Phoe

Breathless Dead

Those fingers look softer than they should. Longer and more perfect. But that is surely her hand. Her expression is all wrong, too. The silly smile and the intensely furrowed brow that comes from thinking too hard has been replaced with a look of grim clarity and righteous anger. Those mismatched eyes, the green and the blue, shine with divine understanding and mortal determination. That, then, is surely her face. The smell of her sweat is pungent and... familiar, yes. But she is missing the complex rose perfume she uses to cover it up, so every sniff tells her no, no, no. She's wrong again.

And this, of all things, is what confirms it at the last. The name on written on her skull burns in agreement.

Bella reaches up with one trembling hand to grasp Redana around the wrist. Her touch is soft to the point of weakness. Until the claws dig in. They pierce the skin and quiver as godly blood trickles down to her palm. Her eye grows wide, and then unfocused, and she pulls herself up and throws Redana down in the same motion.

She howls as an animal would: a beast with a thorn in its paw. Her claws become a whirlwind that tears gouges into the earth that will never heal, that crush rocks into dust so fine nobody would notice if they breathed it in until it choked them, that rip deep gouges from Redana's flesh that only manage not to split her open because the glowing staff has become a lasso to protect its master and catches Bella by the wrists in the nick of time. Even then, she cuts deep and with an eye for pain.

She can't help it. She can't help herself at all. There are two names carved into her flesh, one in ritual sacrifice and one in blood, and whichever one of them is closer becomes the only thing that she can see. Right now that's you, Redana. She switches to punching, and her fists leave holes in the sand where you roll out of the way. Each time she wrenches her wrist free with a spray of sand it gets harder to see, harder to dodge. The next blow catches your jaw and sends you spinning.

She leaps and pounces, inches from your face. Close enough to eat you. Her teeth are bared as though to do just that. Her spittle foams around the corners of her mouth, dripping pink from the blood that won't stop pooling in her mouth and splashing onto your face. Even now you can see the way her body trembles. She coughs straight in your face even as she pins your arm down and presses herself down on you, close enough to start smothering you in that hard, sharp, and spiny armor.

She can't see what she needs to cut right now to kill you. That's why this is sloppy. But that's fine. That's fine, right? If you forgive her, then it doesn't matter if it's messy. If you forgive her, then it's fine if it hurts. If you forgive her, then block her blows, little weakling! Idiot princess! Live so she can hurt you more! Struggle so she can savor it! If you forgive her, if you love her, then die, die, die and make the name on her head stop burning!

You can throw her at Sagakhan, and this whole story will flip. She'll return instantly to murdering her mother, and you'll instantly fade so far into the background that you'll stop existing. That's what it means to be a Diodekoi, and every second that armor powers her brings her closer to transforming into Artemis' divine avatar until the strain crushes her body like an ancient star. But before even that, Sagakhan's venom will kill her. The more she strains, the more her heart pumps lethal toxins through her, ones her body has no defenses for. She'll dissolve from the inside out before she figures out the riddle.

Unless you can make her stop. You'll lose your strongest weapon against the other monster here who has only not killed you yet because her daughter is doing such an excellent job of it at the moment. But Bella will live, if you can figure out how to pull Bella out of Servitor Candidate Number XIII. Tredecima is a past you barely even know about. How are you supposed to reach through those thorns and find her heart?

And while you're pondering that, take damage.

Sunshards

So, this is kinda funny, isn't it? I feel like the whole time I was on this adventure, somewhere in the back of my head I was worried it was gonna end. Sometimes the front of my head, too. I thought and I thought and I thought, and what I thought was that if I ended up back at my little cottage, that meant I failed. I must've messed up, right?

Well, here I am. In my little house, that I love so much and feel so trapped by. My sword's already in the umbrella rack and everything. Well, the ones that would fit, anyway. I had to get more creative with the-- sorry, that part's not important. I'm here. I'm here, y'know? My little journey's all done, and in the end I wound up home again. And all my friends are with me, drinking all my tea.

And I don't feel like a failure at all. Honestly, I can't think of anything more perfect. It's like it always had to be this way, y'know?

There's another funny thing, too. Just look at all my friends! My new family, really. These precious little sillyheads. They've all changed so much, and I've changed so little. Hyra's a princess now! With her own sunshard and a whole wardrobe change and honestly I swear she just glows all the time now. And Princess Chen who first of all turned herself first of all into a talented and super cool smartysmart who's so comfortable in her own skin she manages to make even cutie-bondage and getting kidnapped by foxes seem like something that happens on purpose actually. Not to mention she's graduated all the way to suits and she's a snow leopard now! And Rosepetal, who's so much softer than she thought she could be when I met her and who just looks so gosh darned happy about it, just amazes me every time I see her. She changes all the time, honestly, and I've gotta get her alone at some point so I can ask for pointers on makeup and costuming and especially how to have just soooooo much fun bein' tied up and squeezed like that. 'Cause honestly until all these foxes manage to traitor themselves back onto Cutie Fox Island I have a feeling there's gonna be a lot of this in everybody's futures.

And Sis is also a princess, which is a surprise, on top of bein' a super robot puppet master legend wowies. What am I, by comparison? I'm Yue. Just Yue, after all and everything. I guess I changed my clothes twice, that's somethin'. But then, I hear you sayin' it before I can finish. Don't worry, I know. I changed more than anyone in my way, didn't I? I look more the same than anyone I know, but from where I started to where I'm at now's a journey that takes a whole year to tell, plus a little extra.

I guess I... don't really need to explain all this, do I? I'm just happy. And I'm, oh. Shoot, there I go again. Ack, I'm sorry. I promised I wouldn't cry again! I, oh no, oh no, I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry! Oh goshies, it, ah! I can't, can't, can't make it stop.

I-i-it's different this time, I, snffff, I promise. I just. I just. Um. I don't. This is... way harder than I thought it'd be.

I, ok, ok, ok. Ok. Yeah, I... ok. I can do this. I could tell you about what I think's gonna happen to me, or what I hope's gonna happen. I could promise you new adventures, and spend more time thanking all my dear, precious friends. I could surprise-sneak oooonnnneeeee last duel in with Hyra so I could beat the pants off her (and then again more literally when everyone else's gone back home~) and surprise her in this moment of perfect happiness with the traditional marriage necklace of the Terraced Lake.

