---

"I may take you up on that," came Esben's louder, much clearer reply to Miina's offer. He was sitting near one of the walls, confident that the others could handle any further discussion of their itinerary without his input. Hopefully there'd be more opportunities that would fit his particular skillset than the one they'd just had, although a trek through the desert wasn't likely to have any such until they finally reached the staging area.

It was bound to be more uncomfortable than anything.

He lowered the plate of sweet snacks he'd been eating from—wagashi, one of the locals had told him they were all called—sparing a glance at where on the map Hien had pointed for the group's possible goal, if they all saw fit to follow it. Deep in the desert, far away from any civilization. A far cry from the cold climate he was familiar with.

"Assuming Dame Commander Laruelle doesn't try to overrule me, anyways."

He'd pay for it later, but it was impossible to resist poking and prodding at any of the Kirins for long. Éliane just made the quickest target by virtue of being from the same country.

He took a short sip of tea, before speaking up again: "What are your plans after we're on our way?" A fairly innocuous question from any of the others; he doubted that it would be taken as such from him, nor did he really want it to be. No doubt it had already been made clear, whether by Izayoi, Chisaki, Ciradyl, Renzo, or any of the others what his involvement in the planning had been and what his background was. He could only hope that Ciradyl had already passed along some of what he'd been saying to Hien.

---

Despite how little sleep he'd gotten, Galahad was awake bright and early with the rest of the Kirins as they discussed their next moves. Hien had brought them up to speed on the goings on around Osprey- namely deep into the deserts, where Valheim were plotting something. Whatever it was, the gods knew it couldn't be anything good. The perspectives gained in regard to Valheim made them just as much of a threat to the region as the Blight did in all honesty, whether or not they were connected after all. Though a trek through the desert had its own share of hazards, both natural and human, as Rudolf had pointed out water was going to quickly become an issue for a group their size.

"I don't know how equipped the wagon is for sand either." Galahad mused, "Too much weight will have those wheels stuck in the sand. We may be better off traveling on chocobo alone, but that will cut down on the amount of supplies we're able to carry."

How did Valheim get their men and material in and out of the desert? Airship perhaps? How likely was there to be another airship after the one they'd shot down. The idea of commandeering an airship was appealing, but Galahad was hardly a pirate, and finding a crew willing to listen to them without causing trouble would be another headache of its own. There was also the matter of the sheer heat of the desert as well- dragoon armor was seemingly built for the exact opposite. The dragon leather within and layers underneath the plate was meant to insulate him from the cold temperatures of the mountain and the altitude of his leaps, not to wick away heat. A good portion of their number was from Skael as well- the high temperatures would be a new for most of them it seemed.

"It seems that we'll have much to prepare for." Galahad sighed. "I don't think anyone from Valheim has seen mine or Ciradyl's faces. If needed we can likely stop by a market to procure anything we can't scrounge up around here."

It was only amatter of time before they had a new task to undertake, and today seemed to be the day.

Robin wasn't really under any obligation to do anything herself.

But at the same time, the alternative would be not to help at all, and she couldn't accept that in the slightest.

Still, the desert...? She'd never been to anywhere like the desert before. It sounded hot. It sounded---

Well, she'd already been asked not to wear her usual outfit while they were in Osprey, but the desert wasn't exactly suited to stylish clothing to begin with!

"The desert, huh...?" she commented, one finger to her cheek, "That sounds... hot..."

She trailed off for a moment, then took a deep breath. What was she saying? This was meant to aid the people of Osprey and strike back at the invaders who had taken control of the country. One more step to freeing them from unjust tyrants who would kill innocent people like it was nothing.

This was clearly the work of someone who desired to be a hero. Yet another way to help those in need.

"---However, I can't pursue heroism without braving such deadly conditions!" declared Robin with a flourish, sweeping one arm to the side as she did, "Especially with Lady Miina offering her services."

Indeed, the offer using ice magic to cool the desert heat sounded like it would improve conditions dramatically. On top of that, couldn't it be used to create more drinking water as it melted?

"In fact, that would give us a consistent supply of cool drinking water, would it not?"

---

Éliane’s appearance was not quite as bad as Arton’s morning mug, but it was clear that the redheaded Skaelan officer had spent some time awake during the night. Like the other man, she had some thoughts to mull over that kept her from sleep –but not the coffee!—and her usually, chippy self. Nonetheless, she rebounded quickly, and with a very hot mug of coffee, she attended the morning briefing hosted by the newly freed lord of Osprey.

With her being so deeply involved at this point, she might as well see it through to the end. When it came to Valheimians lately, she was not feeling like being in a very charitable mood. She however leaned in at the mention of the blight, her suspicions seemingly being validated.

She didn’t like deserts, but her uniform in its basic form was still suitable enough to weather the sun and sand, even if it wasn’t pleasant.

She was committed. She nodded along at person that affirmed their hatred of their common foe—first, at Eve, then Rudolf.

She did raise an eyebrow as Esben, as if to say perhaps to his joking words.

“I’ll make some extra coffee, then,” she simply replied, by way of answer.

“Sadly, no.” came the heavy, albeit apologetic rejoinder from stage right, as Robin’s darker counterpoint cut back into the conversation, the authority of experience on his tongue. “It’ll cool us off for sure, but Naturalborn Magic and Materia are about as persistent against the order of the world as one another.”

There were of course tangible ways they had effect, or else the effort in harnessing magic in any respect would be wasted. If you casted Fire onto an oily rag and threw that onto tinder, you could get a real hassle-free campfire going, for instance. Lightning ran twice as well through water no matter where it came from. But these things said—

He caught her eye. “You know how your light materia sparkles fade after a few seconds? The ice wouldn’t last long enough to melt. The aether structuring it dissipates.”

He was quickly growing aware of how consistently it felt like he was going after her misconceptions, despite not meaning to antagonize (their teamwork at the tail end of the escape notwithstanding). Oh, man... Please don’t take this the wrong way, Dame Fey. No hostility here, please understand!

“A-Anyway…”

A bead of sweat rolled down his brow, and he cleared his throat, turning his focus back to the table at large. Inclining his head to Galahad, he threw in his two gil on the broader subject of supplies.

“I’m personally thinking I’ll just eschew my armor entirely to save on weight and heat, but whether we do that or modify cloaks, tabards, et cetera… We’re going to want a good amount of white on us either way. That’s going to absorb the least light and heat while keeping the sun off our skin.”

