Berserker solves the problem like she solves all problems: By constructing a castle.

Hers befits a feline imperator. A three-layer kitty tower, with numerous nooks, ledges, sight lines, pillows and squeaky toy. It is abundant with places to lurk, places to preen, things to do and comforts to rest under. She has even painted a scintillating pattern of paw prints and smiling kitty faces along the side.

She presents it to the cat with a craftswoman's satsifaction.

The cat takes one look at it and instead hops down a stormwater drain instead

Berserker picks up the kitty tower to use as a club to smash open the stormwater drain, the stormwater system, the earth itself and perhaps more besides.

Kat is afraid of cats.

She has been most of her life, though it isn't the kind of terror that would leave her quaking in her foxy shoes, the way that certain kinds of demon or a particularly large and edgy looking bug might. It is more correct to say that she is intimidated, and that she has yet to internalize that she is now significantly larger than most of them (a fact which was not true for most of her life).

A cat is perfect. A cat never loses anything. A cat is proud and unafraid and must be coaxed after long effort into trusting you before they will accept anything you have to offer as better than what they can get for themselves. But mostly it the absolute lack of fear that makes them so imposing.

It's not impossible to briefly corner a cat, or to pick one up without its permission. It is impossible to do those things without being injured, and even a quarter moment's hesitation for fear of pain is too much reflex advantage to give these proud, fierce hunters. But this is a war, is it not? She had forgotten, until she saw Berserker move.

She's not going to get away with anything less than her best effort.

Katherine ducks under a vicious swing of the cat tower, which costs her a chunk of rock from the shattering storm drain to the shoulder. She winces, but there's no time to focus on that. It's a necessary risk to get position, to slide into this narrow corridor and use her body to head off the cat's most obvious escape points. It can outjump her, surely, but Berserker is rapidly seeing to that even being an option, let alone an issue. The storm above or the fox below? Your move, kitty.

As a pair they bound and bounce off of the walls of the stormwater system, narrow passageways cutting off the benefits of agility and creativity. They may reward small size over long arms, but Kat will wear every bruise with pride in just a few minutes time. Around they go, and around, three times in a loop. Berserker's rage is cutting off the escape points, whether she means to or not. And Katherine is well past the point with her Servant where she feels the need to call out and stop her.

No, it's time to trust her partner. It's time to trust her knight.

At last she finds her window, which hisses and arches its back in defensive posture. The cat growls around the bird still dangling from its mouth. But Kat does not flinch. She bends and she lunges, and she closes her arms around that furry belly. Yes, she is scratched. Yes, she is bleeding. From her arms, across her collar, one really nasty one on her left cheek, on the back of her hand where once burned three Command Seals. But she does not let go.

"Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow owwwwwiiiiieeees!"

It's not her bravery that gets rewarded so much as the kitten-esque pitch of her exclamation. There are paw-knives dug deep into her wrist and it's hurting a lot more than she told herself it would. Tears bead in her soft eyes, when all at once the pain stops. She feels the wait of a robo-bird drop into her palm. The cat watches her calmly, clearly reassessing. Kat offers it a smile, carefully closing her eyes the way she was taught, to show trust and support.

And then she feels a bunch of sharp cat teeth sink into her arm. She screeches in pain and alarm, and is so surprised she drops the cat back onto the ground. Its eyes gleam in the dim before it lifts its proud snoot into the air and scampers off, slinking through the rubble and disappearing from view.

It's important this be realized: this is not a victory. No cat has ever lost a fight, and certainly not a kill. This is merely pity for an inferior opponent. An offering to an inferior huntress, as an act of generosity. Kat would do well not forget it.

"Got iiiitttt~" she chirps, thrusting the bird up out the shattered ground as proof. It takes her quite a while to scramble out. It takes her no time at all to pat Berserker on the back until she finally settles.

"I thought it was a nice tower," she says, "I mean, I'da gone in there. If I was a cat."

And that's really about as fair of a compliment as anyone can give or get. Kat glances down at her trophy, trying not to look at how many stingy cuts she's covered in, and smiles.

"At least we have this. Now we can... oh. Uh, hm. Hey Berserker, d'you know anybody who knows how to trace magic? 'Cause I got nothin'. Leastways without my phone..."

"Technology does indeed dull the mind," said the cats. "Why, back in my day..."

A cat is water with teeth. Eight of them together come as a river.

Clawing. Biting. Cuddling. Sleeping. Hissing. All the things that cats are and can be, through every gap and into every space, between every pair of legs and climbing every fabric surface. Fur as smooth and glossy as an otter's, leaving hairs as long and sticky as a web. Butts are placed in faces. Meows rise like a chorus. And the way they stand together...

It's like a magic eye trick. The eight cats are chaos, ceaseless movement, like looking at the rip and curl of individual waves. Look at them the right way, though, and you can see the ocean. A shape always in the center of that fluid movement; the outline of a person. That cat leaping up onto a fence post forms the outline of a face. That cat snatching at the butterfly gives the impression of a risen hand. A cat is water with teeth, and water shapes itself to the container it is placed in. In the center of all of this fur and pride and arrogance is a hole made out of kindness, patience, and wet meals reliably provided.

The jar is broken, but the water keeps its shape.

"Back in my day, if you wanted to find the gates of Hell, you usually had to die for it," said the catshape of Assassin. "Nowadays you can put a little portal to it directly in your pocket! Still, I like to think that my way has at least a little merit..."

The cats stopped, all looking at Katherine simultaneously, unblinking. "That is to say, hello. I am Richelieu, née Assassin. Please forgive the trouble I have caused you. I hope my master, Actia, is doing well? I could not find her, which I take to mean that she is in the field and does not wish to be disturbed."

"Huh buh bwuh bwuh hweeeeeeeeeeeeeh?!?" said Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, model of poise and eloquence.

Further exemplifying the degree to which all of this was expected and normal, Kat punctuated her remarks by sailing a near meter into the air while bushing both of her tails to more than double her normal size, landing gracelessly (but very very princessly!) in Berserker's outstretched arms.

Berserker, to her credit, held her Master firm against her armor and did not immediately pivot on her foot to use her as a fluffy green sword. Only the twitch in her eye suggested she had even considered it. But a knight's duty is clear even in the face of cats, or so it is said.

"Muh, er, M-mister Assassin? Why are you? I mean, uh, hi! Hiya! Hello! It's been a... erm. Wh-why are you several cats? Sir?"

