Towards the right, a left afterwards, and then the first door they saw. Simple enough. Iraleth's flight speed was slowed a good amount with two passengers, but she managed regardless. The addition of ranged support made the tradeoff worth the effort in her mind, and she easily glided over the fray, observing below as Chunji spoke once more.

A hundred mannequins, and their controller? Fortunate that whatever the boy on her back was doing was not only replenishing her strength, but enhancing it. As it stood, Iraleth wasn't concerned overmuch with being able to defeat the mannequins as she was with being able to stay on her feet afterward.

She began to make the descent towards the auditorium, and any consideration of tactics coalesced into a single decision.

"Defeating all of them on our own is a waste. We only need to disable their controller, and whatever magic or Ethos he's using will likely fade. Moreover, the objective we received was clear: be seated within by the time the bell rings. So long as we're able to manage that, we've met our goal. I'll distract the dolls' controller and take up his attention by engaging the mannequins. The two of you can disable him however you see fit, although I doubt he's deserving of death." Anything further she would have said stopped as she neared the door leading into the auditorium.

Iraleth slowed and touched down onto the ground, releasing Hildegunde from her grip and allowing Chunji to dismount, before summoning her oversized blade once more and bracing in a shield wall stance.

"On my mark. Three. Two. One. FORWARD!" Iraleth surged forth in a burst of motion, and bulldozed straight through the auditorium doors, not stopping as she slammed straight into the pack of mannequins within the auditorium.

"You, on the stage! In the name of Nero Leuvalt, face me!" She bellowed, the Inheritor's armor a veritable hurricane of steel and light as she began to cut and smash through the horde, allowing for Chunji and Hildegunde to sneak into the auditorium to do as they would.

@AThousandCurses @Sifr

Don't give her so much credit, Chunji. She wasn't the only one with guns blazing.

Hildegunde keeps quiet as Iraleth and Chunji speak. If she had any protests or other ideas, she did not share them, instead simply giving a curt nod to Iraleth's final conclusion. She then cranes her neck, trying to meet Chunji's gaze.

"You there, guy. I've watched you for a while; you're more suited to this than I am. If we both go for him at once, you might be in my line of fire. I'll keep any mannequins coming your way down, give you a clean, easy path to the guy. You do your thing. Things go bad, we improvise. Worst case scenario, I back you up with lethal force. Don't you worry about being in my way if it comes to that, but don't learn to rely on it either. I only have so many guaranteed safe shots. 'Kay?"

Of course, a man and a mannequin were two very different beasts. It'll take a lot to make her use her ethos again. She concentrates for a moment, laying down two preparations. The first is a tiny bit of magical manipulation to her belongings.

Silence. Rifle and boots. This was a familiar usage of magic for her, alongside concealment. All handy hunting tools. Sound should not give her position away. The action slows her pounding heart some; it is strangely comforting in its familiarity. The second preparation comes once her feet hit the ground. She reloads; best to go in with a fresh mag.

After doing so, she keeps low. Her eyes are alert, her hood is up, her breathing is shallow. On Iraleth's word, she takes off, away from the Half-Elf, trying to keep out of eyesight and find a good sniping spot; if Chunji had any protests to her proposal, he would have to follow her.

---

@Estylwen@ERode@Sifr@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses

AUDITORIUM

Davil's features sharpened, nodding at Otis' orders. It seemed the mention of rising up against a tyrant appealed to the boy, thoughts of heroism clear as day across his face. "You can count on me, guys. And if I don't come back, tell my wife I love her." Having already gotten into character, Davil gripped his chainsword tightly, turning towards the door with the intent to storm in as the chosen warrior to fell a power-hungry king.

"...Huh?"

That was, of course, until he looked to his right just in time to see another group zooming towards the same door - the familiar flying knight at the forefront, leading this charge. "Oh fuck," Davil would exclaim, losing his cool in a blink as he dodge-rolled to the side, freezing up as he watched the others disembark and breach the door. "That wasn't part of the plan! Wait, that's not how this was supposed to go, oh gods above!"

Seeing no other option, Davil would shrug his shoulders at Otis and Ciara in a desperate, cold sweat, and then rush his way into the auditorium shortly after the other group had entered. "Onward! To victoryyyyy!"

All present would hear the laughter of the boy, now from his own voice rather than some kind of phantasmal projection of such, and those looking inside would see a pale boy dressed in lavish whites and blues, decorated with a billowing white cape held up by the finest silk threads. He raised his left hand, a crystalline white signet ring flashing with near blinding light.

"I had prepared myself, initially, for the others. But barbarous ones like yourself are all the more fun to watch thrash about. Dance and sweat for me, squire, and mayhap come graduation day I will take you under my employ. For now, though..."

As the light faded, a being would seem to take shape amongst its fading rays. As Iraleth charged forward, the Mannekin in the auditorium appeared to be made of sterner stuff - whether it was the materials or some other factor, those that rose to defend their lord in the auditorium took longer to repel and pierce through than those she had tossed around outside. Some even clung to her as she flew, attempting to jab at her limbs with various blunt objects or even their fists. Ultimately, though, their intent seemed to be to hinder rather than harm.

"Upon the name of House Bronsteel, this chosen heir invokes the name of Eligor, compelling Him to battle once more against hounds of hubris. Rise, Foreteller!"

As these words landed, laced so potently with essence that the vibrations of the boy's voice could be felt, the light exploded outward from the center of the auditorium, sending shockwaves in all directions that knocked some Mannekin prone as well. In the center, the light fully dispersed, was a golden clockwork giant that cast a grim shadow over much of the auditorium with its ten meter height - and equal bulk to match. An ornamental clock on its right arm began to tick, and it would begin slamming and smashing at anyone and anything that wasn't a Mannekin or its summoner, not holding back in destroying the ground and chairs around it, splintering wood and ground as makeshift shrapnel aimed towards its foes as well.

The boy, meanwhile, had a barrier of visible essence surrounding him now as he proudly posed and laughed atop the grand stage of the auditorium. "This is a finale worthy of a hero! I, Gulliver Bronsteel, will become the hero these lands need! With my Foreteller and these Mannekin alike, all will become just and righteous upon my steps! Thrash them all, my servants!"

