Kasper had been unusually reserved during the ball. Normally a champion of formal dance, he just hadn't been in the mood that night. He was preoccupied instead with a bout of abstraction. Sitting with his templar at a table off to the side, he had watched the quiet events of the evening. The setting was posh, but its happenings were improvised - and full of little indecencies. The noblewoman Caralynn berating a servant for her own mistake; one of the guests of honor greedily putting down plate after plate of food; the grumpy young prince excusing himself early, and then returning only to run to the washroom together with his templar; all these things breathed undeniable life into the exquisite surroundings.

Kasper occasionally scribbled into a leather bound journal with his fountain pen. He was recording these little things - stretching them and composing them into verse. He always loved to pry into the nobility in his works, probably in part due to his extensive exposure to them. Surely this scene would be useful to him some day. He was forming the lines into a little poem - or at least, he was trying to. But it was hard to keep his focus.

'In the tapestry of history, the Scions of the past were like a radiant dawn and brought light into the darkest corners.' The words of the High Cardinal echoed in his mind, eliciting a sigh from him. It was an acceptably pretty thing to say in the moment, but one of the scions had always been a bringer of darkness. And then there was that business with the sparkling water... really it was a trifle of a magic trick for such a momentous occasion. Why did that woman always seem to get under his skin?

"Feeling okay, your Holiness?" A servant asked, offering a glass of champagne from his trencher. Kasper simply nodded and was about to send the man away, when he thought better of it and accepted the drink. It was his second of the night, but a little alcohol could help soothe his annoyance.

--

A bit later, the entire atmosphere changed when the manor fell under attack. An acute mage, Kasper had taken notice when the servant whose misfortune he had blithely observed earlier suddenly started casting a large scale spell. That was far outside of the norm, and it had him on his guard. But he was still thoroughly surprised when armed soldiers started bursting through the windows. Kasper's adrenaline helped him focus up as he took stock of the situation. He quickly put away his journal and spoke to his friend in a low voice. "Stay low, Zacharie, and regroup with the others." Then he crept off in the darkness, moving into the fray rather than away from it.

Casting the ballroom into darkness was a good plan for disrupting everyone else, but for Kasper - it was a comfort. This was his domain. In shadowy conditions like these, he was practically undetectable. His sigil exploded into life as he allowed himself use of the great power that convention forbid him. It did not grow brightly like the others, however. It was inky dark upon his skin, growing in prominence. With a little effort, he could detect everything in the shadows nearby. And he wrapped himself in the darkness as with a cloak. The intruders were armored men with glowing eyes - night vision, perhaps? He thought he had heard of that sort of technology existing. But even with such implements, Kasper would be hard to notice. He was accustomed to sneaking about, and his feet didn't even make a sound as he moved. One of the men was already perilously nearby, however. The Scion subtly weaved shadow over those glowing eyes, just in case, and he moved past the man, as unseen as a ghost. A few seconds later, several black, tentacle-like constructs pierced through the soldier's chest from behind. With a gesture from their master, they quickly ripped their way outwards in different directions, tearing the assailant apart. Kasper was flecked with his blood, even at this distance.

Kasper noticed Maya and Edmund were on the ceiling, fighting off intruders in their own way. The girl he'd admired earlier was wrapped in a cape, screaming obscenities and scrambling around. There was an undeniable amusement in the sight for him, notwithstanding the seriousness of the situation. He considered going up there to help her, but hiding on the roof with her templar at her side was probably a reasonably safe place to be compared to the chaos down here. He'd keep an eye on them, though. He knew he wouldn't be able to forgive himself if Maya ended up wounded or worse because of his inaction. The white-haired youth identified one of the gunmen shooting up at her and quickly approached - giving that soldier the same gory treatment as the first.

Another moment later, he came upon Dominika, the Scion of Metal. She had been struggling with an armored woman, but ultimately ended her gruesomely. Another two were approaching her, however, and one had scored a hit and sent her tumbling. Deciding to step in, Kasper summoned another construct - this time it was a large, clawed hand - black as jet. With a crackle of mana and a flick of his wrist, the hand slammed into Dom's assailant and sent him flying across the room, where he loudly crashed into the far wall.

"Are you okay? Can you stand?" Kasper asked, but he couldn't afford to look down at Dom. The other soldier was still very near. And now the light from the chandeliers and from Rosemary's orb flicked over him, revealing his thin frame and his fancy white attire. For the first time since the attack, he was really exposed.

---

@Abstract Proxy @Obscene Symphony

---

The Templars had a privilege the Scions did not, and Zach intended to take full advantage of it; there was no expectation for him to be entertaining at parties. He needed only linger around Kasper, reciprocate any polite conversation, and take it easy for the night - as far as a Templar could, anyway. It was made all the easier when Kasper decided his latest scribbles demanded his attention far more pressingly than those in attendance, and Zach contented himself with stolen glances at Kasper's notebook and idle people watching. He wasn't really sure how to talk to nobility at these types of events anyway; it was all gossip and thinly-veiled bouts of one-uppery.

Zach's gaze trailed over lazily as Kasper shot up, suddenly alert. He figured the Scion had come up with some elegant turn of phrase to resolve whatever verbiage had been puzzling him all evening, and paid it little mind. Though, the fact that it coincided with the tingle in the air was a bit too convenient, a fact later confirmed when the lights flickered. The room descended into total darkness moments later, though the templar was hardly perturbed as his visor quickly adjusted, just in time to see the windows be kicked in by invaders.

He jumped from his seat and turned to Kasper with a suggested plan of action on his tongue, only to be preemptively overruled. He was being told to stay low? This was his job, Kasper should be the one- His objections went unvoiced, as Kasper had already disappeared.

"Of all the times to vanish," he muttered. Nothing in his arsenal could detect his Scion with any reliability once mixed into the crowd, but he was obligated to at least try to follow. Hardly a point in regrouping if his charge wasn't there to defend, let alone all the civilians potentially caught in the crossfire.

Fortunately, he wasn't the most spottable Templar either, and he slammed his crystal onto his chest. Rather than the splendorous lightshow that accompanied the other defenders of the faith, his armor coiled its way over his being in inky tendrils of shadow, the usual manalights that traced a templar's frame replaced with smooth cracks that peered into a lightless abyss. He was a hooded wraith, swaddled in white and gold and black rather than the trappings of a horror story but no less ephemeral. His faceless visage lacked even eyeholes - an unnecessary ornamentation - and instead possessed only a single hollow void overtop the space between his eyes where the bridge of his nose rested underneath.

Unfortunately, armor was still armor, and one of the interlopers zeroed in on him the moment he'd suited up, or perhaps even before, given his trajectory. Notably, he ducked and weaved around panicked nobles on his beeline for Zach. Seemed they weren't subtle about their targets, but that meant he wouldn't have to worry for the rest of the attendees' safety. It also meant he needed to find Kasper fast.

Zach raised a hand impassively with a muttered incantation under his breath, presenting a palm out toward the man that glowed with a sigil unseen in the darkness of the ballroom. Manalights strobed over his open hand, heedless of whether it drew attention or not, and each flash sent forth a bolt of energy to pelt the attacker's armored chest. He craned his neck around for further threats, only to see the first enemy he spotted writhe under the influence of some invisible attack before collapsing. Moments later, another - one of the gunmen targetting the Scion of Gravity - succumbed to the same fate.

Kasper.

Zach set off along the trail of corpses, only to witness Kasper reveal himself over the Scion of Metal. Though it looked like she'd regretfully taken a hit, at least she was safe. His relief was promptly overshadowed by an approaching assailant, that Kasper either hadn't noticed or considered an acceptable risk.

"Watch out!" he called as he thrust his hand out again to send a blast into the charging soldier's shoulder, sending the man spinning off-balance. With another incantation, he pointed a finger upward and flicked a mote of mana into the air. Once over the staggering man, it elongated and fell like a raindrop to spear through the soldier's lowered head.

Rushing over, he took up a position with his back to the two Scions, hands raised in preparation throw up a barrier should another attacker intrude while Dominika regained her footing. "If we get the Scions together, can you smuggle them out?"

---

@Olive Fontaine@Abstract Proxy

---

A Kaudian was not a sight Tyler particularly wanted to see, even if she was on his side. Her plan wasn’t terrible - it’d certainly give him more leeway to act as he wished if he didn’t have to look back to see if Lucas was still dawdling behind him every few seconds - but it also meant the enemy could concentrate their forces as well as the Templars could, and they definitely had the numerical advantage.

“I haven’t seen anyone, I stepped out of the bathroom to a guy trying to run me through,” Tyler replied. He didn’t bother asking any of the questions that inhabited his own head; he doubted Sara had any more context than he did for the attack, even if she was present for the initial invasion.

Just as Tyler turned to look for the giant of a man that marked their rally point, everything slowed down. No, that wasn’t an apt description. Everything stopped. Tyler swiveled his head back toward his Scion as the cacophony of violence that had overtaken the ballroom stilled to a peaceful silence, but he was too late; he’d barely made it ninety degrees before his awareness blanked out.

When time resumed its flow, Tyler found himself being tugged in the direction of a very flashy-looking aggressor by Lucas. Kaudian invaders shouldn’t have the capacity to use technology like that, assuming it wasn’t a spell in its own right, so this guy was clearly a cut above the rest, to say nothing of his apostasy. He shifted in front of his Scion defensively, sword held out in a ready stance. Alright, time to see what his gimmick was-

The room was still silent. A stray bullet hung in the air, just within Tyler’s periphery. Time was still frozen. And that fucker was moving.

“Please tell me you unfroze him to fuck with me,” Tyler muttered, keeping the golden glow of his suit’s eyeholes centered firmly on his new opponent. That simply wasn’t possible. The Scion of Time’s power was unreplicable. The prince had to have come up with some horrible divide and conquer plan and decided to unfreeze the enemies first for some reason.

