Was there someone on the Virangish side she could convince to agree to a ceasefire?

“Ka-kaaa.” an odd choice of word from Zarina. Was it a juvenile way of referencing the rebels? She seemed thoroughly aware of what she was saying as she quickly rose her long arm and shook her head. “Shasha-ni. Kaa-shani.” a little twitch, words were still hard.

Using her already raised arm, she then pointed at Marco. “Dani. You.” a demanding dragon she was.

"Yeah?" Raffie replied, considering as she stared off into the sky. "He's a bit much, buuuut... more importantly, he's not Ren. Let's fetch him." She nodded.

"Say no more." Marco sluggishly rose to his feet. There was an audible crackling sound as several of his joints popped. Helping hands appeared from the midst of the mob to carry him back to headquarters, but the armored man held them all at arms length. He felt rested enough already. "Before I speak with the commander, I must first seek out an associate of mine. Please excuse me." Marco withdrew from the scene with a hobbling gait, favoring his right foot as he limped away from the scorched clearing. If he was going to pitch the idea of a ceasefire to Dani, he needed to talk to Black King first. No matter what happened after this the Volti wouldn't accept an outcome that didn't bring about Palapar's freedom, and after what he had been through to ensure the Republic's victory, Marco wasn't about to settle for the status quo either.

"Ask, and ye shall receive!" came a voice that fell equal parts between booming and haggard. Three liveried guards surrounding him, the viceroy of the Royal Palapar Trading Company - and also a Brigadier General - came striding over a knoll, a large kilij slung over his shoulder.

He came to a stop and took stock of the people gathered, wrinkling his nose at Zarina. "I liked you better as a girl," he muttered, lowering his voice, "but I digress."

Everything seemed to die down, the conflict was over. Fiske had won.
His way was going to succeed. All he needed to do now was make Dani recognize the queen and use the two of them as a unifying factor for all the different peoples of Palapar. The Palaparese monarchy needed to stay around if they wished for stability. Be it as an actual form of governing or as a figurehead, the Queen only brings boons for their entrance on the world stage.

Some foolish rebels had wished to burn everything down and establish a republic, yet reforming would be the best case scenario if they wished to not become a puppet once more. To whom he did not know, the Torragonese, the Rettanese. Hells, even the Revidians have shown that making countries their puppet was not beneath them with Segonia.

He had done what was necessary.
He had felled Ren.
He had caged the yellow-masked Nashorn like a wild beast.
He had crushed every obstacle placed in his way.

And now, exhaustion hit him like a leadvein's punch.

This victory was not sweet, not sweet at all. What he had achieved was nothing short of a Telbic, Moral Victory.

The Volti were not an altruistic band of brothers and sisters with the same goal, but a corrupt organization doing whatever they saw fit as the ‘greater good’. They kill each other on a whim’s notice. How can they even hide behind the good cause of the Traveller when some are vile monsters like Nero?

Fiske’s eyes then turned to his hands, crusted with blood and dirt, shaking uncontrollably. He curled them into fists, but it only made the trembling worse. They were not the hands of a savior, but of a butcher.
Had he become just like Sorriso? He had to cut loose so many people, betray others and leave so many dead in the wake for the goal. Was this what Jascuan saw in him?

The demon was a match for the fat man, in strength and cruelty alike. But deep down, a truth revealed itself.

He loved it.
He loved feeling strong.
And he hated himself for it.

---

Upon a small hill, blasted and scarred with broken weapons and fortifications, overlooking the battlefield and two monsters attacking each other, a man shadowed by darkness sat. He looked on the battlefield as he watched everything unfold. Countless energies building and flowing, the man nodded to himself as he watched the world shift, winding, and unwinding.

His gaze both transfixed upon the battle and two people seeming almost impossibly distant. The man casting his hand at times. Shifting and feeling everything around him anchored. Yet it felt different for him, the world shifted in ways he could see and understand. He took in a deep breath and sighed, as a light ignited everything around him.

Then again, he was shadowed in darkness. Upon that small blasted hill. Almost completely turned to a smoldering boulder from the fighting. The man sat upon the hill, lightly casting his hand in different directions. He lightly pushed and tugged upon the world as he could feel the breaking of a girl trying to shift the world back.

The man looked on as from his side, the shadow next to him grew as a person appeared. He stood tall and strong, yet there was a faint worry in his voice.

"Soldato, what is happening?"

"Our work".

"If this is our work, what shall I do?".

"Whatever you feel is right, my sword. You will know it is right once it is all done".

They booth stood there for a moment before the two men were ingulfed in light. Then it left the original man there. Alone on a shadowed hill.

Power is power. No matter the skill, the work, or the spirit. Power can only be handled with power. His gaze shifted to the countless people below. Hundreds of men and women looking among each other, seeming all too aware of what is happening around them. Scrambling and trying to save themselves, then to save each other.

Power is power, even if it may come from a single individual wielding it all alone. His vision shifted to the fighting once more. Watching the two screaming and roaring out in pain and agony as their magic lashes out against them. The small girl who still struggled against the very notion of reality to try and find an ending she was happy with.

The man casted his hand toward both of them, aiding with the power he had before he shifted himself back. His gaze falling upon the hundreds of men and women. Each drawing and pulling upon the little strings of energy they could muster. Many never even knowing they could until they tried. In this desperate moment, all they could do was try. Yet as they did, and perished, they tried again and again.

Power is power. No matter if it comes from one or one hundred people. It is still power that determines fate.

The man upon the hill sighed as he leaned forward. It had been so long since he could have taken a back seat. He had to always play center stage. He had to always be active, be strong, he needed to even be evil. Being the one who was the most martial and the lightning rod of strength to rally around.

Yet also the one to portray himself as radical to the extent of weeding out out those who would do more evil. Revolutionaries who turned completely radical, willing to kill women, children, innocent or otherwise. He had to kill people who trusted him and were once allied with the Revolution. Trying to create a future where Palapar could exist. Yet in what ways had he needed to lose himself in that pursuit. His head turned to the side as he looked at his broken weapon. A tool, a weapon, and extension of himself that followed him since his introduction to this world.

He had grown quite a bit, and yet he still felt small. He looked to his hand and thought how much was he alone?

As he looked to the great giants around him, he was nothing more than those below. The countless men and women fighting to survive.

Each one trying to find some way to make a difference. Maybe this was what was wished to have happen.

"What a strange dream. Feels too good to be true. If I was a year younger, maybe I would find this wonderful. I may have even been down there, struggling with the rest of them, because that was all I could do. Just like them".

The man shifted slightly as he looked among the groups. Watching each of them struggle. "I even did in another life. Yet here I am, separated all the same. I'm not high enough to make a difference on my own, yet not weak enough not to be here. I'm neither ordinary, nor strong. Just enough to be something, yet not enough to fill or be accepted as either one".

The man laughed to himself for a moment. Leaning back as he was basked in light once more. Now left in a shadow once more. He casted his hand once more towards the two battles being fought. The battle between the two monsters and the armies to try and save the two titans of power and themselves from an atomic death. Then the battles the small girl is having against fate an reality. Trying to find the ending she finds the best.

Light shifts in reality surrounded the man for a moment before shifts happened within both battles. Light pulses of energy that reality changed just a little. If nothing, to help even a tiny bit. In whatever way he could.

Because to be strong is to be able to do something.

And to be weak is to do everything you can.

The man sighed as he looked at the fighting once more. It seemed they all began to get it. They were being inched through time. Slowly creeping as some even began to be injured and wounded from the slow march. Actions once unwritten were being allowed to go as the world intended. Over and over, yet they all still kept trying.

He finally stood up, feeling that they had all figured it out. Now it was time to finish it. The man began to pull upon whatever energy he could from the two giants of power.

Then launched himself off from his lonely hill. Garbed in dark clothing and a mask. He began to use the immense energy of the two monsters and began to perform binding magic on those he could. Healing wounds that if left would be life threatening and allowing them to work as well to pull energy from the two monsters.

It would come down not to the work of a few, but the countless amount of work being done by the many.

Many had fully understood what was happening, which made it all the easier to heal them and get them moving. Black King moved like a man on a mission. Pulling all the energy he could as he used it to heal those he could see. No more had to die, and they all knew it now. It was just up to them to do it.

As finally, after all the work. It had been finished. The countless men and women who worked multiple times to subvert fate have done it. It was finally over.

Their combined efforts had done it.

Maybe it would also bring the war to an end. As they had just stopped the last biggest weapons that either side had.

Seeing the person across from them as different.

Black King lightly waved his hand once more. He could feel the strings of fate have been wound up. Tightened like a rope being twisted, countless twists that were ready to unwind, or burst. Yet he knew they needed this, it was just a small thing he could do to assist the girl who made this all happen. Once more, he pulled on the little bit of reality he could to assist her, even just a little with the strain she pulled upon herself for this.

Black King's gaze scanned the battlefield once more. Countless men and women were standing across from each other. Some with tension, some with relief. Some helping those who were injured.

It was time they did what they had to, and quickly. Fate is not one to wait.

---

Casting about, the Viceroy raised his voice again. "What we have witnessed here, people of this land, is nothing short of an Act of the Dreamer." Hastily and reverently, he made the six-pointed circle with his hands. "It is His will that we should stop spilling blood, and so I, as a man of faith and conscience, am honour-bound to follow his infinite wisdom."

He glanced, momentarily, at a cluster of Palaparese, pagan savages that they were, but kept the distaste from his face. There were, most likely, some good people among them as well, though he had seen precious few. "Even if you believe not in He who has brought All into being, then attribute this to your own Gods. Who am I to question them?" He shook his head. "This is clearly an act beyond the scope of mere men."

He made a show of sheathing his sword and took a seat on the grass across from a rebel who looked... somewhat important, he supposed? In truth, they all looked the same to him, though he'd not admit that except in the confidence of friends and some of his better lovers. This was good, though. The rebels had not breached Sabu and, this way, they never would. He had a bargaining position. He might yet negotiate a peace both on somewhat equal terms, and that depended upon him, Ertan Kashani, as guarantor and central figure. "So, then," he offered, "shall we speak?"

The revolution is over, or so it seems—if only the consequences of meddling with temporal magics could be so easily dismissed. Chaos ensues—in the end, will the fighting simply continue?

Palapar 5: Negotiations Interrupted

Zarina let out what may have been a snort. Or was it a snarl? It was hard to say as dragons seldom strayed from a permanent rested bitch face unless they were with their tongues out. “Still. Girl.” her lips folded to reveal rows of still red-hot teeth and a breath of hot sulfur. The creature perpetually loomed over Virang's leadership like a sentinel gargoyle both serving as both guardian and judge.

“Dani. Bring him.” the dragon demanded again well after Marco had taken off for his superior. Her tail swayed, slowly on one occasion, as swift as a whip in some others. It wasn't the sort of happy swaying one found in a canine, but rather the wary disposition of a cat - Raffie was becoming the new Ayla.

Then arrived Tku. Amber reptilian eyes widened in his direction. The face of a monster melded with a human's watched him closely, slightly canted to the right with what remained of her hair cascading over her shoulder. She made a couple of now obliterated pebbles the casualties of her whipping tail.

"Hmpf. Dragons are cool. Man has no taste," Raffie mumbled.

Tku made notice of Raffie. Just how long had she been on the battlefield? Tku couldn't know so he simply accepted she was here. "I'm not here to fight," Tku announced to Zarina and Raffie, Though mainly Zarina. "Just wondering what is happening here." He looked to Raffie and Zarina, hoping they may enlighten their old peer.

He did not wait for an answer to take a seat though, forming a few chairs, a table, a spread, and some tea. He looked if Raffie wanted a seat. He was awfully tired.

Ertan Kashani, clearly invited, rose to his feet. "A very sensible idea, Pictor." He stepped forward, pulled out a chair, and sat. "You have my thanks." He nodded, beckoning for others to join him.

Raffaella was among them, and she began to speak as the others did but, in her cup, she noticed something strange: a yellow... nothingness. It seemed like... an aberration, but it couldn't be one. There was no such thing as a yellow aberration!

The viceroy glanced down at the spread thoughtfully, and smiled. "This is very nice," he admitted, "Very thoughtful." Then, he glanced over at Raffie's cup and scowled. "Wait... is that a... lemon in your cup?" he reached over wonderingly.

"Trying to stop all the violence," Raffie piped up, letting Tku know that he was in like-minded company. She still checked the chairs he'd conjured for adhesive before sitting, though.

"That's all well and good," Tku ate a piece of bread dunked in some oil and herbs. "But I meant the time shenanigans."

Zarina could not sit on a mere chair, and her tail generally got in the way of proper seating. The floor would have to do. She did not speak, words were still hard. Staring would have to do, long, wide-eyed staring. Tea was drank, as well as any that wasn't claimed.

Those same, wide optics captured the aberration. Yellow and shiny. More cat-like behaviour, though she didn't dare. It was in Raffie's cup, after all. “Odd.” she remarked, an easy word to concoct.

"Oh. I assumed it was Zazzy and the other guy, but I don't actually know," she replied, eyeing the cup of tea in front of her. After checking it for poison like any sensible chemical mage would, she put the cup to her lips, pretending that she hadn't seen what was inside. She needed a pick-me-up right about now.

It seemed as if the peace talks had begun, good. He had no time to think about his own issues, he had to make sure the peace will bring forth stability and lingering peace.

The boy who had been the Queen, rebel, unwilling virangish hero, he had seen it all. His face turned to the hero of Weggos during his approach.
"You made it in one piece, good. I'm glad."

"I see," Tku took in whatever information Raffie could give and simply accepted. "I do not even know how many times I was reset. But it had to be a few times."

He finally turned to Zarina in her beastal form, he sighed and made a roast for her along with a cup of coffee. The coffee was more or less instinct. He wished he hadn't but what was done was done.

Hearing Fiske's voice was somehow relieving and grating. He simply made another seat for him.

Raffie's cup came up but the aberration didn't. It was not actually inside of the teacup. Aberrations existed where they existed and, generally, could not be moved. Instead, bright orange, now, it appeared to perch there on the table for all to see.

Ertan Kashani stared wonderingly at the orange nothingness. "I could've sworn, by the Dreamer, it was yellow." Then, in front of him, shaped like a carronade shot, was a black aberration. He glanced at the others. "I sense that there may be but the first of many."

The dragon's gaze was completely taken by the aberration.

Until the smell of a roast caused her to sniff about. She could not help herself, she was hungry after fueling a literal nuclear reactor. First, the coffee, and then she chowed down. She would have been messy if her chomps weren't so all-encompassing. Utterly terrifying jaws. Perhaps Kashani was right, there wasn't much 'girl' left in this one.

"Would you like me to remove them from the table?" Tku offered.

The viceroy tilted his head. "That's... possible?" He turned abruptly at the sound of a loud smack on the table. Raffie's hand slapped down on the orange thing as though it were a bug to be squashed. Only, it turned white before her hand could reach it. "Wups," she said, deadpan, her face white as a sheet.

"I say, miss," he remarked, rather alarmed, "Did you just absorb a white aberration? Were you in need of healing?" His face was perfectly in sync with his voice, but his eyes flashed for just a second. He knew and he was covering for her.

"Um, is that what it was?" Raffie stammered, alarmed. "I-I mean, in a manner of speaking? I think we all need a little healing after this," she nodded sagely.

Tku's hand went to his bag of infinite tricks, "But of course." Out came one gloved hand as he quite literally plucked the aberration from the table and set it next to him. Tku side eyed Raffie but ignored it after all.

It was mere moments before a pure black tree stump appeared beside Tku. It was, as well, an aberration. Behind Zarina, there was a grey gap in reality, shaped like one of Marco's massive metal shards, twisted and warped.

"This isn't good." Tku spoke to himself.

"Um, yes. If there are going to be more of them, maybe we should—" Raffie began, but abruptly stopped.

More meals. Zarina sensed it - a familiar power. A sweet nectar of immense potency.

The dragon turned around, still chewing, and canted her head to the opposite side. “.... Where is Marci?” she inquired for all to hear. The temptation remained strong.

"In the backline, I can contact her if you want." Tku offered quietly.

“Yeeeesssssssssss.”

"Alright." His hand went down into his bag and out came a blue fruit. "Marci, are you alright?"

---

"Keko?" came Keearah's distinctly-accented voice. "Keko!?" Vaguely, Marceline remembered that it meant something like the yasoi 'suunei'. The eeaiko had used it with her a handful of times, their constant work together having brought them surprisingly close.

"Yyyuh?" Marci was surprised at the ragged sound of her own voice. People were scrambling about and she was vaguely aware that this was the aftermath of...

Had there been a time loop?

She tried to turn her head to glance at the merchant - Ghazi was his name, she thought - but then she became aware of the blood and the weakness through the haze and the throbbing. He... wasn't there. Had he been there?

"Marcee," came Keearah's voice, "Yoo look lyke deth!" Her hand was on the human girl's shoulder, shaking her, and that was when the real shock came. "Yoo were doeng yoor tempaurel spell end then - "

She just started to slide to the side. Marceline tried to clench up her abdominals, like she always did to keep her balance, but they weren't there. There was blood all down the front of her dress, and pooling into her lap, half-dried, but it wasn't the most alarming thing by a longshot. Dimly, she registered Keearah unlocking her wheels and wheeling around to the front of her.

The line. A line could be many things but, to a tethered, it was only one: that hazy pins-and-needles area where sensation ended and nothingness began. For most of her life, its position had varied: somewhere just below her ankles, partway up her calves, right at her knees, or just a tingling numbness in her toes. For the past 197 days, however, it had resided in a band just above her hips, and she was determined that it should rise no further.

She could not feel her chest.

She could not feel her stomach or her ribs or her waist, and an abyssal fear seized the young tethered. "Fuck, yoo've overdraun," Keearah hissed, helping her friend sit up. She was tethered too. She had overdrawn in the past and, just as with Marci, it had cost her her legs. "Rese yoor aurms."

They felt weak. They didn't want to go up, but she managed to do it. Her pulse was pounding behind her ears. Her thoughts were racing, unable to settle on anything. The tingling: she could feel it in her hands. She looked down, scrambling to keep her balance, and her fingers were curled. Tentatively, awkwardly, she straightened them. She tried to clear her throat. Aberration - she needed a grey aberration - now! "I -" she coughed. "I can't... live like this." It was bad enough to be anchored to a deadweight lower body that could not move or feel and needed constant care, both mundane and magical, but she had managed. She had only recently gone off of the metabolic stimulation, and it had helped her body change. She had the arms, shoulders, core, and - most importantly - the Gift to navigate life and, except in those occasional moments, when she simply couldn't do what those around her did, she didn't dwell on it. She simply lived and looked forward to the future.

"Baut how?" Keearah was murmuring. "You were fine and then, just..."

"Ghazi," Marci croaked. "Where's Ghazi?"

Keearah, still with her hand on the human girl's shoulder, tilted her head and made a quizzical face, and Marceline's heart dropped into her stomach. "I... Ghazi?"

"Yes, Ghazi," the slightly younger tethered snapped irritably. "The man with the glasses, who was just here."

Keearah cast about, brow furrowed in confusion, and Marceline flexed her half-numb fingers once more. "I'm saurry. I doon't -" Awkwardly, the human went to unlock her brakes and set hands to wheels. "Zarina and the knight," she demanded.

The eeaiko pivoted to roll along with her. "They're... elive."

She felt like a newborn: uncertain and imprecise. "Tku and Desmond?"

Keearah looked alarmed alongside her, wheeling so fluidly. "Tku's fyne. I mede soore auf it." She paused, a hitch in her pushing. "Waet, Desmaund!?"

Marci realized her error almost immediately. "Fuck. No, I meant..." she trailed off, head still spinning. Had it even been Desmond. She wasn't sure of anything at this point. "Ugh. I don't know what I mean."

"Maurcee, yoo're worryeng me."

"I'm worrying me," the more experienced tethered replied, turning her head warily, still not certain of her ability to balance. "I need a grey ab."

Keearah's gaze was searching, but then she nodded. "Yoo do," she admitted, as they rolled out of the door. Marci had no choice but to rely on the Gift to help. "I theenk we're ebaut to see lots auf eberratiauns," the eeaiko remarked, taking the lead. "Can't come soon enough," came the reply. Keearah pushed quickly a few more times and then turned one-eighty to face Marceline, directly in her path. "Keko, where aur we goeng?"

Marceline came to a stop. The ground was soft and she would not make it much further anyhow. She regarded her watery friend. "To them, even if you have to carry me." It was at that very moment that a black aberration, as big as Keearah and in the shape of a man falling backwards, appeared right on top of the eeaiko.

Marci had no choice. It would kill the girl. She couldn't let that happen. Even as aberrations began to pop up everywhere, she reached out and drew from it. That was when she heard the call, in her head, as Tku sometimes like to do: "Marci, are you alright?"

---

In an instant, Raffie was sent back to Kiluaho, to the place where she had taken Ren's side over that of Tku and all the others. Her eyes widened. How was this possible? Had the temporal prodigy revealed themselves? It was no matter. She knew how this battle would unfold, or actually... perhaps she would join the others this time, after all. She now knew for a fact that spending time with Ren was a poor investment, she thought gleefully. Though, the others refused to trust her here simply by virtue of being 'Virangish.' Should she just go home and let this one play out without her?

But before she could make a decision, she noticed something very odd—herself. She was not herself, she was... by process of elimination, the boy who died that day. Her thoughts remained scattered like the ships' debris, but one idea floated to the surface—could she save his life?

The threshers came, and Raffie reached out her—his, hand—but, the command she intended to give to the swarming threshers did not come out. Instead, the boy began his own struggle, and Raffie quickly realized that she was not in control of this situation. She would witness how he died. She would... die with him.

She had no mouth with which to scream. She saw the boy's body become pieces in the bloody red water, felt the flesh rip from his bones, the burning as the water boiled, and the darkness of death creep in as their shared vision faded.

Then, she was some kind of animal, being hunted by the denizens of Eshiran's heaven over, and over, and over. She couldn't tell if the existential dread was his, hers, or both. Were they now bound together in Eshiran's hell? Because she made the cowardly choice back on that backwater island?!

No!! This wasn't fair!! She'd redeemed herself, hadn't she?! She'd saved thousands of lives and just started to broker peace! She'd done everything she could to end the nightmare as soon as she could! This battle had been ended by HER HAND!!

Again and again she prayed to any god she thought might listen, but she had no mouth with which to speak the words—until, suddenly, she did, back at the negotiating table, but it was then that words failed her. A couple of people had been trying to get her attention as she sat there, living out an eternity of deaths in an instant, silently crying. When she came to, she clutched her chest, painfully. Her heart was racing much too fast, and any decent chemical mage could sense the unholy amount of fear that was spreading through her system. It had nearly been enough to kill her, until she began to use her magic to forcibly calm herself.

She did not speak, for what she had just seen and experienced was beyond words. She simply shot Faiskal a look that communicated a confused blend of terror and heart-wrenching sympathy. She held her face in her hands and sobbed, having long forgotten the imminent threat of the aberrations, which seemed to her a lifetime ago.

The Darhannic. . Huulishman eyes were a little too late to meet the Virangish girl's gaze, but felt a shiver run down his spine. "Hey, Raffaella. What's wrong?" He would have more tack before, but his current state let go of gentler words.

Eyes scanned the room, was something bad going to happen? Did his presence just make her sad? Was it a potential assassin? Did she ANOTHER Volto coming to the battlefield?

There was no response to Tku on the other end, at least not in a traditional sense. "Uhhh...Marci? Hola? Hallo?" Tku tried to keep it lighthearted, but it was becoming clear that something was wrong.

Then, all about them, aberrations began winking into existence by the dozens: mostly black, some white, and even a couple of grey ones. Most unsettlingly, however, were a few that seemed... to move?

Then, breathing heavily, Marceline's voice came through. "Yeah, it's me," the tethered replied. "Keearah and I were on our way. She hit an aberration and I had to help her."

Keearah's voice came though, pained and snappy. "She's not okay. We need help."

Tku listened in, his light face turned serious. "Okay, we will come to you then. Hold out for us to get there," he reassured.

Tku turned to Zarina. "Marci and Keearah are being surrounded by aberrations. Keearah said Marci isn't okay. You will have to warp us." He wished a white one was around but he could see none.

Zarina listened closely, until Raffaella showed distress. Instinct was beginning to take over again. Breathing intensified, her tail nearly shredded the table behind her. One thing at a time.

“Do not touch.” she demanded whilst pointing at the nearby grey. Tku's arm was seized with an intendedly tight grip before entering a teleportation spree, time rejected around her to make the whole experience all the more disorienting for the Medrilaner.

"I will guide you-" Tku was roughly manhandled by the dragon lady, "I need that arm, Zarina," Tku sarcastically replied as he applied some pain meds. Tku dirrected her to where they are. It felt unsafe but he would need to risk it for Keearah and Marci.

Black King watched as the battlefield began to be filled with aberrations. Tku and Zarina moved to help a friend, while others seemed to see this as an opportunity.

Black King stood and turned as he roared out across the battlefield. Having his voice be carried and reverberated through his magic and repeated by his people still active.

"Group up! Build large parties to handle what is to happen! These will turn you mad or dead!"

Commands began to flow from those who knew what was happening. Allowing Black King to move to begin to guide those who were near. He knew it would be needed for the giant aberration form. Reality twisted and ripped open as nothingness opened in front of them all. A giant form of a dragon appeared as a tear in reality. Nothingness given form.

Many looked around as he barked a command, "Draw from the aberration, the moment you feel pressure in the back of your eyes, stop! You will die if you go further". He knew this was a lie, yet he knew it would damage them if they drew pass this point.

Black King moved between them patting and slapping them on their backs as he began to build up energy from all around them. Many of them began to feel intense energy swell within their bodies. They felt empowered and their bodies are more strengthened as if for some of them, they could sense countless things never experienced. While for others, they could feel as if their power was enhanced, they felt even more powerful than before, as if they could take on the world.

The moment Black King had grouped them up, he aimed his hand and called out, "Now!"

The band of soldiers made from both sides began to draw in what energy they could. The moment some felt the pressure behind their eyes, they stopped. Some very quickly, others it took longer. Yet for a few, they never reached that point. Many began to feel a twinge of pain behind the eyes, their head seemed to ping and ring out with pain, yet nothing more. It took only a few moments and they ringing pain in their dissipated.

Then, they were all fine. They watched as Black King continued to move to another group. As he was to perform the same with them. For many of them, they felt larger, stronger, and almost too tight in the clothing they were wearing. Yet they felt good, almost super human.

Black King himself never drew from these aberrations. He would find nothing from them, yet more importantly, he needed to be able to completely focus. One wrong move when he did any of this. He could ruin their body worst than any aberration could.

While Raffie broke down in tears, chaos unfolded around her. Zarina told them to stay away from the grey aberration, but two curious idiots didn't listen. Nilay had managed to stop one, while Kashani took the opportunity to stop the rank and file and 'slip' into the aberration by 'accident.'

Fiske attempted to intervene, but Kashani had unknowingly reached for a small portal rather than a grey aberration. He felt something on the other end that seemed pleasant to him, but at the sudden realization that what he had touched belonged to an animal, he recoiled, and this knocked Raffie onto the ground along with him.

"W-What's... happening..?" she managed, slowly accepting that what she had seen and experienced was at an end, and she was here to stay.

"Nothing, my dear girl." The viceroy patted her shoulder comfortingly. He could tell she had just seen something terribly disturbing. He had felt such and could empathize. "You're safe now, because I will protect you. You are under my umbrella."

Oh. Great, she thought, unenthused. "But... It's not raining," she replied, deadpan, playing the fool to take the wind out of his sails without insulting him.

"Because I am here." He nodded slowly, looking out over the former battlefield with mock satisfaction, for no one could put an end to his self-indulgence. Raffie resisted the feminine urge to take him down a peg.

Raffie looked around, and seemed surprised to see all of the death and destruction. She'd nearly forgotten about the war. She gasped, looking around for Zarina, a mixture of alarmed and embarrassed. "We need to get away from here!"

Faiskal moved from one person to the other, getting increasingly frustrated at the curious onlookers seeking to steal the grey aberration that Marci desperately needed. "Hey, what happened to the brave girl back at the Idasque?" Admittedly, he did not know that she had just witnessed his many deaths.

This was the last thing Raffie wanted to hear from someone who went to Eshiran's hell, but she couldn't muster any venom against the unfortunate boy. "We can't fight these things! We need to—" she began, but then the mysterious man, Black King began barking the order to stay huddled in groups, and she realized that he was right, and so was Faiskal. "No, you're right. We have a better chance if we huddle close." As soon as she said it, she made a point of putting Faiskal between herself and the viceroy.

Ertan Kashani pivoted briskly on the spot as a portal opened. he bowed at the waist. "Just on time." None would see his shame. "I have taken care of things back here." He glanced Fiske's way. "Ahem," he cleared his throat. "Faiskal was of assistance as well, to some degree." He nodded in the youth's direction and gestured the others toward the grey aberration as the aforementioned 'helper' wrestled an opportunistic one-legged woman away from it.

Marceline wasted little time in heading towards the aberration, but she was in no shape to move across this ground, and her manas were in awful shape from her temporal exertions of earlier. She twisted to regard Zarina. "I've forgotten to hug you, keko." Keearah grinned at the use of the term.

As Zarina caught up with Marceline and Keearah, helping them over to the aberration that they so desperately needed, Tku began searching for Joliin, remembering that she was a lightbringer. What good the now-former slave could do here!

In the event, however, it was not him who found her but, rather, A Mahal who had been circling, searching for her animals, other familiar faces and, in fact, Joliin herself.

The powergazer was sitting on top of a log in a mostly-burnt out thicket, not quite sure what to do with herself and her freedom. She shifted as the dragon came to land, her energies swelling a bit out of wariness. Her swollen face, at least, seemed to have been healed. Then, as she recognized Mahal's energy, the momentary hostility faded, though she did not let go of all of her draw. "Oh," she remarked, "i-it's y-you." She swallowed, pawing up at her eyes. With her blindfold gone, they were stony black pits. "Sadly, I've... h-hidden the evidence." She managed an awkward smile.

"It's all right. Ren is dead. I don't think you need to be afraid anymore." Mahal answered in a surprisingly gentle voice. Her eyes lingered on the spot where she had punched the girl and tried to push the guilt away. At the time, she had little faith they could kill Ren. The strong had no issues about making the weak suffer. "We need to get out of here. There's aberrations everywhere and I don't know how to handle them."

Zarina picked up Marci for a long and much needed hug. Unfortunately there was no chair to come along with a teleport, providing Tku with a final task while the dragon still had an errand to do. “Kek. O.” she repeated. A moment later, she dropped the tethered on a nearby chair and did the same for Keeara if not already done.

“Do not touch.” the same order again. What could she be planning? Although before she could lift off, her wide, repitilian eyes stared down Mahal with focused pupils. No lingering, she surfed the threads of space.

“One.” Vasib was dropped where Kashani had once sat.

“Two.” Sayeste was next, place comfortably on the floor near where Marci was sat.

“Free.” the last was Mariana. These poor tethered were just yanked from their vantage points and brought at speeds they couldn't keep up with.

“Time.” declared Zarina with a voice that pushed through all the yelling in the background. “It's time. Grey eating time.” she clapped her hands, inviting the tethered to indulge whilst she served as sentinel, scouring for any freeloaders.

Joliin nodded, going still for a moment, and Mahal supposed that was her way of 'looking' around. "None too- too close," she replied belatedly. "I c-could undo them if I...I-I wanted," she explained. "That was w-what Master -" She paused and furrowed her brow. "- Ren -u-used me for."

Somewhere above circled Kidlat on Bonadeuce. The dragon was as threatening a presence as ever to those who didn't know him, helping to keep the peace. Then, rather suddenly, on one of his circles, he straightened and, rather abruptly, took off Eastwards, towards the city.

In the forest, Tku kept scanning but had little chance finding Joliin. "Joliin, Joliin, Joliin, JOLIIIIN! Please call out if you can!"

"There are some more at command who might appreciate this," Marceline whispered, but she knew she had to take care of herself first. "We should find them another." She was on a chair, though it did not move, and she found herself anxious for her own wheelchair: trusty thing she had gotten from Jocasta. It had already been through so much with her.

Quick, polite introductions were made with the other three tethered they had been trying to kill and who'd been trying to kill them. They all understood the struggle that they shared and none begrudged the others for partaking here. Marceline reached out, on a count of three, and began to draw.

"Yes, but only if you wanted. That is up to you, but I think people might appreciate it. You're free to make your own choices now." Mahal stated as she considered something. "I know this is going to be new to you. After all this, if you need a place to stay... I can offer one until you can figure out what you want to do. Only if you want to of course."

Joliin's face showed the surprise that she felt at the offer. "Y-you know, I had-hadn't even th-thought about... it," she replied with a blush. Then, she stepped forward and held her hand out. "I sup-suppose we should prob-ably know e-each other's names f-first. I'm Joliin.""

They were just in the midst of their introductions when the yasoi's ears perked up and she heard a semi-familiar voice. It was... she remembered his name! "Tku!" she shouted back, "Tku, Tku, TKUUU! I'm calling out. C-can you hear me, man!?"

Mahal couldn't help, but smile a bit. Her eyes lit up and broke her usual bitch face expression. She rubbed behind her ear as she considered her response. She had to admit, despite the eyes, she had a soft spot for blushing girls. The yasoi was rather adorable right now.

Before Mahal could reply and take the offered hand, a faint shout caught her attention. It was Tku. Suddenly, Joliin had started to shout out his name. "You know him too?"

Tku came skating in on the grass, chucking himself like a puck on the ice. "Joliin! Oh thank the heavens you are alive." he breathed out a sigh of relief. "There is a lot of hurt people, I understand that it is a lot to ask but I implore-" Tku noticed the damage on her face, "That won't do," Tku quickly healed her and continued, "That's better. There are people injured, the palaparese and virangish. I can only ask you will come with me and help those people." he did a small bow with his request. He did not feel right asking so much of her in the middle of a disaster just after she received her freedom.

Joliin nodded at Mahal. "Not our f-first time mmeeting." She twisted to face Tku and waved. "I will do w-whatever is n...needed." She nodded. "Because I w-want to." They were, for now, a trio, and there was much to heal, much to do. Joliin set out to do it.

Tku couldn't help but smile. It was a reminder to him of the natural charity people could have. Something he had nearly lost in its entirety. "Then we should make haste, I-" Tku gave a nod at Mahal, "- and Mahal will assure your safety from here on.".

Walking back to the rest of the group for safety, Tku mouthed a small thanks to Mahal for sparing Joliin given the situation, nudging her with his elbow. Now that they were moving on towards their goal, Tku pulled out his banana, whispering into it.

Ring, ring, Kidlat you shouldn't be heading to Sabu. The battle may come to an end. There is no reason to attack the city right now. Besides, Bonedeuce being around gives more safety for us with the what the Virangish have at the table. Please stay yourself for now.

When Tku mentioned they needed help, Mahal almost set herself between the two. She didn’t want the newly freed yasoi to feel pressured by his request. Her movement ceased when Joliin ensured she had decided this for herself. With a deep breath, her eyes looked to the dragon. The creature had started to sun itself in the aftermath heat of the battle with barely any scratches on her flanks.

Giving it a good stroke along the jaw, Mahal gave it gentle pat. “Rest well, you deserve it. If you don’t fly off, I’ll be back and we’ll figure out what to do with you. Personally, I think you will enjoy dozing in the coffee fields rather than getting into fights.”

She didn’t expect the beast to understand her, but a small snort came from the nostrils. A small chuckle escaped her lips before she turned to follow the others. At Tku’s silent thanks and ribbing, she shrugged. Despite her indifferent action, a small earnest smile broke through her stoic mask. In the distance a trio of three canine shapes, hounded by a snow wyvern, began to rush toward them. The slowest one limped with a stubbornness to not lose his fellow pack mates. He naturally would be healed when they reached her.

It had taken some time, yet, the countless men and women across the battlefield had began to congregate together. As ruptures of nothingness appeared, groups handled them quickly, either drawing from them to send them away or waiting for those who would come and do so. The many of them had grown in power and strength from the mere presence of the enigmatic figure some referred to as 'King'.

Many of them looked among themselves, if not much before, they seemed more connected. Going from killing each other to fighting for survival against these strange things. Moments where they felt as if, they were the same, perhaps it was the situation they were in, perhaps something more. None would know, but they were happy to be here rather than anywhere else. Because if they were, they might find themselves turned into something horrid, if anything that was told to them was true.

Black King began to return to where the talks were first to be held. Where he saw multiple people had began to return to.

A pulsating aberration appears, and both heroes and villains from both sides seize the opportunity to meet the gods and partake of their fruits. In this sacred grove, new connections are made, old wounds are reopened, and the truth is laid bare.

Palapar 5: The Many-Armed God

There was a group of them who had gathered: former friends, former foes, or some other combination of the two. It was hard to tell at this juncture. However, they had at least stopped fighting and, for that, Dami was to be praised.

It was Zarina, Raffie, Fiske, Ertan Kashani, Nilay, Marceline, Keearah, and, more recently, Tku, Mahal, and Joliin. The masked Volti agent who people referred to as Black King could be seen not far away. From another direction, Lunara had approached the table - in both figurative and literal terms.

Barely had they gathered when Mahal was jolted by a pulse that seemed to hit her and move up and down her body. It relaxed every muscle to the point of near-collapse and spread outwards from there, fluttering the leaves of the few trees fortunate enough to survive the earlier battle, swaying people where they stood, and causing the very air to shimmer, ethereal in the light of the four moons.

A second pulse raced out, and it was clear that something of profound power had been released into the world. Dimly, as its shimmering bands raced across the predawn sky, silhouettes of things that were not of this place, this time, or this world could be seen.

Arcel the Victorious slew the demon Belthagor in shadow, Macianus III stood before his troops before their fateful charge at Carinae Mosca, Hildr the Red knelt before the Altar of the Divine Mercy in the ruins of Solenne, Oswentu the Wise sat the Ivory Throne for the first time, Hugo Hunghorasz and Enna Lantisca embraced, bodies intertwined, in secret in the Cathedral du Sacre Coeur.

Yet, they gathered about as well: dark tentacled shapes by the periphery. They watched, they pushed, and they encroached but, always, the pulses of light forced them back - the pulses of light that raced outwards from a brilliant nothingness that was known more than seen, and felt still more than known. Those pulses tested them: perhaps to their limits, perhaps even beyond, but they called to those who had fought heroically in Palapar. Yes, most of all, they called.

For some, it was a desperate race. Their bodies relaxed so completely that it was difficult for muscles to function, for hearts to beat, for lungs to draw breath. All were experienced in the Gift, however, and some had seen this before. They knew what it was and approached it with the eagerness and reverence that it was due. The gods of this place - not so very different from those of nearby Sawand - called to them.

Those who knew urged the others to make it to the centre as quickly as they could. Mahal, closest but most stunned, was last in, and she felt Ahn-Eshiran bite at her heels as she stumbled through.

Tku, Desmond, Marco, Fiske, and Ertan Kashani found themselves together. The tethered Vasib and Jaico were present as well, the latter free of his cane from the effects of a grey aberration.

Mahal, Zarina, Marceline, Nilay, Keearah, Rafaella, Mariana, Joliin, and Lunara were there with the tethered Şayeste and Irana, the former standing unsteadily for the first time in over a year.

The seven men looked around, and they took notice of something: it was only them. They cast about for the women, but... then, Desmond sensed it first. Their female counterparts were there, but only in the faintest way: they were echoes and shadows, like the images illuminated by the pulsing earlier. Vasib, unsteady earlier, strode forward under a brilliant carpet of stars.

The eleven women, clustered closely and only starting to spread out, recognized the same phenomenon. It was Lunara who first saw the shadows. The men were there: close to them, even among them, but they could not be reached for now. Zarina, however, was Zarina, as they had known her since meeting her, and not a half-draconic beast. Joliin let out a small exclamation of surprise and delight. She held her hands out before her, turning them around. Her head slicked back and forth, her hair swishing about and, soon, she was looking all about. Her eyes were restored. Marian lifted a foot from her footrest, tentatively, and Keearah did the same. If they no longer had the muscle to walk, they could at least move.

Before all eighteen rose a small grassy hill, beneath a predawn sky filled with brilliant stars. A soft, gentle wind flowed over the place and, at the very summit of that hill appeared an otherworldly figure. For the men, it was a beautiful woman, tall and dignified, sitting in a siddhasana pose, her eyes closed. For the women, it was a serene and powerful man, posed much the same, deep in meditation.

In both cases, the figure had ten arms, each one closed in a loose fist. A single eye opened with gentle purpose and evaluated them calmly. Then, five hands of the Many-Armed God reached forward. Each opened to reveal a fruit that those who had gathered knew to be divine.

Yet, not all of the men and not all of the women laid eyes on the exact same thing. For the former, Fiske beheld it. For the latter, sadly, there were a great many. In addition to the one young man among them, five could see the tree: Zarina, Marceline, Mahal, Rafaella, and Joliin. It was small and well-formed, but wild, not gardened. It had the oddest ring-shaped fruits one could imagine: almost like circular or loosely spiral peapods. It rose behind the great seated figure, leaves shimmering silverish-green in the moonlight.

The deity, meanwhile, did not speak. Man or woman, it merely smiled and stretched its arms out a little bit more towards them. On the horizon, a faint band of royal blue illuminated the distant hills and forests with a soft glow.

Mahal cursed her laxed guard when something impossibly fast struck her. It raced down then up her form like invisible lightning. Her muscles tensed then relaxed against her will, causing her to unclench her teeth. Time had whipped past her as bodies rushed for the center, vanishing before her eyes for a split second. It was enough to have her instinct kick in and rush after them with someone else hot on her heels.

She stumbled forward and fell on her knees, her chest heaving for air. Once her heart stopped racing, she straightened upright and moved back onto her feet. At Joliin's small gasp, her eyes shot to the yasoi. Her eyes were no longer pitch black. Zarina had transformed back to her human form. Another two were testing limbs that otherwise had been useless to them. As she silently counted the number, she noticed something. The men were missing.

Before she asked about them, Mahal spotted masculine figure sitting upon a grassy hill. He had far too many limbs to be natural. When the eye opened, Mahal bristled at the sensation of being judged. Five of his ten arms extended toward them as if offering something.

"Where are we?" Mahal asked anyone willing to answer.

Raffie cast her eyes about, taking in her surroundings. This was the second time she'd had an encounter with another pantheon's gods, and she didn't know what to make of it. The last one had introduced her to a kindly old thresher that gave her the power to stand up to Ren. This one appeared to be offering fruits of a divine nature.

"I don't understand," she confessed to the many-armed one. "My people have..." Her vocabulary failed her. "I don't understand at all," she repeated, but the god remained silent, only smiling. Tears streamed down her cheeks. There could only be one reason why the god was rewarding her: he knew it all.

Curious, she looked at each fruit in turn, and was about to ask the deity which fruit he thought she should have, when she noticed the tree. "What's that?" she asked, curious but not expecting an answer.

Marceline, who had been splitting her attention between gazing at her surroundings with wondering eyes and tentatively wriggling her toes, which rested on the soft cool grass, looked up. "This is a sacred grove," she replied, "Recognize this figure from some old stories, maybe?" She furrowed her brow and glanced at Rafaella as well when she spoke. "Reminds me of the Many-Armed God of Sawand."

Marceline considered Raffie's words as well. "It reminds me of something I saw with the Pentad. They did not appear, but there was a tree with fruits representing each of them." She considered. "This has to be similar."

Zarina was herself again. No horns. No scales. Vanilla without the gory conclusion she'd have to traumatize Raffaella some more with. It was the first thing that hit her for it was rare of a phenomenon than ending up in a grove. Among her were other women, enemy and foe, and men mere wisps. She could barely discern their forms.

There was a man, offering many fruits with his many arms. Trees, animals and now, “A man. That was my first thought too, Marci.” spoke the once vocally-challenged dragon. “And yet, I see a tree.” the Al-Nader was drawn to the peculiar plant and its even more peculiar fruits. Her hand, no longer a mass of scales and claws, hovered over the red pea-pod shaped delight. “Why is this here?” she inquired, directed at the divine presence without looking directly at him.

If she was not looking at him to see his soft smile, she could feel it. She could feel, in a sense, that the fruits of this tree sought to heal her, to give her another chance.

Deep breaths. The pain Zarina hid from all, that she could always heal through no matter how mangled and broken it left it. It was there, she always remembered it. Her heart beat at the pace that the tree pulsed warmly, enticingly. Her hand neared a fruit until she very much touched one, but didn't quite pluck it, yet. The dragon did not show her pain that easily.

Instead of committing, she watched the others. Both her fellow of the fairer sex, and the essence of the men, further away. How did they take this moment?

"Truthfully, I stop trying to understand much of what happens to me. I think it's... less stressful that way." Mahal commented toward Raffie's moment of confusion.

Upon having her question answered, it clicked. She had been to one of these before during the revolution in the school. Strange how she yet again found herself in a surreal and sacred place. She took a step toward the Many-Armed God and sized up the fruit on his hands, wondering which to take. Choices were never easy as she didn't practice it much. Her attention lingered over Mangosteen. However, she wasn't ready to take a fruit quite yet.

As she stretched her hand out toward it, the mangosteen did not seem to pulse... until it did, and the power of it nearly knocked her off of her feet. Like Raffie before her, Mahal could sense that it would appear only seldom but, when it did, a vast world of knowledge and power would be opened to her.

When the Many-Armed God emerged, Lunara didn't bow, she also didn't speak. The air around him shimmered with heat, like standing too close to a forge. His armed moved, each gesture folding the world slightly as if it were paper creased by invisible hands.

Before him, the fruits hung in the air. Suspended. Each one pulsed with a rhythm. The red bandana thrummed with steady promise. The apricot was soft and low. The mulberry tugging at her memories. The mangosteen... shouldn't look at it long.

But the plum. For her, the plum bumped heavy. Slow. Strong.

She stepped forward. "If you're offering."

Her hand reached out. The Many-Armed God watched with a stillness that suggested judgment or perhaps indifference. She took the plum.

And yet, how much of this was her own perception? It was hard to say, for none others who had stood upon Virang had felt much but a serene benevolence. She reached for the plum anyhow, and she knew that this boon would be with her occasionally at best, but it would give her the power to strike at those she might not normally be able to. She would be quick and sure, if perhaps not overwhelming.

The sensation forced Mahal to dig in her heels as she managed not to fall on her ass. It felt like a promise of knowledge and power wash over her. However, it wouldn't happen often. Still, the sensation tempted her. She had lived much of her life in ignorance and being weak, unlike her sister. Her eyes flickered to see Lunara take a fruit, a plum. Did that explain why she felt like the weaker of the two?

She hesitated while was rare in her nature. Her eyes shifted across the various fruits and drinking the feelings they gave her. Each one left her digesting her own emotions.

The whole time she observed and examined one, she tried to ignore the prick of anxiety in the back of her neck. She hated the dark, faint shadows of the men as they put her on edge. They felt more like lurking monsters than human.

"Mhm. But there's only one god here. I wish I knew more," Raffie replied to both Marci and Mahal. "Hmm. Which fruit do you think I should have?" she inquired of the many-armed deity.

The man smiled and it occurred to Raffaella that, perhaps, she should hold her hand out and pass it over each fruit. The tree seemed to grow indistinct and shadowlike as she did so, however, almost like the men who she knew were there but who she could not directly interact with.

As she passed her hand over the red banana, she felt a pulsing in her chest: not particularly strong, but rapid. She sensed that she would have, from it, a constant and reliable boon that would help her in many small ways, no matter what.

Next, she passed her hand over the apricot, and the pulsing grew slightly stronger but slightly slower as well. She sensed that this power would often, though not always, be with her, and she felt that, with it, she could hurt her enemies in ways less direct and expected, but nonetheless powerful.

Her hand continued, and paused at the mulberry, and the pulsing slowed further, but each beat of it was felt strongly and distinctly. She sensed that this power would be with her sometimes, but that it was significant. Using it would renew, for her, powers she had lost or exhausted. Yet... there was more. For a moment, as she glanced over at the men, she beheld Desmond - yes, Desmond - reaching for a Chalta, though the others remained shadows. For a moment, she felt as if she could make it disappear before his very eyes or, perhaps, even the one before hers, but that quickly passed.

She paused for a good moment before passing onto the fourth fruit: the plum and, immediately, sensed the power of its pulse: not often at all, but it thumped deeply, resonating in her core. This boon, she knew, would be with her occasionally at best, but it would give her the power to strike at those she might not normally be able to.

The final fruit was the Mangosteen, and it did not pulse... except that it did, and the power of it nearly knocked her off of her feet. Raffie could sense that it would appear only seldom but, when it did, a vast world of knowledge and power would be opened to her.

Finally, in the distance, the tree remained enigmatic. Its leaves shifted and returned, shifted and returned, and there was something uncanny about it.

The Many-Armed God regarded her serenely... hopefully.

Marceline appeared beside Zarina and she was at eye level, grinning. "I feel as if the Many-Armed God has put this here for us. Do you think that the others see it?" She had not walked over, per se but, now, she was leaning heavily on Zarina and her feet were, indeed, upon the ground, knees locked. She, too, felt what her sister on all-but blood had felt: this was a fruit that could heal the broken, that could afford them chances that others might miss.

Zarina coiled her arm around her sister, all while keeping her eyes on the proverbial prize. “I don't think so.” she said after having watched others act and their potential decisions. “I think this is for us to see.” as alluring as the fruit was, her hand slowly retreated from it. “I feel like something irredeemably broken within me could be undone. But, do I truly deserve it, Marci? After what I've nearly done to everyone.” she twisted her neck to regard her not-so-tethered best friend. “What I did to YOU.”

Marceline regarded her steadily for a moment. Then, she snorted. "I'm not so innocent either. None of us are, but..." She trailed off and shrugged. "He doesn't seem to judge." She tilted her head. "Still, we could look at some others, I guess?"

It took a moment for Zarina to concede with a nod. “Yeah.” a light back on the small of Marci's back later and they were to appraise the other offerings from the Many-Armed Deity, known by some as a Spider, though perhaps this was more so a judgement toward Sawand that made the God its banner rather than the deity itself.

Each fruit was graced with a gentle touch, feeling each palpitation from them. Stronger and stronger, but slower. What could it mean? Whether the women among them of the shades of the men, none seemed to truly grasp the nature of it all.

But it wasn't the case for Zarina. She knew the moment the echoes of each offering reverberated through her. It wasn't because she had some sort of greater insight or was more clever - in fact, it often was the opposite.

It was pure feeling - instinct. There was something kindred to be felt. Essential. Her very being was tied to the very essence these fruits took their power from. They were just like her.

The young dragon kept her hand on the mangosteen. Deep inhales.

“If I'm ever to help this world heal ...” she clutched the thing a little tighter whilst uttering words under her breath. “I need to learn from my failures. Let them teach me. Remind me. I cannot let this happen again.”

Marceline pursed her lips and nodded. "You and me both, suunei. I know you tired. We tried, and we're learning, right? That's what our teachers always tell us, Shune knows." She rolled ehr eyes and gave Zarina a little squeeze from the side. Had she grown in the past half year? She was quite tall, actually.

Then, however, as Zarina twisted to regard her, she caught a glimpse, out of the corner of her eye, at Tku: also grasping from the fifth and furthest hand on his side, alone among the men in visibility.

They had been on opposite sides this entire half-year. Bleeding, suffering, hustling for their ideals. Or at least, they believed it to be the case. Now, they were still on opposing 'sides' by virtue of their very sexes. And yet, they were choosing the same path.

The same wavelength. The same ideals. A better world. A means to make it better. They had never been enemies, the world was simply cruel enough to pit loved ones over things they had no hand in. At the very least, they could see it as a lesson, one day.

Deep breaths. There were a lot of those. This time, she committed. The fruit was picked and without anymore hesitation, she bit into the juicy delight. Only to spit out the skin and realize the outside was the rind, which she promptly spat out and indulged in the delicious core.

It should have been a surprise for Tku, like it had for Raffie. But instead he was happy, relaxed even. It was his friend without any audacious armor or draconic form. It was simply her. The person he could draw by memory alone. Always separated but always right next to one another. He wished he could take the moment and speak with her but he didn't. They could do that later. Maybe over some slavery free coffee.

He took the Fig and peeled of the outer flesh and indulged in it.

Nilay remained discreet. It was in her nature to avoid being noticed, and having what was the obvious enemy just half an hour ago now act all chummy from a moment of collective apotheosis did not convince her. She trusted in Zarina, at the very least, and so complied with the ceasefire. With that, she had a chance to explore this unusual realm and the even more unusual selection of good. Her colleague had her hand on one, and so she watched. Cautiously. The immortal dragon she had protected was going to be a poison taster too. Convenient!

Des'm—Desmond was here?! Raffie was distracted for just a moment. He continued to be brave and reckless. Just what had he been doing? Whose side—no, that didn't matter anymore, she told herself, willing it to be true.

She regarded the puzzle presented by the fruits. Was it better to be strong, or reliable? With regards to allies, surely it was better to have a reliable one, and so it was with weapons and powers as well, she decided—though she was fortunate indeed to have both in Zarina. Reliability, in her life, was always fleeting and elusive. She had spent her whole life chasing it. Would she ever find it?

Her eyes glanced between the red banana and the ring-like fruits of the mysterious and ethereal tree that seemed like it could disappear at any moment. Both fruits, coincidentally, were her favorite color of red. The choice of a reliable boon seemed obvious, and yet, in spite of herself, she found that her hands reached out for the tree that threatened to vanish any second. It promised healing for the broken, a second chance—but she had already seized it before the feeling could fully sink in.

"I don't understand it," she sighed, as though she were talking to herself about something the other women weren't quite clued in to. "Maybe I never will."

Marceline and Zarina watched Raffie take the fruit and the former shot the latter a knowing look. "Good thing a tree grows many fruits," she may have said in a fairly bad 'Retanese' accent. It was in Raffie's hand now, tingling and ready to be eaten but, first...

Slowly she turned, and her eyes set upon Joliin. "It's you," she exclaimed, yet she also realized that the yasoi woman might not remember her from that distant time that Ren had threatened her with very little subtlety after her award ceremony. She'd masked her voice as well as her looks, then, and now Joliin was the first person to see Raffie as she was, before seeing the facade of Miss Mataraci. "You're free now." She stated the obvious. "Hey... what's it like to see? This place is very beautiful, don't you think?"

Joliin, who was standing just a bit away, taking it all in with wide-eyed wonderment, twisted to regard Raffie, to actually regard her. "I...I never th-th-thought I would... again." She breathed deeply and held her arms out, and spun on the spot, gazing up at the stars. From her throat came a giggle of pure joy. "I don't know if it's a dream, but I hope it isn't." She stopped spinning, swaying playfully where she stood, but her mirth faded after a moment. "Thank you," she said softly and clearly, her ever-present stutter holding itself aloof for a moment. She swallowed thickly and regarded Raffaella with earnest eyes. "So, wanna tell me how it is?" she gestured at the fruit.

"Hmm." The tiny, freckled girl with the sickly voice considered. "It is a dream, but that doesn't mean it isn't real. It might be more real than where we came from."

Her heart jolted when the yasoi thanked her. Does she know? Deciding not to ask, she smiled and nodded. Then, glancing at the fruit, she held her pale hand up for Joliin to take the Camachile. "I think you should try this one, too." She smiled knowingly.

Joliin considered. She swallowed. She smiled "I'll t-trust you're not p...poisoning me," she squeaked, blushing fiercely at the attempt to make a joke. She reached out daintily and plucked a camachile from the tree. "Countdown?"

Raffie opened her mouth to protest before realizing that it was supposed to be a joke. "Pfft." She covered her mouth to giggle about a half-second too late. "Okay! Then, üç... iki... bir!" She reached up to feed the fruit in her hand to Joliin, expecting her to reciprocate with her own fruit.

They took the little pods one at a time, the gifts they carried filling each of the pair. Joliin's eyes lit up. "Mmm mm...GOOD" the skinny yasoi squealed. Then, unexpectedly, she began to cry, even as they could both feel the ability to repeat their past, to cancel their mistakes, flow through them. "It's... the b-best..." She swallowed. "The-the best thing I... ever t-tasted." She began to cry some more. they were an odd mix of both happy and sad tears, one could suppose. She made sure to flash raffie a smile through them.

They took their fruits at near-exactly the same time, and each felt filled with power: Zarina and Tku, the power of endless resistance, and the power of vast knowledge. Both were rare visitors but they felt, instinctively, that they would know the gifts of each of the two fruits.

Yet, they had bitten at nearly the same time, and this proved most auspicious. They looked over and beheld not only each other, but also all of the other men and all of the other women. Having eaten, they were free of their earlier bounds and all present could perceive the distant horizon lightening ever so slightly.

Then, something unexpected. As Joliin fed Raffaella a fruit and received one in return, as Fiske plucked from the same tree as those two, the Many-Armed God moved. His first and tenth hands - Her first and tenth hands - came together, palms pressed upon each other. For a moment, from inside, there was a glow.

Then, the palms unfolded and, in the middle of them sat a tiny white-golden fruit, almost like a flower: a Mahura bloom. The glow faded, but it remained there, a little dollop of divinity before them.

Raffie's expression was one of mixed sympathy and contentment. She knew what the yasoi girl was feeling, for she had the same experience, once upon a time. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved a handkerchief for the girl. "What will you do now?" she inquired curiously.

She sometimes wondered what she would do, as someone who was free on paper, but also not truly free. If, someday, she became truly free, what would she do? Would that kind of life have meaning? Or could her life only have meaning if she was bound to this heavy destiny of hers?

Joliin opened her mouth to speak. "I..." She trailed off, and it was not just her stutter. "I hon-nestly haven't giv-en it m-much thought." She shook her head. "S-so many possibili-ties." She swallowed. Then, not so very far away, she could see the others - there were the boys! - but things looked tense. She arched an eyebrow and glanced over and back at Raffie.

Raffie nodded in understanding, just a bit solemn. "I think we can arrange something good," she mused, thinking Zarina might have some useful connections through a certain yasoi. She, too, beheld the fiasco surrounding the viceroy who had seized the new, shiny fruit and simply shrugged. There was more at stake requiring his cooperation later. Though, if someone did rough him up a little... well, the many-armed one would probably put a stop to it, anyhow. She nodded sagely as she let the scene unfold.

Unfortunately, the many-armed god did not instantly smite Kashani for his greed at acquiring two fruits. Raffie approached the second Mahura flower, her curious eyes joining many others. She did want to at least see it before someone devoured it, but didn't exactly expect to receive it. It represents the joined beauty of the masculine and feminine, she thought, considering the process that had caused it to appear. "It's beautiful," she said, wondering if anyone shared her unspoken thoughts. A few of the others agreed as they drew slowly closer, some with a mind to take it for themselves.

It wasn't as if Raffie didn't, but she knew from experience that joining in as others dogpiled a prize would put a toll on her frail body, and coming out on top would incur even greater cost to her reptuation. Her hesitation would result in the prize being snatched by Lunara. Then, Marco and Black King—Desmond—would make an executive decision to give the third and final one to the least fortunate among them. This, Desmond decided, was Joliin. It hurt Raffie to hear Desmond say it, knowing what he did of what she went through—but if she was honest, he was right. She had been an orphan, but Joliin had been a slave. She pursed her lips and nodded her sulking approval. Desmond gave her a noogie. The nerve he had..! But, from him, she would allow it just once.

Joliin swallowed. "I..." Her eyes darted between the others. She still lingered on them with an almost uncanny reverence, reveling, perhaps, in her ability to see again and unsure if it would last. She cleared her throat. "I do not... deserve it. Oth-ers have done m-m-more and ris-ked more." She breathed in and out. "But if y-ou wish me t-to have ...it, then I w-will."