The Mannekin would move faster, seemingly becoming more realistic copies of true warriors with each passing second as they swarmed to attack any of their lord's enemies with precision and coordination unlike any Mannekin that had come before. Davil would be defending the best he could, barely managing to swat away a few while taking strike after strike, slowly being worn down.

"Doesn't sound... very heroic to me, actually. Where do you get off, anyway, trying to stop us like this?! All we want is to take our seats and attend classes, and you're so far in your own ego that you can't even allow that?!" A moment of distraction, lashing out in frustration with a glare towards Gulliver, was all it took. Leaving himself wide open in the heat of it all, a Mannekin that seemed to mimic some kind of open-palmed martial art struck Davil square in the stomach, sending him winded and sprawling backwards as more shrapnel from the golden giant launched towards him in the crossfire.

"Ghhhh," he would grunt, doing his best to defend from the onslaught. Gulliver, meanwhile, would simply stare at him with cold, sadistic spite, like watching an insect squirm through its last moments of life.

Chunji watched the knight and soon after the markswoman entered the auditorium after she had gave him a strategy to go by. That's all he did at that minute, watch the two enter by themselves. Soon after more people had come in from the other side. As a mere bystander, Chunji watched it all unfold. The theatrics from the now known Gulliver Bronsteel to the onslaught of mannequins that came to confront them. It didn't seem like he needed to interfere until a giant clock giant appeared in the center in a beam of light.

The Foreteller, as it was called, seemed a little bit more troublesome to deal than the rest. It was an Ethos summon just like the martial artist from before. If Chunji would had to make a guess, the ethos summon had a speciality. Just like the martial artist's ethos summon that could dash to allies and repel enemy attacks, it must be the same case here. "Foreteller..." A being that is able to scry into the future. Similar to that of a shaman or oracle.

He pondered about its meaning as the mannequins came up to attack him. As more animate as they were, it didn't take long Chunji to pierce their cores with his sword. The few that attacked him crumbled to the ground. "What is inside also reflects the outside," Chunji muttered to himself. It was a quote that his father often recited to him. To know your opponent's character, you can understand what action they'll take. Chunji didn't get it.

"透过现象看本质." Activating the his Ethos a second time, Chunji peered into the Foreteller. He wasn't familiar with machines espescially ethos summons. Ducking behind cover as sharpnel passed by over his head, analyzed the foreteller. Biting his thumb, his mouth filled with droplets of blood. "蛇血呕吐幻象." Drawing out his hand from his mouth emerged a dagger. With a flick of his wrist, he threw it at the clock work giant's shoulder.

It was one of the basic curses, Chunji had been taught when he was younger. A phantom blade that'd strike through armor and sink into flesh. The spell's attack was mostly a mental one. It betrayed the mind's senses and cause the body to feel pain as if it were a real dagger. Would be effective on the Foreteller? Chunji didn't know, but he was willing to try anything.

Darkness was much harder to manage than light, and much less effective for stunning an individual as well. A flash of light was like lightning, scorching an image of the bolt into the retina long after the blow had been struck. A flash of darkness, however? That was like blinking, when you didn't intend on doing so.

Regards of what he planned on saying, however, it looked like none of what was said mattered. The winged paladin from before had caught up in the worst possible moment, ruining all coordination for the single thing that didn't matter at all: defeating the loud-mouthed speaker. The Strigidae clicked his tongue just as spitefully as Gulliver Bronsteel spat out his words, calling forth a titan that was a match for army-standard Sword-grades in terms of output. It was nothing impressive in the grand scheme of things, not when compared to the stories of the Empress's own Gearvein, nor the feats of finesse from skilled pilots, but it was still a titan compared to the students present. If Gearveins could be vanquished by flesh-and-blood humans, there wouldn't be a point in crafting them to begin with, no?

And that wasn't even accounting for the difficulties presented by the Mannekins, which had grown in coordination within proximity of the one that controlled them. Another 'Calm' wouldn't work here, not when the situation was even more frenzied than before.

Still, all this had yet to force Otis to change his own priorities.

"Show me wonders of this world."

A door swung open behind Ciara, right as she crossed the threshold into the auditorium, exposing the void of stars and space, substance and simulations. Otis caught her eyes in passing, the message clear even without thoughts shared through the mind-link that persisted between them: the chairs first. And then he was leaping into the fray himself, a sunburst exploding out of his barrel to blind Gulliver, before five other bullets cleared the path towards the fallen Davil. Shrapnel fell like rain, like wooden chips spewed from a tree too rotten to serve as anything more than filling, but the Strigidae made no move to help Davil up, or shelter him from the storm. Instead, all he did was toss another hard candy towards him.

"Get out." A thumb jabbed towards the open door of Otis's workshop. "The first plan has fallen through, so I'll need you to play the central part in the second plan."

Too many lights and windows to shutter all at once. Too many Mannekins to challenge without going overboard. Too strong a barrier to smash open with just a fistful of bullets.

But so long as everyone else played their roles as distractions?

His victory will be inevitable.

Wingram Academy, Auditorium
@Nanaya @ERode @Psyker Landshark @Sifr @AThousandCurses

---

It was… mouth-watering.

The knight, soft light just radiating off her deliciously, looked harder and harder to resist as she swung her way through the horde of Mannekin, dead center of the auditorium.

It made Ciara almost forget how the trio rushed past them.

Davil echoed her thoughts before taking point, and entered the auditorium first out of their group. She glanced at Otis briefly before watching the scene unfold.

To say the situation went from bad to worse… well, it was an understatement.

"Upon the name of House Bronsteel, this chosen heir invokes the name of Eligor, compelling Him to battle once more against hounds of hubris. Rise, Foreteller!"

Ciara stared wide-eyed up at the golden mechanical giant towering over them as she stepped into the threshold of the auditorium. Where in the blazes was this kid getting this unfathomably powerful Rekordian technology? She had walked the streets of Vaal Kastrix and Vaal Shakta, and had never seen magitech like this before.

A painful knot formed in her stomach.

That was, until a blade sailed towards the giant. Her eyes quickly found the source, a young boy wearing glasses. A fellow student. With a faraway look in his eye, possibly an analyst?

Great. Two strategists, one analyst, one tank, a pet, and one… unknown as of yet.

Surely they could put their heads together and come up with something. Their future depended on these seats. Thankfully, there was plenty to share, if they survived long enough to see it.

