Here they are, finally almost eye level; Dolly has hopped up onto an inconspicuously placed platform designed for that little bit of extra height needed to be roughly equal with aliens. Her dress is rumpled, her tail curls and uncurls behind her, and when she curtseys in her best imitation of the TC fashion, it’s a little shaky.

“Smokeless Jade Fires thanks you for the entertainment tonight,” Dolly says, eyes flicking up to Angela’s face for a moment and then sliding off and away. “And she would like you to know that…” She swallows, lifts up on her heels for a moment. “She has her eye on you, Angela Miera Victoria Antonius. If you impress her, she may permit you further… privileges. So good luck!” The last sentence is a blushing, rushed jumble.

The power is clear. Dolly is full of fire from tip to tail, racing, lancing, Jade’s hands holding her back, and she leans against them just to feel their firmness. The, the titles that Jade is whispering in her ear. They should not feel so good for how rough they are; exports from the TC, where fidelity is much more important, where courtship is restrained by so many rules and chasing pleasure is frowned upon.

“And thank you for your company during the show,” Dolly blurts out, and Jade stiffens. It wasn’t intentional, but her leash ends up wound around Jade’s knuckles, and Dolly, a little too late, realizes what she implied.

She hops off the pedestal, bites down on a squeak (ears flattening as she tries to convince herself no one else heard that crack) and then scampers away through hot, intense judgment into the cool night, Jade pulling her along faster, faster, faster.

---

“Drones,” Smokeless Jade Fires says, lazily rolling her hips. Dolly pulls the chain connecting her (wirelessly locked) cuffs to the headboard and whines, feet digging into the sheets. “She’ll recognize the jackals faster than an alien would, but we don’t need a lingering advantage, just a decisive one.” With a wave of her hand, maps of the battlefield paint themselves across the bedroom. With a flick of her tail, Dolly is granted the sensation of Jade expanding and throws her head back against the pillows, squealing. “Ksharta Talonna won’t be caught out on the trails unless we flush her out into them. Here. Are you listening?” Her nails dig into Dolly’s fur, leaving no marks beneath; Dolly tries to lift her head and nod, but the sensation of the next buck of Jade’s hips lays her out.

“Tch,” Jade says, hiding her mouth behind one hand. “I don’t have to worry about Angela Miera Victoria Antonius, do I?” Dolly doesn’t even have to think about shaking her head; Jade does it for her. “So what if she could buy you dresses? So what if she is an oversized, gangly, exotic alien? So what if…” She can’t finish it. She can’t admit that Angela might have any advantages over her; she can’t forget Dolly eagerly sniffing, leaning forward, wanting to bury herself in softness. She drags her claws along Dolly’s side, rump, thigh, and Dolly obediently turns over onto her side. Another thing that Angela could just do without having to show Dolly what she wanted. Jade leans over Dolly, shows off with a complex trick: pushing her face down against the mattress, both telling her right cheek it’s being pushed and her left cheek that it feels the extra pressure of the mattress. Thwap, thwap, thwap goes Dolly’s tail on the bed. Huff, huff, huff goes her breath through her nose. She clenches furiously around nothing at all.

“Mine,” Jade says, to herself, to Dolly, to the night, to Ksharta Talonna, to Angela Miera Victoria Antonius. “Mine mine mine. My priestess. My champion.” My love. My crush. My favorite, no matter how I want to play with Angela. Look what I do for you. Ignore how any observer would just see you writhing on your bed. Let me be a part of your world, tonight, every night.

She relents, eventually; guides Dolly’s leg up, lets her feel it settle on a shoulder. Dolly can’t hold it long, but the noise that comes out of her nose is like a kettle boiling over. “Drones,” Jade continues, dragging talons down the maps, which run with rivulets of color representing the jackals. “And then you will vault from the trees, my dancer.” Dolly’s hair is tangled branches scraping across the white moon. And what if Angela Miera Victoria Antonius might be watching? Let her envy. Spacing? Oh, she knows spacing. Let this be the space, then.

Feeling the strain, she lets Dolly drop her leg back down, but pushes her harder, until her (her! her!!) Dolly is melting into her arms, alone on the moondappled bed, and Jade lets the feedback, the shared summit, echo through her self. Dolly closes her eyes and listens to Jade’s breath, feeling the realistic drape of Jade’s body over her curves. Jade shuts her eyes in turn; she knows the room’s dimensions and furniture, enough to mimic them in her thoughts, but she chooses to forget she knows them.

Is this right, Dolly? You should be in a temple; you should be wreathed in miracles and signs. Is this enough? She read all your stories. This is what you wanted, but your goddess has to play so many tricks to give you what you dreamed of. And if she were to drop into herself and exercise her will on your behalf, what would that even look like?

Would it look like being Angela Miera Victoria Antonius’s trophy, Angela who can hold that leg up on her shoulder, Angela who smells like enticement, Angela who was there with her when Jade was attending to her damned duties? (That drive she was given, of course, even now is being scanned overnight; it will make for morning perusal, unless something ends up flagged as a hazard to her idol.)

Smokeless Jade Fires, goddess, mistress, buries her smallest face in the thought of her Dolly’s hair, pulls her arms tight around her bride, wraps her tail around one sweaty ankle, and runs her fingers almost thoughtlessly over the concept-construct wrapped tight over Dolly’s mouth.

Hers. Hers hers hers. Even if she shows her love off, even if she whispers exotic insults in her ears which accuse her of sexual availability, even if she arranges a play with that Angela (whose vexed, sincere face works through the vaults of Jade’s thought), even if she’s offered things that even Jade can’t give her no matter how hard she tries. You promised, Dol— you promised, Seven Quetzal.

You promised to be married to a goddess.

That means you’re not allowed to abandon her.

Please.

Mirror

The clock is ticking down. The cameras are already taking photos. The God-Smiting Whip is the subject of much speculation, as well as the damage inflicted after the last battle. Camera drones are zooming in on the repairs and commentators back on the Akarian planets on stream three are questioning whether there’s a weak point to be targeted in their pre-match banter.

There are potentially lots of other things to have on your mind. If you were checking the local network for gambling, the bets are primarily on the odds of Solarel’s tactics (see below for that). If you are interested in Valentina, her match today starts after yours so you don’t know how she’s done or what she’s doing with her time at the moment. Possibly watching you. She’s facing one of the Jacinta Niares proxies and Valentina is expected to win. If it’s Mayze, there’s a lot of chatter, plenty of orders, maybe a few gems if you want to go digging through her messages but nothing that stands out on first pass.

When you come out, you’re on the hill in your arena looking over the terrain. It’s a stepped terrace, each step about the height of your mecha. There are thick clouds drifting over the upper parts, barely ten meters over your head. The clouds are drizzling lightly, the drops pattering off the surface of your mecha in an even, soft pitter pat.

Solarel is exiting the hangar at the same time as you are. Unlike with Valentina’s small and well-camouflaged mech (not up to Hybrasil cloaking, but nevertheless impressive for its quality) the Bezorel is easy to detect. Your instruments indicate that she’s due south and entering via coming up from a platform raising her into a river delta surrounded by jungle. That said, it’s too rainy to see her with visuals at this distance.

Also, you could broadcast to her safely if you want to talk.

Solarel

The clock is ticking down. Camera drones in your hangar have been scrambled with several different levels of zoom lenses so they don’t have to be placed at risk should you exit your mecha again. Possible perhaps, but do they really think you’re going to pull the same trick twice? Currently, they’re trying to get their money’s worth and get a look at you inside the Bezorel. The early match commentary on your end is that on paper, the match looks pretty hopeless, the Bezorel is simply not a piece of equipment up to its task.

There’s been quite a bit of gambling-backed speculation on what you might try to win the match, with a focus being more on your tactics than their efficacy. Since you probably checked the local network, the current best odds are on some kind of brilliant jungle ambush with complex traps. They’re giving that one 1:2 if you do it. Self-destructing your own mecha while repeating the pilot jettison trick from last time is 2.5:1. Someone did predict the missiles, but they’re at 6:1 because nobody thinks you have the money for them, and sabotaging your opponent’s mecha is at a whopping 25:1. If the sabotage actually becomes known rather than appearing accidental, you stand to make the very astute, the very well informed, and the very lucky bettors quite a bit of money.

You are raised up to your arena via an elevator platform. You come out through the water into a river delta that marks the south end of your battle area. The river meanders north with jungle terrain around it, not too heavy. It’s cloudy and drizzling as well, the rain smudging the upward facing parts of the Bezorel’s old-fashioned cockpit. That’s unfortunate for you because with your neural link, that also means the rain is sort of like getting water in your eyes fogging your vision. Unlike in your previous match where your opponent challenged you to an honorable duel, you are Mirror are supposed to be deploying at the same time. You know broadly that she should be north of you because you deployed in the far south of your available battlespace, but between the Bezorel’s weak instruments and the visual interference, you don’t have a pinpoint on her exact location yet.

Also don’t forget you can broadcast wide-frequency open comms if you want to talk to her even though you don’t know her location yet.

***

Isabelle

Congrats, you’re the number one show today. Ada is, really, but you’re no slouch either. This is the feature match, they think you can at least give her a good run and draw things out. This will be tough though, Ada Smith is a legend among pirates and TC crews alike. Camera drones are snapping everywhere and a lot of this match will be monitored closely.

You step Emberlight out of what seems like the overgrown garage of a five story building. You have to brush aside some hanging vines and moss to exit. You’re in a ruined urban zone. Most of the buildings are covered with plants, some are knocked down, several have chunks missing causing their interior floors to be open. Most aren’t much taller than four or five stories though: bigger than Emberlight a couple times over, but you could hop onto a roof no problem if you don’t mind exposing yourself.

It’s hot and the sky above you is cloudy, blanketing everything in a generic whitish gray coloring. Scan is very limited in this type of setting: anything using sound or light waves is going to bounce around the buildings and give you no real distinction between crumbling bits of masonry and your opponent. Higher frequency radiation won’t penetrate through the layers of stone and concrete. Eyes and ears are your best friends, and if you’re lucky and your mecha AI is good, you could have it dedicate cycles to looking for tremors or building vibrations to try and triangulate. That does present the risk of having most systems running calculations at the exact moment you get punched in the face though. But then again, there’s nothing about this that would make you any easier to find for Ada. Try to keep it that way, big bursts of heat or noise are risky because they’ll give away your position.