Tku was refreshed to see the consensus forming around Joliin. He would have preferred all the flowers go to the rebels or those who had made strong efforts to end this war with less bloodshed, but nothing Zagnath runs fast in those Virangish. He would just try to turn the screws or use it to temper any more greed from them in the negotiations. "I have bore witness to Joliin's spirit and conditions more than others. I think it is only fitting that one who freed themselves under Virang's influence take the blessing." Tku supported Joliin's right to the fruit.

Marceline shrugged. "We all have our crosses to bear," she decided, "some more obvious than others." She glanced in the direction of Zarina and Tku. Did her eyes flick Desmond's way too, for the briefest span of time? "I am of the opinion that these Gifts should go to those who will need them most in the fights surely to come." She furrowed her brow. "But who is to say that Joliin won't be?" She cast about again and shrugged a second time, perhaps uncomfortable in adding caveat to burgeoning consensus. "I won't stand in the way."

Ertan Kashani had taken his already, and so he was quite encouraging on the matter as well. In fact, there were no further objections voiced, and so, with a timid "A'lethei," the bony yasoi girl stepped forward to take the mahura and gingerly eat it. It then remained only for Marco to take his. For a moment, seven men and eleven women stood around in a sacred grove, waiting.

Then, the God raised his - her - hands and they were ten once more and the eighteen who had entered found themselves standing or sitting where they had been before any of this had begun. They were not alone anymore, though. Selma Balik had arrived, along with two squadrons of janissaries. Dani stood across from her with twice as many soldiers of the Republic, his arms crossed and posture standoffish instead of hostile.

In the distance, as the sun threw long shadows across the former battlefield, dragons circled and soldiers returned to their tents. Some lay on the grass or in the mud, damp with morning dew, not dead or wounded, but too exhausted to move. Others bled out in triage. Some had begun to gather their dead and the previous day's debris.

The war had almost certainly ended here, at Fortuna, with neither side claiming a decisive victory, and that seemed in some ways, both the most unsatisfying and most fitting outcome of all. Crops sat overripe in fields as a potential famine loomed in Palapar. Enemies circled a preoccupied Virang like vultures back on the twin continents. The simple fact was that this had been a final gambit because both sides could not truly afford to fight any longer.

Were they friends, suddenly? Had the very deep and recent wounds they had left upon each other healed or been forgotten? All who gathered knew that this was not the case, but it is often said that, while ideals start wars, practicalities conclude them. That was not to say that there had not been some victories of the righteous - and the terrible - over the mundane. They stood there on that field and they spoke to one another, one way or another. Palapar was no better off now than it had been some four months previous and was, by most measures, significantly worse.

Yet, the paradigm had shifted. Whatever calamities had been brought to this place, they had come with an opportunity as well - one that the Traveler himself - herself - had gone to great lengths to ensure: the future would hold something new, something different, something owned by all of the people who called this place home.

The Hourglass Order

Mistake

CaliforniaState

The Hourglass Order

Abyssal Forge - Love and Hate

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Xiuyang confronts Pluurii, Seviin's would-be assassin, and finds a broken woman that threatens to be a reflection of herself. Like a predator, she stalks her, but unable to find her, she comes to her senses and tries to find it in her heart to spare her, at least for now—but Pluurii seizes the opportunity for a sneak attack, then threatens to kill everyone Xiuyang cares for. For the first time in her life, the former follower of Oraff—now an agent of Eshiran—knows true hatred.

The True Face of Cowardice

Evidence of blood suggested Pluurii was nearby. Concealed, potentially preying on Xiuyang at this very moment. It was another laboratory, one focused more on machine maintenance than any sort of biological freakshow. Many large parts were scattered about as a result of the recent battle in the dome shaped facility.

Then, the lights went off. Everything turned off. All the little lights, the contraptions and even a nearby vending machine were turned off. And, just a couple of seconds later, the emergency dim lights activated all over the Forge.

Shadows moved within Xiuyang's peripherals. There was definitely something here.

The sight of blood excited the tendrils, but Xiuyang forcibly calmed them. The unlikely alliance between her devouring blood and the Hegelans' technology could most likely handle whatever disease Pluurii had, but it was worth not taking the chance of a debilitating effect from taking on unnecessary battles.

Instead, the illuminant metal cabinet caught her eye. It contained organic matter of various strange blends that just reminded her of the contents of a person's stomach. They were arranged in symmetrical rows that were a bit uncanny, too. There were other things in there, but she wasn't quite sure what any of it was.

It was about that time that the power flickered off. Xiuyang canted her head and peered around. She noticed that she could see quite well in the dark, now. Unfortunately, the darkness was not to last, but the dim lights that followed were more than adequate. She stalked around the space for a moment, moving with the terrifying silence of a predator.

"Well done," she said as her tendrils suddenly began noisily peeling off the face of the vending machine like the top of a tin can. It would have to do. The tendrils had already sneakily consumed all the food in her medicine box while she was preoccupied with talking to the others.

"You played your role well. I'm actually impressed by your work ethic. If only you'd left it at that: completing the mission you were sent here to accomplish." Xiuyang instinctively tried to reach for one of the strange concoctions—a hypocritical thought, perhaps, given the nature of her own created foodstuffs—but her arms refused to move, still.

In a rage, she picked up a coiled-up cable on an iron spool with two of her tendrils and hurled it, sending it rolling through the lab and destroying various objects like a bull in a Retan shop, eliminating some hiding spaces. "I don't know why you tried to kill her, but I don't care. You come within a tethered's range of her again, and I will make you regret ever being born." There was a sick feeling in her stomach as soon as the venom left her mouth. If anyone in all of Ersand'Enise should have been able to understand Pluurii's pain—a body hidden beneath bandages, slowly eating itself—it should have been her.

Things should not have turned out this way—yet war was coming, and she would surely come to know this feeling of regret intimately. It only enraged her all the more. A piece of her humanity had been taken from her already; why couldn't this part have been taken away as well, so taking lives and saying farewell to former friends could be so easy, as someone like Pluurii must surely do. Tearing down some ceiling panels, she leaped up to a higher floor and seemed to abandon the chase, for now. Blood would not make the unsettling in her stomach subside.

She wasn't sure what would, but it would start with her knowing that Seviin, Kaureerah and Yvain were okay. Then, there was... Ciro. Her eyes caught her reflection in a mirror as she neared an intersection in the medical area—the scars were gone. Her face was immaculate. Xiuyang was still here.

What a cruel joke, Ipte... We're done for, aren't we?

Bang.

Lurking in the shadows was the rotting woman. A predator that stalked other predators. She had regained the ability to walk but her pitiful state demanded more attention than crude battlefield medicine. Still, pain meant little to a creature masquerading as a Yasoi. She circled her would-be murderer whilst staying in the safety of darkness and keeping up her Magusjaeger veil. And every few seconds, she erected her pointer finger to point at Xiuyang and raised her thumb to form the shape of a gun.

Bang.

Every occasion she imaged as optimal for a kill shot, she took it. Every chance she had to riddle Seviin's friend with holes was a good one to articulate through juvenile gestures. She stood behind the tentacular menace when a piece of metal fell in a corner further away.

Bang.

How did Seviin pull it off? She was a freak too. A sanctimonious weirdo that didn't belong outside of her line. And yet here was this spider, ready to die for a chance at the healer's would-be assassin. That wasn't very fair, for Pluurii had also stepped out of the island back at the trials. And yet no friends were to be found. Did any of them even remember her name? Of course not, she hadn't even given it.

Bang.

She wanted to feel closer to this one. Surely, in a sense, they could understand one another. But it wasn't enough to just understand - one had to BE Pluurii. The unjust had to be the norm, whether administered by the world or oneself. How she wanted to just riddle this girl with holes until she gurgled in agony. Just because.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Surely, they'd have a connection then. Not friends, that was for people. But for a moment in time, they'd be the same. The question was, how much would she need to take from this girl before they could truly be kindred? Be this close like Seviin was to her? Goodness, she yearned for this connection, but this was the only way she knew how.

Bang.

Her real gun took aim at the ceiling and fire a perfectly silent shot. Still, with the threads of space and time tugged, Xiuyang could be tipped off. It was of little help, however, when debris and a big piece of machinery descended upon the Revidian.

Pluurii would have none of her self-righteous clinging to what remained of her pacifist tendencies. A stitch in time was manipulated somewhere nearby, and another of those metal behemoths descended through the floor above. She hastily dodged the worst outcome, but was still sent tumbling back to the previous floor along with many heavy metal panels and supports.

A pile of broken, inhuman legs twitched like those of a dying insect. Was it pain, or rage? The Revidian buried beneath was silent as the legs regenerated themselves with crackling and squelching noises.

Then, abruptly, they stood up one by one. Wide eyes filled with a primal rage glanced over in Pluurii's general direction. The girl's flimsy control over the symbiotic appendages' bloodlust was slipping. "Ah. There you are," she said dispassionately as she stalked closer. "The others are finding ways to neutralize the seeds. Your odds of dying for your kill are going up. Still going to gamble at one in four? How about one in three?!" She ranted in fury as she tore the lab apart looking for the mummified yasoi woman.

“Let's make it an even one in two.” Pluurii spoke for the first time, still concealed in the shadows and just barely avoiding one of Xiuyang's thrashings. The voice came from one place, but the sniper was in another.

Click. Clank.

The cocking of her gun was not hidden and her position was revealed as she stepped into one of the dim lights. “Flip a coin. Right now. Heads I live. Tails ...” it was hard to tell if she was smiling, her deformed and burnt face was more skeletal than anything else. “Do it or I'll kill ALL of them and then your boyfriend and then your sister and then your blah blah blah, DO IT!” yelled the monster, utterly maniacal. “I need it. Make it not make sense.”

For a moment, the Revidian ignored the woman's deranged ramblings. If she truly thought she was still in a good enough condition to take a meaningful shot at her, the others—or, laughably, Ciro—she could go ahead and try, or so it seemed. Then, she paused, because that was when Xiuyang realized what she was looking at.

This was a broken woman, used and abused by her country until she could no longer bear the weight of her own actions. If there was no one in power to decide for her, she would let "fate" decide. Xiuyang, of the so-called cowardly family of Solari, now saw the true face of cowardice. If running from death was the lowest and most excusable form of cowardice, fleeing from the responsibility of one's own Dami-given choices was the worst of the worst.

It was also what Xiuyang would become by the end of this war, if she did not seize with both hands what this wretch was running away from—a broken husk who could do nothing but follow orders and dance to the motions of the strings that bound her. Xiuyang pondered this as she hung from the tendrils on her back like an idle puppet waiting for its user's input.

If it were possible, Xiuyang's eyes widened all the more as she slowly forced a trembling arm to move toward a nearby vending machine that had been trashed. She took a small, golden coin from the wreckage, eyes locked on to Pluurii. For a moment, she considered the absurdity of trying to win a coin flip against a temporal mage, but then—

—she bit the small disc of chocolate in two. "...Tempting, but worthless—just like your ideals," she judged, rushing at her. "YOU DON'T GET TO RUN FROM WHAT YOU'VE DONE!!" she screeched.

Xiuyang rushed at Pluurii in a murderous rage, not sure what to do about the Sirrahi's seeds. Perhaps she could dissect the woman and remove them like she threatened to do. Maybe she could rely on the Omniphage Coils here—as they seemed to know the aspects of Oraff's magic that the school held as contemptible more deeply than she did—and turn the seeds inert, somehow. She had one body to experiment on, and if it worked, she could extract them from herself, and then her friends, and remove the snake's trump card from the table, if Kaureerah wasn't already working on it.

Then, suddenly, they were no longer a problem. The Revidian felt her new body's muscles swell and her power surge as the fog in her mind cleared. Xiuyang knew—in a vapid, factual sense—that she was a strong mage, but she had so many run-ins with much more powerful monsters that she never really felt like it. For the first time in a long time, however, she felt truly, monstrously powerful.

She would not have even a moment to enjoy it. She was hurled into the ceiling by the sudden quaking of the leviathan's awakening, her head hit a metal beam, and she crumpled to the floor. For a moment, perhaps, she would have seemed easy prey for Pluurii, but the tendrils moved of their own accord, leaping to the floor above and skittering away with inhuman speed.

The yasoi priestess was worthy of trust, and had some power over time and space. She was their only real exit away from what was to come. This was the only "thought" that occupied the creature's mind in response to the Marhazannet on all fours that quickly rendered Pluurii into a mere inconvenience.

Xiuyang's dash was cut short by a sudden snake in the way. He did not move.

“Ah!” hands at snake-shoulder levels, Hu He wiggled his fingers in some sort of greeting. “I'm glad to see you unh-” his wide maw remained agape for a second. Upon further inspection, her held its exceptionally long forked-tongue. “In one piece?”

The serpent refocused the purpose of the exchange after a brief throat clearing. “Your friends are fine, if that is your concern. However, they may not be if we do not resolve this core issue. Do you agree?”

The Revidian stopped exactly one step short of trampling the Sirrahi. At first, there was no reply other than a guttural hiss. The girl had taken a blow to the head and lost her senses to the animal inside. The blood trickling down her face wasn't quite so alarming as it would be to someone without her healing factor. It was an easy fix with just a touch of quick binding.

The hissing stopped, but her mouth remained agape for a moment until she took hold of her consciousness. "Why isn't the core back on..?" she wondered aloud, absently. Then, she blinked. "The CORE?!" she roared. "That thing's going to take an army of you and me, and a god or two at the vanguard for good measure, and you're worried about the damn CORE?!" she reiterated, gesticulating wildly at the turtloid face that had become the horizon. She didn't even seem to notice that she'd regained the use of her arms.

"Tell me you prepared a plan for this situation in advance! No one told me this would happen!" Her eyes were frantic and full of primal rage and fear as a realization hit her: this thing was the consequences of her own actions. She had, in fact, been told some variation of "this would happen."

There was no escaping it. There was no "if I didn't accept the mission, somebody else would have done it." This was her mess to clean up, and at least three hells awaited her if she shirked the duty—the only thing more terrifying than a god-sized monster that could not be slain by mere mortals was the gods themselves.

“Oh my.” binding magic was quick to correct any perceived and superficial imperfection on Xiuyang's pretty little head as the result of the Pluurii scuffle. “You're not aware of your purpose here?” his approach was gentle and barely felt to begin with, and his voice was a complete contrast to the urgency shown by the Revidian.

The serpent leaned in with a glint in his eye. “You were sent to shut down this core too, were you not?” he began to smile again. “What power hungry war monger would not DREAM of having a living weapon wake up all of a sudden?” he hoped the young unwilling soldier pieced it together by then. He straightened his posture and gestured to the general direction of the core. “Simple logic would dictate that if shutting off the core would prompt its ire, then ...” he gestured his hand in a circular motion, as if coaxing the girl to finish his string of thoughts for her, like a passionate professor teaching to an equally dispassionate amphitheater.

Xiuyang leaned in, eyes narrowed. "No one told me the so-called 'weapon' was a big-ass turtle," she quietly seethed, not quite frantic enough to blow her cover completely to anyone else who may be listening just yet. "How could anyone control that thing? Are they a fool?" Her tone was somewhere between probing and judgmental.

She resisted the tendrils' urge to kill the snake man on sight, but the girl had limited willpower with which to buy time for him. There was none that could be spared for examples of things that could not simply be undone to show that the logic was not sound. She just had to follow the orders from on high and hope that the ones giving them weren't Shune-damned fools who will get them all killed. "Seviin better be okay, and this better work," she muttered as she skittered off in the indicated direction of the core. Hopefully it was still there when she arrived, and not destroyed on account of the leviathan stubbing its toe on a misplaced island.

“Where there is a will, there is a way.” Hu He quipped, still oozing with misplaced enthusiasm. His own tail began to rattle and palpitate in a show of dominance toward the rival appendages. “I am sure she'll survive just about anything. Your three friends are safe.”

Off they were toward the core and Xiuyang's new slithering friend did not stray too far from her. The trip was quick and they once again found themselves where Pluurii's grenade had gone off, and the last known location of Leon and Juulet. Maiv had since joined the group, and her presence was clearly warranted when they laid eyes on the sorry state of the core's control center.

“Oh my.” the Exemplar spoke up with his usual opener. Orvil quickly drew his weapon and levied it at the two new arrivals. His translator had sustained many hits on this day, but the grenade had just about done it in. Stray words like "Back" and "Finished" made through the broken speaker.

Maiv, however, could speak. “If you are here to stop it-” she emerged from within the bowels of wires and motherboards, goggles on and welding torch in hand. “Then I have some bad news.” there wasn't the rage that Orvil held. Just the disposition of a woman that, in spite of it all, refused to just die without trying. “If we want to turn this back on, we'll need replacements. Fast.”

Xiuyang's eyes regarded Orvil with only a moment's worth of lazy-lidded disappointment. Glancing around, she also did not find Leon or Juulet. Either Leon had a change of heart at the last second or was lying about his goals and was now locked in combat with Juulet somewhere, or they were en route to fight the leviathan together—barking mad, both.

The Revidian glanced deferentially at the Sirrahi, who surely knew far more useful information about these things than she, whose best guess at what a motherboard was would involve woodcarving or architecture. "If there is anything I can do, tell me. Otherwise..." she glanced upwards at nothing in particular. "I go to meet Eshiran on my own terms, I suppose," she volunteered, detached. If Eshiran sent her here to free the prisoners of Halge Larchelon, perhaps this situation was her way of ensuring that Xiuyang returned them to her in a timely manner.

Orvil's rage was entirely dedicated to the snake. He battled his own instincts to not take a shot at this monster - this invader! What made the veteran stood right by the serpentine menace, and then Maiv's resolve. A fight here could mean the death of everybody and he had seen enough death today.

“Replacement parts? If it's mere springs and wires ...” the Sirrahi approached with a trifecta of newly made metal spheres floating over his palm.

Maiv shook her head. “Circuits. The old sort but most things have been replaced.” an answer that made Orvil punch a nearby pile of scraps. “Unless-”

“The vending machines have remained the same since my tenure. I must say, outrageously underrated seasoning.” Hu He grinned.

Maiv snapped her fingers. “My thoughts exactly.”

And in that moment, as a common goal was found by both parties, the lingering tension in the air had fallen dramatically.

“Well, Miss Solari, you are now presented with a choice.” the snake twisted to face her and presented a hand, palm faced up. “You may help prevent this cataclysm at your own, very likely peril.” then came the other hand. “Or flee with a mission accomplished.” he watched her close. He drank everything that her new body communicated.

The Hegelans did too. The proverbial spotlight was on the spider-like Revidian.

Xiuyang glanced sideways at the Sirrahi, as though his advice were either confusing or unwelcome. He presented a choice where the Revidian saw none. He presented a mission complete where there was none. No, not until Pluurii's plan to implicate the others for her actions had backfired completely—herself the fall girl on behalf of Revidia. The job was not done until that woman became the villain of this operation, Xiuyang absolved of any willing participation in it, and her country given plausible deniability against having colluded with Tarlon, given Leon didn't mess it up for her.

Xiuyang's face betrayed no fear or schemes. The symbiote continued to be wary of every movement of the snake, but she maintained her control over them. She regarded the leviathan in the distance. "I am no god. I will bring the vendor machines," she said as she turned to go. It was not a big stretch to guess at what they were based on the name.

Seviin's eyes flicked over the destroyed consoles and machinery, though she did not even truly have a concept of what a 'machine' was. Someone here had knocked her out earlier. She was not unaware of this fact, but they also hadn't injured her. It sat there in the rear of her mind, unanswered and nagging for one.

In the meantime, they had to save, well... everyone. At mention of the vendor machines, however, she dashed off ahead of... Xiuyang, coins jingling in her pockets. Skidding to a stop in front of one, she scrolled rapidly through its options, having done so once or twice already. Only, this time, she would satisfy her curiosity. She selected the strange 'egg', pulled the coins from her pocket, and sent one, two, three, four tumbling down the little chute.

"I do not know the treasures that these contain, suunei," she remarked to the approaching... Xiuyang. "but I think they could be worth it before we take them away from their magnetic power."

It was the closest Xiuyang had ever come to thinking something along the lines of "stupid yasoi." She treasured that curiosity, truly she did. It was Shune-Zept's blessing in the purest form found on Sipenta, and she wished humans had been given as much. Now was not the time to talk about any of this, however. She closed her eyes, lest she see the light in Seviin's eyes go dark along with the machine. "Forgive me Shune this dark light of ignorance, for I must do the work of Oraff," she prayed. "I do this out of love, Seviin." Her tendrils, poised like can openers, loomed closer to the machine.

The most obnoxious of gambling app sound effects played once the four coins were in. The screen zoomed into the black egg Seviin had been coveting the entire time, with a pop-up appearing with two options.

One was green. The other red. Both with unreadable glyphs.

Could she make the right choice on time?!

Sensing that her time to make a choice was nearly up, Seviin considered. Red. Red was the colour of Mother Oirase. That was the option that she jammed as ...Xiuyang rapidly approached.

Processing ...

Pop!

Out came an egg. Smooth in texture with no imperfection. It smelled ... Sweet. The texture was silky smooth and a little bit of the chocolatey surface would immediately melt onto Seviin's digits.

With Seviin having secured her treat, Xiuyang ripped the entire machine unceremoniously from the wall. She had no hope of imagining what in the five hells a mother board was, and so it would be delivered to the Hegelans wholesale. "From one merchant to another, know that I will compensate for the damages," she helpfully offered to the machine for its sacrifice.

With care, the now-towering Revidian tipped it over onto its side for Maiv and Orvil to work on it. Vendors replaced with machines... food replaced with... fossilized nutrients? Is this the future? she thought regrettably. "What now?" she inquired of the two, hoping in vain that there was more she could do.

Orvil had since disappeared, leaving Maiv as the sole technician left standing. With minimal effort, she pried the circuitboard from the crudely ripped innards of the wall-vendor. She took just a few seconds to regard Xiuyang with a intense gaze. “Stop that thing at all cost.” her translator took away some of the solemnity in her voice.

Easy for you to say, 'at all costs,' Xiuyang pondered Maiv's command—that was what it felt like—irritably, resisting the urge to comment on it. Leon had said that she ought to consider herself on the level of the Twin Emperors after this adventure, and she thought that he'd better be right.

They had used the word 'machine' for this thing, and Seviin rolled it over on her tongue under her breath. Nonetheless, they delivered it and, in a strange sort of way, she was sad to see it killed. Gone were its bright colours and blinking lights and its pleasant little voice. It had spoken to her. It had offered her choices.

She moved quickly, nonetheless, for time was of the essence here and they had all been party to a dire sin by unleashing the Leviathan upon Sagand. And yet... it occupied her thoughts: how it was not quite a living thing but, somehow, more than an object. It had possessed a life of its own, in some sense, and they had dispassionately ripped it free of the energy on which it fed, like a tree uprooted from the soil or hidden from the sun, torn its face open, and gutted it on the spot. It would not live again.

"Suunei, are you with me?" she called back to ...Xiuyang, secretly a little bit afraid of her, but that was irrational. It was immaterial, too. They needed to make it to the surface. They needed to stop Seimax'omal. They needed to - "Avincian and Tarlonese languages detected," said a small muffled female voice from her pocket. "downloading language packs now."

Xiuyang regarded Seviin as they rushed to the surface. "I doubt I can do much to this thing without you backing me up," she replied in what she seemed to hope was a morale-boosting quip. She glanced at her pocket as it spoke, but it was all nonsense to her. "...I'm sorry, Seviin. The sniper got away." Her facial muscles were working again, regret evident in her eyes.

"She is vile," the priestess affirmed, "and I appreciate your concern, but our purpose remains undoing some of this damage we have wrought in our foolishness, not... protecting me." Seviin turned, briefly, eyes searching Xiuyang with some unease. What had happened to her friend!? What had this evil place done to her? "Promise that you won't risk yourself on my account." she shook her head as she came to a stop and began to pull upon space to send her into the struggle above. "My life means much to me, but much less, still, than those of the millions who might perish otherwise."

As if to illustrate the point, there was a colossal jolt and panes of glass shattered. Seviin was caught unprepared as she concentrated on her spell, and a sharp shard dug right into her shoulder. She let out a squeak of pain and wavered, blood immediately trickling down to stain her white robes, but she did not do much more than flinch. "Suunei," she asked softly, "Can you pull it from me?"

No sooner had the words left the yasoi's mouth than a fissure opened up, threatening to swallow the Revidian whole. Her new limbs reflexively extended, grabbing on to the newly formed cliff. As she frantically climbed back up, one of her handholds failed and flew down to her, but she was ready for it this time. Eyes wide, her head moved and the rock hit her shoulder instead.

"Wups," she remarked, as if her injury were no less mundane than dropping a jar of common medicine while reaching up to a high shelf. Though the tendrils did all of the climbing, sweat rolled down her brow. Inaudibly, she muttered something about "ain't no Hugo," "stupid," "save the world again," and "bullshit."

Safely on her feet, she plucked the offending shard of debris from Seviin's shoulder. "I can't think about the millions, Seviin. My heart is much smaller than yours. I'd be paralyzed under the pressure." She offered the smallest touch of binding to stop the bleeding, saving the bulk of her energy for the fight ahead. "I'm doing this for you and... me," she put a hand to her stomach as though it were upset by something. "Send me up there."

Juulet popped into existence right by the duo of girls.

“Ladies.” she had a bloody nose and was drenched in rapidly drying sweat. The air around her was sweltering! At the very least they would be spared the sporadic cold snaps manifested by the big turtle. “Upsies, you said?” she grinned right at Xiuyang.

Her wicked hand reached out for the Revidian with the goal of sending her up high. Really high. Right near that Monsigneus to be exact.

Seviin took a moment to gather all of the energy that she could to Xiuyang's rather alien form, imbuing her with the chemical and kinetic strength to carry out a powerful act. Then, she refocused on space and the two of them appeared on the surface, close to those already dubiously engaged with the primordial titan.

Suddenly, Juulet was there and, with scarcely any delay, the priestess of Oirase interposed herself between the Mad Avatar and her target. "Pelosh let cash coi?" she suggested in accented Mycormiish.

Xiuyang regarded Juulet with completely serious eyes. "Yes." She started to point to the top of the leaning tower as she spoke. "Send me up to the—" She did not get to finish her request.

Juulet raised a brow at Seviin and shrugged. “You heard her.” although it wouldn't be the top of the tower, but much higher in the sky! At the same altitude as the roaming dragon, to be more specific. If she were to fall perfectly straight, she WOULD end up on top the tower.

"FFFUUUUUUUUUCCCKKKKKKK YYYYOOOOOOUUUUUU!!" Xiuyang screeched as she fell, for the second time, from a portal at great height. Her original target was below her, but there was a dragon in the way—of the "big, fuck-off" variety, as a certain suspicious but endearing Vossoriyan would say.

The surreal nature of the constant struggles of the day allowed her to narrow her focus. The past was gone and tomorrow was more dream than promise. The only moment of any significance was the present, and what she needed to do to not die.

She could not take on a Monsigneus, but she stood a better chance against it than the Leviathan, and the Monsigneus stood a better chance against the Leviathan than any of them. It was poor math, and the numbers wouldn't warrant any consideration if she had the time. Fortunately, she didn't have the time, so instead of worrying about the odds, she did something a merchant should never do: she trusted that the gods had a plan for her, and had already looked over the numbers on her behalf.

It was insanity.

It was invigorating.

It was enlightenment.

If I manage this, I owe Zarina a lifetime of patronage for that flying lesson.

Xiuyang did her best to contend with the massive creature. Just being in contact with the draconic beast as it drew energy drained her, but she also had to contend with its thrashing. Holding on with adhesive blood magic, trying to calm the beast with chemical, and using her tendrils to hook its jaws and act as improvised reins happened all at once as the simple instinct to not die took over.

She aimed for the top of the tower and hardly noticed the two boys as she set her plan into motion. Once she did see them, she could only hope that they had better odds of surviving from this height than she—with no method of flight aside from the dragon—did.

At the last moment, she tried to pull up, so that the dragon would moreso "kick" the tower than crash head-on into it. Once that was done, and the tower began to tip over, it was an almost unbelievable moment. She'd actually managed to knock the thing over, and it only registered for her just then that this was a bad situation for her.

She scurried down the side of the tower as it fell, trying to get close to the base where the force of the impact would be the lightest. It was a matter of when she was thrown off, not if—and when she was, she had little in the means of kinetic to save herself from a truly nasty fall.

She arrived at the base of the fallen tower, breathless and coughing up dust. The adrenaline was higher now than when she'd fought the knower titan, and she felt sick. She was going to—

Xiuyang bent over and hurled a ball of fire at the ground. The fire came out of her mouth. She looked at the charred mark on the ground in disbelief. "Ugh. I told you not to eat that," she scolded the tendrils.

Seviin had, perhaps, been too thunderstruck watching the tower hit the monster and sensing for Xiuyang - if she was alright. It had consumed her so that she did not register just what the leviathan was doing until she felt everything - herself included - being pulled towards it with incredible force.

At full draw, she formed an immense barrier between the monster and herself, and then a second and third. It opened its mouth and a black sun leapt from a pinhole, scything across reality. All that she could do was tug on time to make her steps faster, tug on motion, to make her feet move, and tug on the chemicals within her own body to will them to act.

She did not have the time to wonder why it had chosen her of all people. Instead, at the very end, Seviin had a moment of clarity where she realized that all of her efforts here would not be enough.

It began with one foot not finding the ground where it should've been. Then, it was unbearably hot, and Seviin tumbled and fell, and she did not know where. All she knew was the heat and the roaring, and the fear, no—the certainty of death must have been like what Yvain had experienced in the core.

And then, it was over. Seviin was on the concrete somewhere below the earth, and it was still swelteringly hot, but not unbearable. Xiuyang was holding up a dam of concrete and iron as molten rock flowed past the ledge they found themselves on and into the abyss below.

"And another reason is," she continued as if their conversation had never been interrupted. "You don't worry about yourself, so if I don't, who's going to?" She pretended to focus hard on what she was doing, not facing Seviin as she spoke.

It was hot and dark and Seviin swallowed. She opened her eyes. She was not dead. She was not hideously burnt and broken. Xiuyang was there and she was alive because of her.

She swallowed again. She stood and added her forced to Xiuyang's to throw off the immense smoldering mass. "It is said," she rasped, "that Mother Oirase sends her angels to protect her beloved." It was a dry, pained laugh. "Thank you, suunei. You are my favourite octopus."

Xiuyang blinked. "I suppose I have adopted something resembling a cuttlefish," she replied. "Actually, I've always been a bit like that. I'm... a facemimic, so... I guess this new body doesn't bother me as much as it probably should." She decided not to mince words. There wasn't any pain in her voice over it.

"I don't think I can qualify to be an angel like this, but if the gods can use me, then I guess it doesn't matter if I'm human or not." She shrugged and took a deep breath. "You know, I used to fear that I would end up in Ypti or Oirase's hell just for being what I am, but I don't believe that anymore. That's what I meant when I said I know what it's like to hate yourself, and I'd never want you to feel that way. Sorry if I touched a nerve back there."

She paused for a moment. "Uh, I'm not dropping all this on you because I think we're gonna die or anything. I just wanted you to know before... I mean, who knows when we'll get another chance to talk... like this?" She cut herself off awkwardly before she could dig a deeper hole.

For a moment, Seviin only stood there. They were free of the immediate danger, for now. She stood and listened. This new form of Xiuyang was... jarring, but how could she judge? How could she fear? She was something far more feral, deep down, and the Revidian had seen it too. She was sure of that. She had seen it and she had not been afraid so, perhaps...

The priestess' robes were anything but white. They were tattered and bloody and dusty and... not so very different than they had been back in Tanso, when a flood of casualties had come in. There was nothing beautiful about fighting, but sometimes you found yourself in a fight, one way or another.

She swallowed and nodded and regarded Xiuyang steadily. Her pulse, which had pounded behind her ears, settled. Her breathing slowed. Her hands relaxed. It would not be much longer, she knew. It couldn't be, and they would have the forge back on and this beast would go still "tomorrow," she replied simply. "we will speak tomorrow, suunei." There was a smile to accompany it. "For now, we make that thing's path -" She glanced up at the leviathan. "-like stairs for a tethered."

Xiuyang's heart disquieted as she wondered what they would discuss tomorrow—but then, she understood. They would speak tomorrow. It didn't need to be about anything. Finally, she met Seviin's gaze and smiled. "That's a pretty big demolition project, but I know a guy," she said with a facefull of cheeky grin. It only fully sank in now that she had seen Yvain alive and well.

Seviin's satchel beeped again.

Connection Successful! S.O.B now Operational. WARNING: Low Energy!

Seviin twisted and plucked the... remote from her satchel, turning it over in her hands. "Dyca roizex?" She tilted her head to the side. "Joi tawiip naso sein sacax yii?" She regarded it and then looked over at Xiuyang and, beyond her, at the present situation. "Elei ya joi?"

Hello [USER] and welcome to your first use of-
WARNING: Low Energy!
the S.O.B command board. Please present your face for facial scan.

Seviin tilted her head, glancing in Xiuyang's direction for a moment. She regarded the remote intently. "Seviinii sali yii?" She examined the device, giving it her undivided attention. Perhaps this... machine could not draw magic. How very sad for it.

A ray of light scanned Seviin's face.

Facial scan complete. Thank you!
Would you like to s-
WARNING: Low Energy!
-ign up as a registered user?

Two options popped up. One 'Yes' in red, and one 'No' in green.

"Than'zeilei," the priestess replied with a certain reverence. Then, it was interrupted again by that other voice to remind it that its energy was low. "Qitsiin wiip oxo yapa mitoip, hyco'lar!" She did not know how to heal this little machine. She did not, and oh how it ate at her. "Ta! Seviin thoi socei alestoi." She nodded vigorously. She understood red as the goddess' colour and so she pressed it.

The Leviathan roared. Its very scream was comparable to a small nuclear missile exploding. Truly, the only reason it hadn't killed everyone was due to its simplicity and singular goal.

But now it was thoroughly aware of the insects' presence. It did not glare at one particular bug this time, however, and instead projected its blood lust onto ALL living beings that had beheld it.

You have selected 'Yes'.

The turtle began actively draw. Air currents that naturally passed by this region were ripped from their normal trajectory; the very heat of Sipenta's core was being suckled upon like an infant to its mother's breast; every little scrap of energy was being taken in by the merciless current of power that was its manas consciously drawing. All drawing was near impossible so long as the maelstrom persisted.

The result of this rapid drawing was the Leviathan retreating its six protruding limbs into its shell whilst a gargantuan mountain of hardened ice grew around it. In just two seconds, the peak had gotten higher than Halge Larchelon's central spire and kept on growing. It's width was threatening to swallow all those that kept their distance.

Please speak your name and insert a 4 number PIN as your password!

Inside was an incandescent light, a heat that was nearing the power of the very core Yvain nearly gave his life just to get close to it. It did not melt the mountain, the shell of the beast was keeping it contained.

“Listen carefully!” it was Hu He's voice echoing through the loudspeakers of the city. “It is about to freeze this city and likely the entire country we're in, blasting you with it.”

WARNING: Low Energy!

The unfathomably hot innards of the newly formed ice mountain was beginning to cause the mountain to steam. The shell's protection was faltering. It was going to explode. Everything in a two hundred kilometer radius was going to flash freeze. Everything would die.

“Destroy the ice shell or find cover! ANY COVER! And pray.”

They had left a mark on the Leviathan, and now it had decided to leave a mark on the world.

“Ah.” she realized the moment she tried to draw. “We're so fucking dead.”

Not enough to teleport away far enough.

Not enough to melt all this ice.

Not enough energy.

Energy Low- What a distracting device that thing was!

“Tone that piece of shit down, I at least wanna die in peace!” she scolded Seviin.

Then, it hit her. “Wait, wait-”

The Mad Avatar twisted toward Leon. “Leeeeon! You don't need to suck! Do something!” she was being dramatic, but the dread was genuine. They were, in fact, going to die horribly if they didn't do anything. A Sunblessed was a solution, she believed.

For a moment, Seviin was dragged away from her interaction with the little machine. Seimax'omal itself was happening before her very eyes. "Naya suuluun, hyco'lar, cip -"

Then, Juulet spoke. Seviin whirled on her. "Uum ya uudei! Jex soan toalii'dorii!" she snapped, and she decided, right there and then, to give the machine the four numbers that it wanted. "Nax ya Seviin'delaan'taxoiya," she began. "Joia siixo ya yr-uum-yr-ix." She took a deep breath and looked at Xiuyang, and prepared to run without magic but with all that she had.

Password accepted. Thank you Seviin'delaan'tax.

The name was probably too long.

Please point the remote at your target.

A small screen displayed a tutorial on proper use of the remote control. It was as simple as pointing it and clicking a button.

Be sure to keep the remote control pointed for proper localization and accurate targeting.

The answer was pretty clear. He could run, freeze, and be remembered in history as one who fled. Or he could attack, and that promising archaeologist would see his frozen form diving forward with sword drawn. It was an easy choice for the portrait he wished to show the future. And if, by some miracle, he could succeed, it would only be by piercing through the mountain. It was time for that gambit again, the one that ensured his death should there be anything left to fight back, he would use everything.

"Fuck." Eclipsed by the shadow of the newborn mountain, any grand, full-blown speech of the Sun King faltered him entirely. He was going toward his death, for if he survived this, he truly would be a god.

The performer readied his odachi and rose to the air with an increasingly blinding golden glow. The sword has little more use than a guide for Leon to channel a mighty blade of flame, under such an intensity that its simple steel composition would not survive the attack. Unsure of himself, unsure of his safety, the Sun King once again graced the skies with a frightening and far-reaching radiance. The only point to its circular form is the blade that leveled at the centre of the Leviathan's shell.

You are not to hit the shell, Leon, you are to going through it.

Oraff, Ipte, whoever will listen, please give me grace.

The Sun that now concealed the performer's form entirely dived toward the mountain at increasingly impossible speeds. Speeds with reckless disregard for his own life. The only thing that mattered was burying his sword into the tortle's shell, all else ended the same.

10 RAS to 1 RAS. The Sun falls.

Seviin's eyes widened. Was her little machine a warrior, somehow? But it was so small! Would it fly from her hand and go attack!? She couldn't see how, but she feared that it would die! "Dii dii dii!" she cried. "Wiip maas joia leloi pathiir!" It kept trying to tell her how to release it to do its work, though. It did not give up. It was unconvinced. Could a machine even be convinced? What she had learned so far told her that they were very stubborn and set in their ways. They completed their assigned tasks with the utmost focus.

She took a deep breath and did as the machine asked. "Ya dila'doin," She pointed it unerringly at the mountain of death and decided to believe. "Qitsiin, Oirase'aloi, tan'dax luum."

Target found.

A progress bar was rapidly filling on the screen.

Calibrating ...

Beep beep beep beep ...

At least I had a front row seat, Kaureerah mused. She could see Leon doing something incredible that only he could do. He was giving everything: all of his energy. The yasoi priestess was pointing something at the leviathan. Maybe it was some sort of ritual item? Maybe she was trying to purify it? The eeaiko would not scoff, this time. People would deal with marhazannet each in their own ways. Kaureerah did not bother try to run. She could feel the very energy being sucked from her where she stood.

She did not move. What a life. What a life she'd had. If only it could've ended better. All of her triumphs and failures occupied her mind's eye. She had survived the progenitor and a whole island full of people who had wanted to kill her. She had survived a millennia-old monster in the bowels of the Lost City. The Gods would not kill her, she knew. They would not let her taste victory either, but she would not die until it was her time.

Maybe this was it.

She imagined that surge of energy begin released but, strangely, it came fromt he heavens, instead. It surrounded the gargantuan dragon-turtle and bathed it in light. Maybe that was Leon. Maybe it was one of the Gods, come to answer Seviin's prayer. That was just how it appeared to Kaureerah, and she would have to make do with that.

When the snake-man's voice came, Xiuyang grumbled something under her breath as she stalked closer to the mountain of ice. The sensation in her chest was unfamiliar, like a burning in her heart. The Director's instinct to protect the Forge was bleeding into her own feelings. Rage was building. Now, the burning was in her throat. She tried to speak, but had to choke the words back, lest her friends be annihilated by this power.

She consumed the last of the draconic horn and drew as much of the surrounding terrain as she dared, until she was perched on a pedestal of rubble surrounded by a moat of nothing. There was hardly any energy, but there was substance, and though the conversion would take precious seconds, she would only get one shot anyway. I know there must be souls in the heavens that yearn to be reunited with these, but I also want to be reunited with the ones I love. Can I not be allowed the selfishness of youth and ask for a few more years? She prayed for Eshiran to spare her once more as she prepared to unleash the infernal breath on the leviathan's shell.

The invigorating feeling of his attack landing onto such a behemoth was unlike anything.

. . .

Which was quickly replaced by annoyance.
"Barely a scratch? . . tsk, insulting."
His hand met his hip as he witnessed the nuclear device go off with similar results.

Yvain took his stance again, preparing to do the same once more. "Two times the charm." He tried to draw in for another fiery attack, but quickly noticed it was not enough

Not enough to throw his flames upon the iceberg, even the blade could barely draw in any heat by itself.

The options for energy were very limited, but he had one idea. It might not even work, but he had to try something, but the idea of it succeeding gave him the biggest smile.

He tried to excite and split the very air to gain the energy for a heavenly lance.

Calibration complete.

WARNING: Low Energy!

Sipenta Orbital Blaster ready.

Are you sure of this decision?

Another Yes - No option appeared.

"Do you want to do this, Hyco'lar?" she asked, waiting momentarily for a response.

Confirmation needed.

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

Seviin did not understand machine! Not when it spoke its own strange tongue. Time was of the essence. The Gods had placed this power within her hands. It seemed... eager, she supposed?

She selected 'yes'.

None backed down. They were in it to win. Curious that the mad one of the bunch was initially the most rattled.

But Juulet saw them all fight - all of them, non-Gods, biting back. Even Seviin, the deranged pacifist, had time to care for others in a time of imminent death.

So, as the destined Avatar to guide all toward a better world, what was she?

Yvain, the near-dead Huusoi gave it his all in an encore with death.

Kaureerah, the weakest among them, channeled every bit of her will to their success.

Xiuyang, a girl that hated her guts, embraced her monstrous new state and unleashed the rage of Halge Larchelon.

Then there was Leon, now a shining star in the heavens.

What kind of guide would she be if she just ran away?

From the VOID she drank. From time immemorial she gorged herself.

Below the base of the iceberg formed two, molten hands faster than any spell of this size could normally be. They both embraced the block of frost and squeezed. The frigid walls were tenderized from their combined assaults, perfect for the Sun King's arrival.

Confirmed.

The remote control spoke, nearly distracting Juulet from her moment.

A red beam of light befell the peak of the mountain. It didn't do anything other than reflect on the smooth, icy surface.

Firing in-

Leon descended down like a shooting star while endless flames and lava hands never relented.

3

The shell within the cold casing was about to burst. It wasn't enough! They should've had hid!

2

Leon was just about to crash into the melting mountain's surface. Could he do it? Was he truly worthy of being the people's shining light?

1

Just as the Sun King cast the sun upon the imminent death of all in Sagand, the wrath of the Gods came with him.

The red beam became a blinding white all too similar to the ray unleashed by the Leviathan half a minute ago. It instantaneously pierced through the iceberg and attacked the center of the turtle's core.

There was a delay. A single second where the light of incandescence had vanished.

Then, it all blew up. A mighty light show that made the still dark-blue sky light up as brightly as a summer afternoon. What was meant to be a country-wiping explosion had turned into an implosion that swallowed all of the frost and took the Leviathan in a plume of white mist and smoke. The Sun King's gambit had paid off, the frigid death had stayed contained within the monster that mindless sought to spread it.

In that second where all had gone silent, the Avatar had fulfilled her duties. To her people, to her close allies.

“Leon!”

She called out, but she was too late. The blinding light nearly took her too. All was gone, including their saviour. Juulet was left panting by the Forge's entrance, where there happened to be the snake-man, conveniently returned right as the final shockwave had passed.

Thank you for using S.O.B.

WARNING: Low Energy!

Please wait until new cal-

SHUTTING DOWN

The remote control was no longer responsive. It died giving its all for its new friend. A decisive blow that saved countless lives. A hero, to be sure.

A hero among heroes. And hero's job is never over.

As the mist cleared and the high of surviving what would have been a world-changing event passed, they'd see the shadow of the Leviathan once more. Head, tail, arms and legs out. It seemed ... Fine.

Except, the very center of its shell had cracked with burnt pieces flung about and lodged into a few nearby piles of rubble. It did not bleed per se, but they had wounded it.

Not that it would stop it.

“Over here!” he stood before the broken elevator leading to the Forge with an exhausted Juulet by his side. Instead of his golden vestments, however, he wore an apron with a sky-blue tee below it. And-

What's that smell? It smelled of meat, smoky meat.

The guy had a barbecue right in front of him and a spatula in his hand. A variety of meats and even some vegetables were being prepped in different parts of the grill.

“Just one final push. I believe in you all. Now, eat! I've tailored the menu just for you-”

Hu He blinked as he sprayed some sort of BBQ sauce on a patty.

“What has happened to the Sunblessed?”

"What," Xiuyang responded flatly, rising to her feet—claws—after staggering from the shockwave.

"The fuck are you doing while we're all fighting to not die out here? Oi." She leered at the snake-man with wide eyes in a manner that was uncomfortably like Juulet. Her new limbs yearned to feed, however, and nearly seemed to forget who the man was as she approached.

She loathed to admit it, but she was not going to be repelling the beast any more without a pick-me-up. She was going to be taking a handout from the man who used her, and it made her furious that she was more starved than mad.

The Sirrahi raised his hand. “Just try it. You'll understand.” calm, collected but keen on keeping his distance, he leaned his head back a little.

The snake man was speaking. The world was saved. Hyco'lan was dead. Powerful. He had been powerful beyond her wildest dreams. He had given it his everything. She turned the tiny machine over in her hands. There had been a subtle warmth to him while he lived: a little hum. That was gone. His glowing face was dark and cooling. "Are you there?" she asked, dreading and knowing the answer at once. "Hello?" Gently, she tapped Hyco'lan. There was no response.

Again and again, she turned him over in her hands: this strange little being that was not quite living and yet was more than a mere object. She could heal almost any damaged body. Yvain's survival was, at least in small part, her doing. She could not heal a machine, though. She did not understand them but, surely, there must be a way! "Suuluun, Hyco'lan," she murmured. "Suuluun. Naya'l luin zan juu seng joi pel." She gave the little machine a small glum squeeze and slipped him back into her satchel.

Everyone else was okay. Xiuyang was okay. The snake man was... barbecuing!? She had little choice but to gather there, finding the entire thing at least a bit distasteful.

He was so focused on his own efforts that he had barely noticed that his companion had seemingly given his life. At first it was just the Given and Preserver of life that had blessed him, but now he could not only thank the Bringer of War for shaping his very being into his instrument. The Seeker of Knowledge had also blessed him this day. His intellect matched by very few after furthering his knowledge of Deep Arcane. . . . . or so he at least thought for now.

Yvain's joy was slightly hindered by the shockwave that had made him stumble back. His eyes dawned upon the leviathan that still did not seem to have been felled after all of it. "Making that thresher look like an afternoon snack." The words resonated into his mind, it reminded him of the barbaric southerners of Eskand. . .

The man was prepared to continue his assault, yet the voice of the snake man confused him. To his own dismay, his stomach rumbled. Perhaps he could take at least a small bite. He swiftly jumped off and made his way towards the serpent. "Usually a feast comes after victory."

Kaureerah had known that she would be okay, but was Leon. She couldn't see him. She couldn't find him. She lifted from the ground as the leviathan stood there, still and smoking and shattered, but definitively not dead. By the same token, she suspected that this would not be the end of Leon either. She floated over to where Hu He was and was not shy about helping herself to the food.

Leon fell ass first onto the ground a little behind Hu He. It wasn't like there was any indication of his arrival, he was just suddenly there about a meter off the ground. He let himself collapse, sprawling out of the cold lifeless ground with face and chest skyward. His right sleeve had been ripped off, his hair was a complete mess, he had a bright shiny red clown nose on, and a big shit-eating grin painted his face. Slowly, he got up and looked at the rest of the party that had fought the Leviathan, then laughed and laughed and laughed, he was rolling around on the floor like an idiot.

"HAHAHAHAHA, haha, ha, oooh yeeaah....." Finally settled, he fully sat up. "Did you miss me?" Perhaps the performer lost his mind.

Kaureerah arched an eyebrow and plucked a burger from the grille for him. "Waus waundereeng when yoo'd be beck." She cracked a lopsided smile.

Juulet's react was more extreme. Perhaps it was the meal that made her go over the moon, or the immense relief alone. In any case, the Yasoi ended up poucing the burger-eater for a big hug. “You stupid fuck-o!”

Xiuyang begrudged the Sirrahi a half-grin once she'd partaken of the barbecued food. It was a well-used grill, and the encyclopedia of beasts that had been charred upon it graced the meat with a flavor that may have actually been of a divine nature. "Mm. Understood," she agreed.

She turned back to the turtloid problem at hand. "If you want me to participate in round two, then I want seconds," she demanded—but, before receiving an answer, heat began to build in her chest. She pounded just above her heart in vain as if it could stave off the burning. Ugh, I shouldn't. I shouldn't, but I'm going to.

Yvain's expression was one of surprise, before turning into a soft smile. "Look at you, back in one piece." The man could not help but snort softly as the Mad Avatar pounced the man.

"I've heard of people being incredibly lucky, but having the Lady of Fortune all over you is a bit much, don't you think?" His face soon showed that the irony of his statement was not lost on him.

Seviin... enjoyed the ketchup enough to lick her fingers, and she remembered to thank the chef, but he had still gotten all of them into this in the first place. There was still a seimax'omal-inducing monster a mere kilometer or two from them. Hyco'lan was still... dead, inasmuch as a machine could be.

Leon plucked the burger from her hand with performative flair and bowed his head in thank you. How chipper he was now, had the Leon from Forge died and replaced with the most enthusiastic of ones fresh from Ersand'Enise? For a moment though, had his eyes rested unusually long on the hand that once carried the burger?

Again, it seemed his movements savored every action and had little regard for excess energy spent. He flamboyantly devoured each bite like an ancient Avincian to a bowl of grapes, regal and gluttonous. "By the gods, this sandwich is better than sex right now, you wouldn't believe it." He pulled in Kaureerah and gave her a kiss to the forehead, burger crumbs still present on his lips. And yet, for a woman so good at reading people, such a piggish action did not feel like disrespect was intended, it was an excess of passion that forced manners to the way side. What the hell had happened to him?

Then he got pounced on by a Mad Avatar. Such unexpected force had him stumble, but he very quickly sprung back. He accepted her into his other arm with a hug. "If diving into a space laser makes be stupid, then..." No, she was right.

He had seemed just a friendly to Juulet, but to the more observant, there was some hesitation in the performer. It wasn't easy to spot, but it was the first trace of hesitation or pause with anything Leon had done since his short time back.

"Back in two pieces." Leon corrected Yvain with a smile before tilting his head forward and letting the clown nose fall to the floor with a squeak.

The Sirrahi wasn't so sentimental.

“Now that you've all had your fill.” he shot an a promising nod at Xiuyang.

He pointed at the lumbering God coming their way. A massive set of claws pushed through the Fontaine Plaza. The Leviathan was coming.

“We've unfinished business.”

Juulet scoffed. “Pffft. Old fucking news.” spoke the wannabe Goddess, high off her Enthish meal. Her grin was maniacal, but her eyes were filled with resolved rather than madness. Or were they really the same? “And if we do die, at least we made it sweat for it.”

The scales on the turtle had hardened. It had adapted to them. The steam that gushed out of it was unbearable, even from their distance. This thing had never been more terrifying. And yet none of them would feel any more intimidated. They had survived the apocalypse, what was a few more moments with that pea-brained turtle?

Hu He checked his watch. “Eleven seconds!” he yelled just as the next arm dragged it through where there once was a massive fog.

“Easy.”

Seviin steeled herself. It would be up to them to finish what had been started. Leon was... happier than she had ever seen him. Kaureerah was blushing and looking slightly... confused. The eeaiko had rallied, however. "Aull auf yoo," she announced, "I em caunnected too." She traced a line down one of her arteries with a finger. "My manas." She looked up and nodded. "Aull auf aur pauwer cen be joined toogether. Wee aull drauw end I will heve to be the focaus."

Seviin swallowed as the beast began moving again. It was difficult to miss. "But will that... be enough?" she wondered aloud.

"Not much we can do against this thing. One of my most powerful hits barely scratched it." He addressed the snake. "Unless you want everything to come crashing down, then I could probably hit it like no other." The Perrenchman was still unsure if using an atomic spell on that level would be the most wise of a decision.

All connected, huh? Leon's mouth moved into a wry smile as something fun came to mind. From what he remembered, eleven seconds was nothing compared to the rest of that fight. He sat back down, took a deep breath in, and then channeled manifestation. For some reason, he had felt even stronger to channel after that burger. He flooded the new goldblood network with as much raw power as possible and let the others use it for their means.

Juulet crutched forward, taking the role of vanguard for this ragtag group of survivor. She raised her palm up high, and from a small spark she created an orb of plasma no bigger than a melon.

“You guys hug-box all you want. I've got my ways of doing things.”

The ball swelled, now as big as a carriage. Then some more, and more. Until it matched the head of the beast. By then she had taken to the air as to not accidentally burn one of her allies. Her monsigneus-sized death sphere burned bright and did not fail to get a fleeting glance from the beast.

“Eat this, Emperor FUCK-O!”

The miniature star was hurled, collision imminent in a few seconds. It wasn't particularly fast, but the turtle was inteviably going to meet with it.

Yvain clicked his tongue, he did not wish to be outdone, especially not by another Avatar. Semi-divine people are to be ascended above. The man rushed forward, plans be damned.

He drew in tandem to the sword's autonomous drawing. The very air heated up where he passed, the energy of it becoming more excited and unstable. Was he initiating a loop through air alone?

Realizing what the abbot in Vossoriya had done, Yvain began to charge an enormous spell at tremendous speed. His knowledge in the art of Deep Arcane had transcended and now he would put it to the test.

A cataclysm in the making.

Hu He watched, spatula still in hand. And so his free hand found Kaureerah's.

The Eeaiko felt her energy level swell even more and by quite a substantial amount.

The nuclear reaction was the base, the pyrokinetic properties of the immense heat generated from it only helped to enhance it. The Shockwave of the explosion would be bounced back by the school of Dami.

A Touch of Fire to just crank up his heat even further and a shock as the cherry on top. Through the heat built up, pillars of fire formed around it.

What he threw at this beast was no mere cataclysm as your everyday atomic mage might know it, it became Divine Devastation

Eleven seconds wasn't enough to offer congratulations, condolences, suggestions or excuses. There was only the opportunity before her: Juulet had drawn its attention upwards, and soon the underside of its head would likely be exposed, and with any luck, its neck too. "There!!" she decided, grinning madly as she dashed forward. Each skittering step left a small crater as she drew at the floor in her wake, preparing another monster of an attack.

As she held back the burning in her throat for an opportune moment to strike, she realized from something like a memory that she could channel the infernal heat elsewhere. She stopped right in front of the leviathan's path, pointed all four of her tendrils at the beast, and joined four separate focused beams into a massive heat ray.

Kaureerah's eyes widened. Somehow, for some reason, this felt more like the Leon she had known, the Leon she had fallen in love with. Was that a terribly cliched thought of hers? She did not have much chance to evaluate it, but she knew what she felt: as if she could fly without magic, as if they were a force to be reckoned with. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek as he channeled all of his power to manifest. She drew as much as she could. He drew, and then some. "I won't let you down, Leon," she said, dropping the accent that she had put on for some time now. "We'll win, because the Gods have decided it."

The snake man's gift only confirmed such. He was shady and untrustworthy, despite his excellent cooking, but he was an ally for now, and they needed those. Then there came Seviin as well, pulling until her eyes started to become bloodshot. They began to collect an absurd amount of energy and Kaureerah worked to focus it.

It would hit. She could imagine it like a great arcing tsunami of energy: taller than the leviathan itself. slamming into it like a wall, washing over it, catching it in its massive wake, and tumbling it backwards. This was everything. She felt like a tiny little child at the reins of a behemoth. The eeaiko trembled. Sweat beaded on her brow. The others launched their attacks, one by one and, for a moment, a wave of doubt consumed her. With them, they'd have had enough for certain, but making people work together, she had learned, was often like herding threshers. No matter. There was only one thing to do:

She released it.

Orvil had taken cover once the grand glacier had promised nothing but horrible end to all life. What could he do, now that his rocket had been fired? He was but an old man that had lived like a cave dweller for the majority of his life, he had long since lost his wanderlust and forgotten many of the experiences that made the man he was. Still, he wanted to live, but wisdom trumped the irrational will to fight back, especially when he lacked the power these outsiders did.

He had made his shelter in the ruins, not too far from the events - had no super speed after all. He could only watch, and even that was a terrible idea if he wanted a chance at life. The veteran couldn't help it, these people were not what they had be brought to believe. Sure, they could see them as harbingers of the end - they had caused all of this.

But have they truly? This fate felt inevitable. No, it wasn't just a feeling. He had gotten wise enough to know it was a fact that their aging and isolate civilization was going to end. The outside world caught up and they were lucky enough to have well-intentioned men and women.

A bright light flashed. They had done it. They stopped the great calamity.

When it stood back up, they continued to fight. That right there, it brought him back to his own foolish youth. When he could still ride the boats like most of his people. He never wanted to admit that he had made a mistake to remain a reservist for the next fifty years, all because he felt a sense of duty when their Director fell. Fifty years ...

Cruelty to outsiders, the enemy, had become normal.

Hatred of the other became mandatory for survival.

Fear reigned supreme.

And yet here they were, risking their lives for the Forge. Perhaps it wasn't just for his people, but surely they could have plundered what they wanted by the time that thing had its way with the place. But they fought regardless, against a God that wouldn't negotiate.

Orvil had one last trick up his sleeve. He seized his heavy launcher and dragged it as close as he could to the beast.

A massive orb of heat descended upon its head.

A ray of of heat trounced its neck as it had raised it to engage the sphere.

From high up, a magnificent beam of power befell the cracked shell, forcing the beast to strain its limbs to keep itself standing.

And finally, square on its beak, was the final and biggest release of power he had ever seen - at least from something that wasn't a turtle.

Yet, this thing still stood, roaring in rage as it resisted. And so, for once in his life he could break free of the shackles of regret and fear. He charged in, well within the danger range of the Leviathan. His suit slowly began to peel, and so did his skin, but he didn't care. He needed to get close enough ...

With a mighty heave, he threw his rocket launched with two grenades attached right by its fuel container. And just as it landed by the thing's strained claws, it exploded in a mini-mini-nuke. Just enough to have it lose its footing-

It fell! Right on its underbelly. The Leviathan hadn't just been stopped it was forced to recoil back!

Surely, they had finally done it ...

The Leviathan fell. Its face burn and its shell wound sore. The question of whether it was dead or not shouldn't even be asked; there was no killing this thing. If satellite lasers weren't enough to truly wound it, then what chance did they have?

But they had bought a lot of time. Enough so that, unbeknownst to these heroes, the reactivation process had begun. The black orbs that constituted the unusual fuel of the core began to move and rotate in their electromagnetic bubble. A light hum could be heard throughout the forge.

The turtle, briefly rattled, stood again after discovering rage and hatred for the first time in thousands of years. Its eyes burned with a primal rage that could not be satiated. Its charred beak opened the moment the smoke cleared and energy gathered into its throat - ten times the amount it had unleashed on Seviin a minute before.

