Wind danced through the Cereal Killer’s impressive mustache as he jet through the air. He’d never really “flown” like this for quite so long before. The technique was always used to boost him in one direction or another faster than he’d normally be able to manage; it was not really for concentrated air flight. As such he was clumsy, constantly changing direction inadvertently, and having to boost directly below himself so as not to lose altitude. The air stung against his face, which turned red from the abuse.

Far down below, Motley Crue grumbled internally as he witnessed the flying pirate. Chasing down Erina before was a chore, then he had to double back to find this opponent. Now he was taking off and the vampire would have to give chase yet again. It was all so irksome, and though he was a patient man, he did have his limits. Well, there was no helping that now. Motley took off after Runch, starting with some mighty leaps up the colosseum, skipping several rows of stands at a time as he ascended. For a creature of his strength, it was no different from skipping stairs in a run.

Once Crue had reached the top ledge, he took another great leap, using both legs for maximum propulsion. Runch already had a good amount of distance on him; there was no way he’d be able to catch up like this, but if he could close the distance even a little… Closing one eye to take aim, the vampire pointed his right index finger forward, keeping track of his target. Runch’s erratic, unskilled flight actually made him more unpredictable, but the vampire didn’t worry. He cleared his head, regulated his breathing, and allowed his ripple to float him steadily in the air. He had a bead on the pirate. Next he built up blood pressure behind the finger, and imbued the digit with ripple energy. Pop! The foremost bone in his finger shot outward with the force of a bullet, speeding through the air!

Runch couldn’t hear the distant sound over the air filling his ears. With no possible forewarning, the attack from behind landed square in his back. ”Gah!” he yelled out, losing control of his movement. Horizontal travel became a vertical plummet. He tried to correct his course, but the added momentum of the bone-bullet caused him to spin and he couldn’t figure out how to correct the force! He only succeeded in slowing his fall from a lethal speed to a more manageable one. Worse yet, it wasn’t solid ground that was speeding toward Runch’s face, but a flooded section of Oldtown!

Oh boysenberry! Can’t drown, can’t drown, can’t drown!

”Bori bori raft!” Runch tucked himself together and generated a large, solid piece of strawberry red cereal from his feet. He whipped around just in time to collide with the water feet first in a great splash. The backwave threw him, and his emergency raft, up in the air a good ten feet before he came back down again. The Cereal Killer collapsed down onto his lifesaver, not sure if the trembling came from the rocky motion of the water, or the shake up from his near-death collision. Pain wracked through every nerve on his body. Gingerly, he reached around his back to feel where he had been shot. The wound felt tender, it hurt, but he’d be fine. He could even keep fighting with the bone still in there, but he wouldn’t.

Concentrating, the captain generated a cereal pellet from his skin inside the wound. This forced the bone-bullet to slowly push out until it fell to the raft. This had the added effect of closing the wound like a plug to prevent any further bleeding. Sighing contentedly, Runch stood up on his raft of wheat and turned around to see where his opponent was. There, in the air, slowly hovering toward him, was Motley Crue. The vampire was still a good distance off, which would let Runch plan their next encounter. A superior opponent was coming for him, someone he couldn’t fight head on. The vampire’s dark ripple and stand easily neutralized his bori bori powers. So how could the captain take him down? He pondered, dropping a few pellets of cereal into the water, and began to remember…

Meanwhile, Motley Crue allowed himself to drift back down to the ground. Running along the debris and flooded streets from last night’s storm would be a far more expedient method of travel. Something bothered him, though. K. Runch stood alone, on a raft of his own making, in the middle of the water. According the the sneak peak he had gotten on that journal, the fruit that gave Runch his powers also cursed him. If he were to fall into water, he couldn’t use his powers and he would drown. Was Runch comfortable fighting a superior enemy in the middle of his biggest weakness? He was a pirate, after all. He would have been used to sailing open waters. But a sailing ship was a farcry from a dinky raft.

No, there was something else at play here. Think, Motley! He has that journal, and now he’s had all the time he needs to completely understand what you are capable of, what you can do! So what is that pirate playing at? What is his game?

Oh. So that’s it.

Drowning wasn’t a weakness unique entirely to K. Runch. If he got Motley into the water, forced it down his lungs, then Motley couldn’t breathe anymore. It wouldn’t be fatal as it would be to a human being, but it would disrupt the ripple. It would disarm Motley of a great deal of his powers. That had to be it.

He was closing in now. Motley slowed his pace and stood atop a large delivery truck that was nearly entirely submerged by the flooded streets. Runch was a mere thirty feet away, outside the range of Heavy Fuel… But not by a great margin. ”It would have been wise to continue fleeing.” Keep the pirate off balance. Let him know you’re not intimidated. Make him doubt his plan.

”Omnomnom! But then we wouldn’t be able to have our current chat! You gotta pick the berries while they’re ripe! If you wait too long, they’ll spoil! Omnomnom!” Runch remained unintimidated by the vampire’s presence. If fact, he had even let his guard down a small bit, leaning on his sword like it was a cane. ”I was just thinkin’ about my crew, specifically about Miss Schrodinger, since she’s in this competition with the two of us.”

Motley chafed under the old man’s reminiscing. Of course, he was no doubt far older than this pirate, but the point remained. ”I suppose you should want to be comfortable before losing your wish.” he replied. ”Since you’ll serve me after you lose. It’s natural to want to come to terms.”

K. Runch let out a hearty laugh, almost in a mocking way. At least, that’s how it came across to Motley. The truth is that Runch was just that friendly of a man. ”Omnomnomnom! No, that’s not it! I was just thinking about how to beat you, and something she said popped into my head!” As if to emphasis the word “pop,” he snapped his left hand fingers.

”Really?” Motley asked, somewhat amused. The pirate had failed to deal him any significant damage so far, he could indulge their conversation a little longer. ”And what was it that she said?”

”What you need to know, Mr. Crue, is that Miss Schrodinger is my sharpshooter. The sniper of my ship. But even so, she often gets in the thick of it with the rest of us when we have a fight on our hands. Thing is, her body is really weak, on account of being a badger.” Runch gestured with his hand as he spoke. Badger? Yes, Motley did recall seeing such an animal when all the contestants had gathered together. It wore a rather large hat, if he remembered correctly.

”So one day, when we were all sparring together, the two of us had to fight. I have no shame in admitting that she beat me. In fact, I take pride in it. All my crew, they’re born fighters. I never intended this life, so they all took turns training me, you see. And Miss Schrodinger, her advice applies right now, against you, more than ever. She told me, ‘you wimp-ass honky bitch, don’t you know that when you fight some ripped dude that you need to attack him from a different angle? Somethin’ their thick-ass heads ain’t gon’ expect?’” His impression of Joanne Schrodinger was highly impressive, not that Motley would know or care.

”Then I am afraid her advice has failed you,” Motley replied in a rather dry manner. ”You intend to disrupt my breathing with this water. Now that I’ve seen it coming, it won’t work.” The vampire took a fighting stance and prepared to charge across the water. Whatever the pirate’s method of attack, he’d neutralize it and beat him down right now.

”Omnomnom! That’s a good one! But you weren’t listening, Mr. Crue. I said, ‘something they won’t expect!’ Bori bori firehose!” Motley Crue charged across the water, walking upon the surface as though it were solid thanks to his ripple, as Bartholomew K. Runch fired a steady stream of cereal pellets directly at the vampire, holding his ground. The pirate had truly learned nothing then. Heavy Fuel boiled out from Motley’s pores and intercepted the stream of assault. What came next, the vampire truly did not predict.

Fish. Fish of all shapes and sizes, ranging from guppies and minnows to piranhas, and those strange tentacle creatures he had slaughtered before, all emerged from the flood waters in a massive school. They jumped up to get the cereal, but instead found themselves surrounding a vampire. ”WRRRRAYYYYYY!” Motley cried out as he began to slaughter the aquatic animals in every way he could. Heavy Fuel killed many before they could get anywhere near him. His bare hands tore through the fish, eels, and decapods as though they were tissue paper. There were too many still, and a few had latched onto his body. One of the tentacle creatures squeezed his leg, a lobster grappled his hair, and a piranha had attached to his neck. Still the worst was yet to come.

”BORI BORI!” The sea creatures parted aside as Runch charged through them, propelled by a high pressure stream of cereal shooting from his back, his spoonsaber outstretched. ”JET SPEAR!” Taken by surprise, Motley felt the wide head of the spoonsaber sink deep into his chest. He was propelled backward as Runch continued his charge, the weapon’s serrated edges tearing apart his lungs from the inside. Damn, that’d take some effort to regenerate. And out in the open, too. The sun… The sun!

K. Runch came to a stop atop the same truck Motley had taken refuge on only seconds ago. A weak wheezing came from the vampire, his breathing, and thus his ripple, disabled. However the sun did not burn away his body. At least not immediately. Wasting no time, he recalled his stand to his own body in order to protect him from the plasma ball’s harmful rays. It only bought him a few seconds, but it was a vital, precious few seconds. Motley violently tore himself off from the still outstretched blade, throwing himself into the water below. The precious liquid of life offered some protection from that which would burn him to ash, and his form sank down to the bottom of the truck, away from the sun. Here, submerged, he could regenerate. Once he was good as new, Heavy Fuel could protect him a few more seconds until he got his lungs working in proper order. After that… The pirate needed to be put down. Hard.

Runch looked over the side of the truck, mentally congratulating himself on using his fish feed recipe as his main jet propeller. That caught the attention of all sorts of critters to gather round his location. He could see Motley, but the vampire was out of reach. The only way he’d be able to do anything at this point would be if he jumped into the water with him, and… Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. He’d just have to take advantage of the high ground when his opponent emerged, and attack before his breathing could start up again. Until that time, Runch could only wait.

He winced in pain, glancing down at his sword arm. The skin had blackened. Rushing straight through the cloud of fish was incredibly risky, since he had no way of knowing where that toxic stand was. Looks like it got him, and not a small bit. Ouch. Then a thought occurred to him. What if his opponent stayed submerged in the water, out of his reach, and just sent his stand to attack? Runch couldn’t see Heavy Fuel; he’d only know after his body began to rot apart. No, no that couldn’t happen. The water only provided partial protection from the sun, and he clearly couldn’t be breathing down there, which meant that something else was adding that vital extra layer of protection. That something must have been his stand. Good, so he was safe for the time being.

Suddenly the truck began to rock back and forth. ”Boppin’ blueberries!” He remained steady, he was a pirate captain after all, but the sudden shock threw him for a loop. Before he knew it, Motley Crue had jumped up from beneath the waves and onto the small platform they now shared. Runch reacted as quick as he could, but his damaged sword arm wasn’t able to swing fast enough. Before the blade made contact, he found himself held up in the air, gasping for breath furiously against the hands clenched against his throat. Motley Crue spat out right into Runch’s face, enough water that it could have been confused for a heavy vomit. The captain would have sputtered and coughed, but his trachea was forcibly closed.

The vampire’s breathing took hold once again. Energy rippled around his body, protecting him from the ultraviolet radiation that normally would have him dust by now. This pirate was too dangerous to go easy on. He needed to be taken out here and now. With his breathing safely reestablished, Motley engaged in Lightning Mode. Bio-electricity flowed through his body, directly into his prey. Directly on the throat, which was now covered in conductive water.

”AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!” Runch’s scream fought through the closed throat, forcing a path open to find some kind of relief from the agonizing pain. Motley didn’t let up. He cranked the voltage up. No more messing around. No more games. This enemy could take it. Runch’s scream only got louder as Motley forced more energy into the current. Most people would have been killed by now, but this one held on. The captain’s shirt and pants began to smoke, while his bicorn hat had fallen off. His skin blackened and burned. His very long, spiked mustache curled up and split apart. ”AAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!” It wouldn’t be long now until he passed out from the pain.

Was this it? Runch couldn’t even move. The energy coursing through his body was paralyzing, it was all he could do just to express his agony! Thoughts of battle plans, strategies, escape attempts, and fruit puns were completely drowned out by the cacophony of his own misery. He convulsed involuntarily, constantly in motion but not able to move by his own command. Motley Crue had gotten him. There had to be a way out of this, hadn’t there? Think, Runch! Think! … He could not. Everything faded into darkness.

Fight through the pain.

What was that? That sounded like…

Rely on your strength, cap’n. You are greater than you know.

Hachirou. His navigator. The man who ate the neko neko no mi: model lion. The strongest member on his ship. Runch remembered… He remembered Hachirou.

You can endure any pain. Fight with the ferocity of a lion, and you will always endure.

_{”You got it… Hachirou…”} Motley narrowed his eyes, partly in determination, partly in bewilderment. His prey had stopped screaming. He whispered something that was just barely audible, but his body still convulsed as the voltage cooked his body alive. The man’s eyes had long since rolled up in the back of his head, showing only white.

_{”Bori bori… Hellberry… Grenade…”} A single cereal pellet, the size of an apple, emerged from the pores on Runch’s left hand. Motley’s eyes widened. He willed it to be destroyed by Heavy Fuel before the weapon could detonate, but it was too late. The pellet collided with the truck roof and went off with an impressive explosion. The shockwave tossed the two combatants apart, flying in opposite directions. Motley got away with moderate damage, but knew it would quickly regenerate. Runch’s body had already been charred, covered in black, burnt skin from the electricity. This insulation gave him some protection against the blast force, but he too was tossed like a rag doll. He skidded along the water’s surface like a tossed stone, and once his momentum slowed, sank like that same stone.

The explosion did more than simply separate the two fighters. Damage from the flood had already been widespread. The foundation in the streets was beginning to crack. The explosion sped along the process, blasting open a small hole. A small hole which quickly expanded as water rushed through, eroding more and more ground. All that water was going somewhere, and somewhere fast! The current picked up the unconscious form of Bartholomew K. Runch, submerged and helpless. His body tumbled along until it too was sucked into the hole. Everything after that went black…

---

”Ugh… Why do I feel like I just woke up on the wrong side of a drinking contest with Dr. Ken?” Blink. Blink blink. Everything was hazy. Everything hurt something fierce. Everything… Was wet? Runch forced his eyes to focus, but he didn’t recognize anything. It was dark, too dark to make out much of anything. He needed to be able to see! ”Bori bori lantern.” A ball of cereal generated in his palm in the shape of a lamp, carried by hand. It began to glow with a semi-bright luminescence. This recipe had been designed so that kids could have fun with glow in the dark tongues, but it had proven itself to be quite useful.

Runch took a look around his environment, now at least able to make things out. It was some sort of dark cavern, with many winding passageways. Some sort of… Catacombs beneath the district of Oldtown. Strange hieroglyphs adorned the walls, portraying images from a long dead culture. The walls were wet with the water that still drained from up above. The place wasn’t exactly filling up and threatening to drown him, but the water level was up to his knees. Darn, that meant that his bori bori no mi powers would only work at about half strength.

”This place has been touched by the spirits of many dead,” spoke a calm, stern voice from somewhere behind Runch. The pirate jumped at the unexpected noise, then turned to see a short, svelte woman. She had a tail and ears resembling a fox. Was she also a devil fruit user? Runch hadn’t seen any zoan transformations that looked like that before. She looked all human, except for the ears and tail. No, more likely she was another contestant. That, or one of the “other factions” Oren had mentioned. ”As loathe as I am to help that undead abomination, I am bound by the loss of my soul. He ordered that I end the fight if I saw him having trouble, and watching you fly away while he could barely float along qualifies. So…”

The fox girl unsheathed a sword and pointed it decisively at Runch. Suddenly her entire presence changed, like she were another person entirely. ”Once I kill you, I will guide your soul to the next world.”

”Omnomnomnom! You’re welcome to try, miss! But you’ll find I’m a bit spicier than the average berry!” Speaking with great confidence, the captain placed a hand on his sword sheathe… Only to find the spoonsaber missing. He pat down his side a couple times before looking to confirm it was gone. Washed away somewhere in these catacombs while he was unconscious. Now visibly nervous, he looked back up to the young woman before him. No sword, already injured, his powers at a handicap, and Motley Crue was undoubtedly not far behind. This was going to be fun.

“Enough goofing around already. We want action!” Was heard by both competitors as Oren’s beetle drone hovered in the sky, ready to record their glorious combat. Sophia turned to the drone, likely confused by it’s interruption of what was an otherwise peaceful confrontation, while Jin was already on the move, dashing towards Sophia and activating the Rose Nasty beam katanas. ”I had a plan you fucking asshole!” Jin cried out as he slashed at Sophia's legs, trying to cut her mobility first like he does with most opponents, scoring a minor cut along her right leg as she jumped back to avoid further strikes. She then activated her jetpack and took off into the air, quickly putting her helmet on with her blasphemous tentacle arm. The beetle’s mandibles snapped together with a crash, almost as if it was biting through the silence of the forest. The battle was on.

”What are you doing!?” Sophia cried out as she hovered in the air, pulling out only one of her pistols as her other arm couldn’t exactly fire a gun. ”You pledged yourself to the emperor yet you would turn your back on him the moment this fool orders you to fight?” She hesitated to fire at him, she wanted to hear what Jin had to say for himself first.

”You are the dumbest fucking bitch I have ever met! We literally just met and you were about to drink fucking poison just because I said I was gonna join your dumbass religion! Newsflash, I kill for a living! Of course I wasn’t gonna join you! I was gonna shoot you in the head the moment you turned around and then I was gonna loot your corpse!” Jin yelled at her with a cocky grin on his face as he held his katanas behind him, their glow slowly intensifying.

Sophia’s brow crinkled as she thought back to the words of Gromory, she really had been played for a fool. So be it, it would not happen again. She started flying towards Jin at high speeds, beginning her song of death and glory for her Holy Emperor. As she got closer and closer to Jin he didn’t move an inch, only holding his katanas behind him and grinning as he prepared to attack, his blades glowing brighter and brighter. ”A game of chicken huh? That's good, soon you'll be running around like One with its head cut off!” He said as she approached a distance of 4 yards and held up her pistol to fire right at him.

Just as she fired a shot at him Jin moved, raising his blades in an X shape and slashing out where the bullet was going to be. Two waves of energy shot out of the beam katanas and sliced right through the bullet, continuing their path right towards Sophia. She spun out of the way but was too close to dodge completely, the energy making a huge gash on her human arm as she retreated. Meanwhile the bullet she fired wasn’t out of the equation as it exploded in Jin’s face, knocking him head over heels backwards into a tree. ”Ah, god damn it that fucking hurt you bitch! Who the fuck uses exploding bullets?!” He shouted as he got up and brushed himself off. Slight burn on his face, but he would deal with it.

This was going well, Sophia thought to herself as her opponent went to fetch her a drink. A more sensible mind might have recognised this as going too well, but zealotry and self righteousness have a tendency to blind someone to their own flaws. It also didn’t help that a lot of her spare thinking time had been spent in revulsion at the vile arm she now bore.

As a result she eagerly accepted the carton of juice as a chance to feel just a little more human again. When the announcer attempted to start the fight anyway Jin visibly tensed but Sophia simply rolled her eyes at him. The watching asshole was simply grasping at straws, trying to interpret that toos as a first strike. Speaking of straws, she punctured the carton with her own and began to drink.

The forest seemed to hold its breath for the inevitable. Jin was beside himself with glee, though he did his best to hide it, the stupid woman had ignored the drones warning and drunk the poison, any second now she’d keel over and die like vermin.

The forest’s metaphorical face was going blue by the time she finished drinking, casually tossed the carton aside and turned to lead the way out the woods.

"City proper is about an hour's walk this way I think"

”Wait, how are you feeling?”