But you already know, don't you? You knew I'd get here the entire time. Uhuh, that's right, you! Did you think I didn't notice? You've been watching this entire time, putting up with all my silly ramblings and my little Kat's ridiculous attempts at narration. Watching, cheering, reading, guiding, I dunno what to call it. But you've been there from beginning to end. And now I'm crying 'cause it's time to say goodbye.

So, good... no, no, no! Not goodbye, not goodbye at all! How about... see ya later? Yeah. I like that so much more. So, yeah. See you around, cuties! Next time I'll be the true demon swordswoman, I promise! I'm gonna show 'em all how much better that is to be than a simple princess. Fuhuhahahahaheeeee~! Oh, I'm excited. You're excited too, right? Maybe we'll even figure out how to make it back into space! Wouldn't that be amazing?

The great thing about stories ending is that it means you get to tell new ones. Try new things, live new truths. And I know, and I know you're gonna have so much fun through all of it! So I've gotta let you go, so we can get to it! Take care, ok? So long! Buh-bai! I love you lots! I--

"...Yue? Who are you waving to?"

"Oh. Well, nobody I guess. The world, maybe?"

"You're such a dork. You know that, right?"

"Uhuh! But you love me anyway."

Breathless Dead

Sagakhan is an impossibly complicated knot of life lines that blaze hotter than a bonfire with the pulse of divine light. No simple puzzle to be clipped short with a sharp set of claws, these: many of the lines cross jaggedly around nothing at all that she can see, while others form tightly clustered lumps that could each be a heart on a lesser creature. They are more numerous and more vibrant than anything else on the entire battlefield, even Redana.

Her words drip black-devouring-white, so unwholesome and powerful that they rattle XIII's senses and try to force her back up into the world of sight and sound and taste and touch, and reduce her understanding back to a mortal level where they couldn't terrify her half so much. But she snarls instead of quaking. Her fingers quiver with power and longing. She charges, before another word can be spoken. And two heads become three. Three heads become four.

You couldn't call what happens next a dance. Blood spatters everywhere from dozens of deep cuts made with suicidal abandon. XIII flashes everywhere; above, below, from every side, appearing and disappearing only to deal death to the newest name shining brightest on her skin. It is violent to a degree where even the gods might turn their heads. She trades shattering blows from a Hydra's talons for what would against any other creature be a mortal wound. Her armor chips and cracks on her neck, her shoulder, her left leg, her stomach. It holds. Her mouth fills with blood around a shattered fang. She swallows it without complaint.

She is beyond pain. Beyond all reason but the hunt. Where she bothers to dodge Sagakhan's strikes it is only in service to preserving herself enough to make sure the job is finished before she falls. Each strike, each moment where she freezes after she scours out a new line, each shower of blood is a scream. A defiance.

I. Am. Here, Mother. I. Am. What. You. Made. Me. I. Can. Not. Be. Raised. Anew. A. Beast. Can. Only. Raise. A. Beast. I! Am! The! Hunter! I! Am! The! Monster! Who! Hunts! Who! Slays! Other! Monsters! You. Will. Not. Erase. Me!

It feels like a battle that lasts an eternity. In reality it's over in seconds. The cuts turn out to be superficial, closing easily. Four heads become five. XIII only makes her mother stronger. Until at last she finds it: the opening at the left of her breast. Her claws drive into it with a thrust like a thrown spear. Her arm disappears into Sagakhan's flesh up to the elbow. Her claws close against the brightest cluster, and she squeezes.

She snorts. "Is. That. All?"

But she cannot see smiles. She misses the sardonic grins. Held in her moment of victory, she does not feel the skin close around her arm. And she is bitten. Again, and again, and again, and again, divine whips lashing an unworthy slave. Wounds that burn with venom. A tail smashes her full in the face with more power and fury than the largest sword swung by the strongest warrior ever to appear in the history of Empire.

XIII is free. XIII is flying. She crashes to the ground amidst the ruins of the black pyramid, and coughs in place of breathing. She head flops to one side, against her will. She feels pain. She wheezes. She smells blood, tastes it. She sees. She sees. The faceplate of her armor, already cracked in five different places, falls apart.

One eye is milky silver, tinged through the middle with murderous red. Her lips are unpainted and her face is covered in dirt and cuts. But that golden eye could only belong to Bella. She hisses as she struggles back to her feet, and her head snaps back into place with a heavy crunch. But her gaze stays on you, Redana. Her vision fills only with you.

The tears from her one good eye wash her face clean for her mistress.

Breathless Dead

Inside the armor, a Servitor. A best friend. A maid. A Praetor. A woman. Nothing more or less than that could be the heart of a Diodekoi assassin. Someone trained her entire life to be everything that anyone could need. Someone whose entire life depended on noticing every tiny thing about the world and especially the people around her. No detail could be worth overlooking. Each tiny stain and spill had a scent that stood apart from the intended order of the world, and it was unforgivable not to find them all and wipe them clean. Every person, even the godly humans with their superior genetics, gave off signals that hinted at their moods and needs. Things they weren't even aware of. But she was. She had to be. To know when to speak up and when to hide, to be able to appear from nowhere holding a tray of drinks for refreshments guests hadn't got around to demanding yet.

Years of perfection. Years of training to improve perfection. Years of effort and attention with a body tailor made by the best breeders in the Empire. And it wasn't enough. Her entire life was leading to a single point of failure, because she didn't even know the game she was playing.

In the darkness, a single golden eye struggles to open.

There is so much that needs to be done. Her eye fills with tears until it's as blind as XIII's. What has she done? What has she done? She shudders. She cries without reservation, because she sees her friend in front of her. She sees her sister in her arms, for the first time in her life. She holds Mynx close, as gently as she can, and brushes her palm across the cheek with a tenderness she'd always been afraid to show. Until now. Until now. There's no time left, she has to do it now. She has to say everything now.

"Don't go, don't go, Mynx! Don't you dare! I see you, ok? I see you! You got me! So stay. Stay! You can gloat for the rest of your life, I promise, but don't you dare leave me! Not like this. Not like..."

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. You never deserved anything I did to you. All those times I was angry at myself, and scared, and... it didn't give me the right. I was horrible to you. It should be me! It should be me, not you! It should be me, me!!"

