It hurt. By gods, it hurt, and Amaryllis could feel something dark crawl underneath her skin as the dragonhead bit into her wrist, then through bone, and finally shredded the sinews. It was pain like nothing she felt before, and her Sword rioted, the infantile Lesser Force seeking nothing more than to lash out at the one that meant its Wielder harm. But she held on, her face twisting as sweat, cold sweat, beaded on her forehead. The stump that remained seared nauseously, and the Knight of Rose’s pearl-like complexion paled further. A scream was building up. Old fears were mounting up.
But the girl who pissed herself when she fought her first monster wasn’t there. The girl who worked herself up into cold fury over a friend’s betrayal wasn’t there. It was always the question wasn’t it? How much difference remained, between Amaryllis Evenings the girl and Amaryllis Evenings the knight?
Her left forearm tightened as she clenched a phantom fist.
And slowly, as purifying light infused Hyun Long, the Knight of Rose relaxed. Down below, a swordswoman of the Ascendancy caught the purified monster queen. “Not stupid,” Amaryllis replied, managing a weak smile. “If the cost of someone’s soul is just my left hand, I’m willing to give it up any time. May your gratitude be more substantial than mere words, Beaconer.”
She sighed. Shuddered. An amethyst glow lit up her face as the Healing Artifact she wore around her neck was activated. The bloody stump sealed itself soon after. Just a temporary measure, really, but it’d see that she didn’t bleed out. Now, all that remained was a lingering fatigue and a vague light-headedness. Nothing she couldn’t stomach; her Sword, now that it knew she was fine, would probably barrage her with more bloodthirsty requests once more.
Overhead, the rain began to lighten up, the torrential downpour shifting to a pleasant shower. Red streams trickled off her injured arm, and rusted roses fell like snowflakes. Her chains disintegrated, and Amaryllis closed her eyes, hoping for just one moment’s worth of levity.
But this was Penrose. The night wasn’t over yet.
The Ascendancy called off their truce with the dark magicals present, ordering Alicia to ‘deal’ with them. Eden, the perpetrator of the incident, revealed herself nonchalantly, her presence serving as the spark of yet another conflict. And then, her Token activated.
Mariette!
“Sophia! Just leave!”
That was all the advice Amaryllis could offer before she kicked off her ivy-bud, practically flinging herself through the air.
Calculate! She could pinpoint Mariette’s location exactly, so all she needed was…
Silvered ivies grew around her body, woven armor made of her own chains.
…to use what remained.
A silver bullet smashed through the warehouse walls and a dozen silvered chains unfurled from the shell to reveal a blur of midnight blue. She skidded on the concrete pavement, her heels digging deep and her Sword digging deeper, brilliant features lit up by brighter sparks. Droplets of blood splattered, her wounds reopened slightly. Microfractures crackled, her bones taking the brunt of her dynamic entrance.
The third incident of the night, and they’ve all been back to back to back. How fortunate can a Knight get?
As the rain poured through the hole in the warehouse, so did rose petals.
Gripping her Silverlight once more, feeling only fatigue and the lingering traces of her magical energies, she said, “Mariette, do you wish to escape or to fight?”
"Uh...uh?"
Myria could do some pretty daring stuff. She was a stunt driver, after all, by merit of her perk. 720 twists? Front flip bumper drop? One wheel wheelie? You name it, she could do it. Her vehicular proficiency, in human standards, was absolutely absurd, really, and as she neared the site of the Horrors, she sped up, prepared to do something whacky like slicing open the car's ceiling and launching her passengers out the top after bumperbutting a railing or something.
As she neared though, the dark magical girl slowed instead. She saw the Sword of Souls, of course, and she heard all the awful racket of combat. But up above, the hole in the storm had patched itself up, and down below...there wasn't any Horrors left at all. Just magical girls fighting, no monsters in sight.
She stopped. Were Penrose Magical Girls just that powerful? Or were those Horrors actually sorta pathetically weak?
"Well," Fine remarked, leaning back and cradling her head with her hands. "Guess it's over."
Askefye flew fast. Jet fast. She made the sounds of a jet and everything. Or maybe it was just the wind causing her face to flap against it. Streaming over the Overcity sky, she furiously wiped at her stinging eyes, burning away every thought she had about that washboard Beacon girl outta her brain.
...
Nope, still couldn't forget!
"UGHHHH WHY DID I EVEN DO THAT!"
Then, she heard the sound of someone else's flying. The fire spirit turned, eyes hopeful for a moment...until it turned out to be that fat girl and her creepy sidekick instead. Double ughhhhh. Maybe she could make something out of it though. Maybe she could just have fun. Maybe she could play a game. Maybe she could roast them alive and eat their hearts before filling that chest cavity with the ashes of that washboard bitch and offering them up as sacrifices to the Great Old One, the Malevolent Dreamer of the Depths, Cthulhu.
Nah, she just wanted to prove a point.
Gritting her teeth against the wind force, Askefye projected her fire magic outwards, as far as she could, before forming small, three-foot wide fiery rings out of them. She surged ahead then, jets burning white, and shot through one hoop. Then the second. Then the third! Ever accelerating, ever speeding, towards goals that only she could make!
That was the way of Askefye, the Freeroamer Ifrit!
...
Nope, still couldn't forget!