Avenger can only cock her head. What is he... doing? Some obscure branch of magecraft clearly, but what was it meant to accomplish? Assassins' absurd behavior made it clear he put great stock into its power, so much that he had dropped the pretense of being enemies and picked up the pretense of being in charge without so much as pausing to breathe, but so far as she could tell he hadn't actually [i]done[/i] anything. 

She follows a quiet routine of checks on her systems and subroutines. Her flow of magical energy remained uninterrupted, her parameters all remained at or above the standards her extra class set for her and even if that particular information had been scrambled she could feel the energy and strength coursing through her body plainer than the dawn. Her grand battle machine was currently stumbling, but that was because it was locked in a fight against an ancient wonder of the world from the coming of the Twilight; her control of it was everything she expected given the circumstances. 

There was a possibility, she supposed, that his magic had altered some part of her mind. And if it had she would have no great way to detect it. But it seemed unlikely as she sat there hating him as obviously and openly as she could beneath her opaque mask. Her plans felt like they continued forward to his death and past it, and the only reason she hadn't already gutted him the way she would a fish was because--

...Aha. Because she had called Angelesia 'queen'. The magic of marriage, was it? The binding of these two great houses, a political tradition older than politics itself. It followed that if Angelesia was the queen of this dark palace, then by making himself her husband he would become its king. But then, well... that worked out fine enough for her. There was still a certain order her work needed to be completed in, and none of -- whatever this is -- conflicted with that. 

Nevertheless, she does not bow to him. Neither does she acknowledge Assassin with her voice. All Avenger does is sigh, a lilting musical shudder with her pale echoing voice as she turns her head to look at the spot she knew her Master was hiding. Little fool.

**

Avenger's robot shudders against the might of the Shrine Giant. As restricted as its movement had become there was nothing it could do to avoid the clash, and neither could its sleek and (for its height) slender body contend with the raw power of this miracle that had surely one day long ago stood against the wrath of Surtr. Stood and fallen, certainly, but intact enough to one day stand again. That was a testament to its unrivaled power. Joints groan and sparks fly as the shield arm bends to support the blockade with as much weight as it could manage. 

Knees that are already bound must bend, or buckle if they cannot. One arm is not enough, it must drop its mighty sword to reinforce defense. The machine's reflexes are slow and sluggish to the point that even when it engages the thrusters hidden in its calves and back to compensate for the lack of mechanical strength it cannot push back against this simple thrust. 

Until suddenly the restraint binding its elbow snaps under the pressure of being crushed between two opposing directions of force. Now it is able to lift the shield higher and tuck its faceless head beneath it, hiding the majority of its own bulk behind the solid wall so it can focus all of its thrust on a single point and push back against the spear. And this might have been doomed to failure too, if it had been a pilot other than Angelesia that guided the methodology of this terrible machine. She understood just as Avenger did that the purpose of a shield was not simply blunting a blow you could not otherwise afford to take. 

Its true purpose was to steal your opponent's weapon. With a snap and a great clamoring of machinery the tower shield begins to disassemble in much the same manner the inner components of the throne room itself kept doing. From the center of the shield a huge hole opens up and swallows the trident, allowing its wielder to be skewered at the knee (and another restraint) in exchange for being able to envelope the offending weapon in a tight metal mesh that swallowed the Shrine Giant up to the shoulder. 

Now the heat whip sings: snatched from the hip and drunkenly lashed against the plating of that hideous pulsing eye. It wraps around the horrible weapon as Avenger's mecha pulls it taut, the thick and heavy links that comprised the weapon growing red and then white hot as it poured more heat and more power and still more heat along the length of it. Steam rises between the pair of them, soon enough to begin to obscure the specifics of the action from all but the most determined observers. All while thunder screams above them.

**

"Oh Master," Avenger sighs, "My dearest, darling Master. Whatever do you think it is you're doing?"

Avenger's grip is a vice around Diaofei's mouth. She lifts the little monk up off the ground, but not to the full extension of her arm, and crucially not away from her, either. One hand remains on the hilt of her sword, now buried in a new slot nearer to where her Master had been hiding, and together they hang sideways along the middle of a wall in the grand chamber. Not far from the Saber Gate, not that it counts for much now. 

"You poor confused and silly thing," one voice laughs while another one weeps, and still a third whisper merely admonishes, "It is too soon to give up on your dreams. I promise you, your lover will be here soon. And you shall have everything from her that you begged me to deliver. Your very deepest wish is about to come true. But I must ask you, for just a few moments longer..."

Shark's teeth bite into a monk's hand. Through flesh and through bone, and through Command Seals. Avenger is not gentle; her jaw twists but does not chew. She does not even bite all the way through, nothing that would reduce the agony or leave Daiofei a moment to become used to or master this intense and wracking pain destroying her hand. 

Avenger grins through a mouthful of blood and mana. Her sigh is sweet, and louder than the echo of the storm outside.

"Endure."