So much power. No being on this planet had ever matched this without some sort of forbidden school complimenting it, and this creature just did through its basic bodily functions. It was a pure, white light that generated it own gravity as the creature's head flailed about in fury.

This was it. The light at the end of the tunnel. Death by turtle.

As it readied itself to vomit its stream of legendary destruction, a certain warmth washed through the entirety of Halge Larchelon. A pleasant sensation that trumped the gravitational grandeur of the death ray and the dread some may have felt as the inevitable came regardless of their actions. Feelings of injustice - this was completely unfair! - feelings of betrayal and the loss of all hope washed away.

Just as the sheer vehemence boiling in the Leviathan faded to nothing. The core was back, it sensed, and so its prime directive had been dashed. There was no need for destruction, and there was no need to maintain this excessive show of power in its mouth.

Once again, if flailed and attempted to close its beak. The sheer might of his jaw clamping down and gnawing at all that energy compressed it all into a certain point.

First, it became black, distorting space and time itself- not just that, reality faltered. Time slowed down and accelerated, gravity grew and then reduced itself to zero, colours became smells and sounds became complex concepts. All so dizzying to think about, but this lightshow was but a fraction of a second before ...

It belched. Not a chaos marble. Not its last meal. But an iridescent mass of ... Something. It pulsed like a heartbeat. It flashed of many colours. It radiated something ... Pleasant. Inviting. A perfect confluence of temporal, dimensional and reality warping. It floated right near the grill.

With the poison purged, the Leviathan began its slow attempt as a U-turn. Very slow. Like a turtle.

Xiuyang comes away from her battle with the Leviathan certain that her most uncertain times were guided by the gods. As she comes to terms with her new body and her new role as an agent of Eshiran, one question remains: does someone like her still belong on Sipenta? Will she ever again have a place to call home, and people to call family, or will she have to wait until the day of her soul's redemption? Can she be redeemed..?

The Hearthkeeper's Signet

Leon had seemed taken aback by Kaureerah's dropped accent. For such a simple answer as her dropping what she had propped up with intention, he wordlessly seemed to make a lot more out of it. Cogs in the head churning with some visible notice to those that knew him. But the performer shook his head and smiled back at her. "I believe in you" he said back, seemingly in reply to her comment about the gods.

He didn't do much physically during. He had put a great deal of effort into channeling and flooding the goldblood network with power, but he sat back with his hands rested behind him. His mind pondered those shaded spectacles that he had seen the bandaged woman where in the Fountain District, those would be perfect right now as he admired the others go to work. Alas, he had not the time to manifest them and he would have to go without.

He seemed relatively unbothered by the leviathan's retort. The increasing danger gave him little pause and it didn't seem to paint his face with fear. Only when the beast had leveled its laser at the group had Leon expression changed. Something came over him, the smile faded, was it form of sadness or an accepting frustration. He brought his hands up and slightly bent in front of him; it was almost as though he was going to do a backflip from a sitting position. But then the core had been restored, the tortle settled, and Leon placed his hands back beside him in a sun bathing position. He basked in the splendor of unknowable, reality-warping matter that floated toward the grill.

"I don't suppose you know what that is, do you Cojones?" A finger pointed to the new centre of attention now that the leviatian was walking away.

Juulet fell from up high, softening her landing at the last second to end up flat on her back.

“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah!” she outstretched her limbs like a star. Well, a star with a very short fifth point. “Weeee did it~”

Then, she perked up, sitting perfectly upright and sniffed the air.

The snake had let out a sign of relief and, like a warrior relinquishing his sword when the war was finally declared to be over, dropped his apron on the handle by his grill. Like many others, his attention was taken by the pulsating mass of multi-coloured power before them, although he wasn't nearly as enraptured as the others. “I prefer Hu He. Or, if you'd like my real name, Mychal One.” he bowed her head like it was a new introduction.

“As for-”

“Pulsating Ab!” interrupted Juulet, prompting the snake to lower is finger that had promised a long explanation on the phenomenon. “The best treat there is, fuckos!” she hopped on her one foot and rapidly crutched toward it with her hand already hovering near the echoing sphere of power.

Orvil had since caught up, completely out of breath, knees flexed and hands upon them. The poor old man was very much at his limit.

The turtle still hadn't even gotten half-way through it spin. But when it did and its eyes was angled just right to capture the group, it stopped.

"MMMMMRRRRRPPPPPPP."

A deep voice caused the whole world around them to vibrate. The Leviathan stared at them for just a second before continuing its revolution.

“I think it was, for a second, curious about us.”

Death retreated from the survivors of Halge Larchelon.

Xiuyang watched as the turtle slowly turned around. She was unable to take her eyes off of it. It was less than a god, but it was about as close as any mortal being could get to one. Something about it walking away with a wound on its back was mesmerizing. There were people in the world who wanted to control it, she remembered. Perhaps, the next time we meet, I'll be fighting to free you from those who would use you, she thought.

Then it... chirped. Like a warrior giving a nod of respect after a hard-fought battle, it acknowledged them. Xiuyang felt as if Eshiran herself had acknowledged her, too—her right to exist, her strength and her... courage. Yes. She had seen the true face of cowardice today, and she'd chosen another way. She was not a coward. She was brave, and strong. Maybe Ashon was right; she could really be a hero.

Tears ran down her cheeks as the emotions she'd had no time to feel caught up to her. She cried with a smile, knowing that she would not fear death anymore. What remained was a profound faith in the gods, the relief of a burden of fear and regret, and the gratitude of being given more time after having made peace with Eshiran and laid her own fate willingly into her pale hands. How beautiful life could be, embraced as a temporary gift, unburdened by the fearful grasping of the heart that clings too desperately to it.

The Revidian's tendrils folded up, unraveled themselves and wrapped around her body like ribbons. The girl nearly stumbled as her weight was once again placed on her own legs—her human legs. Her new legs felt sore, and to ease the pain, she reached for her shoulders. It was a strange thing—alien, even—but there was no rage or bitterness over what the Hegelans had "done to her."

There was only a feeling of peace that surpassed all understanding—Seviin, whom she hugged—and the colorful wonder that enraptured the excitable Juulet. Xiuyang walked to her, lacking the viper-like tension of their earlier encounter in the sewers—like a person who just happened to be sharing the same space right now. The pulsating aberration gave her a feeling that reminded her of the revolution, and that time she and her friends had been birthed from an egg and met the goddess of another land. She gave Juulet a nod.

Then, she spotted Orvil, looking very tired. She flashed him a smile and sent a blessing of vigor his way. She, too, gave him a warrior's nod of respect.

The drums of war that beat within Yvain's heart began to roll to their conclusion.

His eyes were cast upon the Leviathan that seemed to turn back. "Hah. . ." A chuckle left the man's lips as he sheathed his blade. "Bwahahahahaha!" His arms spread upwards, addressing the very heavens. "Did you witness me, Castello?" the roar of laughter intensified. "Great-grandfather! I am not your pale imitation! I am your equal! . . . No, I will rise above you, O' Blessed King Verusand !"

His entire pantheon had endorsed him. He had sacrificed himself to become an instrument of the Destroyer. The Judge and Creator had approved of his actions. The Learner had given him inside in his times of need, from learning to excite the air to taming the metal-horned beasts. The Lover had blessed him from birth, something he had always seen as a curse. . . yet he could not think of it that way any longer. All of them were blessings and he should treat them as such.

Now he knew how the late Paradigm Hunghorasz felt, he was just like him. Having the power to opress, to destroy. . but he will follow his footsteps and protect, praying to the Creator to be granted a long and fulfilling live like his role model.

The Yasoi's voice broke through his thoughts of grandeur. A what aberation? His hand rubbed his chin to think. He had faced certain death so many times, but if it was as good as that Avatar stated it was. . . he could risk it again, no? Yvain needed all the strength he could muster to fill such monumental shoes.

He rushed towards it, putting his trust in the Yasoi.

Kaureerah twisted to regard Leon. She crouched down beside him and, after a moment, sat, eyes on the horizon, watching the leviathan recede into the distance. "It's a bit jarring, isn't it?" Was she referring to her dropped accent or to the retreating colossus. She leaned back and the wind stirred her long dark hair. The sun warmed her skin. "But I think I believe, Mister Sun, that the Gods have a plan for each of us." She shook her head. "I'm not afraid anymore."

Her gaze shifted in the direction of the pulsating aberration as Seviin spoke. The priestess dripped with moral condescension, thinly-veiled, but she was not a bad person. Kaureerah rose and reached out for the multicoloured mass. "Something sweet that won't ham me sounds pretty good right now, dontcha think?"

Seviin regarded the pulsating sphere with some degree of wonder. She knew what it was. It would open a path to the dimensions of the Gods. She had been blessed enough to have been invited in the past in this manner.

The priestess looked around. How triumphant the others looked, how eager, but did they truly deserve it? Had they earned this? How many lay dead from their efforts: man, beast, and machine? How many more would join them in the coming months or years with what they had released?

There was something inside of her: that same instinct that had pushed her to search for coins and interact with machines and make the leap of coming to Ersand'Enise, and yet... Seviin scowled. It begged her to touch the shiny thing. It promised her reward - oh so sweet a reward.

All that they had done was to offset some of the immediate harm that they had caused through their selfish greed and ignorance. How they strutted and crowed; how they patted themselves on the back in self-congratulation, but this was the most hollow of 'victories': a price paid by the rest of the world so that the personal power of a handful might grow.

It was not, the priestess knew, what Mother Oirase would want. Seviin had come here to protect Xiuyang and the others. She had come here to prevent Pluurii from achieving the Emperor and Empress' goals. She had succeeded, after a fashion, at the first; she had failed utterly at the second.

Coan ya pa cryax el'senoi tii Leviidan. Joi wes'al tuum tii tuumo po'qit, taxen tuum hiing niimost juu ya elei tuum na. Edleizya, juup pa luuc siilan y'apo wasei. It came to her from the Testament of Wisdom. Proverb 5:11.

Seviin swallowed and regarded the pulsating aberration. She looked up and nodded as they streamed in. "It will not injure your person," she said, by way of answer to some of the others' wonderings. "It will offer you sweet reward." With that, she turned away.

Xiuyang watched Seviin's departure with a pained expression, but she quickly recovered. This was Seviin: she judged. She had appeared to be changing for a time—becoming just a bit more tolerant of both general mischief and necessary violence—but in the end, she had not changed, and that was her strength. Xiuyang was moving forward, and Seviin was staying in place. Oraff made nothing without purpose. Both would serve their disparate roles. Both could still be friends who cared for each other, even if they did not fully understand one another.

"Yes. I would rather enjoy some sweetness and light for a change," she agreed, giving her inferno blanket an grateful and affectionate squeeze. After the hike through the sewer with Juulet and all the brushes with death, all she wanted to do was go home and take a bath—a Rettanese style bath, so hot that she almost couldn't stand it, so she could forget about this cold and lifeless city. She wanted to embrace Ciro until the dawn came, but... would he still want her in his life after what she'd become?

She could not hide it from him forever. He would ask why she was wearing bandages again, and she was a very poor liar in the company of those she cared for. It was... inevitable, she supposed, but she would think about that later. Now, she was to have the company of the gods.

It had just occurred to Juulet that Kaureerah was using normal-speak. A moment had to be taken to shoot a weirded out look at the Eeaiko. Not a long one, though, as the fear of missing out was too strong, even as her hand was just an inch away from the orb.

“Leon.” she whistled. “Come ON!” she was going to drag the soon-to-be Revidian if she had to before finally touching the aberration.

Hu He stayed behind, near the Yasoi who had decided to do the same. “I, for one, understand.” he stated without judgement, watching the others indulge in their spoils. “I will stay behind too and ensure good company.”

Orvil, on the other hand, rushed over to join in the party. He knew what this is, or at least had a good idea of how they worked. If there was a chance for him to make up for all that he regretted, buy himself more good years with this power, then so be it. Perhaps, after this, he'd have the strength to lead his people to the right path now that the storm had passed.

Once the first touch was made, the pulse increased in strength. More joined until, after a few seconds, it expanded into a flash of light that encompassed all, but only took those that had dared to reach into the unknown.

Some said the experience of entering a Divine realm differed from person to person, others said it was a unique experience depending on which Gods were being visited. Leon, Juulet, Xiuyang, Orvil, Yvain and Kaureerah would believe the latter to be the truth as they all felt the same richness in the air as they took in their first breath. It was like the air nourished them with more than just oxygen, an haute-cuisine for the lungs that made them feel as invigorated as the meals the Sirrahi had made for them.

They all stood on a star-shaped stone island about the size of a typical town square with each point leading to a different, narrow bridge made of crude stone and no protective railing.

At the end of each path was pedestal with an object, illuminated by the stars above - stars, and yet they were clearing indoors, somewhere, somewhen? No, they weren't stars, but minerals that shined as bright as the night sky.

One was a chisel, with a river of clear water passing under the bridge and spanning well beyond the darkness in the horizon.

One was a hammer, in the middle of a torrent of magma shining brighter than the any torch.

One was a flask, one the other side of a sea of bright, multi-coloured gems.

One was a sword, guarded by a peculiarly stagnant and clear liquid beneath its bridge.

One was a flame, the smallest among the lines of torches lining the bridge above a bottomless chasm.

There were no clear instructions, only options.

Xiuyang glanced curiously at each of the paths. For some reason, some of them were shorter than others. The chisel was close, but she was not an artist. There was the sword, but she was not a swordsman. However, there was a small, persistent flame that filled her with an uncertain kind of yearning she couldn't quite place.

The ribbons on her back and arms twitched as she instinctively tried to use her new limbs to walk instead of her own two legs. She let out a quiet curse—rather irreverent, she knew—as she walked across the bridge. Each passed over a different kind of obstacle that must have held some kind of meaning. She felt like she had to have this flame at the end of the path, or she would feel empty inside, like the abyss below.

Xiuyang approached the flame, but as she did, she realized that it was an out-of-place hearth, as though it had been removed from someone's home and simply placed there. Darkness encroached around her as she drew nearer—once she stood in front of it, there seemed to her to be no other source of light in the entire divine realm. She had only the flame before her. The wood snapped as it burned, and the scent of the burning logs awakened childhood memories of colder Torragonese winters, before she'd ever boarded that ship for Ersand'Enise.

Etched into an iron plate where one would normally find a chimney was a simple instruction—a task given by a divine being. She considered it and wondered. For a mage of her caliber, it should be quite simple—mundane even—but given the feeling that filled her heart as she gazed into the flame, perhaps that was the point.

"Am I to challenge a divine flame with my gift? I don't think you're interested in that kind of power," she remarked to whatever being might be listening. "A humble, quiet and persistent strength is what I see in you, and that's how I got this far. I kept my head down and waited for the gods to provide a way."

Kneeling down, she unwrapped the inferno blanket from around herself. Like removing a cake from the oven, she told herself, holding the blanket up with her arms in the shape of a hammock. Hands covered, she reached out for the logs, aiming to cradle them between her arms in the heat-generating blanket. If it could withstand the temperatures required to keep her body warm during even the most severe blizzard without being consumed by its own heat, it stood to reason that she could use it like an oven mitt—she hoped.

Did you burn your finger? Aw, sweetie. It'll be okay. Come here, her mother's voice echoed in her mind. Would she ever become a mother? How could she? What child would want to be mothered by such an abomination? It was all well that Eshiran had used her for a divine purpose, but what would her new life be worth if she would have no one to share it with?

No home.

No rest.

No hope.

Just an emptiness, like the chasm below. It yawned and threatened to swallow her. She was not afraid to be burned by the fire if it meant that her heart would never have to feel that emptiness again. Her hands trembled. She cradled the flame in her arms and gazed into it as if it were the only thing in her world.

"Where is... my home?" The Torragonese, Rettanese, Revidian eldritch-woman inquired softly, painfully, as though the world—the gods—owed her one. Tears flowed down her regenerated face. "Amore... She grit her teeth and sobbed.

Many had already made their decision, while Juulet sat in the center of the star, crutches on the floor and her one knee raised as an arm rest. Her celebratory demeanor had quickly shifted to the rarely seen pondering state of the Mad Avatar. The peaceful quietude of the realm had always done wonders in posing her and remove the static in her mind. She relished it each time she could, knowing full well time was on her side and partly enjoying the occasional anxiety the idea of choice brought to those unfamiliar. Ahn-Dami was truly a sadist, she believed.

Each point was eventually going to be chosen; she could tell how they all held themselves, how they convinced themselves to take a certain path but believed their true nature to be otherwise. The one legged Yasoi was like that too, but she hid that fact just as well as every other emotion that wasn't some sort of aggression, whether joyful or hostile. When all eyes were away from her figure, she looked to one side - the one with the strange liquid and the literal light at the end of the path. A path that, for her, was a mere few steps to its destination.

Xiuyang had taken it too, but faded into a surreal mist that defied the rules of nature they had known - the Revidian was gone. In her place was the hearth in which the flickering flame beckoned Juulet in her hesitation between it and the equally proximal sword.

She approached it what had called for her.

"Hold me without harm."

Written in Enthish.

No- In Hyparish-Yasoi. Juulet blinked. It was, in the end, Avincian.

Hold a flame. she scoffed. What I do all day.

With both her hands, she reached out, fingers slightly hooked as if she was trying to behold an unseen orb around the fire. With a twinge of the gift, he pulled the flame into her grasp and-

It was gone. She blinked. One of her palms, she looked at it closely, and there was the faintest hint of redness, not even a burn. Is my pepper actually a scam? she wondered before trying again. The same, utter failure. This time an amber had touched the tip of her nail. And then the next time the head had eventually warmed her palm enough for the mildest discomfort - a failure.

Juulet grew frustrated. What the fuck is this bullshit? she wondered, alone in this small island. All the others were gone, taken by their own paths. All that was around her was a dark, cold chasm with the lightest of breezes forcing the flame to keep on dancing. No matter how much she tried, how great her power, she could not house this flame without pain. Why are you defying me? Can't you see you were supposed to keep me safe?!

The Yasoi began to scowl. The next try, she squashed the flame with her bare hands. The time after that she tossed it off the chasm. You! the rage was building. She wanted to break something, or someone, so badly. You were supposed to keep ME safe! the wooden corners of the hearth began to catch fire.

I didn't want to leave. the fireplace had changed. Among the stones were drawn pictures made by a child of a family. A father, a big sister, a young but still older brother, and a little girl. The more she acknowledged it, the hotter the flame she tried to hold felt. Her hands blistered the more she tried. Why did you let them take me away?! I just wanted to go back home. the picture began to burn, starting as a growing burn mark on the face of the father, until it was completely consumed. The chasm had changed into the drawing room she had grown up in, now empty. It caught in flame too.

All of it burned, until there was nothing but flame around Juulet. Then, she too burned. The pain was immense, the heat unbearable, yet they did not consume her eyes, nor the tear forming in it.

The hearth had turned completely into ash. All that remained was that single, distinct flame that existed. Juulet herself, now a mere human shape made entirely of flames with two, violet eyes. She regarded that flame with all the pain she had suffered through in her short lifetime. As a tear finally befell the flickering, little flame, it evaporated right before it could touch the precious thing.

I can't go back. There is no home for me. I am the tempest.

Like she had done the first time, she held the flame, but this time she closed her palm beneath it to lift the thing. The burning woman did not feel anything anymore. She was soon fading into nothing.

I'll make my own home. One for all of you, for the day you all lose yours.

Juulet sniffled and embraced the flame close to herself. Too hot to let any air current tug at the flame, too hot to be harmed by such a humble light.

I will be your home. I will be your warmth. I will keep you all safe.

No harm came to the flame.

Even if I must burn. I will be your light.

Juulet closed her eyes, and then opened them again. She had not become like Yvain, nor did the pain linger anywhere else than her mind. The flame she had so carefully mothered and sheltered was no more too. Only a signet with the mark of the Hearthkeeper, engraved in Torch Emerald.

They all made their choices, some braved trials, others thought long and hard on their decisions. But all emerged with the blessings of their chosen path with magical signets as proof. They found that the first finger they would fit it in, the size of the ring would adjust. Juulet chose her right thumb, while Orvil was content with his right middle finger.

“A titan was lulled back to sleep.” a masculine voice echoed through the cave.

“Two others stir in an island abundant with life.” a feminine voice, this time.

“Soon the call will be heard and the world will shake altogether.” another woman's voice.

“Find the keys to their hearts. Become masters of their rage.” a man spoke with a deeper voice.

“Before the the All-Knower's Judgement befalls the world.” they all spoke in unison.

The shining star-stones above began to grow in brightness, progressively becoming one big light.

“You've precious little time left. Please, hurry.” a female voice pleaded as all in the realm were blinded by the singular, massive light. Then, they felt nothing. White became black and they were left floating in the space between worlds.

The pulsating aberration had given its final beats of life before expanding like a dying sun to about quadruple its size. And then, it collapsed into itself, leaving behind the group of signet-holders, all on their feet and restored from any injures they may have sustained. Before them was Mychal the snake, twisting to face them, and most of the Hegelans that had evacuated from the Forge.

There were about fifty of them, families with young children, enforcers without helms, researchers and technicians. Zuri stood at the front, while Rurin kept close, gun in hand but did not raise it. Maiv was there too, utterly exhausted but very much alive after having revived the core on her own.

“Ah! You finally finished.” spoke the Sirrahi with a chipper attitude. Just as he uttered those words, a large thud could be heard in the distance. “Just in time, the Leviathan has just found his nest.” in the horizon, their enemy had become an innocuously small island covered in frost. Right above it was the beautiful morning sun in a perfectly clear sky.

Zuri took a step forward, her new translator working without a hitch. “On behalf of my people,” she lowered her head. “we thank you. And we ask you to forgive us.” she got on her knees and set her hands upon them. “Any wrongdoing may be directed toward me.” she then clenched her fingers. “But I ask that justice be made for my husband too. He was just a scientist, he did not deserve what happened to him.”

The Exemplar turned to the group. “Well? I'm curious to hear your intentions involving this Forge, and its people.”

Juulet, however, seemed unimpressed. “I really don't care.” she scrubbed the inside of her ear whilst approaching her serpentine associate. “Let them repent or whatever, I got what I want. And I didn't kill any dude.” there were plenty a glares levied her way, to which she glared back. “What?! Yeah, I stabbed HER-” she gestured her crutch toward the Director. “But she's fine. And she said it was totally fair game to go at her. So, fuuuuuck you.”

Mychal's attention went to the others, and Orvil had purposefully stayed quiet. Listening was the first step to proper communication and guidance, he had realized.

Yvain stared at the group gathered. He did not feel any sort of resentment, for all the trials and tribulations have made him feel like a wholly reborn man. In truth, he was rather thankful. Not that he could voice such words whilst still seeming sane to them. The voices back within that place still rang through his mind, but to chase after those massive beasts seemed like suicide. . . but there was also the thrill of attempting it despite those odds. The keys to their heart. . . He stared at the ring on his finger.

It would be then that he realized the main reason all of this had occurred. The reason he trekked to that sun. "Where is Yuliya?" He presented himself towards the Hegelan director. "Are you able to save her still?" His eyes forced contact with the other. "If so, that would be the first action of repentance."

“She is fine.”

A voice behind Yvain answered him, a familiar one he had head countless times in both dreams and reality. A gentle pat on his shoulder demonstrated that he wasn't hallucinating anymore.

“Sorry, I have allergy to turtle and fat snakes.” Yuliya jested. “But thank you for saving me, all of you.”

Xiuyang snorted, holding back a laugh. She called him fat. Never change, Yuli. The Hearthkeeper's signet rested on her right ring finger, itself a mirror to what would hopefully one day be a wedding ring.

She sighed and shook her head. "Rather than an apology for doubting us, I'd rather you be grateful," she began somberly. "To us, and to them," She gestured to Orvil and to Maiv respectfully. "Apologies cannot undo what has been done, but repentance, courage and gratitude can repair the future for those left." She seemed just a touch embarrassed as soon as the words left her mouth. She thought herself more of a scoundrel than a sage.

"Concerning the Tarlonese agent..." She looked at Zuri. "Your husband's murderer not only shut down the core, she threatened everyone I care about, in word and deed. I will not sleep soundly until she is dead." Her eyes darted over to Hu He, regarding him curiously. What did the Hegelans intend to do about the one who brought them all here to shut down the Forge, when not all of them agreed to it in the first place? "You have my sympathy, and my sword."

Find the keys to their hearts... Become masters of their rage... It was a nice idea that brought a pleasant grin to his face. It was possible to control these things, swag their hearts, and negate the world ending danger they caused. However, the gods seemed to have left out any means of actually finding these 'keys'. It might as well have been a quest to 'rule the world'. Sure, everyone would want to do it, a lack of want or direction wasn't the thing that stopped people from achieving it. He dismissed the thought as he swaggered out of the aberrations final light with the Composer's Signet around his right pinky.

Leon regarded the hegelans situation. The performer's original goal was to use the power of the forge for himself then disable it so it couldn't be used in a pawn of war. Well, the hegelan's defenses now lay devestated and the very notion of turning the Forge off would awaken a world ending beast. Truly, he had failed in his goal and never had a chance of achieving it in the first place. If anything, Halge Larchalon was now more ripe for the taking than ever. He turned to Zuri with the first serious expression he had shown since coming back. "Are you able to rebuild your defenses quickly? If not, I would leave this place when you can. Revidians have a habit of housing ships around remote islands and I'm sure its more than just them that have their eyes on this place."

He didn't linger long on them nor did he wait on an answer. Bouncing back to jubilation, Leon practically waltzed over to Yuli. He took her hand, raised it up, and spun her around like a ballarina's flourish. "Allergy? You seem the picture of health now, we are best to cure that with some drinks, no?"

Orvil stepped forward as both sides began to share their pieces.

“Zuri.” he called out with a soft voice, his hands landing on her shoulders. “You've guided us through our darkest times. It cost you almost everything,” he sighed. “but not your dignity. Stand with me.” slowly he helped her up. The distraught leader seemed hollow, like there would be no tomorrow.

But the older enforcer had a different demeanour, a complete antithesis. “We will erect out defenses again, Leon” he answered to Leon, solemn and resolute. He even did an effort to use the proper accent for the name. “We'll be prepared. Our ships will receive news of this change and surely we'll have more resources and people.” his attention then turned to Xiuyang. “Thank you, Miss Solari.” he did not use his translator for this one as he smiled her way. “The culprit has betrayed you, I saw this first hand and-”

“I saw it too.” Maiv interjected. “And this one,” she pointed right at Juulet who glared back at the Hegelans. “she is truthful. Terrible, but says the truth. She did not kill Professor Tavin.”

Zuri shook her head and seized Orvil's bicep. “What are you doing, old man?” the way she called him seemed to be more of a term of endearment than condescension. “This is my responsibility. I will face the music.”

The veteran rested his hand on her's. “You need rest and time to mourn. And we need to face the future now that the clouds have cleared for the first time in a century. Please, let me use my knowledge of the world. We can be better.”

There was a moment of silence where they shared their thoughts in their mother tongues.

“Well then, good work all of you.” the serpent addressed the group he had kept hostage for most of the time. “I believe rewards are in order, hand-picked from the top shelves of the laboratories.” from a dark tear in reality, he produced three sealed jars filled with fluids. “Yes, I've discussed this beforehand with them, and-”

Orvil spoke up to interrupt Mychal. “As for you-” he pointed right at the snake. “They may return, should they want our help as they helped us. But YOU are not to come again.” he demanded without ire. “Ever. Your tyranny ends now that you have what you want.”

The snake shrugged and responded anticlimactically. “Acceptable. I've never been one to linger on the past and mementos. Good fortune to you, nonetheless.”

Xiuyang shook her head again, this time more vigorously. "I've had enough of... concoctions today. If you're in a rewarding mood, I'm more interested in arms and armor. Mine feel inadequate in light of what I've seen here."

Mychal shook his head. “Oh but you do not drink any of these, Miss Solari.” one of the jars floated toward her. “They go in your weapons, trinkets and vestments. And the power,” he rubbed his hands. “oh the power these beauties can deliver ...”

He then laid barely their actual effecs in all their awesome glory. Time, space and the VOID, all in jars.

Xiuyang knew that she held in her hands the power of the VOID. This was what she had experienced in the Trials, and what Dorothea wielded in front of her fellow students with impunity during the battle of the Colas.

The slaughter of the Colas, she reminded herself somberly.

This was a power she lacked: an absolute destructive force. It was a forbidden and illegal thing, which only made it more tantalizing. Some things that needed to be protected or destroyed could only be so by plunging into the depths. Loyalty and love—these things brought out Xiuyang's worst excesses.

Juulet approached, with her wide eyes and wiggly fingers. Xiuyang yet again found herself in possession of something Juulet wanted. This time, to her surprise, Xiuyang handed it to her. She didn't say a word, nod her approval or scoff bitterly. She only met her eyes with the briefest of glances, and if the look had to be described, it was one of someone who knew better than to pry.

She couldn't be sure, but she'd felt as if Juulet was there with her, by the hearth, even though she could not see her—two souls, forever out of place, who yearned for a home. Two souls who were both, perhaps, readily able to destroy a great many things for the sake of preserving the few that mattered to them.

Xiuyang's eyes turned instead to the remains of the Headless, as if their presence stirred something in the omniphage coils.

Leon danced with Yuli a little in celebration of a friend's life returned, only the address from Orvil brought his head to tilt in that direction and pause the dance for the time being. His smile didn't leave, but his voice carried distinctly less mirth.

"That is good to hear, Orvil. In war, I suppose the biggest porcupine gets to rest. Getting those 'ghosts' and magic disruptor back will give you more than enough thorns, then you can use your knowledge of the world to think up something new. I don't want to see anything like that headless or those zombies walking Sipenta again." As he said that, his head tilted toward Xiuyang. "No offense, of course."

"I agree, there should only be one of me," Xiuyang shot back playfully as she drank with the Hegelan crafters.

As rewards for their efforts were presented, he released his dance partner's hand and swayed over. Leon didn't find himself overly drawn to anything really, he plucked the time in a bottle. Given his recent... development. he would find it more comfortable if his teleportation didn't come with days stranded in the interdimensional sea.

After, he addressed the hegelans. "Hmm, I came all this way for the Forge and it looks as though we will be leaving without using it once. Would you care to enlighten me on what it does at the very least?"

Kaureerah had taken her moments with Yuliya as well. A hug and a teasing comment that she was heavier than she looked, an earnest comment that she had done all of the hard work with the switch, and an offer to drink.

Now came the rewards. There were always rewards, whether or not she actually deserved them. There were clothes. There were scraps from the Headless and the promise that these could be used to to make exceptional items. Kaureerah was entitled to her share of those, but she had not use for them, in truth. She fiddled with the signet ring of the Speaker, newly on her finger. Then, she went to Yvain, who seemed so badly to want one, and offered hers in exchange for his support in getting something else.

There were manas in a bottle that could commune with the VOID. If there was anything that Kaureerah was lacking most, it was the capacity to be of consequence. She'd have preferred to use her greater gifts: imagination, wit, and words, but there was no substitute for power, at times, she reflected with some sadness. It was an entry threshold to being able to use her other gifts and be taken seriously.

She stepped forward to examine the bottle, intent on making it her own. Then, Leon, who she'd been avoiding for most of the time, spoke. She furrowed her brow and nodded, seconding his question. "I, too, woold like to know. It hes sauch e grend neme."

"A backup might make my job a little easier..." Seviin remarked teasingly to Xiuyang. She had been a bit lost. Everybody's sudden faux-cathartic chumminess didn't sit right with her. She did not trust Hu He and never would. He spoke in half-truths, like the emperor and empress, and kept a hidden agenda. He disbursed gifts, now, to those he'd been willing to use as disposable pawns before. He was linked to Juulet who was ally only to her own power, ambition, and vicious mood swings.

These hegelans, as well, were not like other hegelans. Their tools and technology were different, and their paranoia about outsiders had manifested itself into something truly dangerous and disgusting. They were to be gently chided and forgiven for vicious crimes against Mother Oirase and the sanctity of life. It did not sit right with Seviin. She had changed in these couple of days. That, she could admit. She had changed mightily, and some for the better.

The animal inside of her would not disappear, and she would have come to terms with that, maybe even make peace with it. She knew as much.
This ring that she now wore was a Gift from Gods other than her own. The gods of this land were strange to her, but perhaps not unfair. It was their judgement that she might receive this, and so she had.

Still, it did not sit right.

The tiny machine friend that she had made, who she had named Hyco'lan, was dead. She did not understand enough about machines to heal him, or repair him, or whatever it was that one did with machines. She did not even know if it was possible. Already, she had made her way to Zuri. She did not like this woman, but Seviin's group had murdered her husband. The Tarlonese agent had ruined near-everything for her people. She was, still, a person, created by the divine. She had made a variation of Xiuyang's promise.

Now, she had made a joke, of sorts. It was something to soothe the unease that she felt here, at the 'happy ending' of it all. Bittersweet. It was bittersweet.

"If there is any way to revive him," she said quietly, extracting Hyco'lan from her satchel, "I would be very much grateful." She stooped there, or nearly did, anyhow. "I..." she hesitated. "I would like to learn about machines: how to heal them, how to work with them."

Eyeing the moments between the others and Yuliya were comforting to Yvain. He himself only watched with a smile, for could he really celebrate the same as the others when he nearly put the burden of his death onto her shoulders? No, taking in the joy was enough for now.

Then the snake man presented his gifts, magics of unspeakable power settled neatly in some bottles. Two of them reeked of the VOID and the final one was something entirely different. Three unholy gifts. He inspected them. They were not the blessings of the ten he held so dear, nor were they of the five the Hegelans.

Forbidden magics only exist to be enslaved by their promises of limitless power or control over the very stream of time. Dami-Sept may judge the fools who wish to forgo their natural talent, for I have been blessed to the extent where I may not do so. In truth, he did not earn it. The man did not triumph over a Temporal or Dark mage and achieved it. They were gifts that were meant as a pity gift. A spell bound to an item, it’s absurd.

The true magical gifts may only be revealed to those who work for it, these trinkets went against his very being. . . He was scared of falling into the ‘easy routes’.

It would be Kaureerah that wished for his assistance in acquiring the bottle. The past image of himself would not accept such terms, but he had changed. ”Take it, You are entitled to such a small bottle at the very least.” Yvain winked and presented a warm smile, thanking her.

The only thing he sought was to use these remains of the headless-turned-dragon and have it be made into something he could wear. Having earned as much from having felled it,

The true matter on his mind had to wait, for he did not wish to ruin the mood with talks about an upcoming conflict. And thus he went along with the question. ”If that would not be too much to ask, I would like to know as well.”

Zuri looked at the broken device and furrowed her eyebrows. Was this a joke? A cruel prank after her own life had completely shattered? The woman trembled and seemed ready to break down when Maiv stepped in. “I can have a look.” she declared as she placed her palm on the powered-downed device. The problem was quickly identified after a couple of button presses and a long hold of the power button. “I see, he is asleep.” she concluded, playing along with Seviin's humanizing that caught a few strange looks from the other Hegelans.

The back of Hyco'lan was pried open, revealing his innards: Two cylinder shaped objects that popped out after smacking the poor machine's corpse. They were exchanged for a new pair of batteries produced from one of the many pouches on the head technician. A few clicks later and ...

Power ON

Maiv nonchalantly offered the remote back to the Yasoi.

Connecting to satellite ...

Connection failure. Please insert username and password.

“If you want to learn more ...” Maiv shot a hesitant look toward Orvil, waiting for his nod of approval. “Yu could come and visit. We can make an exception for you folks, for now.” her gaze found Seviin's again. “We're forbidden to teach this to outsiders, but maybe we can try some basics. To keep your,” she cleared her throat. “friend awake.” she then forced a smile.

Then it was Orvil's turn to speak. “What we make here are now weapons.” he began, his voice louder than usual as to get every participant's attention. “We create the power source of all life, and engineer it into different forms.”

The snake interjected. “Manas. What flows in all our veins, and in your equipment. The laboratories here focus on creating and modifying them.” his hands reached behind his back. “Many of your unique traits may very well have been the fruit of something that happened here. Or, perhaps, they occurred naturally. It is hard to say.”

Orvil patiently let the first founder clarify in terms better understood by outside but seized his chance to speak when appropriate. “We have means to properly integrate them in many ways and objects. Use them medicinally and for defense. But we've long since lost the art of weapon forging. Our neighbors have mastered that, and we are content with our ancient weaponry.”

Juulet, meanwhile, took her time to inspect the jar of manas she had claimed for herself. A scuffle with Xiuyang was avoided, ending with a difficult to interpret finger gun at the Revidian coupled with wink. All was fine and good, with the Mad Avatar seated on the ground and hyperfixating on the odd stink that came from the fluid within. Why was it so odd? It grossed her out, just a little.

Her and Seviin felt about the same with the state of things, although morality was not Juulet's biggest concern. This place just reeked of unpleasantness and they had nearly died in seven different horrible ways. She wanted to go home and clock in.

“Very cool stuff, guys.” Orvil got a sarcastic thumbs up. “Now that we got permission to squat here in the future, I kinda wanna go home. Or, at least, go faaaaar away from here.” she whined, more or less urging the others to finish what they were doing.

The priestess of Viisan hopped back on her good foot and crutched her way to the snake's side. The way she just stood by this unusually serpentine being suggested some degree of familiarity. “'Kay, lame ass school express go here.” straining herself just a little, a portal opened that led straight to the skies of Ersand'Enise, right above the olive tree.

“We'll be,” she gestured toward the only visible coastal town in the distance. “over there if y'got any business with yours truly. Or this guy.” she rudely pressed her pointer finger on the Sirrahi's shoulder. “I've to make a quick errand.”

Seviin recited her name and the 'PIN' that she had needed before. "Hyco'lan, are you there?" she whispered, not much caring if she looked stupid to these people. They promised that she might come here and learn, and that was a gift she could not imagine herself turning down.

In the background, other things were happening, but she was focused on this one, in particular.

"That's wonderful!" Leon exclaimed, even his eyes seemed smiling back pleasantly at the hegelans. It was almost as though he had forgotten that the last time he saw them he threatened to wipe their civilisation off the maps, he almost did, they certainly didn't. But the people here were the only hope of keeping the Forge's power from becoming a tool in the war. He needed them and they knew they didn't stand a chance against him right now. Perhaps there was a silent peace treaty formed in that which enabled the pleasant exchange they had now.

"I would be happy to visit again." He said to Maiv in a calming voice that starkly contrasted his earlier mood. "But another time, you should have your hands busy rebuilding."

Presented with the portal and the distant town, Leon didn't immediately move for either. He hid it well small talking with the hegelans and pretending not to notice the choice that was in front of him. But he was waiting on others to go through that portal first.

Loading ...

Welcome to the S.O.B main menu! Please select your option using the keypad. If you need help, please select the help button here.

A question mark sign began to flash.

"A backup? Of me? That sounds more like someone else we know," Xiuyang quipped back to Seviin.

Seviin smiled at Xiuyang's comment. Truly, it did, though she didn't say more. "Welcome back, Hyco'lan," she said softly. "Let's help you remember me." The menu was prompting her, and so she touched the question mark.

Welcome to the S.O.B Help Menu!

Ancient weaponry. He called it ancient. Xiuyang's mind reeled a bit at the casual dismissal of the arms she'd seen here. They would make her sister Maria giddy with excitement. If these were primitive to the Hegelans, humans were fighting wars with rocks and sticks.

"Sure. Go ahead. I'm not leaving yet," Xiuyang replied. A third portal into the sky above was not appealing in any case.

The Hourglass Order

Abyssal Forge - Gods Willing, Blood Letting

---

---

The headless monster lurking in the depths of the city returns and threatens to destroy all who linger in the Forge, including its protectors. As the battle progresses, Xiuyang is captured by the beast and wrapped in ribbons cut of the same cloth as the prisoner suits—the Omniphage Coils. As Xiuyang confronts her fear of a fate worse than death by detaching from her identity as a human being and accepting her role as a temporary agent of the viral Solari superorganism, her Devourer manas fight back against their control and form a symbiosis, turning her into something in between Xiuyang Solari and a horrific abomination. Temporarily bereft of higher functioning, its sole purpose seems to be to take down the headless dragon—but then, it suddenly protects Seviin from a bullet. As the battle rages on, Yvain puts his life on the line in one final gambit to take down the beast for good. Seviin attempts to bring him back from the brink of death, but will it work?

The Headless Dragon

As the group approached, they could hear gunshots and explosions getting louder. Emphasis on the louder, it sounded like grenades were being tossed every second.

They made it outside to the bottom of the hole that was the Abyssal Forge. They could grasp the scale of this facility: At least thirty stories tall with elevators constantly moving about, many without any passengers. The whole place was illuminated with powerful lights attached to nearby beams that supported the large sphere above and behind them.

Littered about were half a dozen bodies of enforcers, some of them completely drained of their flesh, others burnt to a crisp. Among them was a hulking figure with no head and shining with a rainbow of iridescent colours. As marvellous as it may have seemed to some, a simple touch via the gift told a story of hundreds of digested and compacted lives stored into these ribbons that gave this monster its power.

But there was also a heartbeat. This thing, for how contrary it was to life, was very much a living being. A soul trapped in a body without a mind. An insult to Mother Oraff herself.

Orvil was the last man standing in his squad, unloading beams of plasma onto the monster that, while not unfazed, did not seem to take any consequential damage. And as it got ready to attack, its torn back - a fresh wound from Kaureerah’s last ditch effort to stop it - ripped open to reveal an amalgam of these ribbons, forming four thick appendages; two on each side.

An easily overlooked thing was the peculiar, green sludge that oozed out of its folds and had spread throughout the area. Some of it hard turned yellow, and one puddle had turned red-

It exploded! A small, contained explosion but potent had one been close.

Orvil shouted something but his translator wasn’t working.

The Headless had just finished consuming yet another one of his comrades, leaving only a lifely pile of gore, bones and whatever armor she had over her jumpsuit.

Engorged with power by taking in the Forge's immense energy storage, the mindless Director readied its first and struck down toward the approaching Yvain. The impact is considerable, enough to leave a crater on the metal flooring and create a light shockwave.

But that wasn't all, the two appendages on its left size, the same side of its fist, were both outstretched and descended upon Yvain and all those directly behind him. The group would come to find out just how far these tendrils could truly go.

A tendril whipped out towards Seviin and the attack was so quick that it almost caught her unawares. It was only the time dilation that she had used to construct her defensive barrier quickly enough that allowed her to catch it in the nick of time. "Yvain, you.... turnip!" she shouted, "Get out of its killzone! Do you have a wish to meet Exiran early!?"

The first tendril was easily dodged, yet the main hit was a little harder to avoidas the Yasoi healer lady shouted at him. His sword was able to redirect the power from the blade in the nick of time, for he was only capable of doing so by attracting the blade towards the headless creature. "Turnip?!"

He looked confused by the insult, but he had no time to further question the other as the creature was still close to his vicinity. He could hit it back right away, yet could he bring forth enough power to critically wound it?

Of course he wouldn't. Instead he hopped back, still in range with the headless. His sword was sheathed back into the scabbard, did he have a death wish like Seviin had thought?

Or was it something else, for a faint glow began to show within the small opening of the scabbard and the sword.

Upon retreating its three appendages from the initial assault, the mindless creature then concentrated its power on the dozens of thin layers on its legs to propel itself, initially forward and then curved slightly toward a familiar victim. All the while, its back tendrils dragged along and swept all in their way, ending with a powerful lash forward from the sudden break in momentum.

The assault ended with Yvain and Seviin avoiding the attack, however Xiuyang received the full force of the whips, knocking her towards the pillar and coating her with the lime-colored substance that had been spreading from he monster's thrashing.

The monster dashed forward and it was all that Seviin could do to avoid its lashing tendrils once more. She did not even have the chance to react to the assault on its intended target. Disgusting, corrosive slime sprayed everywhere, but the tyro priestess had eyes only for the brutal assault it had inflicted upon Xiuyang. She dashed in that direction.

Yvain chased the headless one relentlessly. His eyes remained on his target as he dodged the tendrils during his pursuit. The blade within began to hum, as if it wanted taste the essence of this beast.

The Perrenchman's eyes widened upon the realization he was too slow to stop this thing's assault upon the Rettanese woman, but there was no time for second thoughts nor doubts.

The trigger mechanism was launched as a blazing sword shot out of it, the full force of what Yvain could muster with the assistance of his newest scabbard went towards the right leg. He could not stop his movement before, but he might be able to stunt it now.

All that Seviin could do at the moment was to focus her efforts on Xiuyang. She would not allow her friend to suffer any further. She made to heal her of this strange slimy affliction.

By now, the result of her attempting to meet its attack head on shouldn't have surprised her. Xiuyang shook some of the excess of this strange substance off of her. Why me? And why does it have to be gross? she thought numbly. Despite lacking a head, was this thing capable of holding a grudge? "You know what? I hope it still hurts!" she spat, hurling an arcane lance at the familiar chest wound.

Kaureerah decided to add insult to injury. "Ugh! Boorn!" she shouted, letting fly with a fireball.

Yvain hopped back as people moved to help the Rettanese woman. He knew that he couldn't achieve such an attack again so soon, so he would go at it from a slightly further range. He conjured up a fireball and blasted it towards the creature's wounded back.

Yvain’s deft slash had left a deep cut in the main layers of fabric shielding the Director. Still, it didn’t bleed. It did, however, recoil back once it took its first, grave hit to its chest wound from the very same person that had inflicted it. Actual blood splattered out from the bubbling meat, quickly turning black.

Then came the flames on its back, scorching its already burnt and bony flesh, only partially shielded by the ribbons. And finally came Orvil’s assault. A barrage of bullets on the seared meat made for a gorey display.

But the Headless had long since stopped to flinch after the first attack from the arcane lance. Now it was its turn.

Taking a hop back, it landed among its puddles and outstretched its appendages.

It bulked up with energy and unleashed a silent scream - fingers hooked, muscles tensed and its drawing almost knocking out the weakest among them.

All the appendages were in attention. Left tendrils outstretched and whipped a wide area to the left, and the right did the same, culminating in a final smash right before it, where thankfully none had found themselves, but leaving a massive puddle of sludge.

Xiuyang maintained her arcane lance, burning the headless continuously. She backed away at a brisk pace, continuing to glance up on occasion. She was obviously looking for something.

Seviin remained unshaken by the headless' assaults and shielded the nearby Kaureerah from the flurry of whips. Yvain, however, wasn't so lucky and found himself pushed back and losing his footing. The thrall near Orvill had received similar punishment with its arm being literally slapped away.

The Hegelan was of little interest to the monster, however, and its ire was directed once more to the familiar Xiuyang who had barely avoided the tendrils. This time, instead of coming toward her, she was latched onto by one of the Director's right tendrils just as she thought she had spotted a shadow stalking them behind one of the windows.

All the while, the rapidly approaching and untouched thrall dashed towards Kaureerah in an attempt to maul her.

Kaureerah was caught so off-guard by the sudden rush that she didn't see the thrall. The... creature, for that's what it was at this point, came for her with murderous intent and she barely escaped, its desiccated jaws clacking shut perhaps a centimeter from her nose.

She shoved it free with a desperate burst of strength and ignited it. It had once been a Hegelan, she reckoned, though she could not say its age or gender. A person, just like me: a 'prisoner'.

She scrambled back, trying, once more, to summon something with her mind's eye but, like her last attempt to weave together a fungal golem a couple of minutes earlier, it seemed to amount to naught.

There was a nasty, deep-seated anger in there. Who were these people to play the part of Gods? In the face of such brazenly heartless cruelty, her lackadaisical sense of nihilism couldn't help but fade. The only issue was the same as it always seemed to be: what in the five hells could she really do here?

Seviin had been caught. She'd been so busy defending the eeaiko girl and then - unexpectedly - herself, that she had let the Director take Xiuyang. "Oirase'aloi dii!" she shouted, her Avincian fleeing her in a moment of true crisis.

The priestess dashed a few involuntary steps forward before remembering to use her magic. Pulling at the strange puddles with her blood magic, she reached out with the Gift. "Aloi!" she shouted, "Joia bidar, Seviin, seng tuuduul joi!" She began to swell with power. "Vith pa lelan, nash seiv sil joi!"

Would it be enough? More importantly... would it be on time?

Coiled around Xiuyang's neck and core was the yet untouched dominant appendage on the monster's right side. The grip was tight and for every fraction of a second she was bound, the faceless horror drew closer with omniphage tendrils sprouting from its body, allured by the promise of fresh flesh. The intense heat the victims felt as they were about to be consumed was about half what the Revidian was experiencing now with the corrosive chemicals added to the mix.

Repeated assaults by the Solari were valiant, tenderizing the alien-like tentacle but failing to weaken its grasp. She had shot her shot, and yet the Director's feast was yet to interrupted. That was until Yvain intervened. An unseen blade pure energy, far more than he should be able to produce, cut into the appendage. It had just barely hit the mark, failing to hit through the center for a clean severing.

This lack of accuracy did little to prevent the inevitable cutting of the tendril, but it was also too slow. Xiuyang found herself falling back on her feet, but not before the entire weight of the headless Director befell her with a dozen of its extensions piercing through various parts of her body, focused mostly on her core with a select few on her libs.

They began to feed, as they did with all other victims.

A moment of distraction was all it took. Xiuyang opened her mouth to speak, to warn, but was silenced by the strain of fending off the headless' assault. Why couldn't she focus on the enemy in front of her? Why didn't she just run away like the Solari always did? Did Seviin's presence bring this selfless side out of her, or was it always there, lurking where she who lacked understanding of herself could not see?

It didn't matter anymore. It was going to cost her life, or at least, her life as she knew it. As the Director held on to her neck, the Solari felt oddly detached from her plight—numbed, perhaps, by the inevitability of it all. 'Xiuyang' was always going to be a temporary existence—a face borrowed from a past life forgotten, and cast aside once more at some unknowable time in the future. It wasn't a matter of if, but a matter of when. 'Xiuyang' was merely one of many vessels for the Solari superorganism, or as the church called it, facemimic. 'Xiuyang' was disposable. She, the Solari, would become a part of this beast, and if this was the future path of life and technology, she would outlive it when a bigger monster came along to consume it. 'Xiuyang' would die here, but no matter what manner of body she inhabited next, she would always be Solari, and for the first time in her life, she took comfort in that fact.

As the mocker of Eshiran befell her, the expression that became stuck on her face was not one of terror or regret, but of... concentration. She fought until the end.

Seviin was too late. The barriers she had summoned were either crumpled by the undead mass that was the Director, or else they crashed down on top of it.

She stood there, panting, her white-blonde hair disheveled, her eyes disturbingly wide, as Xiuyang was crushed beneath the monstrosity.

The priestess trembled. Her fingers straightened like wires and trembled in a nonexistent wind. "Xiu..." She let out a small, choked noise, and stood.

Then, they snapped shut.

Her nails - thicker and sharper than those of the huusoi or gosoi or siisoi present - dug into her palms. Thick, slick beads of blood began to swell, and then they broke and slipped down her pale skin, dripping on the ground. Her nostrils flared and her hair grew thick and bristly. Her pupils dilated and her mouth seemed - somehow - wider as it curled up in a snarl. "Joi pax sil spax!" she growled, trembling. Every muscle in her body tensed and she drew - oh how she drew like a thing possessed!

The omniphage appendages drank from Xiuyang. Every bit of her was going to become part of a fleshed collective, leaving only a mangled skeleton behind. She had seen it happen to another unfortunate prisoner, her fate would be cruel too.

But it wasn't going to be like this, not for a Solari. A Revidian's strength was almost never in boisterous might or light shows, but in subterfuge. Grand explosions and deadly shots had never done much to the Director, she must've realized, but poison had always been on the table, it just had to be drank.

The headless creature stiffened before convulsing. Without a mouth, it could not express its pain, and without eyes, it could not fathom how it could be feeling this distress. Tendrils siphoned the extremely aggressive Devourer manas that, in what seemed like chance, overpowered the parasites. And threatened to spread into the monster itself.

Desperate, it sheared its own appendages to be free of what should be a dead, little woman. It then leapt back, like a cat that had been ambushed by a snake, or a cucumber. Conversely, Xiuyang was tossed forward, toward Seviin.

Orvill had taken this chance to mow down the thing's back after dispatching the thrall, giving little opportunity for the monster to have a figurative breather.

First, it trained two of its tendrils at Orvil, the one that shot him mere seconds ago, and Kaureerah, the other he recognized. A bright light flash and in a singular burst of electricity, a beams of energy was fired from the tentacles-turned-cannons.

One of the beams caught Kaureerah in the side and tore through her ribs, roasting her flank and causing the eeaiko to collapse. She was completely outgunned here and her thought magic - had it ever really even existed? - seemed to be completely ineffective. Why had she even come?

Armed tendrils steamed after unleashing their precision attacks. They were not made to cool down however, but to gather energy - all three of them. The electrical currents running through the environments were completely usurped, causing the many lights around them to burst. The alarm that had been blaring incessantly continued regardless.

This sudden interruption in power caused the emergency evacuation elevator to detach itself from the Sphere-shaped facility behind them, with the railway passing right over the headless' charging form.

Kaureerah let out a ragged cheer. Somehow, her effort to simply... blow up a damaged tendril... succeeded? She took a step back, wishing that she had learned more about binding. Last one, Auraf-Sep, she promised the deity in her head. Last one and then I'm done. Maybe they could survive this! Maybe there was a chance...

She sobered quickly from the momentary high. But not for Xiuyang. That was a person just like her - a decent one, from what little she'd known the girl, one who'd survived countless other dangers. That fast, she knew. It can happen that fast.

Seviin was not herself, or perhaps she was. Perhaps this was her truer self. The Director staggered back and half-collapsed and she did not so much as see her gravely wounded or dead friend.

Her form exploded into action, kinetically enhanced and, a moment later, she was tearing the elevator free and riding it down right onto the monster, springing free at the last moment before it hit. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot and her fingers thick and clawed. She snorted as steam rolled off of her form.

Behind her, Yvain set to work as only he could, slicing another tendril free, but she did not truly notice.

Instead, she beheld the small, bloodied form of Xiuyang lying still on the floor before her. Her eyes saw but, for a moment, there was a disconnect between that and the reality.

The Revidian was still alive... after a fashion.

The Revidian was still alive.

Yvain stared at the puddles of sludge, then it turned towards the headless beast. He knew that stepping onto it could lead to his death. True strength is achieved through sacrifice, sacrifice through courage, courage through honor. He repeated the words that he kept the adrenaline in his body pumping.

His feet began to move, charging forward towards their collective enemy with reckless abandon. To his own amazement, his steps breezed over the sludge and it did not explode. Perhaps this really means he was blessed both by Oraphe-Sept as well as Aun-Oraphe, though one was less in his mind during the current predicament.

Once close enough, the Perrenchman's hand moved to the hilt of the blade that fitted ever so neatly in it's scabbard and in one smooth motion, he sliced one of the right tendrils off.

The remaining good tendril had been too resilient for Orvil to fully shoot down - a lithe and limber target was generally difficult to hit with a gatling gun. He approached the group in the hopes to regroup, but it would be a decision he would likely regret.

With one remaining supercharged tendril, the Director once again stood onto his two feet. The remaining three appendages, damaged but not completely uprooted, received a fractions of the power accumulated by their subling before all four dug into the ground. What followed was a mighty earthquake concentrated under the feet of the group heroes facing down the headless tyrant.

Starting from right under Yvain's position, energy burst violently from right under him, focused on a small area and spreading further into a wider area, and finally ending a massive, if less concentrated, final explosion that would destroy the door they had come from and burn the outmost layer of the Sphere-building's wall.

Xiuyang did not feel the crushing weight of the Director, nor the piercing pain of her many stab wounds. She neither saw nor heard anything, except perhaps the slow and stubborn beating of her own heart. As her reality shrunk down to the size of an ant's, she felt the domain of her manas expanding. New pathways and new doors opened, and she felt herself drawn to them, rather than spilling onto the floor. She thought it odd that a part of her consciousness remained in the old body, but perhaps this too was part of Oraff-Zept's design.

She felt the presence of many others beside herself, but instead of attacking them as invaders, as she had once done to a part of herself, she welcomed them. She joined the lost and tormented souls, seemingly forgotten by Ahn-Eshiran. At least this new existence would not be a lonely one. She could not speak with them, but she could, with a touch, exchange a form of information—and that was how she came to learn of the warden that kept these poor souls here.

Ahn-Eshiran had not forgotten them. She had just sent them their savior. The time appointed to free the prisoners was now.

You want to unravel me? How about I unravel you, instead?

Let's see what you're made of, old man.

The magnificently destructive explosion ushered in no casualties. At least, not immediately. The previously laid traps had come to bite the foolhardy Perrenchman, sending him flying and in flames. He was lucky enough to survive, but in pitiful shape.

The aftermath of the discharge left a massive wall of smoke that clouded sight, and static in the air that made sensing difficult.

The headless had gone completely silent again, as it had each time it caught many of them off guard before. For how big it was, it seemed to excel at going undetected.

But what would come Seviin's way would not be the Director, but a bullet.

She didn't even see it coming but, amid the haze and the noise, Seviin was already moving. She had shielded the fallen Xiuyang, unsure of how to... heal the damage, or even if she should. Still, she was half animal in mind, but something had called her back. Something had stopped her.

It would not stop a bullet, but it was then that the tendrils stopped flailing in pain, and what was left of Xiuyang remained still and quiet for but a moment. Then, one lashed out, pulling Seviin by the collar and sparing her head a bullet in favor of a graze to the shoulder. That focused expression remained on her face, but her vacant eyes did not move. No part of her original body so much as twitched. It was also wrapped in the same bandages as the thralls.

Seviin roared out in pain, nearly dropping her charge, and blood quickly stained her clothes, but... it did not spread far: not nearly so far as it might've had the wound been to something deep or vital, not nearly so far as if might've had the wildblood's absurd ability to heal not begun to kick in almost immediately. The yasoi's eyes widened, a bit more of her personhood returning.

They widened, and her ears perked up and that was when she noticed it...

The plume of smoke died down. With its death came visibility.

With its death, came more death.

Bursting from the ground was the last tendril, shooting right into Seviin's abdomen instead of the initial target - Xiuyang.

In what seemed like an instant, the headless closed the distance to have its massive, fleshy palm squeeze the wound it had just created. The Yasoi's essence was being drained, and soon her body would be too, while the monster would be blessed with one of Oraff's finest.

She'd had only a split second to react: to choose Xiuyang or herself. It wasn't even a decision. It was Mother Oirase's will.

The monster had Seviin. It had her and it was draining her and its sheer resilience was something truly fantastic; something truly unfathomable.

... but so was hers.

The body was failing, having taken not only the discharge but also the sludge exploding where he stood, his body was giving in to the wounds it had endured. His body cracked, his skin sizzled and his back charred even further. As long as I can raise my arms... I can fight.

Yvain started to draw, draw and draw even more. It went passed the safe limit for someone of his current capacity, but this thing had to be felled. If I do fall, let it be together with this thing.

The Director's ambitious 'hand' would not remain attached to Seviin for very long. It would not remain attached to the Director, either.

The tendrils lashed with murderous precision, breaking the headless' own tendril instantly, like a twig. A visceral struggle ensued between the two monsters, some of the tendrils attached to Xiuyang flaying away at the old man like the sickles of a mantis, as others "punched" and thrust him back. All the while, the Revidian's body remained limp and unresponsive, hanging from the tendrils like a puppet on strings.

Was Xiuyang's lingering will fighting that of the bandages on her body to protect Seviin? Had she joined the many lost souls it had devoured to fight back against the headless? Or had the separated parts of the beast created a new monster, and the two were now competing for the right to the same prey?

What were they even fighting, anymore? Did any of the others have it in them to continue fighting? Blood sprayed and lives hung in the balance, the stakes unknown.