"I’m fine, why do you ask?"

It turns out that ratpoison takes several days to manifest any symptoms in humans, though unsurprisingly nobody present was aware of this.

”Oh. No reason”

"Why would I... not be..."

"Shit!"

There was a click followed by a faint hum as Jin drew and flicked on one of his beam katanas, the bright red blade flaring to life. He lunged at his opponent, aiming to cleave her unprotected neck off with the pulsing blade and finished this fight with a single stroke.

From the treeline Gemory, who had been waiting for the other shoe to drop, threw the ugly artifact Sophia had been given as hard as he could before vanishing back into the woodlands. It would take an awful lot of skill or luck to hit a shot from his hiding place outside the village. Fortunately the Emperor's puppet had all the luck. All of it.

The red ornament hit Jin right in the side of the head at speed, throwing of his balance and giving the iron angel time to light her wings. The blast of fire, smoke and kicked up dust knocked Jin back again as his foe took to the air. Jin rolled to his feet, a bruise marring his right cheek, and raised his blade in a defensive posture towards the now screaming woman hovering gracelessly before him.

"What have you done you traitor!"

”Oh please, I was never on your side you gullible zealot. And I think I’ll let you stew on that.”

She quickly drew her bolt pistol and pulled the trigger, sending a round rocketing towards his face. The conniving bastard didn’t appear to have the reaction time to get out of the way. Compared to her previous foe he was a joke, he was just some smarmy asshole with a techno heretical sword.

In a seemingly impossible burst of reflexive speed Jin brought up his beam katana and parried the rocket propelled bullet, sending it flying right back at Sophia. She was living up to her idiocy, who tries to shoot someone with a beam katana? Sophia was utterly bemused as the round pinged off of the glowing energy weapon, reflected straight back at her.

It never made it, the impact with the sword had activated its inertial fuse and so the shell exploded in between them.

”Well that was unexpected, but you can’t stay up there forever and I bet you’ll run out of rounds and fuel before I get tired of parrying. Then it’s just my katana vs those little knives of yours and your freaky arm.”

While the katana wielding brat smiled smugly at her she wordlessly she put away the bolt pistol and drew the flame pistol, sending a gout of flame towards the assassin. Jin however had noticed the telltale flicker of the pilot lite on the weapon as she drew it and immediately set off running in the opposite direction at break neck speed, the flames licking at his heels till he escaped the flamers range. Still running, in order to put distance between himself and the nun’s flames, he draw his golden sidearm and hammering out all 6 rounds as fast as possible to dissuade her chasing him, aiming to hit her unprotected head.

Sophia barely had a moment to bring her disgusting arm to block her face, two of the rounds slammed into the meat, the other 4 missing or denting her power armor. She screamed wordlessly in pain, the sound quickly muffled as she forced her helmet back on her head. In the brief moment of protecting her face and redoing her helm she lost track of the assassin.

Flying higher into the air she swept her gaze across the settlement, the burning ground Jin had stood on beneath her and blood oozing from her freakish limb.

"Come out heretic, come face holy retribution! I shall burn you to ashes you wretched cur, In the name of the Emperor I shall smite you with"

Jin ignored the rest of this ongoing rant, even as it took on more melodic quality, as he reloaded his revolver and planed. He had ducked in through the building through the hole, and removed his entrance afterwards. He should be safe for a while, if she kept shouting like that it would be easy to avoid her and every second was to his advantage as she burnt more and more fuel staying out of striking range.

"Fine If you're going to hide like a rat then I’ll smoke you out like one!"

It was at this moment that the telltale sound of the jetpack cut off, replaced shortly after by a blast from the flame pistol. She was still some way off from his hiding spot, why was she? Oh. he could hear burning now. A constant burning. Then another, and another as she systematically burned the village to ashes.

"Soon you’ll have nowhere to hide from the light of the Emperor"

Jin simply rolled his eyes, finished loading his revolver and got ready to move.

Pithy blinked, fighting some dizziness as the surroundings suddenly stretched, the bizarre phenomenon momentarily tricking her mind into believing that she was falling at breakneck speeds. There is something unnatural at work here, she thought, though she had seen nothing but a subtle glimmer in the air as she approached.

She shook the mental image away, refocusing on her target. A man stood with his back to her, a large shooter cradled in his arms. His attention seemed to be focused on the other end of the building, now far enough to make it difficult to discern with the naked eye.

Pithy brought up her left arm, pointing the six-shooter at the man’s back. She was not certain that this man was her foe, but he did not wear the trappings of the College, and she doubted that there was anyone else in miles. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Just then, a familiar voice rang out.

“There can only b—”

Pithy did not wait for Oren to finish. The rapport of her weapon echoed in the space, drowning out the announcer’s voice. Too late. Her enemy—for it could no longer be anyone else—had been alerted to the danger and had turned to the side.

Her projectile whizzed past, crashing and shattering one of the sculptures within. Pithy was already on the move, crossing the ten feet between them with a speed that sent her cowl flying back and revealed her face.

But the man’s shooter already bore down on her, the darkness within the large barrel staring out squarely between her eyes. She could not make it in time to stop him, and had too much forward momentum to change direction.

The smirk in the man’s lips told her he knew this.

So it was not strange when the smirk turned into a surprised gasp when the sheet of ice Pithy had launched forward in an arc with the first bullet suddenly crashed against the side of the weapon. The thunder that erupted from the long-shooter put to shame Pithy’s own weapon, but as before, the shot went wide, this time zooming past her. The sudden strike made the man lose grip on the weapon, and it skittered off on the gallery’s polished floors.

And then she was on him. Her rapier streaked forward, a silver line seeking the veins of her enemy’s throat. The man had been taken by surprise, had been disarmed, and in the end, instinctively thought to retreat backwards in a futile attempt to backpedal out of her weapon’s range. The duel would be decided in a single exchange.

Pithy’s eye widened when, instead of flesh, the point of her blade met a metallic surface. It skidded along a triangular shield as the man swept to the side, spinning out of the way of her lunge.

Her instincts screamed in warning, and she ducked her head, angling herself into a roll. She felt the tell-tale rush of wind that followed a long, sharp object and knew that she would have died had she decided to second-guess herself.

Drawing herself up on her feet, Pithy recalled the large sheet of ice towards herself as a barrier, but instead of the man pressing his advantage as she had expected, her enemy stood a few paces away, looking at her with a pleased smirk.

He toys with me, Pithy understood with a flare of irritation.

“Heh, can’t believe I got so distracted by the bird I forgot to check the minimap,” the man chuckled, lazily twirling the orange blade that had appeared in his hand. He began to slowly pace sideways, eyes glimmering with supreme confidence, and Pithy mirrored his movements, not willing to expose her flanks. “Oooreeeen, old buddy, old pal, you keeping an eye out for me now?”

Pithy grunted, wincing slightly at the pain that suddenly pricked at her cheek. She brought her left hand to her face and rubbed it against the back of her glove. A reddish stain clung to the fabric as she withdrew it. That wound had not come from the sword.

The long-shooter. I almost lost my head twice in a matter of seconds. The smug smile on the man’s face told her that he had guessed at her thoughts.

“Good thing you can’t scratch the paint on that. It’s a very rare skin.”

His posture was relaxed and open, almost insultingly defenseless. Pithy could close the distance between them and slash at his throat in a heartbeat, but refrained from making an approach. The lowered guard could well be meant to get a rise out of her. She had seen first-hand how fast this man could move and knew well that the time for an easy victory had passed.

“We’ll have words after this, Oren.”

“We’ll have words after this, Oren. Ugh,” he mocked in a girlish voice. “You’re bumming me out, Elsa. Not to mention you’re getting ahead of yourself. That right there was your best shot at winning and you blew it. How about you just give up instead and save us both the trouble?”

She bristled at the stranger’s light words. Give up? I might as well fall over my sword instead.

“I rather like my chances,” Pithy retorted dryly. “In fact, I should be the one offering you a chance to surrender.”

“Pfft. Cute.”

Pithy’s brow twitched, her pride burned by her opponent’s irreverent dismissal. Has this one been taught nothing of respect? “You’d do well to take this seriously. You won’t find it as funny when I put a hole in your gut.”

The man scrunched his face. “Geez, pull the stick out of your ass, lady. I guessed at your powers when I saw you back at the College, but I didn’t think your ice queen color palette would fit your personality so well. Though it beats me why you’d make a floating surfboard out of ice.” He rolled his eyes. “Know what? Scratch surrendering. 1v1 me, bitch, I’ll wreck you.”

She let out a breath, discarding with it any retort she might have had. The circle they had been walking had steadily grown smaller during their exchange. Soon, one of them would be forced to make a move. With luck, the fool would shut his mouth when that happened.

As Saria climbed back up from the ground, the only thing in her sights that she could see aside from the ground was Bonesword, rising from the ground slowly. His armor was dented beyond any reasonable measure, with the edges being cracked in addition, but he was still alive.

And he was enraged.

"Is that all you've got?!" Bonesword started as several vines rose from the sand, all aimed up at Saria. He wasn't exactly happy with how the Blood Devil had disrespected who he had loved, and to him, that was the final straw. Nobody talks shit about Abigail, and when they do, they learn that there are drastic consequences for doing so. This was no longer about giving the Blood Devil someone 'worthy' of taking her life. Now it was personal, and she would pay in her blood.

Bonesword, barely holding on to his sense of self, stood a short distance away from Saria, his longsword held firmly in hand. Saria made a mistake with bringing Abigail into this. Nobody had the balls to say Abigail was bad ever since Rhine, and he died within a single blow when he killed Abigail. With Bonesword in the state he was in, something bad was going to happen to Saria, but what it was, only Bonesword knew.

"Finally a chall- You shut your goddamn mouth." A vine shot up from the ground right as Saria began her taunt, covering her mouth and allowing Bonesword to talk. What was once a collected swordsman had been replaced by a broken mind, one that wouldn't accept anything but victory after what she had said. In a way, Saria was kind of excited to have someone that actually put up a fight in comparison to the defense he was putting up before, but at the same time it made her wonder what Bonesword had to say.

"I've fought against gods where I'm from, maybe things even stronger, and while they could easily kill me and leave it at that, none of them ever dared to talk shit about her," Bonesword released the vine from Saria's mouth as he continued, his longsword beginning to glow with some sort of radiant green light, capitalized on by the aura surrounding Bonesword. "I respect every warrior that can win a fight without relying on breaking the opponent's spirit, but you..." The Lord of Bones stood in a defensive position, a rose growing from his eye socket, and his voice waivering slightly. "You brought Abigail into this, and you used her as a means to bring me down."

"You hunt for someone worthy of killing you, when you aren't worthy of dying to my blade."

Saria's jaw dropped at what Bonesword said, but she 'regained' her composure afterwards. "How would you know? You're just a useless husk!"" She was more than just offended, she was outright disgusted with what he said. How did he have the right to say such a thing?! He didn't know a thing about her past and what she had to do to get where she was, and he didn't deserve an easy death for it. Saria's aura grew in intensity as she raised her sword, preparing to make this skeleton pony up for the disrespect. She ran forward with any feelings of resignation being wiped clean away, and her blade carrying with it power that she could only obtain from this frenzy. Saria was sure that with one clean blow, this skeleton wouldn't be left standing to say any more.

"I will grind your bones into dust for what you've said!" Saria made a breathtaking run to Bonesword, sending a slash in his direction when she got close enough to where it would kill him, but just as the slash was about to connect, Bonesword caught the Red Blade with his longsword, causing a bright green light to rain down from the skies, directly upon the Red Blade. An Honor Strike might not have aimed at Saria, but her sword was demonic enough that it would target the blade, and the force of both the Honor Strike and the collision of blades was enough to send Saria flying backwards, her body leaving a clear path through the sand.

"I-is that it?" Saria asked cockily, like she didn't feel anything from the blow.

"Yes, but your arm is a few meters away."

Saria rolled her eyes at the swordsman. He didn't even hit her arm, so how was it a few meters away? It didn't make any sense until Saria tried using her sword arm to get back up, and she saw that the sand beneath her right side was completely stained with blood, as well as the absence of her right arm from her body. She couldn't believe it. He managed to take off her arm with a single block, and he was still standing there with a smarmy smirk while she was recovering from disbelief. "... you're playing tricks on me! There's no way you could've managed to block that!"

"Had it been a minute ago, you'd be right, but then you brought her into this, and the tide has changed." The ground under Saria shook slightly as she stood back up, carefully watching the swordsman as she retrieved the Red Blade, it unfusing from her separated sword-arm and fusing back into the grasp of her left gauntlet. While it was a bit disheartening having to put up with using her non-dominant arm for the rest of this fight, she'd gladly use her left arm to face this coward and win.

As a storm rolled over the battlefield, the charcoal clouds and tepid rain helping forward a macabre mood when in conjunction with what these fighters were fighting for, Saria watched as the cutlass that was previously embedded in her arm was yanked out by a large vine that erupted from the sand and flung over to Bonesword's side. Saria stared at the bloody arm beside her as she remembered what she was there for; to win this fight. This skeleton that she had thought originally worthy of taking her life had since tarnished that privilege, and set himself up for disaster.

Within an instant, Saria charged forward with her blade held high, ready to bring this fight to it's end and claim her victory over this skeleton. She swung the Red Blade with all of the energy and strength she could muster, straining herself so hard from mustering the strength that her eyes were forced shut, and as the blow connected to something softer than bones, Saria almost couldn't believe that she had actually hit Bonesword in his dumb mushroom helmet.

As Saria opened her eyes once the swing was concluded, she was elated to see that the body of what was once her opponent was now missing it's head and laying in the sand unmoving. The Blood Devil dropped to her knees, glad that she was able to bring an end to this fight before she wound up at the end of that... fiend's blade.

"Bravo. You really got me."

Saria's eyes widened when she heard the familiar conglomeration of voices emerge from the almost-silent air again, the voices coming directly from her side. As she slowly turned to the side, she saw a large vine rest on the ground, cut in half by the Red Blade seconds before, and at the end of the vine laid the skull of Bonesword, complete with flashing eye sockets and every bone intact.

"Well, you got most of me. If I hadn't panicked and flown my head to the side, that vine would be my skull fragments, and I'd be dead."

Saria was in shock. She still hadn't killed him, despite all of her efforts to do it?! First he had the balls to call her unworthy, next he had chickened out of his death by throwing his skull to the side?! Well, his efforts of evasion would be short lived as he put himself in a compromising position without his arms, so he couldn't swing his Shroomblade or his longsword at her anymore. Saria smirked as she walked over to the skull, Red Blade held tightly in her hand. He couldn't run anywhere now...

"You're a real motherfucker, but I'll let you say your last words. Go ahead, you worthless excuse for a warrior, what'll they be?"

In a mocking tone, the skull of Bonesword uttered three familiar words. "I will win."

The ground under Saria shook again as a large vine shot up and knocked her back slightly, allowing for another vine to wrap itself around the skull and pull it backwards, carrying it to all three of Bonesword's blades, arranged in a triangular pattern. As Saria watched the skull of Bonesword rise upon a pedestal of vines, three vines of that pedestal splitting off and equipping themselves with one of his swords each, she could only feel one emotion rise above all others.

She felt rage, and it sent her aura into it's own frenzy.

"Come. Let me show you the real power of the Lord of Bones."

A split second was all the time they had to decide. Even with galvanizing adrenaline in one's veins, making everything seem just a touch slower, it wasn't much. Rather reminiscent of rock-paper-scissors, a high-octane clash like this required a participant to go with something and hope for the best. Yet...Cyril realized, as he barreled forth, that a sort of calmness had taken hold of his mind. From behind his daunting facemask he watched the tension in Juniper's muscles, the twist of her body, and where her gaze was fixed. For that split second, he felt as though he could read her every move, but in an instant it ebbed away. In its place washed in a tide of uncertainty and discomfort, throwing him off badly. He barely even registered Juniper planting her palm in the very middle of the shield he'd raised on instinct, an act of bold challenge to its integrity. To his astonishment her bare knuckled pounded a dent into his shield's center before it slid off the center.

Cyril stumbled sideways, battling to keep his feet as the force of his charge and Juniper's punch canceled out. Sensing weakness like a falcon on the hunt, the one-armed martial artist pursued him. She executed a skip side kick, covering the space the vanguard put between them in a flash. Her foes halberd hung in the air between them, preventing a clear shot at Cyril's head, so she targeted that instead. The brief moment it took her to get abreast of the situation was, however, long enough for the Knight Sylvestre to recover. With a shout of effort he twisted his own body and tried to smash the edge of his shield into the leg Juniper assailed him with. It didn't land with enough force to even tear her hakama, but it prevented him from being disarmed. For her part, Juniper allowed the blow to spin her back around and preserve her momentum for spinning roundhouse kick. Never the strongest of techniques, it didn't promise to deliver much damage, so Cyril merely moved his shield in the way as he began a glaive thrust toward Juniper's ribs.

Not gonna hurt me with the top of your foot, miss. Hey, wait...!

I've trained you well

She pushed off her back leg, altered the position of her front, planted both on Cyril's shield, and pushed off with all the strength she could muster. Her foe's blade cut the side of her left calf on the way up, but the slight pain could be ignored. As if from a springboard Juniper sailed up and back, turning a full backflip as she flew, and she stretched out her hand. A well of magic swirled around her palm—the first inkling whatsoever she'd given that she possessed magic, and too late a sign for Cyril to prepare for what was coming. The dancing energies melded into a sturdy, angular form, and by the time her opponent could tell that it was a brick, her projection had already smashed into his own leg.

“Guuh!” Gasping, Cyril barely ducked a second brick, then crouched with his shield before him in hopes of weathering the storm of magical masonry that hurtled his way. Thirty feet down the main aisle, Juniper stood upright with one arm extended, conjuring brick after relentless brick.

Huh! Bright spark finally figured out I don't have projectiles, did she? This 'strategy' is idiotic, why is it working!?

Not a final solution, but it's free punishment you'll just have to sit there and take

Each one rattled him, numbing his arm and worsening the pain that flowed through his body as readily as blood, but that wasn't all he felt. In the back of his mind, Cyril could feel that note of concentration swelling again. It seemed as if it wanted to surge in and fill him up, but the stupid screw was in its way. It was like being on the cusp of sneezing, and suddenly being unable to. Unable to focus and think of an answer to the brick problem, Cyril growled and let go of his halberd. It clattered to the floor, and with the free hand, he reached up and turned the screw in his head. He heard -and felt- a series of clicks, and the sensation in his brain changed somewhat. When the next brick bashed against his shield and dissolved into light, he could tell exactly where and when it hit. Confused but suddenly confident, he snatched up his weapon, waited four fifths of a second, then activated his Sheen. The silver light surrounded him and, like a mouse diving into its hole, he shot ten feet to his left into an aisle. Juniper's final brick breezed past him by mere centimeters to shatter against the tile floor behind where he'd been only an instant before.

Rolling her eyes, the martial artist rushed to Cyril's aisle, grabbing something from a shelf as she passed. When she rounded the corner, she spotted Cyril on one knee, holding his head and twisting the screw frantically. A tinge of curiosity coursed through her; though she couldn't see his face beneath the helmet, she would have guessed he was nauseous.

Blasted thing! Ugh, it's got me feeling drunk all of a sudden! What's this wretched device doing to my head?!

That screw...what could it be doing? It doesn't fit his overall theme, just like my rosary. Hm...