Kat bleeds from her many many kitty cuts in the way of small wounds that manage to convey a lot of drama and war but really don't do a whole lot worse than sting a little. The squint they force her face into makes her look much shrewder and more aware of the suspiciousness of her new companion than she's properly capable of. Actia's Servant always gave her the creeps (and this new magic trick is NOT helping!) but it's not like in all their time together she can really remember him doing anything bad. If he says he's been looking for her then he probably has been, but that's not what her face and posture communicate at the moment.

More she looks like a mess: both very frightened and in the middle of some serious thinkies worthy of the most brilliant foxgirl schemes. More to the point her face is a warrior's face, which is why she still stands in this war holding a dead bird instead of cowering on the sidelines or trapped in some sort of awful dimensional prison or strung up on a pole or whatever other horrible things might have happened to a different world's version of her.

"Also you're not... telling me to kill myself. Are you? Because that is very rude, even for eight cats. And I'm not trying to go to h-h-he, um, y'know Cutie Fox Island or anything like that. Unless? Gasps! Is that where this whole plot started?! Oh no that's so brilliant! I would've never in a thousand years thought to look there! Gosh, we're dealing with a criminal mastermind aren't we Mr. Catsassin sir?"

She frowns and fidgets in Berserker's arms. It feels like so much has gone wrong all at once, and her warrior's mystique will not be the last casualty? Is everybody ok? She takes her eyes off of what's in front of her to squint uselessly in the vague direction of the horizon she thinks she left all her friends.

"No, it would be a sin to end your own life," said Assassin. "Though - that becomes theologically complex in the present day. Mankind, after all, built the physical structure of Hell below the earth. Once the souls of the damned made do with mere rivers of fire, content that the agony of their damnation was not interrupted for commercial breaks. I truly wonder how the Son of God would have fared had he arrived a few millennia late..."

He lets the thought rest. The questions may be theologically interesting, but they pass far beyond his authority to experiment with.

"Suffice it to say that I am able to prolong my martyrdom by opting into a large - but not limitless - supply of feedback forms, commercial intermissions, and review-writing for every product involved in my execution," said Assassin. "And while I do so, I still have some limited ability to get messages out. So to answer your question; no, Adam's lair is in fact deep underground, near the heart of Hell. And be wary, for he is one of the worst of all demons: the Demon of Righteousness."

The cats lounge, curling their tails, making the silhouette twist in wry amusement. Richelieu is broken upon the wheel of irony, animated by their disaffection.

"His job is to stand before the Devil himself and tell him that he is justified. To explain that everything he did was not only necessary, but virtuous. To do this, the Demon must be righteous himself - and he will be. Personally, he is above reproach, sacrificing and intellectual and balanced, exactly the kind of person who can claim a mantle of moral authority. To see the true nature of the man you must look at his friends, and at his silences."

In the face of such revelations, a hero might be expected to make a clever quip or a statement of resolve and defiance. A Princess might hide a haughty laugh behind the back of her gloved hand and relish the challenge in front of her. Or a philosopher might offer some sort of insight into the nature of this last and greatest opponent that reflects on the Kitty-Cardinal's very useful and intelligent information.

Katherine folds her arms across her chest and thinks in silence for a long time. This has more to do with not wanting to think about a voice coming from the middle of a kitty pile like it was a normal face than it does anything else. When she finally opens her mouth, what she manages is this:

"Ahhhhh, chicken noodle soup. With a soda on the side."

"Beans," she continues, "Honey butter waffle. Marshmallow mango juice."

Please understand she is not ill. This is just what being upset and scared looks like after a lifetime of not learning any cuss words.

"Ok so just to be a hundred percent clear on this, this means that Adam - Mr. Blinky Lights The Argument Bird," she dangles its corpse between her fingers, "Is-- was Caster's Master? He's the one trying to blow up the world? Like, if Berserker and I go stuff him in a locker we're done? Or is it, uh, he, uh, them? Are we talkin', like, what the treasure Actia wanted turned out to be? You've gotta understand, Mr. Assassin Sir, I'm real dumb. So I'm not gonna get it if you don't explain it, y'know?"

Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits is not in fact "real dumb". But she is a Fox, and therefore very intimidated by large or shiny sounding concepts. She wiggles her ears nervously and turns with apprehension toward what she can see of the horizon, even though her destination seems to be underground.

Wringing her hands across her wrists, she gives a final fierce nod and turns to face Assassin again to the maximum degree she is able in his condition. The constantly fluctuating mass of furry bodies making up his face is making her dizzy, not to mention scaring her in a way that only cats have ever managed, but she swallows hard and maintains composure anyway.

"Ok well two other things, right? These are kinda important. First of all, uh. Is it too much to ask you in your state to send a message to Miss Saber? Whatever else is meant to go down she's been real nice to me from the start and I'd just really rather she be around, y'know? Sending letters is your whole thing, right? If you need hands to write it you can borrow, er, I mean I'll do it for you.

"...Second of all, can we not play games here? The whole time I've been workin' with Actia you haven't even once given me the time of day. Like, Iono if you've ever spared me a mean glance or a sneer, let alone told me any kinda stuff. Right? But here you are. And here I am. So just, tell me. Plain language please and thanks. What do you want outta this?"

In unison, the cats blinked. Then they all stared at each other with undisguised hostility, regretting their moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability.

"Forgive me," said Assassin. "I am accustomed to keeping my secrets and playing my games. I am somewhat unprepared for dealing with an honest soul - no doubt you understand. So firstly, my confession: My objective here is an unfortunately small vanity. You see, in my life there was a beautiful language called French, the language of love and nobility, spoken in all the courts of the world. Eventually the centers of power shifted to foreign courts. Language evolved and mutated. And with it went knowledge of how to pronounce my name. Over the course of aeons some truly abominable permutations have come into being, and my wish upon the Grail was for a small correction to restore my language to its exalted place."

It is strange to see a collection of cats laugh. The motion is a flurry of scrambling and pouncing and diving, a whirl of mirth. "Petty, yes? But all of the Servants here came for wishes as ridiculous as this - desires to be remembered on different terms. Only Caster - and I through eavesdropping and preparedness - knew the truth of the Vault."

The cats, exhausted by this outburst of play, settled themselves into perches of rest, the outline of a comfortable chair in half a dozen snoozing tails and fluffy loafs. "In the dying days of the Burrower empire, after the death of the nine suns and the exodus of the settlers, God sent a falling star to the Earth. It was a diseased thing, thick with alien life that viciously grew in the form of a terrible forest atop the desert wasteland. For many weeks the Nineshard Princess fought the jungle to a standstill as her companion descended into the underworld to find the last remaining Lord of Hell. Through song and love, she touched the Demon Queen's frozen heart and earned her aid.