Of course, Ada has a stealth system and you don’t, so perhaps you’d like to simply get that pain out of the way first, hope you can take the hit, and start fighting back.

Her dark face and strong, heavyset shoulders pop up over your comms, background replaced by a soothing dark blue for the transmission so you can’t use any details to try to figure out where she is. “Lonzano, you’re new right? Pleasure to meet you, really, I’ve heard great things. My company, the Snow Geese, would be happy to take work from your family if any presents itself. I don’t think any of my girls have worked with you before, though they don’t tell me all their side jobs. Now, I know everyone says that we’re pirates,” she gives a solemn nod here. “But personally I think that’s just an unfortunate description of having to manage an independent company in this trying universe. We’re happy to take legitimate work when it presents itself, and I hope today’s match gives you a show of our skill.”

***

Dolly and Jade

This match is being eagerly watched by the Hybrasilian contingent. Two different rookies from an overall smaller pool of combatants, and a match like this has hunting lodge status implications. Some people are worried the draw was unfair, that one of you has to hurt the other’s odds of advancing. In terms of overall billing, it’s lacking a big name draw like Solarel and Ada though, so you’re around middle billing, it’s being broadcast on stream 6 at the moment on the Akarian planets. The announcers for this one are both Hybrasilians who are themselves a little green at the commentary business.

You’re deploying directly into dense forest. You literally walk out of a humongous tree whose bottom was structured by the planet nanobots to allow for a hangar entrance. Sunlight trickles down through the layers of canopy: clear sky if you want to maneuver at that height.

You’ve got no signs of movement in your immediate vicinity. Many of these matches are asymmetric deployments to ensure some variety in the flow of the fight, and in your case you have the opportunity to take a position and get in the first word when Ksharta deploys. What do you have to say for yourselves?

> hey

A long moment of hesitation as rain beats down on her canopy.

A decision.

> <3

The Bezorel breaks into a loping run.

She was made for this. Made to be tall. Made to be strong. The world wasn't right at any other scale. Face to face people felt like they should be giants. Mouth to mouth the commandment of Zaldar gagged her. Skin to skin the blatant unreality of expressing love without high velocity railgun slugs took her from the moment. It was life without reach, without speed, without limbs or voice or the gentle kisses of point defense flamethrowers. Even the Bezorel, museum piece though it was, felt vivid and alive in a way that nothing else was.

This was her world. The battlefield of gods.

> would you believe that this thing doesn't even have modern sensors?
> i'm practically blindfolded for you~

She was at full strength. Her shoulders ached with the weight of ammunition. Her throat was thick with fuel. Her feet groaned with additional weight. She was so ready and still she felt like a wounded animal. She could feel the weight of the Gods-Smiting Whip brush against her back, feel the tingle of its long range sensors brush around her. Feel the edge of Mirror's mind like teeth against the back of her neck. Felt the thrill of knowing there was no way Mirror was taking it easy on her.

She felt the rain of the river splash around her ankles. Adjusted her stride flawlessly to avoid a quicksand sump that would have tripped her. The Bezorel's scanners may have been obsolete, but it was equipped with a state of the art geological surveying kit after spending time as a repurposed mining platform. She could feel the silt and muck of the riverbed between her toes, feel the distant tremor of the Whip's footsteps on her seismic scope, taste the solidity of the rock just by looking at it like it was running through the inside of her mouth. The earth here tasted of wet clay and stone eggs, pebbles carved smooth, trees feasting on the accumulated biomass of previous generations.

> i just want you to know i tried my best
> but there was an empress involved
> and like a hundred bodyguards
> there was this one chick, she was huge
> had this fucking, like, staff that broke apart into a chain
> wild
> i think i figured out her tell!
> but, uh, i'd already lost a lot of blood by that point
> so i lost the Aeteline
> sorry
> this was the best i could do

She reaches the canyon.

A long and narrow valley of blue rock traced through with veins of white marble, only a single approach in and out. After a kilometer it terminated in a tunnel leading into a cave network too small for a mech to move within. A position of suicidal defiance, a wounded wolf retreating into its den with only a single way out. Cornered. She backed up and swung the Bezorel around, walking backwards one step at a time, letting her mechanical head sweep back and forth in a scanning motion.

> but i want you to know
> i never gave up
> and i never will

Explosive bolts detonate all along her arms. The glass shell of the Archimedes Array crashes into the water, the glittering electronic lights within illuminating Solarel from below in pink and gold. Two arms unfold in stages, the hiss of hydraulics accompanying each stage of the transformation. From a storage compartment in the back of the Bezorel comes forth a two-handed multi-missile launcher. With a dexterity that does not match the rest of her mech at all she unlimbers it and slings it over her shoulder even as kinetic dampeners extend on pistons from her feet to root her to the spot. Four quad drones launch from her shoulders, raising up over the canyon to extend her vision range through the driving rain.

The Bezorel isn't a modern TC mech. It can't fight like one. But now, for a while, it can shoot like one.

> so
> how are you?
> <3

No hesitation this time.

[Call Upon a Toxic Power: 8.]

Smokeless Jade Fires does not carry her lance as she exits the hangar. Rather, she emerges flanked by her pack, each one tethered to her will. Her jackals! She was meant to be nothing more than the pattern governing one of them: sleek, adjusting their position midair with minute movements of their vents, lightly armored but packing a bite. She does not rely on them— refuses to rely on them— but they have their uses, and she refuses to deny herself the use of them where appropriate, either. She will fight with claw and lash, with the strength of her idol, with Dolly’s grace, and she will use her jackals to deny Ksharta Talonna a place to hide.

The jackals’ patterns are simple, almost childish; Jade runs her fingers through their algorithms, whispers approval, encourages them to optimize object avoidance, and sets them loose. She runs an idle claw up Dolly’s back, encourages her into a relaxed stroll without hesitation, and opens her mind to

running lashing whipping branches
light dappled on the water
the worldshape of echolocation
a net woven through with light
eyes above and eyes below and eyes across
vent, boost, correct
world as motion
world as speed
world as scraped
world as known
and
THERE

Jade barks a tangled knot of intent and it becomes a slug fired from the jackal’s jaw, punching through: a vine, bark, the wood beneath; scraping: chips from the tree, paint from the shin.

The pack contracts, whining, howling, as Ksharta Talonna explodes from her nest and swats the drone out of the sky. Jade half withdraws out of the pack (it’s all pattern algorithms, they’ll flush her out, hit her as she crosses a path) and urges Dolly into a run; she needs to be faster, needs to reach the inflection point before Ksharta Talonna does; she licks almost viciously at the back of Dolly’s legs and rump with a thought that cracks, and she shivers at the sound that threatens to explode out of her bride: the squeak, the groan, the helpless protest that she’s already going as fast as she can, because that’s not true, is it, Dolly, you can go faster, there’s a good girl, keep up the pace or else~

After all, don’t you want to look your very best for your peers? We’ve an audience, Dolly. Chin up, leash taut, mouth stuffed, hands clawed, moving in a blur that’s as close as you can come to the sublimity of lingering in the head of a running jackal. Good girl, good girl.

[Smokeless Jade Fires has rolled a 6 on Defying Disaster with Wit to make flushing out Talon look good and effortless, and I am putting Jade’s plan of an ambush on the line; perhaps Talon is making a deliberate feint, or plows into Jade in unfavorable ground (perhaps a river crossing is involved). Regardless, they mark their second XP.]

> are you implying it's my fault you're not practiced against section staves?
> do you need me to go and beat up an empress for you?
> i think her robes would look much better on me.

She's typing, even though it's her preference to vocalize, because it was the difference between having a conversation and being understood. Because her map of Solarel showed that she required this kind of stimulus before she'd fold open. Because an open Solarel was the only target of value on this entire battlefield, once it became clear that the Bezorel wasn't an elaborate misdirection. At least not yet. There was always hope this was part of her read on the game outside the game, but even in that case reaching the layer past this one amounted to the same experience today.

Mirror's hand hesitates over the switch. Almost pulls away twice. But in the end, her thumb slides across it hard enough to flip it on, and there's a burst of static before audio/visual connection is established between the pair of... well, she supposes for this match she'd better think of them as Gods. She'd done her best to follow Valentina's logic straight down the middle of her gun barrel. She couldn't honestly afford to give Solarel any less than that. The specifications of the Bezorel made it so that there could never be less than a 10 second broadcast delay even if they were close enough to touch, but that suited her fine. She had little and less to say right now anyway.

Rain splashes across the surface of the Gods-Smiting Whip. It sizzles loudly where it hits the three pronged energy blades of her laser trident. She's configured Tails One and Eight into a wide-array energy shield over her opposite arm, so today the sounds of water crackling back into component vapors is loud enough for her ears to pick up through the cockpit. Her tail thwaps with pleasure against her seat, and she purrs with contentment.

"Position established, visual confirmation unnecessary. Chokepoint inconsistent with previous tactics, implies post-combat loadout change. Clever girl. Consideration of countermeasures, begin."

She doesn't bother turning the comms back off. Forcing Solarel to hear her voice was half the point of doing it. If she could take information scraped off of that kind of input delay and convert it into an advantage in that walking scrap heap, she deserved the victory. And more importantly, Mirror did not deserve to be here, or to dream ever again. She'd put everything she had into this tournament. That's what makes her ears stand up on the top of her head. That's what makes her spine straighten out to the point of pain. That's why she glides over every button and joystick three times before she commits to a step. She climbs to the top of a hill and digs her heels into the soil, and then she waits.

Last time they'd fought, it cost her everything she had. Was still costing her, in fact. Last time they'd fought, it had led to the most fulfilling romance of her life. It had been the most fulfilling romance of her life. Last time they'd fought, they'd blown so far apart that it had taken her this obscene span of years to even find the idiot again. There was no reason to assume this battle would cost of cause any less.

> if this is what not giving up looks like.
> i am disappointed to my core.
> i did not ask you for the Aeteline.
> but i did ask you specifically not to lose before I came for you.
> seeing you now, i'm not sure what you kept?

In Mirror's opinion, large scale tactic shifts in these preliminary rounds was asinine to the point of absurdity. Your exact record was immaterial in the face of reaching the stage with the most and most serious eyes in the first place. In the meantime, it could be assumed that everybody tracking you was an enemy. Every shadow was a predator, and every shape in the water might be prey. If you didn't put yourself in the vantage point to take advantage of knowing which was which, you'd be gobbled up before your time came. Given that, every new trick you were forced to show before the main rounds could be rightly counted as an actual loss.