Questions could wait until the battle was won. Juniper steeled herself and shouted, “Where do you think you're going?” Her taunt provoked just the reaction she wanted: Cyril stood and turned too quickly, and in his uncoordinated haste threw out too big of a swing for the range at which he stood. In one fluid motion, the God Hand wrapped her arm around the polearm's shaft, tore the top of the bottle she'd taken with her teeth, and spun a hundred and eighty degrees. Unwilling to compromise his grip, Cyril was strung along, and didn't notice the cooking oil splashed onto the floor. When Juniper ended her move with a forceful knee to his cuirass, he slipped and fell hard on his back. He would have more or less lain there if Juniper hadn't followed up with a projected shield of her own, which slammed into Cyril's and sent him sliding across the floor back the way he came.

He hit a produce crate with a crunch and lay there, dazed and sore. Juniper walked up, her breath heavier than it had been. “Well it's been fun Sir Knight, but your time is up. On the bright side, after that pratfall you can probably pass for court jester wherever you're from.” She hoped to incite a last-ditch attack as she raised her leg to stomp in his chest, but the ridiculous man just moved his shield to protect himself. It was hilarious, actually, more of a futile gesture meant to mock her than a serious attempt at survival. Behind it, she could hear his breath, and it was heavier than hers. Grinning, Juniper leaned down, grabbed the edge of his stupid shield, and pried it away. For a second or so she thought about saying something, but in the end she decided to simply lay the fool's madness to rest.

It's not the end, but the means that matter. The road to hell is paved with good intentions

Your weakness...is your overconfidence

She saw the light before she felt the pain. With a bright, almost crystalline noise the edge of Cyril's shield began to shine with dazzling light. So sharp were the polished teeth of his saw that they reached bone before Juniper realized that she was being cut. No amount of reservation could prevent her scream as she yanked her hand back, spraying blood. Cyril seized the opportunity to roll onto his front and begin the laborious process of getting up. Rage possessed Juniper, and she balled her injured hand into a fist. Black energy surrounded her arm, similar to the projections she'd made before, and with the power of a Howitzer she cannoned her fist toward the man in front of her.

He, however, was already on the move. His silver sheen turned a simple sideways roll into an emergency dodge that got him out of the way of the nightmare-black arm that obliterated the produce craft into juice, rind, and splinters. The tremendous, violent noise echoed through the store as Cyril got to his feet. He turned to his foe and prepared himself for battle, only to find her standing still, staring at him with murderous eyes while the blackness faded from her arm. He took the chance to continue adjusting the screw, which continued to plague him.

“That was unbecoming of me...I hope you'll forgive it.”

Beneath his helmet, Cyril raised an eyebrow. That one sentence made for a remarkable change of pace, though he didn't miss how low and dangerous her voice had grown. He did nothing as she tore a strip from her garment to wrap around her bleeding palm. The resilience that it took to treat such a ghastly wound as a mere bother was, the vanguard decided, probably the most frightening thing about her. While he could take this moment to strike, every moment was another he could use to fidget with the God-awful screw, and he knew anyway that the bandage would only help the bleeding, not the wound itself. In fact, it would be better for him if she did staunch the flow, for if it were splashed in his eyes he'd most likely be screwed in more ways than one. Given her demonstrated affinity for fighting dirty, he wondered what she was up to.

“I've judged just the kind of man you are. I won't underestimate you again, and I'm done playing with you. Prepare your-”

Click

Cyril blinked twice. The screw had stuck, with a louder than usual noise. All of a sudden, everything felt very, very clear.

He observed as Juniper slung a piece of cantaloupe at him before she charged forward. Both their faces masks of tranquility amidst all the wreckage and pain as the vanguard swept the flying fruit aside with the flat of his blade. Her fist shot toward his heat, and instead of trying to block, he moved left. When she pulled her arm back with unnatural speed to strike at him again, he dodged once more, and this time accompanied it with his own attack. His gauntlet slammed into her cheek, sending spittle and sweat flying, and Juniper slid back without falling down. She came to a stop about fifteen feet away, her eyes betraying the thoughts her face tried to hide.

Impossible...”

Cyril latched his shield into its spot on its upper arm to hold his glaive with both hands. He adopted the same stance he had at the beginning of the fight, for in a way this moment was a beginning its own—the beginning of the end.

Saria ran up towards the skeleton's swords, her aura burning brighter than it had during entire fight. Both her and her opponent were at their ends both physically and mentally. This fight wouldn't last much longer unless they both healed back up to their fullest potential, but that was a longshot at this point. Bonesword definitely couldn't heal up his arm now, rather he had to deal with just being his skull, the most vital point of his entire body. He put himself in a compromising position, and Saria would take as big of an advantage with that as she could. She didn't have to worry about breaking through his armor, now, because that was thrown aside by himself when Bonesword forced himself into being just a skull. He made this fight so much easier for her. "These minutes are numbered."

Saria instinctively swung the Red Blade towards one of Bonesword's viney appendages, cutting it down swiftly and forcing the black longsword it held to fall to the ground. Just as the blade hit the ground though, it was hastily sent back up into the air by another set of vines, barely scraping against her armor. Maybe this wouldn't be as simple as she thought... especially with how deadly accurate this skull was. She couldn't dawdle with just going for his weapons, she had to go for the skull itself or this sorry excuse for a knight would best her.

A bolt of lightning crashed down the shoreline as Saria went in for another strike on the pillar that Bonesword's skull rested on, the Red Blade cutting through the vines effortlessly like it was butter. The skull, however, was launched into the air by the vines, a last-ditch effort to preserve the skeleton's life and lead him to victory. Why couldn't he just die?!

"GET DOWN HERE YOU FUCK!" Saria screamed as she leaped into the air after the skull, thrusting the Red Blade high up to properly jam it into the skull and destroy it. Unfortunately, she saw the lights within Bonesword's head flicker as she felt something wrap around her ankle, slamming her into the ground with a thud. She slowly rose back up to see the skull of that mushroom jackass resting a little more than a sword's length away. Saria could just barely hit him if she stretched for it, and as such, she brought the Red Blade through the sand beside her and sent it swinging towards the skull.

Just as she was about to claim her victory over this skeletal fuck, the blood-stained cutlass that pierced her arm before was shoved into the sand, blocking the attack from connecting with the skull and shattering it. Again?! When would this guy accept his fate to Saria's blade and stop prolonging it?! He was just another opponent that kept her from finding her the true warrior that could end her life!

"WHY." Saria began screaming even louder as she shot back up from the ground, her aura burning far greater than it had in the entire fight, likely out of bloodlust and rage. She began her slow walk towards the skull,

"WON'T." The black longsword from before flew towards her, but it darted past her as she slashed the vines holding it up, the sword failing to hit its target. Her blood was boiling, and she wasn't going to die here on this beach, and especially not to this skeleton.

"YOU." The vines that were carrying the cutlass were hastily chopped in one swipe as Saria continued her path towards the skull. Her footsteps were marked by the newly-forged glass under her feet. God knows where that last blade ended up, but it'd be cut down just as easy as the other two.

"JUST." Saria cut down a set of vines as they tried to deck her in the face and knock her to the floor. That wasn't going to happen again. Not now, not ever. This was going to end NOW, and it seemed that fate was going to be in her favor for this final attack.

"DIE." Saria rose the Red Blade in the air for the final attack, her breathing growing ever heavier than it was from all of the screaming. Her heart raced and her will strengthened. She was so close, and she was going to end it here.

"ALREAD-AGH!" Saria felt a sharp pain in her torso as she brought down the Red Blade, the sword angling towards the side of Bonesword's skull due to what had just happened. The final blade that she didn't cut down, the Shroomblade, was burrowed far through her body, poking out the other side. Her expression of anger changed to a guise of terror as she felt her heart rate start to drop. She forgot the third sword had been around, and it had led to her downfall.

"... y-you... can't be..." Saria dropped to her knees, the Red Blade unfusing from her gauntlet. The vine that carried the Shroomblade yanked it out, causing hot red blood to drip out of the wound in ever-increasing amounts. In a last ditch effort, Saria grabbed the Red Blade tightly in her hand and she swung it back towards the skull, trying to settle the match in a draw, however a clump of vines shot up from the ground and caught the blade within them, keeping the blade from finishing the hit.

"... h-heh... it's f-funny..." Saria chuckled as she lost more and more blood, her eyesight ever slowly decreasing. "... I-I never e-expected f-for my f-f-final fight to b-be with s-something like y-you..." Her mouth leaked the crimson liquid slightly as she tried to muster her final words to the skeleton. As much as she wanted to finish the fight for good, the blood she had lost in the fight and the severity of the venom in her system had finally taken hold of her, and it was slowly bringing her to the afterlife.

"But... if anyone w-was going t-t-to do it... in the end..." Saria put her hands on the ground as she coughed up blood onto the sandy shore. "... I'm... I-I'm glad that someone... w-who unders-stands my pain... was t-the one... t-to d-do... it..." Saria watched from her darkened vision as a red rose sprouted up from the ground, right in the middle of the blood she coughed up. She glanced back up at the skull of Bonesword, now resting in the air above her, being held up by a vine. "... t-thank you... f-for granting... m-my wish..."

As she finished speaking, Saria collapsed onto the ground, unmoving. A wispy red essence flowed into Bonesword's body, right where his phylactery was, and the shadow that covered his head shrunk down into his eye socket, the vines that carried his weapons falling to the ground as well. For the moment, the vines that held up Bonesword's skull remained there, at least until he had his body back.

Three pumpkins rose from the ground near Bonesword's body, and they slowly trotted towards it, lifting the skeleton's body once they neared it. As they carried it back to it's rightful owner, more and more red roses sprouted up around Saria's lifeless body. Vines from underneath the Red Blade lifted it off of the ground, holding it's hilt skyward as Bonesword's skull reattached to his body.

Once the skeleton stood back up, the pumpkins began to emit a sorrowful song in respects of Saria. As the song echoed through the empty beach, Bonesword began to speak once again, the lights in his sockets being absent, and his hand cusping the hilt of the Red Blade.

"... it's not everyday I meet someone like you. In reality, I've never met someone that carried the weight of grief so resoundingly when they could've easily met their own end at their own hands. I never got to meet you, but in that singular battle, I feel like I've known you my entire life. You might have mocked Abigail in our duel, but in a way, you reminded me of her. You managed to do something to me that none of the gods I've ever fought could accomplish. You made me feel... alive... again, even if it was just for a moment... there's only been one person that's managed that before you, and it was her."

A dark purple rose grew from Bonesword's eye socket as he continued. "... I wish this could've ended differently than it did, but in a way, I guess this is the proper end for someone like you. Not a villain, nor a hero, just a legend that wished for a simple thing. An opponent worthy of taking your life..." Bonesword paused, another rose growing from the other eye socket. "I don't know where you'll wind up, not by any chance, but I will remember this fight forever. Not just because you were the only opponent that I've ever been truly proud to face, but the only opponent that's ever made me remember what it was like to be alive... thank you."

A couple of large vines rose from the ground, lifting up Saria and placing her with her back against the sand, more roses sprouting up around her. "If you were any other opponent, I'd carry your blade with me as a trophy, but in your case... there's nowhere else that would be more fitting than right by your side." Bonesword took a knee as he placed the Red Blade down on Saria's torso, the blade pointing towards her head.

"... rest easy, Blood Devil."

They clashed again, striking furious blows at each other.

Without a doubt, he was much more skilled than any Juniper had faced so far, but she had yet to reveal her trump card, nor had she revealed the fullest extent of her ability. Truth be told, she was getting excited. After all, she was a martial artist first, and a shrine maiden second; an opponent like this made her blood boil in excitement, though she showed none of it in her expression.

With a slight misstep, her footing was lost but for a moment, an opening the knight moved instantly to exploit, swinging his polearm to cleave her in two. A simple but effective ruse.

Within seconds, a large rectangular stone wall appeared, trapping the polearm within. While the blade had still cut into her side, radiating pain with her other still healing wounds, it did not deter her from following up on such an opening. Before the knight could even widen his eyes in shock, Juniper pressed against the wall, exploding it outwards and into him. Without missing a beat, her leg smashed against his torso, bending even the shield, sending him flying towards the convenience store's wall.

It hurts. It hurts but...

"TEIYAAAAA!"

Moments before he hit the wall, she burst ahead with everything she got, putting everything she could into her fist, destroying an entire section of the wall as she punched him through it.

It hurts but I can't simply give up now.

"Hows that!?" Her side was bleeding, but he was still standing, still able to fight. She hated fighting people like this, willful and determined, a kindred spirit in action if not in ideals. Like fighting herself, and she knew that she would not give up until her body breaks.

It looks like she might have to go all out from now on.

The two contestants circled each other, slowly coming closer amidst the duplicate sculptures of the gallery’s foyer with mismatched gaits. The man moved carelessly, the sword dangling loosely in his hand pointing at the floor. An easy smirk etched on his features. The woman moved precisely, rapier in hand held at a ready stance, facing her enemy. Her brow was knitted into a stern scowl.

At an unspoken signal, the threshold was crossed. Pithy’s rapier suddenly streaked out, silver blade lancing at the man’s eye like a lunging snake.

A metallic clang answered her strike. Sparks flew off the man’s blade as her rapier was batted away with enough force to shoot a lance of pain up her wrist. She ground her teeth, desperately holding onto her grip as the man swung back to slash at her unprotected torso.

Pithy fell back on instinct, cleanly stepping out of the orange sword’s shorter reach and resuming her guard as the enemy surged forward.

She deflected a diagonal slash, avoiding the weight of the blow by ducking under it and maneuvering towards her foe’s right where his triangular shield could not be brought to bear. A searching slash at the man’s flank was pushed away as easily as her first strike, but just as her enemy began to retaliate, the sheet of ice spun out from behind Pithy, forcing him to step back to avoid its sharp edges.

The young man did not pursue as Pithy passed by, spinning around to face him. Instead, he rested his sword on his shoulder, the orange particles surrounding it glancing off of his clothes. “Forgot to put some points in agility, Elsa? I thought you’d be faster than this. That’s what happens when you don’t specialize!”

Pithy grunted, too short on breath to answer the man’s nonsense. By contrast, the brat doesn’t even look winded, she thought.

Some things had become clear from the rapid exchange. Her enemy possessed strength and reflexes beyond the norm, but his technique was sloppy in turn. A dullness born of overconfidence, of reliance in superior physical capabilities, or a lack of proper training?

It would not be the first time Pithy crossed swords with a superior opponent. Many warriors in her world found ways to enhance their abilities beyond their natural limits, be it with magic or a god’s favor. But it was more than that. For the first two decades of her life Pithy had thrown herself against such enemies again and again, and her body still remembered the struggle. Back then, her enemies had surpassed her utterly. This time, Pithy knew she had the benefits of experience and skill on her side. Those could bridge the gap.

The man clicked his tongue and lowered the sword from its resting place. “If you’re just gonna sit there, I’ll move first.”

Her eyes fixed on the man’s phylactery, chained around his neck and visible to all who cared to look.

She could defeat this enemy in a duel of blades, but it would be a close thing. However, skill with a blade was not the only tool she could count on. There was no need to give an enemy the benefit of a fair fight. Particularly when it would not be her last. The runes in her rapier lit up.

He was on her in a flash. The sword streaked forth in a downwards slash, but it met empty air as Pithy spun to the side, sleeves of her coat flaring like a ballerina’s arms. She had seen the man tense before his lunge, read the movement of the blurring arm, and began to move aside at the same time as the man sprung forth. Rather than streaking out in retaliation, her sword swung down with the spinning motion.

Where the tip struck the floor, a tide of white spread, suddenly the engulfing the floor around them.

Her enemy, who had charged after her, suddenly stumbled, plain surprise written in his face. Comprehension and irritation quickly replaced it. Already committed to the lunge, he threw out a slashed, but unbalanced as he was by the slippery ice that covered the floor, it carried none of the previous vigor.

Pithy parried the half-hearted blow with ease, steady as a rock even on this terrain, and sidled up to his flank. She rose the arm that held her six-shooter in her left hand and struck out with a vicious backhand aimed at the back of her enemy’s head.

Which was no longer anywhere to be seen.

Pithy’s arm flew through empty space, losing her balance as she was carried forward by the momentum. What just—

“Nothing personal, ki—SHIT THAT’S CHEATING!”

Pain flourished from her right thigh. Shocked and struggling to regain her balance, she placed her weight on the injured leg. White filled her vision.

For a moment, she clearly understood what had happened. The man had somehow appeared behind her, and she had called the shield of ice to protect her when she heard his voice. It had crashed against the orange sword, offsetting an incoming slash, so that instead of finding her unprotected back, it had dug into the back of her leg.

And then she was in the present again. She was turning, regaining her balance. Her mind was in a jumble.

It can hold my weight. Did I faint for a moment? It can hold my weight. Stand as long as you can stand you can live. He got past the shield I fainted so I didn’t see.

She could see baleful green eyes boring down on her, and the danger galvanized her thoughts. The hand with the six-shooter was extended, so she aimed the weapon at the approaching foe and unloaded.

The weapon’s rapport rang in her ears, but the enemy had raised his shield and the projectiles crashed against it as he approached. When he got close, the shield swung outwards, striking the shooter’s barrel and wrenching the weapon out of her hands.

She saw it as the man began to shift his weight, drawing his blade forward for a stab. Unbalanced by the ice he stood on, Pithy had just enough time to react.

She barely managed to plant her feet below her, white threatening to drown her vision once again. Her rapier flashed, deflecting the opposing sword in a shower of orange sparks. She angled her blade forward, once again aiming her thrust at the man’s exposed flank. The man’s right arm blurred as he brought his blade back into position.

But this time, he had been baited. Pithy flicked her wrist, completing the feint and weaving past the orange blade to stab into the arm that held the sword. Blood welled as the tip buried itself in flesh, then tore open a long gash as Pithy slid past.

The smirk that had appeared on the man’s face as he moved to obstruct her attack converted into a pained grimace. “Gah, fuck, that cut!? These hard mode nerfs are bullshit!”

Pithy wasted no time as the man backpedaled. Wounded as she was, and with an enemy capable of something akin to teleportation, a close quarters duel had become much too risky. She needed to create some distance fast.

As the man broke away from her, she drew out her power and pointed her rapier at her enemy. A focused blast of wind suddenly erupted from the tip of her weapon, crashing against the man like a wall of bricks, sending him flying several meters back into the art gallery, a stream of profanity following his wake.

The Book Keeper Itinerant Exorcist? VS The Cereal Killer - Round 3

Erina had been wondering if Motley and Runch would leave the colosseum at all. What she hadn’t been expecting was for them to escape it much sooner than anticipated - Runch had seemed to fly out of the stands on a stream of cereal, the substance going in all directions as he made his erratic way across the sky, only to suddenly lose control and fall straight toward the ground. And with how he’d been flying up to that point, she had no clue whether he’d somehow been shot down or not… either way, she’d needed to follow him and Motley, else how would she get the drop on their shared foe?

But when it came to actual engagement, she’d found that she was hard-pressed to do anything, since Runch had decided to take a rest in the middle of a large lake, and Crue had decided to follow him. Sure, she could swim, but since the water was infested with razor-mouthed tentacles, there was no way she was going to take her chances with it. She’d had to try and find a way on to a nearby rooftop, a difficult enough task when the houses weren’t made of medieval-age materials, and by the time she’d gotten into a good position, the vampire was already shocking the life out of the pirate, far beyond what would probably be considered lethal for anyone else.