“I wish,” Lucas sighed. “I don’t know how and he’s not really keen on letting us know.”

The man paused for a moment, observing the pair. He then decided to pocket his gun, choosing to wield the dull-looking sword with both hands. “I will insist once again for your surrender, Lucas Estora,” He stated. “However, that will be the last time I ask. Do you wish harm on your Templar?”

Lucas’ mouth parted as he let out a small laugh. “For fuck’s sake, you’re cocky, aren’t you?” He asked, though he paused. “Not that I was any use to you before, but you’re on your own for this one.” He was almost apologetic as he spoke to Tyler.

Tyler echoed Lucas’ laugh as he stepped forward to meet his opponent. Sword looked like a piece of shit, so he either blew all his funds on his fancy time-deflection scarf or it was enchanted too and he shouldn’t risk getting hit by it.

“And I insist you blow it out your ass,” Tyler huffed as he regarded his opponent one last time. If scarf man could counter Lucas, he could counter Tyler. Back to fundamentals it was then! Still, he had to play it safe, there were too many unknowns and not enough tricks to fall back on if he underestimated any of them. Luckily, he had no obligation to rush in hastily. A staredown wouldn’t get this traitor his prisoner.

“Very well,” The man raised the sword with little effort. “Tyler Morris, twenty-five, Templar of Time. A test of physical capabilities, then.”

The dull sword hummed ominously for a second before a halo of light appeared over his head. He decided on his first move and closed the gap between the two. Once he was close enough, he swung. Once the two blades collided, the mana sword fluctuated for a second but remained steady. The dull blade’s edge seemed to chip a touch.

“Your mana is stronger than I anticipated,” He noted.

Tyler gritted his teeth as the man seemed to charge up. Physical capabilities, his ass; something was up with that sword. The glow didn’t look too promising either. When his opponent came in for his attack, Tyler shifted his weight and brought his sword up to meet it. The flicker of his blade almost prompted him to disengage immediately, though it held firm against the onslaught, apparently to scarfy’s dismay.

It looked like… some kind of dark crystal. Volcanic glass, maybe. Presumably meant specifically to disable Tyler’s favorite toy, somehow. Mother help them if every Scion had an attacker kitted out similarly to counter their Templar. It had to do something else, though, since disarmament was nowhere near enough to kill Tyler Morris, age twenty-five, Templar of Time, and tester of physical capabilities and this jackass had to know it. He wasn’t too keen on testing ugly sword against flesh to find out though.

“I was gonna say the same about your breath.” He lanced his leg out straight, aiming to plant the ball of his foot in his attacker’s abdomen and stagger him back enough to follow up with a quick diagonal cut just as he reached the edge of his manablade’s reach.

The kick was unexpected, the cut striking through the suit and armor. There was a small scoff as his hand traced the hit and he decided to swing more aggressively this time. Tyler danced back, staying light on his feet. He met the swing with a sweeping parry, more intent on guiding his opponent’s weapon away than intercepting the force of the swing. The last thing he needed was for his blade to fail under repeated pressure and leave him to eat a sword to the face. He needed to pull a mundane weapon off one of the bodies. Better would be to lock this guy down long enough to toss a gun in Lucas’ direction, but he’d be lucky if he got a reprieve long enough to do either; that strike felt like that first hit had pissed the guy off.

He stepped into range again with a powerful swing of his own, aiming to crowd his enemy as quickly as he could and put the man on his back foot.

The parry had the man take a misstep, forcing him to take a stand to prevent himself from losing his footing. He stood firm as Tyler swung, blocking it with his sword. The manasword once again flickered, but this time the man pushed forward. Rather than disengage, however, he remained steady and looked to gain some ground.

Tyler’s stance switched as the man shoved his own sword back in his face, once again shifting his body under the block to avoid placing himself directly in the sword’s path should his manasaber fail. Rather than shove back with all his might, he exerted only enough force to not be pushed back, then forfeited the position entirely as he seemingly stepped back to reset. As his back foot came forward to regain his stance, he threw it with all his might to snap a kick against the potentially overextended man’s calf and then swung his sword with all the elegance of a baseball bat at his side.

The kick caused the man to buckle, the moment of hesitation enough to leave him open. Instead of taking the hit, he caught the manasword in his hand, the mana singeing through the metallic glove. His head turned from the weapon to its owner, and he swung his sword, aiming at Tyler’s side.

The Templar would’ve scoffed were he not in mortal danger. That was just cheap. He hoped this guy would lose a finger for that. Unfortunately, he had little time to lament the unfairness of the man’s makeshift block, and instead tucked his elbow into his side to protect his vitals from the sword. His sigil flared instinctively, though it did little good with Lucas’ throttle on time still overpowering his, and the blade tore into his armor like a sponge in a puddle and smashed into his unprotected arm.

Tyler disengaged sloppily as he recoiled, holding his sword up defensively with his remaining arm while the injured one dangled at his side. Not broken. No obvious hex placed upon him by the mysterious blade. Good start. Now without the initiative, Tyler played the part of a cowed wolf limping away from prey that put up more of a fight than it had expected while strafing toward one of scarfy’s buddies on the floor.

The man took a step back, an electric current running through his hand, or what was left of it; the hand was entirely made of metal and was able to move after he curled it into a fist. He raised his sword with his intact hand, pointing it at Tyler.

“It would seem your Scion has given you quite the blessing. Your strength is more than I had calculated.” He stated. “A shame. The shackles of Incepta weigh down your soul and keep you from your true potential.”

Oh, good, the heretical drivel had started. Just the opportunity Tyler had wanted. “Your pamphlets could use some work,” he spat before he pried one of the fallen swords off the ground with his toe and kicked it up to carelessly catch it by the blade in his armored hand. He tucked his manasaber’s hilt back onto his thigh and traded the new weapon to his uninjured arm.

It wouldn’t neutralize the man’s weapon entirely as a threat, but it would certainly let him block without any hesitation again. Plus, Tyler was the tiniest bit curious to see how his enlightened lack of shackles would look when he shoved this idiot’s mana-drinking sword in his own glowing scarf. Somebody’d clearly cut his hand off once before, Tyler could do it again.

“If the Goddess is so disgusting to you, I doubt you have much use for Her favored children.”

“On the contrary, Her children will be the ones to summon her back here to Gaia,” He replied calmly. “All we have done is speed up the clock–and everyone will see that it is the embrace of Termina that will lead humanity to prosperity.”

His left hand relaxed and joined his right on his sword. He tested the grip and deemed it satisfactory, and once he felt it was time, he resumed the fight, mimicking his earlier entrance and swinging.

Tyler barely had time to test the weight of his new weapon before he was raising it up to defend against another onslaught. Well, if this heretic was so keen on calling down divine retribution upon himself, Tyler almost couldn’t find it in himself to deny him. Trading Lucas for judgment day seemed a fair deal. Unfortunate that this one-armed idiot was probably full of shit, whether he knew it or not.

This time, Tyler shoved back against the sword that clashed with his own and followed up with high, repetitive swings to force the man back into a defensive stance with his sword no longer covering his lower body.

The fight resumed in earnest and the man met Tyler’s swings with his own. The swords clashed repeatedly, with the last hit resulting in a small shard breaking off of the sword. It flew back inconsequentally, though when it went through the flowing mana, the entire length wavered much like Tyler’s manasword had. He paid no mind to it, albeit Tyler’s gambit had paid off as the man’s stance changed as expected.

As the man committed to his defense, Tyler took one hand off his weapon and held it back, as if reeling back for another committed strike. He threw it with his only remaining arm, an overhand chop that would necessitate the man to react defensively, lest he need a new metal collarbone, though he cared little about where the strike ended up. He swung his now-free hand downward, as if to build momentum for his attack, only to reach for his manasaber’s hilt in a reversed grip and ignite it downward into his opponent’s forward thigh.

The man raised his blade to meet Tyler’s, but he failed to react in time to Tyler’s manasword. It surged through his thigh, the hit causing him to jerk away in a hasty reaction that caused it to rip through his thigh. He pushed back and leapt away from Tyler, the pantsleg torn and revealing the thigh nearly buckling under his weight. However, where there would be blood, there was only metal, electricity crackling through the part with every movement.

“Once again, I have underestimated you,” He confessed, reaching into his jacket and bringing out a small grenade. He hooked his thumb through the pin, holding it out. There was a slight pause as the halo faded and he remained motionless for a few seconds. “Very well. I would recommend you not follow–your Scion will be needing your attention momentarily.”

Tyler ceased his pursuit once the grenade came out, ready to dive back whenever the fanatic’s suicidal tendencies overpowered his common sense. Fortunately, the man seemed more interested in hearing himself talk.

“Thanks for the insight, Go-Go Gadget Jackass,” Tyler hissed. He wondered if this guy could still piss or if he lost that appendage too. “Lucas, follow the Kaudian girl. I’m finishing this.”

“If you choose to ignore my warning, so be it,” The man said as he pulled the pin, holding the grenade in his metal hand. The mana around him went from red to a light blue, and after a few seconds, time resumed.

The fact that he managed to override Lucas’ magic was incredulous enough, but the Scion realized what that meant. The chaos of the ballroom resumed, and once the mooks realized Tyler was gone, they immediately looked to Lucas–who had been previously behind Tyler and had essentially switched places with him.

“Son of a bitch,” Lucas cursed, holding out his hand to slow the armored men down.

The man, on the other hand, threw down the grenade once time had resumed. The concussive blast was enough to shake the walls and cover the hallway in smoke. Lucas threw his arms above his head, nearly knocked off his feet, but he ran to the doorway. “Are you alright?!” He called out to Tyler.

Tyler was preoccupied with the ringing in his ears as the smokescreen consumed him. By the time he’d regained his composure, he had no doubt the man had long since fled, though he tossed his stolen weapon impotently into the cloud anyway. At the sound of his charge’s voice, he changed directions and rushed back toward the ballroom until Lucas was properly in sight.