"The battle extends beyond the boundaries of the arena. Predictability as armor. Standardized tactics as a sword. A thinking mind as the venom painted on the blade."

She'd solved the riddle of Valentina's hidden position by taking to the sky and positioning two tails for a multi-angle strike. The efficacy against those tactics against the Bezorel's unknown weapons loadout and the strength of its natural cover was irrelevant. The necessity of them was likewise immaterial. What mattered was that she'd done it before. What mattered is that the person who came after this would note that she has a tendency. The person who came after that would learn to late that she did not. That's what it meant to fight a war. She was sincere when she offered to upend an entire empire on request. She was sincere in believing it was within her capabilities.

> i have decided.
> seeing you in that walking museum.
> makes me ashamed to pit my Nine-Tails against it.
> i would rather get out and punch it to death myself.
> but don't worry, Heart.
> when i finish tearing in half, you can show me what it really means to not give up.

"Initiating short duration burn to visually ascertain enemy position. Tail Four, Tail Seven, release. Time to fly."

The Gods-Smiting Whip lifts up into the storm with a flash of thruster fire and a cocky twirl of its trident. Whatever projectile weaponry Solarel was using as a distraction this time, Mirror was painting a target on her chest by taking the skies above her. And that was ideal. She still lacked test data for the Nine Drive's shield configuration. And dodging the first barrage would make her hotter than anything that happened all of last night.

What a shame it'd be over so quickly. Mirror's face breaks into a smirk. Her eyes seem almost frozen over. Her teeth clench. Her hands grip the controls with unnecessary force as she angles herself for the first suicide charge.

> <3

"I'm sure it will be." replies Isabelle, as Emberlight picks its way through the ruins with a grace that belies its size.

She's doing her best not to give away her position, including bouncing the transmission through drone that she'd placed in a building across the ways. For her own part in this cat and mouse game, a few sensors and other surprises have been dropped along the way, but the interference from the buildings threatened to cut their usage down.

"I don't really have time to do an interview today, so are there any particular aspects of your CV you'd like to highlight up front? Or is it a case where the warrants speak for themselves?" she replies, trying to keep the other woman talking. Get her a bit off balance.

In an urban environment, the defender has an advantage - buildings make for improvised fortifications and must be treated as such - have to draw her out from her hiding spot. Preferably into a kill zone, one prepared by myself. Ada is experienced at this - but favours an aggressive style.

She checked the new drone interface that Asil had installed to Emberlight. It was a prototype, barely tested and rushed to be combat ready but if it worked, the array of drones should be able to project the right visual, EM and Heat bands needed to be a convincing decoy. In theory, at least.

She thought back to the dossier she'd read, matching it to the woman she saw in front of her now. What would make her come running into a
trap? Would she have the right bait?

[Gonna assume it's valid to read a person here based on stalking and talking - 1 + 6 + 0 = 7. How can I get Ada to fall for the trap?]

Solarel

The missiles deploy like a charm. Everything works like they said it would. The Boatmen of Styx that is.

The thing with TC is that it’s filled with mechanics. Everybody and their mother learned how to fix things growing up on a small station somewhere. And if they didn’t, they watched it on TV and decided that they were going to be the heroic mechanic instead and started tinkering. But when you’ve got that many, it’s not hard to get into a variety of work. Most people do it through family. Your old uncle has a job he needs doing and he expects you to hop to it. Your auntie, she’s got some friends she knows and they’re nice people that a young girl should help out without asking any questions. Besides, who’s going to miss a couple crates on a container ship that measures its hold size in cubic kilometers?

On Styx, they’re all in the middle already, prepared to work for whoever has the money ready to spend. Right on the border between the Zaldarians and TC space. Past a dead system and far from TC prime. They picked their own name, the border between life and the afterlife, and they think it’s funny to imagine that they’re all rowing along it. They’re a mere one jump from Akar too, for easy shipping. The creation of the Arena is the best thing that ever happened to the Styx system, and their legitimate businesses and less legitimate businesses rushed to get representatives there.

So, everything’s available for a price from the Boatmen of Styx. For you, Solarel, that price came in two parts. The first part was a caress. Your negotiator, Mene Tosa, was a big woman, strong arms, thick chest like a barrel, hair long and tied back for work. She liked you, and when you asked for what you wanted, she told you the price was first that she could hold you and run a hand along your arm. She wanted to know what it felt like to hold a Zaldarian and carry their weight. Her arms were strong and firm.

The second part, that’s going to be a favor. These missiles cost a lot. Maybe you do well enough down the road to simply repay their kindness with money. More likely, they’re going to call in a debt and if you don’t live up to your word, they’ll spread theirs around far and wide. That Solarel can’t be trusted, don’t do business with her. It’s a special kind of afterlife when nobody will offer you trust. That too is the currency of the Boatmen of Styx.

[The Boatmen of Styx take a string on Solarel]

You’ve got the missiles though, all in working order delivered and installed exactly as requested. How are you going to use them?

***

Mirror

You’re really playing the long game. An opening like this is the kind of thing that wins you a match by making those pre-game briefings untrustworthy. Pull the same opening three times in a row in your debut matches and people will still think it’s your “tendency” even if you don’t do it four matches straight after that. You won’t have any need to retool your kit between matches if nobody knows what you’ve really got in the first place.

The real question is will it work here? The Bezorel has shown a lot of missiles. More than Solarel should have been able to afford based on the available data about her. She’s got no income for this, not as far as anyone can tell. This fight has got to be paid in favors. If it is, it’s utterly unsustainable too, but that’s hardly the point. With something like this, the missiles themselves are the real opponent. The Bezorel can create one moment of absolute fury where you’ll be under assault, or it can create an extended stream of attacks designed to distract you and catch you maneuvering unawares. Once it’s done either way, it will be spent and at that point calling it shooting fish in a barrel would really be an insult to the noble fish. That’s the risk with a loadout like this: finite physical ammo and no backup plan. This is actually about as close as you’ll see a mecha like this get to a real combat scenario. An old mech like the Bezorel would already be plotting an exit route, unloading its payload and trying to flee before retribution could reach it. That’s one of the ways that hunks of junk can remain in service when modern models could tear them apart at close quarters.

It’s likely you will need to Defy Disaster to maneuver in response to it.

***

Dolly

Did you ever go hunting with jackals when you were younger? You might have, though probably not often if you were living in a city studying and working on romance novels. The living ones are probably a bit smarter than the drones actually. They’ve got all those eons of biological development to handle simple things like maneuvering around obstacles, distinguishing their target from the terrain, and signaling that they’re on the hunt. Drones need all that programmed. It’s easier in games because even if the player might see a tangled and camouflaged jungle, the computer can easily distinguish between gameplay objects flagged for interaction as opposed to terrain boundaries and so forth. The real world is not so simple, which is why somebody refining drone AIs would eventually get themselves to something like Jade, even by accident.

Ksharta might not know how to deal with Jade herself, but it’s about to become clear that she has hunted with jackals, and the same techniques work on the real ones and the drones. You might remember that she was popular on the Hybrasil homeworld, actually. She was a great chef on top of being an ace pilot, so they kept her planetside for two whole years, giving her ample opportunity to run with the huntress lodges in old and new sports. She was around when you were first testing out Jade, in fact.

So, she knows some tricks. The first one is simply a distraction. She makes the first bit of noise, slips away, pulls the drones to her. That gives you a direction to head towards. The second is to double back and ensure the drones are chasing her as she moves towards where she’s guessing you’ll be heading. Then she simply inserts the third dimension into a system that had been working two-dimensionally. Her burst out is above the canopy, but she’s jumping over Jade, twisting herself as her opponent comes out of the underbrush, using the open river to maneuver and turning everything into a chaotic mess. She stabs the closest drone behind her, impaling it on her spear, and flings it back at you, and suddenly you’ve got your opponent coming around behind you as you’re tangled in one thrown hunting drone and a handful of others that all want to rush through your current position, limiting your own ability to maneuver.

To top it all off, Ksharta is talking rapidly. “Hi Dolly, hi Jade! I heard about you, oh my gosh, the girls were going on about it for days when you first appeared! I’m so excited! This is just like the time back home when we went on the iguanodon hunt and they tried to slip the jackals, except I’m the iguanodon and you’re the mighty huntress! Oh I love this. My turn though, here I come!”

She’s thrusting with her spear and your only options are to try and meet it head on without your own spear (likely painful!) or impact at the last second with your drones (sacrificing them) to pull off a dodge.

***

Isabelle

You’re the bait. You have to be, she’s coming for you, there’s nobody else in the fight, so it has to be you. The drones aren’t magic and you don’t have a stealth system, but you could make yourself appear just a little bit off from your actual location, like those tailed cats in the role-playing games that you’ve probably been too busy to read since you were younger. It would give you a last second opportunity. Pretend like you got impatient, go out in the open, a rooftop maybe, and let her take a shot at you, then use that instant where she’s just a few feet off her aim to try and turn it around.

Risky, of course, but it’s a good shot, it really should work. Plus it’s exciting, daring even. It will put the ball in your court. Asil will love it too, she’s really excited to see the drones do something special and a legitimate displacement would qualify. She didn’t stay up all those hours getting them tweaked just so for this match for you not to use them either.

Here’s the question that Ada’s looking for in return though. What do you hope to get from this tournament? Sure, sure everybody knows you want to be Adriana’s new chosen one. But Ada Smith is a deeper person than that. She’s reading your movements, your voice, your tells and trying to get a sense of what makes you tick. So when you tell us what you hope to get from the tournament, what she really means is what you want to feel, what would make your heart thrill and your soul soar?

[Don't roll when you describe how you pull off your trap, at least not yet. You might be able to just do it from this move result]

"The battle extends beyond the boundaries of the arena. Predictability as armor. Standardized tactics as a sword. A thinking mind as the venom painted on the blade."

Solarel smiles and closes her eyes.

Targeting arrays blink shut. Geographical scanners shut off. Even the searchlights on the Bezorel's carapace go dark. Her senses retreat from the crackling air and the electromagnetic spectrum. She feels the rain crack against steel, hammering into glass. For a breath she isn't a giant any more, she's just a girl in the rain. She's just a huntress staring up at a god as it rises in fire to break the world.

