Phoe

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

It's surprisingly easy to fight someone who's scared of you, if you've got the heart to do it. Even if they're technically stronger than you are. In a fight, see, the will to act is everything.

Katherine? With her beautiful blue planet at her back and a home to go back to? She's got it in spades. She's full of clever tricks and glitter sparkles and moves so cool I really don't know how to describe half of them. Though you might be wondering why I'm not making more of an effort to try anyway? It's... well.

Hm.

"Lady, if you believe even half of what you're sayin' then I'm a cat. Are we supposed to be a bubble or a death machine? Are you helpin' us or smashin' us to bits? You don't even know! You got spit out've a crab and now you're sayin' this and that and like... nyeh! You're cringe! How's about that?!"

She sticks her tongue out and everything. It is a testament to the power of fox magic in sufficient quantities that she manages to look cool and dignified doing it.

I don't like bullying, is the thing. And when someone's unarmed, flustered, and moving at one quarter their usual speed and surety then, like, even if they're some sort of awful intergalactic death goddess it doesn't feel good to just wallop her. Besides which, we all know where this is ending up.

Yin understood that there really were monsters in the dark. She knew how to handle them, too. The fact that she was so good at it is what got her in trouble, in the end. By comparison there's much more of Princessing in Kat. So much, in fact, that there's only one way that something that feels like a proper Princess Duel to her can end.

And beauty like this, trickery like this, swordplay like this, even banter like this... the secret weakness of the Sword of Validation is that you can't use it on something without a heart. But here we are, with a delightful smirk on Kat's face and her wooden blade tilted just so under the goddess' chin. That's how it's meant to go.

"Is that really all you have to say? Wouldn't surrender feel so much sweeter, darling?"

Not to betray my little Kat's trust like this, but she fished that line out of a book. I can't blame her. She's been wanting to do something like this since she had hands. Plus it's exactly what I'd do, too. The problem is, this isn't a Princess Duel.

...It's surprisingly hard to beat someone who's scared of you, even if you've got the heart to do it. Yin would not have made this mistake, but Kat never had a choice. She has no idea how else to do it: of every battle she's ever fought in, there's been somebody older and harder and with blood already on their hands who would swoop in and make the hard, nasty cut. Without Berserker or Saber or even Actia around to make the move for her, she goes for what in her heart should have settled all of this long ago.

But when you've backed someone into a corner, and taken away all of their tricks, shrugged off their rhetoric? Well I mean, that's just how animals are. This is when they bite you.

And now is when the real fight starts. Hang in there, Fluffybiscuits.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Hawawawawawawablerghle snaaaaaaaaaaaaaaakes!"

Is that the most refined battlecry? I mean, not really. But in Kat's defense, snakes! Just so many snakes. It'd be funny if they weren't--

"Gaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh they're in my hair! They're in my taaaaaiiiilllls! Get them out get them out get them EEEEeeEEeP~!"

Yeah. I gotta say as far as Hidden Blades go this evil goddess' got some good ones. Hiss Unlimited is nearly the end of Katherine's heroic ambitions all by itself before she realizes that by twirling her sword like a magical girl's baton (wand? Iono) she can harness the winds her foxgirl magic is constantly producing for the sake of making her prettier to start blowing the stream of serpents harmlessly off into space.

I mean, they're... they're space snakes, right? They'll be fine, probably? Or else they're magical snakes and they'll all vanish when the energy creating them runs out. Either way I don't think this is unethical. Pretty sure? Ok look it's not like I am any kind of lawyer here, I just happen to be the one on story duty today. The point is, it's working.

"Lady, you popped out of a giant evil crab. Could you please not with the 'dOeS YoUr CuLTuRe nOt ApPrEcIatE HArMoNy?' routine? Like, the first thing you did was try'n overwrite all life in... Austria? And then you got mad when they fought back! Course they did! What the h*ck? This is why I said no thanks!"

With the snakes good and handled, Kat shifts to offense. And it turns out there's another use for her Pretty Sparkle Fox Winds besides the obvious. That's right, she can ride 'em! Instead of pushing her body and getting all sweaty or turned around in this weird gravity situation, Kat simply channels the air into small pocket-tunnel-whatsits and creates a current that pushes her gracefully and effortlessly anywhere she wants to go.

And goshies, does she wanna go places. She comes at the goddess from one side, and then the other, from below and from above, from every conceivable diagonal, every time batting the hammer out of her hand before swooping off to start the next attack. Her turning speed is silly. Her precision mobility is a thing of awe. But the most amazing thing about it is that it's all a distraction.

See, every time Kat knocks the hammer free, she doesn't go for it. That's Ten Tailed wisdom for you. She knows that if she holds it out of reach, if she commits to taking it away forever, that's when she'll get hit with a proper deathblow. Even as she is, the problem with that thing is right there in the name, y'know? But by giving the goddess the chance to retrieve her weapon each time, Kat buys herself opportunities to present new puzzles that need new Hidden Blades to counteract. She keeps the game going, see?

And meanwhile every time, her beautiful spiraling motion carries her closer, faster, makes her more and more dangerous. Finally her sword lashes out not for the hammer itself, but for the fingers wrapped around the handle. She connects perfectly: the clonking sound echoing through the void is all the proof she needs of that.

She smiles.

"These are!"

...Kat?

"The Wandering Tales!"

...Kat, what are you doing?

"Of Yue the Sun Farmer! The Fifth Secret Sword (homage): Picnics at the Sky Castle! Honestly lady if your idea of 'harmony' was anythin' to write home about you'da tried mailin' pamphlets. All I need to know about your civilization's idea of harmony I learned from you thinkin' you needed ta force it on us! If appreciatin' that means I've gotta fit in with you and yours, then nah! Let us be weird! We're happy, thanks!"

I am. The most embarrassed. I have ever been.

But also? Prouder than anything.

Breathless Dead

"I, I... I know what you are."

Bella's eyes, which had been glued to the screen and all of the moments of her life that she'd lived, or had not yet lived, or dreaded that she might live all had been dancing for her, now turn to XIII who is struggling in the iron grip of Mosaic. The Diodekoi howls in response and rams the spines of her armor into the hero's shoulders, but this does not free her. Bella gags at the rush of sudden blood and clutches Dany's hand tighter.

She hates that her voice is trembling so much. It makes her sound like even more of a child than she already feels being around so many titans. She hates it because it makes her feel weak. And she can't afford that if she's going to say what's on her mind right now. There's a truth burning in her heart, this little fire lit by the bravery and (more shockingly) the kindness of a young princess and a master chef. What did they owe her that they'd do so much for her after everything she'd screwed up? Well it didn't matter at all in the face of what she owes them.

"You aren't a monster," she tells a howling, blood crazed beast, "You're the... y-you're the..."