"You were perfect. Better than me. It should've been you in charge. This whole time. I wish it was. Maybe then we wouldn't be here. Things would have worked out better for everyone. I'm nothing but a monster. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't see it until it was too late. Don't go, Mynx. Don't die. You're... the only one. Who can punish me the way I have to be."

But no word, no gesture, no sign or token of acknowledgement leaves the world of that eye. How could it? Bella is not a person. She's the beating heart of the assassin Tredecima, nothing else. She has no arms to move or voice to speak with. These things belong to the armor, to the body, and those belong to the hunt. Affection is unnecessary. Speech barely more so. XIII stares at the body in her arms without seeing. Mynx's voice is tinged pink. The waves of her breathing are shallow and more beautiful than anything she's ever witnessed.

But admiration is also unnecessary for the hunt. XIII kneels, and lays the broken body of the Toxicrene on a soft bed of scattered leaves, where she might at least be comfortable in her last moments. She was... not a name on the list. This is acknowledgement of that fact, nothing more. She takes her time to wipe her claws, her hand, her arm up to the elbow clean on the sands. XIII is a monster. XIII is a hunter. Bella's only function inside of her is to read the names written on her body. To choose the targets that come first. And so she does."

"SA! GA! KHAAAAAAAAAAAAN!"

The name glows on her back and on her chest. Where the blood drips and spreads across her, it soothes the burn of the other names, like ointment on an old wound. This is not a name that will help her erase herself. This is a name she must purge to prove that she is real. When it is gone, the blood whispers, she will be whole. It took two sisters to write this prayer upon her. Two sacrifices in the full favor of Artemis. Nothing less could buy a name as valuable as Mother's.

Her body is alight in golden light. Muscles spark with power, and she hunches lower, and lower, and puts herself on all fours to take the shape that will channel all of it. The claws on her hands and feet tear into the sand like flesh. Her teeth are bared in a full animal snarl. She cannot feel the other names on her anymore. Her eyes can't even see their lines. There is only one figure in the wastes, as large and radiant as a sun.

Mother is a tangled and complicated knot of lines. Her life is a puzzle that needs to be torn open in careful turns to solve and end it. This will not be a simple hunt. This will not be an easy kill. It may even break her to try. XIII licks her lips in anticipation. She bounds forward, potential exploding into motion all at once, and disappears from the sight of every eye upon her.

She comes. She hunts. She tears space apart wantonly for the crime of getting in her way. One tiny hole opens in the clouds, a bargain struck by one god or many. She doesn't know. Doesn't care. All it means is that, before it closes, a ray of sunlight creeps through to shine against her armor as she hangs impossibly in the sky. She gleams like a star in the night sky for a moment. Only for a moment.

And like a star, she falls. She is coming. She is here. She is Hunting. She. Is. Death. Are you ready, Mother? You, who court Zeus' favor so freely, ought not to have devoured your children.

Breathless Dead

XIII falls as a star should, the way a god must when they are struck down by some mortal drunk on hubris. Her body burns, hot enough even that for the first time she can't feel the names carved into her skin. There is only the sensation of pain, of being made of fire and sent crashing through the air by a sudden inversion of gravity. Her stomach squeezes from the weight of her descent. She tumbles head over tail, falling, falling, falling, burning: the roar of the wind around her is her only companion as she falls, with nothing to do but train her eyes upward to see where the upstart lioness will land even as her uncontrolled spiraling constantly tries to pull her sight away.

She does not scream or make a sound. Not even a grunt of surprise when she was suddenly struck with the hull of her own ship the Anemoi. She is poised. Perfect. If her role to play is to be a meteor, then she will strike the earth with idealized grace and composure. When she reaches up with her hand, it is only to wrench her body free from the spell of spiraling gravity and with her own raw strength force herself to flip upright. Even like this, she always finds her feet.

The first explosions catch her just before she lands. The impact drives her into the sands up to her knees with enough force to send shivers through her bones. She does not bend. When the rest of the rounds catch, she meets the endless ocean of bursting SP ammunition looking for all the world like a statue after the apocalypse.

The world shrinks. It squeezes the whole of her with random clawing, pinching, grabbing hands that push and compress her until she is in a Box too small and too painful to even fit herself inside of. Her straining eyes see only hot, blinding white light. The roar of exploding shells fills her ears and expands until it's the only thing she has inside of her. Roaring. Screaming. Shrieking. No mind. Pain. Pain. The cocktail of horrific scents layer themselves one atop another until they become a single miasma of foulness beyond description. The flavor pulls bile from her stomach just to cover it with new fire. It dribbles out her lips, and she is helpless to stop it. Each tiny break in the torture is only a trick so that the next new burst will ruin her straining senses all the harder. She is disintegrating. Shattering. Breaking.

Dying. She must be dying. Kill her. Kill her!

She squeezes her head with a wet, gurgling howl. She balls her hand into a fist, and smashes it into her face. The world shuts off in response. Black and cool where it had been white and hot. Silent where there had been nothing but torture bangs. The air with no scent. With no taste. She breathes it freely, and lets the gasses do what they will to her insides. She can't feel it anymore. She is aware of her own body only through the presence of the softly glowing names still on her skin. Where they itch, she is. Where they are dark, she is not. She is a creature in pieces, but that is enough to move.

And the Auspex is enough to hunt by. Slowly, the soothing blackness fills with gentle golden-glowing pulses and swirls. These are the movement of the creatures around her, their steps, their breathing, their hopeless words of encouragement and despair to one another made manifest into motes of light that she could snip in half with her claws, if she wanted. Where the gold pools thickest, there are softly shifting, trembling silvery lines in vague shapes she recognizes.

Ah, yes. Bodies. Or rather, the strings that hold those bodies together. All she has to do is put her claws to them, and they'll burst apart into nothing. The light will go away. Another name, another piece of her body will vanish into pleasant nothingness. And when she's purged them all, then she too... then she too. Nothing. Soothing, silent nothing. All of it, gone away forever. The ultimate treat for a perfect girl.

She bursts from the sands and flies up, up, up into the air high above the noxious, obscuring clouds of heavy SP smog, and doesn't even notice. She makes herself into a comet again, and falls where the brightest and sharpest lines gather. Her claws sing a clumsy song, but it's plenty for what she needs to do right now.

