Something about that makes her itchy. She hasn't proven her point. Defiance is ongoing. It was time to capitalize on her victory. Take this cat in her hand and show her the meaning of defeat. Gag her smiling mouth, strip her pride, drive any trace of those arrogant thoughts out of her silly little head. There were consequences to failure. That had to be enforced, that was why...

It was irrelevant. Victory was an inaccurate word, a word with too many meanings, a Hybrasilian word in any language. [i]Victory[/i]. It was an imperfect reflection of a better word: strength. The power of being strong was not a fleeting and reliant thing like victory. You could not play word games with strength, it could not be snatched away, it could not be stolen. It was a single constant, an unending fire in the body, the deep reverberation of tonnes of brass cycling through your autocannons, feeling the contained fire of missiles, the distance and destruction of one's foes. Strength could be eternal. Strength didn't need anything. Strength didn't need anyone. Strength did not need to risk lessening itself simply to prove it existed.

What was strength if you did not get to use -

[h1][b]EVERYTHING.[/b][/h1]

In a rush of fire and smoke, the Aeteline is gone. It takes nothing with it.