She can feel her knees knocking against each other. Her throat feels tight, as though her own muscles were strangling her. She can't finish the thought. She must not finish it. To say the words means the death of this place. It means she dies. She can feel it in the shadow of her own heartbeat: she has to, she can't, she has to, she can't, she has to, she can't, she has to, she has to, she has to, she can't!!!!

"YOU'RE! THE PROOF THAT ARTEMIS LOVES US!"

Everything has stopped. Everything is still. All heads have turned to look at her. Awkward, thin, weak Bella. Half-dressed Bella, in her fake chef's pants and her undershirt and a death grip on a can of coffee that for some reason smells like love to her. She kisses it, which is a stupid thing to do but that's all that occurs to her. The metal is cool against her lips. Surprisingly so. She can taste smooth iron, and the lighter note that must mean copper as well. There's more besides, but she doesn't have the time to register them. She opens the can and takes a slow sip. The flavors pull a gasp from her.

Aurelia watches it all with a smirk on her face. She tosses her hair back with a chuckle and hefts her mighty blade onto her shoulder but makes no move to stop what is happening.

"Go on then, child. Tell the nice death machine how precious and pretty it is. Would you like for me to fetch some ribbons for you to tie in its hair? Go ahead and call the goddess' name again. She is as incapable of love as that creature I assure you, but the sooner she comes here all the better for me."

Bella can only glower in response. It takes her a moment to realize that she's stopped shaking. She can move now, and easily. Probably even speak again if she still agrees with the voice in her heart. Call out to the gods and let them sort this out. Only... she's Bella, after all. Whether or not the gods care about her is a question for some smarter version of herself, but if she's certain of anything it's that they don't listen to her. No, that idea is pointless.

She sighs, and presses the half-empty coffee can into Dany's hand.

"Here you are, My Lady. An indirect kiss, if you are brave enough to try it."

She flashes a roguish smile and pulls the sad, warm blanket around the young princess' shoulders in a kind of hug. Thank you, Princess. For everything. She stands and spins around to start walking away before she can cringe to death. Gods gods gods gods gods why did it have to be her? Why couldn't a cooler Bella have survived?

Forward, there's no refuge left now. Forward, forward, on still hesitant steps. She holds her empty hands up toward XIII and Mosaic and pushes forward, flattening her ears so she doesn't have to listen to the echo of her own hard heeled shoes clicking against the obnoxious white marble of this horrible maze.

"It's... important. What I said, I mean. What you are. What both of you are. Because you, I... you're," she swallows, "M-m-me. And that's..."

She close now. Close enough to feel the insane and dangerous heat pouring off of both of their bodies. Close enough to smell the sweat mixing with blood in a swirl so disgusting it almost brings her croissant back up. But there's another scent too, this heady thing of salt and skin and the aroma of wet hair that washes everything else out completely. Bella's tail curls a little and--

Mosaic's feet give out from underneath her. She grunts in pain she can't otherwise acknowledge and sucks air in through her teeth when the spears in her back bend, snap, and drive further into her flesh when they meet the hard ground. XIII howls and pounces, abandoning the hero to pin the awkward chef underneath her bulk. Her long, bloody claws trace the edge of Bella's jaw. Her teeth drip hot saliva that splashes against Bella's forehead with a smell that feels like dying to even contemplate. The girl flinches in spite of herself.

"SPEAK! You. Said. Her. Name. Ar. Tem. Issssss. Tell. Me. Now. What. Is. The. Link? What. Do. You. Know? BeL. LAAAAAAA..."

"Oh, it speaks? Well that's a surprise. The entire time I've had it here I've never once heard it say anything that wasn't 'Re. Da. Na.' Perhaps that's a sign that the goddess is leaking in? If that's the case I'd better finish my preparations!"

Bella Aurelia sweeps her shadow cloak about her and slides smoothly around the disaster in front of her to come face to face with Dolce. She looks down at him and smiles.

"I won't ask you what you think of my hospitality. You have made yourself very clear, Mister Chef-From-Gods-Know-Where. But despite your constant rudeness and the destruction of my property you seem so keen on continuing, the gods bear witness that I have remained a gracious host until the absolute end."

Her sword strikes like a snake and reduces his crutch to splinters. Her knee rises after and crushes half his ribs in a blow. As he lifts off the ground she whips her arm around and takes him by the throat, squeezing with the relish of a woman who has been dreaming of exactly this moment for a long and frustrating lifetime.

"All of this is merely my kind instruction to you, my little lord, so that you will be fit to live inside my kingdom. Is not my generosity a thing of wonder? Can't you hear the people clamoring, 'Praise, Praise Empress Aurelia! She who spun tar into gold!'? Then open your ears. Open your eyes. Open your mouth and begin to chant, you worm."

She flips her sword around and crushed the hilt into his elbow, and grinds the pommel into his joint until she hears the muscles disintegrate. She is the one who taught her 'daughter' to create pain, and it is only in this moment of focused attention that it is possible to appreciate that. The feeling of becoming a star is raw and overwhelming, even indescribable, but in the end it is too large a thing for the body to contain. So much of the potential is wasted.

What Aurelia does instead is more akin to igniting the individual connections inside of your body. It is no less painful, and oddly no more, but it is deeply intimate and for all that her methods seem lesser it is all in service to forcing the mind to contemplate them. The mind may not remain white. It cannot go blank. She can, by moving her attention around, force jagged thoughts across the surface for eternity: shaping and then shattering them as an artist with a chisel. She has not worked in marble for nothing, after all.

But her attention is suddenly divided. There are sounds she is not hearing that have nothing to do with how effective her torture is. What is taking that useless beast so long?

She turns her head. Just in time to see a sobbing Bella wrap her arms around XIII. In time to see Mosaic scrape herself off the ground one last time and collapse on both of them.

"I hated that I had no past!" says Bella through her tears, "I hated that there weren't any other Servitors like me! What am I? What are we? It made me feel like I had no future. But I, I, I do! I thought there was nothing more to love than what Aphrodite gives us but it isn't true! Look at us! Look at us! What else could love even look like? I... I want..."

"Don't you dare!"

The burst of light is like greeting a new galaxy. A moment like this? It could never be contained in white. Gold was far too shallow a luster to handle this brilliance all by itself. Even calling it polychromatic would be ceding the moment to Poseidon when His domain has only its own small contributions to the moment. Rather, every color that this awful and twisted world of the heart has been denying itself explodes into it all at once. Reds and Yellows and Oranges in every shade that blurs the line between them dance with Greens and Blues and Purples, in pastels and neons and metallics - even gold, which somehow now that you see it feels like it had been missing too.

It is the gold that draws all sight to it through the storm. Two solid points of this single shade, so lustrous and sharp that they might be deadly weapons as easily as treasures. But they are, in fact, her eyes.