She took another step as a door opened to a breath-taking void. It made her freeze briefly before her gaze flickered to Otis. The message was clear, as well as their objective. The chairs.

Before taking a single step, she was swarmed by upgraded and slightly more ruthless Mannekin. Her eyes immediately narrowed, and she sidestepped them before disappearing, reappearing on the other end of the auditorium. Strangling the Mannekin closest to her with dark tentacles, more shadowy appendages snapped up the chairs needed. Three in total.

With a quick pop sound, she fractured the torsos of the Mannekin she held, dropping them before she sent a small wave of darkness to clear part of the way in front of her, moving closer to the door. Tentacles threw the string of chairs, torn from their seating place, into the void, along with a couple Mannekin who managed to get swept up in her work.

She didn't have time to finesse things. Not right now.

She stepped back from the Mannekin, disappearing in her shadow before appearing in another less populated area of the auditorium. Near instantly, she was seized upon by Mannekin again, causing her to teleport… again.

Nowhere was safe. Getting too close to the giant meant getting hit with a mechanic arm, possibly shrapnel. It was too powerful to take on at once. She teleported once more, behind the boy. Gulliver. Her daggers were in her hands, coated in shadow, and she made a slash at the boy.

Oh how she wanted to wipe that smirk off his face.

Unsurprisingly, her attack ricocheted off invisible essence, and she hissed in annoyance.

"All this.. All these theatrics. Are you trying to get these kids killed?" She said, her tone cold as she used her blades to block an attack from more Mannekin, pushing her away from Gulliver.

She glanced again at the knight, hacking and slashing her way through the auditorium.

She swallowed her Hunger, looking away, calling out to the the boy with glasses and the older girl with brown hair.

"Hey! If you got a second, smash some of those window shutters shut!"

She shoved another Mannekin off her blade, teleporting into the rows of seats, taking a couple steps before weaving through more Mannekin. She approached one window and pulled the shutter shut, fending for herself with her free hand. It delayed her progress, more so than she liked.

If she could get help shutting out the light, her shadow would extend the entire breadth of the auditorium, and she could do something about these upgraded Manniken, and that giant golem.

Squire?! She'd been an anointed knight for three months now, damn him! Iraleth grit her teeth beneath her helm and soldiered onward, her advance impeded by the tougher dolls she was facing. Still not enough to pose any serious threat, but compared to the ones outside, these were making her work far harder for victory. The Inheritor grumbled to herself as she shook herself free from two mannequins attempting to latch onto her, whirling around to slash them apart.

Whoever this Gulliver Bronsteel boy was invoked his Ethos, and Iraleth couldn't help but be somewhat impressed, despite herself. A construct to rival the size, if not the strength, of one of Rekordia's Gearveins? The knight braced her shield in front of her as she confronted the titan head-on. If she were fresh to the fight, Iraleth would be far more confident about facing it alone. As it stood, even with the aid of Chunji's spell earlier, her chances of victory on her own were slim, and her allies would need time to restrategize in the face of a rapidly shifting situation.

But that didn't stop her. Nothing would. Unlike Bronsteel, something more than selfish egotism drove her: the hopes of others counting on her. Compared to that, what was this boy's bleating and material advantage? A burst of Essence shaped into a concussive blast surrounded Iraleth, blowing away the mannequins surrounding her before a flap of her wings sent her into the air, meeting Foreteller at eye level.

"You call this your justice? Your righteousness? Impeding every other applicant? Attempting to eliminate the rest of the competition when you've already taken first place?" Her words were disdain. Her armor was contempt. Her sword was scorn. "You are no hero. Every word you spew is filth." Iraleth forced every bit of her remaining stamina into fueling her Ethos, radiant light starting to surround the Inheritor's armor as her strength grew. Whatever the result of this fight, it would exhaust her utterly. But at this point, it would be worth it simply to cast down this blithering idiot spewing false virtue.

With a furious roar, Iraleth soared straight towards the opposing Ethos manifestation, her sword braced in front of her in order to run its head through.

The silver haired boy prattles, and Hildegunde's brain is overwhelmed by a thought that is loud enough to overpower his spiel.

Please, just kill him.

As tempting as the thought is, she pushes it aside. So much for the plan. She supposes she might, if it comes down to it. But while things have gone south, she has not deemed it necessary yet to cut things short for the man.

Hildegunde doesn't really have the time to process why the shutters need to be shut. She gives the black haired woman a cautious glance, before doing as she's told, shutting as many as she can. She was not coming up with her own plan beyond simply killing this guy right then and there, and so she moved under the assumption that the stranger had something in mind that would -hopefully- not bite her in the ass. This more or less meant her location would be revealed, as her silhouette would appear and disappear in front of each window. Curiously, she rarely shoots any approaching mannequins, relying on her speed and nimbleness to outmanouver them. Aiming means focus, and focus on shooting means less attention towards the windows. And time is off the essence. Things were going from bad to worse in seconds, after all.

Only once she is satisfied with the number of windows she's shuttered, when she's sure sure additional support on her part will not sigificantly delay Ciara, does she begin to shift towards a role closer to her original plan. At least, for a moment. While initially she focuses her attention on thinning out the waves of mannequins that approach the others, her brain, now that she's no longer fighting against her damaged body to run, quickly clicks together Ciara's plan. Or at least, what she needs to execute her plan. While not told to do so, she points her rifle towards the ceiling.

"Heads up!" Hildegunde calls out, but only after she has shot at the lights directly above Gulliver. So that he is not warned. Each silent gunshot takes out one light after another.

@Estylwen@ERode@Sifr@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses

AUDITORIUM

"What in blazes-"

Gulliver averted his gaze as the flash of Otis' shot went off, gritting his teeth and cursing under his breath in frustration. A scowl crossed his expression as his vision recovered, taking in the puffs of teleportation darting about the room, his Mannekin being dismantled one by one. Many remained, but it was clear that the casualties were not within his expectations - or perhaps, at least, not quite so quickly. He clenched his fist, a vein appearing on his forehead as he looked upon vermin scurrying about his auditorium, his rightful kingdom.

Ting.