"The Demon Queen used the power of the Sunshards to release nine powerful ghosts from her artificial Hell, what she called the Penitence Loop. The Loop was a ghastly device, a machine that harvested the energies of souls within it rising and falling in a simulated environment, a - what is the modern term? A 'Do Not Create The Torment Nexus' situation, only this one inspired by Eastern religious texts. The Karma Turbine.

"Together they defeated the fallen star and sealed it in the Demon Queen's deepest palace, bound by the Loop and overseen by two Servants set aside for the purpose. To watch over the Star and the Loop, the Queen bound the Demon of Righteousness, Adam, whose personal morality would never allow him to falter in his diligent oversight of his charges. A perfect, self-reinforcing bubble. But then, when you and your friends cast your spell and contact with the outside world was forced upon him, he was entirely free to flatter and corrupt vulnerable souls. The wish is bait. It is achievable with the controlled detonation of the Penitence Loop and its phenomenal accumulated mana supply, and is therefore an honest offer - but the side effect will be the release of the Star to resume its wicked work.

"I sought to kill Saber via Rider early because I knew she would be a particularly deadly blade in his hands - though neither he nor I foresaw her transformation into Avenger. Lancer was a second choice for weapon, and one far less threatening than Saber would have been. I would have been just as vulnerable to his manipulation had I not the forethought to send letters to myself during my last incarnation.

"As to where Adam stands now, with Caster's aid he has begun the process of overclocking the Penitence Loop - accelerating it with mana harvested from defeated Servants so that it will begin to overload and break down. The power of the Star is leaking - you saw it in the underground jungle - and Lancer is absorbing that strength. Sooner or later the seal will crack and the fallen Star - along with all the souls trapped inside the Loop - will erupt onto the surface. It will be a calamity. Caster, in despair, imagined this to be a good thing.

"Perhaps Lancer too might listen to reason," he finished. "But the issue is that I cannot think of a way to talk to her without her killing me before I finish speaking. She is terribly powerful as she is now, and has Adam by her side to explain away or intercept any letters I might try to send her. But nor can we delay too long, lest Lancer's might blossom such that she can fight the two guardian Servants outside of the Demon Queen's mansion directly. I can, of course, carry a letter to Saber - wounded as she is, I believe her to be safely beneath Adam's notice."

"Hum," said Katherine Isabella Fluffybiscuits, "Mm. Well... well, well ok then. I guess."

She doesn't laugh. Not at Assassin's wish, or at the absurdity of the cats swarming in front of her, and not even out of plain and ordinary nervousness either. Though neither is she an iron wrought figure of determination. Instead she just turns and quietly stares at Berserker for a very long time before turning back to 'face' Assassin, tapping her chin with her index finger in thought the entire time.

"So if we're what got him going then he's not the... unless he is? No but probably not. I dunno. I think I need to talk to Actia. Oh wait, shoot. Does this mean that we can't let anybody have a wish at all? Even the not icky ones?"

She frowns.

"Actually actually, wait! Wait wait! Like... no but, that would mean if we just keep everything the same then- oh. That's bad, right? Like it's not just bad, it's icky. And I don't use that term lightly!!"

A very flustered Kat has begun pacing around in a circle. This is a habit she picked up from watching a certain someone who may or may not have needed to leave her house more often than she did in the past. It's a gesture she associates with extreme agitation, and the sense of motion helps move her blood to free up her 'thinkies', which are currently trying to switch to 'no' and stay there. She shakes her head. Once, twice, hard. Enough to rattle her brain.

Her tails fluffle from side to side as she turns, and when she stands briefly still, and when she looks up, and also when she looks down. There are thoughts forming somewhere inside of her core, the kind of thoughts that might turn out to make her more dangerous than any fox who ever lived, Fluffybiscuits though she is. It might not have been a complete fluke that she once triumphed over Rose from the River. It might even be the case that the shape of these thoughts make her fully qualified to be a Princess, and not just because Berserker said so.

It might. Or it might mean nothing at all. She isn't even sure she sees where she's going with all of this.

"...Ok well. I guess we've gotta stop Lancer if we can no matter what. Right? If you could just, uh, tell Miss Saber where I'm goin'? So she can hopefully maybe meet me there? If she's ok?? Actually anybody you can find who can help'd be great. I just. Mmf. So. This did not go well last time but I think that's 'cause I just kinda yipped at her y'know? If I use my words maybe it'll go better. None of the Servants can fight her anyway, she's got really weird powers.

"But what I can't do is handle Mr. Blinky Lights McActually. Ok? He's very, uh, Talky Smart in a way that people like Lancer and Caster think is very good and if he starts in on me one more time I'm gonna cry like a baby, ok? I just, like, I just. I'm not made've rocks and iron and whatever, right?? So someone's gotta..."

As she trails off, she finds her mind snapping back to those dangerous thoughts and memories. Guilt and uncertainty claw at her chest, and even 'one step at a time' isn't a strong enough spell to get her through this part. It turns out that saving the world is actually super difficult. And that's why almost nobody ever does it, even when they're the ones who doomed it in the first place, and even when they feel bad about that to begin with.

So her lips part on their own, and she asks another question she's perfectly aware is her fault that she even needs to ask it.

"Also, um. You said," she chirps mid-squirm, "There were nine ghosts. But there's only seven of you Servants."

"What, er, do you... happen to know where the other two are? Or who?"

"Who else?" said Assassin. "The ones left to guard the tomb were the dragons."

Super Magical Idol-Class Dragon Servant, Elizabeth Bathory!

You have been guarding this stupid tomb for like a hundred years and you are doing GREAT at it. Your hair is SO silky smooth and pinker than Pink Dye #8. Your fingernails are razor sharp and pinker than Pink Dye #5. You maintain the kind of performance schedule suitable for a dragon: That is, every waking moment is spent bringing the demons of the underworld to their knees, tears pouring from their eyes and blood pouring from their ears. And whenever you're in between shows, you take a little nap and let that stupid jerk Oroboros handle things for a bit. Oroboring more like.

Two dragons is overkill. You've always said! You've told her at length that she can take a hike because one average dragon is frankly overkill for this kind of work, underworld of demons be damned. It does help being able to take long naps or time out to compose new songs without compromising perimeter defense, but even so it's embarrassing for the both of you. But mostly her. And mostly because of her dumb hair and her cutesy-wutesy tail-biting and her failure to acknowledge how much better she'd look on her knees softly biting your tail - oh! That jerk! You hate her so much! Also she sleeps through all of your performances which is totally unacceptable.