Bella's beautiful, perfect eyes.

She stands around half a head taller than Mosaic ever had. Her dark and silken hair tumbles with effortless grace down her shoulders where it cascades down her back, guided by a pair of helixed braids that bind the blue-black waterfall all the way down to her hips. Excess spills beyond even that point, her unrestrained locks parting around her tail and bouncing just above her knees in sharp contrast to her perfectly manicured bangs and their elegant, feathery jaw-length frame. Her painted red lips open in surprise, and she turns her head to examine herself more thoroughly.

This Bella is, in the main, a creature of blacks and reds, whites and blues. Her pristine fur is still visible on her arms and legs, which show far firmer muscles than before. Though she is still built for smooth elegance, there is a lack of restraint to her being now that makes no efforts to hide her power amid the softness of a pet, and it makes her muscles seem all the more like she's been carved from a ship's hull to look at her. Black is the armor wrapped around her chest, XIII's own bone mail but polished and painted and trimmed until it hugs her chest the way a lover should, kissed with silver trim that begins at her collarbone and spirals down across her breasts and abdomen in patterns resembling the vines of a garden.

A golden fauld rests beneath her waist in the form of twin plates of ornate armor draped over a brilliant crimson skirt that is itself separated into four separate layers. At the back it is full and thick but toward the front each hem has been taken in or cut at different lengths and angles so that it unfolds in mesmerizing patterns and daring frills. It rests heavier on her left side than the right, wrapping almost around her shin on the one side but opening up barely past the middle of her thigh on the other, barring a single split of fabric that drapes down the middle and dances freely between both sides of her. Her left foot is wrapped in a silver sandal, but her right is encased in a heavy black greave patterned after XIII's Diodekoi armor that reaches up to her knee.

So too is her left arm covered in a black-bone gauntlet ending in sharp, gorgeous talons, while her right arm is bare but for a small golden bangle at her wrist dotted through with blue and green gemstones She grips a dagger in her hand: a surprisingly simple thing of good, sharpened metal on a soft wrapped handle and no attempt whatsoever at a guard. But what more could a woman like her possibly need?

"I want to be me," she says in a surprised tone that's half as much breath as it is her own, proper voice, "I want to live."

Her great booted foot twists on the marble floor and cracks it where the toe claws dig in, and then she vanishes. The throne of hands that has been crushing all of Ember's bones into jelly suddenly shudders and collapses into a messy tangle. Bella holds the form of her lover with delicate ease, wrapping sharp and deadly talons around her waist as though they were the fingers of a ballgown's glove.

"What", hisses Aurelia, "Have you done?"

"Fucked if I know. Does it matter?"

Aurelia smiles. She tosses Dolce to one side, and Bella simply appears in his line of trajectory to catch him in the crook of her elbow. She stoops and sets both precious treasures down on the floor. But her opponent - that is, herself - shows no surprise or even anger. If her horrible smile is any indication, this is the greatest gift she could have asked for, now that she's opened her eyes wide enough to appreciate it.

She lifts Desire in front of her, and shakes her head.

"No, it does not. You are not what I was expecting, but you are much closer to true Rampancy than any attempt I have yet cultivated. You are a true treasure, you stupid creature. I daresay that if I kill you I should rip the better part of Artemis' power out of her in the same motion. Now that I think on it, is that not a far cleaner plan than I began with?"

"You know, you really do sound like her. But you're not. That's the shit that keeps getting me into so much trouble."

As a pair, they vanish from sight. High above in the rafters of the theater, the sound of keening blades echoes into the seats. Dagger meets sword again and again and again, and is never found to be the lesser weapon. The battle bounces through the building and tears whole chunks of it out in the process, shattering rubble down into mere pebbles as it falls and rains on the only audience left to appreciate it.

Again and again and again. Deathblows fall like thunderbolts beneath a featureless sky. Every swing and every parry rattle the entire building, the sounds of each trade making it feel like the bruised and battered audience is being struck instead. Aurelia moves confidently, but in her need to present as an Empress her every motion is flashier than it needs to be. Her crushing overhead slash is angled so that her fluttering cape will catch the falling theater lights and billow exactly correctly, only for her grand and terrible sword to wind up knocked aside in an instant.

Bella's form by contrast is simple and brutal, but most of all it is efficient. There is a ruthless cleanliness to the way she bends her arm that she could never have managed before. She herself had always been too caught up in appearances, in being a pet or a monster or a maid or a hero or a Human. When really, she was all of these things the entire time. And none of them. And more. She is Bella Tredecima Mosaic.

This time she catches Desire in her gauntlet. Her blazing golden eyes flick over the length of the blade. They narrow as she squeezes, and the sword screams in the voice of one of Aurelia's poor, tortured "children" as it shatters. Chips of wood and glass, and bits of straw, all of it dripping with blood. That is what falls to the ground instead of a weapon. Bella swivels her hip forward and buries her dagger, and then her arm up to the elbow into Aurelia's chest.

She too, falls. But not as insubstantial and fake trash; Aurelia's body is authentic. The last of the marble floor cracks beneath her, leaving only dirt and grass. Around her, flowers are blooming. A grand, purple winged butterfly comes and rests on her knee, safe at last from the retribution of her designs. She coughs as she tries to stand. Her broken body will not allow it.

"...Is this really how it is?"

Bella turns away from her and stoops low to the ground. Already she has coaxed Dany onto her shoulders so she can keep her arms free for Ember and Dolce. No one left behind in the world of her heart. All guests must please exit the stage.

"Yeah," she says after a moment, "Don't tell me you're surprised."

"Don't tell me," Aurelia gags and paints her lips a fresher, wetter red, "That you're going to deny me too? They all... deny me. Call me fake. You... fools. Will never. Be rid of me."

Bella stares for a moment, not moving except to breath or to subtly adjust the weight of her wounded family against her body. Finally she shakes her head, setting her hair into a mad dance behind her.

"No. You're me, too. I'd be an idiot to not see that. You're just wrong about what you think you are."

"What... ghk! Nonsense is this now?"

"Well think about it. You called yourself the only me who knew how to love herself, but then why do you need to try so hard to be Nero?"

"I- did not!"

"Because we love her. Always have. But who the fuck wants to turn into their own mom? Only sad, pathetic losers who hate everything about themselves. And for the longest time... that was me."

"You make it sound... so enlightened."

"Yeah, well. It's not. You've had a good run in here, I'll give you that. But I don't need you anymore. Enjoy the view, bitch."

She bends her knees, just slightly. Bella leaps into the air with force enough to shatter the ground beneath her. With force enough to shatter the sky above her.

Bella Aurelia's hazy eyes watch her vanish along with all of her plans. She coughs, and squints up at the darkening sky as it comes alight with the brilliant violets and greens of far-distant nebulae. And amidst it all, twinkling motes of light spark into existence one after another.