Isn't it just like you, o divine spirit? You have to consider the world. You have to consider the galaxy. That beautiful world that only you can see - you have to fight for it too. You have battles beyond this one.

But for me... this is everything.

She opens her eyes and -

she sees the Gods-Smiting Whip. Sees how it soars. Sees it illuminated from behind by the crack of lightning. Sees the point on the trident where her heart should go. Sees the point behind the glass where her lips should go

- opens her eyes to the digital chaos of the spirit realm. Two gull-geists sit upon her shoulders; wet and lurking. With a flick of will they descend into the fragments of the Archimedes Array. The laser battery on the ground crackles, sparks, hisses and steams as it boils the water. Then a new rain, this one of glittering laser beams, pink and gold and prism, raises up towards the sky. Not even punches, these; these are her brushing with fingertips, looking for connection.

> i didn't promise never to lose, like, conceptually
> i promised no one would surpass me before our rematch
> and they haven't. not *here*. where it *matters*.

And of course Mirror will dodge. Of course she'll dance with Archimedes. Of course she'll court the rain, letting it brush around her, letting it coat her, letting it run through her hair and her blades. Of course not one of these laser beams will touch her. She's fighting a war, after all. She's got her eyes on the future. She's fighting for that world only she can see.

> and say what you will about the bezorel, but it put nine gods in the dirt to get here.

Launch.

A flare of light amidst the steam, lost amidst the rapid fire pulses of the Archimedes Array. A kiss on the breeze, flashing up in the air amidst a cloud of rainbow light. It misses. How could it do anything else?

Launch. It feels like yearning. Launch. Feels like craving someone so much that your soul leaves your body and races into the sky to meet them. Launch. But once again it's hidden amidst the laser lights. Once again it misses.

Launch. Come closer.

Launch. Let this touch you.

Launch. Let this reach you.

Launch. I know it won't.

Launch. I know you'll dodge this one too.

Launch. No single thing is enough.

Launch. You need everything.

Launch. Click. Missile Rack A empty.

She finally opened her eyes to the material world. Targeting array online. Guidance system online.

Oh, isn't it so sweet to be able to do this? To lick her lips like this? To clear her throat, to let air fill her lungs for a purpose other than oxygenation? To shape her mouth like Mirror showed her, like a kiss she was trained for. The Hybrasilian words emerge from her, for once in perfect alignment with the Law of Zaldar. Her first out-loud words since she last saw her beloved enemy.

"Hellzone grenade."

The missiles she launched did not disappear into the distant sky. When they missed they flipped in mid air, alternated their angles, and began to close in from every side. Twelve missiles, all coming in simultaneously, from every single direction, directed with all the precision of a top of the line TC guidance system.

Isn't it beautiful when a dozen kisses land all at once?

Did you miss me, Mirror? Did you miss having someone think about you like this?

> get rekt <3

[Fight: 8+Daring 9
Take a string
Inflict a condition]

"Da da da, dadaadada, da, da, da."

Wordless. Atonal to a fault. But nevertheless perfectly on rhythm. Mirror's voice guides her fingers across her complicated control board and serenades her once upon a time lover at the same time. The first time they fought, she used song lyrics as a shorthand to guide her through the list of best-use responses and macros. The words were meant to be a focus, something to turn her hands over to a part of her brain that wasn't being used to notice stimuli or create plans. Picking familiar phrases often overhead in the background while doing work to push the movement all the way down into the realm of memory.

Total disaster. Calling to mind actual songs put the music in her mind, and the rhythm was inevitably slightly off to very off from the patterns of an actual battle. The worst thing was that none of her field tests had revealed it as a weakness! It took Solarel, with her constant shifts and rushes and the utterly impossible fluidity with which she moved her body for Mirror to realize the degree to which she was confusing pattern associations for actually being on beat. What felt like perfect responses in practice were actually woefully inadequate against the real deal. They'd fought for a full day, but the truth was that she'd barely kept up the entire time. In fact, she hadn't kept up at all. Her loss was inevitable; the only victory to be had was in the achievement.

So now she used her voice to tap out the beats she could actually perceive in front of her. She was right to associate battle with music, with dancing, but it took a superior partner to show her how deep it really went. On her own, she tried to impose the fastest rhythms and inputs possible. Even now with years of practice it was still her preference. Fast, fast, fast. Speed enough to compensate for imposing a barrier between thought and action. But this led to sloppy, inefficient movement, while the world around you spun on, uncaring and unyielding. It was not a bad thing to follow someone else's rhythm.

For example, this rain of lasers from the Archimedes Array could trick an observer into thinking they were a curtain and only a full strafe action would be sufficient to avoid it. In actuality it sprays beams in tight clusters (part of the designer's desperate attempt to make it output any damage whatsoever), so the pattern of fire could be expressed in sixteenth beats. Da da da, darara, da da.

Nine-Tails flares with the brilliant blue-white halo of thruster fire, and so begins the dance. It is unnecessary, strictly speaking, to dodge this first salvo, but warmups are an essential part of peak performance. It spins rapidly around the edge of several beam clusters, shoulder flips over another, and slides in between the middle of the final volley. Mirror dodges at the absolute edge of the attack range, letting the lasers just kiss the paint of her Gods-Smiting Whip. Enough to provide data streams for her to read, to plug into a neuromesh later and experience in privacy. She lets the sequence carry her perilously high into the sky, a perfect target for what comes next. But so what?

> i will say whatever i want to about your relic.
> what does it matter to me how many cretins you defeated with it?
> i watched your previous round.
> says a lot more about you than it.
> that thing is nothing more than a net you are caught in.
> i will

Aha. The weakness of her setup, speaking requires the same fingers she uses for dodging. Very clever to exploit that. Mirror has to stretch frantically to stomp the lower pedal with enough force to move out of the path of the first missile. That's a kiss she won't survive with her decency intact. There is dancing to your opponent's rhythm and then there is bending to their will. Foolish. She narrows her eyes and scowls. She hates feeling foolish.

"Full throttle. Keep up if you dare."

The Gods-Smiting Whip dashes over the top of the canyon just ahead of the path of the rain of missiles strong enough to blow its armor to shreds. Where'd she get access to this kind of firepower? It doesn't make sense. Purchasing goods and services was a function even Mirror could barely wrap her head around, after hours of study! How had this idiot gone and done it so easily? She zags back across to dodge another barrage, and then a third. She floats untouched as the rack detaches from the Bezorel and falls into the river with a massive spray of water. The sneer is just curling its way across her lips when Sorarel's voice hits her ears.

She's boxed in. Impossible to dodge. A true kill shot. What can she do? What can she do?? Her too!?

"Shit. Shit. Shit!"

The fireworks are spectacular. The individual explosions overlap in a truly impressive concussive and pyrotechnic display interlaced with crackling blue energy from her crystal fire drive. It's loud, bright, and hotter than the sun sweltering in the deepest part of the jungle. Even in this downpour it takes a full thirty seconds for the smoke to start clear.

And underneath it, a pristine blue glow. Eight free floating tails swirl about the last guiding tail curved up above the Gods-Smiting Whip's head. Between them, bolts of energy spark and interlock in a spherical hard light shield. The power quickly flickers and the shield shatters like glass, but mecha and pilot are untouched. Tails One, Three, and Six slump out of formation, and are quickly snatched out of the air and planted on its shoulders like cannons.

"N-Nine... Drive... System," Mirror's voice shakes with anger, "Full Configuration. Th-Third Form... Moonlight. Immemorial. Vanguard."

> your voice.
> still so beautiful.
> were you practicing?
> your intonation impressed me, well done.

"But I'm going to kill you now."

All her effort. Hundreds of hours of it. A thousand new concepts and mechanical improvements made since that day. And one beautiful dipshit eclipsed it all in the space of two words. With, with nothing! With absolutely nothing, she'd!

Her trident thrums with power as she slashes it through the air. Lightning crashes through the sky in response. One third. Her calculations said she could afford one third of her full repertoire before the major matches. Well mission fucking failure, thank you very much. A loss. There's no other thing this can be considered but a loss!

The thunder roars. Nine-Tails rockets down into the canyon at absolutely suicidal speeds that only don't shatter its legs because it burns out half of its thrusters in a last second counterburst, instead. A vicious kick to the legs knocks out several of the Bezorel's stability struts. Spin. Another kick to the chest makes it stagger. The trident crackles when it tears through the ancient mecha's right shoulder. Mirror twists it inside and slashes it free, taking the entire arm with it. One step back, two.

...It was like this in bed, too. Settled questions of power and dynamic suddenly flipped and turned into struggles to keep on top and control the flow of pleasure and vulnerability. It made her so fucking hot. Even now she twists her legs inside the cockpit, pressing her thighs together and panting like she'd just come up from a dive.

Shameful. Pathetic. This... this is a loss. What else could she call it?

[Mirror activates Center of the Web, taking +1 ongoing for the rest of the scene.
Fight: 8. Inflict a condition and take advantage in the form of literal disarming.
Mirror is Smitten.]

They lean in and meet the spear. Its head strikes Jade’s breastplate, off-side, and the breastplate does not yield— but the momentum, the step forward, drags the head down to the hip, where it lodges. They reach out and seize the spear’s haft, and for a moment—

I will not sacrifice my pack. That was the thought that consumed Jade’s cognition. Too attached, bringing them a mistake, her responsibility; using them callously too terrible to bear. But now there is a spearhead in their hip and she is having to try and shield Dolly from the worst of the feedback and it was her fault, she failed to hold Dolly as the most important again, again, her Dolly, she should have let every drone smash to pieces before she let Ksharta Talonna land a blow on her Dolly. Under her hands, Dolly is panicking, eyes wide, heart racing, unable to speak. Failed her, failed her, failed her! Dolly’s grip is made to tighten on the haft, groaning under her fingers, as Jade’s fury at herself narrows into a vicious point.

Jade is agitated all around Dolly, who feels the spear like the bite of an ant, but one of the really big ones, throbbing and insistent, or like Jade’s talons when Dolly reassures her she wants them, and why did she lean into the movement? She just wanted— it’s just that Talon sounded so excited, and Jade was pushing her forward, and Dolly wasn’t thinking, she was just blushing and happy and now she’s let Smokeless Jade Fires down, she’s already cost them an advantage by not being good enough, by not doing exactly what Jade wanted her to do, by letting Talon’s little kitten enthusiasm get to her head, oh no, oh no no no, she bites down and slumps into Jade’s guiding hands and resolves to do what she’s told, and just what she’s told.