That is to say: you've got a lot of pent up frustrations. And for all the "danger" these demons of the underworld allegedly pose, fewer and fewer of them even make the attempt to come near you. So when you feel the oncoming storm of what can only be a Lancer-class servant coming towards you (honestly what kind of failure would get summoned as a Lancer, the worst class?) it's time to put on a performance so sharp that'll drive your pinker-than-Pink-Dye-#6 heel through her stupid heart. And maybe you'll crank it so loud that even Uwuboring wakes up and pays attention.

Alright, Liz! Show us what you've got~~~!

"Ugh, something smells like Rome. On top of the venue being a total drag, is this what I have to put up with for a guest list? I swear to gawd if it's her, I'm walking! I'll walk right out! See if I don't! And it'll be all your fault, too!"

It's bad enough they expect her to light up the world stuck down in this depressing hole in the ground, but to make her do it without a proper Manager? The. Worst. If only they'd brought her little Squirrel here with her. She'd even have taken her Deerlet! You know, if she had to. She'd have certainly been better than this big fat nothing.

The Super Magical Idol-Class Dragon Servant, Elizabeth Bathory (the beloved yet oh-so-unobtainable girl of everyone's dreams) huffs dramatically, and her bereavement is matched only by her cuteness. This is only like the millionth time she's given into that thought, and every time the result's the same. It's a simple truth that any perfect idol should be capable of handling her own production, and an even simpler truth that she was so great that it more than made up for the shortcomings of her two-bit contractor. Some day, and she's positive it'll be soon, all of this will pay off.

Yeah, you know what? Now that it's come to it, she's feeling extra pumped up today! Especially if it turns out to be her! Just you wait you sorry, short stack, tone deaf, two-bit excuse for an Empress!

"Hiiiiii, my lovelies! I'm so excited to see some fresh faces in the crowd today! Have you been good boys and girls? Have you been begging like you should? Then how about? We start? The show~?"

Just like the sun (Always)
I must shine (never changing)
Call it Sadness, Eternity, Popularity, I want to make sure
If I love you, you love me more!

I'll find you~
Feel you
I just want to be by your side

This immature, young love is getting stronger
This everlasting sound: the chiming of my heart
These contradicting feelings, like a knife biting into my chest have burst me open
covered me in red~~

Everything feels better than usual today. Her magical energy feels (if this is even possible) beyond its peak. Her hair is pinker and glossier than she can remember, her horns shimmer in the spotlight so brilliantly that if she were even a shade less professional she'd drag the show to a halt just admiring them. As she dances on feet that feel so feather-light that her lethal heels are no obstacle to clever choreography at all she can feel her hips sway in that tantalizing way that perfectly splits the line between sex appeal and innocence that an idol should always be standing astride.

It feels the best when she hops. That's when her super cute and just barely long enough skirt bounces juuuuuuust enough to promise a flash of something wonderful, but never enough to quite confirm it. It's delicious, this feeling. Always make the piggies think you're about to give them everything they want. Never let them have it. That's the way a proper tyrant should rule. That's what it means to have it all. To to be adored and lusted after without ever giving the slightest crumb of yourself in exchange for the worship of these adoring simps... isn't that what makes being an idol the best job there is?

Well. Until that one very special, very perfect someone comes along and sweeps her off her feet. Then it's the life of a true princess for this dragon. How sad for all the dolts down here that nobody could ever hope to meet her exacting criteria~

(Forever) because we are connected
(Softly) When I make you see
(Surely) you will save me

'Cause I'm your idol (if you)
It's ok if it all falls apart (are with me)
Call it Love, Eternity, Popularity, I just want to make sure
If I love you? You love me more!!

I thought that this beautiful place was all that I needed, but
This feeling of guilt is clawing me to pieces
One look at your warm and gentle eyes, and I feel my chest go tight
Even as you lift me away into the sky

Looking cool, Elly! You're so beautiful, Elly! We love you, Elly! Step on us, dragon mommy!

Wait, what? Uhhhhhh, you didn't hear anything at all! That's just how sharp the pressure Super Magical Idol Vampire Dragon Elizabeth Bathory is putting off right now. To get caught up in her dancing is to be crushed. Her microphone is half a sword and her claws are as deadly as they are kissable. Her teeth flash tantalizingly from behind her pinker than Pink Dye #9 lips, which are pulled into the kind of glittering smile that doesn't so much fill hearts as steal them forever.

Her dance is violence. Her song is death. But worse than that, it's love. Hasn't she said, over and over again, that it's overkill just to hire her for a job like this? Wake up, you tail chewing, mouth breathing, cutesy little simpleton! If you miss even this, you're dead to her! No! Worse than that! She won't give you her autograph even if you beg! So neyh!!

(Barely) I've finally arrived
(Firmly) Even if my eyes can't leave the ground
(Surely) You'll accept me

Just like the sun (Everything is)
I must shine (Illuminated by me)
Call it Sadness, Eternity, Popularity, I just want to make sure
If I love you? You love me more!!

"Everyone, thanks so much for coming out today! I see so many new faces~! Ohhh, I'm so happy you could make it all the way here just for little old me! Come on everybody, let's make this the best day ever! Let me hear you scream 'more~'! Come on, let me hear you scream 'more'! I wanna hear you scream 'more'! I wanna hear you scream more!

I WANNA HEAR YOU SCREAM MORE~~!!!!"

Liz's spine curls along the arc of her glittering gemstone tail. As her voice reaches a crescendo the noise resembles something the cruder members of her audience might call a climax. And so what if they're right? Can anyone blame her for getting so worked up when the show is this good? It's almost (almost!!) enough to bring her to her knees, twitching and squirming where she ought to be dancing and thrashing like the queen of the world's most dangerous mosh pit.

Like an idol (Because I am)
It's ok if it all falls apart (not alone)
Love, Eternity, Popularity, I just want to make sure
You love, YOU LOVE ME MORE!!

Her whole stage trembles with the mystic force of her music. Power wells within her that could destroy the world in the wrong (and less cute) hands. Spires rise up all around her and underneath her feet, lifting her onto the parapets of a twisted nightmare castle of speakers, strobe lights, and sound cables where she is the unquestioned and unchallenged Princess of the genre best described as Dragon Pop.

She takes the deepest breath she's capable of, puffing out her chest as much as a girl like her is capable of and filling her lungs with equal parts oxygen and absurdly lethal mana. Every good dragon has a breath attack, right?