“We’re buying you a fucking weapon,” he muttered in lieu of an answer as he reached for his chest. The armor parted on his hand’s approach, and Tyler pulled out his handgun to offer it toward Lucas. “Here. Shoot the next fucker that approaches us, I don’t care if Grandpappy Nate himself is behind the guy.”

Lucas’ shoulders slumped as he rolled his eyes. “Why do I bother…” He muttered to himself, though he eyed the handgun warily. He wouldn’t leave Tyler waiting for long but didn’t bother hiding his reluctance as he took the handgun. Pausing again, he turned away from Tyler and aimed at the men still stuck in slow motion. He shot at each one twice, and once he lowered his gun, time resumed for them and each one went down.

“What did he mean when he said I’d need your attention?” Lucas suddenly asked.

Tyler raised a hand in protest as Lucas took the opportunity to follow up on his orders right that second, though the gun went off all the same. He almost chided him, but his inquiry was a lot more pressing, so Tyler opted to save it for the inevitable post-shitshow security briefing he’d have to give him anyway.

“Don’t know. Maybe he meant them, maybe I don’t feel like finding out.” He pointed toward the Scion of Fire in the distance. “Let’s regroup.”

---

@Hero@Stern Algorithm

---

The lack of sight and the magic being flung around made it almost impossible for anyone to see or find anyone else. Numerous different security details searched desperately for their charges while the armored men attacked the Scions and their Templars ruthlessly. There had already been injuries and casualties hidden in the dark.

Salome relished in it for a moment. Edmund had rightfully departed the scene to tend to a stranded Maya, and the woman walked into the crowd. She was calm in a sea of fear as she knelt down, her gloves lighting up as the floor around her glowed red. A few other red lights could be seen around the room; a variety of devices plugged into the walls at different locations. Salome rose as the shadows danced on the walls and eyed Rosemary’s light as it hung above.

“Back into the darkness we’ll go,” She stated, snapping her fingers once again.

A high pitched sound emitted from each device and synced up, and a loud sound echoed through the vents. The air seemed to bend around the ballroom and the sound died as soon as it came. However, every Scion and mage in the room felt its effects. The same mana that kept them moving shifted violently within them, attacking them for a few seconds before it would flatten immensely. Any spells were completely negated and every element warped to their will would no longer follow.

Belle held her head as she sank to her knees, the many bullets ricocheting off of Abram and hitting her wall of ice. She reached out to him, her head positively swimming, but the wall remained as it was. Her eyes widened as the shock helped clear her head, her hand running against her own creation as she realized she couldn’t channel any of her magic into it. Unfortunate for her; she had encased herself entirely and had unwittingly trapped herself.

“No way…” She uttered in disbelief, though she let out a gasp as she spotted the ice beginning to crack to her left. She could see several men outside trying to break in, and she hastily crawled to the opposite side, praying the ice would hold long enough for Abram to notice.

Above the din, high in the now-darkened ceiling, Maya’s grip on gravity failed completely. She screamed as she fell, upside-down, from her perch, clinging to the chandelier chain for dear life and landing painfully on one of its ornate arms. The fixture swung with the force of the impact, many crystals clattering musically to the floor, and the whole chandelier slipped precariously as part of its base was yanked out of the ceiling. For the moment, though, it held firm; Edmund, however, would need to rely on his own gravity to avoid the same fate.

On the other side of the ballroom, Rosemary got up from under the chair she had hidden under, feeling particularly dizzy. She looked for Sonia blindly as her light had gone out, hands on her stomach. “Sonia–” Her call was interrupted as she was suddenly yanked to the side. It took her a moment to realize she had been grabbed by one of the armored men, and she let out an ear-piercing scream.

Sonia turned in the direction of the scream, shocked to see Rosemary no longer invisible. It took her longer than it should have to realize the orb of light Rosemary had created was gone. Despite the area no longer being illuminated, Sonia released three strobes of light, materializing closer to the princess with each flash. One more flash of light, and the armored man’s arm was suddenly detached from his body.

She hurriedly kneeled in front of Rosemary, checking the princess for any injuries and ignoring the man’s scream of pain. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” She asked her.

Rosemary shook her head, kneeling down as she held her stomach. “I don’t know,” She whimpered. “It hurts.”

Sonia wanted to get to the bottom of it, but she could already see the armored men regrouping. Reluctantly putting her weapon away, she scooped up Rosemary in her arms. “Hang on as tight as you can, okay?” She asked her. Once Rosemary clung onto Sonia as best as she could, the pair vanished from sight and Sonia moved away from any enemy and blended into the crowd, focused on getting the princess to safety.

Chaos ruled for a moment. In the dark, it was impossible to distinguish friend from foe, masked intruders slipping unseen between panicked partygoers with suspicious ease. The chorus of screaming and suppressed gunfire created a cacophony no voice could hope to penetrate, and through the sea of bodies it was nearly impossible to navigate more than a few steps in any direction. The wiser civilians crept along the walls, pawing for an exit; the more frightened ones either fled aimlessly or froze in place, succumbing to the panic. The grand bank of windows on the North wall, broken from the intruders’ ingress, was the only source of light, casting only a foreboding silhouette of the moonless sky over the heads of the melee below.

But then, with a loud BANG! the darkness was penetrated; opposite the windows, bright light poured into the ballroom from a large door that burst open, soon to be filled with dozens of armoured silhouettes: new combatants entering the fray.

The armoured figures split up, taking to the periphery of the room. At the head of the pack strode none other than Dame Irina, still in her white dress uniform, cavalry sabre gleaming in her right hand. The assailants immediately recognized the new threat, several masked gunmen swarming out of the crowd to deal with the new forces. Irina never broke stride; with one swing of her sabre she severed both the arm and head of the nearest combatant, transitioning smoothly into chopping off the leg of a second to her left. Two more rushed her, commendably unfazed by the carnage, and were dispatched in the same way. Crimson blood flecked her white uniform, and she flicked any excess from her blade. A close observer might have noticed that under her practiced grace, which she still maintained, the Dame’s golden eyes burned with a dark and very visible hunger.

If she was shot, which was unclear, she didn’t react; instead, she cut a path into the ballroom and started funneling civilians toward the door, pausing only long enough to bark orders to anyone with the sense to follow them.

“Nevermind the gunmen! Evacuate the building!” she commanded to the room at large, her voice somehow audible above the din. To the royal guards, she yelled, “Get the royal family out! Use the windows if you have to!”

As a uniformed man ran past her, evidently a member of some noble’s retinue, on his way to the new exit, Irina caught him by the collar, yanking him back. “Secure a perimeter,” she ordered ominously, “do not let a single one of these rats escape.”

Shoving the man into the crowd with absolute confidence that he would do as she asked, Irina then turned to her watch, fiddling with it for a moment as if nothing was going on around her. After a moment of static, an integrated earpiece in each Templar’s helmet came to life.

“Take your Scions and evacuate immediately by any means necessary,” Irina’s voice rang in each Templar’s ears, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. “Rendez-vous with the royal family and go West; the army is staged on Stern Hill, and you will be there when I arrive.”

When she had sent her message, the earpieces crackled into silence. Job done, Irina eyed the crowd with unsettling eagerness, launching herself once more into the fray.

---

Lucas remained hot on Tyler’s heels, but he’d be lying if he didn’t say he wasn’t a little affected by the sheer amount of panic everyone had. He wasn’t stupid enough to let it completely overwhelm him, but seeing the same snobs who practiced their expressions to keep their true intentions anonymous didn’t bother hiding behind their masks anymore. He wasn’t scared or nervous, but it was unsettling. He focused more on keeping up with Tyler, even if he disagreed with the plan. Tyler’s initial idea of getting him out was the better move, but he guessed maybe the other Templars might have been having trouble or something and needed his help.

He clearly wasn’t focused enough as he ended up tripping over a man on the ground. Managing to catch himself, he did a double take as he realized it was the unarmored Templar of Lightning. His eyes were glazed over, a massive hole in his chest accompanied by what had to be a dozen bullet holes. The marble around him was slowly beginning to stain red, but there were few footprints.

The prince immediately looked around, realizing the Marchioness was missing. No, could it be– “Sir Ulysse is dead!” He called out to Tyler.

A wave of nausea then hit him, and he was certain that if he hadn’t already emptied his stomach he would’ve lost it there. His free hand was already at his temple as that stupid headache came back with full force. Was he actually getting a vision now of all times?! But as soon as the thought hit him, he realized it felt different.

The symphony of the chaos around him congregated into a high pitched ring. And as soon as it came, it was gone. He was free of his headache but he suddenly had another problem as his knees gave out and he outright collapsed into the ground. The exhaustion was something he had never felt before, any ounce of energy and drive he had in the last minute evaporated. He hadn’t even done anything!

Was this what the man was referring to? The thought panicked him for just a moment as his body refused to comply with any of his commands. After a few seconds, however, he could finally move, getting himself onto his knees at least. He couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his lungs desperately gasping for air, his heart thumping in his chest fiercely.

He could see Tyler as he was picked up, and without thinking, he pointed his gun and squeezed the trigger. While the sound of armor hitting the floor let him know it was an enemy, he realized that he would have shot someone innocent if he wasn’t careful enough. He tried to make things slow down around him to give himself a chance to catch his breath, but everything carried on.

“Something’s wrong,” He managed to utter. “Can’t use my magic.” And it was a struggle to talk, apparently.

---

---

Focused upon piercing the darkness with his Incepta-given sight alone, it was a wonder that Theobald could make out anything at all. Though he attempted to find the other Scions within the biggest spheres of activity, he could barely make out the individual humanoid figures moving in the shadows, let alone any specific faces.