All at once, a satisfied smirk returned to Gulliver's features, hearing the sound of a strike being repelled by his barrier. He turned to look down upon Ciara, condescension mixed with leaking spite across his unfeeling gaze. "No one is dying, girl. You will all be defeated, dreams crushed as you return to your homes emptyhanded, but you will not die. It is only by the cruel hands of the outside world that such a thing would occur, but not from one as considerate as I."

Chunji's phantom blade would seem to have no effect on the giant apart from scratching its plating, confirming that the being was either unthinking or unfeeling, if not both. By peering into Foreteller, however, he would notice something else odd: buried under layers of metal, gears and wiring, at the very center of its multiple layers of steel, he would see Gulliver in an almost cocoon-like object inside. Yet the boy also remained firmly planted atop the auditorium's stage, rambling on about his heroism. Each seemed perfectly identical.

From elsewhere within the auditorium, a scream of passion could be heard. "AAAAAAAAAH! Alright, I'm fired up again, Otty McGotty! Your medicine really does work wonders!" Davil jumped to his feet with his chain katana in hand, parrying a Mannekin at the last second and proceeding to cleave it in half with a decisive horizontal slash, exhaling deeply as a small puff of cold winter air exited his mouth. "Mint flavored too, to keep my mouth icy fresh!"

Davil would nod and sprint into Otis' portal without hesitation, realizing time was of the essence and that hesitation would lead to defeat. "If anyone's got a handle on things around here, it'd be you for sure. Let's see the plan then!" And with that, Davil vanished into Otis' workshop, a thumbs up to show his commitment. He only briefly paused as he looked back to see a burst of light from what almost looked like an angel to him, in the heat of the moment. "A-Ah, that's probably fine," was all he'd mutter, realizing that wasn't his fight for now.

A laugh echoed once more - the same punchable, pretentious chortle emanating from Gulliver as he saw how Iraleth had been riled up by his actions. With a wave of his hand, he seemed to almost physically deflect her words from himself. He glared at her while adjusting his collar, ruffled from the force of the explosion of light. "The only filth here is the earthworm I gaze upon that believes she can truly fly," he would explain with a hint of pity, hand to forehead in tragic awe. "She looks upon caterpillars breaking free into butterflies and wholeheartedly deludes herself into such grandeur - the thought that, surely, she will be the same some day? The tragedy being that she was, all along, no caterpillar, but instead an earthworm. A simple mistake, really." Yet even as he spoke these words, a small drop of sweat fled his cheek, looking on at the divine charge towards his Foreteller. It was obvious that he had not seen a gathering of essence so large before, and even he watched on, wondering what would happen. His Mannekin tried to assemble to stop her, but the burst had knocked any potential thwarters to this charge away.

Iraleth's strike would be partially blocked, the Foreteller raising its left arm in that moment in an attempt to divert its course. However, the sheer power of an Ethos unleashed with reckless abandon and ignored limiters pierced straight through it, knocking the arm away, chipped and dented by overwhelming essence and momentum. Its head was wide open, and nothing else remained to stop it. Iraleth's sword collided with the giant's head, splintering it apart, tumbling to the ground like useless charred scrap while the rest of its body remained upright. In this moment, panic ensued on the stage, Gulliver waving his glowing ring around and jumping in place. "Eeeeee! R-Repair Operation, commence with haste! With haste, damn you! Patchwork!"

The Foreteller had stopped ever since its head had been ripped apart, but around a dozen Mannekin had suddenly broken into pieces in that moment. The glowing cores at their center, now the only parts intact from these spontaneously exploding Mannekin, floated upward and towards the exposed neck and chipped left arm, and within seconds, Foreteller's head and missing arm chunks had returned. This time, however, it was made of crude wood similar to the Mannekin. It began moving again, but slower and more sluggish this time, and it was now stomping straight towards Iraleth with its full focus, attempting to swat her with its arms. All the while, the ticking clock on its right arm was growing louder and faster.

Gulliver's eyes darted about nervously as he saw shutters closing and lights breaking, his body language reflecting paranoia even as the essence barrier around him held strong. "Y-You think me one to fear the darkness? I-I will not be deterred by the shadows! My father fought Umbralists during the Five Year Apocalypse, a-and I will continue his legacy by opposing such things! I know not why that one wretch's Ethos is of darkness, but is an omen of times long past! If there is anyone I cannot accept to attend here, it is that vile shadow witch above all others!"

"...But first, the earthworm." Despite his obvious fear, he would raise his hand towards Iraleth. A crackling bolt of lightning would surge out of his fingertips, pulsing and electrifying his barrier for a moment as it hurtled towards Iraleth - seemingly in combination with the rhythm of his Foreteller, blasting at her in places it seemed likely she might dodge to and accounting for his giant's blind spots.

At the current rate, it would likely take another twenty or so seconds before all the shutters in the auditorium were closed.

So that was the core of the Foreteller. An exact replica of the summoner within the machination. The shortblade wouldn't be enough to pierce the thick metal to reach it. If he wanted to finish off the automaton, then he'd need everyone to strip off the armor plating before attempting to strike it. Though that was unnecessary as he didn't need to deliver the final blow. If anything his usefulness in dealing with automaton was made clear with his phantom blade being ineffective against the clockwork.

There were two options left. He could summon the Serpent Spirit. As he was a descendent of the Serpent Spirit, he was capable of summoning the spirit that was closest to the Dragon. Though every time he did, so always felt wrong. Chunji couldn't place it, but every time he performed the summoning something felt missing. Although the Serpent Spirit heeded his call, an unknown part of him screamed out. He didn't know why, but it felt wrong. Though that didn't matter now. Even if did summon the Serpent Spirit, it'd drain him of the rest of his essence and he'd have to work to control the spirit so it didn't run rampant.

Looking to assess the situation, the knight seemed to deal significant damage to the Foreteller, it started to regenerate itself with parts of the mannequins to restore itself. In the corner of his eye, he recognized a female destroying mannequins with ease. In the other corner, a boy with animalistic features was helping his friend. Chunji couldn't tell what was going on over there as he focus was drawn eleswhere. As another mannequin went down by his blade, cleared his throat.