"Are you ready, little fluffballs? It's time for the finale! I'll let you hear the greatest hit in the Underworld~! Let's get pumped up!! Let me hear you crying like pathetic little kittens! Báthory! Erzsébet!!!"

The shockwave that follows could draw blood from the ears of a statue. The magical energy in that shockwave would have that statue crumble to dust, and weep with joy just to have the chance to do so. Entire hallways collapse in ecstasy and lesser demons evaporate into light, their souls instantly cleansed and sent to be reborn into the world above as bright eyed popstar hopefuls in their own right. All others cover their ears and writhe on the ground in deaf non-comprehension and gorgeous agony.

Ah me! Oh my! Sometimes, this idol impresses even herself.

"Ahhhhhhh," she whimpers, touching beautiful pink claw to beautifuller blushing cheek, "I think maybe I deserve a bath. It's been so long since I've indulged myself properly..."

You sense the approach of a swagless soul.

As someone embodying the height of fashion, style, music and the colour pink you have a nose for this kind of thing. You're blasting your perfect bloody heart out there, putting the less perfect but they're presumably trying hearts of the underworld's demons on display, and it you can feel it landing everywhere but one little joyless bubble. A zone without taste, without drip, without style - holding itself solid against all the beauty stabbing into it.

"The creation of the Kingdom of Hungary was the result of incompetent administration of the Danubian frontier, allowing endless waves of steppe nomads to establish themselves in Imperial territory. Continuously distracted Imperial administrations were unable to re-establish the sense of civil society that underpinned the steady collection of taxes -"

A consistent muttering natter - academia substituting for personality. The soul of a priest who wouldn't accept anything less than the Papal throne. They're shutting their eyes and shutting their ears and cutting away at the foundations of your legend in books and scholarship rather than engaging with what is in front of them. This is ruder than just sleeping through one of your performances - this isn't a fellow performer at all. This is a Manager. An evil Manager. And the most heart-rending performance of all time is only worth so much if nobody is in attendance because some stupid book thinks you're not worth talking about.

And urgh. The green glittery and glasses might have been a good nerdy librarian thing, but now there's a big flashy laurel wreath and plants and a demon spear and it's atrocious. Absolute clownshoes production. She's pushing through your wall of sound, shielding herself with that cryptic muttering, blind and deaf to everything around her. You've known her for maybe a minute but she's already making a strong play for the title of 'Worst Empress'.

"Um? Excuse me?? Do you mind??? You're ruining my show????"

That last one isn't a question, but she's built up too much momentum to keep the rising inflection out of her voice. The effort it would have taken to wrench her voice down to the proper octave also would have risked making her sound uncute, which is just flagrantly unacceptable no matter how you do the math.

Plus, maybe it is actually a little bit of a question. That she, Elizabeth Bathory, media darling and dragon idol, was in the presence of the saddest sort of loser imaginable there could be no doubt. That this yappy little drag was committing the ULTIMATE CRIME of not paying attention to the greatest concert in human history was likewise not at all in question. Unless she's just waiting for Love is Dracul? Some especially rude piggies do wind up being one-song stans sometimes. Always a risk when your debut hit is that perfect. But that can't exactly be overlooked in the face of the EVEN MORE ULTIMATE CRIME of being so unbelievably cringe that it's making her revise her Empress Tier List. Do you realize she actually misses that idiot right now?? What's up with that?!

But it might not be so unacceptable, you see. Because it might be an opportunity. Is she an idol or is she an idol? Then it's time for our challenge of the day!!!!

"Ohhhhhhhh," she chirps, "Iiiiiiii see what's going on~"

Ready, and! Hop! Pose! Sparkle! Flash those gemstones in the spotlight, girlie!

"It's our contest winner, lovelies! Isn't this great? Production scoured the whole, entire earth just to find the saddest, most bedraggled little puppy that's ever been born!"

Her smile is beatific, but her fangs flash hotter than dragonfire. There's murder in her soulful, starry, gorgeously turquoise eyes for those with a mind to notice it there.

"But don't worry! Your hero Elly's here to fix her all up! Game, set! Mission: Makeover! Let's start!!"

No more singing. No more singing yet. She'll croon over this idiot's broken corpse in a minute, just be patient! But right now she needs all of that magical energy to sprout big, glittery wings! She needs to well up a big store of power in her tummy like one of those weird martial artsy guys in those movies certain (beloved but don't tell them that) dorks (do tell them this!) like to watch way too late at night, so that when she takes off there's the might of a peerless warrior behind her attractive and girlish figure. Hero of Charity? Eat your heart out, sun-boy.

"I think! We should!! Start off!!! Wiiiith~! That stupid!!!! Lance!!"

The stompy, deliciously pink kick leads with is actually aimed at this disgusting Empress' face, but so what? She'll probably block! Probably, right? And if she doesn't, then hey! The follow up Tail Slam will crush everything that's hers into little bitty bits anyway! It's actually magnanimous to not be so picky. Or something?

Whatever!

"Don't -"

Composure breaks like glass. The block comes too hard, too fast - she's out of position for the tail slam. She hits the ground with bone-crushing force, ruined mana exiting her body like breath from struck lungs.

Then she's back up.

She isn't even appealing as a duelist. It's like fighting a Berserker - pure numbers to make up for the fact that there's nothing going on beneath the surface. She whirls and strikes as predictably as a novice and with enough speed and force that a grandmaster would struggle to keep up with.

"Don't!" she hisses through grit teeth. "Talk about! This stupid!!!! Lance!!"

A nerve has been touched.

The ugly, stifling mutter has gone. She doesn't have the focus to maintain it. Those vines extending down from her flowering wreath are growing around her arms, gripping the lance firmly in place, wrapping around her chest in a weave part bondage and part armour. As she fights, she's becoming less and less of a hero - in a way that Elizabeth Bathory, Best Dragon Idol, actually knows something about.

See, Elizabeth knows something about vampirism - about absorbing the power of others to reach beyond your limits. It's a powerful technique, but there's only so much blood you can drink at a time before you start risking your girlish figure. Those calories all add up! Put another way, you can get very, very intoxicated by power like that. And that's what you're seeing here - there's so much power pouring into that Spiriton frame that it's starting to displace the original identity to make room. Give it enough time and this won't be a heroic spirit at all, but simply a monster - a puppet to be operated by whatever is pouring all that power in.

The lance, though? That feels like something with some real emotional investment. It'll be the last thing to go.

"I want it on the record! That the only reason I'm losing right now! Is because! I'm too busy! Trying! To keep my sides from splitting! Ahahahahahaha!"