He had to admit that he never expected his artistic lessons to be weighing in here, but between his own observations of his charcoal scribbles and his broader schooling on color… he found it hard to ignore how many of their number favored saturated and dark, regardless of the thickness of the chosen material. More reason to thank Earl Demet for his broader tutelage.

“As an aside, Elly—“

We’re not that familiar. That’s an Esben thing.

“Sorry, Éliane bringing up coffee actually reminds me of something I’ve been looking to try while we’re here, surrounded by a bunch of hot sand— Mind if I throw in a personal market request after we get the important stuff sorted out?”

Hien and Izayoi both began to field the various questions asked, speaking in turn to each inquiry.

"Indeed," Izayoi nodded in agreement to Rudolf's sentiment. "The presence of the Blight will at least ensure a minimum of sapient contact from bandits and the like, though yes, Blightbeasts will likely be an issue." She started to say something further in response to Miina and Robin, but Rudolf beat her to it. Curious that the boy knew so much about magics. Every desert dweller knew of the illusion that was magical water out on the dunes, but a monster hunter from some backwater in Edren ought not to be too familiar with the laws of aetheric transfiguration.

"He speaks truly. Water produced by magic will not nourish the body in any way, but your ice magics should still be able to alleviate heat. Though I would not recommend expending too much of your mana on such, in case of Blightbeast attack."

Meanwhile, Hien looked to Esben.

"Taking advantage of the chaos you all have left from the previous night. Valheimr corpses line the streets, and the entire city saw the Proudclad fall. No matter how the occupiers try to dress it, this was a resounding defeat for them. I hope to win more to our cause and rally those who were scattered by the previous raids. Anything further, well. My apologies, but I'll not risk saying further until you return safely, in case anyone is captured on this mission. You understand, surely." He paused.

"As for the other matter, Lady Ciradyl has relayed your suggestion. We can discuss it further upon your return."

"Unfortunately, I am familiar with the distance we are set to venture toward. Without the wagon, we cannot transport enough water for the lot of us to sustain ourselves on the journey to and back. Considering the Blight, any local source of water is likely tainted." Izayoi said to Galahad. "Our funds are at your discretion past the necessities."

"You leave on the morrow. Good hunting, and godsspeed." Hien nodded, leaving the Kirins to sort out market shopping and preparing for the rest of the day.



The party left Kugane and began the journey northeast. They followed the river north for the first two days, preserving their precious water. Osprey's plains turned to savannah a day out, followed by desert not long after. They journeyed as long as they could before leaving the relative safety of the riverbank, starting to march through the desert proper.

From the moment they set foot into the dunes, not a day passed where they weren't attacked by Blightbeasts. Wolves, scorpions, hawks, snakes, it seemed half the desert was warped by the infernal affliction, and packs of beasts attempted to ravage the small caravan as they passed through their territory. Fortunately, they were all rather easily repelled, the party's recent experiences hardening them against threats and battle.

Finally, at the end of the third day, the Kirins reached the portion of desert that Valheim had been sighted in. The sand-blasted remnants of a settlement by an oasis loomed in the distance, gunfire and swords audible. As they closed in, the party could see lightly-armored Valheimr, what plate they wore covered in desert ponchos, falling back in good order against a horde of Blightbeasts, a massive, mutated sand worm at the vanguard. The worm tore through soldiers three at a time, gunfire sinking into it to little avail.

"Blast!" A woman in officer's armor snarled, continuing to signal the retreat. "Fall back, full retreat!" A comms man knelt next to her, handing her a radio attached to the massive pack he bore. "Base, requesting exfiltration and deployment of the Project! We're being overrun!"

As the party closed in further, a pair of airships closed the distance from the north towards the ruined village, cannons blasting at the horde. It cleared out the majority of the beasts, but the sand worm only seemed enraged by twelve-pounder fire, howling through its wounds. One airship broke off to retrieve the surviving Valheimr, while the other continued straight for the massive Blightbeast. It stopped directly over the worm, and a figure shot out of its hold, crashing straight down. A moment later, the worm froze in place before wailing piteously, splitting vertically in half a moment later. Black ichor coated the sands as the projectile dropped from the airship rose up.

It was an armored man, if men stood to near eight feet tall. The armor was rich purple and befit a giant, ending in a horned helm resembling a death mask. Clutched in one hand was a crimson katana of immaculate make, its quality as an artifact obvious. Izayoi froze in place as the party drew close enough to confront the figure, her breath hitching.

"That sword...how dare you bear it!" The samurai hissed, hunching down into an iai stance. "Kurogane's masterwork is not for the likes of you to wield!"

The retreating Valheimr officer waited for the last of her men to board the other airship as she beheld the Kirins from a distance, jerking back as she seemed to recognize them.

"So these are the ones from Reisa's all-points-bulletin. No matter, Project Revenant will deal with them. The scientists will be glad to have more combat data, at least." She turned and boarded, the Valheimr in full retreat on one airship as the other remained within the area, seemingly observing the coming battle.

The Revenant beheld the fighters before it, raising its sword.

An unearthly howl emerged from its helm before it charged, swifter than even Izayoi as it suddenly stepped into the midst of their formation, the crimson katana it wielded lashing out seemingly everywhere at once.

With the briefing done and travel plans made, Team Kirin eventually packed their things to depart from Kugane, bound northward to the vast desert of Osprey. Though their black mage had the fortune of not requiring water to live, the fact remained that Eve was still just one member, thus it was in their best interest to wisely preserve the water supply, especially as they entered the desert region proper.

As a rather well-seasoned adventurer even before her encounter with the Kirins, the faux eidolon was no stranger to the constant nuisance of the Blightbeasts, though they didn't pose any meaningful threats. Still, the faster the Blight could be culled, the better, one step at a time, including this sandy excursion.

Eventually, on the third day ever since they crossed into the desert, something other than Blightbeasts reared their ugly heads. Loud cannons violently reverberating through the air, joining in with gunshots, clashing swords, and frantic shouts; a battle was underway. Eve watched with detached observance, not caring in the slightest to the mortal plights of the Valheimrs. In fact, she'd prefer if the sandworm could devour them all.

"...?!" However, her eyes did begin to widen when a figure launched off from it, then almost effortlessly sliced the burrowing beast in half. The chimeric dragoness' red pupils constricted as her mind assembled pieces of the puzzle. While Izayoi was fixated on the unidentified figure's weapon, Eve instead seemed to recognize its... 'self', its everything, the very concept it embodied.