But as he stared out into the dim lighting, he began to notice the strange, red dots that seemed to come from nowhere that shone from multiple corners of the room. Aiming his weapon at one of the lights, he could just barely make out a hooded figure making their escape just as a loud wail pierced his ears. Barely twitching from the noise, it was the strange emptiness that overtook his body that caught his attention.

Though at first it seemed nothing important was affected, not feeling anymore tired than usual nor weaker in any respect, it was when he started to hear more screams than usual from the familiar voices of Scions around the room that he realized the problem. Drawing his stance tighter as to make himself at least slightly a smaller target in the near perfect dark, his eyes had barely started to adjust to the essentially blind surroundings before another loud noise shook his senses.

The cavalry had arrived, bringing the light from outside the manor along with them.

With the new sources of illumination, he could finally catch what he'd been missing. The Scions of Metal and Shadow, watching each other's backs while their Templars sped to their aid. Maya and Edmund, scrambling to save themselves as their powers failed them for a brief moment. A formation of rock in the shape of a person and the Templar of Earth by its side, with five masked soldiers on the ground in front of it lacking everything below their knees. The distinct lack of the Scions of Light and Lightning, a fact that made the soldier's hands ball into fists.

But it was the wall of ice, assaulted by many of the masked men while the Templar of Water was under duress, that made Theobald move.

Expecting that Hollyhock, as the most experienced Scion with her Templar in arm's length, knew what she was doing, the former soldier left her behind as he sprinted toward the frozen barricade with thundering steps. With the ballroom well-lit and the people finally being directed by someone with sense, he didn't slow even a hair to avoid any civilians as he rose his gunblade to bear.

One. Two. Three heavy slugs were fired at the assailants. The first was a warning, crashing into the ice and cracking it harder than any of the masked men had with the butts of their rifles, drawing their attention. The second pierced one of their arms, causing the gunman to drop his weapon and fall to the ground stunned. And the last, hitting center of mass, the giant too close to miss and shattering another assailant's chest in a shower of shrapnel and blood.

The remaining guns raised in retaliation, the former soldier grasped a table as he ran past it, heaving it with his superior strength and throwing it down in front of him. The rifle rounds dug into the furniture just in time, obscuring his position and forcing them to hesitate as he leapt over his own man-made obstacle to stab one of the still-standing two on his way down, crushing their sternum under his weight at the blade cracked their mask and dug into their skull.

In a moment of panic, the last attempted to swing their gun around and fire their rifle point blank, but Theobald caught the barrel of the weapon in his hand just before it could center upon his forehead. The first bullet still grazed his cheek, his ears ringing from the gun discharged rapidly so close to his head and the skin of his palm boiling from the heated gun barrel. It didn't change the outcome for the final assailant, however, pulling them close with their hands still gripping onto the gun as he rose his bicep to meet their rapidly incoming body, clotheslining them hard enough to make their feet leave the ground and slam the back of their head into the tiles beneath.

The former soldier stood there for a moment, his gaze rapidly moving around to make certain all threats were neutralized while the ear closest to the rifle spilled blood, only stopping when he found no one else to fight. His balance was shot, at least until he recovered enough for his temporary lack of a working eardrum to settle, but he had enough sense to pull out a knife and finish off the two still-living intruders before they could get up for round two.

Splattered with blood from the up-close executions of those final two assailants, Theobald let out a sigh as he leaned against the ice wall, knocking on it in a specific morse code only known to certain soldiers. Those who had fought within the Rosaria-Lanvaldear campaign would know it as the 'friendlies with no hanger-ons' signal, a battle he knew the person inside hadn't been apart of personally but mayhaps heard of due to her relation to it.

"I have rectified my mistake," the Scion of Fire spoke aloud, not even certain his fellow Scion could hear it as he could barely hear himself.

It was something that had gnawed on him for many years, a blunder he made as a young man that even after his tours upon the Rodiaon-Kaudian warfront he never had a chance to redeem. Though he didn't expect any thanks, as they had never interacted personally, he hoped at the very least that his quick dispatch of the assailants looked good for his reputation as he ejected the mana battery from his gunblade. Slowly, he slotted in five new slugs to replace the ones he fired, watching the surroundings just in case a new threat attempted to get the jump on him and his temporary charge.

"Will they reprimand me if I ignore that command to escape until someone notices?" Theobald grumbled to himself, watching the reinforcements do their job from the sidelines as he prepared to throw himself back into the fray.

Edmund Silvaine

---

Edmund felt his feet lifting off the ground, his left fist tightening hard around his gun as his own symbol glowed. His feet fell firmly on the ceiling once again, with Maya seeming to follow a moment later. The sound of crashing and snapping below were a solid enough indication that the radius of Maya's focus grew smaller. That was fine, he could work with that. As he drew in a breath to comment, Maya cut him off. He recognized the small tone of fear lingering in her voice. She was shook up, and Edmund didn't have to be a genius to put the pieces together as to where her mind kept drifting to. She had known danger once. Edmund's fear had been tempered with years worth of close calls. They were going to have to do a lot more than this to make him afraid. Hell, the second he heard the thundering echo of gunshots mixed with the sounds of impacted plaster nearby, he sprung even closer to Maya. He was hunched between Maya and the gunmen below, exposing to them his armored back. He looked briefly at his revolver, tilting it slightly to get a better view of the chamber. Two bullets... he'd have to keep that in mind.

“Your cape! It’s bulletproof right? Give it to me!” Edmund nodded, channeling a fraction of mana to summon the cape from his armor. He lifted his right hand and unclipped it from his shoulders, draping it over Maya and re-clipping it around her neck in a swift motion to keep her whole body enveloped. In the meantime, Maya proceeded to get in a shouting match with Sara, ending it with an incredulous cry, “That bear-fucking bitch is crazy if she thinks I'm going back down there!”

Edmund simply nodded at Maya, who had crawled under a chandelier, and turned to quickly observe the situation. It took him a moment to reorient his view. Another grappling line had been fired, which Edmund was quickly able to sever the line of once again with a swift cut of his knife... though he knew he would have to find a more permanent solution to their current predicament. He didn't have the broad magical strength to punch a hole through this ceiling and simply escape, and Maya was in no state of mind to undergo something that risky without getting them both killed. The windows were a potential option for egress... the goal was to get out, not stick around and fight against an unknown number of assailants. As much as he would certainly enjoy severing the lives of those that dared to strike against the goddess' chosen... the words of this so called Salome were still ringing in his ear. She had practically laid out their goal: cause panic, start another war. But here, right now... this was something more. A show of force? Kidnapping another Scion seemed to be the aim of the footsoldiers. Given the time between Theo's disappearance and his supposed death... there was value in taking the Scions alive. They wanted more Scions. He needed to get Maya out ASAP.

Those were the thoughts racing through his head as he caught a slight familiar blue glow in the chaos, followed shortly by a much larger red glow from the floor. Edmund spun around, watching in horror as red lights began glowing from throughout the room. He barely had time to process what they were, or what they meant, when his stomach was suddenly heaved up to his chest. Maya's gravity was gone, and so was his. He fell up, spinning over himself ass over tea kettle. The ground above was approaching swiftly. Edmund tightened his left fist once again, praying to the goddess Incepta for some assistance. Luckily, she answered.

While ten feet in the air, Edmund's decent slowed to a near crawl for a moment. He eyed two gunmen nearby, who turned and trained their guns above once again. Edmund looked up, seeing Maya desperately clinging to the chandelier above. Without even questioning it, Edmund's fist glowed. He shifted his gravity diagonally in a straight line towards them, his feet naturally turning towards their direction. He planted a foot onto each of the soldier's shoulders and kicked off of them, sending them careening back as they pull the triggers of their guns. In that moment after impact, Edmund's sigil went dormant as he slid a half a foot on his back, lifting his head to look down his body towards the two soldiers as they were standing up once again only a few feet away. At this point, Edmund's caution was thrown to the wind. The second they were back on their feet, the Templar of Gravity fired two shots. A spray of blood shot out from one of their heads, while the other fell back and gasped for breath as their armor caught the bullet. A loud pang could be heard from Edmund's revolver as the cylinder was automatically ejected. Edmund groaned, holstering his revolver. He lifted his legs and rolled on to his upper back. With a swift motion, he pushed off with his hands as he kipped up to his feet. He unsheathed his knife, walked over to the stunned guard on the ground, and slid the blade over the soldier's throat.

“Take your Scions and evacuate immediately by any means necessary. Rendezvous with the royal family and go West; the army is staged on Stern Hill, and you will be there when I arrive.”

Edmund didn't care to wait for the gurgling to stop to confirm the kill, grabbing the soldier's rifle and slinging the strap over his shoulder. He removed an extra magazine and sword from the soldier's belt and slotted them into his own, looking up towards Maya's location. He looked towards the shattered windows, then back up towards Maya. He held up his hand in the direction of his Scion, the sigil on his hand glowing purple as he focused all he could on lightening the force of gravity on her and her alone. He shouted up towards her, "Maya... we are leaving. Now."

---

Hollyhock

---

^{@Obscene Symphony@Xiro Zean}

With her pursuers' path slowed, Hollyhock gave an affirming nod and a panicked thank you to Theobald. They would surely prevail with strength in numbers. After all, they were Scions and Templars. Unfortunately, there were some complications.

Justinian was off being a rock with Bianca trying to deal with that mess. Maya and Edmund were on the ceiling. Dom, Zach, and Kasper were together. Tyler was with Lucas. She had expected that Jannick would run with her; he didn't. The rest were in varying states of fighting and missing. While half of them had planned to group together with the human landmark, it was apparent that Hollyhock was the only one who had actually arrived. It turned out that the number of their strength was two. Well, closer to one. Hollyhock wasn't good in a fight.

Then came the dark heralded by a booming noise. Hollyhock didn't need to think too hard about it. Either Rosemary had been dragged out of the venue or their magic had been sealed. Considering the buzzing in her skull, it was likely the latter. It certainly was no good. The colour drained from Hollyhock's rosy cheeks. She felt as though every single cell in her body was telling her to escape.