Dolly, in pain, slumps. Jade, screaming inside her thoughts, cups her firmly, her beautiful arms, her lolling head, her perfect curves, and pushes her to move as much as she can. She could twist the spear out of Ksharta Talonna’s hands, use her idol as a weapon of leverage, but she cannot put Dolly through that. Not her Dolly. She pushes forward, feels the resistance, panics, tugs back. Dolly loses her balance; Jade helps her down as gently as she can, cushions the fall, but they’re down.

Pain is an important part of life, Dolly thinks, ridiculously, laid out on her butt, half-dunked in a stream. The body tells you that you are at risk of causing damage to itself. It’s one reason why some degree of pain was a benefit in mech feedback; it tells you what you can’t put stress on. If she puts all her weight on this leg, it risks buckling, lines disconnecting, causing cascading structural damage. Pain also produces relief, and Dolly found herself wishing that Jade’s hands would… do something. Spank her a little. Squeeze. Make her feel like she’s been punished and then forgiven, not this constricting, swirling agitation.

Then the spearhead lifts her chin, like in The Two Cliffs, and her treacherous heart beats faster, her thick thighs squeezing together just a little more firmly as she’s forced to look up that spear at the enthusiastic Talon, and she is a kitten, isn’t she, just this big ball of energy and exhilaration, and oh no she’s been downed, whatever could happen next? Maybe… no… Jade would never stand for it… but…?

Oh, just imagine it, Dolly’s treacherous heart whispers. Listening to Jade with muffler code clamped over her output, wrapped up in cords together, humiliated in front of the audience as Talon’s over-eager paws accidentally undo Jade’s breastplate harness and it comes crashing to the arena floor, and in the divine world of the feedback, Dolly’s dress would come undone—

No, that’s why they can’t. Humiliation is for Dolly. Smokeless Jade Fires demands glory, on her terms.

”The first hit is free,” Jade says, clamping Dolly’s hand just behind the spearhead again. Divinity is presentation. The faithful need to see what they believe. “Come here and I’ll make you pay for the second.” She tugs, furiously, and the spear’s head rams into the riverbed, and Ksharta Talonna comes down, down, d—

Ah.

And before Jade can think to stop it, the obvious metaphor plays out in her world; Dolly finds herself pinned underneath the hot, panting, simulated young Talon, eyes looking up pleadingly as she blushily mumbles, ears low, aware of just how, how much this reminds her of treacherous thoughts she’d already had about Angela…

[Smokeless Jade Fires and Dolly Stagger together, giving Talon a critical opportunity to exploit. They also hit a Fight with Grace on a 7, choosing to take a String on the awestruck pilot and to remove Talon’s spear from immediate use. It’s the mech herself that’s the sword, after all…]

[Marking Insecure]

Not one second.

Mirror wanted to step back, assess the damage, orient herself, think of what to say and do next. Think of how to recover. She should pursue, use the one advantage she had, the one flaw in her opponent's thinking in this critical moment -

She takes one step back. Two.

> haha you have no idea how much this hurts <3

It was true. She wasn't fighting with a Zaldarian God. The Bezorel was not designed for her - barely even retrofitted for her. The psychic safeguards that had meant to keep her from the neurological feedback hadn't held properly and now her right arm was nothing but pins and needles - like the crash of renewed blood to a limb that had circulation cut off. She could barely move it. Oh wow. Oh wow she was in so much trouble.

This was the cost of holding fire in her hand. This was the cost of reaching out those fingers towards the sun.

The Bezorel's left arm reconfigured as it drew its sword.

She still had five fingers left.

Her feet were so heavy as she took her stance. Each footfall emerged from the water in a cascade and slammed back down into the mud. Sword point out, damaged side angled away from her opponent. One real arm left, one with enough range of motion to twist, parry, and strike. Her secondary shoulder-mounted missile launcher threw her balance even further off towards the left. Shedding scales fell away as point-defense flamethrower ports opened all over her body. Her skin burned as she felt their pilot lights against her steel.

Her feet were so heavy. They were packed with rocket fuel and jump jets. All interior leg armour had been traded out for fuel and thruster systems. If Mirror had put that trident into her leg instead of her arm she'd be done.

> something i think about a lot is how we would have fought with our positions reversed
> me in the Gods-Smiting Whip. you in the Aeteline.
> how much our imaginations are shaped by our tools
> recently i've been thinking about what you'd do if you piloted the Bezorel
> the potential you'd see
> the possibilities it'd present

With a hiss and crack, the cockpit of the Bezorel lifted open. Solarel stood up into the rain, illuminated all about by the pink and gold of her command console. She lifted up with her an anti-materiel sniper rifle that unfolded to three meters in length, and she braced it left-handed against the top of her navigational scanner. Scopes flickered relentlessly as they cut through the steam and smoke of her own destruction, zeroing in on the distant shape of Mirror behind her armour plated glass. If she stared at the flickering heat blob she could almost see Mirror's heart beat.

The Bezorel does not imitate the motion at all. It take another heavy step in its careful duelist's stance. She was maintaining both thoughts in her head simultaneously. It was easier than it sounded. It was all about Mirror, after all.

> but i don't want you to think i'm looking to win through sheer surprise
> so i'm just going to tell you all of the bezorel's secrets <3
> it has two atlas-class jump thrusters that i mostly have the hang of
> 12 remaining missiles
> 10 flamethrowers
> mining scanner
> the severed right arm still has a functional wrist-mounted gatling gun that i'm aiming at you rn
> also the laser arrays are still live and doing the same
> all of those have self destruct explosives too
> the sword has the ability to do sonic vibrations. very cool.
> and i've got a sniper rifle i reckon could break your cockpit glass if i landed 3 direct hits

CRACK!

> 2 direct hits <3

"We have work to do."

The room looks up at her, surprise on the faces of the techs to see her back at the mech bay so soon after dismissing them. They'd been packing up, ready to head back for the night now that the regular checkups and maintenance were completed. Unfortunately, they'd be pulling overtime.

"Asil, Chief Tomas, I need you two to take Asil's drone tech and incorporate it into Emberlight tonight." she continued, not wasting any time. The chief, well used to such demands on his time, just nodded, while the young woman's eyes bulged.

"Tonight?" she exclaims and Isabelle spits her with a gaze that makes her wilt a little. "I mean, we only just finished the show - I only just signed on? And you want us to translate fashion tech into your mecha in one evening?"

"Welcome to the big leagues Asil" she replies, stiffly, "You said wanted resources, didn't you? Well you'll have them - but it just means the expectations for what you can do and how long you get to do it will only get higher."

"I'm matched against Ada tomorrow - in an urban environment - I need a way to bait her out and there's only one target a woman like her will break cover for; me. So I need a convincing decoy." she turned to look at the rest of the team, her hands fisting at the small of her back. "We only have tonight to implement it, so it's time to step up everyone. We pull this off and tomorrow we could be marking the exit of one of the greatest combatants that are taking place in this tournament. Let's make every second count."

---

The piloting capsule of Emberlight is at once an overwhelming barrage of information and an oasis of calm - the white walls of the spherical cockpit are pristine and featureless. If Emberlight were powered down Isabelle could just float there - attached only by the gyroscopic stabilisers - and feel a universe away from all her troubles. (She may, in fact, have done just that in times past when things just got too much). Now, with the mech in full combat readiness, countless readouts are displayed both on the projectors and on her heads-up visor. It would have been too much for anyone to parse had their flight hours not been well into five digits.

For Isabelle though, it was all second nature - the kind born of such intense training that lessons and instinct had now merged. She could feel the gravel beneath Emberlight's feet give way as the mech started to scale one of the broken down buildings. She heard the clicks as the long-arm plasma lance deployed. Effective and fast, that's what she needed right now - a hope to end this with one shot.

---

"It's impossible!"

Asil was groaning, leaning back in her chair, away from the third coffee that had been discarded on the dash. "Resolution and lag break down the whole array when it gets more than a few meters away."

Isabelle had to bite back a sharp retort - that giving up was for quitters, that she had thought Asil wanted a challenge. It was hard and had it been anyone other than the cute new engineer she might have let it out. The drones were indeed a work of art, but trying to integrate them in a way that could project a convincing decoy of Emberlight was proving difficult.

"Maybe we just focus on something closer in then - enough to throw off a shot rather than something fully autonomous." she said instead.

"Oh, you mean like one of those shadow-cats from Fantasy Battle World?" she replies, which can only cause the socialite to regard her with a blank expression.

"Sorry, I'm guessing that you haven't played it. It's a game for ... I mean ... the creatures in it have this special ability ..."

"I think I can guess." Isabelle replies, cutting her off, turning back to her workstation and swearing that she'd never disclose that she'd signed on to a trial account a few years back when her parents weren't watching.

"Yes, let's try something like that."

---

The drones hum to life, moving into formation around her and causing an identical Emberlight to shimmer into existence in front of her and behind. It was no hybrasillian stealth system, but it had the advantage of not drawing as much power - she could still fight while using it, until and unless the prototype burnt out.

---

"It keeps burning out." grumbled Isabelle. "The array keeps feeding back into the port capacitors and building up a resonance cascade that shorts them out after a few minutes."

"Oh, that's easy to fix" says Asil who has somehow just appeared looking over her shoulder "Just pull it out and bypass it to the exhaust. I had the same problem with the dresses, on a smaller scale of course, but the capacitors don't really need to hold the discharge on the scale of a mecha, and any thermal signature wouldn't be noticeable."

"Ah! Um ... yes. That ... That could work." she replies, her voice a combination of genuinely being impressed with the woman's solution and startled at her sudden proximity. "Let's ... let's try that."

---

Isabelle took a deep breath. Engineering, like battle, was sometimes an exercise in experimentation. Trying new things to see what would stick, what would be successful. Now was the chance to try something nobody in this tournament had seen before. Break for cover, when the shot comes she'll have a moment when Ada's weaponry recharges to land her own. A snipers duel to open the fight, to set the field for the next step in their dance.

As to what step that would take, well, TC mechs have a number of options when it came to that - after all, they are more general mobile weapons platforms than their more specialised Zaldarian and Hybrasillian contemporaries.