Armor, warrior, splitting in half... Zantetsuken...!

Her hands tightened into fists as she gritted her teeth, like a warrior who had just encountered her hated nemesis. It must be one of her 'siblings', a fellow pseudolon, one carrying the essence of...

"ODIIIIN...!!" The dragoness roared with every bit of Bahamut's fury infused within her, as if responding to the monstrous swordsman's own bestial howl.

Even as the other - presumed - pseudolon charged forward, arcane energies were already crackling between Eve's palms. "Blizzaga!!" In an effort to both wound and slow the bladed berserker down, hails upon hails of freezing stalactites launched off Project Grayscale's form, hurling through the hot desert air toward Project Revenant!

---

The adjustment of his armor became a kind of obsession over the next five days, spending a couple hours each night making small changes here and there that he was convicted would make a difference. Arton's dour demeanor present at the briefing slowly lifted with each passing day, though he was not back to normal. No one had approached him regarding his conversation with Eliane so he could only assume she was keeping the information tight to her chest. He appreciated her discretion but he had no more plans to keep it secret. It was as his master said: "One cannot face the future without first confronting the past.".

Arton had become referring to the mark on his right shoulder simply as the 'Blight Mark', and he quickly grew accustomed to the dull, aching pain it caused against their numerous fights as the blight-beast. A part of him wished he would be able to somehow learn to predict or sense the monsters' movements, but it was nothing more than a painful reminder. He had started to hone in on the lessons he learned from Izayoi, no longer hesitating when danger crashed down on them. The swordsman, however, was normally the one hurt when injuries were sustained by the party. They were never more serious than a quick healing session with Miina couldn't fix.

He stood anxiously waiting to charge into battle as they observed the battle between Valheim and the blight-beasts from a distance. They had found them at last and he was one step closer to finding answers. Arton wore a long cloak underneath layered armor plates that covered his vital areas and outer limbs. He could feel the heat of the desert weaving into the cracks, but his work seemed to be holding up. It would soon be tested in combat as the airships arrived on scene carrying a deadly payload.

Arton followed the wave of magic Eve sent towards the Revenant, using its impact to position him against the goliath and ready his arms against it. His true strength showed as the Katana sliced against his shield yet he stood his ground even as his feet began to dig into the ground. There was no room for him to counterattack. His reactions and speed had gotten better since training with Izayoi but this...this was beyond that. As he waited for his allies to join in, he began to feel as though the strikes were picking up speed and gaining power. Whatever it was, it was testing his ability and looking for weaknesses.

The swordsman had to brace his shield with his other hand at the next strike. Its force came down with enough powerful to drop Arton to one knee and left a distinct dent in the dense shield. He wasn't quite sure if what he heard next was a laugh or a growl, but the next strike sent him backwards into the air as the Revenant swung from his side. He had just managed to position his shield in time but the force of the strike had torn the sword from his hand.

---

Ciradyl had not been outside the walls of Kugane since its fall. A convincing double was left in her main estate, Chisaki was given temporary command of her network, and Hien had been informed of the various caches, safehouses, and secret passages she thought would he would need. She bore the same disguise as the raid on the prison, yellow eyes and blue hair that mirrored the sky. The Faye was admittedly distracted as they made their way along the river, breathing in the fresh air and enjoying Osprey's natural beauty. She realized how much she missed taking trips like this into the wilderness.

She had not seen a Blightbeast in person and would have been afraid if not for the other's bravery. Ciradyl found a nice place for herself in the backline with the other ranged fighters but preferred to shoot much farther back. It was this preference that got her talking with Eliane about firearms and their capabilities with particular enthusiasm. She took it upon herself to cook whenever they camped and time permitted, often wandering into the forest or high grass for fresh meat. It became a source of pride making their camp as comfortable as possible.

Ciradyl had shed her previous outfit for one acutely suited for the desert terrain ahead. The situation was amusing to watch, Valheim scrambling to flee from the beasts that had taken so many innocent lives. It was hard to discern which group was the actual monsters. Her demeanor quickly changed as the airships arrived with her attention not on the one picking up its comrades, but the one that lingered behind. A sharp chill raced up her spine as worm was torn apart and replaced with somethin far, far worse.

Izayoi's words barely registered as she caught a full look of the Revenant and questioned her choice to follow Team Kirin. Her mind was not allowed a second to consider it as the Eve assailed it with a torrent of ice. The monstrosity charged directly through and might have blitzed into the rest of them had Arton not threw himself against it. Her hope that he might hold the line vanished in the next few seconds as the Revenant batted himself after he was done playing. It was far too fast for her to get to her preferred distance without being in severe danger. Ciradyl rushed to Izayoi's side and pressed her palm against her back "A gift so that the sun may rise.." Her voice quickly hummed, bastardizng the words of an old folk song. Wind began to swirl around Izayoi's feet as a sensation similar to adrenaline rushed from the area Ciradyl was touching. Ciradyl only hoped it would give her enough speed to do what she does best.

"Guh!" Izayoi barely managed to evade the Revenant's opening strike in time, though the shockwave of force left from its swing still caught her in the gut. It sent her crashing down into the sands-

The Ame-no-Habakiri gleamed in her master's hand as he tossed his teenage apprentice aside like a rag doll, boredom evident in his gaze. "Again, girl. This is pathetic."

Izayoi forced herself to her feet with a gasp, vaguely acknowledging Ciradyl's enchantment around her form. Better than her own Haste. She could work with this. Now wasn't the time to consider the necessity of a crutch. She ripped her hat and cloak off, hurling them to the sands before surging forward.

Meanwhile, the armored behemoth met Eve's Blizzaga head-on, the crimson blade in its hands a blur as it slashed icicle upon icicle, even having the time to strike Arton along the way. What few projectiles from the Blizzaga that did pass its guard barely pierced through the plate it bore. Strangely enough, no blood trickled from the armor.

The Revenant practically blurred from sight as it started flitting among the various Kirins, striking back and forth in the midst of their formation. A pair of slashes came crashing down towards Rudolf before it whirled around, a vicious roundhouse kick capable of breaking bones aimed for Esben's midsection. It raised its free hand as it stepped forward, gripping Eliane by the throat and raising her up briefly before slamming her down into the sands. Another swing of its blade sent crimson shockwaves of aether flying towards Robin and Miina before it lunged towards Galahad, intent on cleaving through his midsection.