Of course, Theobald had immediately ran off into the fray and left Hollyhock alone. That meant that their number was now zero.

If that was the case, she might as well go back to her Templar to get the hell out of there. She could work in the darkness. She just needed to let her instincts take over and the moonlight and gunfire to reach her guardian.

She charged back into the dispersing crowd. Hands reached out to grab her. They were always one step too late. The most they could grab were pinches of her dress, the fabric slipping through their fingers. The fleeing and frozen made for efficient obstacles, even if her pursuers had begun to move with more ease.

Dame Irina's entrance had filled the ballroom with light. Hollyhock had reached Jannick and was already grasping for his hand.

"Us. Roach. Now."

She didn't even need to hear Irina's commands. She was getting the hell out of there with Jannick.

---

Panic welled within her as Dom’s cry cut short. Ionna zeroed in, dashing low across tabletops as she watched two armored assailants close in on her Scion. Alas, even at a hopping sprint she was too slow—but someone else was much quicker. Shadows fell upon one of the assailants, and shortly after, the second fell to a similar assault. Quick, gruesome work. The umbral figures of His Holiness Mirandola and Sir Chaudoir drew in close to Dom.

A smile flicked through her. She’d had a good feeling about those two, it was nice to see it proven right. That relief was short-lived however as a loud, almost mechanical whine nearly sent her tumbling to the ground. Her prosthetic arm went slack for a moment, and it took a conscious effort to wend her mana back through it, like slipping a hand back into a glove. She squeezed the metal fingers, flexed the elbow; everything seemed in order again, but…

No time. She came to a sliding crouch on the table beside the trio, head on a swivel for more attackers.

“Glad you guys are okay!” she said. On the other end of the ballroom, reinforcements finally arrived, headed by the lady of the hour herself, Dame Irina. Ionna had almost forgotten what it felt like to be glad to see her.

Civilians were channeled out, and in her ear their mentor’s voice gave them clear commands. Get the Scions out, meet at Stern Hill. She scanned the crowd, mental tally ticking, and an anxious pit formed in her stomach. She chewed her lip, looking down at Kasper and Zacharie.

Incepta, this was gonna get her in trouble.

“Dom, go with them,” she said, taking the other gently woman by the shoulders. “Stay together and get to Stern Hill, I’ll meet you there.” Her attention turned then to the Scion of Shadow and his Templar. “We still don’t have eyes on Nadine or Ulysse. I’m gonna track them down and bring them to the rendezvous point. Stay low, stay safe, stick to the…uh…well, you know.”

With a final pat of assurance, Ionna left the trio behind and dove back into the ballroom. With the light pouring in from the main hall, things were much clearer. The assailants tangled with Irina’s reinforcements, and though Ionna would have loved to stop and lend a hand, her duty right now was to find the Lightning duo. Templars protect Scions. In all likelihood Nadine was evacuated already, and she and sir Jacinth were drinking tea at Stern Hill while the royal forces prepared to eradicate everyone that looked like a gaming laptop. But that feeling in her gut, looking out at the crowd. Every head accounted for but two.

No. One.

She came across the prince and his Templar, both in one piece, but the relief was short lived. At Lucas' feet she saw him splayed out on the ground in a pool of blood. Ulysse. Her throat clenched, she knew immediately it was too late to do anything for him but choke out a quiet apology. The mourning would have to wait. Ulysse was dead and Nadine was nowhere to be found—they had her. Ionna looked back towards the doors, brows furrowed. Irina would have stopped them if they’d taken her that way, which meant…

There wasn't time to stop. The prince looked rough, but Tyler was with him, which was more than could be said for the Scion of Lightning. She found the broken window closest to Ulysse’s body and vaulted through it, shaking off glass and dust as her feet hit the ground. Her eyes scanned the dirt, searching for footprints, or blood, any kind of trail the moonlight might reveal.

“Lady Lucienne!” she shouted into the night, starting off away from the manor. Even if the Scion couldn’t respond, if she could only hear that someone was looking for her, it might be enough. “Nadine!”

---

@Scribe of Thoth@Olive Fontaine@Abstract Proxy

As Sara punched her way through the ballroom, her glowing gauntlets drawing disproportionate attention from enemies, she tried to seek out the unaccounted-for Scions. Suddenly, she felt a wave pass through her, and she immediately knew that something was wrong because the heat from her gauntlets began to sear the flesh of her arms, causing her to drop her chain to the ground where it started burning a line into the carpet. Gritting her teeth and fighting back a scream, strangling it in her throat to a gurgling groan, Sara's first instinct was to dismiss her armor to make the hot gauntlets vanish as she had done in practice whenever her 'resist heat' spell had failed. But she was in the middle of a battle, with bullets and blades flying everywhere; dismissing her armor could mean death. So she spent the extra few seconds while the skin of her arm boiled to force herself to concentrate and recast the 'resist heat' spell. She could only tell that the spell worked because she could no longer feel the radiative heat from the glow of the gauntlets; her hands couldn't tell if the gauntlets burned anymore because now, they were simply in constant pain due to the damage they had sustained for even just a few seconds of contact with red-hot metal. Sara swallowed thickly, only now realizing the sweat that trickled from her brow from the pain she had endured.

Sara didn't know how long she stood there, grappling with the pain, trying to push it down so that she could continue with her mission. She saw the chain on the ground had dimmed slightly. Of course, whatever had canceled her 'resist heat' spell had also canceled her 'heat metal' spell, though the thermal energy that had been infused into the weapon and her gauntlets would take a good while to dissipate. As she bent down to pick up the chain, she had to try to ignore the spikes of pain whenever her fingers moved or whenever the open burns of her arms contacted the insides of the gauntlets. Sara wanted to throw up, but she had a mission, though one that was almost immediately dashed when she heard the Scion of Time announce Sir Ulysse's demise. Looking towards the direction of Lucas' voice, Sara saw the Templar of Metal dash out of the window in pursuit. Looking back in the opposite direction, she saw Scions Dom and Kaspar together. If Ionna was leaving Dom's side, then was she abandoning her duty, or did she deem them safe enough? Sara also saw Theobald near the Scions, though his focus was on the wall of ice, clearly the Scion of Water's location, and she understood. Ionna trusted Theobald to protect the others, as did Sara. With Sir Ulysse dead, Nadine was the only unaccounted for Scion. How did they manage to obscure her bright flash? How did they manage to muffle the thunder? Of all the Scions, she should have been the easiest to locate.

Did Sara now follow Ionna to search for the Scion of Lightning and disobey Dame Irina? Or was her duty to Theobald? Of course, if Nadine was lost, Sara was sure Theobald would find some way to pin the blame on her and brand her a spy or a traitor to have her dismissed, or at best, executed. Damned if you do, damned if you don't. But as much as Theobald would probably love to think that his threat cowed her into obedience, Sara's ultimate decision to pursue Nadine was not because of the order he had barked at the beginning of this chaos, but because she truly believed in the holiness of the Scions and valued them above all others. Sara was grateful for the light of Incepta. She did not see her life as one of difficulty. Hardship and proximity to the church had been her greatest teachers, blessings that many overlooked in favor of the glitter and comfort of the material. Life could have been worse. She could have been born in goddess-less Kaudus; she could have been born a weak, arrogant, and spineless noble, steeped in sin and excess, ignorant to compassion. Her life was blessed, she thought to herself, as she felt a sickening slickness slip into the space between her gauntlets and her hands which continued throbbing in pain. Was it blood or pus? She didn't care.

Making up her mind, Sara swiftly followed Ionna out the window, dashing after the lither woman. "Dame Ionna!" Sara called out to get her peer's attention, almost, it seems, in revelry, "WE HUNT!" This. This was Incepta's true gift to humanity that all had access to, the gift of zeal, for the heart of a believer could overcome all obstacles, all woe, and come out stronger for it. As if inspired by Incepta herself, Sara suddenly recalled another spell she had been practicing. If she was to be a good Scion, she needed to be able to keep track of Theobald under any circumstance. Fortunately, he was a large man with an imposing silhouette and a high body temperature, and she could track him, even in darkness, by casting 'detect heat'. Though she stumbled over the lines during practice, Sara's fervor allowed her to recall the spell with clarity and chant it, allowing her to peer into the cold, dark forest for signs of human activity. "These infidels cannot hide from me." Now she just needed to look for anything that appeared like a person carrying another person.

addressing:Bianca, Soldiers@Hero

---

Chaos whirled around Justinian like a raging river. The people, the soldiers, the gunfire, the screaming. It was all too much and too familiar, and just like all those years ago, he was just too helpless to actually help anyone. He tried to get to the others, but through enhanced senses, he could see the two soldiers shoving the guest to the ground before taking steady aim. It was only as he rammed his fist into the gut of one solider that he realized they were doing it on purpose, grabbing hostages in order to keep him in place. They were trying to capture him, and of course they'd do research on how he ticked and what tactics would work to keep him pinned down. As infuriated as it made him, he respected the tactic.

As the first soldier dropped to their knees, the other slammed the butt of their rifle into the armored Scion's, followed by a swift backhand in an attempt to knock him to the ground. He felt the blow, even if his armor cushioned the worst of it, but he managed to keep on his feet. Rather than attempt a spell, however, Justinian would lash out with another punch, amber mana converging through his armored fist at the moment of impact before bursting forth with the force of a shotgun. The soldier's breath left them as they were sent flying, leaving the Scion a moment to catch his breath.

"You... you should go now... quickly." He motions for the two hostages, a noblewoman and her son, to make haste towards an exit the furthest away from the source of the chaos. Their hushed whispers of thanks and panicked footsteps were lost in the din of noises and senses that assaulted Justinin's mind. He'd lost the other Scions in the confusion and couldn't tell anyone from anyone in this mess, and trying to discern it was giving him an awful headache. It was all he could do to identify his assailants and keep them away. Has anyone been taken? Had anyone been hurt? 