"...That dream again?"

Her eyelids are heavy. Her chest is heavy. She closes them, to keep from seeing it. Her breathing slows, enough to rest.

"I will... allow it."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

The unfurl behind her one after another, like the blossoming of a lotus flower, or maybe a variety of rose. Luxuriously fluffy, so silken it's borderline decadent, the same inviting (some would say delicious) minty green as her hair. Count them: one two three, four five six, seven eight nine.

Ten.

Her tails spread out behind her back to form a soft and slightly twitching halo for just a moment, before Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits offers the world a smile and politely tucks them all in place. There's no need to show off, after all. Not that she can entirely help it at this point. Her dress hasn't changed, except that everything about the way she wears it is so different it doesn't feel like it can be the same outfit. All about her being a breeze blows in teasing puffs and swirls, yes even here in the near-void of upper orbit. It lifts the train of her dress up, it pulls it back down, it sends her ribbon-sash spiraling behind her back in an imitation of the pose her tails had just struck, and it stays there, rippling but still, suspended as if by magic.

Because it is magic. Obviously! What did you think fox wishes do? Make somebody not the prettiest girl at the ball? Psh. If they didn't work, nobody would ever be tempted by them. Which honestly wouldn't be any fun at all, I don't personally think. So no, Kat is radiant. Literally - her hair sparkles, her eyes gleam, and while her skin doesn't glitter in the sense that you'd expect that word to mean she does have an aura almost like gemstone dust that follows her every little motion with a burst of twinkling light in every color that crystals are capable of painting.

Her lips are painted soft pink, which is the best color. The rest of her face has no need for makeup of any kind, nor indeed at this moment a helmet, so her long green hair is free to flow behind her like a banner announcing a princess. Oops, sorry. A Princess. We can give her this one. At least for a bit. Her face is not really all that different (even if you squint and tilt your head way to one side), but there is something about the way she carries herself that makes it feel like she's grown up a lot all at once. What had been cute feels more alluring now. The point of her nose and the curl of her lips seem suddenly kissable when before they were mostly meant for begging for treats. There's a sharpness to her cheeks that could send many a maiden tumbling helplessly down the hill of love if they just had a strong enough telescope to watch all this happening. And yet, aren't they still the same silly, squishable things that she's always had?

There's one difference that's bringing all of that perception together, and I think if you watch her for another moment or two you'll put together what it is. It's not that she's "strong" now, it's not that she has an aura more potent than a mountain, though that is pretty cool. And it's not the pretty lights around her playing tricks on your eyes, though again I have to admit they're catching all her best angles pretty flawlessly. No no, take a look at the way she's standing now. Not just tall or poised or proud or anything like that, but controlled. Watch her breathing. See how steady it is? See the confidence in her wrist, locked so perfectly to give her a better grip on her beautiful wooden sword? See how light her stance is, and even just the way she feels like she is actually standing here despite there being no ground to speak of.

And now that you've noticed all that, look into her eyes. See how deep they are. See how much she sees, and watch the delighted twitching of her ears so you can tell how much she's listening too. There's wisdom in this fox, and with that comes confidence. Not just the delightful thrill of being able to add extremely large numbers together, but the understanding that there's no great need for any of those digits in the first place.

For the first time, there is no Next. There is only Now, and the knowledge that it is the most precious treasure any fox could hope to possess. In the end that's what's transformed her. That's why just a teensy tweak to the lighting and a bit of light breeze (plus a bit of posture correction) are enough to make her the envy of any beauty in any city you could name. All she needed the entire time was the vision to understand that. And possibly access to a better hairbrush than I gave her. That's my bad. That part's on me. I'll be buying her a new one when this is all over, 'kay? That's a promise from me to you to her.

She watches the world and the God of Death and Understanding hardens like diamonds to form Determination. She moves the way a river does, not with any obvious force nor entirely in one direction, but swiftly and smoothly and with such secret fury that once you've felt it for yourself you can't be left with any sense but that it is inevitable she is going to get wherever she's going. In a word, it's dazzling. In another word, it's beautiful. In a third, like any river, it's dangerous.

Her blade sweeps through space and taps its blunt tip against the head of that horrible hammer. She smiles at this horrible deity, and gives it a shake of her head.

"No it is not, thanks for askin'."

There is one startled second where she almost bobbles it, caught unawares by how much her voice is still, y'know, her voice. But nobody takes advantage of that second and it passes with a full recovery. Just a single wasted frame in what turned out to be a wider window, thank goodness.

"That's my home," she says, though she pauses to look at the continent of Australia again, "Well... ok that isn't, but it's somebody's home! Got it? Which makes those guys my neighbors, which is practically the same thing as callin' 'em friends!"

It only takes a tiny twist of her wrist, and the torque from her entire arm travels up her sword and knocks the hammer up as though it were the weapon made of wood. She takes a stance and waves one foxy finger at the Death God.

"Thanks but no thanks for the gifts, we don't want 'em. But you and I can dance for a bit, if you've got the moves to keep up."

Return to Thellamie

"No."

The word doesn't come out as a fierce rebuke. Nor the iron declaration of a hero. Neither a sharp, surprised cry of denial. No, it is merely a sigh: resigned, weary, and disappointed.

"No. You are not in love."

Now that she's committed herself, there is nothing left to do but stand here after all. No more information to drink in. No more point in questioning the environment. Certainly no greater commit of effort could possibly be warranted, not in this ridiculous farce. There is nothing new to remember after all. This entire absurd sequence is nothing more than a repeated fragment of advice already offered. With perhaps a dose of delusions of grandeur mixed in.

As though there were anything of Heron in her. Or in the games she is constantly stuck playing, however little fun it still is. As if by following the signs she would magically receive an answer that satisfied her and armed her all at once. What should she honestly have expected besides more lies?

"No. You are not allowed to be in love."

Even still she has not let go. She does not turn to watch the feathers and beak and mirrors. She does not prevent it from doing anything and she does not mark its arrival. She is finished collecting information. She does not slam this copy of Timtam into the wall, or kick her through the window, or adjust her grip to lessen the pain that she is causing, or fight to free herself from the vice grip of those legs, or escalate in any way, or back down from the instructions she has already committed to.

She is holding on.

"No. You will not be given a chance."

Perhaps if she is lucky, this will turn out to have been a trap the whole time. This dream, that is. This... nightmare of disinformation and poor detective work. Perhaps if she is lucky, this will have triggered it. Perhaps if she is lucky, it will be the kind of trap that dissolves the world she is standing in to formless, bottomless void and she will fall forever without ceasing.

With nothing to crash into and jolt her body awake. With nothing to watch and nothing to count and nothing to orient herself around and nothing to hear and nothing to smell and nothing to do except fall. Until she eventually forgets what falling is. And then thereafter to forget what forgetting is. And in the end to ****** what being is at all.