Not this one. Not this one. Not this one either. Pieces of her vanish and slough off in a brief sensation of wet, numbing relief. But none of them are her. None of them are Vasilia. They could be anybody; the only way to know who dies is to kill them first, and mark which part of her body disappears in response. No matter. She doesn't mind.

Another name falls limp in her crushing hands when she notices it. A golden chiming that ripples through through the entire world. More beautiful than the entire rest of creation. A name that burns more insistently than any other. Dangerous. Yearning. She spins and faces it, and the chiming of its soft footfalls draw closer.

XIII's mouth splits open in a savage, feral grin. Finally. Finally! The name she lusted for in her heart longer than any other! The one she must break ahead of all the others, the only one strong enough to see clearly in this world she's built for herself. Finally, finally, finally! To kill, to kill, to kill! The name she screamed herself on the morning she was born.

"Re. Da. Na..."

"Oh Bella," The voice swims around her head in melancholy greens and blues just like her eyes. She comes closer still, "Look what they've done to you. I never thought you'd fall this far. It's ok, Bella. It's ok. I'm going to fix everything, now."

[XIII expends a use of Bella's Clever Tricks to buy herself an Overcome. Tenacity Incarnate is active, so with Vigor the roll comes out to an 11]

Sunshards

I feel it building up inside of me. It starts as a tickle in my chest that grows bigger and more insistent as it creeps its way up my throat. I put my fingers to my lips to cover it, but it's like fighting a storm with a teacup: useless on the one hand, while fighting it only makes it stronger on the other. Despite my best efforts and the cover of my hand, my face changes with the very obvious signs of its coming.

I try my best to conjure bad feelings. Reasons I should be offended, old memories of times where I opened the fridge to find my special dessert was missing, the frustration of not being taken seriously after everything I've been through. But it's useless. Run from it, or fight it in a loop forever, there's just no escaping a giggle fit once it starts snorting out of you.

"Pff... pfffffFFFFFahahahahahahaheheheheeeeeee! Oh my g-ahahaha! Oh my! Oh, heehee! Oh my goshies sis, you're such a dork!"

I can't breathe from laughing so hard. Never mind forgetting dignity, I can't remember balance. I shake so hard where I sit that before I know it I'm tipping over, over, ooooohhhhh there I go, rolling onto my back holding my stomach while a bunch of silly noises escape my lips. I roll around like I'm trying to put out a fire. Doesn't help. I wheeze, because you have to fight for breathe when it comes in and out in the form of laughter. Once or twice I make the mistake of thinking I've got it, but then I sit up and see her face, and I go rolling back down into sillyfits.

It goes on forever. I dunno why it hit me so hard. I guess it's 'cause it's the first joke she's used on me in years. First one she's had a chance to. Or, well, it's not a joke but it... y'know. Sister stuff. It's just been so long. I burst. I giggle until I can't feel my fingers. I giggle until she starts to worry about me. I giggle until I need her to hold me still, and then I giggle until I start hiccupping.

As far as duels go, this one's kind've a disaster, huh?

"Love you too, sillyhead." I reach up and touch her face. The one that looks just like mine, except a little bit older and a lot of bit cooler.

Y'know I, honestly? I always assumed that when Sis left and didn't come back, it meant she'd settled down. When things got me down with sun farmin' and tryin' to convince the village that my little beads were worth a trade, or on dark cold nights when there wasn't enough good wood for a proper fire or just... sometimes I'd feel lonely and sad for no great reason. I know, me! Happens sometimes, y'know? But on days like that, I'd imagine Sis in a wedding dress with just the biggest smile on her face. Who was she marryin'? What were they like? I imagined all kinds've people, tall and short and pretty and handsome and every sort've face you could think of, but the thing they all had in common was that they made her happier than she'd ever been. Happier than I could make her. And when I pictured that... it made me smile. Sometimes I'd make plans to go see her, show her how I'm doing. Find out who she lived with, all that jazz. Thought about it a lot on my adventure. She'd be so surprised!

I can't believe she went and had an adventure of her own, instead! All that action and excitement and demon politics and dark queen stuff! Wowies, I'm actually kinda jealous? I mean if I had to choose I'd definitely still pick mine, but hers sounds amazing too! I wish I could... no. No. I'd better not wish that. Hearin' about it's plenty good enough. It's her story, and mine's mine, and now that we're here they combine to form the story of how we two found each other again when we'd both basically stopped trying. It's perfect. It's so perfect it's like we'd planned the whole thing from the start.

But also, what was that? What was that about... all of the money? All of it?! H-how technically is technically, exactly? 'Cause, like... Sis do you realize what this means? We could, I mean you could, like I, um, oh gosh. That's almost enough for... gosh, ok, carry the one, uh. Yeah. Like, six tractors? Minimum? With enough left over for really good cocoa and cookie fixins like basically every night! Ohhhhh, I wish I didn't know about this. That's too much power for any one girl, or pair of related girls to have. I wish I--

Oh. Right. We're still dueling, aren't we? I know I laughed, but the Sword of Sisterly Love is not a technique that anyone can afford to take lightly, least of all me. Its blade cuts sharper than any sword I've ever faced. But, did you know? For all of its power, it's actually almost as dangerous to the user as the opponent. That secret sword has a hidden, reversed form. A shadow sword, if you will. And it goes a little something like this. I take her hands in mine. I look her straight in the eyes. And then I start talking.

"Sis," I begin

But then I pause because straight away it doesn't sound right. And it's gotta be perfect, or it won't work. I'm not even fighting to win here anymore, but that doesn't mean I'm pulling any of my punches. The most perfect outcome of our duel today would be a draw. That's what I'll call a win. I take a deep breath and let it out in a huff.

"...Xiu," I haven't said that name out loud, not to her, in over a decade, "Come home. Please."

I feel her tense up in my grip, but she doesn't pull away. She doesn't look away, either. That's my big sister for you. She's so brave, even when she's got every reason to be as nervous as a girl can be. The true shape of the Shadow Sword reveals itself: A Love Stronger Than Adventure.

"I don't mean you have to, I... like, you don't. Mm. You don't have to drop everything and start farming eggplants with me or anything like that! Unless that still sounds fun? But it, you, I don't care what you do, Sis! If you wander off again and I don't see you till one or both of us is dressed to get married that's fine! But come home! Come home and meet Hyra, at least, she's got a beautiful picnic with all of our best teas all set up and ready for company and everything!"