Why. . . Why couldn't he do anything about it?

Justinian's teeth grind in frustration as he grips his head, his breath growing heavier and haggard. Haunting sounds of cracking wood and clattering jaws rang in his head. He wasn't even aware of Bianca's approach until she was right in front of him, her voice snapping him out of his head. For a moment, he welcomed the distraction. But as he actually processed what she had said, his anger and irritation bubbled up to the surface again.

"I know how to use the Incepta's gift, Bianca. And people are panicking, no matter what I do. Everyone is panicking, running, and screaming, and I'm just trying to do something to help!!" This wasn't the time for arguing, but Justinian just couldn't let it go. He clung to his anger like a drowning man to driftwood, a singular place of stability where he could focus his thoughts. "What would you have me do? Hide behind you, and just wait until this all blows over! Safe, protected, and docile while someone I could have helped and that I can save is gone. Vanishing into thin-fucking-air while I have to wait in my room to hear that they're dead a month later!" 

Justinian wasn't even looking at Bianca by this point, turning to scan the surroundings as best as he could through the tumult. Tyring to find the bigger gathering of solider's, attmepting to deduce a way to scatter them. People were starting to thin out of the room by now, which meant he could actually start flexing his power a bit more. He wasn't letting anyone else be taken by these bastards.

"So unless you wish to help me help the others, get out of my wa-" 

First was the high-pitched tone that set his hair on edge as the air within the building seemed to ripple and bend. Then came an almost electric shock of energy as the mana in his own body turned on him, stopping the Scion mid-sentence as the power he had relied on since he was a child turned on him. He could feel the rock and marble that made up his armor harden against his wishes, restricting his breath and movements. Any attempt to move was met with resilient unmoving stone, the vague awareness of his surroundings his vibrosense brought him was completely cut off. He was left in total darkness, with hardly any breath in his lungs and barely could hear what was going on around him.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry and cruse and yell and a million other things that sprung to mind as the gift which had protected him and saved him more than anything else in his life turned against him. Just like his nightmares, he was stuck. Alone in darkness, trapped and waiting for either death or salvation but with no agency of his own to do anything about it.

His powers refused to answer him; his head was dazed and aching from the lack of air, and now the very person he had just told off was who he needed to turn to for salvation if he didn't want to suffocate in this self-made tomb. Frustration, Anger, and shame roiled within his chest as he tried to slow his breathing as best as he could, but it was all too much. Emotion flowed out of him in a rush as he put every last bit of his remaining breathe into a single scream

"GODDESS!FUCKING!DAMMIT!

He didn't know if the tears in his eyes were from the grit of the rock and dust irritating his eyes, the lack of air, or the sheer pain of humiliation that his current state filled him with, and at this moment he didn't care.

---

Maya clutched Edmund’s bulletproof cape around her, cowering behind his armoured form until he took off to deal with the incoming assailants, leaving her alone.

One arm hooked around the chandelier chain, Maya looked frantically around at the darkness, seeing intimidating shapes in the shadows and assuming every gunshot she heard was aimed in her direction. Her breathing quickened, each breath sharp and inadequate as her heart thundered against her chest. A few times she raised her gun at a shape in the darkness, but she could never make out enough of a target to fire; probably for the better, considering how her gun hand quaked.

Edmund was little more than footsteps in the blackness around her, the sound never clearly friend or foe, and Maya found herself wishing he hadn’t left; she felt alone, dreadfully alone, in a moment of terror that stretched on forever. She found herself longing for someone, even an enemy, to appear - if only to put an end to her tormentous suspense.

Incepta must have been listening, because Maya got her wish.

Heralded by an ominous red light from the floor, a loud noise ripped through the ballroom. Maya didn’t have time to wonder what it meant; her stomach heaved as her grip on gravity was suddenly cut off, and much like the assailants on the zip lines Edmund severed, Maya was sent careening head-first into the darkness.

She screamed. She was only suspended for an instant, sliding down along the chandelier chain like a fireman’s pole, before she came painfully to rest on one of the chandelier’s arms. Gold-plated ivy leaves rammed into Maya’s ribs, and she was sure she felt one crack; but that was of lesser concern as the chandelier itself jolted downward, remaining aloft by the grace of the Mother alone.

Maya clung on for dear life, heedless of the pain in her ribs. Her legs swung freely below her, scrambling for purchase, but there was no foothold to be found. “Edmund-- help me--” she sputtered, pain and terror confining her voice to little more than a frayed whisper. But she couldn’t imagine how he could help her, especially if he fell when she did. Edmund might be a broken mess on the floor right now, and then she’d have no chance--

"Maya... we are leaving. Now."

Maya gasped at the sound of Edmund’s voice, her gut quivering once more as she felt the force pulling her down lessen. But it was far from gone; she was still dangling over three storeys at least of empty space, and if she let go of her precarious perch, she would still certainly fall.

“H-how..?” she stammered, only audible to herself. Her heart pounded, and her head began to swim, but she was torn from her panicked speculation by the startlingly close whirrr of another zipline. This time, she could see the glowing eyes of her assailant ascending from the darkness below to meet her.

“Okay,” Maya gasped, taking a few quick breaths to steel herself. At the end of the last one, she held it, squeezing her eyes shut as she released her perch and fell.

---

Edmund Silvaine

---

“Okay.”

Maya loosened her grip on the chandelier above, and the descent started off slow and gentle. Edmund's cloak seemed to billow around her, catching on currents of air. The symbol on the back of the Templar's hand glowed strong for the moment, but he watched in fear as the glow began to diminish. He looked up at Maya in horror for that moment, as a gunshot ricocheted off his shoulder and sent him stumbling a step forward. Turns out armor and a glowing symbol on his hand had made him the target of one of the reinforcement soldiers who had burst into the ballroom. Maya's descent began to speed up, as his focus grew divided. He had blown through a vast amount of the mana he had access to scrambling for control over his own descent, and that costly miscalculation was coming back to bite him. He heard another bullet whiz past his head, and simply closed his eyes. He muttered the same words that carried him through every grueling battle he had suffered in the frozen wilderness of Rodion. "mecum dea est, mortuus non sum."

Fifteen feet overhead, as Maya's descent grew more rapid, the weightlessness sensation once again returned as the speed was slowed. Edmund's sigil glowed weakly, but steadily. She lowered several feet over the span of a few seconds, as two more bullets came at Edmund. One connected with his lower back. Sweat dripped from his brow underneath his helmet as he strained to keep Maya floating just a little longer, readying his right arm. in place to catch her. At this point, Edmund shifted Maya's center of gravity slightly, tipping her feet more sideways. As Maya was seven feet above Edmund's head, the sigil grew dormant. She fell the last few feet, but her Templar was ready. He lifted his left hand to help catch her, and moved back his left leg. As she fell into his arms, his left leg buckled. The extra strain had forced Edmund to one knee, holding Maya in both his arms. He looked at her briefly, stifling his grunt of pain at catching her weight. He would much prefer another bullet than to deal with Maya's wrath to that reaction.

To his luck, another bullet did come, grazing across the side of his armor. This grunt was not stifled, but his grip around Maya tightened as he pulled her closer to him. "Keep the cloak wrapped tight, your holiness." With that, Edmund shakily lifted himself to his feet, turned his gaze towards the shattered open windows, and charged towards them as fast as his legs would carry him.

---

---

Tyler was already in the midst of turning back when he heard Lucas fumble, but his announcement made the Templar's blood run cold. Ulysse? Dead? That was impossible; these apostates were relentless but nowhere near the caliber of combatant needed to take on the storied Templar of Lightning, no matter the numbers advantage. His earlier thought must've been accurate. Captain Dickless wasn't the only elite stalking the battlefield. Tyler found himself unimpressed by the man's performance, but his opponent had admitted to his miscalculation - without Lucas as an unknown factor, the other Templars might not be so lucky.

Circumstance left him little time to panic, as the ballroom descended into darkness again with an ear-splitting shriek. His helmet adjusted to the new lighting just in time to see an armored man rush at him, and his blade grated along Tyler's armored breast as he narrowly avoided a piercing thrust. He hooked an arm under the outstretched thrust and latched onto his attacker's bicep, connecting it to his core to hold the man in place and plunge his own sword into the man's gut while he struggled to get away. A gunshot behind him, far too close for comfort, turned him immediately, only to see Lucas nearly using a corpse as a blanket.

The admission that followed from the prince would've shocked him, had he not already resigned himself to believe that anything that could make this situation worse could happen at this point. The explosive arrival of reinforcements was a small blemish on an otherwise perfect record for Team Sheolbound, but Irina's orders at least gave him an objective beyond 'survive'. Turning to Lucas, he knelt down to help him up to his feet and experimentally tugged at the flow of time to ensure he hadn't met the same fate. To his delight, it answered, and with Irina's men evening the odds, he had no reason to conserve energy anymore.

"You weren't doing anything with it anyway," Tyler muttered as he changed his level to put his weight under Lucas and swung an arm between his legs, "Hold on and don't puke on me." With about as much delicateness as he'd tossed Lucas around earlier - which was to say, none - Tyler hefted the prince up and propped his body across his shoulders, ignoring the way his injured arm throbbed under the weight. Once he was reasonably balanced, Tyler fed Lucas' arm to the hand supporting his leg and, with his now free hand, ignited his manasaber again.

A quick scan of the room didn't highlight any obvious escape routes; the Templars of Fire and Metal had both opted for the window, though their Scions hadn't joined them. Tyler briefly feared they were both in pursuit of successful kidnappers, though both Scions were accounted for and not in imminent peril upon further inspection. They must've been after Nadine then. Reckless, but admittedly a weight off Tyler's shoulders. The window's use as a point of escape was hindered when Edmund followed in hot pursuit, drawing gunfire the whole way. No way was he going to drag Lucas through that.