"No. You will never have a happily-ever-after."

Those sad, melted faces. Those names that have long since been burned to ash and ruin. Those who would if they could find it shake the sleeping body of one Eclair Espoir and beg her to return. Those who cannot find solace in one another, for they never even knew they shared the loss. Those reasons not to find peace in oblivion.

Eclair clicks her tongue against her teeth.

"No. You are not a monster. And I am not a hero."

Remembering is such a pain in the ass. She might at least have done herself the courtesy of dreaming up a notebook she could pass along to the great fool twitching in a pool where somebody plainly needed her eyes to open.

"Stop pretending these costumes suit us. The game is over, Timtam."

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"Hm?" hms Actia, as something bright and shiny and very full of hope tumbles clumsily past her view.

"What the h*ck is that?" says Cyanis.

"Hmmm." hms Actia again, but more hmmmily this time.

Kat's got no eyes for any of it, though. No ears either. Hers are only turned toward the... ooh, could we call her the Foreign G-- actually no, we'd better not. I don't wanna define anybody like that. It sounds so cool though, is the thing. Well. Anyway. Katherine can only watch her. Can only hear her. Can only stare through tears at the surface of her distant home as it ripples and changes and, well... dies. She hiccups and she sniffles, and she briefly entertains the idea of throwing her sword at the back of the god's head because at least that would be doing something, but for whatever reason she can't quite bring herself to commit to the motion.

She gets as far as lifting it. And that's when she feels the tap on the back of her shoulder. She turns, for the first time, and remembers she has friends.

"Sheesh, finally! I was starting to think you got swallowed by some kind of evil Viking curse or whatever! You ready to join the talk at the Big Girl's Table or what?"

"Cy, I..."

"You what? You're sorry you only fought a giant crab monster to a standstill for like three hours? You didn't know a horrible death woman would pop out of it? You're upset that your little two-tailed butt didn't discover an instakill move and knock her out straight away? Oh puh-leeze. I swear you are the least foxy fox that ever didn't fox a fox. How'd you even get a second tail, anyway?"

"You, um. You were there, Cy. Damn Fox gave it to me. So I could... y'know, get revenge on you. And stuff."

"And great job on that front," Cyanis beamed while patting Katherine's head, "I'm good and revenged now. But we're setting all that aside because we've found a Super Special Rainbow bomb thingy and we're gonna kick it at that monster and blow it and all of our problems up forever. Pretty cool, huh?"

"Mm, no," said Actia, "That would be a complete waste of its potential."

"WHAT?! Oh come on you scheming little minx, which part of your ultra special secret plan are we still following? The bit where we all almost die? Again? Or the part where we go to Double Cutie Jail and they don't even hand out the good panty gags? Nuh uh, no thank you. We're doing this MY way and that means we kick the bomb over there and watch it fix everything while we sip mocktails on the lunar beach. The moon's got beaches, right? C'mon let's go!"

"A bomb won't work. What we need is a greater fox. One with more tails than any of us."

"Erm," said Kat, "I don't... is that actually going to work either? I mean, I guess we could call Damn Fox, but I'm full of weird fighting instinct stuff and junk and I can tell just by looking over there that even she can't win. A Ninetail isn't enough, and that's the biggest number there is!"

"You think so?" said Actia through an extremely cool blue-painted smirk, "I count ten tails right here."

Two jaws drop. Kat and Cyanis stare at each other mutely, deeply impressed and intimidated once again by Actia's higher level understanding of math. Kat tries to check this by counting, which is difficult because the tails are all so fluffy and they keep waving around. But as luck would have it the number on display is exactly as many as she has fingers, so in the end she gets there.

Her eyes light up with the fire of someone who's been given renewed hope. A warrior getting a second wind, if you will, or just a hopeless girl seeing a little sparkle of rainbow light and remembering how to smile. Little magic, the kind that makes bigger miracles possible. It makes sense, doesn't it? This is exactly how they started this ritual in the first place. The lot of them, together, made one Ninetail. This same power had accepted that logic. But now Actia was one tail richer. And that meant...

"W-we could... oh goshies, we could do anything!"

"Well. ONE of us could do anything. It's a little different casting one spell versus preparing for a battle. Two of us will need to channel our power into the other. Which means, we'll need to..."

"Yes yes, of course," huffed Cyanis with a level of drama that did not match the canary-eating smile on her face at all, "It's oooooooobvious what you're getting at, Actie. And yes, it's true. I am the prettiest of us all, with the biggest mommy milkers and also the cutest butt! Plus the prettiest smile? Oh do go on, flatterer! But even though my policy is to never do hero stuff even if I can't help it, just this one time I'll make the sacrifice and let you both give all your power to me~"

"There is not a chance in hell we're using you, Cyanis."

"What? How come??? Is it you then? Just because you've got more tails than the rest of us already doesn't mean--"

Actia glares so sharply that the rest of Cyanis' retort dies down to a whimper.

"We're going to use Katherine."

Two jaws drop again. Two younger foxes stare at their rival/mentor/friend/coolest person ever (well, according to one of them anyway) and try to work out how the math maths out to the girl with fewer tails than anybody around. Well, anybody they're aware of at least.

"I don't trust you as far as I could throw you, Cyanis. I doubt you feel any differently about me. What would you even do with the power of a ten-tailed fox?"

"Well obviously I'd do whatever I felt like! And so would anybody! Like, c'mon! It's fox magic?? That's what it's for? So since it doesn't matter which of us gets it since we'd all do the same thing the only logical is to give it to me 'cause I want it! A lot! Which is the same as deserving it, so nyeh!"

"Katherine, let me ask you a question."

"Um?"

"I'll take that as a yes. Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, who has traveled with the anime Yue. Now that you've come this far and seen the depths of foxing, do you trust us?"

That one takes a second. Seconds she doesn't really have anymore, what with the impending doom of everything she loves riding on her getting the answer to a pop quiz right. Oh goshies, why didn't she study? Did anybody have a notebook she could borrow? The foxy answer here would be to, uh... lie? Lie and say yes? No wait, say no! She needs to make the case that she needs assurances and stuff, right? Because without that, the others wouldn't give her back her tail and she'd have to go back to being a pouch-riding narrator! Which was fun, come to think of it, but no! Nyo! She can't do that! She's gotta stake her claim! And, like, um, um, um?

...Giggle?

Yup, there she goes. Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits smiles like the sunrise at her friends. At her friends.

"Yeah, I do. I think you're both good girls and--"

"Stop stop stop stop STOOOOOOOOOP!" screams a blushing and flustered Cyanis, "Enough! Enough! Ok ok ok! D-don't say the g-word, please! I can't take it! You win, you win, we'll let the puppy be Queen Dork. But when this is over you're gonna give me the bestest foot massage in history! Got that?"