The monster recoiled back from Xiuyang’s gargantuan strength. Arm flayed and combat tendrils destroyed, the headless was left twitching in place, a good distance away from the group. By the way it held itself, it almost looked as though it was panting. But the truth was elsewhere.

Seviin’s bestial blood coursed through it, while the exclusionary bloodtype was rendered inert in the complex system of omniphage coils. The blood of the beast had once again graced the abomination, riddled with redundant potential and inefficient accumulations of flesh. The deepest layer of coils glowed through the now dull layers on its body - a black glow that absorbed all the light around it.

Steam rolled out of its body, power was rising and dropping with every distortion of its form. Its chest bubbled and deflated, back tendrils twisted together and swelled with a fleshy addition forming between the gaps, and the neck stump began to squirt blood like a fountain. This thing was changing. The exposed parts of its body, now multiple with the excessive damage it had taken, turned dark and were riddled with ebony growths. The tendrils on its back became massive arms with unnecessarily thick and curved claws.

Then sprouted the head. Slowly, like a plant emerging from rich, mana-filled soil. It was large, just like the body that had expanded to accommodate this new transformation. Finally, they could see this thing for what it truly was.

A dragon’s head. Black as a starless night.

Horns curled like that of a ram’s.

Scales as hard as some of the strongest armours in the world. Contrasted with the black sludge that was excessively heated flesh - a result of such a rapid transformation.

The Director’s true form was revealed, as it unleashed a glass-shattering roar. With it a heat that charged the air with a metallic and foul taste.

The draconic horror ascended to the air, a master of gravity and aerodynamics in spite of its magical limitations. And as it reached adequate heights, it inhaled.

Energy from all over the Abyssal Forge was commandeered, even its own corrosive creations, for its singular destructive creed. Something gigantic was coming.

A first wave of flames descended upon the lowest floor where all its enemies still roamed. A gentle tasting before a devastating, nuclear blanket of purifying fire descended upon them.

Seviin crumpled to the ground, losing her animalistic features as she seemed to fade into herself. Thick dark blood poured from the huge wound in her abdomen and she seized up, the colour fast fading from her skin. Within moments, she was unconscious and defenseless.

Kaureerah beheld the others: Xiuyang was... not herself? The eeaiko couldn't quite make sense of it, nor was she certain that the human girl was even in control. Yvain looked something like bacon and she had to avert her eyes. The hegelan had a literal hole in his chest that she could see through.

Now, the Director was a dragon. Alright. Kaureerah stood there for a second. Just die, the thought came to her. It wasn't a grand thing. It wasn't empowered or bitter or poignant, or anything like that. It was annoyed, and maybe a little bit exhausted. Seriously, fuck off and just fucking die. Why did evil people and evil things always have to be so maddeningly resistant? Why did they have to, just... exist? It was tiresome. It was really fucking tiresome. Was this ever going to end?

For a moment, she considered just giving up. There seemed to be no end in sight and this would just be easier, after all.

She could not save the others. She was not strong enough. She had, in fact, never been, but she kept coming out for these things. She wished, upon it, every modicum of misfortune that she could. She envisioned it combusting into flames itself. She imagined things, but not for as long as usual, not with as much intensity. Nope, the smart thing to do, she thought for herself and at the others, was to run: just to run faster than they actually could behind the nearest pillar and hope that its inevitable fiery blast was somehow slow. She didn't wait any longer before doing so herself.

The dripping, bloodied tendrils lashed at the air, furious at the Director's escape. They bristled, twitchy and insect-like in their movements, retracting slowly. Abruptly, three of them stalked off, carrying Xiuyang's ostensibly lifeless body while a third grabbed Seviin under the arm with a pair of pincer-like 'fingers,' carrying the two girls behind the nearest pillar.

Yvain realized his incoming death as the dragonized headless one prepared an even bigger attack. His head hurt. Matter of fact, there wasn't a spot that hurt like all punishments from the five hells combined. However, he could not give up, not when so many people rely on his existence.

He had overdrawn for the sake of a finishing attack on this thing and it only seemed to be growing stronger. What a pain. A smirk appeared on his face. If Oraphe's blessing were to run out, let it be tomorrow! In a desperate attempt to survive, he used the energy from his overdraw into his movement, yet his stumble did not make him the fastest either way.

For the first time, he felt true fear for his own death.

The flames consumed all, but the pillars withstood. For the most part. No casualties other than perhaps a unfortunate Hegelan enforcer arriving in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The Director, now a mutated dragon-thing, landed. Its giant back-arms rested upon the charred floor as its beady, green eyes scanned for its enemies. It could finally see after so long. And yet there was no soul to find within these animalistic optics.

Orvil, hidden behind a pillar and having lost feeling in one of his arms, radio'd something in though none in the fight understood his tongue.

As Seviin came to, she found herself lying next to Xiuyang, their conditions reversed from just a moment ago. The Revidian was perfectly unharmed—even the persistent scars on her face had finally vanished after suffering with them for so long. The tendrils loomed over Seviin and the gaping wound in her midsection, twitching with unknowable, perhaps conflicting intentions.

Once again, Kaureerah's strange powers seemed to have failed her and she began to wonder, in earnest, if they had all been the work of allies or perhaps enemies or maybe even her own overactive imagination.

It was true that she had felt fast sliding in behind the pillar, the first licks of flame just beginning to blast by, but she now leaned towards it being a coincidence. Her magic was no longer working. Reshta had abandoned her, and perhaps it was just, for she had lost most of her belief in the Gods, or at least in their power and goodness.

She drew and vented the heat with all of her meager capacity, still scalded and parched, and emerged to bear witness to this new horror that would try to kill her and her... allies. Glancing over at Bacon Yvain, she tried to get his attention. It was better to at least try than to not. "Get eet to open eets mauth!" she called, "I cen freeze eet!"

Seviin's head was swimming. Her senses were dulled and, when she reached up to bat away the tendrils out of instinct, something immediately felt wrong. There was pain in her abdomen: a cold intense burning nothing, but then...

It was really nothing.

She began to push herself up with her arms, but she couldn't feel a thing beneath where the Director had nearly sliced her in two. My back, she knew immediately, her head still swimming and senses still hazy. It's broken. She'd be paralyzed until she could heal it, and that would not be easy under the current circumstances. "I can't -" She cut off abruptly as she looked to Xiuyang. She was somehow there, still, but also not, and it was, for a moment, all too much. It seemed unreal. It seemed absurd. What had any of them done to deserve this!?

Where she had gotten angry before, where she had found strength and resolve, the priestess now wavered. Yvain was on death's doorstep, broken and burnt almost beyond recognition. Xiuyang was, perhaps, dead but not. Pluuri had shot Seviin and now she could not walk.

Once more, her fists balled. Why was the world such a wicked place? Why was it up to her to fix it? She tried to drag herself over to the pillar and proper herself against it. What could she honestly even do at this point? Everything that they'd done seemed not to defeat this enemy but only make it stronger.

Then it occurred to her: the simplest, stupidest thing. She let herself slide to the side so that she could see Yvain clearly. It would not be good. It would not be easy. She could hardly focus through the pain and existential fear, but she tried, for what ese could she do but what she had been put on Sagand to do:

She could heal.

Yvain's broken bones and burned flesh began to heal as the pain began to fade. The immense focus on surviving this beast too, began to fade. For just a split second he could see another face, among snowy plains, but by the next blink it had all returned to normal. The Yasoi woman whom he had been rather dismissive towards before was now the one to save him.

Yvain did not wish to look weak in a situation such as this and smiled through any other emotion he felt before. "Allow me to thank you properly once we get out of this place, Seviin." She could very well expect a gift of local delicacies of his family's holdings. He did hope it was not taken strangely.

But that did not matter at the moment, for now there was still the director-turned-dragon to worry about. "Open it's mouth?" He shouted at the fishy woman. "How do you suggest I do that? pull it open with my bare hands?"

Orvil cranked up the volume of his translator. “Get him over there!” he pointed right at the destroyed door they had come from. “Quickly! It's the only way!” the veteran enforcer had too many close encounters with this monster to think they could stop it. He knew what it was, and without their full magic, they did not have the firepower alone. The Hegelan's weapon folded and slid to his back as he prepared for what was to come. “Do you know how to drive?” an absurd question directed at Yvain.

"Taunt et, grab et, skewer et!" Kaureerah shouted. "I don't cere! Jaust -" Then, Orvil spoke up and she glanced his way, not quite understanding, but she also knew that he knew more than she ever would about this monstrosity. "Uh... whaut he sed!"

"Drive? . . !" He shouted back in confusion. "You mean ride? I know how to ride many beasts, yes." He reacted rather smugly. "I even managed to tame one of your steel beasts!" Yvain's attention then went back to Kaureerah. "I will see what I can do!"

Orvil grinned widely at the revelation.

The draconic monster, however, did not let them indulge in more chitchatting. It hungered for flesh, for those that would trespass the sanctity of the Forge. And it recognized none within, even its Hegelan inhabitants.

But what it tolerated far less than even fleshbags ripping its layers apart was a rival predator. Its wicked, soulless eyes were trained at one of the pillars, one where hid Seviin and a Xiuyang-ish.

With a mighty roar, it charged toward them, its gargantuan new arms dragging its progressively healing body along. It was fast, and undoubtably powerful.

But so was Xiuyang, reborn as something different. Her appendages twitched, her intinct gnawing at her ...

In the meantime, what was assumed to be wall opposite of the sphere was, perhaps, the biggest sliding door they had seen yet, along with the King of all elevators. Moreso a platform, really. But it mattered not that this was their seventh or eight lift so far.

What mattered was what was inside.

“Then tame this girl.” Orvil, smirking under his helmet, up-nodded toward the platform.

There she was. A massive, horned beauty. Armor rivalling the mighty scales of the horror they had to face. And exceptionally orange.

“We need to throw this bastard into the core!”

The Revidian rose, towering over the yasoi. Gravity rolled the human's neck, slowly cracking it. It kicked off of the pillar, launching itself forward to meet the regenerating beast—there could be only one, it seemed. Two tendrils met the beast, grabbing it by the draconic horns and slamming its scaly face into the ground.

All dread was suddenly gone as the majesty of this steel beast dawned upon his eyes. It had a simplistic beauty to them, something that even a great wyvern could not match.

"Only because you asked so nicely!"

And thus he rushed over to this "Steel Queen of War (Read as: logistics)" as fast as he could.

The beast, by all accounts, should be mightier than this minuscule woman. In fact, it was. But its strength was rapidly sapped by the rival tendrils the moment contact was made. The might of many men and women added to the hold forced the monster into stalemate, until it was shoved to its side.

Still unaccustomed to its weight, the once-Director struggled to keep its footing. But the tug-of-war with Xiuyang had just started. The two would continue to clash.

Could Kaureerah hope to take this thing down? The answer was, definitively, 'not a chance in all five hells', but there were others who might've been able to, and as the monster roared, opening its mouth as wide as it would go for just a flicker of time, she launched her attack: a paralyzing cone of frost that might at least cause it to flinch at a critical moment and lose its advantage.

It was the same setup as the smaller version, except with a bigger steering wheel and pedals. It was intuitive for a natural like Yvain.

When activated, the engine purred mightily. The vibrations were enough to reverberate through the entire floor. And the horns? Extremely responsive.

Orvil grasped one of the ramps and joined the fun. “Make love to it!” an unfortunate translation.

"I might rough this baby up if I do." Yvain replied to Orvil's comment.

This seat was like a throne of unbridled power, mostly for his current self at least. "Push it straight into this. . core thing, right?" He gripped the wheel, smiling brightly.

She had done what she could. Seviin slid onto the floor, amid all of the insanity around her, and tried to straighten her broken body. She could not remain like this any longer. She was no asset to anybody, least of all, herself. She closed her eyes and tried to tune everything out and focus on the delicate operation of healing a severed spinal cord.

The beasts wrestled, lashed and pummeled each other, in what was increasingly an inseparable tangle of limbs and a stalemate with no end in sight. Then came the freeze, locking up the Director's jaws and giving the Revidian the edge, landing a pin. Two tendrils began to claw at the open chest wound, trying to rip it apart even more.

The gas pedal was soon pushed down by his foot as the Steel Queen began to move, this beast was completely different from the small beast he had ridden before. This power could even be enough to push this beast.

With little care of property damage, he rammed the forks into the beast. Yvain will used this beast to wrestle with the other beast.

With a torn open chest, oozing of steaming hot blood and decaying coils, Yvain's Steel Queen rammed right into the monstrosity's weak point. The forks were rammed deep into its chest cavity with the regenerating flesh locking the impaling metal in place - a flaw many great binders experienced in the past.

Still, it wasn't helpless. The once-Headless' massive arms took hold of the metal contraption and displayed its superior might to the inferior artificial being. Yet, as it tried to produce a flame to extinguish the lives its hussars, the excessively damp an cold conditions of its maw had delayed the attack long enough for Orvil to toss a grenade right into it.

“Duck!” the translator warned with a slight delay.

The beast, having an explosive detonate into its very throat, was rendered vulnerable.

Now was their chance!

Things were happening in the world beyond, but Seviin could pay them no attention. She had done what she could. She had given her all. Now, she focused on her manas, on her damaged nerves, on the torn flesh. This was a difficult heal for most any healer but the true masters. Seviin may have been too young to be counted among their number, but she had healed wounds like this before, on occasion. She had the war her homeland had started to thank for that heap of broken bodies.

Now, it was her own at stake, and her skills did not fail her. Truly, she had given it her best. She had done all that she could. She had helped them...

Her inner monologue trailed off. It didn't feel... honest. She began to sense something in her toes: an infernal pins and needles sensation. They were coming back. She did not let her focus waver. Still, though, the thought nagged at her, prickling the back of her mind. She had not done all within her power. She had defended, but she had not protected.

Sometimes, the best way - the only way - to protect your friends from a monster, is to stop that monster.

And then there was pain, as her fast-healing nerves began to regain their sensation in earnest, she clenched her teeth through it and reopened her eyes and banished those intrusive throughts. They were not entirely invalid, perhaps, but also best left for some other, less-desperate time. Seviin rose to her feet, restored, and to a vastly different scenario than the one she had left.

A third monster had entered the fray and dealt the decisive blow to the warden of Halge Larchelon's forgotten souls. Soon, Ahn-Eshiran's will would be fulfilled, and this place could be truly forgotten. In the end, the coup de grace was delivered by something just as cold and dead as the city. A fitting end for the cursed place, its sins and fortunes concealed within, and the annoyingly persistent husk the creature had left behind.

The poetry was, perhaps, lost on the seemingly mindless being. It found no flesh to consume from this new beast, and could sense no hostility, and so it lashed at the new open wound to its quarry's neck, seemingly not satisfied until its lesser lied dead and cold.

Yvain with his Steel Queen had pushed the unkillable moster into the wide - although it did not feel so wide anymore - hall of the Forge's central dome. Walls were collapsing live with every violent movement of the draconic abomination, any second it threatened to break free to unleash some new horror.

The Director, for the first time in who knows how long, had a throat. The pain it felt when it became the subject of its enemies' ire was immense. It screeched, or tried to, in protest. Flames could not be conjured to lay waste to the pilot of the Steel Queen no matter how hard it tried.

One of the massive arms sprouting out of its back like a malformed wing readied itself to crush giant metal bull and all near it.

The Revidian had no need to use her eyes to sense the attack coming. Two tendrils met the arm nearly instantly, stopping it in place before it could gain momentum, but they were slowly losing ground even as they siphoned away its tissues with blood magic. They alone would not be enough.

The Perrechman knew it was a matter of time before this beast would fell the Steel Queen, and thus decided to list the beast off it's legs by listing the forks up. Laughter rang through the halls as the man finally was able to put this mindless beast in it's place.

As it slowly lifted up, he kept the pedal down whilst he tried to siphon the energy the beast exerted from it's movements, trying to tire it out.

The combined efforts of Halge Larchelon's survivors caused the arm to quickly falter. It was Yvain's quick thinking that decided the outcome. The Director's entire form was shoved onto the metal ceiling and dragged through it, with its raised arm taking the brunt of the deadly chaffing. Eventually, the scaley layer of the appendage-clad arm shattered, and so did the beast's stance. The Steel Queen was safe!

The push through the linear path to the center of the dome was going to strong. They were halfway there!

But the beast was enraged. No longer did it accept mild stifles to stop its destructive will. From its mangled throat formed a flame, one so hot it became white. Heat and steam burst out of its neck's wounds, burning those nearby and hampering their efforts. It was going to claim the metal steed, and all those near it!

The tendrils recoiled at the sudden burst of heat. Bristling with rage, they reached under the former and soon-to-be headless' arms, grabbing the horns once more and pulling, trying to rip its head off while minimizing the Revidian's exposure to the pouring steam.

Tendrils ripped about one horn while Yvain's explosive slash cut off the other. It ended with a relentless barrage from Orvil and Kaureerah, aided by Seviin's intervention, to completely obliterate the monster's scale shell and jagged teeth. The creature was left stunned by the amount of resistance put against it, leaving it limp for the remainder of the Steel Queen's push.

They were nearing the bulkhead at the end of the hall. Orvil had been radioing in the situation to his colleagues, but there was no response. “Damn it, the door won't open!” he yelled out as the machine's motor had gotten exceptionally loud. They couldn't stop and would eventually press the Director's body against the incredibly thick layers of metal. “The Director has the code! We don't know where she is! No contact with Maiv!”

The beast was coming too, face malformed from the damage it had taken, but its inhuman healing factor was kicking in. Soon, the scales would grow back and an eventual mistake would lead to total annihilation.

The tendrils retracted, absorbing the Director's draconic horn and any other matter they could get before resuming their relentless assault, trying to gain ground against the monster's healing factor. Opening the door would have to be a task for the beings who were lacking in primal rage.

Yvain turned to Hegelan as he tried to contact the other Hegelans. "Contect the controlling room! There should be others there! Maybe they can help!" He yelled out, for he had no better idea if the door did not open.

Kaureerah was not against the idea, and quickly voiced her support for it, but there had to be something that she could do, as well, to buy them time. She tried, with all of her meagre power, to pull the head from the area surrounding the struggling monstrosity. Less heat means fewer reactions, slower reactions, and a longer time for those wounds we've bought with our blood to heal.

Cooling the creature did, in fact, slow it down. The healing, its movements and even its heartbeat. Marginal but potentially significant in the grand scheme of things.

“No answer!” Orvil announced, trying different channels. Some did reply, but none had any sort of credentials with most enforcers working on controlling the thrall outbreak. “We need another way!”

Xiuyang's new form was taken by something else entirely - The horn. The harness and manas inside the materials made it difficult to fully digest, and the marrow within was what she would have to be content with for the time being. These were exceptionally hard. But with it came ... unsettling insight. No imagery, only feelings. The monster had SEEN nothing for decades. All she had was hunger. Then satiation. Then downright gorging in the lives of many. This thing had no mind, no tangible memories, while the omniphage coils only provided a cocktail of disjointed experiences.

No memories were perceived, only the hollow existence of the headless' long life.

At the absence of a solution, there was always an ace in the hole. An enemy to many, but a guardian angel to all in this moment.

“Yo.” Juulet atop the still semi-conscience monster's shattered and fleshy head. “Why isn't this thing deadzo? You wanna feed it that super power thing there?” she pointed her thumb at the bulkhead.

Seviin looked up to behold the scrawny girl - still a handful of years her senior - who people called the Mad Avatar. She arched an eyebrow. "Seviin seldii ap nash pa senthoi: luum maas ap duul."

“Oh.” Juulet realized, at this moment, that the solution was far more evident than what she proposed. It was almost embarrassing. “Okay, and looks like you can't do it.” she kept it Avincian, and with a proper Enthish accent to boot, for others to hear. “How's about we just force it in?” she shrugged before hopping off the increasingly feisty monster.

A swift motion had her point her crutch right at the door. “I just need a volunteer to help me open a big, fat portal to the room on the other side. Otherwise, we're fucked, 'cause this thing's FAT.”

Almost sheepishly, Seviin raised a hand. "I... may be able to help with that."

Juulet furrowed her eyebrows as she realized who Seviin was. The fact that she was alive surprised the Mad Avatar.

“Mmkay, we got like ten seconds before this thing kills us.” she said, wasting two seconds herself.

In position, she rapidly drew from the nearby super-source and tore through time and space. Juulet's skill enabled precision, while Seviin's raw power allowed for the portal to fully materialize and expand just enough to let the entire Steel Queen inside.

It wasn't the core they were going in, but the buffer room in between to prevent an accidental exposure to the rest of the Forge.

“GO!”

'Yvain had all but transcended the limit of a mortal man and became one with the Steel Queen. His action became hers and vice versa, driving the beast through the portal at a speed that put even the Queen on it's maximum strain.'

Were the gods themselves narrating his coming death? He did not know anything but to press forward. He would not stop going forward until the beast was felled.

“We're not done yet!” announced Juulet.

They were not in the core, but rather just a room away. Behind them was a rapidly closing portal. “Those that can't survive being instantly cooked better get the fuck out now.” she warned.

Those that remained were sealed in the secure room, with the Director's awakening delayed by Yvain's masterful use of the forklift's top speed. Still, they had mere seconds.

“On three-” he had forgotten Seviin's name, so she merely nodded at the teen. “One ... Two-three!”

A portal was opened once more, and with it a wave of unbreable heat washed through. The Steel Queen was rapidly deteriorating and melting, Juulet and Yvain could initially survive thanks to their blood types and they had to hope Seviin could produce the resilience to weather this decision moment.

“DUMP IT!”

'And thus, the two unlikely allies banded together to finally put an end to this scourge of the Hegelans. The two heroes trekked through the immense heat as only they could, even the Queen was buckling and melting, this would be her swan song.'

'Would these heroes be able to fell the beast in time, or would they succumb to the heat.'

There was it again! Was his mind just playing tricks on him or was this real?
"Working on it!"

He blasted it with everything that he had, using the heat within the room to creat an explosion against this beast and even by enhancing the shockwave further, but would it be enough?

The Revidian did not see nor hear, nor did the creature attached to her back. It did, however, feel. An unknowable length of years rushed past like the freezing waters of a river, disjointed memories battering her like debris, lingering regrets pulling this way and that like currents, and above it all, hunger, pressing down like a layer of ice that made it impossible to breathe. If she could just eat, everything would be okay. If she did not eat, she would never be okay again.

Then, suddenly, it was hot—unbearably hot. Was this... hell? The creature writhed and shrunk its form as it hobbled away from the melting behemoth for as long as its legs could function, then they coiled about the lifeless Revidian like the legs of a dying insect, forming a web of Oraff's regenerating shield between them. Then, the charred mass of flesh grew still like a cocoon.

They had done it. Yvain, the hussar of the century, had been as efficient as he could in ejecting the screeching monster into the fiery chamber that threatened to consume all in the room. It was hotter than any flame they had felt, searing nerves to the point where temperature couldn't even be felt, only pain.

Juulet and Yvain survived the singular second it took to dump the thing with only minor burns to their clothes, Xiuyang had cocoon'd herself to safety and Seviin had yet to declare her status, being just out of sight.

They had done it, however. The door was closed just a second after it had opened. The heat lingered, but the vents quickly cooled the air to livable conditions.

“Fuuuuck yesssss.” a tired Juulet leaned against a still hot wall, prompting her to jump and just cool off a part of the floor before sitting down. She only realized a moment later that her nose had begun to bleed for the excessive drawing. “Bleugh.”

She then jumped in place as she heard the bulkhead sealing the core away bang and shake. “Oh COME ON!” yelled the Yasoi. “It's not dying?!”

"I guess this means it really likes us, huh?" Yvain laughed awkwardly. "Seems like it can survive even inside that room." He paused, disliking the idea he was thinking of.

"I will push it into the core." He sighed in response to his own words. "Make another portal for me."

Juulet blinked.

“Eh?” she looked toward Seviin, and then to the living cocoon. “Are you okay in the noggin?”

Seviin's eyebrows were singed away and she looked as if she had the sunburn from hell. With her complexion, this made her appear not dissimilar to a steamed ham. She was badly dehydrated from the brief flash in the core, and still did not feel quite right. She was alive, though, and functional. She took a steadying breath as that Oiraseforsaken monstrosity began banging, trying to get out, and Yvain spoke as he did.

"You will die, Yvain de Berbignon." Her nonexistent brows came together as she strode up to him, her complexion already beginning to normalize, wispy white hairs already beginning to reappear where they had been extirpated perhaps a minute or two earlier. "I do not think I will be able to heal you." For at least the third time in as many hours, she reassessed the Perrenchman. Her fists closed and then opened in a gesture that those who knew her best would recognize. "But if this is what you wish and there is no other way, I will do my part."

She began to gather energy from space and time.

Juulet raised both her hands at shoulder level in the universally recognized gesture for 'stop. “Woah woah wooooaaaahh.” the once tripod, now left with only her spear as a viable means of stability, hopped back on her foot. “We are NOT opening another portal. Nah, nah.”

A few hops later and she was at an arm's length from the Perrenchman. “I'll drop your stupid ass in. Then, it's all on you.”

Seviin blinked, not quite understanding, but she backed off. If Juulet really wanted to be the one to portal him in, then she supposed that the would-be Avatar of Vyshta could do it.

All the while the others discussed, a smile stained Yvain's face. "If I die, I will do so with pride." He addressed Seviin. "And if my actions will help save my friend, then I am content." His sword was unsheathed as the scabbard was unbound from his hip and handed it to Seviin. "Be sure to hold onto this, in case I come back. If I don't, be sure to return it for me. This fine work has served me well."

It was then that his eyes turned to the Avatar of Reshta. "That is enough." The Perrenchman nodded. "Shall we then? It would be rude of me to keep Aun-Echeran waiting."

Juulet pursed her lips, very happy to make due without all the sentimentalism. But this was was sacrificing himself, so she withheld her comments and instead presented her hang.

“Leggo.”

No portal, only a teleport the moment her hand was touched. In an instant, they were inside the furnace, twenty or so meters from the monster that had been banging on the bulkhead. And hardly half a second afterward, the avatar was gone, outside of the first bulkheads were Kaureerah and Orvil had remained behind.

The monster was there, the heat far too powerful to create flames, it was essentially in fire. The tendrils covering its body were burning and regrowing with the energy it siphoned. Flesh too, whether scales or muscles, was regrowing at an alarming rate. Eventually would perish, surely, but would it be done fast enough before it broke out? Unlikely.

Ungodly heat reiged supreme, hotter than any desert or and more potent than any flame Yvain had ever experienced. His clothes were completely incinerated the moment he could not shield them anymore, with only his sword seeming unaffected. In fact, he could feel the manas spring to life inside of it. Just as they did in his body. Did the jammer not reach here? Or did the overwhelming power of the core supersede any such influence?

Speaking of the core, a look to his right would reveal the ball of plasma that generated what was effectively infinite power, floating in the very center of its cage. The sphere, a small sun, was as big as some of the smaller Perrench castles he had often visited in his youth, and perhaps far more beautiful. The electrical field that kept this ball of power from falling was also responsible for keeping the heat from immediately disintegrating him on the spot.

The Director continued his relentless assault on its one exit. A single dent or crack could mean the death of those on the other side, and the completely melting of the Steel Queen.

It was now or never, Yvain. As the flesh began to peel off his skin, he knew he had to act immediately.

Yvain could feel his body struggle against the heat, to think such a monster was able to fight back with just it's sheer healing capabilities. Such a sight caused him to purse his bubbling lips before it contorted into a smile. You really don't know when to just give up an die, huh?

As his manas sprung to life, he knew that he could finally use his favoured school of magic again without any issue. He would have to hit this thing, hit it so hard it would fall into the epicentre of this heat. He had to push it away from the door, but as he rushed towards the beast he used the radiation from this false sun to loop atomic energy through his system.

Every step, the kinetic energy began to build up, gaining more momentum and power into his legs. The closer he got, the more his blade began to glow. Energy was being gathered into such a mass that even a High Zeno would think twice before coming close to it.

If he got it away from there, when he knows the door was safe he could throw everything at it and blow it into this sun.

To make it fall, or in this case, rise to the the deathly inferno above. The creature took immediate notice of Yvain the moment he mad his approach, and there he could see the Director's face.

His eyes had bubbled and popped, leaving only dry sockets that could not see him - but it could sense him. Just like it had done when it lacked a head. It was almost the same for Yvain, most of her senses were gone. No odor existed other than a metallic scent covered in sulfur, his nerve endings were quickly fading as fast as all his hairs did and breathing became impossible with his tongue beginning to bubble. This was truly hell.

He and the beast clashed, with every step they took having a much greater stride than expected. Gravity was just as distorted as their senses - an opportunity for Yvain if he wanted to get rid of this thing forever.

His blade cut through scales like they were butter, while the shockwave of the wing-arms sent him flying to the other side of the oven they were fighting in.

The beast began to charge. It did not need long. The air became more metallic and the constant, orange filter to everything shifted to a pleasant blue before balancing out to a wickedly unnatural purple.

In a blink of an eye, the monster closed the distance with its massive, thoroughly enhanced wing-arm and descended it down on Yvain.

Yvain's muscles began to show and began to bubble when his skin gave way. The wing-arm was approaching and as it was about to connect with him, his blade clashed with it, siphoning the energy it built up for himself.

If Gravity was reduced, he could use it to his advantage. He grasped the parried wing-arm and threw the beast further towards the sun. With a mighty jump he landed upon the wing-arm and began to slash it with every step he took, cutting the wing to ribbons. He knew it would probably regenerate back at some point, but it would take time and he needed every second of advantage in this hell.

As he jumped off, the bubbling Perrenchman slashed from the neck to the back. Gravity was his ally and through it tried to force it closer to the center, all the while he was trying to find out how that priest in Vossoriya was able to cast his spells so swiftly. His spells needed to be faster, he needed to be faster.

The battle was brought to the air as both neared the merciless sun - the last hope of Halge Larchelon. Yvain chopped through the last relatively untouched arm, causing scales to burst and breaking outer hard layers protecting the soft tissue below. The monster truly looked unrecognizable at this point, despite the regeneration.

But Yvain was worst for wear too. His muscles had begun to dry up and his extremities were faded - only his good arm was spared from being in proximity to his blazing sword. His feet were partially gone already, making airborne battle a convenient compromise.

The Director did not simply let itself be hurled. It could use flight too and it leverged its immense weight to rapidly gain momentum and attempt to maul the Perrenchman whilst charging a coup de grâce straight from its gut. Meters away from the electromagnetic barrier that limited the radiation that caused all this heat, this was the final leg.

As it stood, however, Yvain was going to turn to ash before this monster was even close to being a dried up skeleton. Did he truly have a chance?

Fear.

The fear of death began to seep in, but he would not let it stop him.

The beast still seemed to have the will to continue this brawl, to think it used to be a person. Nothing was left of the person they were before, just a feral beast who only had one goal in mind. Ironic, some people might even regard him with similar words right about now. He could not even think about intricate spells anymore, for all that mattered was to get it to die.

Most ironic of it all was that a son of Perrence did all of this for a Bloodmouth, but it was a bloodmouth he had grown to hold dear and looked at almost like surrogate sister. Not only a Bloodmouth, but his other closest friend was a Revidian. Despite the cultural ways he had been taught at a young age, he could not help but hold them dear.

This time he could do something, he was not powerless to stop one held dear from dying and if his life were to be lost in the process, so be it.

Yvain had to use his smaller and more nimble frame to counter the attacks, but he could barely counter them with his limbs' strength quickly disappearing. With what was left of his conscious mind he promised Oraphe-Sept that if he was just given seconds longer, just long enough to fell this beast. That he would surrender his soul to Aun-Echeran after having made their counterpart proud.

All he did was draw in the unbearable heat and putting his entire capacity into hits from his blade to redirect the monstrosity's power back into itself for he knew that any attack from it would put an end to him at this point. He had strayed far from his honourable fighting style and now embodied the Nashorn.

The sword was almost used like a club, his head a weapon in it's own right.

They're here. They're fighting for survival, one for itself and the other for their friends.

They were locked in battle, one dragged the other, until they were cooking alive in the unfahtomably hot inferno within the ephemeral barrier they had since crossed.

Yvain's will carried him through the pain, through the lack of air, through the inevitably horrible end he would meet. The Director fought to accomplish his one goal, to purge all intruders to the sacred Forge. One was going to succeeded in their goals.

But Yvain was no favoured. His body was starting to crumble. Torchblood manas and expert knowledge on pyromancy could only do so much. He was going to die, with Oraff-Zept remainin silent.

“Not today, green soldier.”

A feminine voice. The same one he awoke to when this all started. Behind him, a thin figure far too tall to be Hegelan and clad in two layers of the same wrappings the thralls, guards and even the Headless wore, had come for him. He could only see her eyes.

Ahn-Eshiran heard his call.

The suit was deteriorating fast, but she had just enough time to unleash the tendrils wrapped around her body to cover Yvain's. They covered every inch of him, except his eyes, all on their own. A reprieve that would likely last no more than a few seconds.

But perhaps this would be just enough. For one final push.

A familiar voice that he had not heard for a long time, it soothed his mind. The tendrils that covered his body did not lessen the pain, but it halted the crumbling of his flesh. That was enough for now.

But would it be enough to finish it? He did not know, though he could not stop. He pushed through. His body might crumble, but his will burned ever brighter.

With all his will and strength left he pushed the beast further, inch by inch. The coverings giving way while he would not, he could not. Punch after grab after just slamming his frame against it, he tried to press forward. A son of Perrench, his ancestor helped in taming a Tyrannus Gehenna back in the great heathen war. Now it was his turn to uphold the family's pride, he would slay it with all his being.

Aun-Echeran, give this lost Hegelan soul the rest it needed.

The mantle give to him mended his wounds and shielded what remained. Just long enough for his final push. It was Yvain's last chance.

At this point, even if the Perrenchman didn't realize it, both were condemned. He had succeeded, this thing was never going to leave alive. What was once endlessly healing flesh born of infinite energy became dust and ash. It starts with the mutated wing-arms, then its regular appendages, until it finally couldn't grip anything anymore. The tendrils had burnt off, leaving only the final layer of coils, now devoid of their hunger.

Finally, the fallen Director could let go.

The monster fell into the bright ball of fire. Pieces detached and turned into absolutely nothing. All except for its head. Nothing but bone and the semblance of a conscience lingered. The very last living bits of a man that should have long since found the afterlife.

The Headless Director, Shell of the Second Founder, had finally been felled.

And Yvain, once again bare with his limbs crumbling to ash just as the Director's did, fell out of the death-zone, and eventually found the metal flooring. The heat was still monumental. Only a moment left of life.

He could finally rest, too.

Finally, the struggle that felt like an eternity was over.

what remained of the man tried to laugh, but it was incapable of doing so. Oh, how he wanted to brag of this achievement to the others until they groaned. However, he did not have the temporal to leave this place, not the energy to crawl back to the door and beg to be let out. What was the point of victory if one could not boast about it?

Yvain was prepared to die, he told himself that he would be content, but why was he feeling this fear?

His final moments would be one of pure agony, but all he could do was surrender itself to it despite his body, every individual mana cell fighting for survival.

But did he imagine that voice before? Or was it that Eskandr trickster goddess tricking him?

The Director's long-awaited death did not yet provide relief for the brave survivors of Halge Larchelon. The mission remained incomplete, and the group's attention divided between it and the lives that needed saving. The noble Perrenchman was not yet dead, and Seviin's focus was set on him as the mutated Xiuyang sat still in her cocoon, slowly restoring herself—or rather, being restored. It was the second time in her life she found herself about to be reborn from an egg, she realized.

Vaguely, she became aware of Seviin's struggle to save Yvain on the periphery of her consciousness, but the omniphage coils wrapped around her body continued to pull at her mind. Before, they gnawed at her flesh like a pack of ravenous wolves trying to devour her, but now, they were like a group of orphans tugging at the robes of the first adult they'd seen in ages. They starved, and needed to feed, to consume. This was all they knew. They did not understand what the human girl was trying to tell them about friends. Like little children, she would have to teach them. Outside of this place, food was not in short supply. No longer would they have to know such desperation.

Seviin's struggle ended with Yvain still missing an arm and about a quarter of his skin, and any realistic chance that he had been bought anything more than a few minutes' time left on Sipenta faded away with Seviin's consciousness. Xiuyang had tried to help from within her fleshy prison, but she could do little. Only after nothing more could be done did the tendrils fused into the Revidian's cocoon begin to twitch. The webbing tore and Xiuyang was free, still wrapped from neck to toe in bandages, her arms and legs tucked away beneath the inferno blanket.

Seviin was the first to get to him, and she was certain that she was too late. He had to be gone, and she did not have the power to give life - at least not yet - only to restore what was already there.

She reached out in horror and resignation, a quick sweep over the husk that was all that remained of Yvain. There were not even eyes to ceremonially close.

But, then, she felt it. Somehow, against everything that made sense, there was yet a spark of life. She swept again, unsure, but not waiting to begin healing. Where to even start!? Mother Oirase had clearly spared this man, and she was not one to question the will of the Goddess, but he was so far gone. By all that was holy and made sense in this world, she could not understand what kept Yvain alive.

Dimly, she registered the others clustering round. "Please pray for him," she said simply, "and give me space to work."

Limbs were difficult to repair. Perhaps only one in every twenty binders could repair a limb. She had fixed over a dozen in Tanso and... the other place. She had fixed a handful more since coming to Ersand'Enise, and so that was what she focused on first. Doubts gnawed at her mind. What had happened to Xiuyang!? Should she have prioritized her dear friend?

She messed up. She misaligned blood vessels, but it scarcely mattered, for there was no blood. The heart. The lungs. She needed to repair those. Most of his internal organs were ruptured or shriveled. This, then, became her focus, and it was difficult. Seviin continued to draw. She was almost trancelike in her concentration. It was so intricate. There was so much damage but, still, he fought. She stroked his skin where she'd restored some of it. "Stay with me, mon gars," she whispered.

Next were his eyes, and the strain on her manas was truly something. Sweat dripped down her brow and her stomach felt tight and queasy. "Stay with me, elden'toi." She took from the floor and her own clothing and a dead hegelan nearby to rebuild a leg: bone, sinew, muscle, and a covering of fresh pink skin.

This was what it was to be a priestess of Oirase. This was her calling. Thsi was her work. He was a proud man, and maybe not always a kind one, but he was good, and the goddess had decided that he was worthy of life. Seviin's world began to swim. "Wiip oapen'ven, luuxii'toi." She swayed where she knelt but, still, she drew, and she created. Juulet pushed in for a moment, driven to try as well, and they were not Tarlonese and Constantian, life and death, holy and mad. They were simply two yasoi girls who were trying to help, but Juulet could not do very much. Xiuyang came to only partly, and she was able to help. Bless her. Whatever she had become, she was still Seviin's friend. She was still good, and the priestess would not judge, this time. She could not.

The girl's hands trembled as she healed. She noticed the blood coming from her nose and, sounds began to grow faint and indistinct. Her vision narrowed and blurred, but Yvain drew breath more strongly now, as best he could. She gave him more. "Et thal joi," she rasped, as her balance nearly faltered. There were bruises on her soft pale skin now. Blood dribbled from the corner of her mouth. "Et teng'al joi." Her world swayed, but there was more to do. Her vision cut out and Seviin was plunged into darkness. "Seviin teng'al... joi..."

There was no more that she could give, and unconsciousness claimed her. I am sorry. Mother, I am sorry, she thought before she faded. I failed.

The denizens of the Forge, the outsiders, and their puppet master have a standoff, the outsiders accused of murdering two of the Hegelans. Suddenly, Xiuyang realizes that Pluurii is behind it all—both the assassination attempt on her friend Seviin, and framing them all for murder, to buy herself time to shut down the Forge and remove several thorns in her side in the process. Xiuyang sees an opportunity to cause Pluurii's plan to backfire, by orchestrating their battle in such a way that she can accomplish Revidia's goals while denying any collaboration with Tarlon. Her allies do not know that she intends to allow Pluurii to shut down the Forge before killing her off, and unfortunately for her, they come along. Luckily, Juulet also planned to shut down the Forge, so the Forge ends up shut down regardless—but in the process, summons a monster that not even Hugo could defeat. The final battle of the Forge begins.

The Snake

Juulet could finally breathe. The thing was gone. The Forge was their's. It was her's.

But the magic wasn't back on. A detail she nearly forgot about and had nearly slipped. Her heart rushed as she nearly went off in spite of this fact, and immediately went with her plan. Two fingers to the lips, she whistled with all the energy she could reasonably spare until Leon got the job done. Surely he had made it by now.

The restoration of the Perrenchman was the next distraction, one she never excelled at. The Mad Avatar was, after all, a destroyer. She told herself that every day as did her followers. A weapon for justice, she believed. And yet she hadn't gone out of her way to help this man who accepted a most horrid fate for the sake of others. There were moments of doubt inside that crazed and corruption-addled mind. This was one of them.

Self-reflection was a short lived luxury, however, as the radio's voice echoed through the facility just as Seviin fell to the floor. “Wait.” with difficulty, she got back on her good foot after kneeling to help the healer's endeavour. “Is the magic even back on?” she wondered as if she couldn't tell.

In fact, none of them could tell, because they felt no change. Everything was the same as far as they were concerned.

Orvil had been providing first aid kits from the nearby emergency node and offered a warm handkerchief to the passed out Yasoi. The man hardly ever used magic, in fact most of his life the magic jammer was on.

Footsteps neared, a lot of them. Orvil drew his weapon, one now at full power after the dampener was shut off. Ready for anything, he took a deep breath. Then, he lowered his weapon. Other enforcers had converged on the group, spawning from different corridors, weapons drawn and surrounding the survivors.

They remained adamantly still, weapons up, until Maiv emerged among the flock. There was no joy in her expression, only a jaded look with her lips hidden under her well kempt beard.

Orvil spoke in his mother tongue, inquiring something like of the 'what is going on' nature. Maiv responded coldly. By the way Orvil furrowed his features, something was wrong.

“For the murders of our Director and head Researcher, you are all under arrest.” she said through her translator. Orvil flinched in disbelief.

A mirthless, wheezing chuckle escaped the formerly motionless Revidian as she emerged from her cocoon, still hanging limp from the tendrils. Slowly, they lumbered over to Seviin and Yvain, as if the presence of the enforcers didn't disturb them in the slightest. One began to attempt to stir Seviin to consciousness.

Kaureerah made no obvious move to surrender, prancing about in her outfit made spare by the battle she had been in. There were no sudden movements, but she stretched and rolled her neck. "Yoo're welcaum," she said rather loudly, yet incongruously softly. "Faur keeleng the Headless end saulveng a centurees-oold praublem faur yoo."

She considered Leon and Juulet and took a risk based on intuition. "Faur dooeng exactly whaut we sed we woold do and seveng aull auf yoo even thoagh we hed to keell e caupel who woold naut let aus woork end waunted to toorn aus into 'preesauners'."

She spread her arms and took another step forward. The bullets from their strange guns would miss. She imagined it so. It must be so that their luck - their aim - would falter if they decided to shoot. "Yoo're welcaum foor naut keelleng yoo faur the haurreble, eevel theengs yoo heve been doeng to peepol faur haundreds of yeers here, foor naut pryeng into the aunholy experements yoo do end the caulemetees they cause the woorld." She let her arms fall and stood there. "Oh," she added, "end yoo're welcaum for dyeng for yoo." She gestured towards Seviin, Xiuyang, and Yvain and returned her arms to her sides and pressed her feet together and forced the most ironic of smiles.

Many of the enforcers looked at one another as the translator struggled to properly communicate what Kaureerah was attempting to say. Maiv in particular, still a nervous wreck but driven by indignation, shook her head.

“We did not experiment on you, that is a lie.” retorted the Hegelan, misunderstanding one of the sentences. “You did not do this to help. You definitely want to take everything from us!” with that, she produced a touch-pad of sorts and revealed the bodies of two of their own, dead in what Juulet would recognize as the panic room the leader couple was left in. Their throats were slit.

Speaking of the Avatar, she seemed a bit out of it, flicking her wrists and snapping her fingers in the hopes of getting a stronger spark of magic and acting like the Hegelans didn't exist. They were effectively nothings if she had her full power. But then she saw the perfect illustration of the scene she had been in not too long ago. “What the fuck? I didn't do that. They were alive.” outraged, she looked at the others. “I roughed them up but we ONLY tied them up. Pinky promise.”

“Shut up.” growled one of the enforcers - a woman, the same one that had interviewed Xiuyang. “We know you've threatened to take over our operation. You did not do this to HELP US. You did it so you could help yourselves.” she raised her gun at Juulet. “All you outsiders act moral but you all prove to be the same. You ALL want to take from us. And we have proof. No more prisoners, we're taking no quarter.”

Maiv warned the other not too shoot, but the enforcer took the first shot, and soon the men and women that trusted in her all trained their guns and fired.

Only to miss every single shot. Partly from Juulet teleporting a room above, partly from an unexplained phenomena that had them perfectly miss every person lined up before them.

Something here stinks, Kaureerah realized, as this stupid girl continued. Maybe they hadn't understood her. Maybe they just didn't want to. The voice. That's the evil here.

Then, they rejected her message and they fired and, for the first time since she had managed to shove the Headless into an abyss, her special magic worked. She did not have much other magic right now. Nobody did, save Seviin, who might've been starting to stir but still wasn't up.

They would die if Kaureerah did not act. Ever the performer, she stepped forward again, making a point of raising her arm and making a sweeping motion as the last of the bullets sprayed wide. She regarded the one with the big mouth. It was time for a new approach. "Yoor technaulogy," the eeaiko hissed. "Hauw it raises yoo, hauw yoo rely aupon it." She shook her head. "Hauw everytheng caumes et the press auf e bautton." She conjured a lick of flame at the tip of her finger. "Hauw yoo essoome it will saulve aull auf yoor praublems, with meenemaul thaught end meenemaul effoort."

She shook her head a second time and narrowed her eyes. "There aur faur greter foorces in this yooneverse then yoor little tooys: megeecs thet yoo doon't know end cennaut staup." Her smile was almost sadistic. "Doo yoo theenk aull auf yoor vaunted boollets missed aun their own?" She tilted her head as she strode right up to a particular short young man with a well-trimmed beard. "SHOOT ME!" she roared, just as he pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

"I em nautheng special emaung these peepol - I em naut the oonly one who is auneffected - end I coold keell yoo aull with e fleeck auf my wreest." She touched the barrel of his gun with one hand and sighed, twisting to regard Maiv. "Thet I heve naut done so aulredy shoold speek to my intentiauns." She scowled. "There is e greter enemy." She could not say more, for she was afraid of the consequences. She tried to shoot the dense hegelan a meaningful look.

Seviin, then, finally began to stir. She had sensed something as she came back, aside from a dim understanding of Kaureerah's words and a strange sort of energy that she had known perhaps once or twice in her life. It was something else, and she knew it. They were... anchored. She cleared her ragged throat to speak. "I..." Her manas were exhausted, but she could still use them. She coughed and shook her head. "You've killed thousands in the most horrible way imaginable to preserve your secret and your right to make mana abominations," she growled, "and you were going to kill us. Don't try to claim a moral high ground when we're both in the muck." She shook her head, rising, still dizzy and bloody. "Truth is, if you want to survive whatever great calamity comes next that you've vaguely spoken of, you need us. You don't have to like us and we don't have to like you, but we'll all die if we try to go it on our own: you first, and then us, so shut up, put the guns down, and let's figure this out."

Seviin arose, and the curious tendril seemed satisfied with that result. The Revidian then wandered to Kaureerah's side, paying the bullets that'd flown by no mind. She tried to reach out a supportive hand to her, to let her know that her words were understood and appreciated by at least one person, but she found that her old arms would not budge. Her body had been forcibly remapped, and everything felt out of place. She didn't feel like herself. She wondered if she even looked like herself, but it hardly mattered to her anymore. Her bold Eeaiko friend was right in every way. These... backstabbing scum. These ungrateful bottom-feeders. Had she not done everything they asked of her?

Biological refuse, the lot of them.

Xiuyang had watched and not quite processed in her momentary spell of helplessness, but remembered now how they trembled, even with their fancy suits and weapons. They were afraid of the heroes who survived the horrors of Halge Larchelon—as they should be. They should be afraid of them all. Most of all, however, they should be afraid of her, the one who had become a horror of Halge Larchelon. The omniphage coils wished to feed, and Xiuyang was not particularly inclined to stop them, but more than anything, she wanted these loathsome flies to feel fear, like she had.

"Te-KKHHNOHHLllogghhyy..." the girl choked out, struggling to speak. "Yhourrr... GOD. WE KILLED... YOUR GOD. Khahaa... haa, haa..." she wheezed, laughing.

Orvil couldn't get a word it before the shooting began. He was avoided, for the most part. Not that it reassured him or stopped the veteran from jumping onto Rurin for an old-fashioned brawl. His initial punch being strong enough to knock her helmet clean off. They went at it while the other Hegelans watched semi-helplessly - what to do when two superiors went at it? Like children hiding while mommy and daddy fought.

Kaureerah's show of anger did not go without a plethora of reactions. None knew what to do and, as the poor rookie succumbed to the demand and pulled the trigger, the lack of shot had the short youth stumble on his back. Some grew fearful like the boy, some were only hardened in their goal to burn away this rot they had allowed to spread. Some, however, were very hesitant. One of them was Maiv, the clear non-combatant that had taken a de-facto leader role. She was trembling with a device on her hand that wasn't holding the imagery pad. A remote of sorts, but she didn't bring herself to press any buttons.

The schism between Seviin's and Xiuyang's words only brought more discord among the people and their feelings. All the while the two veterans were punching each other bloody.

Maiv was about to say something, when ...

“I'm with creepy salami here.” echoed Juulet's voice. And then suddenly, she appeared behind Maiv, spear by her neck and palm on the hair cheek. “Sorry girl, nothing personal.”

Maiv was having a panic attack. Everything was a mess. No enforcer knew what to do.

“A God, you said?” a voice echoed just like Juulet's had. A familiar one. Without the static and filter, it would not come immediately to most that it was the box's voice. “Lady Solari, these people wanted nothing more than to slay their God. That is why they made that ... Thing, in the image of one.”

Juulet turned her head, noticing the voice came from behind her. She stepped aside to give a better view to the others. “Huh, you're not the gun girl. Or the bloodsucker.” she remarked nonchalantly.

With Leon in tow arrived the Exemplar of Nature and Human Creation. Xiuyang and Kaureerah had seen this man before. He wore a plain smile and approached with a regular gait. “No, I am not. But we have been working together for some time now. It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

The brawl stopped, all Hegelan eyes were on that man. Orvil began to breathe heavily. He spoke something addressed to Maiv, hushed but audible to most. He repeated it multiple times like he was coaxing her to act.

“I, for one, agree that hostilities should cease at once.”

The Revidian briefly turned to observe the arrival of the Exemplar and coughed out a singular laugh at the notion of killing an actual god with an idol like technology. "THISSsss... is YOUR fault," Xiuyang seethed, eyes wide with fury as she assessed Maiv and Rurin in turn. One of her tendrils gingerly lifted what remained of Yvain off of the ground, hoisting his body for all to see—like a master showing a broken piece of china to a disobedient dog.

She turned to regard the Exemplar once more, recognition in her gaze in lieu of an apologetic look for her rudeness before. "He, diessss... they, die," she proposed simply. She wished it could be a threat, but she had felt it too, that strange sensation from the Trials that meant they were temporally anchored. This man held all of the cards, and she could only make an appeal for justice. Leon had been right about Yvain. He was the bravest soul among them and did not deserve this fate.

Leon returned to the others finding blood, death, and chaos. Seviin and Kaureerah were badly injured, Xiuyang had morphed into a nightmarish amalgam built of flesh upon flesh, and once again he was thrust into a fight for the fate of a close friend that the hegelans were insistent on wrenching away. Searching the area his eyes landed on Maiv and when they did, they did not leave her. A cold, piercing stare of grim intent that few had seen from the performer.

This woman was not evil, a mess of anxiety and worry that culminated in rash decisions. But those rash decisions stood to kill those he cared for and hesitation by using words seemed only good for prolonging that danger and allowing it to fester. His insistence to let her live almost cost him Yvain and Kaureerah.

You gotta be prepared for the fact that these fuckos didn't do this for shits 'n' giggles.

You gotta be prepared to snuff out the threats and rivals no matter how justified they are. Just don't start acting like you're suddenly above 'em.

She was right. He wasn't above them. Maybe one day he could be strong enough to live up to the lie he painted himself as; he wouldn't have to choose one evil over another. But for the time being, prolonging one life meant the destruction of another and it wasn't going to be Yvain who paid that price.

"It seems we're in some trouble, Cojones. If you don't think you can handle them yourself, then release me. You still have those pods in those I love, it's enough leverage."

Don Cojones, or known by a couple of the survivors as Hu He, squinted to better assess the presented Yvain. “Ah, I see. Are they the authors of his condition?” he gestured calmly to the Hegelans, to which Orvil was quick to deny it. “He fought for all of us, gave his body like a hero.” to which the Rettanese interloper raised his chin too and released another 'Ah'.

Orvil wasn't finished. Producing some sort of gun-shaped device from the satchels of one of his men, he brought the item over to the waved Yvain. He trained it at the battered Perrenchman and received an unpleasant, high-pitched sound. This caused the old Hegelan to flinch and gulp.

“Terminal. I figured as much.” a disappointed Don Cojones shook his head. “I'm afraid we might be looking at a massacre.”

“This wasn't our doing.” the meek Maiv spoke up. “Tavin could fix him, if ...”

“Yeah, well, guy's deadzo. And it wasn't ME, eff-why-eye.” Juulet complained, with the last bit being particularly rough to translate.

The Rettanese raised his hand to calm the situation. “Now, now, first and foremost I must re-iterate that the seeds to not go until our last objective is complete. That is the deal.” he stated just as calmly, hands clasping together with a business-like demeanour.

“Okay, what is it, guy?” Juulet quizzed, her grip on Maiv faltered as she salivated at the notion of being whole again.

“Our final objective is the shutting down of the core and-”

Orvil drew his weapon while Maiv swiftly pointed her remote control and clicked.

Three ghosts manifested, all around the mysterious man the young Hegelan head technician had targeted. In an instant, they enveloped Don Cojones in a surge of electricity. The man stood paralyzed, muscles contracted and body steaming from the immense heat. What he had said did not sit well with these people.

“No. Never again ...” Orvil muttered. And then his eyes widened as he was what became of the intruder. The First Founder.

The transition from his human-friendly form to his real form was seamless, hardly taking a couple of seconds, like the veil had just instantly dropped. Out from the deceptive, human shell was not a man, but a long, coiled up figure that surpassed even Seviin's height, and would do so by a considerable amount if unwrapped. He still wore his ornate clothes, but they only covered the upper 'torse' where his long, repitilian hands grew out. The face of what looked to be 70% snake and 30% human came to be, yellow eyes matching a similar ratio. Bronze was the dominant color of his scales with yellow spot-like patterns and dark outlines. Orvil recognized him immediately.

This Sirrahi seemed mildly inconvenienced at best.

“... As I was ssssaying.” he cleared his throat. “Goodness, bad habit. Ahem, we can still dedicate some time to helping Lord De Berbignon before we proceed.” he smiled - as much as a snake could smile, anyway.

In his palm was a cube-shaped device that glowed like the terminal Xiuyang and Juulet had broken. By the hole in the wall to the right, this serpentine being had likely ripped it out in the middle of the assault.

“Thoughts?” his tongue flicked out, another bad habit.

"Yes..." Xiuyang concurred with Orvil, her speech slowly becoming less labored. "He fought. They watched. Now they frame, us," she accused. Then, however—and almost immediately—her eyes widened. "No. Not them," she decided. "Tarlon, schemer. Shot Seviin. Set us, up. Find, her—she is, your, murderer," she said to Orvil and Rurin. With equal urgency, she turned back to the Exemplar. "Please help, him. Only, you... can."

Visions through Yvain's struggling mind. A family painting with what seemed to be himself, but he looked older. The other faces were blurred and hard to make any features out, but as he was about to grasp for it, it faded. A seat most ornate, vacant. silhouettes of friends and family, their features hard to make out. Some of them were more recognizable than others, but once again, the moment his presence closed in on them. . . they faded.

Then everything turned pitch dark again, but what followed was-

Pain.

His entire body hurt, but there was also a strange feeling beyond it. Akin to feeling sick, but not an actual sickness.

Eyes began to dawn upon the very much changed world. His ears still rang as they began to slowly pick up their hearing again. The lady who seemed ever so accommodating and nice was now sporadic and twitchy from what it seemed. There was a snake thing, and everyone seemingly on edge.

The very air brushed along his frame hurt him, had he taken too long against the beast? He was not grounded which made the assessment of his situation rather hard, but out of habit, he lifted his arms to his face, but only one hand came into his vision. That was strange, he felt them both go up. Shaking in the embrace of the tendril, the Perrenchman slowly tilted his head towards his left arm and to give credit to his own grim thoughts, it was no longer there.

It made him want to scream, it made him want to question. . .

But either due to shock or confusion, he could not utter anything from his dry throat.

Seviin's face was unreadable. Yvain was coming to in a ruined body. She had failed him. She picked at the cuticles of her fingernails in anxiety and avoided his eyes before events in the chamber forced her attention. The seeds were a means of controlling them, it now became clear: more than just a defence against the Forge's unholy and unnatural magics. She had not taken hers, however, and, at some point, when her first set of clothes had shredded, she supposed she had lost it. There lay, within the girl, the impulse to speak out immediately, and she started to open her mouth to do so.

Then, she stopped. If this... snake-man wanted to shut down the core and the hegelans were so firmly against it, there was no realistic way that they could work with both. He also appeared magically powerful enough that she doubted she could overcome him and... Her heart thudded and she swallowed. She could not break her oath.

Instead, like a coward, Seviin settled for decrying Pluurii, who she now knew, beyond a doubt, had shot her during the fight against the headless monster. "It is true," the tyro priestess squeaked, and her voice seemed not that of a commanding woman, but a callow girl, to her. Nonetheless, she continued: "She is an agent of Tarlon and my purpose, here, is not only to protect my friends and allies - " She had the good sense not to name them verbatim, for she had learned that the world was full of people who would use her emotional attachments against her. "But to prevent her from acting."

Seviin shook her head. "I do not know the full of it, but I know that, if the Abyssal Forge is shut off, something calamitous will happen: something that plays into the vile hands of Esuul and Cascal, and..." Her eyes flicked about for a moment. Possibly others with nefarious goals. The pause was barely noticeable. "That is bad for all of us." She addressed the snake man. "You do not strike me as an agent of theirs."

Kaureerah, following her earlier use of magic, had been silent. The voice behind the box had arrived and it was clear that they had been pitted against the hegelans. What was also becoming apparent was that, by the way that they interacted, he and Leon had been working together, as she'd suspected at the start, way back when she'd first awoken to a conversation she wasn't supposed to have heard.

Dull acceptance of the fact that she was a bug - perhaps a butterfly - to be either stepped on or protected, that she was a tool, that people just kept doing bad things for selfish reasons: it had taken root in her after the fiasco on Moatu Suva. She had, at times, embraced it, accepted it, fought against it, and bitterly sniped at it, holding herself aloof and unaffected.

The 'seed' in her. She snorted. What if it was just a seed? A glasslily or sunflower seed? Delicious, nutritious, idly consumed on a rezain afternoon as she sat on the intertidal rocks, basking in the sun. Wouldn't that be nicer? How she longed for that to be the norm! Didn't everyone else here, on some level - or at least their own version of that - or were they all too far lost to the pursuit of power and agenda. She'd gotten pulled into causes a few times, she would admit. A sunflower seed, she thought. Yes, only that.