That left Chunji was left one option. There were rare times that Chunji ever rose his voice, so he wasn't use to speaking loudly before. However, what came next boomed over the sounds of warfare. "Upon closer inspection, the Foreteller has its summoner, Gulliver Bronstel, inside the center of its being. Reasons are unknown. Suggestion, destroy the center of the Foreteller and attack the summoner that rests in its 'core.'" With that Chunji started to leave from his hiding place. There was no doubt that the attention would be placed on to him after revealing that vital information.

Stabbing through another mannequin, he grabbed it and used as a shield himself from another mannequin's attack. Then that mannequin was quickly as fell as it strike, arm stuck in its wooden peer's body. He needed to keep moving or else, the full attention of Gulliver would slam into him.

It appeared as if more scenarios were being brought up constantly, the situation unveiling further curiousities to attend to. One of the students shouted about a core within the Foreteller that contained a twin to the Bronsteel child. Another student was quick at work in snuffing out all sources of light. The winged knight was performing remarkably, showcasing destructive feats that caused the entire auditorium to ripple. And Ciara was biding her time too, her status as a shadow-witch finally pronounced to the world by that insufferable twerp.

How rude. Hers wasn’t the only one rooted in darkness.

As the tempo of the battle increased, everyone’s roles receiving the increased burden of Mannekins whom became more astute combatants, a commander who was losing more and more of his own calm, Otis allowed himself to slip further into the background. Circumventing the swarm that charged for the paladin, that chased for the markswoman, that pursued the blade-thrower, that disdained the shadow-witch. He was just a small owl-boy, after all, with a gun ill-suited for the hordes. Just a humble Seeker, possessing no god-like might beyond the confines of his domain, drawn only to the pleasure of knowledge, of Truth.

His hands wove the air, a conductor on his lonesome. Draw sigils into empty space, defining the order and the constraints, the reason behind restraints. Whispered words gave life-light to cold calculation, mortal breath the transience of a fading spell.

“Knock knock.”

That was all it was.

The sound of Otis knocking on the minds of every sapient being within the auditorium. An individual telepathy request sent out to the Marksman, the Hunter, the Inheritor, the Doctor, the Bronsteel child. It was a request that faded away moments later, the one at the door walking away before one could even respond, leaving nothing but…a lingering trail.

Single-link telepathy magic, repurposed to track the locations of all living beings within a certain area, via an attempt to create a psychic connection with every applicable individual.

That was the choice the Strigidae made, in order to ascertain whether Gulliver was the titan, the command, or both.

Wingram Academy, Auditorium
@Nanaya @ERode @Psyker Landshark @Sifr @AThousandCurses

---

"No one is dying, girl. You will all be defeated, dreams crushed as you return to your homes emptyhanded, but you will not die."

Ah yes. The divine culling, as Gulliver had put it.

Ciara's eyes darted around the auditorium. She had expected to see teachers here, waiting for their students. But alas, only Michael, the janitor she had seen previously, had given any indication of an actual faculty presence in this academy.

The knight's light was growing.

There was the sound of lips smacking in her mind, and building annoyance.

"What are you doing? It's right there, distracted and tired. Now is your best chance!" Said the child-like Voice fervently, acting like a war strategist for its own goals, at the center of its own little world.

"We're not doing this, not right now."

Frantic. "But look. Look! It's so, so tasty!"

She watched as the knight inflicted damage on the giant, radiating sweet, scrumptious light. Ciara almost failed to noticed the mechanical giant replaced its lost parts, this time with wood.

Interesting.

"Heads up!"

To Ciara's deep-set relief, darkness washed over her as more light was extinguished. Her shadow was extending, strengthening. Replicating the conditions was not as powerful as standing under a New Moon, but Ciara was no beggar when it came to the completeness found within growing darkness.

The help the older girl provided was noted. She would introduce herself after this was over, if they survived. A sharp shot. Clearing the lights like the girl could do this with her eyes closed.

Interesting.

Gulliver appeared to not quite agree.

"Y-You think me one to fear the darkness?"

Ciara glanced at him from across the auditorium as she slammed another shutter shut, a cold look in her eyes. Still talking big. But, his tone strongly indicated otherwise.

"I know not why that one wretch's Ethos is of darkness, but is an omen of times long past! If there is anyone I cannot accept to attend here, it is that vile shadow witch above all others!"

Ciara blinked, a disturbed memory loosening its hold from her suppressed mind.

---

"I'm telling you, there's something wrong with her."

Toenails curled on the cold wood floor uncomfortably, the arm of a teddy squished tighter in small hands.

Peeking around the corner at a lone table, a single candle lighting up the grim faces of the caregivers.

"The kids don't come near her. She talks to herself."

"It's a bad omen for us all."

"Should have never let that-"

The floor squeaked under her feet. Standing at the door, vision blurry as wet tears pooled in her eyes. She sought comfort after a nightmare, but-

"Oh, what is it doing out of bed!?"

"Hey! Get back here!"

---

Ciara grit her teeth, arms trembling as she locked weapons with another Mannekin.

"...But first, the earthworm."

"No!" A Voice screamed.

Without permission, and without thinking, Ciara's body moved, appearing out of a swirling shadow on stage, dagger drawing.

ZZZAP!

The lightning meant for the knight was rerouted through a make-shift lighting rod: Ciara's dagger. A surprised yelp escaped her ribcage, the voltage arcing through her body and dispersing on the floorboards at her feet. As the attack subsided, she stood for a single moment, before falling painfully to her knees, smoke seeping off her jacket. The air was charged with the smell of burnt wood.

"Must.. protect… the Light…" said a Voice somewhere in her foggy head.

"So… hungry…" Ciara echoed back, everything numb, trying to get her bearings.

She took a pained breath, and then another, knowing she was in a vulnerable position. She had to close more shutters, she had to protect herself.

"It's safe, the Light is safe… I still want it." Said the Voice.

Ciara ignored the voice, glaring up at Gulliver briefly before trying to move. Everything hurt. She had to get it together.

Voices not inside her head sounded around her.

"Upon… the Foreteller has its summoner, Gulliver Bronstel, inside the center… Suggestion, destroy…'core.'"

The what? There was something inside the giant…?

“Knock knock.”

Familiar. A familiar rapping on the open channel already within her mind.

"You… have a plan…?" She thought to Otis, a bit out of breath.

Taking another breath to steady herself, Ciara shakily got to her feet. If she hadn't been attacked while she was vulnerable, she would teleport back to the shutters, and continue to shut the remainder. Hopefully, it would only be a few more seconds, and the auditorium would be plunged in darkness.

