All she needs time. All she needs is patience. This is a simple matter of waiting for the trap to swing closed and her forces to reassert control over the situation. Hers is an army she has collected on behalf of the gods for the sake of a a righteous cause. It is perfect and it is functionally infinite, at least in terms of the scale she intends to work at. If some of her heroic shells became corrupted by the evil magics of her enemies then all she needed to do was release more and she would always have the advantage of numbers, no matter how effective the technique being used against her.

Even now. Even now they scheme. They plot. They plan and they [i]sneer[/i], she can hear them all the way from here. Contemptuous louts, disgusting fools. They continued to see her war as just another bit of political maneuvering. They thought of her as possessing mortal thinking, and a mortal tolerance for bloodshed. They thought that since their plans were in place so long before she could concoct their own it made her an inferior creature that did not need to be respected. They thought this was could be won with [b][i]information[/i][/b]

If they thought that, they were blind. Imagine spending so much time tracking her movements and winding up here without knowing anything about her personally. Though then again, perhaps they knew very well. Did they understand the nature of a Valkyrie? 

Call it meaningless. Call it unhelpful. Her castle smokes and bursts apart in places. Her siege weapons and laser arrays are crumbling off of the outer walls. Parapets are shearing off and tumbling to the battlefield below. The main building is dropping from the perpetual stormclouds and falling down to meet them. For all of this the throne room is pristine and glittering. Utterly untouched by the chaos and terror ripping apart the rest of the castle; a quiet place for Angelesia to rest. Jezara prowls about in frenzied restlessness, but all Avenger does is stand behind the throne and allows the tears to run underneath her mask and splatter on the floor.

How can she not despair? How can she not howl? She had done her duty. She had summoned warriors, worthy heroes to rally to her cause. And not only warriors, but the most pure ones imaginable. They had no ideals to clash with hers, they had no histories or tragic pasts that would betray or unmake them at the critical moment. They were swords, spears, and skills summoned by the command seals painted across her body. And despite that, they had betrayed her. She put her faith in them and they repaid that by turning to the side of the most hateful creature that has ever walked the earth. Her vision blurs with the pain of it. Her shoulders tremble, and the shudder is felt throughout the structure. The final layer of weapons on the outer walls all fire as they are destroyed, reducing more of the land to blighted ruin. 

"...Ah," the tears stop in an instant as she looks toward a mirror and sees Hope again, "She comes."

Avenger steps forward, and places a tender, loving hand on Jezara's neck. She strokes the Princess as she would a lover, leaning her weight against the griffon woman and sighing in ecstasy. 

"She has been drawn in! She will arrive, and all we need do is prepare! If it is so, then my warriors have acquitted themselves! If it is so, then!!!"

Shark teeth glint in the light of the throne room. The baleful red of her Command Seals gleams with sudden power.

"My loyal warriors. My detested traitors. I sing for you both. I love you all. You have done well. I have only one more thing to say."

Avenger sighs, shuddering with the relief of climax. Her hideous chorus of mismatched voices all scream out in decadent pleasure.

"By these Command Seals, I order you: Die."

Her castle falls to the ground. All the while, screaming. And then finally, silence.