Yvain looked like a deadhead and sounded like one too, Seviin was giving speeches again (at least someone hadn't changed much), Xiuyang was some kind of undead bandage octopus, Juulet was... denying murdering people, Yuli was just about to slip towards death somewhere, and Leon was busy trying to have his cake and eat it too (alright, maybe two people hadn't changed much). It sucked.

"Oh," Kaureerah piped up, her tone conversational in contrast to everything else, "what will these seeds do to us, mister friend and ally?"

The ghosts surrounding the snake man remained still. Ever since that cube was held in his hand they had remained completely docile. The piece of machinery disassembled itself into every individual piece, down to the most minuscule of nuts, and reformed after a brief observation by the serpentine interloper. There was the faintest hint of magic use.

“Hold this for me, please.” the cube was tossed over to Leon and the specters had since then vanished. Hu He then slithered closer to Maiv, still held hostage by Juulet. Just as he took a breath to speak, he was interrupted.

“Hey, yeah,” Maiv was pushed aside with much force so that Juulet could wave her spear at the snake's general direction while staying supported by her crutch. “what gives? I'm not shutting this shit down, I came here FOR this place. And it's gotta work.”

The Sirrahi inhaled, hands clasped together and resting right before his reptilian mouth-slit. Still, he couldn't talk. “That sniper bitch, though! Why don'tcha just end her like you threatened at the start, huh?!” the snake inhaled deeply while a not-so-well Yasoi ranted about. Since he had time to spare, he raised his hand and counted all the non-Hegelans with his pointer finger.

Without any further interruptions, he finally spoke. “Okay.” a pause, to see if anything else would come up. “You are indeed correct, Priestess Taxoiya. Emperor Cascal and-” another pause, this time with a slight creasing of his facial features. Was it joy? Frustration? Something else entirely? It was hard to tell with such a distinct species. “Empress Esuul. My Goodness how far we've gone.” he shook his head and centered the discussion again. “They most certainly want this core turned of. As do some other benefactors that have sent you here.”

Serpentine eyes grew grim as she regarded the group, and his tone matched his disposition. “As do I. And, you are correct, priestess. Great change will occur. Great change engenders immense turmoil just as it can usher in abundant progress and good.” his clasped hands lowered until they were knitted over his linen-clad chest. “Regardless of our actions, they will get what they want. The destruction you have wrought, the death of their guardian-kidnapper, and the termination of their defenses have insured the opening of the floodgates, my friends.” there was hardly any shift in his intonation, the picture of serenity.

Now, Kaureerah's concern. A simple question with venomous adjuncts. Hu He merely smiled - as much as a snake could. “To ensure compliance. Experience has taught me that without a deterrent, betrayal runs rampant when glory and riches the Abyssal Forge's prestige are in play. And even now, the unknown intentions some of you may have could cause quite the mutiny.” his eyes narrowed onto the songstress, veering slightly downwards as if he could see something hand changed in her body. However, he did not seem concerned over it.

“Now, then, feel free to make of you will of these henchmen.” he gestured at the general direction of the Hegelans. “I've yet to show my good intentions by helping this one,” he continued his approach, eyes trained on the fallen Yvain. “and the Tarlonese should be shutting the reactor any minute now.”

The tendrils bristled and backed away from the Sirrahi, carrying Yvain with them. Xiuyang's eyes widened and her mouth emitted a guttural hiss. By the look on her face, she seemed surprised by her own behavior. "Wait. Don't, come... close." Xiuyang's neck twitched as she tried to shake her head. Chemicals of fear coursed through her veins and for a moment, she couldn't understand why, but then she realized it. The orphans tugging at her robe were scared of this man. In fact, he was the only thing they feared.

Leon looked away from Maiv, seeing little threat in the absently standing hegelans. Unlike earlier though, a sense of guilt did not wash over him for his hidden intent. He had firmly made his decision and their pacification only present a lack of need to act on it.

Then he furrowed his brow at the mention of the bandage lady shutting off the core. "Shutting down the core now? I'm all for kicking down the ladder, but only after we have climbed it otherwise all of this has been for nothing. How do we get her to hold off on it?"

The snake man seemed to close in on the Perrenchman. His hearing still wasn't the best, but he understood the most of it. "Help? . . . " His vocal chords still slightly strained. "How will. . . you help? . ." Was there any helping him?

Yvain was at everyone's mercy. It took a lot of strength to focus on anything with the pain and exhaustion mixed together. He just wanted to close his eyes and rest, but he had to help, it was his duty as one of the strong. Just like Paradigm Hunghorasz did for his many years.

The Sirrahi stopped when requested. His serpentine gaze seemed taken by the writhing extensions. “These are akin to the suits. But-” his eyes narrowed as he leered at the feral Xiuyang. “They have bonded with you. That would explain the behaviour. Interesting.” he tapped his chin with his long pointer finger claw. “Naturally, they've made them with a particular hate for me. I'm sure we can remedy this.”

“I implore you all to reconsider.” In the meantime, it was Orvil that interjected on behalf of the Hegelans. Most were too afraid to take a shot after the surreal missing sequence they had just experienced, and the helplessness of the Ghosts toward the snake. “A long time ago, the Forge was shut off by the meddling of foreigners, and with it came the complete ruin of Halge Larchlon.” he pointed up. “The dead city. We cannot let this happen again. Please.”

Hu He hissed his tongue. “Your city is gone. And, one way or another, the core will reawaken. You should know this.” there was the lightest twinge on venom in his voice as he leaned his figure forward, getting a better look at the elderly Hegelan. “And besides, living as troglodytes have made you - and pardon my Xochi - moral degenerates.”

“I know we are harsh, but it's YOU-” Orvil pointed accusingly at Hu He. “You are such a horrible monster that we've had to become monsters to stop you! For the sake of US and the WORLD!” yelled the old man, almost coming off as deranged to some of his colleagues. Meanwhile, the snake remained calm.

“Hey, guys, uhm,” Juulet interjected, waving her spear around and nearly poking the Sirrahi in the meantime. He easily shuffled to the side and shot her a look. “I hate to say this but I really don't give a fuck. Be degens all you want, I want this FORGE INTACT!” it was her turn to yell petulantly. “Oh and,” she gestured toward the dying Perrenchman. “He needs help.”

Deep breaths, the snake really needed special gloves for this one. “Yes.” he peered at Yvain who had asked about his near future. “I am familiar with the sort of technology that may be your only chance.” then he addressed Juulet. “It will be turned back on.” his glare was intense. “And you may keep any spoils you wish afterward.”

Finally, Hu He twisted to address Leon. “The emergency shut-down should be North of here. Second floor. If you wish to intercept her ...” he shrugged before snapping his fingers to unleash a weak jolt onto the wall's wiring. The floor lights turned lemon yellow and illuminated a path. “I'd get to it now.”

"Help him, first. Please," Xiuyang replied to the Sirrahi's proposition, keeping her distance. She did not fully trust him, and if he was capable of overriding their instincts by modifying them, he was capable of turning her into his instrument. "I can feel them pulling, but I—can—resist." It shouldn't have been possible. The Hegelan-made suit should have been controlling her, but the fact that she had yet to attack the Exemplar told the macabre craftsmen the truth of it.

Gingerly, she handed Yvain over to Seviin. "I will, go. Settle the score, with—our enemy." Speech became laborious once more as Xiuyang and the Exemplar circled around the space afforded to them by the Hegelans like two predators passing one another in a narrow trail. It helped that Xiuyang and the coils were both eager to take their leave of him. Her neck rolled as she turned as if it were beckoning Leon and Juulet to follow.

The further she strayed from the snake, the more feeling seemed to return to her—or perhaps it was simply because time had passed. In a few moments, she could move her neck and shoulders around, and cause her fingers to twitch. She could feel the sensation of her blood returning to these old pathways—limbs that now felt entirely redundant for locomotion, but still she gravitated toward them for something like the act of holding a friend like Kaureerah. So, a part of her still seemed to know and cherish the feeling of being human. Still, recovering their use felt difficult, as if it took practice—like someone trying to employ the nigh-useless muscles required to move the ears for the first time.

Fortunately, the tendrils were doing all of the walking, and despite the dead weight they were carrying, they were quite a bit faster than any human either of her companions had ever seen before.

Leon nodded to Xiuyang and was about to pivot and pursue the path Hu He had laid out when a niggling detail caught him. "What do you mean it will be turned back on?" He spoke with a growing accusation in his tone. "What is the point in turning it off only to turn it back on later?"

He wanted to shut down the Forge for good while the snake and bandage woman wanted to turn it off in a restartable state for.. some reason. It was just as likely he set himself back by acting as he would make progress while he lay so far in the dark. Especially since he had no reason to believe that the snake's directions were truthful either. It seemed those two had been playing a game of chess that only got revealed once they had the winning move; half the board was still covered to him. The snake appeared to be the only one capable of giving them substantial reward for this hell trip, that could be done after it was turned back on. Would it not be better to stay with Yvain and let those event come to pass?

Hu He blessed Xiuyang's decision and resolve with a nod of approval. With Maiv having lost her composure and Rurin recovering from Orvil's pummeling, the Hegelans made timid by Kaureerah stepped aside. If anything, the foreigners could be the ones to rid them of a genuine threat.

Then came Leon's inquiry. The Sirrahi canted his head slightly with a brow raised. “Lest the core is destroyed, the mechanisms at play will ALWAYS reawaken it, one way or another.” he stated somewhat ominously. “I intend to take some from that core - a fragment, if you will. The Tarlonese, on the other hand, is only interested in said mechanism.” with that, he smiled. “I trust you will all make the right decision.”

An impatient Juulet huffed and flapped her lips. “Mmkay, I'm coming with. That gun of her's is probably working now.” she whined while implying they'd likely fail without her. The Yasoi, now undergoing withdrawal, made a display of her increasingly irregular gait with needing to recover from her bad hops every few seconds with a mild spatial manipulation.

Orvil shot a final, challenging glance at Rurin before turning toward Xiuyang. “I've lived all my life with these machines. And I trust in those I fought with.” he stepped forward, unafraid of the volatile tendrils. “And as imperfect as our Director was, she deserves justice too.”

The snake man seemed completely indifferent to Orvil implication of potentially interfering. He was already focused on the next task. Yvain's body was lifted in the air via an unseen kinetic force. “Ah, yes, I'll need you too.” his long pointer finger claw was trained toward Maiv, focing her off her feet into the air, just like Yvain. Naturally, her panicked state would only get worse with the occasional struggle. “Will any of you demoiselles be coming?” asked the serpent to the Eeaiko and the remaining Yasoi in a charming and almost mellifluous voice.

"And how long would that reawakening take? Many of us came here to use it after all." Asked Leon, still very much in the dark about what was going on or where he should go.

The Sirrahi shrugged. “If I had to guess ...” he pondered for a minute, mouthing some words while rolling his eyes up. The serpentine membrane occasionally clouded his eyes. “Between ten minutes and an hour? It's not an exact science. It'd be faster if we manually reactive it, but that also depends on the state of the core itself. It is quite old.”

The snake made it sound so simple, like this whole process was a calm Victendes day's work. But nothing in this place had been simple or without hidden danger. What the hegelan's said earlier was dismissed as more rambling of those below his respect, but now it held more weight in his mind. Leon pressed further. "The hegelans said shutting this thing off destroyed this place. They were telling the truth weren't they? What happens if it turns off now?" It was not just a question for Hu He but also the cooperative Orvil to weigh in on.

The Sirrahi shrugged. “They are not wrong.” her uttered the half answer with a voice that sought to mitigate. “All will surely die should said mechanism resolve itself. Should you reawaken the core before it enters full effect, however, the Forge and her people should survive.”

Xiuyang delayed her departure just enough to allow for a brief conversation with the Hegelan. "You are, brave. Not like... them." The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in approval. "When this, is over, you, should... leave, this place. They will, punish, you... all the more, for... the ones that... got, away."

Orvil shook his head. “Most are young and scared. Most have never been outside.” the veteran glared at the snake, but opted to not say anything more - that thing may be his enemy, but he also laid bare the truth, why would he interrupt that? “Most of our people are outside, on ships. But with the Director incident and the Founder's threat, we had to limit contact. And protect ourselves.”

Xiuyang did not reply, instead turning to leave. She did, however, appear to consider his words. She had heard whispers of the advanced ship that appeared at Kiluaho, its true contents a mystery to all but those who were there. So, these Hegelans were not alone, and would soon have the possibility of calling for backup. Perhaps they already had, and were only playing helpless for now.

Time was of the essence, and her actions here could not implicate Revidia in an act of war against the denizens of Halge Larchelon. She had maintained her innocence convincingly enough so far—perhaps because she wasn't lying, precisely—and if she lent her aid to stopping Pluurii, her plan to frame them for the murders of the director and her husband would backfire perfectly.

The yasoi's actions were convenient, indeed.

Against all the hell he had been through, Leon had a small laugh at the snake's reply. How casually he had remarked on their deaths should the forge be turned off. There was no denial of the hegelans claim, in fact, he boldly confirmed it with no shame. A regular Victendes work day and all is dead quiet in the nearest fifty kilometers. The snake wasn't even aware that he had delivered the punchline for an all too grim joke.

Juulet considers this man an ally.

There wasn't the time to process that concern; stopping Pluuri was the top priority. Her turning off the forge meant the death of everyone else and he doubted the Tarlonese favoured reawakening the core when she could simply teleport away leaving her enemies to die in the aftermath.

"Well if its a choice between life and death then I suppose the path is already clear." He concluded with Hu He before turning to Juulet and Xiuyang. "Shut down or not, I'm not letting the bandaged woman decide for us."

As he turned to leave, the performer paid a last passing glance at the injured Yvain and wondered if he really needed to go. Could he trust Xiuyang and Juulet to conclude this themselves? The cosmic coincidences once again pulled him away from those he cared about to thrust him into something greater. It always been this way, but maybe only within the last year had he felt the need to ever look back.

Outside his vigil, with his head turned away, it seemed the world was intent on delivering misfortune and pain to those he cared about. Kaureerah in Kiluaho, Yuli in the waters, Yvain put to the furnace, the scars are all too lasting and outside the abilities of a healer like Seviin to treat. A hesitation in Leon built telling him not to look away, not to leave them in the trust of a world who had broken it so many times. But he needed to go, it was for a greater good, it was for them. He kept telling himself that as he turned and walked one foot after the other away.

The lit path came with multiple corpses serving as minuscule obstacles to the implacable will of the group that separated from the main fold. Or rather, given their numbers, were essentially the main fold at this point. Xiuyang, Leon, Orvil and the crutching Juulet were rushing to the seldom used core control room, distinct from the Forge's general control center - some would call it redundant design, but perhaps the less they touched anything to do with the core, the safer they were.

The closer they got, the more they'd find lines of corpses, Hegelan and prisoners alike, with perfect - and still steaming - holes onto their bodies. Some of the bodies were stacked with perforations that seemed to perfectly line up with one another. A telltale sign Pluurii had been here. They were close.

A door left slightly ajar provided a glimpse into the control room just a floor above where they had started. Inside was the Tarlonese, having just finished inserting the severed hand of Tavin onto a scanner. A progress bar was the main thing stifling the huntress from getting the job any quicker, leading the group to find the bandaged up sniper with her hand on her hip in the most idle of poses. To the left was Zuri, barely alive with a large, bleeding wound on her chest. She could hardly speak, let alone move.

Pluurii hadn't noticed anything yet. Her focus on making the thing work faster via intelligible mumbles and lightly smacking the corner of the screen briefly distracted her from her surroundings.

Leon walked passed body after body lining a trail to follow the bandaged woman. She had seemed so nice at the fountain but even then something off dwelled beneath her words. This was the monster masked behind pale pleasantries, or rather she was a loyal attack dog of the Tarlonese than any senseless malicious entity. Was it the destiny of all promising mages to serve their country in the slaughter of those less talented than them? Were those conscripted from Ersand'Enise expected to leave trail of similar size? One thing was certain, he was getting all too familiar to the sight than he would like.

He saw the woman occupied readily with the filling bar on the electric screen with an all too casual demeanor for such bloodied hands. A surprise attack was in order and naturally the performer's eyes drifted to the tentacled amalgamation that somehow retained the name Xiuyang. If had anything that was going to be surprising, it was her.

Xiuyang advanced past the trail of bodies as if it weren't there. Gone was the timid healer who coped with stress by joking around. She was out for blood, and when she stopped at the door left ajar, it was not to ask for permission. She was a viper waiting to strike, watching and absorbing the information that she could.

A progress bar was an unfamiliar sight, but an intuitive concept now. The Hegelans activated the devices, and they spat out information. The bar meant something, and it was probably an indicator that time was running out. It took a moment for her to realize that Leon was looking at her to take the initiative. She returned his gaze as if she were confused. The idea that she should take point was alien to her.

It felt good, though, and after a moment, she hatched a plan. First, she would heal the Hegelan. If she served as a distraction, that was a good time to strike. If she survived to fight alongside them, even better.

Orvil's blood boiled. As imperfect as Zuri was, to have her in agony like this was unacceptable and set his mind away from the fact that she was actually alive in spite of what Maiv had shown. He stepped into the room while Xiuyang went about to heal her, his gatling gun trained at the Tarlonese with her back turned.

Pluurii peered behind her, still mumbling. And in this decisive moment, the Hegelan did not attack. And with the same level of hastiness as the man who could not shoot, she turned to confront him. There wasn't some smug smile or a death stare. It was the same pair of wide, almost innocent eyes with her dried lips pursed as if she was more curious than anything.

“Big-” just as she audibly spoke, her fellow Vyshta candidate materialized to her ride, spear tip pressed to her neck. “Crowd.” she raised her hands, one of which was still holding Tavin's severed limb.

“All the audience you need is right here, bitch.” Juulet sassily retorted without holding back on the smugness. “How do we stop the thing?”

The white haired Yasoi shrugged. “No clue, ask her.” she up-nodded toward the progressively restored Director.

“Kinda done following their lead. Shut this thing off.” demanded the Mad Avatar.

Zuri was regaining full consciousness. Once she could breathe properly and expel the rest of the blood in her throat mixed with phlegm, she yelled something in her native tongue.

“Don't damage the machine!” Orvil's translator picked up with a delay.

In that moment, the Tarlonese assassin tapped the floor with her fake leg, causing a flashbang to pop point-blank onto Juulet's face and the entire room. It was enough to have the killer slither out of her bind and take aim.

Two killer shots. One at Orvil, one at the pretty boy. She frowned when her sights found the second one.

It was all a blur when dealing with a ruthlessly efficient assassin as Pluuri. Leon managed to guard his eyes from her surprise flashbang but the gun was aimed and her second shot was destined for him. He tried to make an illusory copy of himself to confuse her, it didn't work, she already had a lock on him. But he did take note of something, a frown as she was forced to attack him. Did she have a soft spot?

Instead, Leon decided to use his illusions offensively, a copy of himself tenderly in front of her with eyes urging her to put down the gun. After all, this copy cared for her so very, very deeply. Even if it didn't strike her heart, at least it covered her eyes.

As Pluurii leveled her rifle at Orvil, Xiuyang instinctively snatched him by the collar just as she had done with Seviin and Yvain. "Watch it. You can't block those shots." The words came out easily and decisively as she struck at Pluurii with blood magic. "End of the line," she declared coolly, aiming for the hand that pulled the trigger on Seviin, and the arm of the girl that felt nothing but recoil at having done so.

Pluurii canted her head, curious as to what Leon was even trying. Did he have a death wish? Did he think staring would do anything here? Fortunately, upon resolving her shots, one of which struck true on Orvil's lower abdomen and barely missed an artery, her gun began to steam and the metal tube for a cannon was incandescent.

Sights were adjusted and repositioning behind a metal beam was her priority. But before she could find shelter, one of Xiuyang's self-directing appendages had coiled around Pluurii's good arm, keen on destroying her the same way that headless thing had done to many others. “Woah.” the sniper hardly seemed flabbergasted. And soon the appendage became as cool as she was - literally. Frost quickly spread through the tentacle and toward the host.

Juulet did not sit around to find out, as bad as her migraine had become from the flash she wasn't going to let a bargain bin Avatar get the best of her. With a snap of her fingers, she caused the air around the freezing appendage to ignite in a small explosion, spreading right up to the sniper herself. “Get her, quick!” she yelled out.

It was Orvil's cue to act. He barely kept it together, but he had just enough to unload the last batch of bullets he had left. But instead of aiming for the menace, her focused fire on the tentacle that was rapidly turning to frost, until he could sever it.

The endeavour was enough to break Xiuyang loose of the compromised tentacle, and eventually leading to the string of fiery explosions to hit Pluurii. Her entire right side, arm, hip, shoulder and face had the bandages burned off and light was shined upon the decaying flesh creature hidden beneath. The skin was dry and blistered, both from the burns and from the conditions. Muscle was visible on various spots, most notably the cheek and bicep. A gory display to say the least, and with these bandages also went the wide-eyed look of the sniper, her maw agape in the midst of an intense pain-induced pant.

The velocity of the bouning bullet meant that dodging was just as likely to move Leon into the bullet's path as it were to avoid it. Instead, he focused to stop it. And yet, even with the noted presence of Juulet's help, he only managed to deflect it. It tore at the top of his right shoulder in place of exploding his brains. He reeled from the pain and reflexively brought his hand up over the wound. However, as he looked back, the sniper was in a worse state than he was. Some wounds were fresh, some she had been carrying her whole life. It almost made him feel bad for her.

The bandaged woman was a dangerous woman, far too dangerous to be left to her devices. And yet, he had not the stomach to see her writhing in pain like this. "Is this really worth dying for? The vision of another who cares so little for you?" He pleaded with her.

And yet, he wasn't going to repeat the same mistake he had with Maiv. Pluuri had been subjected to intense heat with Juulet's explosion but flesh ripping fire wasn't the only way of delivering this. Leon used the purest form of arcane, no flame, no destruction, just the focusing enough intense heat into the sniper's body to have her lose conciousness.

A clash of wills went unseen to all except Leon and Pluurii, with the latter barely scraping by with an accelerated metabolism and a dulling of her pain. She hid behind the beam of metal once more.

“Hah!” she laughed in a high pitched voice. “Care. Have you seen my face, dear?” said the woman with the skinless face. “I have a job. I do it. What is it worth? Well,” the Yasoi bit her lip before uttering the next part. “Flip a coin. I call heads. If I get it right, I blow this whoooole place up, mkay? Leave it up to the Gods if it shuts this down or not.”

Juulet, on the other hand, scoffed. “And they call me mad-” she fell to her own knee. A very specific point in her head had begun to ache more than anything she had ever felt before. “EEEEEAAAARRRRGGGG!” she roared before banging head her into the machinery by her.

During the whole debacle, a loud ding announced the completion of the progress bar. With both terminals validated, the first having been handled by Pluurii through Zuri's own hand, the latter rushed over to the single switch that lit up between the two touch screens. “Cover me! I'll stop the shut down once and for all!” said the Director through Orvil's translator.

Xiuyang groaned, as though she only half-felt the damage to her new appendage. Still, she was furious. With her three remaining tendrils, she staggered over to Pluurii and loomed over her. "You must've liked your six-out-of-seven odds of survival, huh? But even if I can't kill you here, I can always remove a few more limbs to soften you up for next time! Back-stabbing taca!"

Two tendrils supported Xiuyang while the third struck at her preferred arm, pinning her down. Again, Pluurii resisted, but she was slowly losing ground. I hope this one isn't useful to you, Tyrel.

"Flip a coin, is that how you feel like you have some control over it?" Leon pried into Pluuri both with genuine intention and with the goal of distracting her from Zuri. "But you don't decide where that coin lands nor will chance. It is an uncaring Empress who decides what face is shown, and your decision to die on her command. Give it up."

He hit her with another heat wave of pacification.

“Control.” it was Pluurii's turn to scoff. “No such thing.” she was about to turn to shoot down the Hegelan wobbling her way to the machine, but Xiuyang intercepted.

For a moment, gazes met as did wills. One that had lost control yet found a means to regain it, while the other had long since forsaken such notions. Order, even if shattered, versus chaos. They went tit for tat, with the appendage managing to graze the Yasoi but in retaliation was carved up by an ice-base dagger the assassin had conjured on the spot. “Should've gone for the head!” her malformed face made it seems like she was grinning toothily, and the intonation suggested some degree of amusement.

Orvil was attempting to recover from his wound, having been the second time struck and his old age did not make the experience any better. He could only work with the tinctures he had included with his suit. But as the opportunity arose, her raised his shaking hand wielding a handgun and shot at Pluurii.

He missed the head by a couple of inches, and the Yasoi laughed.

Meanwhile Zuri had since begun to type the codes to reverse the shutdown sequence. They would soon be home free.

That is, if they could get by the Tarlonese assassin's final gambit.

A Hegelan-made object the size of an apple rolled into the center of the room whilst Pluurii waved at Leon with a pin hanging from her burnt finger. He hadn't quite melted her insides, but he definitely had her attention.

Leon looked at Pluuri waving and almost fell for the distraction as he sensed intense heat spikes building in the object she had thrown. Even in the split second moment, he wasn't sure if it was simply a distraction or if, in her twisted mind, it was truly a friendly gesture.

If the performer had a Magus for everyone one-legged crazy Avatar of Vyshta lady he was trying to save, he would have 2 Magus. While this isn't a lot, it was strange that it was happening twice and unfortunately for the bandaged woman, he could easily make a choice between the two. He looked back to Juulet still banging her head against the desk, he ran and dived them both to cover.

Sleight of hand was a excellent trick of Leon's for, when they landed toward safety, he had already brought out his lyre and played a delicate song. It had seemed to cure ill conditions, but even if it healed Juulet's self-imposed head injuries, it would be worth doing.

Xiuyang did not immediately know what the object was, precisely, but she could feel the chemical reaction building just in time to react. She began by tearing apart the floor and placing it atop the object to block its intended projectiles, and using arcane magic to stifle the reaction.

"As you wish. I'll take your head after I've finished dissecting you for the Exemplar's seeds," she responded to the taunt, her eyes intensely focused on deflecting the grenade's blast.

The grenade went off, the debris around it softening the blast itself, but adding to the deadly projectiles that scattered about. Xiuyang easily raised her guard via her appendages to avoid the brunt of it. Orvil had dived behind a beam just before taking a minor hit from a stray piece of concrete to the chest. Zuri, on the other than, took a lot of shrapnel to the back, causing her to fall over in the middle of her operation. She wasn't out just yet, however.

Juulet came to when Leon had come to her rescue. A pathetic sight, she thought. One she couldn't just let him get away with. With a blaring headache, she extended her arm and added a fiery barrier to the performer's defense - one seemingly untethered by her supposed RAS limit.

“Knucklehead ...” muttered the Mad Avatar under her breath.

Smoke and dust quickly stole their vision.

What remained was Pluurii, who wasn't immune to her own antic and actually took quite the blow. In fact, she was propelled a good many feet back into the room, gun stubbornly still in her hand. She couldn't move her legs anymore, but her could move her gun. With a well-placed death shot between her legs and a tad bit of blood magic, she let the floor collapse under her for a swift retreat.

Pursuit was possible, but a new, unpleasant sound would likely capture the attention of many. A red warning symbol appeared on all screens. The alert was clear: Something had gone terrible wrong. Debris had destroyed a good part of the machinery, though the central control was unusually robust - likely for crisis scenarios.

Speaking her own language still, Zuri crawled toward the the main control panel. Given her desperation, she was nearly finished. Sheer willpower was driving her through the intense pain, bad enough that it could easily lead to her untimely death.

This was the place where the core lived or died. While Pluuri was a threat, Leon wasn't about to be lead on a wild goose chase only for the sniper to teleport back here. His decision was to stay put and guard Zuri.

He pulled up a chair and looked back toward Xiuyang. "At least one of us should go after her. I can't imagine what she could prepare if we let go of the pressure now. I would say to keep her alive, but I don't think I have much sway in that decision." He quipped and threw his hands up as if fully relinquishing the fate of Pluuri to the Retanese girl's hands... or tentacles.

Xiuyang didn't need much convincing to go after Seviin's would-be assassin. After only a nod to Leon as her two destroyed tendrils regenerated themselves, she took after the yasoi through the hole she'd made in the floor, moving through support structures in a manner less like a human and more like a tree monkey—or a particularly dexterous spider. It was uncanny.

Her business in the Forge was concluded. This was personal. She wasn't certain of her chances in a one-on-one, but her prey was weak. She took a moment to prepare a chemical cocktail to enhance her reaction time and steel her nerves.

Dust began to settle. Pluurii was gone and Xiuyang was in hot pursuit. Orvil remained sat against a metal beam, clutching his rapidly healing wound. Zuri reached out for the console while Leon served as a stalwart guard to the core's integrity.

But then there was Juulet. Her migraine was gone, for now, and the explosion had only just gotten a bit of dust on her hair. She ascended, crutches left to the floor as she took to hovering instead.

“Wow.” exclaimed the Mad Avatar as she approached her partner in crime. “I wasn't expecting you to go THAT far for me.” she flashed a toothy grin. “And I don't mean the meat shield effort. You'd let that snake blow you up just so we can get this place! D'awww.” A cheek smooch was warranted.

In a flex of her gargantuan and clearly untethered magic capacity, she stopped all of Zuri's, Orvil and even Leon's momentum. They felt themselves sluggish with their naturally low defenses. And with a single flick of her pointer finger, Juulet had the Director flung into Orvil. “No, but seriously, we gotta stop fucking around here.” she said, time feeling much slower around Leon, but not slow enough to not understand her. “We got a job to finish.” her palm pressed onto the switch, and only a little bit of weight was needed to activate the shut down protocol. “And we want what's in THERE!”

Juulet, in full dramatics, pointed right at the direction of the core. All the lights went off. All of them, even the machines. And just a couple of seconds later, the emergency, dim lights turned on everywhere with a select few machines remaining active. No alarm, no announcement. Everything was just ... Dark.

Orvil, barely recovering from being smothered by an incoming Zuri, shouted a resounding "NO!".

“Sorry, not sorry.”

The Hourglass Order

Abyssal Forge - False Promise

---

---

Xiuyang reunites with the others, only for them to be required to split up again. She chooses to follow Seviin into the fog between them and the Forge, and in an ill-conceived attempt to comfort her, ends up hurting her instead. They end up separated in the fog, where Seviin confronts her inner beast—and Xiuyang is challenged by her obsessive love for Ciro, and her yearning for an ounce of warmth in Halge Larchelon. Xiuyang rejects the false promise of eternal bliss and returns to Seviin to make things right. Two girls who both view themselves as freaks confront their self-loathing and fear of rejection together, but the conclusion of that conversation is left for a peaceful day.

Rejection

They had all united at the square, where the box had told them to meet. Some were chipper, some were shaken, and some were even still tired from the performance they had just put. The gang was back together, at the very least, for better ...

Or for worse.

“Y'know,” spoke Juulet, her figuratively reptilian eyes locked onto Kaureerah with Leon getting a few glances. “if you're gonna sacrifice your best piece to win the match, at the very least TRY to get rid of the big bad.” she hopped until most of the gap was closed - it took a little, given she only had her spear as support. “It's one thing to be dumped in a latrine. It's another to end up with the turd still ALIVE!” she wasn't happy, not quite angry or maddened, but the discontent was being made very obvious. “That would've killed all of us if I were anybody else.” venomous were her words, just as was the glared she dedicated to the popular, piscine bard.

Xiuyang looked... about as well as could be expected, given who she had for company. Her left arm had been obviously and brutally crushed with a blunt object and hastily mended. She was still trying to heal painful micro-fractures, but such precision was beyond her when even sensing in this environment was quite difficult. She offered Seviin and Yuli a pained and apologetic smile, as though she felt like she'd abandoned them.

Xiuyang was unconcerned with Juulet. If she hadn't abandoned her to die, she wouldn't dare to harm anyone here. "Well, I'm not going back down there." She put her foot down on that matter as she considered her options. Frankly, neither of the likely heavily-guarded locales appealed to her. Splitting up was the worst thing they could be asked to do when even their safety in numbers was already just a tempting illusion. Besides, she told herself, the Forge was the entire reason she was here, and it wouldn't do to give her classmates any opportunities to shut her out of it.

She snorted dryly. Just what had she called this, back in Cantativa? A little 'adventure?' A good excuse to escape the public eye for a while? Just what good was she doing, here? All she'd managed to do so far was save the life of her archenemy. It was with that weight on her mind that she joined Leon, Seviin and Yvain in the fog. She supposed that she would drop dead in tandem with one of the other, braver souls any minute. Or, perhaps it would be a long time before the horrors of this place allowed the first of them to die. Maybe the boxed voice's magic would even have worn off by then. She wrapped her arms around herself as she pondered her many possible fates.

She could do little but keep praying. Ipte reunite me with my love, in life or in death. Shune guide my steps. Oraff protect me from these abominations against creation. Eshiran deliver me from the hands of those who mock you from beyond the grave. Dami judge me worthy.

...

...Tyrel... live a long life, okay?

Seviin, meanwhile, had little to say. They'd all made it there, though Yuliya looked bad, like she was hurting. She simply... healed, as best she could with her magics muted. She healed, as best she could, through the feelings of anger towards the faceless horrors of this place. She healed, as best she could, through her sense of betrayal by the ones who'd sent her here. She healed... because people needed healing, and that was what a priestess of Oraff did.

But if you had just fought - protected them - they would not need healing, and they would know not to attack you again.

Horrified at the stray thought, she misaligned a blood vessel in Xiuyang's arm, causing a large purpling bruise. She shook her head and quickly fixed the damage. Seviin's fists clenched and unclenched. It was the animal in her speaking - the animal she would not let out, the animal who would only destroy. Besides, it was a false sentiment. She'd been nowhere near most of the others when they'd been hurt.

Perhaps it was guilt that drove her, then, or maybe just the familiarity of Xiuyang, but she walked into the fog with them. It certainly wasn't fear that she would not be able to fight for herself. Priestesses of Life did not fear Death.

Xiuyang was glad to have Seviin's company, but she jolted at the sudden pain of her distracted blunder, and watched with tired eyes as she shook her head and clenched her fists. "Seviin, are you... okay? You seem a little..." She appeared to search for the right word, but regardless of whether she chose to say she was tense, distracted, or just 'off,' it was going to mean the same thing.

Seviin had murmured something noncommittally confirmational Pluurii's way, but this one was one of Cascal and Esuul's hounds, for all her meek nature. The tyro priestess had seen her in Tanso and the sniper's presence made her uneasy.

She shot Xiuyang a smile that had no happiness in it. "I think 'okay' is a relative term right now." She shrugged, striding ahead, but her neck twisted a couple more times and her eyes pierced the murk slightly better than a huusoi's could to regard her fellow Tarlonese. "but how about you?" She blushed in embarrassment. "I made a mistake and left you with a bruise, Mother Oirase forgive me."

"I'm... better," Xiuyang decided. Not quite okay, but better, as she surely must be after relieving herself of Juulet's presence. Her eyes were evasive, like she'd been found out somehow. "It doesn't hurt," she added. The truth was that it hurt much less than a broken arm. She strained her eyes to see into the fog, but she wouldn't see anything more than Seviin could. "Are you hungry?" she asked suddenly, and somehow meaningfully.

But the weight behind her question surely must have been Seviin's imagination going wild, because Xiuyang was holding out some food. They were seaweed wraps with rolled-up dried meat, cheese and bean paste. "I uh, tried my hand at making... something. I don't know if you'll like it, but even Juulet said it was good, so I hope it at least... isn't bad. ...By travel food standards." She busied herself looking into the fog rather than at her friend's face.

Seviin's eyes darted to the offering and to the one holding it. "I, um... a'lethei, suunei." She bowed her head and reached out to take it.

She froze. She froze and nearly retracted her hand, for it was unmistakable. Her fingernails had always been thicker and sharper than those of huusoi - such was perfectly normal for yasoi - but they were claws. They were claws and a thin film of flaxen gold hair trickled down her forearm and across her hand. The priestess swallowed. She was hungry; there was no denial to be made, but...

You are not me. I am not you. You will not emerge. She stood there, for a moment longer, paralyzed by her reaction.

Xiuyang also froze, briefly, her survival instincts forcing unwanted goosebumps upon her. She herself belonged to a family of shapeshifters, and they were on good terms with a few sanguinaires. By now, she shouldn't even be surprised by this. It was almost comedic, how everyone close to her seemed to have some dark secret or other.

Her heart bubbled with empathy. She wanted to tell Seviin that it was alright, but the words were vapid and caught in her throat. What kind of person was Seviin, really? Could she ever accept herself as she was? Would she accept the Solari, if she knew? It seemed a simple solution, to just spill each other's beans, but that was very... merchant-like. Transactional. Seviin was different from her, and that left Xiuyang feeling a little uncertain—but, maybe a little uncertainty was okay among friends.

"Suunei." She spoke a single word. It was meant to be firm and grounding, but it came out harsher and more demanding than she wanted it to, like the next words she spoke would be a command, rather than the... what did she plan to say, anyway? Did she have a plan?

No. She realized that she didn't. She just felt a sudden urge to take Seviin's hand before she started spiraling, like Xiuyang knew she would likely have done if their positions had been switched, and Seviin had found her out. Her eyes were determined, as someone who knew what they saw and refused to brush it off or look away, but that determination wavered when she once again remembered that she didn't quite know what to say. "W-What... are you thinking right now?" she tried, her hand shaking. She let go of her hand, leaving the offering of food in Seviin's palm as she pulled the inferno blanket tighter around her shoulders.

"I..." Seviin's fists balled and unraveled and she didn't have words any more than Xiuyang had. "I am worried that... I am about to become something..." She swallowed. "...I do not want to become." She hated the squeak in her voice. It made her sound like a child - a 'precocious upjumped little pipsqueak with too much to say and no sense'. That was what cousin Esmii had called her, and her blood had boiled then.

She was not that person now - she was not the animal. She continued, voice unsteady. "There is a... wrongness inside of me that I cannot be rid of." She glanced down at her shoes and and then out into the murk in the direction that Pluurii had gone. "That one is an agent of the Diarchy and she is not here for innocent reasons. At the very least, she will try to make me... turn." Her eyes snapped back to Xiuyang and then to the food. "If I am overcome, if I become more beast than woman, promise that you will not risk yourself. Whatever happens is down to my will and that of the Gods." She reached out to take the offering in earnest this time.

Xiuyang blinked, like a thought had occurred to her, and she swallowed. "You're right about it being the will of the gods. Since Mother Oirase makes nothing that is unnecessary, right?" She tried on a smile, but positivity was a precious resource and she could not spare much. "We may not understand it, but what if it isn't wrong to be more than what we seem to be?"

Seviin went still for a good long moment. She breathed. Her muscles tightened. After an interval, she began to come out of it and a dozen different responses flashed through her mind's eye. She could feel the pressure building behind her nose and eyes and she knew that she would cry. She hated herself for it. Abruptly, she turned and stalked off into the mist without saying a word.

The tension in Xiuyang's heart dropped and created a pit in her stomach. She never knew what to say in a situation like this. She had a feeling that she'd just made her friend cry, but was it a good and necessary cry, or had she just wounded her more deeply than she could imagine, knowing nothing?

Should she give Seviin some space? It hardly mattered, because in this situation, she couldn't afford to. The best she could offer was to give her a bit of distance, keeping her within sight but giving her as large of a personal bubble as she dared, and to keep her footsteps quiet and inobtrusive. It wasn't difficult to make her presence small when this place engraved the feeling of smallness into her very being.

She longed to console her friend, but she bit her tongue and cursed herself for saying too much with too little information. There was no way she'd said what Seviin needed to hear. Once more, her own need for validation had caused her to harm someone she cared for.

It was on these terms that they wandered into the mist, the great oppressive shape of the tower fading into its listless depths. Seviin became disconnected, there. She simply wandered forward, vision swimming with phantoms in the fog, mind bleeding one paranoid thought over the other. She clenched her fists so tightly that blood dripped from them. Blood and pain. The pain would centre her. It would ground her. This was what the animal did: it caused pain.

It was not long before she had no sense of direction, but for a vague sense of Xiuyang behind her, and that began to pick at her conscience. Stupid yanii, she tried on for size, but it was a thought full of hate and didn't reflect her actual feelings. The presumptuousness, though! As if Salomé Xiuyang Solari knew the first thing about her! As if she understood what Seviin was, what it meant to be what she was, what she had done!

Then maybe you should tell her. The fifteen-year-old's steps became stiff and avoidant and she stalked forward a little faster. So much anger! The tears came down her face. So much! She wasn't like this. This wasn't right! How could she have so much anger in her? And, yet, had she not felt a white hot hatred towards the diarchy? Had it not...

Her mind reeled and she backed away from where that led. She backed away and just kept crying: crying and walking through the endless murk in this miserable place. I am sorry, Mother, she thought into the universe. I am trying so badly, but I am failing. Her friend... She had wounded Xiuyang back and she turned about to search for the Revidian, but she was nowhere to be found. There was only this grey... nothingness.

"Suunei?" she tried, feebly, but it was deadened in the mist. "Xiuyang!?" This came with a bit more urgency, and she waited, heart beating in her throat.

There was no response.

This place fairly pulsated with emptiness, but it was a ripe expectant emptiness that oppressed and bore down and promised ill if not offered the blood money of a response. "XIUYANG!! Seviin screamed into it and the mists swirling was her only response. Who would want her as a friend? She was no fun. She was heavy and dour and closed-off and refused to be anything else.

"Xiuyang..." She was being pathetic. The priestess reached up to dab her tears away with her sleeve and took a couple of steadying breaths.

That was when she sensed it.

The fog rippled and writhed and, charging out of it was a colossal white lionbear. It galloped toward her on all fours, grunting and snorting and she had a good few seconds to watch and know it to be herself. It neither stopped nor slowed and the girl's eyes widened. She dived out of the way as a massive paw came swiping for her chest, saved by instinct alone. She came up in a roll but it was already after her: relentless, rearing up and crashing down, and she threw herself back out of harm's way.

Seviin scrambled, once more, to her feet, springing away in a randomized direction. The bear stood on its hind legs and ripped through the mists with bellowing roar. The girl called upon what little of the Gift she had and tried to conjure a barrier, but it was too slow. It was no good and she knew it almost instantly. At a half-gallop, loping along between twos and fours, the beast crashed upon her and, once more, she twisted free but, this time, she felt a hard impact and her world spun and swam. The mists swirled and her scream deadened and she felt blood trickle down the side of her face.

She tried to calm herself. She tried to centre herself, but it just came at her again: something that she could not heal or placate or bargain with.

She reached up to heal the wound - a gash along her hairline - but it was slow going and she stumbled free of the beast's next murderous attack. Its eyes, dark and hot and full of hatred, bored into her and she could feel that it was not a mindless thing: it had intent.

Internal Chemical magic! With so little of the Gift, it was her best bet, and she sprinted away, blinking the blood from her right eye and trying to focus. There was nothing to climb! Nothing to hide behind! No safety to be had! Her limbs trembled with exertion and adrenaline and she tried to take that energy, to turn it on the animal.

How it burned amid these ashes: incandescent, defiant, but it meant her doom. It reared up again and let rip a snorting roar. She reached for its mind. She reached and...

How easy it would be to cause damage - to harm another living thing. She need only have unspooled some basic connections, changed a few substances around, and it would be irreparably damaged. How easy, and then she would be indelibly safe.

... until the next time something attacked her? Something like Pluurii? Something like Miret or maybe a Consoi who saw only an enemy, or a sanguinaire who saw only an enemy?

She tried to make it sleep and her magic had no effect. "Sleep, damn you!" she screamed. "Why won't you just sleep!?"

Heartless, relentless, it barreled forward, and Seviin trembled once more. "...Sleep, damn you." her teeth hissed and scraped against each other and she shook and cried. "What have I done?" Her eyes snapped up and bore into the beast as it closed in. "Is it that thing!? she snarled. "Is it, you fucking animal!?"

The bear rose up on its hind legs and reared back with a massive arm and Seviin's own arm erupted with muscle and claws and flaxen bristly hair. She struck back at it with all of her fury: every ounce of her repressed rage, every resentment, every fear, every lie that she had lived by.

And she met it, strength for strength and did not need to run any longer. She could not hate herself either, for she had lost that ability for now. Blow after blow she exchanged with the animal, healing nearly instantly, craving to rip its soft skin open, to gouge its eyes from their sockets, to tear into its neck and cover herself in its steaming maroon blood. The girl had become the beast.

It was some time later. It was hard to tell how much time had passed. The bear had torn through a half-dozen others like it before its violence had tempered. It trundled through the nothing, lost and angry and purposeless, sated but never sated. It stood on its hind legs and let out a long slow moan, its blood-soaked snout tilting first one way and then the other.

Dimly, in the furthest reaches of its simple mind, it began to be conscious of a girl named Seviin - a grim thing that had always hated it and kept it from life. She was looking for something. She was looking for someone.

It had nothing better to do and so it looked as well.

Somewhere, well off in the distance, it picked up the aroma of meat and beans. Another ways away, it came upon the ozone stench of something like lightning, and the oxidizing smell of rust. It did not know what the girl wanted and it hated the girl anyhow: the girl who used it only to fight and claimed to hate fighting.

It carried on for some time more, lost and lonely, rearing up and sniffing every once in a while, hoping for something green or warm or pleasant: for a meal, or a soft den, or a sunny glade or cool stream to drink from.

This was a dead place and those were not to be found here. Finally, exhausted and weary of a fruitless search, the bear could fight the girl no longer. It found a place as good as any other and went to sleep, not knowing if it might ever awaken again.

Seviin never left Xiuyang's sight.

She knew that losing sight of Seviin would be the end of them both, so she kept her eyes locked on to her, fighting against the natural instinct to look toward the ground in shame, fighting against the anxiety that the sight of a friend's back instilled in her.

Speaking more could only escalate things, so she kept silent. She visualized a flask of fluid reacting to a foreign element she'd introduced, causing a reaction that made it bubble up to the rim. The wrong words now could cause Seviin to boil over, but if she waited a bit, she could try something else. She just needed to find the right words, and everything would be fine again.

Seviin never left Xiuyang's sight—but, for the brief moment that "Seviin" had been a flask of roiling emotions, Xiuyang had lost sight of the girl in front of her.

"Seviin..?" Xiuyang called out, quickening her pace. She could hear another set of increasingly fast steps in front of her, but though she matched her pace, the taller woman's steps quickly quieted into nothing. Xiuyang kept racing forward toward where the sound had been until she found a wall in every direction but where she'd come from.

"No... no, no, no, no," she muttered, shaking. "Seviin, please, come back..! I can't do this on my own..." she wept.

"You won't have to," replied a familiar voice.

"Ciro?!" Xiuyang cried in disbelief. "No, you—you shouldn't be here!" she denied adamantly. She'd come here to protect him from the Doge—from this. If he was here, then what was it all for?!

"I came to get you home," he insisted, his voice pacifying and reassuring as he knelt in front of her.

Xiuyang desperately wanted to believe it was true. He looked, sounded and even smelled like Ciro. "You heard me calling for you?" she asked, reaching out with a trembling hand.

"Don't I always?" he replied smoothly, taking her hand and helping her up. The hand and his smile were warm. She wanted to melt into him.

"You..." she choked. "What were you thinking?!" she demanded of the man who'd sent her to her death, willing herself to forget for the moment that this was her idea in the first place.

He was taken aback for but a moment before he threw his arms around Xiuyang."I'm so sorry, amore." I never wanted you to be hurt. If I'd only known it would be this bad, I would never have let you go—and I'll never let you go again. Let's go home."

"But what about your mission..? I've... failed," Xiuyang replied, holding back tears. "What about the Doge..?"

"I'll get it taken care of. We'll flee the country if we have to. All I need is for you to be safe," he said as he stroked her face.

Xiuyang smiled ruefully. So this was how it felt, being told what she "needed to hear." It was... rather condescending, wasn't it?

Gently, she pushed the man away. "You're not Ciro," she sighed, disappointment in her voice. He took a step towards her, but she quickly drew a pistol. He raised his hands in defusing posture and softened his voice even more.

"Amore... I know this has been hard on you, but I need you to trust me. It's really me. I'm here," he emphasized, in a tone of voice that broke her heart, but she stood her ground.

"You're pretty impressive—but even if you can access my memories, it seems you really don't know what you're looking at. My Ciro is certainly a romantic, but he wouldn't give up his ambitions just for me."

The impostor Ciro pursed his lips, as if he couldn't help but keep the man's mannerisms even after having been found out. "Maybe I don't know much about you, Xiuyang—but it doesn't have to stay that way." Xiuyang cocked her head in disbelief as her surroundings took on the shape of a familiar townhome in Cantativa.

"You can't fully trust him, can you? But you can trust me, because the only thing I want is for you to stay out of the forge."

"And in return?" Xiuyang replied, businesslike.

"If you want to see the world, I can show it to you. If you just want to go home and be with Ciro, I can be your Ciro. Anything he can offer you, so can I. You can live your ideal life and never have to doubt my intentions."

Xiuyang paused, as if considering, but only for a moment. "But there is one thing Ciro can do for me that you can't," she replied confidently.

"Really? And that is..?" he replied, mirroring her.

"To let go of the hurt in his heart, and be happy, just like he helped me to do." Xiuyang smiled a bit sadly. "I can't mend the hearts of people who aren't real."

There was silence between the two for a moment as the impostor grit his teeth. "But I am real, Xiuyang!" he pleaded, standing up from his chair. "I'm right here, I'm—"

But she would never hear whatever he had decided he needed to say next, because she drew her pistol from underneath the table and placed one bullet in his forehead before he could finish. She could not bear to listen any more. If he'd worn down her resolve any further, she feared she might actually accept his offer to give in to the illusions of the fog, and hope to one day forget the real, terrifying Sipenta ever existed.

He was revealed to be a mindless thrall as the idyllic scenery around her dissolved. Again, she was cold and alone in the fog, a harsh and immediate reminder of the danger she was in, a danger that the impostor had offered to rescue her from. Numbly, she realized that only now had she considered whether or not he could have guaranteed her safety in this place. She expected to cry, but no tears came, despite having just put a bullet through the face of the man she loved—even if it was "merely" a very convincing illusion.

Yet in all this, Seviin never left Xiuyang's mind. There was another heart that she needed to mend first, one that might be on the brink of despair beneath the veneer of anger. Perhaps she would never find the right words. Perhaps there were no right words to find, but only a right thing to do. She would worry about that after making sure she and her friend got home in one piece.

Xiuyang stood up, feeling more cold and numb than ever, and yet also more self-assured than ever, as she put one foot in front of the other.

In the cold and the darkness waited a bear. It was... something like asleep, its breath coming out in soft puffs that momentarily disrupted the swirling mists before they rushed back in and claimed the space.

It was both peace and violence and it was suddenly present, first as a vague notion, and then an indistinct shape before coming into focus. Xiuyang had walked for however long and grown almost inured to her surroundings. Then, the lionbear was simply there: its fur the same colour as her friend's hair, its form radiating a sort of dangerous stillness.

Xiuyang knew the feeling well. Predators of every kind—wild animals, grizzled fighters, assassins and psychopaths—had a certain ease about their movements and even their stillness, as if nervous energy were a foreign concept. The presence of a mere human was hardly a cause for concern for this beast, sleeping or not. It was not the hair color that gave her away at first, but rather, the absurdity of this large predator living hale and hardy in this dead place. Somehow, it just followed logically that this was Seviin.

That was what terrified Xiuyang. It was not about the bear—it was what the bear represented. Xiuyang knew what it was to fear the loss of her own self, never to be regained, at the whims of tiny creatures living in her veins. She knew what it was to feel infested by things she never asked for, to have her own hopes and dreams depend more on them than on her tireless efforts, to be at once blessed and cursed and in some circles, sub-human.

Xiuyang was temporary, but the Solari would be with her until the day she died. She, her father, her mother and her sisters—before they were individual people with unique and recognizable faces, reputations, careers and relationships—all of them were "Solari." Tiny, invisible creatures with no discernible purpose but to imitate, infiltrate, and infest the populace like a disease. Someday, it might happen to Ciro. She knew that a part of her would be happy, when he became a part of the Solari like her.

It was disgusting, that feeling she had. It was wrong. Maybe she was disgusting and wrong, too.

And though there was a chance she would never lose herself—if it could happen to someone as pure and undeserving as Seviin—then a flawed and broken girl like herself stood no chance of remaining as "Xiuyang" until the very end. The best she could do was pray to become someone better than herself when it did finally happen, rather than someone like her father.

Xiuyang found herself frozen in something like fear. She could not leave Seviin's side, but she could not approach the bear, either. She settled on climbing a nearby metal ladder which led to some cold and equally metal scaffolding. She was too numb to question why even the presumably temporary structures here were made of metal, or to notice how uncomfortable it was to sit on.

"I'm... sorry, Seviin. I made too many assumptions about you... like that you were born this way, or that... my words could help you accept yourself, like you always seem to be able to do for me," she choked, dryly, her voice gravelly. "Please, don't... stay like this. I can't do this alone. I need you. I need you in my life, too..." she trailed off, unsure if she could be talking to Seviin, or just a bear, or even the cold and empty air between them. Exhausted, she leaned to her side, against the cold and hard brick wall.

It was sudden and yet not. The bear stirred and snorted, the ever-present dust stirring before its feet.

Xiuyang blinked, looking down at the bear with what she imagined might be hope, but her ability to express emotions seemed to be down for the count. Had she been nodding off just now? "Seviin?" she prodded softly.

Absently, she remembered that bears could climb. The scaffold wouldn't support her weight, but she could pull her down if she really wanted to. She allowed the thought to pass through her without paying much mind to it.

It snorted and, eyes still closed, its form tensed. A low, rumbling moan and a wheeze fluttered its lips. Then, all at once, its eyes snapped open, bulging and blodshot.

The immense beast rose up and let rip an ear-hurting howl. It dropped violently back onto all fours and swatted and pawed at the ground, kicking up dirt and debris. Again, it hollered, spinning on the spot and lashing out. Bloody spittle speckled its muzzle and fur and its eyes seemed not to have fixed upon Xiuyang... yet.

Xiuyang froze and tensed, feeling a bit like a scolded child. Again, the flask of boiling emotions came to her mind's eye. She shoved the sight of it off the metaphorical table, but in its shattered absence she found no useful tools in her metaphorical hands. If even the sound of her own name angered her, Xiuyang truly had nothing to do but wait and hope this just... wore off, somehow.

...but, what if it didn't?

Then came the blood: all the blood... and the noises! The animal that was Seviin thrashed and wailed and it began to vomit thick red blood. Blinding hot steam and the thick iron smell of blood filled the air. It collapsed and writhed upon the ground, its thick furry skin slackening and going loose and sallow. A great bone poked through its shoulder and it choked and spasmed and chunks of... something came from its throat.

Again, a howl, but it was an uncanny thing, cracking halfway through, as much girl as beast. The skin began to fall away, its fur thoroughly reddened by now, and more bones came out. The first to emerge from the violent white haze cracked and Seviin thrashed some more. Her eyes had gone dark and, now, she seemed desperate - clawingly desperate - to get out, to escape the bear.

Out from the skin crawled a small humanoid shape - small comparatively - but for the head, which still wore the skull of the bear, its meat and blood and scraps of its skin still clinging to the person inside. She trembled and tensed and screamed, reaching up with clawlike hands to try to rip it away - to tear her own head off.

Naked but for blood and scraps of fur, she staggered and shrieked and fought with the thing that would not let her go. Milky white gases rolled off of her form, melding with the mists in the air, swirling, fighting them. The heat was incredible.

And then there was a snap.

The figure slumped to the ground and lay there, still for a moment, eerily so. Then, its ribs rose and sunk and it curled into the position of an infant and sobbed softly, long white-gold hair stained deep red and draped like curtains all about its form.

Xiuyang was like a peasant watching the mages turn ordinary soldiers into mincemeat. There was so much blood and cracking—the cracking was the worst—and though she wanted to look away, she found that she could not.

There was nothing the binder could do, out of her depth as she watched the unfathomable and macabre art of Oraff play itself out before her. To interrupt the horrific genius of it was the height of arrogance and could only hurt Seviin more, if not cause irreparable damage. That was Xiuyang's hope that she clung to throughout—that there was some divine and esoteric method to the madness.

After a short eternity, Seviin was delivered—that was the word Xiuyang's mind reached for—back to the world of the living. She lay there, sobbing and vulnerable, begging to both be comforted and left alone in that paradoxical way that Xiuyang never quite knew what to do with. In this situation, where they both lacked the luxury of time, she could only embrace her own fault in these delicate matters, and hope for forgiveness later.

Xiuyang floated down and reached out with her senses for anything she could use to bind Seviin a towel and cover her with it. Her eyes were shut as she focused. "Sorry. I'm lousy with these kinds of promises," she said softly. She never did promise to stay away from Seviin if she turned—such was the Revidian's sneakiness—but she chose to overlook that fact.

In the end, it was a quick, crude and simple thing, but it preserved the yasoi's modesty. Small greedy hands, with their spindly calloused fingers, clutched it close and the breathing both quickened and seemed to slow. Paradoxes, it would seem, abounded.

Seviin did not look up. She merely lay there for a couple of minutes longer, breathing, but she was not fully idle either. It was not immediately noticeable, but the caked-on blood began to peel away into nothing and disappear from the girl's hair and soft pale skin. The ruins of the creature she had been also decayed from sight.

Then, all at once, covered in the simple garment that Xiuyang had provided, Seviin rose into a seated position. Her eyes flicked the Retanese's way for only as second or two, before finding other landing places. "I..." She trailed off, rising to her feet. She glanced over for a moment more and, when she spoke, her tone was not explicitly condemnatory. "Now you know."

Xiuyang's eyes also found much more interesting stains on the wall to take in. "I know nothing," she said simply, in perhaps a declaration of intent to keep her secret. "Except... I don't want you to hate yourself. I know that feeling, and... more than anyone else, you don't deserve it. ...That's all I really meant to say."

There were stains on the ground, too. There were also some more things Xiuyang wanted to say, but, apparently, it had been much easier to say them to the bear than to Seviin.

Seviin did not turn. She merely walked alongside Xiuyang, her posture still erect and her body still tense. She breathed and they walked and the mists swirled. For a moment, they were alongside each other. She reached out with a quick hand and squeezed her friend on the shoulder before awkwardly retracting it. "You are... a good friend, suunei."

I wonder about that... She had the thought, but chose not to voice it, and let it exit her mind slowly. She walked and breathed, and it was awkward, but she allowed herself to be comfortable with it, vocalizing her gratitude with a nondescript noise and leaving it at that.

The survivors of Halge Larchelon explore the reception area of the Forge. With some awkwardness still lingering between Xiuyang and Seviin, she joins Leon, but the two are quickly captured by the Forge's denizens and interrogated. Xiuyang navigates this situation the way she does best: by bringing genuine emotion and a lot of truth to the table to cover one small but effective lie. She convinces the Hegelans that she is being used by a mutual enemy, and her only interest in the Forge was initially curiosity and a love of exploration. They pity her for the helplessness she clearly shows, and she is spared the horrible fate that awaits the prisoners of Halge Larchelon: being forced to wear a bodysuit that can puppet its wearer.

Arrival in The Forge

Leon had been uncharacteristically silent on the elevator ride down. He leaned back on the copper handrails at the back and looked at the doors ahead. Looks toward the others were rare passing glances. This was far from the person they had seen in the fountain square before the fog.

He had no Hegelan knowledge to speak of. So he wandered to the door by the desk and looked inside.

The door did not budge. What it did have, however, was a button right next to it. Should it be pressed, it'd merely light up and gears would begin to turn inside. Something was ascending towards the door, much like the elevator they had just taken.

He had certainly done something. He heard whirring and something rising toward him. In the meantime he investigated the desk next to it.