"Come look at the lake with me again, like we did! Like we used to! Come sort through all the memories in our little cottage together, so I can put stories to all the stuff I can't remember on my own. Come, just... just come! We're family, you and me! Sisters are forever and ever but we've missed so much time! so please. Please come home with me."

"I understand if you wanna keep Princessin', I really do, I uh... keep wishin' and wishin' and wishin' I could be that, too. But I just, I, yeah. I just want you to come and do it somewhere with a post office you can use. Or better yet, texts! Texts are things now, didja know? We could, oh gosh, I should show you my phone! I should, we, no wait I can't get distracted! I'm just, I'm tryin' to say, I don't need protecting from demon hordes anymore. Like, honestly, if you coming back means we get to duel unreformed underworld queens that sounds kinda... cool? And good? And, and even if I do need protecting I've met so many amazin' people who'll be there for me and you have to meet them come on let's go!"

I'm standing. And she's standing. And one more time, we're hugging. And there's crying, and I don't know who's got it worse 'cause it does turn out that we didn't quite work it all out the first time. I'm proud of her, she's proud of me. Our duel draws to a close. Without a judge here to yip opinions at me, I couldn't tell you which of us won. Or if anybody even needed to, after all (but secretly, I hope it was me).

"You're gonna love Hyra, I promise. She's so pretty. I mean, funny! Funny! Well, she's both! And she knows a bunch of amazin' magic tricks and so, so much about 'angles' and she, oh. Right. She dooooeeesss have a bit of an accent? But only with certain words. It's fine! Fine, I say! I just, I want you to be ready, in case she says one so you don't spit tea all over the -- I mean! Not that I! H-hey! Listen! Listen!! You don't know what it -- I said it's fine! A-a-and she's gonna be your sister soon, too! So! Stop! Laughing! Already!!"

Sisters, sheesh. Not even once. But then, also? Every single time.

Breathless Dead

The world is drowning in blood.

Iron tang and velvet notes of warm quivering meat; sweeter than the richest wines in all of Empire. Intoxicating. Terror sweats and the shit smelling foulness of war linger on her tongue after every breath. Flowers, ruptured organs and the overwhelming immediate smell of rot the punctuates their bursting, the dusty aroma of packed wet sand, sickly sweet sap from branches snapped in two and oozing with parasitic infection. Every fresh scent carries through her body and builds excitement for her next breath, so they can wash over her again.

She shivers. They come at her in waves, now. Alcedi ranks like clouds of feathers carried on a storm of violence. They break against a rock named XIII. Soft, even lazy swipes of her claws trace across the silver lines holding them together, and they burst apart like balls of confetti. Fresh blood, fresh excrement, fresh rot, fresh flowers for fresh graves. Tiny names grow cool against her skin and pull sweet sighs from her lips.

Her body sings. She walks forward on unhurried feet, rising out of the crater she built with her own hands. Soldiers scatter like petals kicked up by the breeze of her stomping feet, more afraid of her again than any of the twin cruelties of Ares and Athena. Mother's garden surges and winds around her; ivy around a trellis. She is careful when she trims the bonsai: do not smash the roots, but trim off useless and unseemly limbs that this temple of death might grow more beautiful.

She turns her head to the heavens and beholds a pair of falling stars. Her blood quickens at the sight. The names itch to the point of rawness. So close. So close now. Perhaps she will drink from them when they die. A memory flitters to the front of her eye and up across the surface of her mind. Drink is a reward. An indulgence meant for good girls. A favorite treat. Yes. She will put her teeth to their necks and suck them dry. This is the meaning of her heart shivers.

Pink steam hisses from her palms where the blood of her targets drips across the absurd heat of her body. She lifts a hand to her face, and turns it over curiously. Her rough tongue drags across the rigid surface of her armor, her claws, and the unctuous taste of blood fills every last space of her conscious mind.

There is only the flavor. Richer than the galaxy is wide. Sweeter than ambrosia. Cool and refreshing. The battlefield quiets, to listen to the sounds. Slurping. Sucking. Slobbering. Singing. Sighing.

She is come, Vasilia. She is come, Dolce. You are broken, and she is whole. And she is here. No fury in her eyes, no smile on her lips. When she raises her claws to you, it could almost seem a greeting if they didn't still hiss and drip with the smeared blood of your comrades, and the oozing sap of hers. Her tail flicks once. Twice.

Whatever your desperate dancing and sacrifices have bought for you, now is the time to pay it out. Pay another price, and take your best shot.

Sunshards

I'm falling. Or at least, I should be. I really, really oughta be. I can't, I can't, sheesh. I can't stand up anymore. My legs won't hold me. But. But. But here I am on my feet. 'Cause I'm being held up by the strongest, softest, most loving arms in the whole wide world.

I can't breathe. Oh gosh. Oh no. I can't. I can't stop crying. I can't. I'm. The sounds I'm making are so ugly it hurts. I can't tell if I'm gonna throw up or if that's just what my voice sounds like forever now. It's so bad I'm starting to hiccup. I can't move except to bury my face in her shoulder and just, just, stay there forever. It's as warm as I remember. She's just like I remember, except for that scar. How did I not notice?! I woulda done everything so different if I knew! Sis! Sis! Sis, Sis, Sis, Sis!!

"Wh-wh-who's a dummy, dummy?! You're the! You're so! So!" I pound her back with my fist and I wouldn't care if it hurt her or not except I'm shaking so hard I can't put anything into it, and I'm still hugging her anyway so I don't know if she even notices, "You jerk. I wanted to see it! Where's the second health bar you promised me? You're such a liar. You're... you..."

I'm cut off by another wave of sobbing, only this time I feel her shaking while she's holding me and I know it's got her too. And that's why I can't be mad. I couldn't even if I hadn't seen that look on her face when the mask came off, 'cause this crying's the proof that she still loves me. She left when I was getting good and grown up and we haven't seen or heard from each other hardly in years, but she loves me. I love her. You don't cry if you don't care, remember? Of course you, I, uh. Um. Y-yeah. Yeah. Snnnffffrrrrrrk.

