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

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

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

[i]Your name... is Bella.[/i]

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

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

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

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

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

[b]Dolce and Vasilia![/b]

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

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

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

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

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

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