The desk itself was alabaster white much like the walls, though it wasn't integrated into the foundation, just like the chairs. There was nothing on it. Three drawers could be searched, one with blank papers, one with a stapler and paper clips, and one completely empty.

Except, the last one seemed just a little shorter than the other, or rather the marble back end was much thicker. Upon experimenting with touching and the gift, he'd find a little compartment containing something made of metal.

Seviin seemed, somehow, changed. She did not try to preach to or judge Leon. When they arrived, she merely fanned out in a direction different from the others, heading straight for the large door with the tracks. "I will check this one," she announced, stretching out with her senses as much as she could, trying to see what - if anything - was amiss in this strange place.

The bright lights buzzed loudly over the concentrating Yasoi. There was so much electricity running through the walls, regular sensing was becoming almost overwhelming. On the other side there would be as much electrical current and she would notice the next room to be far more spacious than this one. Stacks of cube-shaped containers of which the contents were difficult to discern. There wasn't anything alive, at the very least.

The door itself resembled the same one they had used to enter the elevator. It looked heavy too. To the left, there was a switch with two buttons, one with an upward pointing arrow, and the other downward.

Seviin considered. Perhaps it was a small moving room like the one she had recently been in. She did not want to move up or down to another area - at least not yet. however, it didn't feel much like that small room did: sitting in a vast vertical emptiness. No... perhaps this door merely opened upwards or downwards. "Be prepared," she advised her human counterparts, pressing the button which she hoped would make the door slide upwards.

Loud machinery with a low rumbling that reverberate through the nearby floor signaled the imminent rise of the door. Piece by piece, it opened up to reveal a dark room, and once the door had risen in its entirety, the electrical current ran through the spacious area. It wasn't as 'white' as the previous room, but the cleanliness was consistent.

Inside were piles of crates, some wooden, some metallic, some looking particularly reinforces. Some were stacked, others were on shelves. Some were place aside from the clusters. There were a couple of peculiar, wheeled objects with a chassis none had seen before, with 'arms' that could fit into the openings many of the crates had at their bottoms. Further north, there was a long, rectangular platform with yellow stripes painted upon it and railings on reach corner.

The music persisted even in that room.

It was nothing short of wizardry. Seviin knew this for a work of men and not Gods, however, for the works of the Gods were always effortless, and had a feeling of nature about them, while this... did not, wondrous as it was. She twisted back and called out over her shoulder. "I do not think any of us should be left alone. Should we split into pairs?" The yasoi turned back and her eyes wandered about the space beyond and its strange contents.

The recently revealed room had some strange contraptions that only a Hegelan could think of. Wheeled . . armed, metal things. Was it a cart of sorts? Or would it have another purpose than one? He could not quite come to a concrete solution. However, the one thing he did know is that it intrigued him.

"Would these be for something akin to a draft horse?" He pointed towards the 'arms' "No, that seems to be impractical to have that much steel for just one animal."

The contraption and the seat inside of it seems ill-built for someone of Yvain's size. He could definitely sit inside if her hunched himself forward in this clear Hegelan-make chassis.

“ᚨᛏᛏᛖᚾᛏᛟᚾ ᛁᚾᛏᚱᚢᛞᛖᚱᛊ. ᛏᚺᛁᛊ ᛁᛊ ᛁᛟᚢᚱ ᛚᚨᛊᛏ ᚹᚨᚱᚾᛁᛜ. ᛞᛟ ᚾᛟᛏ ᛏᛟᚢᚲᚺ ᚨᚾᛁᚦᛁᛜ ᚦᚨᛏ ᛁᛊᚾ×ᛏ-”

The speaker was back with this intelligible moonspeak, but she seemed to have been cut off.

“ᚱᚢᚱᛁᚾ, ᚱᚢᚱᛁᚾ! ᛏᚺᛖᛁ ᚲᚨᚾ×ᛏ ᚢᚾᛞᛖᚱᛊᛏᚨᚾᛞ. ᛚᛖᛏ ᛗᛖ ᛏᚱᛁ!”

A new voice emerged. The details were still muffled by the nature of the speakers, but it was a tad more high-pitched and distinctly female too.

“ᛏᚺᚨᛏ×ᛊ ᚾᛟᛏ ᛈᚱᛟᛏᛟᚲᛟᛚ, ᛗᚨᛁᚢ. ᛞᛟᚾ×ᛏ-”

“कृपया ध्यान दें मेहमान! जहाँ हैं वहीं रहें, हम आपकी मदद करेंगे!”

From one strange language to another …

Regardless, the peculiar vehicle had a couple of buttons surrounding the steering wheel. Simple for those in the know, absolutely eldritch to most humanoids.

He stared at the seat, to sit down in general would be tempting, let alone on an actual seat. While he is not one to give in that easily, his legs were quite weak from the mental anguish from before.

Yvain seated himself down onto the rather small chassis and let out a sigh of relief. "Not the worst seat I've had to endure." Then the buttons began to take his interest . . Which caused him to randomly press the left most one.

It was quite a trial for the man whom had never been among such steel beasts, yet it did not deter him from this test. After many trials, he managed to someone tame this metal beast. It seemed to be a self-moving cart of some sort. Yet the strange arms were still a question to him. Pressing some of the strange buttons, he managed to lift these arms up and then down again.

The crates then took his interest, compared to crates that he was accustomed to. These had holes on the bottom seemed to align with the arms and it gave him an idea. It took him a couple tries, but eventually he managed to balance the crate onto the arms and as if it were instinct, got it between the gaps on the shelf.

Reinforced crates seemed to be more difficult for him as it wasn't the smoothest, but it got the job done after a couple hit and bumps. Yet, instead of driving further, he got out of the cart to check out the reinforced crate.

“Эй, не трогай это!”

Vossoriyan was next in the language soup.

“Рурин, смотри, он на самом деле очень хорош. И красивый~”

The reinforced crate was carefully placed, but it had yet to be opened. It resembled more a safe than anything else with a combination lock. The issue was that there were over a hundred numbers and an unfathomable amount of combinations.

The Rettanese thought Seviin's choice of door an odd one, seeing as it was clearly designed for cargo, not to be used by people. As such, she tried the door next to it, expecting to find herself in the same room without having to wait for the door to roll up, but she instead found herself faced with a square flight of stairs leading down. They were brightly lit and fit the same architecture of the waiting room, making them a bit more inviting than the warehouse, but only just. They were descending, after all, and descending brought her closer to that thing. Her hesitation was just long enough to hear Seviin say that they should stay in pairs.

Xiuyang peeked around the corner into the warehouse, her face an unreadable sheet of white. "Right," she agreed easily enough, as she stepped into view, taking a few hesitant steps. The line between the waiting room and the warehouse felt like a natural divider, and the relatively much greater distance Seviin had put between them compared to Leon made the proposition of switching these imaginary parties awkward. Was now really the time to worry about being polite? Seviin was still on edge about something, the air between them charged, if not tense, exactly...

No, she decided. Each party should have a binder. There was no need to make it any more complex than that with unnecessary thoughts. "Be safe, Suunei." She made the sign of Oraff and excused herself before Yvain would start his joyride.

Turning to Leon, her eyes locked on to the object in his hand, the fruits of his search. "Strange key," she observed, somewhat blankly. It was hard not to notice that neither of them were as chipper as their perceived "normal." She was always meeting famous people at her lowest, it seemed. How... awkward.

This sucks, she thought with a short sigh, easily missed. "If we want to find that magic dampener thing, the smart money's on the locked door, I think... we should find that first."

The performer was seemingly snapped out of a daze when Xiuyang brought attention to the key. Whatever theatre played out in his mind had its curtains drawn as his attention was brought to the forefront. He inspected the key's piscine ornamentation.

"Strange key, hmm? It is certainly fishy." With a chuckle, he held it up near his head a gave them a jingle. Xiuyang could tell a plastic smile when she saw one, the sudden shift in mood was unconvincing given his earlier behaviour. But at least the attempt seemed earnest enough.

Then his eyes surveyed the elevator. It seemed slow. He had intended to wait it out but it didn't seem to be going anywhere and there was plenty to explore.

"I have a feeling the door we seek is down those stairs. Maybe you would like to join me?" He spoke in a friendly manner with a familiarity that didn't befit how little the two knew of each other. Perhaps that settled the awkward air between them, he didn't look to show the toll the fog had placed on him and seemed to look passed the toll it had on her. Maybe that only made things more awkward.

Ding

Leon had inadvertently summoned an elevator and now it had arrived. Why it took so long was something they would find out sooner or later, but for now the bowels of the much smaller means of transport than the previous one they had taken remained open until ordered otherwise or recalled. From a first glance, there wasn't anything flagrant about it: A mirror, metal bars for support, more instructional glyphs they couldn't read. The keypad remained out of sight for now.

It was 'fishy,' he said. Xiuyang snorted in appreciation, Leon's remark coaxing out a smile that, really, still looked like a frown. Yvain was riding a metal mammoth in circles and staying in the vicinity of it was not very appealing. Eventually, he seemed to get a hold of what he wanted, but it was emitting a rhythmic high-pitched screech that put her equally on edge. Then, the locked door opened. Did simply having the key in their possession cause it to open, somehow? Anything seemed possible.

"I'm more curious about the route that warrants a lock, even if it does go to the same place."

“ᒪᒥᐊᓇᖅ, ᑭᓯᐊᓂ ᑕᐃᒪᐃᒍᓐᓇᙱᓚᒍᑦ.”

There was a brief pause before that same voice continued.

“ᐊᓂᔭᕆᐊᖃᕋᕕᑦ, ᐱᐅᓂᖅᓴᐅᒐᔭᖅᑐᖅ ᐱᓯᒪᙱᓪᓗᒍ ᐅᕙᑦᑎᓐᓂᒃ ᐱᓚᐅᖅᑕᐃᑦ. ᖁᔭᓐᓇᒦᒃ. ᒪᒥᐊᓇᖅ, ᓱᓕᒃᑲᓐᓂᖅ. Haha.”

Following the awkward laugh, the more authoritative voice spoke up in a different language. One likely familiar to some.

“工具又变了，他们可能没听懂你的话。我们也没办法理解他们。”

Their discussion would be punctuated by a series of voices in different languages, one of which Xiuyang managed to catch. "They're using some kind of tool to translate, but I don't think they have a handle on it. They said it changed again. Oi, maybe stop touching it?" she barked back in Rettanese, hoping in vain to reach them.

Leon's head tilted toward the now open door. It certainly drew more curiosity than the stairs.

"I agree. Seems it's some moving contraption like the last one; not an unpleasant ride. With a small step a pivot to the side, he gave a gentlemanly bow and gestured inside. "After you."

Calm, composed, the new Leon looked like he had it all planned out as he aimlessly pressed buttons on the inside of the elevator with the hopes of sending it down.

There was no response from the loudspeaker just yet. More music, the same jazzy loop for those who patiently waited on one of the seats.

The elevator's interior wasn't particularly unique, and the only new thing they'd come to discover was the keypad inside, by the door. There were eight locks, all with numerical glyphs that resembled Rettanese for the first three numbers and then deviated into unknown territories, though perhaps this would be an easy means to learn basic numbers.

Clicking said locks did nothing, obviously, which contrasted the other switches so far. They also came in different shapes.

"One, two, three... fish," Xiuyang quipped, deadpan. "I do wonder if it works on any of these, though."

"Ah, yes of course, I knew that." He very apparently did not. Instead of pushing the locks, now he tested the key on each until one worked.

The right one so happened to be the fifth one. Who could've seen that coming?

Ding

The door began to close. Slowly.

The elevator door closed and ...

A little thud. Then a little shake. And then it went down.

Not too slowly. Not too quickly.

Leon was about to start his speech to Xiuyang. Then disaster hit, his nose itched. It was unbecoming of his persona to simply itch his nose in front of her. He held back on the rails hoping it would go away. But in the mean time, he let it be silent between the two. He simply whistled along to the tune.

"Do you trust that Perrenchman?" Xiuyang asked, without warning, as soon as a floor had been put between them and the said Perrenchman.

Leon paused. She was straight to business. The performer of course preferred to warm up with gossip and small talk usually. But it wasn't the time or place for that.

"I do." He replied bluntly and leaned back on the rails to look up at the roof. "We fought together against the White Thresher in spite of the flags we were born under... But you're well aware the Forge has a greater draw than some sea monster, aren't you? You think I should be worried?"

"I don't know. I haven't spoken a word to the man. I'd like to believe that you're right, but this is a soon-to-be war, not a school trip." While Leon gazed at the ceiling, Xiuyang inspected the floor. "We should be disabling the magic dampener and meeting our mysterious, faceless associate soon, if we can trust what he says. The more cards get put on the table, the messier the game gets. I just want to know where you stand before then. The Perrench at school aren't exactly lining up to offer olive branches to me."

"I can see your anxieties about it, I worry about the draw this Forge will have on our companions. But he is a good friend in spite of everything. Let me handle Yvain."

He was looking back at her at this point. "I've been meaning to ask: what brought you to this hell vacation? Or would 'who' be more appropriate?"

Xiuyang was silent for a moment. The urge to blame someone else circled about like a hungry thresher, never quite settling on a name. How much did Ciro know? How much did the Doge know? Was the voice in the box higher even than him on the pecking order? "I went in place of someone else, to protect them. I thought I was stronger and would stand a better chance. I was not," she decided.

Leon shifted his attention away from her. He wasn't studying her body language intensly, but there was a curiosity in trying to understand someone he had far too little contact with for who she was. "I gathered you didn't come on a matter of your own desire. Was this a labour of love?"

"Does it matter?" Xiuyang sighed, slightly irritable. "If it matters, I'd rather not hear a song written about it until I know how it ends." Irritable became grumpy, and a pale facade gave way to slightly colored cheeks.

He took notice of the girl losing her cool exterior. "Of course it matters Xiuyang, it drove you to this place against your own interest. I'm happy to know it's love over coin. But I'll save you the ballad until you're old and grey if you want." He finished with a jesting grin.

Then it was back to business. "What do they want with the Forge?"

"I don't know, but it isn't hard to imagine," she replied speculatively, glancing up to meet his eyes. "I hope you'd tell me if you knew more."

"No, it isn't hard to imagine." Leon maintained eye contact. "And you should go back and tell them the Forge was destroyed a long time ago." The proposition was firm and he only broke eye contact when it was concluded.

"Bring them back a resident as a souvenir," he joked.

"A resident? You mean a cadaver?" Xiuyang raised an eyebrow. "If you're proposing we fail the mission, then how do you propose we get out alive?" There was also the matter of standing a chance against Perrence, but to assume Leon had any interest in solving that problem might be a step too far, too fast.

"A walking cadaver. It would certainly make a statement at parties." He answered dully. "Let's keep it away from the warring world. I don't think anywhere on Sipenta deserved to be turned into a replica of this place, friend or foe."

"But I'm not proposing we fail. There is power in that Forge, I'm sure of it. How about instead of handing assets off to Ciro, you become that asset instead."

A bit more color and emotion returned to her face. How easily Leon understood her real reason for being here. Perhaps it was just a lucky guess, but he did. It created complicated feelings inside her. How she spent much of her life yearning to be understood, but at the same time, feeling so understood made her feel like she was being manipulated, and it was hard for her to separate the two.

"Give the Doge a sample of this biological freakshow? I think I'll pass," Xiuyang quipped back. "But if it helps me protect the people I love, I'll take a power boost, and let tomorrow-Xiuyang worry about the whole 'absolute power corrupts absolutely' problem." Her frown became a half-smile. "You know, in ReTan, it's not good to stick out, but I don't think I care much about that."

The truth was he had no idea what Xiuyang or Revidia was planning. He simply expressed what he wanted to happen and acted as though he had some clue.

Leon didn't hide the fact he was weighing her measure, who she was, what she valued, if his proposal had really gone over that easily. She wasn't just a puppet of the Doge; it was a settling thought.

But he didn't press any further. He simply leaned back again, broke eye contact, and relaxed. "Unless you're the one of the Twin Emperor's of course. Maybe you should start thinking of yourself on their level after this." He grinned at her, his tone was only half-joking.

"I don't want to live forever," she chided, with a half-serious tone that mirrored his. As if in response to her comment, the elevator stopped, having reached its destination. "Or force anyone to marry me," she added with a playful huff, as if she knew that he wished to know how she felt about them, too.

As the elevator stopped, Leon joined her by the doors. "Well if you change your mind and need to do some Ciro-wrangling, I'll help." He returned a playful wink as the doors opened.

Ding

They had arrived at B4. For a few seconds, nothing was happening. Then there was another Ding and the doors slowly opened like a curtain unveiling a long awaited scene.

A hallway. Just a normal, white-walled with grey tiles on the floor and more of their low buzz on the ceiling lighting. With their limited range they couldn't really sense anything out of the ordinary either.

"They say the hells hath no fury like a woman scorned, but I guess I wouldn't know." The playful drunk was starting to come back out again. She exited the elevator first, the muzzle of the shotgun she found earlier slung over her shoulder. "This buzzing is giving me a headache."

Leon only chuckled in response to her joke, a terrifying flurry of pots and pans from a second-story window in rural Eskand came to mind. He made way close behind her while checking doors as they passed.

There was no music on this floor. Only mild buzzing. The tiles felt like any other tile and the hallways spanned a good sixty meters each side until they branched out in two opposite directions with directions written in the same glyphs as before. Lined up on he walls was the occasional door with a lock. Although before they could even reach one, the lights instantly shut down.

The buzzing was gone too. In its place, a high-pitched alarm rang ceaselessly. Lights flickered on and off, making their movements appear as though they were in slow motion.

The elevator door had since closed.

"ᛁᚾᛏᚱᚢᛞᛖᚱ ᚨᛚᛖᚱᛏ! ᚨᛚᛚ ᚱᛖᛊᛁᛞᛖᚾᛏᛊ ᚱᛖᛈᛟᚱᛏ ᛏᛟ ᛁᛟᚢᚱ ᛈᛟᛊᛏᛊ!"

Behind them appeared a red specter resembling Xiuyang.

In front of them, about a second after the appearance of the first ghost, was one mirroring Leon.

Both beings swelled with energy, asphyxiating the duo of more than just air.

"ᛁᚾᛏᚱᚢᛞᛖᚱ ᚨᛚᛖᚱᛏ! ᚨᛚᛚ ᚱᛖᛊᛁᛞᛖᚾᛏᛊ ᚱᛖᛈᛟᚱᛏ ᛏᛟ ᛁᛟᚢᚱ ᛈᛟᛊᛏᛊ!"

Without thinking or saying anything, Xiuyang took off running, using every ounce of her available magic to speed herself up and fight the inability to breathe. Why would she make the deadly assumption that a mirror match in this place would be a fifty-fifty? Of course the ghosts would be superior to them in every way.

Leon tilted his head at his own clone. Handsome, but red was decidedly not his colour. Considering they lacked coporeal form and the performer lacked his typical magic, he resorted to the only tool he knew effective. He played the lyre in the same instrument chords as the fountain district.

Xiuyang had the right idea, if this wasn't a relatively tight hallway. She was made to collide with the translucent copy of her's that had displaced itself to get in the way. In retaliation for this collision, immense heat accumulated in its body. A familiar killing move.

Leon quickly discovered the complete artistic ineptitude of the cheap copy. Where the power of music was sollicited, the might of the laser death beam was conjured by the imagery. Surprisingly similar to the performer's finisher, just as Xiuyang's arcane spells were akin to how her copy was trying to end her.

--

In the background, between announcements via the intercom, was a lot of bickering between individuals. Yelling came to shoves, shoves came to more yelling with culturally relevant slurs flung about. Eventually, one had the upper hand and raced for a control panel within a room full of them.

On the screen above was the corridors with the spectral executioners about to scorch the entire narrow pathway.

Click, tap, tap. And then a twist of a key.

--

"ᛟᚢᛖᚱᚱᛁᛞᛖ ᛁᚾ ᛈᚱᛟᚷᚱᛖᛊᛊ

Both ghosts froze in place. They did not touch the ground, they didn't even flicker. They just froze, all energy they had sollicited slowly dissipating to nothing.

The lights changed to dim lighting shining from the thin corners between the flooring and the walls.

"Make it quick then, bitch!" Xiuyang screamed at her other, leveling the shotgun with its featureless face. Then, it stopped. Unconvinced, she turned in every direction, expecting the real opponent to have simply teleported again, leaving a fake behind. It was a good twenty seconds or so before she calmed down.

"See that, Xiuyang?" He remarked, awfully proud of himself. "The power of music. And I was just warming up too."

Xiuyang only looked at Leon with tired eyes. "They seem to draw energy from this place. We destroyed some kind of energy hub earlier. Maybe their supply has run dry. We should run before they move again."

But before a decision could be made, one of the doors in the hallway opened. It was swift, just like the four armoured humanoids that spilled out of it. Clad in marine-blue riot gear and gasmasks, though they may as well resemble monsters to Xiuyang and Leon, they pointed their weapons, guns as big as their stocky forms, at the duo.

There was shouting from all of them, muffled by the masks and intelligible to the Constantians. There was a lot of cannon waving and anger. One of them was already beginning to press on the trigger.

The room dimmed, not from darkness—but to better showcase him. His aura made light itself a servant. The undead wretches of this place were fools to oppose him when he had the skeleton key to their fate. Further entranced in his tune of divinity, he fell to his knees, busting it down on the melody.

Xiuyang just stared at Leon for a moment before playing her only card: the universal language of dropping her weapon on the floor. There was no urgency on her face or in her body language, no fight left. She was simply tired. The mission had ended the only way it was going to.

They didn't shoot, but Leon's performance only had them shout even louder.

“Can you hear me?” it was the voice again, but in Avincian. “Wait, that's it, I got it!” cheered the unseen woman. The glee, however, did little to pacify the armed individuals.

“Oh, crud, wait. Darn it. Uhm, you music man, stop that.” she ordered without much authority of conviction in her voice. “Just, get on your tummies and hands behind your heads. I promised them you'd cooperate! So, uhm, pretty please?”

"People?" He blinked a little bit dumbfounded at the soldiers in front of him. It took him a while to adjust, the flow and energy he had put into his performance had come to a dead stop. He put the lyre away but stayed on his knees instead of fully obeying the orders. "I don't think there's any need for that. We can talk now. How about we do that instead?"

"What else did you promise on our behalf?" Xiuyang replied—however, she did as she was instructed. "What is there to talk about? They get what they want or we die."

The enforcers approached, not shouting nearly as much except for the one that got very close to Leon. The barrel of the heavy gun pressed against his temple while a butch but feminine voice ordered him around.

“That you would also accept being interrogated. And imprisoned. Pleaaaaase comply!”

The other three surrounded the duo, less on edge but still pointing their guns.

Seeing immediate danger in front of him, Leon finally complied. Xiuyang merely waited, offering no more witty remarks.

Cautiously, the enforcers cuffed the two humans with metal bracelets. Their magic remained but the bindings were advanced enough to potentially be trouble even if they hadn't been hampered.

“Thank you soooo much! I promise you'll be okay.” an awkward pause. “I hope.”

They were escorted into the door they came from, where a simple and unused office was found. The head of the enforcers operated what would be known as a thermometer, which in turn opened a concealed door to yet another elevator.

They were on some unknown floor. It wasn't nearly as bleached or proper, the walls were blue with cracks on the paint and the floors were carpeted with some sort of synthetic green material. Each was brought to different rooms - interrogation rooms, clearly, with the whole setup, although there window wasn't one way. The chairs were on the low side, as were the tables. There also wasn't any sort of bright light in the middle of a dark room, it was all just buzzing with lights from the ceiling.

After being alone for a moment, each were visited by an enforcer. A odd contraption was pointed their way like it was a gun, but all it did was produce a few beeps before being put away. Whatever it said, it was enough to make the Hegelans comfortable with removing their helmets.

Xiuyang's designated interrogator was the same blonde woman from the poster she hadn't seen, barring the worker's get-up. Or at the very least resembled her.

Leon was graced with the presence of an elderly man with a tripped but thick grey beard and a big, toad-like nose. His hair was about as long as his beard.

Both made away with some of the padding of their gear, revealing ribbon-like threads coiled all over their bodies like a full-body jumpsuit, except for their heads. Almost exactly like the 'living' cadavers they had encountered outside.

Both sat opposite of their attributed humans.

“You will be asked questions. Please answer them truthfully. They have their translators up to date.” the woman behind the loudspeaker assured. “I will be checking on your friends.”

As soon as Xiuyang saw the woman wrapped in the familiar bandages, she knew she'd made the right call. Compared to her and Leon, these opponents may as well be immortal given the circumstances. Given their level of technology and the presence of their own allied, disembodied voice as well, they probably already knew or had easy access to the answers to most of these questions. They were, in Xiuyang's estimation, probing for cooperation and truthfulness first, before asking the truly important questions—and there were no useful lies to be told here.

So, Xiuyang answered honestly. She gave her name and capacity, Revidia as her country of origin, and made sure to mention that she was a student at Ersand'Enise. It was always harder to sweep a death or disappearance under the rug if the school was involved. She recounted the story of how she arrived here as she perceived it: she'd received a mysterious letter which had essentially advertised an opportunity for adventure. She downplayed how suspicious it was, claiming such notices were not unusual at the school, but didn't hide her frustration at how she was essentially kidnapped and forced to cooperate with strangers, under penalty of death. She'd been told to expect opposition from "ghosts," traps and other "devices," but no living, sapient beings.

She told the woman that there were three in her "group," eight total that she knew of, and left open the possibility that there may be more, remarking that she didn't trust the "man in the box" to give her truthful information, either. There was no confidence in her tone or body language, with all signs showing that she had abandoned all hope.

Every piece of information given was recorded into a device integrated in the table. The blonde Hegelan woman merely stared right into Xiuyang's soul, occasionally nodding. Her lips were concealed under her thick yet well-kempt blonde beard, making her expression difficult to determine beyond her half-lidded blue gaze.

“Box?” Rurin repeated without the translator. “What do you mean a box?” this part was translated, taking what she had said in her native tongue and swiftly converting it once she was finished. “What information did this man share? Is the other half of your group still communicating with him?” there was an intensity in her voice - not quite panic but deep concern. “What did the box look like?”

The interrogator then uttered something to the guard posted by the door, hand on the translort device on her collar to silence it.

Xiuyang smiled mirthlessly. Of course the one puppeting them was the only thing that would concern their captors. "Small, with a covered hole... a filter, like cheesecloth," she tried, demonstrating its rough size with her cuffed hands. "He shared very little. Told us barely enough to survive by our fingernails. He said none of the other groups he'd sent before made it as far as we did, but I don't believe him. He said we would see him soon, then went quiet. I don't think he's communicating anymore."

Rurin furrowed her eyebrows. She turned to the guard again and did a writing gesture, prompting him to quickly leave the room for an errand.

“Others have come to Halge Larchelon.” she confirmed. “We ward them off, punish those that persist, but none made it this far.” she leaned in closer, arms crossed over the table. “Why did you accept coming here?”

The guard had returned with a notepad and what looked like a pen. It had a pointed end and did not look quite like those she would use in Ersand'Enise. The material used for it was novel too - plastic! “Draw the box.”

"I knew it would be dangerous, but I thought I could handle it. I was given almost no information." She drew the radio to the best of her ability, but her lack of artistic skills and understanding of what the box was definitely showed. "As I said before, I wasn't informed that there would be opposition from living people. I thought this would be something like an archaeological venture. No one told me it was some puppet master's suicide mission," she growled bitterly.

The enforcer chuckled dryly at the naiveté confessed by Xiuyang. “A lost city that's not truly lost. I would be afraid.” when the sketch was finished, the bearded woman squinted before stepping off her seat. Without an additional word, she left the Revidian alone with only the silent door guard scrolling through some sort of device in his hand.

“Nobody ends up here without wanting something, be it real or chimeras.” the old Hegelan known as Orvil remarked, taking none of Leon's evasiveness. “There's a good reason you're the first to make it here on our own in over a thousand years, boy.”

The interrogator was interrupted by the blonde enforcer, beckoning for him to step out with her. Both captured humans were left to marinate in their interrogation rooms for a good ten minutes or so.

Orvil, the older Hegelan, stepped into Xiuyang's interrogation room. In his arms was a broken radio, looking exactly like the one she had first encountered. “Is this it?” inquired the man, repeating the question a few times like he was in a hurry. “Are you sure?”

"I was afraid. Now I'm just... tired," Xiuyang admitted to the female enforcer. It was truer than she realized. In the roughly ten minutes that Xiuyang was left alone, she nodded off.

She was startled awake when Orvil arrived, and it took her a few seconds longer than the man's patience for her to remember where her last conversation had left her. "Yes, that's what it looked like. There were several of them all around the city, and underground. What is it?" she asked, curiosity finally gaining the upper hand over fear.

Orvil pursed his lips hidden under his big moustache. “A radio, but not from here.” he sighed and leaned back into his chair. “Not from your world either. Or sea people. Or other mountain people. Or Tree people.”

The posted guard shuffled uncomfortably.

After rubbing his eyes, Orvil continued. “This is from Missai.” he pointed at the broken device, his gaze now that of a hawk ready to predate. “Who are you really? How did you get through the Director?” there was a deep, buzzing ire in his voice. A man that saw things, a man that was afraid of what this omen could mean.

Xiuyang couldn't know what a radio was, but she got the impression that it was not a point worth lingering on. "I've not lied about who I am, and I... don't know what you mean by a director," she admitted sheepishly. "Was that what caused the hallucinations?" she speculated.

Orvil shook his head. “That is the fog. A defense against intruders, meant to be non-lethal dissuasion.” he explained. The chewing of his cheek was an obvious pacifying gesture, the man was concerned. There was no more mention of this 'Director' however. “Hmmm.” he regarded Xiuyang with an evaluative gaze. She was exhausted and clearly out of her depth. Orvil made a decision.

“You're clear.” he determined. But before he could get on his feet, he paused. “What was the last thing that radio told you to do?”

"To find something called a magic dampener and shut it down," Xiuyang answered plainly. "He didn't tell us where it would be, other than 'inside.' Or what it looked like." She still wasn't hiding her annoyance with the 'man in the box.'

The elder Hegelan straightened his posture and shook his head. As he was about to speak, the loudspeaker cut him off.

“Orvil, bring her and the cleanshaven to the lab. Their stories line up. And I forgot to cut the translator- Goat-cock!”

Orvil chuckled. “Never change, Maiv. In chains?”

“In chains. We've a conflict of interest. I'll explain soon.”

Orvil stood up and gestured for Xiuyang to follow. They would pick up Leon on the way and.

You guessed it.

Another elevator was imminent.

Xiuyang slowly followed. "So... what exactly am I clear from, and why are you taking me to a lab, in chains?" she asked hopelessly.

“From being turned into a prisoner, for now.” answered Orvil as he twisted a key on one of the floors, speaking as if it were a casual conversation. “Like those you saw outside.”

"Ah. That's... good. I think I'd rather die," she replied numbly. He hadn't answered her question, but she didn't press the issue. He wasn't going to.

If you judged by the Sun King's face, the elevator ride must have been a pleasant and smooth experience when it was anything but. A quip here, a joking remark there as the metal cage bumped along its shaky passage. He could feel that they were going deeper into the beast rather than being escorted out; some of his good mood was genuine.

The doors opened to a hall with multiple four-way intersections and ending at a massive blast door parallel to their elevator. The first on the right held an automatic dual door that opened when approached.

“You made it!” a pudgy and quite short Hegelan woman with a shaved neck but very stylized moustache came to greet them. She wore a white blouse with a green jumpsuit under it. “Come, quickly!” chipper yet undeniably a nervous little critter, she was quick to get the job done and escort her guests.

The laboratory was white - walls, ceiling, floor and even the tables. The picture of sanitary. Vats filled with liquids and machinery with flickering lights were abundant. There were hospital beds with modern equipment where Yuliya was guided, as well as any other needing a checkup, and a single, middle-aged looking Hegelan woman waiting for them.

“Thank you, Maiv. I’ll be taking over from now on.” With a pleasant nod, the helpful yet somewhat skittish younger Hegelan girl backed away and the matriarch regarded the taller humanoids with an evaluative look. “To this day it was inconceivable that someone could reach the Forge. And yet here you are.” she gestured toward one of the beds big enough to hold even an Ougaraq.

“I am Zuri, Director of what you call the Abyssal Forge. I invite you all to take a moment to recuperate.”

Orvil’s group arrived shortly thereafter, escorted through a longer maze than the first group, but they made it all the same with Zuri introducing herself once more.

As they turned the corner to meet the others, he was recounting some comedic, unusual, but ultimately meaningless tale to Xiuyang. His head turned and he was met with the sight of Yuli unconscious in the bed and Kaureerah recently healed from bad burns and crippling injury. The visions of the fog stabbed back into his mind like a dull knife and the colour in his face drained. His composure was just held thanks to no small amount of effort.

The cuffed performer looked over Kaureerah, he didn't speak a word, his eyes slowly drifted to the floor, was it shame? Guilt? Like the eeaiko's injuries rested solely on his own actions. Then his attention shifted to Seviin, whose manas still seemed to radiate under the effects of the magic dampener. "Are you the one to thank for healing her?"

Somehow, Xiuyang had managed to make it this far without giving up the one piece of information she most wanted these people not to have: the knowledge that the key to their infiltration was inside their bodies. She didn't want to speculate on the kind of invasive experiments that would surely ensue if they knew of the "seeds." Yet here they were anyway, in a lab, leaving Xiuyang with just one question: did Leon sing? Or, did they somehow just know? Or, did they have fun terrorizing outsiders?

The Director turned out to be a person, which was obvious in hindsight. Was she a tethered whose detection they'd somehow avoided? She gave them a moment to breathe, but it was too soon to consider her an ally. They had no reason to ever let the students return to their old lives with the intel they now had, and every reason to keep them alive just long enough to patch the holes in their defenses, then do gods only knew what afterward. As the superior force, they had no incentive to follow through on their end of any bargain involving their cooperation in the capture of Juulet or the man in the box.

There were no viable cards to play, so for now, Xiuyang simply waited for their captors to dictate terms.

Kaureerah swayed back and forth, these days, not literally, but emotionally. There was, as ever, a desire to care deeply about the world, about her friends, and about herself. She had braved that awful place and fought a monster with only her special magics to call upon. She had rescued Yuliya, whose sanguinaire manas were, even now, coming apart and warring on each other. She had come to this place, after all, perhaps for Leon.

Yet... every victory was either a small or an ephemeral thing. Always, there was some fresh hell, some new monster, some circumstance that was well beyond her capabilities to handle. Maybe that was why she had sung. Maybe it had been to lighten the mood, but there had been nothing tonally appropriate about it. Maybe it was just her way of... dealing with everything. Maybe she sung so that she wouldn't cry or perhaps she had passed beyond the threshold of caring. Whatever the Gods had planned for her, they would carry out, and Ahn-Dami's promise was iron pyrite at best.

Leon was there and she was not sure if she loved him or resented him, but he would not meet her eyes, much less speak to her. He was hurting, beneath his facade, but there was a coldness there too: one that only she or another as close to him might recognize. He was plotting but, first, he addressed Seviin.

The tyro priestess' white robes and hair had been restored to their usual resplendence during the elevator ride. Now, she might've seemed almost a natural thing in this place were it not for the... hardness of it, and the faint warm glow of her skin, the subtle uncertainty of her darting eyes, and gentle ruffle of her hair and fabrics - in short, her softness. Yet, as her dose of plushtail had worn off, it had become increasingly clear that she stood alone in this place as the sole being with the Gift.

She inclined her head at Leon's question. "I serve Mother Oirase," she replied. "I have done all within my power for the both of them and I require no recognition." She furrowed her brows and one could not see the nervous curling and uncurling of her fingers as they were hidden in her long sleeves. Her eyes swept Xiuyang and she was well enough in body if not in spirit. She was handcuffed, and something began to boil inside of the sixteen-year-old. She breathed and returned her attention to Leon. "Are you, too, in need of healing?"

For a moment, she gave her attention to the gosoi as well, but thse did not trust them. The others had had their Gift dampened, and she felt that this was an unholy thing. Indeed, most gosoi were unholy creatures, who warped and chained and manipulated the Gifts of the Pentad in ways that were arcane and unnatural. Most, but not all, she allowed. These ones were guilty of it, though; she was certain. They were guilty of it and, if they knew that the Goddess had blessed Seviin so that she retained full use of her Gift, they would move to strip it from her. I place myself as a bulwark before those who would do your people harm. I know not fear, for thou art with me, she reminded herself. Wisdoms, 42:40.

As much as Seviin could, she began to very gradually and subtly release the extra energy she carried, as she fidgeted about: just a regular twitchy yasoi, nothing special, nothing plotting: just a bit of kinetic energy. That was when she felt the pinches behind her ear.

<Leon. Seviin. Can. Others. Be. Trusted.> Kaureerah had, for some time, known pinch language, thanks to those long afternoons spent with Keearah at the relay station, when she'd been her younger sister's guardian. For a moment, a pang of loss hit her. She had not seen Keearah in over three years. She had not seen any of them, but that was neither here nor there. <Send. Message. Back. If. You. Know. Language.>

Zuri's warm presence darkened, her expression turning grim. “I'm afraid ...” produced from one of her pockets was a stethoscope, one that was conveniently multi-purpose. “This is a very advanced condition of dampening poisoning.” she shook her head, proceeding to a few physical examinations, from testing eye reactivity to drawing from the gift. “My husband may elu-”

“Zuri, beloved, I never thought you'd ask!” a Hegelan man with a thick, black beard suddenly popped out of the automatic back door. He had been waiting for his moment ever since he had been stalking the situation. “Tarvin, Head Forgemaster and husband to our number one Director.” he did, in fact, offer a handshake to every humanoid that wasn't his wife. For those in cuffs, they happened to unlock the moment his hand approached. Zuri facepalmed. “My emerald star, they want to know about their friend.”

Tavin wagged his pointer finger. “That's right, that's right!” he shuffled over to Yuliya and conducted his own test, starting with the crude pricking of her shoulder with a large needle. “Is she an assimilator or beast by any chance?” he began, completely casual about it all.

Kaureerah's eyes flicked to the others. There seemed no point in hiding it now. Perhaps she had even said something during her song without meaning to. "She's a sanguinaire," the eeaiko replied, with equal nonchalance. Still, she did not wholly trust these people, but the voice in the box was all-but brazenly using them as cannonfodder. These could hardly be worse.

Tavin furrowed his thick brows. “Is that how they call them now?” he then shrugged. “That makes sense, I think I'll name a next batch something akin to that!” ever jovial, until the reason for his inquiry hit him. There, his expression became grimmer than his wife's. “Errr ...” he sought reassurance from his partner, but she too did not know how to communicate the problem.

“They can't help her.” Maiv broke the ice and quickly shut off her microphone.

Tavin looked away, Zuri exhaled in frustration.

“The dampener, and even the air of the city, poisoned her. There is nothing that can be done.”

Yvain's composure was lost for but a moment as the fishy woman revealed his friend's secret with zero care. Yet the words from the man after shocked him even further. Next batch? What do you even mean, next batch? Were these scourges upon humanity Hegelan-made? It couldn't be, it's a disease! Even the mind of a Hegelan most vile would not think of something so horrid.

"So she is going to die, no matter what?" He crossed his arms, hand clenching his upper arm to keep himself mostly composed. However the frustration was visible upon his expression. "If there isn't even an attempt at saving her life, then it was nothing but an empty promise."

Leon looked over the priest and only now recognised how young she was. Too young to have a target on her head. For Oirase, for virtue, or because she could, she had helplessly saved Kaureerah when it may have been against the interest of some hypothetical Tarlonese mission. It was a debt he could only pay back by warning her about the bandaged woman after her life. But it was not to be said in front of everyone. "No, I don't need any healing. You say you don't need recognition, but I will thank you regardless."

He walked toward Kaureerah unsure what he could do. It seems his greatest sin was neglect but he was unsure if dumping attention on her would resolve anything or make it worse. A performer who only knew affection to solve the worlds problems was lost to understand the woman in front of him despite the months they had spent together. What came out was an awkward chuckle and a bashful smile. "We're both still breathing. I'm glad you're well, I'm really happy... I would hug you but..." He rattled the cuffs in front of him.

He did feel the sensation of the pinch language, furrowed his brow, but didn't show recognition. He had never learned it outside of 'hello', 'thank you, 'goodbye', nor did he recognise the sender of the message.

After shaking hands with Tavin and the cuffs were off, he moved past Kaureerah with an affectionate gesture along her waist then sat at Yuli's bedside looking at her condition. He did flinch when the reveal of her sanguinaire identity was let out, but it was muted. Maybe the craziness and hell of this place had become the norm. To learn this secret either didn't have time to register or he had become numb to such twists. He only wanted to see her better.

"You can turn off the disruptor." Leon remarked coldly, his eyes still fixed in worry on his friend. "You say theres nothing that can be done, but you're still poisoning her."

Xiuyang watched the cuffs fall from her hands with some measure of detachment, like the gesture didn't mean anything. For a few seconds she did nothing, as if expecting Tarvin to correct his mistake, then she simply pulled the inferno blanket closer to her body. It also took a moment for her to process that Yuliya was going to die.

But that meant... two of them were going to die, and then these horrible people who saw flesh and blood as nothing more precious than mud and dust would be one clue closer to knowing that there was something useful to be learned by taking her and her friends apart like a child's wooden doll collection. She looked at each of them in turn, her eyes seeking... what, exactly? Even she wasn't sure.

Zuri stared down both men who protested. “We cannot.” cold, detached and distrusting. She knew where this could lead and for whatever reason, such alternatives could not be tolerated.

Tavin backed up, but still in range of Yuliya. He continued to non-invasively examine her.

“I am sorry. I will not torment you with a speech about the many versus-” she cleared her throat. “When you've likely heard this from warmongers from your home already.”

“She is too merged with the disease to restore ...” mumbled Tavin just loud enough to be heard by the group. “Although, we may buy some time if we keep her cold.”

"Too merged? But isn't she supposed to be able to fight it better than any of us here?" He paused, that was slightly unprofessional on his part. After am exhale he continued. "Will her body be able to fight it of if we keep her cold? Will you try to find a solution for this?"

To think he'd get lectured about those speeches so far away from his very home. It only caused him to get further frustrated with the situation.

"As for my final question, do you have a way to keep her cold?"

“No.”

“No.”

“I might find a solution in a few years. Maybe.”

“Yes.”

Were Tavin's answers to Yvain as he stared at the young man, wide-eyed.

"Put her in some kind of temporal stasis if it takes years, then!"

Yvain knew these people were beyond his own scope in terms of advancememt. There had to be some way.

"If it helps you may even use my own body to save her."

He had some clue on the adaptibility of his own manas. And if they created these 'batches' surely his very essenve could be useful to this effort, no?

"Thenk yoo for the rescue end yoor waurm welcaum." It still lingered in her mind's ear. She'd smiled and shook hands and and introduced herself as Neki Kaureerah Wenhan. None had answered her message from earlier. It had been a longshot anyhow.

"Well, eet looks like they finaully did whaut they shoolda done yeers ego," she teased Leon, pulling his hand close and wrapping it up in hers for a moment. She looked at him with large eyes that communicated more than others who didn't know them would understand.

And then came the bad part: the Yuliya part. Nobody could see inside of Kaureerah's head, and it was just as well. She shook her head sadly and walked over to stand by Yuliya. "I do naut like this deceesion," she said with a shake of her head, expression inscrutable, "baut I aunderstend it. The needs auf the meny autweigh those auf the few. They cennaut toorn the dempener auff jaust to seve her or thees whole plece coold faull epaurt." She took an unsteady breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, hanging her head in regret.

"And it looks like you got away with everything." Leon teased back but he returned her look. One of understanding and one who believed her to be in the same mind. She cared for Yuli just as much as he did and that meant going to great lengths.

He keep his mouth shut but his mind raced. How much did he trust these people? Was Yuli's condition really so far gone that disabling the magic disruptor wouldn't work? Or did they just want to keep it on and let his friend pay the price? It was yet another reason to disable the disruptor. These hegelans were neither friend nor ally. He sat beside her with a hidden anticipation rising. He wasn't going to let Yuli die; he wasn't going to let these people hold him from the forge.

Seviin, meanwhile, was ever the gracious guest. She thanked Leon. She did not allow Yvain to annoy her, and she bowed and introduced herself to these gosoi who mocked the goddess' work as a priestess of Oirase. "I cannot use much of the Gift at present, but I remain a trained binder," she offered. "I am willing and eager to help if you need me." She found herself standing beside Xiuyang. She rested a hand upon her friend's shoulder and squeezed. "Do you remember what happened in Belleville and how you felt?" she whispered to her shorter friend, mouth barely concealed behind the top of the shorter girl's head. "This is nothing like that."

"A lot of things happened in Belleville," Xiuyang replied quietly. "Which one are you talking about?"

Perhaps they did not know each other well enough, Seviin supposed. Perhaps she had been too oblique. She tried a different approach. "Our hosts," she whispered, "kind of remind me of Dory, actually."

Dorothea—one of very few people that Xiuyang supposed Seviin wouldn't disapprove of her for killing, but also a person that she felt powerless to do anything about. Yes, that about summed it up. What exactly did Seviin expect her to do, here? Of the ever-shrinking list of things she imagined possibly adding to the blank page of solutions in her mind, violence had been dismissed long ago.

While others argued with some sense of urgency, Xiuyang simply took a breath and spoke when it seemed like there was a pause, and nothing was going anywhere. "So, I'm inferring that shutting off the magic dampener could theoretically save her, but it's not an option... so, we can assume that, if 'nothing can be done,' that you have no intention of ever letting us leave, either," Xiuyang interjected, her emotionless words cutting the mood of the room like a scalpel. "What's next, then? Someone said something about a conflict of interest..."

She held her arms around herself in a self-soothing posture, in contrast to her confrontational words.

Some showed resentment, some understanding and one even bargained his own body. Zuri, as a leader, had dealt with crisis before, but hardly ever with outsiders, and even less with such an existential threat.

“Not just this place.” corrected Zuri, predictably more amicable when working with an understanding voice. “The dampener keeps our most insidious enemy at bay, not just outsiders. But also,” Tavin reached for her shoulder, imploring her to think twice before admitting to the next bit. “We will all die, as well as over two-hundred million people on this side of the globe, should we shut it down now.” deadpan, emotions stifled and voice modulated after years of leadership. She had to be sure nothing detracted from the message.

“We cannot let you leave.” the director nodded toward Xiuyang. “Not until we've uncovered the truth regarding your group, and rounded the last two.” she then looked up at one of the hidden cameras. “Get Rurin to gather the enforcers and retrieve the remaining outsiders.”

Meanwhile, Tavin had been taken by a peculiarity in Yuliya's body. Lowering his goggles, he sifted through the different lenses. “Do you people usually eat big, undigestible seeds?” he inquired upon turning towards the others, lenses very much trained toward their stomachs. “I could not sense them either. Very odd.”

"What enemy?" Leon replied almost as soon as it was mentioned, his eyes remained on Yuli. "I can understand the decision, it seems she wouldn't survive it either way then. But what are you holding at bay?"

Kaureerah tilted her head as well. She had faced something monstrous out in that factory and managed to escape and possibly destroy it through luck and the mixing of large amounts of extremely volatile chemicals. Surely, nothing could've survived that explosion. "Is there enauther headless?" she asked, suddenly raising her eyes and becoming intense.

“The last surviving founder of this Forge.” answered Zuri. “We haven't seen him in generations, but he's the one ...” Tavin interrupted his search for seeds to interject. “He knows our technology's limits and has been creeping closer. We had to find new solutions.”

The comment on a 'headless' prompted the couple as well as Maiv in the control room to freeze and stare right at Kaureerah. “Another? Did you mean that big thing without a head?”

“That would be the Director.” said Orvil as he found it appropriate to step in from the other room he had been listening from. “Director Makerty. He sacrificed himself to stop our enemy.”

“What did you mean by another?” asked Zuri, riddled with concern. “There's only one. And he's only kept at bay because of the dampener.”

“And now he is as big of a problem as the founder. A short term remedy becoming a long term curse.” Orvil sighed, seating himself in a corner to not be too intrusive.

Kaureerah blinked. "Deed he naut die een thet hooge explosion?" Her eyes darted about. "Sorely, yoo aull felt it."

Maybe they couldn't defeat the founder. But he had a chance, Juulet had an even greater shot if it got between her and the forge. To save Yuli, to gain passage to the forge, it was a necessary risk.

"We could only pray that a sunrise would bring them to rest. I will side with what is right." He delivered it in a defeated tone as if accepting the hegelan's decision. The phrase about a sunrise would have been meaningless to them, but to the others it said 'I am willing and ready to face whatever comes'.

Xiuyang's body tensed at the mention of the seeds, and relaxed when the subject was changed. It was subtle, but not impossible to notice, especially for Seviin.

"Is this founder... the man who speaks from inside the radio?" she ventured cautiously.

Seviin stiffened as she realized that it must've been. Xiuyang, you sharp little... person. She leaned in with interest, her piece already having been said by another.

“That was a big explosion.” emphasized Tavin to his wife.

The woman shook her head. “It's only gotten stronger since our last encounter with it.”

“Wait.” interjected Maiv. “You said you blew it up. It was pursuing you. You survived ... Director!”

It hit the Forge's leadership figure in that moment. “If it's not dead, it will probably be after the other two. Get in contact with Rurin!” Zuri rushed off without addressing Xiuyang's question.

But Orvil did. “Proof say yes.” he said without the translator. “Box. Missai. Old Boss.”

Tavin continued to scan through everyone's bellies. “That would explain the seed. A new tool, no doubt.”

"I... deedn't caunfoorm anything," Kaureerah admitted. "I waus raunneng foor my life." she gestured to Yuli. "end hoors." She shrugged. "Though I cen't eemegine enytheng soorviveng thet."

“Can you imagine something living without a head?” retorted Orvil using the translator.

The current situation the hegelans and others were discussing was beyond his comprehension and thus he only listened. While it annoyed him to no end with how little of the current givings he understood, all he knew was to make sure his friend would be safe. Hearing Leon give up on Yuliya ticked him off. Oh, how he wished to curse him out, even if he knew his conclusion made sense.

Kaureerah shrugged helplessly. "Es I sed, I cooldn't caunfoorm." There was a hint of an edge to her voice now. "baut I em aulso only waun mege, who ees naut very straung, who did naut heve use auf her fool Geeft."

Tavin prodded further. “So these seeds ... Did you willingly take them?”

Xiuyang visibly reacted when it was her turn to be scanned by Tavin's device. She looked to Orvil. "You believed me when I said he was using us as pawns, right?" she pleaded, a hint of hesitation still in her voice.

The forgemaster nodded.

Seviin shrugged. "Then you have your answer."

"We didn't," Xiuyang confessed to Tavin. "He said we would die without them. I don't know what they do. I don't know what they'll do if you try to remove them. He made it sound like he could use them to do anything he wanted to us if we defied his orders. I just—" she sobbed. "I don't know anything..."

Xiuyang always relied in her wits to survive when her RAS wasn't enough. She could see the board moving, but the value of the cards was obscured to her. She didn't know anything and couldn't do anything. Her friends were drawn to violence, the default reaction to the unknowable, but this place had taught her that violence was always useless and always punished. Running away had always been the answer until now, there was nowhere to run to. She had nothing and felt like nothing. Where did her friends get their confidence from? Was she pathetic, broken, useless?

She just didn't know anything.

Tavin raised his goggles and caressed his beard. “You are clearly able to use some of your abilities, when the signal should be making it near impossible.” he remarked, now deep diving into his hypothesis. “Then it would be logical that the one who sent you was truthful. The toxic air and the signal are made to have you slowly succumb to it. And yet, here you are.”

Then, after a moment of exchange between the scientist and the group - Xiuyang, mostly - an alarmed Maiv spoke through the microphone. “Orvil, you're needed in the first floor, now! Forgemaster Tavin, please get to your panic room!” the elderly soldier wasted no time and wore his mask mask helm before rushing out. Tavin, worried, addressed the group.

“S-stay here. Maiv will help. I need to find Zuri.” with that, he rushed off too, leaving the group alone in the laboratory's infirmary room, surrounded by cupboards and closets, although most seemed locked - barely a hard limiter to those with an ounce of the gift.

It was eerie silent, there wasn't even the constant buzzing from the lights like in the other rooms and halls. At least they could sit and lie down semi-comfortably. But Yuliya was there, dying and not 'cold' like they had proposed.

Yvain stared at the scene and walked over the dying sanguinaire. "Least you could do was to help keep her cold before leaving." With what little of his capacity he had, he began to draw the heat from the Vossoriyan, trying to regulate the body's temperature to cool down.

Even if he wasn't the biggest fan of cryomancy, he knew that among the people, or rather from what he has seen from them, was the most adept in the thermal sub-school.

It was their opportunity. Leon wasted no time once the group was alone in the laboratory. He went to the closed door to sense if any guards remained in the hallway.

There were, in fact, no guards. However, the doors did not open when he got closed, contrasted to their total obedience to every Hegelan that passed through.

He checked around the doors, trying to determine a way to open them.

There was a keypad with ten keys, the bottom one being a 0. He could try his luck in determining the code.

Yuliya's body got colder, but her internal functions hadly changed. She was an icevein, after all. The process was a bit more complicated than just keeping her cold.

“The Director-” Maiv began. “Our Director, is the granddaughter of the Director outside. He's the real reason we can't just shut it down. If we do, he'll destroy everything.” there was a brief pause. “Please don't try to escape. I know it isn't convenient but we need to confirm he's dead first.”

The eerie silence when Maiv wasn't speaking was deafening to some, but enlightening to others. Kaureerah, in particular, with her fine hearing could pick up on subtler cues.

There was, in real time, a loud commotion happening just outside the spire, where they had entered the Forge from. Still, even an advanced sonic mage would be hard pressed to detect this when subjected to the dampener.

The elevator crashing down and causing a loud explosion at the top floor, however, was enough for her identify the threat. Something bad was happening, but it was too far to really get a good idea of what.

“I just lost sight in the main lobby. Uhm ...”

Xiuyang slumped onto a nearby bench. She'd all but begged them to find a way to free them from the seeds, but there was no urgency for anything except keeping the magic dampener intact, even if what competed for their attention was the chance to make allies toward that end. "...What are you doing?" Xiuyang inquired of Leon idly. "Surely not thinking of wasting the only ounce of goodwill I've managed to find in this hell?"

In his mind it was fifty fifty. On one hand, that Director the hegelans worried about was knocking at the door and causing full alarm. On the other hand, it might be Juulet and the bandage woman with her gun. Of course, he wasn't about to allude to the latter.

"You have your magic disruptor up and the old Director seems to be giving you trouble regardless." He replied back to Maiv, making no effort hiding that he was looking around for a code for the door. "We could help but we're useless like this. You could disable the disruptor and take a chance on us or you could hope that your own forces are enough... But you just lost sight in the main lobby."

There was a brief moment of nothing.

“You don't understand.” spoke Maiv, sounding slightly exerted and nervous. “If we turn off the dampener, the thousands of people he has eaten and turned to more ... Layers.” Xiuyang in particular could recall the thick layers of fabric around that thing. Fabric full of manas and power, that had recently sucked up the energy from that bizarre terminal. “People, prisoners, even power sources. All in one big body. Imagine, a hundred of you-”

Another interruption, along with another 'goat-cock' curse.

“Imagine that, but without a mind to guide it. It will unleash all of its power in an instant.” she spoke grimly. “It will wipe out the entire city in a flash, as well as the forge. If the core is hit, then the Director's assessment of two-hundred million is ... Conservative. It doesn't consider the poison that will end up in the air.”

"She isn't lying," Xiuyang offered. "It... stripped bodies of their flesh and added them to itself. Juulet and I already fought it. It was functionally invincible."

"Then what if we help with the Director issue? Would there be a chance to help her then?" He looked rather serious about his question. "We are not at our strongest but we should be able to be of assistance."

Leon's face turned learning the reality of it. Yes, he had confidence in his own abilities, but not nearly enough to think he could go toe-to-toe with a one man legion of thousands.

"Alright, I'll drop that idea... But we aren't going to be much use stuck in here. You got the code?"

Kaureerah stood there, silent as the others talked. As their captors gave reason after reason as to why they should just stay the course and let Yuliya die and probably just die themselves. She strode over to Seviin and got on her tip-toes and whispered something in the yasoi's ear, since she hadn't responded to pinch messages earlier. She had sensed it. She knew it for truth, and it was their only shot.

Seviin straightened. She swallowed uncomfortably. Her eyes went to the door and the siisoi was right: there was no more room for vacillation. I serve life by destroying a place that warps it, she told herself. "Father Exiran, empower me," she muttered under her breath. Then, louder, she turned to the others.

"My manas are blessed by the goddess," she called out, "and I have full use of them. To sit idly by is to serve death best by dying meekly." She stalked towards the door. "I will not die meekly and I doubt that you wish to either. Whatever may come next between ourselves and our captors, both will die if we do not intervene." She placed her palm upon the heavy door and it exploded outward in a shower of sparks and debris. If she appeared calm and focused, the fact that she nearly jumped out of her skin at the commotion put the lie to it.

"You are weaker than I for the time being, so do not act rashly. Do not force me to waste my strength rescuing you, because I will. I serve life. Stand behind and allow me to be your shield. Act within your abilities and we will decide what comes next." With that, she strode through into the smoke and alarms.

“I don't even-” again, Maiv was distracted by something. “Prisoners have entered the Forge. Err, right, right ...”

In the midst of her panic, Maiv hadn't noticed Seviin actually going through with her ramblings. The door was blasted, the destruction causing a very mild reverberation throughout the giant sphere they were in.

“Why did you do that?!” an absurd question. “You don't even know if the Director is even-”

A perfectly timed interruption had her change her tune.

“Oh fuck, the Director's here.” she said absently. “OH FUCK, THE DIRECTOR'S HERE!”

Leon jumped to the side of the door watching it explode. Something Kaureerah had said to the seemingly passive yasoi had her rialled up to an extreme degree. But still, she was moving in the right direction. He shot the songstress an approving smile.

He let the priestess pave the way forward. Seeing her devotion reminded him of that debt, she had saved Kaureerah's life, he could help save hers. While others followed Seviin's lead, he hung back and gathered Xiuyang's attention.

Some time between the moment Xiuyang realized no one was going to listen to her, and Seviin's rousing speech, she'd pulled out the mirror again just to check if she might see someone on the other end. The answer, of course, was still no.

Slowly, her eyes raised to meet Leon's. "Sure. Let's hear it. Whatever pep talk you have in mind, I'll stop listening to the voice of reason in my head for one minute. What's it done for me lately, anyway?" She laughed absurdly as she stood up from the bench and prepared to follow the group of either damn fools or fearless legends that stood before her.

Leon did not match Xiuyang's laugh and surrender to madness. His tone was serious and direct, he didn't sense ample time. "The priestess, she is your friend, no? But she is still Tarlonese, do you trust her?"

"More than you," Xiuyang replied. "...With my life, more than anyone," she added, as if regretting the bite of her first choice of words.

He got real close, spoke words only she could hear. "Between you and me, the bandaged lady has an itchy trigger finger for her." Then he stepped back and went to join the others.

For a moment, Xiuyang was left behind, stunned by the admission. Then, she sighed heavily and followed, as if against her better judgment.

THUD,
Something had stuck the outer shell of the spherical building they were in.

The alarm was activated, lights on the floor guided all toward the exits, though soon some of the horrendous, fabric-wrapped thralls that dive bombed into the Forge would push into these openings in spite of their shattered bones.

Then, suddenly, Juulet popped in the middle of the group as they prepared to leave. Covered in blood, dust and other, peculiar sludge.