"I know a good spa out by Ys, does that count? C'mon, sillyheads, let's do this before we run out of parlors to lounge in. I know I want ice cream!"

Kat is a good girl. Some would say the best girl. But that's not entirely why Actia placed her faith in her. Sometimes a fragile will gets tempered by heat it never asked to feel. And when that happens, if it doesn't break? The lazy little pet can turn out to be the most iron hearted champion of all. Foxes instinctively fear the beings they call 'animes', which I think means the sort who'd go out and do the stuff you always see the pink-haired girls doin' in the stories and whatnot.

And if that's how it is, how else can you define our Kat? You could say she's a failure of a foxgirl, but only in service to becoming something much, much scarier to their kind. Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, the only Master who could ever have dared to fight alongside Berserker. The only one who held onto a blade, even in the face of absolute terror and death. No, Actia picked her because she was scared not to. And that's the truth, no matter who's willing to admit it or not.

Three slender hands join overtop of a Spiritron Accelerator. One face maintains aloof indifference, while one does a cute grumbly pout, and the third smiles enraptured not just at the idea of being trusted by her original heroes, but at the realization that she's still got one last chance to fix the mistake she made all that long while ago. She can make it all right. She can be, if not the hero that saved the world, then at least the fang that blunted the doom of all she loves.

And that's not a bad thing to be at all. She closes her eyes, and feels a true fox miracle rushing over her.

Breathless Dead

She does not watch the other hand. She does not see the knife. In the first moment she is sitting there with the ghost of a sneer still on her face. In the next the blade slides through her throat without resistance and she showers the stage in her blood. She does not offer the satisfaction of surprise; her head merely slumps against her shoulder as her body falls slack.

Bella pulls Dany close and turns to shield her from the sight and the splatter. She flinches when she feels flecks of hot blood splash across her back, but she is equal to the duty. Nothing comes from her lips but soft, soothing tones even as her entire body trembles. Meanwhile, Aurelia's daughter climbs over her body to cup her mother's face in her little hands. She fusses with her mother's hair, straightening the blue-black tainted golden locks that have fallen out of place.

"That was really stupid, you know." she titters while craning her head over her shoulder to look at Ember.

And as her gaze turns, the throne snaps to life. Hands grab Ember around her throat. Around her arms. Two more crush her shoulder. Another pair seize her around the waist and squeeze until she makes a noise like a popping balloon. Two more snap her knees into pieces. She is held. Suspended. Crushed. Bones splinter, and she is not even granted the dignity of being able to scream about it. Neither is she permitted to die. She is pulled forward, to stare into the eyes of Bella Aurelia.

Who smiles. Black mist pours from between her teeth and wraps itself around her throat. Onward it billows, solidifying, stabilizing, though never becoming more than shadows and nightmares, until it is a cloak that tumbles dramatically down her back and pools on the floor to either side of her throne. It clasps into place around her wound, not healing it so much as erasing it. She stretches her neck once to the left, perhaps vaguely tentative. Once to the right, a triumph and a luxury. And once more before she settles, and pats Ember on the head with crushing condescension.

"See, this is why nobody takes you imbeciles seriously. So much fire! One might have expected me to flinch in the face of so much passion! And then... what? What is this? You all bark so poetically but you punctuate your yips with a knife, a child, and an old can? Well. At least now it should be clearer that my attempts at diplomacy have been a generosity on my part. One which I will not extend again."

She rises from her throne with liquid grace, pulling forth her sword and then tossing it over her shoulder. She makes no motion to attack, nor does she offer any indication she feels in danger. With her weight gone from it, the throne raises even more hands to crush and choke Ember. Bella Aurelia sniffs at the air and snaps her fingers.

"XIII. I release you. You may fulfill your purpose in this place."

The sword slices through the air with a clean keening. The stroke is so smooth that nobody who isn't looking for it can realize that it has not cut the air at all, but rather the arm of Aurelia's elder daughter. The young girl's face is slow to change from her smug smile to a look of disbelief. Then pain. And then utter terror. She screams and clutches at the stump at her elbow, screaming mom and mother and then mommy when each fails to get the help and sympathy she needs. Blood pools everywhere around her as her tears fall uselessly down into it.

Until she hears the howl. From high above her, XIII screams with equal parts fury and delight as she drops like a comet into the chaos. Her boots spatter crimson liquid everywhere. Her tongue slides out of her mouth to lap at it. One last time, the girl calls for her mother. And then Desire splits her ribs open.

"It is important to me that you all understand I did not plan for things to go this way," Aurelia says without even glancing down, "It was meant to go a lot more smoothly than this."

Names burn brightly on XIII's armor. Without looking, you already know which ones are there. But it might surprise you to see that Bella Aurelia's name is also written in blood on the Diodekoi's frame, in the fresh sacrifice of a girl who never even got to have a name. It might surprise you more to see that this does not concern Aurelia in the slightest.

"I do not control the beast. It is very important that you understand this. I merely unleash her. Were she mine, I could not open the pathway for Artemis to join us down here in my world. Do you see now? It is the goddess I wish to slay. And when I have taken her crown and her hunt into myself, you will not say to me anymore that I am some dull echo of your past journeys. I will preserve your eyes and your mouths, so that you may witness. I wish to hear the song of your lamentation as you watch me cleave Olympus itself from our imperfect heavens. How is that for guest right, hmm~?"

"Oh, has that been the plan all this time? You might have saved us all a lot of trouble by being honest, HA!"

Mosaic is a mess of a mess of a mess. Her hair is sliced in odd places and tangled in the rest, and her beautiful black suit is shredded to threads and something still resembling pants. There are no fewer than ten spears jammed into her back like the spines of some strange dragon, but even bloodied and dirtied and bruised as she is, she stands as tall as any of the shafts still quivering in her muscles.

She rushes forward, in that way that heroes do, just as XIII descends with a universe-shaking howl of fury. The pair of them clash like titans. Mosaic catches XIII's claws with her own hands and locks them, wrist to wrist and forearm to forearm. They posture and push against one another, caught in a wrestling match that only seems even until you look at how badly Mosaic's arms are shaking. But even so, to hold a thing like XIII to a standstill is a miracle.

And the young Bella looks at that miracle. She clutches a delicate princess with one arm, and a can of coffee with the other.

And she does not know what to do.

Return to Thellamie

Observation. Analysis. Action.

This is the ideal flow of energies across all of life. It is how conversation is meant to work. It is how a room is swept clean of dust. It is how breakfast is prepared. It is how every mystery in the universe can be unraveled and exposed.