But clearly, Runch wasn’t “anyone else” - he was apparently tough enough to withstand the electrical currents. And furthermore, he could explode. Or was the exploding something to do with his cereal creation…? Either way, he- or the ground between them, from what she could see- had suddenly exploded, sending the both of them flying away; on the one hand, Motley seemed fairly badly wounded, but on the other, Runch sank into the depths almost as soon as he stopped skipping across them. Perhaps he had suffered mortal harm, after all, and that detonation was simply a final suicidal effort to take Crue with him?

And then the ground collapsed, draining the liquid away like a sinkhole, and almost certainly taking the captain’s unconscious body with the miniature lake. Erina herself had been forced to take off before the house she was on collapsed in its turn, and that took her a few meters away before she could take proper stock of the situation.

But what about Motley? a niggling thought in the back of her mind murmured. Certainly, after the water had drained entirely, there was no black-clad undead in sight, and even when she stopped channelling Bend and dropped down to what now constituted “ground level”, even treading as close as she dared to the edge of the city’s latest sinkhole, she couldn’t see any trace of him…

’Glad to see you’re scared for me.’ She jumped at his presence, only to sigh once she registered who it was. It was a tad odd, feeling relief for a creature she’d have hunted in any other situation, but if nothing else, it meant she’d still have an ally. Even if the ally did have the ability to compel her to act however he wanted. And she hadn’t been scared, anyway.

’So,’ he’d explained before she could say anything, ’I’m quite impressed with Runch. He’s far sturdier than I gave him credit for, and smart enough to capitalise on a bad situation. It’s a shame how well he’s utilising that to his advantage.’

'Wait, you’re not suggesting he’s still alive down there?' Erina asked incredulously. 'That hole must be a mile deep!'

'Nothing quite so eventful as that, I‘m sure. Besides which,' he’d added, drawing out his phylactery, 'this hasn’t reacted in any way, which means Runch is still kicking. Which means we have to go after him.'

'We have to...' Erina glanced down the sinkhole, then back at her former enemy, torn between raising her eyebrows and smirking with falsified confidence. She eventually chose the latter, smoothly stating 'Well, yeah, okay then, that’s easy. I can climb down that, no problem.'

'Go on, then.'

'...uh. I don’t feel like it, at the moment. I need to, uh- you know we don’t have a plan yet, right?’ she’d pointed out to deflect the question. 'You can beat him up just fine, but I’ll have to get creative about it!'

'So we’ll get creative,' he’d shrugged. 'The key, I believe, is that he’s a great tactician, but not an amazing strategiser, and against me specifically he has nothing that will work on the spur of the moment. That is to say, he’ll take his time coming up with a solution for the problem at hand, and so make it work, but if we outwit him, force him to think long term- or better yet, give him no chance to act in the short term- he’ll crumble like the cereal he loves so much.' As if to make a point, Motley had gathered up a handful of the technicolour stuff, crushing it in his fist, then placing the bits in his pocket.

'In other words… we need to hit him hard, then pull out. Don’t give him a chance to go for us until we can hit him again.'

'I’m under the impression that you’re good at that sort of combat strategy. Or at least Bend is. “Hit and run”, if you know the term? It usually refers more to motor vehicles, but...'

‘I admit, I have no idea what a motor vehicle is,’ Bend said from behind Erina, ‘but I do like the phrasing. It doesn’t accurately describe my skillset, however; I could hold my own in a pitched battle back in the day, after all.’

'But you’d prefer to kill them before they could act against you, and retreat if you couldn’t win. That works without slaying your target too, does it not?'

‘To an extent. I suppose Erina could disable his limbs, rather than… but that leaves him able to generate that blasted cereal of his…’

'I think it’s going to be a slog breaking him down, either way,' Erina had interjected, 'and unless I can set his cereal on fire, I’ll be no good at holding him off like that.'

'You could distract him, though.' Motley tilted his head then, apparently deep in thought, until finally coming back to reality. 'Yes, that ought to work. Alright, here’s what we’ll do...'

---

Once the plan had been laid out, they’d both climbed down and followed the trail of water to a series of caverns- before they separated again, Motley estimated they were somewhere underneath the Holy Grounds- and now Erina was doing what she did best: lying through her teeth about something, to somebody who didn’t know any better, lighting the waterlogged caverns with a couple of fireballs even after Runch had created his cereal lantern. When she’d seen the pirate captain unconscious, she’d had half a mind to just channel Bend and execute the man on the spot, but he’d woken up before the thought could be put into action. Whilst she did channel him anyway just to get herself started on her brief rant, she kept in mind the legion of spiritual entities seemingly swarming in the city’s undercarriage… if any of them happened to have some useful skills, she might consider drawing on them.

That said, of course, it seemed to her that she was at more of an advantage than she’d expected. Runch had seemingly misplaced his weapon, and as Motley had mentioned, he was at a disadvantage when submerged even partially; if she could just get him on his back, there was a good chance she could just drown Runch outright and claim the victory for- well, for Motley, rather than herself, but there was no reason to assume the sailor wouldn’t know that too. Speed really was the buzzword, then: attack fast, pull out before he can retaliate.

True to form, Erina lunged toward him, blade ready to inflict a wound of some sort. At this distance, if he didn’t react, he’d be impaled through the heart, but if he raised an arm to block, he’d get his hand cut off; with a shield over the forearm, he’d lose it at the upper arm instead… but at knee height, the water was just deep enough to hinder her movement, and that gave Runch enough time to call out ’Bori Bori Wall!’, producing a thick layer of dense grain between the two fighters that almost trapped her katana within. Foolish of her, not to consider the fluid resistance; next time, she’d start with the throwing knives, and go from there. If he allowed for a next time.

It looked like he would not. Though his grain wall was weaker than usual, it still took more than ten seconds of focused hacking for the kitsune to make a sizable dent that she could pull at, and by the time she’d gotten through, it appeared that Runch had resolved his problem: a wide, circular arena of some glowing blue cereal now floated upon the water, and atop its centerpoint stood a man clad in… black steel? Wait, no...

’Sorry to make you work to get to me,’ Runch called, no doubt smiling under the crude helmet of chewy breakfast food he’d made for himself, ’but I needed time to set up a real plum pudding of a match for us! How do you like my Bori Bori Armour? Plates of iron-enriched Blockberry, hard enough to turn any blade, even one as sharp as yours.’

Or, more accurately, rough cylinders of “Blockberry”, wrapping around the most vital parts of his body where possible, including most of his limbs and over his shoulders as a form of ramshackle protection. He’d even created a square shield for himself on his left arm out of the black stuff, and a crude recreation of his own spoon-shaped weapon was held in his right hand. His joints, amongst other parts of his body, still seemed largely unprotected, however, but this fight was going to be much tougher now than it would otherwise have been.

Nonetheless, she was undeterred; climbing onto the makeshift raft and squeezing the liquid out of the legs of her pants, she was already trying to figure out the best way to push Runch off the platform. If she could manage that, then not only would it put him back at a disadvantage due to how his power worked, but it’d likely dissolve his armour and render him more vulnerable to her blade to boot.

'It’s alright,' she ceded.

’Omnomnomnom! Well, it could do with a bit of rewor-KUH?!’ In the middle of his sentence, Erina had struck again, now aiming for one of the unguarded spots near his groin that, according to Bend’s knowledge of human anatomy, would probably open up major arteries if she pierced them. Alas, though slow in his armour, he could still turn quickly enough to glance her blade off of his thigh “plate”; barely missing a step, she turned to block a strike from his makeshift spoonsaber, and then to aim a kick at his midsection, an effort to dislodge him that failed surprisingly miserably. Keeping that in mind, she struck again, this time at his arm, but again failing to do more than scrape off some sparks as he moved it ever so slightly, as if he wasn’t even trying.

'You’re lacking in power, old man,' she murmured, making an effort to psyche him out as much as she could. 'What happened to your cereal creation?'

’Impatient as ripening bananas, aren’t you?’ he responded, aiming a readily-blocked overhead swing of his spoonsaber toward her (though she granted that the weight of his weapon alone would crack any other katana with ease). ’Besides which, you aren’t quite as durable as your vampiric master, nor do you recover from harm so readily. Shouldn’t you be glad I’m going easy on you?’

’Against a more powerful foe, that’d be your doom,’ she elaborated, this time sending out a wave of purple sparks with her swing, an attack aimed at the gap between his helmet and chestplate. Of course, the tiny flames wouldn’t do a thing to the pirate... but he might not know that, if he hadn't checked his notebook, and the weapon itself would certainly be as lethal as ever if the wielder’s strike was as true as she liked it to be. Sure enough, the Kaptain practically threw himself backwards out of the path of the sparks in an effort to avoid them, almost winding up on his back in the process but hastily catching his feet, his retreat rather more conservative than Erina's would have been.

No more than a second after he’d recovered, just as Erina was stepping forward again, she heard him mutter ’Bori Bori Marbles’ under his breath, and all of a sudden, the area around his feet was practically laden with bright spheres of cereal. Bright, and incredibly smooth: the moment her foot landed on a couple, it skidded off to the side, overbalancing her and forcing her to try and regain her footing on the odd surface instead of striking at Runch again. The effort she made was admirable despite repeatedly stepping on more and more of the things, and she managed to stay mostly upright for a good second and a half before the cereal-clad sailor, with a yell of ’Bori Bori Shield Charge!’, rammed the barrier into her in a spray of cereal, sending her flying away toward the edge of the floating ring, limbs flying comically in a vain effort to stop herself landing on her back and rolling even further.

And then part of the arena seemed to violently explode beneath her, a heatless burst of oddly-scented wind shattering the cereal and throwing her towards the ceiling. Already disoriented, and with just a brief moment to react, it was all she could do to process the attack and sheathe her weapon before attempting to hit the ground in a forward roll. Instead, an awkward landing and a burst of pain in her leg and arm greeted her on impact, and the impact itself had her stunned a couple of meters away from Runch for a moment afterward.

’Omnomnomnom! That’s Galefruit flavour, with a burst of minty freshness in every bite!’ Runch explained heartily. ’A very large burst, in this case, and there’s more like it across the rest of this arena too! Landmines like fallen fruit! Omnomnomnom!’ That explained his reluctance to leave the center, then - he’d already set up the traps, and didn’t wanted to risk stumbling across them himself.

'Ugh… damn it all,' the kitsune muttered to herself, Bend’s emotions filtering through to her and swamping her own distress for the moment. Attempting to stand, she found she could just about manage, and it seemed her arm wasn’t that badly injured either. Likely just sprains, then. Still, this would only make fighting Runch and any future opponents that much more difficult, for want of a hospital… but, she reminded herself, that might not matter, in this case.

Unbeknownst to her, Bartholomew K. Runch was having problems of his own. His body was aching all over after his earlier near-death experience, and despite his armour not usually being so restrictive, he was finding it oddly cumbersome this time around, the shield heavier than it ought to be, and the makeshift blade more difficult to lift. He’d managed to make deflecting her initial attacks seem effortless, but avoiding a more powerful attack, and dishing out his own, was far more difficult for him than it ought to have been, leaving him feeling as though he might throw up at any moment. Did Motley’s electrocution take that much out of me, he wondered, or could it be that some of the floodwater’s still soaking me within my clothes?

Nonetheless, he wouldn’t let it get to him. He’d defeat this fox-like girl, and have her take him to wherever his true opponent lay in wait, and after his victory, he’d be sure to give them both some of his Bloodberry cereal to help her recover. It really wouldn’t do, after all, to let good fighters like them just-

’Uryyyy...’

The sheer, chilling terror that passed through Runch at that moment was enough to completely silence his train of thought and his tongue, and with a frenzied swing and a large swathe of glowing cereal cut through the air behind him, where he was sure he’d heard Motley’s warcry in his ear, certain he’d felt the undead being’s breath whispering against his ear… had he been mistaken? Was the darkness of the caves starting to get to him? The cereal’s glow didn’t reveal anything, floating in the water as it was...

'Pay attention, pirate!' he heard behind him, and he spun back round to see the fox-like assassin quickly charging him again, deft feet avoiding the marbles he’d placed around the arena, and on her injured leg no less! Now assured that Erina’s tolerance for damage was no less hefty than his own, he felt safe in bringing a bit more force to bear against her, and not sloe-ly either. First things first, he needed to get that blade out of her hands; bringing his makeshift weapon over his chest, he swung it hard across just as Erina made her downward strike, the blades passing through each other as if they weren’t even…

Wait a second, that can’t be right! he realised, her image static before him, but the arena still shifting with her movement. What in sour grapes-?

The sharp pain straight through his elbow did not help him figure out what had happened - from what he could see, she had apparently teleported at the last moment, leaving an afterimage of herself where she and her weapon ought to have been. Said weapon was now rammed through his left arm, just between the elbow joint and the cartilage, and Erina was already making an effort to try and pull it along its sharp edge to cause even more damage and completely ruin the limb. He had to stop her! Thinking quickly, Runch dropped his blade and slapped a hand over the kitsune’s eyes, calling out ’Bori Bori Flash!’ as a band of cereal wrapped itself tightly around her eyes.

Far from the soothing brightness of the other cereals lighting the cave, his Fluore-aspberry recipe was designed to be much too bright for comfort, even from meters away, with one’s eyes closed. He knew from personal experience that placing it right against somebody's eyes was uncommonly painful, moreso if they couldn’t get it away quickly, and he had made an educated guess that her vulpine features would only hinder Erina further. Whether or not that was true, it had the intended effect: her concerns immediately switched from injuring Runch permanently to screaming, stumbling away from him, and clawing at the stuff round her face as she yelled something along the lines of ’Oh Gods, get it off!’

More importantly, though, she’d left her sword in his elbow in her panic, which presented the perfect opportunity to end this fight decisively. Gripping it and gritting his teeth, Runch pulled the weapon free in a spray of blood, stemming the flow with the usual absorbent recipe, before stepping up to Erina and, just as she finally pulled the band apart - Runch wasn’t unnecessarily cruel at heart, after all - held the sword up to her back, clearing his throat to get her attention and removing his helmet as a show of good faith.

’Omnomnomnom! You did a grand job, young lady,’ Runch congratulated her with a genuine smile. ’I was honestly on edge the whole time! That said, I have no clue what time it is, and I know I need to defeat Motley by the end of today, or we’ll both be thrown out of the tournament faster than a rotten pineapple.’

'I can’t see! Why would you blind me, you bastard?!' Erina yelled, hands half-covering her eyes as she attempted to blink away a white glare and afterimages that would eventually fade.

'Now, now, no need for that sort of language. I don’t have any reason to kill you, and I really don’t like killing people in any case,' Runch pointed out. 'What I do need, however, is a guide - I don’t know what’s in these cave systems, nor do I know where my opponent this round is, and if anybody knows anything about either of those topics, it’s you.'

'Oh, no, yeah, I’ll definitely guide you around!' Erina shouted sarcastically, still blinking rapidly, but now glancing around the room, occasionally locking on to her sword and its current wielder for a moment before moving on. 'This is actually my home of thousands of years, I use my fire to see in the dark, but my EYES just got blinded, so tough luck!'

’Well, would you rather I had stabbed you whilst you couldn’t see?’ Runch asked, riled just a bit by how rude she was being. ’I’ll reiterate that hurting you any further is not something I’d like to do, but I nonetheless have a weapon trained on you.’

At this, Erina squinted down toward her blade, then grinned savagely toward a point slightly left of where the captain’s face was and twitching her head upward. ’Well, good luck killing me with a rusty sword,’ she uttered with no small amount of satisfaction, prompting Runch to bring the sword up to eye level, only to see that it was, in fact, newly covered in rust. That was… impossible! It had been as good as new just seconds ago, able to take hits from a much bulkier blade than itself-

A sudden fingerpoint jab to the hollow of his throat cut off his train of thought yet again, leaving Runch struggling to breath and threatening to throw up for the second time in as many minutes as he dropped the katana, only for it to be neatly snatched out of the air and pointed back at him by Erina, who now muttered 'Thank you, martial arts cave spirit,' into the air. Before his eyes, the rust dissolved from the sword, returning it to its former, well-kept state… oh, of course! It must somehow have been modified, such that only Erina herself could wield it properly. And here Runch was, claiming its sudden rusting was “impossible”... what a fruit fool he was being.

Actually, that was starting to get disconcerting. Twice now- thrice if he counted Erina waiting to attack until he was mid-sentence- he’d been caught out by tricks that he had no right to be caught out by. Had he hit his head and suffered a concussion during his fall? Or perhaps his own blast had shaken him up? That might also explain his need to vomit, but… certainly, he now strongly felt that something untoward had happened to him, and that it might well relate back to his vampiric foe or events during his time spent unconscious.

There’d be time to figure out exactly what was wrong with himself once the fight was over, however. For now, as he stepped back carefully and grabbed his false spoonsaber from off the ground, he and Erina were about back where they started on this platform, save that the fox-girl was injured and still slightly blinded, and Runch had a new hole in his arm. In his mind, that put him in good standing to claim victory, and it certainly wasn’t going to slow him down.

A sudden loud crunch heralded the removal of the sea captain's shield arm from the rest of his body, water and blood and bright blue cereal chunks spraying everywhere in the aftermath. Motley Crue had finally arrived, or had been there the whole time, and he'd taken the liberty of grievously wounding his enemy before he could react, landing in a pose in front of the pirate with the arm gripped in his right hand. Runch only had time to process that much, before the pain and shock of having a limb shorn off hit him, forcing out a scream of profound agony.

Cacophonous music battered Lily's ears, more sensitive than a normal human's. The intense light swirling around her opponent, was bright even around the corner of the building she hid behind. She had intended to induce such terror in Jiang that he would simply fall and give up, effectively throwing him into a fear-induced coma, which she'd then use to take his... soul. She still had trouble thinking of the process as taking the soul of another, since it was something that was followed by instantaneous death were she to do it under her own power. Why that was could wait for later, however, as she currently had a man going berserk a dozen metres away from her, and a mechanically augmented shark looking to her for directions.

Lily hit the wall behind her, frustrated. She didn't know what was going on around the corner, and part of her didn't want to find out. She'd learned long ago to be wary of beings, no matter how humanoid, suddenly shedding powerful light or sounds. She doubted they were illusions, as she should easily have been able to see through them, but then what was it? It wasn't fire, which ruled out a creature like that of a phoenix, nor some toxic miasma or... or anything she knew anything of. A woman who lived among gods and demons, fought against and with monsters, and had even become a creature more spirit than human herself, and she had no idea what was waiting to face her just around this corner. The lack of knowledge grated on her, reminding her all to much of her earliest days when she'd barely known what to expect from her own powers.

She didn't want to simply throw Brucie out into deep waters and hope he could swim. She didn't know what to expect from some random loudmouth, who suddenly started emitting light just seconds after being shown a little bit of eldritch horror. The problem was that the only way she could find out what was happening, was to look. And so... She did. Telling Brucie to stay where he was, she carefully crept towards the corner and poked her head out, quickly finding the source of the light and sound. Near-blinding though it was, she could just faintly see the man inside, covered in tentacles of light. A few moments passed and he seemed to be completely unaware of them, as well as on the defensive - there were no visible weapons, at the very least, and the tentacles did not seem designed for offense. But were they? She was in relative cover, and based on what she had seen he was nowhere near as fast as she was, so it was relatively safe to assume that she could get back into cover if he suddenly went on the offense.

She exerted her will slightly, using the friction from between her tails to create heat. The heat she molded and gave shape, resulting in a tennisball sized orb of cobalt fire hovering near her. She designated Jiang as her target, and immediately the orb sped forward like a rocket, leaving a trail of embers in its wake. It flashed white and gave off a boom upon impact, but there were no other effects. Much to Lily's dismay, the light surrounding Jiang was hardened, creating a protective shell around him.