“Yo.” she said, barely balancing herself with her spear. “So, uhhh, short people with guns found us. So did head-guy. Turf war ensued aaaaaaaand fuck it all, it's after our asses.” big shrug. “Yeah, I dunno guys, the thing doesn't give a shit how much we punish it. Also why the FUCK is the magic not on?!”

"The whole place blows up if we turn it on." Leon walked up to join her. "We need to take this thing out before that... and quick." He added, thinking about Yuli.

Kaureerah flashed a smile back Leon's way and set about her other task. If the Director was here, then that likely meant Juulet and Pluurii were as well. She scurried over to a closet she had idly opened earlier and grabbed a pair of forearm crutches from it. They were made of a strange lightweight metal and seemed to be adjustable. They were currently on the shortest setting they seemed to have, but she didn't exactly have time to examine them in-depth. Olives and branches.

She was hurrying through the breach when Juulet appeared. Kaureerah merely arched a brow and tossed her the crutches. "Cetch, bruja. Be e tripaud egein, end it's because we aull tried taulkeng foorst." She shrugged. "Lessaun learned."

Seviin started when the one-legged yasoi appeared, stumbling back towards Xiuyang, who seemed to have just finished a discussion with Leon, but she could not afford to fall to the middle of the pack. It was her duty to be the shield here. "Suunei? Can you follow?" she asked in a softly urgent voice, reaching a hand out. Her eyes cast about, nonetheless, for Pluurii. There was something about the sniper that unnerved her. She wasn't sure what yet, but she reeked of Tarlon, and not in the way that a Chad or a Tyrel might've.

"Yes," Xiuyang replied, a sense of urgency finally returning to her voice. Whatever Leon had discussed with her must have worked to spur her to action, somehow. "I'll be right beside you."

“Oh.” Juulet nodded. “Right. So we're ass-fucked.”

A sudden Kaureerah crutches reflex-checked Juulet. Being high off escaping the monster, she'd have what it take to catch them. However, she was having a twitchy addict moment. “OW FUCK!” she screeched, although didn't register it was from the eeaiko. The moment she realized they were crutches, however, she tune changed to perfectly-twitchy normal again. “Oh, nice. Grassy-ass.” tripod Juulet was back and she could follow without too many hitches.

“Wait!” exclaimed Maiv through the loudspeaker. “... If you do kill the Director, you'll need the keys to the jammer. Some of you come to the control room. Follow the blue lights.”

The emergency lights on the flooring split off, green ones showing the exits while blue diverged from them. “Doors unlocked too. Hurry! I hear them!”

No matter how much he tried to help his friend, nothing seemed to show any sign of true effect. It seems resorting to violence was the one and only solution. Violence in a way to protect was his mantra for most of his life, but as of late he had tried the pacifist's route. The diplomatic way out of conflicts. "Then I guess I should join in the coming struggle."

He clenched his new sheath. Why was fighting all he was adept at? Thoughts on the upcoming conflict raced through his mind for just a second. Would he be a hero of his people, or would be be a butcher, an executioner? He stood up to abandon his post by Yuliya's side. "I say we don't delay this any longer."

Leon was one of the first to branch off. There was little he could do to fight this monster, instead, he would follow the blue lights. He gestured for Kaureerah to join him, but it was half-hearted, knowing her primordial proved useful against the headless earlier.

There was a gamble to be had. A risky one, but if all seemed lost they could do it. Turn the magic back on and pray Juulet could send it to space before it blew.

Seviin shot Xiuyang a quick smile back and moved to shield the others from the approaching threat. Tearing liberally from things that did not appear particularly useful, she began to form barriers and hiding places. She began to warp the floor, to make it sticky in places and impossibly slick in others: small things that would buy them time and protect them. They could use every bit imaginable.

Meanwhile, Kaureerah glanced at Leon as he began to split from the others. She hesitated. "Leeaun, shoold I stey aur shoold I go?"

Leon stopped in his stride, turned back to look at her with worried eyes. Something processed through his head, then again as if he didn't like what the answer was the first time around. A subtle gulp of nervousness.

"We do this for Yuli. If that thing doesn't die, then its all for nothing. You have the power to change things here, follow your heart, and stay safe." He wanted more than anything for her to be safe. But maybe her joining the fight was the best chance they all had, including her. With that, he turned his head back to his task resigning himself to let her choose. Maybe she would join him, maybe she would not.

Kaureerah took a few steps after Leon before pausing. "You theenk I shoold fight." She paused for a moment that couldn't have been more than a second or two, but seemed longer, somehow. "Stey sefe, El Sol." She winked and took a few steps back. Then she turned, and ran to go join the others.

"And to you, La Luna." He remarked a parting goodbye, against his heart and desires allowing her to run into danger. There was nothing to be done about it. She was precious to him, but he had to relinquish the need to keep her safe. She was the one who the world needed this time while he sat incapable. He had to shut out the piercing visions of the fog, every thought that screamed at him; he had to trust she would succeed.

“Fear not, sunbro.” Juulet zipped to Leon's side with a big, fat grin on her face. “You 'n' I, bucko. I also deserve a break from horrors beyond my comprehension. It's, like, five today at this point.”

He wasn't so quick to greet Juulet with a beaming smile and hello. "Let's hope we don't see any horrors on the way then." He quipped somewhat mirthlessly.

The group had split, two to find Yuliya salvation, the rest to confront Halge Larchelon's jailer. The latter group followed the green path until they came across a small handful of crippled but still active thralls with most of their heads mangled and hanging from pieces of meat. The rest of their bodies were wrapped with the same fabric worn by the enforcers, albeit in either red or yellow. The instant they sensed Seviin's use of the gift, they all rushed her down, and consequently those that came with her.

Kaureerah wasted zero time. Catching up, she was already drawing. It wa snothing flashy. It was nothing complex or overpowering: just simple dragon's fyre to burn the poor thralls to cinders. "I em here," she announced, panting from the effort to catch up. She began to imagine something: massive fungal tendrils sprouting from five of the corpses, threading themselves together and growing a mushroomlike head with a dozen black orbs for eyes, and breaking free: a beast of her own.

Yvain's blade set neatly into it's scabbard as he made his way down the halls. His rush forward almost got him hit by one of these thralls. Just as it was about to hit him, he remembered. He remembered the mechanism of this strange scabbard and out of instinct released it. The blade shot out of it's sheath in a rapid motion, nearly being too fast for him to even catch. The swiftness and momentum of the sword's movement sliced through the thrall's arm as if it were butter, making the next slash through it's abdomen harder as it relied on his own strength more.

He stared at the blade, realizing what he was able to do with such speed and precision. "Oh, good." He chuckled to himself. "Why that's very good. Yes, I like that."

His blade went back into the scabbard to try it again, now with more of his magical prowess added to it.

Xiuyang hid behind the cover Seviin provided, drawing her twin pistols from under the inferno blanket where they had, somehow, remained unmolested and unconfiscated by the Hegelans. Well, in their defense, who knew how much time had passed since the last time they had to check someone for weapons. Or perhaps she'd seemed so pitiful to them that they didn't see her as a threat. That, too, was a survival strategy of a kind, she supposed.

She fueled her pistols with binding and chemical reactions, firing with precision at the weak scraps and ligaments holding the thralls together. If she missed or didn't hit hard enough the first time, the second shot was always more than enough. At least one head exploded when shot by the second pistol. "You're not mad that I told them... almost everything?" she asked of Seviin during a reload, before going right back to work.

Seviin blinked. Had Xiuyang caved? Had there been a great harm in doing so? It hadn't, truly, even occurred to her. Seviin's goal in going here was twofold: thwart whatever Tarlon was planning, and protect Xiuyang, who appeared to have been guilted into joining in the place of another. She didn't have time to scowl at that, though she might've.

The tyro priestess shrugged. "We owe no loyalty to that founder," she advised, concentration split between speaking and erecting another barrier. "You said what you thought you needed to." She glanced the Revidian's way for a moment. "I trust you and know you would not speak as freely when it comes to secrets more personal and closely-held."

That was all that she had time to say. Another thrall came towards her and, in the near distance, there were massive foreboding noises...

Xiuyang swallowed. She'd like to think that Seviin was right, but was she? If they'd thought to ask her about Seviin and Yuliya, would she have kept quiet? Confinement was one thing, torture another, but losing her free will, becoming an undead puppet forgotten by the gods, being shredded and fed to that monster... this hellish tomb was another level of horror she never wished to experience again.

She decided not to think about what her limits would be. "Seviin, I... Thank you. If we make it out of here alive, there's something I need to tell you. And, if I ever find out who sent you here, I'm going to kick their ass." For now, she took her anger out on the thralls.

Seviin opened her mouth to speak. I sent me here... However, before she could actually deliver her pronouncement, the Director arrived and they had an entirely new - and deadly - set of problems to deal with.

The Hourglass Order

Greedy Hero

---

---

Having stood against Ren Baykara—disguised as a powerful member of the Volti—at the burning of the Blue Star Idasque, rescuing the Imam along with nearly every worshipper there, and buying time for Faiskal to recover a holy artifact, Virang is forced to acknowledge the controversial Raffaella Mataraci as a hero. To prove her loyalty to her country, she is made to give a speech to the people to motivate a volunteer force to join the war effort to suppress the revolution. She is not given a script to read. Still, she manages to deliver, rousing the people and surprising those who had bought into her finely crafted image as a childish girl of meager capability and little ambition. Afterwards, Ren appears to deliver veiled threats, while she responds by goading him into joining the battlefront, staging the beginnings of a hatching plot to dispose of him.

Palapar V: Victory

If the sympathies Raffaella often used to motivate a few friends, allies and others to act on her behalf could at times be overwhelming, the gratitude of nearly two thousand was even more so. Even still, it... felt good to be a hero, to have done something that made a positive impact to many—above all, to have made a meaningful choice that was not dictated to her by someone above her, someone with power and influence that was neither a carefully crafted illusion nor self-delusion.

When the summons from the Sultan came and could not be refused, her feelings were a mixed bag of apprehension and relief to be away from the grateful horde. She was returning to familiar territory, but the landscape had been forever changed. Her influence had grown, new connections had been made through channels both official and not, and she knew that she had made new enemies, but could take comfort in the fact that now was not the time for them to reveal themselves. Those who knew that she had survived an encounter with Ren Baykara would need to reassess the threat she represented to their position. No—in this moment, national unity was on the menu, and after an extravagant parade which ended with her and the mysterious, almost mythical figure of Faiskal being bestowed medals by the Sultan himself, it was time for a speech. She appeared not as the humble girl her saviors had seen, but in all her radiant visage that the people of Virang were well familiar with.

"Victories are to be celebrated," she began hopefully, with a smile. "What has been destroyed can be rebuilt, and what cannot be replaced has been saved. This was and is a time of testing, and in my dreams, I see the gods smiling upon our efforts, and know that it is so." She paused for the crowd. "But our time of testing as a nation is not over. While we chose peace, the rebels in Palapar have chosen war. We have saved much, but our wayward enemies have taken much, and plot even now to take much more. The gods demand of all of us our patience and longsuffering, and above all, faith—and in this moment of both tragedy and hope, they have called those of us who are capable to action. After this moment of silence and prayers for those lost, I pray we as a nation will come together and answer that call to action."

A moment of silence passed in which the crowd was energized, but unable to release that energy with mere shouts and cheers. Instead, they waited with bated breath as Raffaella softly read aloud a list of the identifiable deceased who'd lost their lives during the burning of the Blue Star Idasque. Afterwards, she bowed to the Sultan and stepped aside for him to introduce Faiskal, releasing her own held breath and tension as she walked to the gala being held in honor of the pair, and Imam Tilki who was quite understandably absent. Raffie didn't look forward to growing old, but she took solace in the one plus, being that she might be left alone when tired, which was already most of the time. Would a time come that she might be so old and tired that she'd sleep forever? Her position had been fragile for so long that she never really considered it.

There was no use thinking about it now. Her path was blocked by one Ren Baykara and his entourage of servants. With one word, he could have them all summarily dismissed, and the two would be alone. She greeted him in the manner which was appropriate for their respective social ranks—an appropriately wooden, doll-like smile on her face, as though nothing at all were amiss in the slightest.

"A rousing speech, Miss Mataraci," the Vizier's grandson remarked. "I, for one, was moved." A wiry yasoi girl with a blindfold over her eyes stood behind him and slightly off to the side, and her body language radiated anxiety. "Let us only hope that your words were so effective on all who heard them." He smiled and held out a hand. It was naught but two seconds before a cup was thrust into it and he took a sip. "It would be a crime for so many people's sacrifices - dare I say, for your sacrifices - at the Blue Star Idasque to be in vain."

"I'm honored that you found it so," Raffaella replied pleasantly. "I have little to sacrifice but my own time, Lord Baykara, and for the work of Vashdal, I have all the time in the world to give."

Ren arched an eyebrow slightly. "Come, now, Raffaella," he began, "Such humility is... almost too much." He shook his head, but his eyes remained fixed upon hers. "Surely, you have much more than that, now."

"Oh, yes," she replied, handling the medal around her neck absentmindedly. "That may be so now, but before, everyone doubted me—but you never doubted me, did you?" She smiled sweetly. "I'm truly grateful for your support, Lord Baykara. I heard you even paid the rebels' ransom for me. I've never been happier—but I have no doubt that even greater glory awaits you in the coming months."

Ren scowled. "I have more than my share of accolades already," he rejoined. "And I daresay we shall all have enough once this rebellion is finished. Well," he relented, "those of us who are around by the end of it all." He forced a smile. "Do be careful, Rafaella. I enjoy you, but there are monsters about, and I can't save you from all of them."

He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder and gave it a firm, fond squeeze.

"I didn't take you for a man who could be satisfied by accolades fit for ordinary heroes," Raffie replied playfully, with a tone of surprise. "You speak so casually of protecting me from monsters, after all—when protecting Vashdal's prophets is the purview of gods, rather than men." Her smile was as sweet as ever.

Ren's expression changed. "Ah, yes," he agreed, squeezing a bit tighter, "but remember that it is men who declare them prophets in the first place." He made a gesture and his attendants turned away and faded back into the crowd. "And remember, orphan, who controls those men."

She tilted her head. "A prophet is one who speaks truly. A man cannot make a liar a prophet, nor a prophet a liar. ...but I will not forget under whose orders tongues wag."

"Or under whose orders men march." He released his grip and patted her shoulder and made that gesture that called his people back. Only the blind girl had remained through it all. "You may be happy to know that I'll be leading them myself once we've put an army together worthy of my leadership. Truly, we shall be delivered."

"I am glad, Lord Baykara. Truly." With that, the prophetess who was no orphan departed, with a silence that might one day be remembered as ominous. The gala called, and much work remained to be done.

He was right about one thing: monsters were about, and there was only one aside from Vashdal who she could truly trust to protect her from them—Zarina. She needed to make contact with Zarina before an opportunity to be assassinated presented itself.

In the days following the award ceremony, Raffaella is "strongly advised" to stay in Virang for the rest of the revolution in Palapar—unofficially put under house arrest, "for her own safety, of course." Though she interfered in Ren's plans at the Blue Star Idasque, this cannot be admitted publicly, and having managed to do such a thing, those who would call her their enemy must reevaluate her formerly meager capabilities. Eager to wash their hands of the attempted false flag at Blue Star, many of the Virangish nobility find a sudden interest in getting to know her. Amongst the deluge of invitations to tea parties and marriage proposals comes one particular ally willing to help her return to her unfinished business in Palapar—and so, against the "advisement" of the crown, she goes with one goal in mind: to get Zarina out of there alive.

Palapar 5: The Fall of Ren

It was enough to be paraded about the capital and validated, her position in Virangish high society secured for now—to show her support for the crown, even as Palapar continued to slip through its fingers. It was enough to wave her own finger and lecture braver souls about peace while feeling the political winds, to call each move on the board before it was made, and to be right. As long as she continued to be right, she would have the support and backing of at least some of the Darhannic church, continue to gain new allies, and slowly—so slowly—amass the influence needed to change the status quo.

No. It was not enough. It should have been enough, but it wasn't. Perhaps for Imam Tilki, saving Raffaella and the rest of his flock at the cost of his own life would have been enough, and to escape with her own life should have been enough for her—the price of a lifetime of good deeds not yet lived was quite high—but it was not, and so she too had risked a premature end to save two thousand more. Now that she'd had the time to reflect, she wondered why she'd risked it all. Perhaps the Imam's own courage bolstered her own.

In the end, it was all about staying off the streets. She never wanted to starve again. She never wanted to have to sell her body like the mother who abandoned her. She never wanted the fear of such a fate to so much as knock on the doors of her mind's eye ever again. It was always about that. It was about having so much power, wealth and influence that her old life and its anxieties became buried in the surreal nature of it all—to drown in abundance such that words like cost and value had no meaning.

Yet more and more, Raffaella felt herself consumed by a new kind of greed: for not only herself to never have to worry about starving again, but for no one else to have to live that way. The gods had given men the tools for endless abundance. The answer was in the Gift, and to not use it to its fullest potential was the crime for which the elites of this world were guilty.

Yet the success of Palapar would mean an end to her influence, for to be cast into the streets in the Quentic world would be considered a charitable end for her, though she considered death preferable. Only if Virang could survive the blow to its economy would Palapar's success be a step in the right direction, for she trusted very few besides herself to have right motives, among the nobility of the world. Truthfully, she still did not consider herself a noble, and felt more comfortable in the plain maidsclothes she wore as a disguise than she ever did in a dress and heels.

So many worries, so little time left now. As she departed once more for Palapar, clandestinely stowed away as a favor from one of her newly forged alliances, she reflected on the oddity that there was only one thing left on her mind. Once more, just once more, she needed to save a good person from themselves. Raffie wondered if Zarina had worried about her—if she'd had the time to worry about her, in between life-threatening battles and crushing heartaches. She wondered if anyone around the mighty dragon had bothered to worry about Zarina. No, she thought—she probably would not have allowed it. They'd shared their insecurities with each other, and the moment had felt precious and sacred. For but a fleeting instant, perhaps a part of her had wondered if they might have shared something more.

Raffaella steeled her gaze upon the horizon, her greedy eyes turned to the Virangish front. She may be greedy, but she wasn't going to stop asking for more from the Dreamer. In fact, she might just ask for forgiveness while she was at it.

---

"Men!" shouted Ren Baykara, wheeling about on his black stallion, Incitatus. He stood before them, their lord and commander: the shield of Virang, the sword of Darhanna, Vaşdal's chosen. "You know who I am. You know, every one of you, the power that our Lord Öjeran has entrusted me." He nodded and spurred the horse into a trot, parallel to the battle lines. "You know well the realities of our world, as well. I could sit behind the front lines and gaze at a map and issue my commands from there, but I am here, my people, because I believe in what we are doing. I believe that this is not a mere battle for our right to live and to trade where we like without fear." He shook his head and reached the end of the line. He handled the reins and Incitatus came about.

Ren Baykara reached into his scabbard and drew from it Dominus, the great haureenium kilij said to have been wielded by Selim Baykara himself during the War of Garungul. This, he leveled in the direction of Ertan Kashani, who was presently head of the party treating with the rebels before battle. "This very moment," Ren declared, "Our viceroy Kashani treats with the enemy, aiming to avoid bloodshed, and I respect him, for he is a Virangishman and he fights for what we do! He believes in what we do!"

The horse was at a trot and he amplified his voice with the Gift. "But he will fail, my fellow Virangish. Make no mistake: this is not because he is a weak man or because his beliefs or rhetoric are flawed." He spurred Incitatus into a light canter now. "He will fail because they are incapable of living peaceably. They have been given fifty years of guidance and opportunities and patient instruction by our Gods-chosen people on how to be civilized, and I tell you now, ladies and gentlemen, they can make nothing of it. They will sit and complain in their simplicity and indolence, begging for more from us while railing against us. I say 'enough'!" he roared. "I say that we have given these incorrigible savages enough! We have suffered long enough! We have seen our sons killed and our fields burned and our wives raped by these beasts for the crime of trying to bring the light of civilization to them! For trying to bring the one true faith to them so that their wretched souls might be saved!"

He was at the opposite end of the line and he flourished his sword, kicking his mount about to head back the other way. "Truly, my people, we have tried. We have discharged our duty by the Gods and the people of Palapar have been not only deaf and dumb to our words, but they have ravaged us for them." He shook his head adamantly. "They cry and they rave and they squeal like beasts to the world of how we have mistreated them." He let out a snort of laughter. "We know the truth!!!" he roared, pounding his chest. "We know what we have done. We know what we have suffered, and we know our own strength!" He came about in the center, bearing stern and straight and proud. "The time has come to show these ungrateful wretches who their betters are. To remind them what happens when our generosity is refused and our better natures give way to wroth!"

He raised his sword on high and a faint glimmer of sun caught it. "We are the bulwark of civilization. We are the rule of law! We are piety, mercy, and justice against the slavering horde that would extinguish the light of this world, but WE. ARE. MIGHTIER!!!"

A cheer went up from the soldiers. "It is us, I tell you, who will win the day!"

A second cheer.

"For our dead!"

"For our dead!"

"For the future!"

"For the future!"

"For the Gods!"

"For the Gods!"

"For JUSTICE!!!"

They would tear this enemy apart.

All about Ren tangled lesser mages, lesser warriors, and lesser people. Dragons wheeled overhead and he glanced up in approval as one of the rebel beasts fell from the sky, its rider a tiny, helpless, writhing thing. His weapon was working. It was a shame that she sought to be more than that. She might've been useful, otherwise, instead of something to sacrifice heroically when it became necessary.

Then fell two of their own beasts and it occurred to him that the rider was always the weak part and that a dragon was useless if its rider was not strong. This was the work of the enemy tethered, and he knew one among those, but Marceline Escarra was the lesser evil here. He required a resounding victory: one that would burnish his legend and make people remember him. He would need to cut the head off the snake.

Twice, already, he had felt the pull of lesser mages upon his person. There lay, now, a woman whose head had erupted like a geyser behind the rebel lines. Close to her, among what was left of their chemical mages, slumped a man whose brain had been vomited forth from his mouth and nose.

Ren Baykara dismounted and stalked towards the front lines, casually dispatching a squadron of twelve subhumans who had taken up an entrenched defensive position behind a small knoll and a fallen log. They exploded into fragments of bone and raining body parts, their lives revoked by a stronger being.

A battery operated by a team of mages mauled one of his flanks, trying to soften it in preparation for a cavalry charge. It was just beyond his range, but that was no matter. Ren Baykara's eyes widened and his veins bulged and he drank in an impossible amount of energy. Bullets flew for his head. He could hear their pathetic screams of 'On Magus!', but everything that they threw his way disintegrated in the inferno that surrounded him. He reached out with a full power draw and the ground rose up before those cannon and swallowed them. He squeezed a gloved fist tightly and their ammunition rupture inside, killing every one.

And that was when he saw, on the field, the Blood Mage. He had met the fool once: a Black boy from some race traitor nation who called himself an artist and a healer but who could do neither with much skill. Already, Ren had broken the Blood Mage's face, and he wore the scars as proof of his shame instead of healing them. This one had led the defense at Ceboyan. He had crossed Ren twice now. For that, he would not die. There were fates worse than death. Ren Baykara grinned. In his hands, Dominus hungered for battle. "You!" he shouted, "Bloodchild! Surrender now and kiss my feet and I shall spare your life."

Tku had spent his time roiling the earth when he was he made notice of the walking catastrophe that was Ren. Too much for any force to overcome without severe losses. He would have liked to avoid a direct conflict with him and instead wear him down until the time was like. It was the harsh reality Tku had prepared himself for in this fight.

But Ren was transfixed on him and he would have to face him. "You ask me to kiss your feet?" Tku feigned a blush, "I didn't know the Darhanics were so homoerotic." He taunted with angry beast. "I don't think I will, habibi. You're a little boyish for my liking." and with that Tku began to ride off and mark with blood magic. If he was to win, it would not be found in a straight fight.

Taunts were the refuge of those who knew their own inadequacy. Ren spoke with his magic instead, and it was easy. There was a bounty of energy all around for him to draw from, and it was a small matter to send a rush of heat through his own body to kill off any... parasites that the blood mage might use.

This accomplished, he reached out and grabbed hold of the fleeing enemy - perhaps he, too, might've been a coward were he so weak - to stop him dead in his tracks. "Disappointing in every way possible, Bloodchild." He shook his head. "There is no escape this time."

Ren's presence was hard to not to notice when he rushed in like a force of nature. Mages began to crumble in his path faster than an oceanborn swam through water. She patted the mages nearest her and encouraged their efforts without her. Using kinetic, she lifted up a discarded cannonball as she narrowed her sights upon the monster. Heating it with what little arcane she had, she dug in her heels then shot it forward. It erupted from her hand toward his back as he reached out for Tku.

There, before Alab, not so very far away, stood Ren Baykara. The man's power and cruelty were legendary, and a mere dockworker knew better than to make an attempt on him. It would simply mean death, but he was chasing down Pictor, who had been nothing short of a hero for the Palaparese cause. While the Joruban was strong almost beyond comprehension, the gulf between him and Ren was still significant, Alab knew. If he could just... There had to be a way to make a difference here! The gods would not have put him on this plane had he not the power - as any living, thinking man did - to make a difference.

Not so far away lay a fallen grenadier, his bag bulging with explosives. It was dangerously close to where the titans were about to do battle. He needed a distraction. He needed -

A cannonball flew straight for the monster's head at a speed that Alab's eyes could barely fathom and that was his chance. It was too much for Ren to rely on his burning aura to handle. He had to actively turn and block it and Pictor, whose flight had been halted and who was struggling to break free, was released. Alab dove forward into the divot left by the same cannonball that had killed the grenadier. He reached out, grabbed the satchel, and lay utterly still next to enough explosives to kill an entire squadron.

Meanwhile, Ren whirled. "And they all come out of the woodwork," he called, shaking his head. "I had thought you smart enough to be resigned to your place, at least," he concluded, eyes fixed into the near-distance at another figure.

Alab was a huge man - strong, too, but in the wrong way for this sort of of conflict. He had next to nothing of the Gift, but all that he needed was a little mix and a little spark. Just a little. He waited for an opening. He could light it and run while Baykara was distracted. He just needed to let Pictor and the other ally he could not quite make out know... but how?

Raffaella was not the type to act before thinking, and in that, she was out of her element. She wasn't supposed to be here. So long as Ren lived, she had to suspect that any guards assigned to her might retreat from her position and leave her exposed. Yet if she could not make her presence known and request a guard, the front lines were out of the question. Reaching Zarina was just impossible. She wasn't helpless against most of the individual combatants here, but the power she'd displayed against Ren was a finite power. Two talented mages or a drawn-out duel with a superior one were both a death sentence. There were tethered about, too. If only she'd been one of them, backing up Zarina could have been so much easier.

It was time for a change of plans. Raffaella was in her element when she made herself small and went unnoticed by the bigger fish, or not taken seriously until it was too late. Clutching her rosary, she bent the rays of light around her body and made herself invisible, drawing not one iota of energy more than what was necessary. She followed Ren Baykara like a hooded spectre, concealing herself amongst the lingering energies of the havok he wrought, a bit further back than the range of most of her classmates from Ersand'Enise. It was an estimate, but ideally, he wouldn't notice her even if she was in his range.

Released from Ren's grasp, Tku leaped off onto the ground he whistled for White Empress to fight Ren. It wasn't the best thresher for fighting but she was an alpha so any bit of power mattered. Ren had switched his focus and with that Tku pulled more energy out of the void. His senses were deeply focused on Ren. The pulsing of his heart, his blood moving and the energy his mana was taken. He prayed that he could do something let something find purchase on him.

Raffaella had managed to shadow Ren across much of the battlefield. He was a walking cataclysm wherever he went, batting aside mages of the sixth or seventh degree as if they were beetles to crunch underfoot, wiping out entire squadrons of soldiers with casual gestures and no more exertion than one might offer to avoid stepping on a crack in the pavement. The path of destruction in his wake was clearly and presently visible.

It was in this midst that she remained undiscovered. Soldiers marched behind him, eager to pour into the gaps he left in the enemy lines and she did not appear, after all, to be an enemy. Still, even as he exchanged with Tku. Even as Mahal flung a cannonball at his head. Even as a casualty on the battlefield shifted, she remained in wait, stalking.

Then, suddenly, Ren stiffened. He paused and he turned. His eyes swept the battefield for a bare second, and then they settled on Raffie's form.

"I'd tell you I was disappointed," he scoffed, "but I'm honestly not. You're just about as pathetic as I read you, charlatan." He raised a hand, even as a large white thresher trundled slowly towards him, and pointed his index finger in her direction. From it leapt what could only be described as a supernova.

Meanwhile, as Ren was focused on this new but expected enemy, Alab managed to check the last of the fuses. He went still as Ren took a step in his direction. Dead, he thought, Just a corpse. Nothing special. Nothing to notice here. Just an anonymous casualty... His lungs pinched from holding his breath. ...Until I fucking kill you, you bastard!

Mahal hadn't noticed Alab in the thick of the battle's chaos. Her attention lingered on the threat before her as her skin bristled at Ren's words. A flash of anger flickered across her expression and cut into her voice. "I guess I never had a proper teacher."

Ngiti rushed up next to her before letting out another booming bark attack. Mahal, on the other hand, drew on her chemical. Her gift attempted to attack the man's brain trying to cause confusion and disorientation.

At first, Tku didn't care about Ren firing towards the Virangish but with the word 'charlatan' fitted a few people. A few people that might help him right now. He drew and binded away the chemicals, air, and whatever else the attack might try and use. He just hoped it was enough for whoever it was aimed at.

Raffaella blinked and raised her wand to defend. The assist from Tku came so fast that it nearly preempted her own attack, surprising her. She repurposed the energy from her stealth magic to defend, showing just who Ren had raised his hand against. "Wow. Not even going to ask what I'm doing here before hurling a sun at me. Rude."

"Three of you," Ren called, with a shake of his head. "One of me. That is an apt comparison." He stopped for a moment and pressed his fingers to his temples. "Bad dog," he snarled at Mahal, and a lash of kinetic energy came out towards her attacking hound, though it was not the dog that she'd addressed. He was quick enough, however, to roll with the pounding attack and land on his feet some ways away, shaken but otherwise unharmed. His tail was between his legs and he was growling.

Alab, meanwhile, had managed to sneak some ways away. He took the couple of seconds he had to try to get Tku's attention.

In the meantime, there was an immense thresher bearing down on his position. It was vast and slow, and looking to crush him in its claws.

He reached out and lifted it off of its feet. More optimized for swimming than walking, they flailed in the air, as if it were a mere bug. "This... thing yours?" He turned to Tku. "How much do you care about it?"

"I raised it from an egg," Tku answered.

"Leave this fight and I spare it." Threshers could, of course, eventually regrow lost parts. "Stay, and it dies." He ripped one leg off and the beast thrashed and hissed, almost breaking free, but it could not.

"I came here with her expecting I would die," A draw on Ren was attempted as he accepted the death of his companion.

Monster that he was, the Virangishman shrugged and, with a sadistic smirk, he pulled upon kinetic magic and crushed its carapace. White Empress died with a hissing squeal and thick bluish blood squirting from the shattered shell. Her remains were summarily tossed at Tku with a sneer. "Do not bring an overgrown insect to do a man's work. Now..."

On his hand, Ren felt an itch. Someone was attempting to draw from him. "Is that your vengeance?" he questioned, twisting to regard Tku. He pulled back and they locked in a stalemate, for such was his power that he matched Tku even in the blood mage's best school. Something more would be needed from the rebels to give their man the edge.

Meanwhile, Alab had managed to scurry behind the lines. He'd set up the grenades to blow sky high and, as they others shifted about, the thresher carcass had landed atop the satchel containing them, full of volatile digestive chemicals and thresher blood. He tried to get the attention of Tku, but the binder was understandably focused on Ren himself. He tried to contact Mahal, but she did not see him either. It was only one of her dogs. A dog that recognized him. A dog that began barking...

Mahal's head snapped to Puno, the little spring hound and the alpha of the group. Her frantic barks ceased as her head twisted toward a familiar face.

---

Raffaella Mataraci, a bright light to some, an iridescent eyesore to others. Nilay, Balik's and Zarina's discreet assassin, had been staying within the Virangish ranks to sniff out potential infiltrators from the enemy's side and Magusjaegers in the hiding. On occasion, a plant could be found too, but seldom had it ever been one of their own.

Sneaking up from behind with concealment worthy of the best mage hunters, she poised herself to poke her knife against the pink menace's throat.

No, she had gotten too close. She jig was up and she had to show herself. Close, very much within a dagger's range. “Not a word. Stop drawing. Turn around.”

The pink Raffaella was known for faded as she obliged, turning around and no longer drawing, the freckled redhead looking up at her would-be assassin in the eye. "Is there a problem?" she asked irritably, as though she had every right to be here, and the woman were being a nuisance. Of course there was a problem—she wasn't supposed to be here. It wasn't official, and it was only known by a few, but she had been gently brushed out of the spotlight and expected to stay in Virang, as though she were under house arrest—for saving lives from the hands of Ren.

Nilay took a step froward, closing the little bit of distance between the two. A distance where normal human reactions couldn't reasonably counter a knife, although she knew this one was a chemical mage. “There is.” the assassin answered, collected and unperturbed. “The direction you've pointed your blade-” Nilay said as she hovered her dagger near Raffie's throat. “and where you stand. Explain yourself. Now.” a slight rise of her voice, but her constitution did not shift as chaos unfolded around them.

"It's him who should explain himself, attacking me without warning," Raffaella returned dryly. "But we both know you're not here to talk. Si—"

Nilay immediately gut-punched the minuscule creature called Raffie. Out of sight, given how close they were - nearly intimate. It was nasty, clearly meant to cause the other to bend. The assassin leaned forward too, just for a moment, before letting the girl fall over if she failed to hold herself together.

Raffie was sent to the ground. The 'gifts' she'd received to her RAS meant nothing in the face of another reminder of her frail constitution. She clenched her fists until her nails dug into them, unable to speak a word. This was yet another reminder that words were useless in this world. She should have simply erased the woman from existence as soon as she made herself known, like Ren would have done.

With that, the rogue inhaled deeply, peered down at the frail girl and then looked at the battlefield. Wordlessly, she parted for it, vanishing soon after and leaving Raffaella to her own devices without any further reprimand.

That was it, then. 'Miss Mataraci' would engage with this battle on the terms of another unseen actor. Her choices continued to not matter. Tku was going to die, and there was... nothing she could do about it?

The woman departed, leaving Raffaella's catastrophizing of the situation to lose its steam. This assassin wasn't one of Ren's. If she was, she wouldn't have made the mistake of leaving her alone. Whoever hired her had no idea what she was truly capable of... and that meant that she was... well, on her side, if sides had any meaning at this point.

There was always one thing she could do, the thing she had practiced the longest. She could always disappear, and bide her time until there was another opening.

---

The body of the thresher tumbled around Tku as he drew in it's essence. His attempt to catch Ren's manas while they were preoccupied failed as well. He as in a stalemate with Ren but it wouldn't be long before he joined White Empress. He couldn't let it end like this. The material he pulled from Empress began to incorporate into him It was painful and wrong. But he needed to win this fight, by whatever means he had.

"It's ready to blow!" Alab blurted, proud of what he had set up, proud of making a difference. "A dozen grenades, right under the dead thresher. They just need -"

Something wet touched Mahal. She looked down to see that it was blood. The two halves of Alab, diagonally sliced, slid off of each other and landed with a wet thunk on the ground. Ren's hand was raised and trembling, and sweat beaded on his forehead. A slight smile of satisfaction twisted his visage. Had he heard anything and acted, or had it simply been the fun of squishing an ant where one had appeared? "Another fish who did not learn to fear the shark," he sneered.

Ertan Kashani made his way to where Ren Baykara seemed locked in a worryingly even struggle with a pair of enemy mages and their animals. <Kashani. Coming. Six. Mages. Be. Ready.> Marceline sent it to Tku and Mahal as quickly as she could. It bought them mere seconds of lead time.

"Worry not, young lad," crowed the viceroy to Ren Baykara as he came into the scene, "for your commander is here to deliver you from harm!"

Marceline could sense it all happening. She knew it and felt it and understood what she had to do. The first drops of rain had begun to fall, and the already-muddy fields were about to become much worse. She closed her eyes and found Mahal and sent her a little pinch message: something simple that she could understand. <Marci. Lift. You. Use.>

With that, Marceline pulled every bit of energy that she could. She pulled until she started to feel a pressure behind her eyes, until the pins and needles feeling where sensation ended around her waist started to intensify. She had drawn to a capacity of 8.54 and it was all that she had to give. Tentatively, for just a handful of seconds, the thresher carcass lifted, its volatile blood dripping onto the grenades. There it was for the taking!

Keearah, meanwhile, could sense Tku straining, and so she set her jaw and focused on her magics, and found where his skin was being peeled back by Ren's oppressive power. <Stay. Tough. I. Have. Your. Back.> It was Keearah. Whatever damage Ren had done to him faded, and he felt himself filled with energy. <I. Draw. Too. I. Cover. You.>

Tku heard Keearah's words and he felt her power behind him. He only had one thing he could do, what he had done against the ven-demon. I thank you Keearah, it always seems to be me and you against a monster.

He could never describe what this was like to view. Everytime, what he felt became slower, his vision would shift. It was like the world had become for his viewing. This time it felt differenct, Ren was there but he wasn't it was a nest of many beautiful eggs. Some so large and colorful they seemed unnatural. Some were cracked and smelled foul. He could 'feel' what they were and he was disgusted with the treasures he was bestowed with. But there was one that stood out.

It was black with small gold specs. It had a luster and seemed weighty despite it's average size. It sat on other broken eggs like it was the cause. His right to rule was there. His power that he had over others was there. That was Dami's judgement and how Tku hated that it was handed to a man so wicked.

You have the power of judgement. I may not be blessed like you but I can steal it in the name of Ahn-Dami.

He plucked the egg out and felt it's power transfer to him, "How fickle you connection to Dami is Ren!" Tku laughed at him as he stole a treasure so close to his heart.

Upon seeing the blood, Mahal's eyes widened in shock. It was like the moment she had dropped a clay pot. A silent comprehension of what happened stirred deep in her mind and the world seemed to pause for a moment. She found the strangest part wasn't the blood, but the fact it wasn't hers. Her reddened fingers curled up into a fist. She didn't know him nearly to the degree his friends did, but she had known him.

Eyes snapped up and met the monster's. There was no fear hidden there, unlike the first time on the ship. Fury burned in her gaze as she felt the pinch message across her skin. Her eyes darted to Alab's remains and sharply inhaled.

"You're going to pay for that." She growled while Ren and Tku engaged in a drawing war. Before the carcass was lifted, Mahal drew. She wasn't going to let Alab's sacrifice be in vain. Using her magnetic and kinetic, she seized the grenades then threw them full force at Ren's burning aura.

"Sikuaq," She sonically shouted as she turned to face the coming reinforcements. Ngiti, Supok, and Puno had abruptly appeared at her side with fangs bared against the coming threat.

For a moment, Ren felt it: the other mage let go. He began to draw ferociously from Tku, peeling up the skin near his fingers, but then he felt it: a burning behind his ears. It stung! He grimaced and fought back, inuring his manas to being drawn from, and it was an easy battle to win. A fucking cripple. He could not sense his assailant within range, which meant that it was an opportunistic tethered. The thing was, she was weak. He turned his attention back to the bloodchild, who seemed to be in a trancelike state, needing little of his actual strength to fight off the tethered's paltry attack.

And that was when he felt it: something inside of him... shifted. These people didn't fear him, which was wrong, because they should have. It made them second-guess their decisions. It made them weaker than they already were. It was a reminder of his superiority and made it greater than it already was. He stepped forward to punish the cowardly tethered by crushing the bloodchild she protected once and for all.

In doing so, he did not pay attention to Mahal Agha. He had not noticed a man named Alab, except when he had killed him. Together, their work had brought into being a plan inelegant and simple, but deadly effective. A simple satchel hurtled his way, prepared by Alab and thrown by Mahal's hand, and Ren paid it little heed, for it would burn up against his blazing aura, as had everything else. It was only when that insufferable idiot, Kashani, shouted a warning that he realized just what it was.

Ren burst free of the ground, propelling himself away and drawing as much from the explosion as he could, but it was not enough. Fire washed over him, roiling and writhing and peeling back his hair and his clothing and skin. But then the viceroy was there, drawing from the flames with him. Then, a man named Aksoy - nobody, really - stepped into the fire and took all of it: the last and greatest act of his otherwise inconsequential life. Ren staggered back, scorched and blackened. He extinguished the flames in his hair and robes. His skin was scalded and covered in soot. There were welts and sores. He heaved a pained, unsteady breath and stood for a moment, stalk-still. He would give that man's family a pension for life.

He would give these nothings - these subhuman vermin - only death. He steadied himself and straightened and, already, a binder was working on him. His hair returned. His clothes began knitting themselves back together. His fists clenched and there was no more cavalier cruelty left in his eyes. He was murderous, now: straight murderous.

Five mages, each capable in his or her own right: they arrayed themselves around Tku and Mahal and their animals. One was a healer, and she was young and fair for a Virangish. Another two were twins, and perhaps a quarter yasoi. The fourth was a tall, stern-looking man of middle age, drawn from the local population, and the fifth and final was a woman of similar years, hair gone prematurely white.

"It's seven on two," shouted the tall one. "Stand down!" The others were preparing spells, ready to launch them, but most did not have the chance. One of the twins wobbled where he stood and began hurling uncontrollably. He collapsed in a puddle of his own bloody vomit. The second burst into flames, screaming and writhing. None of the people before them had raised so much as a hand yet, at nearly the exact same moment, Mahal's trio of hounds leapt onto the tall one and took him to the ground, snarling and mauling him. The white-haired woman made to attack them and save her ally, but then there was a dragon - Sikuaq - and she was brought to death's doorstep by its fire.

The young healer seemed conflicted between moving to help them and finishing the last of her work on Ren until Tku stepped into her path. She let out a high-pitched scream of agony as most of the skin along her left side was ripped away and her arm disintegrated under a dark bolt. She fell to the ground, horribly maimed, curling up into the fetal position and sobbing.

Did Ren or the viceroy so much as lift a hand to help? The former seemed to be preparing a special explosive spell, and the latter had no choice but to draw away the flames of another dragon as it came sweeping down. This, he did with a mixture of skill and Reshta-blessed good fortune.

"On your feet, healer!" bellowed the vizier's grandson. "You are not finished with me."

Her eyes bulged in pain and incredulity. Her arm - a thing she had always had, that she had been born with - was gone. She started to numb and uncurl herself. There were others in far greater need than Lord Baykara, herself included.

"You are required!" he bellowed, charging some impossibly grand chemical spell. "Be useful!"

"I am sorry, my lord," she grated, staggering haggardly to her feet. "I will heal." Lord Kashani did not need healing and there were the others, who had been as family to her, who needed it far more than a man with a bad sunburn and some tattered clothes. For a moment, she hated him: truly and intensely and, even if it were to mean that they lost, she wished he would die. "But them first," she added in a small voice, reaching out with her magics for the twins.

Then, she was upside-down, and it didn't make sense. She could see her own feet and she wondered why as the world faded. "Fetch me Joliin!" bellowed Ren, who had nearly lost control of the spell he was preparing in order to deal with the direct insubordination of one of his inferiors.

Kashani's eyes went wide. "Did you just kill one of my people!?" he called, trying to sound authoritative and angered. Yet, the alarm shone clearly through in his voice and bearing.

"Bring better people, who can fight and follow orders," Ren grunted.

"You've no right, you mad dog!" snarled the viceroy, perhaps drunk on his own authority, for he was no match for Ren. Instead, from his own hands, came the energy to heal the woman who had been burnt by the dragon. "On your feet, squad! We leave this fool to his own fate." Perhaps Ren did not kill him as he left because of his name, or maybe he was too busy preparing to unleash his great spell. A runner was already on his way to fetch a new healer, too - perhaps this 'Joliin' - but Ren's demand was then met by another...

Black King had fallen. Or so Zarina believed until she saw the evidence of his demise. Lest he was a demon, something did not fit the landscape she was taking in. No, this was a man, she just knew it. The initially conclusion was that nothing was hit, until she noticed the evidence of blood on the end of her blade. Something HAD been struck. He was still alive. She had to-

The investigation was cut short. The horned warrior turned her head to acknowledge something further in the distance. Her blade was telekinetically sheathed on her back so she could properly brush herself off and warp out of the new empty battle zone, making for the phenomenon that had caught her attention.

Ertan Kashani, Ren Baykara and a small group of loyal Virangish soldiers had engaged some of the rebels' finest - some of her friends. Well, perhaps such was a misnomer in this war. It was about time overwhelming force was utilized.

Zarina landed a few yards from Ren with a loud, shockwave-inducing impact. The bit of dust clouds she had created from her entrance made her arrival all the more dramatic as it cleared away.

“I never thought I'd see you struggle, Ren.” the dragon addressed him with a degree of palpable familiarity. “Before they even shoot their worst shot too.”

Amber eyes found Tku first, and the evidence of the deceased, albino thresher. There was also one of their own, killed from she had clearly seen as Ren's doing. Any reaction was kept internal with only a quarter-lidded, utterly detached look reigning supreme on her visage. “Let's make this quick.”

"Shut up and either do something or get out of my way," Ren grunted. "These are their best. We deal with them, we win."

They were alone against Zarina and Ren: Tku and Mahal. Kidlat was circling about on his dragon, taking stock of the new arrival. It was the demon herself: the one to whom they sacrificed human flesh. For a moment, he felt a shiver of terror. To fight against that... thing was death, plain and simple, and yet... Pictor fought. Mahal fought. Their animals did so as well. There was someone else, further away, who had contributed as well, he was sure of it.

Both Baykara and the demon, though: there was no chance of victory. It was time to retreat. "I coper you!" Kidlat shouted as he swept low over the ground. "You run!"

He felt the massive buildup of static moments before it struck, and jerked Bonadeuce's reins out of the way. A colossal column of lightning split the sky in two, the flash blinding to all in the vicinity, the heat from it boiling and radiating outward as it struck Ren square. For a moment, the energy that he was gathering roiled as smoke and steam filled the area and fires guttered in the rain. It cleared to reveal him standing there, his clothes burnt and scored, but otherwise unscathed from the massive attack.

"Occupy them," Ren commanded Zarina and, with that, he opened his hands in a V-shape and unleashed a gargantuan channeled explosion. It spread outwards in a cone faster than the eye could actively track it, white hot and blinding, heading for each of his adversaries.

Zarina flinched, but only slightly, when the lightening descended on her ally - her closest eye closed and her body ever slightly leaned to the opposite direction. He was alive and she knew one needed far more to kill this creature of a man.

“Yeah.” once again, her gaze found Mahal and Tku. She eventually settled for the former and her menagerie of animals made to be sacrificed to the apex predators of Virang. A shred of discontent was visible on her expression. “Sure thing.”

The demon darted toward the Palaparese-Virangish girl, and her fellow student, with breakneck speed and annhilating the earth beneath her feet as she ejected herself. She had the full intention of gut-punching Mahal.

Ren's indiscriminate and explosive attack came and Raffaella bolted, only just escaping its destructive radius and merely being knocked to the ground, breathless. At this point, killing Ren Baykara could hardly be considered treason, but Zarina continued to work with him for the time being. Raffaella kept herself hidden and waited—for what, precisely, she didn't know. She would assist Zarina from the shadows and wait for some kind of signal.

Upon witnessing their hard work vanish upon Ren, Mahal's jaw tensed. It had looked like a lot, but the man shrugged it off like nothing. The gaze in his eyes sent a shiver down her instincts. They weren't going to survive this. No, the only way they'd win was if they all went down together and even that felt like hopeful wishing.

Mahal pushed down her need to run. There was nowhere to go as the Virangish surrounded them, calling to surrender. She gave her answer clearly with a sharp command. Her hounds went after one man while her snow wyvern went after another. The cruelty and callousness had been put on display with the minor bickering as the viceroy fucked off. That left the biggest threats to deal with.

A shout to retreat came from above, but it didn’t matter. Ren commanded and then the yawà set her inhuman eyes upon Mahal and struck faster than a goma hunting a monkey. Not even her animals had time to react. As the clawed fist impacted, all the wind left her lungs. Her ribs shook then cracked underneath the pressure. One even broke. Not the first time she’d been laid out in one hit. Spotting the explosive attack raining down, she let the mockery of nature hit her. The blow’s momentum carried her farther than her own magic could. Applying binding and kinetic, she attempted to ease the aftermath on her flesh.

Mahal was sent flying across the landscape. She rolled to a stop upon all fours. Her legs forced themselves underneath her and she pushed back upright, gasping for a breath. She wasn’t dying without making a mark. Letting that fuel her core, she managed to stand upright and raise her daggers. A damp tentacle wrapped about her neck as Diyablos rose to help.

When the attack hit, her dogs bolted out of the attack’s range. Puno bunched up her middle before springing toward the edge closest to Mahal. She gave a concerned whine before she sought the rest of her pack. Ngiti raced behind Supok who slowed enough for him to catch up to her. With a kinetic pop, she zoomed out there with the white smiler hot on her heels.

In the blink of an eye, Eshiran was given four hundred souls to embrace. Ren stood in place, the backblast whipping his short hair about, a handful of unfortunate allies burned from existence among the hundreds of enemies. Even Ertan Kashani himself, the viceroy, was forced to step in and defend one of his guardians, who had yet to fully recover from the rebels' attacks.

Raffaella, hiding in the shadows, was forced to flee, as was Fiske. How much longer could they remain hidden? How much longer could they allow this to continue? It was becoming ever clearer that Zarina would not raise her hand against Ren. Even as far away as Marco and Marceline, the power of the blast was felt, both needing to brace themselves and the latter absorb the massive shockwave.

Mahal's hounds had no choice but to run at full speed, and Sikuaq fled up into the clouds, along with Bonadeuce and his rider. Mahal herself was only spared, indirectly, as Zarina swept in and casually batted her to the side like a chewtoy. She landed, breathless, on the ground some fifty yards distant, two ribs broken and struggling to stay conscious.

Tku got the worst of it, and that was by design. He had dared try to match Ren strength for strength. The vast burning heat washed over him in its entirety and he vanished within it, drawing every bit that he could. When the cataclysm cleared and people blinked and staggered about, he lay dead on the ground...

Or so it initially appeared. He had drawn enough away to survive, though he was burnt almost beyond recognition. Ren raised his chin imperiously Zarina's way. "Clean them up," he instructed, turning his attention towards the dragon rider who had been harassing him for some time.

Ren reached into the air, drawing an absurd amount of energy once more, and closed his fist. Bonadeuce shrieked and wheeled, the corner of his left wing collapsing, and he spiraled towards the ground, his rider clinging to him for precious life and trying to ease the wounded and panicked animal from its death spiral with limited magics of his own.

Then, beside Ren, a tall bony yasoi girl appeared, a ragged blindfold over her eyes. She bowed low, breath heavy. "I am here, master."

"Heal me, Joliin, and then kill them."

The yasoi's head did not more, for she could not see them anyway, but one got the sense that she was sweeping her master's enemies with her magic. She swallowed. There was a pause, and then she nodded, already starting to heal him. "As you command."

What they did not see - what they could not have noticed, for they were all busy attending to themselves - was the skin regrowing on Tku's battered form, the bones resetting and the hair snaking back down his shoulders. Someone was healing him, or perhaps he was healing himself.

The field was Zarina's and Mahal's at the moment... and Ren's.

Focus... Mahal screamed at herself. Focus. Each breath felt like she was inhaling glass as she clenched her ribs. It would take some time before her animals came back. Using binding, she focused on healing herself. Bone snapped back into place as her flesh faded back into its sun kissed color.

Zarina felt the bones crack against the knuckles' scales, a loud set of pops typical of ribs before sending that young woman flying away - a far better fate than what Tku was to experience. He was unlucky, as were many, many others. The dragon herself was not spared the calamitous unleashing of energy and had to rapidly draw it all while expelling it under the form of steam from her heated up scales.

“Fucking Baykara ...” she mumbled under her steaming breath. She had to defend herself before she could focus on the rest, and only once the dust settled did she realize the extent of the casualties. Flabbergasted, Zarina needed a moment to register the command.

Tku lied there, nearly dead. A horrible sight. An easy kill. Her jaw clenched and nails dug into her palm. Still, her resolve had to survive this storm.

No, she had to focus on what she started. Mahal. The dragon whistled to get her attention, as well as the pets'. She was also dosing them internally with anesthetics.

Mahal's eyes snapped on the 'dragon', her lips curled. A sense of drowsiness hit her mind causing her eyes to drop a bit. Her heart pounded against her chest as she shook herself, trying to pull out of it. Magnetic and chemical poured through her body as the sensation faded. "I expected more."

Her attention shifted from the yawa to the image of her advancing hounds. Before her eyes, Puno, Supok, then Ngiti abrupt crumbled into a heap among the chaos. Shortly after, her snow wyvern sank from her flight and crashed. Mahal's hearted stopped and her form stiffened. They were... dead? They were too far away for her tell they were still breathing. Based on what she had witnessed before, it was unlikely they survived.

A new wave of anger rolled off her.

Without missing a beat and tears in her eyes, she drew in heat all around her. It flowed along her skin and collected in her foot. Lifting it high, she slammed it hard into the ground and sent a shockwave right at... Ren. From what she could see, he was distracted and still charging. If he got another attack there would be no one left standing.

The last thing that Kidlat recalled, he had been falling, trying desperately to slow Bonadeuce. There'd been rushing green and the smack of branches and they had crash-landed. The moment that his head cleared and he stumbled free, thankful that his dragon was only recoverably wounded, a yasoi girl he did not recognize was shooting lightning at him. It was all that he and his injured steed could do to defend it. They tried - Gods, how they tried - but it was not enough, and unconsciousness claimed them both.

"'Kill' does not mean 'incapacitate', slave," Ren shouted at Joliin, and the girl seemed to shrink two sizes. "Are you creatively reinterpreting my orders?" She squeaked an apology and rushed over towards her downed target, mostly out of sight within the trees. Ren, paying her little more heed, continued to draw power and prepare a second attack, aiming this one at the rebel back lines, where their leadership lay. The Agha girl tried to attack him with a shockwave spell, but he concentrated and strained, and absorbed its energy cleanly into his budding blockbuster. Did he shoot a smug smile that seemed to say, 'thanks for the free boost' her way, or was such a display beneath him and merely her perception.

Now, Zarina was free to deal with Tku before he came to. Now, the field was nearly theirs. He would kill that pissant Dani and supersede that idiot, Ertan Kashani, and this would be the final death of the rebellion and a victory for him: Ren Baykara.

Tku had little ability to stop the attack. A regenerating shield, Hungering shield, Bane of Fire. It all had little outcome in his demise as Ren's attack took him. His body thoroughly burned and his bones shattered from the impact. On the battlefield, there was little difference between loosing consciousness and dying.

In his waning moments, Tku was relieved to have passed on. What hadn't he given to the cause? His brush, his knowledge, his blood. Nothing he had, the republic didn't have access to. He had trained dozens to become binders. He broke his oath and slayed dozens of mages. He had let a catastrophe live and she slaughtered hundreds of his allies. He had accepted his actions of mercy was wrong.

Yet he was still delusioned. He still saw Zarina sitting by the window near her yard, watching her pets live a life better than most artisan's could hope for. It was a blindingly sweet vision that grasped at his mind as he laid there on the battlefield. He turned to show his friends this is what people were like without war but they were just hollow faces.

Gani, Bato, Dalisay, Kidlat, Alad, Desmond, Mahal, Marceline, Keearah. They were all gone. All loss to his hope to hold onto this. If Zarina could slaughter so many without a thought, then he could to, then maybe if he set his mind somewhere so far away, he could still have that sweet memory.

His eyes came back as he saw all the people he knew gone. His eyes landed on Ren, the ire of so much hate. All that energy he had built up to kill thousands. His hand aimed at him as he called on his forbidden magics to ruin him.

Mahal launched an attack one Zarina was quick to side-step, only to realize it wasn't directed at her, but at Ren to interrupt his second volley of death. An attack she was not looking forward to. An attack she could not prepare for so long as she remained in this man's range. Terrible, truly.

The Palaparese beastmaster was not allowed to avert her gaze as an overwhelming pressure induced by the demon's drawing asphyxiated her of a chance to properly prepare and assist her associate. Something mighty was brewing in her too.

Two gargantuan attacks were coming, with the dragon's unique skills allowing for an accelerated fast-track to essentially match Ren's release.

“Should have grabbed them and run.” she uttered, expressionless. “Sorry.” her hand reached for the handle of her legendary buster sword.

A soldier ran from his post towards the Viceroy. He seemed to be utterly distressed. "Lord Viceroy! . . Viceroy sir!" He was unsure on what title to even use during his panic. Through his rush towards him, he stumbled, barely staying on his feet by clinging to he shirt.

"Hassan, my friend! He. . . he." Tears began to build up on the sides of the young soldier's eyes. "He was shepherded by Ön-Öjeran. . ." The small tears began to flow in a sheer cry. "But not by the heathens! . . By our own. ."

His face was one of pure agony, he was young. If his friend was so young as well, such a bright spark snuffed out too early. The soldier's voice began to crack through the dispair. "Can we really ensure Vaşdal won't wake up from a nightmare now?"

Ertan Kashani was a hero or, at least, that was what he had always considered himself and been thought of as. It was, in this context, shameful to run, but he had presented it well: optics were everything. He would not aid a supposed 'ally' who had killed one of his own, who laid waste indiscriminately to the battlefield.

Now, there was a young man begging him to do something about Ren: a believer in his legend. Ertan swallowed. He wanted to. He truly did. That man was vile.

For a moment, he did a double take at the youth. He thought he'd noticed something uncanny for a moment, but it was just his overstimulation. "Boy, that man is stronger than me," he admitted with some shame. "Not by so much, but he is, and we cannot act directly." The viceroy rose, Andelib, Bedreddin, Beşer, and Perviz nearly done healing themselves. They nodded as one. "I will not betray my nation and, right now, we need him." His voice lowered and he addressed his quartet as much as he did this newcomer. His eyes narrowed. "But we can set up his demise."

Demise, indeed, was first and foremost on Tku's mind: the final vestiges of the binder he had been slipping away as he focused on Ren Baykara with murderous intent and cruel magics sparking in the air. In truth, there was no living target in this war more deserving.

Joliin arrived to find an unconscious Kidlat, his imminent demise in her hands. For a moment, her knobby knees knocked together and her hands wrung themselves. A tear slipped free from behind her blindfold and she crouched. "I-I'm s-sorry," she stammered, voice at a whisper. "I do... don't know you, but I... I have to l-listen to him." She swallowed. "I p-promise I will make it q-quick."

Zarina, finally, seemed to have resolved herself to Mahal's demise. After blunting the lesser beastmaster's attack, she drew her sword and launched forward to finish the Palaparese and her animals. Nobody had wanted this, but here they stood.

As Ren absorbed her attack and shifted the energy, Mahal cursed her weakness. A force swelled in her chest as her manas began to fight against the overwhelming pressure in her lungs. Her eyes whipped back and forth, struggling to think against the haze building in her head. Tku's hand snapped up at Ren leaving her to keep the yawa's attention.

"Wouldn't have mattered..." She struggled to reply, trying to counter it. "Don't mock me..."

Hopefully Tku could stop Ren. Her eyes shifted to see the yasoi woman disappear after Kidlat, but she couldn't save him. Couldn't save even herself. Lightning began to flicker across her daggers as the beastial woman charged. At least she tried to be more than she was born to be. Even if it ended in ashes.