The construct wasn't invincible after all. Quite the opposite, actually. Still, it seemed aiming for the head did little good. Best to work downwards, then. If there wasn't some sort of power source in the chest, she'd just have to keep smashing its limbs.

"The only worm I see here is you!" She shouted back, alternating between defending with her shield and evading strikes altogether as the slowed giant tried to hit her, to no avail. Sweat dripped down her brow as the full power of her Ethos continued to tax her. She wouldn't be able to keep this up for much longer-

"Upon closer inspection, the Foreteller has its summoner, Gulliver Bronstel, inside the center of its being. Reasons are unknown. Suggestion, destroy the center of the Foreteller and attack the summoner that rests in its 'core.'"

“Knock knock.”

Well. That clarified some things. Something pounded at her skull for a single moment, but disappeared not long after. Someone else's Ethos or magic, most likely. Not important if they didn't persist. Still, it was good to know her suspicion was vindicated. Going for the chest was the best move, then. She still didn't want to unduly kill Bronsteel, but at this point, it wasn't clear whether the one within the golem or the one on the stage was real. Best to hold back and simply rip him from the titan rather than cave its chest in entirely.

The girl with the shadows was still a lingering concern, but she'd shown off enough of her abilitites that whatever authorities were watching this travesty were likely fully aware of her. If she was an Umbralist, they would have known by now. That, and she did just redirect the lightning intended for Iraleth towards herself. The paladin afforded her a brief nod of respect once before taking to the air again.

One last burst of strength was all she had left before Iraleth no longer had the strength to keep her Ethos manifested. Time to make it count.

"BRONSTEEL!" She bellowed, hoping to take his attention off of the boy who had so helpfully revealed a weakness. "Stop hiding behind your father's name and face me, you mongrel!" Once more, Iraleth charged. This time, she feinted a shift to the left before juking right, trying to bait out a retailatory attack in the wrong direction before dispelling her shield as she closed into melee. This time, she would gouge out an opening with her sword before reaching in and outright ripping Bronsteel out with her own two hands.

Oh, shut up, Hildegunde thinks to herself as the man prattles on, his voice like sandpaper on her skin. The urge to actually do so is one she has to suppress once again. She continues blasting the lights with silent gunshots. As she takes a moment to seek cover and reload, Chunji speaks.

"Upon closer inspection, the Foreteller has its summoner, Gulliver Bronstel, inside the center of its being. Reasons are unknown. Suggestion, destroy the center of the Foreteller and attack the summoner that rests in its 'core.'"

While she has no intentions as of right now to try and attack the core, Hildegunde makes mental note of this, lest she find the need to summon her ethos. This is followed shortly by a knock, one which she has no time to respond to. That was worrisome, and for a moment, it startles her. A bullet flies uselessly into an already extinguished light. She makes a face, gritting her teeth as she regains her old focus, her old efficacy. She vaguely notices the Mannequins coming her way are less numerous now, but doesn't give it much thought. Not when the smell of smoke is once again flooding her nostrils for the second time today.

Her eyes widen, body on extra alert. As she extinguishes the last light, her eyes trail towards the source of the smell and the yelp. With a sudden burst of adrenaline, she makes a mad dash for the rest of the shutters, trying to make up for the loss of time on Ciara's part. Trusting that Iraleth's heroics won't allow further harm to come to the black haired girl.

After all, if she was incapacitated, what good was all her work?

[I'm so happy that the guild still doesn't allow for deleting posts. Accidental double post X_X]

@Estylwen@ERode@Sifr@Psyker Landshark@AThousandCurses

AUDITORIUM

The young Bronsteel's eyes became bloodshot in rage, watching in shock as his would-be direct hit towards Iraleth was redirected, the oh-so-familiar shadow witch becoming its recipient instead. "You...!" He had no time, however. There was no time, not when a voice ripped through the auditorium and threatened to pull his heart out with its cutting words. An announcement, something so mundane in comparison to the lights and shadows displacing the room and the gunshots ringing through hoards of lifeless puppets. And yet, above everything else, Chunji's words in that moment made Gulliver's blood run cold, frozen as the words shot through him as keenly as a bullet through one of his servants. "How-"

Knock knock.

"Bah?!" With a startle and a jolt, Gulliver stepped a half-inch backwards from his place on the grand stage, confused and paranoid. In that moment, Otis would also receive a pang of acknowledgement that his knock had been received by both Gullivers - the one on the stage, and a separate pulse emanating from within the core of the giant. For the Bronsteel lordling, though, there was no time to dwell on matters of less concern than the righteous paladin charging right for his giant. The clock on the Foreteller's right arm reached a rumbling repetition of ticking and tocking throughout the room, its speed now allowing a full rotation of the clock's hands every half second, sounding as if something that had long been building in this fight was about to be unleashed.

Despite this, Gulliver clicked his tongue as Iraleth rushed towards the Foreteller - whatever he was about to unleash, it wasn't ready yet. It would need a few more seconds, much like how the shutters would only need those same precious seconds to fully close and cloak the room in darkness. The pale mage would take a defiant stomp forwards as Iraleth charged, his eyes wide with frustration, his teeth baring for her as electricity crackled and danced across his fingertips. "Buzzing gnat! I tire of your flailing. Let your struggles come to a whimpering end!"

As he charged another blast, this time doubling in potency from the last, fueled by his rage, another unexpected turn would reveal itself from the other side of the auditorium. A tall figure emerged from a wall near the front entrance, breaking through with reckless abandon. As the dust from the rubble cleared, the tall and looming figure of a Mannekin wearing a chef's hat and carrying a rolling pin the size of a greatclub burst onto the scene, scanning and only catching the exit of Otis. It seemed like the Strigidae was its primary target, and failing that, stomped its foot down in quiet rage, breaking apart a floorboard as it instead turned its gaze towards Chunji. It seemed to possess some recognition of the boy's contribution to the fight, and stormed straight towards him like a raging barbarian, lunging with the speed of a charging bull and swinging its rolling pin with the fury of a minotaur. The sheer air force with each swing would seem to break apart wood and stone it might haphazardly aim at in the crossfire, and it also proved surprisingly agile, breakdancing and backflipping to repel and mitigate attacks while attempting its own counterattacks.