It's true if you turn your head just right! That's legally distinct from a lie! She really has been giggling herself almost to death since the real identity of this creep was made clear. Oh, sorry. It's not about knowing who she is (because honestly, who cares?), but what she is that's so funny. Anyway the important thing is that it's really, really funny ok?

And that is why this whole fight is going backwards at the moment. She can keep herself from rolling on the floor. She can keep her perfect, pretty skirts and beautiful hair from getting snipped by these gross, double ick attacks, but she can't do those things and also outfight someone getting power ups from a monster. At least not without doing things that would compromise her status as an idol, you see.

"I mean why wouldn't I talk about your dumb spear? Look at it, girlie! It's like mud! Honestly, worse than mud! It doesn't go with anything you're wearing, not even the stuff that already doesn't go with the stuff you've got on! Like, I promised you a makeover but there are limits, piglet!"

She just barely manages to duck under the answering swing, but this one was so heavy that Elizabeth has time to wheel her body around and smack her tail into this half-Berserker's face. There's no power differential in the world that could keep her from flying a clear fifteen feet after that. She grins. She preens. She does that little hair toss that makes the fans go wild. Can't you hear them screaming for her?

"I can't, I can't, I just can't with you! You stink so much like that Other Empress I got myself all spun up for the sequel, but what are you actually? You're so pathetic and girl-next-door-with-depression it makes me want to choke on my own tongue laughing. What were you, her secretary? You couldn't be her concubine, not with anti-drip like that. She'd have had you pretty if you were hers. Oh god, you're a stan aren't you? That lance is something she touched once and you just never washed it, isn't it? Is that why it feels so ridiculously cursed? Ahahahaha that's so pathetic~"

Once more, Elizabeth Bathory takes a deep breath to fill her lungs with the power of a dragon. No preamble this time, no show. It's a shame but there's no time to write lyrics about how much this woman sucks, and cyphers aren't really her thing to begin with. A good idol's song should always be about how special and pretty and cute (and pretty!) she, Elly, is. And how much people should want to love her. Besides, why would she waste all that effort on an Empress of Roses stan when a single power note will do?

The shockwave sends the Lancer, stinkiest of all possible classes, flying backwards into a wall. With her magical energy glittering all around her like the very pinkest of fireworks Liz rushes forward, leaps, and begins to twirl like an ice skater (or a drill, if you're very terrible and uncouth) as she hurtles toward her opponent. She knows just what to strike. And she also knows that when it comes to it, this woman will move her lance out of the way from such a dangerous attack and just take it full on in the ribs rather than risk her most precious possession.

Because she knows the score. It's a little bit attachment, but it's mostly the arrogance and raw stupidity that comes with the kind of power you only pick up later in life. You know, the kind that makes you drunk on it. Like if somebody swallowed an artifact of ultimate power and authority and just digested all of its energy instead of learning to wield it properly. If someone tried something like that, they'd be history's biggest dummy.

"One for all, and all! For! Me~!"

The explosive power of her strike (and the real, actual explosions of her strike) would be lethal to even most Servants. In this case, what she manages is to carve away most of those gross vines, and to send that ridiculous laurel crown tumbling. Not to mention causing her opponent to flop face first onto the floor with a deliciously pathetic little moan.

And this would be the time to finish her off. She's got enough space to launch into a musical number of such beauty that it would make the sun itself explode in shame. But Elizabeth does not do that. She plants her foot and calls for a spotlight (which shines down obligingly at the right angle to shine her shiny hair so perfectly that nobody could look at her and not fall in love), but she doesn't use that cue for stabbing or for singing. Instead she just hides her mouth behind her hand and unleashes a noblewoman's delighted laugh.

"You know what your problem is? You tried to cut to the front of the line and now you don't know how to hack it in the big girl's club. You don't belong and you know it. So why not let me do whatever I want with you? I'll make you sparkle, you unbelievable idiot. If you've got your eye on someone special you'll take their heart with a single sigh once I'm through. Nothing so much as breathes near me without being pretty enough. Or if you really are an Empress and not just some sad punchline at the end of my real rival's legacy, why don't you... Prove. It?"

Her smile is darker than the endless night. Her eyes are sharper and more radiant than cut gemstones. Her tail is a thousand times cuter and more desirable than any fox's who has yet walked the earth.

This is not mercy. Or empathy or any other of those stupid soft heart words. This isn't a quiet hand down to somebody in a bad spot because she Gets It and has Been There Before. No. She just said it isn't, so you'd better believe her. This is the proper ruthlessness someone should expect from a good ruler.

"If you've got any pride in you at all, stand up and show me. I'll say whatever the hell I want about your sweaty little lance if you don't. Or I'll just eat you and take all your borrowed power for myself! I bet I can put to waaaaaaay better use than you! Ooh, maybe even concerts... on the surface!!!"

Again, don't get mixed up. It's just, if that monster energy is what's crushing her so flat then pushing her to show her pride would definitionally push that power back out. Right? It's brilliant, right? And then she really will get to eat it. Isn't that just perfect? Isn't it exactly the sort of brilliant plan you expect from Elizabeth Bathory? It is, isn't it? Right? Right????

Emerald eyes raise.

"Of course it's ugly," said Lancer. "It has to be ugly. This is the lance that killed me. This is the lance that ended the glorious future I was going to build before I got the chance. This lance is the hole in the world left by the Christian Dark Ages, the legacy of division and chaos that ended with a final civil war between the provinces of Gaul and Germania that slaughtered millions."

She coughed, bloody, but didn't blink her eyes.

"You, yourself are part of this legacy of darkness. A blood-soaked serial killer sheltered by provincial nobility? Those privileges would not exist under a centralized Imperial state, and a reformed Censorate would investigate your twisted appetites before they had the chance to crystalize into a legend. You are already a footnote, but had I lived you would be a blip on the crime statistics for the Danubia province."

Oh, how frustrating! Bringing her back to herself lets her focus her Noble Phantasm, and that weapon is powered by a truly transcendent vanity. You may have a justifiably high opinion of your own abilities but this Lancer believes that her reign would have been so good that it would undone your entire legend over a thousand years later. It's the Charybdis to the Scylla of her Berserker power.

But there is an angle there that can be navigated. You learned how to be an idol after your death, after all, and that seems to be something her powers have absolutely no impact on.

"Oh no! Oh no oh no oh no no no! But, but... without my Castle Csjete and my many, many, oh-so-many servants and my hereditary wealth, I'd be! I'd be nothing more than! I'd!!"