Or at least it would have, had Izayoi not intercepted, their blades clashing before she was forced back from her foe's far greater physical strength. The two charged at each other, Izayoi barely managing to keep up with the Revenant's speed thanks to Ciradyl's enchantment. They began an exchange of parries and ripostes, blades glinting in the desert sun. After a few moments, it was evident to all but the most sword-illiterate that somehow, the two shared an identical fighting style. Their movements were the same, their strikes, even the way they sidestepped while sheathing their blades for battojutsu.

Izayoi narrowly sidestepped a downwards cleave from the air, trying to bring her blade up in an uppercut slash to retaliate, but found herself slammed several feet away by the juggernaut's sudden shoulder check.

His sandal slammed into Izayoi’s gut, creating distance between them as he sheathed his sword. Her eyes widened. She knew what was coming. In sheer desperation, she sheathed her own blade. They met each other’s eyes. They charged. They drew.

She shook the memories from her head as she desperately pulled herself to her feet, trying to ignore the lingering familiarity. All the while, the Revenant didn't move from its position, still in the midst of the Kirins as it gave a low, inhuman growl.

---

The heat was stifling. Galahad had done his best to modify his armor for the extreme heat and sands of the desert, but there was only so much that could be done- in the end, he was still wearing steel, and while he wasn't cooking in his armor, it was still far from comfortable. At least for the first few days they were able to stay cool by the river, but the dunes of the desert were harsh. Even if he wanted a brief reprieve, he couldn't jump through the air for the breeze, glinting steel in the desert sun would basically be a beacon for anyone keeping an eye out for them. So he suffered silently, Keeping his helmet off and hood on for as long as possible.

Not that he managed to keep his helmet off for long these past few days. It seemed like they were beset by blightbeasts near constantly, as though they were wading through a sea of them alongside the desert. Sand clung to sweat and got caught in nearly every joint of his armor. The sand didn't stifle his range of motion, but the constant gritting of sand between steel was never a comfortable feeling.

On their third day they finally found something other than blightbeasts. For once, Galahad was glad that the Valheim had to deal with the blasted creatures. Less work for the Kirins, and if they were lucky, maybe a beast or two would help cut the Valheim numbers down to size. One could hope anyway. Any hope of a quick cleanup was quickly dashed with the presence of Valheim's own monster- a armor clad man towering over even he.

"What the hell is that thing?!" Galahad cursed as the thing struck. Not only was it large and powerful, it was fast, getting into the middle of their formation like it was nothing. It brushed off blows and magic like it was nothing. Galahad grabbed Eliane by the collar and was in the middle of pulling her back to her feet before a short swing caught Galahad and broke open his guard. The giant samurai lunged for the kill. Galahad's eyes widened, his grip tensing around his halberd as he attempted to both push Eliane out of the way and move his weapon to block a mortal strike before Izayoi parried it on their behalf.

Galahad grunted a curse before he too dived in with his own offensive, leaping over Izayoi as the man shoved her back with an overhead stab of his own. Shifting his halberd at the last moment, the monster's blade clashed against the haft of his halberd, the resulting force smacking Galahad back down into the sand as though he weighed nothing.

"Get the wagon and birds back! Get some distance" Galahad bellowed as he quickly righted himself. His eyes caught the two samurai adopting the similar pose- his mind quickly recalling their first fight in the sea of grasses. Armored or not, that sword could cleave through them if he got a clean hit.

"He's about to strike! Get ready! " Galahad called out, "Magic and Missiles, hit him from the flank or from below, avoid friendly fire!"

Catching Eliane's eye, Galahad's gaze quickly flitted to her rifle before pointing at the monster's sword hand. "Cripple him! If he gets a good swing on any of us, we're dead." Galahad grunted. He'd fought samurai before- but none had been quite this big or well armored. They had to be careful, but they couldn't let him dictate the pace of the fight.

"Multiple angles, get around his guard!" Galahad called as he took a step back and leaped high into the air. Shifting his body to control his rate of fall, Galahad shifted his weapon in his hands, aiming to fall on top of the thing as soon as it finished its first swing.

---

Éliane decided she had been too arrogant.

Foreigners generally supposed that of Skaelans, given how truly superior Skael as, but she meant that in a different way. She had thought she could deal with the heat, even though she was from a cold and snowy land. What had she been thinking?

She had made her best attempt at modifying what she had in her wardrobe to better suit the heat and the ever present sand of the desert. She kept the main uniform, naturally, but she had shed her heavier undergarments and shirt, replacing them with a far, far lighter piece of fabric she picked up back in the city. Unfortunately, even that bit of foresight still meant suffering, but at least she wasn’t wearing heavy armor like Galahad.

For once, the woman was not thinking of combat. Between the heat and Arton’s revelations, it was too much. Rationing the water as-is was difficult.

Unfortunately, not all things could go smoothly, and they found something more than just sand after three days. Moments blurred together as they encountered Valheimans once more, and Éliane found herself with her gunblade drawn, fighting against the strongest foe she’d seen yet on this journey.

She was aiming at the abominably large samurai when she suddenly found it amidst their formation.

“Shit—” Barely able to react, she was instead thrown back by Galahad as he interceded on her behalf. The Skaelan woman frantically rolled out of the way, glancing back in time to see Izayoi in turn rescue Galahad from his own untimely demise. Clicking her tongue at her own negligence, she kicked back to create more distance, switching to her rifle just as Galahad came to the same conclusion as they watched the two samurai play off of each other. She met his eye, and nodded, quickly finding an angle and then bring up her weapon.

“You heard him!” she repeated. “Surround him and shoot him!”

The bolt of her rifle smoothly clacked into place as she took aim and concentrated. She had not bothered to load her regular rounds for this. She went straight to explosive. A crack went out as Éliane pulled the trigger, followed by an explosion and another crack as she worked the bolt again as she poured on the lead on the giant man. It was not the glorious combat she liked, but against Valheimans, more high explosives from long distance tended to work best…

Regardless if this blade-wielding creature was actually the Pseudolon of Odin or merely something resembling it, the Revenant looked, behaved, and fought similarly enough to the concept of one - and the fact it was deployed by the Valheimrs - affirmed Eve's belief that she was truly facing against one of her siblings, a fellow abomination that should not exist. Thus, she'd make it absolutely sure it'd follow that fate, put it out of its misery.