I have to pull away now. I have to stop hugging her. I have to even though it's impossible 'cause if I don't she can't see how much I'm smiling. And besides, I wanna, I wanna, I have to see her too! It's been so long, how'm I supposed to make do with only looking at her sleeve and the bit where it meets her neck? Nuh uh! Nuh uh, I say! That's my big sister! My big sister's a princess! My big sister's a princess!

...My big sister's a princess?!?

Suddenly she's not enough to hold me up anymore. Suddenly I'm dragging her down to the floor. Suddenly we're both on our knees, and laughing until we choke, like we used to when one of us would tell a stupid joke over tea. Like we did when we were kids. Like we did when we were together. Oh my gosh, my big sister. Who loves the city more than anything, and always knows the words to every song. Who tried her best to teach me so much, even though I never could seem to keep up.

"Oh gosh darn it, excuse me," I manage through fresh titters and a new wave of blushing, "No wonder I look so amazing. It's you, isn't it? You picked out my clothes for me again!"

Sis looks at me and laughs, and it's as much a melody as I remember it from before. She's got a way about her that always makes her seem like she's about to burst into song, even though she almost never does. It's how she carries herself, I guess. Those careful little breaths she always makes, like she needs to disguise it so you won't hear her on a stage or whatever. The way she moves, 'cause there's such a rhythm to it I always think there's some secret beat that only she can hear following her around everywhere. And maybe there is. Or maybe it's more like this. Maybe all this time I missed how much she practices everything, and the stuff I thought was Big Sis Magic was really her workin' her butt off so she could keep bein' the center of somebody's world.

Do you have a sister, too? There's so much about you I don't know, come to think. Big or little, doesn't matter. A brother's fine too. It's just, there's a special thing that happens when your family loves you, and in especial the part of your family that you grew up with, and that grew up with you. Adults who were always adults to you don't have it, and people who only turned special in your life later on have to get lucky to find it. There's a, a, a thing when you hug a sister where your entire world turns into this thing of candlelight, soft blankets, and memories that come rushin' in from every corner of your life.

It's, like, for me it feels the most like sneakin' outta the house late late late at night to watch the moon somewhere we could watch her dance and sing songs to her loud enough for her to hear them without wakin' Gran Gran. A warm, muggy summer night with cicadas chirpin' their hellos and a basket full've breads and dumplings and popcorn that was only mostly burned. And, 'cause all the songs a girl could sing to the moon were about drinkin', we had our own special 'wine'. Nobody'd sell somethin' that rare and sophisti-grown up to a pair of giggly sillyheads, but if you stirred warm cola into grape juice it seemed about the same. We were pretty sure, anyway.

It's that. It's all of that. It's more than I've got words to tell you. When I'm in her arms, when she's in mine, the world shrinks all the way back to the paths and steps we walked together. I can taste it on my fingertips, if you catch my meanin'. I can't bring myself to ask her why she left. I can't bring myself to ask if all've this around us here was worth not havin' me around. I can't bring myself to ask her if she worried about me, and if she did then why didn't she come visit? I can't bring myself to ask her why it took me cutting my own heartache with a sword to put us in the same room again.

I can't, 'cause I don't care. I've got my answers in the feeling of char on my lips. The soreness of my arms and legs. The warmth of her body and the strength she still uses to hold me close. The smell of sweat and the little zap of electricity that's all around us. She's here. She's here. I'm here too. We're together, and it's like no time's passed between us at all.

We pull apart at long last. Every hug has an ending, sad as it is to say. My smile's giddy and foxy-mischief silly all at once. Ahhh, I just wanna flop over and take a nap. But if I close my eyes, I'll miss Hyra's picnic. I'll miss all the little things I was runnin' away from, though now that I'm here I can't really remember what was so scary about 'em to begin with. Besides, what kind of a good-for-nothing frizzy-brained sillymuffin would I be if I didn't stay awake long enough to take my sister to meet my g i r l f r i e n d ? ? ?

"Hey," I say for no reason but to talk, "Did you know that Princess Chen is scared of you? You're, like, the only one she doesn't know how to handle. How's that make you feel, Sis?"

Sunshards

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks. My eyes open a bit wider than usual without me telling them to, and I can feel my jaw start to clench in that way it always does just before I wind up gasping. Which, of course, I do right after. I must be pinker than a rose finch right now; I've never been so embarrassed in my entire life.

"I! Well, I! Um! S-s... Sorry. I d-didn't, didn't know!"

It's true, y'know. I had no idea about masks in duels. And it's not that it's embarrassing to not know something, but like, now that she's said it this feels like the sorta thing I shoulda been able to put together on my own without being told first. Wasn't that just the way Yin's knights worked? Sure it was a suit of armor and not a mask but... yeah. Take off the costume, and then the fight changes instead of ending. I'm so silly. I'm just a big... sillyhead!

I feel Princess Kikil's arm tense up and her gladius, and when she swings to push me away from her I lean into the energy and let her toss me clear across the room with the prettiest flip I can manage, by way of making up for my blunder. Just a little bit, at least. I dunno why I'm so flustered by the idea of disappointing this girl. I just met her, even if she is a princess. But I, y'know, I just do. Disappointing her feels like a knife in my stomach would. I guess it's 'cause she went to all this effort for me, so we could do this dance together. And here I am screwing it up for both of us. Gosh, how would I have felt if I noticed Chen was taking it easy on me?

Straight away all I want to do is jump in and fix my mistake. All I've gotta do is rush back into her zone and knock away that mask! Then I'll learn who she is and see her smile! And I'll smile back and no matter what face I see I promise I'll act the most surprised anybody's ever seen. She's right. 'Course she's right. You have to earn people's ultimate moves. And I can do this! I, I could do this. I proved it once already. But now her guard's back up. Now that gun's trained on me with a pro's steady aim and I'm out of tables to boot. Her zone's enormous, and I'm reduced to tumbling. Backwards, even.

Ah. That's always my problem, isn't it? My form is solid. My technique's sharp. My instincts are plenty decent, I guess, and I'm quick enough to catch Kat at bath time. I've got an ultimate technique, same as her. As good as Qiu's, please and thank you very much. Lemme have this. But I don't have what I need the most. That's why I always lose. That's why I hurt Princess Kikil's feelings just now. That's why I'm starting to tremble like a leaf in the autumn breeze. I'm about to disappoint her. I'm about to show her that I'm not wonderful at all, once you get right down to it.

I don't have a finishing move.