His sigil flared and unrelenting chaos of the room slowed to a sloppily correographed waltz. The crowd shifted as seaweed drifted in a gentle current, nowhere near fast enough to close the now-evident gaps through the ballroom's residents. With magical stamina to spare where his physical endurance began to wane, Tyler broke into a brisk stride as he crossed the room, steering clear of opponents where he could. Charitably, he made it a point to cross under the chandelier, where the men hounding the Templar of Gravity had begun to react far too late to Tyler's advance. His blade slid cleanly across the throat of the first, though the second managed to shift his gun in Tyler's general direction during the delay. He stepped aside and flicked his weapon upward, severing the hand at the forearm before whatever delayed signal his brain must've mustered in realtime could reach his trigger finger. Blood squirted from the remaining stump with surprising speed, enough to paint a red stripe across Tyler's body (and Lucas' unfortunate leg), though the man was dispatched before his hand even managed to hit the ground.

With Maya and Edmund's immediate predicament averted, Tyler continued toward his initial destination - Dame Irina. He picked up his pace into a light jog as he neared, not stopping until he was behind the Veradian defensive line.

"Irina! Ulysse is-" Tyler cut himself off as he remembered he was likely talking too fast for anyone to parse and let his magic fade, resuming as soon as the present caught back up with him, "Ulysse's dead, Nadine might be compromised, we need search parties out there now!" His arm flailed toward the broken window frantically, though he remembered to dispel his mana blade after the first hazardous thrust.

---

@Hero@webboysurf@Obscene Symphony

---

Navigating the crowd felt like fighting against the ocean; Jannick could barely make it a few steps before he was jostled this way or that, flinching violently at every unexpected touch as if they were all a new opponent. Sometimes he was right; as he searched for his Scion, he was set upon several more times by masked suspects, melting in and out of the crowd like ghosts as they tried their luck against the Templar of Wind. That said, he might as well have been Officer Weber again: aside from his armour, which saved his sorry hide more than once in the scuffle, his near-total lack of command over his element made Jannick easy to mistake for any other cop on the Veradis beat. Fortunately, he’d been selected as a Templar for a reason, and his opponents, while zealous, were little more; but while he fended them off well enough to keep himself alive, he wasn’t making any real progress.

Soon, the doors burst open and the cavalry arrived, but the relief Jannick would normally feel from the arrival of backup was deadened by the desperation of his situation. It was all he could do to stay standing under the attackers’ oppressive assault, let alone protect his Scion, who was nowhere to be found. And without the magic on display by the other Templars who could actually do their jobs, there was little he could do to tip the scales in his favour; sick to his stomach at the prospect, he was struggling to hold his own as he waited to be rescued.

But rescue did come in the unlikeliest of forms: moments after Dame Irina’s arrival, Hollyhock burst through the crowd, grasping for Jannick’s hand and pulling him toward the bright new exit. Jannick’s heart jumped; for a second, he almost thought she was another attacker. He didn’t need to hear Holly’s message; as if willed by the Mother, he saw a path open up to the doors and broke into a sprint in that direction, his gauntleted hand like a vise on Hollyhock’s. He was surprised by her speed - or rather, her lack of it. Normally, Holly propelled herself around like a hurricane, but on their now-opened path he soon felt himself overtaking and then all but dragging her behind him. He had no time to worry if she was injured or to question her over the problem; he had only the mind to charge out of the ballroom and down the road, following Irina’s orders with all haste.

As the pair left the blinding light of a ring of utility vehicles shining their headlights into the ballroom and disappeared into the darkness on the road, Jannick could still hear the popping of gunshots all around them. Mercifully, that shameful chorus was soon drowned under the drumbeat of hurried footsteps and his own laboured breath.

---

@OwO

It looked like no matter how many times they would have the same conversation, it always ended the same way; Justinian would do as he pleased. Bianca was glad for her helmet to hide her frustration at his stubbornness. He had to learn to take a step back and see the bigger picture; whoever this was clearly were looking for Scions. Hiding behind her was what he was supposed to do! It was already humiliating to be seen as a glorified babysitter on a daily basis, but she naively believed that if something like this were to happen, Justinian would have done the right thing. She was a fool to trust him.

His words were cut off and he stopped moving. For a moment, she dared hope that he changed his mind, but his reaction proved that something was wrong. His sudden yelling surprised her--was he stuck? How? The thought that anything could stop a Scion's magic was horrifying on its own, but she was a little more concerned at the fact that he was trapped in his makeshift armor. She reached out to his helmet, her fingers digging into the marble and prying open the marble around his face so he could properly breathe.

Irina's voice filtered in and her orders were given. Would she be able to get him out or was he going to keep resisting her? If she had to drag him kicking and screaming, then so be it.

"We're helping by leaving--now," She stated, trying to do her best to strip Justinian of his armor. Once he was freed, she took a firm hold of his arm. "Either you walk with me or I'm throwing you over my shoulder. Your choice."

Without waiting for a confirmation, she began to drag Justinian in the direction of the windows.

---

---

Lucas felt like it would have been better if he had just outright passed out. At first it was because of the foreign feeling of exhaustion, like his body had been zapped of all its energy in a second. It took whatever he had left to not fall over as Tyler pulled him to his feet, but he figured they'd end up sitting ducks if they just stood there. The darkness didn't help--wait, what happened to the light? Were the other Scions affected? That seemed like such a narrow scope, but he couldn't think of any other explanation.

He did scowl at Tyler's comment, but his next movement concerned him. Was he going to carry him? Lucas absolutely hated the idea, it was humiliating! "No. No, no, no--!" His protest fell on deaf ears as he suddenly found himself vertical against his will. To add insult to even more injury, Tyler had all the care of a dog wrangling a squeaky toy. He was going to end up bruised and battered by his own Templar by the end of all this! If it wasn't for the fact that he already emptied his stomach earlier, he would have heaved all over Tyler out of spite.

The sudden movement made his position worse, and he was convinced his initial spike-puke was going to end up an accident-puke. Tyler's control over his element was precise, but it made for the worst ride of his life. If the Goddess had any shred of mercy for him, she'd have Tyler trip and accidentally bash Lucas' head so hard he'd fall unconscious. But he always knew the Goddess never showed him any favor, so by the time Tyler finally came to a full stop, Lucas was just glad he hadn't thrown up.

Although Dame Irina’s main objective was to shepherd civilians to safety, she was often beset by adversaries - a complication she welcomed with religious fervor. As the ballroom gradually emptied of frightened partygoers, the floor started to open up, giving the attackers - and crucially, Irina - more space to work with.

Now and again they would fall upon her in multiples of three or more, only to be quickly dispatched to spectacular effect. By the time Sir Tyler found her, Irina’s saber arm was entirely red with the blood of the Mother’s enemies, with more flecked tastefully across her uniform, face, and hair. Her eyes shone like fire as she worked, coming more and more alive with every swing. When Sir Tyler made his presence known, Dame Irina looked more like a wild animal on the prowl than a buttoned-up Church soldier.

So the contrast was striking when, upon receiving Tyler’s news, Irina finished off her current opponent and straightened calmly, checking her watch and surveying the ballroom-turned-battlefield with a sharp, calculating gaze. Her face was unreadable; she didn’t look troubled, or even surprised.

“Get His Holiness to the extraction point as ordered,” she replied, turning her attention back to Sir Tyler. “Stop for nothing and no one; we will handle it.”

Lucas lifted and turned his head to give Dame Irina an incredulous look. Anyone involved in the church at any capacity knew of the Dame's coldness, but she didn't so much as bat an eye at the news. He let his head hang, chuckling to himself. "Can't even pretend to care one of your own is dead, but I guess Templars are just expendable to the church," He sighed.

---

The cacophony of chaos quelled with the arrival of Dame Irina and her men. What was once a tempest of gunfire and screams subsided and the crowds thinned as civilians were herded out. Those of importance were shepherded to Stern Hill while the rest were ushered to the Holy Mother Hospital. Duke Gile was currently in custody to be interrogated. Many were injured, others lost their lives. What was once a scene of festivities and entertainment was now hollow. Glass littered the floor and there wasn’t a single piece of furniture that was intact. The cold, winter air filled the room at this point, the floodlights casting long shadows over the disaster.

White-clad responders picked through the wreckage, assisting any injured civilians into ambulances and collecting and cataloging the unfortunate deceased. Compared to the tumult of the conflict, the low murmuring of the responders and the crackling of indistinct radio chatter sounded like eerie silence.

Among the paramedics and the undertakers, Dame Irina surveyed the scene, sweeping her cool, calculating gaze over fallen friend and foe alike with apparent indifference. Her saber sheathed at her side, the only indication that she’d had anything to do with the battle was the blood still caked on her uniform; as she walked through the wreckage, boots clicking on the ruined marble floor, she more closely resembled an impartial arbiter than an active combatant. She took a close look at the face of each body she came across, occasionally tapping something on her watch. No body was taken away until she authorized it.

Finally, she made it to the mouth of an adjoining hallway, where one particular body lay in a pool of blood and debris. Another Templar knelt beside it, examining it closely until Dame Irina approached, at which point he hastily stood.

Irina paid him little heed; instead, she knelt next to the body, producing a handkerchief and using it to turn the corpse enough to see its face. She lingered on the sight for a moment longer than the rest, but her expression was unreadable.

“Do you think he was outnumbered?” Irina asked suddenly, rising to her feet. Her Rodion accent was unusually strong.

The soldier nodded, looking down at the body. “Most likely. The bullet wounds seem to come from several angles, and I would be surprised if a single opponent could have bested Ulysse.”

Irina followed his gaze, squinting suspiciously at the baseball-sized hole in Ulysse’s chest. “Much about this evening has been… surprising,” she replied gravely.