Going by the aforementioned assumption, it became immediately obvious that the other Faux Eidolon was as, or even more, developed as herself, it could withstand her magical barrage with its weapon and armor, then proceeded to wreak havoc through the ranks of Team Kirin. The expectation was set, unless she was willing to unleash another Mega Flare and then risk being a deadweight right after, she couldn't brute force this, tactics must be employed.

Something that was easier said than done as Grayscale was having difficulties controlling her emotions, she had always been the stoic and silent type, but seeing this... anathema of life itself instilled such a revolting rage in her that she never experienced since the murder of her mother. After all these years, she finally encountered a mirror of her twisted existence... and it brought her nothing but disgust.

It was Galahad's voice that snapped Eve out of her rage-induced trance, the dragonslayer quelling the dragoness as it should be. Though she couldn't help but respond at his rhetorical question of a curse, her mind harkening back to the moment when he visited her in the safehouse.

"A MONSTER!!" The chimeric eidolon roared as her petite body surged with not insignificant magical essence, sparks of blue lightning and swirls of amber flames chaotically surrounding her. Making full use of the distraction provided by Izayoi's muse-enhanced limbs barely matching the monstrous swordsman blow to blow...

I call upon you, Lord of Hellfire and Sage of Storms, heed me as I beseech you to deliver us from evil!

...until it shoulder-slammed the Mystrel back a few feet. However, she had bought enough time for time Kirin to reposition, surround, and work in tandem to take the beast down. Amidst Eliane's hail of explosive shells, Eve finished building up enough ether for her spell as she conjured her materia - MP Turbo - in her palm then made a crushing motion to activate it, amplifying her aura even further at the cost of burning more ether, but against a foe like this? It'd be wise.

Grayscale raised her right arm, palm up facing the blue sky over the golden sand dunes, "I sing a Song of Storm and Fire! May its mighty melodies cleanse the metal-clad taint before me! PERISH!!"

At the apex of his jump, just as he was about to descend on top of the Revenant, Galahad's controlled fall would be accompanied by a mighty thunderbolt wrapped in roiling flames striking down from the heavens, it grazed quite close - yet harmlessly - against his armored form, and instead striking dead center at the other armored figure, the one right below him!

His first warning was the blur, sailing in from the edge of perception. The next, a quarter-breath later, was the plume of sand kicked up at the screaming warrior's feet, didn't even have time to register before the third, the final, was sent. His skittish demeanor notwithstanding, the danger sense every swordsman shared was for him usually a stern command, a whisper in the lull.

"Himstus—"

So sharp the air sings— Masterwork— Crashing in from above— FAST! MOVE! MOVEMOVEMOVEMOVE!

Today, it roared, drowning out all else. Frozen lightning burned through him in filaments that wiped his concerns from afar clean. No time to think any more, else he split in two—!

Steel bit deep as he, miraculously, brought the cross of his twin swords high in the nick of time, meeting the thunderbolt with impact that, even in the soft sand, rattled him all the way down to the teeth. What immense force! Forget dropping the armor for the heat, even in full gear that thing would have torn right through him!

They broke. He gave space, kicking up a plume of sand to cover his retreat, hope to catch the eyes beneath the helm, but the initiative was already the Revenant's. He heard the crimson blade slicing through the air again—

”Begin.”

And the image of Izayoi snapped through his mind, shifting his guard before even his own reactions might have managed. Sure enough, another overhead strike slammed home, this time from another angle, this time hard enough to force him away. What was that? Luck? Premonition? Precognition? No, all too slow.

He took a swipe where things felt most natural, knowing he was dead if he didn't offer some kind of threat in response, if he didn't fight to get off the back foot. He'd crumple if he kept letting the swings come unanswered, first at the positioning, then at his defenses, and then finally his bones. A mid-line cut came out, a wide arc drawn through the air in the hemisphere he faced, little more then bearish, desperate swinging. The thing caught it upon a heavy gauntlet, checking Rudolf's attempt to press in behind—

And then blurred away before he could follow through, wheeling off to accost one of the others almost too fast for the eyes.

He'd seen that opening, but far less tight than he could exploit. He'd seen that opening, but only because his body had known it would be there. He'd seen that opening... well before now, hadn't he? Studied it, and turned it over tirelessly.

He looked down with the instant he had, grip white-knuckled upon the hilt of either sword, and shaking. either reverb from the force, or from the fear... not that it mattered which. Much more concerning was the end result of slamming his workhorse steel into Kugane's magnum opus (it had to be that to draw Izayoi's reaction, he reasoned) with all the power his mortal terror had drawn from him. Hairlines along the length caught the sun, hard gouges in the edge of the ricasso drew far too close to the most important areas of the blade for his liking. He'd felt them creak beneath the strikes they'd endured.

Much more of this, and they were gonna be toast. Resorting to a blade that cut nothing would be his only recourse—

Thunder and gunpowder cracked, and the young man forced the rest of the thought back into the pit where it belonged, as he kicked off the sand to strafe, regroup, and importantly get clear of all the ordinance headed their foes' way. This took him in a quarter circuit that culminated, roughly, nearby Robin and Miina.

"Izayoi," he barked, before stopping a moment to draw in two, then three ragged breaths. He eyed his fellow youngsters, their builds, what he knew of their combined skillset as a trio... Then, he snapped his ideas off like bullets from Eliane's gun. "That thing's a big, strong, fast Izayoi! While they've got him reeling— Robin, you think you can up the tempo on the openings you forced out of her that spar?"

He drew low, ready to set off again at a moment's notice, fighting stance returned to his frame. He had to admit. He had no idea of how well this set of three they made worked, but he could at least play off of Robin decently as swordsmen if the breakout proved anything. That was something. If they got out of this one alive, he had to change it for the better.

"We gotta keep pressure on him once they're clear! If we pincer, Miina can come up the center from below!"

Precious moments separated them from throwing back into the fray with their peers. If they all dove in now, the Kirins would crowd themselves out in melee, and cripple Elly and Eve's ability to pound the thing from afar with their wider areas of effect. Staggering the assault would alleviate that. If he could use this time to slap together some structure to their approach, if the other two were on board, then maybe...

The sand was beginning to clear. Now or never!

---

Esben had known from the outset that he would hate travelling through the desert, though he'd never have guessed anywhere close to the extent. The sand was annoying enough—one misstep led to a shoe full of it, and a good breeze blew up enough of the dust to fill any open space in the rest of his clothing and provide even more constant irritation. Clothing he'd made sure to arrange and layer as carefully as possible, trying to block sun and wind both without stifling himself, and it was never enough.