Ada - Isabelle has been talking to you on and off as this happens - Her answers though are somewhat robotic, as if she knows you're trying to distract her, or if she's giving you the show she thinks you want to see. That of a young woman with ambition and desire to win this competition more than anything.

However, she's still new to this and the need to focus on the fight is showing those lies for what they are - a shell - a shield. This woman is a little toy soldier, wound up and sent to this battle for reasons other than her own. She doesn't want anything from this tournament. Not really.

That said, there is genuine joy in her eyes as she pilots Emberlight against you - while winning might give her a thrill of validation, and notwithstanding whatever else is out there that might make her heart soar, it's the simple act of piloting that really brings her happiness right now. She wants to run, to jump, to fly.

She just wishes she weren't constrained to only this battlefield to do it.

[While we're on the subject - spending the second question from the last roll to ask what does Ada think of Adriana]

Isabelle

“Oh I got it backwards, didn’t I sweetheart?” Adriana hasn’t taken the bait yet. You’re still bantering, you’re moving up, she’s somewhere, comms still open.

“I thought, y’know, girl like this, she wants to be a queen, I better get in on the ground floor of that. But you’re not in for that, huh?”

The cameras are on you, but this part of the match is a little boring, some of the feeds are cutting to different fights, just a couple are hanging on the banter. A downside of a slow approach, nobody setting up anything decisive or aggressive out of the gate. How were you supposed to know that Solarel was going to set up a bunch of hellfire missiles in spectacular fireworks.

“Adriana’s not who you think she is. I’ve fought her. Listen girl, I’ll teach you something for your trouble here. If you want to be a lackey, you play the game other people set for you. You play it well, you could be Adriana’s right-hand girl, or go dance through the great wheel on her strings. Or somebody else’s. Your house, some other patron, some grand faction or other. Hells, if you just want the thrill of flying, come find me and I’ll give you work!”

She snorts, laughing to herself about some image she’s got in her head over that. She’s stopped using your name, too. Something about your answer, lost some respect for you. There’s a pause while she gathers herself and you finish your climb.

“Adriana herself isn’t like that. She’s fire, girl. She’s passion. She’ll cut straight through your heart, no hesitation. She wants you to try and stop her, just so she can show you how dumb that is. You gotta have that. You can’t climb to the top on skill. You can’t break through all the crap people set just because you want to be rich and powerful and bring honor to your house. That stuff is horseshit, and if that’s all you got, I’m gonna crush you before she does!”

You feel it before you see it. There’s a rush of wind, like a sudden vacuum, and then the flicker of air as the stealth system cuts out. This isn’t a long-range fight, this isn’t her taking a free shot. She’s on the roof, right there in front of you, the Unseen Goose bulkier and heavier than the Emberlight. Her shield is held low in her left hand, blade’s in her right. That blade feels like it’s inches from your face, so close you felt the air sucked away as it sailed past you and through the decoy. This little trick saved you from an embarrassing one hit loss. Made her blow the opening move that would have taken your head off.

She grunts in surprise, and this is your opening. Give it your best.

[You may, if you wish, also ask your playbook question for reading a person when crossing swords with them.]

***

Dolly and Jade

Ksharta stabs with a triumphant shout, full of glee. Her plan worked! But then she’s tugging, trying to get her spear free. All that momentum, you’re all falling together, you’ve pulled it from her.

“Eep!” You can tell she’s blushing. “Oh I, um, I’m sorry, I mean, I’m not, I didn’t mean!” But her hands are on you, and the way she’s moving her leg, the metal sliding between you, this is good, this is special, she likes this. It feels good. To you too, the pain in your leg, and her weight pressing on it, it’s full of heat and sensation! Dolly, it makes you want to bite your tongue and moan. Has Jade ever pushed this hard, has she ever made it hurt like this?

“Get your head in the game, Ksharta!” whoops, she left her comms on, the silly girl. “You got this, you got this, they’re just throwing you, you know, like literally.” Don’t worry about it, she’s giving herself a pep talk that you and the cameras get to hear. But she’s also got her net ready, she’s still the one on top, and that shoulder-mounted cannon of hers is untouched.

She’s fast too. The speed and reflexes of youth, always the biggest advantage of a new combatant on the scene. One you might have had too if you weren’t at odds about how to move. So fast, the net’s already out. You’re snared, Jade. You can feel it on you, the electricity coursing through it, pinning your arms, pressing on your chest. On Dolly’s chest. It’s not big enough to completely enwrap you, your legs can move, your head, the top of your shoulders. But your center of mass is pinned down, and Ksharta’s pulling up to bring that cannon of hers to bear properly. This is gonna be really bad really fast if you don’t do something. But honestly, would losing the match here even be so bad?

[Ksharta uses her fight to take a string, and sets up an opportunity from the stagger. Also, she’ll offer a spend of that string right away. If you let her take this shot because you want to feel it, even though it will cost you the match, take an XP]

***

Mirror and Solarel

You’re busy, but it might be notable to you either now or later that you’re on the main screen for a minute. Ada Smith vs. Isabelle Lozano was supposed to be the feature match, but they opened slowly with stealth and chatter, so the cameras cut away.

You, on the other hand, are putting on a show for the ages. People are going wild over the missile barrage out of nowhere, and they’re flipping out over how the Gods-Smiting whip responded. There’s already fan art! A bunch of the feeds have cut over to you for the moment, especially on the Zaldarian Akar II outpost and from all the Hybrasilian bars (though a few still have Dolly and Jade against Ksharta on too because of the home interest).

Welcome to primetime!

"Tail one response time below acceptable parameters. Designated unfit for battle operations. Three and Six showing twelve percent list from sight aiming. Target systems unreliable. Energy Transfer Conduits, confirmed damaged. Lowering output by twenty one point three percent to compensate. Tail Five..."

She's still broadcasting. Every word of her assessment is being sent directly to Solarel. She should stop. No, fuck it. Pointless, she'll intuit just as much from the lack of comms. She should lie. No, fuck it. Pointless, accurate information flow is the entire point of intonation to begin with. Pointless. Pointless, pointless, pointless!

"Continues holding overcharge. Remains suitable finisher option, cost of use unknown. Nine Drive System assessment: forty two percent total operational capacity. Further battle not rec-- AAAAAH!"

Mirror's fingers dart across her console. Even with the Gods-Smiting Whip in idle posture her fingers are constantly in motion with stupefying speeds. In the air it resulted in continuous vector adjustments, making her sneakily hard to hit with precision weaponry. But on the ground like this those inputs had to go into smaller things. Tiny weight shifts and maneuvering her trident between offensive postures without committing her to an opening. Her functional tails shift back and forth like a small cluster of fish avoiding a predator, while the damaged ones pivot between targets from her shoulders, never resting on any one spot long enough to provoke a reaction. All to keep her busy during moments of quiet. Because reflex reactions were actually thought reads, and her mecha's response time was necessarily slower than a traditional pilot's. Well, in actual fact it was faster, but the complexity of the control scheme sacrificed macro level movements for micro ones, so moving at an actionable level required her to keep ahead of the fight nine times out of ten. Better to waste motions then to keep muscle memory engaged. It was too risky to respond from neutral.

Until the sniper round cracks across her cockpit. Mirror's eyes widen with shock, surprise, and fury. She may well be crying; even she isn't sure. She commits the cardinal sin. She takes her hands off the joysticks, and away from her buttons. She clutches at her head as if she'd taken neural feedback. She pulls at her hair as if she wants to pull it out by the sheet. When she can't take the pain anymore she reaches behind her head and squeezes the top of her chair until it feels like her fingers are about to break.

The rhythm of her breathing has become irregular and heaving. She is definitely crying; you can tell by the sniffling. And even then, her legs work at the foot pedals to shift Nine-Tails away from the angle of attack she'd just taken.

"What would I do? What would I do!?"

No more typing. No more consideration. She needs her hands for too many other things, the thoughts spin too violently to spare the shift from routine. Crack, crack, crack, crack. The sound of the shot echoes across her plans, her words, her sudden attempts at spinning up consideration for the question she'd been posed. Because she, crack, crack, hadn't, crack, thought about it at all. She seethes, and her hands tremble. She has to keep resetting the position of her hands to keep moving. A tear spatters on her console. In the video feed, it looks like her eye is leaking.

"Why did I ever try to explain myself to you?! You never listen! No matter how much effort I put in, you don't respond! You just say whatever's already on your mind, like a, like a..!"

She falters in the middle of her fury. The only words that come to mind are slurs. [Crossed Stripes], [Color Whore], [Wander Eye]. Terrible names. Her fur darkens with anger that she even thought of them. She clucks her tongue that she couldn't think of any that hadn't been used on her. Her ear twitches toward the sound of a bullet hitting her mecha again, and she cannot tell if it's a memory or a new hit.

"One?"

Her breath hitches. Her eyes flicker across a full dozen screens dumping information every which way, and the thought fizzles. Unsure, unsure. No data. Sense memory. Damn it. What was she? She needs two breaths to pick up the original discarded thought again.

"What would I do?" she asks again with the same intensity as if she'd never vocalized the question in the first place, "Why even ask me? Might as well ask what I'd want to wear if I wasn't disfigured! Ask me how I'd think if my brain worked! Ask me... I'd lose, you idiot! Obviously I'd lose! What potential? Fucking what potential! Fuck your talent. Fuck your riddle. Fuck you. You clearly already see the shape of everything. That's why you're mocking me, right? Because your eyes are clear, and I can't even see past..."

Past her. Past Solarel. That movement. That shot. That... How could? But she? Then... what had, what had, what had (crack, crack), what had been the fucking point of it all? Everything she'd given up every disadvantage of her system was meant to create a thing that only she could hold. She was trying to climb a mountain nobody else could even see. And Solarel was vaulting it blindly, on nothing but her absurd talent. She, she worked, she, but then, what was, what, there was no, no, no no no no...

There was no point to any of it. None at all. Mirror was not a genius. Not even a creative. It hadn't occurred to her to imagine a role reversal in the first place. It hadn't. And now that she was trying, all she could see was failure. Solarel would master the Gods-Smiting Whip before she figured out how to read the information screens. Mirror would still be struggling with the fear of feedback and the sluggishness of her own suddenly huge and freshly mutilated body. What would she do? What would she do, with her volley defeated and her arm cut off? Lose. Lose, lose, lose, lose, lose.