“There’s more,” the soldier continued. “I searched his body. His armour crystal is gone.”

Irina’s head snapped up. “He deactivated it?”

The soldier shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think it was…” he visibly cringed, ”removed.”

Irina flared back down at the body, kneeling once more to examine the chest wound more closely. Whatever she saw, she did not seem to like.

She stood, tapping her watch. “Request an autopsy,” she ordered, “and assign an escort. Do not let this body out of your sight.” Her watch beeped, and with one last glance at Ulysse, she swept off to the next body.

---

At Stern Hill, every Scion and Templar is ushered through a barrier appearing as a stone wall. When they cross through, they are treated to a small, underground tunnel where a small bullet train waits for them. Once they are ushered in, the train takes off immediately with no sign of where it is going. Eventually, it comes to a stop, and several guards bearing the Veradis crest greet the crew and guide them out.

Once the group ascended from the tunnel, they were introduced to the interior of Veradis Castle. The castle’s great hall had a multitude of stained glass windows depicting several scenes of Incepta as a radiant, golden goddess bathed in celestial light. A multitude of fireflies glowed through the glass, lighting up the glass along with the moonlight. The walls held several tapestries and everything from the standing candelabra to the curtains were decorated with the suns of Veradis.

The group were led to a wing and stepped through an elaborate barrier. Once through, they were greeted by two rows of servants bowing to them, with one woman standing at the end. She was a stern looking woman, her ebony hair in a perfect braid crown at the base of her head as her emerald eyes surveyed the Scions and their Templars.

She approached the group and bowed. “Greetings, holy ones. I am Duchess Patricia Bachmeier. I will be personally overseeing your stay here with us in the Rose Wing,” She spoke with an air of respect and authority. “I have been instructed by Archbishop Elijah to have all Scions looked after as Dame Irina has summoned the Templars to Ballroom A. If there are any injuries, the medical team is located on the first door on my right-handside. If it would please you, the Scions have been invited to Her Highness’ Snuggery where she eagerly waits to host you. Of course, if you are weary and wish to retire, we are happy to lead you to your rooms per the Archbishop’s order. Whatever your wish, you need only ask and we will provide to the best of our ability.”

Edmund Silvaine

---

Edmund operated on auto-pilot on his way to Stern Hill. He didn't question when soldiers waved for him to walk into a wall, nor why there was a bullet train behind it. He didn't even bother to question where the train would possibly be taking them. All he knew was that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off, and the soreness and pain was beginning to catch up to him. Edmund slumped Maya down in a seat on the train, unslung the rifle, and collapsed into a chair next to his Scion. The armored knight remained stoic and silent as always, taking the moment of quiet calm to inspect the rifle he had looted. He didn't even bother to check how many Scions and Templars had made it onto the train when it began racing off. He just focused on what he could actively work with while remaining within leaping distance of his Scion. He checked the number of bullets he had, looked it over and over again to check for any kind of serial number or insignia. The gun in his hands just seemed to give rise to more questions than answers. He had clocked several dozens of these rifles at the party at the very least, and all signs were pointing towards a mass-custom order. But the lack of insignia... it was unlikely any company in the Estoran Federation could have fulfilled an order like this. Even if the job was piecemeal, cobbled together from various rifle parts... something would have a company logo on it. Whoever these people were, it was clear they had connections outside of the Federation. But something in his gut was telling him that Salome had been upfront... these people weren't associated with Kaudus, at least not primarily. This was just the beginning of something larger.

That very though sent shivers down Edmund's spine.

When the train stopped, he didn't take much time to acknowledge his surroundings. He instead opted to quickly scoop Maya up into his arms in a princess carry after slinging the rifle back over his shoulder. As much as every fiber of Edmund's mortal shell desired rest and ice, he trekked on slowly and methodically. His mind focused more on watching his step and keeping track of his breathing, which was becoming more labored with occasional hissing as it was clear just how poorly his initial landing from the ceiling fall had gone. He pushed through with no vocal protest nonetheless, stopping only as he stood before a collection of servants.

“Greetings, holy ones. I am Duchess Patricia Bachmeier. I will be personally overseeing your stay here with us in the Rose Wing. I have been instructed by Archbishop Elijah to have all Scions looked after as Dame Irina has summoned the Templars to Ballroom A. If there are any injuries, the medical team is located on the first door on my right-handside. If it would please you, the Scions have been invited to Her Highness’ Snuggery where she eagerly waits to host you. Of course, if you are weary and wish to retire, we are happy to lead you to your rooms per the Archbishop’s order. Whatever your wish, you need only ask and we will provide to the best of our ability.”

After taking a moment to decipher which direction was the Duchess' right-hand side, he carried Maya towards the room where the medical team was waiting. The debriefing session could wait a moment.

Her Holiness had a boo boo.

---

Hollyhock

---

^{@Obscene Symphony}

Being led was a strange feeling. Usually, Hollyhock was the one leading around Jannick. When she stumbled, Jannick would pull her so the two of them could continue to run without missing a step. If her life were a romance novel, this would be the moment where she would say that she could only hear her heartbeat as she gazed into Jannick's eyes.

However, that was not her life. Her heart was beating strong, but it was from a mixture of sprinting and fear instead of infatuation. She could very much hear the bullets fired around her; they were hard to miss. The only thing her eyes gazed at was the exit--not that she could gaze at Jannick's eyes through his helmet anyways.

From ballroom to train, the two ran without stopping. She boarded alongside Jannick without so much as a huff or disappearance. It was uncharacteristic, but expected.

Hollyhock didn't even think about counting the number of people in the train. She wasn't prepared to deal with that thought. She just looked at the ground of the train. Flecks of blood covered the bottom of her dress. The hand that had grasped Jannick's had rusty streaks of dried blood that went from palm to sleeve.

On the other hand, Jannick was coated from the brief moment that Hollyhock had left him. Splashes of blood painted his white and gold armour. It was hard for her to notice in the limited light of the torn up ballroom. Though, she still would have grabbed his hand even if she did see it. The blood had made him look like a bowling pin. Or perhaps a life buoy would have been a better comparison.

She didn't say anything about it to Jannick. Not a single one of her snarky quips. She just stared back down at the floor and tried to not think. It was easier that way. Riding in silence was enough.

When they had finally arrived, Hollyhock didn't have much to say. She followed the group as they were lead to the castle. Every so often, Hollyhock had a wayward glance at a window. The beauty was nice, but she wasn't very trusting of them for now. Crossing the barrier, at the very least, returned some semblance of safety to her.

She listened to what Duchess Bachmeier said. Her lack of injuries made most of her speech not apply.

"I need to wash up," she mutedly told Jannick. Her first words since running with Jannick were expected. Nobody would want to enter a snuggery with blood on them.

She approached a servant and asked to be lead to her room. It wasn't quite small talk as they were walking, but she was speaking with the servant about the location of her room. She paused in the middle of the hallway to look back at Jannick. A slight smile came to her face before she pointed at the roof while asking the servant a question. As the servant turned away from her, Hollyhock had immediately begun to sprint away to her assigned quarters.

---

Theobald entered the hall along with the other Scions, his expression dire as he wiped his hands with a handkerchief, the only attempt to fix his unkempt appearance after the whole debacle at the manor. His templar, following behind as was her stationed place, sported a mark on her face that was clearly made recently, the former soldier pointedly ignoring her presence.

Back during the disruption of the Millenial Ceremony, he had waited until the Templar of Water melted the ice wall that had trapped the Rosarian princess before following them to the designated location of Stern Hill, realizing that his presence would not be allowed any longer than necessary should he attempt to stay and fight. As he left with the duo, the large man had surveyed the ballroom to check which Scions and Templars had already made their escape, noting the distinct lack of his own and coming to the conclusion that she had followed his orders and protected one of the missing ones.

Had she truly done such a thing, perhaps his mood would have been lighter than the cold anger that had found purchase in his heart.

But when Theobald had met with the others of Incepta's chosen, his wounds treated and a headcount made, the realization that she had went off on her own and directly circumvented his orders caused him to rip off his newly applied bandages with disgust. Sara's late arrival, along with the Templar of Metal and the news of their failure to retrieve the missing Scion, only made his rage burn hotter, yet it was with a stone-faced stare and complete silence that he thundered over to her. And what occurred was something he did without thought to whom might be watching, so potent was his fury.

The following full-handed slap across the face could be heard from miles.

Which was why he was still nursing his hand, not because the force he placed behind the blow had hurt him, but to wipe away the disgrace of laying a hand on his enemy and leaving her alive. She hadn't returned unscathed, after all, so he had no ample reasoning to kill her, flimsy it may have been.

"I apologize." Not to his Templar, never, but to the Scion of Water whom he happened to have entered alongside. It was not a conscious choice, but perhaps it was simply due to a personal need to do good by the princess that they happened to walk side by side despite the lack of a lingering threat. "I did not wish for you to see that."

Was it strange to be fixated on a moment that not even the other party knew of? The princess had only be born after the Rosaria-Lanvaldear as a sign of peace, and yet his failure to make a name on that battlefield made Theobald feel indebted to her. On some level, there might have been a part of him angling for a smoothening of affairs to keep her support, but predominantly his words were driven by personal emotion rather than ambition. "I had acted on a moment of weakness. The loss of a Scion when I had tasked my Templar to protect them had driven me to act."

While he might have been preoccupied with how the Scion of Water saw him in her eyes, the former soldier had been around commanding officers long enough to know that 'invitations' were nothing more but 'polite orders'. They had been called, and so they must answer. Theobald wasted no time following the Duchess Bachmeier's instructions after hearing Belle's response, proceeding to the Snuggery without complaint.

He was unsure as to what Her Highness wanted, but she had called for all the Scions. Perhaps his large stature would make up for the few who would break away, such as the Scion of Wind who seemed eager to retire as she and her Templar were led away.