Too much or too tight, and he'd overheat rapidly. He was far from comfortable as it was, but at least he wasn't literally roasting himself alive. Relying on ice from Miina had helped make the desert heat slightly more bearable, but not by much. Too loose, and there was nothing to stop himself from getting abraded in multiple places as the sand and dust infiltrated any place it could find and refused to shake back out easily. However, no matter how constant an irritation they provided, they were far from the worst.

The first day after they'd reached the desert proper, he'd thought to brave the trek with his face uncovered. Breathing the air freely, as unconcerned in it as he normally was anywhere further south; sure, when the wind blew sand in their faces he'd cover up with a scarf, but he'd just as quickly drop it to respire without restriction as soon as the moment came. By the time the sun was setting, his voice was already sounding twice as strained as it had after an entire day of talking shortly after he'd come to the larger group. When he awoke in the morning, it was with a fierce, grinding cough, a voice that was almost entirely gone, and blood caked on his upper lip and cheek from a nosebleed in the middle of the night.

For someone who had grown up in a coastal place, such dry air was intolerable in every way. His lips and skin soon followed as they turned dry and cracked and peeled, even after he decided to wear his scarf as a veil across everything below the eyes—a veil lapped twice over, to try and preserve as much of the moisture of his breath as possible. There was no way he could just dip into their water to try and soothe his parched mouth and ravaged airway, and even that wouldn't help his stinging eyes or itching skin.

He bore it as well as possible, falling even quieter than usual, but before long on the second day it became clear that he was continuing on out of stubbornness to keep up with the group as out of any actual ability to endure the climate. Perhaps it only made sense that he would suffer so much—he'd already made it plenty clear to the rest that he was a spy, an infiltrator, and at times a duellist, not a soldier or warrior. While he wasn't unaccustomed to travel, it wasn't travel like this, in such a punishing location.

By the time they came to the Valheimer encampment they'd set out to investigate, he was too fatigued to try and counsel against approaching too close—until the second he heard Izayoi's indignant words towards what Valheim appeared to be testing this deep in the desert, snapping his focus back to the present rather than on whatever he may have been thinking to distract himself from the heat.

"Hva faen?" he hissed, blinking tears out of his eyes as he realized how blatantly they'd presented themselves, before biting back further cursing at his own lack of attention or useful observation. His buckler and sword were drawn instantly, hands as steady as ever thanks to the adrenaline that had just shocked him back to reality, the moment before the armored giant fell into their midst. He stepped backwards smoothly, the kick passing harmlessly by a finger's breadth away from the ribs it targeted, but his own responding thrust was stayed as Éliane was swept off her feet instead, passing right in front of him before she was thrown down.

He retreated another step as Galahad stepped in to retrieve their now-prone comrade, mind running in overdrive to assess the situation and what he could manage in it. There wasn't much opportunity for tricks like he'd just been able to pull on Reisa, and there were too many others around to fall back on his skills as a duelist—at least some of the others had learned to fight in tandem, whether by pairs or by formations, something his own skill set distinctly lacked.

But hesitation in such a circumstance could never benefit anyone, and even Ithar's own luck couldn't stop that from being taken advantage of. The beast before them had a natural inclination to combat, and it could tell that its only hope to escape the coming retribution was to break out of the wall of bodies surrounding it. Naturally, it moved for the weakest link; Esben ducked under one rapid slash, was forced to step off to one side as a second attempt to cleave him in two slid off his raised blade towards the sand below. As adept as his defence may have been he couldn't make space like he would have liked, whereas the hulking warrior had managed to close in with each strike, taking advantage of both his momentary indecision and his fatigue.

The shoulder tackle that followed slammed into him hard, barely mitigated by the forearm and buckler he'd just managed to place between it and his chest and face before it connected. He was thrown from his feet instantly by the force of the blow, sent rolling end over end into the sand backwards before finally coming to a stop, silent and unmoving but for the fall of his chest and a light groan as the last of the air left his lungs. At that point, he had only to hope that he'd frustrated the creature by not succumbing to the first strike, and delayed its attempted evasion enough that the rest of the attacks coming its way were sure to connect.

The desert was… slightly annoying? Hm, maybe it was just her; she didn't really see the big deal some of the others had been making about the heat. Now, the constant dryness… that was bad. Much, much worse. But they had prepared, so that wa a manageable problem. What wasn't was the sand. It getting in most places was fine but… damn it, she had to find a better way to get it out of her tail; it just crept back in immediately! At least when she'd left the beach back in Costa del Sol, the sand stayed where it was, but here she was: sand everywhere.

Also an absolutely enormous armoured warrior who was currently beating them around without too much seeming difficulty. That was bad. Quite bad.

At least everyone was doing a good job not dying? That way, they could still be healed. It would be quite hard to do that if someone got their head cut off by the sword he was wielding.

There was also… well, she wouldn't want to say anything, but if she was forced to offer an opinion on their tactics, maybe just letting all their big hitters rush in solo wasn't the best idea? Plus, well, attacking someone like that with ice in this environment could almost be seen as a blessing with all that armour. Though it didn't seem like the screaming warrior really cared about it? Or maybe he was just completely mad because of being cooked. Heat was no joke if it wasn't taken seriously.

"Avoid friendly fire" was the word of the day, and that was proving quite difficult with everyone rushing around doing their own thing, and Eve… well, as ever, her own magical abilities were quite dismal in comparison. But… er, was it Rudolf underneath the pointy hat and mask combo? Right, if him and Robin went in at the same time, then she could maybe slide in and—

Well, if this didn't work, she was going to be easily stamped on if she couldn't get away and to her feet in time. If it worked, it wasn't like the giant warrior would be expecting to be electrocuted from an angle like this. Hm, would it be extra painful if it hit? And would that even matter?

Robin had been wishing that ice magic really did work how she'd thought for quite some time before now. She'd tried her best to prepare herself for the heat of the desert, but there was nothing that really could have made her ready for an experience like this.

And yet, not of that really mattered right now.

She'd fought monsters before, certainly. But the enormous armored warrior was something different. A human-monster, something that fought not like a beast, but as a soldier of the enemy.

A hero couldn't be frightened of something like this.

A hero overcame their fears even if everything looked lost.

A hero---

A hero---!

Her fellow Edrenian's words managed to cut into her mind.

That's right. This monster fought much like Izayoi did. Even if she'd lost that sparring match, that didn't mean that she hadn't been able to at least force an opening.