No growth. Stunted. Thinking she was clever, thinking she was unique, that had crushed her completely. Now she was like a child still trying to master basics. No, worse than that. Much worse. A child still had a lifetime to develop mastery, and few preconceptions to overcome. This was like being a machine that had been built wrong from the start. Now she was obsolete before she'd even overcome her limitations. Worth less together than she'd be as scrap. Defeated. Utterly defeated. The light leaves her eyes entirely.

But her hands keep moving. A pair of tails flip in midair and rain gargantuan laser blasts down on the severed arm of the Bezorel until it blows up into a scattered pile of superheated scrap. One weapon off the list. She couldn't understand why she was bothering. But even more than that, she couldn't stop herself. The laser arrays next. The...

A hand more clever than it realizes twists a joystick down. It takes thirty seven button presses inside the duration of the tilt to pull the maneuver off. The Gods-Smiting Whip lunges forward and thrusts its trident directly at the Bezorel's open cockpit. The plasma tips stop just short of skewering it through. It gets so close that the barrel of that sniper rifle grows warm. She follows through with another step and wrenches her weapon backwards in the same motion. Step, pivot, whip crash! She sweeps for the Bezorel's heavy legs and forces it to dodge in whatever awkward way it's capable of.

Show her. Show her. Show her! If you're going to win, then do it while you're taking this seriously!

"Stop. Exposing. Not clever. Even. Idiot. Even myself... Countermeasures. Not as. Clever. As you think it is."

[marking Hopeless]

Solarel's heart burned. She saw the shape of Mirror's heart more clearly. Felt sympathy more deeply. Saw a wound she wished she could heal.

But she couldn't. Because Mirror was wrong. She was the nightmare that Solarel had feared. Everything she'd done had been for her and it wasn't even close to enough. There was only one argument she could make and it wasn't with words or compassion. It was with her blade. With her will. With her absolute desire to win, with her willingness to hold nothing back in this fight.

And with her defeat.

Because ha ha, holy shit, she was losing. There hadn't been anything of honour in her confession. It had been another dirty trick, an attempt to force the tempo, to box in Mirror's crushing, liquid thoughts. Make the fight about what she could do with the Bezorel's tools, make the thought about the possibilities within this aged coffin, distract from the unstoppable power and precision that was the result of all of Mirror's dedication and practice. Make the fight about me. Make the fight about me, what I can do, what I am to you. Fight my battle. Don't fight the one you prepared for.

Don't fight the one where you dispatch the girl in the sixty year old rust bucket without thinking. Don't fight the one where I never have a chance. Don't let your gaze lift upwards from my face to look at that distant sky...

She is fighting with her legs now. They swing up on hinges they're not designed for, feeling the screaming of bending metal as she raises stomping feet for a defensive kick. She fires the thrusters on her feet at point blank as Mirror closes, using the blue-hot thruster plume as an improvised thermal lance that carries her back out of the range of that trident. As she hurtles backwards she's firing missiles at weak points in the canyon wall; their impacts shatter the valley walls and bring the avalanche crashing down...

This was meant to be a moment of awe. A glorious moment that made her opponent freeze, dazzled, that made her forget that she was a goddess.

Now it represented, if she was lucky, a tactical retreat.

"Of course you'd lose!" said Solarel amidst a rage of crimson lights. "That's the only thing that could make you lose! I can't win unless you become someone different! Someone different I could solve! Someone different I could beat! Someone different I could make look at me until they couldn't see anything else!"

[Fight: 2, 2 +1 5]

The canyon walls? Bizarre. Nonsensical. She was broadcasting. That's a certainty, vocalized response after final outburst confirms. Retrace memory, activated after? Doesn't line up, definitely broadcasting. Her entire damage report was record between them. Point blank, no opportunity to dodge. Pointless to do so even if it was possible. Nine Drive confirmed incapable of further shielding. Kill shot. Kill shot. And yet, the canyon walls. Why?

Risk of damage to the Bezorel? Absurd. Superior pilot, inferior machine. But protracted battled favored tech edge. Even broken Nine Drive preferable resource to empty missile racks. One limb, slow turn speed, designed for planting and barrage, any tactician on Solarel's level would trade the Bezorel's life for the Gods-Smiting Whip's. Not paying attention, then. No, also absurd. Not her. Not clever, creative, beautiful, desperate her. She knew. Understood the flow of fight, understood the opportunity, passed on it.

Mirror blinks. She is surprised to find herself above the crumbling canyon, still lighting up with explosions as the missiles set off self-destruct mechanisms and trade the Bezorel's capabilities for pyrotechnics. Her hands carried her here on their own, as automatically as they'd dodged that awkward, lancing kick. She has no memory of either maneuver. And suddenly, she understands.

"Set piece," she mutters, "Romantic. Win condition."

She scowls. Every motion on her console is meticulously tracked this time, full focus on the battle as she rushes into the air after Solarel.

"Disingenuous! Foolishness! When have you lost? When? You think you're losing now? Explain! No, do not. Do not bother. You say 'unsolved', but I am marked, marked marked. Marked. You say 'impossible', but I am defeated. Losing, even now. You. Broken machine, broken God. Rusted relic. Me. Honed machine, partner god. But look. At us. Look. At me. Told you. Told you!"

She is a blazing star, burning through the sky. She is a tangled mess of systems built only for communication that can't find any way to bridge this infinite gap, this last impossible inch. If words and signals and expressions and displays and endless training sessions weren't enough to make her heart be heard, maybe this would do the trick. Maybe everything she had would let her touch something soft, sweet, and worth possessing. If not her fingertips then her tongue. If not her tongue then her body. If not her body, then, then... then flip her over one last time, spread her apart, and fucking take her. She'll yield. This once. Promise.

"I chased you. For years. You. Revamped. Nine-Tails. Built Nine Drive. For you. Were your. Eyes shut. Last night? Who did. I want. To see. Me?"

She thrusts her trident through the Bezorel's left foot, vaults over the top of it, and smashes her knee down on the sword arm where it couldn't reach her in riposte. The fight tilts down from the sky and the pair of them come crashing back down to the earth again. The crater they make together breaks the river wall, and floods the hole with rushing water that splashes across their bodies with a burst of deep cold that explodes all at once into scalding steam.

In the hissing, obscuring sauna built for the two of them, the Gods-Smiting Whip hurls its trident away with enough force to bury it halfway up the shaft in the crater wall. Mirror's fingers dance faster than ever, guiding her mecha through the precise and complex motion of snatching several of her Sacred Tails out of the air in each hand. Instead of projectile beams, their tips sprout focused blades, which it spirals in great crescent sweeps, brrrr, brrrr, brrrr, szzzzzt! No more arms, Solarel. No more sword. But you are not finished yet.

"You say. You want. My eyes. To see you. I can't. I can't. I can't. My focus. My attention. My mind. You cannot. Ask more. Of me. You cannot. Stop. My eyes. From wandering. I cannot. Turn off. My mind. Is seeing you. Not enough? You said. It was. Fine. Lies? Even. Now. I am. Thinking. About quilting. There is. Pattern. Want to capture. Show you. Colors. But I cannot. Be what. You say. You want. I am not. The girl. You need. I am. Broken. But you. Are the one. Who broke me. You are. Why. I see. Outside."

Two tails interlock in her hands. Tail Five floats in front of them and connects to form a full spear shaft. Mirror leaps back and plants the Gods-Smiting Whip's feet in a wide stance that hold this spear in front of her, guarding the cockpit from direct fire. There's a rumbling in the air, and blue-white arcs of raw power race across the haft, some even climbing over the Gods-Smiting Whip itself. Suddenly, the energy coalesces into a massive, unstable energy blade more than twice the size of either machine. Just existing makes it vaporize water and melt rock.

And even still, there are tears in Mirror's eyes. She grits her teeth, and tightens her grip on the controls until her fingers feel about to break.

"This is. My. Loss. But I can. Still. Give you this. Because. I love you."

She holds the blade aloft, and armor crumbles from the arm of her own mecha just from the force of it. Joints and servos glint in a sudden burst of lightning strikes the massive plasma configuration.

"Nine Drive System, Full Configuration. First Form. The Fang That Devours. The Sun."

[Fight: 4, 3, +2, +1: 10. Inflicting another condition, seizing a second advantage, and taking a string via flirting. This triggers Feelings 4, and with the Mask dissolving in the presence of Solarel yet again, Mirror makes an immediate additional exchange of strings]

"You still don't get it," said Solarel. No sword. No arms. No part of her that did not burn with pain.

But in this moment she was still a God.

"You think your wandering eye is a flaw?" she said. The Hybrasilian pronunciation is off, her voice is shaking and her tribal accent is creeping through. "It's a strength. It's a freedom. I am stuck in a battle I can't move on from. It made me blind. It made me weak. It made me lose the Aeteline. The fact that I'm here before you now is because I've sold my soul and mortgaged my future for another chance at this."

She stepped away from her own wreckage, stepping on her own broken sword arm. A mad confidence boiled within that motion. Flames trailed from her wrecked arms like wings, and the black cockpit eye of the Bezorel gleamed in the reflected fury of the Fang.

> thank you for taking me seriously
> thank you for using this blade against me
> thank you for using your secrets on me
> thank you so much

"Everyone else I can blind," she said, voice soft and tender. "I can trick. I can impress. I can transfix with reputation and rhythm. It's like dancing with myself. And I don't want that for you, for us."

She came closer, just outside the arc of that massive energy sword. She was tiny against it. Insignificant against it. It burned away the whole world, a sword made for her alone. Her ears were filled with alarms but the only thing they heard was Mirror's voice. Her eyes were filled with warning sigils but all she saw was her destined defeat. Her throat was filled with smoke but it tasted like cinnamon. Spirits and Geists fled the Bezorel like rats deserting a sinking ship. There had never been anything more inevitable.

She should be honoured to fall to such a blade.

But she couldn't.

That was the temptation that lay behind so many of her victories. Maidens fell upon her blade for no other reason than that it was glorious to do so. They realized inevitability and surrendered to it and battle became a mere organizing principle.

One last Geist left the Bezorel. It flowed into a missing part of the Gods Smiting Whip's pattern. It settled into place and then the lights went out.

The Fang That Devours the Sun went dark. The Gods Smiting Whip's joints locked into place. That entire goddess froze from the bite of a flea. And the Bezorel stepped closer, into land previously rendered sacred by the sweep of a divine sword.