She was about to form a second orb when the music suddenly changed, and with them did the tentacles. The music became a mix of fast-paced trumpets and drums, and the tentacles - "Oh. Shit." Lily ducked behind the corner as the first cannonball came rocketing towards her. The intense light had gone and instead was replaced by half a dozen cannons circling him. He no longer looked afraid, either. The one glimpse she'd gotten of his face showed something near fanatic, furious even. A wave of sand sprayed her in the face from where the cannon turnhad crashed into the ground, barely a metre from her, leaving tiny cuts on her cheeks. A sound like a boulder shattering came from behind her, along with a section of the wall being torn out by another cannonball, having missed her by inches. Her eyes widened as she realized just how much danger she was in. She turned to Brucie and yelled the only word that came to mind, "RUN!"

He did, and so did she. They followed the wall, turning the corner to put the entire building between them and Jiang, the sound of the cannons providing a backdrop, as if to some maniacal symphony which, in this case, it actually was: the concussions in the music being played was matched perfectly with the cannons shooting, although with some shots inbetween. That doesn't help me! She shouted at herself. The entire building was now between them, and it seemed that luck was with them and Jiang didn't know where they are, simply keeping the cannons aimed loosely towards where he had seen her, destroying that part of the building with ease.

"Cannons and music... That guy's got some freaky fireworks. How do we even get near that?" Brucie asked, peeking through a window, but was only able to see through to the part that had been destroyed, walls obscuring the rest.

"The easy answer would be to just distract him with illusions, but I fear he'd know the second the first shot passed through it. And if we step out in it, I have few doubts that he'd put holes through us. So you stay out of this. However," she moved one her tails forward, depositing the Flask into her hand, "I need you to fill this. I'm fast, so I think I can at least run circles around him." Brucie took the flask and she stood up, almost jumping as a section of the building's roof caved in on the other side. The cannonshots had yet to stop. They just continued, as did the music. "I'll probably be needing it. Don't go out, you'll just get yourself killed."

With that being said, she ran down the length of the building, leaving behind a disgruntled Brucie that, in spite of being annoyed that she wouldn't allow him to fight, understood the idiocy of charging down the guy. He was eager to fight, maybe even reckless. But he wasn't suicidal.

Lily rounded the corner and stopped just before she stepped out on the street. She peeked around and saw Jiang with his back to her, six floating cannons aimed towards the corner where she and Brucie had hid before, blowing it to smithereens even though it was hardly standing at this point. With every shot he shouted something, only a few of which Lily could pick up on: Laowai - Foreigner? she mused, eyebrow rising - monster, something that she believed translated into 'less than dirt'. He was definitely still conscious, but he didn't seem to be in full control of himself. It's as if he's become... twisted, frenzied. Let his emotions get the better of him and tunnel visioned to the point of not thinking ahead at all, focusing only on the immediate. She took a cautious step out of cover, standing in the open but near cover. Jiang didn't look back, didn't stop firing. So if he only reacts to an immediate threat... She concentrated her gaze on a place beyond Jiang, in front of and to the left of him, the opposite direction of where he was firing. A small use of power conjured an image of herself and Brucie, standing unprotected.

Jiang's head whipped around, and so did the cannons. Their report continued, blasting the area with iron balls. And then stopped. Jiang stood silent, music gone, and cannons silent. He stared intently at the area where the images had been, and just as he whirled around did realisation dawn on Lily. She mentally kicked herself and jumped back into cover, only for the music to resume and the wall next to her to explode. Dust and debris peltered her, but worst was the ball of iron punching through concrete as if it were sand. She didn't so much feel it as hear the cracking sound of her shoulder breaking when the cannonball clipped her. Nevertheless she screamed and fell to the ground, clutching her wounded side. Iron fell around her and she was lucky that none hit, the corner providing some cover. What cannonballs weren't diverted by impacts, flew over her and landed behind her. But she wasn't safe. Not by a long shot. So she fought through the pain, forcing herself to scurry away even as it felt like steel balls were passing, mere centimetres from hitting her.

From around the corner came Brucie, looking concerned if a shark could. He saw wall being destroyed, the cannon balls whizzing past. And he saw Lily lying on the ground, trying to stay low while scurrying towards where he stood. "Idjit," he said aloud, though whether to himself or to her was uncertain, as he darted forward and grabbed her which only made her curse loudly when he touched her shoulder. "Suck it up," he muttered, though it was barely audible over the cannonfire. He finally pulled her around the corner and into better cover and set her down, elicing another curse.

"The flask!" She demanded, to which he nodded and pulled it from the compartment in his leg. She took it and drank deeply, wincing as the bones in her arm reset and and the torn flesh reknit. "Fuck. I can't get close, and he did react when his shots passed through the illusion. Wish I hadn't ruined your watergun."

Brucie remained silent as she took another gulp from the flask, looking toward the cannonballs not far from them. He looked from them to Lily, back to them and then met Lily's eyes. "You destroyed that door yesterday. How."

She looked at him quizically. "Simply unleashing a bit of magic, I can create a lot of kinetic force. Why?"

Brucie ran up to the nearest cannonball, picked it up and ran back with it. He handed it to her and gave her a knowing look. Or as much of a knowing look as a hammerhead shark could. "Do it again."

"It... just might work," she said after a moment of thought. "I can't propel it as fast as him, but I can try." She stood up, rolling her now-healed shoulder. "Worth a shot... but I'll need a distraction." She looked towards the other end of the building, where they had been hiding before. "Go over that way, and provide a distraction. I expect you can run fast enough that he can't easily trace the shots." She gave him a wan smile. "Sorry for putting you in danger like this, but I don't think illusions will work that well this time. He'll see through it the instant a shot passes through."

Brucie, in spite of being about to jump into danger, nodded and smiled as much as a shark could. "Ya got the potion thing if things go to shits. and a single cannon shot won't kill me, I don't think. Now, you go for it when I make the distraction." And with that, he ran off.

Lily looked at the flask in her hands. She'd consumed a quarter of it to heal her arm. She would need to reserve the rest for if, or when, Brucie had been hurt. She followed him with her eyes as he ran up to the other corner and turned it. Shortly after, his coarse voice could be heard shouting obscenities. A sudden and loud exclamation of a particular swear told Lily that he had been spotted. The cannonfire continued, but no more projectiles came her way. She ran out of cover, satisfied at seeing that Jiang had his back turned to her, and firing at Brucie who was busy running towards the huge scrap heap that she had hidden in to begin with. Iron balls fell around him, but he wasn't hit. Yet.

She hadn't any time to waste, and so ran forward. She was fast, faster than any human would ever be, but even so she felt slow. Any moment he could hear her footsteps, and make one of those cannons turn around to fire at her. Each step of hers sounded as loud as the cannonfire to her. Each breath, she feared that he could feel. Twenty, fifteen, thirteen, twelve... Ten metres away, she stopped and raised the cannonball, held in both her hands. She gazed hard at her opponent's back, focused the primal power within her, and Pushed. The cannonball slipped from her hands with a rush of air, propelled forward by an invisible force. Instinct, it seemed, made Jiang turn around just as it happened. His frenzied expression gave way to surprise as one of his own cannonballs came rushing towards him. The surprise, in turn, gave way to pain as the nine pounds of iron struck him in the chest, sending him tumbling backwards and screaming in pain. The song stopped.

Lily didn't stop there, she began running again, forward once more. He was down for a moment, but she didn't want to risk him resuming the music and filling the air with iron again. Lightning crackled and jumped between her limps as she called upon it. It moved, concentrating in her hands. More and more she called upon. Closer and closer she got.

Standing almost atop him, she met his eyes, angry arcs of lightning bouncing between her fingers. His pained and confused expression met hers as she extended a hand. Time seemed to slow. She saw his eyes widen, lips part. Saw the beginning of a cringe like that of someone expecting even more pain. And she realised something. She realised that the risks were too great. She felt her own lips move unbidden, mouthing a single phrase. I'm sorry.

Lighting sprang from her hands, connecting with Jiang. The screams were nothing new to hear, nor was the smell of cooked flesh. But nonetheless, it hurt. It hurt to break her vow. To do something she'd promised herself she wouldn't do. And yet... She couldn't afford not to. If she simply tried to grab at his phylactery he would have the time to turn the cannons on her and fire.

She cut off the electricity after only a few seconds. Seconds that had felt like hours. At her feet lay someone whose name she only knew because a prick with a microphone had said it. She felt no victory, only numbness as she watched the smoke curling up from his corpse, the skin blackened in places. She looked towards Brucie who was, miraculously, unharmed. He looked by with an unreadable expression and said nothing.

Moments passed in silence, until eventually a loud whine penetrated the stillness. Lily looked towards the wreckage of metal to their left, to where she and Mouse had hidden earlier. That whine... "Mouse!" Old training kicked in, letting her momentarily forget about the enemy in favour of her ally. She ran towards where she had hidden with the dog before. She jumped up to the small ledge where she left him only to see blood. It flowed thick but, thankfully, hadn't spread far. Not far from her lay Mouse, a small round hole in his chest. He whined and tried to wag his tail as she approached, but managed little more than a twitch. Such a small dog had bled so much. One of Jiang's bullets must've hit him earlier, when she had taken shelter in the shadows of the wreckage. The why isn't important. Heal him! Potion! She shouted to herself, taking it from within her tails. Most of it still remained, though much had been spilled during her sprint. She could only hope that it was enough since he was smaller.

She cupped her hand underneath his muzzle and poured some of the golden liquid in. "Drink," she said, which he did much to her relief. He slowly lapped it up, and the bleeding slowly stopped. He evidently realised that drinking was a good thing, because he didn't stop until only drops was left in the bottle, and the hole in his side had sealed. His fur was still matted with blood but, thankfully, he was alive. And healed. The life she had taken momentarily forgotten, Lily picked up Mouse and found her lips curling into a smile. He gave her a, she assumed, thankful lick on the cheek and a small bark, which she repaid with scratches.

She would deal with the body of Jiang Zhao later. For now, she allowed herself to feel happy that she had also saved a life.

The man with the green eyes’ flight was halted when he was caught in the outstretched arms of one of the sculptures in the foyer. The statue, a reedy thing of twisted metal that resembled a metalsmith’s representation of a scarecrow, tipped back on its concrete stand, then slowly toppled back in a slow fall. His bewildered eyes met Pithy’s gaze for a split-second before the sculpture fell from its stand, obscuring the both from view.

Pushed him away from the frozen floor. He won’t have issues maneuvering. Pithy began to hobble back, inching closer to another such statue and the concrete pedestal on which it stood.

The clanking echo of the toppling sculpture had barely begun to fade before, the man stood behind the pedestal, a small shooter in his hand. Pithy recalled her sheet of ice just in time to shield herself from the barrage of projectiles that suddenly assailed her, still inching back towards what cover she had seen.

The barrage ended as quickly as it began, and in the short lull, Pithy caught the man’s eyes straying off to the side. Following his gaze, she saw the long-shooter lying a short distance away from him. It did not take much thought to see what the man was planning.

He vaulted over the pedestal, dashing straight for the weapon.

The badger had managed to destroy a hastily formed shield with two well-placed projectiles from her weapons. I’d rather not see how many it takes this one.

A trio of icicles came into being before Pithy and launched themselves at the running man, sharpened points aimed at lunges, neck and kidneys.

His gaze swept in her direction, fixing over the incoming projectiles, and the man threw his body back. He slid over the polished floors, lances flying over him, and snagged the weapon with his uninjured hand. In a fluid motion he rose to a crouch and braced the shooter against an arm, and the barrel swept to face her.

The rapport of the weapon was immediately followed by a hoarse curse. A quick glance spared Pithy a view of the long-shooter’s barrel resting against the floor and the man’s bleeding arm wrapped painfully around his midsection. She saw as the man’s face hardened. He slouched back to a sitting position and braced the weapon against his other shoulder, the barrel held up against the man’s raised knee.

“Can’t believe I gotta try-hard this shit.”

It looked to be an incredibly awkward position, but something told the duelist that she could not count on him missing another time.

Pithy hurried her pace, gritting her teeth at the pain that lanced up her leg like hot pokers under her skin. Only a few more feet, dammit...

Another icicle appeared before her, launching itself at her enemy.

The man twitched, almost imperceptibly.

Just one more step—

Once again, the weapon thundered.

Pithy realized the flying arrow had exploded in the air, but that was only an afterthought. The bladed barrier she had brought into the gallery, expecting a ‘ganfight’ as she had been, shattered inwards as the projectile punched a fist-sized hole through it. Just then, she felt something pulling from her left shoulder.

But there was no sudden surge of pain. A glance at her shoulder revealed a large hole had been ripped open on both sides of one of her empty sleeves. When the man had shifted his aim to the incoming projectile, he had lost a proper bead on her.

And then she allowed herself to fall behind the pedestal.

Even as her back hit the concrete wall, her magic snatched a piece of the shattering barrier, almost as large as her hand, and brought it close to herself. As it passed by her outstretched right leg, Pithy found herself struggling not to stare at the red stain that was blooming in her leggings.

She heard the weapon firing once again along with the sound of stone cracking, but the loud swear that followed told her that her cover had proved thick enough to avoid being penetrated.

Breathing a relieved sigh, she looked at the crystal she held in her magic and whispered a lilting word. Its surface shimmered like a ripple in water, then swiftly stilled. Her reflection’s blue eye stared back at her from the crystal.

She levitated the sorcerous mirror over her cover, and turned it until she found her enemy. The man was still where she had seen him last, but his shooter was no longer trained on her. He held something else in his hand, a dark, yellowish rectangle. Pithy realized she had seen that kind of item protruding from the long-shooter’s underside.

Her mind went to the special ammunition the badger had used in her previous encounter and Pithy felt a ripple of unease run through her. She could not let him take the initiative.

She held a fist up, drawing from the wellspring of her magic, and five crystalline daggers appeared between her fingers. Without so much as glancing over her cover, she flung them upwards.

The knives spun carelessly into the air, their glittering reflections drawing the eyes of her enemy away from his task. Almost as if noticing his regard, the blades stilled, points turning to face him.

The man began to move just as the blades flew at him. He rolled to the side, flinging himself out of the way and onto his feet with surprising agility, but rather than clattering against the ground where he had stood, the knives turned in unison and fanned out, homing in on him from different angles.

In her mirror, she could see the man mouth a single word.

“Shit.”

The first blade whizzed past him as he stepped aside, swinging his shooter at another pair of knives. They were turned away, spinning out of control until Pithy reasserted her will on them. The swing returned the shooter to a holster on the man’s back, leaving his hand free. The fourth was aimed at the man’s head, and he ducked under it, veering straight into the path of the fifth. At the last moment, he turned, putting his injured arm in the way of the blade. It sunk into flesh, deep enough that it touched bone, but before Pithy could drive it in deeper, his gloved hand closed around it, wrenching it out of the wound and flinging it away.

Pithy could faintly see red welling between his uncovered fingers.

His face turned in her direction, and his hand suddenly blurred, something coming into being where once there was nothing. Before she could either redirect her knives at him, or see what he had conjured to his hand, he brought it up to his face and made a chucking motion in her direction.

A clattering noise drew her attention away from her floating mirror, to the cylindrical object that had dropped next to her.

Alarm bells rang in her mind. She pointed her rapier at it and let out her strongest gale. The object flew off towards the gallery’s entrance, exploding in the air in a conflagration of sparks and lightning. A rush of warm air buffeted her face, forcing her to close her eye.

She cursed, blinking rapidly as she sent a searching glance at the mirror she held aloft.

Her enemy was nowhere in sight.

Pithy swore in alarm and gave shape to power as swiftly as she could. The ice mirror lost its reflective sheen, growing from the center into a hastily constructed barrier like the one it had come from. Pithy began to stand, using an information sign by the statue to pull herself up.

She heard shoes stomping against the ground before she saw her enemy rounded the sculpture she had hidden behind, and Pithy pushed the sign towards him as she tried to move away. The man cleanly side-stepped it, green-eyes keenly focused on her retreating form, and he raised the orange blade in his left hand.

Pithy’s hastily-formed barrier came between them.

The man’s blade bounced back, but a spiderweb of cracks had formed on the shield’s surface at the impact. Pithy grunted. It’s all I can expect from such a hasty construct.

She found herself shaping another gale within her rapier to blow the man back once more, but stopped herself. Even if the man did not predict such a move now that he pressed her, flinging him away again would only delay matters.

She keenly understood that their duel had nearly reached its end. Who would come out on top would depend on the next exchange.

With a flash of her rapier’s runes, the barrier in front of her shattered along its cracks. The pieces spun, a myriad glittering surfaces seeming to expand from a center as though they were floating in water. Her enemy paused in his approach, glaring at the crystal shards that suddenly ceased moving, sharp edges all facing him at once from only a step away.

Pithy gave the man a cruel smile, watching his fragmented image from between the floating shrapnel and knowing that he was doing the same to her.

“I admit,” she told him, “you are slippery, but not as much as you’d think. I’d like to see you get out of this one.”

The young man answered with a tight grin. “Leave the shit-talking to the pros, Elsa. You suck at it.”

Pithy heart soared, but she kept the triumphant feeling away from her face. Instead, she scowled at the enemy’s dismissal, bringing an arm to her chest as though containing her outrage. In her hand, she surreptitiously grasped the clasp of her robe.

Coolly, she answered. “Very well.”

The runes in her rapier flashed, prompting the suspended shrapnel to converge towards their target. Pithy had a moment to see the man’s expression turn smug before he disappeared under the deluge of blades.

And then she ducked under the orange sword that slashed out from behind her. Pithy undid her robe’s clasp with a practiced flick of her fingers and the fabric billowed out, slipping away from her shoulders.

“What the f—” came the frustrated cry before a sudden gale of wind threw the blue cloak at her enemy’s face.

Unbeknownst to him, among all the pieces of crystal that she had spread to limit his approach, one had remained facing horizontally at her. And that one piece had been enchanted to work as a mirror in the moment that her enemy had answered her provocation.

She had seen it when the man had appeared behind her, and responded to the blow aimed for her neck.

Such a ploy could only have worked on a man-child as massive as the one before her.

And so Pithy twisted around, ignoring the fire in her leg as she lunged at the covered figure’s torso. The man fell back, throwing the robe aside, and his wild eyes fixed on the silver lance aimed at his heart.

The speed of the orange sword stunned her. It flew up as though of its own volition to protect its master, pushing her rapier away such that it only scraped against her enemy’s vest.

Unable to stop her lunge, Pithy swore and pushed forward, locking the blades between them, knowing all the while that she was the weaker of the two and would not be able to use her weight with a wounded leg. Which left only one choi—

The enemy found his balance and pusher her away from him with his blade. Before she could retreat to a safe distance, a foot crashed against her stomach.

Air exploded from Pithy’s lungs. She was flung back. The impact on the gallery’s smooth floor sent a tremor through her, and she felt something tear inside the wound in her leg. A scream tried to pry itself out of her throat, but it found no air to ride on. Her grip on her rapier failed, and it clattered away.

Pithy squirmed, turning so that she lay on her belly. Short, pained gasps rose from a sore throat, and her wide eye blinked away unbidden tears.

Behind her, she dimly heard approaching footsteps, accompanied by a mocking laugh.

“You really had me worried for a moment there, you know? Ambushes, Stage Hazards, homing projectiles and throwing a fucking cape at my face to blind me? That’s some next level cheese right there, but I guess that’s the best I can expect from—” He paused. The approaching footsteps stopped. “Why are you laughing?”