The first act flows smoothly into the second. The second act is occasionally jagged, and often necessitates looping back around to the beginning again. Observation. Analysis. Observation. Analysis. Action. This is the most likely mutation of the proper pattern, but once analysis finally turns to pure crystal, acting on it is as simple as anyone could dare to hope for. A bumbling oaf with a stick and a dream could unmake the most deeply laid plans of queens and fallen stars alike, if they only watched and thought properly beforehand.

Though sometimes, at the end of all the thought and the thinking (which are different), when the world is at last drunk through a glass the way it needs to be, what Eclair is left with is not the ease that the proper path is supposed to grant, but stupid and childish petulance. This? This is the shape of victory? Truly?

How distasteful.

She has always preferred to take victory while accepting whatever conditions and restrictions her opponents place upon her. If Timtam wanted to duel with distractions and games, then that should be the arena through which she should claim victory. Any other path felt like losing. Because it did in a very literal sense mean admitting that she was worse than someone else at something, and that was not a thought she enjoyed expressing, once she'd seen fit to challenge them.

Is she really Timtam's lesser? The idea by itself is enough to make her want to simply sit here and listen to the rain until the dream finally unravels. Better that than do what needs to be done. And yet... this must indeed be a dream. Where else would she be able to process that idea so smoothly? And where else would she be able to admit the unlikeliness that she could find herself in this scenario to begin with? To be poised to take an action that definitively surprises the vagrant maid-knight, to be allowed to take a turn at shuffling the shells herself?

Observation. Analysis.

In the end, that's all this is. That crucial final step is still to happen elsewhere. In another mind, one that operates differently and can more properly translate the effort into success. Isn't it? Isn't that... how this should go? Why is she wearing the cape of a great hero? Why? Why? Why? What could that mean?

...In the end, she must acknowledge the chains. She must cast them aside. She must, this dreaming self, trust that she is the realization of some detail that Eclair noticed but did not recognize in her fractured state. That this will not all dissolve into useless nothing, and that life when she wakes to it will remain worth living.

Watch her hand, Timtam. She is not moving it at all.

"For once in your life, I wish you would be honest with me."

Her foot kicks up from underneath the table. She knocks it smoothly to one side, and in that way of both dreams and maids the motion kicks all of the pieces into the air, only for them to land perfectly as they were on the board again. But in the meantime she has leapt out of her chair and grasped Timtam's wrists together with the hand she'd been keeping on her lap.

And with the one that had been watched, she seizes Timtam around the throat.

"Tell me. Show me. What have you been hiding?"

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

She wants to fight back. Even now, she wants to fight back.

But she can't.

How is that possible? How is that fair? In Kat's entire life the only thing that has ever held her back was the lack of a will to act. She knows what it means to be too scared to want to do something, or too hungry, or too bored. But this is different. Here, nothing has changed at all. But for some reason... for some reason!

She can't move. Her body won't do anything but tremble. The ugly bruises all over her body, the burns and the cuts and the really nasty scrape on her knee, they all throb with the kind of supremely irritating pain that refuses to be pushed through. They sap her strength and turn her into just a member of the audience.

It hurts so much! She can see it all, in her head it's clearer than crystal. The lunge, the spin, the full commitment. The overhead slice with her remaining sword against that (beautiful, eerie) metal wrist and follow through until it severs. She can't see what's supposed to come after, but is that supposed to matter? If all the heroes she's met on this journey have taught her anything, it's that there's beauty and value in dragging an impossible opponent lower than they started, even if you don't get to be the one to finish them off, y'know?

The world is full of heroes. It's full of gods too, though none quite like this one. Which I think that's what we're looking at right now. A god, I mean. First one I've ever seen that makes me understand what all the Servants have been saying to each other since they turned up. It doesn't make sense that this should fall on one two-tailed fox. It's not fair that it did. It's even less fair for her to feel like she has to 'contribute' to this part of things, as if just beating the crab wasn't already an accomplishment on par with anything you could care to name.

It's just that she knows, y'know? She knows that if the shoe was on the other foot, if this rose-bound...monster had considered Berserker unworthy of its time and instead laid out three foxgirls in enchanted sleep, she would stop at nothing to repay the insult. Her fortress would rage until it crumbled. And then she would draw her blade and leap through space and smash it to pieces on the god's dress. And when she had no weapons at all, she would swing her fists as though they were a new and greater blade. And when all her limbs were broken or severed, she would use her teeth. Kat knows; Berserker would never, ever stop fighting for her. No matter how pointless it might be. No matter how fair it might be to count on all the world's living heroes and dreamers to keep our home alive. She knows it and she can't unknow it. Y'know? So she grips her sword tight and she grips her teeth and she readies a cutting remark on her lips.

And all that happens is that she curls up into a ball, instead. No sound escapes her, not even a whimper. Her ears press flat against her skull and her tails bush to maximum fear, and she cries silent, horrible tears.

Because she is afraid. Because she is ashamed of how afraid she is, after all the help and support she's been given. What she's looking at right now is Death. Unbeautiful, dispassionate, absolute Death. To be seen by it at all, to be noticed in the first place means oblivion. And Katherine just isn't ready for that. How can anyone ask her to throw herself away for, for, for nothing??

They're not. And it doesn't matter, 'cause she is. And she CAN'T. So she cries. And Cyanis, for once, is both silent and still. And Actia is not forthcoming with any clever plan, or even an admonishment. Three foxes, the two-tail, the three-tail, and the five, watch a god of metal and flowers watch their home and do nothing.

Well that's just fine with me. I didn't come up all this way just to watch. Am I the Demon Swordswoman or amn't... I? Oh for the love of-- all right whatever. Nobody saw, nobody heard. Point is, I've still got tricks up my sleeves. And if this doesn't work, then I'll be sticking my sword into this whole adventure. I'll be the one who charges forward and lets Kat just scream "Me too!" and follow, and hopefully that'll be enough for neither of us to die.

She just won't forgive me after. That's how come I'm not: I'm slipping into the ruins of the Vault, instead. It's darker than all get out in here and I don't mind telling you that it smells worse than a closet full of old socks. How something as delicious as a crab can leave behind miasma like this is totally beyond me. But whatever, I've dealt with worse. You think this is bad you should have been there for my first attempt at trout... nev, never mind.

It's a quick dip inside. I just need to pry that... what'dya call it? A Spiritron Accelerator? It's back to the very beginning for our heroines. I slip it out and I flip-kick it toward the trio while I make myself scarce and hide in the shadow cast by the moon.

You three started this. You three can finish it. You just need a reminder of what you did. That's all.

Sunshards: Chaos Sequence

"I, erm, just think that you might be-- OHHHHH HECK!"

Katherine! We do not use that word in our house!!

...I get it, though. The thing about Big Number why it's scarier than Puzzle Boss even if it isn't necessarily harder is that it's very much a You Must Be This Tall to Ride kinda thing. This is what got Qiu in trouble for so long, actually: she was a Puzzle Boss wrapped in a Big Number wrapped in a hot dragon girl.