Similarly, a Mannekin dressed in a kimono would descend upon Hildegunde, seemingly from out of nowhere amidst the crowd of puppets and chaotic explosions, lights and ever-growing darkness. As it descended, it would attempt an open-palm strike on her, following up with a flurry of kicks attempting to strike at her torso without losing so much as a half second of momentum upon landing, ending the unrelenting combo with a jumping axe kick that it would attempt to land right on the top of her head.

The speed of these Mannekin and the other less-notable grunts scattered about seemed to pick up with each strike, and as more Mannekin fell into pieces, the remaining ones seemed to become drastically more efficient fighters.

The Foreteller, meanwhile, grew more sluggish as its clock sped up and as it received more damage, to the point where it easily fell for the feints Iraleth had baited it into - an amateurish punch that met only air as Iraleth gouged into its chest. Its plate crumbled away layer by layer, surprisingly more brittle than it looked. Gulliver inhaled and exhaled rapidly, sweating and gasping for air as his lightning charge had reached its peak. Iraleth had reached the core inside, cleaving and ripping through the gears and wiring and piercing the rubbery cocoon that dwelled in its center, pained screams emerging from the Gulliver on stage in that moment as he began overcharging himself while maintaining a hateful stare, locked onto Iraleth fully as his lightning began to shock himself, becoming a swirling ball of blue electricity. It was at that moment that Iraleth saw the Gulliver within Foreteller's core, his eyes closed and blissfully unaware as if asleep.

"DON'T!" It was all the stage Gulliver could scream as he saw his duplicate ripped from the Foreteller, which went limp immediately in that moment, an inanimate giant in a heartbeat. "AAAAAAAAAAGH!"

A stream of lightning intense enough to flash throughout the entire auditorium, blinding all in its path, became a concentrated beam of hatred-fueled force directed and arcing towards Iraleth. His scream of frustration was drowned out by the deafening sound of thunder that followed the blast, whether it hit or not. He seemed to have no regard for Foreteller, making no effort to waste time aiming around it, seemingly blinded by rage such that he was willing to scorch his guardian, Iraleth and his own doppelganger - a sorcerer throwing a toddler's tantrum.

The air was hot and charged, the wall on the other side of the auditorium slowly crumbling away from the force of the blast - a spell that would not stop at its intended target, but shoot clear through to char the opposite wall. As he panted while watching the result of his attack, his Mannekin continued their assault on their respective foes. At the same time, one more crucial factor would come into play.

Only one shutter remained before the auditorium was plunged into darkness.

For a moment, Iraleth could only feel satisfaction at the Bronsteel boy's utter panic as she ripped his duplicate out of the Foreteller's chest. Both of them crashed onto the ground, Iraleth landing in a crouch. And then the exhaustion came. In an instant, the Inheritor's armor faded away, leaving only a glowering half-elf gasping for breath, still carrying a sword. And then the lightning came.

"GRAAAAAAAAAUUUUUGH!" Iraleth howled, collapsing to the ground and twitching as lightning coursed through her. The blast only clipped her side for an instant, but it felt like hours as she writhed in pain. Several seconds passed, and she grit her teeth, even as electricity continued to course through her nerves. This wouldn't be what laid her low. Not if she had anything to say about it.

Even without the aid of her Ethos, Iraleth slowly pushed herself up to her feet, planting her sword into the floor as a crutch. Through the entire aftershock of the lightning blast, she hadn't let go of her one lifeline. She would not lose her sword. She would not bend. She would not break. Through ragged breaths and twitching limbs, Iraleth rose, glaring daggers at Gulliver up on the stage. The paladin planted one foot in front of her other, residual sparks still dancing across her plate armor. By any sane metric, the distance between herself and the stage wasn't so great. For someone who'd just been hit by a full strength blast of lightning? It was agony. But she would endure.

Iraleth never broke her gaze with Gulliver as she continued to stagger towards the stage, sword in one hand and her fist clenched in the other. Even if it was the last thing she did today, she was going to punch him in the face.

Something pricked his mind, but Chunji didn't pay it any mind. The Knight had pulled out the replica of Gulliver from the Foreteller and all things broke loose. The light and darkness seemed to wage war on each other has a flash of light and a curtain of darkness kept contesting the area. It was disorientating with lights and shadow, but Chunji adapted to the situation. With everything said and done, his role seemed to be over for the time being. That was until a faint crush of wood crashed right beside him.

Another mannequin, but this was seemed much more powerful than the rest. Immediately, Chunji responded to it by blocking its kick with his blade. That was all he could do as the mannequin was a lot more agile, it's movements were a lot more odd. The constant fights, healing, and ethos usage were wearing down on the foreign student. However, with all things, this wouldn't be enough to stop him. With his eyes on the mannequin, his ethos peered inside the mannequin.

It had the same structure of the average mannequin, perhaps its core was slightly bigger, but that wasn't the purpose. Chunji studied the mannequin's movements. There was a pattern to every fighting style and this was no different. Unlike a human, a mannequin couldn't make observations on its opponent, only react to their actions. That was when Chunji made his move. He swung his blade at the mannequin but it only blocked it. He swung it again and it was blocked. Again and it was blocked.

Dodging the bull punches and striking in a state of repetition. Each strike hit the exact same place on the mannequin. His eyes told him that with every blow the wood began to weaken under the force of steel. Chunji raised his blade and the mannequin raised to block it. This time it was different. After all, Chunji put the full weight of his strength behind this strike. In one movement, Chunji shifted his stance. Ducking under the mannequin's next blow, he swung at the mannequin's weakened limb. Now behind the mannequin Chunji, without giving the mannequin a chance, swung his sword into its core. This was the end.

They were both real?

An Ethos to summon doppelgangers? Or actual twins? The Foreteller’s clock was spinning faster, but not fast enough to prevent the paladin from smashing it open and ripping out Gulliver’s lookalike from the machine’s heart. Otis only felt a little bit of sadness as he saw the giant crumple and kneel; at this rate, he’d never find out what the point of the big, stupid machine was. Made sense that its pilot was literally an unconscious clone of an arrogant manchild though. It had all the stats to compare to a Sword-class Gearvein, but none of the finesse that made such machines a threat.