Am I laughing? Oh, these gasps… no wonder I’m having trouble breathing. Fool, why does it matter why I’m laughing? In what realm could it ever lead to something good for you?

Pithy turned herself over, glaring at her latest enemy in this blasted tournament. In one hand she held her own phylactery, having dug it out of her shirt while she was facing down. In the other she held its twin, the heart beating rapidly as though alarmed. The length of chain from which it had dangled from her enemy’s neck was broken.

“You talk too much,” she rasped.

The man looked down to his chest and understanding dawned on him, followed by a dark rage. He took another step towards her, raising his sword.

“Give that back, you bitch!” But Pithy had already driven her phylactery’s needle into the other heart’s rubbery flesh.

The man stopped in his tracks, his injured arm reaching to his chest as though a new pain had all but overridden the old one. He stumbled back, the orange sword falling from his hand as his left hand joined his right. His breath sped up, rapidly reaching the levels of hyperventilation until a keening scream tore its way out of his throat. His legs crumpled under him, as if they could no longer hold his weight, and spasms began to wrack his body.

Pithy continued to watch from her place on the floor, wide-eyed as the man’s scream slowly died, only for it to start again at the next gasped breath. All the while, the beat of the heart she had stolen from him gradually slowed.

It was not long until the man lost consciousness, but Pithy held onto the two interlocked hearts for long after her enemy’s had stilled.

This time, Juniper didn't charge. Her opponent had changed somehow, courtesy of that creepy screw in his head, and she was not a fool. By now, she knew her enemy's strength's and weaknesses, and with the time for playing around passed she did not hesitate to use every tool at her disposal.

Around her body, the air shimmered, and from ethereal magic currents a whole host of small spheres began to form. The projected ball bearings hung in the air, menacing and still, for a split second before shooting at Cyril like a firing squad's deadly barrage. For the second time the armored man boosted sideways into the shelter of an aisle, and with a sigh Juniper pursued him.

Cyril had almost reached the opposite end of the aisle, running at near-full tilt despite his rising fatigue, when a magicked wall appeared in front of him. Without breaking a sweat he attempted to shoulder-charge right through it, only to find the wall double-layered. He spun in place to find Juniper opposite him, surrounded by another volley of ball bearings and flanked on either side by what appeared to be giant projected crossbows. All at once the priestess's projectiles blasted forth, and with no other recourse the vanguard used his sheen to boost upward. Beneath him the wall crumbled with a violent noise, blown apart by its maker's other projections, but Cyril's focus was on the secondary batch reforming around Juniper before his eyes. He landed on top of one of the shelves, crushing cereal boxes beneath his weight, and began to sprint along its top while more projected items narrowly missed him. In a matter of second he closed in on Juniper position.

The priestess tensed her legs and leaped. She sprang up toward Cyril's high ground and aimed a devastating spinning crescent kick toward his head. Knowing better than to block, and spurred on by sharpened perception and reflexes, he ducked beneath the kick before reading a halberd swung toward the woman who hung in the air. As her revolution brought her back to facing her opponent, Juniper unleashed a facsimile of Cyril's own weapon straight toward him. A split second before the polearm's point would have sunk into his throat, the vanguard shoved his glaive upward, and deflected his enemy's blade with all the strength he could muster. It shot up and over to stick in the ceiling like an arrow in an archery target. Without missing a beat, Cyril took advantage of his raised weapon to deliver a brutal overhead chop Juniper's way. Already falling, she pivoted out of the way long before the blade had a chance to bite in.

As she touched the ground, Cyril felt a twinge of familiarity. With only a second to ponder it, he cast his mind back to the previous day—the brigands that attempted to kill him outside the city walls. He'd extinguished one's life by cutting short a large, telegraphed swing to deliver a fatal thrust to the chest, and the muscle memory of those moments stuck with him here. Almost before he knew what he was doing, he linked the cleaving stroke into a speedy jab, and his halberd's curved point dug into Juniper's shoulder. It hit the collarbone and stopped cold due to its lack of power, but the vanguard knew even though his foe only grit her teeth that it must have hurt like hell. He couldn't dwell on this little victory, of course, and followed the thrust up by revving up and hurling his shield down at his enemy from above. For a moment it looked dead-on, but the martial artist span out of the object's glittering sawblade, and the moment her rosary began to light up Cyril's every instinct told him to dive straight back.

By some miracle, no doubt attributable to the screw, he landed on his feet the next aisle over, albeit heavily. Eight blasts of potent, vengeful magic annihilated the upper portion of the shelf he'd perched upon a second before, sending pieces of cereal flying in every direction. He then heard a cry of hatred, and the next moment the entire shelf exploded outward as Juniper punched straight through the barrier.

Taken by surprise, Cyril weathered the blast of debris as best he could, but didn't manage to evade the oncoming freight train in time. He got the briefest of glimpses at Juniper, and the three black arms sprouting from the shoulder of her missing left one currently planted in his chest, before he himself was sent through the aisle. A massive crash echoed through the grocery store, louder even than the one that immediately preceded it.

Without the aid of the screw's focus, Cyril could not have pulled himself together and wiped away the blurriness of his vision, but compose himself he did. Ignoring the thick hair that stuck to his neck and cheeks from the sweat, he struggled to get to his feet, and with his off hand he cast away the mangled remains of his breastplate. Behind him, instead of a shelf, was the cold, solid surface of glass. Rather than marvel at the modern cold-storage unit behind him, Cyril looked to his own wounds. His forest-green gambeson was ripped and stained brown in several places, the result of the dents pounded into his armor having broken the skin beneath. He was terribly sore all over, and he felt sure that some of his bones were fractured. “Uugh...” He watched Juniper walking toward him, knowing that she wouldn't try and make a scene like last time she thought she had the advantage. This time, he felt sure, she would try to end it quick.

The adrenaline flooding through him forced his battered arms to bring his weapon, still clutched in a deathgrip, forward at the last moment. Juniper had launched herself toward him, straight into his weapon, but to Cyril's shock the point of the halberd she practically impaled herself on did not sink so much as a centimeter into her belly. Instead, his polearm was forced backward—repelled by an immovable object.

She's invincible like this!?

“Now die!”

She was moving too fast to stop herself as Cyril put all his might into angling his glaive upward. The elevation gained was slight, but it was enough to turn a fatal skullcrusher into a blow that, with all of Juniper's weight behind it, glanced off the top of his helmet and continued into the display refrigerator he'd been thrown into. Her fist penetrated the glass easily, ripped through the plastic bags of frozen vegetables, and came to a stop against the refrigerator's steel back.

Kunngg

If the impact hurt, she made no noise, but neither did Cyril, who Juniper was now essentially lying on top of. Given the angle, none of her arms could reach him, and her legs weren't in a position to strike with any force at all. Lifted off the ground, she couldn't employ her massively increased speed, either. The vanguard saw the opportunity, and seized it.

He planted a shoulder in Juniper's midriff, clasping his arms behind her back. His armor shimmered with its familiar silver sheen, and he barreled forward with Juniper in a full-body tackle. When his boost ran out, he continued sprinting forward, through the holes busted through the two separate aisles.

“If you saved...this power until now,” he told her matter-of-factly as he ran, “It's gotta...be...your trump card. I'm guessing...it doesn't last too long. Right?!” Juniper made no sound until she was driven into the far shelf of the original aisle a second later, the breath torn from her lungs in a tremendous gasp. Jolted, Cyril reeled back, and saw to his satisfaction that though Juniper's freakish extra arms remained, the power surrounding his right had faded. With startling speed, the martial artist recovered and aimed a sweep kick to take her foe to the ground, where he'd be finished. Cyril saw it, and used his sheen to dodge backwards while bringing his halberd back for one last blow.

The vanguard wasn't a gambling man. He hated the uncertainty of life—of not being able to depend on things staying normal or safe, of having to wake up knowing each day could be the last. But now he could see Juniper's pitch-black fingers balling into fists, and knew that this next second was everything. All or nothing, feast or famine, it would all end here.

Cyril swung low with everything he had left.

There was a flash of silver and scarlet, followed by a low groan.

Black eyes wide, Juniper fell sideways, her calves carved clean through.

She hit the ground in a splash of red and black, the former spreading out while the latter faded away. The instant he realized it was over, Cyril's whole being sagged. With a clatter his halberd hit the floor. He stumbled backward, hit a shelf, and slid down into a sitting position. Never in his life had he felt more exhausted than he did now, but it wasn't just tiredness that plagued him. He tried to avert his eyes from Juniper, but in his state of perception he could not avoid her stare. Even as she still breathed, her eyes looked glazed-over, and they were fixated upon Cyril's own despite his visor. Beneath that hollow glare a dreadful moment passed. For the Knight Sylvestre it was a victory, but it hardly felt like he had won.



“Aaaand that's a wrap, folks!”

The facetious phrase resounded through the art gallery's foyer, followed by the incessant noise of the drone's rotors. “Magic!” The announcer shouted, the arm of his flying machine gesturing theatrically. “Mayhem!” It span in one circle after another before coming to a halt with the arm extended. “Melee!” Pulling back, the pincer delivered a punch to the empty air, then another. “A brutal fight with a nonlethal ending! Finally, something I can get excited about. But how didja know ya could steal Mr. Dew's soul usin' the spike? I told Lily, but I don't remember tellin' you...”

Mountain stirred, and the drone's camera swerved to capture him as he grabbed the gallery's welcome desk with his good hand and, whimpering, pulled himself to his feet. Once standing, he took a moment to breath before turning to glare at Pithy with unadulterated hatred. In one fluid motion, even with the agony of his arm and the lingering pain caused by his opponent's voodoo-esque torture of his phylactery, he scooped his rifle up from the ground and pointed it at her. Of all things, the sort of amused intonation that often accompanied a smirk could be heard through Oren's mike, and a tense second passed before he lowered the weapon. Shock polluted Mountain's wrath-infused features, and he looked at the drone as if to question it. Though he said nothing, what happened could be inferred: for some reason, he couldn't bring himself to shoot his opponent. This realization, oddly enough, came separate from the magical attacks Pithy no doubt prepared. Mountain lips moved, something imperceptible and unprintably foul muttered between them, before he let his gun fall to the ground. With very little ceremony he stormed from the building.

“Look at 'em go! That suppression sure is something else. You didn't know, did you?” Oren's drone directed its camera back to the Lady in White. “Man, today's a big day for lucky breaks, wouldn'tcha say? Just look at that pigeon!”

As he spoke, the flying machine hovered toward one of the statues in the entry hall, a sage kneeling in prayer. A splatter of drying brown blood stained the clergyman's raiment, and just beneath it was the mutilated corpse of an ordinary-looking bird. “Nailed by a stray bullet during the fight! No wonder there weren't any space shenanigans. I'd say something about two birds with one stone if it wasn't so darn easy...” The drone abandoned the scruffy, blood-matted body to float in the direction of a statue in the hall's center. In the lap of the seated crone was a nest, and between the two snow-white eggs was a golden arrow. “Yoinks!” Oren directed his contraption's arm to clasp the object with its pincer and hold it up.

Spinning about, the drone began to head for the exit, but the announcer's voice did not abate. “Good work there, Miss White! Your opponent, as I'm noticed, had a habit of getting' on people's nerves—even yours truly! After takin' that dude down, you're pretty much a favorite. Anyway, you're free to do whatever. Since you're all about modern technology from the looks of it, maybe ya wanna find out Mountain's hoverboard. Bet that'd make the highlight reel, eh?”





For once, Oren kept quiet. With most of antiquity's warrior burials, the blade was pointed down toward the noble corpse's feet, with the hands clasped across the hilt. Of course, there was the logistical issue of Saria's current stock of hands, but the announcer maintained his silence so as not to disturb the moment. His usual eagerness with witty quips and colorful commentary did not extend, necessarily, to ruining a salute to the fallen. No doubt, his surprise played in; his money, were he betting, would have been squarely on the Blood Devil. Everything about her spoke of a more hardcore swordman than the less serious skeleton, but it was he who stood victorious. Maybe it had been the venom coursing through her veins, or the burning blood, or perhaps her death wish had won out above all else in the end. The pumpkin song was a nice touch, too.

His respectful vigil did not last, though. The whir of the drone's rotors brought the machine down from its lofty angle, and its camera fixated upon the body-deprived skull of the winner. “Visceral—that's how I'd describe it. Raw, messy, and passionate. I didn't expectcha both to respect one another at the end, given the vehemence with which ya fought, and the words used. Then again, I didn't think ya'd beat a Frenzied opponent either, Boney, but after all that fightin' ya came out...'ahead'.” His pun made it clear that the fight didn't lay nearly as heavily upon him as it did on Bonesword. Still, while he'd be quick to laugh at his own hilariousness any day of the week, he barely managed to snort this time. Even Oren could not commit to making light of this outcome.

“Well, congratulations, I suppose. No prize in tier two of the tournament, if that's whatcha were expectin'.” He paused for a moment, thinking about what he was going to say next. “Battle's not done, Fungal Knight. You're almost halfway there. Oh! Actually, you do get something. Your opponent got her artifact not long before the fight. Almost a waste to see it wasn't used at all, actually, but on a beach...might not have ended well, yeah.”



“See ya later, skele-tons-of-fun. I got another fight to call.”



As Lily ministered the healing estus to her critically wounded canine companion, she was doubtlessly aware that the drone belonging to Oren was hovering nearby. Its presence would have entailed little more than an ambient vrrrr if not for the visible bullet hole in the machine's side. Damage to internal circuitry had completely disabled the drone's pincer arm and item clamps, which all hung limply from the gadget's hull. Its rotors did not sound healthy. Really, it was a miracle that the thing could still fly, but compared to other miracles going on in the vicinity that little triumph was small potatoes to say the least.

The drone's program drove the camera to zoom in on the touching scene unfolding before it, impartial and businesslike, but the man behind the motor did not react with such soullessness. He could not, and did not for a moment think to try to, suppress a smile. Coming on the heels of a particularly gruesome spectacle, that was saying something. After a moment his voice, somewhat distorted, rang from the machine's microphone. “And we have our winner. Nothing like something heartwarmin' to take the mind off a 'shockingly' violent death, huh? I'm, uh, really gladja both pulled through. World'd be a darker place without my favorite fluffer and sharker. If you're itchin' for an item, I'm sure poor Jiang had his tier one artifact around here somewhere. Rest of the day's yours, but if you're at all into givin' the ole College a helpin' hand, there's something not too far off we...well, we could really use help with.” Unbeknownst to the announcer, the drone had begun to list, and was losing altitude at a slow but steady pace.

A skeletal middle finger extended off of BS's left hand as Oren spoke. He didn't care if it was disrespectful, it was downright awful for Oren to even try to make a joke out of this situation.

The skeleton stood over Saria for another minute, letting the depressing feelings sink in. She made him feel alive, but at the cost of her feeling the same way. Oddly poetic, to someone standing by, but for Bonesword... well... another purple rose grew out of his eye socket. He couldn't cry, but this was effectively a way he could express his sorrow.

After the minute was over, the skeleton bent over and took the small egg-timer off of Saria's body, guessing it was the relic because of how odd it looked in comparison to Saria, and he held it in his hand. While it slightly scared him for what it could do, he wasn't going to judge it based off of what it looked like. He'd wait a bit later to use it, though, in case it fucked him out here. Besides, the skeleton had another problem on his hands.

Bonesword would need something to replace his lost arm. Thankfully, fortune smiled on Bonesword, as Saria's removed arm was nearby. As disrespectful as it was to use the arm of his previous fighter, he had no choice. A situation like this only came around so often. He lifted up the arm from the beach and fixated it into his socket, himself shivering slightly because of how... weird it felt to have muscles again. The arm itself was a surprising match for BS's size, which was uplifting, but he regretted having to take it. He walked back over to Saria and spoke once more to her before he would finally take his leave.

"I'm sorry I'm left with no choice but to use your arm. I'll put it to good use as I win this thing."

Bonesword began walking off the beach, dispelling all of the plant terrain he created except the roses beneath Saria. Those would stay until someone came to take her body, or until they eventually perished. The skeleton wanted to get away from this place, especially considering all of the grief he saw here. He was heading back towards the actual 'city', wondering if something... more enjoyable was on the other side. Maybe he'd find his own echo as he traveled?

Erina kept watch outside the colosseum, right where Motley Crue had left her. As the vampire ascended up the wall, she kicked a loose stone out of boredom and frustration. It felt like most of her life was spent just waiting on other people, or otherwise being pushed aside. Her “gift” left her feeling quite lonely, despite having the endless deceased around. Frankly that was most of the problem.

Bang! went the pincer sound of that College agent that facilitated the fights. ”Well, now we just wait for Motley to tear that guy apart I guess. Maybe this Bartholomew guy will be entertaining? Shouldn’t take too long.”

“I would not be certain of such matters, Erina,” her ghostly companion, Bend, responded. “Motley would not have requested your decisive action if he did not anticipate the potential for trouble. Besides, the people that have been gathered for this competition… They are of another sort entirely.”

Before Erina could reply, something had caught her eye. Something was falling from the sky in great amounts! Tilting her gaze upward, she had seen something truly amazing: Motley’s opponent was flying, projecting little pellets of something as a propellant. ”... I guess you’re right, Bend.” The man’s motion was jerky, so he clearly wasn’t used to flying like this, but his speed was still intense. The kitsune spotted Motley following behind, but at a much lazier pace. It was clear that her new vampiric master couldn’t keep up with his quarry.

”I guess this qualifies. Time to see if I can keep up!” Erina took off at a run, chasing them down. Every few seconds she’d glance upward to ensure she was still on track, but the pirate was leaving a nice trail to follow. Then she saw him tumble out of the sky, with Motley closing in. Maybe he wasn’t so special after all? Well, she was already running that way, no point in giving up now. Well, considering she was running headlong into a flippin’ flood zone that might warrant giving up. Wet fur was really annoying! And they were still a good ways away, too!

Erina kept soldiering on, climbing onto a nearby rooftop when the flooded streets got too much to run through. Rather than swimming, she had decided to stay dry and that jumping rooftops would still be faster. Even so, by the time she had gotten there the entire battlefield had been radically altered. A big whirlpool was swallowing up all the smaller debris, including that pirate that Motley was supposed to be fighting! Motley himself had been blasted away, and from what Erina could see he was nowhere to be found. Maybe he was going to be out of it for a while? Well that meant it was up to her!

But… Ew, that thing looked like a big toilet.

…

Wait… Something else was down there. Many somethings. She could sense it. Not quite see it, but feel it. It was a tingling sensation all over her body, but mostly deep in the pit of her stomach. Spirits. She’d never felt so many in her extremely long lifetime gathered in a single place. Almost like a… Civilization. The tingling was cold and unnatural. Even if her and Motley’s opponent weren’t down there, her duties as an exorcist were clear.

---

It had taken nearly an hour, but Erina had found a safe way to get down into the catacombs after K. Runch. All around her she felt the spectral presence of the deceased clinging to the mortal realm. Kings and queens and paupers and merchants and warriors all alike had found their spirits in a restless afterlife, stuck in the winding passageways and dark corridors. Traversing the area was not difficult for the kitsune, for she merely summoned her foxfire to provide the needed illumination. What distracted her was the moans and babbling of the ghosts that drew in around her. They needed to be helped, but she had a task to complete. Once they were done with this pirate, Erina would assist these apparitions, whatever Motley had to say about it.