I get to this part of a fight and I just, like, run out of ideas. Y'know? Even now my brain is just flailing around trying to come up with something cool enough to fit. A straight thrust? Who's gonna wanna get hit by that? Qiu had a bajillion of these but I'll be darned if I can remember any of 'em. All I really remember about that part of that duel is scrambling like mad to not get turned into a pancake. Kinda the same as now, actually.

But I guess it doesn't matter. Kikil's not leaving openings for anything like a finishing move. She blasts the room with shot after shot from her gun and it's all I can do to keep pace with cartwheels and rolls and the occasional flip kick, which I hate doing because I always lose track of where I am in the air and I look like a dork flailing about to find my balance before I eat it and fall on my butt. Which would be the end of me and make me wish it was at the same time. But I make the effort anyway. For her.

Even though I'm sure I haven't been hit by any of these lasers, I'm taking all the damage anyway. The way she shoots, and what she's shooting, all that really matters is that I'm here. And that I dream. And I do dream of wolves. Silver wolves with piercing red eyes and hearts full of flashy tricks, miracles, and love.

I dream of hawks soaring through the clouds. I dream of endless fields of flowers. I dream of the wide desert and the impossible City of Cities stacked up to the skies at the end of it. I dream of balloons and I dream of waterfalls pouring in layers and layers and layers down the grandest and most beautiful shrine in the entire world. I mean, I guess she did ask. And before I know it, my entire adventure is in the room with us. Attacking me.

Wolves circle me and nip at my ankles. They run between my legs to bowl me over. Birds scream in my ears and divebomb my head to drive me down onto my knees, or even my stomach where I'll be easy food for the wolves. Waterfalls crash down on my head and sweep me away into clumsy duels with the ghost of a ghost, like I'm learning how to hold a sword for the first time all over again.

At first, I fight it all. I swing sword after sword at the animals attacking me to scare them away. I step outside the proper patterns of the duel, and I slash the waterfalls with fear and silly aggression as if I could muscle through them. But I'm not strong enough or fast enough or skilled enough to do any of that. I get bit, and clawed, and battered, knocked around. I think the room must be filled with the sound of my 'eeps' and 'oofs'. But every time, I take my feet. I try again. 'Cause that's my thing, right? The one good thing you can definitely say about me: I get up again.

It takes a good minute for me to realize I might have figured out my finishing move after all. Gosh I hope this works. I don't think I can handle another health bar if it takes me much more than this. I pop back onto my feet and flash what I hope is a brave smile and what I'm sure is a very toothy one. Sword by sword, I flourish and I pose. A little show with no point to it, except that I hope it makes Princess Kikil smile back at me. When I knock off that mask, I mean. That thing is a master class in hiding your identity, she could be sticking her tongue out at me this entire fight and I'd have no idea. Goshies, I really... I want to see her. I wanna know who she is! I feel my heart flutter all excited when I think about it!

"Well! You see!" I stomp my foot and crouch down a bit to start running, "When it started, I got kidnapped by a wolf!"

I am bounding through a field of flowers, silvers wolves leaping and baying at my sides. They twist around me, but playfully. We are a pack. Hyra, and me. Two's a pack when you're in love, ok? We howl together, and the birds scatter to the sky. I hold my saber, and thrust it straight at Kikil. At the space between us, I mean. There's so much distance between her and I, how could I possibly finish things right at the beginning? Silly. Water surges all around me, and my beautiful wolf and I float up all the way to the ceiling.

"She saved me from the river demons, but her princess was so mad! I was supposed to be a prize, you see! The most valuable one in the entire Terraced Lake! Can you believe that? I couldn't!"

We come crashing back down to the floor, and I let myself land hard. I go sprawling and skidding and sliding, head over butt over feet, until I land at the hem of the dress of the Demon Swordswoman. I flip my saber over in my wrist, and present it to her. A dagger and a rapier will have to do for me for this. And so we dance. Like this! And like this! Then like this! Finishing like this! Again!

"I thought she was so beautiful. So I just had to watch her, y'know? What do I know about ghosts anyway? All I could think to do that could make her feel as special as she deserved was to learn as much as I could. I've been trying ever since to absorb all she had to teach me. And, I think?"

Step step step, twirl parry slash! I hold the point of my sword above the bust of the dress, no higher than that silly, where the chin should be, and with a flick of my dagger I disarm the ghost. I lean in to kiss her, then with a smile I leap overtop of her, sheath my weapons, and catch my saber in my off hand. I even manage it after just one quick bobble. A personal best!

"I think I'm finally starting to do her proud! And then! And then! And then? And after that we! Oh, but there's so much to tell."

I run through my dreams, not fighting them anymore. I've got my story to tell, I have to explain it all to Kikil so she'll see. I may not be wonderful or special on my own, but my story is the kind of miracle that could light up the sky if somebody taught it how to. I retrace every step, up over hills and down into valleys and through river after river without even worrying about the demons that live there. I dance with Rose and Chen and even Cyanis, who all flicker like specters a little less real than the rest of it. It's 'cause they've all got important places to be right now, new stories to tell. I don't mind. I'll catch them all up on this later.

In my dream, I meet Princess Qiu for the first time. I'm so close now. I talk with her. I bake her cookies with her own oven. I gasp in shock, and eat the first one by myself. Wowies, these are spicier than I remember! But I'm almost there. The moment I've been waiting for. I stomp out of the room, and that's when the spectral helicopter rises out of the floor.

I grin. My whole body is sweating and... bein' real with you, there's nothing more I'd love than to stop and ask for a nice, long bath. My hair is so sticky you have no idea. But I promised, the second I cut my way in to wherever the heck this is... or well. When Princess Kikil introduced herself to me with her grand army of machines, that's when the promise started. That even if it got hard, and even if my heart started to waver and doubt myself again, I wouldn't drop the ball this time. I promised I'd show her everything I am, if she'd do the same for me. And that means! This time? Excuse my language but gosh darn it I'm going to win!

I don't run screaming from the helicopter. I've got plans for it, y'see. It fires volley after volley of ghost-missiles at me, but this time I've got stuff I didn't have before. This time I've got a jetpack, and this amazing two-handed sword! I fly up to a missile and land on top of it just before it explodes, tucking my sword under my feet so the blast sends me sky high instead of, like, probably killing me? And I'm laughing the whole time, 'cause this is so ridiculous and scary that if I do anything else I'm gonna start crying like a frightened child instead. flip between volleys, riding them higher and higher. My voice surprises me with how clear and strong it sounds.