That's right---!

Her fingertips wrapped around the hilt of her blade, metal singing as she drew it smoothly from its sheath. The heat was momentarily entirely forgotten as she placed one foot forward.

She'd move fast. Faster then she had before. Fast as she could possibly manage, and force an opening any way she could!

"Got it! I won't let you down!"

Leaning forward, her needle-sharp blade glinting as she pointed it towards her foe, Robin inhaled deeply.

Her heart pounded. Her whole body felt tense.

But she was a hero, after all. She wouldn't let that get the better of her!

Sand burst in the air as she erupted forward and left a glittering trail of light behind her, hurtling towards the massive warrior's flank and twisting her body, a flurry of sharp thrusts aiming for any point that looked like it might require defense.

Robin's goal wasn't to hit, not necessarily. Instead, it was to threaten, to be concerning enough swiftly enough that the massive warrior would have to pay attention to her at least a little.

As long as she could pull his attention her way, then she'd have accomplished her objective!

The Revenant was surrounded on all sides. At the very least, the beast in the masquerade of a man possessed some form of rudimentary intelligence, quickly pinpointing one of the weak links in the encirclement and beginning a vicious assault. Esben fell, but he lasted long enough for Eve's incantation to finish and the assault to begin.

High-explosive rifle rounds slammed into the Revenant's sword arm, sloughing off chunks of plate before a flaming thunderbolt came crashing down on its head. It didn't even have time to snarl before Galahad plunged down, the head of his halberd plunging into the shoulder that Eliane's gunfire stripped the plate from. The tip pierced the chain below, and the Revenant howled, immediately reaching up with its free hand to grab the polearm by the halt, rip it out, and hurl it away, Galahad in tow.

The thing didn't get a moment to recover, however. Rudolf and Robin lunged from opposite ends, forcing it to defend. It turned and met Robin, its blade raised to deflect her strike as its other, still armored hand warded off Rudolf's strikes. True to Rudolf's assumption, the attempt left an opening in its guard. Miina took advantage, and her electrified blade pierced into its gut.



The titan screamed as it reeled, but only for a moment. It blurred away in a burst of godspeed, sliding its insides off of the red mage's sword as if the pain meant nothing. In an instant, the Kirins surrounding the Revenant found themselves surrounded in turn, a trio of almost-transluscent Revenants whirring around their formation, three masterworks raised to strike.

And in that moment, Izayoi stopped denying reality. This was her sword style. The beast's posture, strikes, and force were near identical to her memories of her youth. And that meant...

The storm. The swell. The sword.

"Do not move, or you will die!" Izayoi screamed as she hurriedly hunched down, her hand sliding her sheathed sword out as she invoked her Time materia to a level she hadn't since the war. Her old Gravity materia was shattered, and without it, she wouldn't be able to complete the attack. But at the very least, she could stop him from killing everyone in a single stroke...!

Time went into overdrive, and combined with Ciradyl's enhancement, Izayoi blurred. To the naked eye, only a flurry of slashes could be seen surrounding the Kirins. To those in the know within Osprey and Edren, this was Ranbu. The Wild Dance. The limit break that earned Izayoi her moniker.

The three afterimages the Revenant left behind surged in to strike, and each stopped in place, the mirages locked into a parrying stance as the Kirins' eyes caught up. They dissipated, and the original practically reappeared in reality in the midst of their formation as Izayoi appeared out of seemingly nowhere to deliver a downward slash, carving off a chunk of its helmet. She raised her blade to follow up...and doubled over, hacking out a lungful of blood. With a snarl, the Revenant brought its sword up, carving a deep gash into Izayoi's chest and knocking her back across the dunes.

She laid on the sand, barely able to lift her head. The damage she dealt to the Revenant's helmet exposed one eye. One bloodshot, maddened eye. Mottled, grey skin.

"What have they done...to you...Master...?" She rasped in horror before losing all strength, her head crashing back on the ground as blood pooled from her wound.

For its part, the Revenant regarded her in complete silence for a moment, its head tilting. Then its exposed eye widened, and it lunged, blade outstretched as it closed the distance to Izayoi's form, intent on finishing the job.

For a moment, it had worked.

Even in the heat of the battle, under the terrifying pressure of an insurmountable foe, and after all the blunders prior on the scale of the strategic, the political, the interpersonal even— Rudolf still had proven his worth with moment-to-moment tactics.

The three twenty-and-unders had launched into the fray right in the wake of Galahad's mighty blow, finding action through uncertainty enough to seamlessly take command of the situation before the beast in man's clothing had a moment to right itself, to regain its bearing, target, and initiative. Just as he'd bet, he and his fellow Edrenian swordswoman made for a compelling pair of fangs to snap at the big bastard, to force his attention at either flank. He'd never seen Robin move that fast. His opinion on how well she'd do in a spar with him rose several notches— and he'd already figured she'd be troubling. Screams of metal rang out over the dunes as their strikes collided with the Revenant's defenses, and he noted with a little dismay that his armament creaked once more in his grip, just with impact alone— the damage was, clearly, already done.

But it really had worked.

He had thrown his all into the next swing. There was a crash of sparks, blowing wide the arm for the briefest of moments—

And concealing the sound, the sight, of the lightest tread on the field. Their Red Mage, with her slight frame and low approach, had passed right beneath the beast's very occupied field of vision, and brought her blade to bear, charged with naturalborn fulmination. It hadn't seen her coming at all. It had no room, no time, no layers left to defend with. They'd done it.

Her thrust struck true, deep into the bowels of their opponent, as the scent of the storm blossomed through the air in time with the lightning that ravaged whatever lay within the armor. It howled in deafening agony. His gambit— their gambit— had the thing on the ropes.

And then it all went to hell.

With a flicker that belied its enormous frame and the incredible salvo of attacks it had just weathered, the maddened warrior blurred from Rudolf's sight as he returned to the sands, his last attack having come as a leap to reach the thing's head. Any hopes of his that they'd forced it to put that prodigious velocity to a hasty retreated were immediately dashed as it appeared anew, heedless of the hole in its' gut, sword raised high with a dangerous gleam despite the ghostly waver in the image.

His eyes went wide, horrified. At the edge of his vision, he could see two more of the same figure, both looming over the other groups of Kirins. It hadn't been enough. Beasts forced into corners, bit back with every last fiber of their being. He was a fool for forgetting this.