What did impress, however, was the paladin herself. Despite his bluster subtracting from his feats, it was clear to Otis that Gulliver himself was still an impressive mage, the sheer magnitude of thunderous power that was summoned from his slight frame enough to cause his own hair to stand up at its ends. Static energy convulsed, before a lethal spell cascaded upon the paladin, possessing such force, such awful might, that Otis was fundamentally certain Gulliver was going to be blind and the paladin would be both deaf and blind, if not flat out dead.

And yet, she remained.

Mustered up the will to stand. To stagger forth, threatening violence even then.

His trigger finger twitched. It was getting very dark now, and the frenetic movements of the Mannekins had only intensified as their numbers fell, as if the resources they drew from increased as there were less doing the drawing. Gulliver was a powerful fool, a narcissist. But the paladin? She was a powerful fool compelled by self-righteousness, capable of withstanding a spell like that head-on and not admitting defeat. Of the two, she would be the greater threat in the long-run.

All it would take was a quick shot. An accident while trying to hit the Mannekins. A bullet through the heart or the spine, a chest wound that could very likely have targeted a puppet instead of a human. He can act all distraught about it afterwards, or could play dumb, even. There were methods of getting around interrogation magic, and all his actions had thus far colored him as a cold, but ultimately good-hearted individual. Davil and Ciara could attest to his willingness to cooperate and save others.

It would just be a tragic mistake.

The last vestiges of lightning faded. A bullet was chambered. Iron sights centered.

Hidden in shadow, Otis took aim at center mass and fired. A flash of gunpowder, a crack of a gunshot. And though his aim wasn’t blessed with supernatural accuracy, his target was sizable.

Something too fast to be seen whistled towards, then past, Iraleth, slicing a few strands of charred hair off her head. Behind, a bullet struck, then crumpled, against the last window, and from it spawned the writhing substance of black…paint. Ink, born and drawn from arcane compulsion, raced upwards like the rising tide, covering the entirety of the final window.

And the stage plunged into darkness.

…

Something, perhaps, was growing. Was it the shadow-witch, her powers reaching its summit within this world where the only speck of light that was present had to be Bronsteel’s barrier of essence?

Nay, the unknown was the unknown. It was uncertain what it was that would even happen, in truth. And without knowledge, the mind wandered, spiralling outwards at greater speeds, emotions heightening, pulse racing, the peak of panic digging deep into a fear that persisted within the most primitive reaches of humanity’s mind, even though religion told them that they ought to embrace the comforts of the shade.

In pitch darkness, Gulliver found himself levitating in nothing more than the void.

He found himself unable to hear anything outside of that thin, thin bubble of his, as if the entire world had been lost to him. He couldn’t see anything but the sparks that flew off from erratic conflicts, couldn’t see the fate of his machine, his other self. Couldn’t give form to the monstrosity that lurked, that Umbralist she-devil who had conned the students into granting her the blessing of a moonless night.

He couldn’t hear, either, an invocation of an Ethos.

A door was both entrance and exit.

And under the cover of darkness, Otis had finally closed enough distance in order to summon the gateway to his Workshop inside the bounds of Gulliver’s barrier.

Now, only one question remained, and it wasn’t a question that he really wanted to answer for himself.

Would Davil push? Or would he pull?

Wingram Academy, Auditorium
@Nanaya @ERode @Psyker Landshark @Sifr @AThousandCurses

---

Flashes in her mind.

An opening door. Gulliver, unaware in his bubble.

The images that Otis allowed through the telepathic link were poignant and self-explanatory.

He had a plan to do some divine culling himself.

The older girl with a hooded visage shot out the final light. Much to her satisfaction. But-

"No!" She called out, the Voices in her head screaming as a fatal lightning bolt struck the knight, running her through and hitting the far wall, the impact palpable. She couldn't move fast enough. She could only watch in horror as the knight let out a bloodcurdling scream.

Every nerve ending in Ciara's body fired off, her blood running cold, then hot.

A crack of a gun, Otis' gun, and the final window was shuttered out.

Finally...

Ciara took a haggard breath, dark mist slowly seeping off her vibrating form, hands extending out. Slowly, like little wisps of harvest grass blowing on a cold night, appendages with tiny, child-shaped hands grew. They came up from every floorboard, every crack in the wall, the ceiling. Every inch of the auditorium was covered in shadowy appendages.

Although she couldn't see, Ciara could feel every inch of the darkness. Every brush that the shadowy hands felt, she felt. She could differentiate between cloth, warm human skin, metal, and wood. The appendages grew, feelers identifying each Mannekin and encircling their limbs, crawling up to constrict around their torsos. She could feel them delightfully struggling under her shadowy hands, and she tightened her grip. Some even tried to outrun her, smarter than the others. But nowhere was safe, and she pinned these escapees too.

The hands quickly differentiated friends from foes and gave the knight, Otis, the boy with glasses, and the hooded girl a wide berth. The hands tried to dig their way into Gulliver's protective barrier, but to no avail.

As the darkness grew, so did her Hunger. Snapping the torso of every one of Gulliver's despicable Manniken would not give her enough satisfaction.

"So Hungry!" A Voice somewhere in her pulsing mind.

He... he hurt the light. The delicious light. It was hers!

A dark look crossed her face as the mist only grew, her frame perfectly still. A decision calmed her outward appearance, though inside, she felt like a firestorm.

No. She would Eat every. Single. Mannekin in this room.

Starting with the Mannekin wearing a kimono, which had sailed towards the hooded girl before Ciara's shadows intervened. Ciara brought this Manniken closer, a glint in her eye as the Mannekin struggled uselessly against her tight grip.

"I'm Hungry!" Said an enranged Voice.

Ciara was silent. In that single moment, the only sound that could be heard was Ciara... breathing in.

Like a cascade from its toes to its head, in the darkness of the auditorium, the Mannekin dissolved into burnt ash. Its heart fluttered and glowed briefly before surrendering its essence, causing the dark aura to intensify around Ciara. A contented sigh escaped her lips, her eyes flashing a strange red iris surrounded by black sclera. She had been Hungry for so long... yet her Hunger remained.

She took a moment, bringing the rest of the Mannekin near her. The ones that struggled, she snapped their torsos without hesitation.

Her next breath... would signal the end of these wooden warriors in one fell swoop.