"My darling little Kat has a name for all of this! She calls this, The Wandering Tales of Yue the Sun Farmer! Here I go!"

I fall. It's kinda funny, now that I think about it. All this effort and nonsense, and in the end all I could come up with is a variation on the same thing I tried on Tianic in my very first for-realsies duel. I don't even add a spin to it or anything, I'm just moving faster than I was then and I'm not a wolf this time. But simple suits me best, I think. I do the rest 'cause it's fun. If you wanna see me takin stuff serious? Then I'm the girl who wakes up before dawn 'cause it's the only way to make the trip in time to harvest silver needle when it reaches its peak. I'm just a girl, y'know? I learned how to bottle sunshine, and then all I could think to use it for was a bunch of home remedies.

And that's who comes crashing down on top of Princess Kikil. Yue, just... still after everything I've been through, still just Yue. But Yue, or maybe her Wandering Tales at least, is enough to strike her big scary mask dead on. I hear the crack. I feel the impact rattle through my bones. And that's when I realize I didn't stop to consider the landing at all. I smash into the floor hard enough that all the pads and protective bits on my outfit shatter into pieces on the spot. I have to dig my sword into the ground with a scream and a frantic flail to keep my head from smashing face first and joining all that stuff.

I feel woozy just the same. Gonna need.... hoooooo goshies. Yeah. A minute before I can stand again. Maybe more before I can fight. But I make the effort to turn and face her. I don't want to miss the moment when it happens. I want to see her. I have to know if she's smiling.

Breathless Dead

The world shifts back into focus. Power settles into her muscles, and they cease trembling. Her breathing steadies. She rises.

Who did that? Who did that?! Say the name! Say the name so she can check her list! She'll purge it first no matter how small it is! She snarls and hisses; a line of flowers, seeds, and wet sands scatter a full meter in the air across a long line where she kicks out in frustration. When she lifts her gaze up beyond the debris, she sees the pair of scoundrels soar above the battlefield.

Mocking her. Ruining her intentions. Punishing her. Running away. Cowards. Vermin. No more. No more games, no more handicaps. Now they die. XIII lifts her arm and twists her claws around the space between them, to tear it away and plunge her hands into a pair of soft, sweet hearts before they could waste another second.

Your name... is Bella.

She flinches. The pressure on her skull is agony. What is, what is, what is, WHAT IS THAT NAME?! XIII staggers where she stands, still wheezing and spitting out the last traces of chemical agony that had dropped her, and then past that. Just get it out! This pressure, this name! She won't go back! Don't call her that, incomplete, broken, weak! Don't! She howls her fury into the storm. She is whole. She knows who she is. She is a number. Tredecima. The Thirteenth.

But her hand drops. She watches them fall back to the earth, away from her.

"Ar. Te. Mis. Bear. Wit. Ness," she rumbles as her body hunches low to the ground. Her entire body tenses with the effort of speaking, but this is worth the effort, "I. Will. Catch. Them. With. My. Feet... I. Will. Kill. Them. With. My. Hands... Do. Not. Throw... Rrrrngh! Gol. Den. Ap. Ples. In. My. Path... Do! Not!"

When she moves, the ground explodes underneath her. She bounds effortlessly, faster than a spear hurled by Ares, scrambling across the sands in leaps and bounds on all fours. Petals and shattered bits of branch scatter all about her in a halo of death. The world shrinks away from her, bit by bit. Sense by sense. Light dwindles down to blackness so that she can see the trail their scent leaves as they flee her. Smells sink lower and lower until she can't catch any but their leaking blood as it spatters on the sands in her wake. She licks her lips, but tastes nothing except the flavor of the hunt. Her ears bend and twist to catch the sounds of their lungs fighting for new air, and even the roar of cannons is a whisper compared to that sweet song.

There is only them. The pair that flees. And XIII who chases. Who hunts. Faster. Faster. Faster! She leaps high into the air every time her feet touch ground and smashes down like lightning again, and again, and again. Every time, the sound of her impact gets closer, faster. Thunder heralds every storm. There is no reason for her to fear this. She is doing what she was born for. Made for. Good girl. Good girl, XIII.

Dolce and Vasilia!

Even fully grounded planetside, the dark shape of the Anemoi reminds you of a dagger, quivering with the need to stab into some enormous, godly heart. That sleek, black, and evil ship is the closest thing you have to a friend right now. The Alcedi lines are broken into chaos. Lanterns fall by the score. Kaeri and Bonsai swarm everywhere in their place, with no Epistia to slow them down.

But you drew up the battle lines yourself, Dolce. Some three kilometers in front of you is a cache of ammunition that feeds into the Anemoi's artillery, now one of the few things keeping the fight from descending into total chaos. Whatever your heart tells you, however bruised and torn your muscles might be right now, that stockpile is your best chance at pulling out a victory.

One shell at point blank was horrible enough for you, but for Bella it was utterly incapacitating. With an entire pile, you might actually be able to stop her completely. With the right combo and timing, you could overload her senses and leave her a writhing, helpless mess. You might knock her unconscious, which could buy you time to at least get a look at her armor, if not figure out how to pry her out of it. You might even be able to kill her.

There is time to come up with a plan. There's time enough for the pair of you to make a decision, together, if you are quick and daring, or full of heart. There is even time enough for an I-told-you-so. But only now. Only right now. Your head start is already gone; Bella races underneath you in a storm of motion with a promise of violence and death the second gravity carries you back into her arms.

Why is she not leaping? What's making her wait? She runs ahead of you now, and turns in a wide circle underneath you as if to prove how much faster she is than you. You're low enough to see the way her claws twitch with anticipation. Her body is relishing the anticipation of the moment she spears the both of you and soothes the irritating burns carved into her skin. Her eyes gleam sharp and silver, and utterly not her own. She will kill you. She could do it easily. But she hasn't yet.

It's time to make a choice. You can roll to Get Away, and put your faith in the Anemoi's SP rounds. Or you can roll to Keep Her Busy, and with your courage or your words try to pry an opening in her armor for someone else to squeeze through. Either way, pay a price.