It's like watching a magical girl transformation in reverse. Elizabeth Bathory sobs dramatically as she sinks to her knees, shimmery pink claw nails wiping uselessly at the tears that won't stop pouring from her beautiful gemlike eyes. Her perfect idol's costume, all that glitz and glam, all of it fades away in sputtering light like the dying embers of a long guttering fire. Goodbye, her wonderfully frilly skirts. Goodbye, her slightly scandalous and perfectly fitted top. Goodbye, her dazzling pink-spike heels. In their place are drab browns and blacks, the frumpy threadbare yet still tragically cute linens of a mere scullery maid. In her hand sits a bristle brush, which she dramatically dunks into a bucket of soapy water that only a second ago was not there at all.

And so the Countess of Blood washes the floors.

"Ahhhhhh, what a tragedy♪
"That Iiiiiiiiiii~♪
"Such a beautiful and innocent maiden♪♪
"Should be forced♪
"To toil away♪
"In obscurityyyyyyy♪♪
"By this wicked♪
"Kind of uggo♪♪♪
"Step-Empress♪"

Bubbles shimmer with their oil slick rainbow light around her. Maiden Ellie smiles at her numerous reflections inside of them, and in this moment regardless of rational explanations they look more like jewels from some magical kingdom where this kind of thing happens all the time.

At that exact moment, a doe with a squirrel riding on its back come scampering through the tunnels and perform a cantering sort of dance around her. The squirrel darts about excitedly and together they push a beautiful glass slipper toward the dutiful heroine with her absurdly cute little bandana and her smile so alight with wonder and the endless possibilities of the universe that refuse to be trampled so long as anyone with a beautiful heart and beautifuller face continue to hold onto a dream.

She takes the shoe in her trembling hands, and lets the well worn brush fall with a sudsy clatter on the ground. Music swells in the background, and three spotlights converge on her person. The glass glitters like diamond in all this light: it's as much of a weapon as it is a piece of footwear. The heel and the toe are both covered in such wicked spikes it's a wonder a certain other dancer doesn't want it as a venom delivery device. The drab, ordinary, but still very much a dragon and therefore the cutest possible maiden places the shoe on the floor and slips her delicate foot inside.

It is (of course) a perfect fit.

And suddenly she is not wearing the threadbare costume of a scullery maid, nor indeed any kind of maid at all anymore. Now Liz stands resplendent in a crystal ballgown with magnificent hooped skirts that simply have no front at all, the better to show off her slender legs and the gorgeous pink scales embedded in her creamy, perfect skin. Feel free to ask her for skincare tips by the way, everybody agrees she's an expert. The fabric gathers around her waist and smooths as it climbs up her chest and opens up for a good look at her gorgeous bust and the elegant curve of her bare shoulders before wrapping her arms in delicate silks that open from their skintight deliciousness into the most dramatically flared cuffs a girl could ever ask for.

No longer are her draconic claws painted pink. Now they glitter, like the curved horns atop her head, the color of diamonds. The only pink (which is still the best color) left on her at all sits atop her head in her perfectly styled hair, which is woven into an elaborate up-do bun with girlish flat bangs and lightly curled ringlets framing her princess-perfect face. Top it all off with a tiara and she's ready for the ball!

She gathers the woodland creatures into a hug before punting them off the stage.

"Oh thank you friends, of course of course! It's all so obvious now! The more downtrodden I become the more beautiful the Prince who rescues me! My Prince will always come for me. Why wouldn't she? I mean, just look at meeee♪"

The battle resumes, and though all Ellie seems to do is twirl in glittery light, or wobble comedically on her unbalanced slippers, or enter into a slow ballroom step with her overmatched opponent, the damage she inflicts everywhere she passes is unfathomable. Walls that have stood for probably thousands of years crack at the mere passing of her draconic cinderella power.

"Reality? I don't know her. The Bloody Countess? Carmilla? Oh please, as if! You really make me laugh, you silly goose. I. Am. An. I★D★O★L★. And now we're doing a musical, understand? If you think you can reach into the future and just pluck away my past, then I'll live in a world I make instead. Do you have any idea who you're even messing with?"

Mirror, mirror on the wall
Who's the cutest of them all?

"...Wait. What do you mean it's it's a little mint flavored foxgirl?! You stupid mirror, see what you get!"

And she smashes the very magical, very sharp and bleed inducing mirror over Lancer's head. With a sharp kick, she sends the woman flying and falls into hysterical laughter. Her sparkly princess costume falls away and reveals impractical and kind of lewd (but pink! very very pink!) bikini plate mail armor.

Elizabeth the Brave plucks her mighty broadsword from the floor and levels it dramatically toward her foe. Her shining white cape flutters in the hot winds, and her heroic pink hair now falls gracefully down her shoulders and overtop of it. She has, of course, kept the tiara.

This then is the answer to Julia's Noble Phantasm she arrives at. A fantasy bubble to deny the reality bubble. The death of facts and logic: Fairy Tail Erzebet.

"Do you wanna keep going, oh Wicked Dragon King? Because I can promise you this: if you want to turn this into a battle of your ego versus mine??? Then I can't possibly lose!"

Um. Liz? Should you really be so proud of that?

"Well, actually --"
"The Brothers Grimm were born after your canonical end-date, making this --"
"Time is an all-devouring god and you must respect --"
"Ow ow ow ow fuck did you hit me with a mirror that hurts so much --"
"You can't just --"
"Are you listening to me!?!?!"

The answer, obviously, was no.

How could you, when the music was so bright? How could you, when your dance was so loud? How could you, when all the world was just how it always should be? Sometimes in the battles of this world, scissors lost to bigger scissors. After hundreds of years of waiting for a moment just like this there's no one and nothing that can stop you. And then, right as your triumph approaches -

chomp

Did she?

You can't believe it!!

Oroboros just came out of nowhere and snapped up Lancer in a single bite before you got to finish her off! That - that big, oily snake! How dare she steal your moment!? And not even that, she's just settling back down to rest like nothing's happened at all. And the worst part, the worst part, is that you saw in Lancer's eyes - you saw, right the second before she got snapped up - that you'd got her. You'd broken her resolve and her pride and she was a fan. She was looking at you with the kind of miserable simp-awe that she undoubtedly had only ever fluttered towards statues of that jerk squirrel thief Empress. You'd taken her and she was yours - and now she'd been stolen!!

How dare!!!!

Guh! Buh! Nnn! GnNnngngngngngngngnnnnnnnnnnnnnnngh~!

Do you, dear kitty on the wall, have any idea how hard it is find real and actual fans down here? Not a victim, not a curious bystander lured over by the sultry tones washing over the hills ten miles away, not an agency plant, but a F A N! Someone who'll buy merch! Someone who'll take your side in a stupid legal battle that you initiated on bad information, even (especially!) when you're objectively in the wrong! Someone who's one sad, pathetic day away from making you their entire personality!