But Kat doesn't really consider that in the heat of the moment, much as she ever hasn't since she started needing to care for a Berserker. The Crab makes a motion toward her friends and she is there in a flash with swords raised high. It doesn't matter that she's the one it really wanted. It doesn't matter that putting the focus on defending someone else leaves her more open than blocking selfishly would've. She has to, because she knows she can do it. Because she's a good girl.

The first blow almost rips her swords right out of her hand. The claw takes every bit of strength left in her body just to hold it at bay. Even then, it's slowly forcing her guard lower and lower; soon it'll smack her in the head and she won't be able to see straight. Good luck fighting after that. She redoubles her efforts and it's just enough. She can get her friends out. She can even think for a bit. She knows she has to--

She's not ready for the Crab Plasma Engines to suddenly flare to life. She's been so focused on that giant, bulging claw that she hadn't stopped to think about huge the lesser legs are. She feels it pivot, but doesn't see it strike out with one leg in the giant space crab equivalent of a roundhouse kick. So she takes it full in the stomach with a startled and deeply pained grunt. Her grudge sword burns hotter, but just now she's fighting too hard to get air back in her lungs to be able to swing with it.

That's how the exchanges go. The Crab is just better than she is: this is the limit of her power up, and it has gone beyond. She fights, but it's a miserable losing sort of battle where she goes through the motions of dodge rolling, parrying, blocking, waiting for her "turn" in the dance even though she knows it will never let up. It's reading her moves, cheating on its responses, and chaining attack after attack after attack without ever letting up. You can't really call it a combo because none of it links together. But powered by rockets, bursting with power that it can hardly keep stuffed inside its armor, what does that matter?

Kat knows enough about swordsmanship all on her own to know that the best way to block is to dodge, and the best way to take a hit is to just not. She knows from being Berserker's Master that getting clobbered full on by all that ridiculous power just turns bits of you to dust and that the real flow of things with an opponent like that is to not let them get going. Get full on in the face and make noises so they get distracted. Be annoying and loud. Yip a bunch. And if a swing comes anyway? At the very least don't let it catch you anywhere important.

From that perspective she does ok. Her legs are bruised. She's got a cut open over her left eye that just won't close and it's letting almost crystal like droplets float everywhere she goes. Every breath is more painful than the one she took before it, and even her tails are scuffed and sagging. But she's still got her swords. When she manages to bonk the shell with the special wooden sword, little flowers grow from the carapace and a lightness fills her body that, if it isn't healing her outright, at least makes her feel like she can make it through the next round of scrambling.

And every hit she takes makes Avenger's gift roar louder and louder. Metaphorically speaking, I know this fight is unusually quiet for how fierce it is. There's so much hatred in that thing that it might even be enough to tip the scales back in her favor if she could just find the room to swing it. But more power that soaks into the flames that lap around its blade, the heavier it feels in her arm, and the bigger the opening her brain tells her she needs to swing it. She can't waste it. She can't waste it. If she spends it all on a glancing blow, it'll spell disaster. The Crab might even eat her sword to gain its powers! That's probably a thing crabs can do!

The claw smashes through her guard and sends her spinning with an undignified yelp, and that's when she sees it. Berserker's newest fortress. There are tears bubbling up and away from her eyes, but she can't help but smile just the same. Why'd she think she'd already said goodbye? Couldn't she still feel that connection?

She's not alone! She's not alone she's not alone! She's! NOT! Alone! Of course she's never been alone, not once, but it's the difference between having an ally who can fight alongside you the way you need to fight and having another head you've gotta worry about, and the difference is honestly startling.

"H-Hey! Dummy!" ooooooh, gottem! Sick burn, Katherine! "Betcha can't catch these!"

And without a better idea to grab the Crab's attention, she wiggles her darling and still reasonably floofy tails at its eyestalk. Desire flashes across its bulbous gaze. The claw reaches not to destroy, but to seize. And that's enough for one move's space. Kat is off like a shot, zigging and zagging and laughing like a terrified astronaut on a suicide mission because any other expression of fear would probably be the death of her.

She can't win the race in a straight shot, but even being the slower one she's still got enough in the tank to be the more nimble. She slips under its grasp, then over it. She twirls in space in such a way that a thrusting grab goes through the middle of a spiraling hoop she makes with her dress' trains rather than seizing any of it. It feels better to her than breathing. And every stunt carries her closer and closer to what she knows had been a rocket-laser drone factory when all of this started.

She knows two other things about it, too. One? It's not that thing anymore. But it's probably still got a bunch of laser weaponry stuffed inside of it. Berserker was never one to turn her nose up at a new siege weapon, and what could you call these but the best of those she's yet stolen?

And two? If you threaten an English castle, it will respond with a warning shot. Directly through your heart, more like. There's no way Berserker won't sense the threat, even if she doesn't notice Kat. This isn't a reunion, exactly. This is just the sunshard war's last Master trusting the bond she's managed to forge. Like, it's not just that someone you love will always try to have your back (I'm here, aren't I? Don't you dare think I'll let her die), it's that you loved them back enough to pay attention to them. So you know what they'll do before they even do it.

Kat stops on a dime. She turns and lifts both swords above her head with all the grace and poise of a Princess. And she manages a smile. Behind her, the stars vanish in a sudden surge of red-black energy. Even here she can hear the howl of fury that means Berserker's realized something's at her gate. And the artillery fires.

It's spectacular. The rival of any fireworks show you or I have ever been to, only without the thunderous explosions that scare pets and keep the elderly awake. Katherine does not bother dodging; she simply lets it all wash over and past her. She's too small a target to matter and there's a foxgirl shaped hole in Berserker's sights to begin with. To call the assault furious would be an insult to the whole thing. The most I can tell you is that for the first time since it left the vault, the Crab has raised its claw for a purpose other than causing pain. It has to shield itself. It has to. Which means it has to stop.

"And another thing! Quit having new forms and junk! How many phases have we gone through in this stupid silly dance?! It's ridiculous! Just admit you lost like a normal person, for goshies' sakes!"

Is this the world's sharpest battle cry? Eh I dunno, I kind of like it. It's full of zing, y'know? But if you think it feels lackluster, that's only because you can't feel the blows she throws behind it. Kat and Berserker's combo attacks are not a thing to be taken lightly. She adds two blows of her own. The first to crack and to mark. The second is the fury of a shark's jaw.

And like any shark tooth, she feels it break away and embed itself inside of her prey. That doesn't matter. That only means there's no way to stop the spiraling, hateful energies inside of it from releasing directly inside the monster. Kat stops and watches, floating in the midst of total chaos. And rather than try and catch her breath, she prays.

Please, let this be it. Let this be enough. What more can she possibly give to the fight like this?