The place was built like a maze, a sheer labyrinth of the dead, but there was only so many ways that she could go. Eventually Erina located the man she was after. Bartholomew K. Runch was beginning to stand as she approached from behind. She didn’t know what the man was entirely capable of, but he seemed to somehow cause that huge explosion, as well as form some kind of pellet material from his skin… Which to be perfectly honest was just so cool.

She called out to the man and established her reasoning for being here, though she expertly slipped in a little lie about Motley. Erina did that so often it was getting hard to keep track of what was a lie and what was the truth. Still, Runch reacted in a manner she hadn’t remotely anticipated. He actually laughed at her! What was she, some kind of joke, some plaything for his amusement?! Her eyes narrowed as Erina allowed Bend to enter her body. The katana in her hands became pristine and powerful once more, while the pirate… He looked even more a fool as he reached for a nonexistent weapon.

”Kiyah!” Erina shouted in a direct charge toward Runch. As she attacked, the kitsune also shot some of her foxfire for his face. It would be completely harmless to a normal human, but of course he had no way of knowing that. He’d try to guard his face and leave his gut completely open to Bend’s blade…

”Bori bori wall!”

”Wait, wha-?”

Suddenly a tan colored wall sprouted up between the two. Her flames fizzled harmlessly against the barrier, though her sword sank a decent amount into it, a solid three inches. She yanked the blade free to see bits and pieces of the wall crumbling away. This is… Cereal? Like the pellets? So weird, but amazing! Again she struck the blade to the wall, knocking another segment out. Then another, and another. It was the only option she had for dealing with this obstacle.

Meanwhile, Runch took off running the opposite direction. He held his glow-in-the-dark cereal lamp in one hand and erected more walls behind him as he dashed down the long, flooded corridor. This isn’t great! My spoonsaber is gone and the water is making me sluggish! Sapping my energy! Even though I’m building these walls with my water-repellant recipe, they’re crumbling far too easily, like oatmeal! It was then that Runch reached a fork in the pathway. One to the left, one to the right. Honestly he’d prefer not to fight this girl at all. He was still sorely beaten from his previous skirmish with Motley, and once this fox woman was dealt with he still had to find Motley again. So this was where he was determined to lose her. Runch erected a wall over the right path, then took off down the left. Once she had busted through to the area, she would be focused on following his trail and he’d be long gone! Perfect! ”Omnomnomnom!”

Shortly after, Erina chopped apart what must have been the fifth wall in her way. This was just getting ridiculous! How much of that cereal could he even make?! That’s when she saw the fork in the tunnels. Left was open, right was blocked off. By reflex, her sword arm swung toward the blocked off tunnel, but then something stopped her at the last second. ”Wait, this must be a trick,” she muttered to herself. A bluff, he assumed I’d keep hacking at his walls and took off the other direction! It’s a classic maneuver. Unless he wasn’t thinking and just ran, then this is the right way. Or even worse, he could have anticipated that I’d call his bluff and chase after him in the open tunnel, when in reality he actually went in here! It’s a double bluff! AH!

Erina shook her head wildly, the indecisiveness of it all getting to her. That’s when Bend offered his own advice. “Erina, instead of trying to puzzle it out on your own, why not stop and… Ask for directions?” Erina stopped shaking, then stared at her ghostly ally. A second later, it clicked.She whirled around and then began speaking to a solid wall. At least that’s how it would have appeared to any onlookers. In reality she was addressing Ahkeem Sol’Vuq, the ghost of a desert hunter.

”Could you please tell me which way the man with the really long pointy mustache went?” she inquired. The ghost was taken aback.

“You can… See me? Amazing! You have to hel-”

”I’ll do my best, but first I really need to know!”

“Oh, sure. He went down the left. Weird guy.”

Erina tilted her head and smiled back at the spectre, giving her best “cutesy” eyes. ”Thank you! I’ll come back later!” Before Ahkeem could respond, the kitsune was again charging down the dark catacombs, water splashing around with every step. At least it was at first. She entered a chamber which seemed to be mostly dry, with a large sarcophagus sitting in the middle. More ghosts and spectres haunted this room, which had no other exit, and the floor… The floor was… Squishy?

The exorcist squat down to touch what should have been solid stone. Instead it was some sort of damp spongy substance. Gingerly she licked the tip of her finger only to taste… Cherry? It was cereal. So the pirate was in here and had no way out, so he spent time absorbing the water with his creations. Why? But more importantly, where was he at now?

The Cereal Killer held his breath as best he could, for more reasons than one. It was dark in his hiding spot, but isolated. It gave him an opportunity to get a little more rest and recover with more of his healing Bloodberry recipe. But perhaps most importantly of all he took the time to read the journal by the light of his glow cereal. Again and again he poured over the details of Erina the Itinerant Exorcist. An immortal creature called a kitsune, with powers and dominion over the dead. He wasn’t sure he liked that, being as he was sitting inside a sarcophagus in a giant maze of death. Still, he was confident he knew as much about her as he needed and pocketed the still damp book in his pants.

Meanwhile Erina searched glanced around the room, searching for her target. The place was mostly empty, save for the obvious. He wouldn’t have, would he? Really? That was just too apparent, though! Well, there was one way to be certain. Erina spotted the ghostly visage of an ancient, well adorned man holding some sort of scepter. ”Excuse me-” she began, but was immediately cut off.

“Arrogance and insolence, taking refuge within my ferry to the next life! A million curses upon you, unworthy peasant!”

”Uh… Thanks? You just answered my question, I guess.” The kitsune looked to her side, where Bend was at the ready. Reaching a silent understanding, he overlapped her, and she took him into her body once again. Drawing the katana at her hip and holding it at the ready, she approached the sarcophagus. The blade held high, ready to strike, she forcefully kicked the lid clean off, and was greeted with an unexpected assault.

It was not from Runch himself, but an assault on her nose. The most horrid scent she could possibly imagine struck her nose all at once as it was freed from the tomb which kept it contained. Her stomach lurched, her lunch from earlier threatened to return to the land of the living. Erina stumbled back, having to cover her face with one hand to prevent a coughing fit. Tears condensed in her eyes, blurring the room.

It was then that Runch made his move. He leapt from the pharaoh's resting place, brandishing a glowing spoonsaber in his hand, a makeshift weapon crafted from his glow in the dark recipe. With one decisive strike he knocked the katana from Erina’s hand, then held his blade to her chest. ”Omnomnomnom! I’m glad you finally caught up! When I hiit this dead end, I thought I would be hiding with my Stinkberry Surprise forever! Omnomnom! But now this is over, ancient one. I need to find Mr. Crue before our time limit is over!”

For one reason or another, Erina did not panic. She didn’t freak out, and she didn’t give up. Maybe it was Bend’s influence, but she remained cool and collected. He was an assassin, after all. Devise the plan. Execute the plan. It was that simple. ”I’m not a fan of your recipes, but it looks like they are.” Erina gestured toward the floor with her chin.

”They who?” Runch, bewildered, spoke aloud. He then chanced a glance downward only to be horrified with the sight. A swarm of scarab beetles had surrounded him! They were marching closer, ready to rend the flesh from his bones! ”Ah! Back, you insects, back!” The pirate swung his improvised weapon downward toward the swarm, dropping his guard. Exactly as planned.

Erina quickly took hold of a throwing knife and shot it into Runch’s right shoulder, his sword arm. ”GAH!” Stumbling back, the Cereal Killer accidentally moved into the pile of bugs that threatened to devour him. Instinctively he jumped up, but none of them latched onto his leg. In fact, they all just completely vanished from sight! An illusion, one of her magical tricks. Gah! How could he fall for that? He had her on the ropes, of course they weren’t real! He should have suspected!

Meanwhile, the kitsune had found her katana once more and lunged at Runch. His fighting arm now weakened, he held up his weapon to block, but it wasn’t sufficient. Her strike powered through his defense and knocked him backward. Runch was off balance, and the medium wound back for another sword swing. This one would be deadly. Runch mentally sighed. He had no choice.

”Bori bori Hellberry grenade!” The pirate’s offhand swung up, generating an explosion pellet of cereal, this one significantly smaller than the one he had used on Motley above ground. Erina had already committed to her assault. There was no backing down now. The small ball of baked wheat struck the woman’s midsection with so little force, it wouldn’t have harmed a fly. Then it exploded, throwing Erina back into across the crypt. The ground shook and dust scattered about, dropping from the walls and ceiling from the concussive force. Runch regained his ground and stepped through the dust cloud to see Erina. She was sitting against the wall, her torso scorched and scuffed, bleeding, but otherwise fine. She’d survive, but it was gonna hurt like Hell.

”Here,” K. Runch offered, placing his hand in front of her, numerous red pellets seeping up from his pores. ”It’s my special Bloodberry recipe. Extremely nutritious. It helps your healing and gives you more energy.” He smiled. It was genuine, and warm. The fox woman couldn’t help but smile back and accept, eating the food right from his hand. She didn’t have the energy for anything else, so why not?

”Omnomnom. Good. You’re much too pretty and good natured to die here, wouldn’t you say? I wish Motley hadn’t sent you. I wanted it one on one for a reason.”

”Motley didn’t send me,” Erina stated, her voice already perking up. Well, he did in a roundabout sorta way. It was a gray area, but he didn’t specifically ask her to come. ”I came for you myself.”

This statement confused Runch. He tilted his head in confusion. ”Really? If you hate him so much, why’d you take the initiative?”

”Because-” she stopped herself. What was she going to say? She was a strong warrior that loved a fight? That Motley couldn’t keep her out of the battle? That Runch had actually killed her parents years ago and she was out for revenge? So many lies, so many ways to handle this important statement. ”Because… We’re kind of the same, and having him around grants my wish. At least a little.” It came out before she could even think about it. The truth? Wait, was that the truth? It was so hard to keep track of these days.

”Omnomnomnom! I see!” Runch stood tall, letting the laugh flow from his belly. This had lightened his spirits. ”Well I can respect that! I can respect that indeed!”

Just then, the glow on his sword went out, like a light switch. The two found themselves bathed in total, absolute darkness. ”What the fruit?!” Erina let out a small gasp, while Runch’s eyes struggled to adjust to the sudden disappearance of light. Then the chamber echoed with a sickening crack. It took a second to registered the pain in his left arm, but once he realized his arm was broken, Runch let out a howl of pain. He tossed aside the makeshift sword, and created another one from the same glow in the dark recipe. His eyes barely had time to observe Motley Crue’s presence, holding some sort of lighter-like object. Then the glow from his new sword vanished into that lighter, leaving everyone blind again.

”Sight is of no consequence when I can smell you,” the vampire stated. Runch heard the voice approaching and swung his new weapon, hitting only air. The only result he achieved was a broken rib as another invisible blow impacted against him. ”Know that I do not enjoy such torturous methods, Bartholomew, but you have proven to be quite the difficult prey. I can no longer afford to play nice.” Another crack, and Runch fell to one knee. His leg. His leg was broken too!

”Your flattery will get you nowhere, Erina.” Motley lifted Runch up by the neck. His limbs arched and seared with pain as they dangled limp. ”Do not concern yourself with the pain, pirate. Once I have taken your soul, I will mend these bones. For now, it is time for you to lose your dreams. Wryyy!” Motley grabbed for the captain’s phylactery, sensing the little bauble by hearing alone as it dangled from the man’s neck. That’s when Runch had an idea. Motley didn’t know he had two items dangling from his neck. Concentrating from his upper chest, Runch formed a covering around the religious amulet that he had found back at that cathedral.

Motley tore the chain from Runch’s neck, then dropped the pirate onto the floor, broken battered and bruised. As before he flicked open his lighter, only this time all the light it had stolen returned. Both glowing cereal swords were once again illuminating the room, giving Runch, and Erina, their first moment of clarity as to what had happened under cover of darkness. Motley smiled, content with himself, as he held his opponent’s phylactery in his hand. He reached for his own, and held the two at the ready. ”You put on a good battle, but nobody will stand between me and perfection.” The vampire clicked the two phylacteries together.

Click.

”What? Nothing is hap-”

BOOM!

Runch’s phylactery exploded right in Motley’s hands. More importantly, right in front of his face. The heat seared off most of the vampire’s face, boiled his eyes away, destroyed a hand, and knocked his own phylactery up into the air!

”Omnomnom! Bori bori mascot decoy! Hellberry recipe!” The religious amulet didn’t survive the explosion, being at the center of it. Sad. Runch had wanted to carry that little bauble with him to the end. He enjoyed something about it. Well no matter, there was a battle to win! Cap’n K. Runch used his improvised spoonsaber like a catcher’s mitt, saving Motley’s phylactery in midair! He dropped the thing in front of him and set his weapon aside. Then, with his one useable arm, grabbed his own precious phylactery and stabbed it into his opponent’s!

As the drone intruded on the scene, Pithy finally let the phylacteries fall apart, letting the now dead heart fall to her side as the tension fled her arms. She could not muster surprise at its appearance. Oren had likely been keeping an eye on the both of them since before the fight had started. Instead, she let the excited chatter of the announcer wash over her in silence, using it to keep her mind off the aches that plagued her body.

As the drone questioned how she could have known she could steal a soul directly from the foe's phylactery, it occurred to Pithy that she could tell him that she had been delving into the secrets of devices such as these phylacteries for longer than he had been alive. That intent and structure arose from everything that came from a maker's hand and purpose followed if one but knew how to interpret the signs. It occurred to her that she could tell Oren that when it came to artifacts of magic she was likely better suited than any in the College's staff for their study.

But he had not asked her to boast, and in any case she lacked the breath for it.

"I didn't," she rasped instead. It was the truth, for all she had had before she had stolen her enemy's heart and stabbed it with her own had been a hypothesis.

And then she noticed her foe stirring. Pithy stared with something near amazement as the man slowly stood, features lost as though he did not know where he stood. At least until his green eyes fixed on her. He moved fast, his weapon cradled in his arms and aimed at her in the blink of an eye.

Pithy had drawn on the white maelstrom that fueled her spells almost reflexively at the fury that confronted her. The shards of ice she had used to bait the green-eyed man lied scattered behind her like so much broken glass, and they trembled as though an invisible hand had passed over them. She did not will them forward. Even as the dark eye of the shooter's barrel stared at her, a sense of calm filled her. This man cannot harm you, spoke a knowing voice inside herself.

The premonition proved itself true a moment later. The man's face twisted with bewilderment, followed by frustration. He dropped the weapon and stormed away. The thought of halting him before he could leave the building crossed her mind, but she did not act on it. Furious as he might have been, she was certain he would not leave the gallery's vicinity without his weapon. The sound of the closing doors echoed inside the art gallery.

This time she did not deign the drone's prodding with an answer. She had had some guesses as to what would happen should she succeed in stealing a living person's soul. A coma had seemed the most likely. Perhaps immediate death. The extraction had been all but gentle, and for a moment she had had suspected the stress might take the man's actual heart. That he might survive with his faculties intact had not been a likely possibility, but this was more than that. The announcer had called it 'suppression', but she knew better. The man had been made into a thrall.

She almost failed to notice it as Oren's drone dipped deeper into the gallery's entrance to claim what it had come for, so taken was she by the implications of what she had learned. By the time she thought to consider the drone's last action, she was already the last person in the room.

Pithy sighed, resting her head on the floor. An encroaching heaviness at the tips of her limbs urged her to rest, muddying her thoughts. The fire in her leg roused her.

She forced herself to sit. Muscle stretched, and a lance of pain all but froze her, all notions of rest chased out of her head. Setting her jaw to suppress a pained gasp, the elf began to drag herself across the gallery's floor.

It is well that I've been left alone, she told herself. There is no one to witness this indignity.

Her hands finally grasped the robe that she had thrown at the enemy in her ploy to blind him, and her fingers held the silken blue fabric before her. The surface had been peppered with holes from the projectile weapons she had been faced with, some only a day old from the fight against the badger and others newer still.

A rare feeling of sadness gripped her. The robe itself had been replaced before, the fabric torn, burned and disfigured beyond recognition several times through the years. At this point, only the silver clasp shaped like a rose remained from the original, but it still hurt to see it in such state. It had been passed on to her as a gift before her exile, from people whose names had been taken from her along with her own in punishment, a gift that broke many of her people's laws. She had resented it then—still did, at times—but she could not bring herself to part with it in full. It was the last physical link that anchored her to her past, and its weight was too large for her to cast off.

Nonetheless, a tool was meant to be used as necessary, and the weight of that conviction ran deeper still. She pulled a knife from her belt and put herself to work.

A handful of minutes later, a blue and gold bandage peeked from the tear in her bloodstained leggings. The robes once again rested over her shoulders, much diminished. Pithy inspected the fabric wrapping around her leg once again, dissatisfied yet knowing she could do no better given the circumstances. Purple had already began to spread as the cloth soaked in the spilt blood.

Pithy tested the leg, trying to move it through clenched teeth. Even ignoring the hot pokers that burned under her thigh,the the limb barely moved.

Crippled. I can't fight like this. She closed her eyes and swallowed with a dry throat, forcing down a surge of panic. It's passing left behind cool contemplation.

There was nothing to be done for it, she told herself. Her magic could keep the rot from settling in, if nothing else, and bandages would stem the flow of blood until she found a healer or surgeon to take proper care of the wound. It did not bear thinking what would happen to the limb if she found no way to treat it. Neither did she dare ask how she would deal with the coming battles. Not yet.

It's the only option available to me. The cynical thought brought a bitter smile to her lips and with it, cold comfort.

With a whispered word, a crystal rod formed in her hand, stretching and curving until it had taken the shape of a cane. She set it against the floor and tried to use it as support to stand, letting out a curse as the damned thing slid out of place. Another word steadied it. Pithy stood with some effort, distributing her weight between the cane and her good leg. Once she was sure she could move, she began shuffling towards one of the foyer's sculptures. Taking the chance to lean against its podium, she fished out her phylactery.

There had been a certain concern that had come to her mind at the beginning of the duel, and now that the battle was done, it once again rose to the surface to flutter with the rest of her apprehensions.

“Oren,” she called into the phylactery. The metal familiar had retreated some time ago, but she was confident the announcer could still hear through the heart-shaped device.

“What is it, ice queen?”

“I’m not in the mood for jests.” The steadiness in her voice satisfied her. She was glad she had not immediately pursued this line of questioning when the drone had first intruded at the end of the battle. “Answer plainly. Are you trying to get me killed?”

His reply was immediate. “Nnnope.”

Pithy drowned out the first response that came to mind. It seemed she was not as calm as she had first thought. “Could have fooled me. Why did you call out when I was about to ambush him?”

“I’m not supposed to let fights end like that. ‘It wouldn’t be fair’, or somethin’ like that.” The announcer’s tone was a mixture of placating and dismissive. “Don’t be flattered; if he was about to put a bullet in your head from a mile out, I woulda hotlinked your phylactery and given ya a heads-up before yours turned into red chunks. Besides, ya still coulda taken him out then and there, even with the warning, but it looks like ya weren’t fast enough.”

Not fast enough, he says, from the safety of his viewing room. He dares try to turn this on me.

This time she did not contain herself. “Bullshit!” she hissed, her hand tightening around the phylactery. “We just need the souls to make the machine work. Where does fairness of all things come into play? Or do you just enjoy watching us struggle?”

The sound of a sigh came through the microphone, corrupted somewhat by static. Oren’s tone had shifted to one of irritation. “I mean, a little? But it’s not my call either way. You’re not moral-high-groundin’ me, lady. Ya wanna dispute how the stupid phylacteries or the machine work, ya take it up with the College. I’m just doin’ my job. If ya wanna get mad about the unfairness of it all, feel free to drop by my tower and show me what-for.” Oren chuckled, as aggravatingly self-sure as only someone of the opposite side of a mic could be. “I know I’d enjoy watching that. I’ll even throw it in for free: Governance Hub center, medieval-looking building, can’t miss it.”