Faced with impending doom Rudolf tried to will himself to move. To guard. To parry, retaliate, force this nightmare away from those he'd dragged into this scheme. But he wouldn't make it. He was too slow. Against this thing, he was as good as paralyzed by fear.

It would have made no difference. His swords would have snapped, and the hew would have torn right through him all the same.

Checkma—

And then, for a brief instant, at the very edge of his perception... time flickered.

He was prisoner, in a moment fractured. Were it not for the dark forces pooling within him hitching as the materia was overlaid onto the world, he would have been none the wiser. A blur at his side, at Galahad's, at Eve's—

And the thing moved as motion returned to the world, forced to guard a series of Godspeed slashes that covered them all across the field. The sharpness returned to the air, as the ringing clashes set the rhythm for a Wild Dance between blades. He had not the eyes, maybe never would, to see their source, but he'd heard the legends of this, passed from swordsman to swordsman, passed by those that had seen the carnage to wreaked upon the battlefield five years ago.

The ghosts faded, the wounded titan returned to the center. Their reprieve had been bought, in time for Rudolf's reactions to finally hit his frame. Returning with him... Ranbu no Izayoi, wrenching her sword arm down with enough force to carve through that damned helmet.

And with her, a spray of crimson.

...

...

...

"Eh?"

Quick as she'd appeared, the legendary swordswoman had been blown away, an ugly red line drawn upon her torso that left a sanguine arc hanging in the air. She returned to the earth in a broken heap, blood pooling around her. The demon of the war he'd thanked his lucky stars to never make an enemy of, in one stroke, had been brought low. Even diminished as she was, he ranked her singularly as the greatest of their number, at least in pure swordsmanship. His mind went numb.

The moment hung in the air, silence shared by all except Izayoi herself, struggling to even lift her head, choking out words that sounded, to him, millions of miles away. They weren't for him to hear... but he couldn't to begin with. All he could make out was the wetness of the rasp, the weakness of the voice, the horror in the tone.

She slumped over. Unequivocally, she was out of the fight. Their guide through these wastes, through this beaten-down nation, cut nearly in half. Already, she was certain to die, if they didn't act fast.

He heard a slight shift to his left side, and his breath caught. That monster was still alive, and it had brought its greatest threat to death's door—

And his frozen, useless will left the picture. He moved, as the decisive instants slowed to a crawl.

Two blurs rocketed forth, jockeying for position. One intent to kill, to run that pest that could most closely match its blade through. The other...

GET OUT HERE! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!?

I've been letting you focus. You die, I die. We've been over that.

Saw black at the edges of his vision. Felt like he was moving through molasses, even though he was at a dead sprint quicker than he, in his nineteen years of life, had ever mustered before. Knew that ahead of him lay not only their best shot at getting where they needed to and back alive, not only their key to getting any progress made on this fucked up, insane longshot of a quest to oppose the entire nation that had this place in a chokehold, not only an invaluably strong member of their number...

They'll see, Rudolf. You've hidden this -so- close to your chest thus far. You're still terrified of her half the time. You're terrified of this thing right now. I'm seeing some wins for you, really. Galahad, Eliane, Eve, Arton, Robin, Miina... They're all right there. You don't need her to finish it off.

DON'T SCREW WITH ME!

But also someone beloved. Ciradyl's old friend, reuniting with the Faye nearly in tears once she'd thrown her arms around her. Kurogane's chosen to inherit the masterwork that he was now racing, even in the bitterness of missed opportunities and stubborn disagreements reminding her that she was missed, mourned, when she first "died". Even Lord Hizen, a man Rudolf had made a point to avoid as much as he could for any number of reasons, still her student, still calling her "auntie" even in the heights of his anger with her.

They would lose her too. If he didn't do something, if he didn't give everything he had—

In his outstretched hand, reaching, clawing through air, at the limits of his small frame's ability to try and get there first... a small point of black began to coalesce from the aether, flowing out of his white desert robes.

He's faster than you. You're pooling flame in your palm. Won't stop him from swinging. Barely stopped Otto, and look where it got you. You said you never wanted that again.

I'M NOT LETTING THEM DOWN! YOU SAID YOU'D TAKE MY LUCK FOR STRENGTH AGAINST THE OVERWHELMING!

Then you consider this "last resort". As you considered facing her.

The voice was right. Even though this instant was an eternity, the Revenant ran through it quicker. It was already thrusting the katana for Izayoi's heart, damn near twice Rudolf's height and reach. There was no way he could beat this thing, on speed, on distance, on even timing, the fraction of a second where he'd realized what was coming to pass was already lead enough. Even if he could somehow draw the useless scrap metal from his back, he wouldn't knock it off course. She would die. Right here on the sand, he would let everyone down again, just when he'd begun to entertain the thought of being one of them.

He couldn't even throw himself in the way under his own power.

I'M PRETTY OVERWHELMED, I'M DEFINITELY UNLUCKY, AND I'M CALLING IN YOUR END OF THE FUCKING DEAL!

But someone he could see needed his help.

So there was only one thing to do with those limits. One recourse, no other acceptable—

Then you accept everything.

Shatter them.

Something snapped beneath his notice, and he found himself between the master and the studen, hand aloft. The pool of black flame was cold, heavy, and drank light rather than emitting it. It burned in his hand, all but an inch away from that razor edge, an oncoming avalanche of a charge behind it.

I call thee forth, Chariot, Chill, Shiver. By thy names in the edda, may you heed me, may you turn away all that would burn the world below this sky. In uttering your titles, I bring you down from heaven to shield this boy, as the Wise Old Man tells it. You are that which checks the blazing sun—

And the blazing ink laid upon the world blossomed forth into wheels within wheels, arcane spokes beset each with runes of pitch in a language long past the time of any nation that was represented here. At once, they erupted forth from Rudolf's palm, as his eyes, so wide and desperate, had all but gone black instead of their usual aurum, unspeakable energy coursing through his body. By layers they came, each sucking in the harsh sun from on high, ghastly chill warding away the unbearable desert heat.

He could no longer feel. He was so single-minded, feeling had stopped. for all he knew, the world was gone.

he was lost within the magic, barely able to stand over his fallen comrade.

his voice echoed through the dunes in stereo alien to his ears, ripping through his throat accompanied by something else.

copper on his teeth

barely

he had not the mind to worry give everything to this moment be glad if theres a later to worry about



And Ame-no-Habakiri, one of the finest swords in the nation... was stopped cold, with the sound of ringing bronze.