A fan, a fan, a fan!!! That's two letter off from a stan! That's getting to be called somebody's "bias" is what that is! That's what just gotten eaten by that cutesy-wutesy lazy pretend-innocent layabout jerk! Rarer and more precious than gemstones! GnnNGNGNGNGNnnnAAaah!

Already, Liz can feel the weight of the Command Seal pressing down on her entire body. She's 'poof'ed back into her normal form, having not even noticed it through how busy stomping her foot and making cute dragon pouting noises is keeping her right now. It doesn't matter. What matters is that her mic stand is as sharp as it's ever been. The other thing that matters is the order screaming DO NOT KILL EACH OTHER screaming inside of her skull.

DO NOT KILL EACH OTHER
DO NOT GET DISTRACTED
DO NOT LEAVE

Yeah, well! Glow red and bind her all you want, you stupid seals! Some things are more important than following rules! She flies forward on wings of glittering pink and starlight wishes and buries her weapon deep in Oroboros' side. Enough to hurt. Enough to hurt a lot when she twists it free. Nowhere near enough to kill. And just the once, ok? That's hardly a distraction no matter who's keeping track. And kicking her doesn't do any good and you darn well know it.

"Give her back! Spit her out right now, that was MINE! I hate you! I hate you so much you useless, sleepy worm! Show up when you're wanted for once in your life!"

This is pointless. All of it is completely pointless. A spiritron body can't dramatically climb back out of a dragon's stomach, and even if it could this loser would never have it in her to make the attempt. They break down into magical energy the moment they've been defeated and then that's all there is. Nothing short of a full re-summoning would return Lancer, and that without her memories. So it's pointless. But Liz hefts her weapon to stab her partner again anyway, and only the weight of three Command Seals in concert pushes it back town.

She turns reluctantly on her heels. It's like being dragged away. Well. She got her point across anyway right? Tch. She doesn't turn her head or make any effort at all to pay attention to anything other than the stage she's being pulled back towards.

"...Try it again and I kill you next time. Orders or no."

Luckily, hatred and revenge only ever flow in one direction, and blood letting is a victimless crime. That's why the life of Elizabeth Bathory turned out so well the first time!

Oroboros silently chomps down on her own tail, and that is the end of that.

There's nothing to say to the sheer brute stupidity of that motion. Oroboros is known for one thing and one thing only, and that's shoving her tail in her mouth so that there is no beginning and no end. The perfect prison - the limits of the world itself. Nothing born of this world can escape her grip.

A faint green light begins to emanate from within her.

Her horns begin to grow. Simple, smooth draconic horns begin to extend and fracture apart, like antlers or like branches. A crown of leaves begins to open atop her head, even as her claws extend and begin to burrow into the earth like roots. Still she stubbornly bites down upon her tail but all along her back flowers begin to bud and open and shockwaves of grass run down her spine.

Still she does not speak, struggle, or remove her tail from her mouth. But it is becoming increasingly clear that the World Serpent has bit off more than she can chew.

"Haa?! What do you think you're doing, you little idiot? It's gross, knock it off! You're the one who ate her anyway, I'm the one who gets to be mad here!"

The first rule of being an idol is that you can't ever be less than perfect in front of your fans. That means she can't get flustered here, can't let anyone know Uwudumbface is getting to her. Just like nobody can ever find out that when the two of them met, Elizabeth was actually pretty intimidated.

Not her fault! How often do you get to meet a dragon? Like, a real one! Even manifesting as an Extra Class this time around she herself was still only allowed at the table on a series of technicalities and... ok it doesn't really matter because her horns are, like, way cuter and once she figured out she was better than a real dragon everything kind of slid back into place the way it was meant to.

Or so she thought. But sometimes Oroboros just... did stuff and it freaked Liz the hell out. And this is so clearly one of those Dragon Moments that it makes her want to grind her teeth. But instead she sets her lips into a perfect, pink smirk. She tosses her hair in the spotlight and shifts her leg to get all of her accessories sparkling at the same time. That neatly distracts from the fear creeping into her eyes. Pr-probably.

"H-hey, knock it off already! I get it, ok? I'm sorry I stabbed you! But you, urk. Oh gawd I'm gonna be sick; is... is that supposed to bend that way? Are you? Uh??"

The first rule of being an idol is that if you're going to be a failgirl in front of your fans, you have to at least be a cute one. If you stumble, then blush about it. If you get scared, really ham it up. If you say something you shouldn't? Well, teehee! You can't call yourself the best unless you turn your worst moments into another reason fans want to crawl all over your shoes.

And if you freak out and start screaming about all of this weird hippie magic Power of the Earth stuff, you have to at least maintain the wherewithal to charge forward anti-heroically and start stabbing and clawing with everything you've got. This is NOT because Oroboros is her friend ok? It's not even because she'd be lonely down here without someone to yell at (though that IS her only nightmare...). It's just that, whatever is happening here, it's wrong. It's wrong, it's wrong, it's bad it's bad, it's very bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad bad!

So she hacks at flowers and grass and she crushes antler-horns. As if she could fix the problem by just exhausting its magical energy. Besides, what else is she supposed to do? Sing? At this?? As if! But it's like gnawing on a mountain. That's the work of centuries, and while other dragons might have the patience that's just not Elly, not at all.

In a last ditch effort to make something, just anything happen that is not This, she tries to pry Oroboros' tail out of her mouth. Some unseen force knocks her away like a sack of extremely cute feathers (the sack is also unbelievably cute) and sends her flying the whole length of the hallway to splat against her own stage. How dare! But, also? Eep?!?!

"Oh. Something weird's about to happen, isn't it?"

Elizabeth Bathory stands up on her perfect pink stilettos. She adjusts her frills and grips her mic stand the way any proper hero and guardian should. She briefly allows herself to contemplate what kind of class, and what kind of shape she's about to end up in this time.

Then the much more depressing realization hits home, that much more likely she's about to simply die. No fanfare. No tears. No funeral. Haaaaaaa, how glum can you get?

Elizabeth Bathory grips the hilt of her sword. And the adorable purple ribbon-grip on her magic wand. And the edges of her magic mirror. And the handle of her Death Metal Elizabeth JAPAN spear. Her missile launchers. And her three section staff. Screw it all, she'll just save herself.

"Of course you realize," say nine perfect voices in perfect unison, "I'm the main vocalist here. Right?"