Pithy closed her eyes. Her grinding teeth were audible in the silence. Not his call the words repeated in her mind. Was it somehow a requirement for this machine to awaken for battles to take place? Or was it as she had first feared, and she had been led into a gladiatorial game purely for the amusement of others?

After a moment, her voice slipped out, softer than before, almost silky in its smoothness. “The invitation is tempting. Know then, that should I make for your tower, it would be to kill you before you could put my life at risk again. Is that hasty of me?”

To the announcer, Pithy’s tone came as mocking, and he did not appreciate the ignorance at work. “Last I checked, you’re the one voluntarily puttin’ your life at risk for the sake of your wish. But come and try to kill me, if ya think ya got a chance. You’d better be hasty about it if ya do, ‘cause after tonight, we’re gon…” Oren trailed off with an uncharacteristic abruptness. When it returned a moment later, his voice had cooled off completely. “Hm. Well...let’s just say, I’m not the enemy here. We both want somethin’, we both gotta play by the rules. Nobody acts of their own free will. Sorry.”

Pithy loosened her grip on the phylactery, sensing its slowing heartbeat. “You will not be, should you see me before sundown,” she told him. After a moment, her voice still quiet, she added. “And you have the truth of it, announcer. There is nothing so quaint as volition at play here.”

---

The doors of the art gallery swung shut behind Pithy. Her rapier was back in its hoop at her belt, and the six-shooter was safe in its holster.

Near the base of the stairs, she saw her defeated opponent had turned to look at her. He gripped his injured arm close to his body, a grim expression fixed at her. She noted a crack on the pavement close to where he stood.

The cane in her right hand tapped at the stairs as she began the tortuous trek down the steps. The long-shooter, held in her other hand by the barrel, struck the stone in time with her step. She saw the man’s face twist to a displeased grimace at the sight of his weapon being used as a crutch by another, but he didn’t speak out. In any case, Pithy was much to preoccupied hiding the pain that lanced into her leg with every jarring step to care about his displeasure.

After what seemed like an eternity, Pithy reached the gallery’s courtyard, standing face to face with the man of the green eyes.

She offered the long weapon for him, and he roughly pulled it off her hand.

“I want a rematch.”

She did not miss a beat.

“No.”

Red filled the man’s cheeks. “Like hell am I just gonna sit back and accept losing to some prissy elf girl and her stupid toothpick. I bet you wouldn’t look so smug if we went at it again, without these stupid nerfs this time!”

Smug? Is that how I look to him? Bleeding, barely able to stand on my own feet, and still have more rounds to go on this thrice-damned tournament, and mine is the face of pride?

She shook her head. “You lost your chance.”

Pithy saw the man’s expression twist. He snarled a curse. “I see, I see. Elsa’s… ning scared, little slo… deserve it but—”

She blinked, confused by the shrill droning that rose in her ears, drowning out the man’s words. He kept speaking, unabated. Did he not hear it? She was feeling faint. Dimly, she wondered if she had not lost more blood from her injury than she had thought at first.

Her gaze roamed the furious, contorting face, marvelling at the anger and frustration that had surfaced in those features as though seeing it for the first time. Had his right arm not been wrapped around his midsection, she knew he would have been gesticulating wildly at her. As it was, the long-shooter bobbed up and down, striking the ground as though providing a beat behind the tirade.

More than anything else, she remembered the tone of voice that had seeped from her Phylactery only a few minutes past, the confidence in the safety afforded by distance, the misjudging of threats as empty, and the bravado borne of not truly seeing the face of the one you antagonized. In the face of that, she was struck by how little she cared about this child’s unsightly display. Her gaze left his face, hopping between the few fountains in the courtyard before losing interest and dropping down to look at herself. Her eye stopped on the blood on her leggings before moving on to fix on one of the knives sheathed at her belt.

Not truly understanding why she was moving as she was, her free hand slowly wrapped around the handle of the weapon.

The sound vanished at that very moment, the void of sensation nearly knocking her down from her feet.

“—elves were supposed to be skinny dudes with Orlando Bloom’s face or curvy, stripperiffic rangers, but instead I got you half-assed ice queen—”

The knife made a rasping sound as it left its sheath. The tirade stopped. Pithy’s bombardier eye locked on the man’s own. There was apprehension there, and rightly so. She could do as she pleased with him.

Pithy turned the knife on her hand, holding it by the blade and offering the handle to him. His expression turned puzzled.

“Cut off your tongue.”

---

A groan escaped a pair of furred lips, the sound riding on the cold wind. Within a bank of white, a black figure rose to its feet, shaking away the snow that had piled up over its small form. It suppressed a shiver.

"Ugh... dun’ tell me. Dumbass doc better not have slipped something in my drink while I wasn’t looking.Oughta teach ‘im badgers and guinea pigs are different things." Trickshot Jo looked around herself, glaring at the offending white. She brought a paw to rub at her fiercely throbbing temple. Hrm. No hat. "The hell am I at?!" She looked down at herself. "And what slippery Jimmy made off wit’ my pieces?!”

Jo began to dig at the snow, suddenly nervous. If she had dropped them near her 'pass-out' spot, she could get lucky and find them. If she had shed them elsewhere, suffice to say, she did not like her chances of finding them in this featureless wasteland.

Jo cursed and kicked at the snow. A small mound in front of her stirred, and Jo started, paws reflexively looking for her holsters. The badger tsked testily as she found nothing at her hips, but it seemed nothing was needed, as the mound remained still.

Now curious, she approached, brushing snow away from the top. A pale, slender arm greeted her. Jo hesitated for a moment, thinking she had stumbled into a corpse, before she realized the mound was weakly rising and falling.

"Shoot. Yo, stay with me!" Her own discomfort forgotten, Jo gave the arm a shake, some more snow falling to reveal small, girly shoulders and a white nightgown. "Girl ain'tchu got no clothes on?" the badger muttered. Jo had the benefit of a coat of fur, but all she could see on this one was the single piece of thin fabric.

She dug her out, trying to rouse the girl, for it was a girl Jo had come across, not yet into her teens as far as the badger could tell. She had not noticed before, but the edges of her limbs had darkened, as though rotting, and the veins coming up from her arms and legs seemed dark to her, sickly.

"Yo girl, you's still alive?"

Long, black hair covered the girl's features, and Jo pulled it back to better see the girl's face.

A stern face, sharp, with a single blue eye stared at her. The other eye was encased in ice, along with a good portion if that cheek.

Jo blinked. No. Familiar as it was, this was a girl's face, not a woman's. Rounder and more innocent in its sleep, eyes closed. Both eyes.

But the sight had awakened a memory in her. Jo's paw went to her midsection, where a woman in white had blown open her stomach with a shot from a revolver.

Jo stared down at the phantom wound for a moment, silently processing the idea. Then, "Damn. Done in the first round. Cap'n's gon' be pissed."

For the first time since she had awoken in these white wastes, she recalled the last hours if her life. But then, what was this place she had found herself in? The afterlife? It certainly was white enough, if she was to believe some of those preachers she had heard droning on in the cities, but she would have expected clouds instead of snow if that was the case. She didn't feel dead in any case, whatever dead felt like. It seemed more and more likely that she had hallucinated the whole thing. It simply did not feel like she had.

The weak breathing of the unconscious girl in front of her drew her attention once more, and she shelved her misgivings for the moment.

"Hey, come on!" Jo pulled at the girl's arm, trying to jostle her awake. She was not prepared for the pull to actually move the girl's body, and the badger fell on its rear.

"Damn," she muttered, alarmed. "Girl ain't got no meat on her. How's she still tickin'?"

Problem was, her being alive meant that she could not simply leave her be.

Jo nuzzled under the girl's arm, drawing herself up under her armpit as if to support her. She would need to get her out of the snow if she wanted to stand a chance. But where would she take her. Glaring at her surroundings only revealed more featureless white.

Finally, Jo cursed under her breath and strode off in a random direction, shouldering the light burden of the sleeping girl’s weight. "Anyplace'd be better than dyin' in here, I guess.”

Lily sat with Mouse in her lap for what felt like hours, when in fact it was only a few minutes of her gently running running her fingers through his fur. His wound had healed, the flask she'd gotten as her first prize having worked wonders. Assuming that every victory gave a prize of some sort, Jiang should also have had something, but he hadn't used any. Did that mean that he didn't have any, or did he simply not get a chance to use it?

"Brucie," she said, pausing mid-pet, addressing the augmented shark currently fiddling with what looked like an old engine block, "go look at Jiang. See if he has anything strange on him. Something that's not his clothes and that baton of his."

Brucie shrugged and stood up, the heavy clunks of his footfalls receding as he stepped out from their little metal hideout, and onto the sand. Meanwhile, Mouse had started pushing against her hand with his nose, as if requesting further petting. Something she was happy to oblige with.

It was strange, she thought, how calm she seemed whenever she sat with Mouse. She'd met him not even twenty four hours beforehand, and in that time he had gone from a cautious dog, to something of a familiar. He trusted so easily, and his mere presence had a noticeable effect on Lily herself. She mulled it over quietly as she dragged her nails through his fur, eliciting something of a satisfied sigh from the, in this case literal, lapdog.

A short while later Brucie came trudging back, a small object gripped between two of his metallic fingers. "This it?" He asked and held up his findings, alternating between giving Lily and the object a blank look, as if he didn't quite understand the significance of the item he held. The motion brought it into the light and revealed golden hues of reds and oranges that should have been impossible.

Lily gasped and was on her feet in moments, rushing over and taking hold of the feather before Brucie had much time to react. Even Mouse had barely hit the floor, and managed to whine his disappointmene before she was there, clutching the golden-orange feather in her hands. "This... This is impossible. It's a phoenix feather, Brucie! Even where I come from, Phoenixes are rare, and they never moult." She swallowed, holding the feather reverently up against the sunlight, watching the coruscating light flicker with each movement. "There are rumours that a phoenix feather can heal a mortal wound or even bring someone back to life, but they burn to cinders the instant they are pulled free." She looked up at the shark who still seemed somewhat lost, but was beginning to connect the dots and see the significance. "It means that this feather should be impossible," she explained, "but... then again. This world is different from my own. Souls can be taken without instant death, discs can be traversed without going through transports." She clicked her tongue and stowed the feather away in the pocket of her jacket.

"So... If I died, you could bring me back with it?" Brucie asked, leaning sideways as if to get a better view of what was on the inside of Lily's jacket, and subsequently the tip of the feather sticking up, out of her inner pocket.

Lily nodded but said nothing further. She instead stepped past Brucie and headed for the still-smoking corpse of Jiang. The stench was horrible, but nothing new. Once she would have puked at it, but now... Now she just covered her nose with her sleeve. "We should probably bury him, I suppose. It's the only decent thing, really." She turned to Brucie who still stood by where she had rested. He was awkwardly trying to pet Mouse, using his metallic hands to scratch him along the back. The fact that Mouse remained where he was, evidently meant that it was good enough. Even so, it was a strange thing to witness. "Brucie," she called, "go see if there's something to use as a shovel somewhere. Start digging a hole to bury this guy in, I have something to take care of. Be back in a bit."

Though disgruntled at being told to do some menial grunt work, Brucie nonetheless obeyed and went about looking for a piece of metal that either resembled a shovel, or an actual shovel. Lily, meanwhile, went looking for the drone Oren had used. The whirring sound of small rotors lead her to a place not far off, hidden behind a piece of rubble from the building opposite her resting place. It lay in a heap, still clasping a small box which she assumed to be the prize for her victory this round. She crouched down in front of it, hoisting up the drone in a single hand and just looked at the camera incredulously. "Your toy doesn't work, Cactus," she told it, assuming it still worked given that the rotors were still turning, albeit not fast enough to provide lift. One had stopped completely. "Anyway, you mentioned something the College needed help with? If it'll help someone who actually needs it, then sure. But I'm not gonna go on a wild goose chase to entertain you. So? What is it?"

As Sophia continued her song which entailed the various ways she would kill Jin for the Holy Light of The Emperor and so on, Jin searched through the house for some sort of flammable chemicals. He eventually found some in the form of an aerosol can, otherwise known as canned air. He shook it a little to make sure it was full, it would be pretty embarrassing to throw it at Sophia and have it just melt underneath her concentrated fire. Thankfully it was full.

”Not quite gasoline, but it’ll work... probably... maybe... hopefully.” Jin muttered to himself as he grabbed the can and put it in his jacket pocket. Meanwhile Sophia was getting closer to the house Jin was in, blasting houses in short bursts of flame, lighting house after house on fire. ”Stop hiding like a coward and face me as the warrior you claim to be!”

Jin threw his hole onto the ceiling, letting in a torrent of hot air as the village around them burned to ashes. ”I never claimed to be a warrior, I’m just a guy who kills other guys for money!” He shouted as he jumped through the hole, quickly peeling it off and storing it just as he touched upon the roof. Sophia heard him yell and turned, hitting the trigger on her flamethrower. Jin saw the pilot light ignite once more and dived out of the way, hitting the ground painfully as he rolled to his feet ready to pull out his can of aerosol, throw it at her, and blow her out of the sky.

Only for nothing to happen as she had just run out of fuel and had already holstered her flamethrower. Jin frowned and put the canister back in his pocket, that was gonna be really cool too. Sophia pulled out her bolt pistol once more, flying towards Jin and firing at him twice. ”Didn’t we just go over this, you’re not gonna hit me with your dumb fucking handcannon!” He said cockily as he deflected the first two to the right, directly into a cabin and blowing its wall open. Sophia stopped in midair and let loose one more shot, this one not bothering to hitting him and instead hitting the ground next to him.

Jin’s eyes widened as he rolled away from the bullet just before it exploded, landing on his feet and swerving his head back to Sophia who was still singing. Her lyrics had now moved onto her love of battle and how Jin’s death would bring her Emperor glory. ”Do you know any other songs? I’m a huge fan of Linkin Park if that helps!” Jin yelled as he deactivated one beam katana and holstered it. This gave him a free hand to pull out his revolver and fire off a round at her torso, which he proceeded to do to test out how durable the shit was.

”Do not mock my songs of praise, heretic!” Sophia screeched as she pulled out her Inferno Pistol, rocketing towards Jin and barreling through his revolver round. She aimed the pistol at Jin and fired for a second, a blast of pure light erupting from the barrel directly towards his face. He barely leaned to the side to avoid it, he could practically feel the sun on his skin as he began sweating from the intense heat. But melting him wasn’t her goal as she swung her gross tentacle arm into his torso, sending Jin flying backwards through a tree and into the wall of a cabin. He dropped one of his katanas on the ground as he felt himself smack against the cabin, the katana rolling away from his grasp.

”Repent, for your end is near!” Sophia sang in a harmonic tone as she pointed her miniature face melter at Jin who was currently sitting himself up and coughing up some blood.

”Thanks but no thanks, I’m not a religious man.” He grinned as he pulled out his can of aerosol and threw it at her as hard as he could, hitting her helmet and stunning her for a moment. ”Later bitch!” And with that he pulled out his Hole and slapped it onto the wall behind him, falling through to the other side and immediately tearing it off.

Sophia recovered quickly and screamed with rage as she fired the Inferno Pistol through the wall where she thought Jin was, barely missing him and singeing his jacket. This gave him a minor burn due to just how fucking hot the energy was. Jin cringed at the minor pain, but he could fight through the pain, it was barely even a first degree burn. ”Hey, watch the jacket! I like this thing a lot ya know!” Jin shouted impulsively as he dashed towards the exit. Suddenly he stopped and pulled out his revolver, kicking open the door to reveal that Sophia was flying towards the door at high speeds with both of her Bolt Pistols fully loaded and aimed directly at Jin.

He had no time to yell the profanities he wanted to as he drew his remaining Beam Katana, deflecting 3 shots as Sophia swerved upwards to take the high ground once again. Jin ran out the door and around the back, Sophia shooting 4 rounds at him while his back was turned, each one missing. As she reloaded her various weapons Jin was hiding behind the cabin he had just escaped into less than a minute ago, putting his revolver away and picking up the beam katana he had dropped. ”Sorry about that baby, had to make sure I didn’t blow up.” He muttered to his sword as he activated it once more and began to shake them vigorously. This was honestly the worst way to charge anything.

As the fire burned throughout the village, it began to creep closer and closer to the gasoline Jin had hidden under some logs. The fire burned hotter and hotter, heating up the container as reactions began to start within the gasoline. Finally everything reached its inevitable conclusion as the gasoline exploded very loudly, dragging sophia’s attention away from jin for just a fraction of a second. But that wa enough as Jin burst out of cover and aimed at Sophia’s jetpack. One, two, three shots fired consecutively from his revolver, each one hitting just the right spot to fuck up Sophia’s favorite pastime.

”Damn you heretic, I’ll make your death extra painful for this!” She yelled as she careened wildly out of control and crashed through the roof of a cabin. Jin ran towards her, determined to finish the job. He holstered his gun and went back to dual wielding his katanas, kicking down the door and cautiously entering the house. Suddenly from around a corner a tentacle came swinging, looking to knock Jin down.

He responded quickly, lopping off a good portion of the tentacle and donning a smug grin, satisfied with his achievement. Sophia hissed in pain, quickly backing off and knocking something over in her getaway. Jin continued the chase, rounding the corner and watching as Sophia backed herself against the wall. He was smiling as he prepared to finish her off, right up to the point where he noticed the chemicals he was standing in and the click of a pilot light. ”Fuck you.” Then his world went orange as he was lit on fire. Jin screamed in pain as he resisted the instinct to stop drop and roll, stumbling out the door as he dropped to the grass and rolled to put out the fire. Jin dropped his katanas in his haste, no need to accidentally stab yourself while rolling around in pain. Several 1st degree burns later he was out and Sophia was chasing after him, straddling him and getting her one good hand around his throat.

”Oh man, I’m getting choked out by two bitches in two days! Is it August already?” Jin wheezed out as Sophia’s look of rage intensified. ”DO YOU EVER SHUT UP YOU INSUFFERABLE PRICK!?” Jin smiled and spat in her face, Sophia didn’t even flinch as she pressed down on his throat even harder. He thrashed in an attempt to get her off, but her armor was just too heavy, leaving him with one viable option. He pulled out the Hole, and slapped it on her torso leaving a gaping hole in her armor and revealing her underwear, fittingly enough colored red and black.

Sophia’s face morphed from one of rage to sheer blinding fury. ”ARE YOU KIDDING ME!? YOU’RE ABOUT TO DIE AND THE LAST THING YOU DO IS LOOK AT MY TITS!?” She screamed as she got ready to snap his neck. A gunshot rang out and the color drained from her face. ”You’re a 6 out of 10 at best lady, don’t give yourself too much credit.” Jin held a smoking gun in his hand, a massive hole blown open in Sophia’s stomach, blood and guts dripping all over Jin. There was a look of annoyance on his face, it was gonna take forever to clean all this off his jacket. He pushed her off of him and let her drop to the floor, getting up and looking her in the eye.

”Any last words?” Sophia opened her mouth but was interrupted by a bullet between her eyes. ”Say them to your god.” He spun his revolver on his finger and holstered it quickly, picking up his katanas and deactivating them. As Jin began to loot Sophia’s body for her weapons, he noticed the orb that had been thrown at him earlier lying on the ground. Jin shrugged and grabbed it along with Sophia’s weapons. Who knows what kinda useful magic this weird looking bullshit could do.