Captain Vasilia sprang to the fore, the report of her rifle ringing over the melee like a clap of thunder. “Spears up! To me, to me!”
They couldn’t move to defend Alexa. That would forfeit the battle before it’d begun. To beat a Kaori PredatorPhalanx, you had to first fight them on your own terms. Don’t run. Don’t approach. Don’t play their game. If all you could carve out was a tiny patch of land, then you held that miserable ground for all you were worth, and you made them come to you. The tides of shadow saw her mustering a defense. As one, they descended on her.
And she paid them no mind. She had a shadow of her own.
To her back, to her flank, sabre and spear rattled a blinding staccato. The winds surrounding her changed pitch and pace, improvising complex patterns on the spot without a whisper of a word, and it mattered not one whit. Fifteen shadows would raise their spears, and he could guess the real strike every time.
“Gah!”
She winced as a spear grazed her side, before the haft was chopped clean in two, and the wind carried a whispering, “Apologies!”
Well! He was still full from lunch! You can’t expect him to be full steam right away. Nine out of ten times was more than enough besides.
For to beat a Kaori Predator Phalanx, you had to second attack the movement, not the shadows. This was the whole reason she suggested the innards of this machine to have their lunch. Like clockwork, she fired shot after shot into the surrounding gearwork. Bolts and valves were picked off with expert precision, sending gouts of flame through the air, and gears to tumble and roll through the battlefield. The machine mind groaned all around them, threatening to send an avalanche of its own against the Kaori.
The Predator Phalanx required deeply practiced, coordinated movement. Each owl needed to know and trust every other owl, such that they could only dip their wings and a dozen comrades would know their next five moves. Not perfectly, but close enough to count. Throw too many variables into the field, limit the routes severely enough, and, well, they were only mortal. Someone, somewhere, would make a mistake. Two lines would cross, and seconds would be wasted getting back in position. One owl would feint, and find no follow-up where she expected it. Inefficiencies beget inefficiencies. Mistakes beget mistakes. The openings grow wider. Daylight lifts the shadows, and a hundred owls become a scant twenty. Chaos - their greatest weapon - was also their greatest weakness.
A good plan, but it meant nothing if they could not hold their ground for long enough.
“If you have any goodbyes for your brainchild, Liu Ban, say them quickly!” She smoothly loaded another shot and took aim at a particularly corroded steam valve. And frowned when no voice answered back.
“...Liu Ban?”
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