She instinctively pulled her ground octopus behind her back. He tensed and fought, but couldn't win. Mahal expected to feel the familiar slice of a blade digging into her flesh. The blood dripping from her insides and her sight dimming. She expected to be on the ground as the last of her breath escaped.

However... There wasn't any pain. No blood. No impact as a massive force of energy erupted between them. Something vomited froth from it and collided with her executioner. If she thought Ren was a monster, this... thing showed it without any restraint. Zarina went down with the smallest of struggles.

Kidlat. Mahal's attention snapped toward the direction she saw the man go down before she rushed off.

Tku's attempt at Ren was sophomoric at best. He could barely make any traction against his mana. Another failed attempt and another lost chance. He continued his pull as a dozen or so attacks centered around Ren and he pulled some of his power away to defend. He wasn't sure what happened but he drew some of Ren's flesh and his mana went haywire trying to charge and defend.

Ertan snuck. Tku let loose. Joliin drew. Zarina charged. And then...

It was a reverberation through space and time. Zarina might've felt it had she not been so dagger-focused on Mahal. Ren might've noticed, had he not been preparing something to make Marhazannet blush. Tku felt it, however, but he did not yet know what to make of it. In any case, there was only one thing left for him to do anyhow: follow through.

Reality shredded right in front of Zarina and a colossus of a man appeared in her path. With a mighty bestial roar, he grabbed her onrushing form and swung her in a half-moon arc, slamming her into the ground with boneshattering force. He kept his grip on her ankle as she began to quickly rise, and then he slammed her again, accelerating her with absurd amounts of kinetic force. She recovered midway, slashing at his immense form with her sword and opening his belly up, but it almost didn't seem to matter. He got her in a headlock, even as her sharpened elbow dug into his side repeatedly. His massive arms flexed and her neck snapped and he dropped her there, limp and broken.

He withdrew, from a crude sheath across his back, an enormous butcher's blade and turned about. Steam rose from the eyes and mouth of an eerie yellow mask with a rictus grin, and from the gaping wound in his stomach. The hulking figure's chest heaved and wild brown hair stuck out from edges of his mask like some kind of fell sun. Most did not know this new monster but, perhaps, one or two of them had an inkling.

He was Volto Giallo: Sorriso.

It had to be done. There was no other way to escalate things. The only way to-

The tempest came under the form of a brutish monster of a man. One that effortlessly stifled Zarina's efforts to make a decisive blow to the enemy. One that ragdolled her in spite of her vicious protests and attempts at gutting the masked beast. It ended with the dragon helplessly grasping for an escape. The thing never relented.

Crack.

Every muscle loosened. The horned warrior fell to the floor, cheek first.

Nilay watched it all unfold, just as helpless as the creature that was being manhandled until the very end by this abomination. What could she even do about this? This THING was even worse than the fiend that had taken Fedouah. So, so much worse.

All she could do was remain shrouded, approach her fallen comrade, and confirm what she feared the most. Was there a pulse? A flicker of light?

Their plan had both succeeded and failed almost simultaneously.

Faiskal's plan was working, he was so close that he could finally complete the mission. . . even with a former enemy turning against his vile ally. All the pieces for his victory were in motion.

Then that thing! It appeared out of nowhere and used Zarina like a toy. Memories flooded back in the boy's mind. "No, no. . . no no no no no. Not him." His entire plan, everything that he set in motion. It felt like it was all falling apart. This feral monster should not be here! He was not told he would be here!

Was this part of the plan? Was he supposed to fail?

Fiske's hand shook, his eyes focussed on it. The hands were too pale, his illusion was faltering under the mental pressure. That could not happen! He could not falter now, not even when this demon of a man. . was here.

Watching the battle unfold, Raffie had begun to wonder why they needed Ren to achieve victory. This was it—the rebellion's hidden ace. This was the monster they needed Ren to slay, ideally to trade his life for that of this abomination. The word from the Viceroy was all she needed for a signal—but before she could think of who to target first, her priority was Zarina, lying in a heap on the ground. An unseen ally was healing her—probably an allied tethered—but she was not making nearly enough progress for Raffie's liking.

"MEND," she commanded, reaching out with the power she had only just begun to learn.

It was very much beyond Nilay's skills to address such a grievous wound. She did her best with the bone, but the nerves were a different beast entirely. Too much of her concentration was dedicated to the heal that her shroud faltered until she was left fully exposed to the world. It wasn't enough, though.

But then came an intervention, seeming to be of divine providence, as it came in the form of a singular, spoken word. Nilay's - the very woman who had assaulted Raffaella moments ago - eyes met with the healer's. All she could do was nod.

From barely conscious to revitalized with a vengeance, the restored dragon slammed her fist onto the dirt and forced herself back up with Nilay's assistance.

“He's worse than the other one. Much worse.” determined Zarina as she extended her hand to her side.

“What's the plan, then?” inquired Nilay, hand back into her cloak and eager to return into the realm of the unseen.

“Still the same. We got our best here for a reason.” the Hocho 99 snapped into her hand. “Don't get caught.”

The horned warrior than regarded Raffie from afar. No words, merely her blade being pointed right at the rugged masked horror that had very nearly killed her. This was their endgame. They needed everything for this unholy creature.

Sorriso tilted his head as Zarina fell, regarding Ren but, before he could do anything, There were dozens of attacks convering on the Virangishman. Sorriso disappeared from where he'd been standing and reappeared some yards away. Ren, busy charging his cataclysmic spell, strained to discern which - if any - were illusions, and that left him open to Tku's blood magic. He yelped and leapt back, the stored energy erupting violently and throwing him free. He sailed through the air, backflipped, and landed in a crouch, spitting and wiping a bloodied nose with the back of his sleeve. "Joliin!!!" he bellowed, "You useless knife-ear, where are you!? Your master requires your services!"

Meanwhile, Zarina's situation had improved, for Sorriso had failed to actually finish her and Raffaella and Nilay had come to her aid. Mahal had given up her chance to finish the job and decided to save Kidlat instead. She was, at present, making headway on that front.

The Yellow Volto turned and glanced over his shoulder at Tku, letting out a snort. "Good work, Sakengan." He twisted back and heaved his massive blade up until it was resting on his shoulder. "Not done yet, though, and the bitch is gonna be back." He raised his chin in her general direction.

Tku's eye twitched, "I'm Obenjan."

"Oh, sorry, kid," grunted Sorriso, and there seemed to be some genuine sympathy in his voice. He reached out and squeezed Tku on the shoulder. "Eskandish here. Used to being dumped on."

"It's fine, the dirt lamb from your lands is very under valued." He offered what he knew and could eat. Dairy and cheese were... unagreeable. Tku drew in more dark and opened a hole for the Eskandish warrior to drink from.

Then, the hulking brute turned to Ren. "Hey you, shithead!" he called. "Quick an' painless or slow an' painful?"

The bitch was indeed back.

“Give me a pick-me-up.” Zarina asked of Nilay, and the assassin obliged with a blessing of vigor. An overgrowth of scales enveloped the dragon's form, filling her bestial vitality and resilience.

It was time. Ren's presence was ever the malignant nuisance, but she made due. Now she knew who her enemy was. Crouching and launching herself toward the beast of a Volti, she sought to bisect the man with her oversized bustersword.

“What about you, big man?!”

Sorriso said no more. He merely took in, greedily, what he could from the VOID... but then it dried up. It trailed off and he could not take more. Ren appeared beside him, sword in hand, slashing for the behemoth, and Sorriso stepped to the side with uncanny speed, raised his fist, and punched the blade aside. It flew out of Ren's hand and the Virangishman was spun around and staggered. "You ever even train with that thing?" the Volto taunted, but then there was one who had trained with a blade for certain.

Zarina's initial attempt was deftly sidestepped and parried, but she was not easily countered.

Sorriso rocketed away into the air, where the two might not corner him as easily, and he began drawing for a gargantuan counterattack. Meanwhile, Mahal, Tku, Raffie, Fiske, and a newly-recovered Kidlat were left below to collect themselves and see how they might be able to make a difference.

Ren was just about to do it. His entire focus was singlehandedly on Sorriso. He had bullied his way into the giant's mind and was flooding it with chemical imbalances when he felt the first stab. A half-dozen tiny razor-sharp splinters of... something plowed through him, leaving punctures and growing spots of blood where he floated, midair. He burnt the rest away, but it was... not good. Careless. He coughed up blood and, as he looked down to regard where it speckled his hand, he noticed that that hand was trembling.

Was it rage? Was it fear?

Or Both? He left Zarina to play with Sorriso and he reached out towards Tku with murder on his mind.

Zarina couldn't quite believe it. Ren was their best bet to take down any sort of trump card the enemy side could reveal should she work with him. And yet here he was, hurt, shivering and eventually disengaging to leave the dragon alone with the butcher.

“Un-fucking-believable.” she growled under her breath.

But she was committed. Her less dominant hand brushed through the flat surface of her blade, coating it with invisible coldfire before readying it. No temporal magic, no tricks. Only sheer brutality, evidenced by the downward slash she dedicated to the Volti, one that'd unleash a shockwave of unseen flames. This man was undeniably stronger, but she also had allies as well as a big fucking sword for big fucking monsters.

These fools thought that he was another Yvain or Jomurr, or run of the mill arrogant noble-blooded prat. It was their mistake. With a smug sneer, Ren Baykara laid one hand upon his chest and, with a grunt, pulled the blades out. Curse of the Wolf. Quaint. A brief purification with heat and then Ön-Oraf came to him as commanded. His wounds closed and his visage settled and all was well once more.

Zarina was, that very moment, slashing for the fat man, trying to kill him. She would fail. Ren could see it. Sorriso was far too strong to be a mere mortal and the thought of that made his blood pump. He was close to such levels of power. This man was a half-step below mortal Gods like Hugo Hunghorasz himself. I will defeat you and take your place, he promised himself. Then, he reached out with all of his capacity and stopped Sorriso's elegant parry mid-action.

Zarina's slash struck true.

What should have been a clash of strength with the burly masked freak coming on top ended with Zarina's blade digging into his shoulder and cleaning bisecting the man down to his thigh. It was swift with the interior completely cauterized by the coldfire, making it essentially the cleanest cut she had ever had to make.

The Volto, now split in two, fell apart in two simultaneous thuds and a clanging of his rusty cleaver.

The fat man was dead, his completely shut and still visible half-lungs visible. A quick execution, just as she had hoped. She did not want to have to drag another fight with these masked fiends. With a deep inhale, Zarina lifted her blade and let it lean over her shoulder. There was still work to do, namely the interloper that caused so much trouble to the inquisitors, and of course, those she called her 'friends.'

She'd done it. The monster was cleaved in two with such seeming ease that it beggared belief. Raffie's eyes went wide with shock and a little bit of fear, but, she quickly recovered. She looked Zarina's way with a lot of admiration and a little regret. Sorry, Zazzy, but this has to happen. Virang needs this. I need this. We need this.

Unseen, she struggled with this strange manner of magic that existed only on the periphery of her ability, but finally, after several failed attempts, she got it to take. "REVOKE," she commanded, reaching towards Ren from behind cover, a devious smile on her lips.

Ren did not know it, but there he was: as vulnerable as a one RAS peasant. The problem was that nobody else except for a secret ally of - perhaps - convenience knew either.

They all had witnessed the mighty Sorriso fall, and things appeared nothing short of 'grim'. Zarina turned her gaze towards them. Ren did no such thing. With an immediate fury, he came hurtling for these nothings that had caused people to question him, that had caused him to question himself and his golden destiny.

Would Zarina join him in the attack or stand aside and allow the others to sort matters out amongst themselves? They had, in fact, precious little time to wonder or worry about that. Death was coming for them. Every bit of cavalier cruelty had disappeared from Ren's bearing and he was rabid. He fixed his eyes upon Tku and the Obenjan prepared to either defend himself or meet his maker. Whatever would be would be.

<Draw. From. Him.> The tethered only had time to send it to Tku, and it was brief. It relied upon the trust they had built over a year of knowing each other, and that would have to do. <Draw. Tku.>

To do so, however, he would need to leave himself completely vulnerable. To do so substantially, he would need a few more seconds, and someone would need to buy him those.

Mahal stared in disbelief as the Volto was sliced in half. A sick, twist of despair clung to her insides. At this point it had started to overwhelm her and added to the direness of the situation. She had little time to wallow in that when Ren turned his attention on Tku. The monster then levated right at the man.

Not willing to lose anyone else in this fight, she looked to the ground. A few scattered cannonballs caught her attention. She stretched out her gift with magnetism. The balls vibrated and lifted, held by unseen hands. Gritting her teeth, she whipped her hands forward. They shot in sync toward the incoming man.

Please... Please let this work. Mahal drawn her blades. Her eyes settled on where she knew the liver to be. Just in case the cannonballs didn't work.

Ren was not thinking strategically. Perhaps, were not all of his allies terrified of telling him something he did not wish to hear, they might've set him straight. However, nobody dared, and so he hurtled in towards Tku with murderous intent and little attention paid to his own safety.

A cannonball flew at him and he paid it little heed. It burned up in the intense chemical flames burning around his person.

Then came a second, and he took a moment to blast it away.

But there was a third and, in blasting it, he sent white-hot grapeshot spraying in a cone in his direction. It was no threat, or it wouldn't have been had Tku not been receiving a message, that very moment, that might spell Ren's doom. It took him about two seconds to deal the vicious shrapnel and Tku had to backpedal with all of the kinetic energy he could muster to avoid the Virangishman's furious charge.

Had Ren started to feel an itch on the back of his neck? It was no matter. He was mere yards from Tku and drawing a fantastic amount of energy. The Obenjan was about to be obliterated.

A fourth cannonball came in late and burst into a dozen numpets, each an organic poison-coated morningstar. Ren blasted four of the living projectiles and had no choice but to arc away from the others. He was burning. His throat was pinching and dry and now his chin and chest itched furiously. Was this idiot trying to draw from him!?

In a moment, Tku Pictor would be blasted into splinters of bone and shreds of skin and flesh. His feeble attempts would amount to nothing. Ren was favoured of the Gods and the sultan. Ren had first convinced cautious old Osman to tread this path. At every crucial juncture, Ren had made certain that this war would escalate. Ren, himself, had set this battle into motion. It was the true start of his legend: one that would resound through the ages alongside that of Hugo Hunghorasz - No! It would stand above even that of the paradigm in due time.

He reached out with an incandescent hand, yet still unburnt. He reached for the Mezegolese's neck, to crush it and remove the head of this troublesome little man once and for all.

A ways away, in the brush at the edge of a forest, a girl who had suffered mightily under the yoke of Ren and those like him watched her projectiles take flight and do what they needed to do. She had done her part and bought her ally the time that he needed. Another, who had met him a few months ago, who loved him, had sent one more. They both watched with bated breath. This was it. It all came down to this.

3...

2...

1...

The giant sword still steamed from the unseen flames that gnaws at whatever matter, dirt of flesh had managed to get stuck on its surface. Zarina very nearly dropped the weapon, settling for little it drag right by her as she stared at the corpse she had just created. The fact that it didn't bleed still didn't feel right - perhaps she had gone too far with the spell or the method of execution.

There was no point to dwell on it, that's what she thought.

Ren was fighting an entire war on his own. He could kill all these people, the fact that he hadn't was mildly surprising. At least until the dragon realized Raffaella was indeed pushing back against him and Nilay's brief absence had good cause. The beguiling little thing was going to be the downfall of the man chosen by the Gods. The idea made Zarina chuckle dryly.

“He's going to die.” the young dragon remarked with a voice loud enough to be captured by her unseen shadow. There was only apathy in Zarina's eyes as she witnessed the events unfold.

Nilay briefly emerged out of concealment. “The battle's not over.” but the moment she stepped forward, Zarina stopped her with her idle hand.

“I'm injured.” claimed the swordswoman. Her hand had indeed evidence of first and second degree burns, likely from overdoing it with the coldfire. “I need to be healed, or we may lose both our strong mages.” there was no inflection in her voice or slip in her intonation. She just flicked her wrist to bring attention back to it.

Nilay pursed her lips, clearly conflicted, but obliged. They both watched.

Ren's hand closed in on Tku, even as the skin began to peel away from his neck and shoulders. He was mere inches away. It was not enough. The rebels were too slow. It was too late. He would kill the brave blood mage and heal himself and it would all be for naught. As he watched, Kidlat's eyes widened. He couldn't do anything - not in this short amount of time, no matter how long it seemed to stretch. He couldn't look either. He began to coax Bonadeuce to take off. They would need him.

"Fuck," Tku cursed as he saw the Eskandr go down. Ren, Zarina, Kishani, the soldiers surrounding him. It was over for Tku and Mahal. He readied himself for a suicide technique, turning himself into a thresher poison bomb and exploding it to gas the field. One last memory for White Empress.

But that is when he got the message from Marci, a friend who left, came back, left again, and then returned for what would likely be the final battle. He would draw with all he could. His body was stressed and bruised from the constant use of blood and binding. His manas had swelled and slowed from drawing from the void. But he would keep going. He had to.

He was finding grip on his body, he wasn't resisting as much as before. What had happened for this to happen? His mind momentarily panicked, no one fighting for freedom had the magic to oppress him like this. He shook his anxiety off, this was an opportunity. He blasted backwards, with what he could. He centered his draw on the back of his neck. Sever, no, even damage it and Ren would fall like an invalid.

Ren came at him with all the might he could manage, and it would be enough. Death was his greatest skill. Tku could see his life slipping as Ren closed in, but then cannonballs slammed into his aura of fire. It slowed him. A lowly numpet, lost in the battlefield, was hurled at his groin with cruel intent, and Ren released on it. Tku had the time, he could feel his progress, or so he thought.

Ren's constant blazing aura sucked into his body and his body ignited with speed. It was a magic Tku was unwise to. He was upon Tku's person before the magic could cut into his cervical. He grinned and his energy swelled. Tku nearly fell, but he kept drawing. Maybe he could open something up for someone after his demise.

Ren was practically on Tku. His face was wicked and murderous. Tku was not to succeed. But something odd happened. His speed and movement stopped. He fell into the mud, face first. His body strained against whatever took him, but it was too late.

Tku finished his draw, he could see this exposed spinal cord. It was gushing as the pressure released. It wouldn't be long until Ren passed to whatever hell or heaven he would be granted. "This is your end, lying in the mud, gargling on your own spit. For once, I take pleasure in your pain. In your death. I know you think that at least one heaven is waiting for you, but I will deny you even that."

Tku reached once more into the dying man's nest. All his beautiful gifts given were all nothing to a dying man. They would all mean nothing wherever he went. Except for one. He didn't know for sure but Tku would be damned if he let him pass on with entry from Dami. He plucked it once more, not for its power but to revoke it from Ren.

"Rest in hell," Tku stabbed a spear through his neck.

The corpse of a cataclysm in the shape of a man laid there. Experiencing such a brutal end was befitting of his sins, but it still caused Fiske to flinch. He assisted in the murder of the man he blamed everything on, but he felt no satisfaction. How could that yellow masked bastard experience such joy all the time? Was it because the kills were solely his?

Closing in on the almost legendary man from Zagromo who loomed over the body. "I will not fight you." His voice familiar, yet the face was not. . It seems that one small section of his disguise was overlooked during his short panic from the fat bastard's entrance. Once at the corpse, he pulled his tool out. "Ren Baykara is dead. May Ön-Öjeran soon get her well deserved rest, after guiding him to his deserved torment." The innocent brothers and sisters' souls may finally settle down in their heavens.

He regarded Tku before planning to leave. "May Oraf-Şep keep you longer than him." The disguised traitor began to leave the murder scene.

His body was already mending itself back together, his armor reconstituted with the scales left of White Empress. The Virangish soldiers approach went half unnoticed. Tku was unworried of them because he was much more worried of Zarina. But that voice snapped him out of it.

He knew that voice. That courageous, cowardice voice and his binding only confirmed it. He had betrayed the rebels and caused terrible death. He may have been treachery incarnate to Tku. But he had also helped here, and with Karga, and with the idasque, and played the queen expertly. Why my friend! Did you betray the rebels because it grew too bloodied? Did you find us untrustworthy to talk to. You treacherous bastard.

His mana rose and then settled. Had Tku not betrayed others when he argued for Zarina to be saved. Tku felt the cost of his actions when he had administered milk of the poppy to dozens of soldiers he couldn't save after her rampage. Fiske was a problem, yes, but here and now doesn't help the revolution.

"And may Ipte fix your voice," Tku spoke quietly before turning to Zarina.

When Tku struck down Ren, Mahal released the captive breath from within her chest. They did it. The reality seemed surreal as one of the most powerful mages died. Mahal's eyes flickered to the yawa. Not a claw had been lifted to help her ally. Why? It didn't matter. It wouldn't be long before the beast started to pick them off.

She needed to regroup with Tku quickly. Together, they might at least do something. At least, she hoped.

There had been three-hundred-sixteen attempts, so far, to kill Dani. He was nearly as humbled as he was afraid. He had some of the Gift, but he was no blueblood. He was no academy student. They'd have succeeded were it not for the half-dozen people stalwartly defending him.

This was how it would be from now on, he had come to realize. To be a leader in troubled times was to be chased, always, by the jibbet, ever by the sword or the dagger. His focus was on the tactical map before him, spread across a table in the great room of a farmhouse that the army had taken for its command post. Messages came in and out and he had people to filter those for him. Only the most important reached his attention and, considering it, as he sent out an order for the left flank to be reinforced with some of the local volunteers, he could not help but feel a sense of loss.

One brings bounty to more when he steers a great ship, but he must steer it slowly, and the small village is often missed. He could still picture his grandfather, that venerable old fisherman who had saved enough to send his promising son to school and have him graduate a scribe, sitting in front of his house on a rocker, straw hat on his brow and smoke curling from his pipe.

The sleeper dragon was back in the air, despite Marceline's and Keearah's efforts to take it down. "Do we have more tethered?" he demanded, but they were scrambling as it was.

"Would've been easier with Dalisay," grunted an older man who stood near the room's corner, moving figures about on the board. He did not look up and Dani did not look back. "We'll retrieve her from Sabu once we win," he replied, busying himself with a report of Jack coming in, wounded. He had neutralized the cavalry charge and survived, and that was what they had needed of him. King was still missing in action and, if he had gone down, it was a blow. Smiler was down as well.

"That dragon and Balik would both be dead if we'd done it earlier," insisted the old man. "The girl was innocent and you know it."

Dani did not have time for this. He sympathized - truly, he did - but there were a dozen other matters to attend to and she was, all things considered, relatively safe in a prison in the city. "They did not, though." He whirled on Gani. "Okay? There were people in the rank and file who'd have killed her and others who'd have killed for her, and..." He trailed off. There was a pinching on his earlobe, trying to get his attention. It will draw the real traitor out. He dared not say it in this room, though.

Then, the message bullied its way through and, amid all of the other generally-grim news, it was a halo: <Ren. Baykara. Confirmed. Killed.>

For the first time since morning, Dani felt as if they might actually be able to do this. Ren Baykara: dead. He posted his hands on the table, shook his head, and smiled with an unbridled relief. <Thank. You. Marceline.> He pinched his ear back. <Who.>

<Tku. Mahal. Fiske. Keearah. Raffie.>

He nodded and thanked her again. Straightening, he raised his voice. "Attention, everyone!" A dozen heads turned his way. "Ren Baykara has been killed."

Two minutes later, Dani stepped out to have a smoke and a breather. It was headed towards sunset now, overcast and drizzly and moody. The battlefield stunk of ash, gunsmoke, and burnt flesh. Lifting his pipe to his lips with hands he was surprised to find were shaky, he tried not to dwell on it. Then, there was further good news from his little Kerreman angel and he lifted his face up to the heavens and let out a bark of thankful laughter. <Smiler. Is. Back. In. The. Fight.>

Having successfully conspired to use enemies of Virang to dispose of Ren, the battle of the Plains of Fortuna seems to be progressing smoothly for Zarina and Raffie, until a terrible foe only Ren could defeat rises from the dead in front of their eyes. Their hasty plan has gone sideways; have they snatched defeat from the jaws of victory?

Palapar 5: The Rise of Sorriso

Zarina was unflinching. She had imagined a thousand different ways Ren would die. At least once every night, ever since her mother had planted the idea. Most of them were peaceful death, for she bore little ill will in spite of his attitude and reputation. In fact, she had imagined the deed before most of those implicated had truly decided to finish him. It was only on the battlefield, the here and now, that her hatred for this man had spiked comparably or even beyond the man's worst enemies. The moment he drew his blade on his own people, it was decided that he would never accomplish what he was meant to.

Ren had fulfilled his role, and now he was gone. Life continued and so did the battle. She had almost forgotten that after minutes of avoidance from the enemy side's infantry. They were reasonably scared of her. And now there were more reasons to fear her as she took a deep breath. Her lungs filled with the stench of war and her manas gorged themselves in the sweet milk of time itself.

“Well,” and then a deep exhale. “back to it.”

The Hocho 99 was dragged through the dirt and muck with every step forward she took, closing a small bit of the distance separating her from the man with the confrontational eyes. Tku stared down the dragon, and it stared back. The apathetic mask was back after a brief lapse to express relief.

“Is th-”

Zarina's heart beat hard enough to make her immature scales vibrate. The familiar feeling of forgetfulness with the instinct of being prey to something far great hit her. She did not have eyes behind her head nor did she have time to sense after having drawn already. She felt exactly like most felt when she was close. Utterfly mortified.

The battlefield was ten thousand different things happening at once, some consequential, some less so. It was not always easy to tell which was which, but there came, every once in a while, something that made the distinction unavoidable. Devasa, the Behemoth of Garungul, took to the skies with a new rider in her saddle. The gargantuan sleeper dragon cast a shadow so great that it seemed to cover entire battalions at a time, but this paled in comparison to her flames. Common and mage alike, they boiled alive in their armour as she swept past, a pillar of fire racing across the Palaparese back lines, arcing towards their command.

Kidlat, seeing this, coaxed Bonadeuce into the sky, though the creature's fear of a much larger beast was palpable. "We need kill she!" he shouted, "or we lost. Who gonna come wip me?"

The blast took Zarina from behind just as she was turning, and it melted half of her armour, scalded her scales so that they chipped and embrittled, and hurled her into the ground like a ragdoll. When the dust settled, Sorriso stood before her. His clothes were tattered where she had sliced him in two, but he was whole and, from his throat came an awful maniacal laugh.

"Guess who's back, dragon cunt?" He swung his cleaver at her with murderous intent.

Zarina took the blast head-on, which was better than back-on. Or whatever a back hit would be called. Burnt and rattled, the dragon wielded her sword with both shaking hands. The monster was coming, a real monster, and they no longer had a Ren to fall back to. This was a nightmare. No good deed goes unpunished, as they say.

“The floor looked good on you.” she retorted, indulging in the banter so many others seemed to enjoy during a fight. “Next time I'll make sure you stay down.” she promised the obese freak before charging in, this time making full use of her temporal magic to leverage any sort of advantage, and aiming to chop off his head.

There's no way... Raffie's gaze snapped to Zarina and the maniac. Her hand trembled. Had she just doomed... she couldn't waste time thinking about it—who or what was at stake or if it was planned by the rebels or not. She had no time to risk on her unreliable grasp of commands. Zarina needed a boost, and yesterday. "Blessing of Strength," she whispered, raising her wand immediately.

A lone man draped in dark clothing and carrying a man sized item upon his back walked through a battlefield of countless people. Many of them moving and strafing out of the way of him. Not that they made way for him, it was more a subconscious movement that made them shift and move. Similar to if dodging a small hole they could trip on out of instinct and forgetting about it a moment later.

The man walked and sighed to himself as he began to watch the giants face off once more. The man shifted his shoulders as he sat back, setting down the giant wrapped cylandier that was strapped to his back. He didn't think he would pull this out, yet it proved that she had a terrible amount of power.

The man shifted the object off of himself, turning and ripping the cloth off, revealing a strange cannon. One that was around as big as a field cannon, yet was built strangely. It had no carriage mountings and seemed to be carved and shaped with grooves and a wooden mounting. Near the front was a metal post near the front of the barrel. The man lugged it onto his shoulder as he set the wooden mounting onto his shoulder, allowing the cannon to fit nicely upon himself as he took hold of the metal post that allowed him to stabilize the cannon and aim it more easily. It was a weapon made for a man, yet one that nor mortal one could wield.

The man began to shift back into a kneeling position. Taking his other hand and reaching beside himself, lifting up a mask as he performed magic to place it upon himself. His clothing began to shift and change. Hardening as it seemed that the once flowing clothing wrapped and bulged into armor. The man took a moment and lifted the cannon fully up. Taking aim upon the two combatants, his eyes scanned the area.

It was not time to attack yet, the man was biding his time. He pulled upon the energy gravity was putting upon the cannon on his shoulder and used it to enhance the Smiler's swing. Enhancing his muscles with chemical magic while staying hidden with his own.

The blade swept towards the barbarian's head and it looked as if Zarina would catch him cold. He did not so much as move. He did not try to block the strike. He did not try to parry it.

The muscles in the back of his neck and shoulders bulged and, faster than one could blink, the giant stepped forward, twisting at the last second to...

It all happened too fast. Had he bitten the sword? The next thing that anybody knew, it was wrenched from Zarina's hands and twirling end over end through the air. It landed some ways away, embedded in the ground. One could not see Sorriso's mouth clearly, but one could hear a slurping lick from behind the mask. The corners of its mouth spidered outwards with cracks as the monstrous man took a couple of steps. He leaned over and spat, and there was a hint of blood in it. "Hmph," he snorted. "Tastes like inexperience and desperation."

He ran the back of his sleeve over his mask's great toothy rictus grin. "Sure you were the one who beat up Triste?"

He could sense Volto Blu not far away. That guy was an ideologue and a radical, but he knew his weapons and he liked to use them. Maybe they could have a bit of fun...

Did he just grab the sword with his mouth?!

Zarina couldn't believe it. Truly a complete blunder to have sacrificed Ren so early. They could have just kept it in-house, get enough of her associates to do the deed. But here she was, with only Raffaella feeding her just enough to keep up with the monster's most basic of movements.

The momentum she needed for the swing remained on her form, yanking her off the grip she had on the buster sword and forcing the dragon to recover a good twenty meters away or so.

“I'm surprised they didn't send that creep.” uttered the panting wildblood, the intensity of the situation getting to her quickly.

The girl with the charred clothing and half her chest exposed first attempted to tug at her sword, but the energy needed when the smiler could attack at any moment was far too risky. She locked her eyes on his knee and, the moment she noticed movement, caused an air bubble to burst the entire bone structure and offer a potential opening.

Fiske's mind began to race, why would Nero give him such a task? Why did he have him experience and live among both sides, to humanize the inevitable enemy that had to be slaughtered like cattle. They were people too, misguided people but people nonetheless! Ertan was a horrid man in the eyes of Palaparese, but he was a charming man with a good heart. His stories were always a highlight within the palace.

Wait. . .

The chaos within the quixotic teen stopped. In it's place was one singular answer to his many questions.

He knew.

His blood boiled, his hands shook.

HE KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN!!!

This was not an emotion similar to the one he felt against the Virangish Hugonist. No, that was righteous anger. This, this was worse.

Were all of them in the know? His eyes travelled to the yellow masked demon who was toying with the draconic woman whom he knew hated him. He would know! He would, he would have! The betrayed traitor rushed towards the scene with murderous intent. Only being concealed by shoddily maintained disguise. His knives would taste this boar's blood when this was done.

Fiske did not wish to kill this man out of his obligation or mission, nor to satiate his own moral compass.

This time, his intent was born from hate.

It was within a moment, Sorriso was assaulted from multiple angles. From the front was Zarina who seemed to have now aimed with a plan, while from an off angle came a feral dog. One bearing fangs that seem all too ready to kill.

Black King's eyes flicked between the two for but a moment, before a chemical reaction that was building exploded off like a thunder crack. Black King focused all the energy he was pulling from the cannon and around the battlefield into firing off the beast of a weapon.

Countless magics folded in on the weapon, magics winding and unwinding within the cannon as a roar of thunder made Black King known in that moment. A large conical projectile willed itself forward with deadly intent, aiming to smash itself into Zarina.

The moment the cannon fired, Black King flickered into existence for a moment before he began to reenact his magics to hide himself once more. Preparing to leave where he had just fired before magics were to bombard him.

Sorriso grunted for a moment, but such was the thickness of his bones and his ability to heal that he wobbled for a mere second and lurched forward, and then rapidly pushed off to the side.

Zarina, trying to take advantage of the brief opening, found herself facing another Volto: Soldato instead, though he was nigh impossible to sense. His projectile only gave itself away at the last second possible, and her incomplete defense proved too little, too late. Blasted backwards, the Virangishwoman was sent tumbling away.

Meanwhile, another rushed in furiously to take advantage of the opening she had created. Sorriso snarled and swiped at his sore knee and, suddenly, the sky erupted with a thousand tiny explosions and their vicious shockwaves all around him: faceless thunder. The assassin who may or may not have been Fiske found himself pummeled and tripped up by them as he came into range.

Volto Giallo towered before him, raising his mighty butcher's blade high over his head, and brought it down towards his opponent. "Why do I smell... rat!? he guffawed.

Zarina's focus was entirely on Sorisso, or rather his leg. She wanted to pop that knee-cap like it was a pimple and surely she would have had some result had there not been an unseen interloper taking a gargantuan shot at her. Without her sword and out in the open, she had precious little time to react to this particularly well-aimed shot.

BOOM!

The dragon didn't just get pushed back, she barreled. Many of her exposed flesh was burnt and healed at an agonizingly slow rate. Even Raffaella's intervention did little to stifle the constant beating she was taking. Panting and growing frustrated, Zarina shouted.

“Nilay, find him!”

She ordered, drawing upon the spatial threads she could perceive. Her huntress, Nilay the assassin, used the same technique as the mage hunters and was no less capable in finding them too. But not a trace could be found. None until distortions in the very fabric of space, a thing only Zarina could do among the two, could assess fast enough. Compress Space was her kneejerk reaction to the first sign of such an anomaly and yet nothing. Her scaly palm and sharpened claws grasped nothing but air.

Confusion hit the rat as the explosions tripped him up. What happened in the span of seconds? Zarina was out of his rather blurred vision and Volto Giallo, most commonly known as the 'muncher' loomed over him. The man had suffered multiple killing blows and yet he stands, with only his clothing taking the damage.

The boy had gained great boons from his reincarnation, yet one thing that became more apparent by the day was his reaction time. His senses were not like they used to before, his mind could no longer visualize the near-future. It all made him just a tiny bit more sluggish than before his death.

It became most noticeable to him when that tool of slaughter was brought down upon him. If it was the Fiske from months passed, he could dodge it, perhaps even take advantage of the opening, but the current Fiske could not.

With barely any time to think, he telekinetically flung himself to the side to at least avoid the swing. Eyes widened as the closeness of the edge to his face would make any who did not have a death wish flinch.

Immortal freak! . . . Just die already!

He hyperventilated, the stimuli from his current, most-pressing desire mixed with outwardly influences sent him into a frenzy.

"Because you smell your own upper lip, you fat deadhead!"

The undying one against the one risen from death.

While Fiske taunted, Sorriso thrust a boot at him and clipped him on the shoulder. The youth reeled backwards, stumbling, but he was in enough of a rage that he rebounded quickly. "Next time, I kick you in the mouth." Further explosions issued around him, making a direct approach next to impossible.

The giant balled up his fists, then, and there was a titanic surge of energy. Suddenly, from the two of them, grew long hazy blades of golden-green light, radiating intense waves of heat into the air around them. The Volto darted forward, straight for Fiske or, at least, he appeared to.

The giant was becoming an ever-evolving monster in his eyes. Every time he thought that he knew all he was, that fat fuck seemed to trump ever single attempt to assess him.

"No next time." He had underestimated the magic knowledge this man had. Who could have known that an Eskandishman had the brains to use atomic magic!

If he were to beat this demon, he would have to use one of his trump cards himself. Something only a couple other people know. He ran towards the Volto, ready to phase out of reality to stab him in the back of the neck, perhaps he could kill him when he's down.

Sorriso seemed distracted by the sudden swoop of a dragon overhead and, paired with Fiske's sudden disappearance, he could be seen sweeping frantically about, having lost track of his target.

Emerging from greyspace right on top of one's victim was as much art as science, and inexact in either case. Yet, Fiske managed it with near-perfection, materializing above and behind the behemoth and shoving his knife deep into the back of the man's neck.

Sorriso collapsed with a garbled cry, Fiske landing right on top of him, but that strike... it hadn't felt quite right. That had not been human flesh and, as they landed, it was clear to the young illusionist that he, in fact, had been fooled. He had less than a second to react as a gargantuan pillar of fire descended on him from above, vaporizing grass, mud, and debris instantly and turning the ground to glass.

"Ha haaaa!" Sorriso crowed, his true form appearing some ways away even before the smoke and steam cleared, "You're a speedy lil' rodent, but not very smart." He lurched forward a step, apparently an illusionist as well.

“Still can't see him?!” shouted Zarina, still grasping at nothing as if the mere fact that she had missed was an impossibility. How she wished she had his neck turn apart in her hand right now. War was getting to her, lives became inconveniences rather than things to preserve.

“Negatory, I don't even see a trace of him.” Nilay stayed close to her associate, but not too close. These rockets were not so easily shrugged off by those without scales.

Still burnt and bruised, the dragon went mobile instead, leaving the assassin to stick to the shadows for safety rather than Zarina. “Let's make his job harder, then.” she did not just fly but teleported in rapid intervals for the sake of unpredictability while Nilay faded into the fog of war. So far, nothing from the hidden bombardier.

Somehow, whether it was precognition or immense luck, a rocket had been fired again, this time predicting where she was going to land. It was just as surprising as the first time when she wasn't even aware of an incoming bomb. Just as it was about to hit her, space collapsed itself between herself and an unknown point behind the rocket, causing the projectile to crush into itself and explode prematurely and further away than it would have been. A close call, and a likely hit had she not kept her finger on the space-trigger.

Again, another miss when she almost instantly retaliated where the rocket would have come from. And then, she found it: A depression in the threads of space and time. An anomaly that had slipped and was far too conspicuous to ignore. Space compressed itself once more, although this time she did not end up empty-handed - literally.

She did not hold his throat, however, but his weapon instead. By merely pressing her fingers on the cannon, she bent the entire foundation and essentially broke the contraption. It wasn't just brute force, but the very space around the object forced it to be as pliable as a semi-liquid.

The Black King was within arm's reach. Zarina stared him down. “No more running.” she decided with space beginning to compress around the man, starting with his mask.

---

It was a dud?! This bastard can- Fiske could not even finish his own thoughts as the pillar of fire engulfed the young rodent, his silhouette clear as day to the Volto. Screams echoed from it. His own anger and hubris led to his death.

One thing that would seem strange for the seasoned assassin is that the energy signature from the dying boy did not dissipate, it swelled. Bigger and bigger, barely recognizable from before.

"Aaaaargh-Hahahaha!"

The screams of the boy were turning to maniacal laughter. Did he go insane? Some at the last breath succumb to madness. But he could feel from his gut that this was different.

Yet soon after, it was gone. Any semblance from the boy, taken by the flames.

"Hehehe. . You're not the only one that's hard to kill, Lardass." A demonic presence presented itself behind the Eskandishman, his chuckling left any chance of a sneak attack with the trash.

"I do so enjoy a good roasted pig."
The creature's massive, grinning maw opened up and through it came a breath of immense flame. It was time for payback.

The cackling sinner had descended.

Volto Giallo did not even try to avoid the attack, and he found himself wreathed in flames. They whirled around him, being sucked up in a vortex, and the grinning yellow mask's mouth opened freakishly wide.
He turned and leapt back, his head looking like the flame of a candle before it went out. Smoke rolled off of him and, from behind his blackened mask, one could hear a slurping, crackling sound.

The thing that Fiske had turned into hadn't noticed amid all of the excitement at being let loose and the sheer fun of blasting something at point blank range with the flames of Ipté's Hell. Two perfect holes in... her!? abdomen from the Volto's light-blades.

They healed almost immediately, and the succubus arched an eyebrow. "If you wanted to impale me that badly..." She trailed off into a giggling maniacal laugh, for Fiske was now a demon of Ipté and she was... at once beautiful and terrifying. She cracked a long black thorny whip and strode forward. The huge brutish Volto took a moment to adjust his pants. "Hah!" he coughed, "I knew it!" Yet, if he was still outwardly joking and laughing, his energy had shifted. He was drawing in earnest now, serious about the fight.

---

"Who... says... I'm... running?" Black King grated, as the mask began to crack, and a warning sensation raced up behind Zarina's ears. Her muscles seized and her body locked up and it was painful. There was an extended pause.

<You. Will. Regret. Killing. Him.> came an urgent pinch message. <Trust. Me. Suunei. Please.> It was Marceline and she had caught Zarina cold. She still held her sister in a death-grip.

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, the Blue Volto quickly broke free and began to fade from perception.

Sweat poured down Raffie's forehead, stinging her eyes. She was maintaining stealth with arcane light-bending and brain chemical interference on any who came too close. To exercise a third school under these conditions took almost every ounce of the girl's concentration and ability, and tracking Zarina's moves took what little remained. Her attempts to directly intervene to free Zarina were sophomoric at best—it was just enough to stop the tethered's bloodwarping from snapping her friend's bones.

A semi-immobilized Zarina clenched her jaw. She did not respond with any sort of pinch or easily translated method for a tethered, but instead ranted outright. “Regret?!” she growled. “The guy-” said man had since vanished and her body was once again her's. “saw my face and still tried to KILL me. But I need to consider HIM as he hides behind a mask?!” she ripped her blade out of the ground and instantaneously appeared next to her tiny ally.

“How are you holding up?” she inquired, settling for a much needed, express-breather with Nilay joining them soon after. “Sorry about-” she up-nodded toward the shrugging assassin. “I still needed him for that fat fuck. And we still screwed that up.”

Raffie jolted and nearly lost her composure with a high-pitched yelp. Sweaty and breathless, she supposed there was no way she looked like she was holding up well. She cursed her tiny body. "Just—tell me next time that she's with you," she panted. Still, there was relief to know that Zarina saw her as an ally, even now. "I got that part, but what do we do if he's just gonna get back up every time?"

“I was hoping you wouldn't be here.” Zarina confessed, kneeled down slightly as she adjusted her now restores clothes, courtesy of Nilay. “But I'm relieved you are. Always saving my ass.” she reached out for her friend's hand for a brief squeeze.

An important discussion was engaged and it prompted the dragon to look up. Sorisso was fighting ... What was this? Fiske?! “He's not surpposed to-” she shook her head. “I'm jumping back in, but I had thought about it. I did that with one of the dragons - we just send the fatass on vacation.” pause, maybe for some dramatic effect. “To the other side of the world for a mindfuck.” she looked up again, but more so toward the horizon. “We just need him to stay still for a few seconds. In not too long, we might have an easier time, too.”

"I'm not supposed to be here," Raffie whispered conspiratorially, returning the hand squeeze. She didn't try very hard to hide it from Nilay. If Zarina trusted her, she would too. "Please wait! You're still badly hurt. I can make this work!" she pleaded, trying to convince herself as much as Zarina.

Zarina sighed, but without much hesitation, nodded. “You're the reason I'm not dead.” she held her kneeling position and let Raffie do her work. Though, in the midst of it, the dragon leaned in to whisper something whilst Nilay seemed unbothered by the secrecies - perhaps she was in on it too.

Black King was not, in fact, the strongest of mages. He was a magusjaeger, through and through, with stealth and mechanical firepower his main stocks in trade. The sun lay on the horizon and three moons were visible in the sky and his gambit to buy Sorriso time to deal with the nuisance that was Fiske had been about to pay off until the illusionist had revealed his - her!? trump card. Perhaps there was some irony to it all. He hadn't imagined the cowardly trickster would actually stand and fight but, every once in a while, one was surprised.

Volto Blu could stay and help fight, but his senior counterpart was both clearly outgunned and capable of taking supreme amounts of punishment with little consequence. A bigger gun was needed to even the playing field, and he recognized that it would fall to him to retrieve that gun. Oh how he so loved weapons!

First, however, there was an opportunity. As he disappeared, he pulled, from his satchel, a rolling bomb, and then a second and a third. Pulling on his strange magics to cover his deeds, he set these to light and set them rolling towards the Virangishwomen, throwing in enough kinetic play and arc that they couldn't be traced back to him.... not that he intended to stick around.

He knew who was needed here and, based on the cry of a distant dragon over by Tiger Hill, he was fairly certain that he knew where to find him.

Raffie listened to Zarina, smiled and nodded. "MEND," She commanded again, and Zarina was as good as new. "I must be your good luck charm, then. Word on the street is that I'm a saint," she joked, before whipping around to face another attack that was coming their way. If King thought Zarina was invulnerable, Raffie certainly was not. She reached out a hand and rocketed one explosive barrel away with a combination of magnetic and kinetic energy, and Zarina warped away another into a group of incoming rebels who, regardless of if they saw Raffie's back or not, would pay the price on account of Zarina watching it.

The third barrel, however, was only just stopped before it could explode, raining fiery shrapnel upon the Virangishwomen. Raffie turned away and ducked down, but not before taking a significant hit, one piece of debris cracking a rib while others left a burn on her left cheek and lacerations on her shoulder. She fell with a scream and winced in pain, but did not languish on the ground or cry. She stood up—painfully, but she was not a stranger to pain. She stood defiant. "I'm not leaving, Zazzy," she managed. "I'll be here when you win."

Zarina took yet another beating, this time explosive barrels. In the end, the pain was marginal and her concern was toward Raffaella. There was an instinct to protest and forcibly warp her friend somewhere safe. But, all things considered, the pink menace had been doing an overall better job than the dragon at surviving. With Marceline's message well received, she decided on what to do.

“Get yourself patched up first, that's an order.” the wildblood looked at the mess that was the battle between the succubus-Fiske and Sorriso. The latter was truly invincible. “We're executing the plan now. Our friend will help too. Down Dami's latrine is he going.” she stood and drew her sword. That thing was as tall as its already quite tall wielder. Absurd, really.

The Al-Nader had made a second decision. She hadn't tugged on the essence of time since her last serious training session with Jocasta. It was a sacred thing and to tarnish it with mortal hands was a sensitive matter. But life and its values were rife with conditions, and this affront to life itself had earned this brief transgression. Reject Time, everything slowed around her. Everything, including the very air.

<For. What. It's. Worth. Zazz. I. Told. Him. Too.> The message reached Zarina from Marceline. <He's. Just. A. Dick. Or. He. Thinks. You're. Invincible.>

Meanwhile, one who had seemed invincible - Sorriso - was proving anything but under a sustained onslaught from Reshanas, Mistress of Whip and Thorn. As quick as the Volto was, the tier five demon seemed, always a step ahead of him. When she ate a brutal elbow to the face, it came back bloody and poisoned and Sorriso took just as long to heal as she did.

An atomic slash took one of her horns. A cataclysm burnt him to a crisp. He grabbed her by the ankles and pummeled her into the ground. She kicked up and impaled him through the chin with a stiletto heel.

He missed at least twice cleanly, and her whip tore a chunk from his back. "Does it sting, little guy?" she taunted, even as he healed and hit her with a Mark of the Bull.

The succubus somersaulted out of the way: quick and limber and seemingly made of rubber. "Missed me!" she snickered, "But you're not the type to hit his mark often, are you!?" She broke out in laughter until a blizzard of razor sharp ice left her impaled in three places.

The chunks melted and she faded from view, and Sorriso started faceless thunder going. "Come on out, whore, and I'll show you-"

She appeared, kneeling before him, one of her horns right through his midsection. With a wicked twist, she wrenched her head to the side and tore clean through his flank. "Show, don't tell," she admonished. "Men who brag are usually compensating." Her grin was wide and maniacal as blood dripped from her horns.

Sorriso stumbled to the side and collapsed, wheezing and bleeding and she took a moment to examine her nails. How nice and sharp they were. Finished with the task, she strutted forward, ready to reach down and stick them into his eye sockets or something like that. She came to a stop, wagging a finger, and reached forward to do the deed.

A massive hand shot up and grabbed her by the wrist. It yanked her in and the grinning yellow mask's mouth yawned open. Its sharp metal teeth plowed into her face and ripped off her nose, gouged her eyes from their sockets, and tore her lips free. He smashed forward and sent the bloodied demon reeling. She collapsed in a shrieking heap and he exploded towards her crumpled form, his midsection still healing, his intestines visible, his cleaver raised high. "I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU, CUNT!!! I'LL RIP YOUR LIMBS OFF AND SKIN YOU AND WEAR YOU LIKE AN ESHIDAMNED COAT!"

It was a world of pain, even for a demon of such a caliber. She would heal, of course, but it was a lesson in overconfidence in the midst of a battle. It was also a reminder that another solution would be needed, for this man, it seemed, simply could not be killed...

In an instant, Zarina was behind the masked horror, sword readied and descending down into a simple yet effective chop. He couldn't move when temporarily 'dead', she remembered, and so pure, unadulterated Eshiran-Zept energy was warranted.

Then, Sorriso's eyes snapped right to Zarina as she brought her blade down to strike. They moved and so did he and... there was blood and the feel of her sword striking, but it did not bite deeply. He grinned as if in slow-motion and began drawing a truly absurd amount of energy.

Raffie blinked, and Zarina was gone before she could argue, not that she planned to. "Did she forget you could heal too?" she asked Nilay, then shrugged. "I need to slow down the big guy." She didn't give Nilay an order, but she didn't need to. Instead, she reached out and commanded: "REVOKE."

Hubris. Without even realizing it, Fiske had become a image mirroring the Grand Demon of Cruelty herself. A feeling like he was not really himself, or rather herself. A sensation that he had never truly felt, or could even comprehend right now. He was used to getting taken away with playing his role perfectly, but this, this was different.

The healing demoness' hand hovered over her mauled face. The fact that she was still standing would send most rank-and-file warriors fleeing. The ripped lips gave way to an even more toothy. . . grin? Reshanas had to make it quick now as something began to pull, so little time to enjoy. The body had to rely on the strength if they could be let out again next time.

They dared to ruin the face of one of Ipte's demons.

Defacing art was an offense most vile.
And the masked immortal will regret it.

Sorriso staggered back, twin nuclear sabres igniting in each hand. With a roar, blood spurting from his chest wound, he crouched low and stepped rapidly in, leaping and spinning. To the others, it was unfathomably quick. To Zarina, it was slow and telegraphed.

And, yet, there was something deep and instinctual within the demon that had taken over Fiske's body and made it her own. REVOKE: She well recognized what that was and who it had targeted. Holy magic in the hands of a sinner! This was wonderful.

What was even better was that Sorriso, even moving like a blur as he was, was left wide open to being drawn from...

Both Sorriso and Zarina could easily dodge each others' attacks, with the latter landing more hits but were evidently of little consequence. She wasn't getting closer to killing him in spite of her advantage and the demon-Fiske could barely keep up at times.

But then it happened again - the same, unusual state Ren was in. One the dragon hadn't noticed initially, but her current state of flux in regards to the flow of time allowed her more time to see what would normally stay hidden. He was vulnerable and everyone smelled blood.

It was time for Zarina to fulfill her role. First, she pictured the location - ugly, nightmarish and rancid. Very vivid overall, and she remembered that wicked, thin demon-thing they had to dispatch. Then there was the location in regards to the world - coordinates, but based mostly off memory and instinct. An Zenui was a unique place among the desert, and the Omenaxan stood distinct among even the Cazenax's odd architecture. And finally, she had to open the gate. A nice, Sorriso-shaped gate revealing the very guts of the demon-turned-prison for the worst of the worst. The very fact that a portal opened unleashed a wave of malthink and horror onto all those nearby. The thing was that potent.

“NOW OR NEVER!” Zarina shouted, barely capable of holding the portal before she would begin to feel side effects of the Omenaxan's influence.

Today has been such a tremendous joy. It is not every day that one can let loose within the world of the living. Whilst letting loose was one of the main dishes she had come to taste. The wildblood fighting with humans, not hiding their beastly for. A sinner who was able to wield the dirty Quentic's 'special tongue' and of course the joy of witnessing the Giant's demeanour change so deliciously. All of these side dishes made the main course all the more scrumptious.

The man of great mass was moving incredibly fast, but she could feel the manas. They were wide open for her to draw from, so joyfully vulnerable. After sporting a smirk from her newly healed lips, she drew and drew from the fat man. Taking as much from him as she could. "I had such a wonderful time today, so I'm taking a little souvenir."

It was as easy as unspooling yarn. Sorriso was, perhaps, so immune to pain - so utterly unbothered by it - that he didn't seem to notice until his fled began to split open. His eyes widened and he roared and reached out to chop Zarina's head clean from her shoulders, but then his hand began to unspool a well, and it was a grisly sight. His intestines began to slosh about and slide free, and then more! He let out a choked noise and then, just as he was about to somehow reach her with his remaining hand, some irresistible kinetic force slammed into him with all of its might. Nobody could quite say who was behind it. Was it Zarina? Demonified Fiske? Raffie, by some means?

The portal yawned open, cruel and sinister and leaking unholy energy that Reshanas must've lapped up eagerly. He teetered on the edge, blasting fire on his mouth to scald the demon drawing from him and sent Rafaella ducking for cover, but it only took a little poke: just a tiny bit more from somebody, somewhere. Perhaps it was one of the Virangish tethered, finally making good.

Sorriso tumbled into the Omenaxan and the path there abruptly and firmly shut behind him. All that was left was some of his blood, burnt and dried on the ground, and a battlefield that had begun to shift decisively Palapar's way. With the Volto gone from it, however, and Reshanas having restored some of her timer on the mortal coil through the act of blood drawing, this trio... how they could make the Plains of Fortuna their oyster!

They had done it, the monster was gone. Surely, at some point, he'd return, but only one was there ever a successful SOLO breakout of the Omenaxan. She liked those odds. And with Sorisso gone, the rebels' had lost their ace in the hole - a monster that was definitely superior to the Volto she had fought over a month ago. Anything else they'd face would fall to their combined strengths.

“Big cheese down.” she spoke to the demon with an air of camaraderie, assuming - potentially wrongly - to be Fiske. “If the dragon's about to fall, we step in. Otherwise ...” the horizon was rife with skirmishes and flames. A lot to clear, but with masked menace gone, Zarina had a good feeling. “We restore some order.”

There was something else to drink in the horizon. Ipte's moon, a blood red ruler of the nightly heaven, stood out more than the other three that had emerged on this historical evening. Zarina's heart began to race in spite of the serenity and relief she was feeling. She knew what was coming and for once fully embraced it.

Kurai Majokko: Tsundere Gekido

"The saying 'with friends like these, who needs enemies' comes to mind."

---

With Shatterscape's arrival came knowledge that had escaped Evil Eye's notice during all the fighting. This was, in fact, good news, as it meant that there might be something she could actually do. She flew with her, sticking close as she returned to the main event, satisfied that her Mogall were no longer threatened by some interloper with poor timing. "The songs of a jealous woman lie shallow in the heart, and retreat quickly from the ears," she taunted back to Willow. "Are you droning on and on because Rei makes you sleep on the couch?"

She lowered herself back to the ground, seeking lesser miseria to behead and stake through the heart with her cane. She tried to drown out Willow's nonsense with the splattering of her enemies. If she couldn't take on the tengu, she could at least try to prevent more from being created. As her slaughter continued, she felt more and more rage building. Returning to Hibusa Town had been a mistake. She should have just taken Shatterscape with her and run even further away from this place. Why couldn't she stop taking on burdens that she couldn't carry? Unlike Earthshaker, at least she knew that she had a problem, but she was no more able to put an end to it than she was.

Rei watched dispassionately, as useless as ever while Oros and Acid Drop struggled for their lives. Willow was still just as annoying as the bards in Kunoichi Creed that pestered you for money. Nyxia was gleefully fighting giga miseria at night when she had been vehemently opposed to summoning one during the day when they were weaker—queen moron of the idiot village that was the Detention Club, herself the voice in the wilderness that no one listened to. Even Hizuki probably wouldn't accept her advice in the end. Shatterscape was taking the bait, which Evil Eye thought was unlike her. "Shatterscape, that's enough! She all-but-outright told us to use her!" she called out, appealing to the utilitarian nature of her fellow dark girl. If she had ever shouted at Shuuko in anger before, she couldn't remember when. It wasn't something she ever wanted to do, but this was dangerously close.

The abandoned golem served its role as bait to allow its master's escape. As the two tengu wore away its flesh, it flexed its muscles, protruding spikes in every direction all around its body, unleashing the attack it had prepared before when it once planned to jump up and grab the one harassing Evil Eye in the sky. It grabbed the two tengu and pulled them into itself, holding them down as Evil Eye flew away. Chunks of flesh broke away one by one as its opponents tore their way to freedom, and eventually its arms were removed, but still it kept standing. Mogall high above wept black tears which fell down and gave it more mass to regenerate, but the tengu had some semblance of intelligence and would not allow them to live for long. One flew up to dispatch them, while the golem prepared itself for what would be one last struggle against the one left on the ground.

Kurai Majokko: Tsundere Gekido

"Yeah, you really are too fast. It's a bit soon for wedding cake. At least buy me dinner first."

---

Evil Eye's attempt to cushion her descent with the golem didn't work so well. She'd only ever manifested it around her body from a standstill, never from high speed. So it was that when the dust settled, she realized that her body was sticking out the side of it. Fortunately for her, Willow realized it even more quickly, and with surprising force, one of her hounds extracted her from it. By the time she had freedom of movement, she found herself face to face with her attacker again, this time sans one annoying bard. Rei still isn't doing anything. Is she waiting for someone to beg for help? she thought irritably. She glared at the bird-man, eyes glowing bright crimson. May as well try everything before giving her what she wants, she decided, trying for a basic illusion of multiple Evil Eyes.

The golem seemed to have its own ideas. It clambered up onto an upturned truck and prepared to take a great leap up at the abomination, arms spread wide to grab it. Its skin seemed to bubble at the surface, as if it were preparing something inside itself. Meanwhile, Evil Eye could sense Shatterscape's approach. "Good to see you, High Priestess. If I could trouble you for a little assistance, I may be just a bit less than equally matched with this one." Her even-toned voice tried to hide the reality that she was, in fact, scared of the threat this monster represented. She could no longer be just an eye in the sky for the others. She would have to fight, and fighting was the one thing she'd never been good at.

Kurai Majokko: Tsundere Gekido

"I've been accosted by some Chozos,
and probably Willow's hounds.
God I hate these bozos.
It's as annoying as it sounds."

---

The bird-thing's foot struck true, and Evil Eye was not prepared for the drop kick. Though she hated that it was cold, the sky had been her refuge from battles she wasn't one-hundred-percent certain she could win. A miseria was not supposed to be up here. This was her space, and Willow had been doing a fine enough job ruining it without some eyeless freak showing up. No eyes... she processed as she hurtled towards the ground—technically still moving closer to where Shatterscape would be shortly, for what that consolation was worth. Is this the part where I say: 'Finally, a worthy opponent?' she wondered. ...Nah. She wouldn't give Rei the satisfaction.

For a moment, Evil Eye imagined that it was over—that Shuuko would be placing flowers at her grave by morning. Then, suddenly, it was over, as she collided with the ground. However, her relatively small body had been shielded from the impact by the hulking mass of pitch-black muscular flesh that had woven itself around her into the shape of a golem. Even so, the bird monstrosity descended, following up its drop kick with an ambitious coup de grace straight for the summon's neck. There was just one issue with the abomination's plan, and that was that Evil Eye's own summoned monster had no head to decapitate. One massive arm reached for the bird-man's leg, aiming to hoist it in the air and whirl it around like a flail before throwing it into a nearby corner store. I don't need eyes to see you either, bird brain!