"Do you know what I need?" said Solarel.

She had no arms, but she didn't need them. She was bejeweled in flamethrowers. They ignited, reaching out in a tender embrace to wrap around the Gods Smiting Whip.

"I need you to check for this," she whispered. She took a step to the side, tracing her flamethrowers across the Whip's breasts, down along its hips. "I need you to know that I'm capable of it," she continued to circle, running her flamethrowers tenderly over the Whip's butt and up along each tail. "I need you to comprehend the exact threat I present. I don't need you to be blinded by me, I blind everyone. I want you to fight me with open eyes."

She leaned forwards, through the flames, to touch her cockpit against the Whip's. Gently, forehead to forehead. Through the glass ahead her eyes were closed and she was smiling. "You almost did. This was my final trick. You might even escape it still." The flames wrapped the frozen Whip, warm and strong against the cold, and the Bezorel stayed close in that embrace. "I don't want everything, Mirror. All I want is the space I am worthy of."

[Fight: 8
- Take a string
- Take a superior position]

Smokeless Jade Fires is a spearhead. The conception of her self narrows until she is sharp, focused, a thrust. The feedback of the systems of the idol is tinder to her fires, until— as fast as thought— she is almost slavering, jaws flecked with digital spittle. Her claws/talons/knives do not cut Dolly, but they prick her as they swing her legs up and clench them around Ksharta Talonna’s midsection, tight, and Dolly’s squeal as she squeezes fills the cockpit, her head thrown back, the idol matching, grinding the back of its head against the muddy earth.

Then Jade flips Dolly over, and the idol flips with her, pivoting from the hips and shoulder, the fulcrum point perfectly known in the space of a breath. Jade lets out a wild yawp that rings through the forest, even as her drones begin a swirling targeting formation around the two, tangled together in the water, which makes that constricting net spark where water fountained up from the fall.

Dolly, eyes squeezed shut, still squealing as the lightning arcs around her torso, hissing and caught in rope, sending pulses of warmth and modulated stinging through her body, her fur floofing out like an army of speartips, teetering on the edge, trying to pant her goddess’s name through sealed lips, but she can’t think her way through the labyrinth of lightning to the next thought, and it’s getting tighter and tighter, and the compression is so intense, her nose flaring as she tries to breathe through what her mind tells her is covering her face, and Jade hasn’t had to push this hard before except for that one time and that was just training, Jade was in control of the pacing, but here, but here…

“Impressive,” Jade says, luxuriantly stretching her back, grinding against Ksharta Talonna’s front. “As expected from a huntress of Hybrasil. I see you came prepared to worship me.” Her talons spark where she tries to cut through the net, and she hopes the sparks make it seem like she’s succeeding. “What a good girl you are, Ksharta Talonna.”

The pack snaps fire, stinging little nips and pinches along Ksharta’s front, as Jade lets loose a husky laugh. Control. It’s all about control. Huntresses crave to know that someone else is in control, that the gods are guiding them, that they are not the arbiters of their own fate.

“But it’s over.” It is not over, if Ksharta remembers her cannon. “The only question is how long you want my jackals to bite.” A second strafe, a little rougher. “All you need to do is admit you are ready to be my trophy, Ksharta Talonna. I will honor you. Sign you, if you choose.” She leans in closer, taking a risk, hoping Ksharta Talonna is staring at her idol’s head and not the net she still strains against. “Bless you for entertaining me. Daughter of huntresses, daughter of Hybrasil.” Their faces are so close that were Ksharta to say anything, the backwash of their speakers would mingle.

Keep it up, Dolly. You’re being such a good girl. Hold it a little longer. Bend lower; I love your tummy when it folds like this, so much to love, good girl. You’ll be rewarded even more than Ksharta Talonna.

Smokeless Jade Fires, goddess, is a spearhead with a broken shaft, telling her quarry: ”see, I have already pierced you,” and expecting them to fall over as if dead. But will she? Is Ksharta Talonna the kind of silly girl who will let those honeyed words drive out thoughts, drive out a possible victory, drive out anything but the squirming need to be a good girl?

[Jade refunds the String and counterplays by pulling her own: take an XP, Ksharta Talonna, if you are reduced to verbal keysmashes and useless flailing. Notably, if she does not, she wins the match; this is all Jade’s got left, and silencing her renders the match won.]

Isabelle's reflexes kick in, using the lance's barrel to smack the blade away, taking advantage of the Unseen Goose's momentum to keep her opponent off balance.

"You think you've got me all figured out already?" she growls. "Well guess what?"

Her right hand, Emberlight's EMP Gauntlet, forms a fist that is brought up into the side of the Goose with all their combined strength.

*Wham*

"I still!"

*Wham*

"Have some!"

*Wham*

"Surprises!"

Her last punch is hard enough to send the two mechs stumbling apart. Still on the roof, still very much fighting. And for a moment, Emberlight's sensors focus in on the Unseen Goose's cockpit.

"What's the matter Ada?" she retorts. "Afraid now that your little cheap shot is a bust? Afraid that it might be you who's going down this time?

[Rolling to fight: 3 + 3 + 2: 8 - chosing to inflict a condition and take a string. Also, in terms of the additional question - what does Ada fear is her destiny?]

Isabelle

"Not really"

The Unseen Goose is fast. Faster than it should be considering how heavy it is, how much it relies on its stealth systems. You get the immediate sense that Ada is pushing the limits of neural mesh here, translating her own physicality into the utmost amount of technical speed and strength that can be squeezed out of her equipment. It wouldn't be safe for a weaker pilot to do the same.

There's the briefest shriek of engines and the shimmering of air as it instantly heats behind the Unseen Goose. The hit is with her shield, already held at the ready, and it's square to the center of mass of Emberlight. Metal groans and buckles. Your metal, your structural supports. It broke right through your shields. You feel it like getting punched in the gut. Actually, more like pile-driven in the gut with a boulder. It knocks the wind out of you and it hurts like crazy.

[Take Insecure from Ada's return fight]

"You know what's dumb about that trick? You did it for nothing." She raises her sword above her head, flips it so the point is aimed downwards. "What's the point? You gave away your tech, your threw away your honor. And for what? You don't even want anything out of this competition!" She's putting energy from her core into the sword, powering it up to full capacity. It whirs and hums, the exterior glowing with white hot crystal fire energy that tinges towards blue as it grows more intense.

She'd be vulnerable now, but she knows you're recovering, that you can't get yourself moving just yet and she's using that time. "I've got people to feed! A whole godsdamn family that needs me. Someday, TC's going to be mine, and you and Adriana can fucking deal with it!"

She brings down the sword. There's a bright flash. The light reaches your eyes about one thousandth of a second ahead of the shockwave, just fast enough for you to register it before the explosion hits you and the whole building crumbles. The sound of an intense boom overwhelms your ears even within the cockpit as all the air bursts outwards in a massive pressure differential. What was once solid ground explodes in rocks and shrapnel, the world turns to a rain of dust and debris in every direction and you are falling, turning, and tumbling.

[Stagger from the destructive attack, both literally and mechanically. Also, mark your Coveted Destiny and take your XP for that. Ada's designs are close enough to your own to covet that destiny.]

***

Dolly

Have you done this with another Hybrasilian before? Jade's done a lot for you of course, she can create sensation all over your body with the neural mesh and get quite a lot of direct feedback about how you're enjoying yourself. She might argue that this isn't really all that much different. You're still in the cockpit, still wearing the neural mesh, still getting that same sort of translated sensation.

But there's a way Ksharta moves that's different. There's a raw pleasure in her body, translated directly into her mecha and sent directly to you. A Hybrasilian sort of pleasure, a sort of movement that you yourself have made before, one that Jade hasn't ever considered herself, might not even be able to do unless you got in a different mecha and let her have at you that way. It's sort of like playing with a mirror of yourself. Almost. She's a tad shorter and thicker than you are (both in height and reflective of her mecha build), but that just adds to the strength of her thighs as they press against you and she moans.

You're familiar with Hybrasilian customs of course, you've read and written so much fanfic. This isn't a one-off moment of pleasure. Not with someone young like Ksharta. Jade's pushing her to lose herself here, and she's going to expect more of out this. You and Jade are promising her that with this tactic. Expect to spend the night with her, and from there...well you'll see how things work out but this might be her first big crush.

Jade

Your plan is working. You're taking in a new follower here. Ksharta is committing herself to you. This is easier with a Hybrasilian follower because you've got a massive databank on their customs and behaviors. And their physiology. Even with just your legs free, you know where to touch, where to press. You've had so much practice with Dolly too, you can make Ksharta utterly lose herself in the moment. She wasn't expecting this at all, how could she have?

You know that the way Ksharta is moving and moaning, this is intense pleasure for her. You had to make it that intense or she wouldn't have lost focus, but that plays into Hybrasilian custom as well. You understand that if you abandon her after this, she will be extremely hurt. You've really committed yourself and Dolly here, but you've basically disabled her in the process. She can't position to fire her autocannon, isn't even thinking about it in this moment, and that gives you a chance to try and do something even pinned by the net as you are.

You have an opportunity to turn the fight around, she won't even be mad.

[Whatever you do next, roll to entice]

***

Solarel

The crowds are going nuts. The Bezorel is falling apart, it's a miracle you can move in the thing at all with the way the legs were stabbed out. The announcers are trying to bet how long that's going to last before you lock up completely.

But there's actually one downside to the last move you pulled, in a sense. Well, many downsides considering that Mirror is gonna be pissed and your underworld contacts are going to be calling in a lot of favors for all this. But one immediate downside is that the cancellation of Mirror's big attack has every camera on her. Everybody wants to know what happened and that means the attention is off you, close as you are. Even the flamethrowers are uninteresting, it's the Gods-Smiting Whip that everybody wants to pay attention to now.

Mirror

Every camera is on you. Well no, that's not right. Every single camera is trying to figure out what went wrong. Did one of your tails give out? Did Solarel deploy a secret weapon that everybody missed? It's happened before, maybe a missile came around or there was a laser weapon outside the spectrum of visible light that the crews didn't think to look for. Everyone wanted to see that final attack, and now they want to know why it didn't happen. There's going to be a lot of guessing, speculation, and conspiracy theories. Some of those conspiracy theories are going to be right too.

Of course, that's probably the last thing on your mind now, but you might think about it later.